Original subtitles

This is a battlefront, a battlefront

like no other in the long history of mankind's wars.

This is an air front.

The working day begins, as it will end, with the ground

crews... as much a part of the fortress as her wings.

If you're a mechanic you've got your own bomber.

You get attached to it.

But you know when your ship goes out on a mission,

you may never see it again.

So you do your work as well as it can be done.

Perfectly.

Because you wouldn't want anything to go wrong

that would be your fault.

Today, the bombs will be taken from these bomb dumps,

somewhere in England, and delivered

to specific points in Wilhelmshaven, Germany.

To deliver them is the job of the 8th bomber command, just

a hauling job, yet one of the most difficult and complicated

of military operations.

General purpose demolition bombs.

Impact velocity as high as 750 miles an hour.

Pierce five inches of armor plate.

Destroy a factory.

Briefing at 0800.

Pilots, bombardiers and navigators take their places.

The group commander, Colonel Stanley Ray,

steps up to the target map and, for the first time,

you learn where you're going.

Sometimes your face turns white when you find out.

Sometimes the feeling you won't come back

tightens your insides.

Not so long ago you were sitting like this

in a college or high school classroom,

not listening too hard, perhaps even a little sleepy.

But you listen here.

And as you listen, you don't have time to think of yourself.

Fear fades.

You concentrate on the mission... Type of formation, assembly

point, zero hour, route to target, weather,

enemy fighters, enemy flak, route back home.

If forced down in enemy territory, destroy equipment.

If taken prisoner, give no information.

Name, rank and serial number... that's all.

These are the passengers, with one way tickets.

And this is the crew of the Memphis Belle.

324th Squadron, 91st Heavy Bombardment Group.

Just one plane and one crew in one squadron in one group

of one wing of one air force out of 15.

United States Army air forces.

Well, fellas we've never had an easy ride over there yet.

And today won't be in a different.

No escort except unfriendly.

So keep your eyes peeled.

Don't get excited and yell when you're talking on the intercom.

Save your ammunition and make your shots count.

And let me know what goes on back there, Quinlan.

Yessir.

Stay on the ball, gang, and she'll

bring us back like she's always done.

OK?

Let's go.

They have completed 24 missions,

in this, the toughest theater of air war,

the big league of sky fighting.

Their experience is priceless.

And so, if the Memphis Belle comes back this afternoon,

they will be sent to bring the vital lessons they have learned

to thousands of air crew men in training at home.

Home is America.

This is a battlefront, like no other in this or any war.

No monster armies, no booming cannon.

Only the roaring engine sound of the bombers

pounding through the quiet English countryside.

This is an air front.

The wheels of the Memphis Belle leave

the soil of England for the 25th time.

The friendly soil of England, with its ordered farms

and rural hamlets, its country estates surrounded

by formal gardens and well-kept parks.

The England these Americans knew only from the classics

they had to read in school.

The England of the towns and cities whose people

have depended their island's freedom for over 1,000 years.

But today their countryside has changed.

Today, their island has been converted

into a gigantic bomber field... A super aircraft carrier,

anchored off the shores of fortress Europe

with hangars and machine shocks, with hundreds

of dispersal points, perimeter tracks and concrete runways.

This is England in its fifth year of war.

And this is the new battlefront, the air front, from which

we seek out the enemy... not as infantry or as artillery, not

as panzer divisions, but the greater menace...

The industrial heart of his nation.

The foundation on which the Nazi empire and its armies

stand, the power behind the German lust for conquest.

The steel mills and refineries, shipyards and submarine pens,

factories and munitions plants... Pinpoints on the map of Europe,

which mean rubber, guns, ball bearings, shells, engines,

planes, tanks, targets... Targets to be destroyed.

And these are the destroyers, each

with a belly full of bombs, and 10 men

like the crew of the Memphis Belle... Pilot Captain Robert

Morgan, industrial engineer from Asheville,

North Carolina... he's flown this ship across the Atlantic;

The other pilot, Captain Jim Verinis,

business administration student at the University

of Connecticut; Radio operator and gunner Sergeant Bob Hanson,

construction worker from Spokane, Washington;

Navigator, Captain Chuck Leighton,

chemistry student at Ohio Wesleyan;

Engineer and top turret gunner Sergeant Harold Loch,

from Green Bay, Wisconsin... used to be

a stevedore... besides keeping the bill in order,

he covers the sky above; Tail gunner Sergeant John Quinlan,

of Yonkers, New York,

clerk for a carpet company but he

quit, December 8, 1941; Ball turret gunner, Sergeant Cecil

Scott, pressman for a rubber company, in Rahway, New Jersey.

