This book is the story of my flying experiences during World War
II. It covers primarily the period from February 1943 to April 1945. At the
beginning I explain why and how I got into the Army Air Corps, as it was
then called, and at the end I include an account of my partial
convalescence in a U.S. Army hospital in England. Otherwise, I stick closely
to my actual flying experiences and the events of that era. I omit all but a
trivial amount of personal experiences outside of flying.
I have compiled this account from several sources: (1) my memory
and my official flight record; (2) the letters I wrote to my immediate
family while I was in the Air Corps, which I repossessed after my parents
died; (3) official Eighth Air Force records of bombing missions; (4)
accounts written by former crew members, Larry Locker, John R. Wingfield,
and Fred Stoker; and (5) the book, The 388th at War, by Edward Huntzinger.
During the war, I had a diary in which I kept brief accounts of day-to-day
events. However, some eager lackey, who must have known that diaries were
officially forbidden, removed it from my belongings in March 1945 when he
transferred them from my bomber unit to the Army hospital where I was
convalescing. Fortunately, I could verify the dates and events that I
include in this account by means of these other sources.
Long ago, I determined to write this chronicle if I survived my
combat tour. I felt that it would be the least I could do for those who will
never grow old and can never speak for themselves. I do not pretend to speak
for them. Nevertheless, if my account is only one among many that bears
witness to the trauma and agony of politically organized human conflict, it
will have served its purpose.
The title I have chosen derives from the common thought many of us
have when we are suddenly enveloped in Big Events, such as, for example,
World War II. "Boy, if they could see me now," we think, as we imagine all
the people-family, friends, and "enemies"-who might gasp in awe and
admiration at our exploits. But ...They Never Saw Me Then. Since "they"
did not see me then, I decided to tell this story myself.
I was a young man-a boy, really, 21-22 years old-during 1943 and
1944. I was one among millions of young men fighting millions of other young
men, all of whom might have been friends if not for the circumstances of
time and place in which they happened to live. All my fellow airmen and I
knew that Hitler and his henchmen were atrocious and loathsome examples of
the human race. Yet, any U.S. soldier or airman, who thought even briefly
about his job of trying to kill and destroy "the enemy," knew that he was
not within range of damaging Hitler and other Nazi leaders. We could not
reach their personal environments or influence their decisions; our
activities were many magnitudes removed from hurting them. We could only
chip away at the peripheries of their domain and hope that our efforts would
destroy their capability to continue. To do so, we had to try and
kill our enemy counterparts with whom we had no personal quarrel at all. We
aimed our bombs at their strategic war-making industries and infrastructure,
but in the process we knew we could not avoid hitting churches, schools, and
innocent people. Many of us thought that a better way must exist. Fifty-six
years later, I still think so.
The first section of this book describes my experiences as an
aviation cadet. I began flying in August 1943, and advanced through the
three phases of the Air Corps flight instruction program-Primary, Basic,
and Advanced. I received my silver Pilot Wings in February 1944, which
meant I was in the pilot class of 44-B. Air Corps orders then assigned me to
the role of copilot on a B-17. I was placed on a crew for operational
training at Drew Field near Tampa, Florida.
