Flying an easterly heading we soon see the
sky brightening and other planes from our group are becoming
visible. We rock our wings to say: “Hi” and they
acknowledge with a friendly waggle. There’s an almost
overwhelming feeling of comradery, as we realized what we’ve
all been through, and we’re all getting back safely.
From now on, Gerald Morey, the Flight Engineer
is on pins and needles. His job, at his engineer’s panel,
is to take care of the engines and make the correct power
settings to make the fuel last the rest of the way. I can
still see him as he has filled in all his charts and has observed
all the fuel gauges approaching the empty mark. He strolls
forward in the cockpit, cigar clamped in his jaw, muttering,
“Now where is that *#@* island?
Shadows, cast by the low clouds appear to
be islands, until we make out the familiar shape of Guam.
We land, park and talk to the welcoming ground
crew about the condition of the plane and leave it with them
to get it ready for the next mission. Trucks take us to the
de-briefing, a necessary duty that must be accomplished while
details are still fresh in our minds. While bouncing back
to headquarters area, some one in the truck remarks, “I
get blisters on my butt from sitting for fifteen hours, then
this truck breaks them.”
After the intelligence officers pick our brains
to find out whether the mission was a success or not, we’re
dismissed to get breakfast, or as some of us do, go to bed.
It seems like I hadn’t seen my cot for days. I just
die for about ten hours.
We will be called upon to make raids on the
Japanese mainland seven more times before they surrender.
After the first mission, the most exciting was the daylight
strike on Tokyo!
Daylight raids are flown in formation. It
would take too much fuel to fly the entire distance that way,
so we cruised separately to the rendezvous point.
A few things that make a daylight raid exciting
are the fact that we make better targets for the anti-aircraft
fire, and we must be on the lookout for enemy fighters. We
had heard about the Kamikaze planes. The pilots are young
Japanese volunteers who learn to takeoff but never learn to
land. The plane is basically a flying bomb.
As we circled the rendezvous point, assembling
the formation, John Armstrong, Left Gunner, called out “Fighters
at Three O’clock!” We watched them closely, and
then were glad to recognize them as P-51’s. They were
our fighter escort from Iwo Jima.
When all the planes were in position we headed
for Tokyo. We did everything off of the leader. When we saw
his bomb bay doors open, we opened ours. One of my duties
was to release the bombs by means of a toggle switch. Ftecek,
being an observer from his bombardier’s position, probably
to relieve his tension, kept commenting on the flak bursting
around us. “Boy – look at that one! He said. “What
a gorgeous blossom!” Shut up, you dumb Pollock!”
someone says over the intercom.
At night, the flak looks as harmless as fireflies,
but in the bright light of day it can be awesome, as it rocks
your plane.
We could hear the bursts of the anti-aircraft
shells and fragments would fall down on the plane like gravel
on a tin roof. As soon as I see the bomb load fall from our
lead plane I press the switch and release our load. We could
feel the aircraft lift as it is suddenly four thousand pounds
lighter.
