Above and Beyond:

By Cheryl Pula

Above and beyond is the seventh book in the series.
"As always, Cheryl has created a masterpiece. Her new book, as the rest of the series, is riveting. The characters are so alive you feel as if you are having a conversation face-to-face. She is by far one of my favorite authors of all time. I anticipate each book in the series with baited breath and much hope for the continued survival of my favorite characters. This series is a phenomenon on par with Harry Potter. I loved it!" Jennifer King, New York.
"Another riveting installment in the saga of these amazing young men--their loyalty to their mission and to each other is an inspiring lesson for us all." SSG (Ret) Adrien M Synnott, ARNG.
“Another great book from our local (New York) author Cheryl Pula. Book # 7 (Above and Beyond) is packed with drama and action. You feel like you are right in the cockpit of the B-17 Flying Fortress along with the crew on a mission from England to Germany and returning to home base.” Joe Shay-Captain World Airways, Sherrill, New York.
Because each book in the series ends with a cliffhanger, we recommend you purchase the entire series at one time so you can "binge read" and enjoy the series from start to finish. Which of our heroes will survive the war? Read the full series to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl Pula
• Release date: May 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310758935

Cheryl Pula

Biography: A native of New York Mills, New York, Cheryl Pula is a retired Reference Librarian with a B.A. degree in Russian Language and a minor in German. Though officially retired in August 2011, she now works part-time at the New York Mills Public Library in New York Mills, NY. Cheryl also does extensive speaking engagements throughout New York and is available to speak at your next event. For more information, e-mail [e-mail] or visit her website at http://www.8thmilitary.com. She has taught courses on unsolved historical mysteries; the American Civil War; World War II; The Titanic and several other topics. A founding member of the New York Mills Historical Society. She is also the founder, current secretary and newsletter editor of the General Daniel Butterfield Civil War Round Table in New York Mills. She is an honorary member of the Memphis Belle Memorial Association of Memphis, Tennessee. Cheryl is also a charter member of the Writer’s Club of Bridgeport, New York. She is known around central New York for presenting a number of historical lectures (90 to be exact!) on topics from the Titanic to the first moon landing in July 1969. Cheryl was elected “Historian of the Year” by the Oneida County Historian’s Association in 2006. In 2010, she was listed in Who’s Who In America. She is also the author of the series of novels about Eighth Air Force B-17 bomber crews in World War II England. The first book in the series is, The Children’s Crusade, published by Whitehall Publishing. This is the seventh in the series. She has also compiled a series of books that bring together some of the most compelling and interesting mysteries in our history. The series is called, It’s A Mystery with the first and second volumes already published and more to follow. Cheryl is also a national speaker. To learn more about Cheryl Pula or to schedule her to speak at your next event, we invite you to visit her website at: http://8thmilitary.comTo arrange to have Cheryl at your next event as a Keynote Speaker, e-mail [e-mail] or visit her website at: http://www.8thmilitary.com.

Book preview

Above and Beyond

The Eighth Air Force Series,

Book 7

Written By:

Cheryl Pula

Above and Beyond

Cheryl Pula

Copyright Cheryl Pula 2015

Published by Whitehall Publishing at Smashwords

http://www.8thmilitary.com

For More Information Contact:

Whitehall Publishing

P.O. Box 548

Yellville, Arkansas 72687

http://www.whitehallpubilshing.com

mailto:[e-mail]

Cheryl Pula

http://www.8thmilitary.com

mailto:[e-mail]

Cover Design:

Ascender Graphix

http://www.ascendergraphix.com

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REVIEWS

"As always, Cheryl has created a masterpiece. Her new book, as the rest of the series, is riveting. The characters are so alive you feel as if you are having a conversation face-to-face. She is by far one of my favorite authors of all time.

I anticipate each book in the series with baited breath and much hope for the continued survival of my favorite characters. This series is a phenomenon on par with Harry Potter. I loved it!" Jennifer King, New York.

Another riveting installment in the saga of these amazing young men--their loyalty to their mission and to each other is an inspiring lesson for us all. SSG (Ret) Adrien M Synnott, ARNG.

Another great book from our local (New York) author Cheryl Pula. Book # 7 (Above and Beyond) is packed with drama and action. You feel like you are right in the cockpit of the B-17 Flying Fortress along with the crew on a mission from England to Germany and returning to home base. Joe Shay-Captain World Airways, Sherrill, New York.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Thursday, 2 November 1944

