“Take it Ken, “ Tapp said. “I want to watch.”

After a few minutes of flying close formation in flak suit, I could understand why Bill needed a break. Flak suites are heavy. They are like a bulletproof vest that also fits over the thighs. The weight on you legs is almost more than you can lift as you work the pedals.

The fighter escort, finding no enemy fighters to shoot at, search out ground targets and we take a heading back over the ocean. We ease out of formation so we could set up our own course for the long trip home.

I noticed smoke coming out the rear of the lead plane and we called him to see if he was okay. We kept close were relieved to see the smoke subsided and he went on his way.

Halfway between Japan and Guam is the island of Iwo Jima. That is the closest emergency base. We saw planes from our group heading in that direction, obviously in some kind of trouble. About that time we checked our fuel and calculated we would not have enough to get to Guam. We too headed for Iwo. When we had the strip in sight, I called for landing instructions. When they asked the nature of the emergency, I replied we don’t have enough fuel to make it to our home base. They put us in a holding pattern until they could work us in. So we watched and listened. Planes with wounded on board were given first priority. Other planes with battle damage or engines out requesting landing permission were next. This tiny island can’t hold very many B-29s, so landings were halted while planes that were able to takeoff again.

Radio conversations sounded like this: “Tower, I’ve got to land, I’ve lost two engines.” “Negative,” replied the tower. “There is a damaged aircraft on the runway that they are removing.” The voice of the pilot sounds weary, “Roger,” he says. “Go around.”

According to what they told us a B-29 cannot make a two-engine go-round. This guy did.

For two and half hours we circled, waiting our turn. When I would call I’d get the response: “Negative – Keep holding.”

Morey had been monitoring our fuel closely, having us reduce power to barely stay aloft. Each engine has its own tank or fuel can be transferred back and forth as needed. So the Flight Engineer has been the busiest guy on the plane, squeezing the last drop of fuel out of the tanks. More than once he said, we gotta land soon.” Then with panic in his voice he said, “We gotta land now!”

Ignoring the tower’s direction to go around, we set down closely behind another plane and expedite our taxing to the parking area just as it is getting dark and the engines are starting to cough.

While we were waiting to have our plane re-fueled we greeted other squadron members who have had their own harrowing experiences. Luckily they all got down safely and we all agreed that the tower operator had done an outstanding job. He was later awarded a medal for that particular day’s work.

I heard a groan and turned around to see Morey drop to the ground. Ambulances were nearby and we called one over. They rushed our Flight Engineer to the hospital. It was a severe case of nerves and he rejoined us a few weeks later.

In the meantime we needed another engineer for the flight the rest of the way back to Guam. Another crew whose plane had been pretty well shot up was looking for a ride, so we took them along, utilizing their engineer.

It was finally dark when we got off. We had a full load of fuel and no bombs to carry, so we ignored cruise control. We stayed at a low altitude and headed for home as fast as we could reasonably go.