The Induction
On July 15, 1942, Gerry joined the Army and was prepared to defend his country. He was sent to Langley Field, Virginia, for basic training, and specialized in aircraft gunnery. His accuracy with machine guns made him a solid candidate for assignment on a bomber. His short height proved a little too difficult for him to be considered as a fighter pilot, and the vertigo tests he had to undergo caused his undoing for that assignment. His small height, however, was perfect for the small space a gunner had to occupy.
By October 1942, Gerry had received his assignment as a tail gunner for a B-17 bomber in London, following a brief leave back home. When he opened the door to his mother’s apartment in Lincoln, dressed in his full khaki uniform, his mother gasped in surprise. She beamed at her son and walked to him and hugged him tightly. Although not in any shape to run a marathon, her heart medication had allowed her more mobility and energy, enough for her to lead a fairly active life. But she knew this visit meant only one thing, her son was headed overseas to Europe to fight the Germans. She remembered the heartbreak when Gerry heard about the death of his friend Roland, and she feared she might never see Gerry again.
“So, my dear boy, where are you off to after you leave here?”
“I leave for England at the end of the week. Remember the model of a B-17 bomber Dad gave me the day he died? Well, he’d be happy to know that’s where I’m going. I’m assigned on a B-17 out of London, flying missions over Germany. It’s a huge plane, and very safe. There are ten of us on the plane, that’s how big it is. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine and I’ll write every chance I get.”
Somehow to Henriette, those words were not reassuring to her. Too many young men were being killed on the ground, and in airplanes as well. But she was proud of her son and knew that he would do whatever he had to to survive the war. They had three wonderful days together before a tearful farewell.
“You come back to me, Gerry Papineau. I don’t want to lose both of my boys. Your father’s looking down on you with a big smile right now. He would be so proud. I love you, son. Be careful over there.”
As Gerry left the house, he never looked back. He didn’t want his mother to see him crying. Would he ever see her again?
* * *
Gerry reported for duty on October 20, 1942 to Colonel George Canfield, the leader of Squadron 107, Eighth Bomber Command for the RAF and USAAF. He would be assigned to Little Nell, a B-17 bomber that had already been on thirty missions over different areas of Germany. The crew’s tail gunner had recently completed over fifty missions on several bombers, and was scheduled for a furlough in London for two weeks. Rather than keep the bomber idle for that length of time, a replacement gunner proved to be the answer, and Gerry had just arrived for duty.
He reported to Captain Lawrence Huckabee, the pilot of Little Nell, and was quickly briefed on his role after unloading his duffel bag in the airmen’s barracks at RAF Daws in High Wycombe. Later that same day, he was given permission by the captain to visit the plane and his position assignment as tail gunner. From his training at Langley, it was reassuring for Gerry to see the gunner’s station exactly as it was during his training exercises. He had been taught all about the B-17, and had flown dozens of test flights before he was activated for duty.
The following day, he was introduced to the rest of the crew, and warmly received by all. This was a team assignment, and every crew member was expected to perform their job exactly as they were trained to do. Gerry’s job was quite clear…covering the plane’s rear against any incoming enemy fighters approaching the tail of the plane. The B-17 was not easily able to maneuver its flight pattern to avoid oncoming enemy fighters. The only real defense it had was the protection provided by the gunner positions.
At the briefing, the crew was informed of its next bombing mission, the Focke-Wulff factory in Breman, Germany. The installation manufactured military aircraft and U-boat parts. Any plant that made parts for the German aircraft industry was always deemed a primary target for the Allied bombers. The mission would be made that night by fifteen bombers. The Focke-Wulff factory operated twenty-four hours a day, and would be brightly lit, making it an easier target for the bombers.
When a Bomb Group flew into combat, it was usually accompanied by two other bomb groups from nearby bases. These three groups formed a combat wing, a small part of a formation of many hundreds of bombers and fighter escorts. As many as three hundred American airmen were sent on a mission to some destination in Germany.
To eliminate the boredom of the flight segment from the United Kingdom across the coast of England and into enemy territory, a flight that could take several hours, many bombers tuned in to music on the BBC network. When Gerry had signed up to be in the Air Force, little did he realize the huge demand for airmen at the time. Even Prime Minister Winston Churchill had said that the war would not be won on the ground where German military strength outmanned that of the Allies, but would primarily be won because of our much stronger and larger air power. It was this air strength that would crush the supply chain of weapons and other necessary articles of war by blowing up factories throughout Germany.
There were ten men in the crew of a B-17 bomber. The pilot and his co-pilot sat in the cockpit, side by side. The navigator and bombardier were just below in the plane’s transparent Plexiglas nose. Directly behind the pilot was the flight engineer, who doubled as the top turret gunner. Further back in the plane, in a separate compartment, was the radio operator, who manned a top-side machine gun. And at mid-ship, there were two waist gunners and a ball turret gunner, who sat in a revolving Plexiglas bubble that was fearfully vulnerable because it hung under the fuselage. At the very back of the plane, Gerry’s tail gunner station was perched on an oversized bicycle seat.
Since every spot on the plane was vulnerable, bomber airmen had no place to hide, no foxhole to crawl into. In essence, you became a prisoner in the airplane with only three ways to escape; parachuting to earth and perhaps a different prison; death from enemy fire or explosion; or a safe return home.
