They Seemed to Know No Fear

Y ou’re over the middle of the ocean. Freezing air blows through your half-destroyed cockpit. Your only means of communication is an experimental radio set, and you’re rapidly losing blood from multiple shrapnel wounds. By your rough estimation, it’s 40 minutes until you’ll find a place to land.

You’re in the air over Germany, trying to fly in formation while protecting a bomber squad. Gunfire erupts around you, and though you give as good as you got, your bombers explode and their crews plummet to the ground.

Both of these are real-life examples, the first being a description of the heroic exploits of Jay Zeamer and the crew of “Old 666” in the Pacific Theater; the second was experienced by triple ace Robin Olds. The incredible feats of these men are detailed in Lucky 666: The Impossible Mission That Changed the War in the Pacific, and Fighter Pilot: The Memoirs of Legendary Ace Robin Olds, respectively. The two books combined  not only give readers fascinating perspectives on both World War II theaters, the Vietnam War, bombers, and the Air Force, they also make a compelling point about the ability and fragility of man.

With his World War II and Vietnam tours, Robin Olds gained triple-ace status, as well as a reputation not unlike that of Top Gun’s Pete Mitchell. Olds’s memoir is not a quick read, but it does give a full picture of his passion for flying and how he saw his place in the world. While I would’ve liked a bit more of the sociopolitical context of the wars he fought in  from Olds’s perspective, it is telling that he didn’t seem to care much about that — he just wanted to fly. You know he was an incredible pilot, but he doesn’t brag about his skills or even seem to notice whether he was making headlines. Air Force friends of mine tell me that Olds has “folk hero” status in their circles, and he’s known both for his many exploits in the air and for bucking authority. His mustache is the stuff of legends, and the mock dogfight he initiated over the Air Force Academy still comes up in conversations.

Olds, maverick though he may have been, struck me as rather relationally minded. For all his struggles with authority, he valued a strong rapport with those equal to and under him and was continually finding ways of keeping them safe and of encouraging healthy, team-building competition among his men and with other squadrons. Many of his views on creating relationships and cutting red tape came from his experiences in World War II and working in the Air Force bureaucracy back in the States. They also came from his understated but highly important ability to study pertinent combat data and use them to his advantage.

Sadly, while Olds’s Air Force career was quite illustrious, his personal life was fairly rocky. His marriage to movie star Ella Raines lasted nearly 30 years, but much of it they spent apart or in turmoil. The careers and personalities of the two made for a difficult relationship, and Olds’s desire to remain in combat and Raines’s refusal to live in base housing, among other issues, drove them apart. Olds is generous in his portrayal of Raines throughout the memoir, but he is brutally honest about his goals and priorities. Nevertheless, Olds’s legacy as a fighter pilot is incredible, and an important one in our nation’s aviation history.

In a 180 from the genre of memoir is Lucky 666, which is written in a historical-thriller manner, except with footnotes and real facts. Unlike in Olds’s story, the authors of Lucky 666 give quite a bit of geopolitical information, showing readers how events connect and putting all the characters in context. This book deals with the Pacific Theater, a fascinating topic for me, since I knew virtually nothing about America’s level of engagement there. Eye-opening to say the least, this book gives readers the facts about locations, planes, biases, rivalries, racial impressions, and much more.

Jay Zeamer is the foremost character, a fighter-pilot aspirant who didn’t make the cut because of his height and transferred over to bombers. A bit of a misfit, Zeamer struggled to get out of the right seat (meaning he was co-pilot but never pilot-in-command) for a number of reasons, and he clashed with authorities over battle tactics. He volunteered for every mission he could and talked to everyone he could in an earnest quest for knowledge about flying. His best friend, Joe Sarnoski, also plays a large role in the story and adds an element of tragedy as well. Sarnoski was a bombardier, and the two had met while in training stateside. Fate brought them together in Australia, where they and a group of like-minded men reworked and customized a defunct B-17 to their own specifications to fly missions.

The book is crafted such that readers become invested in the characters and their stories, but there’s some distance, a filter helping you focus on the mission the book builds up to. The storytelling in this book is exceptional, never over the top, always drawing you on to the climax. It drives home the skill and grit of Zeamer and his crew, the complexity of this theater, and the importance of their famous reconnaissance mission to photograph Buka and Bougainville.  

These two books are significantly distinct in style and voice. They deal with a fighter pilot and a bombing crew, respectively, each of which has dramatically different missions and capabilities (though, the way Zeamer flew, you’d think he was a fighter pilot at times). A common thread weaves throughout each, however, that says something about humanity. To illustrate this, allow me a story and a statistic.

First, the story. Olds recounts how, on that aforementioned ill-fated bombing run, there was a mistake, and he couldn’t find the bomber he was supposed to be guarding. When the fighting started, he saw one of the bombers fly apart in front of him. He tells how the tail gunner’s parachute had gotten caught on a part of the falling plane, and how he was “stuck like a rock in a sling,” trying to disentangle himself. As the man plummeted to earth, he and Olds locked eyes. As Olds tells it, there was no fear in the man’s face, only grim determination.

Second, a statistic. From Luck 666: “Of the 276,000 warplanes that rolled off American assembly lines between December 7, 1941, and September 2, 1945, 40,000 would be lost overseas, including 23,000 in combat. (Another 14,000 crashed or were disabled in the continental United States.)”

Forty thousand lost overseas. And 14,000 never made it to combat.

The risks were, and still in many ways are, enormous. But this point bears reflection: Every moment we live is one moment closer to our death. Reading these stories, though, is a powerful reminder that, despite our fragility, man is capable of incredible acts of daring, courage, and will.

These are men who deserve our deepest respect. Their courage and dedication to their tasks speaks volumes about their characters. The beauty, strength, and fragility of human life are fully on display in these stories, and I hope they inspire you as they have inspired me.