Tom was generally consumed with managing the aircraft, the crew and the pending bomb run while in flight. Occasionally during the preflight briefings when the intelligence analyst where discussing the targets it would cross his mind that people live down there. He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. Better to think Adolf himself was the recipient of every load.
In the back woods farm community where Tom was raised a rather strict code of Christian ethics surrounded everything. Everyone knew everyone else. Everyone knew everyone elses business. On the occasion some local would sneak off to a neighboring town to grab a beer it generally got back to everyone in a "we ya know so and so was down at the bar".
The roots of the community went back to European communities where the same spiritual upbringing was a cornerstone of life. Men did not swear. Children obeyed their parents and disobeyed at with heavy consequences even after leaving the house. Church was to be attended every time the doors were open which often meant, Sunday for two services, Saturday night for singings and wednesday just to make sure you didnt forget.
In general Tom appreciated this upbringing though he had yet to embrace it. The chief tenants fo the Holy Bible were his guide even without this commitment, repentance, as it would be called back home. He had always felt good enough, and tried to be a good person.
Now here was Tom. 25,000 feet over the same place where his relatives had originated. Many of them of German decent no less. Here was Tom with 8,000 lbs of high explosives destined for a place not many place had heard of, along with dozens of others. Their intent was blow the living crap out of the place. The bombs had no care for where they were headed or to whom the bomb group intended them to fall upon.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Hurry Up and Wait
Flying a B-24 was characterized by moments of sheer pucker up time, followed by many hours sometimes in endless cruise flight. Trimmed for optimum fuel consumption she did 250mph**. Tom did his best to ensure the aircraft was always performing at its best. But it was a very complicated airplane. The instrument panel was a myriad of dials, switches and gauges. The pilots manual was 114 pages of charts, diagrams, photos and endless details describing every gauge and dial.
Tom was an expert at every nuance of the B-24. He was one of the few guys who read the manual well after graduating from **bomber school and he would sit in the cockpit with his copilot reviewing emergency procedures so they had them down wrote.
From England to Germany was generally a 4 hour trip with a full load. Usually once the group was formed up over English channel it was a good 2 hours*** and more if they had a head wind before they made contact with the first German fighters. At the height of the German occupation this would happen earlier as the krauts had bases in to France and Belgium, etc..
“Tom” said jack. “think we’ll see heavy flak today”.
“not supposed to according to the analyst” responded jack in a ho hum manner. Everyone on the ship was always tense about the flak. You could be cruising along minding your own business and some Gerry would get off a few lucky shots and next thing your in flames headed for the great beyond.
“I try not to worry about it before we know” said Tom. The truly cruel thing about these missions was the constant threat of death. The machine could kill you, the enemy could kill you, your crew mates could kill you, and the other ships in the formation could kill you.
“watch Lady Marylin Tom” said jack. Referring to the bomber just above them and ahead by about 100 feet. She had been slowing slightly allowing Tom’s plane to gain on her slightly. She also had lowered her altitude a bit.
“yeah I’m compensating slightly” tom said pulling back on the throttles of the 4 big radial engines just hardly enough to even notice.
“idiot” jack scowled. Jack was a stickler for formation cruise flight. Tom sometimes growled back when jack would give constant advice about power settings, airspeeds and the like in cruise flight. This was the problem with the waiting. Each man was nervous. Each man knew there were too many details that had to go right for them to make it back. And each knew they would watch as all of that conspired against them and their buddies in formation creating a situation for some that was unbeatable.
The twin radial engines were humming, albeit loudly, at 2,200 rpms. The engines were working their way through 2,300 gallons of fuel at a rate of 45 gallons per hour for every engine.
Tom was an expert at every nuance of the B-24. He was one of the few guys who read the manual well after graduating from **bomber school and he would sit in the cockpit with his copilot reviewing emergency procedures so they had them down wrote.
