THE REMAINING MONTHS OF 1942
==========================================================


92nd Bomb Group (Heavy) Including the 327th Squadron Organizes, constructs and operates the first 8th USAAF
CCRC Combat Crew Replacement Center at Bovingdon England.



The Center trained new replacements from the States to get them ready for combat in the ETO.

It was obviously a very difficult task, considering the problems with morale, especially among the new arrivals, as they became instantly aware of the high mortality rate of those who had arrived earlier.

The Eighth AF Bomber Command attempted to deal with this
very serious morale problem by presenting an air show to illustrate the power and strength that would protect these newly arrived airmen...

The following is a Personal account of that air show from a P-38 Pilot Arthur L. Thornsen 55th Fighter Group...
===========================================================

I flew to Bovingdon which was a replacement depot for bomber crews who had recently arrived from training fields in the States. There existed at this station a very serious morale problem as the incoming bomber crews were made instantly aware of the high mortality rate of their brethren who had arrived earlier. Bomber Command indeed was suffering heavy losses. To counter this pit of despair the bomber crews found themselves in, senior officers in their infinite wisdom, decided that an air show would turn the situation around.

After landing, I taxied behind a jeep to a designated hardstand, shut the engines down and climbed into the jeep to be driven to the Operations Shack. On the way I saw hundreds of air crew members lined up parallel to the runway I had just landed on. A flight of B-17s were preparing to take off.

At the Operations building, I reported to the officer in charge of the show, a Colonel. He introduced me to two other pilots he had been talking to. They had also been selected to take part in the impending rat race. I did not retain their names as my mind was on the challenge that lay ahead, but one, a little fellow with a moon face and a cock of the barnyard strut was a P-47 pilot. The other officer also a P-47 pilot, was a stocky, freckle faced redhead who was rather quiet and seemed about as pleased with this assignment as I was.

The Colonel said "I'm not going to tell you boys what to do. I'm sure you can cook something up yourselves. All I ask is that you give these bomber boys something to cheer about. Show them the kind of protection they'll get when those 109s start squirting at them! Show them how you can handle those crates, but do it on the deck. You'll take off in twenty minutes. The heavies are giving them a show right now!" With that he turned to another group of officers, who were there apparently, as spectators.

"Well", said the cocky 47 pilot," I'll lead this thing." That was just about what I expected him to say. "Here's what we'll do. We'll take off in formation. Thunderbolt on my left, Lightning on my right." The other Thunderbolt pilot and a I looked at each other in tacit agreement that this little runt was a fruitcake. At that moment the flight of B-17s roared down the runway at low level. When the noise subsided, The cocky pilot continued, "We'll climb to 5,000 feet, then I'll peel off, Thunderbolt second and Lightning last, all line astern. I'll pull her out on the deck and roll her right in front of the tower. You fellas' do the same."

Thunderbolt pilot and I looked at each other again. Now we were positive this guy was a fruitcake. We were all three second lieutenants so neither of us outranked the other where a question of leadership was involved. It was just that this cocky pilot was a pushy type and we were both foolish enough to let him take charge. He was still babbling. "Then we'll pull up, get a little sky beneath us and do a loop, coming out of it right on the deck again, balls out! From then on, it'll be follow the leader. I'll Lead Okay?"

We both nodded to him and he lit up a cigar that was too big for him and strolled over to a window where he could watch the heavies. Thunderbolt pilot looked at me and winked. I guess neither of us cared if this fruitcake wanted to lead the show and have his moment in glory, out front. Thunderbolt pilot said "He's an eager beaver. If he lives long enough, he'll be a general some day."
"He's a fruitcake," I said, and we each fired up a cigarette.

Outside of operations, we found the little fruitcake pilot waiting for us in a jeep. Shortly, we were out where our three ships were parked on the hardstands about a quarter of a mile from the tower. The ground crews had checked them over thouroughly and topped off the gas tanks. We dropped off the Thunderbolt pilot at his ship and he winked at me again as he got out of the jeep.
"Cheers," he said and walked over to his ship. We pulled over to the next hardstand where the little fruitcakes 47 was parked. He got out.

"Let's keep a real tight formation when we climb outa' here, then loosen it up when we go down on the deck, Okay?"

"Okay!" I said and the jeep driver put his machine in gear and took me over to where my Lightning was crouched. The crew chief, a staff sergeant, met me. "All set?" I asked.
"Yes sir. She's a fine ship. I sure hope you fellows can buck up these air crews. Their morale isn't so hot right now."

'We'll do what we can," I said. "But to tell you the truth, Sergeant, my morale isn't so hot either." His jaw dropped and I am sure he expected a pep talk from me, but he helped me into the cockpit and into my parachute harness and shortly I was turning the engines over. I turned on the radio to channel C.

Fruitcake was already jabbering, "Got the tower okay for take off. Let's go boys." He pulled his 47 out of his hardstand and taxiied in front of me, whereupon I pulled out and followed him down the taxi strip. Thunderbolt pulled out behind me. At the end of the runway we stopped to run up our engines and check the magnetos. My engines checked out fine and apparently the others did too. We pulled out onto the runway and started our takeoff roll in formation. We were soon airborne with our wheels coming up immediately. Suddenly "fruitcake" peeled up in a tight left turn, almost driving the Thunderbolt into the ground. Thunderbolt had to slide under "fruitcake" and came up on my left wing. Now we were in echelon. Its going to be a long afternoon, I thought.

After several hundred feet of climbing, Thunderbolt slid into position on "fruitcakes" left wing. At 5,000 feet and east of the field, the radio came to life, "Okay boys, I'm going in!" It was "fruitcake" and he peeled off and pushed into a thirty degree dive, lined up on the runway from which we had just taken off. Thunderbolt followed him by about ten ships lengths and I rolled over at an identical spacing and followed Thunderbolt.

On the way down I could see the hundreds of air crew members on the ground, watching the show. I hoped they would enjoy it. Now "fruitcake" was leveling off on the deck and went into his roll. Suddenly a huge flame blossomed out on the runway where "fruitcake had been and Thunderbolt pulled out of his dive.

"Geez! I shouted to myself, "The silly bastard let the stick come back too soon!" I had leveled off now and the Thunderbolt pulled up on my right wing. As we circled the field, I could see fire trucks, jeeps and a meat wagon race out to where the burning and smoking wreckage lay strewn on the runway. Meat wagon hell, I thought, They'll need a vacuum cleaner to pick the little guy up.

Suddenly the radio crackled. It was Thunderbolt pilot: "I don't believe it!" he cried, "What do we do now? fool around up here or what?"
I punched the mike button, "Piss on it!" I shouted, "I'm going home!"
"Sounds like a good idea," he replied, "Good luck!" and Thunderbolt peeled off and set a heading for his home field. I did the same.

All the way back I felt sorry, more for the air crews that needed some encouragement, that I did for the "fruitcake" pilot. What a job we did for their morale. On the other hand, looking at it realistically, we reinforced their belief that not everyone survives this war.