Alive and Kicking

by Chris Lynch

  I'M THINKING YOU HAVEN'T KILLED ANYBODY, BECAUSE THAT'S NOT YOUR JOB. BUT I'M WONDERING ABOUT THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU AND ABOUT THEM GETTING KILLED. I'M WONDERING WHAT YOU THINK AND WHAT YOU DO AND HOW YOU DO IT, AND I KNOW I WOULD DO BETTER TO HAVE YOU HERE JUST SO I COULD PICK IT UP FROM YOU. LIKE WATCHING YOUR FOOTWORK WHEN YOU WENT FOR A BALL BEHIND THE BAG AND THEN HAD TO THROW ACROSS YOUR BODY. I DON'T THINK I EVER WOULD HAVE GOT THAT MOVE DOWN ANY OTHER WAY, YOU KNOW? WHO REALLY THINKS ABOUT FOOTWORK WHEN HE THINKS ABOUT BASEBALL?

  I'M OKAY THOUGH, SO DON'T YOU BE THINKING ANYTHING ELSE. JUST DON'T YOU.

  WE WORK WITH THE BRITS A LOT, AS YOU PROBABLY GUESSED, WHAT WITH THE USAAF TURNING ABOUT HALF THEIR COUNTRY INTO AN AMERICAN AIR BASE. THING IS, THEY HAVE BEEN FIGHTING NOW FOR A LONG TIME. AND MOSTLY IT SHOWS. FROM 1939, IMAGINE? AND WITH THE BAD GUYS JUST RIGHT ACROSS THAT TINY LITTLE ENGLISH CHANNEL, WHICH WHEN I FLY OVER IT AND IT'S ONE OF THOSE UNUSUAL DAYS WHEN WE CAN SEE THROUGH THE WEATHER, I THINK, BOY, THAT AIN'T JUST BARELY MORE WATER THAN THE CHESAPEAKE BAY.

  I MISS CRAB CAKES SOMETHING VICIOUS.

  ANYWAY THE BRITS, LOTS OF THEM FLYING LIBERATORS, TOO, SO WE GOT THAT WHOLE TRANSATLANTIC COUSINS MALARKEY BETWEEN US ALL OVER THE PLACE, BUT THEY HAVE BEEN BOMBING THEIR NEIGHBORS AND THEIR NEIGHBORS HAVE BEEN REALLY BOMBING, HANK, I MEAN PUMMELING BRITISH CITIES FOR THREE YEARS ALREADY. I'VE BEEN HERE FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS AND I'M READY TO TAKE MY PENSION AND GO SIT IN A ROCKING CHAIR ON THE PORCH FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY COUNTRY THAT'S BEEN GETTING BIFFED AROUND.

  THEY ARE TIRED, MOSTLY, AND MAYBE A LITTLE BIT HARDENED BEYOND THE POINT WHERE IT STOPS BEING ENTIRELY A GOOD THING. LIKE, IT SEEMS REASONABLE THAT THIS WAR WOULD BE TAKING A TOLL OF SOME KIND, LIKE ON THE HEAD, RIGHT? AND THE BRITS NEED TO STEP ASIDE FOR NOBODY ELSE WHEN IT COMES TO GETTING IN THAT LINE THAT PAYS YOU BACK COMPENSATION FOR ALL THE PAIN AND SUFFERING YOU'VE ENDURED. THERE IS NO SUCH LINE, OF COURSE, BUT IF THERE WAS, AND THERE SHOULD BE, WELL, SURE, COME AND GET IT, GUYS, NO NEED TO BE SHY OR SHAMED.