Merseburg, Germany

Friday, 10 November 1944

Thursday, 16 November 1944

Approaching Eschweiler, Germany

Saturday, 18 November 1944

Repair Hangar

Wednesday, 22 November 1944

Thanksgiving Eve

Thursday, 23 November 1944

Thanksgiving Day

Saturday, 9 December 1944

Eighth Air Force Headquarters

Sunday, 10 December 1944

The Mess Hall

Monday, 11 December 1944

The Infirmary

Friday, 15 December 1944

The Rec Hall

Saturday, 16 December 1944

0900 Hours (9:00 AM)

Sunday, 17 December 1944

Niagara Falls, New York

Wednesday, 20 December 1944

Metzger’s Restaurant

Monday, 25 December 1944

Christmas Day

Monday, 1 January 1945

New Year’s Day

Monday, 8 January 1945

The Plot

Friday, 12 January 1945

The Plot

Monday, 15 January 1945

Briefing and Interrogation Hut

Cheryl Pula

Other Books by Cheryl Pula

Dedication

To Henry McCann,

World War II bombardier

and my favorite physics and chemistry teacher

"Courage is the art of being the only one

who knows you’re scared to death."

Earl Wilson

Acknowledgements

We would like to give a special thank you to the following individuals

and organizations who graciously provided photographs

and their support for this book:

Chris Henry, EAA.org (Experimental Aircraft Association) 91st BGMA

Michael Weber, member www.EAA.org

John Gilbert

(Michael Faley) Courtesy of 100th Bomb Group

Foundation, www.100thbg.com

Jayson R. Brown, www.ILoveWW2Warbirds.com

[e-mail], Richmond, Virginia

Erik Garces, http://gspweddings.com

Thanks to the Sally B team, and to all the young Americans who gave

their lives, with thanks from a grateful Brit. Jon Radcliff

Introduction

Above and Beyond is the seventh book in

The Eighth Air Force series.

All events in this series are based on actual occurrences

experienced by people I personally interviewed

while conducting my research.

It was my privilege to spend time with these

Veterans and my honor to share their stories in

this fictional work.

On November 2, 1944, the 91st Bombardment Group (Heavy), based at Bassingbourn, England, was on a bombing mission to the I.G. Farben factory near Merseburg, Germany. The operation fell apart from the very beginning when the 91st arrived at the rendezvous point exactly on time, only to find the remainder of the strike force had already left. Assured in the pre-flight briefing that they would encounter little resistance from enemy aircraft, the commander decided to continue. With only minimal fighter escort, the 91st proceeded to the target, isolated from the main force, encountering unexpected swarms of German fighters and murderous anti-aircraft fire. The 91st was led by the Group’s Air Exec Major Jack Harrington, piloting a B-17 bomber named Full House. Only a few moments before the beginning of the bomb run, an unbelievable sequence of events began to unfold aboard Second Chance, the B-17 flying to starboard of Full House. Second Chance was piloted by Captain Matt Moore, Jack’s best friend. The day prior to the mission, Matt’s bombardier, First Lieutenant Logan Hayworth was acting strangely, seeming detached, irritable, his hands shaking. Matt asked what was wrong, but Logan assured him everything was fine. It wasn’t. Once into the thick of the antiaircraft fire, Logan’s mind snapped under the pressure of the lethal flak attack. He opened the bomb bay doors miles before the beginning of the bomb run. Second Chance’s navigator, First Lieutenant Tom Vandenburg, saw Logan about to drop his bombs on a civilian area, and attempted to stop him. Logan pulled his .45 sidearm, shot the navigator then immediately dropped his bombs. Logan shot Tom again, then proceeded to the flight deck, where he wounded T/Sergeant Jim Mallory, the top turret gunner/flight engineer. The radio operator, T/ Sergeant Chuck Novak, called Full House to report the shocking events. On Full House, Jack knew they could do nothing to alleviate the situation, as his own bombardier, First Lieutenant Jesse Nowakowski just committed to the bomb run and was now in total command of Full House. They had to keep going. On Second Chance, Logan went to the cockpit, put the .45 to the back of Matt’s head and demanded the pilot fly them out of the horrendous flak. Matt could not comply, as the 91st was just beginning the bomb run. Matt had to think fast, and told Logan they could not leave formation until the other planes completed the run. Logan believed the excuse, though it was apparent he wouldn’t for long. Matt had to come up with something to forestall Logan from using the weapon again. Ultimately, Matt knew if he did not do as Logan demanded, he would surely die and if that happened, there was a good chance the entire crew would perish with him.

Thursday, 2 November 1944

Merseburg, Germany

1040 Hours (10:40 AM)

Aboard Full House, T/Sergeant Keith McNeil, the Flight Engineer/top turret gunner was staring at Second Chance fifty feet to starboard and fifty feet higher and behind, trying to discern something, anything, to inform him of what was happening aboard the other plane. He couldn’t see much. There was no one in the top turret or the nose, at least not that he could detect. One thing he could just make out was Matt in the cockpit. He could vaguely see someone, probably Logan, standing behind Matt’s chair, and it looked as though his arm was extended, like he was holding a gun on the pilot.

Jack, I think I see Logan behind Matt, McNeil reported. There’s nobody in the nose or the top turret.

