TOO CLOSE TO HOME

 
raincloudIt was raining like hell, the windshield wipers weren't working, visibility was down to minimum and one end of the runway was practically blanked out with clouds. And adding to the hazardous approach, old Dumbo was on one fan. That's what you call a predicament.

Lt. Rudy Swiestra had finished his time over the Hump and was flying a couple of "Bakshees" trips just to help out the schedule, when he got into this mess. And his co-pilot, F/O Ed Gargan, was on his first trip across the rock-pile; R/O Kiser was a vet at the business.

Rudy took off this dark, dreary night even though the weather board looked like a meteorologist's nightmare. He was on gauges just off the ground and started out en route to China. A few minutes out, one fan cut out, the engine just died, and there was nothing to do but feather the prop, throw out the load, try to hold altitude and make the field with the weather right down to the ground. So Gargan and Kiser went back and threw out the load, and the situation looked like it was licked. They were in and out of the soup, on and off gauges. Rudy made a normal pattern, turned on base, and the tower called and told him to pull up and go around because that end of the field was closed. So he made another pattern to land the other way. He was on final, right at the minimum altitude ---the field was in sight then it wasn't ---in and out of the stuff. He could make it on single engine if everything came out even. The tower blurted out, "You're heading for the tower; pull up and go around." That did it; Rudy poured the coal on the one engine and maybe a little too much trim on. ----A blinding flash ---a thunderous noise, and it was dreadfully silent. Then flames began to envelop the fuselage. Was this the end? Fortunately not ---with the help of God and a comparatively level tea-patch.

Well, Rudy and Gargan pulled the radio operator out and walked over to the nearest bungalow. There they were, Rudy was home, in his own basha, not over 100 yards from the crash. That's what you call "homing on home," but it was too damned close to "going home the hard way." Those boys have a story to tell that won't soon be forgotten.

---By F/O H.E. Gray

WAY BACK WHEN

by S/Sgt W.R. England

As you'd suspect in the more than three years of operation, Sookerating had had its share of incidents.

For instance, there was Panama Brewer's little tete a tete with one of the few Zeros to put in an appearance here. The Red Alert was on and Panama was heading lickety split for the jungle with his fuel truck. Out for a bit of sport without the handicap of opposition, the Zero pilot began the chase. He fired a few bursts at Panama's truck on his first pass and displayed a definite need of target practice. Somewhat miffed, the little guy flipped into a 180 degree turn and pointed his nose toward Brewer again, but Panama had been doing a spot of thinking. He abandoned the machine and hit the tea. The Zero didn't hit the jalopy, and Panama drove on his merry way ---after the all-clear had sounded, of course.

P-40 'Pea shooter'                       

 
Then there was Photo Joe, of whom there was no whomer. He had a delightful little practice he enjoyed indulging; namely, hurling taunts at the control tower operators. He had a way of coming over at 25,000 to 30,000 feet to operate his camera and by the time the pea shooter boys got themselves airborne, Photo Joe was well out of reach. It was before the day of Ack-Ack here and the delightful little gent literally had everything his way. There was the day, for instance, whenpeashooter he expressed some doubt about the tower operator's ancestry, warned that he intended to buzz the runway and promptly did it. As always, however, the worm turned. One pea shooter pilot, whose name has faded into oblivion, affected an early morning take-off and circled at 35,000 feet. Photo Joe put in his usual appearance and began his banter with the operator. The operator, being a little on the belligerent side that day, the little one lost his patience with such an impertinence. He also lost his hat, pants and derriere when he made the mistake of making another pass at the runway. A pea shooter had notched himself a Photo Reconnaissance Plane.

Then there was that classic crack by Captain Parham, to wit: "The only thing I don't like about this place is that these flies keep buzzing into my mouth."

And a filler notice in the now-defunct "Hopping The Hump" weekly advised: Anyone interested in perfecting his technique in the fine art of abandoning his post in nothing flat during a jingbao should see Sgt. Oldstein. He teaches the screen diving method.

Then there was the Dumbo which was placed on the out-of-commission list because Tech Supply found itself unable to secure a glass jar of the proper size and it was feared the plane would have to remain grounded until one could be ordered from the States. S/Sgt Dinardo's mail solved the problem. His Mom had sent him a jar of spaghetti and with a name like that, one can imagine how long the jar remained untouched. As it happened, the spaghetti jar was precisely the correct size and another Dumbo promptly took off for China.

And finally, it could only happen at Sookerating. Captain Goodson, diagnosing the ills of his radio, decided a longer aerial was just what the Doctor ordered. Consequently, when his eye came to rest on a harmless looking wire stretched along his basha, he ripped it off and attached it to his radio antenna post. The telephone trouble shooter discovered the wire Captain Goodson had used was a telephone wire, which had caused his phone to go on the fritz. Captain Goodson was the Telephone Communications Officer!

S/Sgt W.R. England


HIGH LIFE mountaintop

In the glory of the morning
Far above the earth's dark swell,
Soars a bird of man's devising,
Planned with cunning, fashioned well.

You men who fly must live or die
At the instant whim of fate;
So live each day in the largest way,
For the hour is always late.

Just a speck above the cloud tops,
Just a mote in God's wide world;
Yet it dares to try this aerie,
Dares to take the challenge hurled.

You men who fly, don't fear to die,
Watch the wheel of fortune spin;
Just pray that you stand at luck's right hand,
For life is the prize if you win.

It's a challenge hurled by fighters,
Those that ground-bound men can't know;
Roaring flame and failing engines,
Grasping ice and blinding snow.

You men who fly will never die
In the hearts of those who love;
In the dead of night, when the wind is right
They will hear you pass above.

---Lt. G.W. Bailey
----Excerpts from a mimeographed publication evidently provided to base personnel at Sookerating at war's end.
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