Wally Hoffmann flew in B-17s during WWII. Here is his account of the battle...-RL Suddenly a flashlight was shining in my face, and a voice from out in the darkness was telling me, "Breakfast at Four and Briefing at Five". I lay there thinking "what a hell of a way to wake up" as I heard those around me also starting to stir. The cognizance hit me—"this was it"! I was going into combat on my first mission. All the training was over and it was now either put up or shut up. Will I be here tonight? There exists such a thin line between survival and the point of no return from that country from which no traveler returns. Would I be climbing back into my bed tonight, or would someone come in and roll up my mattress, as I had seen done too many times in the past two weeks? I rolled out of the sack and shaved in cold water. As we were advised that whiskers and oxygen masks don't mix. Quickly I jumped in and out of the cold shower, which positively woke me up. I then dressed in T-shirt, GI underwear, plus wool pants and shirt as we dressed in layers to retain the body heat. The B-17 was open to the elements with no heat, and the temperature was always --35 to -75 degrees without the wind-chill factor. There was no talk as everyone was buried in his or her own thoughts. I wondered, what had happened to all that banter last night on the discussions as what the boudoir commandos and sexual athletes were going to do when they got home or to London? My thoughts were not on the mission—or how rough it might be, or where we might be going. I was thinking will I be able to execute OK, and do everything right? I then slowly made my way it seemed in total darkness to the combat mess. Here in comparison everyone was talking, but all small talk and trivial matters. This was a guise to relieve the heavy hand of tension, which lay on all of us. I instantly was hit with the thick smell of frying eggs and bacon, which clung to the air. A combat breakfast was always fried eggs, bacon and hotcakes, on other days it was powdered eggs and spam or SOS—which is creamed chipped beef on toast usually called sh** on a shingle. With a huge knot in my stomach and at four o'clock in the morning, who is ready to eat? I can still see those eggs staring up at me! As a crew we all sat down together, Resnik wolfed his down his breakfast and looked over at Bob's untouched plate who said "take it", pushing it towards him in agitation. Nothing ever seemed to bother Resnik and everything distressed Bob. I only managed a few bites and the next thing I knew we were outside in the dark, and it was only 4:15 -- what do we do for the next 30 minutes? As we proceeded to the briefing hut, I thought, it seemed only yesterday at Washington State University we all raised our hands and said "I do" as Aviation Cadets. We were told to go home and wait for orders. This was only the beginning of military adage we were to hear only too often, "Hurry Up and Wait". From Basic Training to War What a long hot trip it was from Seattle to San Antonio and as we entered the main gate of Kelly Field we were greeted with the shout "Y-O-U'L-L B-E S-O-R-R-Y". We soon found ourselves in the military regime of turning 90 degree corners, sitting at attention by using only four inches of the chair, plus eating square meals by making only very specific 90 degree movements from your plate to your mouth. When we became upperclassmen we inflicted the same treatment to the new class. After the completion of training and transition it was then to Plant Park Tampa, FL., for crew selection, Drew Field, Tampa FL. to the Overseas Training Unit, and finally Hunter Field, Atlanta, GA., for overseas equipment including a brand new B-17. The next day we were off to Europe by way of Dow Field, Bangor, MA. Gander, Newfoundland, and across the Atlantic to Prestwick, Scotland where they took that brand new plane from us. We were then sent to Stone a small village in Central England for processing and duty. Our assignment was to the 351st Bomb Group at Polebrook, which is located on the East Coast of England. Immediately all the gunnery, bomb runs, flying formation training we received in OTU started all over again, only this time it was different—this was for real! We flew the pattern for Polebrook, which is a rectangular course around the field taken prior to landing. As we were taxing away from the runway we noticed all the planes had a different symbol on the tail. That was when the penny dropped--we had landed at the wrong field—that accentuated was how good we were! Finally here we were now waiting for combat briefing, and about to be baptized into combat with that first big ONE! Briefing The Briefing Room door opens after holding our breaths for an hour. We are immediately stopped at the door by the MPs to show our IDs then checked off from the crew lists for the mission, as there is very tight security. Inside everybody seems to be all talking at the same time and at the top of their voices making all kinds of wisecracks. I find later this was the means of relieving the tension and anxiety. You can feel the fear in the room, although it is very evident everyone here has confidence in their training and in each other. There in the front of the room is a stage with a huge map that is covered by a curtain. We soon hear in a very loud voice "Ten-Shun". Everyone jumps to his or her feet and there is instant silence in the room as the Group CO and his entourage march down the center aisle. The Colonel tells us to fly our formations as if we are on parade. He also says how the good crews in this room are. He then proceeds to wave the flag by telling us this is another step in the total annihilation of Germany and victory. The Colonel then orders the curtain drawn which is followed by the chorus of OH's and AH'S. We watched in fascination as the red yarn on the map winds its way in all directions from the base finally ending up at Cologne. We learned later to look for the amount of red yarn left outside the map this would tell how long the mission was going to be. We listened intently as we were told there would be four squadrons of 12 planes and four spares. The Group Intelligence