WWII B-17 BOMBING MISSION
JAN. 22, 1943 TUNIS
Margaret Bourke-White: World War II Photographer
The following is an excerpt from the autobiography Portrait of Myself, by Margaret
Bourke-White.
During World War II, Life worked out a wonderful arrangement
with the Pentagon in which I would photograph the U.S. Air Force. I flew to
Fighting For
Combat
There was not a whisper of a
double standard about the decision, but as though written in invisible ink, it
was there for all to read. Male correspondents who applied got permission. My
requests got me nowhere.
Then something loomed so tantalizing that it
overshadowed the importance of going on a mission. The war was soon to open on
another front with an invasion of the North African coast. This plan was one of
the best-kept secrets of the war.
For the invasion, I prayed that being a women would make no difference. Then one evening, General
Jimmy Doolittle turned up. I knew Jimmy well enough to be sure my sex would not
prejudice him against my request to go along on the coming invasion. He gave me
permission.
I assumed I would fly to the African front with the
heavy-bomb group. But no — the high brass decided that I should be sent by sea
in convoy — the safe way.
Our convoy was large, with an airplane carrier,
several troopships, and a body of destroyers. Lifeboat drills were called three
times a day. I thought this was overdoing discipline a bit. I was soon to
change my mind.
The torpedo came almost softly, penetrating the ship
with a dull blunt thud.
I heard a voice through a loud speaker, the order to
abandon ship. Lifeboat station No. 12 became the most desirable place in the
world. I slid into my place and sat in silence with my companions while the
moon beat down on us all.
My Air Force friends took me for a drying out at an
exotic villa. Right inside the front door I collided with General Jimmy
Doolittle. His first words were, "Maggie, do you still want to go on a
bombing mission?"
"Of course," I gasped.
"Well, you've been torpedoed. You might as well
do everything," he said.
The B-17 was a covered wagon that contained a
remarkable amount of machinery. Huge as it looks on the outside, inside it is
crammed with metal paraphernalia. To be sure I would be using every working
minute to its best advantage, the crew and I held dress rehearsals. Sweltering
in high-altitude flying clothes — layers of overalls, jackets, leggings, boots,
leaden in weight — I practiced dragging myself and my hunks of cameras around
the ship.
The morning of my mission — January 22, 1943 — dawned
with clear wide skies promising the good visibility I needed. As soon as we
were airborne, I began taking pictures of crewmen at their posts. I wanted to
get these shots while I had full use of my hands before donning mittens at
15,000 feet. We were still at 14,000 feet when we crossed from friendly to
enemy-held territory. The crossing of the boundary was a signal for the
bombardier to disappear into the bomb bay. I followed him.
During the handful of minutes we were over the target
the men heard over their earphones a string of high-pitched squeaks unlike
anything they had ever heard on a mission before, a voice indisputably
feminine: "Oh, that's just what I want; that's a beautiful angle! Roll me
over quick. Hold me just like this." Flying evasive action gave me every
angle from which to take pictures.
Far below our fleet of planes, things were happening
which I could see but not interpret. A white plume rose one mile high into the
sky, and next to it grew a twin plume of black, tipped with spasmodic flashes
of red. The fiery flashes darted higher. What could it
be, I wondered. I'd better take a picture of it, just in case. And suddenly it
dawned on me. These are our bombs bursting on the airfield. This is our target we came to demolish!
Bombs Away
Then I saw another spectacle. In the air quite close to us were black spreading
spiders, with legs that grew and grew. I couldn't imagine what they were.
Suddenly I realized. They are shooting at us! We were hit twice in the wing,
but only lightly damaged. Later I learned that two of our airplanes had been
shot down.
Next day we got the reconnaissance report of our raid.
Timing had been perfect. We had caught the airfield when it was filled with
German planes. We had destroyed by bomb blast and fire more than 100 of them.
Our mission was effective and successful.
And so I started home. Messages from the Life office reached me along the way. I
was later to learn that they were topping the story with high letters like the
marquee of a movie theater: "LIFE'S BOURKE-WHITE GOES BOMBING."
Adapted from Scholastic Search Reprinted courtesy of the
White family.
The following copyright images from March 1, 1943 LIFE
are posted with requested permission from Time-Life.
