At a.m.
on December 15th, 1943, Major Gregory Papy Boington watched 32 wounded Marines lying in the mud at Tokina Airstrip on Buganville, listening to Japanese artillery shells walk closer with each salvo.
31 years old, 25 confirmed kills, zero experience, landing a fighter aircraft loaded with wounded men.
The Japanese had launched a major counteroffensive 48 hours earlier.
3,000 troops pushing toward the Allied perimeter.
Artillery 0D on the airirstrip.
Every transport aircraft had been evacuated south to Guadano.
The wounded couldn’t walk.
They couldn’t wait.
And in 20 minutes, the next artillery barrage would hit the strip directly.
Standard doctrine said fighter pilots don’t evacuate casualties.
Training said the VA F4U Corsair wasn’t designed for passenger transport.
Common sense said attempting it would get everyone killed.
Boington had different priorities.
In the next 37 minutes, he would convert a single seat fighter into an improvised ambulance, develop a loading technique that violated every safety regulation the Marine Corps had written and proved that sometimes the difference between 30 two men living or dying comes down to one pilot who refuses to follow the manual.
This is the story of how Papy Boon turned the Corsair into a rescue aircraft.
How innovation under fire saved an entire platoon and how one impossible landing changed Marine Corps evacuation doctrine for every jungle campaign that followed.
Gregory Boington grew up in Tacoma, Washington, where his stepfather ran a logging operation.
By 14, Boington was working the lumber camps during summer.
Falling trees, hauling logs, operating equipment that could kill a man if he made one mistake.
The logging camps taught him two things.
First, when something goes wrong, you fix it immediately because hesitation gets people hurt.
Second, the equipment manual tells you what something’s designed to do, not what it can actually do under pressure.
At 22, Boington joined the Marine Corps Reserve.
He wanted to fly.
The Marines sent him to Pensacola for flight training in 1935.
He washed out twice, not because of flying ability, because of discipline.
Boington broke regulations constantly, buzzing control towers, unauthorized aerobatics, ignoring altitude restrictions.
His instructors said he flew like he was trying to prove something.
Boington said he was trying to find out what the aircraft could actually handle.
He finally earned his wings in 1937.
The Marines assigned him to VMF 214, a fighter squadron based at San Diego.
He flew Boeing F4B biplanes, then Grumman F3F fighters, solid aircraft but limited.
Boington kept pushing them beyond their rated performance envelopes.
He wanted to know their actual limits, not their paper specification.
In 1941, Boington resigned his Marine Commission and joined the American volunteer group in China, the Flying Tigers.
He flew Curtis P40 Warhawks against Japanese aircraft over Burma and southern China.
The AVG had no regulations, no manual restrictions.
Pilots flew however they needed to fly to stay alive and kill the enemy.
Boington thrived.
He destroyed six Japanese aircraft during his AVG service, but the Flying Tigers disbanded in July 1942.
Boington returned to the United States and rejoined the Marine Corps as a major.
They needed experienced combat pilots.
Boington had that they assigned him to command VMF 214, the Black Sheep Squadron.
In September 1943, the squadron flew F4U Corsa.
The Corsair was the best fighter aircraft the Marines had.
Chancevar designed it around the massive Pratt and Whitney R 2800 engine, 2,000 horsepower.
The most powerful piston engine in any production fighter.
That power gave the Corsair incredible performance.
Top speed 417 mph.
Climb rate 3,120 ft per minute.
Service ceiling 36,900 ft.
650 caliber brownie machine guns in the wings.
The Corsair could outrun, outclimb, and outgun almost every Japanese fighter in the Pacific.
But it had problems.
The long nose blocked forward visibility during takeoff and landing.
The landing gear was tall and narrow, making ground handling difficult.
The engine torque was so extreme that it could flip the aircraft on takeoff if the pilot wasn’t careful.
Navy carrier pilots struggled with the Corsair.
They called it the Nsign Eliminator.
Too dangerous for carrier operations.
The Navy restricted Corsair deployment to land-based marine squadrons with the long runways provided more margin for error.
Boington loved the Corsair.
He understood its quirks.
The visibility problem meant you had to s turn on the ground to see ahead.
The torque meant you had to anticipate rudder correction before opening the throttle.
The narrow landing gear meant you had to land perfectly centered or ground loop.
None of that bothered Boington.
He’d been flying difficult aircraft his entire career.
