"Whew!"

When he volunteered, Navy Lieut. Thomas Ladwig knew that flying a night fighter from a carrier was a hazardous job. But not even 25-year-old Airman Ladwig had bargained for the miraculous series of near-misses death flung at him last week. He remembered this much:

The carrier's catapult had gone haywire, had shoved him and his eight-ton aircraft overside--a 40-ft. plunge. The plane's belly tank had been rammed into the cockpit, flooding him with searing gasoline. He had been slammed tight against the cockpit hood, his only means of escape.

Somehow, deep under water, he and his aircraft parted company. He pulled the strings to inflate his Mae West, found himself buoyed upwards. Then he bumped into the slimy underside of the carrier, some 30 feet under water. In a moment more he was being churned in the Niagara of the carrier's wake; somehow he had hurtled past the propellers' blades.

Then, as he vomited gasoline and seawater, the monstrous form of a battleship bore down on him. He had managed to get his waterproof flashlight in hand. He pressed the button, waved the light overhead. The battle wagon swept past.

Forty-five minutes after he had plunged from the carrier, Lieut. Ladwig was pulled aboard a destroyer--after three of its crew had slipped from its net and had been fished out. The destroyer's skipper, noticing that Ladwig's breath was fumy with gasoline, ordered the ship's smoking lamp doused (i.e., "no smoking"). Only then did Ladwig feel it was safe to utter a long "Whew!."

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