 Words at war. How far out now, navigator? About 80 miles off the shore of Umnak, sir. How's the gas? It's low. We don't turn back soon. We won't get back. How about it, Bart? You see anything? Not a thing, Lieutenant. If it lasted fog, it would clear I could. Not much chance of that, son. If we ever flew on a clear day, I wouldn't know how to find our way home. Yeah. What climate? This year, come to the fog break dilutions for a soggy vacation. Hey, we better turn back soon. We're past that good old point of no return right now. Hey, wait a minute. Through that break in the fog. See it? Where? Holy cow. Jap ships. One, two, three, four, five ships and more. Say that's an invasion fleet. Hey, let's get going, Lieutenant. We got some news for the boys back home. I wish we had a couple of bombs. Look out, here comes a zero. Five o'clock. Too close. He hit us all right. I can just make that cloud bank before he can get back. Got any? Ben? It's okay, Lieutenant. Just get back to base for that message. Don't worry about that, kid. It'll take a lot more than a zero to stop us now. Words at war. The national broadcasting company in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime brings you another in its series of radio treatments of important books of this war. Tonight, our book is Corey Ford's first-hand account of the war and the illusions. Those fog-shrouded island stepping stones that Mr. Ford has so aptly termed the shortcut to Tokyo. And here is the story in Corey Ford's own words. History can turn on a very small hinge. On the 3rd of June, 1942, a Navy PBY patrol ship commanded by Lieutenant L.D. Campbell spotted part of an approaching Japanese task force and got word back to Dutch harbor in Alaska. But the Japs that day were planning more than just the capture of Dutch harbor. Make no mistake about that. They were planning the actual invasion of our Pacific Northwest coast. The Japs had planned well and they meant business. But there was one thing they didn't know. Not until it was too late. I didn't know it myself. Back there in Dutch harbors, I crouched in a shelter with an American bomber pilot named Wally Marvin. Jap high-level bombers, scores of them were high above the base, dropping heavy explosives and incendiaries. That last one got the oil tanks. Look at that smoke. And those Japs sitting up there in the clouds. The first time in my life, I wish I was a pursuit pilot. I'm good with that, do you, Wally? There isn't a P-40 within a thousand miles of here. No, don't bet any money on that. Keep your eye on those Jap planes. I see them tearing Dutch harbor to pieces. Look at them circling for the kill. Oh, there'll be any minute now. Yeah, look. Come out of that bank of clouds up there behind them. Brains. Jumping. Jump into those little clouds. I thought they are, son of an American pursuit plane. It's a home mess of them. They stopped the bomber. Go after them. Get in the works. Look, they got one. See that smoke from the engine? We're going to get them all. They're stunned. They don't know what hit them. Look at them come. Yeah, it's going to hit right near here. There's one at one farm again. They're running while they're getting out of here. Don't worry. They'll get back to their ship. They're licked and they know it. Where'd those P-40s come from? There's no army base anywhere near here. Everybody knows that. Yeah, sure. That's what Japanese intelligence thought, too. It's a little surprise we had from them. Honorable intelligence let those vulnerable flat tops of theirs walk right into a trap. Well, that's one time honorable intelligence was cock-eyed. It was a victory. But I didn't realize how much of a victory until I stopped in at the radio shack. I found the operator sitting there listening with a broad grin on his face. Come on in. Hey, listen to this. I'm tuned into their wavelength. What, the Japs? Yeah, the ones we didn't shoot down. Listen, there's one of them. Come there using their radio during an attack. Well, don't you know what happened? I just got the report. As soon as those Jap carriers found out we had a secret airfield here, they stampeded and ran. They just left all their planes hanging up there in the air. Listen to that guy now squealing, will you? What's he saying? I don't understand Japanese, mister, but I don't need an interpreter to understand that. Can't you just picture what he's saying? Whereabouts carrier, please? Gas very low. Only a few minutes' gas. Bug very thick. Whereabouts carrier, please? Gas every tank empty, please. No more gas. Let's come down and see whereabouts carrier. That was a Jap plopping into the sea. He's a 16th one I followed down. That ended the Jap dreams of an Alaskan conquest for the present. A scattered task force put in at Kiska and Attu and settled down to consolidate. But our job had just begun. Now the long months of aerial slugging began. From their new bases, all that fall, winter, and spring, our pilots bombed and strapped the enemy whenever the weather allowed. Whenever the weather allowed. That was the catch. In the Aleutians, you'll find the foulest, dirtiest flying conditions anywhere in the world. Let Wally Marvin tell you something about that, as he told me. It's the weather that's our real enemy up here. The fog and the wind and the cold. The fog hangs like a blanket over these islands, day