spotted what looked like “a number of gray logs” on the surface. Thompson, sitting to Metzler’s left, counted four cruisers and reported them by radio to Port Moresby. But before he could transmit additional details, bursts of antiaircraft fire exploded nearby. Steering the Catalina into a nearby cloud, Metzler caught “a hazy glimpse” of Zeros taking off from the deck of an aircraft carrier.
Unaware of the threat, headquarters at Port Moresby ordered the Catalina to maintain surveillance. Taking over the controls, Thompson poked in and out of the clouds at eleven thousand feet to give the crew an occasional look at the ships below, but the game of hide-and-seek lasted only a few minutes before the enemy fighters reached their altitude.
Led by WO Yoshio Kodama of the Zuikaku fighter unit, a three-plane shotai of Zeros attacked the Catalina from astern. Thompson hauled back on the controls, pulling the big plane around in sweeping turns while Metzler tried to direct the gunners over the intercom, but the Japanese fighters were much too agile. Their gunfire shredded the lumbering seaplane.
In the ventral tunnel at the rear of the Catalina’s fuselage, LAC Kenneth G. Parkyns endured a terrifying experience as he tried to fight back with a Lewis machine gun. Zeros bored in again and again, firing directly at his position. Parkyns was hit several times, but amazingly the wounds proved to be mostly superficial.
The three Japanese pilots expended more than one hundred cannon shells and 1,400 bullets at the Catalina, concentrating much of their gunfire in the flying boat’s midsection. Leading Aircraftman James L. Cox was killed while manning a machine gun in one of the side blisters, and four other crewmembers were wounded in the main cabin. Suddenly, the situation turned even more nightmarish as the fuel in the perforated wing tanks ignited. Streams of flaming gasoline poured from the tanks down into the cabin, creating an inferno that temporarily engulfed Sgt. Leo T. Clarke and Cpl. John Perrett.
Up in the cockpit, Thompson rolled the big aircraft into a tight, spiraling dive while Metzler worked the throttles to keep the aircraft under control. Flames from the punctured fuel tanks also spread across the upper wing surfaces, eating away the fabric covering the ailerons, which made controlled flight nearly impossible.
The Catalina appeared to be in its death plunge, but as Metzler later explained, there was still time for a miracle:
The Japs were not firing at us, but we were going down fast enough for an imminent crash. Then everything happened at once. Thompson heaved back with both hands on the heavy column. At the same time I pushed both throttles right open, the nose came up and we were level. Next instant the Catalina touched the water faster than any Catalina had ever done before. The first skip must have been a good two hundred yards and with each succeeding skip the boat charged through the water with a noise like thunder. We abandoned ship before it could explode, with the boat still doing a good rate of knots; in fact it careered around us several times burning and crackling like a bushfire. All the Very [flares] of various colors exploded like fireworks, one after another. Finally it came to rest and burnt right out in the middle with the nose and the tail tilting up, and then disappeared with a terrific hiss of salt water on hot metal.
The body of airman Cox went down with the plane, but everyone else managed to jump from the burning seaplane. However, Clarke and Perret soon died from their horrible burns, leaving five survivors in the water with no raft. Among them, only Thompson had escaped without some sort of wound. Metzler, a strong swimmer, thought he could see the mountains of New Hanover in the distance and got the men started in that direction.
Two hours later they had barely made any progress when someone shouted, “Christ Almighty, here comes a bloody cruiser!” The Japanese heavy cruiser
Unaware of the threat, headquarters at Port Moresby ordered the Catalina to maintain surveillance. Taking over the controls, Thompson poked in and out of the clouds at eleven thousand feet to give the crew an occasional look at the ships below, but the game of hide-and-seek lasted only a few minutes before the enemy fighters reached their altitude.
Led by WO Yoshio Kodama of the Zuikaku fighter unit, a three-plane shotai of Zeros attacked the Catalina from astern. Thompson hauled back on the controls, pulling the big plane around in sweeping turns while Metzler tried to direct the gunners over the intercom, but the Japanese fighters were much too agile. Their gunfire shredded the lumbering seaplane.
In the ventral tunnel at the rear of the Catalina’s fuselage, LAC Kenneth G. Parkyns endured a terrifying experience as he tried to fight back with a Lewis machine gun. Zeros bored in again and again, firing directly at his position. Parkyns was hit several times, but amazingly the wounds proved to be mostly superficial.
The three Japanese pilots expended more than one hundred cannon shells and 1,400 bullets at the Catalina, concentrating much of their gunfire in the flying boat’s midsection. Leading Aircraftman James L. Cox was killed while manning a machine gun in one of the side blisters, and four other crewmembers were wounded in the main cabin. Suddenly, the situation turned even more nightmarish as the fuel in the perforated wing tanks ignited. Streams of flaming gasoline poured from the tanks down into the cabin, creating an inferno that temporarily engulfed Sgt. Leo T. Clarke and Cpl. John Perrett.
Up in the cockpit, Thompson rolled the big aircraft into a tight, spiraling dive while Metzler worked the throttles to keep the aircraft under control. Flames from the punctured fuel tanks also spread across the upper wing surfaces, eating away the fabric covering the ailerons, which made controlled flight nearly impossible.
The Catalina appeared to be in its death plunge, but as Metzler later explained, there was still time for a miracle:
The Japs were not firing at us, but we were going down fast enough for an imminent crash. Then everything happened at once. Thompson heaved back with both hands on the heavy column. At the same time I pushed both throttles right open, the nose came up and we were level. Next instant the Catalina touched the water faster than any Catalina had ever done before. The first skip must have been a good two hundred yards and with each succeeding skip the boat charged through the water with a noise like thunder. We abandoned ship before it could explode, with the boat still doing a good rate of knots; in fact it careered around us several times burning and crackling like a bushfire. All the Very [flares] of various colors exploded like fireworks, one after another. Finally it came to rest and burnt right out in the middle with the nose and the tail tilting up, and then disappeared with a terrific hiss of salt water on hot metal.
The body of airman Cox went down with the plane, but everyone else managed to jump from the burning seaplane. However, Clarke and Perret soon died from their horrible burns, leaving five survivors in the water with no raft. Among them, only Thompson had escaped without some sort of wound. Metzler, a strong swimmer, thought he could see the mountains of New Hanover in the distance and got the men started in that direction.
Two hours later they had barely made any progress when someone shouted, “Christ Almighty, here comes a bloody cruiser!” The Japanese heavy cruiser
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