The Bomber Boys Read Free

yelling to the farmer in German. He responded, waving his arms and yelling back to them. Of course, Peter could not understand any of it, but he was certain his whereabouts were the main subject of the conversation. If any of them reached the edge of the gully and looked down the streambed, they could not help but spot him.
    In a seemingly hopeless situation, Peter looked around again for even the slightest opportunity for escape. Escape . That was too grand a word for what he was trying to do. He was somewhere deep in Germany. Where, he did not know. How many miles to the French border to the west? He did not know. Which way was west? He did not know. Even if he could miraculously reach France, what then? The entire country was occupied by Germans and French collaborators.
    He had no weapon and only a candy bar for food. He did not speak German or French and was dressed in an American aviator’s uniform. Escape was too grand a word. Peter Seniawsky was trying to survive—to evade capture, whether it be for a day, an hour or just five more minutes.
    He spotted a lone tree on the other side of the stream. If he could reach that tree without being seen and if the farmer and soldiers did not search past the stream . . . if he was really lucky. He eased down the bank, crossed the stream, climbed the other
bank and began slowly crawling toward the tree. Although he could not know it at the time, Peter was beginning one of the most amazing escape adventures of World War II.
     
     
     
    Every American bomber airman of the European Theater during the Second World War shared one thing with Peter Seniawsky—the desire to survive against very long odds. For most of these Bomber Boys (the majority only in their late teens or early twenties), the will to survive ranked a close second to doing their job. Once their bombs were dropped over the day’s target, survival was priority one. They flew to the target for Uncle Sam and flew back to base for themselves. There were many ways to die—flak, Luftwaffe fighters, midair collision, weather, engine failure.
    Tens of thousands did not survive. Many who did survive wondered how , as they landed at their air bases in Flying Fortresses riddled with flak holes or missing what everyone assumed were essential parts of an aircraft. The ones who came home were the first to say the real heroes were the ones who did not. But to the survivors belong the sometimes painful memories that must be stirred if the true stories are to be told.

The Lucky Bastards Club
    ANTHONY TETA
    Navigator
     
    305TH BOMB GROUP
     
    366TH BOMB SQUADRON
     
     
     
     
     
    Tony Teta tossed his canvas duffel bag to the ground and climbed out of the back of the mud-caked army truck that had carried him on the final leg of his long journey. What he saw, as he got his first look at his new home, did not impress him. Chelveston was no more dismal than the dozens of other American air bases sprinkled across the English countryside surrounding London, but it was dismal enough. Except for a small tower building, most of the base structures were simple sheet metal huts, some rectangular and some resembling barrels lying on their sides, seemingly half buried in the earth. In the distance, B-17 bombers belonging to the 305th Bomb Group were parked around the perimeter of three intersecting runways.
    Tony pulled up the zipper of his leather jacket. The December air was cold and damp.
    “Lieutenant, don’t forget your briefcase.”
    It took Tony a few seconds to realize the enlisted man was talking to him. The rank and silver wings on his jacket were still new enough that Tony found himself amazed he was actually an
officer and a B-17 navigator—after all, he was only nineteen years old.
    “Thanks,” Tony said, taking the case that contained his navigation charts and instruments. The other members of his crew wandered off to find their barracks, the enlisted men heading in one direction, the pilot and copilot going in another.