American Valor Quarterly Issue 8 - Winter 2010/2011 | Page 11

lag, a call came out from our pilot, “Abandoning
operations, returning to base.” Fear penetrated every
fiber of my being. A lone bomber deep in enemy
territory, a sitting duck is what we now became.
We had barely left the formation when there was a call
from the bombardier, “Fighters, three o’clock low!”
I swung my turret around and saw two German fighter
planes off our right wing, just out of range, sizing us
up and deciding where to strike. They soon made
their decision and darted around in front, coming
directly on. Gritting my teeth and praying like mad, I
opened fire as they came into range. I was using every
skill of gunnery that I possessed, but they kept coming,
firing as they approached.
The crew of the Betty Boop: The Pistol Packin’ Mama, pictured in front of their
bomber. The bomber’s ball turret gunner, Delbert Lambson, is standing in the
back row, second from the left.

turret was damaged in combat and could not operate, I would
go down with the plane.
From my position down there underneath, I could watch the
bombs drop down and explode, seeing the smoke and dust rise
into the air. I thought about the innocent old men, women, and
children on the ground and this thought was the hell of war for
me.

There was a blinding flash. Like lightening striking
close, streaks of fire shot through my brain. My hands
shot up to my face, only to feel the wet warmth of
blood trickling through my fingers and down my chest. My left
leg was numb and my shoulder felt like hot iron had been thrust
into it. My flying suit was soaking up the blood that was pouring
from my wounds. I stared in horror at the shatter-proof window
just in front of my face. There was a four-inch hole directly in
the center of it. I should be dead. God in heaven only knows
why my head was not blown off.

Though I was badly wounded, my mind was clear. I knew I had
to get out—and fast! I struggled to raise my good right hand up
to the controls above my head. The turret, thank God, responded
to my touch. With a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanksgiving,
I lowered the guns to a straight forward and down position in
order to open the hatch door above my head. I struggled with
the hatch door and finally got it open. Dragging myself up into
We flew our missions at an altitude from 25,000 to 30,000 feet the waist, I clipped the parachute to my chest and looked around.
where the temperatures dip to 60 degrees below zero and the The waist of the plane was empty, as the two gunners had received
oxygen is so thin that it will not sustain life. Our crew flew nineteen orders to bail out. They were long gone.
long, hard missions, but I only have time to tell you about the
most dangerous one, which happened to be our last.
I went to the open door and looked out. The right wing of the
plane was an inferno, a mass of flames from one end to the
After a pre-dawn breakfast, we gathered in the briefing room to other. It was time to go! For some reason I did not jump. I
learn that our target for the day was Regensburg, an industrial city looked around, up into the radio room and saw our radio
deep in the heart of Bavaria that had cost many American lives operator firing into space. I dragged my wounded leg up to his
on previous missions. After briefing, we went out to where the position and yelled, “Let’s get out of here, she’s gonna blow.”
Pistol Packin’ Mama shivered in the pre-dawn cold. We cleaned He just kept on firing, bent on protecting his ship and his crew. I
and oiled our guns and went up into the waist of the plane to finally coaxed him away from his machine gun and headed for
wait for takeoff.
the door. As we jumped, the blast literally blew us away from
the plane as it exploded behind us.
After takeoff, we joined the greatest fighting force that world has
ever known and headed east toward Regensburg. We had crossed We were at 30,000 feet when we jumped, at 60 degrees below
France and were approaching the German border when the plane zero, and without enough oxygen at that altitude to keep me alive
began to lag in formation. This left me very concerned. The if I didn’t first freeze to death. I held out as best I could, knowing
German fight planes would often watch for stragglers, then that to open my parachute immediately would mean certain death.
pounce on them and bring them down at their leisure, the way a I fell for four miles before the time was right to open the chute.
lion brings down the weakest of its prey. As we continued to Finally, I pulled the ripcord and my parachute opened out in
In addition to the German fighter planes, shells from the antiaircraft guns on the ground were a constant worry, bursting all
around us with long, red, dirty fingers of death. There was no
place to hide and you never knew which one was going to have
your name on it.

Courtesy of Delbert Lambson

AMERICAN VALOR QUARTERLY - Winter 2010/11 - 11