Mystery in Trib 2 Read online

  Adding to the mystery, it turned out that one of the escort team, a Major Simms, carried orders to ride jump seat in the plane all the way to the USSR. Along with his kit he carried another one of those little black briefcases. He never let it out of his sight for a second. Roberts wondered which had the greatest value, the contents of the brief case or the cargo.

  The escort watched the transfer and some ranged themselves around the aircraft so it would be closely guarded until its departure. Roberts ordered the four members of the crew to get a good night’s rest. None of them were to leave the base for any reason whatsoever.

  It was eleven fifteen when Roberts, quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping wife, set his alarm for five o’clock and rolled into bed. It would be a short night but he wanted to be present when the final preparations were made to get the flight away.

  2. Almost 8,000 bombers and fighters were sent to the U.S.S.R. via Alaska under the lend-lease agreement. These were primarily Bell P39 King Cobras, a mid-engine fighter, Douglas A20 Havocs, a twin-engine ground attack bomber; and C47 utilities.

  3. It is a matter of record that many mysterious shipments were sent to the U.S.S.R on board lend-lease aircraft. Most were diplomatic bags dubbed “Little Black Briefcases” which many claim, to this day, could well have contained sensitive materials considered vital to U.S. national security.

  Chapter Five

  Departure

  Major Dan Perkins was pilot in command. At the previous night’s briefing they had discussed the reason for this flight but had not been given any real answers. Surely this shipment could have been put on a lend-lease aircraft in the next routine batch. Damn it, they would be flying over Canada and Alaska all the way to Nome. Just a little over the Bering Sea to Russia. No known threat there. What did they need to be armed for? He had a sneaking feeling there was something they had not been told?

  Perkins had seen his share of danger. He had done a tour of duty in England with B17’s. His last mission on February 22 had taken him over Leipzig on a “one thousand bomber” raid. It had been a traumatic experience of flying through flak-filled skies and returning to base with a dead copilot and tail gunner, several wounded crew members and a plane shot up so badly it should never have flown at all.

  For that tour he had received a commendation and a ration of nightmares. He was shipped back stateside after that with his nerves a bit frayed. He felt fine now. The A20 training program at Gore had given him peace of mind and a chance to get his head straight.

  He had not had a chance to use the firepower of the A20 in battle but he had practiced with all of the weaponry on the range and was thoroughly impressed.

  The A20—by its A designation, was an attack aircraft and was proving its worth. It was light and fast and could carry 4,000 pounds of bombs internally and an additional 2,000 pounds attached to hard points under the wings. Alternatively, instead of bombs under the wings, it could be equipped with sixteen 5-inch rockets or just eight rockets plus underwing, long-range fuel tanks. Its six 50 caliber machine guns mounted in the nose and twin 50 cal’s in a ventral and dorsal turret gave it remarkable fire power.

  He especially liked the way the dorsal and ventral gun turrets called barbettes could be locked in the forward firing position and controlled by the pilot. There had been a particular thrill to zeroing in on a target on the range and squeezing the trigger. All ten 0.5’s spitting bullet’s. Strafing a ground target was always quite dramatic because you could see where the projectiles were impacting. “Almost plowed a damn field,” he had commented after one particularly good practice session. “And no one shot back,” he added as an afterthought.

  It was a great aircraft to fly and Perkins had already accrued more than three hundred hours in A20G’s and A20H’s. He had the ultimate confidence in the machine. The Havoc was droning along at a healthy 326 miles per hour at an altitude of 10,500 feet.

  From Great Falls, Montana the scenery was wonderful. He had made the flight to Nome three times in the past but on all occasions it had been cloudy at least part of the way to Whitehorse and there had been few clear views of anything. Today was wonderfully clear and he was already enjoying the view from his lofty perch.

  They had taken off from Gore Field at sunrise and, turning north, climbed steadily to their cruise altitude. They crossed the border into Canada 35 minutes later. To the west the peaks of the Rocky Mountains were in sight. Lethbridge and then Calgary passed to port. The morning ground fog was burning off to reveal miles and miles of rolling farmland, predominantly wheat fields and cattle range.

