Here's one of our best, though he may not admit it, from David Longacre, Executive Officer of the 24th Fighter/Bomber Group, August 3, 1997

08:00 Hours, August 2nd, 1997 Nazareth, Pennsylvania........

The weather man says that there is a chance of showers later in the day, but I'm convinced that this will not be the case. After all, this is the day of the big air show, and incidentally, the first opportunity that I'll have to meet face to face with a member of the Skull Squadron. Today is the day that I'll meet Trapster. The first Skull that I ever flew with, and my original mentor.

"Come on Aaron, we've got to hurry, we're supposed to meet Trap at 9 o-clock, and he's coming a long way, so I don't want to make him wait." Aaron is my Son, and he is just as excited about going to the show as I am, so once I get his clothes together, he wastes no time throwing them on. "Come on Dad, let's go! We're going to be late! We've decided to meet Trap at a Perkins Pancake House that is easily seen from Route 80, and then continue on to the show together from there.

09:10 Hours, August 2nd, 1997 Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania.......

As it turns out, we're about 10 minutes late. I pull into the parking lot, and cruise around it once looking for his car. I've been told that he'll be driving a white, "87" Chrysler LeBaron, with a white top, and New York plates. He's not there yet, and I feel better about being late. I park my car in a spot at the front of the lot with a good view of the exit ramp, and wait. Very soon thereafter I see him turning off of the ramp. I get out of the car as he pulls up, stand up straight, and salute him. I'm rewarded with a big smile, a half nod, a return salute, and one word. "Ruger".

We chat for a moment or two, the whole time trying to gain the rhythm of normal conversation. We've known each other for over a year, but other than one phone call, all of our conversation has been typed. I remember thinking at the time that although typing seems the harder communication medium, it's really not. We agree to leave for the final leg of our trip, and we're off.

10:00 Hours, August 2nd, 1997 Moosic, Pennsylvania.......

There are three choices of parking for the show, I choose the farthest away, as I figure the lines will be the smallest, and the shuttles are free anyway. The line is nearly non-existent and we're soon on our way. Fortunately though, we're not too far away, because we all know what "Free Shuttle" translates to in the summer. The dreaded school bus. It's no more than we've expected.

10:30 Hours, August 2nd, 1997 Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport Scranton, Pennsylvania.......

Choosing to take the shuttle was wise. We speed by an eighth of a mile of irate drivers trying to park in the airport for the show, and are deposited right at the main gate. We're barely out of the bus when Trap sites the massive tails of two B-17's rising majestically above the show, far in the distance. I then point out the B-25J "Mitchell" nestled nicely between them on the apron. It's distinctive twin tails glinting in the mid summer sun. We make a beeline for them forsaking all of the other displays for the time being. Surprisingly, there are no ropes around them, and we touch the outer skins almost reverently. What had they seen in their long lives?

One is open for tours, and I hand my son the $3 to take it. He returns almost immediately to tell me that they will be flying shortly, and they must make them ready, so the tours have been halted. We grudgingly relinquish our places next to the fuselage to make room for the crew, and drift slowly down the flight line.

All morning, my son had been debating what he should take home as a memento of this day, and we finally find the perfect souvenir. Next to the "Mitchell" the ground crew has a table setup with a dog tag stamping machine. It's agreed that this will be perfect. All that is left to decide is what to put on it. In a flash, I pickup the order pad and pencil, and jot down what it will be. When the tag is done, it will read.....

AARON LONGACRE

24TH FIGHTER/BOMBARDMENT

SKULL SQUADRON

We're told that there is about a 30 minute wait for the tags to be done, and we decide to check out some of the other displays while we wait. I find that I enjoy watching the faces of the show goers, as much as the show. I can usually pick out the people that actually flew in the aircraft that are on display. They are the ones that seem to be looking at the craft, but really aren't seeing what we are. They will quietly walk around the craft, then pause for an extended period in one spot. Their gaze fixed in the middle distance, seeing some other place, transported to some other time. They usually won't smile very much. That other time wasn't very happy. So many went out with them, and so very few returned. I see a small tear forming in the eye of one of the old gentlemen, and I look quickly away. I feel like an intruder, I have no right to share in his grief. I wasn't there.