Officer tells us the flak should be light enroute, however there could be considerable flak from the 88 mm antiaircraft over the target. He steps down and another officer advises if we are shot down which escape routes are available should you reach the ground in one piece. The procedure to follow if captured, and the location of the air-sea rescue boats if you have to ditch in the channel. The older crews listen with impatience as they have heard all this before. We are an eager green new crew so we listen intently with the hopes some of this may save our lives. The people on the stage changes and next up is the Group Navigator who gives us the critical numbers for altitude and the headings, times for departure, forming at altitude and for leaving the coast for Germany. The schedules for the IP (the point which you turn to make the bomb run), the length of the bomb run, and the turn for leaving the target and reforming after the bomb run. The flight formation for combat and the bombing are different depending on the target. We would form the formation on the buncher at Kings Cliff, and look for a green-green flare. He thoroughly covers the details of the take off. How the formation would be activated: (A) the forming of individual planes for the elements. (B) The elements into squadrons, and (C) the squadrons into the Groups. How the Groups will form into wings the wings into divisions, and the makeup of the total attacking force. The Group Bombardier gives us the information on bomb loadings, fuse settings, the bomb run and the aiming point. We would be carrying 14,000 pounds of 500-pound bombs, and 2,800 gallons' of 100-octane fuel. The IP would be 6 minutes from the drop point. The Intelligence Officer returns and tells us "That's it". This mission looks as it should be a "Milk Run", and when you land proceed immediately to the de-briefing room. For every mission the Intelligence Officer could very well end up sitting at an empty table with no crews to debrief and the report sheets never completed. He would think about those missing crews who do not show up at debriefing. They may have had a wing blown off, or blown up in flames, the screams of men, and parachutes, which failed to open. We made our way to the individual briefings for information on the radio frequencies to use, and emergency procedures. This includes the alternate fields to use for emergency landings, and other detailed information as it applied to each crew. We then picked up our flimsies, which contain the written orders detailing information for individual participation in the mission. Survival Kits Then picked up our survival kits, which contain maps, currency, malted milk tablets, Benzedrine among other things. We proceed next to the overheated ready room to put on our bulky flight gear. These consisted of a green nylon electric suit worn over our uniform, heavy flight pants and jacket, along with the fleece lined flying boots and oxygen mask. On top of all this there is a Mae West, which is an individual life preserver to keep us afloat should we end up in the channel, plus a parachute harness. The bulky sheep lined boots are no good for walking so we also attach a pair of GI shoes to our parachute harness should we be shot down. This is a lot of equipment, but if you are to survive at 30,000 feet in rarefied air in an open plane you must ward of temperatures of -35 to -70 degrees below zero plus having oxygen to breathe. Planes have returned to the base totally unscathed by enemy bullets, but the men inside had hands or feet so badly frozen in the sub-zero temperature they had to be amputated. It did not make it any easier it was not a bullet or flak that made a man legless for the rest of his life. We then left all of our personal belongings such as pictures, billfold, etc., in our flight locker. In the parachute loft where we picked up our parachutes we noticed for the first time the sign "If it doesn't work bring it back". We filed outside and waited for a truck to take us out to the revetment where our plane was parked. When we arrived at the hardstand (a concrete apron where the planes are parked and maintained) we were met by the crew chief who was a maniac for perfection, and a mother hen to the plane. We find later this was true of all the Crew Chiefs to both the planes and the crews who flew them. These same ground crews would stay on the hardstands on every mission sweating out the safe return of the crews and the planes. All of us who flew never lost sight of the dedication and work of these unsung heroes for keeping our planes in the air. After getting our gear and guns on board, the crew chief then reviewed all the latest work his crew had done on the plane, saying "Don't you dare scratch it up or lose her, I want that girl, "Morning Delight", back in good shape"! We did a close pre-flight check; meanwhile the props were run through to make sure there were no oil locks in the engine cylinders. We went through the pre-flight list not once but twice, then the fuel trucks came by and topped off our tanks. I will never forget that sickly sweet smell of aromatic 100-octane gas. Everyone then sat around for the flare to start engines (later we would use this time to get a few extra minutes sleep). All too soon there was the flare to start engines, and everyone scrambled to their positions. All four engines started on the first try, and all the gauges checked out. Soon there was another flare to start taxing. What a sight 40 planes moving nose to tail all in line along the perimeter track. Once we reached the end of the runway, we stopped at a 45^ angle to the runway, and checked the mags, engine, etc. We were then signaled on to the active runway (each plane took off at 20-second intervals). The engines were run up to 35 inches manifold pressure, and the brakes were kicked loose. We were on our way. As we trundled down the runway, I was thinking had I done everything? Airborne All of a sudden I realized here we were half way down the runway and we were only going about 50 mph, and it takes at least 115 for this bird to get off the ground. As I watched the end of the runway coming up I heard 110 mph, then 115 and