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  Blowing the steam off his coffee, Jake took a few steps to a free-standing blackboard when a jeep pulled up to a squeaky halt.

  The courier yelled out, “Hey, Jake. Captain wants to see ya! On the double.”

  “Well, what’s the captain got against me?” Jake mumbled as he looked back at the eyes that all turned to him.

  Bill couldn’t resist and spoke with his South Carolina drawl, “Oooo. Sounds like the raccoon got caught sneaking in late again.”

  “Damn!” Jake took a last puff off his cigarette and threw the butt into his coffee.

  “Kitchen patrol, here you come,” Bill chided.

  Jake, the shortest guy on the base, looked up at Bill, snorted the smoke out of his nostrils, handed him his coffee mug, and hopped into the jeep.

  As Jake entered the office, he was surprised to see twenty-four other enlisted men lined up against the wall. He tried to discreetly take his place at the end, being the last one in the room. The captain wasn’t upset, but he was all business and spoke tersely as he paced.

  “I’ve assembled you men because we’re putting together a dangerous mission and we need some volunteers. Some of you fellas are gonna get killed.” He studied their faces as he paused, searching for the scent of fear.

  One of the men spoke up. “Uh, captain, sir, can we know some of the details?”

  “Negative. Even if you volunteer you won’t know until after you’re on your way. Simply put, the mission is dead serious and will be extremely hazardous.” He slowly looked across their attentive faces. “Now, how many of you want to sign up?”

  Jake felt himself just as patriotic as the rest and equally mad at the Japanese and Germans as the next guy, but he didn’t think there was any use volunteering for that job. Some of you fellas are going to get killed. No thanks. He had no desire to get in on anything like that.

  The captain started at the far end opposite Jake and walked up to the first soldier. “Will you go?”

  He quickly nodded. “Yes, sir. Yeah, I’ll go.”

  He went to the next. “Soldier, will you?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll go.”

  Jake knew that sooner or later, one or two would bow out and that would be his cue to do likewise. He wasn’t going. He had to stop himself from shaking his head “no” before someone noticed.

  After twenty-four “yes” answers, the captain stepped in front of Jake. “And will you go, soldier?”

  “Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir.” He couldn’t believe he was hearing the words come out of his own mouth. He realized he was going to wherever they were going, doing whatever they were going to do, and might never be coming back. Great.

  Chapter 35

  March 3, 1942. The southern coast of Java.10

  Fuchida’s group of 180 aircraft headed toward the port city of Tjilatjap.11 The objective of the battle was to capture the harbor, preventing the Allied forces from retreating to Australia by sea. He scanned the anchorage for his targets, but there were few left.

  Only a few days earlier the Japanese had landed 35,000 troops at three separate points on the northern side of the island quickly overwhelming the poorly organized troops of the Dutch, British, Australians, and Americans. The Japanese navy had sunk four Allied ships with no losses of their own.

  Fuchida knew the importance of securing the prize of Java, as the island was the fourth largest exporter of oil in the world. Without this island firmly under their control, along with its precious life-blood of petroleum, Japan could never survive.

  He was constantly surprised by the lopsided odds in their favor. Nothing could be easier. Using the bombing techniques he had honed for years, he positioned his group of three planes and set his bombsight on a freighter. The bombardiers of the other two planes fixed their eyes on Fuchida’s plane to release the moment he did. He let loose his payload onto the doomed ship below. “Release – perfect!”

  As the plane passed the target he looked back in time to see the ship impacted by a horrific blast that shook his plane – a pleasurable sign of success. No doubt, they’d have all the oil they’d ever need.

  Chapter 36

  March, 1942. Elgin Air Base, Florida.

  Jake’s B-25 thundered over a riverbed at 165 miles an hour, so low, off to the side he was looking straight into the mud dried banks whizzing past. As bombardier, Jake was right up front in the nose, composed of twenty-five panels of Plexiglas, which gave him a breathtaking view of the ground speeding below his feet. He gripped the inside struts of the airframe with exhilaration.

