miles from nowhere. The flight plan called for each plane to go by way of Iwo Jima, for by
this time the Marines had the situation in hand on that little bit of Purgatory, and it furnished
an excellent checkpoint.
	The planes roared along, heavily laden with gasoline, bombs and combat crews "sweating
it out."  Past Iwo and all was "copacetic," up along the chain of Jap-held islands they went,
the radar operators busily engaged in getting their sets into maximum operating efficiency.
This was an all radar mission, the bombs were to be dropped when the navigator gave the
signal, he getting his information from the radar scope.

Landfall! The tip of the Chofu peninsula--about thirty-five miles away--was showing
on the radar screen. Quickly the crew gets into flak suits, quickly the pilot advances the
throttles and climbs the plane up from the 1000-foot cruising altitude to the 5000-foot
bombing altitude. All is tense aboard the ship now, everyone keyed up with a queasy little
feeling in the pit of his stomach. Everyone strains his eyes forward, trying to see land, trying
to see fires, trying to see anything but the all-pervading darkness. Over the interphone comes
the clipped call: "Pilot from navigator, over land, turn 30 degrees right." The plane responds
to the hand on the wheel and drones up the Jap coastline. Another call from the navigator--
another turn in one minute. The pilot advances throttles, the airspeed picks up. 210, 215, 220,
230, 235, and then settles down on 230 as the turn at the Initial Point is made and the bomb
run started. Quickly adjusting anti-glare goggles, the men on the flight deck try to pierce the
gloom ahead. "Fires over to the right," calls the bombardier. "Forget them," snaps back the
navigator, "that's some rumdumbs dropping on Chosi Point."

Across the peninsula and still no fires visible. "What the hell?" thinks the pilot, "where's
the fires?" Then a faint glow appears, looking like the very beginning of a sunrise, quickly
expanding into a bright orange reflection on the sky. "Target straight ahead. I've got it,"
calls the navigator. No evasive action now, no turning until bomb release. The hell with the
flak coming up around from rapid-fire anti-aircraft guns.

"Over the bay, get ready to drop bombs." The bombardier opens the doors and at the
same time the plane plunges headlong into a huge column of acrid, black smoke. It is tossed
around like a leaf, the turbulence is worse than a West Texas thunder storm. Suddenly they
are out of the smoke and there below lies a panorama out of Dante's Inferno, a huge, gushing,
roaring fire licking its irresistible way through the heart of proud Tokyo. The crew is stunned
momentarily, then is snapped back into action by the navigator with his "Ready to drop
bombs! 1-2-3-MARK!" The plane springs up after loosing its tons of burning gel, the bomb-
bay doors snap shut, the pilot flips the wheel over, and it's "Let's get the hell out of here."
The Roman candles are really coming up now as into the unpressurized plane seeps the bitter,
harsh smell of burning wood all mixed up with a hundred other odors.

The city is left behind and it's on to landfall with a sharp lookout for fighters. None.
Good. Past Chosi Point and a few pungent remarks were made about planes dropping on
other than the assigned targets.

And then the long way home. But it is a jubilant crew which breaks open the food-box
and sits around discussing the mission while cruising south. Down past Iwo again and then
it's daylight and they are scudding along in and out of a few vagrant cumulus humilis.

Finally, after seemingly flying for an entire lifetime, Saipan is sighted, a sigh is h~ved,
and the pilot bounces onto the runway.

Many are the tales of wonderment and excitement being bandied about as crews climb
into trucks and head for Group S-2 to give their story.

Then to the medics for a wee drop of the cup that cheers and back to the Quonsets,
feeling tired but exhilarated. The crews flop into bed after a quick shower and a rather
slow, thoughtful breakfast.
	The next day Nagoya, then Robe, then Osaka and then the lesser cities until more than
160 square miles of Japan's cities are pulverized into ashes.

Result of this mission: 17.2 square miles of Tokyo up in smoke, a reported 100,000 dead
Nips; 500th Group losses on mission, none.

Mission complete.