BATTLE OF THE BULGE

STORIES MY FATHER TOLD ME

By Mark Reed

Christmas l944 was not so nice for a lot of people. Especially so for those in Belgium along a front which exploded violently early on the morning of 16 December 1944.

Dad had finished his allotted tour of 35 combat missions (June to September 1944) piloting B-17’s with the 8^th Army Air Corp, 384^th Bomb Group, 544^th Squadron in Grafton-Underwood. As he was waiting for his number to come up in order to be rotated home, he had been reassigned to AAF STN 470, 4^th Strategic Air Depot at Hitcham in Suffolk –  “The Depot” as they called it. The mission of The Depot was to repair aircraft and release them back to combat. Dad was assigned as a test pilot. His duties were primarily to take up fighters, P-51, P-38 and P-47’s, that had been shot up or damaged and had been repaired. He was to put them through the hoops to see if they held together to be released back to combat. Sometimes they didn’t, and he belly landed a couple. He said a few times he should have parachuted out, but brought them in and walked away. His philosophy, with tongue pressed firmly to cheek, was, “Why jump out of a perfectly good airplane.” He also would be shuttled over to the continent to pick up shot up planes which had been jury rigged to fly and bring them back to England to “The Depot” to be repaired, rebuilt or used for parts.

On 15 December 44, he and three other pilots had flown to Belgium to pick up four P-51 fighters, which had been damaged, but were flyable. Early on the morning of 16 December, he and the other three pilots found themselves at a little dirt airstrip near the front, not much more than a pasture. They were sleeping on cots in a wooden shed at the edge of the field beside the aircraft. The plan was to leave mid-morning.

At around dawn, there are explosions, machine gun fire and sounds of turmoil outside. Dad had slept in his uniform and flight boots and was able to run out immediately and see that they were under attack by German fighters. He ran to the closest P-51 and clamored up into the cockpit. He started the engine and taxied out onto the airstrip and gunned it, taking off with German fighters right behind him on his tail shooting up everything, including the other planes still on the ground. His plane was stripped down with no ammunition. He hit the treetops full throttle all the way to England and back to The Depot.

He was the only pilot to get away. As he found out later, the other pilots, in fact every soldier there or in the general area, be he cook, clerk or mechanic, was given a weapon and became an infantryman on the spot. Some were killed and some captured. Dad said he considered it one of his luckier moments. The “Reed Luck”.

MY DRUG OF CHOICE

By Mark Reed

I grew up in a house of coffee drinkers. Dad drank a pot every morning. He said he got hooked while in the Army Air Corp as a B-17 pilot during WWII. He said it kept him alert…and alive. Mom also drank it, pretty much all day. I somehow dodged the coffee bullet growing up. Never drank it. I got my caffeine elsewhere.

When I was in the Infantry, stationed at Fort Polk, LA, “Tiger Land” to those of you Vets who were there, I became a Company Clerk by the grace of God. I saw my Company all ship out to Vietnam. My First Sergeant, “Top”, told me that my first duty every morning in the ready room was to brew him a pot of coffee. He said that if it was not strong enough for him to stick his spoon in a cup and it stand upright on its own, he would ship me to Vietnam the next day. I learned real quick how to make strong coffee.

Top drank his coffee with four spoonsful of sugar and a healthy glug of cream. Never having been a coffee drinker before, I followed suit. You might think that all that sugar would make you fat. I tell you, being in an Infantry Company, that was an impossibility.

After two months of drinking a pot of coffee laced with heavy sugar and cream, I was hooked for life. I liked my coffee like I liked my women…sweet and tan.

After the Army, there was never any consideration given to ever drinking my coffee any other way. Michelle was a coffee drinker when we met, primarily due to being a Flight Attendant. For the same reason dad did…to keep herself alert…and alive in case of emergency. She drank her coffee black. I could never do it. To her credit, she never teased me about my use of sugar and cream.

At some point, I graduated to artificial sweeteners. This was long before we were told that stuff would kill you. Even then, I kept with the Sweet ’n Low or Equal. Today Splenda is my choice of poison in my coffee. I also have graduated to using flavored creamers, Hazlenut being my favorite.

Now to why I am writing this story. I have a couple of life long buddies I have hunted with most of my life. We would pretty much be up long before dawn and head to the hill. Of course we would drink a couple of cups of coffee before we headed out, and take a thermos with us. They drink their coffee black. No sugar or creamer. To say they tease me about drinking my coffee like a little girl would be an understatement. They make comments to me questioning my manhood or implying I am less than a man. I take it all in my own good natured stoic way.

I must point out that when they say they drink their coffee black, what they mean is that they drink colored water. As my old great granny would say, “weaker than pea liquor.” If you don’t know what “pea liquor” is, Google it. In fact they will not let me make coffee for our hunting trips and other guys get together’s. Why? Because you can stand a spoon up in my coffee. They don’t have enough hair on their chests to drink my strong coffee. When they do drink my coffee, they will pour a half to two thirds a cup of coffee and stir in the rest with water. So, my sweetener and creamer notwithstanding, who is less than a man in regard their coffee choice?

Look, they will never change the way I drink my coffee, and I will never change their way. As for the manliness issue, we all have numerous children by our wives, so enough of that.

As for my coffee drinking habits, up until recently, I would pretty much drink two or three cups in the morning, with another cup or two during the day, and a cup before bed. No, caffeine did not keep me awake. My tolerance of caffeine in regard sleep was major. The downside was that I was heavily addicted to caffeine. If you are one with me on this, you know all about caffeine withdrawal headaches. They are brutal. Caffeine is indeed a drug…my drug of choice.

Funny side story. At some point after taking our boys to the pediatrician for years, their doctor one day said to me, “I bet you intake a lot of caffeine.” I said, “Yes. Why?” He went on to tell me that as he got to know me better he diagnosed me as ADHD, and if I was a kid, he would have put me on Adderall. Then he laughed and said that would be unnecessary for me, though, because I had, over the years, self-prescribed caffeine to myself to level me off. No doubt about it.

This past year or so, for medical reasons and to kick the occasional severe withdrawal headaches, I decided to become un-addicted to caffeine. I did it cold turkey. It was a bitch. Once I had kicked the habit, I realized the lack of any in my system actually left me a little on edge. I have been able to work it back into my life with a cup in the morning, and maybe one caffeinated soft drink during the day. That does the trick. I have found the right balance. When I do experience the rare withdrawal headache, I realize it was because I had too much that day, so I cut it out for a couple of days.

All this really goes to say that I am completely secure in my masculinity and sweetener and creamer aside, I am working to bring my buddies to the dark side.