Chapter 30

Karen

I wheedled ... Hairy slipped me two straps ... I bounced into the “tower” and said, “Receipt ... serial numbers ... for everything.”

“I knew you were going to be more trouble than you are worth.”

“You’re an accountant. You demand solid numbers. That’s what I want.”

It wasn’t enough that he was willing to take the boxes at their word ... no ... the covers had to come off, the numbers checked, if they matched ... great ... if they didn’t ... out with the original logbooks and hunt until there was provenience for an engine change, a new elevator, a flap or a switch. I demanded bill of sale for every nut, bolt or screw.

While it was all packed in dried out United States Military Standard MIL-C-11796C Class 3 preservative ... cosmoline, everything was also stamped U.S. Government Property ... not the screws or nuts ... but the larger bolts were.

During the war, somewhere there was a plant making MIL SPEC bolts and there was an inspector inspecting. Inspectors were often college educated but physically unfit for active duty. One sign of the times was the number of people not allowed to go into combat ... and they were pissed about it.

This was wartime ... and not in combat (the Home Front). Ammo was signed for, Browning barrels signed for and notations of the condition of the returned ... noted by a private, initialed by a corporal and checked by a Supply Sergeant.

Check it out ... check it in. Behind every signature was an officious asshole who was doing his best to NOT sign for it. Convince me!

The records were there ... the accountant had to find them ... and I didn’t take his word for shit!

Take the machine-guns for an instance.

“Smith.”

“Corporal?”

“You’re going up next.”

Information about which aircraft was exchanged ... always on paper.

“Turret or tail gunner?”

“Turret.”

“Yes, Corp.”

If Smith was smart he took off at a trot ... all the way to the Armory.

Supply was standing in the half-door. “What do you want?”

“Pair of Brownings, Sergeant ... two boxes of thirty, a cleaning kit and the cart.” At the same time Smith would display the paperwork.

Supply ALWAYS examined the paperwork for falsehood ... first. If he was satisfied he would issue either one or two AN-M2 Browning machine gun or guns.

Turret installation required matched pairs One feeding left and one feeding right ... so the ejected cases would not interfere with proper operation. M2 was the designation for Aircraft Handheld usage. M2’s were lighter than infantry weapons because the flow of air cooled them.

Supply would make note of the serial numbers while Smith watched. Smith signed and took possession. Possession ... the guns were now his responsibility.

While in the Armory Smith disassembled the guns and cleaned them. It didn’t matter that the last user had cleaned them before returning. The smart guy cleaned ... just in case. Satisfied ... or maybe not, the gunner reassembled the Brownings and picked up two boxes of cartridges at the Ammo window.

Everything on the cart, he would tow the cart to his designated aircraft, struggle his way with his bits and pieces to the turret, install the guns on the mount and wait ... with the guns ... for the rest of the crew.

Flight over ... the opposite occurred. Take them to the cart, take the cart to the armory, clean the guns, check the guns in, check the remaining ammo in, check the cleaning kit in and check the cart in. Each step required a signature, if it’s not signed in ... somebody would steal it.

Guess who pays?

I wanted every part and piece documented because, sure as shit, the one undocumented piece brought in the Alphabet Soup. There’s a very good chance that one undocumented part could result in confiscation of everything attached to the bad part.

It took three days. Every time we’d move something ... there would be something else behind it. Like two hundred ammo cans of belted 30-06 behind the spare wings.

When I said six crated P&W 985 radials. I wasn’t talking about wood box crates ... no ... the crates were hermetically sealed cast aluminum form fitting bubbles locked to steel pallets. No mice hanging out in the exhaust ports. The mice were in the aircraft.

The tires and brake hoses were rubber ... salt based rubber ... Our latex resources were in enemy occupied territory.

Porcupines love salt.

Uh, yeah. Chewed tires and hoses ... and dead critters ... poisoned by fluids.

I finally was happy. Now came the difficult part ... the reckoning.

YES! The Bill of Sale included six years of PAID IN FULL hangar space ... in the Big Hangar.