Bomber (6 page)

Then he said, ‘We’re going to climb to rise above this turbulence. Cain, I think we need another fix on our position. Check it out as soon as we break through the clouds.’

Harry thought Cain would be hurt that Holberg was clearly questioning his directions. But his instant response on the interphone sounded like he was in a really good mood.

‘Wilco, Captain. Those stars are sure gonna look pretty after all this.’

Harry, isolated from the crew in his turret, was startled by loud crashes above him. ‘It’s OK, guys,’ said Skaggs. ‘Nothing to worry about. That was just a bit of stored equipment falling out of its locker.’

Holberg cut in. ‘We’ll be up at twenty-five thousand feet in the next ten minutes, and that should give us a smoother flight.’

When they did level out, the engines stopped screaming and clawing for height and settled into their deep familiar drone. The whole sky below was covered in cloud. It looked beautiful in the moonlight – like a fluffy white sea. Occasionally lightning would spark beneath the clouds, giving them an eerie glow.

The next ten minutes passed in silence until Harry realised he had accidentally unplugged his headphone socket. When he patched it back in he was alarmed to hear Cain giving increasingly confusing directions to Holberg.

The captain was unable to hide his impatience. ‘Warren, take another reading from the astrodome for God’s sake. See if you can establish a more accurate position.’

A few minutes later, Cain’s voice crackled in Harry’s ears again. ‘Current estimate: landfall over Scarborough approximately twenty minutes.’

‘OK, Lieutenant Cain,’ said Holberg, trying to sound calm and casual. ‘Attention,
Macey May
,’ he continued, ‘it’s looking calmer down there so we’ll take her down to five thousand feet and check our bearings.’

As they began their slow descent, Harry’s ears popped until he swallowed. Soon the glowing cloud tops were just below them. It seemed magical to him, slung beneath the B-17, to suddenly start skimming the clouds’ surface but not feel a thing. If he could have stuck his feet over the side of his turret, he could have dipped them in, like a sailor in a little boat, trailing his feet in a river.

Now the
Macey May
was enveloped in cloud and darkness was complete. It was very unsettling, not being able to see a thing all around. A few minutes later they were out the other side and Holberg was on the interphone again. ‘Hey, Friedman, any landmarks, towns or cities, church steeples, rivers? We should definitely be over the east coast by now.’

‘It’s a complete blank, Captain,’ said Harry. ‘Cloud must be blocking all moonlight. Blackout below is total.’

‘We’ll take her further down. Friedman, keep your eyes on the ground – shout if you see any hills, trees, whatever.’

They descended some more. Holberg kept asking, every few minutes. He was obviously getting concerned. ‘Friedman, you awake down there? We’re at one thousand feet now, going down to five hundred. Shout the second you see anything.’

Harry felt indignant. He was straining to see anything at all in the darkness. He was feeling especially vulnerable in his ball turret and wanted to ask Holberg if he could get back in the plane. If they hit the ground, he would be the first to know about it – in the split second before he was
mangled to death. But no one could see the ground better than him, and he knew Holberg would order him to remain at his station.

Harry continued to slowly rotate his turret 360 degrees around its axis, tilting it almost 90 degrees so he could look straight down. It was tiring hanging from his straps as gravity pulled on him. Then he levelled the turret to take in the wider horizon. Perhaps ten miles to the east, Harry spotted a shaft of moonlight.

‘Captain, think I can see waves down there,’ he reported.

‘Well, North Sea’s supposed to be over to the east,’ said Holberg, ‘so that’s telling us something useful. Keep looking, Sergeant.’

Jim Corrales chipped in. ‘Smells like the sea, here at the tail. I’d guess we were still over the water.’

‘I’ll take us down another couple hundred feet,’ said Holberg.

A minute later, another shaft of moonlight broke through and Harry saw at once the white caps of breaking waves. In an instant the Fortress flew over a small fishing boat, close enough for Harry to see the startled faces of the men on board. ‘Captain, we’re right down over the sea. Pull up, pull up,’ he shouted.

Holberg didn’t comply. Harry heard him say, ‘Landing lights on, Lieutenant Stearley.’

Intense white beams pierced the gloom and, sure enough, they revealed a choppy sea almost close enough to touch.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from yelling out, ‘It’s the sea! We’re about to hit the frigging sea.’