The Corsair’s performance more than compensated for its handling challenges.
VMF 214 deployed to the Solomon Islands in September 1943.
They operated from Guadal Canal initially, then forward deployed to Munda on New Georgia, then to Vela Lavlla.
The squadron’s mission was air superiority over Bugganville and Rabal.
Shoot down Japanese fighters, protect American bombers, clear the skies so ground forces could advance.
Boington flew two to three combat missions per day.
He shot down Japanese aircraft with mechanical efficiency.
His tactics were simple.
Get close.
Shoot straight.
Don’t waste ammunition.
By December 1943, Boington had 25 confirmed kills.
He was tied with Captain Joe Foss for the Marine Corps record.
Every aviation journalist in the Pacific wanted to interview him.
Every squadron wanted tactics briefings.
Boington ignored the attention.
He focused on keeping his pilots alive and killing Japanese aircraft.
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Back to Boington.
On December 13th, 1943, Japanese forces launched a major counter offensive against the Allied perimeter on Bugenv.
3,000 troops supported by artillery and air strikes.
The attack hit the marine positions around Tokina airirstrip.
Tookina was the primary allied airfield on Bugganville.
Captured in November 1943, expanded to handle fighters and light bombers.
The strip was 3,800 ft of packed coral and dirt.
Not long enough for heavy bombers, adequate for corsairs and transport aircraft.
The Japanese counteroffensive was designed to recapture Tokina and push Allied forces back to the coast.
If they succeeded, the entire Bugganville campaign would collapse.
Marine ground forces held their positions, but casualties mounted quickly.
By December 14th, the field hospital at Tokina had 47 wounded Marines.
Most were ambulatory.
They could walk to transport aircraft for evacuation, but 14 were litter cases.
couldn’t walk, couldn’t sit up, needed immediate medical evacuation to rear area hospitals.
The Army Air Force ran regular C-47 transport flights from Tokina to Guadal Canal.
Two flights per day, morning and afternoon.
The C-47 could carry 18 litter patients plus medical attendants.
Evacuating 14 wounded meant one flight, no problem under normal circumstances.
But these weren’t normal circumstances.
On December 14th at 1420 hours, Japanese artillery observers spotted the afternoon C-47 landing at Tokina.
They called in fire.
61 Siri 5 mm artillery pieces opened up.
Shells landed 200 yd from the park transport.
The CF47 crew aborted loading and took off immediately.
No casualties evacuated.
Japanese artillery continued hitting the airirstrip through the night.
Shells landed randomly across the strip and taxiways.
The Japanese gunners couldn’t see the airirstrip directly.
They were firing from positions 8 mi north using spotters with radios, but their fire was accurate enough to make the strip dangerous.
Any aircraft on the ground for more than 3 minutes risked getting hit.
By morning of December 15th, Torina had 32 wounded Marines requiring evacuation.
The original 14 litter cases plus 18 more from the previous night’s fighting.
The field hospital had no capacity for serious cases.
They could stabilize wounds, provide morphine, replace blood loss with plasma, but they couldn’t perform surgery.
wounded Marines with internal injuries or severe trauma needed to get to a real hospital within 24 hours or they would die.
The morning C47 flight approached Tokina at .
Japanese artillery opened fire when the aircraft was 5 mi out.
The C-47 pilot saw a shell burst across the runway and diverted to Vela Llla without landing.
At 09, the Torina base commander radioed Guadal Canal.
Request emergency evacuation capability.
We have 32 litter cases.
Cannot hold longer than 24 hours.
Advise.
Guadal Canal responded at .
No transport aircraft available for high-risk evacuation until weather improves.
Estimate 48 hours.
The base commander knew 48 hours meant dead Marines.
Some of the wounded wouldn’t survive another day.
He called together his staff officers.
medical officer, operations officer, air leaison officer.
They needed options.
The medical officer said they could stabilize another 12 hours, maybe 18.
After that, the most seriously wounded would start dying, internal bleeding, infection, shock.
The operations officer said no transport pilot would risk landing under active artillery fire.
It violated theater aviation safety regulations.
Pilots could refuse dangerous missions and face no consequences.
The air leazison officer mentioned one possibility.
VMF 214 was operating from Vela Lavella 40 mi south.
Their Corsaires flew combat air patrol over Bugenville daily.
Maybe a fighter pilot would volunteer.
The base commander asked if Corsaires could carry Wunda.
