bobdina
05-09-2010, 06:01 PM
Texan remembers life as a tailgunner
By Ray Westbrook - The Associated Press
Posted : Sunday May 9, 2010 16:30:01 EDT
Lubbock Avalanche-Journal LUBBOCK, Texas — Gerald R. Perry, who has lived in Lubbock since 1958, remembers he flew 35 missions backward in a B-17 bomber during World War II.
He was a tailgunner, and never saw where his plane was headed — just where it had been.
Perry originally entered the National Guard in 1940 while he was living at Clarksville, a year before Pearl Harbor. He was made an infantry soldier when his unit mobilized.
But Perry preferred the air, and realized quickly that he already had friends in high places who could change that.
“My first sergeant was my barber there at Clarksville when we mobilized, and the captain in charge was the postman — I knew them both.”
He became a member of the 493rd Bomb Group, 860th Bombardment Squadron.
Perry entered combat, though, by a long, winding road. He spent two years training recruits in the basics at Wichita Falls, and more months teaching the specialties of gunnery school at Rapid City, S.D., before his big chance came.
“An opening came up on a B-17 crew that had lost its tailgunner. So, I volunteered and took his place,” he remembers.
“They sent me to Lincoln, Neb. We flew there in a brand new B-17. Then we landed in Syracuse, spent the night, and the next day took off and landed in Iceland.”
When Perry reached his base near Ipswich in England, he found the reality of war was accompanied by a measure of fear.
“Certainly there was fear — you weren’t human if you weren’t scared,” he said.
Bombing runs over Berlin transformed Perry into a seasoned veteran of aerial combat.
“Most of the time, it was flak. They would shoot those 104mm cannons and it would explode into the formation. The flak would fly everywhere and knock holes in your plane ... the explosions were so loud I could hear them over the noise of the engines.”
After a mission ended, Perry would remove his guns from the B-17, clean them in an armament shack, and reinstall them in the turret for the next mission. Meanwhile, a ground crew would patch holes in the plane left by flak that somehow had missed crew members.
Perry learned to appreciate the pilots of P-51 fighter escorts over a target area. “They were some of the bravest ... if it hadn’t been for the P-51 fighter pilots, we wouldn’t have made it.”
He often thinks today of their exploits, and wishes he could talk to some of the veterans he used to know.
“I imagine some of them are stationed here — living here — right now,” he said, correcting a momentary slip into military terminology.
The pilots flying P-51s had fuel tanks attached to the wing tips to increase range.
“The minute they were attacked, they would drop those tanks and start shooting the planes down — I saw a lot of Germans go down from fighter planes,” he remembers.
Perry himself carried lethal equipment for his own job aboard the B-17.
“I had 500 rounds in the tail back there with me, and the cans were on each side of me. Every 24 bullets was a tracer. When we were attacked, and a fighter came in from the rear, it looked like Christmas lights. All those guns shooting tracers ... it looked like every one hit, but they didn’t,” he said.
Perry had one other, haunting concern apart from the traditional dangers of aerial warfare — an enemy fighter plane that could be used as a weapon.
“The Germans were good fighters, and they were smart. They would come in from the front of the plane and would be shooting into us. People didn’t realize it, but there were suicide fighters in Germany who would run into your plane. It would take out a plane, and there was nothing you could do.”
After his 35 missions were complete, Perry volunteered for a bizarre flight in which a B-17 bomber provided support for 25 P-51 fighter planes. Sweden had purchased 50 of the P-51s, and Perry’s plane accompanied 25 on each of two trips to Stockholm to bring back the pilots.
Perry never got a Purple Heart for a personal injury, even though flak had come through the plane near him more than once. He keeps thinking back to the war years, and wondering whether any members of the crews he served with are still around.
Referring to a generation of soldiers who are fading from the scene, Perry said, “I’m 91, and most of my crews are dead. If they are living, most would be in their late 80s.”
He would just like to talk to them.
Although most of the generation from World War II had left military service by 1946, Perry continued for a total of 20 years. He stayed a master sergeant and a tailgunner, riding the plane backward even aboard the B-52 bombers that carried two atomic bombs and flew near Russia.
He explains that a small round device worn with his dog tags was an instrument to measure radiation, just in case a bomb had been leaking.
Then he takes out a thin piece of well-worn metal that is a little over an inch long with a mysterious hinged blade.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks. “It’s a can opener.”
