He was a coal black and mangy old dog. He had one eye out (his left one I believe), one ear had been chewed off, he hopped around on three legs, and his tail had been broken. He had been castrated, and we called him “Lucky." He was aloof, kept to himself, but attached himself to the 545th Squadron. He had been around for some time, a long time in combat years. I have a picture of him streaking past a parade honoring the transition of Grafton Underwood from the British to the United States Army Air Corps. This happened on July 4,1943. The picture is shown here, and you can see the black streak at the front of the formation, blurred and hard to see, but he's there.

Over the year, he had attached himself to various members of the 545th Squadron. Most of the crews he had watched over had survived, and the beat up mangy old black dog remained loyal to the 545th. He would sleep outside the barracks by day, and at night would wander from one 545th plane to the next. He had grease all over him from being around the engine changes, but he would once in a while go into the crew chief's tent of a particular airplane and loaf while the crew worked on their plane. He knew which planes belonged to the 545th and that was where he spent his nights. He would leave the flight line early in the morning, go to the mess hall (officers), and usually one of the cooks would give him a piece of steak or a ham sandwich. He then would go to the briefing room, and wait for the crews. He would pick a 545th crew, and would usually be at their hardstand by the time the truck arrived with the crew. When “Lucky" was at your hardstand it was considered a good omen. He would lie down near the crew chief's tent and watch the preparations for the mission, and as soon as the planes were off the ground he would make his way to the 545th barracks where he would sleep outside the barracks while the mission was underway.

Invariably he would be on the hardstand he had picked that morning as the aircraft returned and made its pass over the field before landing. He would stand by the crew chief’s tent along with the mechanics, and intently watch the crew disembark. When all ten had left the plane, he showed no more interest and lay down. He didn't invite friendship, and avoided the efforts of the crew to be friendly.

On April 13, 1944, the 545th Squadron was decimated. “Lucky” had visited our hardstand that morning, and we were the only crew to return out of seven planes that had been dispatched. It was a blow to the entire 384th Bomb Group. Nine aircraft had gone down taking with them 90 crewmen and 28 of them had been killed in action. A few days later new crews started coming in as replacements. I’ll never forget the reaction in "Lucky" when he saw Warren B. May, navigator on the Jack Liebert crew. His one good ear rose a little, and the broken tail started wagging. That old messed up tail was going back and forth like a bandleader's baton on a fast dance tune. “Lucky" had found someone to attach himself to, and he took to May like they had been friends forever.

May patted him on the head, and got grease on his hand. He had to be careful when he had pinks on and "Lucky” would get to close to him, and stain his pants. May and the ugly old black dog bonded and became almost inseparable. Where May went “Lucky” went. “Lucky" moved into our barracks and slept at the foot of May’s bunk. At the mess hall May would load up on food and “Lucky” started gaining weight. It was funny seeing May walking down to the mess hall and old Lucky hopping along besides him. May was 19 years old, and old “Lucky," in dog years, was probably old enough to be his grandfather. May talked to him all the time, and I swear you could detect a smile on the old dog’s face.

“Lucky” only went to the hardstand when May was due to fly on a mission. When May got up and dressed on the cold, damp English mornings, “Lucky” would watch him intently, and then hop with him to the mess hall. “Lucky'' would go with him to briefing, waiting outside, and then while May drew his flight gear the old dog would go right straight to the hardstand May would be flying from. Some of us knew this about the ugly old dog, that he had a sixth sense and could always find the right plane and hardstand. Tied up with our own fears and apprehensions we paid little attention to it.

On July 20th, 1944, the Liebert crew with Warren B. May as navigator took off for a mission to Nordhausen, Germany. Old “Lucky” watched the plane depart, then laid down outside by the crew chief’s tent. He would lie there until the plane returned. On this day, however, at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon “Lucky” started moaning deep in his chest. He got to his feet and hopped and moaned in a circle around the hardstand, and the mechanics knew immediately that their plane had probably gone down. Finally the old dog sat down on his crooked leg, put his head back, and let out a plaintive howl, and then started to the 545th barracks area. He was never seen again.

When the B-17s of the 384th returned, the Liebert crew aircraft was among them. The plane was firing red flares, and was allowed to make an emergency landing, and the ambulance rushed to the hardstand to care for the wounded. There was no one wounded, but in the bloodstained nose at the navigator's station, Warren B. May was dead, his head nearly blown away.

Today, many years later, with nothing left of the field but a broken up runway and a few handstands, the people of the little village hear things. When the mists hang low, and it's cold and damp outside, they hear faint sounds of engines being run up, and the laughter of young men. They pull the covers over their heads however, when they hear the howling of an ugly old black dog that nobody has seen.

Lucky

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