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Martin W. Bowman - Eager Eagles 1941-Summer 1943: Going Over, Gaining Strength

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    Eager Eagles 1941-Summer 1943: Going Over, Gaining Strength
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Eager Eagles 1941-Summer 1943: Going Over, Gaining Strength: summary, description and annotation

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Using narrative accounts and new insights this book catalogues the dramatic and first-hand oral testimonies of the US Army Air Corps bomber crews of the newly created Eighth Air Force that became stationed in East Anglia in 1942. It begins with shock of the unannounced Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and how it affected the young men who were destined to fly and fight in Europe. American troops, or GIs as they were known because of their own derisive term of General Issue, began arriving in war-weary Britain in the months immediately after Pearl Harbor. Bomber and fighter groups made an especial impact. The young Americans with their well-cut uniforms, new accents and money, created a colourful heroic chapter in the lives of the British people that is still remembered today. The Americans and the villagers and townsfolk of East Anglia shared a close attachment that only wartime can create. England between 1942-45 was a battle front. The civilians were all involved in the war effort - as shipyard and factory workers, Red Cross and Land Army, farmers and firemen. Above all they were stubborn, determined fighters who had already endured more than three years of war. Into these lives came the sights and sounds - particularly the jargon - of the Americans, unprepared for the difficulties of flying in Britains and Northern Europes unpredictable and difficult weather. It is the story of the Americans first encounters with the Luftwaffe, heavy Nazi air defences and the wartime strictures that Britain had already endured for three years. These are their memories.

