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P-32
over Guam
Photo courtesy of
Wm F. Brown Collection
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The
Piledriver flew one more mission, V J day, which consisted
of every B-29 that was flyable, from every reachable base
in the Pacific Theatre. Someone dubbed it, "Maximum Effort."
The greatest "Show of Force" ever assembled by mankind.
No armada in history could match this sailless fleet. No
army of any size charging over a hill to annihilate its
foe could compare to the formation flyers annihilating the
few rays of sunlight struggling to penetrate the stratus
layers above Tokyo bay. A human eclipse that could be heard
but hardly seen from sea level.
Underneath
the victorious Air Force was the battleship, Missouri,
chosen by Harry Truman because he was from Missouri. And
today, the day of formal surrender, this ordinary man
and extraordinary President was "showing" the world, with
General Douglas MacArthur as his emissary. Even though
Dal Donovan was only twenty-two, he understood the momentousness
of the hour. It was lump-in-the-throat-time for every
American.
The
meteorology boys finally hit one on the money. Seven to
eight-tenths cloud cover at five to seven thousand feet,
scattered layers to two thousand. Which shortened the
formation flying but gave the crew of the Piledriver something
to remember forever.
Sterling
invited their crew chief to ride along and Sapuder wasn't
about to refuse an offer to become a part of history,
if only a little speck. And when John excitedly broke
the intercom silence with, "I'd sure like to see Tokyo
up close, it was like goosing a newly-neutered cat. Yoke
forward, right rudder and the Piledriver was on its way
to scud-run the emaciated capital of Japan. As they went
down, the pilots were getting occasional glimpses of what
was left of the metropolis and needed only the opportune
hole to get below the lowest clouds. They found it and
the airplane popped through, revealing one of the world's
great cities in total ruin. The firestorms caused by a
multitude of incendiary raids had left only a shell. Everything
that would burn was leveled and the concrete and steel
skeletons were warped beyond repair.
Some
had brought their cameras in the hope of sighting the
Missouri. But photographing their own carnage fascinated
them even more. They used every roll of film for that,
figuring the battleship was out of bounds. What they didn't
figure was their tour guides becoming disoriented after
fifteen minutes of playing tag with Tokyo and its suburbs.
So the biggest surprise was yet to come.
If
you were an Admiral standing on the bridge of the Missouri,
your ears would pick up the not-too-distant sound of four
Wright R3350 - 23 turbo - super charged engines humming
in synchronization. But decibels above the diminishing
drone of a thousand engines overhead. You would turn toward
the oncoming craft, wondering about its direction. Then
you stare in disbelief as it roars directly toward you,
gradually becoming bigger and bigger, like a kamikaze.
An American kamikaze, but without the evasiveness or the
intentions of the Japanese suicide planes. You watch,
transfixed, until you clearly see the startled faces of
three airmen, their expressions grim in disbelief. The
mist and the abruptness of the airplane's turn would suggest
the wandering to your ship was not by design and no hotshot
piloted the only B-29 flying two-hundred feet above the
water. As it suddenly ascends and banks to your right,
you pivot 90 degrees and for a fleeting moment see the
cherubic face of Bill Harter, the tail gunner from Salisbury,
North Carolina, looking more amazed than the entire United
States Navy; and the identification, P-32. Which could
be seen plain as the nose on your face. This was an unintentional
buzz job of unprecedented proportions. Below decks, several
brass wanted to know, "What was that?"
For a moment, the edgy Japanese thought it might be one
more bomb. And the crew of the Piledriver thought they
would be in irons moments after the engines shut down
on Guam. But it wasn't to be. None of the Navy men could
remember the number. Or so they said. And no airman knew
which comrade broke formation.
After
a late meal, exhaustion supplanted the excitement of an
incredible day, including the realization that no one
else in this universe would ever experience the up close
scenes of devastation followed by the near-kiss of the
Missouri.
Dal
drifted off to sleep that night wondering if an Admiral
hadn't drifted off to sleep, smiling, and thinking,
"WHAT A HELL OF A WAY TO END A WAR !!!" |