The air liaison officer said, “No single seat fighter, no passenger capacity, not designed for it.” But Boeing had a reputation for doing things aircraft weren’t designed to do.
The base commander sent a radio message at 0925 to VMF 214.
Villa Lavella, request volunteer pilot for emergency wounded evacuation.
Tookina under artillery fire.
Transport aircraft cannot land.
Need immediate solution.
Boington was in the VMF 214 ready room when the message arrived.
He just returned from a morning combat patrol.
Three Corsaires 90minut sweep over Rabal.
No contact with enemy aircraft.
He read the message twice.
Emergency evacuation.
Torakina under fire.
No transports available.
His first thought was they were asking him to coordinate fighter cover for a C47.
That made sense.
Corsaires could suppress Japanese artillery observers.
Maybe give a transport enough time to lay out and load wounded.
But the message said volunteer pilot for evacuation, not fighter cover evacuation.
That meant flying the wounded himself.
Boington walked to the operations tent and asked the radio man to clarify the request.
The response came back in 4 minutes.
Need fighter pilot to land at Tokina.
Load wounded.
Evacuate to Guadak canal.
Transport capacity unavailable.
Your discretion.
Fighter pilot.
Load wounded in a Corsair.
Buyon looked at the specifications board on the ops tent wall for you.
Corsair length 33 ft.
Wingspan 41 ft, single cockpit, no passenger space, no cargo capacity.
The aircraft was designed to carry one pilot, six machine guns and ammunition, nothing else.
But Boington had been pushing aircraft beyond design specifications his entire career.
He asked the operations officer a simple question.
How much does a wounded marine weigh? The operations officer didn’t know.
Boington estimated average marine 170 lb, combat gear 30 lb, 200 lb total.
A wounded marine without gear maybe 170 lb.
The Corsair’s empty weight was 8,982 lb, fully fueled with ammunition.
Combat weight was 12,039 lb.
Maximum takeoff weight was 14,000 lb.
That gave a theoretical margin of 1,961 lb.
11 wounded Marines at 170 lb each equaled 1,870 lb.
The math worked theoretically, but that assumed he could actually fit 11 men into a Corsair designed for one.
The cockpit was 38 in wide.
A man’s shoulders were 18 in.
Two men couldn’t fit side by side, but they could fit front to back.
sitting one behind the other or lying down.
The Corsair’s fuel lodge behind the cockpit was 14 ft long before the tail section started.
Empty space, just structure and control cables.
If you removed the seat armor and radios from the EFT fuselage, that space could hold wounded men.
Maybe.
Boington walked to the flight line where his Corsair was parked.
Bureau number 17915, sign number 86.
He’d flown this aircraft for 4 months.
He knew every panel, every access point, every structural limitation.
He opened the eft fuselledge access panel and looked inside.
The space was 3 ft wide, 2 ft high, 8 ft long before the impenage structure began.
Tight, but possible.
A wounded Marine lying flat could fit.
Maybe two lying head to toe.
Boington called his crew.
Chief Technical Sergeant Frank Walton.
Walton had been maintaining F4 Ross since they entered service.
He knew the aircraft as well as any engineer at Chance Watt.
Boington explained the situation.
Wounded Marines at Turkina.
No transport available.
Need to evacuate using the Corsair.
Can we modify the fuselage to carry passengers? Walton stared at him for 5 seconds.
That’s insane, sir.
Can we do it? Regulations say no.
I didn’t ask about regulations.
I asked if we can do it.
Walton looked at the open fuse lodge panel.
We’d need to remove the AFT radio equipment.
That’s 60 lb.
Remove the auxiliary fuel tank.
That’s 40 lb empty.
We could create maybe 80 cubic feet of space.
Enough for two men lying down.
How long to modify? 30 minutes.
If we don’t worry about putting it back together properly.
Boington checked his watch.
Oh, .
If he left by , he could reach Torakina by .
Load wounded.
Depart by 11 before the next artillery barrage.
Do it.
I’ll brief the squadron on fighter cover.
Walton grabbed two mechanics and started pulling panels off the Corsair’s AF fuselage.
They worked fast.
Removing radio equipment meant disconnecting cables and unbolting racks.
The auxiliary fuel tank was held by four bolts and two fuel lines.
They pulled everything in 22 minutes.
By , Boington’s Corsair had 80 cubic feet of empty space in the AF fuselage.