after day, week after week. Leave me, I'd rather see a zero in the air than that zero, zero weather on the ground. But we have to fly just the same. We have to fly when even the birds are walking. Yes, Wally's right. Did you ever hear of a willowaw? It's a wind. Cyclone would be a better word. They come up in a couple of seconds and they blow 80 miles an hour. When the planes are on the ground, they have to weight them down with oil drums. They even tie them to tractors. But it doesn't do much good. That willowaw hits and they all get smashed. Now with this weather around here, they practically have to use a 500-pound bomb for a windsock. But don't get the idea that the weather, bad as it was, was the only hazard those kids of ours had to face. Listen, as technical sergeant, L.O. Gardner tells you of a typical bombing mission, his baptism of fire. This was my first mission. I was pretty excited. We just left the field and I turned on my indicator switch, glancing at the panel to see that all bomb stations were lit. Everything was okay, so I slipped on my headset and called the pilot on the interphone. Bombardier to pilot. I'd like permission to test my machine gun, sir. We'll be over the target in about 45 minutes. Yes, sir. Any further instructions? Yeah. There's a rock off the island, just ahead. Let's make a run on it and drop one of our bombs to warm up, eh? Okay, sir. I'm ready. I opened the bomb bay doors and waited for the red light to go on so I could put the control lever in selective. The target came up. I toggled off one bomb and leaned forward so I could follow it down. I saw a brown, streamlined shape fall away from us and waddle down into the water, just short of the target. Closing the bomb doors, I called the pilot. Bombardier to pilot. Just short of target. Everything okay, sir. But we were getting close. I checked all of my instruments over and over. My heart was beating a little faster. I felt warm. I kept wondering whether or not I'd be afraid. Then, off in the distance, we could see Kiska Island, very obscured by mist. My left hand froze on the bomb bay door control and my right hand on the gun. We flew in a large circle to the right and suddenly, on the horizon, two ships. See them, boys? That's our target. My heart was pounding furiously and my breath was coming hard. We were going to run in low at mass height. I wondered about the ACAC. At 30,000 feet, handy aircraft doesn't worry you. But at 50 feet, your neighbor's little boy could knock us over the BB gun. Our whole formation got ready for the run. Pilot to crew, get set. This is it. Good luck and give them all you've got. Tell Gunner to pilot. Good luck, boy, and Adam. Bombardier to pilot. We're all set, Lieutenant. Let's get them nose down for our run. I opened the bomb doors and got ready, varying our altitude from 15 to 50 feet, dodging, bobbing, skidding. We closed in like a pack of hungry wolves. The ship, who was a destroyer, seemed to rush up to meet us. We're almost on our target. There's a destroyer loomed in our faces I call the pilot. Bombardier to pilot, all just steady. I toggled three times. Then, bombs away. Let's get out of here. Our target was spotting huge sheets of flame and smoke. There was an explosion almost every 10 seconds. The second ship was wallowing in a ground swell, sinking by the stern with black smoke pouring from her. I looked around at the rest of our formation. I could only count three other planes. Bombardier to tail, Gunner. Melvin, go ahead, Gunner. Hey, Melvin, did they get two of our planes? They got one. I thought go down. Pilot to Bombardier. Never mind, Gunner. Good shooting. We got two Jap ships. Let's go home. No medals passed out for that raid, no pictures in the papers, no heroes made. Just a good day's work done. The mission was a success, so the boys buzzed the field before landing when they got home. But it didn't always work out that way. I remember one raid my friend Wally went on. I was in on the briefing of that one. You see, each morning after breakfast, the combat crews would gather in the alert hut to hear the day's mission briefed. They'd pile out of the mess hall, zipping up their fleece-lined leather flying suits, and grope their way to the hut through the inky blackness of an Alaskan winter morning. Come on in the hut with us, Mr. Forden. Do you ever hear a mission briefed? No, that's my first one, Wally. For me, I've locked more hours in here than I have in the air. Or, where the last one's in, close the door, wouldn't you? Okay, boys. That's the briefing officer. Now, here's the dope one today, if and when. We're going to climb to about 9,000 or 10,000 on the way out. We'll go north of the chain, come around the volcano to Pillar Rock, turn in towards the island, here on the map, and make a 90-degree diving turn. All flights javelin-right. First element, we'll use a 6,500 base altitude. Second element, 5,500. Start your bombing run about here. Now, the first element will take the hangar, the second, the sub-base. Use a loose formation except against fighter opposition, in which case, we'll close up in regular tactics. Shipping in the harbor gets first priority, of course. Remember, on your bombing run, the co-pilot will maintain airspeed, the pilot flies the ship. Rendezvous, 5 miles north of this point, here. We'll have fighter