At a.m.
on February 15th, 1944, Lieutenant Junior Grade Nathan Gordon sat in the cockpit of his PBY5 Catalina flying boat, watching smoke rise from Cababiang Harbor 40 mi to the northeast.
27 years old, lawyer from Arkansas, 18 months in the Pacific.
The radio crackled with distress calls, aircraft down, crews in the water, Japanese shore batteries firing at anything that moved.
His Catalina, nicknamed Arkansas Traveler, Bureau number 08139, carried a crew of nine standard patrol bomber configuration.
Two Pratt and Whitney R1 183092 twin Wasp engines producing 1,200 horsepower each.
Maximum takeoff weight 35,420 lb.
Cruise speed 125 mph.
The slowest, most vulnerable aircraft in the U.
S Navy Inventory.
A flying boat designed for reconnaissance and submarine hunting, not combat rescue under fire.
Gordon’s mission that morning was simple.
Dumbo duty search and rescue standby during a fifth Air Force bombing raid on Cavang.
Standard procedure.
Most Dumbo missions involved hours of boring patrol, then returning to base without incident.
Gordon had flown 47 missions since joining VP34, the Black Cat Squadron, in October 1942.
He performed three rescues, picked up six men total from calm waters far from enemy positions.
But Caveyang was different.
The most heavily defended Japanese base in the Bismar Sea.
Shore batteries, anti-aircraft guns, possibly fighters still operational despite months of Allied bombing.
The fifth air force was hitting it with everything they had.
70 bombers.
A 20 Havocs and B 25 Mitchells attacking at mass height.
The kind of low-level bombing that produced either spectacular results or catastrophic losses.
At 952, Gordon’s radio man, aviation radioman, secondass, Robert Strickler, handed him a message.
A 20 down in the harbor.
Crew location unknown.
P47 escorts requesting immediate assistance.
Gordon checked his fuel.
8 1,800 gallons, enough for 8 hours at patrol speed.
He looked at his co-pilot and signed John Barfield.
Barfield was 23 from Texas.
This was his ninth mission.
His hands were already reaching for the throttles.
“We going in?” Barfield asked.
Gordon had 3 seconds to decide.
The Navy’s Dumbo protocols were clear.
Don’t risk the rescue aircraft unnecessarily.
Don’t enter defended harbors without fighter escort.
Don’t land in heavy seas.
Don’t take on more survivors than the aircraft could safely carry.
Every protocol made sense.
Every protocol would keep him and his crew alive.
But protocols didn’t rescue drowning pilots.
Gordon pushed the throttles forward.
Arkansas Traveler’s engines roared to full power.
The Catalina climbed to 2,000 ft and turned northeast toward Caviang.
Nathan Gordon had never planned to be a Navy pilot.
He’d grown up in Morton, Arkansas, population 3,200.
His father ran a small law practice.
His mother taught piano.
Gordon attended Colombia Military Academy in Tennessee.
Graduated as saludiatoran in 1933, then Arkansas Polytechnic College.
He studied law at the University of Arkansas, earned his jurist doctor in 1939.
He opened his own practice in Morlton, small town law, wills, property disputes, criminal defense for minor offenses.
He joined the Arkansas National Guard, served with the 206th Coast Artillery, part-time soldier, full-time lawyer.
That was his plan for the next 40 years.
Then December 7th, 1941 happened.
Gordon was watching a movie at a theater in Morlton when the announcement came over the loudspeaker.
Japanese forces had attacked Pearl Harbor.
All military personnel report immediately.
Gordon walked out of the theater, drove to the National Guard Armory, reported for duty.
By May 1941, he’d already enlisted in the Navy.
He’d been accepted for flight training before Pearl Harbor.
The timing was pure coincidence or fate.
Gordon never believed in fate.
He believed in preparation and hard work.
But sometimes the universe had other plans.
Flight training took place at Jacksonville, Florida.
Primary flight instruction, basic maneuvers, navigation, formation flying.
Gordon was a natural.
His instructors noted his calm demeanor under pressure, his ability to make quick decisions, his precise control inputs.
He graduated in the top third of his class.
