In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

brazilian airforce in ww2

The First Brazilian Fighter Group consisting of four squadrons arrived at the Italian port of Livorno on the 6th October 1944. The Brazilian pilots started taking part in war missions, flying their new P-47 Thunderbolts on the 31st October 1944, and along with the US 350th Fighter Group were part of the Tactical Air Force of the Mediterranean which supported the US Fifth and British Eighth Armies.

On the 6th November the Brazilians suffered their first loss in action when: 2nd Lieutenant Cordeiro e Silva was killed by anti-aircraft fire in the region of Bologna. Then on the 11th November, the group began operations in squadrons formed exclusively by their own pilots and picking their own targets.

A month later, on the 4th December 1944, the Brazilians, together with the 350th Fighter Group, moved to Pisa airfield, 124 miles to the North and very near the front, which allowed the group to take better advantage of the range of their aircraft.

The Brazilians operated in Italy in the role of fighter-bombers, attacking rail and road bridges, railway stations and tracks, airfields, artillery positions, barracks and troop concentrations, and ammunition and petrol depots, Occasion the Brazilian airmen had the opportunity of supporting the Brazilian Expeditionary Force directly; such as on the 20th February 1945, the day before the BEF took Monte Castelo.

On the 4th February 1945, 2-Lt Danilo. were shot down in flames whilst attacking trains to the Southwest of Treviso. Baling out. Lieutenant Danilo walked for twenty-four days, across enemy territory before joining the partisans and finally getting through the front lines to rejoin his comrades.

Of the 48 pilots of the Brazilian Unit who carried out war missions, there was a total of 22 losses; five being killed by anti-aircraft fire, eight had their planes shot down and baled out over enemy territory, and six had to give up flying operations on medical orders. Three others died in flying accidents.

The 1st Brazilian Fighter Group accomplished 445 missions, making 2,546 flights and 5,465 hours flight on active service. It destroyed 1,304 motor vehicles, 13 railway wagons, 8 armoured cars, 25 railway and highway bridges and 31 fuel and munitions depots.

footnotes:

Brazil was the only Latin American country to send troops to the European Theatre. Brazil declared war on the Axis powers in July of 1942 and a force of 25,000 was prepared to be sent to Italy.

The arrival of the Brazilians in the winter of 1944-45 had caused a near panic in finding Portuguese speaking interpreters. In addition the Brazilians arrived wearing light clothing which was completely inappropriate for Appennine blizzards. Re-equipped with American uniforms it was found that the Brazilians had much smaller feet than the average American or British Soldier and finding sufficient footwear became a Quartermasters' nightmare.

The First Brazilian Infantry Division consisting of the 1st, 6th and 11th Brazilian Infantry Regiments, served in the IV (US) Corps of the Fifth (United States) Army in the Italian Campaign during 1945.

Brazil was one of only two Latin American countries to actually commit military forces during World War II, the other being Mexico.

THE BADGE OF THE 1ºGAVCA

The badge of 1ºGAVCA was designed while the Squadron was travelling to Italy aboard the transport ship UST Colombie by a group of its pilots, Ten.-Av. Rui Moreira Lima, Ten.-Av. José Rebelo Meira de Vasconcelos, Ten.-Av. Lima Mendes and Cap.-Av. Fortunato C. de Oliveira.
Drawn by the latter, it can be described as follows, according to its author:

- The green-yellow surrounding represents Brazil;
- The red field behind the fighting ostrich represents the war skies;
- The bottom field - white clouds - represents the ground to a pilot;
- The blue shield charged with the Southern Cross is the common symbol for the Brazilian Armed Forces;
- The ostrich represents the Brazilian fighter pilot, whose face is inspired in that of Ten.-Av. Lima Mendes, and also the stomach of the veterans of 1ºGAVCA;
- The white cap was part of the FAB uniform at the time and distinguished the Brazilian pilots from the other Allied pilots;
- The gun being hold by the ostrich represents the firepower of the P-47, with its eight .50in machine-guns;
- The motto "Senta a Pua!" is the war cry of 1ºGAVCA;
- The white streak, at the right, ending on a flak burst, was added later, and represents the danger brought by the German anti-aircraft artillery to the pilots (this device appeared only on replacement aircraft).

The use of an ostrich to represent the Brazilian fighter pilots comes from the fact that, during the early Forties, several Brazilian aircrew went to the USA to fly back to Brazil the aircraft then being bought in large numbers by the Brazilian authorities, not only training but also combat aircraft. During their stay in that country, they got acquainted to American food: baked beans, powder eggs and powder milk, among other items. The then Cel.-Av. Geraldo Guia de Aquino dubbed the pilots "ostrichs" and the nickname caught.

The war cry "Senta a Pua!" was a suggestion from Ten.-Av. Rui who had heard it several times from Cap.-Av. Firmino Alves de Araujo while serving at Salvador Air Base; it was used by the latter on his subordinates, inviting them to do their tasks at once and quickly. It became the Brazilian equivalent of the British Tally-Ho and the French "A la Chasse!".

IN ACTION!
The Brazilian pilots initially flew from 31 October 1944 as individual elements of flights of the 350th FG US squadrons, at first in affiliation flights and progressively taking part in more dangerous missions.

Less than two weeks later, on 11 November, the Group started its own operations, flying from its base at Tarquinia, using its call-sign Jambock.

The Group was divided into four flights, Vermelha (Red), Amarela (Yellow), Azul (Blue) and Verde (Green).Each flight had a complement of roughly 12 pilots, these having been flying together since their training spell in Panama. A pilot customarily wore an echarpe in the colours of his flight. The CO of the Group and some officers were not attached to any specific flight.

The Thunderbolt colour scheme
Initially the P-47s were finished in standard US fighter colours, olive-drab (top surfaces) and neutral grey (undersurfaces) (except those aircraft of the commander and operations officer which were finished in natural metal and olive-drab anti-glare panels). The badge of the Group was painted just after the engine cowling, and the aircraft code (flight letter-aircraft number) was in white letters over the cowling.

National insignia was in four positions, this being the US star-and-bar, with the white star replaced by the Brazilian star. Later, replacement aircraft were in natural metal, with olive-drab anti-glare panels, the codes being in black .

[bobbysocks]

what goes around comes around....

This is one of the amazing but true stories of WWII
The Evaders
By Roman Turski

I was born in Poland, where before the last war religious intolerance was not uncommon. In spite of my father’s objection to my participation in anti-Semitic demonstrations in Warsaw, I often heaved stones at windows of stores owned by Jews. I had no qualms about my actions, and later it took months of hardship and persecution-and a Jew- to show me how to abide by the Biblical injunction: “Love thy neighbor as thyself”.
When Hitler annexed Austria and war seemed imminent, I quit my job as instructor of a flying club in Lyons, France, and started for home. My plane developed engine trouble and I had to land at Vienna and stay there overnight to have it repaired.
The following morning, just as I stepped out of my hotel to buy a few souvenirs before checking out, a man who came running past the door bumped into me and sent me reeling. Outraged, I grabbed him and was about to give him a piece of my mind when I saw his face was white with fear. Panting heavily, he tried to wrench himself from my grip and said, “Gestapo—Gestapo!” I know only a little German but understood he was running from the dreaded German secret police.
I rushed him into the lobby and upstairs to my room, pointed to the foot of my bed and motioned him to lie down. I covered his slender, jackknifed body with artfully draped blankets so that the tousled bed looked empty. Then I pulled off my jacket, tie and collar so I could pretend I’d just got up if the Gestapo men came. In a few minutes, they did. They examined my passport, returned it and shouted questions, to which I replied: “Ich verstehe es nicht-I don’t understand it,” a phrase I knew by heart. They left without searching the room.
As soon as they had gone I lifted the blankets. The poor man let out a stream of rapid German. It was not necessary to understand a word to comprehend his gratitude.
I got out my flight chart and, by gesturing and drawing pictures on the margin of the map, explained that I had a plane and could take him out of Austria. He pointed to Warsaw, and his expressive hands asked: “Would you take me there?” I shook my head and made him understand that I had to land for fuel in Cracow. I drew pictures of police and prison bars to illustrate that he would be arrested upon arrival at any airport, and made it clear that we would land in some meadow just over the Polish border and he would get off. He nodded with satisfaction, and his narrow face and dark eyes again conveyed deep thanks.
The customs and immigration men at the airport waved us through when I told them my friend wanted to see me off. My plane was warmed up and ready for flight. We quickly climbed into it and took off. We crossed Czechoslovakia and soon saw the thin ribbon of the Vistula River and the city of Cracow. Landing in a large field by a wood near a country railroad station, I showed my companion where we were on the map, gave him most of my money and wished him luck. He took my hand and looked at me wordlessly, then walked rapidly into the woods.
When I arrived at Cracow airport there was a detachment of police waiting beside the immigration inspector. One of the police said, “We have a warrant to search your plane—you have helped a man escape from Vienna.”
“Go ahead and search it. Incidentally, what was the man wanted for?”
“He was a Jew.”
They searched my plane, and of course had to let me go for lack of evidence.
The war came, and after Poland’s short and bloody struggle against the Germans, in which I served as a fighter pilot in the Polish Air Force, I joined the thousands of my countrymen who wanted to carry on the fight for freedom. We crossed the border into Rumania and were promptly caught and sent to concentration camps. I finally managed to escape and joined the French Air Force. After France collapsed I went to England and fought in the Battle of Britain. The following June I was wounded while on a fighter sweep across the English Channel, when the Luftwaffe hit us over Boulogne. In those early offensive missions we were always outnumbered and outperformed by the Luftwaffe, and our only superiority was morale.
As we started for home I rammed an Me-109 and was hit by a piece of it’s sheared off tail. I was half blinded with blood. My squadron covered my withdrawal across the channel, but I was unconscious when my Spitfire crash-landed in England. (I later learned that my skull had been fractured, and that I was so near death that the head surgeon of the hospital to which I was taken believed it would be almost useless to operate on me.)
When I returned to consciousness, I gradually realized that a narrow face with large brown eyes was looking down at me. “Remember me?” their owner said. “You saved my life in Vienna.” He spoke with a trace of a German accent.
His words ended my confusion. I recalled a sensitive face and managed to say, “How did you find me?” I noticed his white smock. “Do you work here?”
“It’s a long story,” he replied. “After you dropped me off I made my way to Warsaw, where an old friend aided me. Just before the war I escaped and reached safety in Scotland. When one of your Polish squadrons distinguished itself in the Battle of Britain, I thought you might be in it, so I wrote to the Air Ministry and found you were.”
“How did you know my name?”
“It was written on the margin of your map. I remembered it.” His long fingers felt cool on my wrist. “Yesterday I read a story in the newspapers about a Polish hero shooting down five enemy planes in one day and then crash-landing near this hospital. It said your condition was considered hopeless. I immediately asked the Royal Air Force at Edinburgh to fly me here.”
“Why?”
“I thought that at last I could do something to show my gratitude. You see, I am a brain surgeon—I operated on you this morning.”

[bobbysocks]

shot down over dunkirk...SQNLDR K.B. McGlashan AFC

"...As the battle developed beneath me, two fighters, Messerschmitt Bf109s, slipped by 3,000 feet below emerging ahead and to my right at a great rate of knots. They were obviously seeking out the tails of my leading sections and had positioned themselves in the classic six o’clock position. I flicked my gun switch to ‘live’ and readied to roll my machine over to initiate a diving attack on the diving fighters. A screech came over my ineffectual TR9D radio, filling my helmet with deafening, squawking static. I later learned it was Geoff Howitt warning me of the five 109s diving on us, attacking from our port quarter. Howitt broke hard left and crossed in front of me, yet I was still none the wiser. Amidst this melee, I was concentrating on my attack and had totally neglected to look behind. The first indication I had of anything going wrong was when the armour plate behind my head began ringing like an alarm clock. Before I could draw breath, bright red tracers started bombarding my cockpit, whistling between my legs and ravaging the panels of Perspex and fabric to my left. The incendiary-tipped tracers assist the pilot in seeing where his shots are landing and from my perspective I could see them landing very well. As my instrument panel began disintegrating before my eyes, my thoughts leapt suddenly to the vapour-rich petrol tank that sat just behind the instruments. Momentary horror turned to short relief when I recalled that the tank was self-sealing.

The attack had been lightning quick. I slammed the control stick forward and to the right, entering a downward roll and sending the world spinning around. The back of my legs stung as metal splinters spat from the maze of piping fragmenting beneath my feet. Engine coolant, oil and all variety of hot fluids showered me as the scent of smoke began to fill the air. Foolishly I had been flying with my goggles atop my helmet and now the mix of smoke and oils that were bringing down my aeroplane were also serving to partially blind me. My cockpit had become a scene of absolute chaos. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the attack abated. Gathering my thoughts, I pulled the aircraft out of the dive and assessed my situation; not good. Bleeding oil and coolant, I knew my Hurricane was done for and I began readying myself to bail out. With the threat of fire growing, I cut the engine, switched off the fuel and set about sliding back the hood. My vision was getting worse and I fumbled to get the canopy back. Three times I tried and three times it slid closed. In my enthusiasm to get out, I was failing to lock the canopy open and a sense of incarceration came across me. Being trapped in a fiery cockpit was the dread of every fighter pilot and for a moment I began to wonder if this is how my war was to end. A moment after that, the second attack started.

The left hand side of my canopy exploded again as the red tracer ravaged what remained of my aircraft’s port side. With the engine shutdown, I was literally powerless. Again I slammed the stick forward, though this time to the left. I combined inertia with gravity, accelerating my wounded machine downwards. I felt a wallop and then a trickling sensation down the back of my leg and thought that I’d copped a hit in the backside. [It turned out to be a direct hit on an Agfa cartridge in my pocket, allowing the film to unfurl in my trousers.] Headlong, vertical and hurtling towards Terra Firma, I had a moment of unexpected clarity and recalled banter at the bar that formed a consensus that 109s were poor at recovering from dives. With the earth looming large in the windscreen and absolutely nothing left to lose, I decided to apply this theory. At the last possible moment I hauled back on the control column with all of my remaining might. As the blood drained from my head, my world faded to ‘black and white’ and then just black........."

[bobbysocks]

another blurb about SQNLDR K.B. McGlashan AFC
from the book DOWN TO EARTH: A Fighter Pilot's Experiences of Surviving Dunkirk, The Battle of Britain, Dieppe and D-Day

…as the Squadron’s only “single engined” pilot, I was to be sent to Abbotsinch to collect the sole dual control Battle in the country. On its return, the aircraft would be used to convert our “”twin engined” pilots to its ways with a minimum of pain. Well, that was the plan anyway…

…having familiarised myself with the type, I readied to take my new steed to its new home. The weather surrounding the airfield was bleak and foggy as I lifted off and started into the climb. Previously unaware of their presence, I found myself flying through a section of tethered barrage balloons over Glasgow. Through sheer good fortune I escaped harm at the hands of the helium-filled defence system. A few years later I would witness the lethal potential of Barrage Balloons as they dotted the skies over Crewe. One of our own, a Shorts Stirling, flew into the cables, exploding into a fireball before falling to earth and killing the entire crew. I could only reflect about my earlier escape.

