Betrayed: Secrecy, Lies, and Consequences Page 3
But as the crew disembarked from the truck, the primary topic of discussion was what to call the plane. After some discussion, the crew decided that they would call this plane Crashwagon III regardless of the name painted on the nose. They were on their third B-17, and other than Marsilii’s bump on the head after Crashwagon II ditched in the English Channel on their first combat mission together, the crew had remained unscathed. So there was a general feeling that Crashwagon was a lucky name.
Upon arriving at the plane, the various members of the crew used different hatches to board. Lt. Shaffer climbed up through the nose hatch and received the four officers’ briefcases, gear bags, and parachutes as they were hoisted to the hatchway. Lt. Blake followed him into the hatch to stow gear and start his preflight checks inside the plane. Lt. Jackson, in company with Sgt. Marsilii, the lead flight engineer, began their walk-around inspection of the exterior of the airplane after one of the ground crew handed Mandu a copy of the maintenance log on a clipboard. Fred, the assistant flight engineer, took a second copy of the log and climbed onboard the plane through the waist hatch to do the preflight check on the interior. It was a long list, but after nine missions, the process was almost second nature. A quick scan told him that all gear, including guns and ammunition, was stowed securely, that the control cables were tight and without kinks, fire extinguishers in place, the ball turret and upper hatch locked in position, and hand cranks in place and secured.
By the time the inspection process was completed, it was roughly 0540. Jackson and Marsilli left the ground crew behind and climbed onboard through the main entrance door at the waist. Fred met them and summarized the interior inspection before Jackson and Marsilii continued forward through the bulkhead and into the radio room where Sgt. Pickrel was seated at his tiny desk. The radio logbook was stowed in a wall holder above the desk, mounted next to a clipboard containing a list of frequencies and call signs. Most of his time would be spent monitoring rather than broadcasting, as missions were ideally performed under radio silence to avoid giving the Luftwaffe a way to determine their position.
Opening the bulkhead door, the men entered in single file along a narrow catwalk. On either side of the catwalk, bombs weighing from 100 to 500 pounds were shackled to the airframe. The bombs would be part of the plane until the bombardier decided it was time to send them away.
Jackson, stepping through the forward bomb bay door, stepped down the ladder to look forward into the nose area, checking that the navigator and bombardier were in their seats. He then climbed up to the flight deck and took the left-hand seat. Lt. Blake was already seated to his right. Once Jackson was in his command seat, Mandu made himself as comfortable as possible, standing or leaning at his station in the top turret. By then it was approaching 0600, and a member of the ground crew noted on the squadron mission form that the Jackson crew was onboard and accounted for at 0605.
While Jackson and Marsilii were doing the exterior checks, and Fred was inspecting the interior, Lt. Haught had been working through the bombardier checklist. The last step was seeing that the chin and cheek guns were secure and the bands of ammunition had a free run to the guns. Those guns were their only defense against head-on attacks by Luftwaffe fighters. The nose of early iterations of the B-17 hadn’t been equipped with serious armament, and the Germans had taken full advantage of that weakness.
Behind him, Lt. Shaffer had laid out his five mission maps in stacked sequence for the run to target. He marked the route and checkpoints on the maps. He next checked the “G box” – an electronic navigation aid that could be used to triangulate their position – and thereafter, spent time reviewing the sequence of maneuvers and course lines, and inventing various scenarios for complications and solutions en route. He was being particularly meticulous about his preparations for the mission. It would be his last combat run, and he wanted it to go like clockwork.