  Bill yelled out over the intercom, “Woohah! Let’s give these critters a buzz!” He pulled the plane up and veered over a herd of scattering cattle. Their training required low-level flying and the crew couldn’t get enough of it – one time even hooking a piece of sagebrush on the fuselage, dragging it in the wind all the way back to the base.

  Bill pulled the plane into a high banked turn. “Let’s bring ‘er on home, boys. That’s enough for today.”

  Peering over the landscape with wide eyes, Jake was like a kid on a rollercoaster.

  In the base meeting room, Jake sat among a sea of 160 khaki shirts and black ties, all captivated by Jimmy Doolittle, a reactivated officer who was briefing them on what was being called the “Special B-25 Project.”

  “I know it’s low for a bombing run, but you’ll have better accuracy on your targets at fifteen hundred feet and you’ll be less likely to be hit by antiaircraft fire. No need to practice at any other height,” Doolittle said.

  At a stocky five feet, four inches, Jimmy Doolittle wasn’t an imposing man to Jake, but he towered above all in specialty aviation. With a reputation for daredevil flying stunts and a doctoral degree in aeronautic engineering from MIT, he was a strange mix of renegade and scholar – perfect for this mission. Jake noticed Jimmy’s slightly irregular nose, a bit bent from his boxing days and perhaps a plane crash or two.

  Doolittle pointed to someone beside Jake with a raised hand. “Yes?”

  George Barr, the red-haired navigator on Jake’s crew dropped lowered his hand. He had a wide, thin mustache and a heavy Brooklyn accent. “Hey, boss, I understand you can’t tell us where we’re going, but we all know with these extra fuel tanks and all, well, it’s gonna be over the river and through the woods, so to speak. And, honestly sir, I ... I just don’t know if these planes are up to it.”

  Another airman jumped in. “Colonel, our carburetors are all out of whack.”

  “And the exhaust pipes are breaking right off!” from another.

  Jake turned toward the gum chewing Harry Spatz, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed gunner from Kansas on his plane who spoke with exasperation. “After five rounds my machine gun jams. Every time. I might as well be throwing rocks.”

  “Mine, too,” another said.

  “And our extra fuel tank leaks like a sieve.”

  As the room turned into a chorus of complaints, Jimmy motioned with his hands for quiet. “All right, all right. Pipe down. The planes are brand new and untested. I can assure you, we’re working on all these things. Remember, I’m flying one of these birds just like you. We’ve got two weeks left, and ...”

  “You gotta be kidding,” someone muttered.

  “... and I’m going to see to it that we get ‘em all worked out. Now listen, you boys know that not a word of this mission is to be spoken to anyone. Not your wife, not your friends, or even your dog. Doing so could jeopardize the mission, many lives, and even get the FBI on your backs as well. I’ve said it before, but I need to say it again: If anyone wants to drop out, he can. No questions asked.”

  Jake never wanted to be on this mission in the first place, but now, with the anticipation and excitement of the unknown, the whole idea pulled him in. He smiled. This was going to be something else.

  Madras, Oregon.

  A red 1933 Ford pickup pulled up to the front porch of the ranch house in a cloud of dust illuminated by the afternoon sun. Mrs. Andrus, cradling a black and white cat in
her arms, walked onto the porch letting the screen door smack against the frame behind her.

  Shutting the truck door, Mr. Andrus stepped around the Ford and handed her a rather beaten up package and a few letters.

  She looked puzzled. “I sent these over two weeks ago to Jake. Why’d they come back?”

  Mr. Andrus took off his faded, greasy John Deere cap and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

  Still holding the cat, she slowly read aloud the hand written red lettering on the top of the box. “‘Location classified. Return to sender.’ He must have been transferred.” She gave the box a shake to hear a muffled rattle inside and looked down at the cat with a grin. “Well, I suppose his brother won’t mind eating Jake’s cookies, then.”

  Chapter 37

  April 1, 1942. San Francisco Harbor. The carrier USS Hornet.

  Bat Out of Hell, Jake’s B-25, hung high above the docks, suspended mid-air as it was carefully swung onto the aircraft carrier USS Hornet by a crane. Standing on the dock below, Jake and the crew all shielded their eyes from the brilliant sun as they watched.

