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But more often than not - it was one of those flying boats. Armed to the teeth with only one goal - kill you. When you saw one of those - time slowed down. Instinct kicked in - the same every time.
Alarm call, down the hatch, diving stations. Alarm, down the hatch, diving stations...
Sometimes we got lucky - they didn't see us.
But others - we got caught with our pants down - in the middle of the dive.
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I realize there is a certain amount of artistic license here, but you'll have to explain to the history buffs how a Balao with the best air search radar money could buy at the time, keeps getting caught on the surface by lumbering flying boats.
