About twenty of us pilots, with hundreds of soldiers, went across the North Atlantic Ocean in the East Indies luxury liner, Johan van Aldenbarnvelt (at least that’s the way I say the name and spell it).
The Commanding Officer of the military on the ship thought that the RCAF pilots should have something to do on the cruise so we were ordered to inspect, at regular intervals, the Soldiers-of-the-Watch on the respective decks. It was my turn to inspect the Soldier-of-the-Watch on F deck, which was down in the stern of the liner just over the propeller shaft. One was able to hear the thumping of the propeller and then hear it race as the stern of the ship came out of the water while going over the crest of a huge wave. The wind was blowing. The waves were angry. The ship rolled and pitched. Not many military were making it into the dining salon so the great inspector went down to F deck. I found the Soldier-of-the-Watch flat on his back and he was hoping that someone would torpedo the instable platform. The Soldier-of-the-Watch and I didn’t inspect that area for two reasons. First, I let the poor guy stay flat on his back and I took off his steel helmet and put the pack, with his oxygen mask therein, under his head as a pillow. Second, I heard from several directions, “Blaaaaaa, blaaaaaa, splat, drip, splat, blaaaaaa, blaaaaaa, splat, drip” and these throw-up groans were accompanied by the most acrid of odours. I got out of there pronto and eventually reported that everything was in its proper place and order. Then I went to the galley to have a cup of coffee with a fellow by the name of Buchanon who was from the United States.
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