  The dock reverberated with trucks unloading supplies, officers barking orders, and the ship’s complement of nearly 3,000 sailors preparing to set out. A steam whistle from a harbor ship echoed in the distance.

  George, their navigator from New York, squinted with one eye shut. “You know, I don’t remember the part about landing on an aircraft carrier. Any of you boys remember that part?”

  Jake said, “You can forget about those round trip tickets,” still looking up as their plane moved toward the carrier. “This is gonna be a one-way trip.”

  Their co-pilot from Texas, Bob Hite, spoke with a cigarette pinched in his teeth. “Yeah, but where to? I don’t get it.”

  Harry, the gunner, chomped his gum with his mouth wide open. “Some say we’re taking the long road to Germany.”

  Bill, the pilot and leader of the pack, took off his hat and scratched his head and spoke with his refined twang, “Well, whatever it is, we’re gonna be r-i-i-i-ght in the middle of it.”

  Jake turned out of the glaring sun toward Bill. “You said you got a girl waitin’ for ya?”

  Without looking, Bill nodded. “Lib Sims. A fine lady. We’re gettin’ married as soon as we’re all back home from this thing. I told her June – just two months away.”

  Harry looked at his buddies. “Ah, today’s April Fool’s Day. You don’t suppose ... ?”

  George shook his red-haired head. “The most expensive prank in American history? Uncle Sam’s too cheap for that.”

  “You know,” Bill said, “I had guys waving hundred dollar bills at me to take my place a couple days ago.”

  “And ... ?” Jake said.

  Bill turned to Jake and grabbed his shoulder. “I told him, ‘Not a chance, pal. I wouldn’t miss this for a million bucks.’”

  The following foggy morning, as USS Hornet slid beneath the Golden Gate Bridge escorted by two cruisers, four destroyers, and an oiler, Jake looked off the back of the carrier. He stood on the deck beside his plane in the #16 position and eyed the tail hanging over the churning foam below – the last plane in the back.

  He gazed high above at the underside of the impressive, brand new, red bridge, nearly two miles wide, both ends fading into the gray mist, then reached out and pulled on one of the tie downs on his plane and slid his hand over the engine cowling. The planes were covered with black tarps to protect them from the highly-corrosive salty air.

  Examining the nose art of Bat Out of Hell, Jake wondered, really, what the hell he had gotten himself into – an adventure or a death wish? His pilot had never launched from a carrier before. They’d been practicing short take-offs for a while, but not knowing why. Now he knew, but no one had ever even tried to launch a B-25 from a carrier before, and his plane would be fully loaded with fuel and extra fuel, not to mention four 500-pound bombs.

  Jake checked a bug spot on his Plexiglas windshield, spit on it, and rubbed it off with his thumbnail. His mom back home didn’t have any idea where he was and she wouldn’t know until the mission was complete, or he was dead. Maybe she’d never know.

  Shoulder to shoulder in a noisy, packed galley for lunch, Jake jabbed his fork into a piece of chicken, then dabbed it into the potatoes and gravy. With his mouth open, just as he was about to take the bite, he was interrupted by a crackle in the P.A. system.

  “Attention all crew members of USS Hornet.” The room quickly fell silent. Jake felt like his heart stopped beating. “Captain Mitscher would like to inform you that this task force is bound ... for Tokyo.”

  The room erupted into deafening cheers and shouts. Harry the gunner looked at Jake, “Holy mackerel, Andy! Tokyo!”

  Jake grabbed his glass of milk and held it out for a toast, “Here’s to payback, American style!” His four other crew members grabbed their glasses, clinked them together, and drank down their milk as shouts of men blended into a repeating chant: “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to Tokyo, we’ll bomb and blast and come back fast, hi ho, hi ho hi ho hi ho ... !” Jake jumped up and pounded his chest with his fists. “Tokyo! We’re comin’ to get you!” Perhaps for the first time in his life Jake knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going.

  Lt. Jimmy Doolittle stood before the fliers in the dimly lit briefing room, an eight-foot wide map of Japan behind him marked with flight routes to several cities, as an officer passed out manila envelopes to crew members.