  ONLY THE BOYS I'VE SEEN AND HEARD AROUND BASES AND IN TOWN THE FEW TIMES I'VE GONE TO LOOK AROUND, THEY SEEM NOT TO BELIEVE THAT AT ALL. THE WAY THEY TALK ABOUT BOMBER CREWMEN WHO CRACK A LITTLE FROM TOO MANY MISSIONS FLOWN THAT WAY AND TOO MANY BOMBS SENT THIS WAY, WELL IT AIN'T NICE, LET ME PUT IT THAT WAY. THEY GOT A BUNCH OF NAMES FOR THESE GUYS AND THEIR AFFLICTIONS LIKE “FLAK HAPPY” AND “OPERATIONAL TWITCH” WHICH ARE NOT EXACTLY INTENDED AS COMPLIMENTS. I'D ALMOST THINK THEY'D GET MORE RESPECT FROM THESE HARDNOSES IF THEY JUST DESERTED, DISAPPEARED OVER THE NEAREST HORIZON, RATHER THAN TRY AND TELL THE MILITARY WHAT'S EATING AT THEM. THEY HAVE A SPECIFIC TERM FOR GUYS WHO GET DISCHARGED FOR NERVOUS BREAKDOWN OR WHATEVER INCORRECT PSYCHOLOGICAL RESPONSE THEY DISPLAY TO YEARS AND YEARS OF SCREAMING BLUE MURDER. THE OFFICIAL RECORD SAYS “LMF,” WHICH STANDS FOR “LACK OF MORAL FIBER.” CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? AND THEY USE IT FOR A JOKE HERE ALL THE TIME.

  IT'S A JOKE, ALL RIGHT. IT'S A JOKE, IF EVER I HEARD ONE.

  AS FOR THE AIRCRAFT THEMSELVES — AND WE DO THIS WITH OURS, TOO — WHEN THEY REACH A POINT WHEN THEY CAN'T QUITE CATCH UP TO THE FASTBALL ANYMORE AND PROBABLY SHOULD BE GROUNDED FOR EVERYBODY'S SAKE, WHAT THEY DO IS THEY KEEP FLYING THEM, BECAUSE ANY ROCK IN A FIGHT, RIGHT? BUT THEY FLY THEM OFF TO THE BACK AND SIDE OF A FORMATION, THE DOGLEG, AND THEY HAVE PAINTED A BIG WW ON THEIR TAILS TO INDICATE “WAR WEARY” AIRCRAFT. SOUNDS, NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT, LIKE A MORE RESPECTFUL APPROACH TO THE MEN THAN THEY TAKE TO THE MACHINES.

  I WON'T EVER COME DOWN WITH ANY “OPERATIONAL TWITCH,” I CAN ASSURE YOU OF THAT, BROTHER. UNLESS THEY TRY AND TAKE AWAY MY GUN, AND MY OPPORTUNITY TO SHOOT PEOPLE. THAT MIGHT JUST GIVE ME THE TWITCH. OTHERWISE, I WILL BE RIGHT AS RAIN. AND THERE IS AN AWFUL, AWFUL, AWFUL LOT OF RAIN HERE, SO RAIN IS RIGHT.

  THAT WOULD BE SAD, THOUGH. TO COME THROUGH ALL THIS ONLY TO HAVE PEOPLE THINKING ABOUT YOU IN THAT WAY. “FLAK HAPPY” THEY'D BE WHISPERING, OR NOT EVEN WHISPERING. SAD, THAT WOULD BE. THAT WOULD BE A FEARFUL THING TO HAVE HAPPEN, I TELL YOU WHAT. PUTS MORE FEAR INTO ME THAN THE GERMAN FIGHTER PLANES AND THEY ARE PRETTY SCARY. BUT BECAUSE THE OTHER STUFF IS SCARIER I AM NOT GOING TO TELL YOU WHAT I HAVE BEEN HONESTLY AND REPEATEDLY THINKING WHEN I SEE THEM COMING. I AM NOT GOING TO TELL YOU THAT SOMETHING INSIDE ME IS CONVINCED THAT THOSE PILOTS, THE ONES I SEE THE FACES OF WHEN THEY ARE ZOOMING CLOSE AND SCOWLING, HAVE COME FOR ME, PERSONALLY. A GUY WHO SAYS STUFF LIKE THAT IS A GUY WHO WANTS A BIG FAT FLAK-HAPPY STAMP ON HIS FOREHEAD, SO IT WOULDN'T BE ME SAYING IT. IF I WAS TO SAY IT EVER THOUGH, I'D BE SAYING IT TO YOU, YOU KNOW. SO.

