Prof. Greg Jackson

In the morning, I had to hit a moving target.

Now I had to hit not only a moving target, but one that was also in the middle of a sharp turn.

In a few seconds, I sized up the enemy carrier and determined its speed and turning radius.

Hiryu, smaller than Kaga and Akagi, turned remarkably fast.

Once again, I aimed for the unblemished rising sun on the flight deck.

I didn't aim directly to hit the ship, but aimed for where the ship was going to be as it continued to turn.

I took my plane down to a low altitude, about 1,500 feet, and released my payload.

My bombs plunged into here you smoking flight deck.

Pulling up from his successful mission, Dusty does exactly what he's not supposed to do and what so many other pilots have done today.

He looks over his shoulder to watch the explosion.

but I'm glad he does, because he so vividly describes the damage in a spectacular metaphor.

My bomb smashed into the flight deck and, like a giant hand rolling a taco, just folded it over.

With the deck peeled away, I saw Hiryu's innards, rows of planes kept below decks.

Flying debris and flames pulverized them and produced such a huge fire that little else could be seen on Hiryu's bow.

Still, the fire was nothing in comparison to the fires I had seen in the morning attack.

Our friend Dick Best from this morning's Akagi mission also manages to land a bomb on the Hiryu.

Back on the Enterprise, Dusty gives this smoking taco report to his boss, but as the pilot says, I'm not sure he appreciated my metaphor.

Returning to his room and logging the day's events in his diary, Dusty writes that he's got to, quote, "'Read the prayer for our suicide TBD squadrons.'"

Yeah, like George Gay's whole squadron and everyone else who failed to return to their rooms tonight.

Here's Dusty's prayer.