the plane was struggling to be airborne. Trees at the end of the runway passed well below us as the flaps and wheels came up, and we started our turn. The plane now felt like a feather and was eager to go. We set for maximum climb and turned on a heading for Kings Cliff Buncher. We were soon at 10,000 feet so everyone puts on his or her oxygen masks. The Bombardier now will be checking every ten minutes with all the crew for an oxygen check (the B-17 was not pressurized) to make sure they were all right and no one was suffering from anoxia. At 20,000 feet over the King's Cliff Buncher there were planes milling around everywhere and no one could see any "green-green" flares. The tail gunner finally tells us he has located the green-green flare at 6:00 o'clock (direction is indicated using the clock system with the nose being 12 o'clock), so we make a 180 degree turn and soon are safely tucked in our allocated position as tail end Charley. As we leave the coast of England we are again climbing to 28,000 feet (the free air temperature was --50 degrees). Below us are the Zeider Zee and all too soon, Germany. Everyone is burning their eyes out looking for fighters, and so far only some flak bursts in the distance. We now make a right turn on to the Initial Point for Cologne that we must maintain for six minutes until bomb drop. All I can see ahead of us is solid black smoke from the flak barrage, and the sky is suddenly alive with energy beyond belief. You could walk on it! There are sudden flashes of red, orange, and yellow angry flashes of brilliant light that seems to leap at you without warning. The flak all seems to be intent on getting a winged machine with its loaded bomb bays, and the ten vulnerable men it carries. We make our way through the ever-increasing black mass of exploding flame and smoke of the 88 flak guns. Those beloved B-17s forge steadily ahead through a tornado of steel splinters and flame that spreads hot chunks of metal through both men and planes. The exploded steel is everywhere as it crashes into wings, engines, bulkheads, airplane bodies, and the men who are flying. If you can see it burst, then it has not hit you. I look at my watch, it is 10 after and, what seemed like a half-hour later, I look again and only 30 seconds have gone by. Suddenly there is a huge flash and a bright angry flame with a huge release of energy to the right and in front of us. Instantly there is the stunning slap of concussion, as the flame seems to go directly into the core of the flying fortress, and then into the bomb bay to the fuses of the 500-pound bombs. This is all unfolds before us as a picture but it is only just a few thousandths of a second. The entire B-17 and its 10 men have vanished into a searing ball of fire as the 100-octane fuel is consumed. There is nothing left except a monstrous smudge as a B-17 and 10 men have forfeited their lives into nothing but bits of flaming debris. That was the moment actuality of where we were set in. The waist gunner reports a B-17 sliding off on one wing out of the formation and soon is observed spinning out of control at four o'clock. There is one parachute, which seems to hit the tail and then is flung aside. We see it fall away, a lifeless rag doll falling five miles to the earth below. We all are silently shouting "get out, get out," soon there are three more chutes that come fluttering out, then no more. No one says a word, but we are all thinking "But by the Grace of God, that could have been us"! The plane is turned over to the Bombardier, and we can see the Rhine River winding through Cologne plus the Cologne Cathedral (after continual bombing this cathedral still stood at the end of the war). In the nose the Bombardier is searching for his aiming point that is the rail marshaling yards just across the Rhine River. The bomb run is good, however it seems we will never reach the bomb release line. We are thinking the bombs must be hung up on the shackles in the bomb bay when suddenly there is a series of little jerks as out comes the bombs with their death and destruction on the way to Germany. We then hear the welcome sound over the intercom "Bombs away." Someone yells "let's get the hell out of here, I do not think these people like us." Trip Home The trip home came easy. Soon we were soon over the channel and down to 10,000 feet, and finally after about 8 hours, off come the oxygen masks. What a relief. We passed over the field at Polebrook then peeled off and made our landing in proper order, promptly taxied up to the hardstand and shut that venerable B-17 down. We all thought Holy Cow! We made it, no nicks, no bruises, and didn't fire a shot. The plane however looked as if someone had tried to make a sieve out of it (the crew chief told me later we picked up 176 holes from the flak). According to statistics our life expectancy was 4 missions, so I guess we will be OK for three more. We were still getting our gear out of the plane when the truck came to pick us up and soon delivered us at the ready room where we changed clothes and turned in our gear. Next it was "debriefing" where we were quizzed as to the appearance of the flak, and where we encountered it. What was the time, and where we were when we saw the B17 that exploded in front of us? What about the B17 we observed spinning out of control and going down? We were really naive as we had only watched in fascination at these two incidents, and had made no check as to the time or where. As we left the "debriefing" the medics were available offering two ounces of "Old Crow" whiskey if you wanted it. The Red Cross was also there selling coke for the mix and with donuts and coffee. We were totally drained from all that time at high altitude plus mentally exhausted, and so on arrival at the combat messes whom wants to eat? We just wanted go to bed and what was left of that momentous day wound down and the adrenaline wore off. Thus ended one of the most memorable days of my life—one that I would remember for the rest of my days. Back to War Lore: The List Back to Master Magazine List © Copyright 1998 by Coalition Web, Inc. This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com