Farebrother’s hand-tooled high boots.
‘When do you think we’ll go again?’ Farebrother asked.
‘After that Gelsenkirchen foul-up I thought we’d never go again. I had a hunch we’d all be transferred to the infantry.’
‘What happened?’
MM shook his head sadly. ‘Track in to Colonel Dan leading us to the rendezvous with the Bomb Groups at Emmerich, near the Dutch frontier. We’re tasked to give them close support all the way to the target, and then back as far as Holland again. We’re all tucked in nice and tight behind Colonel Dan. It was like an air show except that the stratus is under us and no one could see anything.’
‘Not even the bombers?’
‘What bombers?’ MM waved an arm to indicate that he could see nothing. ‘I never saw any bombers.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I’ll tell you what happened—nothing happened, that’s what happened. The bombers never found the target. The little magic black boxes that are supposed to see through cloud went on the blink, and the B-17s went miles north of our route. Cut to Colonel Dan, who’s taking us round and round Gelsenkirchen—at least he insists it’s Gelsenkirchen—but all we see is cloud. Then we fly back to England in a nice tight formation, do some low passes over the field to show what split-ass aces we are, and there’s plenty of time for drinks before dinner. Jesus, what a fuck-up!’
‘The mission didn’t bomb?’
‘Oh, they bombed. They bombed, “targets of opportunity”, which is a cute name the Air Force dreamed up for shutting your eyes, toggling the bombload, gaining height, and getting the hell out.’
‘I heard the Bomb Groups were having a tough time,’ said Farebrother. ‘I saw replacements by the truckload heading for the bombers.’
‘Slow dissolve to the Bremen mission one week later,’ said MM. ‘Seems like the target-selection guys at High Wycombe have some kind of private feud with the inhabitants of Bremen.’
Farebrother nodded politely. ‘It’s accessible; it’s near the ocean,’ he said. He reached into his shirt pocket for a packet of Camels and flicked a cigarette up with his fingernail. MM watched him light it. His hands were as steady as a rock. These rich kids are all the same—maybe it’s the school they go to on the east coast. Keep it cool, never laugh, never fart, never shout, never cry. MM admired it. ‘So what happened?’ said Farebrother.
MM realized he’d been daydreaming. He was tired and hung over—he should have told Farebrother to go away and leave him alone, but he didn’t. He told him about Bremen. He told him about the one that got torn in half.
‘We found the rearmost task force miles behind their briefed timings,’ MM said, and stopped. He’d never told the others about that midair collision, not even Rube, his closest buddy. So why tell this guy? Maybe because it was easier to tell a stranger. ‘Thank God we weren’t escorting those B-24s. They call them banana boats; they say they were flying boats that leaked so bad they put wheels on them and christened them bombers.’
Farebrother smiled, but he’d heard the joke before. He could tell that MM was stalling.
‘Those ships need a lot of babying. By the time they were above the cloud cover they were skidding all over the sky. The pilots couldn’t hold formation.’
‘It’s that Davis wing,’ said Farebrother. ‘It wasn’t designed for high loading at that altitude.’
‘Sure, something like that,’ said MM. ‘It was a bad start, flying past those banana boats, and they’ve taken so many casualties over the weeks that by now the pilots are mostly replacements who’ve never flown a tough one before.’ He flicked ash into the lid that was still resting on his chest. ‘You say Bremen’s easy because it’s on the coast, what you don’t know is that the Kraut radar chain goes right along that coast. Anything coming in over the sea comes up clear on their screens. So the fighters were waiting—hundreds of them. Did we have the shit beat out of us!’ MM found that his hands were sweating and he knew his face was flushed. ‘I drank too much last night,’ he explained.
‘You engaged the enemy fighters?’
‘Hey, Jamie! Where’d you pick up that kind of talk? You training to be a general or a reporter or something? Sure, we engaged the enemy—we engaged him good and proper. Another engagement like that and our parents are going to insist we get married.’ He puffed his cigarette vigorously in silence for a moment. ‘Colonel Dan is leading Red—Red is always nominated as the troubleshooters, so Colonel Dan likes to take Red—and I’m leading the second element. We’ve passed the B-24s and found our Forts and we’re keeping real close to them just like it says in the book. But while we’re watching that we don’t get so close the trigger-happy gunners shoot us down, the Messerschmitt 110s come up on the horizon and suddenly they’re loosing off rockets.’
‘No one goes after them?’
‘By the time anyone guessed they were going to fire long-range rockets it was too late, the Krauts were away and heading for their beer ration. Then the Messerschmitt 109s come roaring through the formation—and all this time we’re still over the sea, we’re nowhere near the target—they dive down through the bombers and lift their noses for a second go at their undersides. Colonel Dan goes for them and a few of us get some shots in before they’re diving away. It’s while we’re wrestling with these babies that the withdrawal support group arrives. They’re the Thunderbolts, and those guys think anything with square wings is a Messerschmitt. So who should be surprised when the T-bolts come out of the sun and clobber two of our boys in the first pass? We lost two good pilots that day and we didn’t get one confirmed kill. Then just as we’re getting ready to form up and go home I see some lunatic Kraut come sneaking back toward the bombers. I did a wing-over and chased him, but he was going fast, really fast. I got a couple of squirts at him, but he just flies straight on, no evasive action. For a minute I think maybe the pilot is dead or out of action, then I realize what this crazy bastard is going to do. He’s picked himself one of the Forts in the low box and he just drives straight into its side.’
Farebrother said nothing.
MM dashed his hands together and held them locked. ‘I was right behind him. I saw everything. He ripped the whole side out of that bomber. I could see the guys flying her. I could see the seats and the equipment, the wiring and the bright aluminium interior. I was so close that I could have touched those guys. I saw their faces as the whole thing broke up. Shit! It wasn’t a million laughs.’ MM stubbed his cigarette hard into the tin lid and forced a smile. ‘Pour yourself a drink if you want one. Loosen up.’
‘I’m loose enough already,’ said Farebrother. The chair creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. ‘Do you know what the flying schedule is likely to be over Christmas?’
‘Hell, Jamie, you ain’t been here five minutes. Are you looking for a pass already?’
‘I have a close friend stationed near Norwich. We said we’d try to get together over Christmas.’
‘You’re not thinking of visiting a Bomb Group, are you?’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, sure. You’ll have a good time. The bomber guys love us, Little Friends they call us on the radio, right? They’ll buy you beers and sing songs around the piano. And headquarters encourages all that bullshit.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Sure, it’s swell. Me and Rube and Earl used to go across to Narrowbridge. B-17s, easy to recognize them, red diamond on the tail plane, white letter A inside it. I met this guy who knew my brother. His family had a restaurant near Phoenix, and I’m from Arizona myself. It was great talking to him about places and people we knew. He’s got his navigator there and we’re talking about home and showing each other photos of girls and mothers and kids, all that family shit, you know.’
‘I