The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1945-06-08
- GOD Is MY
w a, CO~PILOT
~MkM Col. Robert L. Scott N4su. aslsAse

~ NSS80veNB0 " 49,
for this war, and the ''heart Of the
octopus" was going to be hard to
get at. But 1t could be done more
easily from China--ande It had TO be
done. These people, who with their
stoical bravery had seen their cities
bombed for over six years, deserved
more help. We must equip their
land armies, help train them-and
give them air support.
/ got to thinking about something
that had occurred few days be-
fore, when the Christmas season was
approaching. ! had just had my
twelfth little Jap flag painted on the
fuselage of my PACK. Each Of these
represented confirmed victory over
the enemy, and my crew chief was
as proud as I was. But learned
that day that some one else was
sharing In that pride too.
On my way to work that day, driv-
ing from the Generals house to the
operations shack, ! had seen q
crowd of Chinese around my ship.
They were sitting there silently and
waiting, and I wondered at them.
But the old American answer came
to me-"We never can figure them
out"--and I went on. AS ! passed
by during the morning the Chinese
people were still standing around
my plane in the drizzling rain.
Finally called for my crew chief
and asked the meaning Of the
crowd. With puzzled look, he re-
piled that he didn't know: they had
told him through an interpreter that
they just wanted to sit there and
wait for the pilot Of the ship. sent
one of my interpreters to investigate
and learned that they were really
waiting for me; they had received
permission from the Chinese Conn
mandant to enter the field.
Some time later I walked over to
where they were still standing in
the slow rain. As / approached my
ship they bowed as the Chinese do,
by standing at what we would call
Attention" and nodding the head in
respect. AS I smiled at them-rag-
ged children, old men and women,
coolies from the fields, and several
who I thought were school teachers
they raised their thumbs high to-
wards me and yelled, "Ding-hao,
ding-hao!" And they pointed with
pride to my twelve flags.
The sun was going down now,
even from our vantage point up
there at twenty-five thousand, where
Holloway and I were patrolling. We
called to the other ships to land,
and as we saw them 60 into the
Lufbery circle and the rat-race that
fighter pilots like to land from, Hol-
loway rolled over and dove straight
for the ground. I started to roll
with him-then turned back for one
more look at the setting sun. Down
on the earth, to those earthbound
creatures, the sun was down. There
the shadows of the approaching
night covered the ground, but up
here / could see above the noun
tains, and the sun still shone on my
fighter. I pulled almost straight up
in the steep climb that like to make
before driving home, and looked
into the vivid blue of the Yunnan
skies. Some verses were running
through my thoughts. Against the
drumming Of the engine heard my
own voice repeating the words Of
another fighter pilot, John Magee,
who had died with the Raj in the
battle Of Britain.
cup, up the long delirious burning
blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights
with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle,
few,
And while with silent, lifting mind
I've troa
The high untrespassed sanctity Of
space,
Put out my hand, and touched the
face Of God"
THE ENID