When Heroes Flew by H W Buzz Bernard

Author:H W Buzz Bernard [Bernard, H W Buzz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951249977
Publisher: Severn River Publishing
Published: 2020-04-27T22:00:00+00:00

14

Benghazi, Libya

August 1, 1943

Oregon Grinder’s ground crew, wrapping up loading bombs, greeted Al and his crew with waves and shouts as the airmen, and one airwoman, approached the plane. The chugging purr of the aircraft’s putt-putt, the auxiliary power unit used to generate electricity for the ground workers, filled the air, joining a chorus of dozens of others around the base.

The maintenance chief, a veteran master sergeant, stepped forward. “Good to see ya, Pops. We heard you guys might not make it, that Sorey was back in the infirmary.”

“We got things worked out, found a replacement, a new guy, Lieutenant Smith.” Al inclined his head toward Vivian.

The chief nodded a greeting to the “new guy.”

Vivian nodded back, staying in the shadows, away from the brightness cast by the floodlights being used by the ground crew. With her utility cap pulled low over her forehead, almost down to her eyebrows, her femininity remained hidden.

“Whatta we got for a weapons load, Chief?” Al asked, steering the sergeant’s attention to other matters.

The chief, working bare-chested in the pre-dawn warmth, wiped the sweat from his torso with a tattered, oily-looking rag. “Three general purpose five-hundred-pounders on forty-five-second delay fuses, two GP thousand-pounders on a one-hour delay, and two boxes of British incendiaries. Should do some damage.”

“Let’s hope.” Al turned to his crew. “Okay, mount up, guys. I’ll do the walk-around.”

George and Kenny wriggled up through the nose-wheel well of the aircraft into their respective positions, navigator and bombardier, in the front of Oregon Grinder. The remainder of the crew entered through the open bomb doors. From there they scrambled onto a narrow, corrugated steel catwalk and moved to their assigned locations.

Al performed his walk-around, literally kicking the tires and making cursory checks for gasoline and hydraulic fluid leaks.

“Looks like we’re good to go, Chief,” he said after he finished his inspection. “Thanks to you and your men for taking care of the old girl.”

“Yes, sir, Pops. Please bring her back in one piece. Same goes for you and your guys.”

“Do my best.”

“I know you will. Godspeed, Captain.” The sergeant popped off a crisp salute.

Al returned it. He crawled into the bomb bay of Oregon Grinder, sidled forward on the catwalk, then up a tall step onto the flight engineer’s deck, followed by a shorter step up into the cockpit. Vivian, wearing a Mae West and a parachute harness, sat in the right-hand seat with the preflight checklist already open on her lap.

Al sat in the pilot’s seat. He took a good look at Vivian, trying to discern if she evidenced any kind of jitteriness that might invalidate his decision to carry her into combat as a B-24 copilot.

She looked back at him, holding him in a steady gaze. Other than appearing a bit paler than she had earlier, she exuded a professional confidence that put him at ease.

“Scared?” he asked.

“Of course. Who wouldn’t be?”

“No one in his right mind . . . or her right mind.”

She smiled. “I’ll be scared ’til we get back to Benghazi.

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