Kiwi lives on in PNG jungle
We’re headed up a dirt road, deep into one of Papua New Guinea’s green arteries. In the distance, a volcano puffs away. We’re here to see an American World War II plane slowly decaying in the jungle. But this country has a habit of throwing up delightful surprises.
What we ended up stumbling across is a Kiwi tale of incredible airmanship and bravery, a story that the jungle has held secret until now.
We’re in New Britain, the largest island off Papua New Guinea’s mainland. It’s a wildly beautiful place, where volcanoes rule the skyline, and occasionally put on a show of force. The local airport had been shut for two weeks just days before our arrival because of a recent eruption.
The island is also world-renowned among divers as having one of the most diverse and lively underwater ecosystems on the planet. Today, though, we’ve decided to go inland. We’re bumping up a dirt road in an old Landcruiser, the kind of bumps that give the organs a hearty cleanse. Our guide, Joseph, is telling us of his latest venture – trying to track down Amelia Earhart’s plane.
The search for her plane – one of aviation’s great mysteries – has taken many twists. The man who found the Titanic, Robert Ballard, even spent time this year scouring the ocean floor looking for the wreck.
Joseph is in the middle of explaining why he thinks Earhart’s plane could be in New Britain’s jungle, when he jumps on the brake and points.
Lying in a densely overgrown palm oil plantation is a ghostly sight: an old B-34 Ventura bomber. The metallic hues of the fuselage are a stark contrast to the verdant deep greens of the plantation.
‘‘And do you know what,’’ Joseph says with no hint of the surprise he’s about to drop.
‘‘This is a New Zealand plane.’’
We laugh, thinking it’s a joke. We signed up for the tour assuming we’d be looking at American planes.
But the look on his face said he was serious.
An incredible feat of airmanship
Almost 75 years ago to the day, in 1944, 26-year-old Flight Lieutenant Fred Thomas is dodging thunderstorms under the cover of darkness. His Royal New Zealand Airforce bomber, a Ventura, has four other men on board, all well aware of the peril they face. Heavy rain and violent thunderstorms aren’t making their job any easier. By dawn, the plane is cruising just off its target. The mission: release six bombs on the Japanese stronghold of Rabaul, a major naval and airbase on the northeastern tip of New Britain.
Papua New Guinea was of vital importance to the Japanese during World War II. Earlier in the conflict, it was seen as a springboard to launch a possible invasion of Australia. Yet, the Allies mounted a gruelling counteroffensive and drove them back towards Rabaul.
By 1944, New Zealand was asked to help with Operation Cartwheel. Rather than capture Rabaul, the plan was to isolate it.
And that’s what Thomas and his men were helping with. After getting permission to attack, the young pilot threw his Ventura into a deep dive to release his bombs just 365 metres above the ground.
At least, that was the plan. A short time later, Thomas was told two of his six bombs had failed to drop and were still onboard. He’d need to make another run – but the risk was now much greater: the element of surprise was gone. An angry hornets’ nest of anti-aircraft fire was blitzing across the sky.
Thomas quickly threw the plane into another dive, releasing the last two bombs. Shortly after, the right engine cut out. He’d been hit.
The Ventura already had a bad reputation for flying on one engine. Now the Kiwis found themselves in the heart of enemy territory with a crippled plane.
Thomas tried desperately to restart the engine. He knew he had no chance of making it through bad weather back to Bougainville.
Running out of options, he turned to his wireless operator to call for help. If they were going to ditch, they’d need to at least send an SOS. But it quickly became apparent, in the heat of the battle, their gunner on the main turret had accidentally shot away their own aerial.
After 10 minutes deliberating, Thomas decided to try to head for Allied territory on New Britain’s coast. But the plane was rapidly losing altitude. At just 500 feet, the crew were told to prepare to ditch.
Quickly running out of options, the men started desperately throwing anything out of the door to lighten the plane – including the door itself.
Then Thomas made a call that would save all onboard. He remembered other pilots saying they had experienced updraughts under cumulus clouds, so he decided to head for the nearest cloud formation he could find.
By the time he reached cloud, disaster was just moments away. The crippled bomber was only 30 metres from hitting the sea. Miraculously, by flying under the cloud, they gained 800 feet.
Sensing a lifeline, Thomas started darting between clouds and experimenting with different speeds to try to maintain height. It didn’t always work, 10 minutes later the order was given to again prepare for ditching. This time the turret gun and ammunition – their only line of defence – was also thrown overboard.
But, against all odds, Thomas managed to fly a path between clouds to keep the bomber in the air.
Two hours after being hit, the first American flags were spotted on a barge off the coast of Talasea. Running critically low on fuel, Thomas caught a glimpse of a tiny patch of grass – an emergency strip – far too short for his bomber, but the only option.
With not enough thrust to make a second landing attempt, the aircraft was thumped down hard before the official start of the runway.
Pushing with all his might on the brakes, and with a fortunate incline, Thomas managed to stop his crippled bomber just short of a gully.
One hour and 55 minutes after being hit, the aircraft came to a standstill, where it still rests.
The aftermath
Two days later, Thomas and his crew were rescued, and he once again made a heroic call.
During the flight back to base, over New Hanover, the rescue plane encountered low visibility. Thomas told the pilot to gain height, or he’d crash into a mountain range. Thankfully he did, although one of the escort aircraft was lost.
As the story spread of Thomas’ airmanship, King George VI approved an immediate award of the Distinguished Flying Cross. The honour was announced by New Zealand’s Governor-General just days later.
Three years ago, 26 members of the Thomas family made the journey to see the final resting place of the plane. It was an emotional trip. They were all fully aware none of them would be alive if the young pilot hadn’t managed to get his plane safely on the ground.
Tourism today
About 100 metres away from the Kiwi bomber is a United States B-25 that also made an emergency landing in the same month. It’s popular with American aviation enthusiasts, and it’s what I thought we were going to see.
Papua New Guinea is in the early stages of growing tourism. Sure, it has well-publicised problems, but the opportunities are immense.
While New Britain has exceptional diving, volcanoes, and hot springs in the jungle, seeing the crippled Kiwi bomber filled my heart with unspeakable pride. And it seems more and more tourists want to visit the wrecks, which are a much-needed source of income for locals.
I think Thomas and his crew would be happy their brave effort to get their plane on the ground continues to help those in need today.