Crail re-marked the boss.
Nelleson returned to resume his co-pilot role, leaving Blockridge and Hanebury to ride it out in the damaged compartment.
The two spent their time equally between monitoring the cable and strut work, the compression fold in the fuselage, and creating more struts, just in case.
It was Art Hanebury who realised that the lower fuselage had its own major problems.
There was daylight where daylight should not be.
The skin had split in three places, an obvious but previously undetected opposite reaction to the compression issues.
“Anything you can do, Art, over?”
“Nothing except pray, JP, over.”
“Roger, out.”
‘Prayer will have to do.’
The Mustangs had long since left their charges to their own devices, and the air now contained only a CAP of three Shooting Star jet fighters, and the two B-29s.
‘Necessary Evil’ would normally have landed first but this was not a normal time.
Given the lack of manoeuvrability and damage to ‘Miss Merlene’, as well as the proximity of Kadena, the damaged bird was first to land
On the airstrip’s perimeter, crowds of Marines, Army personnel, and Sailors gathered to watch the show, the genuinely curious mixing with those of more ghoulish nature, all having been drawn by tannoyed announcements and the frantic deployments of meat wagons and fire trucks.
“Necessary Evil’ did a low pass, gathering vital information to pass on to the wounded ‘Miss Merlene’.
“Dimples-nine-one, received. Dimples-nine-eight, over and out.”
Jones had opened the radio to the intercom so that Crail could get the information direct from ‘Necessary Evil’.
What he heard was encouraging and he continued his descent with increased confidence.
The other B-29 circled lazily above as ‘Miss Merlene’ deployed her undercarriage.
An F4U Corsair, scrambled from Futenma to act as an observation plane, slipped in closer to inspect the landing gear.
“Dimples-nine-eight, Roughrider-five-one. Gear is down, starboard inner tyre appears deflated, over.”
Burnett’s board and Crail’s display both showed that the gear was locked.
Crail spoke briefly on the intercom and Jones relayed his words.
“Roughrider-five-one, Dimples-nine-eight, confirm only one deflation on starboard gear, over.”
The Corsair came in closer, level with the gash in ‘Miss Merlene’s’ starboard side, and close enough to get a really good look at the two starboard wheels.
As he did so, Blockridge already had his head out, making his own assessment.
“Dimples-nine-eight, Roughrider-five-one, confirm, inner tyre definitely damaged and appears deflated. Outer tyre appears undamaged and to pressure, over.”
“Roger, Roughrider-five-one, out.”
Crail thumbed his mike.
“Remember, we’re a cut-down Silverbird with weight already shed, boys. I’m going for a standard landing. I’ll just protect the starboard gear some. Standby for landing. Merlene’ll get us home, Boys. Good luck.”
The weary B-29 steadily ate up the remaining yards, Crail and Nelleson gently nursing the wounded ‘Miss Merlene’, throttles set, flaps set, descending as if on a formal landing exercise with the Squadron commander stood behind them, assessing their technical abilities.
Blockridge’s report was in agreement with that of the fighter jock, and the two pilots had already agreed a way to mollycoddle the starboard gear.
Both men were sweating.
In fact, everyone was sweating, and not because of the temperature in the aircraft.
The B-29 slid over the top of the base security fence, the control tower operative’s voice a constant on their ears.
“Here we go, George.”
The left gear touched and then decided to part company with Mother Earth once more.
No words were spoken.
The assembly caught the runway a second time, and Nelleson eased back on the throttles.
Crail held the right wing up as the airspeed started to disappear.
He gently dropped the damaged wheel set down, and the single inflated tyre kissed the ground beneath.
The ‘feel’ of the aircraft was good, but a lot of the nine thousand feet had already been consumed in the extended manoeuvre.
‘Now then, sweet Merlene, look after us all, baby.’
Crail let the assembly take the full weight.
Not one breath was taken from glasshouse to radar position.
‘You beautiful girl!’
“OK, let’s stop the airplane!”
Power was put on full to the three remaining engines, and reverse pitch applied to the propellers.
Both men put pressure on the brakes, increasing it slowly as they grew more confident in the starboard undercarriage.
Behind them, a posse of emergency vehicles jockeyed for position, their engines screaming as they fell behind the fast-moving aircraft.
The audience, which had swollen to over two thousand, shouted, clapped, whistled, prayed, or combinations of all of those, as the stricken bird rolled down the runway towards the rapidly approaching point where runway became unstable and uneven ground.
The rear section, propped by the efforts of her crew, suddenly had a different set of forces act upon her tortured frames.
Firstly, many of the hand-manufactured struts fell out, no longer held in place by pressure, as physics decided to reverse its forces, with compression now primary on the underside, swapping itself with tension, now applied to the upper surfaces, tension which was sufficient to catastrophically open up the fault line that had developed in flight.
In turn, the stressed underside, started to detach, as frame supports and skin gave up the unequal struggle.
The tailskid had been deployed, and it was this modest metal support that held the tail in place whilst the fuselage decided whether it would stay intact, or come apart.
In the end, the skid failed and the tail section partially fell away.
In the cockpit, whilst the speed was no longer a problem, the additional drag of the tail assisting in decelerating the aircraft, ‘Miss Merlene’ was being dragged off course, as the starboard side of the rear end acted on the runway, creating an anchor effect.
Part of the metalled runway matting snagged and increased the forces dragging the B-29 off course.
The interlocking Marsden Matting started to pull up off the ground in one large bending piece.
The forward momentum was beaten by the grip of the runway metal, and the tail section tore off in stages, as each frame yielded up its hold.
No one up front heard the screams behind them.
‘Miss Merlene’ was suddenly free.
Too late to prevent the starboard gear running off the runway and into the softer ground.
Too late to prevent the ground taking the damaged gear in its embrace.
Too late to prevent the undercarriage straining in its mount and becoming detached.
The right wing cut into the soft ground, slewing the B-29 even more to the right.
The port undercarriage met with the yielding ground and struggled to remain intact, the wheels clogging as the earth invaded and clung.
Despite the futility of it all, Crail and Nelleson continued to try to steer, gripping their control columns, and feeling every hump and bump as the aircraft moved inexorably on towards…
…towards men who suddenly realised their predicament, and for whom an exercise in curiosity suddenly became a race for survival.
The observers ran for their lives as ‘Miss Merlene’ came closer, her port undercarriage trying hard to stay intact under the colossal strain.