With the near-miss behind me, I set course for Leconfield. Passing Thornton Hill, I had no sooner settled in for the flight when my engine stopped, leaving things very quiet. This was particularly embarrassing as I was not at a great height at the time and confronted with extremely limited options. It had been a very hard winter and the small rolling foothills were snow coated with a deeply frozen core of soil beneath. Without further ado I chose a field ahead. My selected area was divided by a small track crossing it and terminated with a house and garage at the far end. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Setting my speed and lining up on the field, I experienced a very uncomfortable feeling. The Battle was the first aircraft I had flown with retractable undercarriage and the proximity of the ground without my wheels lowered was rather unnerving. My next action seemed logical at that moment, but with the benefit of hindsight and experience, it was a basic error. I lowered the undercarriage.

I impacted the frozen earth well into the chosen landing site and bounced high above the snow. Floating over the track that I had noted on approach, my eyes caught those of a woman pushing a pram with a baby in it. I touched down again and stuck this time. Surmounting the crest of the hill, I started down at a great rate before striking a hedge which served to shear off my main wheels. The aircraft fell to its belly with little loss in speed initially and was now effectively a Royal Air Force toboggan heading straight for the residence’s garage. I tried to gain some directional control by kicking the rudders, though this proved very ineffective other than to slew the aircraft slightly from side to side. Throughout, the Battle’s course remained true. As I contemplated whether I would stop in time, one of the double doors opened and a head protruded to take in proceedings. The head was then rapidly withdrawn and reappeared through a side door, at speed, with body firmly attached.

[bobbysocks]

clobber kain and his hurricane...

Cobber' Kain was born in Hastings on 27 June 1918. Following school, he worked as a clerk in his father's warehousing business in Wellington.

In 1936 he obtained his private pilot's licence with the Wellington Aero Club before leaving New Zealand in November for London to join the RAF. Kain began his flying training in January 1937 and in late November was posted to 73 Squadron. Re-equipped with Hurricanes in 1938, the squadron was fully operational by March 1939 and on 24 August was ordered to mobilise for war.

Four days after war was declared 73's sixteen Hurricanes flew across the Channel to France. On 10 September 1939 Kain flew his first operational patrols, but saw no enemy activity. On a defensive patrol on 8 November Kain spotted a Do 17 reconnaissance aircraft ahead and above him. It began to climb and Kain followed, making two attacks but seeing no results. At 27,000 feet, with his Hurricane showing signs of strain, he attacked again and the Dornier dived steeply. Kain followed but pulled out when he saw fabric peeling off his wings. The Dornier crashed into a village, exploding on impact and killing the crew.

On 23 November he shot down another Do 17. Due to bad weather there was little flying in December, January and February. On 1 March 1940 Kain fought an action with two Bf 109's. His Hurricane was already damaged when he shot the first one down in flames. The second fighter attacked him, stopping the Hurricane's engine with a cannon shell but then flew off, leaving Kain to glide thirty miles from 20,000 feet to reach French territory. When his engine caught fire Kain prepared to bale out but got back in his seat when he saw his parachute strap was not in position. Fortunately the flames went out and Kain glided on to a forced-landing on Metz aerodrome.

On 23 February Kain received a Mention in Dispatches and in mid-March he was awarded the DFC. He was by now the centre of a blaze of publicity and his was a household name. On March 26 Kain destroyed a BF 109 and probably a second but then with his own engine on fire he baled out, with shell splinters to his left leg, a bullet-grazed left hand and burns to the face.

Kain went on leave to England on 2 April and before he returned his engagement was announced. Back with the squadron he damaged a Bf 110 on the 23rd. German air activity now intensified and on 10 May 1940 the blitzkrieg was launched. In the next ten days Kain destroyed five more enemy aircraft and probably destroyed or damaged another five.

On 22 May he was posted back to England. With other pilots he left early on the 23rd but on arrival Kain and another pilot were ordered to report back to 73 Squadron at once. They were put on administrative duties and Kain did not fly again until the 25th, when he destroyed a Do 17 but had to make an emergency landing in his damaged Hurricane. He destroyed an HS 126 on the 26th and another DO 17 on the 27th.

Kain continued to fly as his unit retreated from one airfield to the next and on 5 June he shot down a Bf 109. On the 7th he was ordered to return to England immediately. The following morning a group gathered to bid him farewell as he took off in his Hurricane to fly to Le Mans to collect his kit. Whether he felt that those watching below expected him to put on a last show will never be known but he performed a series of low level aerobatics before crashing into the ground. The Hurricane broke up and Kain, fatally injured, was thrown clear.

Kain's official score is fourteen confirmed victories but was more likely to be between fifteen and twenty. Whatever the true facts may be, 'Cobber' Kain - as the first Allied ace of the war - had ensured his place in history.

[bobbysocks]

Vladimir Markov

I was attracted to flying whilst still a young child. As a young lad I was active in a modellers' group and in an aeroclub. The instructors at the aeroclub were just like fathers to us. Their relationship with us was warm and friendly too. At the aeroclub we were kitted out with overalls and boots. We even got the 'Voroshilov' food allowance. We'd get up early in the morning, the dew still lying on the grass, the aeroplane standing ready for you. Do a flight and then off to the station - train to Moscow. That's how we learned to fly.

As I finished at the aeroclub at the end of 1939, a decision was taken to send me to the Serpukhov Flying School. I disagreed with the decision to study there. Why? My sister's husband (later to die near Smolensk) was a fighter pilot who had graduated from the Kachinskiy flying school. He told me, "It's great that you've gone into flying, but I don't advise you going into the naval air service."

I went to work at the 'Red Proletarian' factory, but was soon called up. We ended up at Klyuchevsitsy aerodrome just outside Novgorod. To begin with we remained separated from the rest, but by the end of a month we had completed basic military training. After that the 36 of us were summoned to the commanding officer to discuss our progress. We went in and were told: "You've now become part of a splendid aviation division and your duties will be guarding air-force equipment." At that point one of us stood up and said, "Excuse me, but I graduated from my aeroclub and have a certificate to prove it". Of the 36 of us, 34 had a passing-out certificate, yet we were being sent on sentry duty!

In the spring of 1941 we were called before a medical board, and on the 19th June I found myself enrolled in Moscow Military Pilots' School №2, located at Izmailovo aerodrome. Our tents were already erected, headquarters was on sight and there was even a pilots' mess room.

On the 21st June we went to bed, but next morning we were surprised that there was no reveille. We went down to the mess for a bite to eat but learnt that war had broken out. There was no panic, we were already morally prepared for such eventualities. They started splitting us up into appropriate groups. I don't wish to boast, but I'd had a pretty good induction to flying. I was attached to the group transferred to Chertanovo aerodrome. I was promoted to flight leader, and our instructor, Lilya, was a pretty young lady with a strict code of conduct.

Within a month the first air raids on Moscow had begun but our training continued. One day I was sitting in the cockpit and Lilya approached me saying, "Volodya, what would you like to serve in?" "Fighters." "OK." It was the end of our training and postings were in sight. I was sent off to Pavletskii station to travel on to Krasnodar. It was there we began to fly Polikarpov I-16s.

When Rostov-on-Don surrendered in the summer of 1942, anyone who was a poor flier was transferred to ground forces and sent the front. Later on we were to see a column of wounded amongst whom were those who had been on our course.

Any remaining trainees were withdrawn from Krasnodar to just outside Saratov. There we were re-trained on 'Yaks' and sent to the 8th Reserve Air Regiment at Bagai-Baranovka. It was there that I had to prove the regiment's good name before an Air Force Committee. I had to fly a circuit, fly cross-country, fly blind and demonstrate flying expertise in the combat zone. There followed firing at a drogue, ground targets, and individual aerial combat. My drogue score was 9 out of 60. Pretty good. My flying skills were scrutinised and I was told, "The Chairman of the Committee will now lead take off. You are to fly into the operations' zone and demonstrate your reconnaissance abilities and carry out a search. Engage in a dogfight and we shall assess your fighting capabilities." We both took off in Yak-1s. I spotted his plane and moved up in formation with him. He began spinning this way and that. I closed up right behind him and wouldn't be shaken off. With some annoyance he said, " Right, keep up, and land with me."

After this I left for the front. I went to the 91st Regiment of the 256th Division. The Divisional Commander was Hero of the Soviet Union Gerasimov, a Spaniard and friend of Kamanin - a decent bloke. Our regiment had been formed even before the war. He had taken part in operations in Bessarabia. The war caught up with him in Shepetovka and it was there that the regiment suffered its first bombing raid. Hero of the Soviet Union Major Romanenko was appointed Regimental Commander. We were stationed on an airfield between Kozelets and Borispol'. Experienced pilots accompanied us, the reinforcements, over the whole of the front line, pointing out everything. So we began to provide air cover for our ground troops. I became wingman to the Squadron Commander Borkov, from Leningrad. When I reported to him, he was sitting there reading a map. "Reporting for duty, sir," I said. He looked up: "You'll be flying with me, and if you lose touch with me, you're for it..!" But since I was a competent pilot, he had no opportunity of carrying out his threat.

Soon afterwards the Kiev operation began, and real fighting followed. On the 6th there was a particularly tense situation. First away on operations was Romanenko with his group. With him flew my friend Reptsev. Both went missing. Flight commander Misha Shilov did not return from the next sortie. Two-three hours passed and at 7 o'clock that evening we were sitting in the mess when up came a rider on a horse, Shilov to all appearances, swathed in bandages. It turned out he'd shot down a Heinkel-111 but had been hit in the process. After he'd done a belly landing, some kids had come running up to him saying in Ukrainian, "Mister Pilot, get away from here, there's Germans all about". He was secreted to some woman who gave him a dress. He'd scarcely had time to get a bite to eat when there was a thump at the door. He instantly leapt up onto the stove and just sat still. In came some Germans. Shilov had decided that if anything happened he would start shooting and jump through the window. The Germans spread out across the room, giving it a thorough looking over. They saw Misha sitting on the stove with his back to them. But his hair was so long, just like a woman's. "Who's that?" they demanded. The houseowner said that it was a woman staying there on her own, going to see her sister and just passing through. The Germans calmed down and asked in broken Russian, "Got any eggs or milk?" They had something to eat and left.

Soon after the loss of Romanenko, Kovalev was promoted to Regimental Commander - a real pilot. What followed? On one occasion we flew out from Kopaigoraya on a reconnaissance mission and discovered some strange-looking haystacks. They were arranged in chessboard fashion, not like they are in the countryside. We descended a little and then even lower. We discovered that they were camouflaged tanks. Back at base we reported all that we had seen. The Germans, it seemed, were preparing a counter-attack. Soon after this reconnaissance flight our commander told Neokov, " You and Tsygankov fly over to Zhulyany, top up with antifreeze and get kitted out with your winter uniforms." This was at the end of November. We took off, arrived at Zhulyany, and had just dispersed for landing when we got the message: "As you were. Reform at such and such a coordinate. You'll be covering a group of 'Ilyushins'." Tsygan and I set off, he flying to my right. I lost touch with him in the clouds and began to search around. It was then that I saw my time was running out, fuel was low, and it was time to land. So I did. Tsygan was already down. I asked,

"Where were you?"

"Right there with you. So you didn't notice anything then? They almost got you. A 'Focke Wulf' came right up on your tail. Another few metres and he'd have got you."

"Thank you, Vanyusha," was all I could say. I hadn't seen anything in those clouds.

There were battles of all kinds at that time. We flew a lot of missions escorting 'Ils'. On the 23rd February I chased a "Peshka (Pawn)". It was one of our planes, but the Germans were flying it unmarked and without its stars. But I couldn't catch up with it - the oil temperature was already 120 degrees and the front line was nearby. I decided to break off and return.

In the spring we were dispatched to Kharkov to collect some new planes, Yak-9Ts. We didn't have long to fly them because by summer at Bagai-Baranovka we'd already got Yak-3's. I was given the first production model to test fly. Yes, a good machine, but the engine was sluggish. What was the matter? A test pilot was called in from the factory. He said to me, "You don't know how to fly it." "Well, you fly it then." He climbed in, took off and disappeared somewhere. Then we saw him coming towards us with smoke trailing behind. He said, "There's something wrong here. You're right, the engine 's not firing properly."

Then came a telegram that Golovatyi had bought the plane for Yeremin. We sent this "one off" to him. No doubt a new engine would be fitted and he would get it in perfect working order. We received the new machines on Monday, June 13th. The general staff and Yakovlev's deputy turned up. They wanted to take our photo. We all turned our backs, saying that it was Monday, and, whatsmore, it was the 13th - unlucky and a bad sign. Our photos weren't taken.

During the first two days of the Lvov operation the weather was bad and we were grounded. We were scrambled on the third day. Regimental Commander Kovalev led the flight. The ensuing battle was no joke: 22 of ours against 85 of theirs, all at an altitude of 1500 to 1700 metres. The fight went on for some 40 minutes then stopped unexpectedly. At the time I was already a senior pilot. I looked around trying to find Shilov, my flight leader. I'd only just seen his plane with number 69 on it. He was flying support to the regimental navigator. Borkov and I put down at a neighbouring airfield - our own was too far away. Even after we'd been refuelled Shilov still wasn't back. I said, "He's got to come back. I saw him." But we couldn't wait any longer for him. We got back to our airfield about 90 minutes later. There was still no sign of Shilov. A fitter suggested, "Happen he's had to make a forced landing." We found out later that he'd crossed the front line and come under anti-aircraft fire. He got a direct hit and his engine packed up. He thought that he was in a front line area so decided to land. He dropped his undercarriage, set his plane down and ran on until it came to a halt. He leapt out, but all around were Germans. He was captured. This was a great source of worry for us. I became flight leader in Shilov's place. Then the Lvov operation came to an end and we transferred to Trostyanets. There I shot down a '109'. Initially we had approached each other head on, but I did a 180? turn behind him and brought him down.

Just at that time our regiment was awarded the Order of Bogdan Khmelnitskii. For a whole month we tested out our Yak-3s under frontline conditions. For each sortie we wrote a report on how the machine behaved. And it turned out there was a range of designer flaws. Particularly serious were problems with lowering and retracting the undercarriage.

Our squadron was based at Dembitsy, just to the west of the Vistula. One day we were sitting around playing dominoes, and it was drizzling. A young woman came up to me and said, "I know you." "Where from?" "I'm Shilov's sister" -he had two sisters at the front- "You know, I'd like to collect his things so that they're not sent back to mum and upset her." All the lads fell silent. I said, "Come on then." I explained to her how only yesterday we had received a letter from a certain woman doctor. She wrote that, in a former prisoner of war camp in Przemysl where her medical unit was stationed, she had seen an inscription on the wall of one of the barracks. "I, Shilov Stepan Mikhailovich, eternally devoted to the Party of Lenin and Stalin, was shot down in a fierce dogfight over Ternopol on 16th July 1944. Whosoever reads this, please inform..." That was how we found out that he was a prisoner.

I remember flying one time with the deputy squadron leader to a neighbouring fighter group situated just 1? km from the front line. For that reason we had to come in at hedge-top height to avoid revealing its position. No sooner had we landed than we saw the Divisional Commander, Gerasimov, coming towards us. Cursing, he said,

"So, you figured on flying over in weather like this! Stay here till the morning. Today's the anniversary of the division's formation. There'll be medals, a concert and a supper. And that's for your efforts," he said passing out some spirits and we found some beer to go with it. What were we supposed to do with it? I said to the deputy Squadron Leader,

" Tol', let's take off our tunic tops, wrap it up and stow it behind the armour-plated seat. The main thing is to avoid getting into a dogfight en route."

"Right. Let's do it."

