Dogfight With Zeros

Lieutenant (j.g.) Edward Johnson recalled his encounter with the Zeros over the mountains of Vangunu on June 7, 1943. At this time I could see tracers going by my plane and could actually hear the bullets hitting the wings and fuselage. After two or three minutes I made the cloud cover, although I knew I was badly hit, as the engine cut out several times. I went quickly through this first cloud and was immediately jumped on the other side by two or three Zeros before I could turn in to another cloud.

"The cockpit began to get exceedingly hot, and I was almost sure the plane was afire. My left oil cooler had definitely been hit and I could see oil streaming out of the wing. I'm sure that at this time my engine had been badly hit. At different times I heard violent explosions, which could have been cylinder heads blowing off or exploding 20 mm cannon shells.
"Every time I came out of a cloud I was subject to heavy fire from enemy fighters; they seemed to be everywhere, flying around like a swarm of bees. I turned back toward the clouds and found two Zeros directly in front of me. I chose the one on my right as he was [nearer] and closed in for a head-on attack. I opened fire as soon as I was in range, but the Zero refused to continue [his] attack. He pulled up sharply, and I followed him with all six of my guns firing but I could not pull with him. It is my belief that I did not hit him badly, if at all. I pulled straight up.... I was very slow. It is quite possible that the other Zero to my left, which I had lost sight of, shot my engine out completely at this time. I wobbled off into cloud cover again with oil pouring out of every hole in the airplane."

Johnson checked his instrument and saw his manifold pressure sinking, his engine barely turning over. As he fell below 3,000 feet, the engine gave out. "I nosed the plane down to hold my speed, opened the hood, unlocked my safety belt, and jammed the stick full forward. I was thrown up and out and felt a hard blow on my right leg. As far as I know, I had not been hit [in my body] by any fire to that time. I pulled my rip cord with both hands almost upon leaving the plane, as I figured I was between 1,000 and 1,500 feet above the side of the mountains. My chute opened with an extremely hard jerk, as I had been diving fast when I got out. I heard my plane crash into the mountain side almost immediately.

"It seemed that I hung motionless in the air for some time, because I could see two fighters about two miles to the south. Finally, one of them saw me and turned toward me. But by that time I was nearing the tree tops. The Zero dove at me, firing just as I dropped below the tree tops. Fortunately, I dropped right into a hole among the trees, which were at least 150 feet high. The chute snagged in the higher branches just enough to slow my fall, and I hit the ground without too much of a jolt. I unsnapped my harness immediately, got clear of the parachute and moved around behind a large tree as the plane or planes were still making passes at the spot where I had gone in. They fired at the spot twice, pulling up sharply off the trees. After five or ten minutes, all planes had moved on."

Johnson took time to examine his leg. He had a clean four-inch gash, an inch and a half deep, below the back of his knee. When the bleeding stopped, he could clearly see the muscle tissue. Unfortunately, he mistakenly decided he had come down on New Georgia rather than Vangunu. Unknowingly, he was very near an enemy camp of 250 soldiers. Johnson committed a second error. He discarded both his life raft and his life jacket because he wanted to travel light. Furthermore, he reasoned that their yellow coloring, designed to make downed flyers more visible to rescuers, could make him conspicuous to enemy eyes. He carried with him his .45 automatic, a jungle knife, a compass, his first-aid kit, and the sparse issue of survival rations.

He walked in the direction that he thought would lead to the village of Segi on New Georgia. Hampered by his painful wound and heavy jungle growth, he was forced to take detours around deep streams and a cove, bodies of water he could easily have crossed had he taken either his life jacket or the inflatable raft. He managed to reach the coast and travel on the beach, coming across several wrecked lifeboats. He noted that one had some flotation cans with only a few bullet holes in them.

On his second day marooned, Johnson's passage along the beach came to an abrupt halt when he stumbled upon a thicket of mangroves that extended all the way to the beach with a lagoon six or seven feet deep. He had no alternative but to retrace his steps back to the shattered lifeboat in hopes of salvaging the flotation cans for a raft. It was a slow, almost agonizing ordeal, pushing through vines and thorny bushes and over fallen trees.

"I got the best two cans out of the boat and carried them up the shore to a cleared place on the beach. I proceeded to plug up the bullet holes with wooden plugs, using my undershirt as caulking. I cut two saplings about ten feet long and cross pieces to hold the cans in place. I bound the whole frame together with vines and tied the cans into the frames with more vines." At this point he regretted not having had the foresight to take the shroud lines from his parachute for just such a purpose. With a few nails retrieved from the abandoned boat, he constructed a paddle from a stick and a small board. For the second time, he dressed his wounds with sulfa powder.

At dawn the following day he climbed a tree to look for local people and observe the water beyond the beach. "I heard a loud voice call out and I saw two large craft which at first looked like native war canoes. Casting caution aside, I called as loudly as I could. The men stopped paddling and looked around. It was evident from their indecision that my voice had echoed, and they were not sure where I was. I saw at that time that the craft were not canoes, but barges. They were being sculled, poled and paddled—moving slowly. I suspected that they were Japs and went back to get my automatic.

