42
Journal Entry
09 January 1945
Following our harrowing mission to
Hamburg
, we
were given our first 48-hour leave along with several other crews, including
Charlie’s. We all headed to
London
to see
the sights. What an impressive place it is. The history alone would make it a
great place to visit, but it was mostly nice just to be away from the war for a
couple of days. Well, I guess I shouldn’t really say that.
London
has
had more than its share of bombing—it was bombed more than 71 times during the
8-month Blitz back in the early days of the war. So many historic landmarks
were decimated, others took serious damage, and some were flattened altogether.
Even while we were there, a couple of air raid sirens went off, but we never
bothered to go into a bomb shelter.
When we returned to base, we had a few more days off while
the ground crews worked on our plane. Sophie took a lot of damage, but nothing
major, thank goodness. I still smile when the guys ask questions about my “mystery
girl” back home named Sophie. The more evasive I am, the greater the fantasies
they create about her.
I’ve seen Sally a couple of times and we’ve had a chance to
catch up. It’s really nice having a friend like her to chat with, especially
since we’re just friends. Though I have to admit, I’m usually a little jealous
whenever I see the other guys hogging all her time.
The crew and I put in for a Distinguished Flying Cross for
Dick Anderson. He sure deserves it. If it hadn’t been for his superb handling of
Sophie during the
Hamburg
mission, we might all
be pushing up daisies right now. I sure hope he gets it.
I had a letter from Mom earlier this week. I think the Almighty
knows when I need a good dose of encouragement because her letters always seem
to arrive when I need them most. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell Mom
how much her prayers mean to me, but I’ll sure try.
On the third day of February, Danny and his crew took part
in the biggest mission the Eighth Air Force had ever flown. Across
England
, almost
a thousand heavy bombers lined up in formation then headed east to
Berlin
where
they would attack the Berlin Tempelhof marshaling yard, one of
Germany
’s biggest.
With the 390th positioned toward the rear of the bomber stream, Danny and his
crew marveled at the sight of the sky before them literally filled with bombers
as far as the eye could see.
But flying in that rear position also put them in an unusual
situation. By the time they reached their target,
Berlin
was
completely covered with smoke from all the exploding bombs, compliments of the Eighth
Air Force. Instead of wasting their bombs on a target already demolished, the 390th
was instructed to take “a target of opportunity.” They picked a canal bridge
and barracks area in a part of
Berlin
which had seen little bombing.
After dropping their bombs, they banked a hard left and headed back to
England
.
Clearly, the Eighth Air Force had done its job well as they encountered no flak
whatsoever on their return flight.
Over the next few weeks
Sweet Sophie’s
crew flew
several more missions, eventually earning themselves another leave. While they
were taking some time off in
London
, another crew was instructed
to fly
Sweet Sophie
for a couple of missions. It wasn’t unusual for
planes to be “borrowed” if another crew’s plane was damaged, requiring major
repairs. They’d simply use the plane of a crew on leave.
But once Danny and his crew returned to
Sophie,
they
knew immediately that something wasn’t right. If he hadn’t known better, Danny
would’ve sworn
Sophie
was out of sorts after flying several missions
with strangers. Then again, he reminded himself, the plane was just a flying
machine—not a temperamental woman.
In late February on their first mission following their
leave, they had no problem making it to their target in
Leipzig
. But
on the long trip back to Framlingham, Dick and Danny knew they had a serious
problem. Their gauges indicated they were running seriously low on fuel. Flying
in formation used fuel at a much faster rate than going it on your own. So even
though they were still over
France
,
Anderson
called
the Group leader asking for permission to leave formation for a straight-in
flight back to the base.
“Request denied.”
“We’ll never make it,” Danny muttered to Dick with a sick
feeling.
“We have no choice,”
Anderson
growled
along with a few expletives.
