The Innocent Cadet
Becoming a World War II Bombardier
by
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A mild vibration, like a long shiver runs through the airplane, the shaking far different from ordinary turbulence. My stomach flutters as the vibration continues. "Pilot to crew," Johnston finally says over the intercom, "We have a problem with one of our engines. We’ve shut it down, but we’ve lost oil pressure. We can’t feather the prop. It’s just windmilling around out there, tearing up the engine. Stevens, you and Warren get out of the nose and go back to the radio room with the rest of the crew while I see what I can do with this engine." Warren and I slide under the pilot’s compartment and around the top gun turret. Lucas, the engineer, stands next to Johnston discussing what to do about the engine. We squeeze through the bomb bay on the narrow catwalk. We enter into the feeble light of the radio room where the rest of the crew anxiously wait, their faces grim. Warren, our newly arrived navigator, remains quiet, undoubtedly wondering how he ever got into this situation. The shudder of the windmilling propeller still ripples through the plane.
"You’d better have your chutes on," says Johnston in a calm voice, "stay in the waist and stand by the door. We still can’t feather the damn prop. We’re heading back toward the field, but we’ll have to watch the engine, and see what it does. If you hear the signal you’ll have to jump." My mouth sucked dry, I edge toward the rear door near the others. We stand in the dim light-- waiting.
Our chest chutes are firmly snapped to our harnesses. We listen for Johnston’s signal, a ringing from a warning device that sounds like an old fashioned doorbell. Even though I’m firmly resolved to jump, I can’t help but think of the worst. It’s close to midnight, and even if I land without incident, I couldn’t find my way in the dark. I’d have to wait for dawn. Much of Louisiana is covered with forests. What if I should snag myself on a tree, get hung up there? How would I get myself out of it at night? What if I should land in a bayou? I would have no sense of direction. How would I wade out of it? What about alligators? I run my moist fingers over the pull cord handle on my parachute. I want to be sure I know where it is in the dark. The other men are quiet except for an occasional clipped, dry-mouthed wisecrack.
"We’re getting close to the field now, and the engine is at least not any worse, no sign of fire in it yet," says Johnston. ‘’We’ll try to make it to the field." At least for now we’ve abandoned the idea of bailing out. The plane still shudders with its sickness, but our odds look better. I breathe easier. The prospect of jumping out into that blackness had been more like a nightmare than real life.
Still unable to feather the propeller blades to keep them from windmilling, Johnston lowers the trembling plane toward the runway. Just before our wheels touch the runway, the engine freezes. The propeller stops turning. As we roll in for a near-perfect landing, I silently thank Johnston for his skill and coolness, my confidence in him growing even more. With our remaining three engines, we taxi to the flight line.
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About the Book
Earning his bombardier’s wings was much more difficult than he imagined. Physical training was brutal, academics rigorous and flying exhausting, but he had a passion for succeeding. At times reaching his goal seemed very much in doubt.
Entering the Army Air Corps at 18 in 1943 after leaving his loving and religious family, Charles “Norm” Stevens was suddenly among men of many backgrounds, some differing markedly from his. The contrast served to emphasize his innocence. He decided to try to understand and accept others who had different values without losing his own set of principles.
Appearing boyish, he endured ribbing from others who were older and more mature, more manly. As training progressed he found he could compete both physically and mentally with most of them.
Homesickness was constantly with him, but was softened by his desire for new adventures and experiences.
His quest to become a bombardier drove him to excel in his classes, physical training, gunnery school and the rigors of the bombardier school at Midland, Texas. He finally graduated, earning his silver bombardier’s wings and a commission as a second lieutenant.
As a bombardier on a B-17 crew, he sharpened his skills in bombing and navigation in the high altitude skies over Louisiana and the South. He began the grim task of preparing for combat missions, rising early in the morning and flying at over 20,000 feet on oxygen for long hours.
He made out his will and power of attorney with the rest of the men, then boarded a troop train bound for Nebraska where his crew would pick up a new B-17 to fly to England and combat, a bloody business he knew very little about.
His combat experiences appear in his previous book, An Innocent at Polebrook: A Memoir of an Air Force Bombardier, published in 2004.
About the Author
Charles N. Stevens, or Norm as his friends call him, grew up in Inglewood, California. At 18 he joined the Army Air Corps. He entered in 1943 and was discharged after the war in October 1945. He served as a bombardier on a B-17 in the Air Force, 351 Bomb Group, at Polebrook, England during the summer and early fall of 1944. He finished his tour of duty, completing 34 bombing missions over Germany and occupied France, Belgium, and Holland
He wrote extensively about his combat experiences in his previous book, An Innocent at Polebrook: A Memoir of an 8 Air Force Bombardier, published in 2004.
After returning from overseas he trained as a radar bombardier at Langley Field, Virginia and Williams Field, Arizona. He was to be assigned to a B-29 crew for duty in the Pacific when the war ended.
Following the war he enrolled at the University of California at Los Angeles, graduating with a BA in psychology. After a series of graduate courses he earned his teaching credential. Over a span of 32 years he taught science and mathematics in junior high schools and English and American Literature in high school. While teaching he earned a master’s degree in English at California State College at Los Angeles.
He has two sons by a previous marriage, Jeffry L. Stevens and Greg E. Stevens.
He has five grandchildren, Brenda Stevens Sherry, Eric, Sharon, Michael and Beth Stevens.
He retired in 1984 and has lived a life of reading, writing, traveling and being a grandfather. He lives with his wife, Dolores Seidman, in Monterey Park, California where they have resided for 36 years.