Once They Were Eagles (16 page)

Spreading out, we searched the surrounding area. We found a wheel here, a bit of stabilizer there, parts of the wings, the fuselage. We found the plate that definitely identified the plane.

And then we found Alex.

The violence of the crash had torn the seat loose from the rest of the plane, and we found Alex's bones beside it. There was a rusty knife one of the boys had given him a few days before his last flight … his crushed canteen with his initials scratched on it … a few metal buttons.

With our machetes we scooped a shallow grave, laid his bones in it, and covered them up. Then we carried some clean white rocks up from the beach and put them around the grave. Searching about, we found a blade from his propeller, painted his name on it, and erected it at the head of his grave. We were undecided which end to make the head until Boyington said: “Let's have him looking toward Japan so he can follow our advance all the way to Tokyo.”

No formal prayers were said, but Boyington lined us up on either side of the grave and called us to attention. Then he whipped his hand up in a salute, and we all followed.

“So long, Alex,” he said.

We felt that Alex would rest more easily now that friendly hands had put him to bed. And there Alex sleeps today, I hope, his grave grown over now. Blanketed by the vines and creepers, orchids and other tropical flowers, he sleeps quietly through the warm Solomons days and nights in a spot where no white man had ever been before him.

And where no other might ever go again.

 

The boys were more anxious than ever to get into some aerial combat. We all wondered why we weren't hitting Rabaul, which was now within fighter range. Rabaul's five airdromes were loaded with enemy planes, but they were staying in their own back yard. We asked why our planes couldn't go, but no one seemed to know the answer, and almost everyone was content to wait for orders. Not Boyington.

In typical fashion, he climbed into a plane one morning and flew down to Air Command Headquarters at Munda to find out. It was 12 December, eight days after his birthday. He was 31 years old, and knew he wouldn't be allowed to stay in fighter planes much longer. Very few fighter pilots live that long—if they keep on fighting.

The boys in the squadron averaged some seven years younger than Boyington; because of this and the wide difference in combat experience, they had begun to call him Pappy shortly after the beginning of our first tour. Now Bragdon began to call him “Gramps.”

Knowing that he would never be permitted to make another combat tour, Boyington realized that it was now or never if he hoped to break the 26-plane record held jointly by Eddie Rickenbacker and Joe Foss.

At Munda, he found out why the Black Sheep couldn't get a crack at Rabaul. Some months before, Admiral Halsey and General MacArthur had agreed on a geographical line to separate their areas of responsibility. The line ran west of Bougainville and then curved as it went north so that Rabaul was in MacArthur's territory.

Boyington suggested that the line be revised, or that a dispatch be sent to MacArthur requesting permission for our forces to attack Rabaul. Four days later, all squadron commanders were ordered to Munda for a meeting. Late in the afternoon, Boyington jumped off the truck and strode into my office tent with a spring to his step and a grin on his face.

“Here we go, boys,” he said, as he put a sheaf of papers on my desk.

“What's up, Gramps?” asked Bragdon, who had been playing bridge with Brubaker, Olander, and Doc Reames.

“We're going to Rabaul tomorrow,” Boyington answered.

Everyone shouted and then began to throw questions at him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, and turned to me. “You've got a big job.
Eighty planes are going up in the first fighter sweep over Rabaul tomorrow, and you're to brief all the pilots tonight in the mess hall after chow. I brought you the latest photos of the area. You don't have much time to get your material together, but I told them you could do it.”

“I'll get right at it now, if all you guys will go in the ready room and give me a chance to think.”

They went out chattering, and I went to work. I got out my maps, the photos of the area, the latest intelligence reports, studies of the Bismarck Archipelago, survival information, weather and current data, the operations plan that Boyington had brought, and the landing instructions for our airstrip on Bougainville. It was nearly eight o'clock before I bundled up everything, climbed into a small truck that was standing by, and went up the hill to the mess hall.

The room was full. The long tables had been cleared, and the pilots were sprawled about them, not doing a great deal of talking. This was another night before the big game.

I passed out strip maps to all—small maps showing the compass headings the pilots were to take to the target and back. All pilots also got maps of Rabaul Harbor and the surrounding area, while all division leaders were given eight-inch-square target maps that showed the location of the airdromes in the Rabaul area.

“Your mission is a fighter sweep over Rabaul,” I told them (see Appendix E for complete briefing notes). “Eighty planes will participate in the sweep: 24 New Zealand P-40s, 24 Navy Hellcats, and 32 Marine Corsairs.

“Major Boyington will be Tactical Commander.

“The 32 Marine planes will fly top cover, with VMF-222 at 26,000 feet; 223 at 23,000; 214 at 20,000, and 216 at 20 to 25,000. The 24 Hellcats will fly at 15,000 to 20,000 feet; the 24 New Zealand planes will spread between 10,000 and 15,000.

“Takeoff from here begins at 0445 tomorrow.

“All planes will pancake at Bougainville for topping off gas tanks. All turns are to be made over the water and not inland.

“At 0830, the first plane will take off from Bougainville for the strike. The last plane will be off by 0900.

“You are scheduled to be over Rabaul at 1020. At this time, an Army photo plane will be over the area at 35,000, making a photo run.

“You will leave the Rabaul area at 1045; planes low on gas will refuel at Bougainville; others return here or to Ondonga.

“Your rally point is Cape St. George, the southernmost tip of New Ireland.

“Latest intelligence shows 160 aircraft on the five fields around Rabaul; 91 of them are fighters—Zekes, Hamps, Tonys, and Tojos. Zekes and Hamps are, of course, the round- and square-wing-tipped Zeros with which you're familiar. Tony is an in-line fighter that resembles a P-40. It's faster, and more heavily armed and armored than the Zeros but not as maneuverable. Tojo is a new fighter plane about which little is known except that it's very fast, very maneuverable. It's a short, stubby, easily recognized aircraft.