“How did you enjoy your life in the woods?” asked Captain Smith when Bill Bruce and Bob Finch reported for duty at the flying field at the Presideo at San Francisco.

“We had a fine time and found it very educational,” replied Bill. “I never knew that there were so many different kinds of trees. We were very fortunate in meeting Mr.George Cecil, the District Forester. He is in charge of all the National Forests in Oregon and Washington. We probably would have run into all kinds of trouble if he hadn’t given us a start in the customs and manners of life in the woods. Then we were drafted to fight a forest fire, and say, boy, if you want to get action, join a forest fire-fighting gang. It is hard work, but the terrifying, destructive grandeur of a forest fire is beyond description.”

“You didn’t enjoy it any more than I did when those bears raided our camp when we were asleep,” interjected Bob. “I wasn’t the only one who was ready to start back home.”

“I must admit that our education was not quite complete in that respect,” admitted Bill. “Before I go out again, I am going to get someone to tell me what to do when a bear romps through your camp after dark.”

“What did you do?” asked Smith.

“Just what a normal man would do,” replied Bill. “I was scared to death when I saw the first bear and more scared when I saw the second one, but I tried not to show it.”

“You have been having a vacation, and now you will have to get back to work,” said Captain Smith. “We are observing the fire of the coast defense guns this morning. Bruce will take the first shoot and Finch, you take the second one. Sergeant Breene can use the radio, but you had better give him your sensings of the positions of the shots with reference to the target before he sends them down. You can get some idea as to the distance the shot falls from the target by the length of the cable between the target and the tug. You will shove off in half an hour. Your plane is having a new engine installed so that you will have to use Batten’s.”

“I don’t know much about artillery adjustment,” said Bill. “During the war I was a pursuit pilot.”

“Now’s the best time to learn then,” replied Smith.

“Why the trick leggins?” asked Kiel, the Commander of the Second Flight in the Ninth Squadron.

“I had no choice,” replied Bill. “A porcupine started to eat my best ones while I was up in Oregon. All my others need cleaning too badly to wear. These wrapped leggins are comfortable, even though they take more time to put on.”

“I thought that everyone threw away those leggins as soon as they could after the war,” said Kiel.

“It’s a good thing that I saved these,” replied Bill. “If I hadn’t, I would have been waiting in my quarters now for my others to be shined and repaired. Then you would have had to take this mission. From my point of view, I would rather have had it that way.”

“Well, Sergeant, how’s the old bus percolating?” asked Bill when he came out onto the line and met Sergeant Breene.

“A new engine is being installed in yours,” replied Breene.

“I know that, but how is Lieutenant Batten’s? That’s the one that you and I are going to take out on this artillery mission.”

“I don’t know anything about his plane,” replied Breene. “His crew chief takes care of it.”

“Well, get your flying togs, for we take off as soon as we can get the bus warmed up.”

In a few minutes they were flying around over the reservation while they checked their radio with the ground station at the airdrome. The antenna wire hung two hundred feet below the plane and formed an arc with the lead “fish” at the end of the wire. The fish was a weight shaped in a stream line form so that the wire would ride steadily through the air and hang well down below the plane.

Breene sent out the call letters and then Bill and his observer watched for the O. K. panels. As soon as they appeared, Bill headed his plane out over the Coast Artillery radio station. Once more Breene sent out the call letters of the station. This was acknowledged by the panel signal, “understood.” Then the airplane sent down a message giving the number of the plane, the pilot’s and observer’s names and the information that they were ready to observe the fire of the guns. Each item was repeated so that the ground station would be sure to get it. Finally the ground crew placed the panels in the position which indicated “battery ready to fire.” Then Bill headed his plane out over the ocean.

It is a sort of lonesome feeling to fly out over the ocean in a land plane. The pilot always realizes that if his engine quits, he must land on the water, and that his plane will float for not more than four hours after hitting the water. Accordingly, Bill wanted to get as much altitude as he could and at the same time accurately observe the falling shots. If his engine quit, he would then be able to glide at least part way back to shore. There is always the possibility of having to swim after a forced landing in the water, as boats are not always conveniently available for rescue work.

Bill climbed until he reached five thousand feet. The tug and target were about twelve thousand yards from shore, and they looked absurdly small. He wondered how the twelve-inch guns could ever make a hit on the small pyramidal target built up on the float. The entire area over which the target would be moved had been cleared of ships. Off to the north there were two steamers running into the Golden Gate, and a third leaving by way of the ship channel. As far as Bill could see, there was no other sign of life between the shore and the Farallone Islands, some fifteen miles out.

