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Show Bombing Crews From Texas, Oklahoma, Based in England, Pound Hitler's Europe ' 9 robust youth who proudly boasts ; that he is three-fourths Indian (Semi- j nole and Delaware tribes) and then adds, grioiiing: "The other 25 per cent of me is as Irish as Paddy's pig-" Walt (or "Chief," as he's known at this field) is one of the crack crew chiefs in his group. His ship, "Baby Bumps," has gone out on 53 missions without turning back, and the Chief, who is a former oil field roustabout from Dewey, Oklahoma, Okla-homa, is plenty proud of that record. Walt likes to talk about such things as the coming invasion, and the day when he can go back to the Oklahoma oil industry. "Well, I volunteered in this man's i army, didn't I?" the "Chief" blasted blast-ed out. "And until this war's over in both leagues I'm goin' to stick it out." When the war in Europe is all wrapped up, the Chief wants to take , his Marauder over to the South Pacific Pa-cific (with Ramon Western, his crew chief pal from Alvord, Texas) and ; send it out against the little yellow i men. j Then Walt says he'll be ready to head back to Oklahoma. Is he going back to the oil fields? "Hell, yes," is the Chief's reply to that one. As I was leaving Walt with his second helping of steak and potatoes j that day, he told me that I should have met the real hero of the Scott "tribe." "He's my kid brother, Yoeman," Walt said. "Right now he's finishing I up aviation training back home, but one of these days you'll be hearing THE CREW of a medium bombing bomb-ing plane is a strongly welded five-link five-link chain, in the conception of Sergt. W. D. Morey of Kelly Field, Texas. The five men navigator, mechanic, pilot, bombardier and gunner train, fly and fight as one. Inside, around a warm, pot-bellied stove, there is Ramon Western, a crew chief from Alvord, Texas. And next to him there is a young mechanic by the name of Tommy Busselle, a Houston youth who used to play a saxophone in a home-town orchestra. Then, to round out the Texas trio, there is Bob Allen, another Houstonian and an aircraft electrician. I wondered about that legend on the door, and Tommy Busselle gave me the details. "We call it the 'Gangsters' Roost' because that explains how some of us ground crew chiefs get our equipment." equip-ment." (This with a wide grin playing play-ing across Tommy's face.) "And as for the word 'Texicans,' that was Southwestern Boys Eager to Finish Job And Get Back Home By SGT. JIM SWARTZ JR. Released by Western Newspaper Union. The tender beauty of an English spring surrounds this American medium bomber station, but the fighting men from the U. S. A. are too busy with their big job to notice it. Most of these fellows come from the Southwest Texas and Oklahoma from the cattle cat-tle ranches and oil fields. I talked to a score of these fliers at a Marauder bomber station in rural England. I heard them re-live past experiences in the skies over Europe . . . spin their dreams of victory . . . and plan for a peaceful future back in their home towns in the Southwest. And I saw a look of determination on the faces of these men that made me glad I wouldn't be one of the enemy when these Yanks from Texas and Oklahoma take their bombers to the Nazis' invasion front yard. Alex Owen is one of these fighting neighbors of yours. He came all the way from Tyler, Texas, to man a .50-caliber gun in this war, and he's I the kind of lad you'd like to know. Alex enlisted in the air forces back in 1941, after making friends with countless citizens of Tyler from behind the counter in "Men's Clothing" Cloth-ing" at a local department store. Today he is a veteran tail gunner with 39 missions over France, Holland Hol-land and Belgium to his credit. And he wears the coveted Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal and five Oak Leaf clusters. What does the Big Show mean to Alex Owen? Ask him and you'll get an answer as honest and straightforward straight-forward as a fellow-Texan's word of honor. "I wouldn't miss it for one helluva lot," he told me that day. "Sure, it's rough. We're not fighting a war with kid gloves on, man." 'Back to Tyler.' That was Alex's story, and it's much like the one I heard from another Southwesterner that day at this American bomber base in rural England. His name is Joe Shouse, an engineer-gunner from Coweta, Oklahoma, Okla-homa, a small, friendly town 30 miles from Tulsa. Joe (officially, he is Staff Sergeant Joe W. Shouse) is a 22-year-old veteran vet-eran of 35 missions, and he says the coming invasion can't start too soon. Back in 1941 and part of 1942, Joe was a sheet metal worker for the Spartan Aircraft company, in Tulsa. But when you mention postwar plans to the young Oklahoma gunner gun-ner he says he has put them all on the shelf for the duration. "I'm too excited about the job I've got now," Joe told me that day in his Nissen hut "home" 'at this Marauder base. His hut-mates and fellow-gunners like to tell you how cool Joe is under fire, and after a