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Post by limburger59 on Sept 2, 2019 7:31:11 GMT -8
Requesting assignment... thank you! B-17 Name: Every Day Joe Pilot: 1LT Jeremy Lathroum Co-Pilot: 2nd LT Marcus Rodriguez Bombadier: 2nd LT Aaron Bohem Navigator: 2nd LT Jonathan Shores Engineer: MSG Justin Van Buskirk Radio Operator: SGT Christopher Moore Ball Gunner: SGT Joe Blythe Port Waist: SGT Bart Lampsona Starboard Waist: SGT Jack Russel Tail Gunner: SGT Jakota Larosa |
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Post by everydayjoe on Feb 11, 2020 8:35:29 GMT -8
From the Malta Files
Lieutenant Lathroum quickly avoided colliding with a young British mechanic who was obviously in a hurry to grab something stored outside the hanger. “Sorry mate…”, said the mechanic as he hurried by. “You know the Eagles could use a halfback as quick as you…” Lathroum replied. “Can’t say I’ve heard of them sir… are they a football team or a proper football team (soccer)?” the mechanic jested with a smile as he back pedaled. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head Lathroum muttered under his breath, “Bloody Brits…”
MSgt. Jay VanBuskirk ducked under the fuselage of the Every Day Joe and wiped away an morning worth of sweat from his brow, as he spied the Lieutenant walking through the door way of the hanger. With a flick of his head, Lathroum gestured toward the rest of the crew who were congregating in the corner of the hanger near a dingy card table and a rusty old fan. VanBuskirk whistled and yelled, “Hey! Gather up… on the double!” Slamming a pair of aces down Sgt. Brandt laughed, “Ha! I’ll take the rest of this. Thank you ladies… a few more kills and you guys can actually call ME an ace!” Rolling his eyes Sgt. Russel stated, “How about you concentrate on your knobs and switches and leave the killing to the real gunners in the waist…” “Last time I checked I worked those knobs and switches quite well and got a hold of those Fulmars to save your ass on the way into Hal Far” replied Brandt. “Yeah, well I would have had that last one if they wouldn’t have chased him off.”, shrugged Russel as Brandt scooped up his bottle cap winnings and headed over to the ship with the rest of the crew.
“Alrighty men… is everyone here?”, asked Lathroum. “Lt. Shores is still over at the medical tent with Lt. Bohem.” stated VanBuskirk. “Well I’ll catch up with him later… I just got a wire back from HQ. We’re going to be hopping on the next transport to Aboukir and we’ll be picked up from there. The 509th has needs us back ASAP. Apparently we suffered a lot of loses last mission. The Joe still has over a weeks’ worth of repairs, so it’s staying here for now. Any questions?” “So much for working on my tan!” joked Lt. Rodriguez, “What time frame are we looking at here?” “The transport leaves at 1200 hours, so we have a little over two hours to grab our stuff from the Joe and meet up on the runway by the Halifax, roger?” advised Lathroum. A chorus of ‘Roger that sir’ followed. Brandt sarcastically started to recite his own version of the orders to return in a New England accent, doing his best impression of Maj. Martindale. But with a raise of the eyebrows Lathroum quickly conveyed his disapproval. Brandt cut himself off and with a ‘hands up’ motion in surrender. Lathroum turned and began to walk towards the exit before the crew could see the smile creep across his face, knowing Brandt’s impression was spot on. Without looking back or breaking stride Lathroum announced, “Oh, and Larosa… congratulations, it’s official. You’re an ace. They’re awarding you the Distinguished Flying Cross…”
The sick bay wasn’t the most advanced facility he had ever seen, but after all it was in the middle of the Mediterranean and Hal Far had been under frequent attack for years. Lt. Bohem winced as he shifted in his white medical bed. “You got lucky, you know that right?” said Lt. Shores, “If you had been on the sight you might have caught that shrapnel in a more vital place!” Bohem started to laugh, but immediately grit his teeth in agony. “Will you stop making me laugh? It hurts! Plus, I’m supposed to be the funny one… everyone knows that. I’m a regular Jack Benny.” Lathroum cleared his throat from the doorway, “How you feeling champ?” “I’d be better if you’d get Shores out of here.”, Bohem suggested. “Well I’ll be able to help you out with that. We’re headed back to base in two hours. I’m going to need you to look after the Joe for us while we’re gone. Can you do that for us?” Nodding his head Bohem stated, “Of course… but who’s looking after me? They don’t even have any good looking nurses on this island!” “Yeah, I think he’ll be alright.” Shores said with a smile. “I’m going to grab my charts and a few things off the Joe… hang in their brother. We’ll see you back in Fayid soon!”
