Of Windmills and War

by Diane Moody

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Danny sat down and tried to gather the pages he’d dropped in all the excitement.

  “Where do you call home, Lieutenant?”

  “Chicago, sir.”

  “Cubs or White Sox?”

  “Oh, Cubs, sir. Tried and true.”

  “Good man. You know I was working for Pure Oil there in Chicago before I was called up for duty when this all began.”

  “Yes, sir, I knew that.”

  Moller smiled then pointed to the letter in Danny’s lap. “Writing the folks?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. After our Hannover mission on 28 March, I was MIA for about a week, and they were mighty worried.”

  The colonel crossed his legs and leaned back. “MIA? You must have been on Dick Anderson’s crew. Tremendous loss, Anderson. I’d like to hear your perspective on it, if you don’t mind?”

  Danny tried to bring his voice down a notch, fearing he’d squawk like an adolescent as he told his story. He also tried to keep it brief, not wishing to impose on Moller’s time, but the colonel seemed to have all the time in the world.

  “How is it you knew this girl—Anna, was it?”

  “Anya. Anya Versteeg.” As Danny explained the long history, he found himself growing more relaxed. At forty-five years of age, Moller came across quite fatherly—no doubt the reason so many of his men nicknamed him the Old Man and “Uncle Joe.” With occasional questions and comments, Moller seemed genuinely interested in the details of his journey in Holland—and Anya.

  “I have tremendous respect for the Dutch Resistance,” Moller added. “I’m not sure any of us can ever fully grasp the hardships those folks have suffered. It’s why I’m so pleased the 390th was tapped to take part in Chowhound. Seems to me, it’s the least we can do for them.”

  “I agree, sir. I’m anxious to get over there myself.”

  “I flew one yesterday, and I can tell you one thing—that’s one mission I’ll never forget.”

  Danny smiled knowing Moller’s record, flying more than forty missions while assigned to the 390th. “Uncle Joe” was hands-on all the way—a fact that only endeared him even more to his men.

  Moller smiled then stared into the fire. “So Anya insisted on staying there in Holland, despite the immense danger and starvation?”

  “Yes, sir, she did.”

  “Well, I have to say I admire that kind of loyalty. I’d like to think I’d do the same, but who’s to say? Speaks well of her character. But I don’t suppose I need to tell you that. What are you plans, Lieutenant?”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Surely you’re not planning to just go home and never see her again?”

  Danny swallowed hard. “No, sir! I could never do that, but I don’t, uh, well I don’t . . .” He honestly didn’t know what to say.

  Moller leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands wrapped around the coffee mug. “Now, I may be just an old man, but I know how important it is to find a good woman. So I’ll ask again. What are your plans, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m not quite sure. I suppose it all depends on what happens these next few days.” He dipped his head, embarrassed to say what was on his heart.

  Then, Colonel Joseph Moller, Commander of the 390th Bomb Group of the Eighth Air Force, leaned across the space between them, patted Danny on the knee, and said, “Go back for her, son. Sounds to me like she’s worth going back for.”

  As the Colonel stood, so did Danny. “Yes, sir. I’m not sure how to do that, but—”

  “Then you come see me. Understood?”

  “Understood. Thank you, sir!”

  The Colonel shook Danny’s hand, winked, and walked away.

  Then, Lieutenant Daniel Howard McClain of Chicago, Illinois, took a long cleansing breath . . .and smiled.

  “From what I hear, you can almost walk across the sky, there are so many Lancasters up there carrying food over to Holland,” Charlie said, moving the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “And with our guys up there now, I’m guessing the Dutch will see more aluminum than blue sky. Besides, they’re probably just saving the best for last. That would be you and me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “What, were you expecting Uncle Joe himself to ask you to ride shotgun with him today?”

  Danny rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

  “Well, I may not have as much brass, but I promise we’ll get the job done. Hey, at least we get to fly together before all this ends. That’s good for something, right?”