  WW THOUGH. THAT, ON THE OTHER HAND, SOUNDS LIKE A STAMP I'D BE ALMOST PROUD TO WEAR WHEN THE TIME COMES AND I'VE EARNED IT. NOT THAT THE TIME IS LIKELY TO COME, THE WEARY TIME, BUT STILL. MAYBE I'D GET A TATTOO. TWO OF 'EM. WW AND A LIBERATOR, TOO. THE WAR WEARY LIBERATOR — NOW THAT IS A LEGACY I COULD SEE CARRYING WITH ME OUT OF THIS AWFUL TIME AND INTO THE GREAT FUTURE THIS WHOLE THING IS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL ABOUT.

  AND RIGHT NOW I KNOW JUST WHAT YOU ARE DOING, HENRY MCCALLUM, BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE LIKE. YOU ARE THINKING THAT YOUR LITTLE BROTHER HIMSELF MAY OR MAY NOT BE WAR WEARY ALREADY, BUT THAT HE IS MOST DEFINITELY LACKING MORAL FIBER.

  AND AS ALWAYS, YOU ARE RIGHT. I HAVEN'T WRITTEN THEM IN FOUR MONTHS, AND THEY HAVEN'T WRITTEN ME. AND NO, IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW FRIGHTENING SUSAN CAN BE, AND WE ALL KNOW SHE CAN BE. THERE IS STILL NO EXCUSE FOR THIS SITUATION. I WILL DO IT. I WILL WRITE. I WILL WRITE AND MAKE IT ALL RIGHT.

  NOW, YOU WRITE. I'M GOING TO WANT TO SEE THAT DIARY, AND I AM GOING TO WANT TO SEE IT FILLED. I'M MISSING ENOUGH OF OUR LIFE AS IT IS WITHOUT YOU LEAVING ANY MORE HOLES IN IT.

  YOU DON'T WANT TO WIND UP BEING MICKEY ROONEY, DO YOU? NOBODY WANTS THAT. SO, PUT A LITTLE EFFORT INTO THE DIARY THING, JUST MAKE SOME EFFORT, AND I'LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO ABOUT GETTING BORIS KARLOFF FOR THE PART OF HANK. I CAN'T MAKE ANY PROMISES, BUT I'LL TALK TO SOME PEOPLE.

  Of course Susan is the one to write first. Of course. I had every intention of making good and writing the letter and doing my best to explain. But she is who she is, and lucky for everybody she is.

  DEAR THEODORE,

  FROM ME? YOU RAN AWAY, FROM ME? HOW ON EARTH ARE YOU EVER GOING TO STAND UP TO THE ENEMY IF YOUR TWELVE-YEAR-OLD SISTER SCARES YOU SO MUCH THAT YOU TURN AND RUN ALL THE WAY TO ENGLAND RATHER THAN FACE HER ONE MORE TIME?

  AND THEN THERE IS THIS. YOU DON’T EVEN WRITE? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? I HOPE THE REST OF OUR FORCES OVER THERE ARE BRAVER THAN YOU, BECAUSE IF THEY ARE NOT THEN WE ARE IN BIG TROUBLE. PLEASE, TELL ME YOU ARE THE BIGGEST CHICKEN WE SENT OR ELSE I AM GOING TO HAVE TO COME OVER AND FIGHT PERSONALLY IN ORDER TO SAVE THE FAMILY SOME DIGNITY AND POSSIBLY THE WHOLE COUNTRY.

  ALL OF WHICH MAKES IT ALL THE STUPIDER HOW MUCH I MISS YOU AND WISH YOU COULD JUST COME HOME.

  I MISS HANK SO MUCH SOME DAYS I THINK I’M JUST GOING TO FALL DOWN IN THE DIRT AND NOT BE ABLE TO GET BACK UP AGAIN. LIKE POP LOOKS ALL THE TIME, AND LIKE MAM IS LOOKING MORE AND MORE.

  BUT HANK CAN’T COME HOME NOW, AND YOU CAN SO MAKE SURE THAT YOU DO BECAUSE IF SOMEHOW FOR SOME REASON YOU DON’T I FEAR YOU WILL BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY OF MCCALLUMS DYING RIGHT OFF THE MAP OF ACCOKEEK, MARYLAND, AND THE WORLD. YOU WANT THAT, THEODORE? I CERTAINLY HOPE YOU DO NOT.

