Leaving Rabaul I headed northwest towards Guam. Guam is the southernmost of the Marianas. The Marianas campaign was the last tipping point in the war. Oh, there were battles after that, but the Japanese navy had its guts ripped out in the Marianas, the battle that was later called the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot because the American pilots were downing Japanese planes like it was an arcade game. As I flew north, I knew I could be flying over the same places that these battles raged. Maybe a Corsair had lined up behind a Zero right in this same place.
Actually called the Battle of the Philippines Sea, the Marianas Turkey Shoot was one of the largest naval battles of all time. Japan attacked with 6 fleet carriers and 3 light carriers against an American force of 15 carriers. The Japanese also used land based aircraft on several of the Marianas to supplement their attack force. The battle devastated the Japanese air fleet. Wave after wave of Japanese planes were decimated by the more advanced American aircraft and better trained American pilots. As an example, the second Japanese attack wave lost 97 of 107 planes. During that crucial first day of the battle, Japan lost 429 planes to the Americans 29. By the end of the second day, the battle was over, the Japanese fleet only had 35 operational aircraft left. The Japanese Pacific Fleet was in effect defeated. The Japanese also lost three carriers and six other ships heavily damaged. The Americans lost no ships.
It wasn’t just the greater number of planes that did it for the Americans, Americans had 956 operational planes to the Japanese 750; it was the advances, like the Corsair and the new F6F Hellcat. Japan hadn’t bothered to update their aircraft and fleet. The Japanese High Command entered the war sure that they would win in six months. They didn’t want to listen to Yamamoto. They planned as if they would win in six months. There was no need to worry about updating aircraft as the war progressed; it was going to be over before that. And they had no plans to replace pilots with well trained pilots. When they started losing pilots they had to rush poorly trained replacements into battle. Unfortunately for the Japanese High Command, the Americans didn’t quit. It is dangerous when leaders won’t listen to opinions different than their own. It is especially dangerous when a country is going to war. Ask George W about thinking you know you’ll win the war in six months and the enemy doesn’t cooperate. Of course, anyone with an IQ above room temperature, which apparently doesn't apply to W and his advisors, knew Iraq and Afghanistan would be a nightmare.
I was about 90 miles out from Guam when I noticed I was losing altitude. I was wearing Bose noise canceling headphones. I pulled one away and immediately realized I wasn’t hearing the engine anymore. That was not a good thing. The prop was turning and the gauges were indicating correctly, except that the pressure was down. I thought quickly and remembered under emergency procedures in the flight manual that the engine could quit and this is what happens. I opened the cockpit and still didn’t hear combustion. Shit. The prop was wind milling, not providing thrust. The engine had well and truly quit. Luckily, it hadn’t frozen. A frozen engine had one outcome, a crash.
How much altitude did I have? 7,000 feet. That gave me a few minutes anyway. I started to feel the panic. Okay, take a deep breath, another, and another. You have a raft and an emergency beacon. The flight manual even said the gull wings make water landing easy, they act like skis and allow the plane to glide to a soft landing. You aren’t going to die. Relax. It helped a little. The panic was pushed back, not gone, but pushed back. I looked down at that deep blue ocean and wondered if there was going to be another Corsair joining all of the others on the bottom.
What did the manual say? Air in the fuel lines could cause this. I grabbed the manual and opened it to emergency procedures. Okay, air in the lines can cause this. Switch auxiliary fuel pump “On.” Okay. Throttle aft to 20 inches. Done. Fuel selector to “Reserve.” Done. Mixture to “Emergency rich.” Done. Leave auxiliary fuel pump “On” and tank in “Reserve” as “it takes some time to work air out of fuel lines.” God, I hoped the manual was right.
I stared at the prop and watched the gauges praying silently, ‘Please catch. Please catch…’ Altitude was 4,000 feet when I heard a cough, then the plane shuddered and the prop rpms ran down then up before settling out. I gradually increased the throttle until the indicated airspeed started to increase. I pulled back on the stick and started climbing.
Relief flooded me, and my head fell back against the seat as my eyes closed. The engine coughed bringing my head upright. ‘Keep turning, keep burning,’ I prayed. The rpms settled a little then ran back up. I dialed Agana Control on the radio. “Agana Control, this is Corsair Lima Tango 4727 inbound declaring an emergency.”
“This is Agana Control. State nature of emergency.”
“Agana Control, my engine quit. I’ve managed to restart but it is running ragged.”
“State position.”
“Eighty miles southeast. Eight Zero miles southeast.”
“Roger. Coast Guard rescue has been notified. Please squawk 7700.”
“7700.” I set the transponder.
“Corsair Lima Tango, we have you on radar. Estimate arrival in 21 minutes. How is the engine?”
“Running rough, but the rpms are staying up,” I said. I was back up to 7,500 feet and cruising along. There was an occasional blast as one cylinder would misfire. I thanked God that this plane had been designed to fly beat up and just keep running.
At 20 miles out, Agana steered me onto the proper vector heading and I started a descent. I stayed on the high end of the glide slope, worried that the engine would quit again. I held off lowering flaps and extending the gear until I was less than a mile out. I could see an emergency vehicle waiting half way down the taxiway. That didn’t exactly bolster my confidence. Gear down, flaps at 30 degrees. The plane settled, the engine coughed a few more times, but kept running. On final, the runway threshold flashed past as the plane settled, and I was down. The damn thing could quit now. I slowed and turned off the runway. I asked for directions to the GA area. One of the vehicles followed me. I had just turned into the parking area when the engine backfired, black smoke poured out and the damn thing quit.