  Danny spent the rest of the day reading back through his journal. He wasn’t altogether sure why he picked up the worn leather book, other than just a way to pass the time and get his mind off Anya. In a strange way, the scattered entries comforted him. Sure, the abrupt end to his relationship with Beverly still irked him. No guy likes getting dumped for someone else. But as he read his own recorded thoughts and emotions, he felt detached from that Danny McClain—as if someone he hardly knew anymore had written those words. After his father had been beaten, why had it taken him so long to accept the fact he’d have to wait another year to go to college? Why had he bruised so easily after Beverly rejected him? Why did he wander all over Evanston in the middle of the night after Craig’s father told him his roommate had died? Who was that guy who let the roadblocks in his life almost destroy him? And for what?

  Then, reading some of his later excerpts, he began to see a slow but sure maturing of that young guy who seemed to always wear his heart on his sleeve. Somewhere in those pages, he began to recognize a confident member of the United States Army Air Force fighting for his country. No matter what happened in the remaining days of this war, Danny knew he’d return home as someone quite different—stronger, prouder, wiser.

  He closed the journal and decided to head over to the Officer’s Club for a while. Just as he opened the door of his Nissen hut, Charlie raced up to him grinning from ear to ear.

  “Danny! We’re listed! Tomorrow it’s our turn to fly Chowhound!”

  62

  03 May 1945

  What a sight, watching the ground crews loading boxes and bags of food instead of bombs into the plane. Danny couldn’t believe the transformation of the Fortress they’d been assigned to. It and all the other Forts had been quickly adapted by outfitting the bomb bay with plywood “floors” hinged on one side to the bay, the other side attached to the bomb release mechanism. On these makeshift pallets, the food was piled high, filling every square inch of the bomb bay.

  The flight crews marveled at the variety of food piled up on those plywood floors—coffee, tea, sugar, flour, powdered eggs and milk, meat, vegetables, cheese, and in some cases, even tins of chocolate. Many of these were “10-in-1 Ration” boxes filled with canned and tinned goods which would have a much better chance of surviving the free-fall drop to the ground.

  The whole atmosphere around the hardstands felt entirely different as the crews gathered that morning. Where jitters and silent prayers often accompanied nervous laughter or terse responses before a bomb run, now a palpable sense of joy drifted through the air. And with the shocking announcement that morning of Hitler’s suicide the day before, everyone had even more reason to celebrate. Charlie and Danny laughed along with the others at the comments bubbling out of everyone’s excitement.

  “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer Kraut!”

  “Guten riddance, Adolf!”

  “Heil Hitler!” someone yelled, throwing the familiar Nazi salute. “Welcome to hell, Adolf!”

  “Wish he’d done it five years ago and saved us all this trouble!”

  “My friends! My friends! Such good news! It’s a wonderful day!”

  Danny and Charlie caught each other’s eye at the same moment with identical puzzled expressions. Why does that sound familiar? They both turned around.

  “Sergeant Cosmos Francis Benedetto, reporting for duty, sirs!”

  There before them standing at attention with his hand in a sharp salute stood the chatty
sergeant who had regaled Quincy’s Pub back before Christmas. Slowly, Danny and Charlie returned the sergeant’s salute wondering why he would be reporting to them for duty.

  “Lieutenant Charles Janssen,” Charlie said by way of introduction as they all lowered their hands. “And this is Lieutenant Daniel McClain. But if you don’t mind my asking, Sergeant, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “I assure you, Lieutenant, the pleasure is all mine. It is my honor, indeed my privilege, to be assigned to your esteemed crew today for the purpose of witnessing this most glorious occasion.”

  Charlie scratched his head. “Come again?”

  “It is my good fortune to be selected to accompany you on your mission of mercy today at the request of Colonel Joseph Moller, our beloved commander.”

  “Colonel Moller selected you to ride with us?”

  Danny shot his hand out, hitting Charlie’s arm. “You remember, Charlie—the Old Man wanted all the ground crew men to have a chance to ride along and see from the sky what they’ve helped us do all these months.”

  “Oh yeah,” Charlie said, pasting a plastic smile on his face. “Swell. Just swell.”

  Danny reached out to shake the sergeant’s hand. “It’s an honor to have you—Cosmos, was it?”