For the next fifteen minutes, they sweated it out watching
the fuel gauges drop lower and lower. Yes, they might make it back across the
English
Channel
,
but the long, intricate process of waiting their turn to land in the formation
line up would surely drain the last drop of fuel from their tanks.
Once again Dick requested permission to leave formation.
Once again, his request was denied.
“We’ve crossed the coastline of
France
, and
we’re out of harm’s way,” Danny fumed. “What possible reason could he have to—”
“
Sweet Sophie
to Group leader!” Dick shouted as he
dropped out of formation. “We’ll see you back at the base—
if
we make it!”
Precious minutes ticked by as they flew straight toward the
base. As the shoreline of
England
appeared in the
distance, Dick called “Tightboot”—code for the 390th tower—and requested
clearance for approach.
“Permission granted. Bring it in.”
Danny and Dick looked at each other in surprise. “Was that
Colonel Moller?” Danny asked in disbelief, surprised to hear the Commander of
the 390th at the radio.
Dick nodded, his eyes wide. “Guess we can’t get any higher
clearance than that.”
Lo and behold, after they landed and taxied to their hardstand,
they found a gasoline truck waiting for them. Danny swallowed hard, knowing the
presence of that gas truck meant their remaining fuel would be calculated as
they filled the tank. As the crew disembarked, both pilot and co-pilot knew
their butts would be in a sling if
Sophie’s
tanks weren’t all but dry.
In debriefing, they were told the ground crew had proved
them correct, adding that there wasn’t enough fuel to make a second try if they
hadn’t set her down when they did. But why had their full tanks not lasted the
entire mission? They’d even flown element lead which meant their gas
consumption shouldn’t have been as much as those that flew on their wings. They
should have had more than enough to spare.
Danny had no answers. He was just thankful they’d made it
back. He went out of his way to thank Dick Anderson for getting all of them back
safe and sound. He might not be the friendliest pilot in the 390th, but he did
his job and did it well.
“Cup of coffee, Lieutenant?”
Danny turned at the sound of Sally’s voice to find her
holding a mug of steaming coffee toward him. “Don’t mind if I do, Miss Wells.”
He took the mug and wrapped his hands around it, welcoming its warmth.
“Tough day?” she asked, gathering up some empty mugs from a
nearby table.
“You don’t even want to know. But thanks for asking.”
“Actually, that’s what I’m here for, remember? Sometimes it
helps to talk it out after a rough day in enemy skies.” She stopped for a
moment, as if waiting for his response.
“I know, but I’d rather hear about your day. I’m sure it’s
far more interesting.”
She gave him a playful look, but seemed to understand.
“Well, let’s see. This morning I visited the boys over in sick quarters for a
couple of hours. I helped three of them write letters home. I played cards with
some fellows over at the Officer’s Club. This afternoon I made around two
hundred donuts, making sure we’d have plenty for you guys this evening, and
then I started brewing coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Same old, same old.”
“Not such a bad day, if you ask me,” Danny said. “Any news
from Geoffrey?”
Her face brightened. “Yes! He’s back in the states now and
anxious for me to come home so we can get married.”
“That’s great, Sally. I’m happy for you. I really am.”
She beamed as she lifted the tray of empty mugs. “Thanks,
Danny. That means a lot to me.”
“Here, let me carry that for you.” He took the tray and
followed her back toward the coffee cart. “So how does it work—you serving in
the Red Cross? Do you have to finish a tour of duty or can you leave any time?”
“No, we make a commitment to serve a tour of duty just like
you do. I’ll be here until the end of May, unless the war ends sooner.”
He set the tray down with the others. “That must be hard for
you, knowing he’s home and you can’t leave yet.”
She pushed a curl out of her eyes. “Yes, it’s hard. But I
love what I do here, and he knows that. Besides, it won’t be that much longer.
Oh, by the way, your friend Charlie was here earlier. He said to tell you a
bunch of the guys are heading to
Quincy
’s
tonight if you’d like to join them.”
