1 was a 20-year-old B-24 pilot of a replacement crew, when I arrived with my crew at Salhouse Station at 18.55 on February 6, 1945, and reported for duty at the 467th Bomb Group at Rackheath. We had spent the night before and most of the previous day on a train from Scotland.

We had left New York about 8 or 9 days earlier on the grand old Cunarder, the Aquitania. She was the sister ship of the Lusitania, the sinking of which by German submarines precipitated America's entry into World War I. Built to carry 3,500 passengers 1st class, the ship transported 15,000 American servicemen. All were on deck as we passed the Statue of Liberty; there was not a dry eye to be seen. After 6 or 7 days of rolling, pitching and yawing, we arrived at Greenoch, Scotland, the harbor crowded with great ships.

I flew my first mission Feb. 15, 1945, to Osnabruck as co-pilot. It was standard operating procedure for a pilot to fly his first mission as co-pilot. The purpose was to learn from an experienced pilot those tasks which could only be learned under combat conditions.

The day began when I was shaken awake in the pre-dawn darkness by someone with a flashlight, followed by my stumbling around and getting dressed, then on to breakfast, the highlight of which was fresh eggs, as distinct from the powdered eggs of non-mission days.

Then on to briefing, just as in Twelve O'Clock High, with a curtain concealing the map to the target, the groans when the curtain was opened and we could see the route to the target, deep into Germany. Then followed an explanation by Col. Shower, our C.O., on the target and its importance. The Weather Officer covered his subject and the Armament Officer covered his. We hacked our watches on a count from ten seconds to zero. Then we checked out our flak jackets to wear and "extras" to cover the flight deck. We also checked out our 45 caliber Colts and our maps and escape kits. Then, finally on to the flight line where I followed the pilot as he made his walk-around inspection of his assigned plane.

Finally, it was time to climb into the plane and get ready for take off. The pilot went through his check list covering the many steps required to start the engines (#3 first because it provided hydraulic pressure needed for various controls). I watched attentively through all this and performed the co-pilot's tasks. Finally, it was time to take our place in line. We taxied out, cowl flaps open, and moved into position for take-off.

Particularly important tasks included the pilot's role in: getting his plane into line as the Group marshalls for take-off (our Commanding Officer, Col. Albert J. Shower, was emphatic: "I want our planes to take off at 30-second intervals and 1 mean 30-second intervals, not 29 or 31!”); and finding the Group during assembly, joining his Squadron in his assigned position as the Group begins to approach its position in the Wing. I watched in fascination as Col. James Mahoney flying "Little Pete," a P-47, almost literally shepherded strays into position. The bomber stream seemed to include a thousand planes.*

About three weeks later, on March 9th, our first mission as a crew was also to Osnabruck. When we broke out of the clouds at altitude, I could not find the 467th Group in the hundreds of circling planes. (I learned later this situation was not altogether rare.) However, we had a dogleg course across the Channel, so I asked my navigator to intercept the group as it turned course. He did. I thought then - and now - that my response was a good one and first rate navigation on Al Muller's part.

On our second mission, we lost an engine as we neared the Dutch coast. The engine we lost - I was to learn only many weeks later - was newly reconditioned and had only a few hours of break-in time on it. All this, I suppose, raised questions. The next day, there was a hearing or some such proceeding with all nine of us convened, at parade rest, before a panel of officers. The hearing began with fairly perfunctory questions to the tail and waist gunners, more difficult ones to the others. Finally 1I was standing alone with many more difficult questions to answer. (I embarrassed Major Fred E. Holdrege, my 790th Squadron Commander, by missing by 100 the correct RPM on take-off: 2,600 rather than 2,7(X).) I have never been under more pressure, before or since.

The following day. Col. Albert L. Wallace, gave me a check ride. I was always apprehensive about check rides, because of their "go- no-go" nature, but especially this one. Col. Wallace was relaxed, friendly and encouraging. I know his positive attitude contributed much to good flying on my part. (He passed me. I remain grateful to this day.)

There was a sequel. Sometime in April, I was Officer of the Day. Normally a fairly routine assignment, I found I had a real problem: there was the serious question whether we would have enough flyable airplanes called for by tomorrow's mission. I went over to talk with the man in charge and learned he was replacing an engine which had failed on a mission. I told him about my experience with date and name of the A/C. "Oh yes," he said, "I know. The one you lost was one of four newly-reconditioned engines we received a few days earlier. All four failed before they had 20 hours. "I felt that I had been vindicated. More important, our ground crew somehow managed to provide the required number of planes for the mission the next day!