Caution

“There they are, like a lumbering herd!” Major Seeliger calls out across the radio. “Happy hunting boys!”

Our 18 twin-engine BF-110s of Destroyer Wing 1 streak toward the British Wellington bombers from out of the sun; each of us with a target already selected. I’m heading directly toward the vulnerable side of my intended victim, the third bomber from the front of the line.

How foolish they were not to put guns on the beams of their planes!

We were quickly briefed before taking off this morning about attacking from the beam, rather than aft or stern. Four days ago, another fighter unit had success against this type of bomber by attacking perpendicular to the plane. They could shoot off the wings easily because the Wellington’s front and rear turret cannot turn far enough to protect its vulnerable mid-section. That unit found out Wellington wing fuel tanks are highly flammable because they are not self-sealing.

Ground anti-aircraft fire is dying away as the loose formation makes its way out of Wilhelmshaven. Already attacked by another fighter unit before coming over the port city, the bombers are beginning to string out into small groups rather than tightly packed in mutually protecting units.

You’re not getting back to England like that!

I didn’t see them drop any bombs while over the port.

Why didn’t they bomb the ships in port? They could not have sent so many planes just to do reconnaissance, could they?

Approaching my target at over 450 KM an hour, I line up so my nose is directly perpendicular with his left wing.

What beautiful alignment! This is going to be a cinch.

My thumb pushes down on the red cannon firing button, unleashing two 20 mm cannons. At the same time, I squeeze the firing button for the four 7.92 mm machine-guns with my right pointer finger. Streaks of flames burst forth from the nose of my plane in unison with my projectiles slamming into the vulnerable wings of the Wellington growing ever larger in my line of sight.

She’s beginning to burn! How beautiful!

Pulling out of the attack, I can see the lattice-framed bomber beginning to break apart.

As I climb away from the falling beast, my fighter crosses the path of machine-gun fire from one of the leading bombers in the group.

Shit, don’t you hit anything I need!

My left engine starts to spit.

Come on, I just got started here!

Choking on its own fuel, a small flame develops on my left wing.

How’s that for karma?

I look longingly at the other Wellingtons under attack, and yet to be attacked.

Not this time, I’m afraid.

Pulling at the handles on the canopy, I open the cockpit to the outside.

“I’ll miss you girl” I declare as I yank myself up and out of the burning plane.

How did I lose so much altitude so quickly?

The sea is right before me, too close to get out, let alone open my chute.

I wasn’t ready!

This war just started!

*****

British Wellington Bombers 1939

On December 18, 1939, in what is called the Battle of the Heligoland Bight, the British sent 22 bombers without fighter protection on a daylight raid in perfectly clear weather against German naval forces near the base of Wilhelmshaven. Despite finding one battleship, one heavy cruiser, one light cruiser, and five destroyers, the Wellingtons took photographs after only dropping six bombs far away. They did not drop bombs on the ships because the warships were tied up to docks where there might be civilian workers. Britain, France, and Germany had all pledged to avoid civilian casualties based on a call by President Roosevelt avoiding civilian living quarters, merchant shipping, or land. The orders for the mission were clear: “attack enemy warships in the Schillig Roads or Wilhelmshaven. Great care is to be taken that no bombs fall on shore, and no merchant ships are to be attacked. Formations shall not loiter in the target area.”

Early in the war, and with such clear orders, the bombers took pictures of the ships and headed back toward their bases in England just as they were jumped by German fighters. The British lost 15 bombers in the mission, without sinking a single German ship. The Germans lost two fighters, one of which was piloted by Lieutenant Roman Stiegler, who crashed into the sea in pursuit of one of the British bombers. Stiegler was killed.

This short, yet bloody, engagement had a profound impact on both warring nations. All sides abandoned the pledge to only target military objectives with bombers. The British immediately ceased daylight bombing raids, installed side guns on Wellington bombers, and put in self-sealing fuel tanks so the planes were not so easy to catch fire. The Germans were proud of how many bombers they shot down and came away from the battle believing their radar detection and command and control system for aerial defense was sufficient, leading to an overconfidence which would hurt them later in the war when massive allied bomber fleets would inflict terrible losses on Germany proper.

Icy

British Invasion of Iceland 1940

Word came down early this morning an observation plane flew over Reykjavik for more than an hour. At 03:40, a fellow policeman spotted a small fleet of ships off the harbor, but could not tell what nationality they were.

Following the news of the invasion and capitulation of Denmark, as well as the sudden invasion and occupation of Norway by the Germans, we’re naturally a little on edge about a foreign fleet of ships showing up off of our coast. Finar Arnalds, our acting Chief of Police, went out to see for himself. Realizing the ships were British, he contacted the Foreign Ministry to inform them our neutrality was about to be violated and headed out with our party to meet the ships as they docked.