From England to Germany was generally a 4 hour trip with a full load. Usually once the group was formed up over English channel it was a good 2 hours*** and more if they had a head wind before they made contact with the first German fighters. At the height of the German occupation this would happen earlier as the krauts had bases in to France and Belgium, etc..
“Tom” said jack. “think we’ll see heavy flak today”.
“not supposed to according to the analyst” responded jack in a ho hum manner. Everyone on the ship was always tense about the flak. You could be cruising along minding your own business and some Gerry would get off a few lucky shots and next thing your in flames headed for the great beyond.
“I try not to worry about it before we know” said Tom. The truly cruel thing about these missions was the constant threat of death. The machine could kill you, the enemy could kill you, your crew mates could kill you, and the other ships in the formation could kill you.
“watch Lady Marylin Tom” said jack. Referring to the bomber just above them and ahead by about 100 feet. She had been slowing slightly allowing Tom’s plane to gain on her slightly. She also had lowered her altitude a bit.
“yeah I’m compensating slightly” tom said pulling back on the throttles of the 4 big radial engines just hardly enough to even notice.
“idiot” jack scowled. Jack was a stickler for formation cruise flight. Tom sometimes growled back when jack would give constant advice about power settings, airspeeds and the like in cruise flight. This was the problem with the waiting. Each man was nervous. Each man knew there were too many details that had to go right for them to make it back. And each knew they would watch as all of that conspired against them and their buddies in formation creating a situation for some that was unbeatable.
The twin radial engines were humming, albeit loudly, at 2,200 rpms. The engines were working their way through 2,300 gallons of fuel at a rate of 45 gallons per hour for every engine.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
On the Move
“Clear!” yelled tom out the small side window.
“all clear and guard posted” responds bob checking for the fire guard per army air force policy.
“ignition switches on, throttles cracked” commands tom as the pair begin the process of bringing the giant four engine bomber to life.
“Booster pumps on” adds bob, the last step before ignition.
The big bomber had four Pratt & Whitney fourteen cylinder twin row radial, air cooled engines. With the turbo superchargers they delivered 4,800 horsepower each. The crew started number 3 first with the engines numbered from left to right as you sit in the pilots seat. So, the engine closest to the copilot sitting on the right was started first. The sequence continued with engines 4, 2 and 1.
“starting 3” bob states as he holds down the starter switch to number three and the primer switch until the engine rumbles to life. Tom brings the mixture controls back to auto-rich, bob lets go of the springloaded starter and booster switches and watches for the oil pressure in number 3 to come up.
“Oil pressure coming up” is his reply as the twin radial is now officially alive and breathing.
They repeat this process three more times until a deafening rumble is heard and felt by all crew members as all four engines sit at 1,000 revolutions per minute. This was serious business and both men knew it. They paid very close attention to the procedures, checklist and policy and knew there very lives often depended on catching problems early.
Tom could not help but smile grabbing the four throttles in his hand as he prepared to taxi the bomber for takeoff. He was a long way from the hay bailer his dad had taught him to drive in Iowa. Despite the deadly mission the men were on a great sense of accomplishment was felt by the crew, especially the captain
Forty eight aircraft had now come to life and were slowly jockeying for position to take in their respective groups. Tom’s crew would lead three other bombers into flight. From the beginning of bomber school he was instructed on being the aircraft commander responsible for every action of the crew and the aircraft. A responsibility he took with great humility but confidence. Each man on the bomber had specific tasks and Tom had confidence in them as well.
It was virtually impossible to get forty eight bombers over a target and get forty eight home again. Each crew member struggled with that reality as the bombers trudged along the taxi way for takeoff. Each man would make his peace or not with his fate and Tom had never known anyone who wanted off an aircraft except for the occasional crew spat.
At the end of the runway, unbeknownst to anyone, Tom would say a small prayer “God, go with us this day and may the outcome be of your will, not ours”. He felt this prayer gave God control over the mission. Would the crew make it over the target and drop the six sixteen hundred pound bombs in the back, or would they take enough enemy fire to knock them out of the sky. Either way, Tom figured, God would decide who lived and who died and he was mostly content to let it go at that.
