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"We're going Down." I can recall those words from our pilot coming through my earphones
as if it were yesterday. We had dropped our bomb load over the target in Germany but had been hit with a lot of flack. Some
of the B17 looked like Swiss cheese - but we were still flying! Getting our collective tails back to home base in England.
Next, an engine started malfunctioning and had to be shut down...then a second engine went out. Two left, and now
losing alltitude. Over the target we were at about 25,000 feet, but now we were under 1,500 feet over the English
Channel. Everything that wasn't screwed down had to be thrown out - guns, ammo, cameras, you name it and it went out the window.
Then we saw a wonderful sight on the horizon. The cliffs of Dover. The bad news was that now we were not
high enough to get over the cliffs. That was the moment our pilot issued those words..."We're going down."
Having radioed our position to base, the crippled B17 was set down in the Channel tail first,
like a duck lands, with the greatest of tenderness. But no time to congratulate our pilot. The aircraft would only stay
afloat a few minutes, so we all scrambled to abandon ship like drowning rats - but alive, thank God! We didn't have to wait
long before an English shore patrol ship had us aboard.
That evening we all headed for the nearest pub and a much needed drink. I don't believe I
have ever had, or will ever have, a beer that tasted so good.
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