Combat Crew Read Free Page A

Texas.”
    â€œThat’s a helluva combination! You got some more men comin’ in?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Our other four gunners will be here tomorrow.”
    â€œYour pilot got a lot of high-altitude formation time?”
    â€œNope,” said Balmore. “Not much.”
    A second man entered just in time to hear what George had said. “I feel Goddamned sorry for you guys if your pilot can’t fly tight formation.”
    â€œOh, I think he can do OK on formation,” I offered.
    â€œIt takes seventy to a hundred hours of high-altitude formation experience to be a fair pilot in this league. Your pilot got that many hours?”
    â€œFar as I know he’s never been in a high-altitude formation, and has only a few hours of low-altitude formation,” I said.
    â€œIf they don’t find you a new pilot who knows what he’s doin’ at high-altitude formation you’re in trouble. Those Jerry sonnuvabitches can spot a new crew on their first circle aroun’ the formation and they — ”
    They’ll tear into your ass on their first attack, interrupted another vet, “’cause they always pick the easiest Forts to knock down.”
    A third man came in. “Don’t worry about it, you might make it — sometimes a new crew does get back from its first raid. This week it wasn’t too rough: we only lost twenty Forts — mostly new crews!”
    Another voice added, “As soon as the Jerries approach us they look for you fresh jokers.”
    â€œHow can they tell which crews are new?” asked Balmore.
    â€œDamned easy, friend. Green pilots can’t stay in tight formation. They throttle-jock back and forth — might as well flash a neon sign!”
    A new voice spoke up. “Relax! Don’t get lathered up. Mebbe your crew will be one of the lucky ones. We were once new and we’re still here!”
    â€œWhen you hit a German fighter with some good bursts, what happens? Does it break off the attack?” I asked.
    The six vets laughed uproariously. “Hell, no! You can see your tracers hit those 190s 2 and 109s 3 an’ they bounce off like it’s a Goddamned flyin’ tank! Those square-headed Krauts keep comin’ at you no matter what you throw at ’em!”
    The most vocal of the group continued. “The worst bastards they got are Goering’s Abbeville Kids — those yellow nose and red nose M.E. 109s are the roughest you’ll ever see.” He turned to Balmore. “Hey, kid, you’re about my height. What size blouse you wear?”
    George replied testily, “None of your damn business!”
    â€œDon’t get your guts in an uproar, friend. I need a new blouse, so I spot all you new gunners my size — one of you jokers don’t get back, I grab me a blouse before those orderly room pimps get over here to pick up your gear.”
    One of the vets explained it: “At the 381st they don’t issue any replacement clothes. If you tear your pants, or ruin a blouse, you sweat it out until a gunner your size don’t make it back.”
    â€œThat’s how we do it over here,” said another. “That way ain’t no red tape — say, any of you men wear size thirty-eight?”
    â€œI do,” I replied. “But don’t get any ideas — ’cause I’m gonna make it!”
    â€œMaybe! But the first rough raid will thin out these huts — a lot of you new bastards won’t get back — maybe one of you will be my size.”
    â€œSay — there was a nice lookin’ kid had that bunk over there for five or six days,” one of the vets remarked. “Saw his plane blow up — no chutes!”
    He pointed to an empty cot. “The fellow who slept there — they brought him back with no balls.”
    â€œWell,” a voice added, “that poor bastard don’t have to worry no more about findin’