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Dorr - Mission to Berlin : the American airmen who struck the heart of Hitlers Reich

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Dorr Mission to Berlin : the American airmen who struck the heart of Hitlers Reich
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    Mission to Berlin : the American airmen who struck the heart of Hitlers Reich
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Overview: Robert F. Dorrs critically acclaimed World War II bombing narrative, now available in paperback format. The western Allies flew 314 bombing missions to Berlin between 1940 and 1945. Germanys capital was its largest city, the richest metropolitan center on the European continent, the sixth-largest city in the world--and it had been declared a legitimate military target. In Mission to Berlin, Robert F. Dorr - author of Hell Hawks! and Mission to Tokyo and one of todays most prolific military historians - takes the reader on a World War II bombing mission from the airfields of England to Berlin and back. Told largely in the veterans own words, Mission to Berlin offers the firsthand accounts of the pilots and the aircrew, ground crew, and escort fighters who accompanied the bombers on their perilous missions. Long stretches of quiet flight high above the fields of Europe were punctuated by moments of intense danger and adrenaline as German fighters pounced on the Allied aircrafts, flak slicing through hull and crew alike. Bomber crews also faced high-altitude induced cold temperatures, lack of oxygen, fires, and explosions of their own ordnance, as well as crash landings or bailouts that could kill them or turn them into prisoners of war. As they fought their way across Europe, hoping to beat the odds and survive the maximum thirty-five combat missions, they often thought, I hope we get Hitler today, just as you should think I hope I get Mission to Berlin today

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Mission to Berlin

The American Airmen
Who Struck the
Heart of Hitlers Reich

Robert F. Dorr

Fifteen thousand Americans took part in the air assault on Hitlers Third Reich - photo 1

Fifteen thousand Americans took part in the
air assault on Hitlers Third Reich on February 3, 1945.
This book is dedicated to four of them:

Frank T. Chrastka, tail gunner of the B-17 Blue Grass Girl
Robert Des Lauriers, copilot of the B-17 Purty Chili
Ray Fredette, toggleer-gunner on the B-17 Fancy Nancy
Marvin D. Lord, mission leader on an unnamed B-17

Of the four, two survived.

Robert F. Dorr
Oakton, Virginia

Contents
CHAPTER ONE
Wake-Up

Mission to Berlin

February 3, 19453:00 a.m. to 6:00 a.m.

IT WAS ALWAYS COLD.

It was always cold at high altitude and Staff Sgt. Frank T. Chrastka compensated, even when on the ground.

He slept in flannel underwear. He was sleeping in flannel underwear, in his bunk, when the floorboards of his barracks creaked. A silhouette loomed above him. The flashlight burned. A bright sickly yellow illuminated his face.

Up.

It was just one word. It was said just once. Even the voice sounded cold.

It was 3:00 a.m. British Summer Timethe standard used in Britain in winter by American bomber crews. The date was Saturday, February 3, 1945.

The first question that came to Chrastkas mind upon awakening was usually, Whats the target today? The CQ, the charge of quarterschecking bunks, aiming the flashlight, shaking awake semisomnolent bomber crewmembersdidnt know the target, didnt have a clue. The CQ worked in the squadron orderly room and might well be the last person in the squadron to learn where the bombers were going today. The target to be attacked was usually decided only the day before, because planning a long-range bombing mission depended on the weather forecast.

Without a word, the CQ handed over his clipboard with a pencil attached on a string. In the flashlights glare, Frank Chrastka ran a fingertip down a list of names until he found his own and scratched out his signature next to it. If any question arose later, this was the evidence that he had been awakened. Okay, the CQ said, and moved on.

Chrastka, nineteen, blond, a bit larger than his buddies at 180 poundsa ladys man, they saidwas fully awake and very cold. His size was a disadvantage, his buddies said, because he was a tail gunner, which meant that he spent much of his time in the air in a bent, kneeling position, facing to the rear of the aircraft as if in prayer, his knees supporting his weight. Chrastka, of Polish origin, from Forest Park, Illinois, looked exactly like the lifeguard hed been in civilian life and his buddies knew that hed recently saved a member of his own bomber crew from drowning during a mishap at a lake. Chrastka was something of a prankster, too, his buddies said. If he ever played a serious prank on anyone he didnt speak of it, but later on this day others would wonder about that trait.

