Memories of my frantic experience trying to release lookout #3 from his precarious position on the catwalk still remain vivid, more than six decades later.
“Bridge, from, Lookout 3, over.” I could barely hear his voice.
“Lookout 3, go ahead,” I replied.
Lookout 3, requests permission to secure station. Planes, coming loose above my position. Over.”
“Gotcha #3. Stand by.”
I leaned into the OD’s protected area out of the wind in order to relay the request. “Sir, Lookout 3 reports planes loosening dangerously close to him. Looks like they’re about to drop down onto the catwalk where he’s located. Requests permission to secure his station.”
Without so much as a glance in the direction of lookout 3, he shouted, “Not granted! We’re in the middle of a battle zone! How could anybody be so dumb to not realize that?” was the OD’s nonsensical response.
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