THICK BLACK SMOKE filled the room. He lifted his hands and tried opening his eyes, but the smoke was too thick, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Where was the door? He thought he remembered it was to his left, so he lay down on the floor and started crawling that way. Taking a deep breath, he choked. The smoke burned his airways as he coughed it back out. He had to be smart, stay as low to the ground and take small shallow breaths. Where is that door? He had to get to it soon or he’d die. Sweat was dripping over his forehead and down his cheeks. He finally reached the wall. No door. Was it the other way? Panic overcame him so he stood, eyes still closed, blindly running in the other direction. No door. He started pounding on the wall with both fists. Wasn’t there a window? How could there be no door?
He kept pounding on the wall. He tried to scream for help, but no sounds came as the smoke filled his lungs. He gasped as the burning in his chest became too much to take. “I don’t want to die like this,” was his last thought as he collapsed to the ground, screaming silence.
Petrovich’s body jerked forward out of bed, his hands clutching his throat as he gasped for air. His undershirt was drenched. His eyes darted around the room. Dawn had yet to break through, but the light from the full moon provided enough for him to see the door and the window on the other side of the room. As his eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, he realized that it was only a dream.
The tangled mess of blankets wrapped around his legs, trapping him in bed. He untangled himself and hurried outside. As soon as he was outside he took a deep breath of fresh air to try and calm his heart, which was pounding so hard he would have sworn it was going to beat right out of his chest. He closed his eyes and forced his breath to slow.
The dream was worse tonight than it had ever been. The other nights he’d been able to wake up before he realized there wasn’t a door or window from which to escape. Tonight he caught a glimpse of his death. Not a great way to start the day, especially during wartime, right before a mission.
“I’ve got to get a grip. It’s just a dream.” Petrovich muttered to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He took a better look, trying to let his eyes adjust, and didn’t see anything. As he turned back towards the bunkhouse, he saw it again. “What the heck?” he whispered. It couldn’t have been past 2 a.m. Who would be out at this hour?
He walked down the narrow corridor between the buildings. The lights were all off, but with the full moon he could still see clearly. Nothing. The dream spooked him enough to see things in the shadows. He turned around and walked back towards his bunkhouse when something shiny caught his eye. He bent down to pick up the red and gold star-shaped pendant. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it earlier. It was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It seemed so out of place here. It wasn’t a medal of honor any of the Allies used. In the morning, he’d ask around and see if anyone knew what it was or who it belonged to.
He returned to his bunk and lay down. He needed to try to get in at least another couple of hours of sleep before heading out to start the day’s Ploesti raid. Staring at the star, he turned it over and around in his fingers. As he slowly drifted back to sleep, the star slipped from his fingers to the floor. And he dreamt of red stars, black smoke and a skull and cross bones.
* * *
At dawn, O’Donnell was up and ready to go. He was surprised at how good he slept, just like a baby. That’s a good omen, he thought. He hadn’t slept that good in so long; it must mean that this bombing run will be another safe one. He kept reminding himself that he survived Op Tidal Wave. If he survived that, he could survive anything. He still knew that each time they went out, it was a risk. But he had a good crew and they worked well together.
Being the pilot meant more than just flying the plane. The job came with a lot of responsibility. The men were in his hands. His crew was important to him. They were tight knit each placing his life in the hands of the others. He not only wanted to make sure that he made it back to base in one piece, but that his men did too. That weighed on his conscience. The responsibility for their lives was what kept him focused. He didn’t want to be the reason his men didn’t make it back alive.
Dressed and ready to go, he walked towards the B-24 bomber. The sun was just starting to rise behind the huge plane. It wasn’t designed to be hidden from the enemy, that’s for sure. In fact, the opposite was true. Its enormous size made it an easy target for the Germans. But it had to be big to carry as many bombs and crew members as it did. Each flight carried the pilot and co-pilot, who would take over if the pilot was injured or killed. Then there were the bombardier, navigator, engineer, radioman, nose gunner, ball gunner, waist gunner and tail gunner. Each job was as important as the rest.
O’Donnell saw Petrovich and walked over to him. “Hey, ready to do this?” he asked.
“As always.”
“I slept like a baby last night. I feel real good about this one. How about you? You don’t look so good.”
“I slept like crap. Woke up in the middle of the night, nearly screaming like a girl. Stupid dream again. This war’s getting to me.” Petrovich rubbed his hands over his face and shook his head.
“No worries, man. You and your crew are some of the best. “He paused and looked over at the planes. “This war is getting to all of us. Some more than others. It will end-eventually. And each time we go out, we get that much closer to going home. You can’t go out there worried about this dream. You’ll lose your focus.”
“I know. I know. Too bad for those Germans that even on only a few hours of sleep, I’m still better than most of what they’ve got!”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Come one, let’s get this thing done. Then when we get back, I’ll tell you all about my dream about this gorgeous little Italian girl I met.” He winked “Now, that’s the kind of dream you wish you had!” He smacked Petrovich on the back and headed towards his plane.
