So our crew was formed. At 22 years of age, I was the fourth oldest of the 10. Barnett, the pilot and oldest at 27, Jasionowicze, the youngest at 18. Barnett, Bonus and Rutherford had been instructors prior to being assigned to combat.

Our B17 combat training was at Ardmore, Oklahoma (Smittty met a pretty lady at a roller skating rink named Margaret and subsequently became his wife. Who says there's no romance in the Air Force!). What a day it was on the day of our first flight in a B17! I was amazed at all the instruments and gadgets - twice that of a B25. Our time at Ardmore was spent on learning about and becoming familiar with the B17. The pilots were taught formation flying, which was hard on the pilots, but boring to the rest of the crew. We also did practice bomb runs and navigational flights for navigator and radio practice.

On some landings, if the tail wheel happened to touch first, Barnett would say he was testing the runway before landing. If we bounced a little, he would say "Mark me down for multiple landings". He also didn't like goof-ups. If he did something wrong, he would ask "Why did I do that?" If it was someone else, it would be "Why did he or they do that?"

One late evening in our first or second week of our training, all the personnel belonging to the 6 EMs of another crew were removed from our barracks. Their plane had crashed, killing all on board. Later on we had a close call. We were shooting night landings and had just touched down on the runway. When our main landing gear folded up, we went down the runway on the tail wheel, belly and chin turrets plus the 4 propellers. Fortunately, the main landing wheels extend partly out even in the up position, so we still had brakes and directional control.

After Ardmore, it was Kearney, Nebraska where we picked up a new B17G and flew to Europe via Bangor, Maine, Newfoundland, Iceland and we landed in Valley, Whales. Our first night was spent somewhere on the North Sea. I believe it was in England. That evening, while walking the beach and watching people digging clams (being amazed how far you could walk out at low tide), we heard a plane. Someone yelled "M.E. 109!". As I stood up, wiping wet sand off myself, those around me were laughing. It was like 'April Fool, you fool', and although I laughed with them, I did not think it was that funny.

The next day we boarded a train for Howard Hall near Stoke-on-Trent (Shakespeare Country?) for orientation. I don't remember how long we were there. I believe we arrived at the 365th in early July 1944. We had three training or check out flights prior to our first combat mission. As I recall, two of them were search and rescue and if so, we found nothing and rescued no one. Here is a list of the crew by name, position and home state when we arrived at the 365th:

Bob was pulled from our crew and put on another because the Air Force was flying 17's with only one waist gunner by the time we arrived.

August 3, 1944: We were shook out of our sacks mighty early in the A.M. by the night C.Q. and a dog named '30' (so named because he spent 30 days with his master in the lockup) would jump from bed to bed until all were awake and we'd called out our names to the C.Q. After personal needs, we went to mess where we walked past a stove for 2 eggs 'anyway you wanted them'. After mess, the EM's went to our briefing, got our equipment (Parachutes, gin. barrels, flight clothing, etc.) then out to Plane #255. We proceded to put our guns together, store our gear and wait for the Officers to come from their briefings and take off. We were delayed by weather, but I don't remember for how long.

When we got the green light to go, all planes taxied out in single file, each in line according to their position in flight formation. One plane went airborne approximately every 30 seconds. This was really a sight to see if you were on the ground, but hairy if you're in one of those planes loaded with fuel and bombs.

We were assigned a 'combat experienced' pilot for our first combat mission. Lt. Morrffi flew as First Pilot, Lt. Barnett was Co-pilot. Lt. Wing was assigned to another crew for his first combat. He was later shot down on August 8, 1944 somewhere over Germany on a mission to Munich. He was killed and subsequently buried in Germany.

"It was his 21st birthday (Morrffi's) and a raid to Merkwiler on the river, over the city of Kaiserolautren in Germany. We got hit pretty hard by flack and I noticed Duane was trailing us lower than the formation. He radioed that his engines were hit and one of them was out. At about that time a half a dozen enemy fighters came in at Duane. They liked to pick on crippled stragglers, however, Duane must have pushed his last 3 engines for all they were worth because he pulled up into formation and we went on for the target. His second engine cutout on the way home and a third was troubling him. When we arrived near the base, Duane called the field for clearance for 'an emergency landing. He reported he was in serious trouble and wished to land first. The tower told him he was clear to come right in and land. Unfortunately he didn't have enough power left and crashed about a mile from the field."

The only difference with this is the crash. As Lt. Peterson said, we were cleared for a straight in approach, but we were waved off because of a red flare from another plane. We went down as we banked into the final approach. I was standing between the two pilots, my right hand on the throttle. The two pilots did the impossible, they got the plane leveled off. I saw a building through the windshield (I found out later it was a church or chapel). The pilots swung to the right, shimming over houses and I saw trees at that point. It was lights out for me as I was blown through the top of the plane. I was found some seven hours later, quite some distance from the plane with a portion of it around my neck. The next eighteen months of my life was spent in two hospitals, three outpatient clinics in England, one orthopaedic specialist and one plastic surgeon in the states. I fell in love with my nurse from the last hospital and two years later she became my wife.

Smitty was one of the two pulled from the plane by those eight brave people. The shells they were dodging were the 50 caliber shells from my upper turret. If hit by one, it would put a pretty big hole in a person. No words can express our appreciation for their help. Smitty, Rick and I were taken to the 49th Station Hospital. Rick died the next day. Seven of the nine of us gone. A chaplain told me that Smitty and I were so ornery that Heaven didn't want us and Hell wouldn't have us.

Smitty had gone to sleep shortly after we crossed the Channel on our way back. The next thing he remembered is waking up five days later and seeing me in a bed next to his talking to him.