Things never look dangerous when you have so much company. We even felt secure in the rear guard. We called ourselves ‘Cluster on the Purple Heart Squadron.’ James’ plane was even the ‘Right Leaf of the Cluster.’

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Then, out of a blue sky, without warning, the lead plane of another group up front spun sickeningly out of formation and exploded against the sea, burning so as to leave a black tomb marker. The second ship had gone down before we had even touched enemy land.

Immediately, all gunners got itchy, looking for a possible fighter, and the pilots stood by silent radios waiting for a Change Order or explanation. Nothing except the continuous drone of our four giant engines on the wings. We passed through the sickening black smoke, into the blue skies beyond. There were no survivors.

Then another B-24 peeled off, heading home, one engine feathered. That was the hot desert putting in its two cents’ worth. We looked to our engines, but they gave no indication of weakening under the heavy load we carried.

Finally, land! Greece, our maps said. Enemy territory. Tension was relieved, a new excitement gripped us now. The enemy was man, and his threat was tangible…and at hand.

We were at 10,000 feet and working up towards our objective, against a little more head wind than anticipated. Clouds were becoming heavier but still no opposition. Then, through gaps in the clouds, we could make out mountains, marking the time for us to turn south for our let-down to the target.

Then an intercom call: ‘Fighter at 5 o’clock!’ It was an antiquated biplane. He couldn’t even catch us as we began dropping down the mountainside. Slowly changing our formation from the protective one we traveled in to one designed to allow us good individual runs on the target, we could see the lead plane down the valley in which lay our target. The dialogue on the Vagabond King went something like this:

‘Good Lord! Mooney, we are too high!’

‘Lord Almighty! I can’t recognize the refinery stacks!’

‘What kind of camoufleurs are these boys?’

‘Mosco, open the bomb bay doors!’

And down we dropped, to silhouette our target against the sky, just like Mosco and I had practiced on the model area, simulating Ploesti, that they had built for us on the desert in Libya.

Then the lead plane, realizing he had turned too soon, worked back in a big ‘S’ to the next valley. ‘By Jehoshaphat!…if fighters were to hit us now,’ I told myself. But I stuck to Mooney. James came in close as we turned to the north again, ready to make the final approach and bomb run. I warmed up my fixed nose guns with a loud burst that startled Mosco so much he almost jumped out of the nose.

We were ready for strafing now. For the first time in history B-24s were going to be used on a strafing run. We turned south down the valley. The lead plane was starting his bomb run. Christ! His plane was already burning, and he was carrying 1,000-pound bombs with delayed fuses!

Then it was: ‘Gunners, keep your eyes open for fighters and ack-ack batteries.’

‘Don’t shoot civilians unless they are throwing bottles at us!’

‘OK, Mosco, bomb bay doors open.’

‘Start the camera, Van.’

Bang! What the hell was that? Here we go anyway, down on the carpet. We get right behind and under Stan Podalak’s plane, Mooney’s left wing. We line up our two chimneys, which will put our bombs right through the windows of the boiler house. We can’t drop far behind Mooney’s plane because he’s carrying 45-second delay fuses, same as we are.

Above us, we could look into Stan’s open bomb bay doors. We could see the bombs hanging ready, willing and able. Tracers, red and white, were streaming up at the boys ahead, hitting them too!

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