The next day a breeze sprang up. We set off at treetop height. Looking up we saw Germans above and squeezed right down to ground level, but there was a herd of something there and I picked up a bit of wool on my tail. We landed back at Zheshov (Strzyow). I set down but Tolya said,

"I can't land, my instrument are all haywire." He went round for a second approach, and made it this time. The commander saw this.

" Smarten yourselves up!" he barked - he was so angry. We immediately buttoned up our tunics. He went on:

" Why didn't you come back yesterday?"

"Gerasimov wouldn't let us fly in such weather."

"Well, you've brought something back with you, I hope?"

"Of course."

"Off you go, fall out."

In January 1945 we were part of the air cover provision for the troops fighting for Krakow. On the 20th we completed 5-6 sorties in a day, and as evening approached we arrived at Krakow airfield. The aerodrome had been mined and we had to land to the right of the landing strip. 'Lavochkins' were coming into land head on. Everyone just got down as best they could. The town was ablaze. We were billeted to a five-storey building and at about 10-11 o'clock we went back to the aerodrome for an evening meal. The commander was not there, he had remained behind at the previous base. His deputy had us sit down round a П-shaped table for de-briefing. We all had a drink, but realised something was wrong with it. The mess sergeant said, "Comrade pilots, don't worry, it's special rations, it's all above board, and thank you for your efforts." Next morning I got up feeling awful, but three others were still laid out and unable to get up. You felt hungry but the moment you ate anything your guts knotted up. We were baffled as to what had happened. No one went for lunch. That evening a girl suddenly came running in: "Comrade pilots, anyone who's been poisoned must get themselves to the first-aid post immediately." Off we ran and got checked over. It turned out one of our blokes had collapsed and the girl had gone blind. 26 pilots - the whole of the regiment had been poisoned! I've no idea how or to where we were then taken. We were lain two to a bunk. Nuns looked after us. A navigator and two other pilots died and several went blind. True, the mess sergeant died too - the stupid sod had served us methyl alcohol. I was laid up for ten days and only on 2nd February could I fly with my wingman, Vanya Kudenchuk, on a mission.

Spring was in the air, it was already warm and everything was thawing out. We set course for the allotted zone - south-east towards the small town of Gorlitz. Our task was to provide air cover for our tanks. The patrol zone was overcast, the broken cloud suggesting that it wasn't all that solid and thick. There were small breaks in it, at a height of about 1200-1300 metres. For some 35-40 minutes we patrolled giving cover in the target zone. When our operation time was up we turned about face and flew off in the direction of our aerodrome, hoping on our way to root out some enemy ground target and assault it. We flew on at a pretty good 500-550 km/hr. All quiet, it seemed. So I said to my wingman, "Vasya, let's find something to hit, it's not on returning to base with all weapons unused. At that very moment I happened to turn my head to the left and saw eight Me-109's coming up behind out of the cloud at high speed. Instantly I shouted to my wingman, " Vaska, eight of them coming up on our tail." The thought flashed through my mind - low on fuel, they'd obviously been stalking us.

To avoid being hit I had to veer steeply to the left and get into the clouds to gain the advantage. It's a good job we had the speed. I didn't climb, but Vasya, behind and drifting wide on the outside of his turn, picked up speed and plunged through the cloud. From the other side of the cloud cover he shouted that there were eight FW-190s. Their plan was clear: with our fuel about to run out, force us to climb high then shoot us down or at least force us to crash for lack of fuel. I did a U-turn in the clouds, flew a little further on then dived below the clouds. I saw, flying in line astern, two pairs of Me-109s. The leader of one of the pairs spotted me - he side-slipped into the cloud, but I managed to head off the leader of the second pair with a burst of fire from the clouds, then get him in my sights and loosed several more bursts at him. He rolled over onto one wing and went down. I too immediately dived into the clouds - almost out of fuel and no longer able to continue the fight. I reported in to an observer. Ground control told me, " No Soviet losses. Execute a 555 (return to base)." There was no way of finding my wingman. About five minutes later, breaking out from the cloud I saw a Me-109 ahead flying a parallel course. I ducked back into the clouds and when I emerged a few minutes later he had disappeared. I returned to base. At the very point of landing my propeller stopped. So I landed without power. The Yak-3 flies fine for 1? hours, but then you have to get down. Clearly we'd been flying all this time on petrol fumes! I crawled out of the cockpit and walked about in a daze. No wingman. They told me, though, that none of ours had gone missing. A couple or so hours passed. Then I heard the sound of an engine. Yes, it was № 75, Kudenchuk! As soon as he touched down his undercarriage gave way. "All right," I thought, "we can fix that, no problem." It turned out that he'd landed at Pokryshkino, had been refuelled but nobody had noticed that he'd been holed. We were lucky on this occasion, very lucky!

On March 31st we flew out to attack Ratibor (Raciborz) airfield. The group was lead by Regimental Commander Kovalev. We got into a dogfight. I suddenly found myself on the tail of a pair of FW-190s. My wingman Gena Smirnov repulsed an attack on me from another pair and gave me the chance to attack the FW-190s. I shot down one, but as I chased after my wingman, German flak began to cut me off. I sensed that I'd been hit, the plane began to vibrate. It was cloudy with mist about. In such circumstances it was impossible to look for my group. Gena and I withdrew from the action, swung round onto course "0" reckoning on finding a main road. Before us in the haze a pair of Me-109s were following a parallel course to their own airfield. I could not overtake them because my machine was vibrating and I could not put on speed. I said to Gena, "Attack if you can, I'm right behind you." The Germans appeared not to spot us. Gena turned slightly to the right and attacked. I followed, a little distance behind. He got one but the second 109 quickly went into the clouds when he saw the attack. Like it or not, though, we had to return home. The cloud ceiling kept us down to 300-400 metres. I just could not recognise the locality although previously I had lead groups into this area several times already. We kept to our compass bearing "0" but in reality the course was quite different. Fuel was running low. The plane was shaking, so I decided to find a landing strip and set down. All around appeared quiet and I spotted a suitable landing site below me. I informed Gennadii, " Cover me, I'm going down". I landed, ran on a little, but the wheels began to dig in. The plane threw its tail up into the air and came to a halt. I leaped from the plane and noticed a chap driving a cart. I dashed over to him, drawing my pistol. Seeing me, he said in broken Russian, " I'm a Pole." I asked him whose territory was I in and where was the nearest airfield. He replied that it was Polish territory, now in Russian hands but that the front line was some 10-15 km away (waving his arm in it's direction). He added that there was an airfield at such and such locality. The aerodrome was quite close by in the event. I dashed to the plane and told Gena over the radio where to fly. I said, "Land there and come and get me." He flew away but returned 7-10 minutes later explaining over the radio, "I couldn't get down, the airfield's like a sponge, waterlogged and it's too dangerous to land." Following my suggestion he too landed alongside me as his fuel was about to run out.

It subsequently transpired that that there was magnetic distortion in this region. That's why the compass bearing was incorrect. Once we'd entrusted our aircraft to the local Polish authorities for safekeeping, we picked up our parachutes and with the help of the Poles made our way to a station. As it happened, we used to fly in overalls, and sometimes in sports clothes so that we wouldn't be taken for officers. That followed stories that officers were given rough treatment or shot when captured by the Germans.

From the station we travelled two stops and then got back to the airfield late at night on lorries from a motorised battalion that delivered ammunition and fuel to our troops. It was later revealed that six pilots, including we two, had not returned from the combat sortie. The Regimental Commander was pleased about our return especially since our aircraft were still intact. A team of fitters flew out to the site of our forced landing, they fixed my plane, refuelled it and flew it back to the aerodrome.

On 8th April our regiment was stationed at Grotkau. That morning the weather was fair, high cloud and a slight haze. My friend Misha Pyatak and I got orders to do a reconnaissance of the town's railway station and aerodrome located to the east of the town. Bypassing the airfield and the town itself, we approached from the west. At the station there were three fuel-tanker trains facing towards the front line. You got the impression that they had just arrived, although from the air there was no sign of them being unloaded. We reported our findings back to ground base. We immediately got orders to do two "dummy" runs to ascertain whether the Germans had any flak batteries. We did as commanded and reported that we had not been fired on. As it turned out the Germans had clearly not wished to give themselves away. We skirted the town and, setting a course towards the north-east, flew off in the direction of our airfield. We applied the 'scissors' manoeuvre as we flew, gaining speed to keep as low as possible and avoid ground fire. As we skimmed over an airfield we spotted a couple of airborne Me-109s which had just taken off. We were in a favourable position to attack with no need to deploy. We dived down to attack both. Lesha lead the attack, but after the first salvo his guns jammed. He shouted over the radio, "You continue the attack," which I did. One went down. We overshot the wingman, veered left and departed at hedge-top height for our airfield. We reported back to the commander who decided to send Tolya Malyshev and Vit'ka Alfonskii to attack the fuel train. We told them all we had seen. Malyshev approached his plane behaving in a somewhat unusual manner. I said,

"Tolya, what's the matter?"

"I've got a funny feeling. You know, it's stuck in my memory, being on fire whilst over the Kursk salient."

"Cut it out, Tolya! Good luck!" I retorted.

They flew out in their Yak-3s. An hour passed. The weather was getting steadily worse. A little while later there was the roar of an engine. One Yak came into land. It was Alfonskii.

He told us that they had flown off along our route towards the railway junction. They knew from us that there was no anti-aircraft fire. They had made their first approach on the trains at an angle to remain over the target as long as possible. But as they began to pull away, everything on the ground that could shoot opened up on them. A round hit Malyshev in the feeder tank. Alfonskii said he saw white, then black plumes of smoke coming from Malyshev's plane. Tolya began to be overcome by fumes and so he opened the cockpit canopy. (We flew with the canopy closed. We had been trained to. Incidentally, we also had to be trained in radio skills because initially radios weren't used. Only when the ranks of radio-operator 3rd, 2nd, 1st class and master radio-operator were introduced - and attracted extra pay - did we start using them.) So Tolya opened the canopy. I ought to say that we were flying in German gauze flying helmets. We had got our hands on them just outside Brzeg. Of course, when wearing flying helmets with integral headsets your head starts to sweat and your hair falls out. Even silk skullcaps were no salvation. Flames engulfed Malyshev's head. Alfonskii called out, " Tol'ka, hold on!!!" It was still about 15 km to the front line, but had only some 900 metres of altitude. Clearly he couldn't hold out any longer. He flipped the plane over on its back and ejected. He was captured but returned to the regiment on 13th May.

Breslau (Wroclaw) was taken on 7th May. We remained on combat roster as whole flights. The planes were kept supported on trestles alongside the landing strip. On duty with me were Lesha Pyatak, Yura Danilov and Gena Smirnov. It was approaching lunchtime. The weather was clear and sunny, real spring conditions. Suddenly we saw half a dozen Me-109s brazenly flying towards us along the landing strip at a height of 1500 metres. We were up into the air instantly as the alarm sounded. Following us up were two or three pairs of aircraft from another regiment based here alongside us at the airfield. A dogfight ensued. The group of German planes split apart. One Me-109 was attacking a Yak from a different regiment. It so happened that I was the nearest and best placed to attack the Messerschmitt. I gave one burst, then a second. I saw puffs of smoke from his engine, his flailing propeller halting, the face and expression of the German pilot - looking back over his left shoulder at me, the big white crosses on the wings of his plane. This image is burned into my memory. One more burst of fire, he flipped the plane over onto its wing and limped off towards the front line, trailing smoke.

As evening approached a group of Petlyakov Pe-2s supported by Yaks arrived, having carried out their mission. All the bombers landed and almost all the accompanying fighters. Just one Yak was on its third approach and dropped its undercarriage textbook fashion. Just at that moment a Me-109 attacked it at high speed, coming straight out of the sun at low level. We shouted, as if the pilot could hear, "Look out, there's a Me-109 on your tail!" He had been forewarned over the radio, it seemed. He banked sharply to the left and the Messerschmitt overshot at high speed. The attack failed. But that was not the only incidence of the Fascists coming to get their own back for their compatriots.

On May 8th we transferred to just outside Berlin. The weather was clear. The Regimental Commander ordered me up into the air: "Fly to area such and such..." I flew on and reported, "Prince, this is Swallow -8, carrying out a 204 (i.e. one of a foursome of planes), a mission, please." Came the reply, "Swallow-8, Markov, thanks very much for your work, execute a 555." That was the only number that signified return to base. I said, "Prince, you've made a mistake, other groups have been here, I've just arrived." I got a repeat message: "No mistake, execute 555, thank you for your work." As I was approaching the aerodrome, the regimental commander Kovalev chided me, " I'm serious about this, why has Swallow-8 returned?" I said I'd give a report after I'd landed. The fact of the matter was that our unit's anniversary was designated for the 5th May, but it had been rearranged for the 8th. Six pilots were ordered to remain on duty, the rest get ready for the party. I, though, had a sort of feeling deep inside about this, with everyone sprucing themselves up, so I didn't. And I was proved right, I heard the alarm going off. It was around two o'clock in the afternoon. The whole regiment dashed to the airfield and took off en masse in the direction of Prague. I brought back two holes in my plane - one bullet had hit the feeder pipe, a second had lodged in a wing spar. And with that the war ended. In all I had flown 139 combat missions and had brought down six enemy aircraft.

[bobbysocks]

I, Khukhrikov, Iurii Mikhailovich, am a native Muscovite, in the fourth or even fifth generation. My ancestors were Dorogomilovo coachmen. My great grandfather, Stepan Khukhrikov, was a foreman of the Dorogomilovo coachmen. He drove cargo and passengers in the area of the Kiev Station. There used to be a Khukhrikov Lane, End, and Market in that area. The Khukhrikov Market was before the Borodino Bridge if you walked from the MID (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), when descending toward the Moskva River. I was born in a military family. My father and uncle were military specialists. They had fought starting from 1914, and after the revolution worked in the Main Engineering Directorate of the General Staff starting in 1921. Father had the rank of a colonel, and uncle -- a lieutenant general. I was born in 1924 and lived and went to school at Chistye Prudy, opposite the Coliseum, now it is the Sovremennik Theater.

From 1930 to 1941 I went to School No.311 on Lobkovskii Lane, now it's called Makarenko Lane. I went to school with Iurii Nagibin [a well-known Soviet writer] (that's his mother's last name, back then he was Frumkin). Also with Zhenia Rudneva [Evgeniia Rudneva -- future female night bomber pilot]. She was older than me, and was already in the Aviation Institute before the war. Such were the people with whom I got to go to school.

In 1940, by fair means or foul, I joined an aviation club. They had turned me away from everywhere -- said I was too young. But I finally got what I wanted, and they let me in on the condition that I would bring a note from my parents saying they were not opposed. For the first time I took off into the air on a U-2 in September 1940, at the Kraskovo Airfield near Moscow.

In 1941 I was already 17. We had already flown from Kraskovo to Scherbinka, near Podolsk. There was a very flat field there. We organized an airfield, set up tents, and continued flying. On 1 May 1941 I, as the aviation club student, participated in the last peacetime parade on the Red Square.

