Bombers Moon

Chuck arrived at the camp as an Army private. It was a barren and arid place, with bare sand and thorny weeds as far as the eye could see-for reasons of confidentiality, the recruits were not even entitled to know where they were. where.

The soldiers all slept in the simple warehouse-like dormitory. In the first few days, the new boys still had the energy to complain about the narrow bunk beds and the always crowded public toilets. Later, they were too lazy to talk. After returning from practice, he collapsed directly on the bed and started snoring in a few seconds.Sleeping on Chuck's lower bunk was a boy from Texas with a round face and a little fat. He could only wear the largest uniform size. The belt almost couldn't be buckled. The hapless good old man character.He was a locksmith like his father, so he showed his new friends how to pick locks on their first day at the barracks.He seemed to admire Chuck very much and made up his mind to be his follower, because "Dad told me that a fat man like me had to find a boss so he wouldn't be bullied".Chuck wanted to point out that this wasn't the right way to survive, but in the end he didn't, letting the locksmith's son follow like a hobbled duck.

These recruits who came in November endured three weeks of heavy physical labor. They ran with heavy loads every morning, drilled in formation, and then practiced digging trenches behind the camp, and refilled these long tunnels the next day. know why.Christmas came and went, with only one day off and no leave of camp.But to take a step back, even if they could go out, it is unlikely that the soldiers will find any entertainment in the wilderness.Chuck spent the afternoon playing cards with other people in the dormitory. They didn't have real playing cards, so they had to cut waste paper into squares of similar size and draw patterns with pencils-very easy to cheat, which led to a fight.The result was that more than half of the recruits were fined for running on Christmas night.Until the next morning, Chuck could feel the sand and dust he had inhaled last night stuck in his throat.

Shooting training started after the New Year. Because of the lack of guns, wooden models were distributed, and they were taught to aim at paper targets hung on trees or hidden in the grass in the distance.What’s even more boring is the air defense training. The main content is “I immediately fell to the ground after hearing the whistle and lay motionless in the grass.” The locksmith’s son always moved slower than others, which inevitably became the instructor’s reprimand object.On a Thursday afternoon in mid-January, when they were lying obediently on the ground, avoiding imaginary high-explosive bombs, Colonel Arthur Corelli and another strange officer appeared out of thin air and called Chuck's name.The private stood up hesitantly, glanced at the instructor, and after the instructor nodded, he stepped over his companion lying on the ground and walked towards the colonel.

On the way to the officer's office, Chuck quickly ran through the past seven days in his mind, trying to analyze what he had done wrong, so that he had to see the chief of the barracks.Colonel Corelli walked ahead of him, talking in low tones with strange officers from time to time.The guard opened the door for them, then slammed it shut after Chuck walked in.The colonel sat down behind his desk, the strange officer occupied the armchair, and Chuck stood erect by the door, hands clasped behind his back.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sinclair, don't be nervous." The colonel handed a folder to the strange officer. "This is Captain Malan. He is building an excellent team and wants to talk to you."

"Yes, sir."

The captain opened the file, but his eyes were always on Chuck: "Are you good at sports, private?"

"Football, sir, quarterback, from 12 years old."

"Are you afraid of heights?"

"No, sir."

"A high school degree, that's great, why didn't you apply to college?"

"My father grows tobacco, and I think that's why, sir."

The captain glanced at him, lowered his head and turned a page: "Shooting results?"

"I haven't used a rifle yet, sir, but no rabbit or field mouse escaped my shotgun when I was back home."

The colonel showed half a smile, and Captain Malan remained expressionless, pondering over the file in his hand, pouted his lips as if it was a math test paper full of traps, and finally closed the folder: "Have you considered joining the Army Air Corps, Sinclair?"

-

"Then what do you say?" asked the locksmith's son, sitting on the lower bunk, concentrating on polishing a pair of leather shoes that did not belong to him.

"What else can I say?" Chuck lay on his back on the top bunk, looking at the ceiling. "When an officer tells you to think about it, he doesn't really want you to think about it."

"When did they let you go?"

The answer is the next morning.Chuck was exempted from morning exercise, and was alone in the empty dormitory, packing the luggage he had just unpacked two months ago.He never saw the locksmith's son again, and couldn't remember his name, because he called him "Fatty" like everyone else.A truck was waiting outside the barracks, the driver also wearing an army uniform, with epaulettes identifying him as a corporal.He made Chuck sit in the back cargo compartment with the luggage, and Chuck squinted in the strong sunlight, feeling like a beef cow on a farm.The engine rumbled dryly, and the truck shuddered and headed northwest.

At least this time he knew what the destination was, it was written on the gate, Altus Air Force Base.It was already afternoon when Chuck arrived, six or seven planes perched side by side on the tarmac, wingtips attached to wingtips, and the glass of the canopy reflected the sunset and the outline of the mountains in the distance.Right in front of his eyes, a fighter plane painted iron gray raised its head at the end of the runway, its engines roaring, and it climbed towards the blood-red sky.