In the pilot’s seat of the cockpit, Jack was having a difficult time listening to the reports about the status of the other plane, keeping abreast of the bomb run and wondering if any of them would survive the run at all. At this point, he wasn’t even in command of his aircraft. His bombardier, Jesse Nowakowski was now in control, the unquestioned commander of the B-17 until the bomb run terminated. Jack was controlling the throttles, doing the best he could to keep the bomber at a constant speed, though it wasn’t easy with the thick anti-aircraft fire. Jack desperately wanted to know what was happening aboard the other bomber, but he knew where his attention needed to be focused, what his priority had to be.

Jesse, status, Jack requested.

Five minutes to target. Everything’s go, Jesse reported, peering through the Norden bombsight at his bombardier’s position in the transparent Plexiglas nose.

Jack, we lost two more, the tail gunner, S/Sergeant Joe Angelino called urgently.

Copy, the pilot acknowledged, trying not to betray any emotion.

Jesus, two more, Captain Brian O’Rourke thought helplessly, sitting in the copilot’s seat. Seven of the 91st’s planes had been shot down on this mission so far, seventy crewmen gone, and they hadn’t even reached the target yet.

Fifty feet to starboard on Second Chance, Logan watched out of the windshield. How much longer?

Matt was trying to think of how to stall the longest without raising Logan’s suspicions that he was doing so. At that moment, he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life, even the year before when he was critically wounded and thought he’d die. He was forcibly holding himself in control, desperately attempting to retain his outward composure, hoping he didn’t appear as terrified on the outside as he felt on the inside. Matt peered out of the windshield. Judging by the look of things ahead, through the black smoke puffs from the flak, it was still five or six minutes to the real bomb drop, then another few, maybe three to five to allow the planes to leave the target, so he had to stall for at least ten minutes.

They haven’t cleared yet… Matt began, hoping his voice sounded normal, not as nervous as he felt.

They must have by now, Logan said belligerently.

They’re a little strung out. It’ll take longer for them to clear. If we turn too soon, they won’t be far enough away from the target area. If that happens and we leave them behind, your run won’t be a success, Matt said, hoping like hell that he sounded convincing, like he was telling the truth.

Logan thought about that. It sounded logical to him. He did have a good bombing record, and he wasn’t about to let some slow pokes screw it up for him. Okay. But as soon as they’re clear, we’re getting out of here.

No argument there, Matt agreed, attempting to act as normal and nonchalant as possible.

In the copilot’s seat, First Lieutenant Morgan Chandler was sweating even with the intense, freezing temperature in the cockpit. He didn’t dare move for fear of provoking some sort of lethal reaction from the bombardier. The guy already shot two people, and obviously wouldn’t hesitate to shoot someone else. Logan threatened Matt if he didn’t follow instructions. Morgan couldn’t believe how calm Matt sounded, how normal. He had a .45 to his head at the same time that he was flying a plane through the most horrendous flak Morgan had ever seen, yet Matt seemed as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Matt had a thirty-day leave in July, and during his absence, Morgan was Second Chance’s commander, as he was normally the B-17’s copilot and XO, or Executive Officer. But he hadn’t faced a situation even remotely similar to this. He seriously doubted anyone had. If he needed any proof of what a good a pilot, what a good commander Matt was, he was seeing it now. Matt’s conversation with Logan was pretty normal, his demeanor natural, as though nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary. Morgan thought if he was the one with the gun to his head, he wouldn’t be so in control.

Matt tried to remain calm, even with the feel of the cold, hard .45 barrel pressed against his head. Automatically, the words he spoke to his wife when he left Denver at the end of his leave flashed unbidden into his head.

Evy…I promise you…I will come home. I’m not going to die.

As soon as that crossed his mind, Matt thought about their unborn baby.

Only the day before, he received a letter from his wife, informing him she was pregnant with their first child. If Matt didn’t do exactly what Logan ordered, if he made one false step, he wouldn’t live to see their child. He was only twenty-three years old, and wanted to live very badly, to see his as yet unborn baby, to be a father. Even as he thought that, Matt realized, very vividly, that his fate was no longer in his own hands.

The time crawled by interminably, minutes felt like hours, Matt and Morgan silently counting the seconds until the bomb drop. It seemed as though it would never come, everything moving in slow motion. Matt fervently wished he could speed up time. Though it only lasted a few minutes, the air crews often said the bomb run was the longest part of any mission, and now it was proving true.

Logan continued to press the barrel of the .45 firmly against the back of Matt’s head. With obvious irritation, he demanded, How much longer?

Just a few more minutes, Matt assured him.

That’s too long. Head home now! Logan ordered.

We can’t… Matt began.

Without even a hesitation, Logan pulled the trigger, the sound of the shot cracking through the cockpit.

The entire crew of Second Chance heard the single shot and were paralyzed by the shock, the knowledge that someone in the cockpit just died.