brief conversation conver-sation with him you agree with them. And when I left Joe that day I figured I'd met the "typical" fighting fight-ing man from the Southwest. Then, a few minutes later, in another Nissen hut, I met other air force men from your home !l .v -4, '-$$ A MARAUDER soars through flrccy clouds over the patchwork English Eng-lish countryside, en route to a boiifbing mission on the continent. The B-26 is the fastest medium bomberl in the world, with a speed of more than 350 miles per hour, delivered by its two 18-cylinder, 2,000-horse-power engines. (AH pictures official) U. S. Air Force photos.) the brain child of a sergeant from New Jersey who doesn't know how to spell 'Texans.' These 'foreigners' hand us a lot of laughs," he told me. Ramon Western is a Texan with! a clear-cut idea of what he's going! to do to help win this war. A crew chief, he sent one bomber, "Damita," on 40 missions to Hitler's tottering European fortress. Then, when the trim Marauder went down one day, Ramon took up the fight with a successor, "Damita II." He has been in England since June, 1943, and he'd be as happy as a bomber mechanic knee-deep in. grease if the invasion started tomorrow tomor-row morning. Before the war, Ramon worked his way through three years of school at John Tarleton Junior college, at Stephensville, and Texas big things from him. No, he's no lousy grease monkey like me . . . he's a bomber pilot, de luxe." And that's the story, as I heard it, of the Scotts' personal offensive against the Axis. Two McKinney Boys. Before I left this Marauder station sta-tion that afternoon, f I happened across a couple of aerial gunners who made me wonder if I were standing on Main street in McKinney, Mc-Kinney, Texas. First, there was a fighting son of the Lone Star state by the name of Forest (Staff Sergeant Forest C.) Board, and before I had even gotten his name, I was introduced to 19-year-old Jimmy Ashley, another staff sergeant gunner. Both of these air force fighting men came from McKinney to fight their share of this war, and because their thoughts on this "Invasion Eve" are as genuine genu-ine as a Texas handshake, I thought you'd like to know them. Forest is a veteran of 35 missions over enemy territory, and he's "daddy" of the McKinney duo, at the age of 33. Back home, he was a traveling salesman for a bill-fold company, with a territory that stretched across Missouri, Arkansas, Arkan-sas, western Tennessee, Louisiana and Mississippi. Then came the Fourth of July, 1942. The McKinney flier says it was nothing more than a coincidence that he enlisted on such a patriotic occasion but when you talk to him you get the idea that it shouldn't have happened any other way. "Let's get the job over with," the likable Texan told me, "because I'm anxious to get back on my old job. Heck, I've still got my sample case . . . and a list of my old customers." cus-tomers." And there you have the real story of how these fighting sons of America's Ameri-ca's great Southwest are meeting the great challenge. There's a gleam in their clear, straight-looking eyes. And there's determination in their hearts. Texan and Oklahoman together, to-gether, they'll be over here until it's time to make the welcome trek back home. "" IvVSn germa'ny I V FRANCE &Z-J A. & M. college. He lacks only a few hours' credit for a degree in agriculture, and when he gets back to Texas he wants to go back for that sheep-skin. Only this time he won't have to work his way, because he's bought a pile of War Savings bonds for that education. Wants to Go 'Jap Hunting.' And when the war in Europe is won, Ramon says he'd like to take his Marauder (always a crew chief calls the ship he works on "his ship") to the South Pacific and send it out "Jap-hunting." The two Houston youths in that Nissen hut told me that those sentiments senti-ments were theirs, in spades! Bob Allen, for example. Bob is an electrician for several ground crews at this field, and he doesn't kid himself about his summer sum-mer sleeping schedule. "These summer sum-mer nights in England don't start till midnight . . . which means we'll darned near work the clock around, I guess. But I'll just put off the shut-eye until I get back home." And when he gets back, he says he'll probably finish this education at the University of Texas. Then he wants to take up where he left off as a field salesman for a heating system sys-tem firm in Houston. One of the most colorful characters charac-ters at this station is Walter Scott, a FROM BASES in England, medium me-dium bombers range deep into Germany, Ger-many, France and Norway, wrecking wreck-ing enemy factories, harbor installations instal-lations and railroad yards. towns . . . and their stories are the kind you like to hear, too, because these neighbors of yours will all be in the aerial front lines when the big fight comes home to the Nazis. There were three Texans in that Nissen hut, and as you approach its front door you see this sign overhead: over-head: "The Gangsters' Roost: Texicans. Texi-cans. Included." |
