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The story is actually a somber testimony to the fortitude of American airmen who survived a most dangerous period, flying combat missions over Europe. “Lucky,” certainly describes the crews of many bombers that limped back to England full of bullet holes, missing chunks of tails and wings, with wounded crewmen aboard. Early in the daylight bombing campaign, it was not unusual for a third to half of the airplanes on a given mission to be lost or damaged.
At the war’s start, a combat tour for bomber crews was 20 missions. Any airman who completed the required number could look forward to being transferred to safer duty. As formation flying and fighter support became more effective, and the Luftwaffe lost many of its most experienced pilots, the number of missions went up to 25, then 30 and finally 35 in the fall of 1944. But the odds of reaching those milestones, no matter what the number, were always against the aircrews. Becoming a member of the Lucky Bastard Club was thus a significant achievement. It meant you had survived, You had completed your tour, and you were going home.
Regardless of where they served, only airmen who had flown their prescribed number of combat missions were inducted into this exclusive fraternity. The evening of their final mission the crewmen would be feted with a Lucky Bastard Club dinner. The whole crew would dress in Class A uniform and come to the Combat Officers Mess Hall, where they were seated at a table of honor with a white tablecloth and given a steak dinner with a bottle of wine.