Danny closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know how
they do it after flying for twelve hours. All I can think about is calling it a
night.”
“That’s because you’re the smart one.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss Wells.”
“As you should, because it was, Lieutenant.”
“Goodnight, Sally.”
“Goodnight, Danny.”
43
28 March 1945
“Bombs away!”
After successfully dropping their payload on the marshalling
yards in
Hannover
,
Germany
,
Captain Dick Anderson followed the lead element, banking sharply to the left to
begin the trip back to
England
. On this, their eighteenth
mission, the flak had been unusually thick—always the case near important
target areas. The closer to target they’d flown, the heavier the anti-aircraft
fire. They always felt like sitting ducks up there, but never more so than near
the target. How many times had they limped back to base after one of these box
barrages? The enemy would aim for a section of sky where they knew the planes
were heading on their bombing run then bombard that area, filling it with
exploding shells. Some crews called it an “iron cumulus” because the air looked
much like a solid cloud of black. On approach to target, they were unable to
veer one way or the other to avoid the nasty stuff. They had to fly right
through it.
Sweet Sophie
bumped, rattled, and rolled through
the tremendous onslaught of anti-aircraft fire. As they completed the wide turn
before settling in for the ride home, Danny called for the routine check-in
following the drop.
“Tail gunner, checking in.”
“Ball turret, check—”
Suddenly,
Sophie
slammed hard once, twice, and a
third time before pitching a sharp left then back right. Even from the cockpit,
Danny could hear the explosions ricocheting through the cabin followed by the
frantic voices of his crew.
“We’re hit! We’re hit!” Jimmy yelled from waist gunner. “We’ve
got—”
“Somebody help me! I’m hit!”
“I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”
“We’ve got shrapnel—help me! Help!”
“Jimmy’s down! Oh God, no! Half of Shorty’s head got blown—”
“CHECK IN! That’s an order!” Danny shouted, unable to tell
who was saying what. As he turned to ask
Anderson
a
question, he stopped cold. His pilot sat hunched over his steering column.
“Dick!” Danny yelled, reaching over to pull him back. But
Anderson
’s wild
eyes stared back at him, pleading, begging—his bloodied hands seemingly frozen
in front of him even as blood poured like a fountain from a hole in his neck. A
split second later, his eyes rolled back and he fell limp.
“PILOT DOWN! PILOT DOWN!” Danny shouted as he quickly grabbed
his own steering column, fighting to keep control of the plane.
“Waist gunner down! Both waist gunners down!” Franconi
yelled. “Top turret down!” “Lieutenant, we—”
“IT’S GONE! IT’S GONE! Get me outta here!” Michaels screamed
from the ball turret.
“Somebody get Don out of the ball turret!” Danny shouted.
“Tony! Lane! Get down there!”
“Lane, help me! Pull me up! Oh God, I don’t wanna die!”
Michaels cried.
“I’ve got you, Don!” Lane shouted. “Look, you’re out, buddy!
I’ve got you! You’re safe!”
As he fought
Sophie’s
stubborn pull downward, Danny
could hear Don wailing in relief. “Everybody else, check in! That’s an order!”
he repeated.
“Lieutenant, Jimmy’s out cold. I can barely detect a pulse!”
Franconi shouted. “And Sully’s . . . oh God help us, Sully didn’t
make it.”
Danny eyed the controls knowing he was fighting a losing
battle. “Navigator, give me our location!”
“We’re approaching the German border into
Holland
,” Lane
shouted. “About ten miles out.”
“Lane, get up here. Now!” Danny tried to visualize their
position. The southern portion of
Holland
had
been liberated back in September, but there was no way to know where they were
in relation to that demarcation.
Something to his right caught his attention. Flames on
engine number three danced wild around the edges. He flipped the lever to
feather it but nothing happened. He flipped it up and down, up and down.
Nothing.
