Editor’s note: On April 12, Cy flew his first combat mission:
In Tunisia, B-17's bomb the harbor at Bizerte. B-25's and A-20's bomb airfields at Oudna and Sainte-Made du Zit. Aircraft of tactical units hit enemy movements and fly sweep and reconnaissance throughout NE Tunisia following the attack during the night of 11/12 Apr by British aircraft, mainly in the Enfidaville, Zaghouan, and Bou Ficha areas. From:http://www.milhist.net/usaaf/mto43a.html
On April 13, 1943, the 47th Bomb Group set up a new stationed at Souk-el-Arba, Tunisia.
The number one song on the billboard charts in April 1943 was “I’ve heard that song before“: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tX5S9iXmMek
April 13-14 Mission:
In Tunisia during the night of 13/14 Apr, Northwest African Tactical Air Force (NATAF) Hurricanes and Blenheims bomb La Sebala Airfield and attack transport on the Tunis-Pont-du-Fahs road, and Western Desert Air Force (WDAF) light and medium bombers hit the Airfields at Sainte-Marie du Zit and Korba. During the day, B-17's bomb El Aouina Airfield. P-38's escort the heavy bombers and fly a bombing and strafing mission against a beached vessel SE of Cape Zebib. A-20's bomb Bordj Toum. From:http://www.milhist.net/usaaf/mto43a.html
4/14/43
North Africa
Hi Toots:
I don’t even know what month it is. In any case, it is spring, and beautiful, even in Africa. Speaking of which, the Post had an article on same, which was not bad. I believe it was the March 27th issue. It was fairly accurate in its representation of the geographical features, although the military conclusions were made asinine a few weeks ago.
This set up is much better than the one I had. I am flying an airplane instead of a desk. The new outfit is swell, experienced, and capable. I don’t know what kind of a future I can brew up for myself in it, but I’m much happier here than I was with Van. I miss hell out of John, Willy, and Arlie, and should really write to them. Bill Mallory, who used to be in the old outfit, is just down the road from me.
Tell Thomas Patrick that I’m earning my flight pay now, and it is still a sin to take it away from the guv’ment. I’ve been told by those who know that my first picnic was rougher than anything that’s been encountered before in any theater, and it wasn’t half bad. Honey, I wouldn’t say this to anyone else for I’m sure they’d think I was lying, but I wasn’t the least bit scared. I must be nuts, but it was rather fun, just like football or track, only with higher stakes. It’s not hard to see how it could get on one’s nerves after several months continuous, but it really isn’t half as bad as Hollywood and the magazine writers make it out to be. They say I not only had my cherry busted, but it was downright shattered. In other than military slang, it was rough by all counts. Sure I’m nuts, but it was fun. I was so damn busy flying formation that I didn’t have time to get scared.
Baby girl, if we win this war, which we certainly shall in a reasonable time, we can certainly thank the British for a large part of it. They have taken us in like little brothers and are most considerate. All of the nasty things that have been said about them are filthy lies. No woofing, I shall always be grateful to the RAF for the fine way in which they have turned over to us every bit of the knowledge which they paid for so dearly.
I have other strong views. They shouldn’t let anyone in the States get to be more than a first lieutenant. As a major with a hell of a lot of knowledge that most of the lads didn’t have, I am practically worthless until I get some combat background—not necessarily in the air, but at least in the operation of a combat group. A lot of these kids popping loose over here ought to be reduced to shavetails. This goes for a lot of the colonels also. It is a 24 hour per day job to try to absorb all of the things which a major should know. And since no one has written it down, it means spending a lot of leisurely time interviewing the various people and combining the various bits of knowledge into a reasonable whole. When the next war pops up, I’m going to be a military analyst for NBC or something. I can do more good assimilating knowledge than any other way.
I’ve had a very pleasant time with a British bombardier—navigator named Parsons. He is most capable, and about my age. I found out much to my amazement that he is an electrical engineer. We had quite a chat this afternoon.
