by Diane Moody
When Sophie made her final stop back at the hardstand, Anderson cut the engines. He sat silent for a moment before reaching his hand out toward Danny. “Good job, McClain.”
Danny shook his hand heartily. “Great job, Captain.”
As the boisterous crew went about collecting their belongings, they all slapped each other on the back for a successful first mission. Danny was relieved too, but far too fresh from the experience to be cutting up with the rest of the guys. Once they all exited the plane, a truck showed up to ferry them to the Briefing Room. Once there, they looked around, wondering what they were supposed to do.
“Danny!”
He turned as Charlie waved his hand above the crowded room. Danny waved back as his friend closed the gap between them then gave him a hug.
“How’d it go, Rookie?! Feel good to have that first one under your belt?”
“You can say that again.” Danny laughed, raking his hand through his hair.
“Flak was pretty heavy up there today. Any trouble?”
“Nothing too serious, but it sure felt good to get back on the ground. How about you?”
“Not exactly a milk run, but we managed. C’mon. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Ah, that’s okay, I’d—”
“Danny, it’s part of the routine. Compliments of the United States Army Air Force. Calms your nerves before debriefing.” Charlie chuckled as they neared the table of drinks. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get drunk again.”
All over the room he watched officers knock back shots of whiskey. “All right, then. If it’s protocol.”
Charlie handed him the tiny glass filled to the rim, which promptly spilled from his trembling hand. “Whoa, you were right about the shakes.”
“Just be glad you’re all in one piece and able to hold it at all.” Charlie winked then held up his own glass. “To your first mission.”
“To my first mission.” They clinked glasses and Danny downed his whiskey. “Whoa,” he rasped, feeling the liquid burn all the way down.
Charlie patted him hard on the back. “See? Just what the doctor ordered. I’ll see you after debriefing.”
Danny shook his head to still the alcohol buzz then found his way over to the table with his crew. The Red Cross Girls supplied them with plenty of hot coffee and donuts as the S-2 Officer started the intense questioning. Danny wondered if Sally might also be helping out, but with the interrogation underway, he had no chance to look around the room. The Security Officer asked each crew member questions pertinent to the mission. Clearly, they were all ready to unleash the tension they’d held in for the past twelve hours, filling in all the details until at last the session was over.
Danny felt like he was still in a haze the rest of the evening as everyone chatted over dinner. They talked about the day’s mission, the close calls, the planes and crew members who didn’t make it back, and the usual horse play that follows such a nerve-wracking day. Mostly, Danny just wanted to get some sleep, but on the way back from dinner, he stopped by Operations to check the roster for tomorrow’s mission. Sure enough, Anderson’s Crew was listed.
That night, when his head finally hit the pillow, Danny uttered a silent prayer of thanks. As he rolled over on his side, he had one last thought before he drifted off to sleep.
And tomorrow we do it all again.
41
31 December 1944
Framlingham, England
“Hamburg. Why’d it have to be Hamburg? It’s New Year’s Eve, for crying out loud!”
“Franconi, knock it off,” Pendergrass growled from Sweet Sophie’s nose. “Uncle Sam didn’t ask for your opinion and neither did we, so shut up.”
“Yeah, but three missions in a row? You’d think they’d at least give us a day off so we could—”
“So we could what? Go celebrate at Times Square?” Lowenstein asked. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a war here.”
“Maybe so, but I’m with Tony,” Michaels chimed in from the ball turret. “It’s not fair, sending us up three days in a row.”
“That’s enough, men,” Anderson snapped from the cockpit. “Unless you’re calling out a fighter, I don’t want to hear another word. Just do your job so we can get back to base in one piece tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Franconi and Michaels answered in unison.
Once again, Sweet Sophie flew in one of the last groups. Danny had assumed by their third mission, he’d be used to the anxiety—at least partially. But the knot in his gut pinched every bit as hard as it had the last couple of days. Today the flak was brutal and getting worse the closer they got to Hamburg. They’d been warned during briefing about the possibility of intense flak, but Danny had never seen the sky so black. The plane bounced and slammed as shrapnel peppered the exterior, harder than any hail storm back home. Once they passed the Initial Point, Anderson fought to maintain as straight a line as possible to the Drop Point. The moment came, the bomb bays all around them opened, and once again Sully Thornton flipped the switch.
“Bombs away!”
Anderson leaned to his left to watch the impact below from his side window. Thinking he’d do the same out his window, Danny turned to his right just as a B-17 at one-o’clock high took a direct hit. Before the words could form in his mouth, the plane exploded. The fireball was coming directly at them! He slammed Anderson’s right arm to get his attention. As the pilot casually glanced back, he immediately spotted the fireball and quickly but steadily pulled up on the steering column, allowing what was left of the crippled Fortress to slide right beneath them. Sophie bucked and slammed and rocked, but she kept course.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?!” Lowenstein shouted from the top turret.
