Bomber Read Online Free Page B

movie, Harry thought.
    Harry’s high-altitude suit was a curious affair too. Over his vest and underpants he pulled on a heavy one-piece suit made of blue woollen fabric lined with heated wires. On top of that came heavy canvas trousers and shirt and a sheepskin-lined leather flying jacket.
    He didn’t like the idea of having that electricity right next to his underwear.
    ‘You’ll be grateful for it,’ said Curtis Stearley, the co-pilot, who was standing by Harry in the equipment store. ‘I had to do one or two high-altitude flights in training and it’s pretty unpleasant that high up. Nothing like the trip we did over the Atlantic. And you’ll be in that little ball, barely able to move to keep yourself from freezing. Look after that suit, Harry. It’ll be a lifesaver.’
    Not for the first time, Harry regretted the duty he had been assigned. He was the Macey May ’s ball turret gunner. His own physiognomy had decided his fate. There was no volunteering. At five foot six, he was the shortest in the crew, and the ball turret needed a small man to squeeze in and operate it.
    To begin with, Harry had been fascinated by his revolving Sperry turret with two powerful Browning machine guns, slung under the belly of the B-17, just behind the wings. But then he got his hands on the instruction manual and realised what a nightmare it was. Just climbing into the turret could kill him. If he didn’t do it right, the turret might turn on its finely balanced rocker and snap him in half against the side of the aircraft. What made it evenmore difficult was that you only got into the turret once the plane had taken off, and you had to get out of it before you landed. He didn’t like the idea of lowering himself in with ten thousand feet between him and the ground, and the aircraft shaking and jolting about.
    The turret was as cramped as expected, especially in a heavy flying suit. But once you were in it, and had mastered the complex controls, there was no denying it was an amazing piece of machinery. You could swivel round 360 degrees at the push of a lever, and the whole thing rocked from 0 degrees level with the belly to 90 degrees straight down with equal ease. Early on in training, back in Nebraska, some of the gunners had dropped out, claiming being in the turret made them so nauseous they could not cope. But Harry had discovered he was unaffected by all that swivelling and dipping throughout the whole field of fire. Operating the gun excited him, despite its danger and discomfort.
    What he couldn’t shake off though was the thought of how awkward it would be to get out of that little ball if the B-17 was going down. There was no space for a parachute in there. And he could imagine how difficult it would be to get out when everyone else was abandoning the plane.
    By ten o’ clock that morning the crew had all clambered into their heavy flying gear and were ready to go. Holberg gathered them round, underneath the nose.
    ‘You need to be on full alert throughout this flight,’ he told them sternly. ‘Sometimes German fighters pounce on bombers on training missions. They think we’ll be easymeat. Combat rookies. So let’s prove ‘em wrong. You’ve all done your drills; you’re all good shots.’
    Then he softened. ‘And I definitely don’t want your folks getting a telegram telling them we were shot down over Cheshire or the Irish Sea.’
    Like a football team before a game, before embarking they gathered together in a group hug.
    ‘OK,’ said Holberg, ‘let’s go,’ and the crew dispersed to their various entry hatches.
    ‘You could go hunting at the North Pole in this,’ said John, as the rear gunners clambered into the narrow door just in front of the tail.
    Dalinsky smiled. ‘I’d feel a lot safer with a Browning than a harpoon.’
    It was cumbersome moving around, but once the Macey May had taken off and Harry had clambered into his turret and plugged in his heated suit, he began to feel quite snug.