My dad was in the Royal Air Force in WW2. When he was flying Spitfires out of North Weald, just north of London, my grandparents lived down the road from the airfield. My grandmother used to count the planes in Dad’s squadron, outbound and inbound. He says it drove her plumb near crazy when there was a hole in the formation on the inbound leg, and it was good they were only posted there for a couple of months, or she would have come totally unhinged.
What an interesting story. It reminds me of that old song, ‘On a Wing and a Prayer’. Yes, I think counting them out and in has more to do with assuring the safety of the mission than anything else.
On an unrelated note. I recently watched some very old black and white Youtube video of the Baron von Richtoven [sp?] getting into his plane and flying off to look for a dogfight. What struck me about it was the absence of a parachute. I realize they flew low and it wouldn’t have helped, but it was sobering, to realize they knew if they got hit it was most likely over.