  “Yes, sir. And thank you, sir.”

  Charlie followed Danny’s lead and shook the crewman’s hand. “A pleasure.” Then, turning to Danny, “I’ll see you in the cockpit after my final check.”

  Danny had to admit the kid was a pain. He was fairly short, stocky, with a head of curly black hair, and one hundred percent Italian. His Jersey accent bled so thick you could cut it. He seemed the perfect caricature of many of the ground crew men—hard working, tough as nails, and proud of it. He studied the sergeant’s face trying to decide what made it so unique. Those eyes had almost a childlike wonder in them.

  Bewildered. That’s it. An interminable look of bewilderment on that face and in those eyes, as if every moment held unlimited potential.

  Danny smiled. For all his annoying chatter, there was something refreshing about Benedetto’s unmasked enthusiasm.

  “Tell me, Cosmos, have you ever flown before?”

  “No, sir,” he answered, his face lighting up a notch more. “This will be my maiden voyage, as it were. I came over on the Queen Elizabeth—and a fine sailing vessel she was. But alas, my friend, this will be an unforgettable day for the son of Tony and Beatrice Benedetto.”

  “Your parents?”

  “Oh yes, sir. Mama and Papa . . .” His chin trembled as he paused and briefly looked away. “I am the sole product of their loins and the pride of their union.”

  Danny bit his lip hard as he let the sergeant compose himself. “Yes, well, Cosmos. Climb aboard and we’ll get you settled.”

  Unable to speak, Cosmos nodded and followed closely behind as Danny boarded the Fort through the hatch.

  “This is Billy Henderson, top turret gunner and flight engineer today. Billy, this is Sergeant Cosmos Benedetto. He’s our ground crew passenger on today’s mission. How about you show him around then get him belted in the nose for take-off.”

  “Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

  Danny patted Cosmos on the shoulder and headed up to the cockpit.

  “Danny, since you and Uncle Joe are such bosom buddies these days,” Charlie started, “how about you call him up and see if we can’t get the wonder child back there switched to another plane.”

  Danny slid into his seat on the right. “Ah, he’s not so bad.”

  “Ten to one he pukes before we cross the Channel.”

  Danny laughed hard as he buckled himself in and got to work. Twenty minutes later, the Fort’s engines roared in anxious harmony with the other B-17s as they barreled down the runway. From the cockpit, Danny couldn’t see their guest below who was seated where the toggelier usually sits, but they could all hear him.

  “MOTHERMARYOHMYGODHAVEMERCYONME!”

  Over and over the sergeant yelled—except for the brief moment he lost his breakfast.

  Charlie shot his co-pilot a smirk. “Told ya.”

  “Oh God! Oh God! Help me, Jesus!”

  “Sergeant Benedetto! Turn off your intercom!” Danny shouted.

  “MOTHERMARYOHMYGODHAVEMERCYONME!”

  “Billy! Get him off that intercom and I mean now!” Charlie ordered.

  “Okay okay! I’m on it!” the flight engineer responded.

  “MOTHERMARYOHMY—”

  “Thank the Lord!” Danny quipped. He coughed, trying to suppress his laughter but failed miserably.

  “McClain, don’t make me order you down there to babysit your new best friend,” Charlie balked.

  Danny wiped his eyes and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m fine—really. I’m okay.” He snorted a couple of times before taking a long cleansing breath. “Something tells me this is going to be an unforgettable flight in more ways than one.”

  Charlie just shook his head. “Y’know, I’ve looked forward to flying with you for quite a while now, but I’m wondering if I’ll even survive it.”

  “No, buddy. I’m good to go. Honest.” Danny pulled his hand over his face then shook it all off.

  Charlie looked over at him.

  “What?” Danny asked.

  “All things considered I’ve got to say it’s good to see you laughing again.”

  Danny looked out his side window, nodding his head. “Feels good too.”

  The flight engineer popped up behind them. “That guy . . . he was practically sitting on his intercom switch. White as a ghost. You’d think we were surrounded by bandits.”