As the time for takeoff approached, crewmen not otherwise occupied in preflight checks finished dressing. Fred, his part of the checklist completed, accessed his gear bag near the left waist gun. He clipped his oxygen mask onto the side of his leather cap. Although it would not be needed until the plane was approaching 10,000’, Fred uncoiled the attached oxygen hose and plugged it into the regulator valve for the ship’s oxygen system. The valve was in a box mounted on the hull just above the ammunition box aft of the gun station. Fred plugged in the cable from his headphones and from the microphone in his oxygen mask into the connection box for the ship’s intercom system, which was just forward of the oxygen valve. He wrapped a heavy woolen scarf, a gift from his younger sister, Liz, around his neck and tucked it into the jacket, leaving the bailout oxygen hose accessible. His electric gloves, which he snapped onto the electrical leads of the jacket liner, would hang free until the temperature dropped. He would then pull on the wool glove liners that, for the moment, he stuffed in his jacket pockets where he could reach them while the plane was climbing toward cruising altitude. He checked that the flak helmet and the flak vest were accessible near his gun station, and after pushing the empty gear bag against the hull out of the way, he stowed his parachute in the same location, using fixed tie down straps.
It was 0620. On the flight deck, Lts. Jackson and Blake were well along in their preflight check, with Blake reading from the cockpit checklist and Jackson performing the checks. At 0630 the engines were started one by one, each coughing and chuffing until the rpms rose and the vibrations smoothed out. Fred heard them start up and knew that Jackson and Blake would be monitoring the engine gauges and performing operational checks on the engines and generators. He trusted his ears as much as the gauges, and he listened closely for any abnormal sounds or vibrations. They had never flown the plane before, so its faults and idiosyncrasies were unknown. If there were any problems in the air, he and Mandu would be asked for solutions. Fortunately everything sounded good.
Jackson hit the switch to activate his microphone, and said “Pilot to crew: Report.” One by one, the men responded, giving their positions. When it was his turn, Fred called out “Left waist, loud and clear.” The brakes were then locked and the engines run up to check that the turbos engaged properly. That completed, Blake throttled back, and the plane sat idling comfortably. Fred glanced at his watch – 0645 – and looked across the left wing along the row of parked airplanes. Most of the planes in view were either running at idle or preparing to start, but the first plane of the lead formation was moving onto the perimeter runway. As it turned and taxied toward the northeast end of Runway 24, other planes began to follow, forming a long and continuous line of aircraft. Once the signal was given, the planes would be taking off every 30 seconds and climbing at a prescribed 300’ per minute at an airspeed of 150 knots.6
Fred knew that Lt. Jackson had to wait for the plane that he was to follow, and he and Sam stood, leaning on their guns as the engines rumbled and the plane jiggled and swayed. When the neighboring plane taxied toward the perimeter roadway, Fred felt the jerk as the ground crew removed the wheel chocks, and heard the pitch and throttle increase as the plane started moving forward. As an aircraft mechanic, Fred had driven planes on the ground countless times, steering by controlling the pitch and throttle of individual engines and deftly working the brakes. When the plane came to a halt, and the engines were again idling, he saw the control cables working back and forth as Jackson gave them a final check while waiting to take off.
At 0700, a green flare was fired from the control tower, and the first plane of the lead group lumbered on its way. At 0720, it was their turn at last, and Fred felt the surge of acceleration as the engines went to full military power, and they rushed down the tarmac. When flight speed was reached, the wheels left the tarmac, and Junior/Crashwagon III joined the line of planes climbing toward their assigned altitudes.
By the time the planes reached 10,000’, the air temperature was at 15°F and dropping fast. Fred had already put on his electric gloves, turned on the heater in his bunny suit, secured his oxygen m
ask, and opened the oxygen delivery valve. With the engines powered up for climbing, the sound was overwhelming — the entire fuselage was vibrating like a stereo speaker with the volume at maximum. It wasn’t a comfortable ride, especially for Fred and Sam, exposed to the frigid air blasting through the openings accommodating the barrels of their machine guns.
The line soon started to break up, and the two waist gunners braced themselves as the plane banked and maneuvered into position. Once the formation was complete, the 38 planes, officially designated Wing 4, occupied an airspace that was roughly 500 yards wide, 250 yards long, and 200 yards deep.
It took longer than usual to get into position, and Fred felt some unusual changes in direction. Looking out he could see that the jogs were needed to avoid passing formations of B-24s.7 Realizing that the delays had put them several minutes behind schedule, the lead navigator decided to alter the planned course to make up the time. When they arrived at the assembly point, Crashwagon III was at 17,000’, and at 0815, Wing 4 joined the bomber stream and headed for occupied France. As they crossed the English Channel, the High Element of the High Group, including Junior/Crashwagon III, reached an altitude of 24,000’.
