re: It’s 1943, you’ve been assigned to the 8th Air Force…

You'd not be kicking any Jap arse if you are in the 8th in 1943.

I'd pick the radio operator, most of the time in combat he manned the waist gun when needed or the top turret if the engineer was occupied.

Men were men back then.

I’d have to fast for two days before each mission to keep from filling that space up with shite.

My grandfather did the same, was in the 15th, flight engineer on a B24, started training on B29 but didn’t have to deploy in them. Family has original letter from Eisenhower to my great grandfather telling him my grandfather would be coming home. They were life long friends, unfortunately most all of his other belongings from the service were lost in a house fire except for a few photos.

Just read a great book titled” shot down” it’s a bout a B17 getting shot down over Belgium.. the main pilot was named Howard Snyder.. great book

Lengthy and gets in the weeds a bit. But, if you're a WWII aviation nerd, it's pretty interesting.

The gist of it is, Happy Arnold and the pro-bomber guys resisted and tried to outright ban drop tanks for fighters to be able to extend their range to escort the B17s. Seems crazy.

My Dad told there were several different versions on B-24's and the first version, the nose position was basically a canopy/blister and the guns had a very narrow field of fire and the bombardier doubled as NG.
Later versions that my Dad flew were a turret and the guns were moved side to side with hydraulate foot pedals and you had a much wider field of fire.

I absolutely love the nose art on hose ships. Some pretty talented artists with vivid imaginations. A lot of it would have to be labeled NSFW.

Surprisingly, statistics showed that the position that had fewest hits was the ball turret, so it was a little safer. It’s because you were protected by think plexiglass and the ball turret itself. But not a chance in hell I would get in that thing. Tail was too cramped and you’re in your knees the entire time. And little to no chance of getting out so forget that. Probably radio for me. And the flight engineer was the top turret gunner. Those boys were beyond brave!

My dad, all 5-foot-5 of him was a Tech Sgt. and the engineer and top turret gunner on a B-17 in the Spring of 1943. (The radio operator manned a single .50 cal sticking out above the cockpit.)

Manning twin-50s in the top turret, he said he had a great view of most of the action. Always a natural good shot, he already had two confirmed kills and one probable in his first two missions on “L’il Butch”. He so wanted to be a turret gunner ace.

In April 1943, while aboard “Patches” and returning from a huge raid on a ball bearing factory over Schweinfurt, his luck ran out.

On the way home, they were jumped by a covey of ME-109s. One burst from a 20mm gun killed their tailgunner, wounded a waist gunner, took 3/4s of an inch out of my dad’s left thigh and wounded the co-pilot.

He spent nine-months in a body cast while docs put his leg back together. On the next mission, “Patches” was shot down and the entire crew spent the war in a POW camp.

When I came back home from Vietnam in 1970 as a wounded Marine combat vet, my dad opened up to me like never before.

He hated the flak more than the fighters, talked about the cold air, about how he was left for dead on the wing of the plane when they landed, the fear of the missions.

In 1986, cigarettes, stress and heart disease did what those killer skies couldn’t do — claimed another member of the Greatest Generation.