general in 1943, the mild-mannered Eaker, the following year, was promoted Commander ofAllied Forces in the Mediterranean. Flying from bases in Italy, Ira’s new combined fleet of 17sand 24s continued the offensive against Germany, playing a major role in the Italian campaign,especially the tough decision to bomb the monastery of Monte Cassino. Then, almostimmediately, he turned to devote all his attention to participating in directing the invasion ofsouthern France.From Ira’s brilliant bombing strategies in the Mediterranean, let us pivot to author BillCullen’s hero, Bob Harper, who fought in the Flying Fortress during every one of his 35missions. Based at Ridgewell Airfield in England, he and the 381 st Bomb Group flew near-deathmissions over heavily defended industrial centers all over western Germany. Shot down twice,Bill was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. Via his letters home, combat reports, andextensive interviews with author Bill, Bob describes his extremely dangerous encounters onboard the legendary Eighth’s B-17s. Even the even-keeled Bob Harper was occasionally grippedby frightening-fear curled up in his tiny ball turret underneath the aircraft. Sure, he was small, 5feet, 4 inches, weighing 110 pounds (my cat Lexi, the little lump of Snot, is larger), but, buff,imagine being confined like that as Luftwaffe-winged machine-gun fire ripped through or alongthe undercarriage toward your turret. Apparently, Bob always kept his personal fright and nearpanic in check within the thick plastic-glass turret, or, underneath his constant smile upon the17’s return and his hours of debriefing in the flyers’ lounge. By the way, in November 1945, hewas assigned his 36 th mission, his “ . . . return home to St. Louis, Missouri, to enjoy civilian lifeagain”. Bob Harper, the last surviving member of his combat crew, lived to be slightly morethan a hundred years old. In 2019, he wrote,“I only did my very small part. We all felt that we were lucky when it was all said and done,and that it was a miracle that we came through it. The weather. The flak. The enemy, theGerman fighter pilots who were quite good at what they did. And the B-17 flying 5 miles abovethe earth, wingtip to wingtip, a necessary invitation to collision and disaster. Despite what feltlike terrible odds, each morning when we climbed into that B-17 together, we were a team,supporting each other the best we could . . . I hope that in a small way, my crew and the manymen of the 381 st BG helped make a difference in ending that terrible war.”Thanks, Bill Cullen, and you, too, SCHIFFER editors and publishers, and, Bob Harper,especially to you, for such a splendid, mesmerizing story, including welcoming us to squeeze
into that tiny turret with you.