Advanced training focused on multi-engine aircraft.
Gordon learned to fly PBY Catalinas, the Navy’s workhorse patrol bomber.
104 ft wingspan, 35 tons fully loaded, looked like a pregnant whale with wings.
Cruz called it the Dumbo after Disney’s flying elephant.
The comparison was apt.
The PBY was slow, ungainainely, and somehow managed to fly anyway.
But Gordon fell in love with the Catalina, the way it handled, the visibility from the cockpit, the fact that you could land it anywhere there was water.
Most pilots saw the PBY as a stepping stone to faster, more glamorous aircraft, fighters, dive bombers.
Gordon saw it as the perfect platform for what he wanted to do, help people survive.
By October 1942, Gordon was assigned to VP34, the Black Cats, based at Samurai Advanced Sea Plane Base in Mil Bay, New Guinea.
The squadron flew night harassment missions, low-level attacks on Japanese shipping.
They painted their PBY’s matte black, flew at wavetop height, dropped bombs and torpedoes on unsuspecting convoys.
The Japanese called them nightmare birds, but VP34 also flew Dumbo missions, search and rescue, the role Gordon preferred.
Combat rescue required different skills than night bombing.
Situational awareness, split-second timing, the willingness to land a 35-tonon aircraft in conditions that violated every rule in the manual.
Gordon had proven his skills.
Three rescues, six men saved, but he never attempted a rescue under fire.
Never landed in a defended harbor with shore batteries tracking his every move.
That was suicide.
Everyone knew it.
Everyone except the pilots drowning in Caving Harbor.
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Back to Gordon approaching Caveang.
Arkansas traveler reached Caviang Harbor at a.m.
Gordon could see the battle from 10 miles out.
Smoke columns rising from burning ships.
Anti-aircraft fire creating black puffs across the sky.
B25 Mitchell strafing Japanese positions along the shore.
And in the water, small shapes, life rafts, men swimming.
Four P47 Thunderbolts from the 348th fighter group were circling overhead.
They’d been escorting the bombers.
Now they were trying to protect downed air crews, but P47 seconds couldn’t land on water.
They could only watch.
Gordon’s radio man made contact with the P47 lead.
Call signab lead.
The fighter pilot’s voice was tense.
Dumbo, we’ve got at least three crews down.
2B 25 seconds, 1 A20.
Men are spread across half a mile.
Japanese shore batteries are active.
You attempt this, you’re not coming out,” Gordon acknowledged.
Then he descended toward the harbor.
His flight engineer, aviation machinists mate, First Class James Martin, moved through the aircraft checking systems.
The PBY carried minimal defensive armorament, two 50 caliber machine guns in waste blisters, one 30 caliber in the bow turret.
Against shore batteries and possibly fighters, they were useless.
Their only defense was speed.
And the PBY’s top speed of 196 mph wasn’t much defense.
At 1,500 ft, Gordon could see the water conditions.
Swells running 16 to 18 ft.
Heavy landing would be dangerous.
Takeoff might be impossible.
The PBY needed relatively calm water to get airborne.
In heavy seas, the hull could break apart during the takeoff run.
Gordon also saw the downed A20 crew or what was left of them.
Debris field.
No life raft visible.
No survivors waving.
He circled once low scanning the water.
Nothing.
The A20 crew was gone, but a mile to the east, he spotted a yellow life raft.
Five men, B 25 crew.
They were 800 yd from the shore.
Japanese gun imp placements were clearly visible on the beach.
Gordon could see muzzle flashes.
The shore batteries were firing at the circling P47 seconds.
He lined up for his approach.
Barfield called out air speed and altitude.
Martin checked the hull for leaks from previous missions.
The waste gunners, aviation ordinanceman, thirdclass William Parker and aviation ordinanceman thirdclass Carl Hansen manned their 50 calibers.
Not that it would matter.
You don’t win gunfights with shore batteries using waste guns.
At 200 f feet, Gordon committed.
He pulled power to idle.
The Catalina descended toward the swells.
The timing had to be perfect.
Hit a wave wrong and the hull would shatter.
Come in too fast and they’d cartwheel.