In July 1941 I graduated from the club. They gave me a certificate of completion. It would help me out a lot later. All aviation clubs sent their students on to aviation academies. We were supposed to go to Tbilisi. But because the war started, all 1941 graduates were sent to Saratov, where we started flying SBs. They called it a "candle". It was completely unprotected, and besides that, made of duralumin -- any bullet or shell fragment caused a fire. I started flying it, and then an order came from the Defense Ministry: "Transfer the Saratov academy to the Airborne Forces". Soon they brought in gliders: US-4, US-5, Sh-10, G-9, "Stakhanovets". These were all sports models. There were also ones for airborne troops -- "RotFront-8" and "RotFront-11". Experienced instructors also came -- Iudin, Anokhin, and others. We immediately started flying gliders. We would be towed by U-2, R-5, SB, Douglas, and others. This way we gained experience. The plane would make a circle and at the height of 500-600 meters we would detach. We circled and were supposed to land near a landing sign. You couldn't afford to make a mistake in these gliders. For example, after making the last turn, if you miscalculated, you could fall before the landing signs, there was nothing to pull you up -- no engine! So you would fall. That's why we made our approach aiming to overshoot. And in order to descend, we banked and dived, which allowed us to lose altitude, and then landed with a minor deviation. We flew not in Saratov, but about 30 kilometers from the city, German villages were there. The residents had been deported. Villages remained unoccupied. That was where we lived and flew. Wide Volga steppe. A nice place to fly a glider.

Besides that I went through training as a diversionary group commander: explosives, hand to hand combat, fought dogs. Yes! Yes! We put on gloves, coats, and fought dogs. Like everyone, in October 1941, I submitted a request to be transferred to fighter aviation. It worked! On December 31 I was transferred to a fighter aviation academy. There we immediately began flying UT-1, UT-2, I-16. Our Belyi Kliuch Airfield was located 18 kilometers from Ul'ianovsk, not far from the Volga. Excellent airfield, good approaches.

Yes, I forgot to mention that in October I and my comrade Boria Bezrukov, with whom we had gone to school and the aviation club, and later found ourselves at the Saratov academy, had to deliver some things to Moscow. They were bales, boxes -- we came, signed, turned over the cargo. Then Boria and I decided, as patriots, to go to the front.

We infiltrated to the forward positions. Found rifles, fired them. 45mm guns were deployed next to us, real soldiers were there. Already experienced people. The Special Department worked well in that area. They found us out, that we were strangers:

"Who are you? Where from?" We told them everything that happened.

"What do you have?" That's where the certificates from the aviation club and the papers about our trip to Moscow helped us out.

"Get out and don't come back!" We picked up and ran. We got lucky with transport -- came to Saratov and no one found out about it. All of that took no more than a week, at least it went unnoticed. But I did get the "For the Defense of Moscow" medal. After I left for Ul'ianovsk from Saratov, Boria was killed. When we would fly gliders at night, 8 men sat in each glider as passengers. He happened to fly as a passenger. The glider caught up with the plane, the cable caught on a wing and tore it off. Everyone was killed.

We started to train in Ul'ianovsk -- and then an order came to retrain for IL-2.

A.D. The aircraft were delivered?

Yes. They brought in more than 30 from Kuibyshev.

I graduated from the Ul'ianovsk academy in 1943. Why so long? I was lucky! Many graduated after the war ended! They picked out only the most gifted, so they would teach us as little as possible -- there was no fuel.
So they sent us to a reserve airfield at Diad'kov, which was 18 kilometers north of Dmitrov. That's where pilots learned combat skills -- bombing, shooting. All of that took literally several hours. Possibilities were limited. A buyer from the front would come -- and we would go with him. Zhora Parshin came for us -- he was an ace! A ground attack pilot! He shot down ten aircraft in an IL! He fought from the first day of the war and to the end. Excellent man. I met him often later in Leningrad on the Liteinyi Avenue. It was 1944 when he took us. We found ourselves in the 566th Ground Attack Aviation Regiment. This regiment was the first to get its own honorary name -- Solnechnogorsk. It fought there, at Moscow. Everyone died, to a man. From 1941 only Afonia Machnyi remained, and even he lost his mind after half a hundred sorties, from 1942 -- only Leva Korchagin remained, from 1943 -- a little more, and so on. During the war the regiment lost 105 pilots and 50 gunners. 28 of us came to the division -- 15 were killed. Such were the losses.

I was put into the 1st Squadron of the 566th Regiment. Mykhlik was the squadron commander. Future Twice the Hero of the Soviet Union. We were lucky -- it was a period between operations, there was an opportunity to train, fly in formation, go into the zone. War began, and we started working at full steam in the Baltics. The regiment mostly fought in the Central and Leningrad fronts.

We fought in IL-2. It was an excellent aircraft for those times! Carried 600 kilograms of bombs, 8 rockets, 300 23mm shells for VIa cannon (150 per gun), and 1800 rounds for each machine gun -- 3600 rounds. The gunner had a 12.7mm Berezin machine gun, 10 DAG-10 distance aviation grenades for the protection of the lower rear hemisphere. If a German appeared, you would press a switch, and a grenade would fall on a parachute and explode 150 meters away. Besides that, an infantry submachine gun and grenades.

A.D. They say IL-2 was difficult to handle?

No. Not at all. I-16 -- yes. Especially when landing.

A.D. How useful do you think the rear gunner was?

The gunner was necessary. His usefulness is beyond question.

A.D. Did you already have all metal IL-2?

Yes. All aircraft were already equipped with radios. The only thing was that we sat on gasoline: a tank under me, a tank in front, a tank between me and the gunner. We were all in gasoline.

We started in the Baltics, went through Prussia, and finished in Wittenberg, from where we flew sorties to Koenigsberg and even Danzig.

We got hit a couple of times. A shell hit a wing on the twenty-eighth sortie. We made it back miraculously -- the hole was about a meter in size. If a bullet hits, the smell of burned metal can be felt. I smelled it. Turned my head -- there it was, a hole. But I was lucky -- the shock wave and fragments went to the gunner. His legs were mangled. Communications were disrupted. We landed in Wittenberg. I taxied, turned off the engine, jumped out onto the wing -- the gunner, Viktor Shakhaev, Siberian, born in 1926, was just lying there. Guys ran to us, pulled him out. Barely saved his legs. But it turned out that I was also hit. A fragment scratched the back of my head. Where did it manage to penetrate? They wanted to put me in a hospital, but I refused. War ended for me in Wittenberg. I had flown 84 sorties.

In the end of May 1945 men were selected from the regiments of our division for the Victory Parade. They picked out men about 1 meter 80 centimeters tall and sent them to Koenigsberg to drill. Our sergeant was a brilliant drill instructor. So he drilled us. In the beginning of June we were put on a train and rode toward Moscow. There we were formed into a combined battalion of pilots of the 3rd Belorussian Front. Our commander was General Prutkov, commander of the 1st Guards Stalingrad Ground Attack Air Division. They gave us tunics, boots, caps. It was a merry, nice atmosphere. We lived in the Chernyshevskie barracks, not far from Shabolovka. Where did we walk? VDNKh, at the Crimean Bridge, some other places. Special Voroshilov rations in the mess, even white bread on plates. I must say at the front the food was also excellent. The parade was on June 24. I also went to the banquet.

A.D. Did you fly as a wingman or a leader?

Everyone was at first a wingman at the front. Vasia Mykhlik and I flew about 40 sorties. He went to Moscow to get his Star (Gold Star of the Hero of the Soviet Union - trans.) and came back only in the end of April. I was already a leader. The last two sorties I already led eight -- basically a squadron. That was May 8. The first sortie was at 10 in the morning, and the second around 2pm. To the Zemland Peninsula. We worked over its very edge. Returned. They refueled us for the third sortie. We taxied, waited for the order. The Chief of Staff Nikolai Ivanovich Borkov ran to us: "Iura, taxi back. It's over!" We turned off our engines, fired into the air in joy. The war was over! And then I flew ILs and MIGs for a long time.

A.D. They say that there were 7 killed gunners for each killed pilot, is that true?

No. Let me explain. We had 105 pilots and 50 gunners killed, why? Because the regiment fought from the beginning to the end of the war. The first half of the war in one-seater aircraft. And the second half -- in two-seaters. And most of the time, they died together. A ground attack aircraft pilot, according to the statistics, managed to fly 7-8 sorties and then died. Such were statistics.

A.D. Were you escorted by fighters?

Always. Very often during the Prussian operation we were escorted by Normandie-Niemen.

A.D. Were missions assigned to eights?

Not necessarily. Depended on the mission.

A.D. What missions did you get most often?

Usually the bombing of the forward positions. I went to reconnoiter on foot once. The infantry commander said: "You guys don't have to shoot. Fly here and show yourselves. That would be enough. And if you bomb, you'll always be welcome guests!" Sunk ships in ports, 4 times flew against airfields. That was scary business! They were well protected. Worked on armor concentrations. Well, against those targets armies -- hundreds of aircraft -- were sent, in order to wipe everything off the face of the earth.

A.D. What was more dangerous, enemy anti-aircraft artillery or fighters?

AA artillery. Of course, in the beginning of the war fighters really made the lives of ground attack pilots difficult. But by the end of the war -- AA artillery. That was scary business! Several dozen small caliber AA guns were deployed and would fire into the same spot. And all around black clouds from medium caliber AA guns. You would fly and not know which of them would... kiss you. Of course, we performed an anti-AAA maneuver.

We usually flew 50 by 30 -- 50 meter interval and 30 meter distance. When approaching the frontline we spread out -- 150 meter interval. And threw our planes side to side. Then we would get into a circle above the target and start working it. Little ones [fighters] would cover us. Those were the mechanics.

A.D. How many passes would you make?

It depended on the situation. There could be such counteraction -- Lord help us! Then it would only be one pass. You would use everything at once -- rockets, guns, bombs. If the counteraction was not that great, then several -- 4, 6 times. The leader would snake away, allowing the wingmen to catch up. We approached the target in formation, if weather allowed at the altitude of 1200-1400 meters, and departed after assembling, also in formation, at the same altitude.

A.D. What was the most vulnerable spot of IL-2?

The engine. Wings were fine, more or less. If a fuel tank was hit, that wasn't bad either, why? When approaching the target we opened carbon dioxide canisters, which filled the empty space of fuel tanks. If a bullet pierced the body and hit a fuel tank, the sealer would fill the hole, fuel would not leak out, there would be no vapor, and consequently no combustion.

A.D. How effective were rockets?

They were 82mm rockets. Of course, we fired them into the general vicinity. But at the forward positions targets were all over, so heavy was the concentration of forces and vehicles. A group would work -- one missed, another would hit the target for sure. We also carried RS-132, but only 2 of them. In that case we took less bombs -- only 200 kg. But usually we took RS-82, sometimes 16 of them.

A.D. And did you install 37mm guns?

We had 37mm guns, 40 shells per gun. I didn't fly one of those. They didn't work out.

A.D. Was the German infantry well covered?

They covered themselves in only one way -- concentration of AA defenses. Not single guns, but concentrated in quadrants. I would sometimes count up to 40 guns -- an uninterrupted stream of bullets. Small caliber AA artillery was especially dangerous.

A.D. Did you attack from a dive?

Always from a dive, 30-40 degrees. You wouldn't have time to fire everything at a steeper angle. 30-40 degrees -- that is the angle that provided the complete use of all weapons.

A.D. Did you use anti-tank bombs?

Yes. We took about 280 of them. There were also 25 kg, 50 kg, and 100 kg bombs -- 4 bomb hatches, 600 kg load. We would bomb from the altitude not lower than 1400-1500 meters. If there were low clouds, 400-600 meters, but then we put in delayed fuses.

A.D. About how many sorties did you fly per day?

Sometimes 3... but that was a lot. A lot.

If someone says it wasn't scary -- they're lying. The moment of expectation was the scariest and most unpleasant. For example they would say: "1400 such and such airfield". You sit there: 1400 -- nothing, 1430 -- nothing, 1500 -- no order! Or you sit in the cockpit, waiting for a rocket, and nothing. Legs start shaking. A real panic starts. After all, there was no guarantee that you wouldn't be shot down during the mission. When a rocket would shoot up into the air your head would start working in a different direction, panic would be turned off. Then there was an unpleasant feeling when we approached the target but would not be attacking it immediately. They would be prepared for us and fire. After the attack started -- that was it, the pilot was at work, looking for targets, pushing triggers, rockets, guns, machine guns, pulling the ASSh-41 (emergency bomb release. Bombs could be released by the buttons, or if you wanted to release them all at once, you pulled that lever).

A.D. How was the effectiveness of a sortie determined?

Everyone had a gun camera, which was working when you were firing the guns. If you set a vehicle on fire, it wold be recorded. If you worked a tank, that would also be recorded. Besides that, gunners could have wide area cameras. There would usually be a couple of them per group. It covered a large area, and after we landed the film was printed. Besides that, when approaching the front line we established communications with the observer, usually a representative of the air division. We could recognize his voice. He would literally aim us: "Guys, a little to the right. OK. Now." Gave us the permission to attack. Told us where the bombs were falling. On the second pass introduced corrections. His confirmations were taken into account.

A.D. And how did you break in new pilots?

The usual. After the school pilots were sent to a reserve air regiment. There they passed through a short combat course. Bombing and strafing ground targets with cannon and machine guns. Then a buyer would come in. We were considered to be relatively ready for combat work.

A.D. And in the regiment?

After the above procedure we were flown in to the regiment and allocated to squadrons. Squadron commander would fly with each one, taking measure of everyone's level of preparedness, and picked out his wingman. I immediately became squadron commander's partner. I flew only with him. I loved flying and was almost always first.

A.D. Were there any IL-10 in your unit?

Of course. But only after the war. Their qualities were the same. Same weight, gunner, crew commander, pilot. The structure was more compact. Wing area was a little smaller. Same armament. Two cannon and two machine guns. Slightly different range. But mainly it was the same thing.

A.D. Did you ever hit friendlies?

We had Twice the Hero [of the Soviet Union] Len'ka (Leonid) Beda, we had gone to school together. An untidy person. Although, you shouldn't say anything bad about the dead. Once a general came, we were formed up. The general noticed him:

"Last name?"

"Beda" ("Beda" means "trouble" in Russian -- trans.)

"I am asking you what your last name is!"

"Beda, comrade commander!"

Len'ka killed 118 men at the end of the war. It wasn't his fault, they told him before the mission: "Bomb that target". But he had to get there first. Maybe 30 minutes. While they were flying there, the situation changed. We captured that place, but no one reported to him. The group worked the target -- 118 of our soldiers died. He returned, they tore off his shoulder boards, but immediately investigated, returned them. Later he was the Air Force Commander of the Belorussian Military District.

A.D. Have you ever encountered enemy aircraft?

I've never had to participate in a dogfight, but the rear gunner didn't sit without work -- after pulling out from an attack he fired at ground targets.

A.D. Were there any cases of cowardice?

There were single occurrences of cowardice. There was one time, when N. was leading a large group, about 20 aircraft, he turned away before reaching the target, the entire group returned to the airfield. Court martial. Gave him seven years. But he fought well afterward -- 4 Orders of the Red Banner. There were sly people as well. A small number, but there were some. He would gain altitude. We fly, attack, but he just hangs there, then descends to 1000 meters, releases the bomb load, gets in formation. But we see everything.

A.D. Did you beat him up?

Warned him. Told him: "Sasha, you do this one more time, we'll shoot you down". He was disrupting our interaction! We flew at a distance of 600 meters, he climbed, therefore the distance became 1200. Interaction was disrupted. The warning worked.

A.D. Were there penal ground attack squadrons?

No. They would send offending officers to us, not necessarily pilots. They would fly 10 sorties as rear gunners.

A.D. What was considered a combat sortie?