At American bomber bases clustered around the easterly rim of the British aisles known as East Anglia, American bomber crews had spent the last two days being briefed for the same target only to have the mission cancelled before takeoff. Chrastka was one of those. So he had a nearly certain idea of what todays target might be, but could not be completely sure. Almost none of the men knew for certain that on this day, the Eighth Air Force planned to dispatch 1,437 heavy bombers and 948 fighters with the principal purpose of attacking the capital of the Third Reich.

Chrastka belonged to the 832nd Bombardment Squadron, 486th Bombardment Group, at Sudbury, England, a location that waswhat else?cold and wet. Out on the hardstand in the darkness, a mile from the plywood hut clad with tarred paper where Chrastka slept with twenty-six other men, the members of the ordnance company had a clear idea what the target might be. Throughout the night, they were loading a specific type, size, and number of bombs into the fuselage bay of each B-17 Flying Fortress. The bombload differed from one bomber base to another. Still, the bombload was all but a giveaway of what the target would be.

It never bothered Chrastka, but other members of his B-17 crew often said they felt their stomachs churning as they wondered whether a particular day would bring a milk run or a maximum effort. One radioman-gunner would put his head between his knees, apparently struggling not to vomit while uttering, Dont let it be the Big B, please. Every crewmember feared learning that the target was Berlin.

Chrastka and his fellow airmen were near the end of the third winter of the American bombing offensive. Few had been here a year ago, so this was a new experiencethe bone-chilling weather that brought colds and flu; frostbitten body parts at high altitude; electrically heated flying suits that had been redesigned several times and still malfunctioned; snow, sleet, freezing rain, pea soup fog, and howling winds; ice-coated roads, runways, wings, and windshields. By these standards, based on last nights weather forecast, this particular morning held the promise of being less remarkable than most.

In the semidarkness of his Quonset hut, Chrastkas first task was to reach for the fresh set of long flannel underwear hed laid out the night before. It went over his standard undershorts and shirt.

Chrastka shaved in dim light and lukewarm water. Hed remembered to fill his helmet and leave it on the barracks space heatera kind of potbelly stovebefore going to sleep. When he was finished, in the slow and methodical way that was part of his nature, Chrastka pretended hed done nothing, started from the beginning, and shaved again. Without a super-clean shave, an oxygen mask could chafe and scratch, causing annoyance or real injury, while facial hairs could be an irritant at high altitude, where temperatures varied from minus ten to minus seventy degrees Fahrenheit.

COPING WITH FEAR

Even after every precaution, Chrastka knew that on this dayFebruary 3, 1945there were no guarantees against the rigors of flight at low temperatures and high altitudes. Today, he would wear an oxygen mask for hours. The moisture in his breath, perspiration, and blood from facial wounds and nosebleeds could cause the mask to freeze to the skin, and occasionally the ice buildup could cause the mask to malfunction. As he worked through his ablutions, Chrastka told himself he had no guarantees about anything on this day.

Hot water was an intermittent luxury, rarely available at wake-up, but Chrastka had been able to take a hot shower before going to bed. Now, he dressed using the attire laid out the night before: his standard khaki trousers and long-sleeved shirt, his black socks, and his low-quarter brown GI shoes. Said an airman who flew with Chrastka: If you bailed out in enemy territory, those shoes immediately identified you as an American. We were given a pair of European-type shoes that stayed with our flying suit, helmet, and goggles and were tied to our parachute harness, all located in the personnel equipment building.

While still in the barracks, still groggy, still coming awake in the cold, Frank Chrastkas last step was to put on the crewmembers standard B10 jacket. He kept the jacket near his bed to wriggle intoalways cold.

Ahead lay chapel, breakfast, briefing, and donning equipment, followed by the ride in a four-by-four weapons carrier, the square truck-of-all-trades, to the B-17. After wake-up, about two hours were to elapse before Chrastka and his fellow bomber crewmembers learned their target. Today, many thought they knew it already because of preparations during the two previous days. Still, for many, the target would be the only thing on their minds.

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