Pilot to crew: 10,000, put on oxygen.

They're climbing higher now, 300 feet a minute.

The strain on the planes and on the men is mounting.

The rest of the crew: Bombardier Captain Vincent Evans,

operated a fleet of trucks in Fort Worth,

Texas; Waist gunners... on the right, Sergeant Bill Winchell,

chemist for a paint company in Chicago, and on the left,

Sergeant Tony Nastal... used to repair washing machines

in Detroit when he was a kid.

Now he's 19 and has two Nazi fighters confirmed.

It takes all of a pilot's strength

to keep a 30-ton fortress in tight formation.

But the formation is the bomber's best

defense against enemy fighters.

The planes are deployed to uncover every gun,

stepped up and down, echelon to the right

and left, the range to overcome the danger of gunners firing

into friendly ships, the range so concentrated cones of fire,

from the caliber 50 machine guns,

cover the sky for 1,000 yards in every direction.

The friendly coast of England slips by below.

It doesn't look like much now.

But in a few hours, when you come back, if you come back,

this would be the most beautiful view in the world.

Higher and higher, climbing to reach your best operational

altitude... 25,000 feet... Five miles straight up.

So high you can't be seen from the ground with the naked eye.

So high that after one minute without oxygen,

you lose consciousness.

After 20 minutes, you're dead.

From now to the target, you go about your routine duties...

Plot your course, check your equipment and wait.

And think.

Higher and colder.

Temperature, 40 degrees below zero.

Take off your glove and you loose some fingers.

You look out at the strange world beyond,

reflections in plexiglass like nothing

you ever saw before... Outside of a dream.

Higher and higher, into the lifeless stratosphere,

until the exhaust of the engines mixing with the cold thin air

condenses and streams the heavens with vapor trails.

To the men in the ships, they're far from beautiful,

for they point like beckoning fingers

to the formation, signposts in the sky

for the enemy to spot us.

For these bombers to accomplish their mission,

a plan is needed carefully worked out,

timed to the minute.

The job is to bomb Wilhelmshaven, effectively

and economically.

The enemy is strong, skillful, determined to stop us.

Here are his defenses... Air drones, well dispersed,

each plane indicates a or squadron of fighters,

heavy anti-aircraft, highly trained and accurate, all

along the coast and defending his vital installation,

radar to warn him of our coming.

Here is our plan to divide his defenses

and weaken his opposition.

At 13:30 hours, shortly after takeoff, six groups of planes

will be heading toward the enemy coast

from six directions... The blue force,

100 B-24 liberator four engined bombers;

The white force, 300 B-17 flying fortresses;

The green force, 300 B-17s, with an escort of six squadrons

of P-47 thunderbolts; A force of B-26 marauders,

twin engine medium bombers with six squadrons of RAF Spitfires

escorting... almost 1,000 planes and over 8,000 men in the air.

The enemy alerts all its air drones,

but which is our main force?

What are our targets?

Where should the Nazi controllers

send their fighters?

It's our job to make them guess and guess wrong.

A half hour later at 1400 hours, the blue force

will be heading east across the North Sea

with the white force following.

These enemy fighters are tied down, waiting to meet them

and will not be able to attack the green force.

These fighters must come up to attack the green force

and thus will be no threat to the blue and white forces.

The B-26s and Spitfires will bomb and strafe a key rail

junction diverting these six

And preventing the enemy from concentrating too many fighters

on the green force, which is scheduled

to bomb an aircraft factory at Hanover.

At 1430 hours, the blue force will threaten

this entire coastal area of Northwestern Germany.

Which target will it be?

Flensburg?

The Kiel Canal?

Or will it turn suddenly and bomb

Hamburg, or Emden?

Actually, it carries no bombs at all.

It's a decoy and keeps the fighters from the northern area

busy while the white force, the main effort,

heads for the submarine pens of Wilhelmshaven.

At 1500 hours, while the white force is over its target,

only a fraction of the available German fighter strength

of the area can intercept it, because of the blue force

diversion and the simultaneous bombing of Hanover

by the green force.

This is the plan of battle for today, drawn up by the combined

operations planning committee and approved

by the commanding general.

The white force, lead group, low squadron.

We've crossed the invisible line of enemy radar,

the Hun is expecting us.

Steel helmets go on, watchful eyes

strain, tight formations are held tighter still,

tense gunners more alert, because, here it

comes... the enemy coast From up here

it looks the same as any other... houses, roads,

green fields, factories, waterways.

But they are houses and fields of those

who invade and oppress.

They are the factories and roads of the people who twice in one

generation have flooded the world with suffering,

suffering in such quantities the history of the human race

has never known, brought torment and anguish

into countless American homes... gold stars

and telegrams from the war department.

