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Show Ernie Pyle's Slant on the War: British and American lAir Cooperation Strong Non- Commissioned Officers Never Become Hardened to Men's Death By Ernie Pyle ' (Editor's Note): This dispatch was written and first published when Pylt was with the CIs at the Italian front. He is now on his way to cover the boyt in the Pacific war zones. IN ITALY. If you ever heard a dive bombing by our A-36 Invader planes you'd never forget it. Even in normal flight this plane makes a sort of screaming scream-ing noise, and when that is multiplied many-fold by the velocity ve-locity of the dive you can hear the wail for miles. On the ground it sounds as though they are coming directly down upon you. It is a hor- fyM rifying thing. The F.ftWtW'i German Stuka tV 'l could never touch : V'' ' them for sheer ;.r,tj' r rightfulness of E wv-V?' j sound, f ' Y-J' ly Also, the Stuka '4'-'':Cv has always dIved at an angle. But yffijtefl&i I these planes come ,.rv,,i,iJ literauy straight Ernie Pyle down. If you look up and see one a mile above you. you can't tell where it's headed. It could strike anywhere within a mile on any side of you. That's the reason It spreads its terror ter-ror so wide. But our pilots have to hand it to the Germans on the ground. They have steeled themselves to stand by their guns and keep shooting. Pilots say the Italians would shoot until the bombs were almost upon them, then dive for their foxholes, and then come out and start shooting again after the bombs had exploded. But not the Germans they stick to their guns. Maj. Ed Bland, a squadron leader, lead-er, was telling me about coming suddenly over a hilltop one day and finding a German truck right In his gunsights. Now it's the natural human impulse, im-pulse, when you see a plane come upon you, to dive for the ditch. But the German gunner in this truck swung a gun around and started shooting at Bland. German and American tracer bullets were streaming back and forth in the same groove in opposite directions, almost hitting each other. The German Ger-man never stopped firing until Bland's six machine guns suddenly chewed the truck into complete disintegration. dis-integration. Oar dive bombers don't have much trouble with German fighters. The reasons are several. For one thing, the Luftwaffe is weak over here now. For another, the dive bombers' job is to work on the infantry in-fantry front lines, so they seldom get back where the German fighters fight-ers are. And for another, the Invader In-vader Is such a good fighter itself that the Jerries aren't too anxious to tangle with it. i Flying Allotment. For several months the posting period back to America was set at a certain number of missions. Then it was suddenly upped by more than a score. There were pilots here who were within one mission of going home when the order or-der came. So they had to stay and fly a few 'more months. Some of them never lived to finish the new allotment Nowhere in oar fighting forces is cooperation closer or friendship friend-ship greater than between Americans and British in the air. 1 have yet to hear an American pilot make a disparaging dis-paraging remark about a British Brit-ish flier. Our pilots say the British Brit-ish are cooler under fire than we are. They like to listen in on their radios ra-dios as the RAF pilots talk to each other. For example, one day they heard one pilot call to another: "I say, old chap, there is a Jerry on your taiL" To which the imperiled pilot replied: re-plied: "Quite so, quite so, thanks very much old man." And another time, one of our Invaders In-vaders got shot up over the target His engine was smoking and his pressure pres-sure was dowo and he was losing altitude. He made for the coast all alone, easy meat for any German fighter that might come along. He was just barely staying in the air, and he was a sad and lonely boy Indeed. Then suddenly he heard over his earphones a distinctly British voice saying: "Cheer up, chicken, we have you.' He looked around and two Spitfires, Spit-fires, one on either side, were mothering him back to his home field. V I Platoon Leaders. Buck Eversole is a platoon ser geant in an infantry company. That means he has charge of about 40 frontline fighting men. He has been at the front for more than a year. War Is old to him and he has become almost the master oi it. He is a senior partner now in , the institution of death. His platoon has turned over many times as battle whittles down the old ones and the replacement system sys-tem brings up the new ones. Only a handful now are veterans. "It gets so it kinda gets you, seein' these new kids come up," Buck told me one night in his slow, barely audible Western voice, so full of honesty and sincerity. "Some of them have just got fuzz on their faces,, and don't know what it's all about, and they're scared to death. No matter mat-ter what, some of them are bound to get killed." We talked about some of the other old-time non-coms who could take battle themselves, but had gradually gradual-ly grown morose under the responsibility responsi-bility of leading green boys to their slaughter. Buck spoke of one sergeant ser-geant especially, a brave and hardened man, who went to his captain cap-tain and asked him to be reduced to a private in the lines. "I know it ain't my fault that they get killed," Buck finally said. "And I do the best I can for them, but I've got so I feel like it's me klllin 'em instead of a German. I've got so I feel like a murderer. I hate to look at them when the new ones come in." Buck himself has been fortunate. Once he was shot through the arm. His own skill and wisdom have saved him many times, but luck has saved him countless other times. One night Buck and an officer took refuge from shelling in a two-room Italian stone house. As they sat there, a shell came through the wall of the far room, crossed the room and buried itself in the middle wall with its nose pointing upward. It didn't go off. Another time Buck was leading his platoon on a night attack. They were walking In Indian file. Suddenly Sud-denly a mine went off, and killed the entire squad following Buck. He himself had miraculously walked through the mine field without hitting hit-ting a one. One day Buck went stalking a German officer in close combat, and wound up with the German on one side of a farmhouse and Buck on the other. They kept throwing grenades gre-nades over the house at each other without success. Finally Buck stepped around one corner of the house and came face to face with the German, who'd had the same idea. Buck was ready and pulled the trigger first. His slug hit the German Ger-man just above the heart. The German Ger-man had a wonderful pair of binoculars binocu-lars slung over his shoulders, and the bullet smashed them to bits. Buck had wanted some German binoculars for a long time. The ties that grow up between men who live savagely and die relentlessly re-lentlessly together are ties of great strength. There is a sense of fidelity fideli-ty to each other among little corps of men who have endured so long and whose hope in the end can be but so small. One afternoon while I was with the company Sgt. Buck Eversole's turn came to go back to rest camp for five days. The company was due to attack that night. Buck went to his company commander com-mander and said, "Lieutenant, I don't think I better go. I'll stay if you need me." The lieutenant said, "Of course I need you, Buck, I always need you. But it's your turn and I want you to go. In fact, you're ordered to go." The truck taking the few boys away to rest camp left Just at dusk. It was drizzling and the valleys were swathed in a dismal mist. Artillery Ar-tillery of both sides flashed and rumbled around the horizon. The encroaching darkness was heavy and foreboding. |