To Kingdom Come by Robert J. Mrazek Page B

bombardier, dropped their bombs through the flak cloud over Schweinfurt, the attacks intensified again. When a Focke-Wulf 190 suddenly came at them head-on, Jimmy lifted his right wing when he saw the first flashes of the fighter’s guns. It didn’t help. A moment later, machine-gun bullets began smashing into the cockpit. One of them sliced through his copilot’s sheepskin-lined flight jacket and splintered the armor plate behind his seat. Amazingly, he was unhurt.
    The fighters kept on coming, and his gunners kept firing back until they ran out of ammunition. In the next head-on attack, a 20-millimeter cannon shell set fire to his left inboard engine and sprayed the nose section with shrapnel, wounding Yee and Carlin, the navigator. When that engine caught fire, Jimmy feathered it to keep it from running out of control. As they finally approached the French coast, the attacks tailed off. Jimmy brought the Fortress home on three engines.
    Once they were on the ground, Jimmy inspected the plane with James Flynn, his ground crew chief. Hundreds of brass shell casings covered the steel flooring of the fuselage. The metal skin was peppered with shell holes. The cartoon figure of Sad Sack had been almost obliterated by cannon shells. Flynn told him the Fortress was no longer flyable. It was a miracle they had made it back.
    At the edge of the hardstand, Jimmy found Walter House, his radio operator, sitting on the ground and sobbing uncontrollably. At twenty-eight, House was the oldest and steadiest hand among the enlisted men in the original crew. Jimmy went over to talk to him.
    “Sir,” House began, his lips trembling, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t take it anymore.”
    Jimmy didn’t know what to say. According to regulations, a crewman was required to fly unless the plane commander thought he might endanger the rest of the men. If it had been one of the officers, Jimmy would have just told him to buck up and keep flying. But he knew that Walter House had a wife back in Kentucky waiting for him.
    Putting his arm around the older man’s shoulder, the twenty-year-old Jimmy said, “Walter, you need a change of scenery. I’ll ask the squadron commander to give you a few days at a rest camp.”
    House thanked him through his tears.
    The next morning, Sergeant Deibert, the machine gunner who had replaced the frostbitten Herrera, told Jimmy that he wouldn’t fly anymore. He went to the hospital, where a doctor decided he was suffering from battle fatigue and could stand down.
    Maybe it was something he was doing wrong, Jimmy thought. A few days later, he received a letter from the 384th’s group leader, Colonel Budd Peaslee. It read:
Lieutenant Armstrong,
It is an honor and privilege to be able to commend you for your extraordinary achievement on the bombing mission over Germany, 17 August 1943. Your performance of duty on the most important penetration bombing mission yet conducted by this Wing over Germany was superior. In spite of the heaviest enemy fighter and flak opposition yet encountered by any formation, you coolly accomplished your duties as pilot. By your skillful airmanship and courage, you enabled our group and wing to deal a vital blow to the enemy inside his strongest defenses. I, as well as the entire 384th Bombardment Group, am proud of you. Budd J. Peaslee, Colonel, Air Corps, Commanding
    The letter restored Jimmy’s morale, if not the crew’s. Stuttgart would be his tenth mission. At the predawn briefing, he looked up at the planned formation for the group that was chalked on the blackboard, and saw that they had made him an element leader of three Fortresses. Colonel Peaslee, the group commander, made a point of stressing the need for close defensive formations.
    For the first time, it would be his responsibility to keep the element tucked into as tight a formation as possible to protect his two wingmen, Faulkner and Higdon, while providing enough distance from the higher