Only bombing enemy targets with photo confirmation.

A.D. Did you lose aircraft for technical reasons?

Technicians worked well. If a plane didn't return for technical reasons, something happened, that was very serious. Such occurrences were investigated.

A.D. Did you have to manipulate the engine's modes of operation?

Yes, of course. It was easy to do.

A.D. Did you use any special tactics?

Yes. You would make the first pass, second one, then they would say from the ground: "Wait a little, when the infantry passes, we'll redirect you to other targets". So we work this target, stay in the air, and then we work other targets based on the commands from the observation post.

A.D. Did you fly during operational pauses?

The most intense activity was during operations. Then we flew a lot, but for that time was needed, and corresponding preparation. Crews, equipment were being prepared. During pauses between operations we flew anyway. Performed tactical missions. Of course, with smaller forces. We would be sent to support infantry or to destroy columns on the march. For example, Pokryshkin flew more than 500 sorties. Participated in 84 dogfights. Shot down 59 aircraft. I also have 84 combat sorties. But if you translate our effectiveness into money, I wouldn't be short of him. Be sure of that. Of course, ground attack pilots' hands are covered in blood up to the elbows. But it was our duty, and I think we did a first class job. Did everything we could. Well, and God didn't pass us by with "crosses".

[bobbysocks]

south african friends...

August and September 1944 have poignant memories for Poles and South African airmen. By August 1, 1944, the Russians had advanced to within a few miles east of Warsaw. General "Bor" Komorowski and other leaders of the Polish underground resistance (the "Home Army") judged the time right for rebellion against Nazi occupying forces. Stalin thought otherwise, as he had his own plans for post-war Poland. He halted his troops 15 miles east of the Vistula River within 48 hours when the Home Army decided to go into action, encouraged by previous promises of Soviet's support.
In desperation, the Home Army appealed to Britain and America for much needed arms, amunition, and medical supplies. These could only be delivered by air-drops. Again Stalin said "Nyet". This time to the reasonable suggestion that aircraft might land in Russian-held territory to re-fuel. The Liberators of SAAF 2 Wing - 31 and 34 Squadrons - based at Foggia in Southern Italy, and Halifaxes, flown by the RAF, whose 148 and 178 Squadrons, as well as Polish Flight No. 1586, also took part. The proposed supply*drops meant a journey of 1600 km out over heavily defended occupied territory; roof-top height approach to the dropping zones in flames of the burning city; and another 1600 km back to base - if they were lucky.
Out of 186 sorties, 92 were considered successful. That is, the Home Army were able to retrieve some of the material dropped. Thirty-one aircraft were lost - 17 on the four terrible nights of August 13-16. 69 lives of South African pilots were lost during this operation.
The Poles have long memories for their friends. To this day, flowers are laid on the graves of the airmen who did not make it; a special memorial has been placed in St Anne's Church, Warsaw; and another built by the late Bronek Kowalski (former officer of the Polish Home Army) at Michalin where a Liberator piloted by Jack van Eyssen crashed after the supply drop, with the loss of three crew members. Those were Bob Hamilton, Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson.
Every year, without exemption, since 1947 a commemoration service and function is held by Polish Community in Johannesburg to honour those who fell. Initially the venue was a Cenotaph Memorial in the centre of the city. Since 1981, service is being held at the Katyn Memorial erected in memory of Polish prisoners of war who were murdered by the Soviet security forces. In 1989, monument was extended to honour South African Airmen who tookpart in the Relief Flights.
"Poland will never forget her faithful friends who went to her help in her hour of isolation and despair" - these were significant words of H.E. Stanislaw Cieniuch - first Ambassador of the truly independent Poland during the Warsaw Flights commemoration of the year 1991.
Relief Flights did not achieve its military objectives, mostly due to the political scene of post-war Europe. However, commemorations held through the years have cemented bonds of friendship between the Poles and their South African friends. SASF effort have become one of the important links in Polish struggle for independence, although it came 45 years later.
In Michalin near Warsaw there is an annual event taking place to commemorate Flights and Airmen who died there. After untimely death of Bronek Kowalski monument marking the place where they fell requires renovation. Polish artists who did visit South Africa are organising fund raising concert in the Ateneum theatre in Warsaw on the 1st of June 2001. It is entitled "Polish Artists for South African Airmen". List of the performers is compiled of the best in Poland. Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs is most likely to take patronage of this event. Support is also given by the diplomatic corps with South African Ambassador Sikose Mji heading the list. Chief of SAAF will sent his representative. Polish businessmen are also helping to collect funds. The monument will receive maintenance free finishes throughout.

[bobbysocks]

a little more about poland...the warsaw airlift

Major J.L. van Eyssen, DFC:

At 17:00 on 1 August 1944, General Bor-Komorosky ordered the AK to rise against the oppressors and the die was cast. Fierce fighting erupted in most parts of Warsaw. The element of surprise aided the AK which, after five days had seventy percent of the city under its control. There was, however, no sign of the promised Russian intervention. The well-armed Germans received reinforcements and gradually stemmed, then turned, the tide, but not without heavy losses. The Poles were running low on food and ammunition, but still no assistance from the Soviets was forthcoming. The Russians, indeed, did not so much as reply to the Poles' call for help. The Polish government in London appealed to the Russians for help or simply co-operation, but Stalin flatly refused even to grant permission for aircraft based in Britain to land behind Russian lines.
Warsaw is about 910 miles (1,464 km) from Britain on the 'Great Circle Course', but in order to avoid German air defences in the Reich, a detour had to be taken which made the journey closer to 1,100 miles (1,770 km). The return journey of 2,200 miles (3,540 km) was, of course, out of the question. Churchill then ordered that relief be flown to Warsaw from Italy which is a little closer, some 815 miles (1,311 km) on the Great Circle. This route also involved flying over heavily defended points. The task was allocated to 205 Group of which I was a member.
General Durrant went to see Air Marshal Slessor and was surprised to be admitted to the presence of Winston Churchill himself who was in an adjoining office. General Durrant pointed out to Churchill that an airlift of 1,000 miles (1,609 km), most of it over enemy occupied territory, could hold no hope of military success and that the loss of airmen and aircraft would be tremendous. Although Churchill agreed with him, he nevertheless insisted that the operation be proceeded with, if only for reasons of propaganda and morale.
It is perhaps appropriate at this point to provide a brief technical description of the Consolidated B24 Liberator in which the Group's crews were to undertake the Warsaw Airlift. For the job on hand it was the best of the big allied bombers. (The enormous Boeing B29 Superfortress had not yet made its appearance.) The Avro Lancaster was fast and had a large payload but its range was shorter than that of the Liberator and, furthermore, there were none of them in Italy. The Handley Page Halifax had a smaller payload and shorter range than the Liberator although they were used in the Warsaw Airlift by the R.A.F. and the Poles. The legendary but overrated Boeing B17 Flying Fortress had neither the speed nor the payload capacity of the Liberator. In addition to ammunition, oil and crew, the Liberator could carry a further disposable load of 2,600 pounds (1,180 kg) which was made up of petrol and payload. Her maximum permitted take-off weight was 33 tons (33,530 kg). She was powered by four Pratt and Whitney double bank radial engines of the same design as those fitted to the Douglas DC3 Dakota. However, while the latter aircraft has only the engine-driven supercharger and develops 1,100 horse power (820 KW), the Liberator had an additional turbo super- charger which raised the horse-power to 1,400 (1,044 KW). Shortened engine life was, of course, of little consequence in wartime and engine performance enjoyed priority. The indicated airspeed of the Liberator was 180 m.p.h. (290 k.p.h.) which increased to 190 m.p.h. (306 k.p.h.) when the aircraft was adjusted for altitude and temperature. On return from a target, the bombs having been dropped and much of the fuel having been used up, cruising speed rose to about 210 m.p.h. (338 k.p.h.). In emergencies, on full power, the Liberator was capable of a lot more. Her defensive armament against fighter and ground attack consisted of six 0,50 inch calibre heavy machine guns. Because our aircraft operated mainly at night, the two forward firing guns and the ball turret underneath were removed.
The Liberators were fitted with, what was for those times, the most modern electronic equipment, including the GEE box and the radio altimeter. They were equipped with the Air Ministry bombsight which was, with respect to our Allies from across the Atlantic, superior to their Norden bombsight.
When it was known that we had to fly 2,000 miles (3,218 km) non stop, we had to take a new look at the question of payload versus fuel load. On conventional bombing raids we loaded sufficient fuel for the distance to be covered plus an additional twenty five percent in case of emergency. The balance was bomb load. For this operation the maximum fuel load of 2,300 gallons (13,639 t) would have to see us to the target and back with barely ten percent excess. As we had to carry the maximum payload, we exceeded the permitted take-off weight by one ton (1,016 kg).
Each aircraft carried twelve canisters in its bomb racks. The canisters were crammed with light machine guns, ammunition, hand-grenades, radio equipment, food and medical supplies and had parachutes attached to them to slow their rate of fall.
When planning commenced, two chilling prospects arose. The first was that, due to the long days in the northern hemisphere at the time, we would have to cross the enemy coast in sunlight, both going and returning. The second was that we did not have sufficient aircraft to 'saturate' enemy defences in the form of searchlights, ground-to-air fire and fighters. We had to take a 'zig-zag' course in order to miss G.C.I. (ground controlled interception) areas.
Our Liberators had to take a long run to take-off and all rose sturdily into the air without any having to resort to the emergency boost override. As the aircraft climbed, course was set across the Adriatic. The enemy coast was soon reached in summer sunshine and, although we felt too exposed for comfort, we drew consolation from the fact that fighters could not surprise us as easily as they could in the darkness. The pilot and his gunners formed a very closely knit team, particularly when the aircraft was attacked by fighters. The pilots seldom accorded the fighters the courtesy of flying straight and level and turned violently up or down at the last second to spoil their aim and at the same time to give their gunners the advantage with their heavy machine guns.
Darkness had set in and soon the Danube came into view as a thin blue ribbon. To the north lay the Carpathian mountains – and bad weather. We were tossed about in the clouds and frequently 'lit up' by lightning. At times our propeller discs created blue circles and blue flames trailed from wing tips and other projections. This frightening although harmless phenomenon is also seen on the masts of ships at night. Sailors call it St Elmo's fires.
North of the Carpathians the weather cleared and we altered course away from Cracow which we knew to be a night fighter training centre for the Luftwaffe. A further course alteration led towards Warsaw. Before long we picked up jazz music from Radio Warsaw which was just what we wanted as it meant that we were out of the range of GEE. Our radio compass needle led us directly to the city which first showed as a glow on the horison. We started to lose height and, as we drew closer to the city, were shocked by what we saw, in spite of having been told what to expect at the briefing. Rows upon rows of buildings were on fire sending clouds of smoke thousands of feet into the air. The smoke was, in turn, illuminated from below by the fires. It was obvious that a life or death struggle was taking place before us.
According to our briefing we were to fly north along the Vistula dropping to 200 feet (61 m) and then to turn left about a cathedral in the north of the city. We were then to turn south keeping the river on our left, to open bomb doors and to drop lower still to about 150 feet (45 m). By using optimum flap we could keep our large aircraft under control at only 130 m.p.h. (209 k.p.h.). A greater speed could have snapped the shroud lines on the canister parachutes. We had to continue until we saw the letter of the night flashed in morse from the ground. When we saw it we had to drop all of our canisters together and get away as fast as possible.
An aircraft is most vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire at a height of 3,000 feet (914 m) to 5,000 feet (1,524 m). Over Warsaw, our aircraft attracted fire from hand-held machine guns, rifles and even pistols! Poor visibility due to smoke was also a serious hazard.
From 4 August until early September 1944, 196 sorties took off for Warsaw of which eighty-five reached the target area and thirty-nine aircraft were lost.
The Airlift could not save the gallant Polish Army. While the Polish army was being destroyed, the Russians sat idly by a bare 20 miles (32 km) away. Stalin realized that his western allies strongly disapproved of his handling of the Warsaw Rising and for the sake of 'window dressing', he was seen to relent, but only when he knew that it was too late. He granted permission for American aircraft based in Britain which were flying supplies to Warsaw to refuel behind Russian lines. On 18 September 1944, 107 U.S.A.A.F. planes dropped supplies from so great a height that less than twenty percent of the supplies reached Polish hands.
The Russians later, for 'window dressing' purposes. did drop supplies to the AK but made sure that these would be of little use. The Russian canisters were dropped without parachutes so that much of the contents was damaged. The firearms which the Russians supplied were so inferior as to have seemed to have been factory rejects while the cartridges which they provided were of a calibre which would not fit any of the Polish arms.
The Warsaw Rising failed and General Bor-Komorosky surrendered on 2 October 1944. The spirit of the Poles that died then seems to have been inherited by the following generation which has only recently clearly demonstrated that it does not intend to accept communist domination. Some day the Poles must again be free.
The Warsaw Airlift occasioned acts of individual heroism which should not be forgotten. Second Lieutenant 'Bob' Burgess became the youngest recipient of the DSO (Distinguished Service Order) after he, as second pilot, took command of a crippled Liberator and flew it eastwards to safety. The pilot had, without a word to his crew, stepped out into the night, as it were, by parachute. Burgess, who had never before landed a Liberator did so skilfully at first light.
Major 'Bill' Senn was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) for bringing back a badly damaged Liberator all the way from Warsaw to Foggia in spite of the fact that he had been wounded.
The Late Nick Groenewald found himself falling through the night sky, after his Liberator had blown up over Warsaw, with his parachute pack in his hand like a briefcase. He clipped it on to his harness and opened it, fortunately, in time. He did however suffer facial burns. Polish doctors performed skin grafts on his burns after which he volunteered to fight with the AK to the end.
My aircraft was also shot down. The survivors of my crew and I eventually arrived in Moscow where an amusing incident occurred. A Royal Navy admiral attached to the British Military Mission in Moscow sent a car to take me to the Kremlin. I was given to understand that I was to attend a conference and that the agenda touched upon our mining of the Danube. The admiral led me into a room where about twenty senior naval officers were already seated, all of whom were Russians. The Royal Navy admiral took the only remaining seat and I had to stand. I soon realised that this was not to be a conference at all but, rather, an interrogation. The senior Russian officer, who appeared to be an admiral of extremely high rank, sat at the head of the table and put questions to me through an interpreter. At first the atmosphere was not unfriendly, and I answered all his 'bread and butter' questions such as where had I come from, what was I doing, what was the general performance of the Liberator or like. He then warmed to his point and asked me where, when, from what height and at what speed I had dropped the mines and how many I had dropped. I answered all of these questions. Then came the question to which he had been building up and that was how the mines worked. My answer was simple. I did not know. When this answer was translated for my interrogator he flew into a frenzy while all the others glared at me as if I were the devil himself.
The interpreter's task was a difficult one indeed. Before he had translated the first of the ravings, more were added at a higher pitch and volume. The message that came through to me was that we were Allies and the Russians had borne the brunt of the war against the worst tyrant in history and there was I purposely denying them vital information. When eventually I had the opportunity to speak, I explained that the mines were top secret, even in the Royal Navy, that our squadron armourers were not allowed to see them and that they were loaded into our bomb-bays by Royal Navy armourers and the bomb-doors shut. I ended by telling them that my orders were to carry the mines and drop them, not to design, build or maintain them. At that juncture the Royal Navy admiral and I were dismissed. Once we had arrived back at the admiral's office I asked him what the interrogation had been all about. He told me that the Russians had overrun quite a stretch of the Danube and that our mines, still being active, were blowing up Russian shipping. When I exclaimed that that news was the best that I had heard in months, the admiral agreed with me but added that I should not quote him.
The Airlift failed in its purpose but it served to cement a bond between Poles and South Africans based on mutual respect and sincere friendship. Evidence of this are the annual commemoration services arranged by our local Polish community. But there is further evidence, and in this lies a wonderful story. A letter from the Director of Information Services of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, tells of a selfless and public-spirited Pole, one Bronislaw Kowalski, who has, on his own initiative, and over a period of years, erected a shrine in the woods near the village of Michalin, some thirty kilometres south-east of Warsaw. The shrine marks the exact spot where a S.A.A.F. Liberator crashed in flames at midnight on 14/15 August 1944. It was erected to the memory of three airmen who died there that night, namely, Second Lieutenant R.G. 'Bob' Hamilton and Sergeants Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson. In his garden Kowalski built another shrine in which a light burns day and night and has done so over a number of years.
The remains of the three airmen had long before been moved to the military cemetery near Cracow where they are buried together with the other S.A.A.F., R.A.F. and Polish Air Force casualties in perfectly tended graves.

