“That did it!” he exclaimed. “She’s conking out, and right about now. Maybe I can make that little island even if the Jap couldn’t.”
He edged the plane around with the last gasps from the engine and put her into a glide toward the little spot of land. Then it occurred to him that there might be Japs on the island, tiny as it was, and with one hand he checked his service revolver to be sure that he might take a few with him before he went himself, if the worst should happen.
“And all that depends on whether I make it in this glide or not,” Scoot said. “But it looks okay.”
The plane was slipping down the sky fast, approaching the island. About ten feet above the water, Scoot leveled her off and pancaked into the water, trying to get his tail to act as a brake. The controls flew from his hands and his head hit the top of his cockpit. But he didn’t lose consciousness from the blow, even though he was badly stunned.
He saw the rocky shore of the island rushing toward him as the plane seemed to skim over the water. Then he struck the rocks, was thrown forward, and heard a ripping, tearing sound as the bottom of his fuselage was crushed and mangled on the rocks.
He felt a throb in his forehead and realized that he was looking at the slightly twisted floor of his cockpit.
“Must have been knocked out for a minute,” Scoot told himself.
He lifted his head and looked around. His plane was entirely on dry land. It had skidded over the rocks, leaving the water. Right in front of him was the smooth slanting trunk of a palm tree. He saw no movement anywhere.
“Well, if there were Japs here they’d have been on top of me long before this.”
Scoot unfastened his safety belt and crawled from his seat, feeling his bruised arms and legs to make sure they were whole. In another moment he stood on the rocky shore surveying sadly his crumpled and twisted ship.