Stand Before the Deluge

The people of Israel are understandably afraid and seeking justice.

The people of Palestine are understandably afraid and seeking justice.

Fear and injustice have led to decades of violence.

What has that solved?

How will more violence solve the same problem?

Who will pay for this violence?

I can only answer the final question here:

CIVILIANS

It’s the innocent, on either side of the border, who pay the highest price for the actions of the armed.

It’s the goal of Hamas to entice Israel to use overwhelming force, murdering countless Palestinian civilians to stoke hatred of Israel. Israel is walking into that same set-up again, building up its forces in preparation for a massive retaliation for this dastardly Hamas attack on civilians.

At what point can any leader stand-up and say “No more!”

What leader is strong enough to say, “they want us to respond with violence, instead we are going to respond with solutions. We are going to work this problem out, giving some along with finding the solution with which we can all live.“

That is leadership.

Simply responding with ever escalating levels of violence only breeds more violence, more fear, more suffering.

The context of this, and all conflicts, breeds the conflict itself.

Don’t keep feeding that context with more justifications for violence.

Break the cycle of violence.

Break the siege on civilians.

Break free from the history in order to write it yourself.

Be the leader your people need you to be.

Stand up and proclaim “Even though we were attacked, we are going to take the high road, we are going to seek peace, and we are not going to perpetuate this costly, unnecessary, and in-humane cycle of violence.”

That is how to be a leader.

Who’s up for it?

Mission

They look beautiful, don’t they?” I mumble under my breath.

Polzin, the navigator, front gunner, and bombardier, looks up at me from his seat in the front of the plane.

I pretend not to notice, as my head almost bumps against the glass cockpit window.

Half the flight is there, tapered back from our port wing. Three DB-3Fs and two SB-2s lumber in formation on that side, while on the starboard side another five bombers keep in a rough V formation. We’re making our way toward Osovets, just under sixty kilometers from our heavily damaged airfield.

How many of us will make it back today? Will we have enough fuel left for a second mission?

The eleven of us, all that remains of twenty bombers and the same number of fighters from our recently attacked base, are carrying out one-fourth of the mission we were assigned. Clearly, as if presented on a movie theatre screen of my cornea, I can see the orders as they were typed, just as I did when I read them the first time more than a half hour ago:

Bomb German positions in Osovets, Visna, Belsk, and Kleshchelye.

How can they expect us to bomb four cities with eleven lumbering bombers and no functional fighters?

“Keep a sharp eye out for Nazis!” I yell over the radio.

A sharp eye won’t stop them from tearing us apart, but we may take one or two down with us as we go.

Polzin turns away from his gun to talk toward me. “I saw we have a new gunner aboard.”

“Yes, he’ll be useful to cover the ventral hatch.” I reply, hoping to end the conversation there.

“Can never have too many gunners, I say!” Polzin offers with a yell so loud Gorostayev, our turret gunner, and the new kid can hear.

Smiling, I turn so I may see Goro in his turret. He’s not there.

He must be working with the kid to show him how to use the machine gun in the ventral hatch.

“Finish the lesson and get your eyes out!” I yell back to them in as friendly, yet commanding, tone as I can muster with an unseen smile on my face.

The kid did not have to volunteer to come with us.

Goro calls back “Yes, Comrade!” I look back toward his turret, where he’s taking up his position; he's smiling.

“We’re nearing Osovets,” Polzin blurts out over the comms.

YES, we’re actually making it to our target. Where are the Germans?

“We should be two minutes from the town,” Polzin declares.

We’ll have to pick out a target to bomb. Maybe we can find a German convoy or storage depot.

“Pol, any sign of a target?” I ask, hoping for a quick answer that will allow me to rapidly target, thereby reducing the chance the Germans will catch us before we’re able to do some damage.

“Line of vehicles 30 degrees starboard” he says, almost as I finish asking.

“Planes 4 o’clock!” Goro yells out.

Damn, let us at least get a few bombs off first!

Rapidly banking the bomber, I change our heading so we’re in line with the vehicles. The other pilots should follow me in on their own.