Not comfortable, not safe, but possible.
The next problem was how to actually load wounded men into that space.
The fuselage access panel was 18 in wide.
A man’s shoulders were 18 in tight fit.
Wounded men couldn’t climb in themselves.
They’d need to be lifted and slid in feet first.
Boyin calculated loading time.
Two men per fuselage.
Loading time may be four minutes per man.
8 minutes per aircraft.
He’d need multiple trips.
32 wounded meant 16 trips at two men each.
16 landing under artillery fire.
16 takeoffs from a 3,800 ft coral strip.
The math didn’t work.
He’d get hit before completing half the evacuation.
He needed a different approach.
Maximum loading per aircraft.
How many wounded could one Corsair actually carry? Two in the aft fuselage.
What about the cockpit? The pilot’s seat was wide enough for one man.
What if a wounded marine sat on the pilot’s lap or in front of the pilot between the seat and the instrument panel? Boington tested the cockpit space.
He sat in the pilot seat, called over a mechanic, Corporal James Reed, 5’9, 160 lb, average size.
Reed, sit in my lap.
Reed looked confused but complied.
He sat sideways on Boington’s lap.
His legs extended to the right rudder pedal.
His shoulders blocked Boington’s view of the instruments.
Boington shifted Reed forward.
Reed’s back pressed against the control stick.
That wouldn’t work.
Face forward.
sit between my legs,” Reed repositioned.
He sat facing forward, his back against Boington’s chest, his legs extending down both sides of the control column.
Boington could see over Reed’s right shoulder.
He could reach the throttle and mixture controls on the left side.
He could operate the rotor pedals.
He couldn’t see the instrument panel, but he could fly by outside visual reference.
It would work for short flights in good weather.
Boington did the math again.
Two wounded in the AFT fuselage.
One wounded sitting forward in the cockpit.
Three men per trip.
32 wounded men, 11 trips.
Still too many unless other pilots volunteered.
Boington walked back to the ready room.
His squadron executive officer, Captain George Ashman, was briefing the morning flight schedule.
Boington interrupted, “I need volunteers for a non-standard mission.
Evacuating wounded from Tokina.
Aircraft modification required.
Multiple landings under artillery fire.
Anyone interested? The ready room went silent.
18 pilots stared at him.
Captain Frank Walton asked, “What’s the modification?” Boington explained.
Remove a fuselage equipment.
Load wounded men into the empty space.
One in the cockpit with the pilot.
Two in the fuselage.
Three per aircraft.
That’s not in the manual, sir.
Walton said the manual doesn’t cover this situation.
Lieutenant Robert M.
Cler raised his hand.
How many trips? If we get four aircraft, three trips each.
12 total.
I’m in.
MC Cler said.
Captain Edwin Olander volunteered.
I’ll fly.
Lieutenant Junior Grade William Casease volunteered.
Count me in.
Four pilots, four corsaires, four simultaneous landings could reduce ground time.
Load all four aircraft at once.
Take off together.
Japanese artillery would have multiple targets.
Harder to hit.
The plan solidified.
Four modified corsairs.
Depart Villa Llla at .
Arrive Tokina at .
Land.
Load three wounded per aircraft.
Depart by .
Fly to Guadal Canal.
Offload.
Return to Torokina for second load.
Three trips total.
Oington briefed the other pilots.
Will land in finger four formation.
30 second intervals spread across the strip.
That disperses Japanese artillery targeting.
Ground time maximum 10 minutes.
The wounded will be on litters at the strip edge.
Corman will load them into our aircraft.
We just need to keep engines running and be ready to taxi immediately after loading.
The pilots nodded.
They understood the risk.
Landing under artillery fire violated every safety protocol, but 32 wounded Marines needed evacuation.
Nobody questioned the mission.
By , four Corsaires sat on the Villa Lavella flight line with their AFT fuselages gutted, radio equipment removed, fuel tanks pulled, access panels secured with speed tape instead of proper fasteners.
The modifications weren’t pretty, but they’d hold for a 90-minute flight.
Boington strapped into aircraft 86.
He ran through pre-flight checks.
Magnetos good, oil pressure good, fuel quantity good.
He had 180 gallons, enough for three hours of flight of cruise power.
Plenty of margin.
He fired up the R2,800 engine.
The 18 cylinder radial roared to life.
Smoke blasted from the exhaust stacks.
