Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
In Italy – (by wireless)
The Mediterranean Allied Air Force, under the command of Lt. Gen. Ira Baker, covers everything in this whole Mediterranean theater from Casablanca on the Atlantic almost to the Cairo at the edge of Asia.
It is a gigantic force. Although there are many British planes and pilots in it, and even a few squadrons of Frenchmen, still it is predominantly an American air theater.
The main geographical objective of our push into Italy was to get heavy-bomber bases
Our heavy-bomber force is still being built up, and has not yet really begun on its program of blasting Germany proper, but planes have been flowing across the South Atlantic all winter.
Soon good weather will be here, and then woe upon Germany from south as well as west.
Right now, I’m living with a light-bomber group – the 47th – which flies the fast twin-engined Douglas-built plane known as the A-20 Boston.
Some on second tour of combat duty
The 47th is a veteran outfit. It fought through Tunisia. It helped beat the Germans back at Kasserine a year ago. it flew from Souk-el-Arba and Cape Bon and Malta and Sicily, and now it is on the front in Italy.
Like most air groups of long service, it has almost no flying personnel left who came overseas with it. Its casualty rate has been low, but the crewmen have all reached or passed their allotted number of missions and gone home.
In fact, some of its members went home so long ago that they are now back overseas on their second tour of combat duty, fighting out of England or in the South Pacific. The ground-crew men get letters from them sometimes.
I’ve been living with a certain squadron of the 47th. It has changed commanders while I’ve been with it. The previous commander was Maj. Cy Stafford, a brilliant young pilot-engineer from Oak Park, Illinois.
Maj. Stafford has been promoted to the group staff, and his place as squadron commander has been taken by Maj. Reginald Clizbe of Centralia, Washington.
Maj. Clizbe is a veteran in combat, but for several months has been on staff duty. He is pleased to get back to the small and intimate familiarity of a squadron. As he says:
Squadron commander is the best job in the Air Corps.
On his first day, Maj. Clizbe got a plane and went out and practiced while the rest went on their mission. I was staying in the same tent with him, and although at that time I didn’t know him very well I could tell he was worried and preoccupied.
He wasn’t afraid. Everybody knew that. But he was rusty, everybody’s eyes were on him, and he was scared to death he would foul up on his first mission.
He flew the morning mission on his second day in command. He flew a wing position, and he did all right. He was in good spirits when they came back before lunch.
There was another mission that afternoon. Instead of resting, Maj. Clizbe put himself on the board for that one too, this time leading a flight of three. It was at his revetment when the planes came back just before dusk. When they got out, Maj. Clizbe was a changed man. He was just like a football player after winning a game.
Forgets it’s his birthday
It had been a perfect mission. The bomb pattern had smothered the target. They’d started fires. Their breakout from the bomb run was just right, and the planes got only a little flak. The new man had his teeth into the game again, and he was over the hump. He was all elation and enthusiasm.
He said:
We’ll give ‘em hell from now on.
All evening he kept smiling to himself, and he was like somebody released from a great oppression. That night he went to bed around 9 o’clock, for he was tired, and he had assigned himself to lead the mission early next morning. Just before he went to sleep, he happened to think of something. He raised up and said:
Say, this is my birthday! I’d forgotten about it. Boy, I couldn’t have had a better birthday present than those two missions today.
And he really meant it.
The major was back in the war. He was doing a job again in person, with his own hands and brain, and he went to sleep with a fine satisfaction.