Peace, equality and 1,000-pound bombs
Since Monday was the ‘official’ MLK day, I’d like to briefly depart the topic of wargaming and write about something more appropriate for a bank/government holiday that celebrates the memory of a man dedicated to peace and equality.
Yep. On Saturday I took Junior Destructo Man 3.75 over to the Ocala airport and let him get a good, close look at three old warbirds that had been flown in for the weekend. To me, nothing says peace and equality quite like the B-17 Flying Fortress and the B-24 Liberator.
B-17G visits Ocala
A P-51 Mustang was also on display, but turns out it wasn’t really in ‘warbird’ condition. It was more sporterized in a modern, air-racing sort of way - except for the fact that they’d added a second seat so they could sell ‘flying lessons’ for the tidy sum of $2200 per half hour. I didn’t see any takers.
The airport’s smallish terminal was crowded with Old Guys showing off Old Stuff at their trinkets tables. As befits what was essentially a charity event (Keeping those old planes flying isn’t cheap), the grounds outside the terminal featured the usual weenie and funnel-cake vendors.
The bombardier position
But the two old bombers were the centerpieces of the show. To my untrained eyes they were in very good condition for sextagenarian former members of the Aluminum Overcast. Since I don’t at all mind throwing a bit of financial support at a good cause, I ponied up the $18 so that Juanco and I could clamber around inside the old bombers.
Looking forward from the bomb-bay
Despite the fact that I’m a history buff and an aviation enthusiast, until Saturday I had never set foot inside a flying model of either aircraft. Warbird shows and visits to air museums have come and gone, but for some reason I had never taken advantage of any of those opportunities. This time I figured that the few flying big warbirds that remain likely won’t be flying for very many more years, so it was time to get on in there and take a look around.
Hey, the kid could fit
My first observation is that airmen back in the 1940s probably weren’t quite my size. Juan Carlos - being just a shade over three feet tall - didn’t have any problems getting around, but for me it was a tight squeeze. In my defense, I’ll note that I am leaner than I used to be (although hardly ‘lean’) so it was more an issue of shoulders than of waist. [Yes. I am the stereotypical broad-shouldered man-stud for the New Century.]
We climbed in the nose hatch of the B-17, which landed us right behind the bombardier position and below the pilots’ stations. In order to access the rest of the aircraft, we clambered up between the two pilots’ seats. From there, a knee-knocker (for me, anyway) of a bulkhead door gave entrance to the smallish cabin with the radio and navgear and the top gun turret. A narrow catwalk through the bomb-bay lead back to the aft cabin with the stations for the ball-turret, waist guns and other doodads.
Another view of the B-17
The B-17 was considered a large aircraft when it was designed, but throughout our little tour I was struck by how small it was in comparison to contemporary heavy-lifters. As I sqwaddled along the bomb-bay catwalk I thought “This is all?” - because I somehow imagined I would find a space much bigger. But I guess that’s all the space needed for the six- to eight-thousand pound payloads the aircraft typically carried.
Think about that for a moment: Thousands upon thousands of times during the war, the ten-man crews aboard B-17s risked their lives (and all too often lost them) in order to drop maybe six or eight thousand-pounders on their enemies. Yeah, they were smaller than me - but they had a lot more guts, I think.
A look at the Liberator
After knocking and banging my way through the B-17, the moderately more spacious B-24J was something of an anti-climax. We entered through the aft hatch in the bottom of the aircraft. The aft area where the tail-gunner held court was off-limits - much to the disappointment of the gray-haired former tail-gunner I encountered who wanted to see if he could still fit in his one-time flying office space.
In the B-24, we only had access to the aft compartment. It’s a bit taller space than on the B-17, and it also includes access to the ball-turret. I’ve always read that ball-turret gunners were typically the smallest men in the aircrew, and after getting a look at one of the gizmos up-close now I understand why. The turret hatch was closed, of course, but it was pretty easy for me to figure out by simple measurement that I probably couldn’t squeeze into it much beyond my knees. I don’t think it was two feet wide.
The B-24 - spacious accommodations
The area forward of the bomb-bay was also off-limits to the tour, so we had to exit through the bomb-bay. Some steps down were thoughtfully provided. Unfortunately, there were some structural supports mid-bay on the catwalk - and they were spaced too narrowly for my big butt to squeeze through. I could squeeze between similar supports on the B-17, but on the B-24 there was less vertical space and I had to squat in the bomb-bay. The combination of my knees poking out one way and my big butt poking out the other way killed the deal. My kid easily made it to the steps and hopped down, but it was obvious I wasn’t going to get that far.
So. Bombs away. I had to jump out the bomb bay.
Not quite a thousand-pounder, fortunately.
