When I got near squadron headquarters, there was this OD green Lincoln Continental Army sedan with flags showing stars on each front fender. Boy, I must be in BIG trouble!

When I got in the office, the Squadron Commander told me to get in that staff car and the driver would take me from there. He told me I was going to fly a mission from another base. Shucks! The sergeant drove me to personal equipment where I got some combat gear; then on to a bomber at a nearby base. Since the sergeant didn't remove the fender flags, everywhere we went, there was a lot of poppin' to and saluting by every GI who saw us. I kept sinking lower and lower in the back seat and could almost feel my little Lieutenant bar pulsating on my shirt collar.

When we arrived, there was the commander of our combat wing with a crew waiting rather impatiently for me! I was to fly as his pilot so we could lead the mission to Munich. And me with no breakfast and no briefing! I was afraid to ask what happened to the pilot originally scheduled.

So we were first to take off with the group in trail behind us. After assembly, we headed SE climbing on course with other groups joining behind.

As it turned out, we were to lead the whole danged 8th Air Force on this raid. This consisted of nearly 80 miles worth of airplanes.

The trip inbound was not too bad because the lead navigator had been briefed on the location of known enemy flak locations and gave me course deviations to avoid them, though we still got some from time to time. There was also the usual enemy fighter opposition, though nothing we couldn't handle. The worst was yet to come.

When we turned on the initial point and were committed to the target, (truck and aircraft factory) flakwise, things really got tough. We got beaucoup hits and a couple of the crew were wounded. One defense we had with respect to flak was called "window" or "chaff". This consisted of packages of thousands of thin strips of aluminum foil, sometimes also known as "carpet". The waist gunners on each ship were supposed to throw that stuff out from just before the IP all the way into the target and until we are out of the flak area. The object being that most ack ack guns were radar controlled, and they would shoot at the foil below us. Obviously, this was of no help to the leader and the first few ships going in. It worked best if you were further back in the bomber stream, and even better if you were radar bombing down through an undercast. If you were bombing in clear air, they soon learned to switch to visual, and some would get up barrage and tracking flak by that means. Anyway I always got a charge seeing them blowing the hell out of the sky maybe 1000ft below.

After "bombs away", we got the heck out of the flak area and headed NW toward home. Since the pilots are the only crew members without 50cals to shoot, it came my lot to go give first aid while the General flew the airplane. That caused me to get blood all over my right thigh which soaked through my flight suit and got on my pretty pink pants. Other than that, the trip back to base was pretty uneventful.

After landing, the debriefing was very long and detailed because we were the lead group.

When they finally got me back to my BOQ, I found all my buddies gone (to various pubs etc, no doubt). I remember now that I was not in the best of frame of mind, so I decided to take the little narrow guage railway train to London, bloody pants and as all. I have always dearly loved those little green Spanish grapes, so found myself all alone and lonely, leaning against a building down by Picadilly eating my grapes. Then here comes this cute little thing trippin' along in a RAF uniform. She gave me the eye; I gave her the same, so I peeled off beside her. Come to find out she was a telephone operator at R.A.F. Hdq. and was from Scotland. Right away we hit it off.

One time we had joining rooms at the Marble Arch hotel near Hyde Park close to Buckingham Palace. About sunup I heard the unmistakable low frequency sound of a buzz bomb. Then she ran in and we crouched down in our skivvies by the window with the beast headed right for us. My first thought, "what's mama gonna think?" Fortunately for us, the engine quit and it went in about 100 yards away.

About a month later, R.A.F. Hdq. was hit by a Nazi V1 rocket and the girl on duty beside her was killed. My friend was hurt severely but she survived. I never saw Bruci again.