The first flak just harmless looking silent puffs of smoke,

only each puff is a shell exploding

throwing shrapnel around the sky exactly the range accurate

flak by radio prediction.

Five miles down, Nazi anti-aircraft batteries

have calculated the altitude, speed and course.

Where will the next one hit?

You try not to be there.

The docks and submarine pens of Wilhelmshaven.

Approach to the target starts.

No smokescreen can protect it.

Now the enemy knows the path of your approach

and walls that path with a flack barrage,

but you fly right through it... flak so thick,

you can get out and walk on it.

Morgan changes course every 15 seconds... evasive action

to confuse the flak batteries.

Bomb sites set for correct altitude and speed,

bombay doors open, the bombing run begins.

"Pilot to bombardier.

OK, Vin, you've got it."

Now Evans flies the Memphis Belle,

controlling it through the bomb site.

And now we are most vulnerable.

Committed to our bombing run, we can't dodge flak or fighters.

Here's the first.

Top turret fires at it.

Evans must ignore the battle, crosshairs lined up on target,

adjustments for wind drift made.

The Two more fighters diving from 9 o'clock.

Flak now has the range, too.

They've hit this fort.

But he keeps on his bombing run.

As lead bombardier, Evans' aim must be good.

Every other ship in the group will

drop its bombs when he drops his.

Now one pointer on the bomb site moves

toward another stationary pointer.

The instant they've touched, bombs will release.

They touch.

Bombs away.

The first half of the mission is over... the easy half.

Now, to get home.

The flak stops.

That means fighters out there somewhere a...

Lurking behind that cloud or hiding up in the sun

where the glare blinds you and you

can't see them waiting to dive down on you.

Fighters at 6 o'clock... This is what a gunner sees,

a speck in the sky... That's a fighter...

And then a blink... That means he's

firing at you, 2,300 rounds a minute.

In a running battle, one of the most important instruments

is the interphone.

There's four of 'em, 1 o'clock high.

They're comin' 'round.

Watch...

Two fighters, 6 o'clock up,

coming in...

B-17 in trouble out at 2 o'clock.

Watch it.

Got an engine on fire.

There's two more, diving through the 94th...

Three planes, 9 o'clock, coming around.

Keep your eye on 'em, boys.

Comin' around at 10.

Watch 'em, Chuck.

Keep your eyes open.

They're breaking at 11.

Breaking at 11.

I got 'em.

Coming around underneath at 10 o'clock.

I see 'em...

There go two at 2 o'clock.

Watch em, Scottie.

I got my sights on 'em.

Check that B17, Chuck.

Three o'clock.

Motor's smoking.

Fighter at 10:30, coming around.

Are those 10:30 upper or lower?

B-17 out of control at 3 o'clock.

Come on you guys, get out of that plane.

Bail out.

There's one, he come out of the bombay.

Yeah, I see 'em.

There's tailgunner coming out.

Watch out for fighters.

Keep your eye on 'em, Bill.

See any parachutes, Quinlan?

Some parachutes open, chief...

Some flak at 9 o'clock.

Eight men still in that B-17...

Come on, the rest of you...

For Christ's sake, get out of there.

Guys. Come on, bail out.

So far.

There's three more shoots.

Flak, 11 o'clock.

Fighters, 6 o'clock...

...at 3 o'clock.

Keep after 'em, Winchell.

See 'em.

I'm on 'em.

Come on you son of a bitch.

I got 'em.

Quinlan, confirm that fighter.

He got 'em, chief.

Look, he's bailing out!

Damnit, don't yell on that intercom.

Fighters, 10 o'clock.

Watch those two at 12...

They're coming in.

They're coming in, Scotty.

Get that ball turret on 'em.

Save the ammunition as much as possible.

Watch that fighter comin' in the 3 o'clock.

He's comin' in on a half roll.

Pull her up, chief.

Pull 'er up, hurry.

This fortress is hurt, engine on fire, losing

airspeed and altitude, drifting into the flak,

alone and helpless, a straggler.

In a minute, Nazi fighters will swarm

in like buzzards for the kill.

You can watch, but you can't go down to help.

You keep your formation.

Here, too, the mission is being flown,

none the less real for being in the minds

and hearts of these men behind.

Ask anybody who's been to a field in England,

or anywhere else our bombers are based,

and he'll tell you that there's drama here, too...

Waiting to see who's coming back.

To watch them, you might not realize

how tense these ground crews are.

But they are tense, and plenty worried.

In Air Force talk, this waiting is

known as "sweating out the mission."

These men know the flight plan.