You’re going to laugh like hell when I get home. I’ll be using Arabic cuss words, French expressions, and a British accent. Honey, I can’t help it a bit. I’ve spent so much time living in different parts of the country that I automatically pick up the little expressions and accents of the people with whom I am thrown. There is another Englishman in the same room with me, and he is a riot. You start out pulling his leg, and he stays perfectly serious. After a few exchanges, you aren’t quite sure who is pulling whose leg. Our laughing at their lack of sense of humor is outrageous. We just aren’t smart enough to catch on.
Gee, do you rate tonight. Two pages typing. You’d better respond with a pot full of letters. I may not get them regularly, but it is much more fun to get a whole lot of them once a week than to get 1 once per week. Keep ‘em flying this direction.
I found out today that I have been due a fogey* since last August! I ought to be able to collect it back to then. If I can, it should be worth about $150 dollars. How’s the send junior to college fund! If we get me through, then we can get me a job, and afford to send junior to school. Incidentally, how’s that score coming. I never thought I’d work so hard to get one little girl pregnant. I’m flying with a cast iron jock strap—I’d hate to lose the vital organs in a measly little war.
Baby girl, it isn’t much, but I was the first staff officer out of the old Group to get to Africa, the first one to drop a bomb in Africa, and the first one to drop a bomb (several of them in fact) on Jerry. Tell Tom that I didn’t desert the old bunch. I simply found out that I couldn’t buck so much opposition, and rather than contribute to the general uselessness, I decided to do as much good as I could personally. When this squabble is over, I’m going to try to go drop some eggs on the bastards who caught little Gus and some of the lads. By that time I should know a hell of a lot of tactics that aren’t known over in that part of the world. These Huns are a hell of a bit rougher opponent than the nips, and that comes from people who have fought both. But they still aren’t tough enough to do much more than occasionally slow down the Anglo-American team.
Soldiers have three aims:
1. Beat hell out of the enema
2. Get somebody else to beat hell out of the enema for him
3. Go home.
Guess I must be a good soldier
Keg is probably spreading some good stories by now. He’s a good guy, but well sponsored. I’ve already seen worse flak than his outfit ever touched, and I’m just beginning. This pilot screaming jitters that that bunch had is a bunch of whooey. People in this gang have flown much more and rougher work and are happy as a bunch of idiots. We’re having a swell time. Once in a great while someone will let it get on his nerves. But the cases are rare. I personally shall make every effort not to do same. The ones that get it worse are the ones who are trying to get it so they will be sent home. All the time we were worrying about our friend in England, they were flying only 2 operational missions. They were the glamour boys, and this bunch is now doing the work. Believe it or not, that is not sour grapes, for everyone here just laughs at them.
Van and I parted friends. In fact, he got quite spliced up and gave me some very good advice, straight from the heart, on how to get along in the Army. It is the col. Thompson method, keep covered, and I don’t care for it. I would rather get scorched, if I ever do, for doing something wrong, than for not doing anything at all. He could get a lot of things for me, and he would do it sincerely for he likes me and my work. But I would lose my initiative and my self respect. I am glad we parted when we did for I feel that I couldn’t have stood it much longer and should have ended up in a brawl of my telling someone off in a less tactful manner than I did. I had the rare pleasure when I finally left of buzzing his room at 10 A.M. (he was in bed with the same old thing) with a formation of 5 airplanes. I’m not sure, but I believe I also blew down a few tents. I’ll bet his dome throbbed. Well, that’s an episode closed just like when I left Uncle Bernie.
Baby girl, you are most precious. I shall go re-read all your letters, spot the Post for a while, and hit the hay. Take care of you for me, and don’t worry for I am doing excellently in the one thing that I didn’t know about until the 12th. I love it, and promise you I shall not be a hero in any way.
I love you. Cy
P.S. Van is wearing 3 ribbons—Pearl Harbor, National Guard of Minn., and defense of South America!
*A military longevity allowance, awarded for units of service.