‘Hold tight,’ said the captain. The engines screamed as they climbed a thousand feet. ‘Cain, I think we have to admit we’re lost.’

There was no reply. Holberg continued, ‘Skaggs, I want you to start transmitting a Mayday signal. We need to get a position here.’

Harry felt a twist of fear. Lone transmissions at this time of night over the North Sea were bound to attract the attention of the Luftwaffe. Those signals enabled their tracking stations to pinpoint the position of a bomber. Depending on where they were, they might have a Nazi night fighter on their tail within minutes.

Skaggs came on the interphone a few minutes later. ‘We’ve had a fix from Attlebridge. We’re 53°40’ North, 5°34’ East.’

‘Can you plot a route back for us on that, Lieutenant Cain?’ Holberg sounded unsure. Harry could tell he had lost faith in his navigator.

‘Wilco,’ came Cain’s terse response.

Harry continued his 360-degree survey of the sky. The cloud cover was breaking up, and luminous shafts of moonlight were lighting up patches of the sea. ‘Captain, there’s a string of islands about ten miles to the east,’ he shouted.

‘I see them too,’ said John.

‘Shit,’ said Stearley. ‘Those have got to be the Wadden Islands. There’s a whole chain of them off the Dutch coast.’

‘OK, here’s what we’re going to do,’ said Holberg. He sounded terse, but his voice was steady. ‘LaFitte, I need a fuel supply estimate as quickly as you can. Work out how long it’ll take to reach the English coast and what our optimum cruising speed should be to preserve fuel. The rest of you, watch out for night fighters. Skaggs, keep radio silence until absolutely necessary.’

Harry knew what that meant. If they were going to crash, then Skaggs would be at his post until the last few seconds, transmitting a distress signal.

Five minutes later, Holberg came over the interphone again. ‘OK. We’re heading straight for the British coast, but for now we’re in enemy airspace. Keep looking for fighters.’

The next thirty minutes passed in an anxious silence. Then Dalinsky called out to report the exhaust plume of a Nazi fighter at three o’ clock level. Harry tensed up, expecting the
Macey May
to be raked with cannon fire at any moment.

There was a rattle of machine-gun fire and at once the interphone sprang into life, with Hill, Dalinsky and Corrales all shouting excitedly.

‘Fellas, pipe down,’ said Holberg. ‘Was that them or us?’

‘I fired off a few rounds, Captain,’ said Dalinsky. ‘Thought I saw a shape over to the right.’

Holberg was admirably calm. ‘Everyone take a good look and report back immediately if you can see any aircraft around us.’

There was another minute’s silence, then the interphone came to life with all the gunners reporting they could see nothing in the black sky. Five minutes passed, then ten. If there had been a night fighter, it had lost them.

Harry kept rotating his turret, looking out for any sign of a coastal outline but all he could see was the sea. Fifteen minutes later LaFitte came over the interphone. ‘We’ve only got fuel for another fifteen minutes, Captain.’

‘OK,
Macey May
, I want you to prepare to ditch,’ Holberg said. ‘I don’t think we’ll make it to land.’

There was an ominous pause, then he said, ‘Skaggs, transmit our position as soon as Cain can give it you … And try to get a position for the nearest airfield along the coast. We should be close to the Wash by now, so we might get lucky.’ Then he added, ‘Sergeant Friedman, you can come out of the ball now.’

As others in the crew carried out last-minute checks, Holberg told any crew who were not occupied to throw anything they could out of the Fortress. It was just like being on a ship that was in danger of sinking. Even the guns had to go – out through the open bomb bay doors.

Harry passed his own machine guns up to John Hill through the open ball turret hatch. It was a relief to be out of that little steel ball, but he could die just as easily in the plane with the rest of them. Despite his fear he felt a fleeting regret that this magnificent machine, with its thousands of carefully assembled and maintained working parts,
would shortly become a rusting heap of junk at the bottom of the sea.

His duty done, he went to join the others who had congregated in the radio operator’s compartment between the bomb bay and his turret. Only Holberg and Stearley were left in the front of their aircraft. Harry didn’t envy them, with the awful responsibility of a night ditching. No one in their right mind would want to put a B-17 down in a choppy sea.

