‘With full flaps, engines at full throttle and his left wing far out over the port side of the Hornet, Doolittle’s plane waddled and then lunged slowly into the teeth of the gale that swept down the deck. His left wheel stuck on the white line as if it were on a track.
His right wing, which had barely cleared the wall of the island as he taxied and was guided up to the starting line, extended nearly to the edge of the starboard side.
Doolittle picked up more speed and held to his line, just as the Hornet lifted up on the top of a wave and cut through it at full speed. He had yards to spare. He hung his ship almost straight up on its props, until we could see the whole top of his B-25. Then he leveled off and I watched him come around in a tight circle and shoot low over our heads – straight down the line painted on the deck.”