When we think of the 8th Air Force and its contribution to the victory in World War II, we are naturally drawn to the dramatic stories of aerial combat that engulfed the continent of Europe from 1942-1945. The sacrifices of these men who flew into the cold blue against the best the Luftwaffe could throw at them day after day played a critical role in weakening Nazi Germany, and that story has been well told in both popular literature as well as movies such as Twelve O’clock High, Memphis Belle, and the new series Masters of the Air. Their stories ring with the terror of combat, the biting and deadly cold, of perseverance in the face of mechanical failures, flak, and German fighter planes to complete their mission of reducing German industry to rubble.
But when we look at the 8th Air Force, one quickly learns that the flyers comprised but a small part of the vast organization that existed with the mission of putting bombs on German targets. And that the missions themselves comprised but a small portion of the men’s total army experience. Combat itself seems almost an aberration from the collective experience these men shared of life on an army air force base. We often hear the stories of what aerial combat was like, but rarely do we hear about the wartime experiences of these men away from combat, let alone from the ground support personnel who made those dramatic bombing missions possible.
The story of life in the 8th Air Force during
World War II thus breaks down into two very separate experiences: that of the “flyboys,”
who flew those dangerous missions and that of the “paddlefeet,” the nickname
the flyers gave to the mechanics, technicians, sheet metal workers, parachute
riggers, weather men, radio operators, photo interpreters, cooks, medics, and
dozens of other critical support personnel that made those missions possible.
This
book aims to synthesize these two very different wartime experiences into a
cohesive whole to present a balanced portrait of life in the 8th Air
Force during World War II. What was it like living on an army air force base
during the war? How were the bases constructed, laid out, and operated? How did
the ground support personnel experience the war? What was it like back at the
base ‘sweating it out’ while the mission was underway? What was it like being
awake night after night, repairing damaged aircraft or patching together
fractured men? How did the men live day after day in the barracks? What did
they eat, what type of music did they listen to, and how did they deal with the
loneliness of being away from home?
How
did these men find themselves in the Army Air Forces? What type of training did
they receive, and what types of equipment did they operate? How did the men
adjust to living in wartime England with its different customs and social
mores? What was it like to go on a 48-hour pass in London? Why was alcohol and
drug use so widespread yet so little discussed? How did our airmen interact
with British women both on and off base? And how did these men grow such strong
bonds of comradeship that held together for decades after the war? In seeking
the answers to these questions, we will gain a deeper appreciation for the
unspoken war behind the headlines and the movies, while gaining insights into
how the WWII experience shaped and molded the character of the Americans of the
20th and 21st centuries.
Our World War II generation is rapidly passing from the scene at the rate
of 131 per day, and estimates are now that barely 100,000 of the 16.1 million
who served in the U.S. armed forces remain alive. Looking back on the war,
Colonel Budd Peaslee of the 384th Bomb Group wrote “the B-17s and
B-24s will never again assemble into strike formation in the bitter cold of
embattled skies. Never again will the musical thunder of their passage cause
the very earth to tremble, the source of the sound lost in infinity, and
seeming to emanate from all things, visible and invisible. The great
deep-throated engines are forever silent. But on bleak and lonely winter nights
in the English Midlands, ghost squadrons take off silently in the swirling
mists of the North Sea from ancient weed-choked runways, and wing away toward
the east, never to return. On other nights the deserted woodlands ring with
unheard laughter and gay voices of young men and young women who once passed
that way. Recollections of all these fades a little with each passing year
until at last there will finally remain only the indelible records of the
all-seeing Master of the Universe to recall the deeds of valor excelled by no
other nation, arm, or service.”
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