The propeller bit into the humid air.
He checked control movement.
Stick, rudder, throttle, mixture.
Everything functioned normally.
At , all four Corsaires were running.
Boington released brakes and taxied.
The other three followed in trail.
They took off at .
The flight to Tokina took 24 minutes.
Boington led the formation at 8,000 ft.
Altitude gave them standoff from Japanese anti-aircraft fire and better visibility of the airrip.
At , Turkina appeared ahead.
Boington could see smoke rising from multiple points around the perimeter.
Artillery impacts.
The fighting was close.
He keyed his radio.
Torakina Tower, Black Sheep flight of four requesting landing clearance for wounded evacuation.
The tower responded immediately.
Black sheep cleared to land.
Be advised, strip is under sporadic artillery fire.
Last impact 6 minutes ago at the east end.
Recommend expedited approach.
Boeing acknowledged.
He turned to the other pilots on the tactical frequency.
Here’s how we’ll do this.
I’ll land first.
Taxi to the west revetment area.
Ashun, you follow 30 seconds behind.
Taxi to midstrip.
Olander, your third east revetment.
Matt cler, your tail.
Park at the threshold.
That spreads us across 2,000 ft.
Harder to hit all of us with one barrage.
The pilots confirmed.
Boington rolled into his approach.
The Corsair’s long nose blocked his forward view.
He s turned on final to see the runway.
At 200 ft, he straightened out.
The coral strip rushed up.
He pulled power.
The Corsair settled.
Main gear touched at 90 mph.
Tail wheel came down.
He stood on the brakes.
The aircraft decelerated hard.
He turned off at the first taxi way and headed for the west revetment.
Behind him, Ashoon’s Corsair touched down, then a landers, then MC Clerks.
Four fighters on the ground simultaneously.
Boington reached the revetment at .
A Navy corman ran toward his aircraft waving his arms.
Behind the corman, eight Marines on stretchers lay in the mud.
Boington kept the engine running.
He couldn’t shut down.
Restarting would take 2 minutes they didn’t have.
The corman climbed onto the wing.
He shot it over the engine noise.
Major, we’ve got the worst cases loaded for us.
Two men ready for your aircraft.
Boington gave a thumbs up.
He watched two corman lift a litter and carry it toward the corsair.
The wounded marine on the litter was unconscious.
Bandages covered his chest and left arm.
Blood had soaked through.
They positioned the litter next to the aft fuselled edge access panel.
The corman looked at the 18-in opening and then at the 6-t long marine on the litter.
He won’t fit, sir.
One corman yelled.
Boington climbed out of the cockpit.
He measured the opening with his eyes.
The marine was 6 feet tall, maybe 180 lb, too big to fit straight in.
Angle him diagonal, feet first, head toward the tail.
The corman tried.
They lifted the marine off the litter and attempted to slide him into the fuselage opening feet first.
His shoulders caught on the frame.
They couldn’t get him past the opening.
Boington grabbed the wounded Marine shoulders.
On three, push hard.
The corman pushed.
Boington pulled.
The Marine’s body scraped through the opening.
He slid into the aft fuselage.
Not comfortable, definitely not safe, but inside.
The second wounded Marine was smaller, 5’8, maybe 150 lb.
He was conscious.
Shrapnel wounds in both legs.
The corman slid him in easier.
He lay on top of the first Marine head to toe.
Two men in the aft juice, one more in the cockpit.
The corman brought a third litter.
This marine was conscious, stomach wound, plasma bag attached to his arm.
They lifted him to the wing.
Boington helped him into the cockpit.
The marine sat on the seat facing forward.
Boington climbed in behind him.
He sat on the seat back edge with the wounded Marine between his legs.
His chest pressed against the Marine’s back.
He could barely see over the marine’s shoulder that he could see enough.
Instruments were mostly blocked, but he could see the windscreen and side windows enough to fly visually.
He signalled the corman to close the canopy.
They slid it forward and locked it.
The cockpit was cramped.
Three men in a space designed for one.
Boington could barely move.
His left arm reached around the wounded marine to the throttle.
His right hand rested on the control stick.
His feet operated the rudder pedals.
The wounded Marine’s head blocked 60% of his forward view.
Boington checked his watch.
11:118.
5 minutes on the ground.
He needed to go.
He added power.
The Corsair rolled forward.
Taxiing was difficult.
He couldn’t see directly ahead.