[bobbysocks]

Born in 1908, Gerben Sonderman served in the Dutch navy in 1929-1930. After that he learned to fly. He had considerable talent for that. IN 1935 he was accepted by the LVA (Dutch airforce) despite the fact that he was already 26. He became best known as chief testpilot for Fokker, where he tested all the new a/c, like the G.I, D.XXI, D.XXIII, T.V, T.IX etc. While being testpilot, he was still in the LVA, assigned to 3rd JaVA, flying G.I’s from Rotterdam Waalhaven.

On May 10th, at around 3.55h, He111’s attacked Waalhave airport. Gerben Sonderman was one of the 3 pilots “on alert”. Sonderman was already in his cockpit (G.I 311) when his gunner sgt. Holwerda arrived at the a/c. They had never met before, as Holwerda was just transferred to the 3rd Java the day before. Not knowing who the man was, Sonderman signaled Holwerda to take away the chocks. Sonderman immediately taxied away, giving Holwerda hardly the chance to climb in his seat. As soon as he had taken off, Sonderman found a Ju52 above him, which he shot down. As soon as he shot the Ju52, he got some Bf109E’s on his tail. His radio was shot to pieces, but Sonderman could maneuver out of his position and somehow managed to appear again behind the Bf109’s. One Bf109 was shot on fire, after which it fell into the Rotterdam Harbor.
Meanwhile, Holwerda in the back didn’t know what was happening. He was not used to Sonderman’s precise and brilliant way of flying. He was only able to brace himself and never fired the gun.
Sonderman was attacked again by many Bf109’s, but he managed to avoid them. One Bf109 did a head on pass on the G.I. Sonderman avoided collision and while doing so shot down this Bf109 as well.
Sonderman withdrew to save some ammunition and flew in formation with 2 other G.I’s (328 and 334). West of Rotterdam, Sonderman spotted a He111 which he attacked. The He111 made an emergency landing near Rockanje. (Sonderman never claimed this victory).
Waalhaven being occupied by German paratroopers, Sonderman had no choice then to land the G.I on the beach without fuel. There the aircraft was later destroyed by German bombing.

Sonderman didn’t fly again in may 1940. He got a special assignment to go to Belgium. Sonderman decided to stay in occupied territory and became later a major player in the Dutch resistance. of to After the war, he became Prince Bernhard’s personal pilot and also resumed his duties at Fokker. He made fame by his daring and precisely flown demo’s. While demonstrating the S.14 jet trainer for Rockwell in the USA, Gerben Sonderman died in a crash. It is speculated that he suffered from a bleeding in his brain, becoming unconscious, while performing a vrille.

Quotes:
Sonderman after the war about his flight:

"Someone took away the chocks and then stepped in…He probably was a radio operator, but he was only ballast. As the radio was broken and he didn’t fire a shot. I tried to get his attention by shaking the plane, but he stayed where he was and didn’t move. I thought he was killed and didn’t pay attention anymore. I was very surprised to see him stepping out of the plane after landing….. I still don’t know his name."

Sonderman received many awards. Amongst others:
The King’s medal for courage (GB)
Bronzen leeuw (NL)
Medal of freedom (USA)
Ridder in de order van Oranje Nassau (Knighthood, NL)

[grislawskijg52]

Can you get something on Pat Pattle for next week? Seems to very little info on the greatest RAF pilot of them all.

[bobbysocks]

there's not a lot on prattle but here's an exerpt from roald dahl's book

"Somebody behind a desk in Athens or Cairo had decided that for once our entire force of Hurricanes in Greece, all twelve of us, should go up together. The inhabitants of Athens, so it seemed, were getting jumpy and it was assumed that the sight of us all flying overhead would boost their morale. So on 20 April 1941, on a golden springtime morning at ten o'clock, all twelve of us took off one after the other and got into a tight formation over Elevsis airfield. Then we headed for Athens, which was no more than four minutes' flying time away.

Round and round Athens we went, and I was so busy trying to prevent my starboard wing–tip from scraping against the plane next to me that this time I was in no mood to admire the grand view of the Parthenon or any of the other famous relics below me. Our formation was being led by Flight–Lieutenant Pat Pattle. Now Pat Pattle was a legend in the RAF. At least he was a legend around Egypt and the Western Desert and in the mountains of Greece. He was far and away the greatest fighter ace the Middle East was ever to see, with an astronomical number of victories to his credit. I myself had never spoken to him and I am sure he hadn't the faintest idea who I was. I wasn't anybody. I was just a new face in a squadron whose pilots took very little notice of each other anyway. But I had observed the famous Flight–Lieutenant Pattle in the mess tent several times. He was a very small man and very soft–spoken, and he possessed the deeply wrinkled doleful face of a cat who knew that all nine of its lives had already been used up.

On that morning of 20 April, Flight–Lieutenant Pattle, the ace of aces, who was leading our formation of twelve Hurricanes over Athens, was evidently assuming that we could all fly as brilliantly as he could, and he led us one hell of a dance around the skies above the city. Suddenly the whole sky around us seemed to explode with German fighters. They came down on us from high above, not only 109s but also the twin–engined 110s. Watchers on the ground say that there cannot have been fewer than 200 of them around us that morning.

I can remember seeing our tight little formation all peeling away and disappearing among the swarms of enemy aircraft, and from then on, wherever I looked I saw an endless blur of enemy fighters whizzing towards me from every side. They came from above and they came from behind and they made frontal attacks from dead ahead, and I threw my Hurricane around as best I could and whenever a Hun came into my sights, I pressed the button. It was truly the most breathless and in a way the most exhilarating time I have ever had in my life. The sky was so full of aircraft that half my time was spent in actually avoiding collisions. I am quite sure that the German planes must have often got in each other's way because there were so many of them, and that probably saved quite a number of our skins.

I remember walking over to the little wooden Operations Room to report my return and as I made my way slowly across the grass I suddenly realized that the whole of my body and all my clothes were dripping with sweat. Then I found that my hand was shaking so much I could't put the flame to the end of the cigarette. The doctor, who was standing nearby, came up and lit it for me. I looked at my hands again. It was ridiculous the way they were shaking. It was embarrassing. I looked at the other pilots. They were all holding cigarettes and their hands were all shaking as much as mine were. But I was feeling pretty good. I had stayed up there for thirty minutes and they hadn't got me.

They got five of our twelve Hurricanes in that battle. Among the dead was the great Pat Pattle, all his lucky lives used up at last."

[bobbysocks]

Sunderland vs. eight Ju 88's


There were 11 crewmen on board the Sunderland, including nine Australians and two British. The crew was on an anti-submarine patrol and also searching for remains of BOAC Flight 777, an airliner that had left Gibraltar the day before and subsequently had been shot down over the Bay of Biscay.

In the late afternoon, one of the crew spotted the eight Ju 88s. Bombs and depth charges were dumped while the pilot, Walker, "redlined" the engines. Two Ju 88s made passes at the flying boat, one from each side, scoring hits while the Sunderland went through wild "corkscrew" evasive manoeuvres. The fighters managed to knock out one engine. On the third pass of the fighters, the top-turret gunner managed to shoot one down. Another Ju 88 disabled the tail turret but the next fighter that made a pass was bracketed by the top and nose turrets and shot down as well.

Still another fighter attacked, smashing the Sunderland's radio gear, wounding most of the crew in varying degrees and mortally wounding one of the side gunners. A Ju 88 tried to attack from the rear but the tail turret gunner had managed to regain some control over the turret and shot it down. The surviving fighters pressed home their attacks despite the losses. The nose gunner damaged one of the fighters and set one of its engines on fire. Two more of the attackers were also hit and the other two finally disengaged and departed. Luftwaffe records indicate these were the only two that made it back to base.

The Sunderland was a wreck. The crew threw everything they could overboard and nursed the aircraft back to the Cornish coast where Walker managed to land and beach it. The crew waded ashore, carrying their dead comrade, while the surf broke the Sunderland up. Walker received the Distinguished Service Order and several of the other crew received medals as well. Walker went on to a ground job while the rest of the crew was given a new Sunderland. That Sunderland and its crew disappeared without a trace over the Bay of Biscay two months later after reporting by radio that they were under attack by six Ju 88s.

another dogfighting heavy

November 21, 1943 - 25 He 177s of II./KG 40 took off to attack the Allied convoy "SL139 / MKS30". 20 aircraft attacked the convoy at 17.00 hours with 40 HS 293s from between 400 and 600m. One ship, the "Delius" was hit and set on fire and another ship, the "Marsa" was sunk. During the attack, a Coastal Command Liberator from 224 Sqdn arrived from an Anti-U-Boat patrol and not only interrupted the attack but took on the bombers with its own defensive guns, forcing the bombers to flee for home. The attack was also thwarted by heavy AA fire from the ship escorts. The crew of Oblt. von Berg from 5./KG 40 were reported missing with 2 bodied later recovered, while 5 of the crew of Ofw. Freyer, belonging to 4./KG 40 were killed in a crash at St. Christoly.

on the night of 15/16 March of 1944 a Lancaster from No. 617 was on a mission to bomb Metz when it was attacked by 3 Me-110 night fighters.

The rear gunner on the Lancaster was Flight Sergent T. J. McLeans, a scot in his second tour who already had five kill to his credit at that point. He was using his favorite mix of 45% tracer and 55% armour piercing instead the regular mix whit would also contain ball and incediary. The Lancaster was hit, but not seriously, and McLeans shot down all the 3 attackers.


June 14, 1942 - In the evening Italian Fiat CR 42s were out to attack the cruiser HMS "Liverpool" from the Operation "Vigoruous" convoy sailing to Malta. The cruiser ws escorted by a Gibraltar-based Catalina from RAF No. 240 Sqdn, which had been diverted from its anti-submarine duties and ordered to escort the damaged cruiser. At 17.05 hrs, the Catalina was attacked by 4 CR 42s but F/O Riddy skillfully maneuvered his lumbering flyingboat, enabling his gunners to repel repeated attacks. Nonetheless, Sergente Renato Casalini carried out a number of determined attacks, gaining strikes on the flyingboat's hull and slightly wounding the W/T operator.


July 30, 1943 - While patrolling to the north of Corsica, a B-26 Marauder of No. 14 Sqdn RAF based in Egypt and piloted by Group Captain Dick Maydwell encountered a German Me 323, six-engined transport aircraft flying unescorted low over the sea. He maneuvered his B-26 to allow his gunners to open fire and three engines were set on fire. The massive aircraft, described by Maydwell's navigator as looking like "a block of flats", crash landed on the shore. The crew escaped unhurt and Maydwell held his fire.


over the Bay of Biscay on the 15th August 1943. A Halifax V towing a Horsa glider was intercepted by 12 Ju88C. Four climbed to give fighter protection in case of Beaufighters interupted (they were known to be around) and 8 attacked. The Horsa released the cable and ditched and the Halifax evaded for around 15 mins until it reached cloud. In that time it suffered a fair amount of damage to its right wing but damaged two of the Ju88's who had to leave the battle after being hit in the engine.
It should be remembered that the Halifax V only had one turret in the rear.


April 8, 1940: Nine He 111s of 1(F)./122 took off from Hamburg to check the area east of the Shetlands. One of these aircraft sighted the British 2nd Cruiser Squadron together with 11 destroyers heading north at high speed to intercept the suspected breakout to the Atlantic of the 'Admiral Hipper' and her escorts. Another of the 1(F)./122 Heinkels encountered a Sunderland of RAF No. 204 Sqdrn and a running fight ensued which resulted in the Sunderland crashing into the sea west of Bergen. The Heinkel returned to Hamburg undamaged.


On November 26,1943 Lt. Charles W. Spencer at the foward gun of a B=17 named "Star Dust". Shells from head on enemy attacks shattered the Plexiglass nose and killed the crews navigator Lt. Harold J Rocketto. Badly cut in the face and removed from the nose by the crews engineer Sgt.Grover C Mullins, Lt SPencer returned to man his battle station despite freezing air at a temperature of -60C blasting through the compartment at over 125 mph. Horribly injured by frostbite in these terrible conditions. Spencer was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions.

January 29, 1944

Rawlings: We popped out of the clouds now the clouds were getting to be broken. We were over a fighter field in Florenne which was a big German fighter field. The tail gunner yelled" Oh god, here they come, there taking off!" He counted more than 6 and they were FW-190's. We tried pulling up in the clouds again but the clouds were became more broken. It used to be a 1500 foot layer now it was not even 500 feet. There was lots of Flak bracketing us and the tail gunner yelled "Kick it, Kick it!" There was the constant sound of crap hitting the airplane. We were taking 20 mm shells from an Me-210 who hadnt even gotten his landing gear up yet. Now both enginers on the right side were out I was trying to use the rudder but I realized the rudder was knocked out. Then our No.4 engine went out. I made the choice and rang the alarm bell. The rest of the crew bailed out and became POW for the rest of the war

Hans J. Jabs - 110 nightfighter ace, caught in the daylight by six Spitfires, he bagged two and then made a quick landing.

On 29 April 1944 his BF 110-G night fighter was caught on a daylight air test by a flight of 6 Spitfires from No. 132 Squadron RAF, led by 15-kill ace Squadron Leader Geoffrey Page. The Spitfires came in at too high a speed and as one Spitfire overshot Jabs shot down the Spitfire flown by P/O R.B. Pullin, which went down in flames and the pilot killed. F/O J.J. Caulton then attacked Jabs head-on, though the heavy forward armament of the 110 took affect and the striken Spitfire glided around and belly-landed onto Deelen Air Base. Jabs then conducted a surprise forced landing, quickly scrambling for cover before his aircraft was destroyed by strafing.

[bobbysocks]

Opening attack during Big Week, February 20, 1944:

A B-17 flown by Lt. Guy Reed and specially equipped for recon and weather reporting, took off to determine the weather conditions over Germany and the North Sea before the mission. While enroute, Lt. Reed picked up a ghost radio signal and decided to investigate. A ghost signal had been causing havoc among the bomber groups and misdirecting many bombers away from airfields until their fuel was exhausted and they ditched their B-17s. Dropping through cloud cover, the B-17 found the source of the signal; a He 177 recon plane. Coming up alongside the big bomber, the B-17 started firing at the Heinkel begining a battle across the North Sea as the lumbering giants battled each other. Lt. Reed brought the Fortress around the Heinkel and the crew fired at almost point-blank range. The Heinkel dove and then appeared to stall alongside the B-17. As the American bomber came alongside, the German gunners opened up on the B-17, killing the right waist gunner, knocking the cover off the top turret and jamming the rudder. A .50 cal. shell from the Fortress nearly killed the German pilot and he decided to break off the battle. As he banked away a volley of machine gun fire from the B-17 damaged one of the Heinkel's engines and the He 177 tumbled out of the sky, out of control. Nobody survived the crash. Lt. Reed was able to bring his damaged plane back to Scotland for a crash landing.