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First published in Great Britain in 2012 by PEN SWORD AVIATION An imprint of - photo 1
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by
PEN & SWORD AVIATION
An imprint of
Pen & Sword Books Ltd
47 Church Street
Barnsley
South Yorkshire
S70 2AS
Copyright Martin Bowman 2012
ISBN 978 1 84884 749 1
The right of Martin Bowman to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying,
recording or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission from the Publisher in writing.
Pen & Sword Books Ltd incorporates the Imprints of Pen & Sword Aviation,
Pen & Sword Family History, Pen & Sword Maritime, Pen & Sword Military,
Pen & Sword Discovery, Wharncliffe Local History, Wharncliffe True Crime,
Wharncliffe Transport, Pen & Sword Select, Pen & Sword Military Classics,
Leo Cooper, The Praetorian Press, Remember When, Seaforth Publishing and Frontline Publishing
For a complete list of Pen & Sword titles please contact
PEN & SWORD BOOKS LIMITED
47 Church Street, Barnsley, South Yorkshire, S70 2AS, England
E-mail:
Website: www.pen-and-sword.co.uk
Contents
Yo, Howie! Hows chow tonight? I ask as I approach our navigator leaving the mess hall.
Yo, Charlie. Same old stuff. Pork. Ya better eat though. Were on the battle order. Group Deputy Lead.
Deputy again? Whos leadin?
Howie replies but by this time he is too far away for me to hear him, so I push my way through the usual gang of loiterers, glance at the bulletin board while listening to their speculations.
Probably another long haul.
I wouldnt be surprised. I always seem to get em.
Aw, quit your moaning. You dont hear me gripin, do you?
Quiet, paddlefoot, I guess youve done your share of it.
Leaving them to their varied opinions, I thread my way into the chow house, pick up a Stars and Stripes, glance surreptitiously at the can marked 1 penny. And with a mumbled general apology about not having any change and something about paying up tomorrow, I find an empty seat where I read and eat.
Hmmm. Poor feerliss Fosdick. Whut next? Well look here! The tribe is in fourth place; boys in France are opening things up a little, pretty hot back home. Shoving a hunk of cake in my mouth, I slide my chair back and go back to the barracks alternately perusing the Stars and Stripes and exchanging commonplaces with more tardy companions.
Re-established in the barracks, we have time for about one smoke before a raunchy GI thrusts his head through the door. Jeep is waiting, Sir. Youre wanted at Group.
Howie and I grab our hats, straighten our ties and ride down to headquarters to look at the big picture.
The intelligence room is pretty well filled with the lead bombardiers and navigators on the field, as well as S-2 men and all are busy looking over target photos, courses, RAF maps, flak maps, etc. We stay for about an hour, after which time we feel we have had the gist of the mission pretty well in mind. Then we depart to tell the boys in the Boulton Paul hut, Better log some sack time, early breakfast.
Though they know it is futile, there are always a few jokers who ask where we are going.
Well, Ill tell you. Tomorrow were going to Czechoslovakia via Berlin. Were going to load up with 3,100 gallons and carry 2 hand grenades and 100 leaflets.
Howie joins in, No, Charlies just kidding. Actually, were going to take 500-pounders. About 700 miles east were to meet a Zeppelin where we well refuel and go on to Tokyo.
Gibes from the rest of the gang are directed at the red-faced questioners as Howie and I get undressed and turn in. Most of us want to sleep but for about half an hour we have to listen to a nightly sermon by a Texan in the far end of the barracks. Tonight he tells us about the big wind they had in the Panhandle, relating all the gruesome details and winding up by saying. I dont suppose there was anything between Texas and the North Pole but a single strand barbed wire fence and that doggoned wind had pushed all the barbs up into one little ol corner.
Attention all combat crews! Attention all combat crews! Breakfast is now being served in the combat mess! Breakfast is now being served in the combat mess! That is all.
Ive been awakened by hearing roosters crow and that isnt bad. Ive been aroused by playful fraternity brothers and that can be endured. Nobody likes an alarm clock but no alarm clock, no matter how grating and raucous, hasnt never heard no swearing that will begin to compare with the forever unprintable barrage of invectives that now assails the insensitive Tannoy.
Its inhuman! Thats what it is!
I just got to sleep!
Who ever invented that damn Tannoy?
Say, what the hell time is it, anyway?
A long, puffy-eyed stare at my watch finally reveals something resembling numbers and hands and I reply, 0230.
A spasmodic cursing is my only reward, so I begin the mechanical act of dressing, which eventually drives the urge for sleep into the background.
Bedraggled lines of shadowy forms begin to feel their way to breakfast under a cloudless sky, black as V-mail ink except for a number of feeble stars.
Fresh eggs and a cup of coffee just about complete the waking up process, then, breakfast over, a procession of GI trucks convoy us to the flight line. Cigarettes glow and describe arcs in the blackness as the truck occupants banter with each other.
In the smoke-filled briefing room speculations are still riding high. Howie and I exchange grins as various possibilities are brought to light by the yet uninformed men.
The target for today will be the Fleugzeug Motorenwerks at
Pilots and navigators will brief at 0430, stations 0500, start engines 0510, taxi 0520, take off 0530, forming over Splasher 97 at 11,000 feet, leaving Splasher 97 at 0710 and proceeding on course. The 93rd is leading the wing, 422nd flying high right, 866th low left. Carrying twelve 500-pounders, 2,700 gallons, time at altitude 5 hours, estimated time of return 1330. Time Tick?
In 55 seconds it will be coming up on 0337. Coming up on 0337 in 45 seconds. In 30 seconds the time will be 0337. 15 seconds10 seconds 54321Tick!
Pop Hamilton takes over and goes over the route in detail, warning us of certain large cities covered by the various-sized red spots on the map. Now this town isnt so bad. They have 27 guns and over here there are 32. At the target, you will have about 300 guns but only 187 will be able to bear on you if you stay on course.
There follows a few more words on fighters, both friendly and enemy, some projected close ups of the target area, a little on our bomb and gas load and weather takes over.
Stormy gives us the synoptic situation and declares emphatically that we wont be able to see a damn thing because of the high sitting over Sweden. He predicts nil to one-tenth clouds over the base area and tentenths coverage in the target vicinity, so we are pretty confident that it will be just the other way around and that we will have a visual target.
We split up for separate briefing. Pilots get additional taxiing and forming instructions; the navigators begin a hasty struggle with plotters, maps and computers and the bombardiers are warned not to toggle too soon or too late.
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