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Post by everydayjoe on Feb 11, 2020 8:41:08 GMT -8
From the Malta Files
Lt. Boehm was familiar with the wine of four-engine aircraft, although the sound of the Rolls-Royce Merlin engines from the Halifax were noticeably different from Every Day Joe’s Pratt & Whitney engines. As the he heard the engines ramp up and get louder he reached over and with two fingers pushed the left side of the dingy curtain aside. The Halifax B.II Series I lumbered by the window as Boehm felt a twinge of sadness, but it was quickly replaced with a sense of his new mission: getting better and making sure the Joe’s repairs went smoothly.
He never really needed anyone else to keep him company. Boehm grew up as an only child. As a teenager, his parents both worked, his father in a propeller factory and him mom at Smithfield’s General Store, to keep their small family afloat during the difficult 30’s. He originally wanted to fly some type of single seat fighter or bomber. It wasn’t until he was volun-told to report to bombardier school that he figured he’d have to start getting along with others. He quickly found that he enjoyed the soon to be crew of the Every Day Joe. The comradery was something that he had never experienced! “Leftenant?” a British voice came from behind him. “Loo…loo… it’s loo-tenant. I’ve only told you fifteen times or so.”, said Boehm. “Sorry sir… I’m supposed to change out your bandage.” “You don’t suppose I could get a wheel chair or a cane and go check on my aircraft do you?” asked Boehm.
As he wheeled along the dusty compact surface he could feel the heat radiating off of it. It was late August and the island probably would have been a great holiday destination if it weren’t for bomb craters. Hal Far and the rest of Malta had come under heavy Luftwaffe and the Regia Aeronautica attack in the last two years. As he passed the first hanger he could see several Blackburn Skua’s and Fairey Swordfish inside and also a line of each facing the flight line. As he came up on the second hanger he could already see the tail of the Every Day Joe from inside the third hangar. Out of the corner of his eye something caught his attention. A hand painted sign that hung over the side door – “795th Naval Air Squadron”. Something that Lt. Shores had mentioned the other day suddenly clicked as he recognized the aircraft parked inside. They were Fairey Fulmar MkII’s… just like the ones that seemed to pass just beyond arms reach when they buzzed past the Every Day Joe and chased off that last fighter from the other day.
Seated at the table were two British pilot officers sharing afternoon tea. Their sweat soaked tan uniforms showed that they had probably spent the morning working on their aircraft instead of flying it. Hearing the squeak of the wheelchair both of P/O’s looked up from their tea. “You alright mate?” asked the puzzled P/O, not recognizing the flight suit that was worn from the feet up to Boehm’s waist. Boehm’s undershirt was also soaked with sweat, showing the placement of various bandages on his stomach. “I think he’s from the sick bay…” stated the second P/O. “Hey fellas…” Boehm greeted in perfect American English, “You two fly the Fulmar’s?” “That’s right, and who might you be… wait, silly me. You’re from the B-17 crew aren’t you? How rude of me, I’m P/O George Goode and this is my wing mate, P/O Robert Smith.” “Great to meet you guys. You two wouldn’t happen to be the same Fulmar pilots that were in the right place at the right time the other day saving a bunch of Yanks, would you?” Boehm said with a big grin. “The very same!” said Smith. “Well to be honest, my boys would have had them… but it didn’t hurt to have you there.” Boehm winked. “Ah yes… the American ego.” Goode jested with a role of his eyes. Kicking away the third chair with his foot, enough so Boehm could fit the wheel chair in, he motioned for Boehm to join them.