It was an instrument necessary for two hot wars and a cold war.
By Ray Westbrook - The Associated Press
Posted : Sunday May 9, 2010 16:30:01 EDT
Lubbock Avalanche-Journal LUBBOCK, Texas — Gerald R. Perry, who has lived in Lubbock since 1958, remembers he flew 35 missions backward in a B-17 bomber during World War II.
He was a tailgunner, and never saw where his plane was headed — just where it had been.
Perry originally entered the National Guard in 1940 while he was living at Clarksville, a year before Pearl Harbor. He was made an infantry soldier when his unit mobilized.
But Perry preferred the air, and realized quickly that he already had friends in high places who could change that.
“My first sergeant was my barber there at Clarksville when we mobilized, and the captain in charge was the postman — I knew them both.”
He became a member of the 493rd Bomb Group, 860th Bombardment Squadron.
Perry entered combat, though, by a long, winding road. He spent two years training recruits in the basics at Wichita Falls, and more months teaching the specialties of gunnery school at Rapid City, S.D., before his big chance came.
“An opening came up on a B-17 crew that had lost its tailgunner. So, I volunteered and took his place,” he remembers.
“They sent me to Lincoln, Neb. We flew there in a brand new B-17. Then we landed in Syracuse, spent the night, and the next day took off and landed in Iceland.”
When Perry reached his base near Ipswich in England, he found the reality of war was accompanied by a measure of fear.
“Certainly there was fear — you weren’t human if you weren’t scared,” he said.
Bombing runs over Berlin transformed Perry into a seasoned veteran of aerial combat.
“Most of the time, it was flak. They would shoot those 104mm cannons and it would explode into the formation. The flak would fly everywhere and knock holes in your plane ... the explosions were so loud I could hear them over the noise of the engines.”
After a mission ended, Perry would remove his guns from the B-17, clean them in an armament shack, and reinstall them in the turret for the next mission. Meanwhile, a ground crew would patch holes in the plane left by flak that somehow had missed crew members.
Perry learned to appreciate the pilots of P-51 fighter escorts over a target area. “They were some of the bravest ... if it hadn’t been for the P-51 fighter pilots, we wouldn’t have made it.”
He often thinks today of their exploits, and wishes he could talk to some of the veterans he used to know.
“I imagine some of them are stationed here — living here — right now,” he said, correcting a momentary slip into military terminology.
The pilots flying P-51s had fuel tanks attached to the wing tips to increase range.
“The minute they were attacked, they would drop those tanks and start shooting the planes down — I saw a lot of Germans go down from fighter planes,” he remembers.
Perry himself carried lethal equipment for his own job aboard the B-17.
“I had 500 rounds in the tail back there with me, and the cans were on each side of me. Every 24 bullets was a tracer. When we were attacked, and a fighter came in from the rear, it looked like Christmas lights. All those guns shooting tracers ... it looked like every one hit, but they didn’t,” he said.
Perry had one other, haunting concern apart from the traditional dangers of aerial warfare — an enemy fighter plane that could be used as a weapon.
“The Germans were good fighters, and they were smart. They would come in from the front of the plane and would be shooting into us. People didn’t realize it, but there were suicide fighters in Germany who would run into your plane. It would take out a plane, and there was nothing you could do.”
After his 35 missions were complete, Perry volunteered for a bizarre flight in which a B-17 bomber provided support for 25 P-51 fighter planes. Sweden had purchased 50 of the P-51s, and Perry’s plane accompanied 25 on each of two trips to Stockholm to bring back the pilots.
Perry never got a Purple Heart for a personal injury, even though flak had come through the plane near him more than once. He keeps thinking back to the war years, and wondering whether any members of the crews he served with are still around.
Referring to a generation of soldiers who are fading from the scene, Perry said, “I’m 91, and most of my crews are dead. If they are living, most would be in their late 80s.”
He would just like to talk to them.
Although most of the generation from World War II had left military service by 1946, Perry continued for a total of 20 years. He stayed a master sergeant and a tailgunner, riding the plane backward even aboard the B-52 bombers that carried two atomic bombs and flew near Russia.
He explains that a small round device worn with his dog tags was an instrument to measure radiation, just in case a bomb had been leaking.
Then he takes out a thin piece of well-worn metal that is a little over an inch long with a mysterious hinged blade.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks. “It’s a can opener.”
It was an instrument necessary for two hot wars and a cold war.