Free The Bomber Boys by Travis L. Ayres

his own airplane, Cuffman could see mile after mile of B-17s yet to make their bomb runs.
    Down in the ball turret, Bill Goetz had sat in the choice seat to watch the nightmarish show. He had seen flak bursts everywhere among the Fortresses. Some had been so close that he could “see the cherry,” the red center of a flak explosion. He had not seen the blast that sent a metal fragment slamming into his ball turret. He had, however, felt its impact and the sound of hissing icy wind had let him know his ball turret now had a hole in it.
    In the cockpit, Jerry Chart could feel not only the missing power of his third engine but also the drag on his aircraft resulting from the large hole next to the top turret. As time wore on, he could see other B-17s in the bomber lanes above his airplane, some returning from Berlin and still more bomber groups heading toward the German capital. He wondered if any of the American fighter planes patrolling those lanes could see his lone B-17 flying far below.
    Keeping sight of the 366th proved impossible. The pilot of the squadron’s lead aircraft had wished Chart and his crew “good luck,” when their condition had been reported. There was nothing else he could do for them. The men of Chart’s crew
knew the fighting strength of the Luftwaffe was being weakened with each Allied bomber raid, but even one or two stray German fighters could spell disaster to a wounded B-17.
    Nobody had forgotten that less than three weeks before, enemy fighters had brought down Jordan’s bomber, and the 305th had lost four bombers to German fighters as recently as New Year’s Day. Every man on Chart’s crew was on fighting edge as they found themselves alone in a vast chunk of enemy sky.
     
     
     
    Once Tony had the coordinates for Sweden, he rechecked them quickly and then, confident they were correct, he turned his attention to reworking the coordinates for the route back to the Chelveston base. A crucial factor of navigation had changed after the number three engine had been lost. The bomber’s airspeed was slower now, so all of Tony’s calculations would have to be adjusted to provide a reliable course and estimated arrival time for a flight back to England.
    The young navigator knew his pilot was waiting for the new information, and he had to fight the impulse to hurry the work. A navigation mistake under their current circumstances could prove deadly for everyone on board. Soon Tony was scrambling up the ladder that led to the cockpit.
    Jerry Chart listened as his navigator gave him the headings, first for the neutral country and then for Chelveston. George Wisniewski jotted down the coordinates on his notepad as Chart continued to mull over his decision—England or Sweden. Tony felt the bomber commander would have to decide soon or even a run to Sweden would be in doubt. Chart ran it over in his mind.
    The aircraft was performing okay on just three engines, although it continued to gradually lose altitude. He believed they could stay high enough to reach England, if the fuel held out.
The fuel transfer had gone well but it would be close. The five bombs lodged in the bay were not part of the equation, since they were an added danger no matter where he landed.
    The fact that he and his crew were on their own concerned him, but they had not yet spotted a single enemy fighter. Carl Robinson, peering out of his top turret, interrupted the pilot’s thoughts.
    “We’ve got company! Two aircraft approaching!” the flight engineer shouted.
    Robinson tracked the two black specks that were approaching from above the B-17. Christenson’s waist gun was also angled upward to cover the unidentified planes. Cuffman, in the tail, had also spotted the airplanes, but they were too high for his tail guns to cover. They looked like fighter planes to him. Enemy or Friendly?
    It was the fighters’ movements that first gave them away, before anyone on board the bomber could identify their silhouettes. The two