Brettafett
Well-Known Member
Although, the two guys in the middle look disappointed... "was it worth it... for THIS?" Guy on the far right doesn't think so.
-
When you click on links to various merchants on this site and make a purchase, this can result in this site earning a commission. Affiliate programs and affiliations include, but are not limited to, the eBay Partner Network.
Collar up or down?
- Thread starter Grant
- Start date
Grant
Well-Known Member
The last sentence in this story of SSgt Shorty Gordon, a B-17 ball turret gunner pretty much sums it up what's happening in this photo:
Two thirds of his turret projects from the bottom of the B-17 to meet attacks from below. In it are two .50 caliber machine guns, several hundred rounds of ammunition, a range mechanism, gun sight, switches, buttons, pedals, and petcocks. The gunner gets what room there is left, squeezing in between the guns, legs thrown forward, left foot on the range pedal and right foot on the interphone switch. His knees rest so close to the bolt mechanisms that their action during combat often tears his clothes. Remarkable as this strictly GI invention may be, it is not nearly so popular in a particular Fortress Squadron in England as the twenty-year-old kid who operates it. For Shorty hasn’t missed a mission yet. His feet have been frozen and his electrically heated baby-blue jumper has failed him at 45 degrees below zero. He has had to work all night inside the wing of a Fortress and go up to fight the Luftwaffe the following day. He has had to beg, wheedle, or steal his way to a gun position in another ship when his own was out of commission. He has worked on frozen guns at 24,000 feet while fighters were boring in and flesh was tearing off his fingers each time he touched his guns to coax them back into action. But he hasn’t missed a mission yet. Shorty Gordon eases his nerves after a mission by taking a triple scotch—’’more if I can get it.”
Two thirds of his turret projects from the bottom of the B-17 to meet attacks from below. In it are two .50 caliber machine guns, several hundred rounds of ammunition, a range mechanism, gun sight, switches, buttons, pedals, and petcocks. The gunner gets what room there is left, squeezing in between the guns, legs thrown forward, left foot on the range pedal and right foot on the interphone switch. His knees rest so close to the bolt mechanisms that their action during combat often tears his clothes. Remarkable as this strictly GI invention may be, it is not nearly so popular in a particular Fortress Squadron in England as the twenty-year-old kid who operates it. For Shorty hasn’t missed a mission yet. His feet have been frozen and his electrically heated baby-blue jumper has failed him at 45 degrees below zero. He has had to work all night inside the wing of a Fortress and go up to fight the Luftwaffe the following day. He has had to beg, wheedle, or steal his way to a gun position in another ship when his own was out of commission. He has worked on frozen guns at 24,000 feet while fighters were boring in and flesh was tearing off his fingers each time he touched his guns to coax them back into action. But he hasn’t missed a mission yet. Shorty Gordon eases his nerves after a mission by taking a triple scotch—’’more if I can get it.”
I think that's a bandaid on his finger.