12:00 Hours, August 2nd, 1997 Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport Scranton, Pennsylvania.......

We've viewed some of the other aircraft, and it's about time to head back to pickup Aaron's dog tag. When we get close to the spot where the table was setup, we find it blocked off with rope. Show workers are asking people to back away from the ropes behind the four aircraft that are the main reason we are there, and we're told that they will be starting up soon. It's then that we hear a distinctive whine, and look up to see engine #3 on "Sentimental Journey" cough into life. Great billowing clouds of blue/black smoke are blown back in our faces as they idle the engine with the mixture set rich. The exhaust combined with the dust blown up from the taxiway is choking, but I look over at Trap, and realize that he feels the same way I do right now. There is no where that he would rather be. #3 settles into a smooth rhythm, and the crew starts #4, then #1, and finally #2. Once "Sentimental Journey" has been started, the B-25J "Mitchell", the other B-17 "Fuddy Duddy", and the P-51 "Pony" that will fly as escort follow. I stare after them as they begin their rollout in preparation for takeoff and.........

04:00 Hours, August 2nd, 1943 An Airfield somewhere in Southern England.......

"Come on Ruger, let's get going shall we? There's a munitions plant across the channel waiting for some of our iron." I hop out of the bunk, and quickly don my gear. "I'll see you with the men in the briefing hut in 15." It's never been easy for me to get up in the morning, and this one is no different, but everyone has a job to do in this war, and mine is to fly a bomber. I stumble out of the barracks after Trap, and head for the briefing.

The briefing is over quickly, these men all know where we're going and why. There is not much chatting among them, and they keep their questions to a minimum. Things may be different after the mission. But right now, they are focused on one thing. Getting all of the information that they'll need to destroy their objective, and make it home alive. There is no room for mistakes here.

We all file out, and hop on the Willis for the ride out to the field. Arriving at our "17" we hop out of the jeep, and then kneel under the wing for a short prayer. What we've seen till now has shaken our faith, but not killed it. There is one more thing that we'll do before taking off. We all file past the nose of our ship, and give "Mother" a friendly pat on the bottom. Our bomber is called "Mother and Apple Pie", but the buxom lady holding the steaming apple pie painted on the side doesn't resemble any of the pictures of the mothers that I've seen around the barracks.

Preflight over and engines warmed up, we're soon rolling down the runway. We all exhale in unison, when at the last minute our overloaded ship lumbers into the air and gradually gains altitude. Some missions will end in flames on the end of that runway before the day is through.

We shortly rendezvous with our escorts, and there is a collective sigh of relief. Unfortunately, they will not be able to fly with us for the whole distance, but we are thankful for the time that they will follow us. The Luftwaffe is murderous, and we need all the protection we can get.

We're barely over the continent, when the first wave of German fighters begins to slice through us. Circling us like a pack of hungry wolfs, they tear us from the protection of the formation and then move in for the kill.

One by one our gunners, and our fighter protection kill them, but not quickly enough. Suddenly, a flaming "190" screams across my vision, and I hear the right waist gunner scream that we've been hit. I look down at the gauges, and see the oil pressure on #4 drop into the basement. I'm about to tell my co-pilot to eyeball the engine when he screams, "Fire on 4!" I feather the prop, and hit the extinguisher almost at the same time. The fire doesn't go out though. I yell back at the crew to tell them to hang on. We're going to have to dive to try to put out that fire before it reaches the fuel, but before I start the maneuver there is a loud crumpling noise.....

15:00 Hours, August 2nd, 1997 Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport Scranton, Pennsylvania.......

I blink twice and feel warmth rush past my face as the B-17 screams by, and the pyrotechnic crew on the field sets off another series of explosions. Red, angry looking flames rush skyward, die out, and leave large black clouds in their wake.

This is what we've come for, and once this part of the show is over, we realize that it's getting late, and we're tired. We check out a few more of the displays then head back to the bus. An enjoyable time was had by all.......or was it? I guess it depends on where you were when these aircraft were flown as weapons, and not for entertainment.

Ruger

XO-24th Fighter/Bombardment

Skull Squadron