  Jake noticed a real hornet’s nest on branch behind Doolittle, a reminder of the pain they’d soon inflict on their enemy.

  The officer held up an envelope marked “Classified” and called out, “Farrow? Lieutenant William Farrow?” Bill raised his hand and reached out and to get his flight instructions.

  Doolittle continued, waving some papers as he spoke. “Thirteen crews are assigned to attack the greater Tokyo area, two will hit Nagoya, and one’ll hit Kobe. Your flight plans have it all spelled out.”

  Jake leaned into Bill beside him who riffled through his papers and whispered back, “Nagoya.”

  Jake nodded and leaned to George the navigator on his other side. “Nagoya.”

  Doolittle looked to his right at a Japanese American officer, “Lieutenant Commander Jurika, here is our intelligence officer who spent the last two years in Japan locating and pinpointing industries, refineries, aircraft plants and other military objectives. He’ll brief you on your particular targets, including areas of antiaircraft installments to avoid.” He tossed the papers onto a small table to the side.

  “Soon we’ll be joined by Halsey’s task force with the carrier Enterprise for air protection while we’re en route. As we head into Japanese waters we’ll be on alert. We could be hit at any time by enemy subs. If an enemy carrier sends aircraft against us, we’ll have to shove all the B-25s overboard to put our fighters in the air to protect the ships.”

  Jake turned to Bill and raised his eyebrows thinking that it’d be a shame coming all that way for nothing.

  Doolittle pointed back to the huge map and raised his voice. “The Japs have been telling their people that they’re safe, that we can’t hit ‘em.” He smirked, dropping his hand. “As some of you may have heard, a radio report in English was picked up from Tokyo the other day stating, and I quote, ‘that it’s absolutely impossible for enemy bombers to get within five hundred miles of Tokyo.’” Chuckles rippled through the ranks. “Our job is to let ‘em know that we can. The Japanese are a proud people, and more than bringing down their cities, we want to bring down their pride.”

  He began rapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “Look for targets of opportunity to inflict the maximum damage with your bomb load – manufacturing plants, fuel depots – anything that looks like it’ll burn. If we can get a few fires going in their cities of paper and wood, they’ll never put ‘em out. The low-level training we did was to keep you under their air cover and for better accuracy, but they’ll still be firing at you from the gro
und and there’ll be interceptors after us for sure. After the attacks, you’ll fly to designated airfields in China where they’ll be ready to recover your aircraft.”

  With his hands on his hips, Doolittle spoke like a father to his sons. “I want every crew to get this clear – you’re to bomb only military targets. I don’t want any of you hot shots getting ideas about bombing the Imperial Palace. It’s not worth a plane factory, a shipyard, or an oil refinery, so leave it alone. There’s nothing that would unite their nation more than bombing the Emperor’s home. It’s not a military target. Got it?”

  Jake’s heart pounded. This was going to be something!

  Chapter 38

  Early April, 1942. The open sea, east of Singapore.

  Cigar smoke filled the air of Nagumo’s brass-appointed personal quarters as Fuchida paced before his desk. So much success, he thought, can breed a false sense of confidence. Nagumo listened to him, but he wasn’t sure he actually heard him.

  The admiral leaned back in his desk chair, rolled the cigar between his fingers, took a slow, confident puff, and blew the smoke to the side. “We’ve just sunk two destroyers, two cruisers, and the British carrier Hermes,” Nagumo recounted, “all by air power, and we haven’t lost a single ship or even suffered a scratch of paint on any ships. How can you possibly complain?” He drew in another puff of his cigar.

  Nagumo’s muscular strike force of five carriers, four battleships and twenty-five other vessels traversed the sea heading northeast on their way back to Japan. Their mission to cut off British supplies to Burma and to seek out and destroy British fleet units in the Indian Ocean was yet another distinguished success.

  Like Nagumo, Fuchida was equally amazed at how quickly they had annihilated the British, their former partner who had ruled the seas for centuries, and even felt a measure of sadness at their demise, but he couldn’t shake his uneasiness.