  An hour later, with The Netherlands in the distance, Billy joined them again. “Speaking of bandits, did you all notice there’s not a single Kraut in the sky? And no anti-aircraft fire or flak either. Ain’t that somethin’?”

  “Must be that milk run everyone always talks about. In this case, it really is.”

  In briefing that morning, they’d been told the remaining food drop missions would no longer be flown in formation. On the second day of Operation Chowhound, two bombers from the 388th Bomb Group had collided in midair as they attempted to keep in tight formation. There were no survivors. As a result, the bombers would fly in a single line, one after another, to avoid any more fatalities.

  As they approached the coastline of Holland, they were flying no more than 500 feet above the ground as they headed for Vogelenzang, a village in Bloemendaal, in the northwest corner of Holland. Danny could feel his stomach tensing at sights he’d never seen before. The first thing he noticed were the concrete pill boxes the Germans had built along the beaches, fortifying their so-called “Atlantic Wall.” The Allies had done their job, bombing them repeatedly as evidenced by the craters on and around them. Beyond, he could see German soldiers standing at anti-aircraft gunneries, no doubt ready to fire if any of the planes flew outside the predetermined narrow corridor.

  “Don’t you know they’re seething under those stupid bucket helmets?” Billy wondered aloud.

  Thankfully, those in the 390th who had flown the previous relief missions had reported no instances of German aggression. At least for now, the truce seemed to be working.

  Danny felt sure his knuckles hidden inside his gloves were white—and probably those of the entire crew as well. It felt so wrong to fly this heavy bird at such a low altitude and slow speed, as if any moment the Fort might drop down in a belly flop and kill everyone on board and those on the ground. He tried to steel the nerves chewing at his insides.

  They were shocked by the vastness of the flooded terrain, evidence of Jerry’s precise bombing of those dikes and canals. Everywhere they looked, fields were flooded. On many of the structures, only rooftops were visible. No wonder the Dutch had starved. With no agriculture and no means of transporting food in, it was a wonder they had a single beet or tulip left anywhere. Danny remembered how much Anya hated those beets. He also remembered the old lady who had eaten his leftover beet soup when he c
ouldn’t stomach it.

  And once again he wondered—is Anya still alive?

  But his troubled thoughts didn’t last long. As they drew closer to Vogelenzang, everywhere they looked they could see people running and waving—some waving dish towels, some with white sheets, some jumping and dancing and throwing kisses.

  He and Charlie couldn’t help smiling as the rest of the crew chimed in, sharing the spectacular moment.

  “Can you believe this?”

  “Looks like they’re mighty happy to see us!”

  “Have you ever seen such an anxious crowd?”

  “Hey, look at that guy on the roof over there! He’s got a big sign that says, ‘TOBACCO!’ Too bad I can’t throw him a pack!”

  “Lieutenant Janssen, is it okay if I let Sergeant Benedetto speak on the intercom now?” the radio crewman asked.

  Charlie glanced over at Danny. “Well?”

  “Go ahead, Sergeant.”

  “Hello? Hello?”

  “Yes, Cosmos, we hear you,” Danny answered.

  “HOLY COW! My friends, my friends! Have you ever seen such an amazing sight in all your life?!” he shouted. “Look at ‘em—never in all my life have I seen anything so beautiful.” His unrestrained weeping floated through the aircraft on the intercom, eclipsing his commentary.

  “Check it out—over there at three o’clock!” Danny pointed at a field out his window. “Huge letters spelling out God Bless America on the ground.” Suddenly, the sight of it lodged a lump in his throat and his eyes stung. He blinked several times realizing Cosmos wasn’t the only one fighting his emotions. He cleared his throat a couple of times as he spotted the drop zone marker. “White cross straight ahead.”

  “Prepare to release the cargo!” Charlie ordered.

  “Three, two one—now!” Danny shouted.

  They felt the whoosh of air sweep through the craft as the bomb doors flew open releasing their 600-pound food gift to the Dutch people. Danny craned his neck to look back, catching a quick glimpse of the falling goods.

  “Mission accomplished, Lieutenant!” the tail gunner yelled. “That is one payload that’s a real pleasure to watch. I wish you could all see what I’m seeing right now.”