Dear Dad, March 19, 1945
Perhaps you would like to know about a typical mission day with the 8th United States Air Force. . An actual mission is one continuous surge between tense eager expectancy and weary monotony - the thrill as power surges to lift the great silver bird in flight, the jockeying to form in squadron - group - wing - division and airforce formation by 1200 planes, England - a cloud covered hearsay - a gilt of sunlit fields and towns - A symphony in early morning shades of blue, the cold grey channel, Germany, cold, a stick of Wrigleys Spearmint Gum, oxygen, fascinating flac, escorting Mustang and Thunderbolt fighters, unidentified contrails, more flac - close and black - the plane staggers from the concussion, peaceful smoking target, prop wash rocking the formation, # 1 prop surging and running away, I'm tired, the channel and England again, low altitude, off oxygen at last, wolf down a Hershey bar...
...I land about 1500, check with the crew chief about the plane and ride a truck back to the briefing room. I redress and down Red Cross cocoa and sandwiches while talking over the mission and calming down. I attend pilot's critique and then go to supper at about 1700.
Yours,
Lee
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