Part 28 (1/2)
Paul scratched at the dust on the floor.
Chapter 34.
ITALY, AUGUST 1944 1944.
PRESTON RESTED HIS BACK against the rail. Thirty feet above field level, the observation deck on the Amendola control tower provided a panoramic view of the two parallel runways. Inside, controllers directed the homebound bombers of the 2nd Heavy Bombardment Group. The day's target was the small Privoser oil refinery at Moravska Ostrawa, Czechoslovakia, near the Polish border.
Preston attended the pre-dawn briefing at 04:30. This was a deep penetration raid past Klangenfurt, Steyr, Weiner Newstatdt and Vienna, Austria and Gyor, Hungary and Blechhamer, Germany where the 2nd had suffered serious loses in July. The light-hearted mood inside the Quonset hut turned tense when the map outlining the route was uncovered. The raid was intended to finish off the remaining Czech oil production. A diversionary raid to Szeged, Hungary with feints to Budapest and Vienna were designed to draw German fighters away from Ostrava.
Fire trucks and ambulances were parked with their engines idling along the flight line. Well rehea.r.s.ed in rescuing injured from burning aircraft, maintenance crews lounged along the main runway smoking cigarettes, tossing baseb.a.l.l.s or taking in the sun.
Colonel Wullien searched the horizon through a pair of binoculars. A briar pipe was stuck between his front teeth. The colonel reminded Preston of a nervous father watching for his kids coming home on the first day of school. Wullien turned from the rail. ”Did you get the material you requested?”
”Thank you. The personnel files have been a real help,” Preston said, s.h.i.+elding his eyes from the Mediterranean sun.
Wullien continued to sweep the sky. ”Doesn't make any sense to me, but when the a.s.sistant secretary of war says to cooperate...” He had dealt with head hunters from the Pentagon before and learned the easiest way to defang the beast was to comply.
”Five minutes, colonel,” one of the controllers yelled.
”Ever have a machine gun bullet wiz by your head, Captain Swedge?” Wullien asked, drawing on the pipe.
Specks on the horizon became larger as they closed the distance to the base. ”The closest I've been to any action was a secretary throwing a pencil past my ear when I criticized her typing,” Preston admitted.
Wullien turned back to the rail. ”I'll arrange a ride before you skedaddle back to Was.h.i.+ngton.”
Preston could see Wullien's lips move as he silently counted the returning planes. Counting the dots in the sky was a ritual that tested nerves. Not until the last plane was on the ground could he think of relaxing.
One of the planes fired a red flare indicating wounded on board. The Dixie Queen Dixie Queen would have landing priority. Rescue crews ran to their vehicles. Wullien counted aloud, ”Nine, ten, eleven...” Nine were missing. The flock that took off that morning totaled twenty. Wullien pushed up the bill of his hat. The color had washed from his face. ”Nine lost,” he grumbled. ”Ninety men in the s.h.i.+tter. Let's go.” would have landing priority. Rescue crews ran to their vehicles. Wullien counted aloud, ”Nine, ten, eleven...” Nine were missing. The flock that took off that morning totaled twenty. Wullien pushed up the bill of his hat. The color had washed from his face. ”Nine lost,” he grumbled. ”Ninety men in the s.h.i.+tter. Let's go.”
Wullien took the ten steps down two at a time with Preston on his heels to his Jeep sitting in the shadow of the control tower. The remaining ten planes landed in quick succession. Preston tried to read the names on the noses of the grey b.r.e.a.s.t.s as they rolled by, hoping that the Brooklyn Avenger Brooklyn Avenger was among the missing. Wullien slipped the Jeep into first gear. With the last bomber rumbling past, he accelerated across the runway to the bomber parking area, looping around emergency vehicles to slide to a stop beside the was among the missing. Wullien slipped the Jeep into first gear. With the last bomber rumbling past, he accelerated across the runway to the bomber parking area, looping around emergency vehicles to slide to a stop beside the Dixie Queen Dixie Queen. The bottom ball turret gunner was being carried from the plane on a stretcher. Blood covered his face and flight suit.
Wullien crouched over the wounded airman, whispering into his ear as medics worked to stem the hemorrhaging. Wullien helped lift the gurney into an ambulance then returned to the Jeep. ”That kid got his arm blown off. Amazing he didn't bleed to death.” He climbed behind the wheel. ”Losses and casualties have been going down. I hate to think of them as numbers, but the numbers are what the Pentagon is interested in. Ours have been great until today.”
Preston looked at the planes. Not one of the eleven was without damage. He couldn't comprehend what it was like flying at 22,000 feet in an open aircraft with enemy fighters heading dead on with multiple guns blazing away. There it was, three aircraft up the line-the Rothstein plane. ”I don't know how you can do this day after day.”