Machine gun fire erupts from behind me.

At least one kill, that’s all I ask!

Focusing on the vehicles, I yell, “Try to hit the lead!” hoping that Polzin heard me.

AAAACCCCCKKKK, AAAACCCCKKKKK, AAAAACCCCKKKK thunders behind me.

Suddenly the plane feels lighter, more responsive to my controls.

“Bombs away!” Polzin yells.

I bank up and to the left, hoping to give the kid a chance to fire at a German. As I do so, a Messerschmidt streaks across my line of sight, the gray and white cross of the Luftwaffe behind a black silhouette clearly visible on his green-bean-colored wings.

“There are hundreds of them!” the kid yells.

I hope you get to kill one before we’re done!

Craning my head to look back at the convoy, I can see a flame rising from where our bombs must have hit. Other flames, probably from the bombs of the other planes, begin to rise like spires of fiery duty above the small wood buildings making up Osovets.

ZZSSCCHHWWWIITTTTZZZZ

Metal begins ripping away from our starboard engine; small chunks of debris flying off in every direction as shell after shell begin finding their way into our right wing.

Here it is.

I swivel my head so that I can see across the horizon and above me.

There are only three others left.

We may not conduct another mission.

“I got one!” the kid yells. “Urrra!”

“Bragging ain’t gonna win the war, kid” Goro replies, probably figuring he pumped at least as many rounds into that Nazi as the kid did.

I’ll keep us up here for as long as I can, maybe distracting a few Germans from following what remains of our flight back to the base.

“Keep bagging’ em!” Polzin yells while manning his front mounted machine gun.

The starboard engine is flaming.

How much longer can I keep her airborne?

YYYAAAAAZZZZPPPHHHHHKKKKK

Blood explodes across the front of the plane, inundating my lower body.

Shells slam against the now shattering glass of the cockpit.

“KEEP FIRING! KEEP FIRING!” I scream.

Round after round careen across the cockpit as machine gun bursts echo from the rear of the plane.

Keep firing, Goro. Keep firing, Kid!

*****

 


Ilyushin DB-3F

http://mig3.sovietwarplanes.com/colors/1940-1941/1940-41.html

Tupolev SB-2

http://www.lasecondaguerramondiale.org/aerei/aviazione-sovietica/497-tupolev-sb-2.html

This may sound familiar, as it’s related to the previous story (Orders).

The crews of the slow Soviet Ilyushin and Tupolev bombers stoically and honorably flew from their bases without the expectation of returning alive. None of the planes made it back from this mission. Luftwaffe Field marshal Albert Kesselring was quoted later as saying that shooting down the Soviet planes was as easy as infanticide. Within twenty-four hours, the Soviets had lost more than 2,000 of their front-line aircraft, including all their bombers. Kopets, at this point without an air force to command, committed suicide rather than face Stalin. The Germans lost 35 planes.

Payback

Plexiglas separates my bent frame from the receding coastline below as we head north into the Babuyan Channel toward the Luzon Straits.

I hope we find some Japs!

Scanning the horizon ahead takes my mind off the reason for this mission, but not for long.

Payback!

My eyes dart from west to east, searching for ships heading south toward the Philippines. For all eight of us, payback can’t be pushed out of our heads by any activity, especially one as mundane as searching the horizon.

Despite having the best view in the plane, I can’t see beyond the cloud cover on this overcast December day.

Payback for the attack going on at Clark Field right now that forced us to scramble into the sky only partially loaded, Payback for Pearl Harbor, payback for starting this damn war!

“Smoke at 11 o’clock,” Bean yells on the communication system.

Damn, I wanted to be the one to spot it! How’d I miss the smoke?

I swing my head back toward the west again, seeing a small dark plume rising from the water.

“Adjusting our heading to target it,” Captain Kelly informs the crew.

We’re out for blood!

Theirs, and probably ours, as we’re also out here alone: A solo mission to bomb any target of opportunity we happen to find.

Just two days after the surprise at Clark Field caught most of our bombers and fighters on the ground, we’re on a bombing mission to slow down the expected Japanese invasion of the Philippines.