He navigated by looking out the side windows and making constant corrections.
At , he reached the runway threshold.
Ashman’s Corsair was already lined up.
Alander and Matt Cler were taxiing into position.
Boon keyed the radio.
Black Sheep laid ready for takeoff.
Black Sheep two ready.
Three ready.
Four ready.
Boon released brakes and pushed the throttle forward.
The R2800 engine roared to full power.
2,00 horsepower drove the propeller.
The Corsair accelerated.
Boeing couldn’t see the center line.
He steered by peripheral vision, watching the runway edge out the side windows.
At 80 mph, he felt the tail come up.
At 90 mph, he pulled back on the stick.
The Corsair lifted off.
He was airborne with,200 ft of runway remaining.
He climbed straight ahead, didn’t turn until reaching 500 ft.
Behind him, the other three Corsairs took off in 30-second intervals.
By , all four aircraft were climbing southbound toward Guadak Canal.
Inside Boington’s cockpit, the wounded Marine was barely conscious.
His head lulled against Boington’s chest.
His breathing was shallow.
Boington could feel the Marine’s back pressed against him, could feel each breath.
In the AFT fuselage, the other two wounded were invisible.
Boington had no way to check on them.
No way to know if they were alive or dead.
He just flew.
The flight to Guadel Canal took 52 minutes.
Boington maintained 8,000 ft cruise power, 190 mph.
He didn’t push the engine.
The Corsair was carrying 570 lb of extra weight, three wounded Marines.
The aircraft handled differently, slower to respond, heavier in pitch, but controllable.
At 1217, Henderson Field on Guadell Canal appeared ahead.
Boington called the tower.
Henderson Black Sheep flight of four requesting priority landing.
Medical evacuation.
Black Sheep cleared direct to Field Hospital parking area.
Ambulances standing by.
Boington landed at .
He taxied to the hospital area where four ambulances waited.
Corman ran toward his aircraft before he shut down the engine.
They climbed onto the wing, opened the canopy, helped the wounded marine out of the cockpit.
Then they opened the AF fuse ledge panel and pulled out the other two Marines.
All three were alive, barely, but alive.
The corman loaded them into ambulances and drove toward the hospital building.
Boington didn’t watch.
He refueled his Corsair and prepared for the second trip.
Ashoon Olander and Matt Cler landed within 3 minutes.
Nine wounded Marines evacuated.
23 remaining at Tokina.
At 1250, the four Corsaires took off again.
Same formation.
Same plan.
Load three wounded per aircraft.
Get them to Henderson Field.
Repeat.
The second trip went faster.
The coremen at Tokina had figured out the loading process.
Angle wounded diagonal, feet first into the fuselage.
Smaller Marines in the cockpit, larger Marines in the aft fuselage.
By 1335, Boington was landing at Henderson with three more wounded, 18 total evacuated, 14 remaining.
The third trip launched at 1405.
Boington was exhausted.
He’d flown 6 hours of combat missions in the past 9 hours.
His shoulders achd from holding the Corsair steady with a wounded marine sitting against him.
His legs cramped from operating rudder pedals in the confined space.
But he had 14 Marines left at Tokina.
He flew north again.
At 1448, Boington landed at Tokina for the third time.
Japanese artillery had intensified.
Shells were landing every 4 minutes.
The base commander met Boington at the revetment.
Major, we need to expedite this.
They’ve got the strip ranged.
Next, Barat hits in three minutes.
Boington nodded.
Load fast.
The corman worked with desperate speed.
They had the technique perfected now.
2 minutes per aircraft.
14 wounded remaining.
Four aircraft.
Three per aircraft equals 12.
Two would have to wait for a fourth trip.
But Boington made a decision.
Load four in mine.
I’ll take one extra.
Sir, you’re already overweight.
I’ll manage.
load them.
The corman loaded four wounded marines into Boington’s Corsair.
Two in the AF fuselage as before.
One in the cockpit sitting forward.
One sitting on the cockpit floor between Boington’s legs and the instrument panel.
The fourth Marine was crammed into a space that didn’t exist.
His head pressed against the lower instrument panel.
His legs folded beneath him.
Boington’s forward visibility was now zero.
He couldn’t see ahead at all.
just side windows.
He’d have to taxi and take off by looking out the side.
At 1456, Boyington added power.
The Corsair didn’t move.
The weight was too much.
He added more power.
