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newer crew joined the squadron.
    Sitting at his little navigator’s desk in the nose compartment minutes before takeoff, Tony tried to peer through the thick fog but he could see nothing. When the aircraft bounced roughly, it reminded him that only thirty seconds or so ahead of them was another bomb-laden B-17, and her engines’ “prop wash” was going to make it a bumpy ascent for the rookie crew.
    Earlier in the war, newer crews sometimes had drawn milk runs to France as their first mission. It was a term that veteran airmen used for an easy mission. A non-German city with little flak and no enemy fighters translated into a milk run. Tony now realized what an inside joke that was. Here they were flying blind through a foggy dark sky. Somewhere ahead, above and maybe below them, were as many as thirty-five other B-17s whose pilots were flying just as blind. On top of that, other bomb groups from nearby bases were in the same area attempting to join the 305th in a massive formation for the attack on Giessen, Germany.
    Most of the American bases had their own stories of B-17s that had collided while trying to get into formation. As long as formation flying was a part of the equation, there would be no such thing as a milk run for the Eighth Air Force airman.
    Tony could see more light outside, and he knew that the sunrise was right on time, but still the foggy cloud cover was present and visibility extended only a few feet in front of his airplane.
He tried to concentrate on his navigation calculations but could not. In the cockpit, Jerry Chart watched the pilot and took mental notes that he hoped he would remember when his turn came to lead his crew on a mission. Both of the pilot’s hands were squeezing the controls while he tried to hold the B-17 steady as the bomber was hit by prop wash and wind pockets.
    Finally, a full twenty minutes after takeoff, the airplane ascended out of the clouds and into a beautiful blue sky. Another B-17 from the 366th was just yards off the right wing. Ahead and above them, for miles, the rookie crew could see dozens of other Fortresses. It was an amazing, almost indescribable sight that Anthony Teta would never forget.
    The dream a nine-year-old boy first had at a little air show in Hamden, Connecticut, had now become a reality of incredible proportions. The 366th’s rookie crew got a taste of real combat that day also. When they returned to base hours later, they found their bomber had been slightly damaged by German antiaircraft fire.
    Chart’s gunners had been anxious for something to shoot at, but no German fighters had approached the squadron. The crew did witness a dogfight between American P-51 Mustangs and enemy fighters, but it was distant.
    B-17 number 037 came back safely with a crew that was a little less green for having flown a real combat mission. After peeling off their helmets, flak jackets, heavy boots, electric gloves and other combat gear, Chart’s men got their first interrogation (debriefing). Someone placed a double shot of scotch in front of Tony. He took a sip, found that he liked the brand and drank the rest in one quick swallow. When he put the empty glass on the table, the interrogation officer asked him, “What was the flak like today?”
    “Too close,” Tony replied with a grin.
    There were lots more questions. Visibility? Bombing results?
Enemy fighters? Later, while he was having a beer with the rest of the crew at a local pub, Tony found that what he remembered most about the mission was that it was cold. Very cold! And the flak had made an impression. Bill Goetz called it “meager flak.” Still at least one shell had exploded close enough to damage the aircraft. The gunners confessed they really did not mind that no enemy fighters had challenged them. Everyone laughed and they ordered another round.
    Three days after Christmas came the crew’s mission number two and Jerry Chart’s first mission as pilot and aircraft commander. The airplane was