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Posted on 06/23/2005 3:28:38 AM PDT by SAMWolf
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 are acknowledged, affirmed and commemorated.
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Raid on Magdeburg The curtains are pulled back, revealing a big map of Europe with red ribbons leading to our target -- the synthetic oil refineries near Magdeburg, Germany. There is a low murmur among the crew members as the target is announced....  My deep, sound sleep is disturbed by the air-raid siren. Mixed with the low moan of the siren comes the heavy rumble of many engines; Jerry is active tonight. The question now is, do I get dressed and go to the shelter or do I just stay in bed? "Nuts," I say to myself, "I guess I'll stay where I am, and at least I'll die warm." In about 30 minutes, the all-clear sounds and I'm back in dreamland. The door to the hut opens and closes quietly. The figure with the flashlight consults his clipboard and asks in a low voice, "Feldman's crew in here?" I mumble something, and he says, "You are scheduled to fly." I ask, "How is the weather?" and his reply is "Clear and cold." "What is the gas load?" "Twenty-five hundred gallons, topped off." "Thanks," I say. I realize then, given that amount of fuel, that our mission will probably involve a deep penetration into Germany. Topping off the tanks means that after the engines are run up and checked by the ground crew, they are shut down and the fuel tanks are refilled to the necks, usually giving us an additional 200 to 300 gallons of fuel. I crawl out of the old sack and put my feet on the cold concrete floor, which jars me into total consciousness. I grab some heavy socks, pull on my wool pants. Then I'm startled by a noise on the shelf above my head. I shine my flashlight at the shelf, and a pair of eyes look back at me from behind my girl's picture. It's the ferret we keep in our hut to prevent the rats from invading our quarters.  I remove my personal belongings from my pockets and place them in my footlocker, grab my toilet articles and head for the latrine. I return to the Quonset hut and grab my heavy flight jacket and mess gear; no one else on my crew is yet stirring. I walk over to the engineer's cot, pick the end up about 12 inches off the floor and let it go. It lands with a loud thud -- minor compared to the noise that comes from the engineer. I hastily retreat, followed by a verbal barrage of typical GI language. The walk to the mess hall gives me an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. The early morning sky is filled with stars. Right now, I'm at ease and unafraid of what the day might bring. If I do not survive the day, at least I will be prepared and have all my faculties. I will not let fear enter my thoughts! I arrive at the mess hall, greeted by its familiar warm, steamy atmosphere. I stop at the coffee can, draw a cup of coffee and add powdered milk, then walk to the serving table, where the cook asks, "How do you want your eggs?" with a big grin on his Irish kisser. I laugh at him and say, "Sunny side up with bacon and toast." I hold out my metal plate and he places on it three fresh eggs, fried as I requested, with bacon and toast. I am so amazed that I almost drop the plate. Still muttering in disbelief, I sit down and enjoy the best breakfast I've had in months. Boy, what a morale booster! I even have applesauce on my toast.  Content and warm, with my stomach full, I amble outside to wash my mess gear. There's still no sign of the rest of the crew. Oh, well, it's not my rear end that's going to get chewed if they are late for the briefing. I take a bus to the flight building, where I go directly to the equipment room, get my electric heated suit and return to where my flight gear is stored. I get dressed and go to the briefing room and take a seat with the navigator. "Ten-hut!" comes the call, and everyone pops to attention. The commanding officer enters with the briefing officer. "As you were," he says and turns the meeting over to the intelligence officer. The curtains are pulled back, revealing a big map of Europe with red ribbons leading to our target -- the synthetic oil refineries near Magdeburg, Germany. There is a low murmur among the crew members as the target is announced. We are briefed on where to expect the heavy flak and possible fighter opposition, also the altitude from which we are expected to drop our bombs. Then the weather officer takes over, a close friend of mine. I often kid him about how accurate his reports are. He is right 50 percent of the time. I call him Lieutenant Maybe. Today he says the target area will be under clouds and we probably will not be able to drop our bombs visually. Once the briefing is over, I get my first-aid boxes and radio logs with my assigned frequencies. I also pick up my escape kit and maps. The navigator and I are standing together, waiting for transportation to the plane, when two enlisted flight personnel come up to us and introduce themselves. It turns out that today we are flying in the lead group, not in the capacity of a lead crew but in a special plane, a Consolidated B-24 with a ball turret and a radar set -- called a "Mickey set" -- that is used for bombing in bad weather. The aircraft will be heavier because of the additional gear, the ball turret and the two extra crew members.  A radar, or "Micky" ship. The ball turret has been replaced with a radar dome. The radar allowed the lead ship to find the target even in heavy overcast. About that time, the rest of the crew shows up and we catch a truck out to the plane. The B-24J -- a plane that I'm not familiar with -- is equipped with several other goodies, such as a formation stick that enables the pilot to fly the plane with his left hand. This control is hooked into the C-1 autopilot. Earlier in the European theater, quite a few B-24s had ball turrets, but as enemy fighter attacks dwindled, the turrets were removed. Now Jerry is beginning to attack from below once again, so the turrets have been reinstalled in selected planes. As a result, we have 12 men in our crew on this mission. We arrive at the plane at 5:30 a.m., with a scheduled time of 6 to start our engines and 6:30 for departure. I stoop down low under the bomb doors next to the catwalk and heave my parachute and gear up on the flight deck, then kneel in front of the auxiliary power plant (APU), turn on the fuel and hit the starter button. The APU shudders a few times and comes to life. Lights began to appear in the aircraft as the co-pilot turns on the master switch. I verify that the auxiliary hydraulic pump is on. The plane quickly becomes a beehive of activity, with many checkouts going on all at once.
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Mot a bad movie either,if one like a bit of escapism in the war fliks.
Regards
alfa6 ;>}
This pic is kinda cool for the composition of the picture
Regards
alfa6 ;>}
WHOA!! Fabulous pictures. Thanks.
Had not R. V. Jones believed in Bletchley Park the British would have found themselves being attacked by a very large number of V1 and V2. This would have caused major civilian and military losses and disruption of the invasion of the Continent.
John Keegan talks about this in his latest "Intelligence in War".
Wernher von Braun
Tom Lehrer
Gather round while I sing you of Wernher von Braun,
A man whose allegiance
Is ruled by expedience.
Call him a Nazi, he won't even frown.
"Ha, Nazi Schmazi," says Wernher von Braun.
Don't say that he's hypocritical,
Say rather that he's apolitical.
"Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down?
That's not my department," says Wernher von Braun.
Some have harsh words for this man of renown,
But some think our attitude
Should be one of gratitude,
Like the widows and cripples in old London town
Who owe their large pensions to Wernher von Braun.
You too may be a big hero,
Once you've learned to count backwards to zero.
"In German oder English I know how to count down,
Und I'm learning Chinese," says Wernher von Braun.
Great pics, thanks.
LOL. I wish you all could hear Sam sing this!
BTT!!!!!!!
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