Page Four                          
 
                                                            
 
 
"Target in twenty minutes." of us in that glider 
      came alive - broke from our tight-packed, cramp-locked huddles. 
      Bolts snicked sharply as cartridges snapped into chambers. Hangers 
      on pistols crashed back and slid home again.--Men straightened 
      and got their packs adjusted - heavy jungle packs that would 
      carry us out the whole way on foot if need to. The word passed 
           for safety belts and the catches clicked to.     
 
                                                            
 
 
Ahead, the tow shim suddenly John Allison and the Doc called 
      out together, "Lights- they've got the smudges lit|" 
      The first glider was already down then - and there was no red 
      flare. Half way around in the bank, Allison hit the cut-off at 
      a thousand feet and we were gliding free, coming, in sharply 
      for a landing in complete darkness. Seese's glider was free beside 
      us and slightly ahead. Here we go - packed to the guards - with 
      no power but gravity to bring us in. Here we go into a blind 
      clearing at better than a hundred miles an hour, howling down 
      the night wind, deep in the heart of enemy territory, with a 
      whole Jap army between us still and our following waves - with 
      little John Allison fighting the controls arid Doc Tulloch calling 
      out his altitude and his flying speed to him. Trees - and we're 
      over them| The lights - and they've shot past under us| A long 
      flat shadow land ahead and we flatten for it, level off, sink 
      toward it, strike it and bounce. The skids tear into it and the 
      dust blots us out, stree, ning behind us across the clearing 
      like the tail of a meteor. Then suddenly we have swung slightly 
      right and stopped and the doors fly open and the security party 
      is off on the run, fanning out on a perimeter of 360 - moving 
      toward the jungle that is all around us and that nay burst into 
            shattering enemy fire at the next breath.       
 
                                                            
 
 
                         "Gliders|"                         
 
                                                            
 
 
Another tow ship is over us with its gliders cut off. You 
      can see them over the distant trees, losing altitude fgst, diving 
   %    towards us, helpless to turn back or to go on beyond their- glide 
      - howling down into the clearing with their heavy loads - one 
      of them with death reaching for it. It banks slightly before 
      it quite clears the trees and a split second later there is a 
      splintering crushing thunderclap echoing across the night silences 
      and the glider is gone. We start a party toward the edge of the 
      jungle, running toward the sound of the crash, passing the word 
      back for the doctor. Paddy birds chirp sleepily in their nests 
      and the moon is still high and white above - but in there, somewhere 
      deep in the tangled growth, there is nothing but silence. We 
      cut in part way and call - but no answer comes back. We circle 
      down a fish tail in the clearing and call again. No answer - 
      and not a sound- but the roar of more motors overhead and the 
      slicing sigh of two more gliders cut free - and again two more 
      - until the air above seems full of them for a moment.
 
                                                            
 
 
The word is passed the bulldozers are not down yet - plowed 
      ground and buffalo wallows and a log or two have taken wheels 
      off some of the landed gliders - all hands to marnhandle them 
      and clear the landing space for the gliders coming in. Everybody 
      turns to on the disabled ships, horsing and tugging frantically 
      to get them out of the way. But a big glider with one wheel off 
      is a helpless thing and a damned thing to move, "Turn her 
      port wing to the north, then and keep her red wing tip light 
     on| Lay on the next one. Hearst. Here comes another tow
 
                                                            
 
 
Fifty men strain at the wreck but she doesn't budge. Skids 
      dug in. "Haul up on the wing -hold her shoulder high - around 
      with her tail. Sweat, you bloaters - lay on."