Too slow and they’d stall and drop like a stone.
Gordon felt the aircraft.
Every vibration, every wind gust.
He’d landed PBYs in rough water before, but never this rough, never this close to enemy guns.
At a.m.
, Arkansas Traveler touched down.
The hull hit the top of a swell.
The impact was brutal.
7 G’s.
Gordon felt his teeth clicked together.
Strickler, the radio man, was thrown against his console.
The aircraft bounced.
Came down again on the next swell.
Another impact.
Water sprayed across the windscreen.
The hull groaned.
Rivets popped.
Seams burst.
Water began flooding the BGE, but they were down and they were floating.
Gordon kept the engines running at low power, just enough to maintain steerage.
He turned toward the life raft.
400 yd.
The B-25 crew saw them and started paddling slow.
The men looked exhausted.
Probably been in the water 20 minutes.
Hypothermia was setting in.
Japanese shore batteries opened fire.
A FA 4 37 mm guns.
The shells kicked up water spouts 50 yardd short, then closer, 30 yard.
The gunners were ranging.
Finding their target, the next salvo would hit.
Gordon didn’t have time for caution.
He pushed the throttles forward.
The Catalina lurched through the swells toward the life raft.
His bow gunner, aviation ordinanceman, Secondass Samuel Davis, opened the forward hatch.
He’d pulled the survivors aboard.
The Japanese gunners adjusted their aim.
Shells exploded 20 yards behind the PBY’s tail, then 15 yards to port.
They had the range now.
Next shots would connect.
The Catalina reached the life raft.
Davis threw out a line.
The B25 crew grabbed it.
Davis hauled them in one at a time.
Five men, all injured.
One had a compound fracture in his left leg.
Another had shrapnel wounds across his back.
They stumbled into the aircraft, collapsing on the deck.
Gordon checked his watch.
90 seconds on the water.
Time to leave.
He pushed the throttles to maximum power.
2,400 horsepower.
The engine screamed.
The Catalina began its takeoff run.
In calm water, the PBY needed 600 yd to get airborne.
In 18t swells, it needed more, much more.
The hull pounded through the waves.
Each impact stressed the already damaged structure.
More rivets popped.
More water flooded in.
Martin was in the BGE with a hand pump trying to keep ahead of the leaks.
Losing that battle, Japanese shells walked toward them.
One exploded 10 yards to starboard close enough that fragments peppered the right wing.
The fabric covering tore.
Not structural damage, not yet, but one direct hit would finish them.
Gordon held the control yolk back, keeping the nose up.
The PBY was on the step now.
The hull was planing across the wavetops.
speed building 60 mph.
70 80 not enough.
He needed 90 to break free.
A shell exploded directly ahead.
The water spout engulfed the windscreen.
Gordon flew blind for 3 seconds.
When visibility returned, he was 10 ft in the air, airborne by accident.
The shock wave from the explosion had launched them.
He fought for control.
The aircraft was mushing, barely flying, heavily overloaded with survivors and water in the BGE.
Stall speed was higher than normal.
He couldn’t turn, couldn’t climb, could barely maintain altitude.
The P47 dove toward the shore batteries.
They strafed the Japanese gun positions.
50 caliber fire rad.
The Japanese gunners took cover.
The firing stopped.
Gordon coaxed the Catalina to 500 ft, leveled off, turned west toward open ocean.
They’d done it.
Five men rescued, one landing, one takeoff against all odds.
Then the radio man handed him another message.
Two more B25 crews down.
Different location, one mile northwest.
Four men in one raft, five in another.
Both rafts drifting toward shore.
Japanese patrol boats moving to intercept.
Gordon looked at his fuel gauge.
1,400 gallons remaining.
Plenty for the return flight to base.
He looked at the water streaming from the BGE, the damaged hull, the torn wing fabric.
Arkansas Traveler needed maintenance, needed repairs.
Attempting another landing would risk the aircraft and everyone aboard.
He looked at Barfield.
His co-pilot’s face was pale.
The kid had never experienced combat like this.
But Barfield nodded once.
That was all Gordon needed.
He turned northeast back toward Caviang.
