One day, somewhere in China in 1944, we were returning from a routine mission and watching for trouble, as the skies were not as friendly as they are now.

I was not a smoker during my first year or so in the service, but became one flying every day just out of reach of enemy anti-aircraft fire. Almost every one of our squadron's fleet of C-47s had varying degrees of flak damage, evident by the numerous aluminum patches riveted to fuselage, wings, etc.

Looking out through the "bubble" this day while smoking a cigarette, my heart started to pound when I saw a Japanese Zero come alongside our aircraft. I grabbed a Thompson submachine gun that we carried on board, but realized what a futile defense this would be even if I had a firing position to use in this cargo plane.

What seemed like minutes, but probably only a few seconds, I could see the pilot's face. He then wagged his wings, peeled off apparently to return to base, and disappeared from view.

I could only conclude that he was either out of ammunition or had serious reservations about shooting down an unarmed aircraft. Whatever the answer, the guardian angels were truly working overtime that day.

Copyright 2000, H. Thomas Flanagan