Read Online Target Tokyo: Jimmy Doolittle and the Raid That Avenged Pearl Harbor by James M. Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James M. Scott
Tags: United States, Asia, History, World War II, Military, 20th Century, Japan, Aviation, Americas, Pulitzer Prize Finalist 2016 HISTORY
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second plane Doolittle found an instructor and student, both badly injured but still alive. Doolittle and Todd helped pull the two injured aviators from the wreckage as the fire truck and ambulance roared up.
“You all right?” Todd asked Doolittle.
The crash had rattled him, but he confirmed he was fine.
“Okay,” Todd replied. “Let’s go.”
Doolittle climbed back into the Jenny, and Todd fired up the engine. The biplane roared down the runway and lifted off into the sky. Doolittle quickly forgot the tragedy on the ground below as Todd guided the plane up to twelve hundred feet. Doolittle’s logbook shows that the flight lasted just twenty-two minutes, time enough to hook Doolittle on aviation. “My love for flying,” he later wrote, “began on that day during that hour.” The eager student soaked up his time in the cockpit, soloing after just seven hours and four minutes of instruction. Doolittle graduated from flight school and earned his commission as a second lieutenant on March 11, 1918. He knew exactly what type of pilot he wanted to be. “I naturally went into fighter pilot aviation, because there is a basic difference between the fighter pilot and the bomber pilot,” he later recalled. “The fighter pilot is almost always a rugged individualist. The bomber pilot, in that he works with a team, in the airplane, is much more inclined to be a team player.”
Much to his frustration, Doolittle sat out World War I, bouncing around from various posts before landing as an aviation instructor at Ream Field near San Diego. “I was pretty upset,” he later recalled. “My students were going overseas and becoming heroes. My job was to make more heroes.” The experience was not without tragedy. When Doolittle came in one day on his final approach, a student pilot in another plane cut beneath him. Neither Doolittle nor the student with him saw the other plane. The collision damaged Doolittle’s propeller and took off his landing gear, forcing him to put the plane down on its belly. He then learned the gruesome news that his propeller had decapitated the other flyer. Another time as Doolittle and a student took off, a solo pilot drifted across his flight path. Doolittle’s propeller cut off the tail of the other plane. To his horror the other plane crashed and burned, killing the student. In each case Doolittle applied the same approach Todd had taken with him.
“Who’s next?” he called out after one mishap.
“What in the hell have you got in your veins—ice water?” one of the other instructors demanded of Doolittle. “Doesn’t that kid’s death mean a thing to you?”
“I’ll think of that kid tonight,” he fired back. “Meanwhile my job is to make flyers out of these men. So is yours.”
When World War I ended, on November 11, 1918, Doolittle faced a difficult decision: return to the University of California to finish his mining degree or remain in the Army. Many aviators who left the military bought up some of the more than eight thousand Jennys built during the war that the military now sold as surplus for as little as a few hundred dollars. These pilots traveled the nation barnstorming, performing aerial stunts like wing walking, barrel rolls, and loops. Others offered rides to curious passengers for a couple of dollars apiece. Doolittle knew not only that barnstorming was dangerous and nomadic work but that the pay was abysmal. He now had a wife to support. “I was making about $140 a month and the money was there on payday without fail,” Doolittle later wrote. “Thesecurity of the military life was very appealing to me as hundreds of men were demobilized and had to look for jobs while the nation tried to rebuild a peacetime economy. But it was the flying that made up my mind.”
“What future is there in being a pilot?” one of Doolittle’s friends asked.
“Someday aviation is going to be real big business,” he replied. “I’m going to stay in the Army and let the
“You all right?” Todd asked Doolittle.
The crash had rattled him, but he confirmed he was fine.
“Okay,” Todd replied. “Let’s go.”
Doolittle climbed back into the Jenny, and Todd fired up the engine. The biplane roared down the runway and lifted off into the sky. Doolittle quickly forgot the tragedy on the ground below as Todd guided the plane up to twelve hundred feet. Doolittle’s logbook shows that the flight lasted just twenty-two minutes, time enough to hook Doolittle on aviation. “My love for flying,” he later wrote, “began on that day during that hour.” The eager student soaked up his time in the cockpit, soloing after just seven hours and four minutes of instruction. Doolittle graduated from flight school and earned his commission as a second lieutenant on March 11, 1918. He knew exactly what type of pilot he wanted to be. “I naturally went into fighter pilot aviation, because there is a basic difference between the fighter pilot and the bomber pilot,” he later recalled. “The fighter pilot is almost always a rugged individualist. The bomber pilot, in that he works with a team, in the airplane, is much more inclined to be a team player.”
Much to his frustration, Doolittle sat out World War I, bouncing around from various posts before landing as an aviation instructor at Ream Field near San Diego. “I was pretty upset,” he later recalled. “My students were going overseas and becoming heroes. My job was to make more heroes.” The experience was not without tragedy. When Doolittle came in one day on his final approach, a student pilot in another plane cut beneath him. Neither Doolittle nor the student with him saw the other plane. The collision damaged Doolittle’s propeller and took off his landing gear, forcing him to put the plane down on its belly. He then learned the gruesome news that his propeller had decapitated the other flyer. Another time as Doolittle and a student took off, a solo pilot drifted across his flight path. Doolittle’s propeller cut off the tail of the other plane. To his horror the other plane crashed and burned, killing the student. In each case Doolittle applied the same approach Todd had taken with him.
“Who’s next?” he called out after one mishap.
“What in the hell have you got in your veins—ice water?” one of the other instructors demanded of Doolittle. “Doesn’t that kid’s death mean a thing to you?”
“I’ll think of that kid tonight,” he fired back. “Meanwhile my job is to make flyers out of these men. So is yours.”
When World War I ended, on November 11, 1918, Doolittle faced a difficult decision: return to the University of California to finish his mining degree or remain in the Army. Many aviators who left the military bought up some of the more than eight thousand Jennys built during the war that the military now sold as surplus for as little as a few hundred dollars. These pilots traveled the nation barnstorming, performing aerial stunts like wing walking, barrel rolls, and loops. Others offered rides to curious passengers for a couple of dollars apiece. Doolittle knew not only that barnstorming was dangerous and nomadic work but that the pay was abysmal. He now had a wife to support. “I was making about $140 a month and the money was there on payday without fail,” Doolittle later wrote. “Thesecurity of the military life was very appealing to me as hundreds of men were demobilized and had to look for jobs while the nation tried to rebuild a peacetime economy. But it was the flying that made up my mind.”
“What future is there in being a pilot?” one of Doolittle’s friends asked.
“Someday aviation is going to be real big business,” he replied. “I’m going to stay in the Army and let the
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