“That’s a big one!” hollers Robbins, the co-pilot.

Eying the smoke stack, I can discern an outline of a large ship steaming south as part of a group of vessels.

They can only be Japs. We don’t have anything that big out here!

“Targeting the big one, got that Levin?” Cap informs me.

YES!

“Roger Captain, targeting the big one,” I reply.

Our distance should be about seven miles, give or take.

I’ve had the Norden bombsight’s gyros running since shortly after takeoff. The computer is all warmed up. Clutching in the stabilizer, my right hand grips both the turn and drift knobs, rotating them to change the heading of the plane toward the ship.

“Adjusting heading, Levin. Take it easy on that computer!” Cap calls out.

What does he expect? This is our first combat mission, and he wants me to take it easy!

“Yes, Cap,” I reply.

Engaging the telescope motor clutch, I lower my right eye to the bombsights eyepiece, using my right hand to adjust the angle so the ship shows up in the cross-hairs of the scope.

Steady.

Too much angle and I overshoot the ship.

Must rotate the stabilizers back.

Clutching the vertical stabilizers, I uncage the gyros, allowing the site to track the ship.

Drifting left, away from the target.

Correcting for the drift, I double grip the turn and drift knobs again, gently nudging them forward.

Yes, on target now, but coming in fast. Oh wait, the bomb-bay doors.

With my right hand, I flip the bay doors switch, exposing our three 600-pound bombs to the world below.

Slowly turning the rate motor switch, I reduce the rate at which the plane is approaching the target.

Alright, the cross-hairs are steady on the target.

I level up by turning the leveling knob with my left hand so the scope is aligned and both bubbles are centered.

My reference is vertical, yes!

Eye back to the eyepiece, the target has drifted away from the cross-hairs. Right hand on the vertical stabilizers, I correct with the drift knobs one more time, flipping the automatic release lever.

No more corrections now, let’s see what this computer can do!

“Computer’s got the target, Cap!” I report.

“Going steady then,” Cap Kelly retorts.

The moments tick by as our aircraft approaches the sky above the large ship. At 22,000 feet, I can’t make out much on the ship itself, but it’s a big one, that’s for sure!

Staring down at it, I wonder:

Do they even know we’re up here?

After a pause between thoughts, the plane rises with the wind to the east, catching more air because of reduced weight.

“Bombs Away!” I call out, excitedly.

“Turning off auto-pilot,” I follow, in a less enthusiastic manner.

I kinda miss controlling the plane.

My eyes stay on the large ship below. Small bursts of fire erupt from guns on its deck.

They’ve spotted us and are firing back.

A large explosion erupts at the stern of the ship sending a plume of flame skyward.

“YES! A HIT!” I scream into the coms.

“Great job Levin, but hold off on the hollering will ya!” Robbins, the co-pilot, requests.

“Let’s get this bird home,” Cap suggests.

“Splash one Jap Battleship!” Halkyard bellows from the waist-guns.

“One less battlewagon for you Japs! Ha!” Money calls out.

Captain Kelly turns our B-17 so we’re heading back toward Luzon and Clark Field.

Payback feels good!

*****


 

December 10, 1941 a lone U.S. Army Air Corps B-17 bomber out of Clark Field in the Philippines successfully targeted a large Japanese ship north of Luzon, initially believed to be the battleship Haruna. The ship burst into flames while the crew of the bomber turned to head back to its base. Captain Kelly reported a major sinking. This news was a huge boost of sorely needed good news just days after the attack on Pearl Harbor and the destruction of most Air Corps planes in the Philippines the next morning. For the sake of truth, there were no battleships in the area that day, and the plane slightly damaged the Japanese cruiser Natori when the ship was hit with a single 600-pound bomb.

Time Life Books The Rising Sun, 1977, page 91.

http://img834.imageshack.us/img834/9351/boeingb17cflyingfortres.jpg - graphic of early model B-17 (likely in Philippines)

http://www.stelzriede.com/ms/photos/b17d.jpg - great pic of early model B-17