There was no copilot. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with it, Captain,” Thomas son said to him, then raised his voice.
“You guys get aboard.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. They were obviously about to take the B- 17 aloft-without a copilot. The incredible truth seemed to be that on his first time up in a B-17E, he would fly as copilot. “I think I should tell you,” Fine said as he sat down in the copilot’s seat and looked around the cockpit, “that I have a total of zero hours’ twin-engine time.”
“That’s exactly as many as I had when I first came down here,” Major Thomas son said.
“They sent me to Seventeens right out of primary.”
“Jesus!” Fine said. “The way you fly this thing,” Thomas son said, “is that the copilot reads the checklist out loud.” He handed Fine a sheet of cardboard three inches wide and six inches long.
“And the pilot does what it says. Got it?”
“We’ll find out,” Fine said. He read the first item on the list: “Master power buss on.”
“Master power buss on,” Thomas son parroted. “Uncage gyros,” “Gyros uncaged.” Fine looked at the artificial horizon on the instrument panel before him. There were two sets of instruments-one for the pilot and one for the copilot. He reached out and uncaged his gyro. The ball inside began to move. “Verify crew in position, crew hatches closed,” Fine read. He didn’t understand that and looked at Thomas son. “You have to get on the intercom to do that,” Thomas son explained, and showed him how to switch it on. “Crew report,” Thornasson’s voice came over the intercom. One by one, the crew reported their presence. “Navigator, yo!
“Bombardier here, forward hatch closed and locked,” “Radio here, Sir.”
“Tail here, Sir.”
“Belly, yo! “Engineer, rear door closed and locked.”
“Fire extinguisher in place,” Fine read.
“Ground crew clear.” Thomas son looked out his window and reported: “Clear! “Number one engine, full rich,” Fine read. “One full rich.”
“Prime number one engine.”
“One primed.”
“Start number one engine,” Fine read. “Starting number one,” Thomas son replied. There came the whine of the starter, and then the cough of the engine as it tried to start, and the aircraft began to tremble.
The engine caught, smoothed out. Fine looked across the cockpit to the left wing. He could see the propeller turning. “Number one running smoothly,” Thomas son said. “Lean and idle number one,” Fine read.
“Number three engine, full rich.”
“Number one lean and idle,” Thomas son replied.
“Number three full rich. “Start number three,” Fine read. “Starting number three.” The propeller on the engine at Fine’s right began to turn slowly as the starter ground, and then the engine caught. “What you do,” Thomas son said dryly, “is taxi to the threshold with just two engines.”
“I see,” Fine said. “Then, when you get there, Captain, before you take off, I suggest you start the other two.” Fine looked at him in disbelief. “Go ahead,” Thomas son said, smiling.
“There always has to be a first time. Fine had picked up the microphone.
“Chanute, Air Corps Four-oh-one in front of the terminal for taxi and takeoff.”
“Well, at least you know that much,” Thomas son’s metallic voice came over the intercom.
“I’ve had guys in the right seat who got on the horn and called “Yoo-hoo, Tower! Anybody there?” The tower came back: “Air Corps Four-oh-one, taxi left on taxiway six to the threshold of the active, The active is three-two. You are number one to take off. There is no traffic in the immediate area. The altimeter is two-niner-niner-niner, the time one-five past the hour, and the winds are five, gusting to fifteen, from the north.”
“Where the hell are the brakes on this thing?”
Fine asked. The pilot showed him how to release the brakes. Fine put his hand on the throttles and ever so gently nudged them forward. The pitch of the engines changed, and the B-17E had started to move. A week later, he was certified as B- 17 qualified, and a week after that as pilot in command. Two weeks after that, he scrawled his signature to a document of the 319th Bomber Squadron: “The undersigned herewith assumes command, Stanley S. Fine, Captain, Air Corps, Commanding.” He then set about to make the 319th Bomber Squadron the best squadron in the group, in the wing, in the Army Air Corps. He was as happy as he could ever remember.