  SO TRY AND BE BRAVE. BUT JUST BRAVE ENOUGH TO FIGHT, AND NOT BRAVE ENOUGH TO GET IN ANY MORE DANGER THAN NECESSARY.

  AND IF YOU ARE STILL TOO CHICKEN TO WRITE TO ME, YOU AT LEAST HAVE TO GET YOURSELF TO WRITE TO MAM. SHE NEEDS THAT AND YOU KNOW IT.

  LOVE,

  SUSAN

  P.S. I KNOW YOU’RE BRAVE AND NOT A CHICKEN AT ALL.

  I have no reason to doubt that Bomber Command had the best intentions and was sincere when they announced that there would be no more low-level attacks on the submarine bases of the west coast of France.

  However, while the variety of targets we attacked broadened after our first weeks in England, the truth was that U-boats were definitely not off the menu.

  Nobody ever said anything about canceling high-altitude missions aft
er all. And we flew so many of them over the fall of 1942 and the winter of 1943, that when we stop to have a look around at the beginning of March, we count fourteen B-24 Liberators left in the 44th BG.

  We had started with twenty-seven only five months earlier.

  But the Batboy and its crew are still intact — aside from a ding here, a dent there, and more than a few screws loose — as we stand out in the freezing rain at the Shipdham airfield, cheering like a bunch of kids at a World Series game. We are rooting the winning run home, which in this case is badly needed reinforcements.

  A whole squadron of eight new Liberators, the 506th, is winging in and touching down on the runway in front of us, along with five extra crews worth of replacement personnel on top of that. Meaning the new planes can take on extra shifts while our crews get some sorely needed rest time.

  And as I catch up on a little rest, I run pretty well completely out of reasons not to write.

  SUZIE,

  OKAY, KNOCK IT OFF NOW WITH THAT THEODORE STUFF. IT'S OBVIOUS ENOUGH THAT YOU ARE MAD AT ME, AND YOU'VE GOT GOOD REASON. I OWE YOU THIS: I'M SORRY. I SHOULD NEVER HAVE RUN OFF WHEN YOU JUST WANTED A FEW MORE MINUTES WITH ME, AND YOU DESERVE WHATEVER MINUTES AND WHATEVER WORDS YOU CAN GET FROM US. EVERYTHING HAS BEEN UNFAIR, ESPECIALLY TO YOU AND MAM AND OF COURSE I WILL WRITE SOMETHING TO HER.

  I JUST COULD NOT HAVE ANY MORE DISCUSSIONS WITH ANY OF YOU ABOUT HANK. HE IS MISSING, AND THAT IS ALL. HE WILL BE BACK, HE WILL COME HOME AGAIN, I JUST KNOW IT. I HAVE FAITH, AND IF YOU GUYS DON'T HAVE ANY … WELL THAT'S JUST ABOUT THE CRAZIEST THING EVER. HOW MANY TIMES DOES THAT CHURCH OF OURS HAVE TO REMIND US TO HAVE FAITH BEFORE PEOPLE START TO PAY ATTENTION, RIGHT? ESPECIALLY SOMEBODY WITH FAITH AS STRONG AS MAM'S.

  PLEASE, SUZIE, ENCOURAGE THEM. HOPE.

  I JUST WISH POP HADN'T SPLIT US UP. DON'T SAY ANYTHING. BUT I GET A LITTLE ANGRY WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT, THAT HANK AND I WOULD STILL BE TOGETHER, FIGHTING SIDE BY SIDE LIKE ALWAYS, IF HE HADN'T GONE AND MADE US SEPARATE LIKE HE DID.

  LOVE, THEO (WITHOUT THE DORE)

  It’s the biggest operation yet for the Flying Eight-Balls of the 44th as we approach yet another submarine base. This time, though, it’s in Germany itself, and it is a massive operation as over two hundred aircraft of the Eighth Air Force hit four German targets at once. Around two-thirds of those, including us, go for the base at Kiel.

