Fly Girls – Part 6 -Fallen Angels

Jackie Cochran was sitting at her desk. An oscillating fan helped keep her cool. It was already getting warm in Texas.

On the desk in front of her were fuel consumption reports. She had to fill them out every day and forward them to Colonel Tunner for review. It was an almost endless stream of paperwork she had to do and secretly, she envied her girls. At least they were flying. She’d signed up to teach them to fly. The only thing she’d flown so far was her hand me down desk.

She took her pen and put it to the paper to sign her name. She was halfway through writing her signature when she heard a dull thud. She stopped. A slight vibration ran through her office and her heart seemed to stop.

She’d heard and felt that vibration before.

Please, she prayed, let it be somebody dropped something.

With a lump in her throat and dread pouring acid into her stomach, she waited. Then she heard it. From someplace not far away was the mournful wail of a fire truck. She stood, went to her window and looked out. She’d been around airplanes and accident too many times.

She knew what she’d see.

That didn’t make it any easier.

There was the fire truck racing off. A red revolving light flashed on top, warning people to get out of the way. It was followed by an ambulance. Her eyes rose in the direction they were heading.

Just beyond a line of trees, smoke was rising. She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to block out the sight.

One of her girls was dead.

Her and Nancy Love had talked about this very thing happening. They both knew it wasn’t a matter of if, but when. But no amount of talking could prepare you for the reality of it. For Jackie Cochran, it was like someone had punched her in the stomach.

Her report the next day would read, March 7, 2:46 PM. During a routine training maneuver, Margret Oldenburg and her instructor were killed. The cause of the crash in unknown but under investigation.

What she didn’t write was what happened when the ambulance came back. She had to view the body. Jackie was no stranger to tragedy. She’d lost her only child a few years before and that was grief she’d buried down deep.

But looking at the remains of Margret, she felt sick. She’d heard the term burnt beyond recognition, but she’d never seen it. Now she had. What was in front of her looked more like a chicken left in the oven to long. The hands and feet were gone and the facial features had burnt away. The legs and arms had drawn up so she was in a fetal position.

And the smell. Sickly sweet, like being drowned in honey and then the stench of burnt aviation fuel added in. Jackie tried not to show her stomach was revolting. She continued to look at what was left of a pilot that she called “One of my girls.”

“Put the sheet back over her,” she said.

The doctor did as she asked and slid Margret back into the fridge like so much meat.

Jackie didn’t have supper that night. She sat up looking at the stars without really seeing them. From someplace she heard the drone of an airplane engine high up and flying away. It sounded mournful.

She was reflecting on a problem; one fostered on her by the status of her girls.

If a soldier died stateside, every effort would be made to get his remains home. Overseas, there would be places to bury them. The military would look after the soldier, airman, or marine. Sailors would be buried at sea.

Her girls were like everyone else. If farmer Jones died in his field, it was up to his family to bury him. A ship builder who had a heart attack was the same. If one of her girls died, it was the responsibility of the girl or her family to bury them.

Margret didn’t have the money for her own funeral. Neither did her family.

That left her being buried in a potter’s field someplace. Her coffin would be a box of rough cut lumber. A small marker, if at all, would mark her grave. Jackie hadn’t known Margret well, but remembered a smiling woman liked by all.

She sighed, rose and picked up the phone in her quarters. Margret might not have had the means to pay for her own funeral, but Jackie did.

She called her husband, thinking “What’s the point in having money if you don’t use it.”

A few days later, a train chugged into Margret’s hometown. In a flurry of steam and smoke, it stopped. The baggage car door opened and a wooden box was loaded onto a cart. The process was watched over by Deidie Deaton, the unit’s executive office.

Later, in a church, words were spoken over Margret. Her family sat crying, and Deidie reflected that there wasn’t even a flag over the coffin to honor the aviator.

Margret was the first of the Fly Girls to fall from the sky.

Two weeks later Cornelia Fort was killed.

While ferrying trainers with some male pilots, one of the men started showing off with some fancy flying. In the course of his fancy flying, he caught Cornelia’s plane, causing her to crash.

There would be thirty-six others before it was all over.

One of the WAFs is still missing.

To this day, no one knows what became of Gertrude Silver. She left Los Angeles on 26 October 44 as part of a ferry flight of P-51-D Mustangs. Her destination San Diego.

She never arrived.

The initial thought was she’d turned back due a faulty canopy. But no one thought to check and it was several days before she was officially declared missing.

An extensive search was made but she and the aircraft were never found. It’s suspected she may have became lost due to fog and crashed at sea.

Despite several attempts (some recent) to locate the wreckage of the aircraft, nothing has ever turned up.

Gertrude Silver, after eighty years, remains a question mark.

THE FALLEN ANGELS