"I decided to wait where I was and keep a sharp lookout. The two barges had passed behind a small island off shore and seem to have come to the main island and moved northward. I waited until 1000 and decided to move northward. I paddled my raft past the mouths of the lagoons which I had had so much trouble getting around. As the small island seemed to have coconuts on it, I paddled over to it. I was tying my raft in among the mangroves [when I] turned to look behind me. I received a real jolt, because the two barges were about 300 yards away, crossing open water. The men had camouflaged the boats but I could plainly see the yellow skins bared to the waist. I dropped into the water among the mangrove roots. I was positive that they had seen me and although my automatic was wet and somewhat rusted in spite of my attempts to keep it in working order, I got it clear and waited for them to come over and get me. I did not feel brave or afraid. I only knew that if my gun worked I would shoot as many as possible. I did not intend to be taken alive."

To his great relief, the occupants of the barges continued on their course, toward the large island, where they paddled up and down the shore looking for the source of the voice that had called to them. When they finally departed, Johnson decided to remain on the small island and take advantage of a barrel full of rainwater and the coconuts. He came across a small shack left by natives and appropriated a pair of one-inch-thick mats for use with a bed he had rigged up. His bower lay deep in the brush, inaccessible even to him except by crawling on hands and knees. To add to his discomfort, he had open sores on his left heel, his right ankle, and both legs. Although he wore gloves, his hands and wrists had many cuts on them. He avoided the worst of the mosquitoes by using a head net, wearing gloves, tucking his pants into his socks, and leaving only his wrists exposed.

Refreshed by a good night's sleep, he returned the mats to the hut, dined on meat and milk from the coconuts, and started to paddle south, away from the direction taken by the barges. Eventually he beached his raft and began to walk the shoreline because on foot he could travel faster. He came across taro roots, which suggested that indigenous people must be nearby. Unfortunately, in his travels he also noted boot prints in the sand, which suggested an unfriendly presence. He was also discomfited by the absence of geographical landmarks characteristic of New Georgia, where he mistakenly believed himself to be. In his travels he came across more and more boot prints, and in a hut he found cloth disks bearing the insignia of the Japanese navy.

By his sixth day on the island, the desperate Johnson had plunged into the jungle, hoping to evade the Japanese near the coast and perhaps find local residents in the interior. As he worked his way through a watery jungle, he said, "I heard a pounding or chopping sound. I hoped that it would be natives but I was almost sure that it was not. Natives have almost no metal tools like axes. I wormed my way noiselessly through the swampy undergrowth until suddenly about 100 yards ahead I saw a wooden shack. I remained motionless and watched. I saw two men at first. They were stripped to the waist and obviously yellow. One had a sort of turban wrapped around his head. Through a window I saw a huge man roll out of a bunk and walk out of and around the shack. This fellow was well over six feet tall and moved like a cat. There were five men in the vicinity of the building and others working in the jungle on the far side.

"This convinced me that further progress in this direction was out of the question. My immediate problem was to get clear without being detected. I worked my way through the mud on my hands and knees and on my stomach when necessary. I went right back up the coast, picking up two coconuts and drinking my fill of water [from a river]. On the way I picked up a wooden box with good nails and a long flat board for a spare paddle." With his found hardware, Johnson reinforced his raft, adding vines, nailing strips of wood across it, and even making himself a kind of seat. He gorged on coconut juice and meat and polished off two blocks of the chocolate in his emergency rations. He stored more coconut meat in his backpack and set out to paddle across open water toward the larger island. When he found himself in open water, he realized he could not be between New Georgia and Vangunu. He sought refuge on another small island, where he built a shelter and then slept.

Once again he headed out to sea, convinced that on one of the many islands he would find natives. After a long day under a broiling sun he stepped ashore on one of the islands as night approached. Buoyed by a coconut repast, he started inland. "I found myself in a small banana plantation with some papaya trees intermingled. I walked [until I found a] small shack in which a fire had been recently burning. On the ground there were bare foot tracks. I knew they must be fresh because it had rained the previous evening. A sudden movement in the jungle caught my eye, and I thought I saw a black person. I called out, and the boy started to run. I called again and started after him. I said, 'Hello, I'm a pilot.'

"When I said this, they [apparently there was more than one] started toward me. I was so happy that I was almost overcome. One of the boys came up and saluted me smartly. They all shook hands with me and grinned happily with relief, because as they told me later they saw me before I saw them and thought possibly I was a Jap. I asked them what day it was and though they could speak very little English, they knew it was June 15. That was the first that I knew exactly how long I had been out. I still had a full bar and two blocks of chocolate and part of my third pack of sulfanilamide. With what sulfathiazole I had I believe I could have gotten along in good shape for six or seven days longer."

His hosts took him to their village, where they fed him boiled taro and fish, which he ate "almost ravenously." One of the men said they would take him to Segi, and indeed, in a war canoe with six men at the paddles, Johnson traveled across the water for seven hours to that settlement. On June 19, 1943 he returned to Guadalcanal. "It looked as good as my own front yard in Coronado, except my wife was not there."

"Wings of Gold" by Gerald Astor

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