“all clear and guard posted” responds bob checking for the fire guard per army air force policy.
“ignition switches on, throttles cracked” commands tom as the pair begin the process of bringing the giant four engine bomber to life.
“Booster pumps on” adds bob, the last step before ignition.
The big bomber had four Pratt & Whitney fourteen cylinder twin row radial, air cooled engines. With the turbo superchargers they delivered 4,800 horsepower each. The crew started number 3 first with the engines numbered from left to right as you sit in the pilots seat. So, the engine closest to the copilot sitting on the right was started first. The sequence continued with engines 4, 2 and 1.
“starting 3” bob states as he holds down the starter switch to number three and the primer switch until the engine rumbles to life. Tom brings the mixture controls back to auto-rich, bob lets go of the springloaded starter and booster switches and watches for the oil pressure in number 3 to come up.
“Oil pressure coming up” is his reply as the twin radial is now officially alive and breathing.
They repeat this process three more times until a deafening rumble is heard and felt by all crew members as all four engines sit at 1,000 revolutions per minute. This was serious business and both men knew it. They paid very close attention to the procedures, checklist and policy and knew there very lives often depended on catching problems early.
Tom could not help but smile grabbing the four throttles in his hand as he prepared to taxi the bomber for takeoff. He was a long way from the hay bailer his dad had taught him to drive in Iowa. Despite the deadly mission the men were on a great sense of accomplishment was felt by the crew, especially the captain
Forty eight aircraft had now come to life and were slowly jockeying for position to take in their respective groups. Tom’s crew would lead three other bombers into flight. From the beginning of bomber school he was instructed on being the aircraft commander responsible for every action of the crew and the aircraft. A responsibility he took with great humility but confidence. Each man on the bomber had specific tasks and Tom had confidence in them as well.
It was virtually impossible to get forty eight bombers over a target and get forty eight home again. Each crew member struggled with that reality as the bombers trudged along the taxi way for takeoff. Each man would make his peace or not with his fate and Tom had never known anyone who wanted off an aircraft except for the occasional crew spat.
At the end of the runway, unbeknownst to anyone, Tom would say a small prayer “God, go with us this day and may the outcome be of your will, not ours”. He felt this prayer gave God control over the mission. Would the crew make it over the target and drop the six sixteen hundred pound bombs in the back, or would they take enough enemy fire to knock them out of the sky. Either way, Tom figured, God would decide who lived and who died and he was mostly content to let it go at that.
Back Again
The wheels hit with a thud. Not the best landing Tom thought. Throttles were idle, flaps going up, bob was shutting down 2 and 4.
"back again aye Tom" said bob over the noisy engines. Tom always opened his pilot side window right after landing. Something about the fresh air and a sense of safety. They had survived mission 22.
"yeah, still plenty to do though", said Tom referring to the number of missions they had yet to fly and the surveyed damage to the German industrial complex on this mission.
They were safe. But the images of that mission and the boys that were lost would never leave Tom's mind. Bud Stillman flying Betsy Ross about 1/2 mile ahead of Tom's plane on the first run exploded. Not a soul survived. Gone, instantly. No chance to ask for someone to write Mom. No chance for a final prayer or request for forgiveness, whatever a man does when his last breath is upon him.
"back again aye Tom" said bob over the noisy engines. Tom always opened his pilot side window right after landing. Something about the fresh air and a sense of safety. They had survived mission 22.
"yeah, still plenty to do though", said Tom referring to the number of missions they had yet to fly and the surveyed damage to the German industrial complex on this mission.
They were safe. But the images of that mission and the boys that were lost would never leave Tom's mind. Bud Stillman flying Betsy Ross about 1/2 mile ahead of Tom's plane on the first run exploded. Not a soul survived. Gone, instantly. No chance to ask for someone to write Mom. No chance for a final prayer or request for forgiveness, whatever a man does when his last breath is upon him.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
