Twice more the flying fort swept back over the same course. Shells from the Jap ships missed her narrowly. Some of the bursting antiaircraft fragments struck her fuselage and rudder. But the Jap landing force was practically wiped out.
Sinking barges drifted aimlessly, filled with dead men. Some of the soldiers jumped overboard, only to die in the water. Curly Levitt with his side-gun mowed down the one bargeful that made the beach.
After that run, Barry did not turn his ship until well beyond the range of Jap shell fire. At ten thousand feet he swung back. The three Jap transports were much farther apart. The nearest one was drifting and burning more fiercely than ever. The others were zig-zagging.
A sudden sheet of flame shot up from the drifting vessel. In a space of seconds her superstructure went to pieces.
“She’s done for,” Chick Enders said. “Give me a run on the farthest one, Skipper. I’ll try to drop an egg right down her stack.”
“Hap and I will do what we can to help you,” Barry answered, “at ten thousand feet. We have those last two ships in the bag. There’s no need to risk Rosy O’Grady at point-blank range.”
Chick’s first attempt was a near miss—the Jap helmsman was too good at dodging. On his run over the second transport he scored a hit. The five-hundred-pound bomb struck her stern, crippling her steering gear.
“Nice work, bombardier!” Barry applauded. “Now we can concentrate on the last target.”
A shell burst from the stricken craft slammed chunks of jagged metal through Rosy’s tail assembly. The big bomber lurched.
“Tail gunner from pilot:” Barry spoke into the phone. “Are you all right?”