Of Windmills and War (27 page)

Sullivan “Sully” Thornton, a twenty-two year old from Atlanta,
Georgia, would handle the toggelier controls for the crew. The primary
function of a B-17 is to drop bombs on the target, which is no simple
task. In the lead crew, bombardiers are responsible for calculating
altitude, air speed versus ground speed, actual time of fall, drift, bomb
trajectory and several other factors to make precision bomb drops. Toggeliers
would control the bomb release switch in non-lead crews, following the signal
of the lead crew.

  As senior enlisted man on the crew, the flight engineer had
to know more about the B-17—its mechanics, its armament, and the function of
all equipment—than anyone else on board. He also served double duty as the top
turret gunner. Paul “Shorty” Lowenstein, born and raised in
Pottstown
,
Pennsylvania
,
didn’t really look the part—at least to Danny. The five-foot five-inch engineer
had a quick smile, and he constantly worked a wad of gum like it was the
difference between life and death.

Radio operator Tony Franconi was a
New
York
native from
Staten Island
with a thick accent to prove
it. For the long hours of flight, the radio operator manned his desk in the
middle of the fuselage with the constant crackling static streaming through his
headset. He would give position reports every thirty minutes, while keeping
headquarters informed of target attacks and results.

Ball turret gunner Don Michaels came from
St.
Louis
,
Missouri
. As
required for the cramped compartment beneath the belly of the B-17, Don was
also a short guy, but he made up for it in strength. Danny had never seen a guy
so chiseled. He didn’t envy Michaels’ vulnerable position in the ball turret.
It gave Danny claustrophobia just thinking about it.

Tail gunner Dal Nicholson was a good looking kid came from
Sterling
,
Illinois
. The
eighteen-year-old’s easy manner would hopefully be a calming influence on the
crew. Danny had to admire anyone willing to crawl back around the tail wheel
then man his position while kneeling on what looked like a bicycle seat.
No
wonder they draft ‘em young.

Left waist gunner Francis McCabe called
New
York City
home. Danny was quite sure the young kid must have lied
about his age to enlist. But he took his job seriously and that’s all that
mattered.
Nashville
,
Tennessee
native
Jimmy Foster rounded out the crew as right waist gunner. Tow-headed and feisty,
Foster always kept a deck of cards on hand “for a quick one.” Waist gunners had
the highest rate of casualties, exposed to the 150 mile per hour slipstream
while manning the 65-pound machine guns in the mid-section of the Fort.

Danny liked the guys and felt confident they’d make a good
team. It was a sobering thought to realize these complete strangers would play
a significant role in whether or not they would return home after the war—be it
safe and whole, wounded, or in a wooden box. It was a thought he chose to
ignore.

After their crew was assembled, they were sent to Alexandria
Army Air Base in
Alexandria
,
Louisiana
for
Phase Training. Here, they would learn to operate as a unit, working in sync
with one another to perform the necessary tasks for combat flying.

Over the next few weeks, they flew constantly, learning to
work together and do the job as flawlessly as possible. But they learned early
on how easily mistakes could be made. On a Saturday afternoon exercise
involving a mock bombing mission, they witnessed the crash of a P39 Aircobra
crashing into one of the B17s—a maneuver that was definitely
not
in the
planned mock-drill. In less than a minute, they’d accounted for all crew
members on both planes—a miracle considering the extreme damage to both
aircraft. The crash made an indelible impression on every one involved in the
exercise that day. In the blink of an eye, everything could go wrong—a lesson
Danny never forgot.

In another week, they boarded a troop train and headed back
to
Lincoln
where
combat gear was issued to each of them. By the type of gear they were given,
Danny and his crew realized they would most likely be headed to the European
Theater of Operations, or ETO. In the back of his mind, Danny had always
assumed he’d be flying above the warm waters of the Pacific when the time
came.  But after a year and ten months of training, he didn’t care where they
were assigned. He just wanted to get there.