Conditions onboard were pretty routine. The noise level was deafening due to the roar of the engines and the scream of the wind through various openings in the fuselage. It was, of course, bitterly cold – roughly -40°F – and the gunners had to remember that if their guns jammed, they must ignore the natural tendency to discard the bulky gloves to free the mechanism. If they did not, their hands would instantly freeze to the gun, and severe frostbite would result.8
There was little communication of any kind en route. The planes were under radio silence, all intercom traffic was mission related, and conversation was almost impossible unless two heads were close together and both shouted. So each man passed the time his own way. The officers were kept busy by assigned tasks, flying the plane, monitoring instruments, plotting the position, or reviewing target notes.
The enlisted men had less to occupy them. The radioman listened for traffic, but the other sergeants just stood, leaned, or sat by their guns, daydreaming until it was time to start scanning for enemy fighters. Fred passed the time thinking about his life back home in Brooklyn.
1 A drive shaft had shattered in the extreme cold of their cruising altitude of 21,000’.
2 Situation Normal, All F****d Up.
3 Planes in the center of the formation had the protection of the guns on all of the planes around them. Planes at the trailing edge were more vulnerable, and a plane flying “Tail End Charlie” in the High Squadron could be attacked from all sides.
4 The 94th, 385th, and 447th Bomb Groups formed the 4th Combat Bombardment Wing of the Eighth Air Force.
5 The green was useful when the major threat was from German fighters, as the silhouette got lost against the ground. When fighter activity dropped, the main threat was flak, and the bare aluminum was harder to spot against the sky. It also saved production time in the paint shed, and the unpainted planes were lighter, which saved fuel.
6 Abbreviatred kt, a knot is one nautical mile per hour; a nautical mile is roughly 6,000.’
7 The B-24s flew faster than B-17s, but they could not fly as high with a full bomb load. As a result, their formations and bomber streams were organized separately. With so many formations in the air at one time, pilots had to stay at high alert to avoid airspace conflicts.
8 They also had to remember that in combat they must fire only short bursts of a few seconds. Otherwise, despite the extreme cold, the gun barrel would melt, forming a curved banana that would quickly be torn apart by the emerging rounds.
CHAPTER 2
Reverie
FREDERIC COSMO MARTINI WAS BORN in Brooklyn, New York, on 18 October 1918. His father, Federico Martini, had emigrated to the US in 1897 and became a naturalized citizen in 1904. Federico was a contractor by trade and gradually built a solid reputation as a builder in the Coney Island area. He enthusiastically adopted the conventions of his adopted home, changing his first name to Frederic and, once he had mastered English, refusing ever to speak Italian. In 1915, at the age of 32, he married Mary Rose Ippolito, a beautiful woman 13 years his junior. Their first child, Lucille, was born in 1917. There followed Frederic a year later, Peter in 1920, and Elizabeth in 1923. They had a home large enough to house the family plus an adopted child, Raulin, and Mary Rose’s brother, Sam.
Federico was a hard man who used a heavy hand in disciplining his sons, and who left all household tasks, including raising his daughters, to Mary Rose. His business flourished, their house was lavish, they had multiple rental buildings and properties, and in general, the 1920s were boom years. And then it all fell apart.
In April 1929, Mary Rose died in childbirth, and their new son died with her. The market crash followed, and their investment properties were sold or seized one after another. Without Mary Rose, Federico was unable to cope with the family. Peter, who had cerebral palsy, was sent to an institution, and the others were shipped off to a Catholic boarding school in the Adirondacks. When they returned two years later, Lucille, at 14, became the housekeeper, maid, cook, and general manager for the family.
By the time he entered Abraham Lincoln High School, Fred was spending his free time on the street, hanging out. He had disciplinary problems at school, he got into fights, he made friends his father didn’t approve of, including Eddie Virgilio (his future brother-in-law), and in general, learned things never taught at Catholic schools.
