Ed Kirik had told me they were still in the area. I spotted one when I was on the Connector in Newtown just before getting on to I-84 East at Exit 11. I picked out the four engines as it traveled West and by the time I got to Exit 13 the big bird had come about and headed in my easterly direction. As it flew over I picked out the tail guns, the top turret and its clear nose. It was the first time I had ever seen a B-17 in the air. It reminded me of the day I saw a square masted “tall ship” under sail enter Long Island Sound. What a thrill. And what a thrill again.
In its day the B-17, dubbed the “Flying Fortress”, carried the lion’s share of our bombing missions against Germany in WWII. By war’s end 12,700 aircraft had come off the assembly lines at Boeing, Douglas and Vega. It had a crew of ten… pilot, co-pilot, navigator, bombardier, flight engineer, radio operator, 2 waist gunners, tail gunner and ball turret gunner. The plane was known for its flight worthiness and its ability to “take a punch.”
“This B-17 met a head-on attack by three Focke-Wulf FW-190 fighters. The gunners exploded two of them, and the top turret poured a stream of shells into the cockpit of the third. With a dead man at the controls, the fighter screamed in, and at a closing speed of 550 miles per hour smashed head on into the number-three engine. The tremendous impact of the crash tore off the propeller. It knocked the heavy bomber completely out of formation as though a giant hand has swatted a fly. The fighter cartwheeled crazily over the B-17. It cut halfway through the wing, and then sliced a third of the way through the horizontal stabilizer. The top and ball turrets immediately jammed, the radio equipment was smashed to wreckage, and all the instruments ‘went crazy.’ Pieces of metal from the exploding, disintegrating Focke-Wulf tore through the fuselage, and a German gun barrel buried itself in the wall between the radio room and the bomb bay. Crews of nearby bombers watched the collision. They saw a tremendous explosion, and the bomber hurtling helplessly out of control, tumbling as she fell. They reported when they returned to base that the Flying Fortress had blown up, and that the crew must be considered dead. The old Queen hadn’t blown up, and the crew was far from dead. The pilots struggled wildly in the cockpit, and somehow between them managed to bring their careening bomber back under control. The gunners shot down a fourth fighter that had closed in to watch the proceedings. And then they brought her all the way back to England, and scraped her down for a belly landing on the runway. Postscript: not a man was injured.”
The B-17 I saw was not heading over the Channel to paste a factory in Germany. Rather it was mid-way in a half hour flight out of Oxford Airport… a flight for a hand full of interested folks who could pay $450 for thrill of taking a spin in a vintage aircraft.
Ed had taken a flight out of Stratford two days before.
Ed’s Father had been a B-17 pilot during WWII. He flew 22 missions out of England for the 8th Air Force.
This is not the first time Ed had seen a B-17. Several years ago he and his Father had gone to see and inspect one on the tarmac of a local airfield. This is after Ed had spent years watching any WWII movie that had B-17s in it.
I am sure that Mr. Kirik had regaled his son with stories about the plane. And undoubtedly he would have amplified any information provided about the aircraft.
I could imagine Mr. Kirik being lost in memory strolling around that bird… thinking of times spent with brothers in arms. And I could imagine Ed’s pride in being there with his Father.
Ed and his Dad could not go up for a flight then, although Mr. Kirik wanted to go up one more time more than anything. Insurance and liability issues would not permit it.
And sadly Mr. Kirik passed away before those insurance issues were ironed out that allowed Ed to take that flight on Thursday.
The morning couldn’t have been better the day Ed traveled to Stratford. Blue skies and dry air. He went armed with a camera, a photo taken of his Dad in England during the War and a silver I.D. bracelet his Dad wore.
You have to hoist yourself up in the tail of the plane to get in. You then strap in during the take-off (and landing); but then you are free to move about the aircraft’s interior.
Ed took some great shots from what I believe would have been the waist gunners position. He also took a shot from the bombardier’s position in the clear nose. Wonderful shots of the Connecticut coast line.
We spoke about the flight later in the afternoon. Ed said that he had been on “cloud nine” all day. I could hear that in his voice. He had made that trip for him and his Dad. He had shown the photograph of his Dad to the crew, shared a smile and a story or two I am sure.
Mr. Kirik didn’t take that flight. But in many important ways he did. It is a blessing of life that our experiences and memories extend beyond our own mortality. That we are able to share, even after our time here is no more.
I told Ed he was heading for a great night’s sleep. The comfort you feel when you lay to rest in a bed after a great day at labor, when your team wins a big one, when you can love and be loved without qualification and when you can take a journey of completion.