The corporal took him to the dormitory, a low building about the size of an army barracks, but divided into many small rooms. Chuck's was on the ground floor with two single beds, all empty.He chose the one by the window, dropped his luggage, and sat there for a while.

Most of the rooms in the dormitory are empty. In fact, apart from a few active pilots, there are not many people in the entire base.For the next week, Chuck had nothing to do, loitering in the hangar and occasionally being sent to clean up.He took this opportunity to get acquainted with the ground crew, and often drank beer, and learned from them that the young Army Air Corps was still slowly absorbing cadets in order to expand the weak bomber fleet.

"Then?" Chuck asked.

A mechanic shrugged: "I don't know, maybe go to Europe."

No one spoke, and the "Europe" in their minds was a distant and vague concept, just like people who heard about a distant cousin whose nose bridge was unfortunately broken by hooligans, they would express sympathy appropriately, but they didn't care too much.A few more days later, the same truck brought seven recruits, and another the next morning.Captain Malan assembled the nine cadets in the hangar and announced that they were now officially the lowest ranking members of the Army Air Corps.

The last NCO to arrive became Chuck's roommate.His last name was Hoffman, he insisted that Chuck call him "Jody," a Kansas native who had been a garage mechanic, and to prove it he showed Chuck the scars on his hands from the pincers.Like Chuck, the skinny auto mechanic had joined the Army and was singled out by Captain Malan for his familiarity with machinery.With the exception of them and a gloomy cadet who lived next door, the candidates were all college graduates and quickly formed an impenetrable clique.Chuck naturally teamed up with Jody, leaving the sullen guy alone.

In the first week of training, everyone has to take theory classes, facing blueprints, blackboards and models, to figure out what is in the belly of single-engine fighters and bombers.Two cadets failed and were transferred to the communications department.The rest were handed over to Air Force Sergeant Peter Emerson, a soft-spoken Bostonian, 42 years old, with not much hair left, and a little gray hair on both side temples. Like cotton sticking on.The cadets privately called him "Friar," even though Sergeant Emerson was married and had two daughters. The "friar" likes to quietly watch the cadets operate the Link flight training device, take note of their every move, and then lean over and whisper warnings "check your barometer", "don't forget the wind speed", and " You've crashed, Sinclair."This ghostly voice made such a deep impression on all the cadets that Chuck swore that when he flew the "Flying Fortress" bomber to Berlin two years later, he could still hear the "friar"'s unhurried admonition.

Chuck's first plane was a Stillman 75, an old Boeing biplane painted bright yellow and flying in formation like a row of painted sparrows.Cadets use it to practice takeoffs and landings and air formations.They tamed the sparrow in no time, with the only mishap being that due to a small communication snafu, Chuck almost bumped into Jody on landing, and both had to pull up and fly again.

By June, the situation became tense, and there were rumors that the bomber fleet would be sent to the UK, and some people said that it was going to bomb Tokyo, and even more absurdly, it was bombing Berlin.They spent two days studying the tactics of the Nazi Air Force, but in the end it was nothing, and there was no mobilization order from above.At the end of the month, another cadet was eliminated from the student club.To everyone's surprise, the taciturn lone wolf still stayed on.Both Chuck and Jody pass the test and start flying the brand new BT-13 monoplane. Probably the most exciting difference between the BT-13 and the Stillman 75 was the underwing-mounted machine guns, which Chuck spent all summer chasing targets dragged behind the trainer in the scorching skies. it shoots.The cadets took turns flying the dark blue trainer, hoping they wouldn't be shot down by careless teammates.

"Not bad, Sinclair," Sergeant Emerson said to the clipboard, always using very restrained words, "maybe" for terrible, "not bad" for great.If he encountered a particularly hopeless student, the "friar" would say in his usual gentle tone, "Maybe it will be better next time, but I'm afraid you won't survive the next time."

Chuck climbed out of the cabin and slid down the wing: "Thanks, sir."

"Don't babble on the radio, that's not for small talk."

"Not next time, sir."

The trainer pulled the riddled target and landed on a distant runway, and the ground crew ran towards it.Chuck tried to peek at Friar's clipboard, but failed.Sergeant Emerson put the pen back in his breast pocket, turned sideways, and looked at the young cadet. "What did you do before you came here, Sinclair?"

"Bearing factory, sir."

"Really? The bearings you made are probably installed in our planes."

"It's an honor, sir."

"Why join the Army Air Corps?"

"Captain Malan—"

"besides?"

Jody's BT-13 was just landing, and Chuck had to yell over the roar of the engine, "I guess I'm adventurous, sir!"

Chuck wasn't sure if the other party heard him clearly, "Brother" smiled noncommittally, patted him on the shoulder, turned and walked towards the hangar without answering.