Andrea Donovan Pt. 05

I did as instructed and actually began to get into the mood of being a "Hollywood star" - I certainly had an elaborate enough prop to pose with. The sun was higher now and it looked like preparations to start the engines were now underway with a wheeled fire extinguisher having been rolled in front of the bomber. The B-17 had been fueled the previous evening and I had been informed that the aircraft was even loaded with a revenue generating cargo. The payload today however would be some sort of high priority calibration instruments related to the oil industry, weighing in at around a thousand pounds. The flight today would essentially be symbolic, allowing the museum a chance to fly their crown jewel while simultaneously receiving a hefty donation for delivering the small amount of cargo. This occasion would also provide the oil company a unique photo-op and substantial tax write-off to a non-profit organization, I'd been told. Works for me - any excuse to fly a B-17 is indeed a good excuse I thought, as I continued preening for Andrea's camera.

After about twenty minutes of filming and taking photos, Andrea and I were led a safe distance from the bomber by a young kid named Dave who informed us that even though Andrea was essentially a V.I.P. at the museum, we still needed to closely follow a strict protocol whenever one of the vintage war birds was in the process of starting engines, this procedure was for insurance purposes, he explained. The kid's demeanor made it obvious that Andrea was indeed a V.I.P. at the museum but that I was just, some guy, with Andrea. I understood this...

Suddenly with a high pitched whine, the number one engine's propeller began to rotate. I knew that the pilots would rotate the engine through several revolutions before activating the magnetos; this was done in case a hydrostatic lock had developed over the course of time which Alice Mae had sat dormant. Sometimes with large radial engines the lubricating oil in the crankcase would seep past the piston rings and into the lowest cylinders, if the aircraft sat long enough. In the event that a hydrostatic lock had occurred, then the spark plugs in those lower cylinders would be removed to drain out the oil which had seeped past the piston rings. This whole process was done to prevent bending any of the lower connecting rods during start-up which a hydrostatic lock could cause. However, a hydrostatic lock on number one engine had not occurred and soon the large engine coughed to life with a deep rumble and cloud of smoke.

Andrea filmed the entire start-up of all four of the large radials. During this process she moved to several different locations around the bomber, filming the entire sequence with Dave as her escort while I stayed put. Soon all four of the engines were idling with a deep throbbing crescendo in perfect unison. My God, I thought in awe, as I watched the propellers turning and drank in the sight and sound of Alice Mae preparing for departure. I tried to imagine thirty or forty more B-17's lined up behind her engaged in the same process.

Looking into the plane's nose section now, I could see that the pilots, John, Allen and the flight engineer Kenny, were all doing last minute checks of instruments and engine vitals. The ground crew was also wheeling away the fire extinguisher and the wheel chocks were being pulled away which were attached by long yellow ropes. Andrea, escorted by Dave, then moved forward of the ship, and filmed Alice Mae with all four propellers turning.

Dave then led Andrea over to where I stood and motioned me to follow. We were quickly led to the rear door and climbed inside the aircraft, Dave pointed to two seats opposite each other and parallel with the fuselage of the bomber. I followed Andrea forward as Dave stood outside the aircraft and quickly shut the door firmly behind us; Alice Mae began rolling forward immediately as Andrea and I sat down, opposite each other. I knew that it was essential for the bomber to get into the air rather quickly, the big radials wanted air to cool themselves and the sooner the B-17 was airborne, the better.

The B-17 was a "Tail dragger" meaning that there was a wheel under each wing and also one under the tail section. Andrea and I were now looking -uphill, at the pilots and Flight Engineer who were ahead of us, farther up the fuselage. Other planes, like the B-24 Liberator, and DC6 cargo plane had "Tricycle" landing gear which meant they had a wheel under each wing and also one under the nose of the aircraft -meaning they sat level when on the ground. We buckled our seatbelts and Andrea soon picked up her camera again and began filming me as we bumped along the taxiway enroute for takeoff. Andrea and I each had a large plexiglas window to our backs which had originally been open ports for defensive fifty caliber machineguns. The later model B-17's had been equipped with thirteen, fifty caliber machineguns for protection. "A Flying Fortress" one reporter had called her, the name had stuck.