  The course took them straight over Red Deer and then there was the City of Edmonton. They landed and spent one hour on the ground to top up the fuel tanks. Obviously forewarned as to the mission, the Canadians placed a guard around the aircraft.

  They were quickly on the way again, heading more to the northwest now. The navigator provided headings and issued minor course changes as he picked up various radio-homing beacons enroute.

  After Edmonton the terrain changed noticeably. Now there were forested hills and a myriad of sparkling lakes, logging trails and signs of vast clear-cuts on the hillsides. At first there were a few visible highways and country roads but these were soon left behind and it became pure, untouched wilderness. So much raw territory, so little evidence of human habitation.

  They passed directly over the town of Grande Prairie and one of the emergency fields. Soon after Dawson Creek slipped by below. Now there was more evidence of life. A new highway had been constructed from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Fairbanks, Alaska. Fifteen hundred total miles. It was a supreme effort by the Corp. of Engineers to facilitate the delivery of military supplies to Alaska. Already the road was dubbed the Al-Can Highway.

  The new highway came into view. A thin ribbon of gravel road bed lay across the seemingly endless wilderness. Fresh deep-cuttings through hillsides scarred the landscape. Bridges crossed streams both large and small. Convoys of vehicles raised rooster tails of dust. Here and there a work camp with row upon row of white tents was visible.

  It was fascinating to observe the way the road went arrow-straight for miles and miles across flat land then started to weave and zigzag to negotiate a change of elevation. Amazingly, it had taken only nine months to complete. History in the making, thought Perkins. Shortly everything would be able to travel all the way to Alaska by road.

  Perkins set to wondering again. What was so special about their flight? Just what was in the bomb bay of the plane? Certainly part of their load was designed to fit the racks but it was not heavy enough to be conventional bombs. The cylindrical containers gave no inkling of what might be inside. Markings on the containers were cryptic and gave no hint as to the contents.

  The four small but heavy boxes strapped to the deck were equally enigmatic. The contents had to be something rather special—there were lead seals on the fasteners. Security had been heightened at the base while the containers were transferred from the truck to the A20’s belly and it was most unusual to have a guard placed at Edmonton. Their passenger, introduced as Major Simms, friendly enough, had been notably tight-lipped so there would be no information forthcoming from him and he stayed really close to his briefcase.

  All sorts of goods were being shipped to Russia. Everything from basic supplies; like leather for shoes, clothing, blankets, tents, masses of food, and radio equipment. Thousands of half-track trucks went by sea. Bombers and fighters were ferried through Gore. Most of the stuff, he knew, did not command anything like the attention and security this small shipment had garnered.

  They made favorable and trouble-free progress. The navigator identified the small communities of Fort Nelson and Watson Lake. Then, after five and a half hours in the air, they sneaked under a cloudy weather front into Whitehorse, Yukon Territory.

  These Canadians, too, were obviously briefed on the mission. A jeep intercepted their aircraft as it taxied from the runway and guided it to a remote parking area a short distance fr
om the main cluster of airfield buildings. Even before the crew could climb down, guards were arrayed around the airplane.

  The crew was whisked to a Quonset hut where lunch was made available. After only a quick pit stop Simms, the passenger, grabbed a sandwich and soda and returned to baby-sit his precious cargo. The flight crew kicked back for a welcome rest.

  Chapter Six

  Sneak Attack

  At two-thirty in the afternoon Major Perkins stepped outside the Quonset hut. Not a mountain peak in sight. The weather had closed in some since they arrived and the adjacent mountains were abbreviated at a level of 3,000 feet. It wouldn’t affect their departure. Getting atop the cloud layer after takeoff should not be a problem.

  With everyone fed, watered and somewhat rested they rejoined the aircraft, completed preflight checks and were rolling down the runway by three-thirty.

