Combat Crew Read Free Page B

a prophylactic station open at four A.M.!”
    Ribald laughter reverberated from the thin metal walls, but I couldn’t share in their hilarity. My insides were tightening into knots, and I wondered if all those tales were true. I knew they were trying to scare the hell out of us — and succeeding! I kept thinking about those high losses the Major told us about, and realized the vets didn’t need to embellish their stories. The plain, unvarnished facts were frightening enough for me.
    â€œHey, you guys gotta watch those ’lectric fly suits. If a shoe or glove goes out at fifty below zero you can lose a hand or foot. “
    â€œBut the big thing is an engine fire,” from another voice. “When you rookies see that fire you got mebbe thirty or forty seconds before the explosion!”
    The vets finally tired of their oft-repeated initiation game and drifted off. George looked at me for a long time without saying a word. He didn’t need to for I knew what his thoughts were. Sleep for that night was completely out of the question. The reality of what we faced was almost too much to absorb. Always ringing in my ears were the Major’s words: “We’ve lost a hundred and one percent of our combat personnel.” The vets told us we would get in about three missions a month, and the odds stacked up four to one that we wouldn’t make it! (Which later proved to be quite accurate.)
    Balancing the bad news of the last six hours was my memory of how grand those Flying Fortresses looked in proud formation heading out toward Hitler-held Europe. The second morning we were at Bovingdon, the orientation base near London where replacement crews reported for induction into the 8th Air Force, we were awakened by the roar of many engines. In a matter of minutes the barracks was empty. The Fortresses were passing overhead on their way to strike the Mad Dictator, and none of us wanted to miss the sight. I have had many thrills in my life, but I believe that picture-perfect formation of American bombers headed for a clash with Goering’s best was one of the most emotional experiences I have ever had. I wanted to be up there with them. All that day I worried about what those men were going through over the Continent. In the early afternoon I was in an aircraft recognition class when someone whispered, “The Forts are coming back.” In one minute the classroom was empty. Where were the proud eagles of the dawn? They returned, but not in the style I had seen that morning. A few were in formation, but most were scattered across the sky. There were feathered engines and many trailed smoke. But where were the other planes? I counted only half of the number that went out that morning. I did not know then that ships in trouble, or low on fuel, broke away from the formations as they approached England, looking for a landing field. For the next half hour, I watched wounded Forts straggle in, a few on two engines.
July 20
    There was an agreeable surprise at Ridgewell. The food was good. The combat mess hall was a hundred yards from our barracks. We were in a country where part of the food had to be imported, and all of ours had to come by boat from the States. So those mess officers did a great job with the materials at their disposal.
    On the way back from noon mess I said to George, “We’re gonna have to get into Cambridge real soon and buy bicycles. I notice all the men here at the base have bikes.”
    â€œJohn, when the other men get here, don’t say anything about what the vets did to us last night.”
    â€œYou mean let ’em get the news on their own?”
    â€œRight! It oughta be interesting to see how they handle it. One thing for sure, they’re in for a shock!”
    An hour or so later a truck pulled up near the hut and out jumped our four gunners. “Damn! I thought we were gonna get four good gunners and now you jokers show up again,” fumed Balmore.