It happened so quickly, Matt and Morgan didn’t have a chance to react.

Just a microsecond before pulling the trigger, Logan pointed the gun to the right and slightly down. The bullet ripped through the thick layers of flight clothes and grazed Morgan’s upper left thigh, plowing a ragged furrow through the flesh. The velocity of the bullet carried it all the way through and out of the copilot’s left leg, then it slammed into Morgan’s right thigh, into the muscle about halfway between the knee and hip. It barely missed the bones and major arteries, a through and through wound. The bullet exited his leg, and tore into the port side of the cockpit, leaving a hole bordered with Morgan’s blood. The searing pain shot through the copilot. Morgan inadvertently cried out and grabbed his right leg. Though both legs had been hit, the right was the worst. Normally, he would also have doubled over in pain, but he couldn’t, as he was held up in a sitting position by his shoulder harness.

Morgan…!! Matt yelled.

Aboard Full House, T/Sergeant Greg Cerminaro made a move to leave his position at the radio to go to the bomb bay. When the bombardier hit the release switch, Cerminaro had to be there in case any of the bombs were hung up and didn’t drop. If they didn’t, he had to kick them out. He was just getting up when he heard Novak’s stunned voice over his headphones.

"Oh Jesus, oh my God," Novak whispered in the radio compartment.

Chuck, what’s wrong? Over, Cerminaro asked, even though he knew he had to leave within the next few seconds. That conclusion was reinforced by the next voice he heard over his headphones.

Thirty seconds to target, Jesse reported.

Copy, Jack said.

Greg, Novak began in utter disbelief, He shot Morgan….

Since the two planes were on C Channel, the entire crew of Full House could hear the conversation. They’d heard the shot, immediately followed by Matt calling his copilot’s name. They could also hear the tone of Novak’s voice, and realized he was barely able to speak, his voice still mirroring his shock.

Logan pressed the .45 to the back of Matt’s head again. "Now you know I’m serious. No more bullshit. The next bullet will be through your head. Now head home!"

Without even a second’s hesitation, Matt repeated, "We can’t…"

Logan pressed the gun even harder against his skull. "Now!"

"If we break formation, the Germans will get us. If we stay with the Group, they can protect us. We can’t get home on our own," Matt emphasized, all the while expecting his life to end at any second.

Logan thought about that. Even in his mental state, he saw the logic in what the pilot said. All right. But as soon as they’re clear, we leave.

Morgan, Matt began.

Don’t talk to him, Logan said.

He’s our copilot. I need to know how he is, Matt said.

I said, no talking… the bombardier repeated, the threat clearly evident in his voice.

I’m okay…okay, Morgan breathed painfully, taking a tremendous chance that Logan wouldn’t shoot him again for simply talking to his pilot. Morgan’s voice was muffled slightly by his oxygen mask, but he was wearing his throat mike, so Matt heard him clearly.

Matt had serious doubts about Morgan’s status. He didn’t sound good at all. He’d been shot in both legs at point blank range with a .45. The bullet could have caused all sorts of damage, including severing an artery. Matt wouldn’t allow himself to believe Morgan’s wound was fatal. It couldn’t be.

Sitting in the copilot’s seat, the pain burned in Morgan’s legs, the warm blood already soaking his clothing. Most pilots and copilots did not wear the thick, fleece lined trousers that went along with the B-3 jacket. The waist gunners wore them, but since Morgan was in the nose where it was a little warmer, he wore the thermal underwear, electric bunny suit and flight suit, but not the fleece lined pants. It only took a few moments for the blood to seep through his clothing and begin to stain both legs of his flight suit. Since it was thirty below zero in the cockpit, the blood immediately froze to his legs. The only good thing was that once it froze, the cold quickly began to deaden the searing pain of the wounds.

Aboard Full House, Jesse forced himself to concentrate on the bomb run and exclude everything else from his thoughts. It took a tremendous amount of mental effort, because he could hear what was happening aboard the other aircraft. He knew he had to make this a perfect bomb run, otherwise the lives of all those lost so far this day would be for nothing. It intruded on his thinking processes, which should be directed solely toward the bomb run. But the crew aboard that other plane, both officers and NCO’s alike, were friends, and he was rightly concerned about them. With that thought in mind, Jesse knew this was one mission he couldn’t afford to screw up. A black cloud of smoke blossomed in front of them as a flak shell burst just a few yards ahead. Several pieces of heavy metal punctured the nose Plexiglas, but Jesse forced himself to keep his mind on the bomb run.

McNeil kept his eye on the cockpit of the other plane, trying to ascertain anything about the status of the crew. It was so surreal. He felt he was in a horrible dream, a nightmare. He was praying that he would wake up and find it was all in his imagination, though he knew he was wide wake. Ten planes already lost and what made things infinitely worse was the fact that the NCO’s from Full House and Second Chance had known each other since April ‘43, and they shared the same quarters, just as the officers did. They were all good friends, and the thought of any of them being wounded or killed was unfathomable. McNeil could not even begin to imagine how things were aboard Second Chance, what that crew was going through, what they must be feeling, all of it occurring during the thick, dense, lethal anti-aircraft fire.