“It’s the Lazy Susan!”
“Look for chutes! Look for chutes!”
“I see two!”
“I see three!”
“Geez, look at it! There’s nothing left!”
“McClain! We’ve lost power on engine number three!” Anderson shouted.
Danny looked out his window at the engine closest to him. “Number three all torn to shreds. Globs of oil coming out!”
“Feather three!”
“She’s not responding. She’s dead, Captain!”
Unable to stop the lame propeller from spinning, its blades created drag on the already beleaguered B-17. Quickly losing altitude and dropping out of formation would make them easy pickings for the Luftwaffe.
“Navigator! Anderson shouted. “Give me a heading to get us out over the North Sea as soon as possible!”
“Roger that, Captain,” Pendergrass answered. A few seconds later he called out the heading which would place them over the mouth of the Elbe River. Banking hard to make the turn, the river came in sight.
“Captain! Flak barges on the river and they’re all firing!” Jimmy Foster shouted from midship.
The nasty black puffs of smoke soon engulfed them, shaking the plane from nose to tail.
“Captain! We’re losing altitude! Twelve thousand feet and falling!”
Anderson drove Sweet Sophie like a race car on a severely pot-holed track, but moments later they outran the black madness as they sputtered over the open sea.
“Thank God!” Dal shouted from the tail.
“Great job, Captain!” Sully cried.
Danny shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“Captain! Bandit at six o’clock!” Dal screamed just before blasting off his guns.
“Bandit closing in fast, Captain!”
“Here come our Little Friends!”
“Knock ‘em outta the sky, Little Friends!”
As if obliging their cries for help, the P-47 Thunderbolts swooped in and shot the German ME 109 out of the sky.
The cheers of the crew filled the intercom, thankful the fighter pilots had once again provided protection.
“Men, we’ve got to lighten our load or we’re not going to make it to the coast,” Anderson barked. “Toss everything you can overboard, and
I mean everything.”
They’d all heard too many stories from other crews who credited these North Sea dumps with saving their lives. They quickly threw out guns, ammunition, and anything not nailed down in an attempt to lighten the load and get Sophie across the water.
“Mayday! Mayday!” Danny shouted on the Emergency Channel to alert Air Sea Rescue to their position. They still had a long way to go before they could hope to see the white cliffs of Dover. He looked out his window and wondered how cold the sea water below might be then prayed he’d never have to find out.
Finally, the English coastline appeared ahead. Danny let out a heavy sigh—just before a plane blew right across their path!
Anderson tried hard to fight the bird’s slipstream. “What was THAT?”
“British Air Sea Rescue, sir!” Lowenstein shouted.
“Don’t those idiots listen to the tower?”
“Hey, thanks for the rescue, jerks!”
With their plane approaching stalling speed while flying at an extremely low altitude with her nose up, Danny gulped hard when he noticed white caps just below them.
“This is gonna be close!” Anderson cried.
“There’s the Brit’s Norwich Airfield!”
With no time to call for clearance, Anderson aimed for the closest runway.
“Hold on, everybody!” Danny shouted.
Seconds later, they landed. Sophie skidded all over the runway. By the feel of it, Danny wondered if the tires had taken some flak. But thankfully, they were back on the ground and still in one piece. A few minutes later while exiting the damaged aircraft, the crew started counting flak holes—astounded that the plane had survived. They stopped counting at two hundred.
As they waited for a truck from the 390th to come for them, the British offered hot coffee and refreshments in a hangar that was chilly at best, but at least out of the elements. They all talked at the same time, reliving the close calls and applauding their captain’s incredible landing which prevented them from ending the year—and possibly their lives—with a freezing swim. A few moments later, the pilot from the Air Sea Rescue plane arrived. Anderson lit into him for cutting so close across their path, forcing them to fly through his slipstream.
Danny stepped between them. “Dick, take it easy. We’re fine. I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Sorry, mate, but to be honest, you gave me quite a fright as well,” the Brit said, still holding his helmet. “I was looking for you in the water below! I couldn’t believe you were still airborne, what with your nose just above the drink and flying at stall speed? I couldn’t believe you and your crew weren’t all wet!”
“Yeah? I’ll show you who’s all wet!” Anderson snarled, trying to push Danny aside.
Danny held on, blocking him. “Captain Anderson! Let it go!”
Anderson’s chest heaved repeatedly until he finally grumbled a few choice words then walked away.
Their truck showed up several hours later, long after the stroke of midnight. The tired crew spoke little on the trip back to base, most of them sound asleep despite the bumpy ride. Danny tried to sleep, but couldn’t. His mind still whirling, he wondered how many close calls a guy gets before he uses them all up. He wondered if his mother’s prayers had been responsible for keeping him alive one more day. He couldn’t help wondering what the new year would bring.
Then he wondered if he would live long enough to find out.
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 formati
on. 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.