I looked at the shrink-wrapped cargo strapped down over the bombays which was destined for the oil company in Odessa Texas, I'd been told. I now tried to imagine sitting in the plane with five thousand pounds of high explosive ordinance beside me, combined with ten thousand rounds of armor piercing and incendiary bullets for the fifty-cal's. Along with that, there had been hundreds of gallons of high octane fuel. The high octane fuel was still onboard but no one would be shooting at us today, no one would be trying to kill us... Alice Mae suddenly turned sharply to starboard and stopped abruptly.

Looking up from the bombays now, I noticed two large framed, black and white photos securely fastened to the plane's interior, each photograph depicting a man. One man, a waste gunner, was dressed in flight gear as he stood at his fifty caliber machinegun and solemnly looking forward through the aircraft and into the camera lens from astern. The other photo showed another young man also dressed in flight gear and proudly standing in front of Alice Mae's nose art. I knew from the website that these two gentlemen had both perished aboard Alice Mae during the heat of battle, although the two men had apparently never met, their individual Service had occurred during different times of the war. Alice Mae was essentially a flying memorial to these two gentlemen, as well as the rest of the men who had Served aboard the aircraft. The photos made me think of my biological father, Rick Sheffield, whom I had only met as an infant - a man whom I believed had been of the same caliber of men as the two in these photographs.

...Andrea picked up a set of yellow headphones which were attached to each of the seats and motioned for me to do the same. The engines suddenly came under full power now and we began to accelerate very quickly. ...The tail section rose suddenly and I could look down the length of the bomber and clearly see the runway ahead of us through the windshields now. I managed to get my headphones on and began listening to the conversation between John and Allen among the reverberating cacophony of all four of the thundering engines - if ever there was a sound of destiny then the colossal radials were it, I marveled.

"Sixty knots, you have the airplane"

"Roger that"

"...Eighty one"

"Mercury looks good"

"one hundred"

"...airborne"

"Wheels coming up"

Andrea and I listened to the conversation between John and his copilot, Allen, as we began to climb into the heavens now. Alice Mae had been built to fly and she belonged up here, I thought to myself. After about eight minutes of flight we leveled off some and I heard the engines throttle back a degree. Andrea, removing her headphones, unfastened her seatbelt and motioned for me to follow her forward. Alice Mae often carried novice paying passengers now and had thus been equipped with a lavatory at her stern and overhead hand railings, running forward, similar to a city bus.

We each grabbed the overhead railing and found our way to another set of seats farther forward, behind the pilots and opposite of Kenny, the Flight Engineer, to whom we nodded greeting. Andrea and I then buckled ourselves in and put on another set of the yellow head phones. The B-17 was not a pressurized aircraft which made for a noisy interior, yet it mattered not to me, as I was enjoying the journey thus far and reflected on how fortunate I was to be able to share such an experience with Andrea.

My ex-wife Susan would never have embarked on such an outing, she would have shown absolutely no interest whatsoever...

About an hour into our flight, I reached over and took Andrea's camera and began filming her. I wasn't a very artistic person when it came to cinematography but then again, with the quality of my subject matter; no one really noticed my deficiencies in camera work - at least no one of the male species. As I filmed Andrea now I suddenly imagined "Andrea Joy" below her likeness in an angelic form on the nose of a bomber. Yes... my beautiful wife would do justice as nose art on a B-17 quite well, I thought, as I continued filming her. Andrea suddenly became self conscious of herself on film and demanded the camera back by reaching out her hand but I pulled away from her, laughing, and continuing to film her for several more seconds while she rolled her eyes at me, shaking her head.

"That's ENOUGH!" she scolded now over the drone of engines, as she reached out again and demanded back her camera.

I stopped filming but continued laughing at her as I replayed the footage that I had just shot on the camera's display screen several times. I then suddenly looked up when I was tapped on the shoulder by Allen as he stood in front of me now. He then leaned down as I removed my headphones from one ear.

"I want to yak with Andrea some; you think you could go up front and give John a hand for a few minutes, Tim?"Allen asked over the engine noise and nodding his head forward.