35

November 1944

He’d never seen a cruise ship before. The
Queen Elizabeth
was a beautiful vessel, massive in size, sailing beneath the Union Jack—and the
main means of transportation for those like Danny, heading to his home away
from home in
England
.

Halfway across the
Atlantic
, he
took out his journal for an update.

After arriving at
Camp Kilmer
,
New
Jersey
this morning, our crew boarded the “Queen
Elizabeth” headed for
England
. The
last place I expected to be on Thanksgiving Day was on a ship cruising the
Atlantic
. I
have to admit, there’s not a lot to be thankful for here. We’re all crammed on
the QE like sardines. She’s a beautiful ship—the largest ship afloat these days—but
there are
20,000
troops on board, plus another 2,000 of the ship’s crew.
As officers, we were assigned to bunk in staterooms. Sounds fancy and it
is—except for the fact there are 48 of us squeezed into three-tiered bunks in these
two-room staterooms which normally accommodate just two passengers!

To make things worse we’ve encountered unusually rough seas
which has caused most of the troops on board to toss their cookies into their
helmets. Thankfully, as aviators, we’re used to motion sickness so it hasn’t
been a problem.

We were all hoping the meals served on the QE would be up to
par for a ship this classy. The officers are served meals by British waiters in
a special dining area, but much to our disappointment, the food is typical
military grub and very bland. So much for tea and crumpets.

I’ve never seen so much gambling in all my life. The main
ballroom has turned into an Officers Club, where every game of chance is played
almost around the clock. I’m too cheap to take a chance on losing my hard
earned cash, but some of these guys would mortgage their skivvies if they
could. Pendergrass, our navigator, has already made $1000! Rumor has it a
chaplain from the
Bronx
put the title of his new Buick
convertible in the pot and LOST it! These guys are nuts!

But I’m so glad we’re finally on our way to do our part in the
war effort. We keep up with the war news as best we can. We hear the Allies are
making huge progress in fighting the Axis powers since the invasion on D-Day
last June. And all of us cheered when we learned that
Paris
had
been liberated near the end of August. In September we heard about “Operation
Market Garden” – the Allied assault on The
Netherlands
. British
General Montgomery’s plan was for the Allies to drop paratroopers and supplies
at
Arnhem
while at the same time
marching a major force from
Belgium
in the
south. When they met up, they would defeat the Germans, free The
Netherlands
, then
have easy access to
Germany
through the Dutch border. But it all went horribly wrong. The Germans in
Holland
were
much stronger than they’d expected, and the paratroopers dropped in
Arnhem
were
quickly defeated. Not only was it a serious disappointment for the Allies, it
had an extremely demoralizing effect on the people of The
Netherlands
.

Of course, I never hear news of
Holland
that I
don’t think of Anya and her family. It’s hard to believe it’s already been four
years since I last heard from her. I sure hope she’s okay.

Something really bizarre happened today. I remember hearing
about “
Tokyo
Rose”—the Japanese radio doll
who attempted to demoralize the troops by propaganda. So today we were told
that “Lord Haw Haw,” the German’s answer to
Tokyo
Rose,
announced that our ship, the Queen Elizabeth, had been sunk by German subs and
all hands were lost at sea! We had a good laugh over that one as we sailed
along. We’re told the QE is more than capable of outrunning any subs, so we’re
not sweating it.

I keep wondering what it’ll be like to be in actual combat.
Training can only take you so far. Sometimes I get a little queasy thinking
about being up in the sky, dodging the Luftwaffe fighters. I’m not too anxious
to fly through all that flak they’ve told us about. Then I remember why I’m
here and all I can think about is swinging up into the cockpit of our own Fort.

On December 1, the
Queen Elizabeth
docked at
Greenock
,
Scotland
up the
Firth of the
Forth
.

“Well, which is it? The fifth or the fourth?” Sully teased,
as they walked down the gangplank.

“No, it’s a ‘firth’,” Pendergrass answered, pointing up at
the majestic peaks surrounding them. “It’s what the Scots call these inlets in
the mountains.”

