For the last five months of the European WWII I was a bombardier-navigator in the 444th Sq., 320th BG. We flew B26s from bases in eastern France. Our missions were over southwestern Germany. Our targets were bridges, railroad yards, etc.


But one morning we found life rafts had been installed, as we'd be flying over open water. The French Army had a leftover (since July) pocket of German soldiers bottled up in the Medoc Peninsula on the Atlantic coast. We were to soften up the German defences for them.


I was sitting in the navigator's compartment, watching the French country side from my little window, waiting to arm the bombs and crawl up into the nose. Wilson, the pilot, called me on the intercom, said the plane next to us thought that the hatch cover over our life raft might he working loose. If the hatch cover came off, or worse, if the raft was sucked out, it could damage our tail or tangle with another plane in the formation. The raft was in a sling in the top of my compartment. So I reached up and unfastened one side of the sling. Before I was ready, the raft came down. It knocked me back into the chair. The inflation bottle's lanyard caught on something and the raft started to inflate.


Now we have what will soon be a twelve foot raft sharing a five foot compartment with me. It has me under the chin, pushing my head back into the corner. Because of the chair arm I can't slip sideways to the bomb bay door. Because of the desk I can't duck under and get to the flight deck. And it is still growing. Bummer! But my hands are under the raft so finally I work my pocket knife out and get it open. I slashed a few slits in the rubberized canvas. The raft subsides.


The hatch cover stayed on, our bombs got dropped, it was a milk run (no flak) so all's well that ends well. The crew gave me a hard time. They just knew that I'd pay for my vandalism by buying the Army a new life raft, but it never came to that.


ED EVELAND