LEGION

The Martin B-26 Marauder medium bomber
of the United States Army Air Force.
Maruaders flying in "combat box" formation.
Another view of the "protective" combat box.
Salute! I am Karl, a student at Louisiana State University, attending the necessary courses that will qualify me to sit for the American Institute of Certified Public Accountants' certification examination. Wish me luck because some people have said to me the CPA exam is tougher than the law school exam to become a lawyer and the medical field's exam to become a doctor. Hmmm.
I am going to make it. I refuse to give myself any options contrary to achieving my worthy goal. Period. That is the American way! That was and still is the only way to victory.
What else? Well I am a former Air Force Special Operations Command Air Commando news paper weenie! I spent five years at Hurlburt Field, Fla. publishing the weekly base rag. That gig got me a lot of related names, everything from paper boy to news guy and photo guy to The Commando. That last one just happened to be the name of the rag I created every week.
I always wanted to be part of an aircrew, doing all the fun stuff flyboys get to do. Medically disqualified from air service, public affairs, turned out to be something of a blessing because as a non-aircrew personnel, I managed to gain a lot of flying hours under the guise of writing another story about some unit's or flyer's achievement to the various missions each flying squadron practiced when at base.
You gotta be in a C-130 Combat Shadow, in a valley where houses on hilltops are higher than you, to really experience life. It's amazing what the 9th Special Operations Squadron can do with a big four-engined Herckiebird.
I enjoy fixin' stuff, lawnmowers, cars, the sink, the chair, the table, most things you know, but not hearts. That you gotta fix that yourself.
As a kid, I drove dad up the wall because he surely thought I would do something "ignernt" like walk off the second floor walkway of an under-construction apartment building that didn't have the rails installed; yeah, I was two years old when that happened to me in Japan. Prolly explains why my feet tingle any time I even think about getting more that two feet off the ground; and yet I am in love with flying and powered parasailing.
Also, I am nephew of J. Robert Leach (deceased May 1991), a Martin B-26 Marauder radio operator who served in the United States Army Air Force during World War II. Uncle Bob flew combat missions over Europe and participated in the June 6, 1944 Operation Overlord landings at Normandy.
During missions, my uncle rode in the radio compartment, meaning he had one tiny rectangular window out of which to see a patch of blue sky, over the left engine nacelle and not much else.
A view similar to what Uncle Bob might have seen from the window just above his head.
The radio compartment as seen from just behind the cockpit. Photograph use permitted by Ray Hamel, professional photographer.
The radio compartment looking into the pilots' cockpit.
Basically, he flew in the womb with an electric lamp and a little filtered light from the pilots' cockpit to illuminate what he needed to see. In his cramped cavern, the voices of the other men in the plane painted the frenzied pictures of the aerial battles ensuing around him: "There's an M.E. up high about 8 o'clock Frank."
"I got him. I'll shoot him a little juice and see if he bugs off."
Messerschmitt 109, often referred to as an M.E.
by American flyers.
Messerschmitt 109
Uncle Bob's chills began when the tail gunner would speak up after the fighters broke combat. Every thing would be silent until Charlie came over the radio. He rode in the back, obviously, but with a large window that gave him excellent view of the entire sky for more than 180 degrees coverage. The guy had a shrilly, southern accent when he spoke, but it was not his voice that rattled Uncle Bob. Rather, Charlie's words were cause for unsettling the nerves of the whole crew because his standard pronouncement announced everyone's helplessness in the sky ...
"Here comes the flak."
Well, that was it. You couldn't fight it. You couldn't avoid it. You had to ride through it ... and pray you got to the other side after "bombs away." Just about everyone pulled off his flak jacket and sat on the thing. They figured it provided better protection, but Uncle Bob joked about how they always said, "you gotta protect the family jewels."
Marauders unleash their rain of iron from the heavens.
I swear someone put a curtain over the plane to hide the gremlins feeding bombs through a hole in the top of the plane to create this never-ending bomb release effect.
Interesting note: In all these pictures the dorsal gunners faced their top turrets straight forward or straight back, and never to either side during the run on the target. The Marauder was so sensitive to drag, even drag created by two gun barrels, that setting the guns at any angle deviating from parallel to the flight path would have thrown the airplane out of balance, thus souring the bombadier's aim.
Uncle Bob was one of the lucky ones who returned home alive and in one piece, though he was partially held together by pins. See, an 88mm anti-aircraft artillery round exploded outside, but right next to, his radio station compartment during a combat mission. Though stricken by enemy flak, of which shrapnel wounded the pilot, the Mary Jo did not crash ... and that was the usual fate of a Marauder after suffering damage. The plane was aptly named the widow maker by American pilots because it was a tricky plane that would rather crash than fly.

Anyhow, Uncle Bob and the copilot managed to return the Mary Jo, and all its crew, to the home base in England. I remember the story he told me about landing the plane. He and the copilot were struggling to get the plane down on its wheels and not its back with the pilot lying on the floor and screaming, "Keep off the damn brakes! Keep off the damn brakes!"