Issue 17.13
I was the lower ball turret gunner on Robert Parnell’s B-17 bomber crew during my tour of oriel combat as part of the 351st Bomb Group and the 508th Squadron based at Polebrook, England during World War Two. If we bombed a target to the far reaches of Germany, the typical day would be like this. Awakened at 2 AM, breakfast at 3 (I could not have more than a cup of coffee or it would come back up), briefing at 4, load onto trucks machine guns, electric heated suits, parachute and harness, flak jacket, fur boots, steel helmet and escape kit with map of
Germany printed on silk. All of these things had to be installed in our assigned ship or stowed,
When that was done, it was time to pull the four props thru and then we could relax in the ground crew’s tent till time to start engines at 6AM. When the signal flares were fired from the tower the engines were started and another flare from the tower would start us rolling into position when another flare would start the three squadrons rolling down the runway for take off at 30 second intervals. After being in the air for maybe twelve hours but no longer than thirteen hours, the whole procedure was reversed. After loading our gear back onto a truck, we went to interrogation where we received our two fingers of American Whisky as we told him what transpired on the mission. Next came cleaning the machine guns and by that time it may be as late as 10:30 pm. We could then go to supper. I guess we should be hungry after having no meal since breakfast at 3 AM but usually after a day like that, I was more tired than I was hungry, so I would rather hit the sack and be out it till the night mares began. My Squadron’s record was for three consecutive missions. That happened on a Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and the next day that we stood down was Saturday which was the day we had to sweep out the barracks, make out bunks and be ready for inspection at 8AM. At 8AM the officer came (I guess he was the Squadron desk officer) to inspect. Horror of horrors, there was dirt on the floor, bunks unmade and 54 men still in their sacks. He came in and shouted to get our attention and wondered why we weren’t all up and ready for inspection. Not a man moved. He walked up and down the center isle shouting and then he pulled the blanket off of two trying to sleep guys. That did it. About six guys got out of bed grabbed that officer by the arms and legs and while the door was held open out he went landing in a heap.
I would have given a month’s pay to be a small mouse to witness what took place in the Squadron Commander’s office. The commander, Col. James Stewart was a combat flyer. The wronged officer was a ground pounder. The 54 sleeping men were combat flyers and enlisted men. We all kept wondering what would happen but we heard not another word about what happened that Saturday morning. The most likely scenario was that he did not even press the issue.