Jack Diddley - Chapter One (continued)

The sharp crackle in my ears from my radio jarred me back to the present. "Jack! Jack!", Harley yelled in my headset, “Someone’s shooting at us!”

Before I could respond to Harley’s radio message, I heard a loud bang just behind my cockpit. And then another. I couldn’t tell what it was. Looking to my right toward Harley’s P-40, I could just make out his signaling for me to look below us. He was pointing downward frantically.

Just off my left wingtip, a dirt road stretched out into the green foothills. Partially hidden by a couple of oak trees, I could see the mobile gun emplacement. There were two trucks. One appeared to carry what looked like a 40mm anti-aircraft gun. The other, a quad-50 caliber. A second or two went by before the next A.A. burst exploded just above and to the right of us.

I keyed my radio microphone, “Harley...you hit?”
“No...not yet”, he replied, “How ‘bout you?”
“I think I took one in the fuselage, just behind the cockpit”
“I don’t see any smoke...I think you’re OK”, Harley reassured me. Then he said, “Let’s do it. Break right!”

Both of us simultaneously wrenched our control sticks to the right and forward. My P-40 responded without hesitation. My wingman and I were in a tight turning dive. I backed off on the throttle just a little so I could follow Harley down. I knew exactly what he had in mind.

“Follow me, kid”, Harley radioed, “Stay tight”.

I positioned my plane just behind and to the left of Harley’s. We were passing 2000 feet at 350 knots and still turning and diving in a 45 degree bank. Taking a quick look out the right side of my cockpit window, I could see we were lining up with the dirt road where we saw the anit-aircraft vehicles just seconds before. I took Harley’s lead and leveled my wings as we passed 500 feet. We continued to decrease altitude in a textbook strafing run configuration. I struggled to hold on to the control stick as we gained speed. The huge V12 engine and 8-foot prop was turning at the top of its RPM range. The plane was shaking and buffeting as I pulled down on the buckle of my safety harness, making it so tight my chest hurt.

At 150 feet, we started leveling off. The tops of the oak trees looked like they were going to hit my wingtips. The road was just below us now. I could see ahead through my circular gunsight the two vehicles up ahead. Two medium-size Japanese military vehicles, each equipped with anti-aircraft weapons...the weapons that had nearly nailed us just a half minute before. Both were now driving on the road away from us at a fast speed, kicking up clouds of dust in their attempt to escape somewhere safe. But there was no “somewhere safe” for them now.

Harley started firing first. Even at this speed, with all the noise from my aircraft, I could hear his 6 - 50 caliber wing-mounted machine guns begin to chatter, jets of yellow flame extending out from the muzzles. That’s when I squeezed tightly on the control stick trigger, bringing my guns to life. The P-40 shook even more violently as I watch the six lines of tracer bullets streaming out from the leading edge of my wings. The two trucks were in our sights, only a few hundred yards ahead. We were at 100 feet above the road.

The lines of 50 caliber bullets started exploding on the dirt road just behind the trucks at first. I pulled back a little on the control stick, raising the nose ever so slightly...and aligning the rear truck in the center of my gunsight. A volley of bullets tore into the truck with such force that I could see the cab blow off at impact. I could see small chunks of metal, canvas, and red flesh being thrown up into the air.

At the exactly the same moment, Harley’s target caught all six lines of his 50 caliber machine gun fire and exploded...igniting the fuel tank and some of the ammunition. Two of the soldiers on the back of the truck flew up into the air on fire, landing on the side of the road. A thick orange and black fireball boiled up at us as we screamed by at 375 miles per hour. Harley’s P-40 flew right through it.

I strained to pull back on the stick in order to gain some altitude. Our strafing run was at treetop level, and there was no room for error. There was no time to admire our work as we flew by. My wingman was doing the same. I glanced over at Harley’s P-40 as we climbed. He was looking at me as well. I could see the dark, charcoal-colored stains on his engine cowl from his flight through the truck explosion.

As we passed through 1500 feet I radioed Harley, “Any damage buddy? How’s it looking?”
“Whoa doggie! That was close”, he radioed back, “Let’s get outta here”.
“Roger. I hear ya’”, I replied, “10-4”.

I glanced back over my soldier as we continued to climb out. I could see a steady stream of black smoke coming from both of the trucks. The other one was on fire as well.

“That’s all she wrote for those guys”, Harley said, “We’ll radio in that position when we get back to cruising altitude. Maybe some ground guys will know where those trucks were based”.

The western China sky was darkening. The sun was going to be down in an hour or so. We needed to get back. The night patrol squadron will need to be aware of the activity in this area. All I could think about was getting safely back on the ground, having a beer ot two, and painting a little truck symbol on the side of my P-40, just below the cockpit. My first “kill” in the Flying Tigers.

As my wingman and I cruised back to our little airfield, I started thinking again about our night in Singapore just before we checked in with the squadron...at Susie Q’s. My jaw still ached a little. And the stitched up scar on the back of head will always be there to remind me. I knew that Harley and I would talk about it over those beers when we got “home”. I knew he wouldn’t let me forget how, according to him, he saved my life. And how I still owed him $20...for that little Asian beauty named Kat! Her picture taped to the instrument panel on my P-40.

(To be continued...)