Free Five Days That Shocked the World: Eyewitness Accounts from Europe at the End of World War II by Nicholas Best Page A
Authors: Nicholas Best
when they first arrived to worry about Pound, whoever he might be. Failing to make any impression, he had been sent away again, left to his own devices to do as he pleased. Pound was pretty sure, though, that that would not be the end of the matter. Either the Americans or the partisans would come for him, sooner or later. They surely had his name on a list somewhere.
Until they came, however, he could only sit and wait. He kept busy by translating Chinese philosophy from the Book of Mencius . He knew that he risked being shot for treason, but he was convinced that the American sense of justice would never allow that to happen. All he had ever done was exercise his right to free speech on the radio, ranting against the Jews on the day of Pearl Harbor, claiming that they had President Roosevelt in their pocket. The Americans surely wouldn’t execute him for anything as stupid as that.
* * *
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF ITALY, the U.S. Air Force’s 488th Squadron had just arrived in Rimini, its new posting on the Adriatic. Until mid-April, the bombers had been at Alesan in Corsica, their base for repeated operations against German-occupied France and Italy. The squadron had spent most of 1944 in Corsica, taking heavy casualties as the war intensified on the mainland. So many aircrew had been lost that the number of missions they had to fly to qualify for rotation back to the United States had been raised again and again, from twenty-five initially to eighty by the end. No matter how many sorties they flew, it seemed to the airmen that the bar was always raised just before they reached it. There was invariably a catch of some kind to prevent them from going home.
Lieutenant Joseph Heller had joined the squadron as a bombardier in May 1944. For the rest of that year he and his friend Francis Yohannon had flown repeated sorties against the enemy, risking their lives in broad daylight as the flak came up at them over the target. The Germans had long since run out of fighter aircraft, but they had a bad habit of sending up a single plane to fly alongside the Americans and radio their exact height and speed back to the antiaircraft batteries below. The flak that burst around the 488th’s B25 bombers was often far too close for comfort.
Heller was inclined to take the antiaircraft fire personally. He knew the Germans weren’t aiming at him in particular, but that meant little when the end remained the same: “They were trying to kill me, and I wanted to go home. That they were trying to kill all of us each time we went up was no consolation. They were trying to kill me .” 14
Heller’s worst moment had come on his thirty-seventh mission, a more than usually dangerous raid over Avignon, in the south of France. From his position in the bombardier’s compartment he had seen a plane in front hit by flak, bursting into flames and losing a wing as it fell out of the sky with no possibility of any parachutes. His own aircraft had then gone into a seemingly terminal dive of its own as the pilot panicked. After the aircraft leveled out, Heller had crawled back to help the top gunner, whose thigh had been shattered by flak. Swallowing his nausea, Heller had poured sulfanilamide into the gaping hole before covering it with a sterile compress. He had administered a shot of morphine in addition, after the gunner complained of the pain. The man had survived, but Heller had never forgotten the horror of that mission. He had remained terrified of flying ever since.
Yet that was all in the past now. Magically, unbelievably, Heller had completed his tour of duty in December 1944. He had filled his quota of sixty combat missions just before it rose to seventy and had qualified for an immediate return to the United States. Heller had spent the days until his departure in a tent with a couple of newcomers, one of whom had brought a typewriter on which Heller had practiced his writing skills while he waited. He was thinking of becoming a
Until they came, however, he could only sit and wait. He kept busy by translating Chinese philosophy from the Book of Mencius . He knew that he risked being shot for treason, but he was convinced that the American sense of justice would never allow that to happen. All he had ever done was exercise his right to free speech on the radio, ranting against the Jews on the day of Pearl Harbor, claiming that they had President Roosevelt in their pocket. The Americans surely wouldn’t execute him for anything as stupid as that.
* * *
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF ITALY, the U.S. Air Force’s 488th Squadron had just arrived in Rimini, its new posting on the Adriatic. Until mid-April, the bombers had been at Alesan in Corsica, their base for repeated operations against German-occupied France and Italy. The squadron had spent most of 1944 in Corsica, taking heavy casualties as the war intensified on the mainland. So many aircrew had been lost that the number of missions they had to fly to qualify for rotation back to the United States had been raised again and again, from twenty-five initially to eighty by the end. No matter how many sorties they flew, it seemed to the airmen that the bar was always raised just before they reached it. There was invariably a catch of some kind to prevent them from going home.
Lieutenant Joseph Heller had joined the squadron as a bombardier in May 1944. For the rest of that year he and his friend Francis Yohannon had flown repeated sorties against the enemy, risking their lives in broad daylight as the flak came up at them over the target. The Germans had long since run out of fighter aircraft, but they had a bad habit of sending up a single plane to fly alongside the Americans and radio their exact height and speed back to the antiaircraft batteries below. The flak that burst around the 488th’s B25 bombers was often far too close for comfort.
Heller was inclined to take the antiaircraft fire personally. He knew the Germans weren’t aiming at him in particular, but that meant little when the end remained the same: “They were trying to kill me, and I wanted to go home. That they were trying to kill all of us each time we went up was no consolation. They were trying to kill me .” 14
Heller’s worst moment had come on his thirty-seventh mission, a more than usually dangerous raid over Avignon, in the south of France. From his position in the bombardier’s compartment he had seen a plane in front hit by flak, bursting into flames and losing a wing as it fell out of the sky with no possibility of any parachutes. His own aircraft had then gone into a seemingly terminal dive of its own as the pilot panicked. After the aircraft leveled out, Heller had crawled back to help the top gunner, whose thigh had been shattered by flak. Swallowing his nausea, Heller had poured sulfanilamide into the gaping hole before covering it with a sterile compress. He had administered a shot of morphine in addition, after the gunner complained of the pain. The man had survived, but Heller had never forgotten the horror of that mission. He had remained terrified of flying ever since.
Yet that was all in the past now. Magically, unbelievably, Heller had completed his tour of duty in December 1944. He had filled his quota of sixty combat missions just before it rose to seventy and had qualified for an immediate return to the United States. Heller had spent the days until his departure in a tent with a couple of newcomers, one of whom had brought a typewriter on which Heller had practiced his writing skills while he waited. He was thinking of becoming a
Similar Books
Scorpio Invasion
Alan Burt Akers
The Key To the Kingdom
Jeff Dixon
A Year of You
A. D. Roland
Throb
Olivia R. Burton
Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1)
Elizabeth Alix
Northwest Angle
William Kent Krueger
What an Earl Wants
Kasey Michaels
The Red Door Inn
Liz Johnson
Keep Me Safe
Duka Dakarai
