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To give you an idea of what you will find in Off We Go!, we have included a portion of the Preface and the complete Prologue to this interesting personal history. Excerpt from
Off We Go! Preface THIS ACCOUNT OF THE EVENTS in my military
life in World War II is written to tell the story of one soldier in that great and tragic war. It is not remarkable beyond what was experienced by thousands, but it is the story of my time in that terrible
conflict; and although my participation was modest, by writing this story, I want succeeding generations who may peruse these words to understand, in some measure, what sacrifices were made by my generation.It is
apparent as we enter a new millennium that history is being rewritten by those who were not there in that time, 1940-46, and who may have an agenda to interpret those years in a way that furthers their social or
political view. I want at least one soldier's story that is as accurate as possible to set a correct history. It was a horrible conflict. We are now told that over 50 million people died, and an untold
number were injured physically or emotionally. Millions more lives were changed forever. It was truly a world-wide conflict. Prologue THE NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN was usually angry with wave and wind action, but this late afternoon,
as the sun was dipping over the horizon, it was especially active. Waves were as high as a two-story building and the wind was blowing the water into a frothy white sheet across the huge waves. The scene was
indescribable in any adequate way. It was hard for us to distinguish where the water merged with the horizon. We seemed to be hanging suspended in another world, in an infemo of darkness, wind, water and
ice. Our windshields were clouded by ice, despite our best efforts to keep them clear, and the wind turbulence threatened to pull us apart.My crew and I were on a war-time weather reconnaissance
mission far out over the ocean west of Ireland, and we were making meteorological measurements. (A report of our findings would be later sent by radio to our home base.) Our altitude varied from 50 to 150 feet above
those waves, as read by my radio and barometric altimeters. The ferocious conditions we were encountering caused me to firmly hold on to the control wheel with a keen alertness, ready in an instant to increase the
throttle levers of the four-engine B-17 bomber aircraft to the stops, and to rise to the safety of the sky and escape the ocean's treacherous pull. One could become mesmerized by the lack of visual clues
that would in turn create an illusion of the airplane standing still, with no movement, and therefore risk falling into the ocean. The severe weather and the psychological pull of the ocean threatened the safety
of our flight. (Charles Lindbergh wrote of a similar pull of the ocean on his historic flight across the Atlantic Ocean 18 years earlier.) At that moment, I remember distinctly thinking that we must escape this
monstrous sea serpent and climb up and out of its clutches. I increased the setting on the turbo controller increasing our power to a maximum and we began to climb away from the fury of the sea.
Having completed our weather observation, we climbed to an altitude of 1,500 ft. Still in the clouds and with ice on the wings and tail (ice our aircraft boots would not remove), we were slowly able to put some
distance between us and the inferno below. The wind continued to rock us, and all the ice we were carrying caused us to increasingly lose air speed to slightly above a stall. As we were near the
furthest point west of England, we tried to climb to our scheduled high altitude assignment. In our slow climb we further iced our aircraft wings and elevators and that caused us to use excessive fuel in the
increase of engine power to offset the loss in aerodynamic flight qualities. We were exchanging gasoline to offset the increase of ice. Because of our high engine power, over half our fuel had been used.
As we struggled for altitude, it became apparent that we must make a direct course for England and abandon our high altitude climb or we would run out of fuel.1 In addition, we increasingly risked
stalling due to the ice accretion. It was a touchy situation, trying to avoid stalling and using just enough engine power to keep us aloft. The flight engineer, the co-pilot and the navigator began to
calculate the remaining distance to Lands End, England, or to a landing field in Ireland, against the rate of fuel burn and our decreased speed over the water. It would be nip-and-tuck! We could not reduce
our engine rpm's to give us a better long-distance range as we normally did. To do so would cause us to stall out. We were in what is now termed a "catch-22." To ditch in that sea would mean
certain death. Even if we were successful in making a water landing, a highly unlikely event in those huge waves, we could not survive the ice cold water for more than a few minutes. We had all heard of the
stories that only a third of the crews that ditched in the North Sea, or the Atlantic Ocean, ever came back. As we came closer to England, daylight was fading fast, decreasing our chance of a successful water
landing should we have to ditch in the ocean. Our fight for the control of the airplane was taking a toll on us-we were becoming very fatigued. It was amazing, even with low temperatures in the airplane
(hovering that day somewhere around 10' F), how you can sweat when you know you may end up somewhere in the churning sea below. Time passed so slowly. With each mile of our progress we calculated and
re-calculated our gas supply against the distance to the nearest airfield. Would we make it or not? At about 200 miles west of the southern tip of Ireland, we felt we had a chance to make the RAF Airfield at
St. Mawgan. Then it became apparent at 100 miles we would be able to cross the Irish Sea and make the landing field. However, it would require a night landing with minimum fuel at an unfamiliar airfield. After landing and when the tension had drained out, we realized that we had cheated that Reaper of the Sea once again, but only narrowly, as our gas supply at landing was nearly exhausted. My role
as the Captain of that B- 17 started many years before. Note 1
This was a problem we faced many times, balancing range against the flight elements of weather. Some in our squadron, also faced with engine failures, had not fared too well. Many landed
in Ireland or, in one case, crashed off the Irish coastline. Some simply disappeared at sea.
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