GUAM
Cameron and the Shillings cramped themselves into the Shilling’s basement. Outside, the typhoon raged, making its landfall in the afternoon. Winds of more than a hundred miles per hour and a wall of rain slammed the city and the island of Guam. Electricity went first. The winds howled on for a few hours. Then the wind and rain died off. Suddenly, the sun shone through a crack in one of the boarded-up basement windows.
“It stopped,” Cameron noted with wonder. “And the sun’s shining.”
“Let’s go topside,” Robert suggested.
Les went outside with the men. They walked down the driveway and had a look at the neighborhood. Some trees had been uprooted, but the houses were generally intact, except for a few smashed windows, scattered debris in the yards, and a couple dented cars. Every roof had hung on. Les’s yard stood untouched. The air had a slight breeze to it, maybe five knots, and the temperature seemed warm.
Les studied the sky. In every direction, he saw a barrier of ominous cloud. “We’re surrounded. We’re in the eye.”
Robert and Cameron saw it too.
“It’s not over yet,” Cameron said.
“Not by a long shot,” Les replied. “We only got a few minutes, maybe an hour before the winds hit us from the opposite direction. The next time around it may be worse.”
Chapter eighteen
JAPAN
As the thug stepped closer, Tiger sprang up and with all the strength he could muster in his good leg kicked the man in the testicles so hard that he buckled over in pain. Two more kicks to the face knocked him unconscious. Tiger wanted to strangle the man with the rope for good measure, but threw it on the floor instead.
Tiger ran to the door and out towards the back of the building. He bolted for two sets of long hangars and slid down low to the ground once he was out in the open. The closest Japs, three mechanics four planes to his right, were busy working on a fighter. Tiger had only one hundred feet to crawl to the nearest Zero. He half-ran, half-crawled to it, making it there in seconds.
Tiger jumped on the wing of the Zero and threw himself into the cockpit. He had never flown a Zero before in his life. Or any vintage World War Two plane, for that matter. But compared to an F-18, he didn’t figure he’d have a problem. He scanned the gauges. Yeah… no problem. His left hand went for the primer on the bottom left and then his right hand hit the ignition switch on the bottom right. The three-bladed prop begin to rotate, and smoke belched out the exhaust as the radial engine caught fire. He advanced the throttle and watched the gauges slowly spring to life. The fuselage, wing, and auxiliary tanks were topped to full. Perfect. He knew he couldn’t afford the luxury of waiting for the oil pressure and cylinder head temperature rise to the proper limits. He had to move out. Now.
The three mechanics ran towards him. Tiger advanced the throttle and released the brakes, taking a sharp turn down the dispersal track. Two of the men scrambled out of the way of the spinning prop, but the third man jumped on the trailing edge of the port wing. He desperately hung on, as Tiger, trying to shake him, pressed his feet on the rudders, which cause the Zero to zigzag back and forth. It was no use. The Jap worked his way forward as Tiger picked up speed. He then gripped the edge of the windscreen, ready to punch Tiger in the open cockpit. Tiger slammed the Jap’s hand until it was a bloody piece of flesh. A quick turn at the edge of the runway managed to fling the Jap off. There he left him lying on the pavement. Out cold.
Tiger didn’t notice what direction the wind was coming from and at this point couldn’t make any adjustments because there was no windsock. Whether he was about to take off downwind was only a technicality. At the other end of the runway, he saw some trucks and men working into position in an attempt to cut off his path of escape.
The instrument temperatures were rising… finally. He dropped the flaps and flicked the ammo button on the stick. The machine gun was live. He pushed the throttle to maximum and let the brakes go. He was off. Across the base, men were running out of buildings. Down the far end of the runway, three trucks were coming towards him. Tiger raced at them head on. As he lifted the Zero’s tail, he squeezed off several rounds of 7.7mm shells at the trucks to scare them off. It worked. They all stopped.
At less than 500 yards from the lead truck, Tiger still hadn’t the proper lift for takeoff. He saw a soldier jump from the third truck and squat down to aim his rifle. Tiger scrunched down behind the instrument panel. Luckily, the soldier was a bad shot. Nothing made contact. The gap was less than 200 yards by the time Tiger heaved back the column and lifted off the runway. Landing gear. He pressed a lever on his right and the undercarriage banged into the belly.
Tiger flinched.
Damn! He was going to hit the trucks. He closed his eyes… and flew so low over the trucks that the men were forced to duck.
MARY JANE
Gabriel Schwartz, in a dreamy state of half-consciousness, began to fall asleep in the tail section. He had felt the bomber descending for several minutes now. They were almost home. There… off to the side. He jolted awake. Did he really see it? A Japanese Zero fighter?
He sat up and looked around. Nothing but clouds. Thick, heavy clouds. What would a Zero be doing out anyway? There were no enemy bases this close to the Marianas. Wait a minute. Clouds? Where did they come from?
Then… he did see it. It was a Zero. Below to port. Flying meatball and all, bursting through the clouds. Schwartz quickly aimed his guns at the fighter and fired off a few rounds as the Zero whizzed past underneath.
“TAIL GUNNER TO COMMANDER. A ZERO JUST FLEW UNDER US.”
“A ZERO? WAY IN THE HELL OUT HERE?”
“YES, SIR.”
“YUH SURE IT WAS A ZERO?”
“POSITIVE.”
In the cockpit, Loran pointed down to his right, his face to the cockpit glass. “I see it. Banking into a cloud bank.”
Ian kept looking straight ahead. “This is screwy.”
He observed the massive cloud formation a few miles above the bomber, cloud layers stacked tier upon tier in circular arrangements. This had to be the typhoon his radio operator warned him about. What a dumb time to hit… during their descent to Tinian. Soon, the Mary Jane was engulfed in cloud that faded from white to gray in seconds. The machine rocked and shook. Lightning flashed. Thunder exploded. Rain and hail pelted the metal skin.
“COMMANDER TO RADIO OPERATOR.” Clayton’s voice vibrated with the constant jitter now pounding the bomber. “ANY RADIO CONTACT WITH TINIAN?”
“NOTHING, COMMANDER. THE STORM MUST HAVE KNOCKED OUT ALL COMMUNICATION.”
“TRY GUAM.”
“I DID ALREADY. NOTHING THERE EITHER. WE’RE DEAD IN THE WATER.”
“NAVIGATOR TO COMMANDER.”
“I HEAR YUH. I HOPE YOU HAVE SOME GOOD NEWS.”
“NOT REALLY. I DON’T KNOW WHERE WE ARE. NOTHING’S READING. MY COMPASS IS ALL HAYWIRE.”
“Look, Ian!” Loran shouted, pointing at the cockpit instruments.
Every dial and instrument was spinning madly, almost out of control. Clayton remembered the last altitude check showed 8,000 feet, and he knew he had descended even lower than that. What a ride! Zero visibility. Altimeter going nuts.
“RADAR, CAN YOU GIVE US A BEARING?”
“I’M KNOCKED OUT TOO, COMMANDER. SORRY.”