Captain Dale Kennedy, Full House’s navigator, watched from his position in the rear of the nose compartment behind the bombardier. He desperately wished the entire mission was over. On the way to the bomb run, he’d been hit in the chest with a heavy caliber bullet from a German fighter. Luckily, he was wearing a metal-lined flak vest which kept him from being killed, but his chest hurt, and it pained every time he inhaled. Though in considerable discomfort, he was lucky to be alive and hoped some of that luck would help his friends in Second Chance. Dale watched as Jesse reached to the left, even though he was still looking through the Norden. Jesse waited a few seconds, then pushed the bomb bay door lever into the open position.

Doors opening, the bombardier said, his voice calm, even and in control as always.

Cerminaro stood at the rear of the bomb bay, watching as the doors slowly swung open. He was trying to concentrate on his job, while at the same time listening over his radio link in case Novak contacted him with updates from the other plane. He was tense, his nerves taut, ready to duck or get out of the way of incoming shrapnel.

Doors open, Cerminaro confirmed, holding onto the door frame to keep from being blown backward by the force of the wind.

Jesse kept his eye to the Norden’s eyepiece as the target came into frame in the upper left hand corner. He made a minute adjustment. Another flak burst blossomed just under the nose, and Full House bounced upward, the eyepiece of the bombsight hitting Jesse in the right eye. Though the eyepiece was covered with rubber it still hurt, but he forced himself to keep his attention on the target. The gyros governing the Norden lowered the plane back onto the correct altitude for the bomb run.

Jack watched the PDI and noted the tiny course and altitude adjustments. He kept his hand on the throttle, maintaining a constant speed. For one of the few times since he’d been flying combat missions, he found it difficult to keep his focus. They were committed to the bomb run, Jesse was flying the plane. The flak became thicker and more intense the closer they came to the target. He needed to know what was happening a few yards to starboard. Jack heard Novak report Logan shot Morgan. The radio operator didn’t elaborate or give any detail, so Jack had no idea as to whether or not Morgan was alive or dead. If something else went horribly wrong and Logan shot Matt too, Second Chance could fly off in any direction. Jack needed to be prepared to take evasive action, even if it meant aborting the bomb run.

What’s he doing? Jack asked quickly.

Brian continued to watch out of his copilot’s starboard side window.

Nothing right now. He’s still in formation, exactly where he should be.

Knowing that Second Chance was maintaining formation for the moment was a small relief for the time being. Jack hoped it lasted until the termination of the bomb run. He forced himself to keep his attention on his instruments and Jesse’s reports of their progress.

Jesse flipped down the red safety guard for the bomb release toggle switch, mentally counting down the seconds while watching the target center in his bombsight. He hit the switch. Bombs away.

Cerminaro watched as the ordnance dropped and cleared the doors. Bombs gone.

Hearing that, Jesse pushed the bomb bay door lever back into its normal position. Doors closing.

Doors closed, Cerminaro confirmed. As soon as he uttered the words, he went back to his position, intently listening to the radio through his headphones.

Upon hearing Jesse’s Bombs Away call, Jack immediately turned the autopilot off, regaining command of the aircraft. Jesse, I have control. Brian, how long?

Brian didn’t need to know what his commander was asking. He wanted to know how long they had to fly past the target to allow the remainder of the group to clear the area before they could turn on their homeward course. Brian quickly calculated his best estimate, based on their air speed and the number of planes in the strike. One minute.

Jack glanced at his watch. One minute wasn’t much, but on a flak filled bomb run, it was a lifetime, and if things didn’t go well, it could be less than a lifetime for the men aboard Second Chance.

Dale was listening intently to the exchanges between the two planes. Once Cerminaro put the two B-17’s on C Channel, everyone aboard Full House could hear everything that transpired aboard Second Chance, all crew conversations, everything. If what Cerminaro reported was true, the lives of the men on Second Chance depended on whether or not Logan believed they were headed home. Dale fully realized if Tom was incapacitated, Matt was depending on him to get them back to Bassingbourn, as the rest of the strike force was long gone, at least twenty minutes to a half hour ahead of them. Dale would have the lives of the Second Chance crew and all of the 91st in his hands for the entire trip home.

Dale had an odd, incongruous thought pop into his head. What did the obviously berserk bombardier define as home? Did he mean the base, Bassingbourn? Or did he mean home, as in the United States? In Logan’s case, that meant South Dakota. Did he expect Matt to fly him all the way to South Dakota? Dale chided himself. That was absolutely absurd. How could the bombardier even have the thought cross his mind that they could fly all the way to the United States from Germany without landing somewhere to refuel?

