On Location
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I was listening to the BBC reporting live from the ceremonies to commemorate the D-Day landings, sixty years ago today. The weather is not cooperating today, and more than it did then. Tom Brokaw had looked relaxed in the sunshine on the Nightly News when he arrived, but now the clouds with the prospect of rain for the big operation, just like the real thing.
My Uncle was on location sixty years ago. he flew B-17s out of one of the bases they ground up for concrete years ago in York. He won a couple Distinguished Flying Crosses, and as a 23-year-old Major, was a lead pilot for the great raids on the Continent.
On June 6th they were briefed to fly the short hop across the Channel and interdict bridges behind the beaches so that the SS Panzer Divisions could not be committed from their reserve positions. Dick fired up the four engines and started the takeoff roll. At fifty knots the tail-wheel came up and the nose came level and he could see the runway in front of him. At eighty knots the wings began to tug him upward, and the heavy craft wobbled into the air unwilling.
When #4 coughed and gave up the ghost, he shut it down and feathered the prop. This was a big problem on climb out. He nursed the wounded Fortress into the air, short on power and heavy with ordnance and gas, a dangerous combination.
The Book says what you do in that circumstance is keep it straight and level and get what altitude you can. Then proceed with caution to a designated ordnance drop point over the water, dump the unarmed bombs and orbit until the fuel in the tanks is burned down to a safe weight for a straight-in emergency landing.
He did not do that. He came up on the intercom and told his crew they were going to the target and they were going to accomplish the mission, which they did, on three engines.
He did not get a medal for it. He just did what everyone else did that day, Brit and Yank and Canadian and every rainbow hue from around the Empire. They went forward.
Copyright 2004 Vic Socotra
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June 6, 2004
DailySocotra