coverage. In case a P-shooter gets in trouble, you, Wally, lead it back to the base. Maintain radio silence on the way out. Standard frequency? Any questions? Will we have much zero opposition? I think so, yes. How about anti-aircraft? Well, the official communique will stay as usual, I hope, that there was no anti-aircraft fire. But, uh, look out for those gremlins. Well, that's all, boys. Thank you, watches. We should hear about the weather sometime in the next hour. That's about all for now. There's much to do now, but wait. How about meeting some of the boys? Sure, I'd like to. See that little guy over there working on the jigsaw puzzle? That's Sammy, my bombardier. He's quite a guy. Come on over. Hi, Sammy. Hi, Wally. Hey, this is the screwiest puzzle I ever seen. I'm thinking all along it's probably the picture of a beautiful dame, and how I find this hairpiece. Look, a cowbell. Sammy, this is Corey Ford. He's a writer. Oh, glad to know you. Hello, Sammy. I thought you could tell him the story about your girl. Oh, yeah, yeah, that, uh... Well, that's kind of pathetic. You see, Mr. Ford, Sammy's in love with a girl back in New York. As soon as he got his bombardier's wings, he got engaged to her, so he went downtown to buy her a ring. Sets me back 500 smackers, see? But when I tell a jeweler I'm a bombardier, he claps me on her back and he says, my boy, I'll knock off 100 bucks for every bomb you drop on Germany. So that's swell. So what happens? So I get sent to Alaska. That's tough luck, Sammy. Yeah, it shouldn't even happen to Hitler. Hello? That's the weather report. If it's favorable, we go. And I never find out whether this is a dame or a cow. Well... Well... Fine. It's on, boys. Get to your shifts. Well, that's it. So long, Mr. Ford. We'll be back for supper. Don't nobody touch that jigsaw. I'm gonna finish it when I get back. The kids yank their zipper shut, grab briefcases and charts, and pile through the door out onto the field, jostling and talking. The planes are already on the line, warmed up and ready to go. The crews pile in and they're off into the dark of the morning. They stand there at the door of the hut and watch them go. It's a queer feeling. You get sort of a catch in your throat as they disappear, one by one. It was a tough mission today. I stand on the field as they begin to come in, straggling. Usually, as I said, they buzz the field when they get back from a mission. But today they come in quietly. Plane by plane. I watch Wally's ship land and taxi to a hold. I turn to the sergeant who heads his ground crew. It doesn't look so good, does it, sergeant? It doesn't look good at all, sir. Lieutenant Marvin's okay, though. I can see him in the cockpit. Look at the holes in that plane. Here's your ship, sergeant. Take over. Thank you, sir. I'm afraid I didn't do the plane much good. No, sir. You sure didn't. There must be nearly a hundred holes in it. Hello, Wally. Oh, hello, Mr. Ford. How was it? Anybody hurt? Bombardier is dead. Sammy? Yeah, little Sammy. You won't have to worry about that engagement ring anymore. Yeah, Sammy was dead. It was a bad mission and none of the boys talked about it very much. You always get a reaction after a thing like that, even when you didn't go through it yourself. I felt sort of weak in the knees as I went back into the hut. I looked over at the table where Sammy's unfinished jeep saw puzzle lay. Another kid was sitting there laboriously piecing the thing together while he waited for his orders. I left the hut without saying anything. Do you ever stop to think what Christmas is like up there on a lonely battlefront, half a world away from home? We had a Christmas party up at the base. I'll never forget it. There aren't any trees on the Aleutians, you know, but you must have a tree for Christmas. So the boys went out behind the camp and gathered arm loads of green tundra moss. They fastened it together with bailing wire in the shape of a small fur. Somebody sprinkled shavings from a bar of soap around for artificial snow. And for Christmas tree decorations, they hung some empty 50-caliber shells salvaged from the floor of Obama right over Kiska. They even fashioned a star of Bethlehem from the top of the tree by folding a red cellophane gas mask cover. It was one of the nicest trees I ever saw. The long narrow mess hall was crowded. The men sat on the tables and along the benches and on the floor with their shoulders propped against the muddy knees of the row behind them. Shaggy, unshaven. Their rain-soaked park is dripping. Shaggy boots, leaking little pools of black water under the rough floors. We were waiting for the festivities to begin. Some of the boys were talking about their favorite subject, home. You know, you think of funny things in a place like this. You know what I was just thinking? I bet my toothbrush back home is still hanging on the same old place beside the washbasin. I was thinking about my mom's fried chicken. Boy, you have never tasted fried chicken till you've tasted hers. If I was home right now, you know what we have for dinner? We have fried chicken. But there'd be mashed potatoes and gravy, too, and hot biscuits. For dessert, maybe we'd have a peppermint candy stick ice cream. My mom makes it herself. And I'd probably have to turn the freezer for her. Well, that's a tough job. But I'd get