Throughout the entire day, Gerry was nervous, and to the others in the crew, his uneasiness was quite noticeable. Phil Gardner, the turret gunner in the crew, tried to calm Gerry by informing him of his first encounter in enemy skies.
“You’ll be okay, kid. You’ve been trained for this, and just think of it as another training session,” Gardner told him.
“But I’ve never done a nighttime flight on a B-17 before. How am I going to see any German fighters in the dark?”
“You do the best you can, kid. Nobody expects you to be a magician back there. Just stay focused, and if you see something, fire away. And don’t be distracted by the flak from the ground. It’s more annoying than effective.”
Following take-off that night, Gerry assumed his position at the tail of the B-17. Gardner saw him do this and immediately went to him.
“Gerry, it’s too soon to take your position. We won’t be in enemy territory for a few hours yet. If you sit down in your tail spot for so long, you’ll be too stiff to move in a few hours. The captain will announce to us when to take our positions. For now, relax.”
“Am I that obvious? All the training back at Langley was just that, training. This is the real deal. I’ll get used to it. Thanks.”
Two hours later, they were over Belgium and nearing Germany. Flak from artillery on the ground started popping all around the plane, and the captain announced to all to take their positions.
Gerry climbed into his tail gunner spot and was ready. Nothing happened. There were no German fighters in the vicinity of Little Nell, and before he realized it, a cheer went up from several crew members as their bombs had made a direct hit on the factory. The bombers turned around and headed for London. There was minor flak as they flew over Belgium and France, and the mission had not lost a single bomber. Gerry was relieved.
The next mission was a day bombing of the iron foundry in Anklam, Germany, followed by the heavy tank factory in Kassel, Germany. Both of these missions incurred heavy losses as nearly fifty bombers went down. Many had been hit by ground artillery, while several were crippled by German fighters. For the first time, Gerry could see nearly a hundred parachutes over Belgium and Holland. But to his credit, he had been responsible for two direct hits on German fighters, causing both to nose dive following his shooting.
“Nice shooting, Papineau,” came the message over the headsets. “Keep a close eye. There are a lot of fighters over Belgium.”
By the end of July, Gerry had been on fifteen missions and had ten downed fighters to his credit. The colonel in charge of the squadron called Gerry into his office the day after his last direct hit had been officially recorded.
“Private Papineau, I don’t know where you learned how to shoot like that, but your captain has put you in for a promotion. He claims you saved his plane on several occasions, and you’ve probably got more downed German fighters to your credit than any other gunner we have.”
“Just trying to do my job, sir. The guys are counting on me to cover the rear, sir.”
“Congratulations, sergeant. Keep up the good work.”
“It’s Private Papineau, sir, not sergeant, sir.”
“It’s Sergeant Papineau now, son, not Private. You need to put these stripes on before you go out again.”
Gerry thanked the colonel and left his office. He had not expected any recognition for doing what he was trained to do. He wondered how the other crew members would react to the news. It was not as if you could hide something like this.
Once the news reached the crew, everyone was excited for Gerry, and they all shouted their approval at someone deserving such recognition. The good wishes by his fellow airmen were welcomed, but he chose not to make a big deal of it.
On August 20, the crew received word that their next mission was the shipbuilding factory in Hamburg on August 23. There would be over one hundred bombers leaving London early that morning. Unfortunately, the mission would have limited Allied fighter escorts that day due to the limited number of planes available. Gerry prepared himself for this mission as he would for all missions, by carefully checking the operation of his machine gun turret, verifying the readiness of his shell casings, and just making sure his equipment was ready for action. He also checked his parachute nearby, and everything was in order.
The mission was successful when the target was totally destroyed by the onslaught of so many bombers. The return flight, however, proved quite troublesome. Heavy flak over Belgium caused nearly sixty bombers to go down, while several others limped home after they incurred serious damage. Little Nell had been hit on the right wing, knocking out that engine. The left engine was spewing black smoke and looked like it would conk out at any moment.
“Evacuate. We’re going down. Get the hell out of here, now,” came the order from the cockpit. Gerry had been hit by a bullet in the right arm from a German fighter. While the wound was not serious, he needed to stop the bleeding quickly, and he wrapped his white scarf tightly around the arm, holding one end of the scarf between his teeth as he made several knots to secure the scarf in place.
He then reached for his parachute, but noticed Phil Gardner lying on the floor of the plane holding his leg in pain. Gerry ran to him and ripped Gardner’s scarf from around his neck, and was able to make a tourniquet near his calf. He tied the scarf tightly until Gardner grimaced again in pain. He then helped him put on his parachute and braced him up against his left shoulder and led him to the open cargo door. Several crew members had already jumped out.
There were no medics at twenty-five-thousand feet, no men wearing Red Cross armbands to rush to the aid of shot-up comrades. Flyers like Gerry, who knew nothing about first-aid, had to take care of each other.
He yelled at Gardner to pull the rip cord immediately upon leaving the plane. “If you pass out before pulling the ripcord, you’re dead,” he shouted to Gardner. Gardner just nodded and jumped out with Gerry’s help. Gerry watched as he saw the parachute opening. He quickly went back to harness himself in his own chute as the plane started to nose dive. He grabbed on to the overhead cable and slowly and painfully made his way to the open cargo door using his good arm. After making a final check of his suit, he jumped out. There were parachutes everywhere. Where they were headed, was anyone’s guess.