  The B-17s all fly in formation ahead of us and so we know well ahead of time that we are heading into the most intense resistance we have ever seen. The explosions in the air and on the ground are earsplitting long before the formation of B-24s reaches the target area. Gallagher is at the right cheek gun and Bell at the left as we all anticipate the ferocious fight to come.

  The sky is black with flak and buzzing with fighters as we see the Fortresses absorb the first wave of the attack. Before we can make out who is where in the fight ahead we know the unmistakable flash and ping of direct hits on aircraft and the popcorn popping of Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulf fighters exchanging fire with our bombers at close range and every angle.

  The German planes come straight out of the blackness like swooping, shrieking nightmares as we enter the IP and our bombardier dives into his position on the floor. I have that little bit more elbow room as my gun judders away like it’s going to dislocate both my elbows. Bell stays in position on my left, firing away just as heavily into the growing flock of fighters coming straight at us.

  It is not personal, as I have learned over the months. I had thought maybe it was me they had it in for, but it’s only that both the B-17 and the B-24 are most vulnerable to frontal attacks, which avoid the bulk of our heavy artillery spread around the body of the aircraft. Somehow that knowledge is little relief, as we are peppered with heavy shells whistling past and punching holes in the plane just the same.

  We give as good as we get, though, as Bell and I have gotten very familiar with the nose-to-nose fighting. Nobody gets past us. One after another of their aircraft takes a pounding as it passes the nose cone, trailing smoke before even being greeted by Couley’s top turret guns, then Quinn and Dodge pounding from the waist, and Boyd sitting in wait at the tail.

  Gallagher is screaming something about the target and Ormston and Lowrie are snapping back and forth up on the pilots’ deck, and none of it means anything to us up front because we can’t see anything that isn’t right in front of us until it either explodes in the sky or swoops in to attack us point blank.

  Gallagher screams louder as he takes over and the bombing begins ahead of us.

  The most massive coordinated release of tonnage I’ve seen is dropped by one after another after another Flying Fortress, and it is everything I ever thought the end of the world would sound like. Flak is still dogging all of us but there is some clearing of sight lines after the drops are made.

  Because the sky ahead is rapidly clearing of traffic.

  Fighters and bombers alike are bursting into flame, billowing smoke, breaking completely apart like I have never seen before. It feels as if the entire air war is being decided here, today, right now, as the bombs begin thudding into targets below, and planes crash spectacularly, and the huge formation of B-17s that remains flying take their formation as one great flock and bank away out of the target zone.

  Leaving our much smaller formation of B-24s to finish the job.

  A whole new wave of fighters comes up to take us on as the flak continues to batter our guys. We no longer have the protection of the lead planes and their guns, nor the strength of numbers, as we are now one quarter of the force that set out this morning.

  There is a massive blast that I can see out of the corner of my eye, one Liberator torn basically to shreds by both flak and fighter fire at once. It makes a bigger noise than the bombs as it shoots toward the earth.

  Gallagher is going crazy now, screaming something nobody on earth but himself could ever understand except that we all know what it means.

  The telltale whistling of our own bombs begins as the bomb bay doors open and we drop our load of extra special ordnance on the submarine base of Kiel.

  We are taking heavy hits now, but we knew we would and we know why we have to.

  The Fortresses dropped a heavy load of high explosives, and we are following with incendiaries that work together with those bombs to basically double the explosiveness of everything, as if we sent a whole second mission in on top of this one. We are paying the price, as one Liberator after another is hit, our formation small and exposed to such a big resistance force. But we also feel the success of it all as the whole world beneath us feels like it explodes, then explodes, then explodes again. The heat of the fire coming up from under our belly is intense, insane, and pushes us off like a smoky surf as the remaining bombers bank in formation and get out of here finally, swooping away home.

  There is a feeling of great satisfaction as we tuck into a tight grouping for the long limp back to base. It was also a lot lonelier as barely more than a dozen of us are flying back, between the losses we’ve suffered and the Fortresses having already broken off. Several of the planes are trailing smoke, some with at least one engine failing to function.

  Nobody talks, as we all concentrate on just nursing the aircraft back.