[bobbysocks]

HABBAKUK: GEOFFREY PYKE'S ICEBERG AIRCRAFT CARRIER

In 1942, the Allied forces were losing a considerable amount of merchant shipping in the Atlantic Ocean, due to German submarine forces and the lack of adequate air cover in the mid-Atlantic. The range of operating aircraft was not sufficient to cover this area and aircraft carriers were in short supply to allow for shorter range flying. Plans for an Allied invasion of Europe were also underway and it was felt that large floating platforms were needed to assist the assault forces. The Second World War was also a time when many scientists were encouraged to develop weapon technology and other military equipment to assist the war effort. Many projects that were developed were successful, such as the bouncing bomb by Barnes Wallis, midget submarines, mulberry harbours and the Pipe Line Under The Ocean (PLUTO) project. Others were not so successful and some were even incredible.

Lord Louis Mountbatten was Chief of Combined Operations and part of the work of this department was to develop technology and equipment for offensive operations. He encouraged scientists to produce their ideas, however fantastical they might seem. Many ideas did not get past the drawing stage, but others were taken up and experimented with before being abandoned. One such idea was that of an iceberg aircraft carrier, and this project was enthusiastically endorsed by both Mountbatten and Churchill.

Habbakuk was the idea of a scientist called Geoffrey Pyke. His idea was that because ice was unsinkable, the berg ships would be insulated and impervious to bomb and torpedo attacks. They would be easy to repair as water only had to be poured into holes and frozen, thus making the ship whole. The ships would be cheap to make so that a vast number could be made. The ships could be up to 4000 feet long, 600 feet wide and 130 feet in depth. They could be used to carry aircraft to protect shipping in the mid-Atlantic, since the aircraft would be able to operate at shorter ranges and could be used for an invasion force base. He christened the idea (misspelling the name in the process) after the words from Habakkuk, the Old Testament prophet: “Behold ye among the heathen, and regard and wonder marvellously: for I will work a work in your days, which ye will not believe, though it be told to you.” Hab. 1:5

The idea was taken up by Mountbatten and in December 1942, Churchill was convinced that the idea was worth pursuing. One problem had to be overcome. Ice split too easily and Pyke suggested the addition of some kind of building material could solve the problem. In 1943, two American scientists made a compound out of paper pulp and sea water which was almost as strong as concrete. This substance was named “Pykecrete”, after Pyke. Plans were drawn up for a vessel with the dimensions of 2000 feet long with a displacement of 1,800,000 dead weight tons. For the best possible results, the ship would need to be built in Canada or Russia, where the ship could be naturally frozen. The budget for continuing with the experimental ship was limited to £5000.

In the summer, a model was built on Patricia Lake, Jaspar in Canada. It became essential that the Americans were brought into the project as they would be needed to supply large quantities of steel for the vessel. Costs were already spiralling due to technical and supply problems. Mountbatten took a block of Pykecrete to Quebec to demonstrate the idea to the Americans. He intended to show them the strength of Pykecrete as opposed to ice. He fired a revolver into a block of ice which, predictably, shattered. He then fired into a block of Pykecrete. The bullet did not penetrate the block, rather it ricocheted off the ice, and unfortunately struck the American Chief of Naval Operations in the process, but without injury.

The Americans were not convinced about the project. They felt that due to technical problems, the ice ships would not be ready until 1945, and by this time, the conventional carrier fleet would be large enough to make the need for ice aircraft carriers obsolete. Churchill also gave up on the project when he realised that the carriers would cost over £6m.

The model in Patricia Lake was “scuttled” in 1943 by removing all the machinery that had been used and leaving it to sink in place. In the 1970’s remains of the model were found and studied and in 1989, a plaque to commemorate the unusual ship was placed on the lake’s shore.

[bobbysocks]

WWII veteran recalls Jericho raid

On the 65th anniversary of an audacious World War II bombing raid on a Gestapo prison, one of the few survivors has spoken of his part in the dangerous mission.

Operation Jericho was devised to give 100 French patriots the chance to escape the firing squad, scheduled for 19 February 1944, at Amiens Prison in occupied Northern France.

Mosquitos of the 2nd Tactical Air Force were detailed to fly as low as possible over the Channel and then on to Amiens.

Once there they were to to dive-bomb the high prison walls.

Pilot Officer Cecil Dunlop, 92, from Bath, was on one of the first bombers to fly over the prison and drop his payload.

The planes flew so low - below the level of the prison roof - the crews could see the prisoners running out.

"It was exciting," recalled Mr Dunlop.

The blast breached the walls of the prison and, while the explosion unfortunately killed 102 prisoners, 258 escaped, including 79 political prisoners.

Mr Dunlop's son David said: "There was snow on the ground when they flew over and they looked down and they could see the prisoners escaping - all these black dots running around."

The mission was completed with the loss of only two aircraft and Operation Jericho proved that the Mosquito was able to perform precision bombing raids.

Years later Mr Dunlop and his son met one of the prisoners the raid freed.

"He told us he'd been in solitary confinement and he'd got a rat for company," said David Dunlop.

On the way back to Britain the plane was hit by anti-aircraft guns.

"You never knew whether you were going to come back or not but you never thought that you wouldn't," said Cecil Dunlop.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOAPx_VPi-A

[grislawskijg52]

Thanks for the story, I know he (Pat Pattle) was one of the highest scoring RAF aces (if not highest) whose memory was all but lost in a horrible retreat. I also believe he netted a majority of his victories in an outdated gloster gladiator. The twelve or so you mentioned likely were all they had to put in the air. My family is Greek and believe it or not the old greeks will always mention him if the war is ever brought up. Thanks again for anouther gret story!!!!!

[bobbysocks]

an overture for Bonn.

...Harry Crosby was unable to sight his primary target through a thick cloudbank. Both backup targets were socked in as well, freeing the squadrons to bomb a "target of opportunity," an Air Force euphemism for anyplace that could be conveniently creamed. Sighting a large German city through a clearing in the clouds, Crosby gave the OK sign to the pilot. Just as he heard the bomb doors opening, he looked down at his map and discovered that the city was Bonn.
He immediately hit his mike button. "All positions from navigator, I have another target. We can't bomb Bonn."
"Command to navigator. Why not?"
"That is where Beethoven went to school."
Crosby happened to know this because he had read it on the cover of the phonograph record he had played in his room the night before the raid, Beethoven's 5th, a fitting musical prelude, he thought, for a mission into Germany. He had also read on the cover that Bonn was a university town, one of the most picturesque places in Europe.
After an outburst of "Oh, ****s" from the crew, the pilot went along with Crosby and sixty-three Forts passed over the city, some of them with their bomb doors open. Minutes later, they found a marshaling yard in the Ruhr and obliterated it.

[bobbysocks]

more on marseille....

With the Messerschmitt's left wing tip pointed vertically toward the sea, the Hurricane fighter stood virtually motionless in front of a young German's windscreen. Viewed through the metal framed canopy of the Messerschmitt 109, a British Hurricane with its red centered cockade was starkly recognizable against the cloudless North African sky.

Pulling back on the stick, gut-wrenching turn tightening, the young German's slim body presses firmly into his seat. Underneath his leather and mesh flight helmet, beads of sweat roll down his face . . burning his eyes as they remain open and fixed on the Zeiss optical gun sight.

3 G's . . 3.5 G's . . 4 G's.

The strain increases. Tired and aching at the end of day's mission that was full of air combat, the young German's arm muscles begin to fatigue under the strain. But there are no distractions allowed. The quarry must not escape.

After a swift look inside, with a slight input of right rudder, Jochen . . as he's known by his friends . . corrects the aircraft's slight skid.

The Messerschmitt emits a tiny shudder as its airspeed rapidly bleeds off from 300 knots indicated down to 140. Physics now demands the aircraft's nose to drop as its lift falls away. In apparent defiance of this law of nature, Jochen applies judicious top rudder and the 109 hangs precariously.

Then, there's a metallic ' clang ' as the Messerschmitt's leading edge slats automatically slam into an extended position providing more lift.

Like an artist ' working' materials, the 22 year old ' works' his aircraft as if part of his own body, while sweat pours down his back . . and the shoulder harness bites into his neck . . stinging. These minor distractions, no longer affect the German ace; he's been there before. The only thing important is . . one more victory !

Looking behind him, the RAF pilot sees the Messerschmitt now perched ominously off his left hind quarter . . its propeller spinner slowly pulling lead setting up for the proper firing position. Fear grips the British pilot as he now realizes this was no rookie enemy behind him. And every evasive maneuver he'd attempted was flawlessly countered . . with the young German closing distance with each turn.

As Jochen's Messerschmitt closed in, and the Hurricane disappeared beneath its nose. Jochen cocked his head slightly to the left as he calculated where his ordinance and the enemy would coinside.

It was . . time !

The control column shook in his right hand from a quick two-second burst. The cockpit filled with the smell of cordite, as several pounds of per second of machine gun and cannon projectiles hurtle into the Hurricane. Intuitively positive his aim had been correct, the German rolled inverted, diving away.

The 7500 pound British Hurricane, a sheet of flaming metal, thundered vertically into the Mediterranean.

As the fighter ace turned for home, four oil slicks foul the sea's surface . . to be celebrated as four more victory marks on Hans-Joachim Marseille's aircraft, adding to the credibility that he was becoming the most successful of all German fighter pilots in the North Africa.

The morning of 30 September 1942 was like most other late summer mornings in the North African desert, with the weather forecasted to be hot. For the men of German Fighter Group JG-27, the anticipation of another entire day of combat flying weighed heavily. As well it should have.

For the first time, Rommel was in a position to be thoroughly tossed out of Africa by Mont-gomery's British 8th Army. Not only was JG-27 aware of Rommel's latest defeat, they were caught in their own battle with the harsh desert, lack of essential supplies, the daily strain of aerial combat, plus the threat of a British Commando attack out of the surrounding desert.


However, as difficult as the situation appeared, and despite the recent loss of two more very experienced fighter pilots, individual morale was extremely high. Because of their many victories, morale problems affecting other fighter units in the desert seemed removed from Marseille and the men located at their lonely airfield.

Captain Hans-Joachim Marseille rolled out of bed on the morning of 30 September 1942 and was, his personal batman. The strain of 1 1/2 years of almost continuous aerial combat showed in the deep wrinkles and taunt muscles of his 22 year old face.

Marseille, the youngest captain in the Luftwaffe, appeared to have everything going his way. He was confident, cocky, and by far the most famous and successful fighter pilot in the North African war front.

After a slow start as a fighter pilot during the Battle of Britain, having downed seven aircraft while losing several airplanes himself, Marseille overcame initial weaknesses as a fighter pilot and made his Messerschmitt 109 with the big yellow 14 painted on its fuselage . . the scourge of the Allies in desert aerial warfare.

In less than 30 days, he had destroyed 54 British, South African, and Australian fighter aircraft . . 17 of those kills were in a single day. Young Marseille was well on his way to becoming among the few Luftwaffe pilots to shoot down two hundred enemy aircraft.

The morning of 30 September brought the prospect of another day's hunt in the skies over Egypt. More victories and more glory bestowed upon the young man from Berlin. But this morning, a freak accident would reduce perhaps the greatest fighter pilot of the war from the hero of the German nation to a lifeless historical footnote on the floor of the North African desert.

All but four of his victories were against fighters. No other pilot destroyed as many aircraft on the Western Front as did Marseille, although he was shot down several times, himself, Marseille evaded death from the angry guns of Allied pilots in over 388 combat missions. Twenty-nine other German pilots would go on to score more victories than Marseille, however, those pilots scored the majority of their victories against slow-moving Russian fighter bombers on the Eastern Front.

Marseille, a German of French Huguenot ancestry, was in the words of the General of the German Fighter Arm, Adolf Galland, " . . the unrivaled virtuoso of fighter pilots." His ability to sometimes destroy entire squadrons of enemy aircraft in a single sortie is the substance legends are made of, and the kind of material ripe for critics to study and either deny or defend.

Marseille is still regarded by most German Luftwaffe pilots to have been the best of the best ; excelling as a marksman, an acrobatic pilots, as well as one of the best combat tacticians in the Luftwaffe. Together, the synergy created by the accumulation of these talents forged one of the most lethal fighter pilots in aviation history.

Marseille's remarkable ability as a deadly serious fighter pilot was conflicted by his uncommon, gregarious, and often boyish behavior on the ground. He wore his hair long, had a penchant for practical jokes, and listened to taboo music like American jazz and swing, that Nazi propaganda referred to as "Jew" and "******" music.

Marseille also had a reputation as a "playboy." Early in his career, he was transferred out of famous ' Macky' Steinhoff's squadron. " Macky' later said: " Marseille was remarkably handsome guy, and he was a gifted pilot and a fighter. But he had girl friends everywhere; they took up so much of his time that he was often too tired to for me to safely allow him to fly his airplane. His often irresponsible understanding of his duties was the primary reason so I sent him packing. "

Marseille was quickly shipped off to air combat in North Africa, where his new commanders had been shipped a thick file containing his breeches of military discipline and unorthodox behavior. To say Marseille was not the typical German fighter pilot or stereotypical Aryan Teutonic Knight would be a gross understatement.

" Jochen was a practical joker; he was forever playing pranks. He came to see me and my squadron one day in his colorful Volkswagen jeep. He called it Otto. After a talk, a cup of sweet coffee and a glass of Italian Doppio Kümmel, he got into his jeep and drove it straight at my tent . . flattening everything. Then he drove off with a grin stretching across his face." [ Werner Schrör, 8/JG 27, 61 Kills in North Africa.]

Much of the debate and refusal to substantiate Marseille's combat record originates from one day of furious air combat on 1 September, 1942 in which he claimed to have destroyed 17 aircraft in three missions. Not only did Marseille claim 17 aircraft, but he did it in a fashion that was unheard of at the time. His victims were shot out of the sky in such a rapid fashion that many Allied critics still refuse to believe Marseille's claims as fact.

But it is precisely the speed and fury involved with these kills that has been the center of the Marseille debate for the past half century. For years, many British historians and militarists refused to admit that they had lost any aircraft that day in North Africa. Careful review of records however do show that the British did lose more than 17 aircraft that day,and in the area that Marseille operated. The British simply refused to believe, as many do today, that any German pilot was capable of such rapid destruction of RAF hardware.

Facts are that Marseille is still acknowledged as among the best marksmen in the Luftwaffe. The Germans were very meticulous in filing combat reports with all relevant data to include time of battle, area of operation, opposition encountered, as well as an in- depth armorers report. At the end of a mission, the armorers would count the number of bullets and cannon shells expended during the fight.

