The Buffalo Babe
With Ultionis out for editing, I've got some new ideas... let me know what you think of this.
***
Few things sounded sweeter to the pilot
of a B-17G Flying Fortress than the buzzing hum of its four Wright Cyclone
engines as it flew due west. The Buffalo Babe,
her nose adorned with a pin-up wearing nothing but a cold weather bomber coat,
in honor of the wintery city for which she was named, was on its way back to
England after another raid on Regensburg. Forty Fortresses were lost that day, and the Babe hadn't escaped the flak–
German anti-aircraft installments had taken out a good portion of the tail wing
and left a gaping hole in the fuselage to the rear of the left waist gunner's
position. Thankfully, no one was seriously injured.
"Cap, we're losing number
three," Lieutenant John Giuseppe said from the co-pilot's seat.
"Feather prop, cut fuel,"
Captain Dean Pierce replied. His co-pilot did as ordered and they continued to
fly on in silence. They had long since entered friendly skies and had dropped
their altitude to around 10,000 feet. It was still cold, but they could come
off oxygen and finally relax. Jimmy was passed out in his tail gunner's seat,
while Cameron Cooper had climbed up out of his ball turret and was lounging in the
radio room with Pete, the radio operator. Dick "Deek" Meekers and Art
Mancuso secured their guns in the waist and joined Cam and Pete. Their arms
were finally starting to regain some feeling.
Top turret gunner Dan McCloud rested his
elbows on the headrests of the two pilots and stood between them watching intently
as the English countryside grew larger in the distance. The Babe's remaining two officers,
Lieutenants David Driscoll and Christian Leone had secured their bombardier and
navigator's stations, respectfully, and were well on their way to dozing off
themselves.
Pierce looked to his right to see the Jacks Over Nines. To his left was the Lancaster Lady. The Lady was flying on two engines, but was otherwise unharmed. In its typical, lucky fashion, the Jacks Over Nines flew unscathed. Pierce
scoffed, drawing Giuseppe's attention.
"Something wrong, Cap?"
"Look at her over there,"
Pierce said as he nodded in the direction of the Jacks Over Nines. "I swear to God, O'Malley's got the luck of
the Irish shoved up his ass."
Giuseppe and McCloud laughed. The crew
of the Babe was a mixture of Italians
and Irishmen, an unlikely combination but one that worked nonetheless. They
teased each other's ethnicity without abandon and strangely it actually drew
them closer together. The three men had a good chuckle before McCloud spoke.
"Captain, looks like we got some weather ahead."
Pierce's smile quickly faded as he
looked up to see the storm clouds brewing in the distance. "Where the hell
did that come from?" he asked absently. "Pete, you get any reports of
bad weather rolling in?"
Peter Miller checked the communications
log to see if there was anything he'd missed. "No, Captain. I mean, they
told us it might be a little overcast when we came back, but nothing major. Why?"
"Looks like we're headed into some
rain. You got your roof hatch secure?"
"Yes sir. Waist stations might get
a little damp, though."
"Roger that. Deek and Art with
you?"
"Affirmative, sir, and if Deek
doesn't stop snoring I'm gonna shove a couple spent shells up his nose."
Pierce laughed. "Duly noted."
Pierce continued to fly the Babe towards home, and the storm was on
them like a thief from the shadows. Rain and sleet pelted the bomber's tiny windshields
and the roar of the thunder was deafening. The whole aircraft shook and lurched
in the sky.
"Cap, all due respect but can't you
get us above this?" Driscoll asked from below.
Before Captain Pierce could answer, a surge
of lightning struck the Jacks Over Nines
in the portside wing, shearing it off. "She's going down, Cap!"
Giuseppe shouted into the radio. Everyone in the radio room crammed to peer out
the tiny window to see the damage, while Driscoll and Leone tried to see
through the fogged-over nose. Jimmy Tanner wiped the condensation from his tail
gunner's viewport, but couldn't see a thing.
"Any chutes?" Pierce demanded
to know.
"I can't see a goddamn thing,
sir!" someone called out. Pierce wasn't quite sure who had spoken. It
didn't matter.
"Get your oxygen and jackets. We're
climbing. Maybe we can get above this."
John Giuseppe slipped his hand behind his
radio microphone and whispered to his captain. "Dean, do we have fuel for
this?"
Captain Pierce glanced down at the fuel
gages. Running on three engines, they should have just enough to make the climb
and still get themselves home. "We should be good, John. Just help me on
the stick. This could get a little bumpy."
As the crew readied themselves for
ascent to higher altitude, Pierce and Giuseppe struggled to keep the mighty bomber
aloft. Sleet was pounding them now, and they had lost any visual on the Lancaster Lady. Lightning filled the
sky. "Come on John, pull!" Pierce ordered as they both yanked back on
the stick to heave the massive war bird higher. Just as they did, a massive
wave of lightning struck and crawled across the Babe's hull. To a man, the ten person crew of the Buffalo Babe felt the searing electric
shock. As quickly as it had come though, it had passed, and the Babe pulled up
through the clouds. Nothing could have prepared them for what they saw when
they emerged.
"Unidentified aircraft, you've have
entered British airspace without authorization. Identify yourself and
destination."
Pierce and Giuseppe stared in astonishment
at the two Eurofighter Typhoons that flanked the Buffalo Babe. They'd never seen such advanced aircraft and wondered
if they must be some kind of top secret project on which the allies had been
working. An angry voice again demanded
that they provide identification.
"Right, sorry, this is B-17G Buffalo Babe, 8th Air Force,
384th Bombing Group, en route to RAF Grafton Underwood."
"Say again?" the fighter pilot
asked in disbelief.
"This is the Buffalo Babe, returning with the 384th from our bombing
run over Regensburg. What kind of aircraft are you flying?"
"Pilot if you don't identify
yourself in the next five seconds we will blow you from the sky."
"Wait!" Pierce yelled
frantically. "I'm telling you the truth! This is Captain Dean Pierce! We
were on our way back from our run and encountered extreme weather! We lost our one
wingman, the Jacks Over Nines, and
lost visual contact with our other wingman, the Lancaster Lady. We climbed to get out of the storm and that's when
we saw you!"
A brief silence ensued as the two
fighter pilots checked in with Command. Command, baffled, radioed back shortly.
"Do you mean to tell me, Flight Lieutenant, that you are currently looking
at the B-17 bomber Buffalo Babe?"
"Affirmative, Command. Were they part
of some air show exhibition or something and got off course?"
More silence.
"Flight Lieutenant, is this some
kind of a joke?"
"No, Command. Why?"
"The B-17 Buffalo Babe, together with a good portion of her bombing group,
were lost in a freak storm while returning from a bombing run over Regensburg,
Germany on 28 January 1944. That plane disappeared over seventy years
ago."
"Well, I don't know what to tell
you Command, because I'm staring at the bloody thing as we speak."
A longer silence filled the fighter
pilot's helmet speakers until Command finally came back.
"Do not engage. Get that aircraft on the ground."
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