[bobbysocks]

ENEMY PILOT IN THE CROSS FIRE
I will never forget the only enemy that I ever saw in
combat. An air war is very impersonal, even more so now that
we fight with missles and rockets that are remote controlled.
We in the air seldom saw anyone we are fighting even in WW-2.
We see planes and targets but not people.
On this particular mission, we were to bomb aircraft
factories in middle Germany. We met very stiff fighter
resistance, so we were pretty busy trying to protect our own
plane as well as those around us. We then got the call,
"Bandits at twelve o'clock high!" They were all lined up and
began to come in from the front of our plane. This was a
closing speed of over 600 MPH which was pretty fast for that
time. These were the latest planes that Germany had to offer,
FW-190s, brand new from the very factories that we were
headed to bomb.
I was in my regular position at the right waist gun. I
spotted this plane coming in over our left wing and firing at
everything in the squadron. Tis all happened in milliseconds
but seemed like a lifetime. Every gun that could was firing
at him and when he got even with my position I could see my
tracers going into his cockpit area. He was looking directly
at me. He couldn't have been over sixteen years old, with
short blond hair and no beard. He had what we have come to
know as the typical Hitler Youth sneer on his face. He
thought he was invincible. At that moment he turned 90
degrees away from me and blew up into a cloud of smoke. I can
still see the face of the only enemy I ever knew. I didn't
even claim a "kill" when I returned to briefing at our base
in England. I was always too glad to be back without a
scratch.

BICYCLE
The only bicycle that I ever owned was one I bought when
I was stationed at Chelveston, England. The one I bought was
a black girls bike with a magneto light and brakes on the
handle bars. It cost me the equivalent of $45.00 in English
pounds which were worth at that time a little over $4.20 per
pound.
Most of the boys learned to ride their bikes at night in
total darkness carrying a quart of beer in each hand. This
was quite a trick, especially after an evening at the local
Pub.
One evening some of us went into a village close to camp
and when coming back, a pretty girl passed me on the road. I
took after her intending to catch her and make conversation
if she would talk to me. I was riding pretty fast in the dark
when I hit a deep pothole in the road. I did a complete flip
with the bike and the first thing that hit the ground was the
left side of my face on that rough asphalt road. I peeled all
the skin off my face. I got up, picked the bike up and looked
all around to see who had seen me make such a fool of myself
over a girl that I never did meet.
I kicked the bike back in shape and rode on into camp
which was only a few miles ahead. When I got there I reported
to the first aid station for repairs and comfort. They wanted
to keep me but I wouldn't stay because I had a mission over
Germany to make the next day. They painted my face with
mercurochrome and I went on to my bunk to sleep. I didn't let
a peeled face keep me from flying and I heard from my buddies
about that bike wreck for a long, long time.

D-DAY
I've heard it said, "Nothing good ever came out of a war
and I've made this statement myself many times. I wouldn't
take a million dollars for my experiences in what my
generation calls the "Big War", and I wouldn't give two cents
for any more of it. There are many personal stories that come
out of any war, so I've tried to put some of mine down on
paper so I could reminisce and maybe others would be just a
little interested. It is now some forty or fifty years after
"My War" as I try to recall some of the both serious and
funny highlight of things I saw and did. I was a twenty year
old gunner in a "Flying Fortress" (Boeing B-17 Heavy Bomber)
in the Eighth Air Force at the time of "Operation Overlord"
which we commonly call "D-Day" in the invasion of Europe.
On the day of June 6, 1944 we were, as usual, assembled
for a briefing before our mission which was to bomb ahead of
the landing troops in Normandy, France. Our officers went
through all the usual form of weather reports and forecasts,
our primary target, our secondary targets, our routes,
altitudes, times and destinations. With all this done in
detail then the question was asked, "Are there any
questions." One sleepy Sergeant in the back of the room
raised his hand and was recognized. His question was,
"Colonel, Sir, while we are doing all this, just what will
the German Air Force be doing?" A hush fell over the room.
You could have heard a pin drop if anyone had dared to drop
it. The answer was simply this, "They won't be there, son, We
will have so many of our planes in the air, there just won't
be any room for them."
The crew that I was with always flew in the number one
or number two position as we were of the "Pathfinder Group"
which meant that we had the "radar bomb-sight" used to bomb
targets that couldn't be seen through the cloud cover. When
we boarded the plane there were several officers who wanted
to fly as observers. We had a Major to go with us so I told
him he could have my gun in the left waist. He was glad to
get such a good observation point. I put a sleeping bag in
the floor of the plane and watched the war through an unused
camera port in the floor of the plane. Sure enough, we didn't
see any enemy planes in the air on that mission and found out
later that the German Air Force only put up two fighters in
the whole Normandy invasion. We made that mission without
firing a shot or being fired on. We dropped our bomb load
where we were supposed to and came home without incident.

HERSHEY BAR
There should be some interest by someone in advertising
when I say, I owe my life to a Hershey Bar. Well not quite
but here is the story as I lived it.
I was with a B-17 Pathfinder crew in WW2 when we were on
a mission to bomb some selected target in southern Germany in
April of 1944. I was flying my regular left waist gun
position on our way in to the target some time after we had
cleared the French coast heading south and somewhat east.
Flak was heavy and because of that we had no enemy fighter
opposition. We also had no friendly fighter escorts for the
same reason.
I was sitting on an ammo box watching the flak blossom
all around us and wondering when one of those bursts would
have our name on it. Those flight suits that we wore had
pockets on the legs and so when we sit down many time things
would fall out of them. Just then a Hershey bar i had stashed
for future snack fell out and landed in the plywood catwalk
on the floor of the plane. I looked at it for a moment and
then decided to pick it up. When I bent down to retrieve it I
heard a "Whomp" and sat up to look out a small hole about the
size of a quarter just at eye level. That piece of shrapnel
fell to the floor from the other wall of the plane. When I
picked it up it was still warm from the explosion.
I don't think it could have been fatal but you can bet I
would have gotten a headache if I hadn't picked up that
errant Hershey Bar.
I still have that piece of German 88 mm. flak as a
souvenir.

STAND DOWN AND LIVE
Many unusual things have happened in my life to make me
believe in "Guardian Angels." One night after we had been
transferred to the 422nd Squadron because our First Pilot had
been made Squadron Commander, we were alerted for a mission
early the next morning. Needless to say, we didn't sleep much
that night because we were too excited about the next day.
After midnight, the duty clerk came into our barracks calling
out the crews to wake up and report to the flightline for a
mission. When he was about to leave, we realized that he had
not called us. I asked him, What about Captain Conklins
crew?" He said, "You're not going, you've been replaced, go
back to sleep." We did just that but got out latter to wait
for the Squadrons return. We counted the big B-17 Fortresses
returning to base like everyone else and knew that several
were missing. The crew that had replaced us didn't come back.
One of the men was a friend of mine. I have a scarf that
belonged to him. After fifty years, I don't even remember his
name, but he took my place that night. Thanks, friend.