Their watches told them when the bombers were running into enemy

flak, when they were over the target,

when they left the enemy coast.

And now their watches tell them the bombers

should be nearing the field.

Every ear strains for the first sound of the engines.

And then somebody hears them, and somebody

sees the first faint specks in the distant sky.

Every face turns to see and count.

The watches try to read the numbers on the ships.

These planes have priority to land first.

The colored flares mean wounded aboard.

In a hospital window, these watching men

know what that means.

They know what it feels like to lie on a bouncing fortress

floor for hundreds of miles, through the frozen

stratosphere, in great pain, with other men in your crew

fighting to keep you alive until they hit the field.

The field.

Home.

It'll be OK then, because they'll

be medical care... the best.

As soon as the wheels of your plane stop rolling.

Head wound.

Concussion.

20 millimeter cannon shell exploded

in his radio compartment.

Shock.

Internal injuries.

You'll be all right though.

Flak bursts scattered flying shrapnel.

He's full of steel splinters.

This pilot's leg is not a pretty sight.

Neither are the docks at Wilhelmshaven.

These men will get the Purple Heart.

And this man, too... posthumously.

A transfusion right in the plane.

This gunner is too weak to be moved.

The new life-giving blood flowing into his veins

might be the blood of a high school girl in Des Moines,

a miner in Alabama, a movie star in Hollywood.

Or it might be your blood.

Whose ever it is, thanks.

36 planes left this field this morning.

Now six more arrived.

That makes 20 home, and this one's 21.

More wounded aboard.

22, coming in with his left inboard engine dead.

23, with a feathered prop on his left outboard engine.

24, Southern Comfort, with a chunk of tail gone.

25, they flew home on their luck.

26, not a scratch.

The control tower learns that two more landed

at a British field to the south.

One, a crash landing.

Crew safe.

That makes 28.

29.

A rough landing, but her pilot's badly hurt.

It's a wonder he brought her back at all.

29 planes back... so far.

29 out of 36.

Our losses were heavy, but the enemy's were far heavier.

We destroyed a German aircraft factory, a rail junction,

submarine pens, docks and harbor installations.

That's specific, known damage, but who

can tell the number of German torpedoes

that will not be fired?

The number of our convoys that will get through now?

The soldiers' and seamen's lives that will be saved,

or the battles that will be won instead of lost, because

of what these bombers and airmen did today?

Pilot and tailgunner.

They can laugh now.

Fire on the inboard engine did this,

flames streaked back and burned the stabilizer, too.

Another crew luck brought back.

Here's old Bill.

A pretty good airplane when it took off.

Lost its nose, lost its navigator, bombardier wounded,

top turret gunner and pilot hit, hydraulic system

shot out, no brakes, no flaps.

But old Bill came back.

Now, among the returned crew members,

talk flows like a river, talking out

every detail of the mission.

These are the faces of combat, faces of Americans who

have watched their comrades die, faces

that can never forget the enemy.

And they're in no mood to have their picture taken.

In the control tower, Colonel Ray, the group CO,

is still watching and waiting.

And then he spots the last flight, three more planes.

And one of them is the ship everyone has been pulling for...

The Memphis Belle.

The last few miles of this trip have been a joy ride.

The strain is over.

They can leave their guns now.

Now they know they're going to go home... to Spokane, Green.

Bay, Asheville, Detroit, Chicago,

Fort Worth and Yonkers.

The Belle comes in for her landing,

but first Morgan buzzes the field... cuts

the grass with her giant fortress.

It's against the rules, but this is a special occasion.

The wheels of the Memphis Belle come back

to the soil of England for the 25th time.

This is a day they will never forget.

Another great day soon after, Brigadier General Hansell

visited the field and presented the Distinguished Flying.

Cross to every member of the crew.

And then there was another day.

Their majesties, the king and queen of England.

Johnny Quinlan never thought anything

like this would happen to him when he left Yonkers.

The ground crew were a little self-conscious

about being dressed in fatigues, but the queen

thought they were very nice.

Finally, two more visitors came.

General Eaker, commanding the 8th Air Force and General.

Devers, US commander of the European Theatre.

The Belle crew received them in flying clothes,

as General Eaker read the order for what he called their 26th

and most important mission... Return to America to train

new crews and to tell the people what we're doing here,

to thank them for their help and support

and tell them to keep it up, so we can keep it up,

so we can bomb the enemy again and again

and again, until he has had enough.

And then we can all come home.

To the men of the 8th Air Force, who are now flying deep

into Germany, bringing destruction to targets almost

1,000 miles from their bases, destruction like this,

and who have never once been turned back by the enemy...

To those men, this film is gratefully dedicated.