  Perkins, following the flight plan prepared by the navigator, put the plane into a left climbing turn and then held a heading of 20 degrees magnetic all the way up through the clouds. They broke out into brilliant sunshine at 9,000 feet, turned onto a new heading of 330 degrees, then leveled at 12,000 feet. Supplementary oxygen was available to each member but at this altitude it shouldn’t really be necessary.

  A blanket of lumpy clouds stretched endlessly into the distance, interrupted only by an occasional protruding mountain peak. Above, at about 18,000, a thin layer of cirrus clouds diffused the afternoon sunlight. Ahead lay a flight of 880 miles all the way across Alaska to their next station, Nome, on the north shore of Norton Sound where they would take a long rest.

  Relaxed, but watchful, the crew chatted intermittently over the intercom system. The navigator entertained them occasionally with information from his maps about the visible mountain peaks.

  “Over on the left is Mt. Logan 19,551 feet. It’s the highest point in Canada. That peak ahead on the port quarter is in Alaska, Mt. Blackburn, 16,300 feet. In about 90 minutes we’ll pass to the north of Mt. McKinley: highest mountain peak in North America at 20,320 feet. Hopefully by then we’ll get rid of this cloud and have a clear view of the ground. There are some really spectacular glaciers.” He had been this way before.

  Forty-five minutes out of Whitehorse Perkins had just completed a routine scan of his instruments when a shadow flickered momentarily through the sunlit cockpit. He stiffened in his seat. “What the hell was that?”

  Experiences in the skies of Europe flooded back. He knew the shadow could only have been cast by an aircraft passing between the sun and their own aircraft.

  He spoke abruptly into the intercom. “Heads up there. We’ve got company. Anyone back there see another aircraft toward the sun?” Rather than looking at the sun, he was already searching the cloud layer below for the telltale shadow of another aircraft beside their own halo-ringed shadow. There it was.

  It was too late for any evasive action on his part. Too late.

  A hail of bullet’s tore into the Havoc. A rattling, drumbeat of sound. Hot fragments zinging in all directions. Ducking instinctively, Perkins looked up again just in time to see a small, blunt-nosed, single-engine fighter aircraft flash through his field of view. A snub-nosed fighter plane with the rising sun emblazoned on each wing and a couple of bombs on hard points.

  “Good God! It’s got Japanese markings. How in hell did he get here?”

  “That’s a Japanese Zero. Damn it! and I bet he isn’t alone.” His suspicions were confirmed five seconds later when the upper dorsal guns opened up with a raucous chatter. At least someone was still okay and alert back there.

  What the hell were Japanese Zero’s doing here over the Yukon? All their flight briefings had indicated they would be safe over land. They must have sneaked in somehow from a carrier in the Gulf of Alaska.

  * * *

  Perkins had no way of knowing how near to the truth he was. The Agachi, a light aircraft carrier, with one escort destroyer had slipped into the Gulf of Alaska to cruise slowly, a safe distance offshore. Her orders were to dispatch a small force to harass anything moving on the highway to Alaska. It was a desperate tactic. They could not hope to halt the flow of traffic up the Al-Can but even a small delay would help the Japanese cause in the Pacific and, more importantly, would send a shiver down the spine of the Americans.

  The carrier launched six aircraft. One had to almost immediately return to the carrier when its undercarriage failed to retract. It suffered considerable damage upon landing. The remaining five aircraft continued at low level and penetrated the coast just east of Yakutat. Hugging the northwest shore of Disenchantment Bay they continued inland over the Hubbard Glacier and the vast expanse of the Malaspina Glacier. Their orders were to intercept aircraft or strafe and bomb anything of significance related to the new highway. In short, to inflict damage and make their presence felt in any way possible.

  The Japanese Mitsubishi A6M Zero Reisen was an excellent aircraft for this task. It was lightly constructed, with a remarkable range of 1,265 miles. It carried considerable armament in the form of two 20mm cannons and two 7.7mm machine guns. For this mission two 100-kilogram bombs were attached to hard points of each wing.

  In the lead aircraft Shinichi Oda marveled at the spectacular mountain and glacier scenery. Japan had its share of mountain scenery but in his short twenty-three years he had seen nothing to compare with this. It was absolutely awesome.

