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Chapter 1
Papua New Guinea - Autumn 1943
From 18,000 feet, the mountainous New Guinea jungle lacked distinguishing traits. It was primarily a homogenous mix of shades of green, slanted at different angles. Occasionally a rocky outcropping appeared, a jagged scar on the irregular landscape below. On a larger scale it might have been just another random slash of color woven into the primeval quilt. To Lieutenant Timothy Deetim, the wilderness scene had all the familiarity of his own yard back in Virginia, even though he had never been here before. This seeming contradiction was easy to understand - everywhere looked the same in this part of the world. The formation of aircraft, referred to as "Red Flight," consisted of four Lockheed P-38 Lightnings. For the past two hours they had flown a long oval course, inland and parallel to New Guinea's northern shoreline. It was a standard Combat Air Patrol, the goal being to intercept Japanese intruders coming from any of a dozen islands to the north. The work was slow. Nothing had been sighted, and they had received no radar vectors to intercept anything. At least the cool temperatures aloft made being there seem worthwhile to the four American pilots. The drab twin-engine fighters droned on in frustration. Not a single enemy aircraft had been spotted in over a week. Cramped in the tiny cockpits, flying for hours over monotonous jungles, the pilots were dulled by boredom. It was pure coincidence that Lt. Deetim, known as "Tweedle" to the other pilots, spotted a glint at his eleven o'clock low position. Flying in the number four slot, he wagged his wings trying to get the attention of his element leader. No good. Red 3 didn't see his signal. The airman struggled to identify what had caught his attention, but now there was nothing but the carpet formed by millions of trees. Wait . . . There! There it was again. It was difficult to make out against the green |
jungle background. But it was an aircraft, headed inland toward the southwest. And it was not supposed to be there. Deetim keyed his mic and spoke into his oxygen mask. "Red 4 has a bogey. 10 o'clock low, two miles. Heading two-two-five." Immediately the other three fighters tipped their wings to the left looking for the trespassing airplane. No one spoke on the radio, but Deetim knew they were straining to pick out the low-flying intruder. Hand signals flashed back and forth between the pilots with the message that no one else could see it. Tweedle Deetim’s eyes continued to follow the moving shape. His flight leader broke the silence. "Red 4, take the lead and intercept. Red Leader will cover high. Over." That was Deetim’s call to action. He dropped the nose of his P-38, diving in a shallow turn toward the trailing air behind the bogey. Red 3 followed Deetim, a hundred yards back. Red Leader and Red 2 remained above. In seconds the two fighters had passed through 12,000 feet and the peaks of several mountains rose up above the horizon. Both men, boys really, had the bogey in sight. It was a Mitsubishi medium bomber, known to the Allies as a Betty. They were gaining on it quickly and Deetim maneuvered to get the bomber lined up in his gunsight. Just a few more seconds and he would be close enough to press the trigger with his thumb. The rear gunner in the Betty acted first and a stream of tracers arced out toward the American attackers. At the same instant, Deetim heard a transmission on his radio. "Red Flight. We've got bandits at six o'clock high!" called out Red flight leader from above.
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