The second rescue attempt was worse than the first.
The P47 escorts were low on fuel.
Two had already turned back to base.
The remaining two had maybe 20 minutes of patrol time before they’d be forced to leave.
After that, Gordon would be alone.
He spotted the first life raft at 1047A M.
Four men, B25 crew.
They were 600 yd from shore, closer than the first group.
The Japanese patrol boats were 800 yd out and closing.
Small vessels, fast, armed with machine guns.
If they reached the survivors first, those men would spend the rest of the war in prison camps.
If they survived, Gordon had no choice about timing.
He had to land now before the patrol boats arrived.
The seas hadn’t improved.
Still 16 ft swells, still near impossible conditions.
Gordon lined up his approach.
This time he came in faster, hit the water harder.
The impact was worse.
Evate G’s.
Something in the hull structure cracked.
A longitudinal stringer, critical structural member, Martin reported from the BGE.
They were taking on water three times faster than before.
The hull was failing, but they were down.
Gordon maneuvered toward the life raft.
The patrol boats saw them.
They turned toward the PBY, racing to intercept.
600 yd.
500.
The range was closing fast.
The two remaining P47 dove toward the patrol boats.
They strafeed them.
One boat exploded, the other turned away, trailing smoke.
The P47 had bought Gordon time.
Maybe 2 minutes.
Davis pulled the four survivors aboard.
All injured, one unconscious.
They sprawled on the deck next to the first five rescues.
Nine men now.
The PBY was already overloaded.
And Gordon needed to get airborne again.
He pushed the throttles forward.
The engines responded, but the aircraft didn’t move.
They were stuck.
The damaged hull had settled deeper in the water.
The increased weight from survivors and flooding.
The PBY wallowed in the swells like a dying whale.
Gordon chopped power, waited for a large swell to lift them.
When it came, he hit full throttle.
The Catalina lurched forward.
The hull broke free.
They were moving.
The takeoff run was brutal.
Each wave impact threatened to break the aircraft apart.
Gordon could hear metal groaning, rivets shearing.
His flight engineer was screaming over the intercom.
The billagege pump had failed.
They were sinking.
At 70 mph, Gordon hauled back on the yolk.
Too early.
Too slow.
The PBY mushed into the air, stalled, dropped back onto the waves, hit hard.
The impact shattered the right sponsson.
The wing float collapsed.
The right wing dipped toward the water.
Gordon applied full left aileron.
Kept the wing up, hit the throttles again.
The engines were overheating.
The manifold pressure gauges showed red.
He didn’t care.
He needed power.
Now the PBY accelerated 60 mph.
70 80.
Gordon pulled back again.
This time the aircraft stayed in the air barely.
50 ft 100.
Climbing at 100 ft per minute, slower than an elevator, but climbing.
The two P 47 seconds formed up on his wings.
Their lead pilot came on the radio.
Dumbo, we’re Winchester.
out of ammunition.
We’re headed home.
You’re on your own.
The fighters peeled away.
Gordon was alone.
Then Strickler handed him a third message.
Another B.
25 down.
Fiveman crew.
Life raft 600 yd from shore.
Different beach.
Same harbor.
Japanese defenses alerted now.
Every gun in Caviang would be tracking him.
Gordon didn’t hesitate.
He turned back toward the harbor.
His crew didn’t protest.
They had already accepted what was happening.
They were either going to save every man in that harbor or die trying.
Probably both.
The third landing was impossible.
Gordon knew it was impossible.
Every pilot who’d ever flown a PBY knew you couldn’t land a damaged aircraft in heavy seas with no fighter cover and expect to survive.
The math didn’t work.
The physics didn’t work.
Nothing about this worked.
He did it anyway.
At a.m., Arkansas Traveler touched down for the third time.
The impact collapsed the already damaged hole structure.
Water flooded the BGE faster than Martin could pump.
They were sinking.
They had maybe 3 minutes before the aircraft went under.
Gordon steered toward the life raft.
300 yd.
Japanese shore batteries opened fire immediately.
They had the range from the previous two landings.
Shells exploded all around.
