I was fortunate enough to come home alive, and I give most of the credit to my true and faithful friend, old Japanese Sandman, who flew me through it all and earned me the title of Ace. You fellows know we feel about our planes the way a cowboy does his horse! I said goodbye to her when I turned her over to the 475th Group on November 19, 1943. I've often wondered what became of her; did she wind up on the scrap heap? In the jungle? Or, happily re stored by a zealous enthusiast?

My wife, Dorothy, and I decided to fulfill a longtime dream and take a trip to Australia, New Zealand and New Guinea. We were to leave on January 4. But, in the middle of December I received word from my good friend Bruce Hoy, director of the National Museum in Port Morseby, that my plane had been found in the jungle near Popondeta! David Pennifather, a young man who lives in Popondeta and an avid collector of WWII memorabilia, made the trip to the plane three times. He wrote me and sent pictures. You can imagine our excitement and anticipation on receiving this news!

After touring Australia and New Zealand, we headed for Morseby. We were met by Bruce, who made all the necessary arrangements for the trip to Popondeta (free transportation via Curtain Brothers Beech Baron.) I can't say enough about these two great fellows who made it all possible.  

When David met us at the airport it was a miserable day, pouring down rain. We got out our raincoats, loaded in his land cruiser and headed for the wreck site. We stopped at the village where the natives lived who had discovered the wreckage. They wanted to meet us. Four of them went along as guides, and they were very polite.

 We drove as far as we could on the road, drove another five miles through kunai grass and walked the rest of the way. The grass looks like our pampas grass but the blades are razor sharpen then we hit the real stuff. Swamp, undergrowth, overgrowth, vines and bushes. We walked in water up to our knees, mud over our ankles and mosquitoes everywhere. Dorothy was so busy hunting snakes and crocodiles that she fell down three times.  

After 25 minutes we reached the wreck site - an experience we can't describe. It isn't often a fighter pilot's wife gets to see the aircraft her husband flew in combat. We wanted to shout, cry and pray at the same time.  

The plane is beyond salvage, imbedded piece by piece in the swamp. Over grown with moss, fungus and vines, it was still recognizable by the serial number (42-66905), my name and seven little Japanese flags painted on it. It was a real goose-bump time for us. We took pictures, walked around, reminisced and unbelievable experience! We walked out of there a mess, covered in mud, sopping wet with shoes and socks full of muck and mud but worth it all. We'd do it again; a once-in a-lifetime experience!  

Back in Port Morseby, Bruce took us sightseeing. A trip down memory lane for me. We visited old Three-Mile and Twelve-Mile Dromes, saw the revetments, still on Seven-Mile and part of the old strip next to the 747 runway. We tried to find our old campsite but every thing is so changed we couldn't be sure.   Several of my buddies in the 39th have asked if I knew how the plane got in the swamp. Bruce did the research and discovered that a Lieutenant Dawson of the 431st FS, 475th Group, was flying the plane at the time of the accident but was not seriously hurt. The Sandman crashed on take off about two weeks after I turned her over to the 431st.  

The plane is not recoverable - too many pieces so is destined to finish its days, forever entangled in the jungle with its seven little flags and "Lt. R. E. Smith" emblazoned on the nose!

R.E. Smith Interview