World War: FAR EASTERN THEATER: Space Machine Patched

The wildest-&-woolliest commercial airline in the world connects Free China with the outside world, lightheartedly o’er-leaping beaconless jungles and merciless Japanese. The Chinese call it the Middle Kingdom Space Machine Family; to foreigners it is known as China National Aviation Corp., operated by far-flung Pan American Airways in partnership with the Chinese Government. CNAC, a collection of seasoned pilots and even more seasoned planes, takes in its stride adventures which would not be believed if seen in the movies. Last week CNAC told a tale which topped its bravura career.

Six CNAC planes have so far been shot down by the Japanese. To avoid such accidents, CNAC’s American pilots and Chinese co-pilots fly mostly at night (bad weather preferred), blacked out, radios dead, very high, navigating by stars, by instruments, or by Oriental divining. They have carried over 2,000 passengers a year, over 1,000,000 Lb. of mail and cargo— ranging from new breech blocks for Chung-king’s anti-aircraft guns to jars of American grape jelly for Madame Chiang Kaishek’s table.

Flying a daytime flight from Chungking to Chengtu in a Douglas DC-3, Captain Hugh L. Woods (who had been shot down by the Japanese once before) was attacked by a flight of five Japanese bombers. Woods dived, landed the plane on a tiny field at Suifu, taxied his ship to the edge of some woods, evacuated his passengers. The Japanese planes followed, dropped 200 bombs. One of the bombs splintered the DC-3’s right wing like a lightning-struck tree branch (see cut).

Woods wirelessed Hong Kong: “FORCED DOWN SUIFU BY JAPS, STARBOARD WING SMASHED. SEND ANOTHER. MOUNTING RUNWAY.”

Hong Kong radioed Woods: “HAVE NO DC-3 WINGS. SENDING DC2 SPARE. TRY IT.”

With the help of some coolies, Woods dragged the hurt plane off the field and three miles down a road to hide it in a clump of bamboo. He feared the Japanese would return. They did. For three days, flights totaling 57 Japanese bombers scoured the countryside around Suifu, but the bamboo camouflage fooled them.

On the third day a strange monster flew into the field, rocking and pitching like an aerial rowboat. It was a DC-2, with a DC2 wing strapped to its belly, stub end first, both ends cambered into an awkward streamline by sheets of plywood.

Feverishly through the night brilliant Chinese mechanics who knew plenty about improvisation, and backward Chinese coolies who did not even know the rudiments of Chinese kite-flying worked at patching plane and field. At the first streaks of grey the DC-2½, with one wing five feet longer than the other, roared down the field, took off with a lurch.

A few seconds later Woods radioed Hong Kong: “BOTH PLANES OFF PROCEEDING HONGKONG.” Four hours later the hybrid was home.