Fred was called Frederic by his parents and his elder sister, Fred by most of his friends and acquaintances, and Freddy by his girlfriends. He wasn’t fond of his middle name (Cosmo) and used it only when use of his full name was absolutely necessary. Of course his closest friends and younger siblings knew this and teased him about it. Eddie Virgilio and Peter and Raulin Martini often called him Coz, whereas his sister Elizabeth preferred Cossie.
In 1934, Fred just couldn’t wait any longer to set out on his own, so he left school after year 11. He found the freedom exhilarating, but finding a job was more difficult than he had expected. In the end, he swallowed his pride, and he and Eddie started working for Federico’s construction business. Fred had an aptitude for mechanical work, and he soon became involved in maintaining the heavy equipment. He used his earnings to buy flashy clothes and a dead Model A Ford, whose engine he successfully rebuilt and tuned. Having been a regular visitor over the years, he was well known in the night spots of New York City. Fred was a cheerful, charming young man who tipped well, bought drinks for his pals, and dated showgirls.
But in September 1939, Federico died of a heart attack, and the business folded. Fred’s mechanical skills enabled him to find a job at a Brooklyn bakery, where he operated the wrapping machine and maintained the other equipment. By the summer of 1941, the bakery job had gotten old. He could see trouble brewing overseas and war on the horizon, and he thought he’d be better off enlisting immediately rather than waiting for a conflict to start. If he was wrong about a war starting he would only have to serve a year before being discharged. If he was right, he’d have extra seniority time, and might be able to have a better job than carrying a rifle on the front lines.
So in August 1941, Fred enlisted in the US Army. He went to basic training at Camp Upton on Long Island. As an enlistee without a college degree, he wasn’t officer material, but the army was preparing to mobilize, and they needed Quartermasters to manage the supplies. So Fred was sent to Quartermaster School at Fort Lee, Virginia. When the war started, Fred was sent to Dayton, Ohio, where he went through evasion and escape training as a corporal.9
He enjoyed Dayton and its clubs and bars, although it was hardly Brooklyn. But spending the war as a supply clerk held little appeal for him. It sounded awfully dull, and the Army Air Corps, created in 1941, sounded a lot more exciting. So Fred decided to volunteer for air service. When asked why he would do such a crazy thing, leaving a cushy desk job to climb onto
a flying target, he had a standard reply: “I heard the food was terrific.” He also liked the uniforms, especially the leather jackets. That reasoning made sense to everyone who knew him, for Fred was always hungry, and he was always well dressed. Even after a day tearing down machinery, he would leave home for a night on the town with clean hands and nails, and sharply pressed pants.
When his transfer was approved, Fred began his training with a six-week stint at the Aerial Gunnery School at Tyndall Field, Florida. Already rated Expert Marksman, he adapted quickly to compensating for relative motion, and his mechanical skills became apparent as he serviced the guns. His talents were noted, and upon graduation from gunnery school, Fred was ordered to report to Airplane Mechanics School at Keesler Field in Mississippi. He spent the next three months learning to service B-17s and B-24s. After receiving his mechanics certification in the summer of 1943, he was sent to Will Rodgers Field, Oklahoma, for flight training. He was a staff sergeant when, after several months and multiple training flights in both types of airplanes, he was assigned to Drew Field in Tampa, Florida.
Drew Field was one of the regional sites where flight crews bound for the ETO were assembled and trained to work together as a unit. It was there that he met Loren Jackson and the other men who would be part of his aircrew. Fred had a great time in Florida. His sister Betty, who had also enlisted, was undergoing advanced training at a Coast Guard facility in Palm Beach, and Fred could visit her (and hundreds of other young women cloistered on the base) whenever he got leave. Betty, whose nickname was “Liz,” was rooming with her friends Anastasia Murphy, called “Murph” or “Sheila,” and Betty Hover, who was usually called “Boop” (after the cartoon character Betty Boop). Fred was polite to his sister’s friends, and he had a passing flirtation with Sheila, but there were many other girls to chase and, as he put it, “You don’t fish too close to the dock.”