Jack, course 1-4-0, Dale instructed as soon as he knew enough time elapsed for the remainder of the Group to have cleared the target area.

Jack immediately began to turn onto the course, thankful Dale was on his toes, as always. He knew full well the navigator had their course back to Bassingbourn already plotted, but they could not break formation even for an emergency. If something drastic occurred aboard Second Chance and she began to go down or stray out of formation, he could try and evade the errant B-17, but Jack still had to continue to follow Dale’s instructions. They were taking a more southerly course back to England which would take them over the eastern part of the English Channel, near Dover. It was a little longer than their course over, plotted purposely to avoid the worse of the flak batteries they encountered on the approach to the bomb run. They had to maintain the original flight plan, even with the fact that the remainder of the strike force left them behind that morning.

On Second Chance, Matt turned as soon as he saw Jack head off to port.

What are you doing? Logan demanded.

We’re going home, Matt said.

How long?

Two to two and a half hours, Morgan gasped painfully, attempting to sound in control.

Though wounded, he was still keeping track of what was happening, knowing Matt would need him, now more than ever since they no longer had a navigator. He couldn’t be sure as to the precise time of flight back to the base. Morgan wasn’t a navigator, so he was basing his estimate on how long it took to get to the target. He knew it was erroneous, as they were taking a slightly longer return course home to avoid some of the flak batteries. Normally, all he or Matt would have to do was ask Tom, and the navigator would have the time estimate calculated down to the exact second, but Tom wasn’t there. Morgan wasn’t sure of his exact status, though deep inside, he knew the navigator was dead. If Tom had any way to communicate with them, to let them know he was alive, a moan, a cough, anything, he would have done it.

Second Chance bounced upward as flak exploded beneath it. Logan grabbed the back of Matt’s seat to keep from falling on the deck. As it was, the bombardier remained on his feet, and the .45 never moved from the back of Matt’s head.

Matt decided to try something as he leveled out onto their new course. He was taking a tremendous risk, but he went ahead. Logan, how’s Jim?

I don’t know, came back the totally unconcerned, emotionless reply.

Would you check him, and let me know how he is? Matt asked, trying not to sound as though he was issuing an order, but rather asking a favor.

Logan considered that. Okay, I’ll check. Don’t try anything.

We won’t, Matt promised, using the pronoun we to include the rest of the crew in the deal, to let them know not to do anything rash. "And Logan…He isn’t a threat…He’s our flight engineer. We need him."

He did not answer for a moment. "All right. But if he tries anything…"

He can’t and he won’t. You have my word on it, Matt said sincerely.

Mallory was lying on his back at the rear of the flight deck next to the open passage to the empty bomb bay. He was breathing painfully, but considering the circumstances, he was pretty lucid and acutely aware of what was transpiring. He was still wearing his headphones, so he heard the exchange between Matt and the bombardier. Mallory knew Matt wasn’t talking just to Logan, but to him, warning him not to try anything. He wouldn’t even if he could, which was highly unlikely with a serious abdominal wound.

Keeping the .45 pointed in Matt’s direction, Logan backed up slightly and leaned down. He studied the wounded flight engineer for a few seconds, seeing his eyes open, though pain glazed. Normally, the bombardier was the onboard medic, there to help wounded crewmen. This wasn’t a normal mission or normal circumstances. Without lifting a finger to offer even minimal help, Logan turned back to the cockpit.

He’s all right, he said, his voice indicating he didn’t care if Mallory was all right or not.

Matt knew he couldn’t have given even a cursory examination in so little an amount of time. He needed to know how badly his engineer was wounded. Over the interphone, he ventured, Jim…?

I told you he’s all right! Logan said forcefully.

I’m…okay…. Mallory breathed painfully, trying to prevent Matt from being murdered in cold blood because of him.

You don’t talk to anybody, Logan angrily warned Matt. You talk only to me! Understand?

But I need… Matt began.

Logan jammed the .45 against Matt’s head and cocked the gun.

Even through his own pain, Morgan couldn’t help but hear the ominous metallic click of the automatic being cocked. He blurted, No, don’t…Oh Jesus God, please…

You don’t talk to anybody! Only me…Do you understand? Logan demanded.

Yes, Matt said.

Take off the headphones. Slow. Use your left hand. Don’t try anything, Logan ordered.

Matt slowly raised his hand and removed his headphones. He knew why Logan specified his left hand. His right was the closest to the gun, so it might be possible he could grab the weapon, though Matt wouldn’t have dared try it.

Logan grabbed the headphones and yanked the wires from them so Matt couldn’t use them to communicate, then he tossed them on the cockpit deck.

