Faith, Determination, and a Little Irish Luck—Captain Charles P. Sullivan Recounts Fascinating Tale

When he was the age of many current Holy Cross College seniors, Captain Charles P. Sullivan of the 29th Fighter Squadron was already an ace fighter pilot in the Pacific theater of World War II. While flying a P-400 fighter (a P-39 export variant) near Port Moresby on June 17, 1942, 2d Lieutenant Charlie Sullivan scored his first aerial victory, a Japanese bomber. But it wasn't until after the 39th Fighter Squadron transitioned to P-38s that Charlie Sullivan began his steady climb to ace status: 1st Lieutenant Sullivan downed a Ki-43 near Gasmata, New Britain, on January 6, 1943; a Zero over Lae on March 3, 1943; a Zero probable over Huon Gulf on March 4; a Betty near Port Moresby on April 12; and, finally, a Ki-43 near Lae on July 26, 1943.

On October 1st, 2008, almost 55 years to the month after his rescue from the jungles of New Guinea, Captain Sullivan told students about his closest brush with fate. In September of 1943, he was shot down in his P-38 by a Japanese patrol. The bullets from his attacker took out both engines and they would have killed him too if the hadn’t been able to lose his adversary by diving his plane into a cloud cover. When he broke out of the clouds, “Sully” could see only mountains and trees in the jungle below him. Engines dead and fuel streaming from his tanks, he had no choice but to look for a clearing before losing altitude. He considered bailing out with his parachute to be a lousy option because he had known too many comrades who had parachuted into trees only to have multiple injuries and broken bones. Instead he had just minutes to find a clearing in which to put the plane down. Luck (or God) was with him that day and throughout the next month because, he found a spot just large enough to land her before the jungle resumed. “The P-38 acted like a giant lawn mower, cutting off small trees, kunai grass, and brush” he said, “as the plane barreled into the ground at nearly 130 miles per hour.” When the plane finally came to a rest, it was upside down and Sullivan was bleeding from a head wound.

Captain Sullivan described how he survived over the next month, including a deadly run in with a tribal people living a stone-age existence before he was finally rescued by an Aussie patrol. It was a story that could have been a Hollywood movie, instead the Driscoll Auditorium audience hung on every word of his clear but aged voice as their Holy Cross Village neighbor, Captain Sullivan, described his adventures.