Bill had barely reached his position abreast of the target when he saw the splash of a shell as it hit the water. The shell struck just short of the target and then ricocheted and made another splash beyond the target. It then bounded along the water’s surface with ever diminishing leaps until it finally sank beneath the water’s surface. Bill was so much interested in watching the shot that he forgot to hand back a sensing to Breene.

Bill was brought back to the business in hand when Breene tapped him on the shoulder. “Two hundred right, eight hundred short,” Bill wrote on a slip and handed it to Breene. After a couple of circles around the tug and target, another shot splashed, but this time much closer. “One hundred left, two hundred over,” wrote Bill on the slip that he handed back. Thus it went for some time with the shots making a group around the target, which was moving along at a rate of about ten knots an hour.

It was interesting work and Bill enjoyed it. He was doing his best to send down corrections which would make it possible for the gunners to make a hit on the target, but either its motion through the water or the normal dispersion of the spots due to the ammunition would not permit of a direct hit being made. The tug cruised back and forth in the cleared area. The wind and tide evidently made it move faster in one direction than in the other, for the shots did not fall the same distance away during the two runs.

Occasionally Bill would fly the plane back over the shore to see if any additional instructions were being sent up to him by the panels. Each time the same panels were displayed, “Battery ready to fire.” That being the case he must place his plane so that he could see the shots when they fell. Once he was sure that the guns had been fired but he had not seen the first impact with the water. The only location of the shell that he secured was after its first bounce from the water. He then sent down, “lost.” This indicated to the firing battery that the observer had not seen the last shot.

Bill was out well beyond the tug when his engine started missing and then quit altogether. He wanted to glide into shore, but knew that he could not make it from five thousand feet. He had another chance for a quick rescue, and that was to land as close to the tug as he could. However, in order to do that he would have to glide through the section through which the shells were flying. He did not know what to do. Should he take a chance with the flying shells, or should he land in a safe sector on the water and trust that the tug would see him drop and come to his rescue?

He guided his plane in wide circles as he lost altitude. As he descended he could see that the battery had fired on the data sent in from Breene’s last report. Would the battery stop firing when they failed to perceive any additional data, or would it keep on firing? Their last report had indicated that the battery was firing very close to the target.

Bill decided that he would not take a chance of getting hit by a thousand pound projectile. He would land as close to the tug as he could and stay out of the danger zone. As he dropped lower, he could see that the sea was rough. He had not been able to pick up the high waves from his high altitude, but now they were apparent. That would take skillful piloting or the plane would be completely wrecked when it came into contact with the water.

As he glided over the waves, Bill made up his plan for landing. The wind was in the same direction as the moving waves. He could not land in the trough between two crests, for that would require a crosswind landing. He would try and set the plane down between two crests.

The wheels were now just missing the peaks of the waves as the plane soared along. Just ahead was a rather high wave. Bill expected to drop his wheels into the water just beyond that crest. The plane dropped out from under him quite unexpectedly and the next thing that he knew he was swimming around in the water. Breene was not in sight. Bill came in closer to the fusilage and waited. Soon Breene appeared in the water in front of the wings.

“Can you swim?” called Bill.

“Not so much,” replied Breene.

“Come around here and climb up on the fusilage,” said Bill.

The lower wing of the plane had been torn almost all the way off. As far as they could see, the fusilage was still intact. The heavy 800-pound engine caused the nose of the fusilage to sink into the water. Thus the only parts of the plane above the surface were the tail surfaces, the top wing and the fusilage between the rear of the wings and the tail group.

Breene worked his way around the wreck until he reached the tail surfaces. Bill gave him a lift and Breene was soon sitting on the empennage almost entirely out of the water. Bill could swim well and stayed in the water, supporting himself by the rudder surfaces.

“This water is getting cold,” said Bill. “Can you see anything coming this way to help us?”

The plane at that time was down in a trough and the crests towered twenty or more feet above them.

“Not a thing in sight,” replied Breene.

“Wait a minute,” he shouted as the plane rose up on a wave. “The tug is coming toward us full speed ahead. I hope that it has dropped its cable and is not pulling the target.”

“It ought to get here before the old crate sinks,” said Bill. “I am going to take off my shoes and leggins so that I can swim better if I have to.”

Bill had just unwrapped about two coils of his leggins when he was interrupted by an extra heavy wave which almost submerged him. The plane was gradually sinking and he wanted to be ready for anything that might occur. He might have to support Breene if the plane went down before help arrived. In struggling to regain his grip on the plane, he lost the loose end of his leggins.

Just then the tug came into sight and dropped a small boat. Bill insisted that Breene be taken off first. Breene had no more been rescued than the plane gave a lurch and sank beneath the water. Bill turned loose the rudder surface but felt himself being dragged down. The loose end of his leggin was caught in the wires of the empennage.