“Colorado is home for me. You get your bag lunch?”
Dedmon held up the brown paper bag he had been given. He’d already looked, it contained a cheese sandwich, a ham sandwich, an apple and a bottle of something labeled ‘orange juice’ although it didn’t look like any juice Dedmon had ever seen before.
“Excuse me, Sirs, do we have to sign in? I’ve never ridden one of these before.”
An Airman was looking down at the two men. Pico returned the gaze. “You reported at the desk? And they gave you a seat number?”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“That’s fine then. Just find your seat and strap in. What’s your name son?”
“Martin Sir. John Paul Martin.” The airman looked around and suddenly realized he had been standing right next to his assigned seat. He smiled sheepishly and sat down, nearly dropping his bag lunch in the process. “I’ve been a tail gunner on B-29s for the last six months.”
Dedmon and Pico nodded respectfully. The B-29 crews had taken a ferocious battering. This young airman was lucky to be alive. Dedmon asked the inevitable question. “Many missions?”
“Not combat, no, Sir. Mostly training flights and ELINT missions around Japan. Saw quite a few Japanese fighters, mostly Army Ingas and Gails. A few Navy Zeros but we kept out of their way. I got lucky I guess. Never fired my guns.”
Pico and Dedmon exchanged glances. Some airmen, speaking to officers informally like this, would have exaggerated their experience to gain favor. This young man was above that. They approved.
“Gentlemen, we are about to take off. Please ensure you are strapped in securely. In the event of this aircraft crashing, remember to eat your bag lunches before impact, we are not allowed to waste food.” A groan went around the passenger cabin, the joke was an old one. “Personnel facilities are in the rear of the aircraft. We have no female passengers today so use of those facilities is unrestricted.”
Pico smiled. “Did I ever tell you about the time we flew a group of Army nurses out? Hit bad turbulence, one of those times when a storm cut in and we didn’t expect it. We were bouncing all over the place. Everybody on board was airsick but those nurses got to work, passing out sick bags. They cleaned up after the ones who lost it, as cool as you like. Then, when we’re out of it, one of them throws a hissy-fit because somebody had left the seat in the latrine up.”
The flight down had taken six hours, most of which Dedmon had spent asleep. His companions had been considerate enough not to wake him, another point which had won them favor in his eyes. After landing, they had been herded into Air Force busses that had taken them for another two hour drive. Finally, their transport had pulled into a reception area that was indoors and lacked windows. The busses had dropped them and pulled out. A harassed-looking man with a clipboard had met them and taken them under his wing.
“I’m Colonel Lane. The General will speak to you in a few minutes. If you just come with me please.”
He’d led them into a large briefing room, one without seats. Several additional groups of men arrived. Then an uneasy hush fell over the room. A stocky figure with a grim expression frozen on his face stepped out and stood behind the podium. A stir went around the room as the audience recognized General Curtis LeMay. They’d expected his voice to be a roar but in fact it was quiet, hard to hear.
“Gentlemen, you have been gathered here for the most important mission the USAF has ever flown. In addition, it is the most secret mission we have ever contemplated. There is a rule here you must never forget. What you see here, what you learn here, what you think here, must stay here. You must never, never breathe a word about your work to anybody. If you do, you will be in a military prison for so long you will forget what daylight looks like. Many people know parts of the story but very few know it all. If somebody uses a part of the story to persuade you to tell them the rest, you will terminate the conversation immediately and report the meeting to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They will take it from there.
“When you fly, you will take off at night and you will land at night. If anybody asks you what you fly, you will reply that you are C-99 crews. Many of you, especially pilots and navigators are C-99 veterans. Feel free to bore any such audiences to death with stories about how you secure cargo and check weight balances.” A stir of laughter ran around the room. “Now, the next step is to assemble crews.
Circulate amongst yourselves, try to form up into groups of about six you feel happy with. No more than three officers per group. We will assign anybody who isn’t in a group after a reasonable time.”
Dedmon looked at Pico and the two men nodded. Then they looked at Martin “Want in Martin?”
“Yes, SIR!” The pleasure was immediate and obvious.
“Bob, the guy over there, Sergeant King, knew him on the C-99 runs. He’s the best mechanic I’ve ever known. Snag him?”
“Go for it.”
Pico stepped away and a few seconds later brought a well-built, even overweight, Sergeant back with him. Dedmon stuck out a hand. “Sergeant King, want to join our happy band of brothers?”
The Sergeant looked cheerful. He’d been afraid his girth would put off potential crews. “Be happy to, Sirs.”
Dedmon looked around again. Then he heard Martin’s voice behind him. “Sir, the EW officer over there, Captain Mollins, knew him on the RB-29 flights around Japan. If we need an EW man, he’s the best I saw while on the RBs.”
Dedmon acknowledged the advice. A couple of minutes later, the EW officer was part of the crew. Meanwhile, Sergeant King had seen another flight engineer, Sergeant Gordon, he’d worked with and brought him over to join the group. Dedmon looked at the six men and felt a quiet satisfaction. These were good men, he had the makings of a fine crew here. Then his eye was caught by one last man, one who seemed left out by the rapidly coalescing groups around him.
“Anybody know that one?”
His crew shook their heads. “Offer him a home?”
There was a moment of thought, then a series of nods. Dedmon went over to the man. “I’m Major Dedmon, want to join my crew? We’re over there.”
The man looked at him then broke into an open, friendly smile. “That’s right friendly of you Sir. I was feeling kind of left out here. I’m a bombardier, used to be onB-17s. If you’ll have me, I’m in. Name’s Crane. Sergeant Sammy Crane. Most people call me Argus.”
Dedmon took his group up to the front where General LeMay was speaking quietly with Colonel Lane. The other groups were still speaking and getting to know each other. “Sir, our crew is ready, there’s seven of us.”
LeMay looked at them expressionlessly. “Not going to take time to get to know each other?”
“No Sir, we’ll have time for that later. We’d just like to get started.”
“I have no cause for complaint with that. Colonel Lane, take these men into the main hangar to choose their aircraft.” LeMay turned and started inspecting a file. Dedmon got the distinct feeling he’d done the right thing at the right time.
Lane took his clipboard and noted the crew’s names and expertise. “If you gentlemen will come with me.”
The party went through the doors, down a corridor then through another door, this one guarded by two Air Force Police. Then he ushered the crew into the building beyond.
“Oh My God!” The chorus of comments was born of shock and surprise, shock at the sheer size of the hangar, stunned amazement at what it contained.
Lane looked slightly conceited. “They all say that when they come in here for the first time. That’s why we call this the Ohmygod hangar. And those eight aircraft are called B-36s. The B-36H-30-FW Peacemaker to be precise. They’re the month’s production from this particular final assembly plant. Gentlemen, as the first registered crew of this intake, you get first choice. Take your pick. That aircraft will be yours for the indefinite future.”
Dedmon looked at the aircraft, he recognized the wings as being those of the C-99 only they had jet pods mounted under the wings. Two jets per wing in addition to the six piston engines. The tail was similar to the C-99 but the fuselage was totally different. He looked underneath and saw the gaping, cavernous bomb bay.
“Tens of thousands of people in America know these aircraft exist, the people who build them, the people