The wheels broke free from the mod.
The aircraft rolled forward, sluggish, heavy.
He couldn’t see where he was going.
He navigated purely by peripheral vision, watching the revetment walls slide past his side windows, watching other parked aircraft to judge his distance.
At the runway threshold, he lined up by guessing.
He pushed the throttle to full power.
The Corsair accelerated slowly, very slowly.
At 60 mph, it should have been lifting the tail.
The tail stayed down.
At 70 mph, still tail down.
At 80 mph, the tail finally came up.
He was running out of runway.
Tookina’s strip was 3,800 ft.
He’d used 2,000 ft and wasn’t airborne yet.
At 90 mph, he pulled back.
The Corsair didn’t respond.
Too heavy, too slow.
He held back pressure.
At 95 mph, he felt the main gear lighten.
At 100 mph, the aircraft staggered into the air.
He was 200 f feet from the end of the runway.
He cleared the tree line by 30 ft.
The Corsair climbed at 400 ft per minute.
Normal climb rate was 3,120 ft per minute.
He was operating at 13% of normal performance.
The aircraft was dangerously overloaded, but he was airborne.
Behind him, the other three Corsair took off successfully.
14 wounded Marines total on this trip.
32 evacuated overall.
Mission complete.
Boeing flew to Henderson Field at 6,000 ft.
He didn’t have the power to climb higher.
The flight took 58 minutes.
He landed at 1604.
Corman unloaded four wounded Marines from his aircraft.
All four were alive.
32 wounded Marines evacuated from Tokina in 6 hours.
Zero casualties during evacuation.
Zero aircraft lost.
The mission was a complete success.
But Boeing’s Corsair was damaged.
The AF fuselage showed stress cracks around the axis panel from the weight of the wounded Marines.
The landing gear showed excessive wear from the overweight takeoffs.
The engine had been run at high power settings for extended periods while overloaded.
Maintenance estimated 40 hours of repair work before the aircraft would be combat ready again.
Boeing didn’t care.
Aircraft could be repaired.
Dead Marines couldn’t.
That night at Henderson Field, the senior medical officer found Boington in the VMF 214 tent area.
Captain Harold Sanders, Navy Doctor, 15 years of service.
He wanted to talk about the wounded Marines.
Sanders explained that eight of the 32 evacuated men would have died within 24 hours without surgery.
Their wounds were too severe for field hospital treatment.
Four others would have lost limbs to infection.
Getting them to Henderson Field surgical facilities saved their lives and their futures.
You saved 32 men today, Major Sanders said.
Some people might say you violated regulations and endangered lives with an unauthorized aircraft modification.
I did violate regulations, Boington said, and I’d do it again.
The story of Boington’s jungle strip evacuation spread through marine aviation channels within 48 hours.
By December 18th, every fighter squadron in the Solomon Islands knew about it.
Pilots discussed the technique.
Could other fighters be modified for casualty evacuation.
Could the concept be standardized? Marine Corps headquarters on Guaken initiated a formal inquiry not to punish Boington to evaluate whether his improvised technique should become doctrine.
A board of three officers interviewed Boington on December 21st.
They wanted details, aircraft modifications, weight calculations, loading procedures, flight characteristics with passengers.
Boington provided complete information.
He emphasized the risks, the overweight takeoffs, the limited visibility, the stress on the airframe.
He recommended against making it standard procedure too dangerous, too many variables.
The board disagreed.
They saw potential in jungle warfare.
Casualties often occurred at remote locations with no transport aircraft access.
Fighter strips could handle corairs where C47s couldn’t land.
Having the capability to evacuate wounded using fighters could save lives across the theater.
The board made recommendation.
First, develop standardized modifications for the F4U Corsair to carry casualties.
removable panels instead of permanent removal.
Second, train select pilots in overweight operations and limited visibility flying.
Not all pilots, just volunteers with appropriate experience.
Third, established procedures for emergency medical evacuation using fighters when transport aircraft were unavailable.
By January 1944, the Marine Corps issued technical bulletin 44-12 emergency casualty evacuation using F4U Corsair aircraft.
The bulletin described Boington’s technique in detail.
It included weight calculations, loading diagrams, flight procedures.
It authorized squadron commanders to modify corsairs for casualty evacuation when tactical situations required.
The bulletin noted that such operations were high-risisk and should only be attempted by experienced pilots under emergency conditions.
