“How did you enjoy your life in the woods?” asked Captain Smith when
Bill Bruce and Bob Finch reported for duty at the flying field at the
Presideo at San Francisco.
“We had a fine time and found it very educational,” replied Bill. “I
never knew that there were so many different kinds of trees. We were
very fortunate in meeting Mr. George Cecil, the District Forester. He
is in charge of all the National Forests in Oregon and Washington. We
probably would have run into all kinds of trouble if he hadn’t given
us a start in the customs and manners of life in the woods. Then we
were drafted to fight a forest fire, and say, boy, if you want to get
action, join a forest fire-fighting gang. It is hard work, but the
terrifying, destructive grandeur of a forest fire is beyond
description.”
“You didn’t enjoy it any more than I did when those bears raided our
camp when we were asleep,” interjected Bob. “I wasn’t the only one who
was ready to start back home.”
“I must admit that our education was not quite complete in that
respect,” admitted Bill. “Before I go out again, I am going to get
someone to tell me what to do when a bear romps through your camp
after dark.”
“What did you do?” asked Smith.
“Just what a normal man would do,” replied Bill. “I was scared to
death when I saw the first bear and more scared when I saw the second
one, but I tried not to show it.”
“You have been having a vacation, and now you will have to get back to
work,” said Captain Smith. “We are observing the fire of the coast
defense guns this morning. Bruce will take the first shoot and Finch,
you take the second one. Sergeant Breene can use the radio, but you
had better give him your sensings of the positions of the shots with
reference to the target before he sends them down. You can get some
idea as to the distance the shot falls from the target by the length
of the cable between the target and the tug. You will shove off in
half an hour. Your plane is having a new engine installed so that you
will have to use Batten’s.”
“I don’t know much about artillery adjustment,” said Bill. “During the
war I was a pursuit pilot.”
“Now’s the best time to learn then,” replied Smith.
“Why the trick leggins?” asked Kiel, the Commander of the Second
Flight in the Ninth Squadron.
“I had no choice,” replied Bill. “A porcupine started to eat my best
ones while I was up in Oregon. All my others need cleaning too badly
to wear. These wrapped leggins are comfortable, even though they take
more time to put on.”
“I thought that everyone threw away those leggins as soon as they
could after the war,” said Kiel.
“It’s a good thing that I saved these,” replied Bill. “If I hadn’t, I
would have been waiting in my quarters now for my others to be shined
and repaired. Then you would have had to take this mission. From my
point of view, I would rather have had it that way.”
“Well, Sergeant, how’s the old bus percolating?” asked Bill when he
came out onto the line and met Sergeant Breene.
“A new engine is being installed in yours,” replied Breene.
“I know that, but how is Lieutenant Batten’s? That’s the one that you
and I are going to take out on this artillery mission.”
“I don’t know anything about his plane,” replied Breene. “His crew
chief takes care of it.”
“Well, get your flying togs, for we take off as soon as we can get the
bus warmed up.”
In a few minutes they were flying around over the reservation while
they checked their radio with the ground station at the airdrome. The
antenna wire hung two hundred feet below the plane and formed an arc
with the lead “fish” at the end of the wire. The fish was a weight
shaped in a stream line form so that the wire would ride steadily
through the air and hang well down below the plane.
Breene sent out the call letters and then Bill and his observer
watched for the O. K. panels. As soon as they appeared, Bill headed
his plane out over the Coast Artillery radio station. Once more Breene
sent out the call letters of the station. This was acknowledged by the
panel signal, “understood.” Then the airplane sent down a message
giving the number of the plane, the pilot’s and observer’s names and
the information that they were ready to observe the fire of the guns.
Each item was repeated so that the ground station would be sure to get
it. Finally the ground crew placed the panels in the position which
indicated “battery ready to fire.” Then Bill headed his plane out over
the ocean.
It is a sort of lonesome feeling to fly out over the ocean in a land
plane. The pilot always realizes that if his engine quits, he must
land on the water, and that his plane will float for not more than
four hours after hitting the water. Accordingly, Bill wanted to get as
much altitude as he could and at the same time accurately observe the
falling shots. If his engine quit, he would then be able to glide at
least part way back to shore. There is always the possibility of
having to swim after a forced landing in the water, as boats are not
always conveniently available for rescue work.
Bill climbed until he reached five thousand feet. The tug and target
were about twelve thousand yards from shore, and they looked absurdly
small. He wondered how the twelve-inch guns could ever make a hit on
the small pyramidal target built up on the float. The entire area over
which the target would be moved had been cleared of ships. Off to the
north there were two steamers running into the Golden Gate, and a
third leaving by way of the ship channel. As far as Bill could see,
there was no other sign of life between the shore and the Farallone
Islands, some fifteen miles out.
