Everything was calm on the Dwight D. Flysenhower today. Lucas and Jigsaw were doing laps around the ship and Storm and Strategy were playing a game of chess. A small group of three planes were crowding around them, watching. Even Skipper Riley was off guard for once and enjoying the quiet. He was lazily chatting with the Flysenhower and Sparky. I seemed to be the only plane in the squadron that hadn't let down his guard on the ship. Skipper glanced back at me with concerned eyes, "Rush, I know you're being a good soldier but why worry. We're far from enemy lines and how likely is it that we'll find any trouble today." Very likely, I thought. Skipper continued, "Enjoy the peace when it comes."
"I'll try, Skip," I said.
Skipper nodded and turned to leave, "Oh, Rush, I'd like you to come on a patrol with me. That's one thing you can worry about."
"Rodger that, Skip," I said, raising my right wing in a quick salute.
Skipper gave me a withering glance, "There's no need for that now."
Skipper and the Flysenhower had chosen seven planes, other than me to go along on the patrol of Glendalcanal. I glanced at the airplanes he had chosen to go along with us. Blair and Burn flew side by side. The two almost looked identical except for Burn's old squadron's insignia painted next to ours. Lucas was a prime example of a Corsair, sleek straight wings, gleaming paint, and sharp new propellers. Jigsaw's tail was slightly crooked, Storm's color was duller than most, and, strangely, David had one green eye and one brown. As I glanced around at my comrades I couldn't shake the feeling of danger as I scanned the cloud covered sea for any hint of an ambush. "Skipper," Lucas asked briskly, "How far do we have to go?"
"Further," Skipper said. He, too, was tense and ready for action. He flew almost stiffly as if he were reluctant to move on. His stress was grating on me.
Jigsaw flew up to me, "The clouds are starting to drive me crazy. How are we s'posed to patrol if we can't see the sea?" Skipper gave us a warning glance.
"If the clouds are going to allow us to see the ocean then they will," I whispered, trying to push the annoyingly talkative plane away.
Jigsaw flew away near Blair and Burn who were flying lower than everyone else. Blair suddenly piped up, "Hey, look at that!" We all turned our attention to an opening in the clouds where a single enemy ship floated.
"Easy pickin's, whaddaya say?" Jigsaw asked with eyes bright.
"Negative, Jigsaw 2," Skipper snapped, "Our orders are to recon and report back."
I felt compelled to join the plea, I wanted action, "C'mon Skip, it'll be a turkey shoot."
When more planes joined, Skipper shook his nose, "Fine, let's go in for a closer look." We all turned our noses down but when we broke cloud cover we were faced with an entire fleet.
"It's the whole enemy!" I shouted as I dodged bullet after bullet but it was too late to pull up. I watched as plane after plane, friend after friend, was shot down mercilessly into the sea. Antiaircraft fire dug deep into my underbelly. Pain shot through me, "Skipper! Help me!" I screamed as my vision blurred. Another bullet hit my wing causing me to lose control. My nose dipped and another wave of sharp, burning pain flashed through me. I felt my landing gear almost automatically extend and then crack. My left wing went numb almost as soon as I hit the sea and the blue world began to dim and fade.
My body was numb and bird calls surrounded me. It felt as if I had had a terrible dream that I couldn't quite remember. I forced my eyes open and was momentarily confused; there was no pavement beneath me and my prop was bent into my nose. There was only sand, water, and sky as far as I could see. Suddenly memories came flooding back along with pain. I nearly fainted once more as I glanced at my wings. Half of my left wing was… gone, torn off. Where its stub lay oil had stained the sand. The bits of metal around it were turning grey, a tell tale sign of infection. My tail was coated in salt where the sea water had lapped at it.
I struggled to my landing gear and rolled up the beach a bit more so that the tide didn't splash around my tail. Pain flared through me and I collapsed. I watched as seagulls circled around me like hawks and vultures would around a dead tractor. My eyelids were heavy as the sun beat down relentlessly from above. If I were to survive, I needed help. "This is Rush 36 to USS Dwight D. Flysenhower, come in… please," I radioed, my voice weak with the effort.
To my surprise, a thin, small voice responded, "I hear you but this is the Fighting Redcocks on the USS Midway not the Jolly Wrenches."
I sighed, "I'm in need of assistance… I've crashed on a patrol and am now on an island."
"Are you hurt in any way?"
"Yes," I coughed up seawater before continuing, "I've lost a wing."
The other end of the radio was silent for a minute. The voice came back a bit stronger, "We'll be there as soon as we can. The Jolly Wrenches have searched for survivors from that patrol. Only Riley 7 has been found and returned home in bad but repairable shape. Don't move until we find you, Midway out."
I felt hot tears run down my nose as I mourned for my squadron. I felt ashamed when I thought about Skipper. He was in pain and the rest of my squadron was dead because I had wanted to attack. I had been so wrapped up in victory that I hadn't thought first about what I was doing. I thought myself the worst Jolly Wrench there ever was. I wanted to die here like the rest of my squadron, drown in the sea so near my battered body. Even if my wing was replaceable I would never fly again. I would suffer for my entire squadron and I could never face Skipper again. As far as I was concerned Skipper would probably hate me for what I had done. I cried and cursed myself until I blacked out.