Finar asked to speak with the captain of the first British ship, a destroyer, but was refused.

He then called the Prime Minister, who ordered him not to interfere with the British troops and to try to prevent conflicts between them and Icelanders.

Now they are pulling up to the quays, preparing to unload troops. A small crowd has assembled to see the British land. The British consul, who clearly received notice of the invasion, is waiting with his associates to assist the troops as they arrive. He walks up to Fris, our Commander.

"Would you mind ... getting the crowd to stand back a bit, so that the soldiers can get off the destroyer?" he asks.

"Certainly," comes Fris’ reply.

We’re here to keep the peace.

As the first British troops begin their descent from their ship, the crowd becomes agitated, calling out names and yelling at them to go home.

“Calm those folks down!” Fris orders our small contingent.

I’m not calm. My home is being invaded by a foreign army.

We spread out, attempting to talk the people away from yelling at the British.

“Sir, please remain calm. We will inform them they are violating our neutrality.” I offer in the most calming voice that I can muster to a man impatiently holding a cigarette in his shaking hands.

“They’re no better than the Germans, invading us like this! How is this different from Oslo? I’ll tell you how, at least there, the Norwegians resisted!”

He’s right, at least in Oslo the Norwegians put up a fight, sinking several German ships.

“Yes, but the Norwegians have a military. Sir, we have 70 policemen in the whole of Reykjavík. What would you have us do?” I reply, hoping the facts of the matter will settle him.

What can we do? They have hundreds of men pouring out of these ships. We couldn’t stop them even if we wanted to.

The rest of the crowd seems to be calming down, but this man has burned through one cigarette and is already on another. Simply burning through, rather than smoking them, as he barely brings the lit sticks to his mouth in between raves.

“I tell you, this is the end of our freedom! We’ll be at war, occupied by a foreign power. This is the end of our independence!” he barks, barely taking a break to breathe between snippets of anger.

How long will they be here? Will the Germans invade now that the British have? How will we feed them?

A less than impressive line of British soldiers begins walking up the street in front of the crowd. Wrinkled uniforms, sickly looking men, and an odd assortment of hand-held weapons combine to create the impression of a retreating, rather than invading army.

They look awful.

As I’m gazing at the motley bunch of British soldiers, the agitated man slips past me, heading directly for one of the meeker looking men in British uniform.

What’s he going to do?

Running after him, I cannot catch him in time.

He grabs hold of the poor soldier’s weapon.

No, don’t cause a problem, please!

“Take your hands from that man’s gun!” I say softly as I come up behind him, taking his arm.

Without noticing me, he stuffs a cigarette in the barrel of the gun, and then throws it back to the shocked soldier.

“Be careful with this!” the man yells at the stunned British boy soldier.

I pull him away as a British officer starts yelling at the poor soldier.

May that be the worst thing that happens today.

The man, clearly satisfied with his actions, turns and walks away.

I turn back to watch the motley army invade my homeland.

A British soldier smiles at me.

I smile back.

On May 10, 1940, a quickly assembled, poorly trained, and under-equipped British force of 746 Marines from the 2nd Royal Marine Battalion conducted Operation Fork, the invasion of neutral Iceland by landing in Reykjavik. On the heels of the German invasions of Denmark and Norway, the British felt they could not lose access to the North Atlantic and had to act quickly, despite Iceland’s declared neutrality in the war. The British ordered a reserve unit of untrained men (the only men currently available) into immediate action. (The 2nd Battalion only received orders to prepare for deployment on May 3.) The only resistance met was one man, who grabbed a soldier’s weapon, stubbed his cigarette out in its barrel, and then left the scene.

That evening, the Icelandic government formally issued a statement noting their neutrality had been “flagrantly violated” and “its independence infringed.” Iceland wanted no part in the war and intended for both warring parties to stay away from its territory. The British government attempted to put lipstick on the pig by promising payment for any damage, favorable trade agreements, non-interference in domestic affairs, and a promise that troops would be withdrawn at the end of the war. The Icelandic authorities decided it was best to cooperate but formally maintain a neutral standing. Prime Minister Hermann Jónasson made a radio address to his people that night, telling them not to interfere with the British troops. They were to treat them as guests.

To put this invasion in context, on the same day, Germany invaded France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands, and Winston Churchill became the Prime Minister of Britain.

One week later, 4,000 British Army troops relieved the initial invasion force. This force was subsequently augmented by Canadian and other Commonwealth troops up to 25,000. The following year, the British troops were replaced by American troops (America was not yet in the war). The Americans stayed for the rest of the war and beyond. Iceland became a member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization and hosted American and other NATO troops throughout the Cold War. American forces officially withdrew in 2006, although NATO allies regularly deploy aircraft in Iceland, and the country is a key participant in NATO’s integrated air defense system.