Bill had barely reached his position abreast of the target when he saw
the splash of a shell as it hit the water. The shell struck just short
of the target and then ricocheted and made another splash beyond the
target. It then bounded along the water’s surface with ever
diminishing leaps until it finally sank beneath the water’s surface.
Bill was so much interested in watching the shot that he forgot to
hand back a sensing to Breene.
Bill was brought back to the business in hand when Breene tapped him
on the shoulder. “Two hundred right, eight hundred short,” Bill wrote
on a slip and handed it to Breene. After a couple of circles around
the tug and target, another shot splashed, but this time much closer.
“One hundred left, two hundred over,” wrote Bill on the slip that he
handed back. Thus it went for some time with the shots making a group
around the target, which was moving along at a rate of about ten knots
an hour.
It was interesting work and Bill enjoyed it. He was doing his best to
send down corrections which would make it possible for the gunners to
make a hit on the target, but either its motion through the water or
the normal dispersion of the spots due to the ammunition would not
permit of a direct hit being made. The tug cruised back and forth in
the cleared area. The wind and tide evidently made it move faster in
one direction than in the other, for the shots did not fall the same
distance away during the two runs.
Occasionally Bill would fly the plane back over the shore to see if
any additional instructions were being sent up to him by the panels.
Each time the same panels were displayed, “Battery ready to fire.”
That being the case he must place his plane so that he could see the
shots when they fell. Once he was sure that the guns had been fired
but he had not seen the first impact with the water. The only location
of the shell that he secured was after its first bounce from the
water. He then sent down, “lost.” This indicated to the firing battery
that the observer had not seen the last shot.
Bill was out well beyond the tug when his engine started missing and
then quit altogether. He wanted to glide into shore, but knew that he
could not make it from five thousand feet. He had another chance for a
quick rescue, and that was to land as close to the tug as he could.
However, in order to do that he would have to glide through the
section through which the shells were flying. He did not know what to
do. Should he take a chance with the flying shells, or should he land
in a safe sector on the water and trust that the tug would see him
drop and come to his rescue?
He guided his plane in wide circles as he lost altitude. As he
descended he could see that the battery had fired on the data sent in
from Breene’s last report. Would the battery stop firing when they
failed to perceive any additional data, or would it keep on firing?
Their last report had indicated that the battery was firing very close
to the target.
Bill decided that he would not take a chance of getting hit by a
thousand pound projectile. He would land as close to the tug as he
could and stay out of the danger zone. As he dropped lower, he could
see that the sea was rough. He had not been able to pick up the high
waves from his high altitude, but now they were apparent. That would
take skillful piloting or the plane would be completely wrecked when
it came into contact with the water.
As he glided over the waves, Bill made up his plan for landing. The
wind was in the same direction as the moving waves. He could not land
in the trough between two crests, for that would require a crosswind
landing. He would try and set the plane down between two crests.
The wheels were now just missing the peaks of the waves as the plane
soared along. Just ahead was a rather high wave. Bill expected to drop
his wheels into the water just beyond that crest. The plane dropped
out from under him quite unexpectedly and the next thing that he knew
he was swimming around in the water. Breene was not in sight. Bill
came in closer to the fusilage and waited. Soon Breene appeared in the
water in front of the wings.
“Can you swim?” called Bill.
“Not so much,” replied Breene.
“Come around here and climb up on the fusilage,” said Bill.
The lower wing of the plane had been torn almost all the way off. As
far as they could see, the fusilage was still intact. The heavy
800-pound engine caused the nose of the fusilage to sink into the
water. Thus the only parts of the plane above the surface were the
tail surfaces, the top wing and the fusilage between the rear of the
wings and the tail group.
Breene worked his way around the wreck until he reached the tail
surfaces. Bill gave him a lift and Breene was soon sitting on the
empennage almost entirely out of the water. Bill could swim well and
stayed in the water, supporting himself by the rudder surfaces.
“This water is getting cold,” said Bill. “Can you see anything coming
this way to help us?”
The plane at that time was down in a trough and the crests towered
twenty or more feet above them.
“Not a thing in sight,” replied Breene.
“Wait a minute,” he shouted as the plane rose up on a wave. “The tug
is coming toward us full speed ahead. I hope that it has dropped its
cable and is not pulling the target.”
“It ought to get here before the old crate sinks,” said Bill. “I am
going to take off my shoes and leggins so that I can swim better if I
have to.”
Bill had just unwrapped about two coils of his leggins when he was
interrupted by an extra heavy wave which almost submerged him. The
plane was gradually sinking and he wanted to be ready for anything
that might occur. He might have to support Breene if the plane went
down before help arrived. In struggling to regain his grip on the
plane, he lost the loose end of his leggins.
Just then the tug came into sight and dropped a small boat. Bill
insisted that Breene be taken off first. Breene had no more been
rescued than the plane gave a lurch and sank beneath the water. Bill
turned loose the rudder surface but felt himself being dragged down.
The loose end of his leggin was caught in the wires of the empennage.