“Yeah?  So why don’t they just call ‘em inlets?”

“Because they’re Scots. They can call them whatever they
like.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Listen up, men,”
Anderson
interrupted. “We’ll grab a ride on one of these troop trucks to the train
station. From there, we’ll board a train for a short trip to
Warrington
to the
reassignment station.”

Franconi moaned. “You’ve gotta love the Army. They can’t
just send us where we’re going. We have to make twenty stops before we get
there.”

“At this rate, we won’t get our birds up in the air until the
day after the war ends,” Jimmy whined. “All those months of training for
nothing.”

“Don’t worry, Jimmy,” Dal said. “We’ve called
Roosevelt
and
asked him to keep the war going long enough so you’ll get your chance.”

“Called FDR, did you? Did you ask if Eleanor was there? I
heard you’ve got a crush on her.” He grabbed Dal’s hat off his head.

“Nice one, Jimmy,” the tail gunner quipped. “Now give me my
hat back or I’ll call your mother.”

“Over here, men.”

When they got to
Warrington
, they
were assigned to the 390th Bomb Group housed at Framlingham near
Ipswich
, which
was clear across the
British Isles
. The next morning, they
boarded yet another train for a day long journey which put them in
Ipswich
in the
early evening. When they arrived, the town was under total blackout conditions.
Danny immediately felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold, damp
British weather or the mud squishing beneath their boots.

This is a war zone. We’re finally in it.

He shrugged off the disconcerting realization as they
checked in at the 390th. He couldn’t tell much about the base under blackout.
Since dinner had already been served on the base, they were told they could get
something to eat at the Combat Mess. They made their way to the large Nissen hut
walking on a series of planks to avoid the impossible mud puddles.

“They can’t be serious,” Franconi groaned as they picked up
their grub. “Liver sandwiches?”

“What did you expect?” Shorty asked. “Spaghetti and
meatballs?”

“Yeah, Franconi,” Michaels taunted. “Stop your bellyaching
and chow down. A little liver never hurt anybody. In fact, it’s good for you.
Full of iron.”

“Who knows, Franconi,” Shorty added, setting his tray next
to the Italian, “maybe it’ll make a man out of you yet. And not a minute too
soon, sweetheart!”

The radio operator pealed back the day old bread for a good
look at the slimly calf liver. “A fine welcome to the 390th, that’s all I’ve
got to say.”

Half an hour later, the enlisted men were taken to their Quonset
huts, and the officers were taken to an empty officers’ quarters by a corporal.
“This will be your home, gentlemen.”

The accommodations weren’t fancy, but they’d have to do. He
noticed some glowing coals in the small stove at the center of the room and
another toward the opposite end of the hut. The room was only slightly less
cold than the outdoors, which was miserable. He remembered layering up with all
his clothes to sleep back in
Wichita Falls
, but he
had a feeling the stoves wouldn’t help much in these frigid English
temperatures.

The corporal continued his instructions, pointing directions
as he spoke. “Latrine is half a block to the east that way, and the cleansing
center is just beyond that on your right.”

“Cleansing center?” Danny asked.

“Yes, sir. That’s where the showers are. The ablution
center—that’s where you can shave or wash out socks or whatever—that’s behind
the cleansing center. But you might want to wait until morning to find those. You’ll
be given a tour first thing after breakfast. Meanwhile, you can stow your
belongings in those lockers there.”

Danny noticed the long shelf that ran along the side of the
wall of the Nissen, where he assumed he could put some of his belongings. Beneath
it, a suspended rod provided a place to hang up his uniform. He would stash the
rest of his gear in the footlocker provided below.

“Kind of big for just the four of us, isn’t it?”
Anderson
asked
as he dropped his duffel on a bed. “Where’s everybody else?”

The corporal made his way back to the door. “The previous
occupants were shot down in the Merseburg raid on 30 November.
No survivors. Welcome to the 390th, gentlemen.”