NBC's Russert on his dad's life

When they arrived in England, the great majority of these men had never before set foot outside the United States, although a few, like Dad, had been to Canada. They were given a publication from the War Department that reminded them, among other things, that they were guests of Great Britain, and that England and America were allies. It sounds obvious today, but if you lived in South Buffalo in the 1940s, it was a reminder worth hearing. “If you come from an Irish-American family,” the men were told, “you may think of the English as persecutors of the Irish, or you may think of them as an enemy Redcoat who fought against us in the American Revolution and the War of 1812.” If that’s what you think, they were told, think again; this wasn’t the time to bring up old grievances. The pamphlet went on to explain that the British were more restrained and private than Americans, and that it would be a mistake to interpret their reserve as hostility. “Don’t be a show-off,” the visitors were told. They were also advised to keep in mind that Britain had been at war since 1939, and that the Americans had come from a country where food was still plentiful and the lights were still burning.

The men of the 446th were part of the Eighth Air Force, whose mission was to fly over Germany and bomb a variety of industrial and military targets. Every morning, weather permitting—and often in bad weather, too, including snowstorms—planes from each base took off for missions over Germany. When they lined up on the runway, taking off at thirty-second intervals, the entire base shook. The men used to say that when the Eighth Air Force took off, so much weight went into the air that all of England rose six inches. After the bombers crossed the channel, their targets included ports, bridges, chemical plants, U-boat installations, aircraft factories, oil refineries, and virtually every other part of the Nazi war effort. Casualties were very high: the 446th lost fifty-eight planes in combat and another twenty-eight in other mishaps. Often, the men came back and reported that the flak was so thick you could walk on it. Returning planes were often full of holes and carried men who had been injured during the mission. When they landed after a bombing run, everyone on board was offered a shot of whiskey. Even takeoffs were dangerous: the B-24s were so heavy with bombs and fuel that the slightest mistake could cause a crash and kill the entire crew.

Parachutes were inspected after every mission and repacked whenever it was necessary. Because they were made of silk, they were susceptible to damage from mold and fungus. They could also be damaged on board, where they might be exposed to fuel or hydraulic oil. As a parachute rigger, Dad was responsible for inspecting and repacking the chutes, and for fitting the harness to the crewman. This had to be done carefully, because a badly fitting harness could cause real pain in a man’s nether regions.

Each of the ten men on a B-24 was given a parachute shortly before takeo?, and they had all heard the old joke, “If it doesn’t work, bring it back and we’ll give you a new one.” In fact, the parachutes did work; the tragedy was that many men never got to use them. If your plane was hit, it could be hard, or even impossible, to get out. If the plane started falling, the crew would be pushed to the ceiling. Pilots did their best to keep the aircraft steady enough so the men could jump, but if your plane had lost a wing, you were done for.

If you jumped, almost anything could happen. When your parachute opened, you might drift gently down to earth. You could also pass out from the lack of oxygen. You could come down hard into a tree, or you could hit the ground with so much force that you were knocked unconscious. On your way down, you could be shot at by soldiers or civilians on the ground. Or you might be using a parachute that, for some reason, failed to open. If your plane was hit, your immediate survival depended on men like Dad, who had packed your chute. Your life was in their hands.

If and when you landed safely behind enemy lines, your ?rst task was to gather up your parachute and hide it. Your second task was to avoid being captured. Along with a parachute, each member of the ten-man flight crew was issued a first-aid kit that was supposed to contain morphine and Benzedrine (but often didn’t), along with maps, foreign currency, a compass, and a “Mae West”—an inflatable life jacket worn around the neck. Some men who used their parachutes were rescued. Others became prisoners of war. Still others were killed by farmers or townspeople as soon as they landed.

When you talk to the men who flew in these planes, or you read about the harsh and freezing conditions they endured, even on missions that returned safely, it’s easy to understand why a mechanic, a cook, a driver, an ordnance man or a parachute rigger might be reluctant to talk about his experiences. “In my job I wasn’t in danger,” Dad told me. “German bombers would fly over, but they didn’t bomb our base when I was there.” For a while, a lone German plane flew over the base every night to bomb the runway; the men called its pilot Bedcheck Charlie, but he wasn’t considered much of a threat. When they went into London, however, Dad and his friends saw buzz bombs—jet-propelled armaments that the Germans sent over the Channel in swarms. They made a buzzing noise until, at a predetermined time, the engine shut off and the bomb fell to earth.

MORE FROM BOOKS

Books Section Front

Seduced by madness Enemies in your home Fantasy obsession in the Internet age Uncover more passionate, meaningful sex Spiritual lessons after her greatest nightmare The mystery of 'The Jesus Papers' Cancer at 23 Wallace: Between you and me Wilson: Politics of truth, politics of war 'Schoolgirl murder' Books Section Front   Add Books headlines to your news reader: