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Writer recalls ride aboard 60-year-old bomber

By Byron Jenkins of The StarPhoenix (Aug 10, 2009)

The Canada Remembers International Air Show runs Saturday and Sunday at the John G. Diefenbaker Airport in Saskatoon. Dedicated to the remembrance of Canadian veterans, 2009 is the show’s final year. Looking ahead to this event is evoking memories for many of the excitement of past shows. This is true for contributor Byron Jenkins.

The annual Canada Remembers Air Show was just days away and Saskatoon’s skies were alive with screaming fighter jets, aerobatics biplanes and teams of red and white Snowbirds.

My favourite aircraft were the Second World War bombers, floating at low altitude overhead with their distinctive low, basso profundo moan. Seeing them never failed to transport me back to a romantic age of flying.

So, when offered a pre-show media flight a few years ago aboard a 60-year-old Mitchell B-25 bomber, I immediately signed up for duty. Seeing the polished silver aircraft on the tarmac, its glass cockpits gleaming in the morning sun, sent my anticipation soaring sky high. Milling about beside it were its pilot and crew, all in flight overalls, as well as the usual gaggle of microphone, camera and notebook-clutching media.

When it was time for takeoff, we climbed the boarding ladder. I started toward the impressive glass pilot’s bubble in the front of the plane, when one of the crew blocked my way with his hand.

“These guys have to go up front,” he said, pointing to a television crew. “They need to get their camera shots from up there.”

“No problem,” I said and headed for the equally impressive glass navigator’s turret atop the aircraft.

“Sorry, these gentlemen are going to sit up top,” the same crewman told me, gesturing toward a pair of gloating radiomen. Maybe it was because I had come alone that the senior crew member saved the airplane’s special spot for me.

“You get to go back there.” He pointed to where I could only vaguely make out daylight at the very back of the plane. Then he added with a grin, “You can be our tail gunner.”

My face dropped, but this was no time for histrionics. The engines were already firing and I was told to buckle up for takeoff.

A young crewman joined me mid-aircraft on bare metal seats next to a wide open door, an intimidatingly large side-gunner’s machine gun and lots of cold, grey steel. We wouldn’t be flying executive class.

Two massive propellers began to whir and we taxied down the runway. The engines sputtered and roared, filling the inside of the plane with the smell of fresh oil. I was convinced someone had forgotten to replace the engine’s oil cap. As we accelerated, the aircraft creaked and shook. It wasn’t a confidence-inducing takeoff.

Nor did we get up much speed down the runaway. The twin engines strained as though the aircraft was much too heavy for them. I began to doubt that we would lift off at all, when, seemingly defying the laws of physics, we became airborne.

Crews on board Mitchell bombers complained of the noise and many came home from war with hearing damage. This ride was deafening. Still, I was enjoying the scenery out the side-gunner’s opening when I learned that my assignment had a catch to it.

While the other passengers could remain seated in their preferred positions in the nose and top bubble of the aircraft, I had to walk to mine. Not a problem, I thought, glancing back, even though the passageway appeared very dark and narrow. Its confined space would be the least of my worries. Before I left, my seatmate offered a timely piece of advice.

“Don’t step on that metal rod,” he shouted into my ear, pointing to the floor. “Why’s that?” I yelled back in his face. “If you stand on it, you’ll open that escape hatch.”

I stared down at the long rectangular door on the floor of the aircraft behind me. Running the length of it was a narrow metal bar. The crewman must have read my puzzled look.

“That’s where the crew bailed out if they got hit,” he bellowed at me. “They stepped on that rod to spring the door open.”

My stunned expression said, “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Since he returned only a blank stare, I was assured he wasn’t.

The escape door was nearly the width of the floor, so getting past it wasn’t going to be easy. But, already airborne several hundred metres over Saskatoon, amid the reek of engine oil and the throbbing roar of engines, I set off.

Bending my six-foot-plus frame over double and spreading my feet wide apart, as to be almost stepping on the side walls of the plane, I began my awkward, undignified walk.

It didn’t help that I had nothing to hold on to. When the old aircraft shifted and shook, as though flying into heavy turbulence, I lurched sideways like a drunk.

When this happened, I stopped, caught my breath, then resumed my cowering shuffle, all the while keeping my eyes wildly fixated on the metal rod beneath me.

Once past the door, I sighed, fell to my knees and crawled to the rear of the plane. Lying on my stomach inside the sun-filled glass bubble gave me a unique, panoramic view of the earth beneath me.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine an enemy fighter plane approaching me, with cannons and machine guns blazing. Bombers were often attacked from behind and tail gunners in this vulnerable position were usually the first of the crew to get injured or killed.

Our glorious aircraft banked in slow, ungainly turns in the sky, giving me the feeling we were about to fall down sideways to the ground. Still, we were an impressive flying advertisement for the air show to come in two days.

With a last long and awkward turn, we headed back to the airport. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the young crewman signaling me to return to my seat.

I was no more courageous negotiating the walk of death a second time. I imagined tripping the release bar, snapping the escape hatch open, getting sucked out of the plane and spiralling helplessly to earth. Ever vigilant, lest I make a false step, I was humbled by the thought that Second World War tail gunners made this walk every day.

I inched forward while the plane tossed roughly. With nothing to brace myself against, I was certain I was going to misstep. But I made it back in time to fall into my seat, buckle up and take a deep breath before a rough bounce on the tarmac.

Relief swept over me. I’d survived my first bombing mission unscathed.

And I knew I would recommend a flight in a legendary airplane like the B-25 as one of the most interesting flights a person could ever take.

I’d just warn them to watch their step while on board.