  MAM,

  I KNOW IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG. I'M SORRY. IT WAS A LOT OF THINGS, BUT MOST OF ALL, IT HAS BEEN CRAZY BUSY HERE IN THE AIR OVER EUROPE.

  BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS THAT YOUR BOY GETS TO WRITE TO YOU NOW AS A CERTIFIED HERO. THAT'S BECAUSE THERE IS A CERTIFICATE TO PROVE IT. OUR GROUP, THE 44TH BOMBERS, RECEIVED THE DUC — DISTINGUISHED UNIT CITATION — FOR DOING A PRETTY GOOD JOB OF MESSING UP SOME GERMAN U-BOAT OPERATIONS THAT HAVE BEEN CAUSING BIG PROBLEMS THE WHOLE WAR. IT WASN'T THAT DANGEROUS OR ANYTHING, SO CALM DOWN, BUT WE HAVE GOTTEN SO GOOD AT WHAT WE DO THAT WE EXCEEDED EVERYBODY'S EXPECTATIONS (ESPECIALLY THE GERMANS!), AND REALLY DID A JOB ON THEM.

  WE ARE THE FIRST UNIT OF THE EIGHTH AIR FORCE TO RECEIVE A DUC!

  SO YOU SEE ALL IS GOING AS WELL AS IT COULD
BE OVER HERE. IF WE KEEP IT UP AT THIS RATE I AM SURE WE WILL BE ABLE TO FINISH THESE GUYS OFF SOON, AND THEN I WILL BE HOME TO SEE YOU AGAIN IN NO TIME.

  SAY HI TO POP, AND LOVE TO SUSAN, AND DON'T WORRY AND KEEP FAITH AND HOPE, RIGHT? SAY A COUPLE EXTRA PRAYERS, AND SEE WHAT THAT GETS US.

  MEANWHILE I HAVE TO GET BACK TO ALL THAT WAR-WINNING STUFF NOW.

  I WILL WRITE AGAIN SOON, I PROMISE.

  LOVE,

  THEO

  SO, ARE YOU WRITING, YA BIG GOON? BECAUSE I'M WRITING, TO THE GIRLS. 'CAUSE YOU MADE ME FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT. SO YOUR DIARY HAD BETTER BE FILLING UP SO THAT WHEN WE GET TOGETHER YOU HAVE AT LEAST A LITTLE SOMETHING TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE EXCHANGE.

  NOT THAT YOU STAND MUCH OF A CHANCE OF KEEPING UP WITH MY STUFF ANYWAY.

  I HAVE A DISTINGUISHED UNIT CITATION. WELL, NOT JUST ME. I HAD SOME HELP, SO THEY GAVE IT TO THE WHOLE 44TH BOMBER GROUP. IT'S A PRETTY BIG DEAL IN THE AIR CORPS. THE DUC.

  TRUTH IS, BROTHER, WE EARNED IT.

  A WHOLE SKYLOAD OF B-17S DUMPED ABOUT A ZILLION HIGH EXPLOSIVES ON A SUB BASE AND THEN HIGHTAILED IT WHILE A RELATIVELY SMALL BUNCH OF US B-24S FOLLOWED THEM IN WITH A DROP OF INCENDIARIES. WHICH IS BASICALLY LIKE ONE GROUP STARTING THE FIRE AND THE NEXT GROUP BLOWING THE GASOLINE AND FLAMING TORCHES ALL OVER IT. WE PRETTY NEAR ROASTED OURSELVES OVER OUR OWN BARBECUE, IS THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER. BUT WE DEVASTATED A WHOLE LOT OF LUFTWAFFE AIRCRAFT AS WELL AS THOSE NASTY, SNEAKY U-BOATS.

  WE ALSO LEARNED WHAT OUR ENGINEER WAS TALKING ABOUT WITH THE LIBERATOR'S FLAWS. EVERYBODY WAS HURTING, HANK, MANY PLANES AND MANY MEN LEFT BEHIND ON THAT RAID. AND THE RAGGEDY RUMP OF THE MISSION THAT WAS US, THE LAST DOZEN OR SO B-24S, WERE ALL IN ONE STATE OR ANOTHER OF INJURED.