Everyone was in his place except for Johnson, the ball gunner. He had to wait until after take off to climb out of the fuselage into his tiny Plexiglas sphere beneath the bomber. As everyone got into place, O’Donnell focused on his instruments, climbing higher in altitude. To his right the co-pilot, Richardson, sat unusually quiet.
“Why so quiet this morning?”
“Just thinking about what Axis Sally said last night, did you listen to her?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “In that sexy voice of hers, she was going on and on about how we are the aggressors and that we should be ashamed for what we are doing. I don’t get it. How can she be so blind?”
Axis Sally was an American woman who had fallen in love with a German man and moved to Germany. She broadcasted German propaganda from a Berlin radio station. In between songs, she would send messages to the Allied men trying to demoralize them
“Who knows? Whatever her reasons are, she’s a traitor. But even as a traitor, she plays some real good music.”
“That she does. We all know what she says is crap. But we all listen anyway. It’s got to be the music, well that and just hearing that sexy American voice. God, I miss hearing that.”
The planes were in formation and flying towards Ploesti. At this altitude it got to be very cold in the plane. O’Donnell felt bad for Johnson. He really had the worst spot. It was so cramped in that sphere he could barely move. He had to wait until takeoff to get in and he had to get out before they landed. The ball gunners sometimes got frostbite on their ears from the extremely low temperatures. Johnson shifted in his electric suit. It was plugged into a 21-volt system to keep warm. But that didn’t help the ears. Poor guy.
As they neared their target, the mood in the plane sobered. Everyone remembered that the Germans had heavy defenses around the refineries. At any given moment, there would be German fighter planes tearing through their formation. They just had to drop their bombs on target and head back.
O’Donnell looked out into the sky and thought how odd it was that it looked so peaceful when they were in the air, even as the sounds of the engines roared through the plane. It whispered peace, like the eye of the storm. It was a false feeling, he knew. But he enjoyed this short time they had in the air.
He was high on adrenaline. The closer they got to Ploesti, the faster his heart beat. This was it. This is when his skills would make it either life or death. Anytime now, the Germans would . . .
An antiaircraft bomb exploded in front of them, shaking the plane back and forth. Shells exploded all around them. Smoke and flak filled the air, as the plane jerked violently left and right. O’Donnell steadied the plane and continued heading towards the target, all the while trying to avoid the antiaircraft fire. The refineries were now in sight and grew as they quickly approached them.
“Bombs away!” yelled out the bombardier. Bulls-eye! Shockwaves rippled through the air as flames shot up from the explosion. The plane slammed hard to the left. Still trying to avoid German rockets, O’Donnell steadied their plane then tilted the wing down and turned the plane to head back to base.
A burst of bright orange and red flames exploded to their right. “Thompson’s hit!” shouted Richardson. The plane shuddered violently from the force of the explosion and O’Donnell struggled to keep control. He would mourn those men later, but for now he had to get his crew out of this mess. Shells continued to explode all around them. He could barely see through the flak.
Once they made it past the danger zone, the crew began to relax. They’d made it through the worst part. O’Donnell knew they weren’t safe yet. Shrapnel had done some damage to the plane, but not enough to take it down.
“We took some good hits this time.” O’Donnell took at look at his controls then said, “We’re losing altitude.”
Still losing altitude, the plane fell out of formation. They could make it back like this, as long as they didn’t get any surprise visits from the Germans. Without the protection of the formation they were like a sitting duck.
“We got lucky, you know. That was Thomson’s plane and crew that went down. He’s one of our best.” Richardson didn’t have to say it. O’Donnell was already thinking it. It could have been any of them. That was the risk they all took. They fell silent as they thought about the loss of lives and how thankful they were that it hadn’t been them.
Suddenly, the plane shook violently. Antiaircraft fire exploded around them. O’Donnell struggled to regain control.
“What the . . . ? Where did that come from?” O’Donnell shouted as he caught a glimpse of enemy aircraft approaching them. Struggling to maintain control, the plane shook again.
“Fighters at six o’clock! And four o’clock!” shouted the tail gunner. They prepared for the attack, the gunners ready to defend. The Germans fired again; knocking the plane so hard it dropped ten feet.
“Johnson’s been hit! He’s been hit!” Johnson was slouched in his cramped space, shrapnel in his neck, his sphere filling with dark red blood. Panic erupted in the plane as the reality of attack began to sink in. O’Donnell and Richardson fought to avoid the continual explosions around them.
“We’re dropping too fast. We’re going to have to abandon ship.” Richardson nodded in agreement. O’Donnell picked up the intercom and shouted out his command.
“Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” The command echoed over the intercom. Everyone quickly clipped their parachutes onto their harnesses and prepared to jump into the unknown. They knew they were somewhere over Serbia. But they didn’t know what was waiting for them when they got there.
One by one they jumped out of the plane, Richardson and O’Donnell being the last two. Richardson paused before jumping.
“See you on the ground! Remember to look for the Partisans. They are our only hope at this point.” Then he was out. O’Donnell said a short prayer and jumped.