I was sitting in the parking lot of the local community college waiting to meet my daughter. We were to exchange cars for a reason that I can't really remember.
I had the radio on just sitting back relaxing after a day of work. Relaxing in the afternoon sun of that July day in 1987. Suddenly, my peace was broken by a loud noise coming from just beyond the line of trees across busy Route 101 to my left.
"Sounds like a large multi prop job is doing a run-up preparing to take off" I thought. Unusual in this day and age, although I remembered that there were 2 DC-3's based at the airport. I drifted back into my own peace.
Soon, the sounds grew louder making it apparent that the aircraft making them was no DC-3. It was also apparent that the mystery plane was now taking off.
"Well, the vice president is in town stumping today, maybe austerity has hit the office of the VP and he's flying prop planes now" I thought to myself.
I had no sooner finished that thought when, from across the highway, a view came before my eyes. It was view that would become so special to me that it would remain fresh in my mind to this day after more than a decade.
Goose bumps ran up and down my arms as I realized that it was a B-17 with 2 P-51 Mustangs flying close escort. They all cleared the tree line directly in my view less than a half mile away.
I jumped out of the car to get a better view as the three headed West paralleling the highway.
The Mustangs climbed fast leaving the grand old dame behind. They made a sweeping right hand 180-degree turn passing over Route 101 and headed away toward the East.
The B-17 slowly gained altitude and made the same 180-degree turn. Of course the bomber is not as speedy as her escort so I was afforded an extended vision of her in her graceful turn. A vision of the sun on her brown skin. A vision of the bright red tail markings. A vision of the men at the controls. A vision, I later found out, of men flying a noble mission- to bring the very last airworthy B-17 home from Europe.
I wondered if I was the only one paying attention that day. All those commuters bumper to bumpering up the busy highway on their way home. Commuters lost in their own space probably mindless of what went on above them. "Don't they see this?" I asked myself "How could they miss it?"
In this day there is too little we understand of the experiences of the bomber crews over Europe. The joys, the camaraderie, the sorrows and of course the horrors of air combat. When so many went and so few returned from their missions to defeat the enemy.
The bombers were fair game to the skilled Luftwaffe fighter pilots in those frozen altitudes. A place so cold that removing your oxygen mask for even a few moments would mean frostbite on your face. A place where men bundled in their fur lined leather flight suits stood at their machine gun posts next to open windows trying to ensure the success of their mission and the safety of themselves and their comrades.
Too little we understand of pilots who fought with all their physical and emotional strength to bring their aircraft, sometimes damaged beyond belief, to a safe landing at their home field. The sounds and smells inside the aircraft. The smoke from the guns, the avgas, the oil, the leather, the sweat and the blood of the men.
And lest we forget those left behind- the ground crews. Those men and women nervously counting the silhouettes in the sky of the returning aircraft to assess their losses. Waiting to read the plane's ID letters as they landed to see who had returned safely and see who had been lost. Ready to answer the call to help the wounded on board. Never ready to face the death of their comrades.
The grand old lady of the sky continued her turn; a turn which brought her past me to my right at a distance about equal to that of when I first saw her as she cleared the treeline except now at some altitude.
I watched her silhouette until she vanished in the distance.
On the news that night there was a piece on the old plane. She was identified as the 'THUNDERBIRD'.
Grenier Field (now Manchester Airport) in Manchester, New Hampshire was one of the final refueling stops in the U.S. for the aircraft of World War II as they were ferried off to perform their service to the country and to meet their fate in the skies over Europe. For this reason, the first stop in Nashua on her flight home seemed very appropriate.
The plane I saw is in fact not the original, but a no-name maintenance depot craft that never saw combat. She was named 'THUNDERBIRD' in honor of the original, a B-17G that survived an incredible 112 missions. This 'THUNDERBIRD' spent the years after the war in various locations in Europe, South America & Africa performing various duties. Sadly, her gallant namesake was scrapped shortly after the war.
I am a 50+ year old who grew up with the planes of that era and I consider myself a WWII aircraft enthusiast. Unfortunately, many of the images I grew up with were those of Hollywood and were mostly theatrical exercises that in no way represented the realities of air combat. All in all this was a very moving experience for me and even as I write this I am a little goose bumpy.
Therefore, to the THUNDERBIRD, to all her sister aircraft, to all the crews, those that made it home and for those that made it home only in spirit, for enduring all that you did, the intense emotional experiences in the skies and on the ground, experiences that we now can barely comprehend, I want to say Thank You and...
WELCOME HOME
My thanks to the following people: