The bomber’s machine guns were still firing, by fits and starts, but only two engines were still functioning. The other Fortresses were nowhere in sight. Two Zero fighters were coming head-on into Sergeant Hale’s fire....
These impressions took barely three seconds for Barry to absorb. He gripped the wheel hard, setting his teeth against the pain in his head.
“Thanks, Curly,” he gritted. “You tend to the Old Man.... With two good engines even a dumb co-pilot ought to get Sweet Rosy O’Grady home okay.”
“Good man!” Curly exclaimed, as he turned to the captain. “I’ll fix up your scalp wound later. Just fly southwest until I get a chance to figure our exact position.”
One of the Zeros that had been heading for Rosy’s nose was now falling, with a trail of black smoke. The other had swooped past. Barry heard one of the side guns firing, then a burst from the belly turret.
“Got him!” came Cracker Jackson’s grunt in the radiophones.
Barry eased back on the wheel and found that his crippled Fortress could still gain a little altitude. Cold air still poured in from the open bomb doors; a chunk of flak must have damaged the jacks that raised them. Barry began calling the turrets one by one to learn of any further damage.
Aside from a shell hole through the rudder and countless bullet holes, there was none worth mentioning. Best of all, the sky seemed to be clear of enemy fighters.
The pain in Barry’s head was easier. His brain functioned more clearly with each minute that passed. From the crew’s reports he made a rough calculation of the Jap planes shot down.
About thirty fighters had attacked the bomber formation as they approached Rabaul. Thirteen Zeros had been shot down at the cost of one Fortress. The eleven remaining bombers had laid their eggs with perfect accuracy on the docks and ships, and flown on. The Zeros, already decimated, had hung around just out of range. When Rosy fell behind, with one engine damaged by antiaircraft fire, the Japs had jumped on her like wolves.