balance.
“You’re flying again today.” The sergeant’s voice was quiet, but it cut the darkness of the navigators’ barracks like a honed knife. It was the morning after the Reims raid, and Chart and his crew had drawn the second leg of back-to-back missions. The target of the day was Pforzheim, Germany, on board B-17 number 571. Although the mission went well, with the crew watching their bombs burst right in the center of Pforzheim’s marshaling yards, it was still a difficult trip for everyone. First of all, it was extremely cold. Bill Goetz suffered the worst of any of them. There was no heat in the ball turret. In addition to the cold, at nine hours and twenty-five minutes, the run to Pforzheim was the longest mission Chart’s crew had ever flown.
January 28 marked the crew’s tenth mission to Germany and their third raid over dreaded Cologne. Flak over the city was no less severe than the first two times, but flying B-17 number 015 again, Jerry Chart brought them home with only one hole in the radio room. The bomber was patched up and ready to go on a mission to Koblenz the very next day. Tony figured the Fortress was in better shape than most of her crewmen. Luckily, the flak was light, and both 015 and the crew returned unscathed.
That evening Tony lay in his bunk fully clothed, covered with two blankets, and still he could not get warm. To take his mind off the chill in the barracks, he began to review the past couple of months since his arrival at Chelveston. Eleven missions completed and twenty-four to go. After what he had seen in the skies over Germany, twenty-four more missions seemed unattainable. During the first ten missions, the various B-17s his crew had been aboard had been hit by flak on five of the missions. Only the grace of God, pure luck and Jerry Chart had prevented their destruction.
The crew itself was the upside of the situation. They had
come together like brothers in a crisis, looking out for one another whether they were in combat or on liberty. They had made it through eleven missions together, why not twenty-four more? As his exhaustion began to usher him into sleep, Tony thought, Right now, I’ll settle for making it through one more mission.
In late January of 1945, while the men of the Eighth Air Force in Europe lived from mission to mission, their leaders were busy planning an attack that might bring the staggering German government to its knees. Berlin was not only the capital of Germany, it was also the very core of her military organization. The war could not be ended without the fall of Berlin, and accordingly the American bombers had been striking the city since the first week of March 1944. Britain’s RAF had been pounding the German capital long before that.
Finally the American high command felt it had the resources to hit the center of Berlin with an armada of such enormous size and destructive power, if it did not end the war outright, it would certainly shorten it considerably. On the morning of Saturday, February 3, Tony Teta sat with his friends, Skipper, Snuffy, Baldy, Big Swede, Hermit and the rest, as a briefing officer gave the airmen of the 305th Bomb Group the details of a new mission to Berlin.
Over one thousand Fortresses would take part. The American bombers would be escorted by more than nine hundred P-51 Mustangs and P-47 Thunderbolts. The target was the center of Berlin—more specifically Gestapo headquarters, the Reich Chancellery, the German Air Ministry and any other government or military building. Just as important as targets were thousands of German soldiers, who were being reorganized or were passing through Berlin—so the rail system needed to be knocked out.
The bomber crews could expect heavy flak, the briefing officer
continued. “And the Luftwaffe,” which had been keeping a low profile during recent raids, could be expected to be “up in force” to protect Berlin. Four hundred more American B-24 Liberators would
“You’re flying again today.” The sergeant’s voice was quiet, but it cut the darkness of the navigators’ barracks like a honed knife. It was the morning after the Reims raid, and Chart and his crew had drawn the second leg of back-to-back missions. The target of the day was Pforzheim, Germany, on board B-17 number 571. Although the mission went well, with the crew watching their bombs burst right in the center of Pforzheim’s marshaling yards, it was still a difficult trip for everyone. First of all, it was extremely cold. Bill Goetz suffered the worst of any of them. There was no heat in the ball turret. In addition to the cold, at nine hours and twenty-five minutes, the run to Pforzheim was the longest mission Chart’s crew had ever flown.
January 28 marked the crew’s tenth mission to Germany and their third raid over dreaded Cologne. Flak over the city was no less severe than the first two times, but flying B-17 number 015 again, Jerry Chart brought them home with only one hole in the radio room. The bomber was patched up and ready to go on a mission to Koblenz the very next day. Tony figured the Fortress was in better shape than most of her crewmen. Luckily, the flak was light, and both 015 and the crew returned unscathed.
That evening Tony lay in his bunk fully clothed, covered with two blankets, and still he could not get warm. To take his mind off the chill in the barracks, he began to review the past couple of months since his arrival at Chelveston. Eleven missions completed and twenty-four to go. After what he had seen in the skies over Germany, twenty-four more missions seemed unattainable. During the first ten missions, the various B-17s his crew had been aboard had been hit by flak on five of the missions. Only the grace of God, pure luck and Jerry Chart had prevented their destruction.
The crew itself was the upside of the situation. They had
come together like brothers in a crisis, looking out for one another whether they were in combat or on liberty. They had made it through eleven missions together, why not twenty-four more? As his exhaustion began to usher him into sleep, Tony thought, Right now, I’ll settle for making it through one more mission.
In late January of 1945, while the men of the Eighth Air Force in Europe lived from mission to mission, their leaders were busy planning an attack that might bring the staggering German government to its knees. Berlin was not only the capital of Germany, it was also the very core of her military organization. The war could not be ended without the fall of Berlin, and accordingly the American bombers had been striking the city since the first week of March 1944. Britain’s RAF had been pounding the German capital long before that.
Finally the American high command felt it had the resources to hit the center of Berlin with an armada of such enormous size and destructive power, if it did not end the war outright, it would certainly shorten it considerably. On the morning of Saturday, February 3, Tony Teta sat with his friends, Skipper, Snuffy, Baldy, Big Swede, Hermit and the rest, as a briefing officer gave the airmen of the 305th Bomb Group the details of a new mission to Berlin.
Over one thousand Fortresses would take part. The American bombers would be escorted by more than nine hundred P-51 Mustangs and P-47 Thunderbolts. The target was the center of Berlin—more specifically Gestapo headquarters, the Reich Chancellery, the German Air Ministry and any other government or military building. Just as important as targets were thousands of German soldiers, who were being reorganized or were passing through Berlin—so the rail system needed to be knocked out.
The bomber crews could expect heavy flak, the briefing officer
continued. “And the Luftwaffe,” which had been keeping a low profile during recent raids, could be expected to be “up in force” to protect Berlin. Four hundred more American B-24 Liberators would
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