This book is the story of my flying experiences during World WarII. It covers primarily the period from February 1943 to April 1945. At thebeginning I explain why and how I got into the Army Air Corps, as it wasthen called, and at the end I include an account of my partialconvalescence in a U.S. Army hospital in England. Otherwise, I stick closelyto my actual flying experiences and the events of that era. I omit all but atrivial amount of personal experiences outside of flying.I have compiled this account from several sources: (1) my memoryand my official flight record; (2) the letters I wrote to my immediatefamily while I was in the Air Corps, which I repossessed after my parentsdied; (3) official Eighth Air Force records of bombing missions; (4)accounts written by former crew members, Larry Locker, John R. Wingfieldand Fred Stoker; and (5) the book, The 388th at War, by Edward Huntzinger.During the war, I had a diary in which I kept brief accounts of day-to-dayevents. However, some eager lackey, who must have known that diaries wereofficially forbidden, removed it from my belongings in March 1945 when hetransferred them from my bomber unit to the Army hospital where I wasconvalescing. Fortunately, I could verify the dates and events that Iinclude in this account by means of these other sources.Long ago, I determined to write this chronicle if I survived mycombat tour. I felt that it would be the least I could do for those who willnever grow old and can never speak for themselves. I do not pretend to speakfor them. Nevertheless, if my account is only one among many that bearswitness to the trauma and agony of politically organized human conflict, itwill have served its purpose.The title I have chosen derives from the common thought many of ushave when we are suddenly enveloped in Big Events, such as, for exampleWorld War II. "Boy, if they could see me now," we think, as we imagine allthe people--family, friends, and "enemies"--who might gasp in awe andadmiration at our exploits. But . . .They Never Saw Me Then. Since "they"did not see me then, I decided to tell this story myself.I was a young man--a boy, really, 21-22 years old--during 1943 and1944. I was one among millions of young men fighting millions of other youngmen, all of whom might have been friends if not for the circumstances oftime and place in which they happened to live. All my fellow airmen and Iknew that Hitler and his henchmen were atrocious and loathsome examples ofthe human race. Yet, any U.S. soldier or airman, who thought even brieflyabout his job of trying to kill and destroy "the enemy," knew that he wasnot within range of damaging Hitler and other Nazi leaders. We could notreach their personal environments or influence their decisions; ouractivities were many magnitudes removed from hurting them. We could onlychip away at the peripheries of their domain and hope that our efforts woulddestroy their capability to continue. To do so, we had to try andkill our enemy counterparts with whom we had no personal quarrel at all. Weaimed our bombs at their strategic war-making industries and infrastructurebut in the process we knew we could not avoid hitting churches, schools, andinnocent people. Many of us thought that a better way must exist. Fifty-sixyears later, I still think so.The first section of this book describes my experiences as anaviation cadet. I began flying in August 1943, and advanced through thethree phases of the Air Corps flight instruction program--Primary, Basicand Advanced. I received my silver Pilot Wings in February 1944, whichmeant I was in the pilot class of 44-B. Air Corps orders then assigned me tothe role of copilot on a B-17. I was placed on a crew for operationaltraining at Drew Field near Tampa, Florida. Upon completion of thattraining, my crew and I were shipped to Sco