  Two thousand feet below his speeding aircraft was a vast river of ice. No. Not just below. It stretched way into the distance to meld with huge ice fields and snow-covered peaks. He looked down into gigantic blue fissures, crevasses maybe hundreds of feet deep. Craggy, razor-edged ridges of tortured ice reached toward him. He shuddered. It would be a terribly inhospitable place to crash-land. The very thought of it made Shinichi scan his few instruments to assure himself that all was well with his steed.

  Twenty minutes of flight over this intimidating landscape brought the small task force to the crest of the mountain pass.

  Much to the pilots’ dismay, as soon as they crossed the mountain divide into Canada, a blanket of clouds obscured the terrain below. They actually had to climb several thousand feet to stay in clear air. With limited instruments and mountainous terrain all around there was no way they dared fly down through the clouds to seek a ground target.

  Fifteen minutes later, following their prearranged plan, they split into two groups. Shinichi and his wingman flew to the northwest and the remaining three flew southeast over the approximate route of the new highway. Perhaps a break in the clouds would allow them to descend to a lower altitude and carry out an attack.

  The northern pair flew a hundred miles and still found no suitable clearing in the clouds. A chain of impressive snow-capped mountain peaks protruded upward on their left.

  Maintaining strict radio silence and nearing the limit of their range, the two pilots agreed, by use of hand signals, to return to their ship. They had just reversed course and assumed the necessary south-easterly heading when they spotted a lone twin-engine aircraft flying just above the cloud tops. Despite its lack of markings it was easily identified as a Douglas A20, an American, twin-engine attack aircraft.

  Well, for want of a better target they might as well down an enemy aircraft. It would be worth a commendation and would strike fear into the Americans and Canadians alike to think they had been attacked on their mainland. The Japanese pilots were young and opportunistic. The thought of surreptitiously returning to the carrier and making a, perhaps, more meaningful attack another day, never occurred to them.

  The two Zeros climbed unseen to a higher altitude where they executed a classic half-roll and dived out of the sun at the seemingly unsuspecting aircraft. At 500 meters Shinichi squeezed the trigger, unleashing a torrent of bullets. He could see his projectiles striking home and plucking bits off the A20. In a flash he passed the target, turning slightly to distance himself and his plane, mindful to present as small a target as possible to any return fire.

  * * *

&
nbsp; On board the A20 Perkins instantly had his hands full. The hail of bullets killed the number one engine. The usually forgiving Wright radial engine coughed puffed smoke and simply quit. Something vital had been hit. Fortunately there didn’t seem to be any fire. He was already bearing hard right rudder to compensate for the loss of power. The plane slowed and began to lose altitude.

  Gathering his wits, he spoke over the intercom expressly to their passenger, since he realized the others would be busy. “Simms. What’s the status?”

  Simms came back almost immediately, sounding amazingly calm. “Simms here, sir. Your radio man has bought it, I’m afraid. His station is all shot up. Gunner says we’re losing a lot of fuel and we’ve got a lot of daylight showing through. Stow is okay.”

  The top gunner Polaski cut in “I see two of them. That first one is climbing around again. The second one up at eight o’clock didn’t like my lead and chickened out.” His voice, usually a low southern drawl, was pitched upward with excitement. “Looks like that first one’s getting set to come in from behind.”

  “Stow was independently manning the lower guns and yelled. “ I see him. Come on. I’m ready for you.” The twin barrels of his 50’s were already aimed menacingly at the Zero, a small dark speck against the clouds two thousand yards out.

  Perkins acted fast. “We’re already down on power. I’m heading for the clouds. It’s our best defense. Maybe we can lose them.” He pushed forward on the yoke. “Hang on and do your best to hold them off.”

  In the cockpit of the A20 Perkins fought the sluggish controls and pushed the aircraft in a steep, dive toward the safety of the clouds. The number two engine howled in protest. “He’s coming in again!” someone yelled over the intercom.” The sound cut off by the chatter of two sets of 50’s opening up simultaneously.