Beefy... I saw that pair; or one like it some years back. The following is from that experience with the Birds out of Time..
Excerpted from CIS mail:
I live on the South Shore of Long Island... this past Saturday, just at
dusk, my daughter and I had the jeep out on Fire Island and I was doing a
bit of surf casting, watching the sun go down. My kid, having made the catch
of the day; had surrendered the pole to me and was down the beach gathering
shells. It had been a glorious day. About 30 feet away, standing knee deep
in the surfs backwash, casting into the smooth water behind the breakers was
an old duffer, hard-bitten; a sullen quiet guy. Earlier; we'd exchanged some
pleasantries, not much; just a New York nod, comments on bait and such.
So any way; there we were.. when behind us over the sound of the surf comes
a distinctive rumble; it soon becomes a deep thrumming roar; we twist around
and look up; the sky is blacked out by a B17, thundering directly overhead;
less than 500 feet high! "That came outta Republic Field??!!" Stunned, mouth
hanging open, I stared after it as it slowly climbed away; out over Democrat
Point; tail on to us now, presenting that distinctive '6' view, sun flashing
on the big props bringing from me a big smile. I enviously watched her
gracefully turn to the south... "Gawwwdamn!" I shout "A B17!!! What is
this?? A timewarp?" I'm wondering what it's doin here; and realize that
B17's over Long Island were once a common sight; they flew by the score from
Mitchell Field here on the Island, on their way to Nova Scotia on the
transatlantic ferry runs. Looking over at the old duffer; I see him smiling
and shaking his head. Always alert fer a new story, <gg> I started to sidle
on over towards him; but he's still staring after the buff; pointing.
"Look!" I look back; the Big Fortress has swung back in over the beach; and
lo and behold; he's formed up with a Liberator; also just off from old
Republic Field!!! The two majestic monsters thunder overhead; the Fortress
leading; the B24 out in loose finger to his left; slightly lower and behind;
eight big Pratt & Whitney radials screaming their tune to the startled gulls
and stunned beach bums. For one perfect instant of time; the Fort and the
Lib are framed with the rolling grass covered dunes, the Fire Island
Lighthouse just below; the slanting rays of the sun glinting off the
Perspex nose blister on the Liberator and the bottom of the clouds above...
gawd; no camera!
My daughter runs up, breathless, "Daddy; what were they???" She's just 12;
not much amazed or interested in technology; certainly not in airplanes.
She's just not even a little impressed with the sight of the 10:00 Concorde
coming into LaGuardia, never wants to watch a shuttle landing; is well; just
impervious to stuff that impresses me.. conditioned to technology; I guess.
I'm curious as to why these old relics caught her interest... "Why do you
ask?," I enquire with a smile.
"The SOUND Daddy!! I've NEVER heard anything like it before!"
And with that; the old duffer; reeled in now, turns toward us and says to
Candice "..and you may never hear it again, child. That was the sound of
angels and glory; the sound of fire and death... that"; ...he points the
pole at the departing formation "..was the sound of War when I was young."
And then he turned, and walked back up the beach. Candice stepped close,
grabbed my arm and whispered; "dad; did you see?? ..he was crying!".
We packed up the jeep and left soon after; trailing a respectful distance
behind the old duffer; also winding his way back up the beach; headed for
memories and parts unknown. It's quiet in the truck; my kid sensing maybe
now would not be a good time to blast Marilyn Manson. Still; she's gotta dig
a little; so she shoots into the void; "Well; are ya gonna tell me what they
were???" My kid's expression is kinda half defiant; half inquisitive, the
look I get when she thinks I'm holding back something; denying her
information I might think she's 'too young for'.
"Honey; those were World War Two's big fists.. American Heavy Bombers, a B17
and a B24. They're over fifty years old, very few of them are still flyable.
They are kept as curiosities now, flown and shown as attractions for
Airshows. Probably less than 10 B17's left, far fewer B24's. During the War;
they used to fly in numbers so vast; the sky would be dark with them. They
bombed Germany to it's knees; insuring a Victory for the Allies in the War
in Europe. Many cities were leveled; many hundreds of thousands of people
died, both in those bombers because the Germans tried very hard to stop
them, and in the cities and factories they were sent to destroy.. "
"Why was he crying??" She asked; somewhat subdued.
"Maybe he flew on one..." I ventured, ".. everyone that did lost many many
friends; maybe he lost a friend or family member flying on one. They
suffered terrible losses; thousands of those bombers were shot down. Or
maybe his home was in one of the cities that was bombed. That 'sound' you
found so impressive was very terrifying to the people that lived where the
bombers were sent. They came day and night for 4 years..."
Silence followed my diatribe; Candice sat staring out the window at the
lights twinkling on the shore as we swept over the bridge, I roamed my mind
over the history; the waves of Bombers leaving England; the trickle coming
back; the Memphis Belle Story, 12:00 High, all the legends, the Strategic
histories written in the blood of the crews from the Mighty 8th. She breaks my
reverie as we turn onto our street; sez only :
"I'll remember that sound Daddy."
Maybe, if she should ever hear that sound again; she'll remember our perfect
day, the speckled bluefish she caught, the shells; the sunset. Not me. If I
should ever hear it again; I'll be thinking about the old duffer with the
wry smile and misty eyes; about those that did what had to be done when they
were called so long ago. Maybe she'll think about him, and them; too.
Maybe.
I talked to a few people about the Fort and the Liberator over the beach
this last Saturday; they're with the CAF; doing a tour down the Eastern
Seaboard. The B24 you saw is the last one flying; if you get a chance to snap
a shot, I'd like very much to get a copy. If you see the pilots, tell 'em
they're doing a wonderful thing; keeping those birds flying. They should not
be forgotten. Tell 'em thanks; from me, and from some old unknown duffer who
was moved to tears by their appearance in the sky on a summer evening; 50
years out of time.
Steve Anthony, aka Hangtime
Pale Horses Squadron Sept 96
