 airplanes that have ever been built. Here are the men who make up a crew of an American bomber. It is our contention which we will prove in the air over Europe that these are the best damn crews that have ever been assembled. Is that the truth or is it cheap bragging which hides behind flag waving? How do we know we've picked the best man for the job he can do best? How can we be sure of that? Here's how. The owners of those suitcases are going to be bombardiers, navigators, pilots. The Army Air Forces must find out which hands are most sensitive, which eyes are most keen, which reactions most adaptable to those three different, different mind you, jobs of bombardier, navigator, pilot. Here's a preview, men, of how you're going to be pumped and prodded and gone over with a fine-tooth comb. If there's any single little nerve you've got hidden away in the middle of your spine that makes you jump this way instead of that, Uncle Sam will find out which way it jumps and use it in the way that he says will end the war quicker, which is why we're all here. That doesn't mean your preference for jobs isn't considered. We want to know your preference, but we must be sure it matches the talents and natural skills you were born with. Now for your physicals. How's your perception of depth, Mr? Read the bottom line. We can't take chances with eyes when there are bombs to be dropped on Tokyo. Only for the navigator may they be less than twenty-twenty, and even here vision must be correctable to twenty-twenty by glasses. Ear, nose, and throat. Nothing is overlooked. Aviation cadets have to be in top physical condition. Teeth, too. The job before you, Mr. has no time for useless days spent in the hospital or dental chair. This is to see how you function. Stand erect, feet together, close your eyes and extend your right arm. Now bring your index finger around to the tip of your nose. Your nose, Mr. Not your ear. That's better. The army believes in fighting illness before you get it. Vaccinations, immunizations, every precaution is taken to make the American soldier the healthiest in the world. What's the matter, Mr? These fellows are experts on your way scrambling. This is a low pressure chamber. In it, atmospheric conditions identical with those you will encounter at high altitudes are produced. A twist of the wheel and we're flying at 5,000 feet. So says the gauge. Then down to sea level for an ear check. Here's okay. Now let's go up where the air is blue. Hold on to your seats and yell for the oxygen mask if you get dizzy. Up to 11,500. Higher and higher. Less oxygen and less oxygen. Can we take it? We know one fellow isn't minding it in the least. He's outside the window. 17,500 feet. Some men start getting dizzy along about here. Say, what's happening to this guy? He doesn't feel well. Something yet maybe. He goes into the auxiliary lock. A few whips of oxygen and he's good as new. 24,000 feet up and still climbing. Oxygen is a must now. This man is volunteered to be a guinea pig and see if he can take it. Write your name, Mr. Now that's a nice clear hand. Nice and steady. How would you like to tangle with a jab zero in this condition? Get that silly grin? He thinks he's doing great. How much is six and seven? Six. Seven. He knows. 16. Three for state tax. Do you still think you could fly an airplane without oxygen? Back to sea level. What's next? This looks like a school room. It is. Be seated, Mr. Get set. Go. This is called a paper and pencil test. It has nothing to do with IQ or intelligence, but is to test your general aptitude for the stiff academic courses to come. Here's the answer sheet and this is the way you mark it. Think hard and think fast. Men who can't think and concentrate under stress have no place in aircrews. Stop. That's that, Mr. Your first test is over. Pass along your papers. The marks and scores you make are going to tell the classification board whether you're a bombardier, navigator, or pilot. Who marks the papers? Honest John here works automatically. Flip so many right, flip so many wrong, and another flip gives you the score. What you're entitled to, you get. A reaction time test. Turn the white light off. The relative positions of the green and red lights indicate the proper switch to turn out the white light. Fast work counts here. And these are the little instruments that keep the score. When the combination of lights appears, the timer starts and it keeps going until the white light is turned out. Time to attend for the second. You can't beat that, Mr. This too is going to tell the classification board a lot about you. It's going to give the board some more facts on which to base its decision as to the kind of training you will get. Do your best. Finger dexterity test. This fellow seems to be in a hurry to get those pegs turned. Why doesn't he use both hands? Both hands is against the rules. Well, this should show how fast the man's fingers work. Stop. 23 pegs, 23 score. 26 pegs, 26. That's simple enough. The steadiness test. What won't these cycle motor experts think up next? Think you're pretty steady, do you? Well, that's what this test is designed to find out. Is your arm extended straight from the shoulder, Mr? With elbow locked? Are your feet flat on the floor? Can you keep your head in an emergency? Sure, your hand shakes. Everybody's does. But the trick is to find out just how much. That's what these little automatic counting machines are for. One touch, one count. Two touches, two counts, and so on. Pretty smart, eh? Look at this. How's that for a case of jitters? Steady, Mr. Steady. Keep everything under control. That's better. Now you're on the beam. Here is the complex coordination test. Match those lights, Mr. Just a little matter of putting your hand in one position while you put your feet in another. Looks easy from here. Even if our friend Frank is finding it tough. Steady does it, Mr. That's the stuff, Charlie. You're getting the hang of it now. This is going to tell the classification board a lot about what can be expected of you later. And here's Honest John