“I’m here, Danny, what—” Pendergrass said, then stopped,
gripping the pilot. “Captain!” He raised
Anderson
’s head
and found his glassy eyes. “Danny, he’s dead!”
“I know, I know. Talk to me. What’s the status of the crew?”
“It’s just you, me, Donnie, Tony, and Dal. Everybody else is—”
“Get Dal to—oh, no no no!” Danny shouted, looking past the
slumped body of his pilot. “Fire on number one! Three’s still burning! Lane, sound
the bell. We’ve got to abandon ship!”
Seconds counted as the reality of those burning engines
prompted Danny to get out of the cockpit as fast as he could. He put the plane
on autopilot, then quickly pulled out of his seat and headed for the bomb bay.
“Don and Dal are already out!” Pendergrass shouted.
“Tony! Abandon ship!”
The radio operator made his way down to the door. He froze, his
hands gripping the frame. “I can’t! I can’t do it!”
Lane stepped beside him. “Yes, you can, Tony! Your chute
will carry you down. Just don’t forget to pull the—”
“GO GO GO!” Danny yelled even though he knew they couldn’t
hear him over the engines.
With that Lane gave Tony a thumbs-up. “You ‘n me, Tony.
Let’s do this!” And with that, they disappeared out the door.
As Danny stared down through the open bomb bay doors, the
image of his mother kneeling in prayer beside her bed once again flashed into
his mind. The thought gave him comfort, and with one final prayer of his own,
Danny came to attention and jumped.
The
whooshing
of the wind roared in his ears as he
tumbled downward.
Be sure to wait a proper amount of time before pulling the
cord in order to avoid getting tangled up with the plane
. The warning from
his training manual came out of nowhere, but boy, was he glad it did.
Not
yet, not yet, not yet!
He tried to look for the other chutes but couldn’t
see them through the clouds whipping past him.
How could Lane and Tony be
out of sight so soon?
Then, it occurred to him that his flight downward
wasn’t as quiet as it was supposed to be.
Pull the ripcord, you knucklehead!
And he did.
OUCH! So that’s why the leg straps are supposed to be so
tight that you walk bent over . .
. Clearly, his
weren’t tight enough as he felt the mind-numbing pain shoot through his groin.
For a moment he saw stars, then despite the pain he couldn’t help enjoying the
peaceful quiet as he gently descended slowly downward. A litany of random
things rolled through his mind. The night he found Sophie in the alley behind
the store; the feel of her protruding ribs beneath her filthy coat. The letter
from Anya telling him that Hans had died. The homecoming dance at Northwestern
where he and Beverly twirled to the music of Kay Kyser. The sticky blood
pooling beneath his father that night the thugs beat him with a baseball bat. Sally’s
smile earlier that morning when the Red Cross Girls brought them coffee at
their hardstand.
They say your life passes before your eyes right before you
die.
A chill passed over him.
Is this it? Am I going to die?
The huge blast from an explosion not so far away would be
his last memory of
Sweet Sophie
and the crew members who went down with
her
.
He turned to see the fireball and felt the loss deep in his gut. So
many things rushed through his mind. Then, he gave himself a mental slap and tried
to focus on his landing.
He looked below him as the earth came into focus. The afternoon
sun glistened, sending rays into the forest as if he were looking at a painting
by Michelangelo. The easy, peaceful descent surprised him, especially after the
trauma of the last half hour.
Wait. A forest? I’m about to fall into a bunch of trees?
He looked all around, unable to see a clearing he could
shoot for. Then he realized the breeze around him had kicked up considerably,
wreaking havoc with his billowing chute. He hiked his knees up, hoping to shield
himself from as much harm as possible.
And just that fast, he fell through the upper branches of
several trees, tossed about like a rag doll; the snapping of tree limbs piercing
the silence like a wild, unrestrained drum solo pounding in his ears. He raised
his arms to protect his face as the slapping and scraping continued. Suddenly
he found himself a human canon falling much too fast.
“This is gonna HURT!”