Several Marine squadrons immediately implemented the modifications.
VMF 215, VMF 221, VMF 223.
They practiced loading wounded into modified corsairs.
They conducted training flights with simulated casualties.
By March, 15 Marine fighter squadrons had at least two aircraft configured for emergency evacuation.
The capability was used six times between February and August 1944.
Marine pilots evacuated wounded from Emirro, Green Island, Paleu, and other remote locations where transport aircraft couldn’t operate.
The modified Corsair technique saved an estimated 47 additional labs during that period.
But the technique had limitations.
It required experienced pilots with exceptional fly skills.
It stressed aircraft beyond design specifications.
It was dangerous under the best conditions and potentially fatal under combat conditions.
The Marine Corps never made its standard doctrine.
It remained an emergency capability authorized but not encouraged.
After the war, military historians studied Boyington’s evacuation mission.
The US Naval Institute published an analysis in 1948.
The report concluded that Boeing’s innovation demonstrated the importance of tactical flexibility in pilot initiative.
The report noted that strict adherence to regulations and aircraft operating limitations would have resulted in 32 preventable deaths.
The innovation wasn’t just the aircraft modification.
It was the willingness to attempt something unprecedented under extreme pressure.
The report recommended that future pilot training emphasize created problem solving and adaptation over rigid procedural compliance.
Modern military medical evacuation doctrine traces some of its principles to Boington’s Torquina mission.
The concept of using non-traditional assets for casualty evacuation.
The idea that any aircraft can become a medevac platform if the situation demands it.
These principles appear in current army and Marine Corps field manuals.
Gregory Boington didn’t survive the war unscathed.
On January 3rd, 1944, 19 days after the Torina evacuation, he was shot down during a mission over a ball.
His Corsair was hit by Japanese zero fighters.
He bailed out over the ocean.
Japanese forces captured him.
He spent 20 months as a prisoner of war.
Beaten, starved, interrogated.
He survived through willpower and the same refusal to quit that had defined his entire career.
Liberation came in August 1945 when Allied forces reached his P camp near Tokyo.
Boington weighed 110 lb.
He’d lost 70 lb during captivity, but he was alive.
The Marine Corps promoted him to Lieutenant Colonel and awarded him the Medal of Honor for his combat record.
28 confirmed kills, 14 damaged leadership of VMF 214 through the most intense air combat of the Pacific War.
The Medal of Honor citation mentioned his aggressive tactics, his inspirational leadership, his willingness to place himself in extreme danger.
It didn’t mention Tokina or the 32 wounded Marines he evacuated.
That mission wasn’t officially recognized because it violated too many regulations to celebrate publicly.
But the pilots who flew with him remembered.
The Marines he saved remembered.
The corman who loaded wounded into impossibly small spaces remembered.
After the war, Boington struggled post-traumatic stress, alcoholism, failed marriages.
He drank heavily for years, worked various jobs, wrestling referee, beer salesman.
He published his autobiography, Baba Black Sheep, in 1958.
The book was successful.
It portrayed him as a flawed hero, a brilliant pilot who couldn’t function in peace time, a warrior without a war.
Television discovered him in the 1970s.
A network produced a series based on his life.
The show ran for two seasons, made Boington famous again, but never mentioned Tokina.
Never showed the desperate improvisation or wounded Marines crammed into impossible spaces.
In 1983, a former Navy corpman approached Boington at a Marine reunion.
He’d helped load wounded into Boington’s Corsair that day.
He introduced two Marines who’d been evacuated on that flight.
Both had survived surgery, completed recovery, served additional tours, were alive because you broke regulations, sir.
One said Boington didn’t trust his voice.
Later, he told a friend that meeting them meant more than the Medal of Honor.
The medal recognized kills.
The reunion recognized lives saved.
Gregory Boington died on January 11th, 1988, age 75.
The Marine Corps buried him at Arlington with full honors.
The ceremony honored his 28 kills and Medal of Honor.
It didn’t mention Tokina, but former VMF 214 members published their own memorial listing his accomplishments, including one final entry.
December 15th, 1943.
Major Boington evacuated 32 wounded Marines from Torina under artillery fire.
All survived.
Mission not officially recognized.
That was his real legacy.
The willingness to break regulations when lives depended on it.
The refusal to let Marines die when an option existed, no matter how dangerous.
One pilot, one modified fighter, 32 wounded Marines.
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