”Neither do the bra.s.s back home,” Wullien said, relighting his pipe.
”I'll do my best to reflect your concerns,” Preston replied, keeping his eyes on the Brooklyn Avenger Brooklyn Avenger.
Crews, emerging with frostbitten blotches on skin not covered by their oxygen masks and goggles, stripped off flight jackets and suits. Several pilots huddled in animated conversation, pointing toward the Brooklyn Avenger Brooklyn Avenger. Preston strained to hear, catching one loud ”Jew b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”
Cigarettes dangling from lips waited to be lit away from the gasoline fumes of near empty fuel tanks. Seven hours without a smoke came to an end as they climbed into the rear of six-by-sixes for the return trip to group headquarters.
Wullien led the procession, winding down the hills to the plateau below. The crews climbed from the trucks without words. One hundred-ten bodies filed into the a.s.sembly hall. Fifteen minutes was allotted for latrine use and grabbing a cup of coffee with a handful of doughnuts before debriefing commenced. Preston stayed near the entrance.
Wullien addressed the group. ”I want to hear what happened, without dramatics.”
First Lieutenant William Hune of the 20th squadron which flew ”tail-end-Charlie,” the last position in the last group in the bomber stream, began, ”After the formation crossed the Adriatic, we were falling behind.”
”The squadron?” Wullien asked.
”No, the entire group, sir,” Hune replied. ”Things got worse after we entered Czech airs.p.a.ce. Lagging from their squadrons, Wolf Pack Wolf Pack from the 429th and a 17 from the 49th fell into our area.” from the 429th and a 17 from the 49th fell into our area.”
His co-pilot First Lieutenant Frank Finn chimed in, ”A British B-24 was in trouble and losing fuel also fell in.”
Wullien turned to First Lieutenant Mike Melvin, a pilot in the forward 429th squadron. ”From your vantage point, where was the 20th?”
Melvin looked at Hune. ”They were lagging 1,000 to 2,000 feet below and 500 to 2,000 yards behind the group.”
Second Lieutenant Albert Dearing of the 49th squadron held up his hand. Wullien nodded for him take the discussion. ”I think Gerry figured out that our P-51s leave the formation naked to clean the air over the target. We had no protection.” His hands shook so badly he wasn't able to light a cigarette.
Paul caught sight of the new face standing near the entrance, having the strange feeling they had met.
”Rothstein,” Wullien said, shaking his head. For months he'd been saying to Fifteenth command that the tactic of fighter escorts leaving the formation was inviting disaster.
Paul, without looking away from the entrance, cleared his throat. ”We were below a thin layer of clouds when fifty to sixty Me-109s and at least twenty-four FW-190s began their attack. One force approached from the rear, while the others hid behind the clouds.”
Agitated, Hune interrupted, ”Through the haze, we spotted the fighters to the rear, but they arrived when our escorts were to arrive. The bad guys were flying in a P-51 formation. The head on profiles of an ME-109 and a P-51 are almost identical. Before we realized what was happening, the combined enemy forces dove, overwhelming our defenses before we got a shot off.”
Wullien began pacing. ”I want to hear about the nine planes lost. Let's begin with Wolf Pack Wolf Pack.
”I had a good angle,” Graham said. ”Fighters made a single pa.s.s blasting away at Wolf Pack Wolf Pack. A burst of fire from Rothstein's aircraft helped finish her off.” He looked squarely at Paul.
”There's no way,” Paul protested.
Otto Schrup, a lower ball turret gunner on Hune's plane shouted, ”Bulls.h.i.+t. Your Your waist gunner firing at one of the fighters took out the windscreen. A plane can't fly without a pilot or co-pilot.” waist gunner firing at one of the fighters took out the windscreen. A plane can't fly without a pilot or co-pilot.”
Sapienza bowed his head. ”It was f.u.c.king crazy up there.”
”Wolf Pack fell like a stone.” Graham took a seat, rocking on the chair's rear legs and enjoying the skirmish. There was no love lost between him and Paul from their first meeting at bomber flight school. He said to Preston, ”The responsibility is the pilot's.” fell like a stone.” Graham took a seat, rocking on the chair's rear legs and enjoying the skirmish. There was no love lost between him and Paul from their first meeting at bomber flight school. He said to Preston, ”The responsibility is the pilot's.”
”Rothstein didn't fire the machine gun,” Preston countered.
”Doesn't matter,” Graham replied with a grin.
The hall grew eerily silent. Melvin sprinted across the room, body slamming Vinnie onto his back. ”You stupid piece of s.h.i.+t,” the pilot from Alabama, a veteran of thirty missions, said punching Sapienza in the mouth.
Paul joined the fray, pulling the former running back from Auburn University away. ”You know how chaotic it was. We We took fire from inside the box.” took fire from inside the box.”