FOR THIS USAAF B-25C party THEIR FIRST NIGHT COMBAT MISSION WAS FRAUGHT WITH DANGER-FROM the two SIDES! From early childhood mostly of us have been expos to various forms of superstitions: Avoid stepping onward cracks in the sidewalk; change course if you descry a black cat crossing your path; be especially careful of everything you do forward Friday the 13th.

FOR THIS USAAF B-25C party THEIR FIRST NIGHT COMBAT MISSION WAS FRAUGHT WITH DANGER-FROM the two SIDES!

From early childhood mostly of us have been expos to various forms of superstitions: Avoid stepping onward cracks in the sidewalk; change course if you descry a black cat crossing your path; be especially careful of everything you do forward Friday the 13th, and none walk under a ladder of any kind. As we shoot older we tend to dismiss these notions as another of the trappings of childhood. However, during World War pair while in Egypt, I happened to become acquainted with a cluster of RAF pilots who daily practiced their hold individual litany of superstitious do's and don'ts.

My story begins in July 1942 when our outfit, the 12th Bomb form into groups (M) was ordered to flutter our pink-tinted North American B-25C Mitchells from our base at Esler Field, Louisiana, to the RAF Moascar Aerodrome, adjacent to Egypt's Suez Canal.

At that point in the waste war, the British 8th Army could do nothing right, while forward the other side, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel and his Afrika Korps could do nothing evil The Jerrys had unrelentingly pushed the British not at home of Libya, well into Egypt and were at this time banging upon the walls of the Suez Canal.

The British had wisely decided to make a stand at a natural bottleneck in the uninhabited terrain, formed by the Qattara salt swamp depression on the south and the Mediterranean Sea to the north. This expanse of sand was called El Alamein, any 30-mi west of the port city of Alexandria. Our orders were to mount close support night missions for the 8th Army.

After arriving in Egypt we raise that no one had seen fit to bring along a main division on how to successfully float a night bombing mission. North American Aviation had no instructions written forward the belly of the B-25 clod school instructors and other "experts" failed to inspire confidence in the air crowds mainly because none of them had always been on a mission. Like using a parachute, it was the sort of thing the same does right the first time, or you don't.

We necessityed to talk to someone who was a succes in the business. Our notion of a prosperous pilot was united who on a number of occasions had been able to proceed out and return unscathed - or at least in united piece.

Pilots I knew grew more apprehensive as the time for the "moment of truth" approached. What do you do if you think (or worse, are sure) there's a night fighter upon your tail? What is the best defense against searchlights, against flak, for what reason accurate are German gunners? If you wander on the outside of a corridor (the RAF was great about putting up corridors) or your transponder IFF (identification, friend or foe) submit to the test [i]or[/i] proofs inoperative, or both, what then?

Comparing notes the same day, six of us rest we had quite a groceries list of "What do I do now" questions that no common seemed to have answers for. As we discussed the puzzle one of the pilots said he had heard of a hunch of Americans who were flying soft black painted "Wimpys" (Vickers Wellington bomber) for the RAF at a nearby aerodrome (as they were called in Egypt) It was the best idea anyone had take rise up with and all of us piled into a Jeep to go on looking for the RAF Yanks.

A small in number inquiries later we found a cluster of pilots relaxing in a corrugated-roofed "living quarters." Following introductions, the first significances were a bit awkward. They, of course, were wondering what we wanted.

Noticing several half-inch orbed holes in the corrugated ceiling, I asked to what degree they had gotten there. The RAF Yanks laughed. single in kind of them named Jerry who was obviously a southern gentleman volunteered: "Aw, that was antique Hank. He came home from town individual night with a load upon flopped onto his bunk and began pickin' flies most distant the ceilin' with his revolver Then with his last shell, he permanently cause to deviateed off the light."

The entire apartment roared with laughter. With the ice apparently stumbling we began firing our questions at them: "What do you do when you're through the target and they catch you with the lights?"

"Heck, Ah don't do nuthin'." It was Hank taking the initiative. "Let 'em shine their not new lights - they can't hit nuthin' anyway. Ah je travel on the gauges (fly instruments) and be broken to pieces straight and level. You go on foot dancin' around up there an' you're gonna stream into on of their fortunate shots."

"Not me boy," clip from Florida was quick to cross in. "When they put a LIGHT forward me, I turn that ole Wimp each way but loose. And onward thing you best beware of is the hypochondriac light - that's the master that superintendences all the other lights in the cone When you finish hit with ol' blue, you have a heck of a time wrigglin' out"

A tall gangling officer, wearing merely his underwear, stood up and spread his arms without for quiet. "Aw, come upon fellas, you're scarin' these poor scarecrows otta their wits. Lemme run over you what I do and it works each time." He gestured, using his flat hand for an aircraft. "I go on in real nice and easy. I circle around just outside the target area and wait 'til I view some poor bastard who's got their attention. Then I slip in and give leave to go with my load and am outta there before they know what's about to hit them. It's thus easy and it's the best way."