again. Click one, click two, click three. How many will you be able to get in the allotted time? It all goes into your final rating. Two-handed coordination test. Moves pretty slow, ought to be easy. Just keep the pointer on the button. These are the handles you do with them. Maybe not so easy. Bob is having trouble. Watch him turn that crank. Whoa, Bob. That's the wrong way. There. Now you're cooking. That's the stuff. You're logging time now. Here's the score. Nothing moving. You will have to beat that, Bob. There. That's better. You're off again, Bob. Only when there's contact do you get time on this job. Stay on the button, men. The classification board wants to know how well your hands coordinate. The rotary pursuit test. How does your coordination stack up? Point it around the button. Here, too, we find our brainless but accurate little friend on the job. Contact means time to your credit. But when you're off, the little machine has no more heart than a brain. And it all adds up to another fact for the classification board. And here's the housekeeping side of your life. Keep it spic and span, mister. In the evenings, though, there's time for relaxing. You can let down now. Write letters and hold bull sessions. Also, you might wonder a little about classification. Bombardier, navigator, or pilot. Which? And if you're worried, there's the consulate. These officers, men who've been through the mill themselves, know your problems and will give you a friendly and sympathetic hearing. Don't hesitate to ask their advice. At last, classification day arrives. Look at those anxious faces. You will soon know, mister. What does the folder say? Preference, Bombardier. Rating, Bombardier, eight. Good work, mister. Here's the lad who has done a job. He wanted to be a Bombardier. His highest rating is for Bombardier. That means he will get his preference. Keep on the beam, fellow, and you will be dropping them on Tokyo. Preference was for navigator. And his high rating is for navigator. Nice going, Bob. You've got a right to be happy. The classification officer is happy, too. A guy is in your ship needn't worry about getting lost. You will take them there and bring them back. Uncle Sam is betting on you, Bob. But this looks like trouble. Frank is worried. It's Bombardier, Frank. Don't like it? All right. You can appeal to the classification board. That's every cadets' privilege. But watch out there, mister. You don't forget military courtesy. Not in this man's army. There, that's better. Sign your appeal. You will find that the classification board will give you a sympathetic hearing. And if a mistake has been made, they will be quick to acknowledge it. It is a rule of classification that every man gets a fair hearing, mister. Poor Frank. He's mad at the board, mad at himself, mad at everybody. Let's listen and see what happens. What have you got against being a Bombardier? Right. I've got nothing against Bombardiers. It's not that. That's what I should have pilot training. That's what I... Why for pilot? Well, sir, my dad was a pilot in the last war. He shot down four Germans and received a medal. That's enough reason. I suppose he told you about the fighting he went through. Yes, sir. Our ships weren't much and his gun kept jamming, but he downed four Germans. The ships like we've got now, I ought to do a little better. Did your dad also tell you about the Bombardiers in the last war? Bombardiers? Well, there weren't any Bombardiers. Everyone knows that, sir. But did you ever stop to think what just one good first rate Bombardier could have done in the last war? Kaiser would probably have traded his whole air force for one flying fortress. It isn't the last war we're fighting, mister. It's this one. There's a difference. And if we don't recognize that difference, we won't win. In 1918, it was pilots. But in 1943, it's going to be air crews. It may mean dividing the glory, but it will also mean many, many times the efficiency and the effect. All the members of an air crew are equally important. None of them must fail. Let's look at the other side of it, mister. Your aptitude rating for pilot is three. You see that graph? This graph is based on the actual training results of thousands of cadets who have preceded you. It shows that out of each two men given pilot training with three rating, one has failed. You see what that means? Just a 50-50 chance at the best. And I regret to say that experience shows that mediocre pilots do not stay alive. Well, I'm not afraid. I'll take my chances, sir. We know you would. But a pilot eliminated or killed in training is one for the jabs. Now look at the other side of the picture. Your rating for bombardier is seven. The graph shows that only two out of every hundred bombardiers with seven rating are eliminated. Your chances bombardier, therefore, is not 50-50, but 50 to one. A live bombardier over Tokyo is one for our side. Which would you rather be? Those are the statistics, mister, and they're the rule, not the exception. Our country is at war. The important thing is not your preference or my preference, but to win. For unless we win, there is no future. That'll be disappointed. Your dad did a great job back in 1918 when he knocked down four Germans. He did his best. Don't you want to do your best, too? Yes. Your bombardier rating is up there at the top. We have every reason to expect that you will become an expert bombardier, one of the finest. Well, the pilot hasn't your bombardier aptitude. He couldn't do your job as well as you. Really? By your reflexes, your mentality, your score in these classification tests, we find that you are actually born to be a bombardier. You mean, sir, I might really get a chance to drop some bombs on Tokyo or Berlin. That's what the Air Force is mean, mister. And they mean it. I'll put everything into it. Don't worry about that, sir. Can I tell the acceptance now, sir? What do you know? The pilot only shoppers the ship in this man's army. He works for me. I ain't going to be a hell of a bombardier. I mean, I'm going to be a hell of a bombardier, sir.