Bus Ride

Turning my underpowered bus on this Kansas red dirt road, I see the next set of passengers waiting to board.

A mix of folks stand at the stop, awaiting my arrival in the dry, rust-colored summer dust.

I glide the bus to a stop, gently opening the door just as the wheels cease their rotation.

Another masterly stop.

Uniformed soldiers and made-up ladies ascend the staircase as they smile at me.

I don’t want to smile. I want to drive.

They walk past me, filling in the rows behind my seat.

Reminds me of driving back in Memphis, ’cept for the roads here ain’t as good.

A Negro officer and lady take seats in the second row, in front of white soldiers and ladies.

“Son, you’ll have to move back,” I announce to the boy, figuring the woman will move with him.

He looks at me, jaw dropping.

What, ain’t no one ever talked to you like that, nigger?

“You looking at me boy?” I say.

He don’t stop lookin’.

“I am not moving. You see this uniform? You see this bar? You know what they mean? They mean I’m in the United States Army, and I’m an officer at that. You have no right to tell me to move from this seat,” the boy replies.

Back home I’d haul off and slap that boy. Here, well, there’s other ways to deal with the uppity.

“Have it your way, son,” I reply, turning back around to finish the route.

I look back in the mirror at the Negro and his female companion, sitting in the second row.

Ain’t you comfy boy?

A few more stops, we get to the end of the line. I stop the bus in another smooth glide home, parking it right in front of the base hospital.

Before the passengers have a chance to get off, I leave my seat, walk out the just-opened doors, and head over to the nearest Military Police Officer.

“Sir,” I say. “I just suffered insubordination of a young soldier on my bus. Please deal with him accordingly,” as I point to the Negro who was so proud of his little bar.

I’ll show you yet, you uppity boy.

The MP walks with purpose toward the chatting Negro, apprehending him while pushing the woman to the side.

“You talking back, boy?” the MP says as he cuffs the Negro.

“What are you doing? I’ve done nothing wrong,” the boy protests.

“That’s not what I heard, boy. You’re coming with me,” the MP says as he yanks against the cuffs, pulling the Negro soldier with him.

Ain’t no Negro talkin’ back to me.

*****

Jack Roosevelt Robinson became the first African-American to play in Major League Baseball (MLB) in the modern era, but this was not the first time Robinson broke a color line.

In 1942, Robinson was drafted and assigned to a segregated Army cavalry unit in Fort Riley, Kansas. Having the requisite qualifications, Robinson and several other black soldiers applied for admission to an Officer Candidate School (OCS). Although the Army’s initial July 1941 guidelines for OCS had been drafted as race neutral, few black applicants were admitted into OCS until after subsequent directives by Army leadership. As a result, the applications of Robinson and his colleagues were delayed for several months. After protests by heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis (then stationed at Fort Riley) and the help of Truman Gibson (then an assistant civilian aide to the Secretary of War), the men were accepted into OCS. The experience led to a personal friendship between Robinson and Louis. Upon finishing OCS, Robinson was commissioned as a second lieutenant in January 1943.

Lt. Robinson was an officer with the 761st Tank Battalion. This unit of African-American soldiers - later dubbed The Black Panthers (and Patton’s Panthers) - became famous when they fought for 183 straight days in Europe (including at the Battle of the Bulge). Their motto was Come Out Fighting.

If an eventful bus ride had not sidetracked Jack Robinson during the summer of 1944, the 2nd Lieutenant could have been with his men when they shipped out to Europe and fought in Belgium later that year.  Instead, he faced charges of insubordination, resulting in a court-martial.

On July 6, 1944, Robinson was awaiting results of hospital tests on the ankle he had injured in junior college. He boarded an Army bus with a fellow officer’s wife. Although the Army had commissioned its own unsegregated bus line, the bus driver ordered Robinson to move to the back of the bus. Robinson refused.

The driver backed down, but after reaching the end of the line, summoned the military police, who took Robinson into custody. When Robinson later confronted the investigating duty officer about racist questioning by the officer and his assistant, the officer recommended Robinson be court-martialed. After Robinson's commander in the 761st, Paul L. Bates, refused to authorize the legal action, Robinson was summarily transferred to the 758th Battalion—where the commander quickly consented to charge Robinson with multiple offenses, including, among other charges, public drunkenness, even though Robinson did not drink.

By the time of the court-martial in August 1944, the charges against Robinson had been reduced to two counts of insubordination during questioning. Robinson was acquitted by an all-white panel of
 nine officers.