“Our PBY had just taken off from Henderson Field at Guadalcanal for a routine patrol. We were climbing out over the ocean about 10 minutes after takeoff when one of the fuel lines broke at the connection to the fuel cell in the wing, right where it connects to the fuselage. Aviation gas poured all into the fuselage. The pilot immediately ordered all absolutely non-essential electrical equipment shut down.
We managed to jerry rig a patch or plug that at least slowed down the flow a lot from some things we scrounged around for inside the airplane. The pilot had already turned back for the airfield. The thing is we had a lot of av-gas on us. There were a couple of inches sloshing around inside the bottom of the aircraft. This was giving the pilot fits with the weight and balance.
We put on parachutes and stood by the now fully open bubble canopies. Maybe we might make it out or be blown out in case of fire. It didn’t look too good because we had gas on us anyway. We were scared but focused on our jobs.
This particular PBY had been decertified for water landing because of age. There was a possibility it could break up if we tried to land on water. Panels could shear off from the bottom and cause it to tumble. The pilot made his decision. We would have to go back to the airfield.
That was the longest 10 minute ride back I ever had in an airplane. Well the pilot made it back down on the ground and as soon as we got slow enough we jumped out on to the ground. Fire trucks were on the way. We could not use the radio so they assumed our violation of procedures was for a reason.
The pilot brought her to a halt with us running behind to catch up to the airplane. We were still thinking of helping the pilot if needed, if it could be even possible if something happened. The co-pilot had been ordered to jump out as well along with us. The pilot made it out OK and we stood there watching gasoline pour from the seams along the bottom of the aircraft.
None of us could understand why it didn’t catch fire.”
http://us.f1.yahoofs.com/bc/67e67bb2/bc/My+Photo+Album/NavyDad.jpg?BCYOOvABah0t.SCaMy Dad, December 5, 1926 - April 25, 2004.
The photo is from just before he was shipping off to the South Pacific. Damn, I do miss him. I always loved to get him to start telling stories about growing up in the Ozark mountains and his time during WWII.
An unexpected heart attack took him down at the age of 78. Thankfully I was in the USA and managed to fly back home that day in time to interact a little. After 3 stints were inserted in the morning, there was that precious 24 hour window. It was not to be. I was there holding his hand when the time came. He was truly the best Dad in the whole world.
Just wanted to share it with folks that have similar interests...