"My God, yes!" I answered enthusiastically.

"Just do what John tells you and Alice Mae will do the rest" Allen winked at me.

I squeezed past Allen and brushed Johns shoulder slightly, to which John looked up and replied with a hand gesture that said "Have a seat."

After I had sat down, John handed me a set of headphones and then asked "Hear me OK?"

Adjusting the headphones now, I nodded an affirmative.

"OK, Tim, go ahead and take the wheel now and rest your feet on the pedals." John said over the headphones.

I gently set my feet on the pedals and felt John move them back and forth slightly from his own side of the airplane. I nodded my head again.

"Alice Mae is cable control so she might be a bit heavy in the wheel and pedals when you first grab onto them" John instructed over the headphones and looking at me.

"Roger that" I replied into the voice activated microphone of my headset.

"I'm going to turn the aircraft over to you now, Tim, just keep the ship straight and level with your wheel, yoke and pedals and watch your horizon" John said as he pointed to the artificial horizon gauge in the dashboard.

I took a deep breath and nodded affirmation again. John then released his own wheel and the nose of Alice Mae began to dip slightly accompanied with a change of tone in the engines but I instinctively pulled gently back on the wheel and soon had the bomber steady and level again.

"Nice job!" John said into my headphones.

Nodding my head and grasping the wheel harder, I looked out the windshield now and tried to imagine seeing a thousand other B-17's all around us during one of the raids of "Big Week." ...The wheel in my hands was in fact heavy and it began to shake slightly as we encountered a small amount of turbulence, reminding me that Alice Mae was anything but fly-by-wire. Fully loaded with fuel, bombs and thousands of pounds of bullets she would be a challenge to handle over the turbulent English Channel on a dismal day of foul weather I reflected, be cold as hell too.

"We're going to have company in a few minutes at your three o'clock, Tim, so keep an eye out for him. He's just going to do a quick once over and inspect the aircraft for us" John now said into my headphones confidently and pointing upward and toward my right.

Once more, I nodded an affirmative and rolled my eyes quickly right.

I now thought of First Lieutenant Lake Millhouse, Andrea's father -whom I had never met, and I again thought of the two photographs which were permanently fastened to the bomber's interior, astern of me. Alice Mae was essentially Hallowed Ground. She had flown into harm's way thirty seven times but had always returned home, however, the two gentlemen in the photos had not. Beneath the recent new paint of Alice Mae's floorboards, there were probably still traces of blood from the two crewmembers, from seventy years ago. ...Somehow it almost seemed as if I could feel their eyes upon my back now and asking the stark question if I, a civilian, was worthy to be flying their great ship? I had no answer for this question but I was extremely honored at having been given an opportunity that most people could only dream of.

Technically of course, I really wasn't flying the bomber; I was just holding the wheel with a well seasoned pilot beside me. Yet I knew this experience would prove be one of my fondest memories in years to come and I would always be able to say that I had in fact flown a B-17, even if only for a few minutes. My beautiful bride had secretly arranged this day for me - probably over the course of several time consuming months. The fact that I had been offered to fly this historic aircraft, having never met either John or Allen, only reaffirmed the degree of respect and integrity which others held Andrea and her father in. I also knew that strong reprimand and possibly stiff fines would befall the museum, John especially, if word ever were to leak out that I, a non-licensed novice, had commandeered the bomber. I owed John, Allen and my wife, as well as Kenny, a large degree of gratitude for having put such faith in me, I was honored beyond words.

Alice Mae's wheel now shook in my hands again, accompanied by an assortment of small rattling sounds as we bumped along over some minimal turbulence. I quickly compensated with small corrections to the wheel and yoke while eyeing the heading and altimeter, I could also feel John moving the pedals beneath my feet slightly with minor corrections. I liked the sound of the B-17 and I liked the feel of holding the heavy bomber in my hands. I suddenly realized that I was trembling, trembling the way I did when touching Andrea at times, deep within the night... What would Mom say if she could see me now? I wondered. ...The engines droned with their magnificent reverberating sound as Alice Mae flew further onward.