One hit the water 10 ft from the left wing.
The explosion threw shrapnel across the hull.
More holes, more leaks.
The Catalina reached the survivors.
Five men, all injured.
One was missing his right arm.
Another had severe burns.
Davis pulled them aboard.
14 survivors now, plus nine crew.
23 men on an aircraft designed for eight.
The Japanese shells kept coming closer, closer.
Gordon couldn’t wait.
He hit the throttles.
Nothing happened.
The engines were flooded.
Water in the carburetors.
Standard procedure said to wait 30 seconds, let them clear, then restart.
Gordon didn’t have 30 seconds.
A shell exploded five yards to port.
He hit the starters again.
The left engine coughed, caught, died, started again.
Held.
The right engine wouldn’t start.
Completely flooded.
Gordon made his decision.
He’d take off on one engine.
It was impossible.
The PBY needed both engines at full power to get airborne in calm water.
Taking off on one engine in heavy seas while overloaded and sinking.
Suicide.
He pushed the left throttle to maximum.
The single R 1,830 engine screamed at 3,000 revolutions per minutes, far beyond safe operating limits.
The propeller became a blur.
The aircraft began moving slowly.
Too slowly.
Gordon feathered the dead right propeller.
Reduced drag.
Every bit helped.
The Catalina accelerated.
40 miles per hours, 50, 60, not enough.
They needed 90 on one engine.
With 23 men aboard in 18 ft swells, Martin was still in the BGE, pumping.
The water was up to his chest.
He refused to leave his post.
If the aircraft flipped during takeoff, Martin would drown.
He knew it.
He kept pumping.
At 70 mph, the right engine suddenly caught, started by the wind rushing through the propeller.
Gordon quickly adjusted the mixture, feathered it.
The engine roared to life.
Full power.
Now they had a chance.
Gordon held the nose up.
The PBY pounded through the swells.
Each impact threatened to be the last.
The hull was more holes than metal at this point, held together by will and habit.
At 85 mph, Gordon pulled.
The Catalina lifted, dropped, lifted again, stalled, fell back onto the waves, hit so hard that Davis up front was knocked unconscious, but they bounced.
Hit another wave, bounced higher.
Suddenly, they were airborne.
20 ft, 50, 100, still climbing.
A Japanese shell exploded directly beneath them.
The shock wave lifted the PBY another 50 ft, helped them gain altitude.
Even the enemy was helping them now.
Gordon leveled at 500 ft.
Assessed damage.
The hull was shredded.
Both wings had holes.
The right sponsson was gone.
The tail showed shrapnel damage.
Fuel was leaking from the left wing tank.
They were losing 20 gallons per minute.
But all 23 souls aboard were alive and they were flying.
Strickler handed him a fourth message.
B.
25 crew, six men, life raft half a mile from the previous location.
Gordon looked at his fuel, 600 g.
With the leak, they had maybe 40 minutes of flight time, just enough to reach base, not enough for another rescue.
He turned back toward Caviang Harbor anyway.
Barfield put his hand on Gordon’s arm.
Sir, we can’t.
The aircraft won’t survive another landing.
Gordon looked at his co-pilot.
Then those six men won’t survive at all.
At a.m., Arkansas Traveler made its fourth landing.
The hull broke apart on impact.
The aft section separated from the forward section.
They were sinking immediately, but they’d landed 50 yd from the life raft.
Close enough.
Davis threw a line.
The six B25 crew members grabbed it.
They pulled themselves to the aircraft, climbed through the bow hatch.
20 survivors now, 29 people total.
Gordon didn’t bother with an engine start.
The aircraft was already underwater up to the wing roots.
Sinking fast, he shut down both engines.
Preserved what little power remained.
The PBY settled lower.
Water reached the cockpit.
Gordon opened the overhead escape hatch, prepared to evacuate.
They’ done everything they could, saved 20 men.
That was enough.
Then he heard a sound, a rumble.
Multiple engines.
He looked up.
6B25 Mitchells.
The bombers that had completed their runs on Caveang, they’d expended their bombs, still had ammunition.
They were coming back to help.
The Mitchells dove toward the shore batteries.