Now Matt couldn’t hear anything if the crew tried to talk to him. While that was inconvenient, the headphones weren’t as crucial as the throat mike he wore. The throat mike was a small, rectangular self-contained microphone on a leather strap that all the crew members wore fastened around their necks. The mike was sensitive, and it allowed the crew to talk to each other while keeping their hands free to do their respective jobs. Matt silently prayed that Logan was so far gone that he would forget about the throat mike. If he did, the crew would still be able to hear what Matt was saying. Since Logan shed his headphones and his throat mike when he came to the cockpit, he wouldn’t be able to hear the crew, but they wouldn’t be able to hear him, either. They would only be able to hear Matt’s side of the conversation.

Take your headphones off, Logan instructed, looking at Morgan.

But I need to hear the crew, Morgan protested.

No you don’t! Take them off, or he’s dead, Logan said, gesturing to Matt.

Knowing the .45 was still cocked and all it would take was a slight pressure on the trigger to end his pilot’s life, Morgan didn’t hesitate. He raised a blood soaked gloved hand and took off the headphones. As soon as he did, Logan pulled the wires from them, just as he did with Matt’s a few moments before. It was an incredibly bad situation. They were in the middle of a mission, and now neither pilot could hear the crew, so they had no idea what was happening aboard their aircraft, except for what was going on in the cockpit.

Two bogeys, starboard side, two o’clock, S/Sergeant Ryder Colson reported from his waist gunner’s position, also signaling that they were now mercifully beyond range of the anti-aircraft fire.

Their scanty P-47 fighter escort was back, and two Thunderbolts took off after the attacking Germans.

Christ, just what we need, S/Sergeant Steve Camponari thought in despair in his position as the tail gunner. As if they didn’t have enough problems, the flak was over, but the German fighters were back. On the way to the target, the enemy fighter attack continued for almost twenty minutes. Camponari fervently hoped it wouldn’t be the same on the return trip. Who knew how Logan would react to enemy fighters.

It was up to Colson. On a normal day, he wouldn’t be the only one trying to get the fighter. Mallory in the top turret would be after it too, but he wasn’t there. S/Sergeant Josh Becker, the ball turret gunner stationed on the bottom of the plane, couldn’t see the 190, as it was way too high to be within his field of vision. As soon as they were within range, Colson opened up on the FW-190’s. The lead 190 immediately began to trail smoke and head for the ground.

Thank God, Becker thought as he saw the fighter fall.

One of the P-47’s zoomed in, riddling the second German with bullets. The German was hit, but undeterred and kept coming. The pilot took a shot at Second Chance, and his bullets ripped through the fuselage near Colson’s position on the starboard side. The slugs missed him, continued through the plane and out the port side, just barely missing the other waist gunner, S/Sergeant Tony Sciortino.

The 190 dove beneath Second Chance, knowing the P-47 probably wouldn’t follow, as there were bombers lower than the B-17, and if the Thunderbolt took a shot, he would hit one of his own planes. The German was right, as the P-47 broke off the pursuit.

The 190 didn’t take into consideration that there was another B-17 within just a few yards in addition to Second Chance, though she still had a sting. Becker heard Colson’s ‘bogey’ call over his headphones, and was waiting until the German appeared in his field of vision. Fifty feet forward and lower was Full House with the best aerial gunner in the Eighth Air Force at their starboard position, Polish born double ace S/Sergeant Tad Furmanski, with ten confirmed kills to his credit. Also aboard was S/Sergeant Jim Robinson, the ball turret gunner, who was a pretty good shot himself.

Caught in the field of fire of all three gunners, the 190 was doomed. As soon as it was visible to him, Becker fired. In the ball turret, he only had a very tiny, limited window in which to fire, and he used it expertly. His very first burst nailed the fighter, and it was mortally wounded. Just before it began to nose dive to the ground, Furmanski also opened up, as did Robinson, and made sure the German would not live to fight again. Though technically all three of them scored hits on the fighter, Furmanski and Robinson independently decided they would give credit for the fighter to Becker, rather than claiming part of the kill for themselves.

On Full House, Jesse caught a flash of sunlight off a canopy to port. He got on his chin turret, at the same time warning the navigator behind him, Dale, ten o’clock.

The navigator swung his port cheek gun toward the approaching fighter, but before he could get off a shot, the German did. The bullets ripped onto the nose, a couple just missing Jesse, tearing through the air between him and Dale. A third slammed into Dale, hitting his flak vest in the lower right hand side. He held onto the handles of his .50 caliber Browning tightly to keep from being thrown backwards across the compartment. His breath was knocked out and he gasped painfully, doubling over. Dale had gone for several months flying missions without being hit. Today, he’d been hit twice.

The German fighter rolled over and dove to gain speed to escape being shot himself.

Dale! Jesse called, seeing the navigator holding on, trying to keep on his feet.

I’m…all right, the navigator breathed as quickly as he could.

Are you sure..? Jesse began.

Yeah…yeah, Dale said, regaining his position at the .50. Silently he thought, Jesus, am I their personal target today? How much more can this vest take?

