Shuffling-the-Deck

Whenever a large number of planes are attempting to form up over England in bad weather there is always the possibility of a collision. Often there were low thin clouds that obscured or limited visibility to less than a mile at specific altitudes. Each group commander would attempt to get his group above this haze layer by climbing as quickly as possible.

It was on one of those hazy, cloudy days, that, while forming up, we suddenly found ourselves face to face with another bomb group and in seconds we were fighting madly with the planes controls to avoid a multi mid-air collision. When two groups (usually 64 planes) come together on a collision course we called it "shuffling-the-deck".

This dreaded event almost always resulted in one or more collisions of aircraft and the death of many flyers. And it usually occurred at lower altitudes which did not allow sufficient time for men to escape a falling, badly damaged plane.

 On this occasion, while we were still climbing to our prescribed altitude, our leader spotted the other group coming toward us through the mist perhaps two miles away and at almost the same altitude. A command came from the lead (or someone on the radio) to "Spread out", "Spread out". In seconds every plane in the group swerved, dived or climbed at the same instant. Those on the upper tier climbed as steeply as they could, those in the lower tier dived sharply and those in between turned left or right as the space allowed. It was rather like "every man for himself" with each crew trying to find a spot in the sky where he would be safe from these giant objects filled with his fellow flyers. The other group which was approaching us performed almost the same maneuvers and for the next minute the sky was filled with 64 planes attempting to avoid collision.

Of course the pilot cannot see all areas around the plane and relies heavily on his crew at these times to tell him of approaching planes from above or below and a good crew will keep the pilot informed. On this occasion the intercom was filled with excited vocal directions of "plane coming in on port side", below..CLIMB", "plane close at two o'clock", and on and on.

In less than a minute it was all over and a check of the sky and a voice relay from the crew indicated that, as far as we could tell, no one had collided. It was a welcome miracle that none of the planes was even damaged.

My heartbeat must have hit 150 in that short time and I'm sure the rest of the crew felt about the way I felt. The plane we were flying that day responded beautifully to the sudden change of power and the unusual maneuvers to which I had forced it in those few seconds. This was one of the many reasons we loved flying the B-17. Now, out of danger, we just flew straight and level for a few minutes while we tried to compose ourselves. I looked at Jim in the copilots seat and his usual smiling face was almost white.....he made a gesture with his hand of wipeing his brow and then proceeded to call for a crew check on the intercom.

The violent wrenching of the plane during these maneuvers had sent some of the crew flying violently around in the nose and the waist compartment but no one was the worse for wear and I'm sure they were all thankful that a few bruises were the worst injury they would sustain after shuffling-the-deck. A further check confirmed that the closest encounter occurred within the low squadron but all had survived.

 Our group leader again began shooting flares so that we could identify him through the misty atmosphere and slowly but evenly we resumed our positions in group formation.

We were now on our way to the target. All this and we had not yet left England. We would be late for our rendezvous with the bomber stream but we had survived one of the worst experiences for a flight crew. To go down over your own field as a result of a mid air collision or to be the cause of a crash or death of another crew from your own group was about as bad as anything you might experience while flying.