...The aircrews were all gone now; according to the website the last one had died in two thousand and seventeen at the age of one hundred and one. Holding the wheel now I asked myself the blatant question - How well would I have performed under the pressure of air to air combat when bullets and flak began coming up at us, REAL bullets being aimed by highly skilled and motivated warriors flying the finest equipment in the world at the time? Warriors from an enemy Nation, warriors who were trying to kill us ...I had no answer for this question either but I hoped that I would have done as expected of me.

...Alice Mae began to settle down now from the slight turbulence we had encountered and the wheel in my hands became steady again, almost as if she were beginning to accept me with some small and reluctant degree of trust. I snapped a quick glance at the two engines to my starboard and suddenly remembered a history documentary that I had seen on YouTube once, about a Mustang ace that had been in his late eighties during the time of his interview. Of the German pilots he had remarked with a soft Southern drawl, "I've thought about this many times, I'll bet I had a lot in common with that other fellow. I'll bet he liked to hunt and fish and we probably would have been good friends, under any other circumstances..." the "Other fellow" being the Luftwaffe of course.

Looking off into the distance, through the windshields of Alice Mae, I tried to imagine Messerschmitt 109's and Focke Wulf 190's screaming head-on toward us in a high stakes game of "Chicken" while firing machinegun bullets and cannon shells into the bombers. The B-17's, themselves, returning fire from their "Box Formations" and simultaneously concentrating all of their own guns at the fast approaching fighters...

Luftwaffe pilots had referred to the bomber formations as "Vier Motor Schreck" ...Four Engine Fear.

...Lake Millhouse had been present when American P-51D Mustangs had finally become available in large enough numbers to make a noticeable difference during the latter part of nineteen forty three onward. The Mustangs were well suited for the high altitude and long range missions of escorting the bombers, thus providing the B-17's with the additional security that they had so badly needed during their previous years. The Mustang had shown well of itself when thrown against the, now aging, Luftwaffe fighters and several legendary Allied aces had emerged during the latter two years of the war.

...It now occurred to me that the people flying all of these beautiful vintage aircraft hadn't been fucking around - they'd been trying to kill each other and I was suddenly extremely saddened by this. The back of my shirt was now drenched with adrenaline soaked sweat I realized, as I leaned against the back seat cushion. I was already sweating profusely ...and there wasn't even anyone shooting at us.

...Once the bombers had returned safely to their Bases in England after a mission, they were immediately turned over to the maintenance crews for battle damage assessment or just regular scheduled routine maintenance, whichever the case. Dust covers and engine cowlings were immediately removed. Control cables needed to be adjusted, instruments needed to be recalibrated and radios needed to be checked, repaired or replaced. Engines needed to be serviced with oil changes, tune-ups or cylinder replacements. Often entire engines needed to be replaced and there was always a large multitude of the small and mundane tasks that also needed to be accomplished before the next mission. After maintenance, the aircraft needed to be refueled and rearmed with the specific ordinance which the next assignment required. Keeping the bombers airworthy and ready for combat had been a monumental and never-ending task assigned to the ground crews. Often their work was performed outside in the elements until early hours of the morning with nothing more than a cup of coffee and Danish separating them from the cold.

Once more I thought of Andrea's father, Lake, a quiet and humble man who had faced insurmountable odds and engaged in a horrific conflict halfway around the world from home, an unassuming man who had simply wanted to marry and raise a family, a man who had simply loved to fly. Andrea had confided in me that her father had been a soft spoken and kindly man with a love for the outdoors and wildlife. "Dad had liked the quieter things in life and he had adored our mother, they loved taking walks in the wilderness together and Gail and I always thought that was so romantic" Andrea once said of her father.

...Some B-17's, due to battle damage, were immediately delegated to the scrapheap upon landing and were thus used as a source of spare parts for other serviceable bombers. Sometimes two or more of these heavily damaged aircraft could be combined into a single bomber and made airworthy once more. I knew from the website that Alice Mae's outer port wing and vertical stabilizer had been commandeered from other B-17's which had been wrecked beyond repair. Two of the B-17's which Andrea's father had flown into battle had also returned to England, never to fly again.