“What in the bloody hell were you all doing so far east?” asked Goode pouring Boehm a fresh cup of tea. “Well, were on route to Ploesti when around a hundred miles out we were hit and developed a fuel leak. Our lieutenant thought about making a run for home… but we wouldn’t have made it. We would have had to ditch or bailout. I was injured…” pointing to his bandages, “… and our ball turret gunner was stuck in the turret. So one of us… maybe both of us wouldn’t have made it!” Lifting his glass in the direction of Boehm, Goode said, “To good decisions and lady luck!” “Here, here!” exclaimed Smith lifting his matching glass as well. “Ughh… I don’t know how you guys drink this stuff. Haven’t you ever heard of coffee?” Boehm complained.
The trio continued to chat and swap stories from their respective deployments. The temperature had maybe dropped a degree or two, and the sun would be making its own run for the horizon soon. “Yank… if you’re able to get yourself cleaned up we’d love to have you over at the officers club for some grub and something a little stronger than this.”, holding up his almost empty glass of tea. “Very well, I’ll see you guys over there soon. First I have to stop down and check on the Joe. Hopefully they’re coming along with the repairs.” Boehm saluted and wheeled off toward hanger three.
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Post by everydayjoe on Feb 11, 2020 8:45:06 GMT -8
This is a joint posting between everydayjoe and jcschwa the morning of Aug 30th 1942, just after the Mission 15 briefing… After Maj. Beusing had dismissed them 2nd Lt. Rodriguez widened his eyes and repeated the target, “Tobruk… good times.” His dry sarcastic wit was not cared for by some, but 1st Lt. Lathroum appreciated it. Rodriguez always seemed to lighten the mood at the right moment. For a brief second the officers all stared at each other, knowing their last trip to Tobruk they had lost their Radio Operator and good friend Sgt. Christopher Moore. “Let’s just get our job done, look out for everyone else in the squadron around us, and get back for a round on me, sound good?” Lathroum asked. “Kline…” Lathroum pointed toward their young fill-in bombardier, “You know how to drop the goods, right?” 2nd Lt. Patrick Kline responded with a nod and a smile, “Yeah… red switch on the left, correct?”
The double doors burst open just as they had about a dozen times prior to this one. Lathroum, followed by the rest of the Every Day Joe officers, filed out of headquarters into the dry Egyptian air. Outside was a buzz with activity. Crews were headed to the aircraft for today’s mission, fuel trucks returning from topping off the last few bombers, friends from different aircraft exchanged pleasantries and made plans to meet back up that evening over at the Goat for a drink and hopefully a good story. Lathroum felt good to be back on the base and in the swing of things again. While he enjoyed the short time on Malta, he would have been lying if he told anyone he wasn’t truly anxious to get back to Fayid.
Leaning on the hood of the Jeep, MSgt. Van Buskirk was the first to see the officers exit the briefing. He pounded on the hood as a sign to the rest of the crew that “it’s time”. Sgt. Brandt and Sgt. Russel were doing their usual horsing around like grade school kids. Brandt had finally shown Russel how to do that card trick that he claimed worked on all the broads… Russel wasn’t quite getting it, but he was so close he could taste it! Sgt. Lamposa watched the two morons almost as if he were bored and had nothing better to do, but secretly he was paying close attention. Not because he wanted to use the trick on his on the next Persian princess he came across, but just so he could one-up his fellow waist gunner. Sgt. Blythe had parked himself in the passenger seat and somehow fallen asleep with his cap over his face. He was the one guy of the bunch that could fall asleep whenever and wherever. Knowing what the pounding on the hood meant he shot up in his seat adjusting his eyes and removing his cap to scratch his fingers through his wavy blonde hair. Sgt. Larosa was seated on top of the rear spare, with his legs continually bouncing on and off the tire. Larosa was thumbing through an old book he had been given by one of the crew members on the Halifax transport that brought them back from Malta. He casually looked up and to his right when he recognized Rodriguez’s whistle.
