Rutherford Montgomery: A Yankee Flier over Berlin

“May we sit down, sir?” Stan asked.

“Sure.” Holt motioned to two chairs.

The boys sat down. Stan ordered coffee and O’Malley ordered pie.

“I need just a bite to get me in shape for supper,” he said when Stan glared at him as he gave his order.

“Lousy show today,” Holt grumbled. “I don’t mean the way you fellows flew it, but the way the Germans have everything figured out so neatly. We lost eleven bombers.”

“We might fool Jerry,” Stan suggested.

“How?”

“Suppose we just toted along some extra tanks of gas and cut them loose about the time the show should start. We know their tactics and pattern. We’d have a lot of fun.” Stan leaned forward.

“Can’t do that,” Holt said. “You fellows might have to get busy as soon as you hit the coast. Kicking off a tank can’t be done with an FW dropping out of a cloud on your tail.”

“Just half of us will go with extra loads. The others can cover for us. We’d sure surprise Jerry.” Stan spoke eagerly.

“Foine idea an’ one I’d have been proud to have thought up,” O’Malley broke in.

Colonel Holt began to smile. “I believe you have something there. The element of surprise and all that sort of thing. We’ll take a crack at it.”

“Elegant,” O’Malley said. “I’m speaking for extra gas.”

“You and O’Malley get extra tanks. You’re both old heads at lone wolf tactics. I’m beginning to think we have too much handling out of the control room.” He bent forward and his smile faded. “But, remember this, I’m under a general who’s a stickler for the book, so be careful.”

“We won’t let you down, sir,” Stan promised.

O’Malley just grinned wolfishly. “I got a date with that Jerry with the red beard.”

“You boys tend to the installing yourselves. Oversee it yourselves. I’ll put through an order clearing everything for you.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Stan said. “Now we’ll run along and get busy.”

“First you come with me and we’ll figure out how much tank capacity you’ll need and how many men will go along.” The colonel got to his feet.

“If you don’t mind, sir, we’d like to have you sponsor the idea. We intended to take it up with Lieutenant Sim Jones first. Wouldn’t want to be going over his head.” Stan spoke quickly.

Holt looked at him and nodded. “That’s fine of you boys. Mind if I claim the idea for the present?”

“Not in the least,” Stan answered.

“In that case you’ll hear from me later through regular channels. I see you men know your way around in this army.”

Stan and O’Malley saluted and moved off. O’Malley grinned. “Slick work, Stan,” he said. “Now we won’t get blamed for anything.”

“And we won’t get a medal, either,” Stan remarked as he matched O’Malley’s grin.

Returning to their Nissen hut the boys policed their living quarters and got things in order. The hut was such a primitive affair that little could be done to keep it in order. The round wood stove leaked ashes on the floor which was always tracked deep with mud. There was a little wash bowl and a table which O’Malley used to stack his laundry upon. The cots were GI with GI mattresses.

After they had cleaned up, the boys went over to the huge sheds where the mechanics worked over the planes. They learned from the chief mechanic that Colonel Holt’s order had come through.

“I have the boys on your ships,” the sergeant said. He did not seem to approve of the idea.

“I’ll be after lookin’ out fer me own ship,” O’Malley said and hurried away.

“You don’t seem to like the colonel’s idea,” Stan said.

“We’ve tried it before, sir,” the sergeant replied.

“What happened?”

“The boys got jumped out of cloud cover and were sitting ducks for the Jerries,” the sergeant said sourly. “Too much cloud cover and too many Jerries for that stuff.”

Stan grinned. “I’ll drop around and let you know how it works this time.”

Walking back to his ship he watched the boys working on her. He was soon satisfied that they knew just what should be done and made off. O’Malley did not show up at mess and Stan began to wonder where he had gone. He finally sauntered into the rest room where he found O’Malley shooting the breeze with a group of fliers.

“You missed a steak dinner,” Stan greeted him.

O’Malley grinned, “That’s what you think,” he said. “I had me a steak dinner with the corporal that fixed up me ship. You know that feller hadn’t had a steak for a month. He sure went for it.” O’Malley seated himself and elevated his feet to the top of the radio. In this position he promptly went to sleep.

Stan talked with the boys until time to turn in. He wakened O’Malley and they sloshed through the mud to their hut. During their absence, two other boys, replacement men, had been quartered in the hut. They greeted the two old heads eagerly.

They were Bugs Monahan and Splinters Wright, both from Toledo, Ohio. They had just finished flight combat school and were eager for action. Someone had given them the records of Stan and O’Malley. They were both eager to talk to the veterans. Splinters was a tall, thin youth with a little mustache. Bugs was short and fat with a round beaming face and a quick smile.

“We’ve heard a lot about you fellows,” Bugs said.

“Never believe anything you hear in the army,” Stan advised with a grin.

“Sure, an’ ye’ve been taken in by me auld pal Goebbels,” O’Malley added.

“I’m turning in. We’ll get a call along about four in the morning,” Stan said. “See you boys over at the rest room. That’s where we shoot the breeze.”

“See you at midnight when we get up to poke wood into that stove,” O’Malley contradicted.

“We’ll keep the fire going. We’re not sleepy,” Splinters said. They were both disappointed that the old heads did not want to go into a gabfest.

Stan and O’Malley turned in. They had learned to get as much sleep as possible. The two replacements kept the fire going as they had promised, and the boys did not waken until they were called at three-fifty the next morning. Bugs and Splinters had gotten a little sleep. They were up instantly and eager to trail along and see what was going to happen.

“Ye’ll soon learn to sleep when ye get a chance,” O’Malley said.

They sloshed across to the operations room and joined their flight. Maps were ready and Colonel Holt was standing with his fellow officers. The room was filled with a buzz of talk. Something was up and the boys knew it. Stan and O’Malley sat in the second row with Bugs and Splinters beside them. Stan turned to the boys.

“When you leave here you are not to talk to anyone about the operations planned, not even to other officers,” he warned.

“There must be something up,” Bugs said. “We’ll keep mum.”

“When we get back we’ll give you the story,” Stan promised.

Colonel Holt began speaking, and the talking stopped. “Men, we are going to try a different approach. Weather says we’ll have clear going.” His pointer moved along a red ribbon. “The bomber objective is a fighter station and a plant near Huls. Ordinarily we’d turn back just beyond Antwerp. Today we’ll have a flight along which will carry enough extra gasoline to add two-hundred-twenty miles in range. I’ll spot those ships for you and it will be the job of those carrying the regulation one-hundred-ninety gallons to protect the specials until they drop their extra tanks.”

The pilots who were to be long-range fighters grinned happily; the others looked their disappointment. The colonel went on giving the details.

“The long-range ships will deploy and go in under the leadership of Lieutenant Wilson. He will have detailed evasion orders.”