They strafed every Japanese gun position.
Suppressive fire, giving Gordon a chance.
He hit the starters.
Both engines were flooded.
Underwater, dead.
Standard procedure said they’d never start.
Gordon tried anyway.
The left engine turned over.
Water sprayed from the exhausts.
Coughed.
caught, started running.
Rough, misfiring, but running.
The right engine followed.
Both engines were producing maybe 50% power, running on a mixture of fuel and seawater.
It wouldn’t last long, but it might last long enough.
Gordon pushed the throttles forward.
The Catalina began moving.
The hull was completely shattered now.
Only the wings and internal structure were keeping them afloat.
Water poured in everywhere.
Martin and four survivors were bailing with their hands, helmets, anything.
The takeoff run was slow.
They couldn’t get on the step.
The hull was too damaged.
They wallowed through the swells.
40 mph and 50.
That was all.
Not enough to fly, but maybe enough to escape the harbor.
The B25 kept strafing.
The Japanese shore batteries had stopped firing, either suppressed or out of ammunition.
Gordon steered toward open ocean.
1 mile 2 3 away from Caviang, away from the guns.
At 3 mi out, the right engine seized, threw a rod, caught fire.
Gordon shut it down, activated the engine fire extinguisher.
The flames died.
On one engine, producing half power.
They weren’t going to stay airborne much longer.
Gordon needed a miracle.
He got one in the form of a Navy destroyer, USS Reed.
She’d been patrolling 10 mi offshore.
Her captain saw the struggling Catalina, saw the smoke, the damaged aircraft barely flying.
Reed came alongside at full speed, 35 knots.
Her crew prepared to take on survivors.
Gordon brought the PBY down one last time, a 50 yards from the destroyer.
The landing was gentle.
The aircraft was so water logged, it barely floated.
It settled into the water like a tired whale.
Reed’s crew launched boats.
They pulled all 29 men from the sinking Catalina.
Gordon was the last to leave.
He stood on the wing as Arkansas travelers slipped beneath the waves.
Bureau number 08139.
The aircraft that saved 20 men gone.
Gordon climbed into the rescue boat, looked at his watch.
p.m.
2 1/2 hours.
Four landings.
Four takeoffs.
20 survivors.
The mission was over.
Nathan Gordon returned to VP34 3 days later.
He flew combat missions for another 11 months.
Two distinguished flying crosses, six air medals.
He never performed another rescue mission like Caviang.
Nothing came close.
On September 19th, Nine44, Vice Admiral Thomas King presented Gordon with the Medal of Honor at 7th Fleet Headquarters.
Gordon’s entire crew received silver stars.
The citation praised his exceptional, daring, personal valor and incomparable airmanship under most perilous conditions.
Gordon’s medal of honor was the only one ever awarded for actions in a PBY Catalina.
No other rescue pilot attempted what he’d done.
No other rescue pilot succeeded against those odds.
After the war, Gordon returned to Morlton, resumed his law practice.
In 1946, he ran for Lieutenant Governor of Arkansas.
one served 10 terms under four different governors.
20 years in politics.
He never talked about Caveyang, never wore his Medal of Honor in public.
When people asked about the war, he’d say he’d been a pilot, nothing more.
He died on September 8th, 2008.
4 days after his 92nd birthday, his funeral in Morlton drew 200 people, veterans from across Arkansas.
Some of them were the men he’d saved.
They came to say goodbye to the pilot who’d landed four times under fire to pull them from the ocean.
The PBY Catalina served in every theater of World War II.
3,38 aircraft built more than any other flying boat.
They sank submarines, spotted enemy fleets, bombed Japanese shipping, conducted reconnaissance missions across millions of square miles of ocean.
But they’re best remembered for rescue missions, for Dumbo pilots like Nathan Gordon who flew into impossible situations because men were drowning and someone had to help them.
Arkansas Traveler rests somewhere on the bottom of Caviang Harbor.
Probably.
No one knows exactly where.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters is what that aircraft accomplished.
Four landings, 20 men saved.
Against physics, against doctrine, against common sense, one pilot, one crew, one impossible day.
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