They all huddled around the driver’s side of the Jeep impatiently waiting to hear about the target for today, like school boys waiting to hear if the teacher would assign homework or not. “Morning fellas…” Lathroum began, looking down and fiddling with his pilot's cap, “It’s Tobruk today.” Blythe softly huffed out of his nose, the bad memory of losing his good friend Moore still fresh in his mind. Lathroum continued despite the tension, “This is 2nd Lt. Kline, he’ll be filling in for Boehm while he’s still recovering and overseeing the Joe’s repairs on Malta.” Kline casually saluted and nodded to the crew. “That also brings me to our last piece of news. We’re going to be operating the Spook today. She’s a good aircraft and she’ll do well for us today. Jay… she’s all ready for us, correct?” Van Buskirk responded, “Made sure I got all the mothballs out! She’s ready to go.” Lathroum clapped and said, “Then let’s go!" Blythe transferred himself to the rear of the Jeep, knowing Lathroum was headed for the passenger seat. Van Buskirk hopped into the driver’s seat and started her up. After a couple turns the engine kicked in. As everyone piled onto the vehicle, Lathroum shouted over the Jeeps engine noise and the ever growing drone of B-17’s and B-24’s coming to life, “Jay, take me by the Swiss Miss on our way out. I want to catch up with our new XO.”
Everyone tried to hold on to something as the Jeep came to a stop in front of the Consolidated B-24 Liberator. Lathroum hopped out and motioned for the crew to continue to the Spook and get her ready. As the Jeep pulled away Bradnt cried out, “Hey fellas, look at these things! What an ugly bird. I don’t think I would ever…” All of a sudden the conversation stopped and the Jeep slowed to crawl. Everyone was silent as they passed the newest B-24 to join the squadron. “What in the hell?” asked Blythe “Is that painted… pink?!” Everyone was distracted, including Van Buskirk, who was driving the Jeep. Everyone’s attention was quickly snapped back to reality when a dull thud followed by the sound of splintering wood broke their trance. Several empty ammo cases fell from their stack and were run over by the front wheels. “Gosh darn it! What was that?!” Van Buskirk exclaimed with embarrassment. The brakes had been slammed to the floor, Blythe and Russel had lost their grip and involuntarily exited the Jeep. Blythe tucked, rolled, popped back up, and continued to gander at the pinkish B-24 as if nothing had happened. Russel eventually stood, rolling his left shoulder and brushed dirt off of his bomber jacket. As he passed he shot Blythe a look saying, “I’m good, thanks for checking…” “Strawberry Tart?” Rodriguez questioned as he read the nose art “Well, I’ve seen everything!”
Lathroum wouldn’t mind the walk to his aircraft. The crew would arrive first and he always liked knowing he was the last on and off of his aircraft. He saw Capt. Loomis chatting up one of his grounds crewmen before doing his final walk around. “Captain!” Lathroum called out. "Good morning, Lieutenant," Loomis replied as he stepped out from under the Swiss Miss' wing and straightened up. They greeted each other with firm handshakes as Lathroum continued, “I just wanted to stop by and say congrats on your promotion. I know you probably didn’t want it under the circumstances, but I’m sure you’ll do a great job. How’s the Major been so far? Other than squadron meetings I’ve had limited interaction but I have heard all the stories.” "Thanks. I wish it had been completely on merit instead of... well, you know.”, Loomis responded. “As far as the Major, he's Army through and through, and he does not suffer fools gladly. Do your job and do it well, and you might see the hint of a smile, like at the debrief." “Yes sir…”, Lathroum agreed. Looking around Lathroum knew they were both short on time. “Well, I should get going… congrats again! If you need anything from the 17’s let me know. See you at the Goat later?” "Well, as a matter of fact, I'm going to be logging some hours in the '17's in the near future- see if they live up to the glowing praise you fellas are always giving them.” Loomis informed, “I would look forward to your assistance in this matter. We can talk later. Good luck."
Lathroum waved a salute as he jogged off toward his aircraft. As soon as he began he knew it was too hot to run, but it was time to get Spook ready to fly and take Tobruk by storm! He prayed this trip would be different.
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