Last Flight of the Buffaloes - a World War II Story on the Fall of Java

Chapter 15 - The Great Escape

A sharp light teased Jack's eyes as he woke up from the hardest sleep he's had in ages. He had a mild headache, and he felt sick, with a clenching pain in his stomach, paired with the sound of moving bowels. With it was a strong feeling of weakness as cold sweat trickled down his forehead. His tired eyes looked around and it felt like the world spun, his senses dulled due to the intense disorientation. It went in and out, like a beating heart. One moment he was fine, the other, he felt like the world was upside down.

Not that the world wasn't upside down. The Japanese had kicked the Americans, British, and Dutch combined out of Southeast Asia, something that was safely theirs for the most part of recent history.

Trying to take a glimpse outside, he held onto the rails on the rounded walls of the plane's cabin. He had set next to one of the plane's flank machinegunners, now donning tinted goggles trying his best to spot enemies. When he looked to his right, Franky was gone.

Galveston came over not long after, realizing how Lieutenant Desouza was zoning out, his eyes red and exhausted, and nearing puking. Galveston tried to greet him and get him to his senses, but it was no use, until he slapped him lightly on his cheeks.

"Lieutenant!" he yelled. "You there?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah," he said. His eyes were blank and tired.

"What a bad time to finally have your malaria symptoms show up. You were only seven days in the bush. I thought you was a true Manila man."

"I feel like complete shit, Galveston."

"Lucky for you, I still got a few pills." He said. He passed a small container. "Three times a day. It'll save your life. For now."

He swallowed a pill, downing it with water from his almost depleted canteen. In a few minutes, his fever got better, and he was able to stand. Didn't mean the bowel movement stopped, though, but he soldiered on. He went up to the cockpit, trying to find Franky, or at least, get an idea how far they were. He looked at his watch and, showing local Batavia time, it did no help. He passed a couple of his 'fighting wounded', and they all greeted the sick lieutenant gladly.

Not knowing the interior of the B-17, he eventually ended up at the navigator's chamber, where a thick-jacket wearing and flak vest-donning Air Corps lieutenant was finalizing movement on his map. He was discussing it with another man, and Jack quickly found out that it was indeed, Franky.

"Well, well. Looks like someone's up." Said Franky.

"This was the guy?" Asked the navigator.

"That's right, Lewis. Jack the Savior, also known as... hehe, Saint Jack!"

"Cut the bullshit, Franky. Where the hell are we?"

"Supposedly, we're well past the southern coast of West Papua. If Lewis here knows what he is doing."

"Of course I know what I'm doing, Dutchy."

"That means we're on the final leg of the journey. Probably an hour." Said Franky.

"How long was I gone?"

"A good eight hours. Talk about a good night's sleep. It's barely passed sunrise here. My friend, we are slowly passing where the territory of the Netherlands Indies ends, and Australian Papua begins..." Franky noticed Jack's uncharacteristic loss of vigor, and asked. "Whoa, you alright?"

"Seems like I caught some shit. Malaria, it seems."

"That's a good one month in a hospital, so I heard." Said Lieutenant Lewis, the navigator. "Spending time with all those nurses. You got lucky."

Lewis chuckled. Jack had no energy to go on. He asked Lewis whether he could stay here and sit down for a while.

"Stay all you want. Get some sleep, if that malaria's true... Hell, you must be feeling like shit."

"Like ass. Ass and shit. I also might be shitting any time now... My stomach."

"Not on this ship, lieutenant. Not on this ship." Said Lewis, who chuckled again.

"So how'd you end up here? You don't seem old and salty like most American air force men." Franky asked.

"I was a history teacher. Then I realized I wanted to be a part of it. Signed up, army thought I was smart and brought me into OCS, then to air navigator school... You know the drill. Then I got assigned here, on this flying... bullet magnet. Who'd figure? Beats teaching kids about classical history that they don't give two shits about."

"Hey, I gave a shit on classical history." Said Jack, weakly.

"Got you pretty far, eh?"

"Well, I'm on a bucket of bolts with malaria over a place I've barely heard of. Does that count?"

Franky and Lewis laughed. "Well Saint Jack seems a bit of a joker—"

The internal communications system turned up, and Lewis went to alert. Lewis swore, and left his pencil and charts, quickly headed to the machinegun near him. He cranked the bolt, and positioned himself readily. "Fucking Zeroes coming in on us."

"How'd you know they're Zeroes?" asked Franky.

"Called them in. No response." Said Lewis. He quickly curbed over his gun to see closer. There were two dark dots in the distance, due East. Although their bomber wasn't leading the flight, any fighters coming in was a true risk. Japanese fighters have been tearing down American bombers all over Asia, and with no escort coming in, they weren't much good.

The two dots then climbed up, quicker than anything Franky had ever seen. The army fighters, the Hayabusas, didn't climb that fast. Like a deadly mountain wind, they swept up, and there, from the direction of the rising sun, they dived on them. Machineguns rattled the deck, as the B-17's crew desperately tried to take them down before they could reach them. The .30 and .50 caliber machineguns, emplaced on specific spots around the bomber's body, starting spitting lead, and the guns were so shockingly loud that Jack shut his ears with his fingers. He swore.

"Watch it, zero coming from up high!" yelled someone.

And it did.

Jack did not see the fighter, but he sure as hell heard it. Coming from above and diving on them, the Japanese fighter unleashed a long burst against the bomber's body, hitting the front end, then, piercing down the top of the plane through the bottom with its machinegun. Jack had closed his eyes in fear, but heard a body thumping. He opened his eyes, and saw that Franky was down on the floor, his chest spurring blood.

Lieutenant Lewis kept firing but none of his shots hit, and in fear of hitting nearby B-17s, he ceased. The Japanese planes zoomed out, coming around again for another attack. Lewis turned around and saw Franky Drebbel unable to breath; a Japanese machinegun round had struck him in the chest, right on the lungs. Jack went to him, ripping open his clothes to see the suckling wound. Every breath seemed to make the bleeding worse, as it spurned out of his bleeding chest.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... Galveston!" yelled Jack. "Get over here! I need a medic! They got Franky!"

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