to lick the plunger later. Well, I live in Texas. My mom would have a pecan pie for dessert. Man, no pie in the world can touch her pecan pie. That's the first thing I'm going to eat when I get back. Yeah, just a pecan pie. What I'd like most is to see my wife, my son. I've never seen him. He was born right after I left for here. See, that reminds me, Mr. Ford, you could do me a favor if you would. Sure, Molly, what is it? When we were back in Anchorage, I made a record for my son on one of those recording machines in the music store there. You're going back to the state soon. Maybe you could take the record back to my wife. I know she'd like to have it. When the kid gets old enough, he... Well, you know. Sure, Molly, I know. I'll be glad to do it. Thanks a lot. All right, fellas, let's start the celebration. Celebration. It was a night before a kiss. Christmas is a time for exchanging gifts. I'm sorry, fellas, but there just aren't any. The mail from home hasn't come yet. You all know how those things are. Brother, do we know? I wish I could put a package under the tree for each of you, but, well, I just can't. I did manage to dig up a few things over at the PX, though. Not much. Not enough to go around, of course, but it is better than nothing. That's why each man was handed a slip of paper when he came in. We're going to raffle off the presents we have. Watch your tickets. If you hear your number called, why, just sound off. Good up, Rick. Look at my number, 13. How do you like that? Christmas and bingo all on the same date. All right, fellas, here's the first number. It's 27. Hey, hey, that's me. 27. Good, good. Just step up for your prize. Here you are. Hey, when did he get a one? I don't know. It wasn't very big. I bet you one thing. I bet you it isn't a bottle of scotch. Hey, say that's great, Chaplin. Thanks. Hey, fellas, a box of matches. Here's the next winner. Let's see. It's number 145. I got it, sir. Look, Wally, it's your ground crew, chief. Lucky bum, I wonder what he gets. Hey, gee, look at this. It's a bar of soap. It's not GI soap either. Here's another one. Number 13. Number 13. Bingo, oh, boy. Here you are, sir. Here's your present. Thank you, Chaplin. Hey, what's your snack? What is it, honey? Give me a chance. Let me see. Oh, I should have known. That number 13. What do I get? An address book and no woman for a thousand miles. Hey, what's going on? All right, fellas, all right, all right. We still have a few more presents to give. But first, let's try a carol, shall we? Here's one we all know. Old little town of Bethlehem. Sing it out so we can all hear it. Let's go. One, two, three. That was Christmas in the Aleutians. We didn't have any turkey or plum pudding because you see there were no boats. Our menu that day consisted of bean soup, lukewarm stewed tomatoes, oil potatoes which had been frozen and which no one ate, bread without any butter and Vienna sausage. But I was eating it with our Air Force combat crews. I was sitting elbow to elbow with those men in leather flying suits who were fighting our unknown war. And it was the finest Christmas dinner I ever had in my life. The hardest thing to get used to when I got back to the States was the sun and the absence of the fog. The weather gets to be a part of life itself up there in the Aleutians. Yes, and of death too. I got sort of a catch in my throat every time I saw a little boy sitting in the sunlight because then I'd get to thinking about Wally, Wally and his son. I'd brought that record back with me as I'd promised, the one I'd picked up at the music store in Anchorage on my way home. I had to bring it to Wally's wife. I think about that record quite a lot and what Wally had said on it. I can hear it now. My son, you're growing up pretty fast. You'll be a big man soon, so I thought on your birthday today you ought to have this little talk to get it. There are a lot of things I want to tell you, boy. The record went on that way for a little bit. Wally told his son all the great plans he had for him. You know the sort of thing. I'll never forget the way it ended. When you grow up, David, maybe you'll have a son of your own and I hope he means as much to you as he'll mean to me. And I hope when you grow up there won't be a war and you can be with your son instead of way off here in Alaska somewhere. I've never seen you, David. You were born after I came up here. But I hope I'll get to him someday. Be a good boy, son. Take care, Mama. Bye. I never found out if the needle stuck that way when Wally's wife played it. I always hoped it didn't. Because, you see, it was goodbye. Wally wasn't coming back. I never knew just what happened to him, but his plane crashed into a mountain in the fog. That's all. Wally was a good pilot. There isn't a Jap pilot in the world that could out-fight him or out-fly him. But an enemy he couldn't fight beat him. Maybe it sounds trite to say that those kids didn't die in vain, Wally and Sammy and the others. But it's true just the same. They beat the Jap and they pushed him out of Attu and Kiska. The weather will be on our side now. We've built many strong new bases up there. And more men have come to fight that unknown war. Fresh-faced, clear-eyed kids who know their business. They're fortifying and preparing a chain of stepping stones that may become our shortcut to Tokyo.