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To Soar With The Eagles

by Sidney R. Bolick

240 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0037; ISBN 1-55369-224-1; US$22.00, C$24.95, EUR18.00, £13.00

The true story of a young man's experiences as a pilot in the Royal Canadian Air Force and the US Army Eighth Air Force in World War II.

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About the book      About the author      Sample excerpts or Table of Contents      Catalogue info

About the Book To Soar With The Eagles is the sequel to the author's first book, Mama's Boarding House, picking up where Mama's Boarding House leaves off. His new book follows his training as a pilot in the Royal canadian Air Force in 1941, and his World war II service in Europe with both the Royal Air Force and the United States Army Eighth Air Force from 1942 through 1944. Returning to the United States in November of 1944, after having been shot down on a bombing mission over Germany, being interned in Switzerland and escaping from there, he ends the war in the Air Transport Command, flying four-engine transport planes on the run from California to Hawaii and the Central Pacific Islands. This book is not about heroes, although there are certainly some heroes in it. Rather, it is about ordinary young men like the author, who, when thrust into the maelstrom of war, somehow found the courage and fortitude to face and overcome the dangers and challengess that confronted them. Students of World war II, and those simply curious about it, will find that it was not all fighting and bloodshed. For every minute spent in actual combat, there were hours and days of training and preparation. Some of the most interesting parts of this book are the author's descriptions of his training, from learning to march in step, to preparing for his first solo flight in a little Tigermoth biplane. Reading almost like a diary, To Soar With The Eagles, follows the author's footsteps from the afteerneoon in June of 1941 when he steps down from the Greyhound Bus in Ottawa, Canada, until he is discharged from thre United States Air Force in nineteen forty-six - an old veteran at the age of twenty-two.

About the Author Born on a farm in Georgia in 1924, moved to a cotton mill town in North Carolina in 1930. Grew up there and graduated from High School in June, 1941. Left three days later for Canada and joined the Royal Canadian Air Force. Went through flight training and graduated as a Sergeant Pilot in March, 1942. Was sent overseas to England, where he was attached to the Royal Air Force. Spent two and a half years in Europe, first with the RAF and then with the U. S. Eighth Air Force. Was shot down on a bombing mission over Friedrichshaffen, Germany on March 18, 1944. Parachuted into Switzerland and was interned there. Escaped into France in October, 1944, made his way back to England and was returned home to the United States. When the war ended he was flying C-54 Transport planes from California to the Central Pacific in the Air Transport Command. Went on inactive duty in March, 1946, and began a forty-three-year civilian career in Sales and Sales Management. Retired in 1989 as Vice-President of a Cleveland, Ohio consumer products company. Sidney Bolick now lives in Milan, Tennessee, where he is a member of Post 4780 of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, on the Board of Trustees of the Mildred G. Fields Memorial Library, and President of The Friends of the Library. When he isn't writing he spends his time reading, walking, playing golf, and surfing the Internet. Click here to read about Mr. Bolick's first book Mama's Boarding House

Sample Excerpts

Foreword

My love affair with flying began before I was six years old and has lasted all my life. Although most of my flying took place during the war years between 1941 and 1946, and my pilot's license is now only a dog-eared souvenir, I still get a thrill out of a vintage warbird in flight, or a cropduster performing his aerial ballet of wingovers at the ends of a cotton field.

And often in the quiet hours of nights made sleepless by age, my memories take me back through the years and I am once again flitting among the clouds in a little Tiger Moth, or looking intently out of the cockpit of a B-24 Bomber at the winking lights from machine guns and cannon on the wings of attacking German Fighters.

This book is based on a true story. The people, places and events are real, although some of the names have been changed, for reasons that will become apparent. And I confess to having allowed myself a certain amount of literary license in the chronology of events, and in embellishing some of the more personal episodes in order to add a little more spice to the narrative.

If there are mistakes or inaccuracies in the telling of this story, I trust that the reader will accept them as being caused by the ravages of over fifty years of time on my memory, rather than any intention on my part to mislead or misinform.

Prologue

I dropped into Switzerland by parachute on March 18, 1944, from a crippled B-24-J Liberator Bomber named the "Paper Doll". It was early afternoon on a bright sunny Saturday, and as I floated down from eight thousand feet the snow covered fields below were broken into geometric patterns by rows of fences, and country roads that ran off like spiderwebs in all directions, leading to villages and small towns. Off in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Alps stood out against the deep blue sky.

As I neared the ground I could see a barn, and a wooden rail fence enclosing what was probably a pasture underneath the snow. For a second or two I thought I was going to land on top of the barn, but my parachute gave a final swing and I plopped down knee-deep in the snow. Just before I hit the ground I had seen two soldiers in dark green uniforms and German-looking helmets climbing over the fence toward me. For a horrible moment I thought we had made a mistake and landed in nearby Austria. But that fear was dispelled when the first soldier shouldered his rifle and stuck out his hand and said, "Englander?" in something that sounded like German to me.

I didn't know much German, but I understood that much. "Nein, Amerikaner," I replied.

"Ah, goot," he said, nodding his head and smiling. Then he said something I didn't understand, and seeing the puzzled expression on my face, he repeated it in French. And it suddenly hit me that I had flown my last mission.

"Pour vous, la guerre est finis," he said.

And indeed, for me the war was over.

Catalogue Information