I noticed a faint blue off in the distance. Mac radioed “Squall ahead!” — and we’d fly over it. Lickity split we were up against a giant wall of black. I’d never seen anything like it. We tried going over it. Then under it. No good. In no time we were inside it.

We tried to keep on our course but it wasn’t easy. I wrestled with the stick as 150 knot winds pushed me around like a piece of paper; my plane whistled and creaked and moaned, my gauges didn’t work, and I couldn’t see a thing. Radio contact was sporadic.

I didn’t know where I was and neither did anybody else.  Soon we were zig-zagging through a cyclone at full throttle. They didn’t train us for this. 

—

— It was playing. Chopin, in my head. One of the Grand Polonaises. I was startled at first; I wasn’t too familiar with Chopin but there he was, clear as can be — like I was at a concert.

My hand was going numb. I noticed I was gripping the stick too tight. I relaxed a bit. All at once I was thrust upwards and away from my formation. I couldn’t tell my altitude but G-forces told me I was moving at tremendous speed.

I was separated from the boys. I dropped back down to just over the water to find them. I could not. I was alone inside this black monster. Whoever was playing the Polonaise was banging it out now. Chopin and I zipped around for what seemed like 5 hours.

My instruments were no good, I couldn’t tell where I was going; everything was a jumble. There was only one thing I could do — keep flying and trust in God. At one point there was a break in the storm and I saw a blur of what looked like a corsair far below me. I banked hard and swooped down to follow him. Back in to the monster—he disappeared.

I flew best I could where my instincts told me. I fired off a few rounds of my 50 calibers. It felt good to shoot the beast that was tormenting me. I was exhausted. Then something, some instinct, told me to bank hard to the right and set her at full throttle and go straight as I could, for as long as I could.

Thoughts went in and out of my head. Perhaps I should’ve gone in another direction. Maybe I should’ve turned when I had that hunch to fly straight. My engine sputtered. Though we were trained to do it, I did not want to ditch her in the water. I must be close to Nanumea — but where is it?

Then more thoughts — Is this the time I would die? What would my mother feel? What would my sweetheart feel? Would I be a hero or … is this what I was put here for, to die inside a monster storm? Is God there — watching over me, right here, right now — in my hour of need? Somehow I could feel it. Somehow — I knew it.

Before I could finish my prayer a palm tree dashed past my starboard wing — then another. I pulled up just in time to miss the trees — and a church steeple. I could see no lnding [sic] strip and decided I must set her down, before I ran out of gas, while I still had time to choose where.

I’d grown better at seeing in the dark, through the mass of water slamming against my cockpit. I circled the island 3 or 4 times, a small atoll with no clearing long and flat enough on which to land.

I passed over a stretch of beach … there, I was trained to do this, I’ll swing around and approach again just to make sure.

Yes, it would work — if only there was a strip of land. But there was only beach. Beach it is! With wheels up I came in over the church. I tightened my straps and hit the flaps.

There was a terrible noise when I hit the surf. Not a bad landing. “What a marvelous machine!”, I rejoiced, as I unhooked my straps too soon. I hit my head on the instrument panel as she slid to an abrupt halt. Things got blurry. I must’ve blacked out for a second.