If Holberg screwed up the landing and dipped the tail in first, rather than landing level, then the most likely place for the B-17 to break in two was the exact spot they were all sitting. He tried not to think of what would happen to them if that occurred. They’d be flying at 100 miles an hour. They’d be killed for sure.

‘Life vests on,’ said Bortz, the bombardier, who was the most senior officer there among them. ‘And don’t go inflating them before we’re out the plane.’

They all placed their yellow life vests over their heads and they checked one another’s to make sure they had fastened the harnesses correctly. Skaggs stayed at his post transmitting a steady stream of Mayday messages. Harry wondered if anyone was responding. Skaggs seemed to be transmitting into a void.

Cain was fidgeting and would not catch anyone’s eye. No one spoke to him either, although John still checked his life vest’s harness. Clearly the crew was blaming him for their situation.

Over the deep drone of the engines, Harry heard Skaggs’s voice catch. ‘Hallelujah!’ he said. ‘Read you …
Macey May
, call sign G-20, Heavy Bombardment Group 488, Eighth Air Force, based at Kirkstead. Current location approximately twenty miles east of Norfolk coast, just about level with Cromer and heading towards the Wash. We’re ditching and require immediate assistance …’

The engine note changed dramatically. LaFitte, the engineer, immediately called over to Skaggs. ‘Captain’s cut the two inboard, contact imminent.’

Skaggs did not need to be asked twice. He immediately joined the others crouching against the bulkheads, wrapping the cushion on his seat around his head. The compartment doorway flew open and Harry looked through it at the central spar which held his ball turret in place and wondered what would happen to it when it hit the water. Thank God he wasn’t stuck inside it. Corrales quickly shut the door again.

‘That’ll make a big difference,’ he said with a nervous grin.

Only Bortz was plugged into the interphone system, but he was getting nothing from the pilot’s cabin. ‘I’m going to check they’re all right.’

Cain looked up from his crash position. ‘Let me go. It’s too dangerous. We’re gonna hit the water any second. I got us into this mess …’

Just as he got to his feet the engines screamed as the
Macey May
lifted a little in the air. Bortz shouted, ‘Brace!’
and there was a huge jolt. Cain crouched down again, just in time.

Another jolt followed, perhaps the crest of a wave, then the overwhelming drone of the engines ceased. There was a sudden massive deceleration and they were all thrown against the bulkhead. Another sickening lurch twisted them back and forth as the plane pitched to the right. A nightmarish screeching sound from beyond the closed door filled the radio compartment and Harry thought the belly of the plane might open up beneath them. He sensed they were still travelling at some speed and prayed that the
Macey May
would hold together.

Harry’s pants were soaked. For one awful moment he wondered if he’d wet himself but the smell of salty sea water filled his nostrils and he quickly realised there were now sloshing pools of water along the floor of the
Macey May
. He felt a mad panic and an overwhelming urge to escape.

The engines were silent and they sensed the plane had stopped moving forward in the water. Now it just rocked with the waves. The sound of the sea was all around them, even the cawing of a few startled gulls.

Bortz was looking grim but composed. In fact they all were. Harry was struck by how calmly his comrades had behaved. He was desperate to know what lay beyond that compartment door to the rear of the plane, and whether they would be able to get out of the exit there before the Fortress sank. He tried hard to keep his fear under control and not give them any reason to think he was a flaky kid who had lied about his age to get into the USAAF.

Dalinsky was the first on his feet and pulled the life raft handles, releasing them from their two stowage boxes
at the side of the outer fuselage. They would inflate automatically as soon as they hit the water.

A wave broke against the side of the
Macey May
, making the Fortress tilt alarmingly to the right. ‘Let’s go,’ said Bortz. Out they went, through the compartment door, Corrales first, then the two waist gunners, then Harry, then the rest – just like they did in the drill. Harry noticed at once that the ball turret had been torn from its housing, leaving a livid scar of ripped metal along the belly. Water surged through, rising and falling with the swell. The limitless depth of the sea beneath the ruptured aluminium frame filled him with foreboding.

‘Exit door’s jammed!’ Corrales shouted back to them. Dalinsky, right behind him, gave it an almighty kick and it sprang open with a grinding of bent metal. Water poured in as the aircraft dipped in the waves. Harry felt the icy blast of the sea, but nothing was going to stop him leaving the aircraft.