Author's note: I used to watch this show when I was a little kid and the episode "Devil in the Slot" made enough of an impression that I remembered it for a long time after. So years and years later here I am trying to imagine what would have been going on in Jim Gutterman's mind while he was trying to get himself together again after being shot down. I hope you like it. Comments are appreciated.
The enormous Double Wasp engine cranked slowly for a few seconds, sputtered, then started with a roar that Jim Gutterman felt vibrating in his bones. Usually that sound gave him a brief, anticipatory sensation of butterflies in his stomach, but this time the anxiety (and small hangover) made him feel like he would puke if he didn't concentrate on something else. The sweat creeping down his back and ribcage wasn't just from the stifling tropical heat, and only by holding the control stick in a death grip was he able to keep his hands steady.
He'd had all night to think about what he was doing. Stealing the master fuse from his bird was the easy part. This right here was the hard part. He was grounded, everyone knew it, including Hutch, who thankfully hadn't given him much of an argument when he returned the missing part and told him what he was up to. The last thing he wanted to do that morning was slug the happy-go-lucky mechanic, but he would have if that's what it took. Pappy was right, he had been acting like a rabid animal lately, but hell, it's a wonder it wasn't worse.
What little sleep he'd gotten the night before was broken up and plagued by nightmares of burning aircraft, bullets, blood, and the ocean rushing up to meet him as he struggled unsuccessfully to free himself from his falling Corsair. He could recall in exquisitely horrible detail every crash he'd ever seen. And it wasn't just the visuals. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the screams of a doomed pilot he'd heard over the radio once when the poor bastard's bird was absolutely torn apart by a pair of Zeroes before it began the long drop to the Pacific trailing a bright orange flame and a thick streamer of smoke. Everyone who could watched for the bloom of a parachute but it never happened (the screaming pretty much told you it wasn't going to.) Maybe the pilot panicked or maybe the canopy was jammed or he could have been wounded and unable to move much, but either way the result was the same. And Jim didn't want to, but he couldn't help but think about how that guy was still down there at the bottom of the ocean right now and how close he came to joining him.
The engine's irregular rhythm smoothed out as it warmed up. Hutch signaled the all clear. Jim released his hold on on the control stick and reached for the throttle lever to ease it forward. His hand was still unsteady but maybe wasn't quite as shaky as before. Maybe, he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew for certain was that he had to do this. Never in his life had he been so scared. The thing was, he was afraid of a lot more than dying in a fiery crash. It was confusing and infuriating and he didn't know what to do, other than that he couldn't do nothing. His nerve had never, ever failed him before and he wasn't going to let it now. It was do or die.
The Corsair lumbered clumsily over the uneven surface of the taxiway before coming to a stop at the end of the runway, facing into the wind. The makeshift tower gave him the sign it was okay to go. His heart was pounding and the queasiness remained. Too bad. This was it. Last chance. He paused for a moment and then slammed the canopy closed, gave the instruments a quick going over and then rammed the throttle forward. The fighter that was so awkward on the ground tore down the runway gathering speed before breaking with the surface and rising smoothly into the cloudless sky. Vella La Cava quickly fell behind him as the aircraft cleared the hills at the end of the runway and headed out to sea.
The plan was to stay low. The blue paint should help camouflage him against the dark waters below until he could catch up with the rest of the Black Sheep. The urge to turn back was strong. Hutch, who would keep his mouth shut, wasn't the only one who witnessed his departure. If he went back alone, people would know and word would get around that he'd chickened out and that would be it. This perhaps above all the rest, was what he most feared. What if he couldn't fly in combat anymore? He'd either get sent to a desk job (and they would know exactly why he was there) or they'd just bounce him out, maybe with a medical discharge, maybe not, but either way, it wasn't anything you'd want to talk about. And people had a way of finding out things you wanted to keep quiet. He felt ill all over again at just imagining going home and being thought of as a coward or the rumors that he was a section 8 being spread all over town. Yeah, he'd rather be dead than endure that.
It wasn't just that, though. The rest of the Black Sheep were about as close a thing as he had to family. He didn't want to let them down. What would T.J. do without him as his wingman? He inwardly flinched at the memory of the night before last. He was going to have to make that right somehow. Of course T.J. should have known better. Jim was not the kind of guy to get all introspective and talk about his feelings. It had killed him a little on the inside to finally admit his fear out loud to Pappy but he had to explain himself when called out on his recent behavior. He sounded pretty pathetic to his own ears. His commanding officer was surprisingly understanding about it, and offered his opinion and advice. Jim squinted as he scanned the bright skies above him, on the lookout for the Black Sheep but also the Japanese, particularly that bastard Harachi. Pappy said that Harachi wasn't anything special, just a guy on a hot streak. Maybe so, but it was one hell of a hot streak.
Yeah, T.J. should have had more sense than that, but that didn't mean he had to haul off and bust him in the gut for it. Sure, he had more than a couple of drinks in him, but not that many. It was just a bad deal all around, but he'd find a way to fix it when he got his bigger problems worked out, provided he survived the morning of course. He'd also have to deal with Micklin. There was no way he could let that additional humiliation stand. He got his ass kicked good and proper but there would be a rematch. That, however, was pretty low on the list of priorities. He held up one hand and curled his lip in anger when it still twitched and shook.
He looked around, still watching for his squadron. They should be very close. He squinted as he looked toward the south and at the same time he saw the multiple specks against the pale blue, the radio came to life. They had engaged the enemy, Harachi among them. There was no way to know who was who until he got nearer and could make out the differences in the opposing aircraft. There was the usual chatter of people calling out locations of the zeroes. And then:
"I got one in front of me," said T.J. "It's Harachi!"
Oh shit, man, get out of there! Jim thought. Regular guy or not, just when you thought you had him, that devil Harachi had a way of turning it on you. It looked like he might not get the chance to patch things up with his wingman after all. The next thing he heard was so improbable that he thought the radio must have a problem.
"I think I just got him!" T.J. yelled, surprised as well as triumphant. "I did!"
There was indeed a smoking Zero descending toward the Pacific.
The congratulations from everyone confirmed that the radio was fine.
Well how about that? Jim was close now and couldn't watch the plane go all the way down checking for a parachute, he had bigger issues. A steady calm fell over him as he saw the enemy fighters beginning to turn tail. No, boys, you ain't getting off that easy. Tense muscles relaxed and he maneuvered the aircraft without a thought. He banked the Corsair sharply and caught one of them broadside with his guns and hardly spared a glance as it exploded into flame. It was as if his vision were sharper and colors were brighter and he was seeing this for the first time. In the chaos he came in behind another one not far above the ocean and downed it as well. By then the other Black Sheep had joined the chase and eliminated an additional four Zeroes.
Once things settled down and they were on their way home, Jim removed his goggles and scrubbed a gloved hand over his sweaty face, a hand that was completely rock-steady.