The emergency vehicle came up. The fellow shouted, “Is it okay?”
I had unstrapped and got out on the wing. “Yeah. Can you help me push this thing?”
They looked at each other, then got out. The three of us were able to push it the final yards to a parking stall. “Thanks. God Damn I’m glad this didn’t quit 10 minutes ago.” They nodded as they climbed back into their truck and took off.
I was unloading when an older man came up with two young guys dressed in work clothes. He eyed the Corsair, then me. He asked me about the plane and why I was in Guam. Then he asked how long since my last overhaul and check. When I told him he looked disgusted. He started giving me a lecture. Since I didn’t know who the hell he was, I was getting a little pissed. I wasn’t exactly in a good mood since I had almost gone for a swim. One of the young guys stepped in and said, “Maybe I should introduce you, this is Mr. Robert Legaspi. He is in charge of the maintenance for the airport. He has worked on planes since WW two.”
“Oh”
Well, before I knew it, he had access panels off of the engine and was draining the oil all the while lecturing the two young guys. He patted the cowling and smiled. One young guy said, “He tells us this was the best plane of the war.”
He deigned to look at me, “So what happen?”
“The engine quit,” I said exasperated.
“This good plane. Engine don’t just quit,” he said.
“Hell if it doesn’t. One minute I’m flying along, next think I notice, the prop is wind milling and there’s no power. I engaged the auxiliary fuel pump and thank God the thing started,” I finally ran down.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, air in fuel lines. I seen that before.” He looked at the plane. “Maybe sucked some in from the drop tanks. Don’t happen often, but it happen.” He yelled at the two guys working and they shouted something back. “Aiy, I got to do everything,” as he strode over to the plane. He pointed and talked for several minutes as the guys were pulling tubes loose. He turned to me, “I have them do check on all lines. Might be a leak somewhere you get the air in the lines. Take till tomorrow at least.”
I felt a sense of relief that I didn’t even know I needed. I realized that I had been wondering how the hell I was going to get off this island with an uncertain plane, when I now had the answer, this guy could fix it. “Thank you,” I said with all sincerity.
“Good for these guys to work on real plane. I used to work on these and the B-29s,” he said.
“B-29s?”
“Yeah, yeah. I went up to Tinian. When Army find out I know planes they took me up there. Good wages for those days. I support whole family. Didn’t see a whole lot of fighters, usually ones with battle damage that we try to repair. I got to ride one of the B-29s.”
“A check ride?”
“No,” he said smiling. “We go up to Kure. A night raid.”
“Jesus,” I said quietly.
He shook his head. “We’ll have it fixed. No doubt.”
“Thank you Mr. Legaspi.”
He waved and turned back to the plane. His head was buried in the engine and he was telling the guys what to do.
I checked into the airport hotel and had dinner in the bar, as I relieved the stress of almost driving the plane into the water with some tropical concoction the bartender suggested, several in fact.
I got a call that night from Legaspi. He told me that since it was almost a 1,000 hours since the last major overhaul and since he wasn’t sure if there was any damage caused by the incident, he was going to have his guys take the engine apart. It would be at least two days.
I had a sleepless night. The next morning, other than a slight hangover from the too sweet drinks, everything looked a lot brighter. There isn’t a whole lot to do in Guam for tourists, unless you like lounging in the sun, shopping, golfing, and eyeing young women in bikinis. I managed to keep myself busy for two days. Late on the third day, Mr. Legaspi called me and said my baby was ready.
The next morning, I went out to the airport early. She looked fine. As I walked out to the plane I saw the short frame and grey hair of Mr. Legaspi walking out of the office.
“Hi,” I shouted. He waved. As he got close I pointed to the Corsair, “Is it okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Plane fine. I think maybe you got some bad gas. Where you come from?”
“Tokua,” I said.
“Damn islanders,” he said shaking his head. Yeah, you probably got some bad gas. Cause vapor in the lines if the gas not right. I had the guys drain the whole fuel system. Took apart the cylinders but no damage. I replaced one magneto. Everything else look okay. She fly like crazy for you. Cost you for fill up though. Have to top up whole system.”
“Bad Gas?” I asked.
“Oh she’s fine. This beast made for combat. Some bad gas don’t gonna kill her,” he said laughing. “I saw one plane, man, half the engine shot up, whole cylinders blown off and he still make it back. Tough bird.”
He handed me the bill. I was afraid to open it. When I did I couldn’t believe it. 600 gallons of fuel, 6 quarts of oil and 16 hours of work. One magneto. Not a chance they did all that in sixteen hours. “Mr. Legaspi, I think something’s wrong with the bill.” Hell, the gas alone was $2,100 for a full load. He had charged me just $5,800.
“What? Too much?” he asked.
“No, I think too little,” I said.
He laughed. “I no can change full time for those guys. They learning on the job on this plane. Good experience for them to work on this. You pay and we be fine.”
Basically, I just had an annual service for the half the cost. That made me feel a lot better about the rest of the flight since a lot of it would be over the ocean. I didn’t want another experience like I had just had. Mr. Legaspi was my hero.
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