As soon as that unspoken query popped into his head, Dale knew the answer to that question. In January, Furmanski at their starboard waist position took so many hits in his vest, both heavy caliber bullets and flak, that the thick metal plates were badly dented and even cracked in several places. It was nothing short of a miracle that none of the bullets actually penetrated the vest. Furmanski ended up badly bruised, but alive. He had to get a replacement vest, as the first was rendered entirely unusable. However, the vest wasn’t discarded. It was kept by Sergeant Lee Horton, the base NCO in charge of gunnery practice, which all the gunners had to attend, even proficient shots like Furmanski. If anyone ever griped about having to wear the heavy vest, or asked if it was really necessary, Horton hauled out Furmanski’s torn, dented and cracked vest and asked his gunners one simple question: Think it’s necessary now?

Cerminaro used the cover of the fighter attack to utilize his radio, figuring Logan on the other plane would be too preoccupied with what was going on around Second Chance to pay much attention to his radio operator.

"Full House to Second Chance. Chuck, can you hear me? Over."

Novak was listening and immediately responded, though he kept his voice down, praying Cerminaro would be able to hear him over the noise of the fighter attack. "Second Chance. Over."

Chuck, what’s happening? Is he still armed? Has he shot anybody else? Over, Cerminaro asked.

He still has the gun on Matt, but he hasn’t shot anyone else. Novak hesitated. He was doing a lot of heavy thinking about how the mission could end, and none of the endings appealed to him, nor were they favorable to their ultimate fate. Greg, I don’t think he’s going to let us land. I think he expects us to fly him all the way home…back to the States. Even he’s going to realize we can’t and…I think he’s going to kill everybody. Over.

How many bullets has he used? Over.

Novak silently added up the shots. Two in the nose, two on the flight deck. Four. Over.

Cerminaro considered that. If Logan had a fully loaded .45, he began with seven bullets. Cerminaro didn’t know a bombardier who didn’t go on a mission without a full load in his weapon. That meant Logan had three bullets left. Each plane carried ten men. Subtracting four for Logan himself, Morgan, Mallory and Tom, that left six crewmen. If the worst happened, the bombardier would shoot Matt first, leaving two bullets. The next casualties would probably be Novak, who would be closest and one of the waist gunners, either Colson or Sciortino. Becker in the ball turret wasn’t a target option, as he was sealed in the armored turret, but would die when the plane went down without pilots. The only other person was Camponari the tail gunner. It didn’t matter. If Logan killed both pilots, they would all die.

Chuck, keep me posted. Let me know every move he makes. Maybe we can figure something out. Over, Cerminaro called.

I’ll try. Over, Novak said.

Over the drone of the engines, Logan thought he heard a voice. He glanced through the empty bomb bay, and saw Novak at his radio. It was evident he wasn’t manning his Browning, but talking to someone. Logan swung the .45 in his direction. Through some sort of sixth sense, Novak looked toward the cockpit just as the bombardier pointed the gun his way.

Look out! Novak yelled, knowing that not only was he in the line of fire, but so were Sciortino and Colson at their waist positions and Camponari in the tail.

Becker was safe in the armored ball turret. If Logan missed Novak and the two waist gunners, Camponari would get it square in the back. In his tail position, he was facing backward and could not see anything of what was occurring in the forward section of the plane even though he could hear everything over his headphones. Novak could try and duck, and the waist gunners could flatten themselves against the interior of the fuselage to get out of the way, but Camponari had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Logan pulled the trigger just as Novak hit the deck, lunging for cover behind the radio compartment bulkhead. Colson and Sciortino let go of their Brownings and practically glued themselves flat against the fuselage. The bullet tore through the empty bomb bay, radio compartment and into the waist gunner’s position. It would have continued on and hit Camponari, but he was saved when the bullet slammed into the starboard waist .50. As soon as Colson let go of the weapon, it swung back into the compartment, right into the bullet’s path. The slug ricocheted off to port and exited through the aluminum side of the bomber.

Logan! Matt yelled, trying to get his attention. "Don’t shoot the gunners! We need them! If you shoot them…we won’t get home."

Logan took aim again.

"We can’t get home without them, Matt reiterated intently, knowing it was no time to continue pussyfooting around or keep being nice. Risking the bombardier’s wrath, he used his most commanding voice and ordered, Lieutenant Hayworth, come here! That’s an order!"

Logan hesitated, seeing the enemy behind him, but there was obvious urgency in the pilot’s voice, and he was clearly issuing an order, so he turned his attention back to the cockpit, still holding the .45 tightly.

"Logan, I will get you home, but I can’t without them, Matt said intently. If anything is wrong, blame me. Whatever it is, it’s my fault, not theirs. Understand? Blame me, not them. ME!"

Holding his badly wounded right leg and trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum, Morgan watched tensely, not daring to do