Marseille would often average an astonishing 15 bullets required per victory, and this with a combat resulting in his downing of several allied aircraft. No other German pilot was close to Marseille in this area

" Yeah, everybody knew nobody could cope with him. Nobody could do the same. Some of the pilots tried it like Stahlschmidt, myself, and Rödel. He, he was an artist. Marseille was an artist." Using his hands to illustrate. " He was up here and the rest of us ( he gestured ) were down here somewhere." [ Friedrich Körner, 36 victories, Knight's Cross winner.]

But what made Marseille so effective in a theater of combat where so many other pilots achieved little or no success? Several factors accounted for his success in the desert with one being attributed to his superior eyesight. Legend has it that Marseille would stare at the sun for extended periods of time in order to acclimate his eyes to the desert glare. Marseille, like American fighter pilot legend Chuck Yeager, he had the ability to see enemy aircraft long before anyone else in his formation.

Since Marseille tended to see the enemy first, he was consistently able to position himself in desirable attacking advantage with many of his victims obviously succumbing to the speed and surprise of his attacks.

Another critical factor for his success was his superb flying ability. Through constant practice and a desire to be the best pilot in his unit, and confident in his flying abilities that he would often break standard rules of aerial combat by pulling his power to idle and using flaps to help tighten his turns. He would also regularly attack numerically superior enemy formations in lightening fast strikes that used the enemy's formation size as its own disadvantage.

But most critical to Marseille's success was the exploitation of his superior Messerschmitt fighter over the majority of enemy fighters he encountered in the desert in concert with exposing weak-nesses inherent within the standard Allied tactical fighter formations used in the desert.

The Royal Air Force, Royal Australian Air Force, and South African Air Force sometimes used what was called a Lufbery Circle. When encountered by a real or perceived superior force of enemy fighters, the Allied fighter pilots would often form up in a defensive circle with one aircraft behind the other. This formation was much like the 2-dimensional wagon train circling in a attempt to both dissuade Indian attack and to afford the best defensive firepower.

Using the original Luftbery theory, if a German aircraft attacked a British fighter from behind, another British fighter's guns would be in place to immediately shoot down it down.

Marseille, one not to be frightened away, developed his own innovative tactics, while paying the cost of losing several of his own airplanes earlier in his combat career, that allowed him to enter and destroy the otherwise efficient Allied fighter formations.

Several thousand feet above the Lufbery defensive circle and displaced laterally a mile or so, Marseille would dive down below the formation's altitude. From below, he would select one unsuspecting victim, line him up in his sights, and hammer one brief and deadly burst of cannon and machine gun fire.

His aim was so accurate that he was often able to place nearly all of his bullets from the engine back into the cockpit, often killing the pilot.

After his firing run, Marseille would set himself up for another run.

By repeating cunning variations of this deadly sequence, Marseille often shot down four, five, and six, aircraft in a single sortie. His movements were so swift and quick that often unsuspecting allied pilots thought they were being attacked by several fighters.

On 15 September 1942, for example, Marseille destroyed 7 Australian fighter aircraft within an eleven minute period and on 17 June 1942, Marseille destroyed six aircraft within a seven minute period. The table below illustrates the quickness of many of Marseille's multiple kills.

[bobbysocks]

At 15.40 hours on the 19th of May 1943 Flight Engineer W J Smith (Wally to his friends) of 12 Squadron Wickenby, along with the rest of the crew, boarded a Lancaster bomber ED 995 PH-X for the fist time. The crew's duty this day was to last only one hour, for as ED 995 had only been delivered that morning, this flight was just a shake down. Five days later this plane was to embark on what was the first visit to enemy territory for both plane and crew, a nearly six hour sortie to Dortmund.
Flight Engineer Wally Smith was a reasonably local lad, the son of a baker in the village of Walesby Nottinghamshire (just a short ride home on his Norton motor bike when off ops). The others were from more distant parts of England. They came together as the seven men left standing when everybody else had crewed up through self selection based on experience and friendship. All the crew were to survive their first tour bar the wireless operator, Sgt. Tom Routledge, who died of oxygen starvation on the second operation a night raid on Dusseldorf.
During the summer of 1943 Bomber Command suffered its heaviest losses and the life expectancy of both crew and planes was very short. For Wally and the rest of the crew to survive was against all the odds. Raids were carried out on Turin, Milan, Berlin and Peenemunde to name a few, a remarkable feat at this point of the war.
What made this tour even more remarkable for Wally was that he completed his 30 ops in the same Lane'. Through his undoubted ability as an engineer and the phenomenal skill of pilot Jimmy Wright and the rest of the crew, after each raid they were to bring ED995 back to Wickenby virtually unscathed. So when they were next on ops' ED995 (who was affection ally named Sarah) was waiting at dispersal.
Superstition played a big part in bomber crews' lives, and as the sorties numbers rose into the twenties, the crew became more and more anxious to keep ED995 as their own, to avoid breaking a winning sequence. After twenty seven ops Wally was chosen to be flight engineer to Wing Commander Craven on a night raid to Berlin. The mission was a success, but it meant that when the rest of the crew had only completed twenty nine ops, Wally had finished his tour of duty. Having no intention of breaking the sequence however, Wally still went on the last op with his regular crew!
So on the night of October 4th 1943 the crew of Wright, Saunders, Smith, Tattersall, Hone, Heath and Shrimpton set off in their trusty Lancaster ED995 on a raid on Frankfurt. Six hours and ten minutes later they landed safely at Wickenby for the last time. ED995 had carried them close to two hundred operational hours.
On the morning of October 5 Wally walked away from his kite for the last time, mindful of how lucky he had been to have such a wonderful plane beneath him
ED995's next mission was three days later. She was to take her new crew to bomb Hanover, a mission from which she never returned!
Wally went on to complete anther tour of 20 operations with 463 squadron and was commissioned in August 1944.

[bobbysocks]

propaganda with british humor

While waiting to cross the Channel. The Feldgrau idled away their time tuned their radio dials to to hear the BBC's German-speaking voice broadcast the latest war news, titbits of gossip and the latest runour from the Third Reich aswell as playing popular German ballads.

The broadcasts were a component of the "Black Propaganda" campaign devised to "approach the German mind .... and throw it off guard by appealing to the selfish motives in the (soldier civilian)."

Speaking as fluently as any Berliner, Sefton Delmer's chats on BBC were designed to make the German soldiers fearful of taking part in the looming invasion of England. "The barbaric British have developed a fiendish apparatus with which they are going to set the English Channel ablaze as soon as your assault boats near the beaches," Delmer said.

To a degree this disclosure was true. Britain had created an anti-invasion defense whereby oil would be piped to large containers offshore. When ignited, a thick barrier of fire and smoke would rise from the water. However this device was only installed on only a few potentential landing beaches.

Then Delmer informed the Germans in France that he would teach them afew useful English phrases.

"For your first lesson, he said, "We will take the Kanaluberfahrt - the Channel cross-ing ..... the Chan-nel cross-ing.

"Now, repeat after me: Das Boot sinkt .... Das Boot sinkt .... the boat is sink-ing .... the boat is sink-ing.

"Das Wasser ist sehr kalt .... the wat-er is ver-y cold.

"here is a verb will be most useful. Please repeat after me. Ich brenne .... I burn .... Du brennst .... you burn ..... wir brennen .... we burn.

"and now I suggest that you learn another important phrase: Der ss Sturmfuhrer brennst auch scoen .... the ss cap-tain is al-so burn-ing quite nice-ly."

The theme of the germans burning to a crisp on the English Channel was tied in wth information planted by British deception servce, using turned spies and whispers in neutral embassies in Londo, Madrid , Stockholm and Geneva.

[scottyvt4]

Bobby, i truly take my hat off to you my friend, some of these accounts are staggering :)




great stuff, keep it up :D

[bobbysocks]

Lady Be Good

Lady Be Good was an American B-24D Liberator of the United States Army Air Forces, serial number 41-24301, during World War II. Based at Benina Airfield in Soluch (today Suluq), Libya, it crashed in April 1943 returning from a mission and was later discovered in 1959 hundreds of miles into the Sahara with its crew mysteriously missing.

Following an April 4, 1943 bombing raid on Naples, Italy, conducted by the 376th Bomb Group, the Lady Be Good of the 514th Bomb Squadron failed to return to base. After attempts to locate the plane in Libya, its nine crewmen were classified as Missing in action, and presumed dead, believed to have perished after crashing in the Mediterranean Sea.

The crew of Lady Be Good were on their first combat mission, having arrived in Libya on
March 18. The aircraft itself was also new, reaching the 376th BG on March 25. The ship had the identification number 64 painted on its nose and was one of 25 assigned to bomb Naples late in the afternoon of April 4.

The members of the Lady Be Good crew were:
1st Lt. William J. Hatton - pilot - Whitestone, New York
2nd Lt. Robert F. Toner - co-pilot - North Attleborough, Massachusetts
2d Lt. D.P. (initials only, also seen as "Dp") Hays - navigator - Lee's Summit, Missouri
2d Lt. John S. Woravka - bombardier - Cleveland, Ohio
T/Sgt. Harold J. Ripslinger - flight engineer - Saginaw, Michigan
T/Sgt. Robert E. LaMotte - radio operator - Lake Linden, Michigan
S/Sgt. Guy E. Shelley - gunner - New Cumberland, Pennsylvania
S/Sgt. Vernon L. Moore - gunner - New Boston, Ohio
S/Sgt. Samuel R. Adams - gunner - Eureka, Illinois

The crew took off from Benina shortly after 3:00 p.m., one of the last to depart. High winds and obscured visibility (and possibly the crew's inexperience[citation needed]) prevented it from joining the main formation of bombers, and it continued the mission on its own.

An 8:52 p.m. an entry in the navigator's log shows a bearing of 140° that indicates the plane abandoned the mission and turned back towards base, but its whereabouts at that time are not known and may have been a source of dispute among the crew itself[citation needed]. At approximately 10:00 p.m. the plane dropped its bombs into the Mediterranean to reduce weight and as a result fuel consumption.

At around midnight the pilot, Lt. Hatton, called base by radio and stated that his automatic direction finder was not working and asked for a location of base. He was apparently given a bearing but it is unknown if Lady Be Good received the transmission or not.

The plane apparently overflew its base and did not see flares fired to attract its attention and continued into the interior of North Africa for two more hours.

After the crew abandoned the aircraft, it continued flying southward. The mostly intact wreckage and evidence showing one engine was still operating at the time of impact suggests the aircraft gradually lost altitude in a very shallow descent, reached the flat, open desert floor and landed on its belly.

On February 27, 1959, British oil surveyor Paul Johnson spotted the wreckage near 26°42'45.7″N 24°01'27″E? / ?26.712694°N 24.02417°E? / 26.712694; 24.02417, 440 statute miles southeast of Soluch, following up a first sighting from the air on May 16, 1958, and another on June 15. A recovery team made initial trips from Wheelus Air Base to the crash site on May 26, 1959.

Although the plane was broken into two pieces, it was immaculately preserved, with functioning machine guns, a working radio, and some supplies of food and water. A thermos of tea was found to be drinkable. No human remains were found on board the aircraft, nor were parachutes found. Evidence aboard the plane indicated that the men had bailed out. Records in the log of navigator Lieutenant Hays, who was on his very first mission, ended at Naples.

The United States Army conducted a search for the remains of the airmen. Finding evidence the men had walked northward, the exploration concluded their bodies were buried beneath sand dunes.

In 1960, eight of the bodies were found by another British oil exploration team after an extensive ground search. After parachuting to the desert floor, eight of the nine airmen had managed to meet up by firing their revolvers and signal flares into the air. They had not been able to find the ninth crewman, bombardier John Woravka, because his parachute had only partially opened and he likely died on impact (his body was the first found in 1960). Thinking they were fairly close to the Mediterranean coast, the eight surviving crew members walked north, leaving behind footwear, parachute scraps, Mae West vests and other items as markers to show searchers what their path had been. They survived for eight days, sharing only a single canteen of water while walking over 100 miles (160 km) in searing heat before perishing. Remains of five airmen were found in a group nearly 80 miles (130 km) from the crash site. The other three (Guy Shelley, 'Rip' Ripslinger and Vernon Moore) had set off to try and find help while the other five waited behind. The bodies of Shelley and Ripslinger were found twenty and twenty-seven miles further north, respectively. Moore's remains were never found, although it is possible that seven years earlier in 1953 they had been spotted and buried by a British desert patrol, unaware that any air crews from the war had ever gone missing in the area.

A diary recovered from the pocket of co-pilot Robert Toner told of much suffering on the walk northward and indicated the crew were unaware they were over land when they bailed out. There has been speculation that whatever glimpses they may have caught of the empty desert floor in the darkness looked like open sea. It seems the crew never understood they were more than 400 miles (640 km) inland.

There is some consensus the crew could have survived had they known how far inland they were and moreover, if their maps shown the area where they bailed out. Going north, the distance they walked was slightly less than the distance needed to reach the oasis of El Zighen south of them, but they were wholly unaware of this. Additionally, if they headed south they would have very likely found the wreckage of the Lady Be Good with its water and food supplies, however meager, along with its working radio, which they might have used to call for help.

According to the Graves Registration Service report on the incident:
The aircraft flew on a 150 degree course toward Benina Airfield. The craft radioed for a directional reading from the HF/DF station at Benina and received a reading of 330 degrees from Benina. The actions of the pilot in flying 440 miles into the desert, however, indicate the navigator probably took a reciprocal reading off the back of the radio directional loop antenna from a position beyond and south of Benina but 'on course'. The pilot flew into the desert, thinking he was still over the Mediterranean and on his way to Benina.

Parts of the plane were scavenged or returned to the United States for evaluation. Curiously, several aircraft that were repaired with parts scavenged from the Lady Be Good crashed. An Army 'Otter' that had an armrest from the bomber crashed in the Gulf of Sidra. The only traces that were ever found from the plane were a few parts that washed ashore—including the armrest from the Lady Be Good.

Aside from components reused in other aircraft, other parts from the Lady Be Good may be seen today at the National Museum of the United States Air Force. One propeller can be seen in front of the village hall in Lake Linden, the home of Robert E. LaMotte.

A Royal Air Force team visited the site in 1968, and hauled away components including an engine (later donated to the USAF) for evaluation by the McDonnell Douglas company. Other pieces were stripped by souvenir hunters over the years.

In August 1994, the remains of the craft were recovered by a team led by Dr. Fadel Ali Mohammed and taken to a military base in Tobruk for safekeeping.

[bobbysocks]

think i posted about clive before but...

Group Captain Clive Caldwell, DSO, DFC & Bar, Polish Cross of Valour.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clive Robertson Caldwell was born in Lewisham, Sydney on the 28th of July, 1911. Pre war he trained for his civil pilot's licence whilst a member of the Royal Aero Club. He joined the RAAF at the beginning of the war in 1939 and was commissioned as a Pilot Officer in 1940. As he was destined to become an instructor after completing his training, he resigned and re-applied as an air-crew trainee. His commission was reinstated in January 1941, and he was sent to the Middle East where he took up flying duties in Tomahawks with 250 Squadron RAF. Following a short period of operations in Syria and Cyprus, Caldwell and the squadron were relocated to the Western Desert. It was in this theatre that he achieved great success during intensive operations.

By mid-1941, Caldwell had flown about 40 operational sorties, but had only one confirmed kill - a Bf 109. He was perplexed by the fact that he had trouble scoring hits on enemy aircraft. Whilst returning to base one day, he noted his squadron's aircraft casting shadows on the desert below. He fired a burst of his guns and noted the fall of shot relative to his shadow. He realised this method allowed for the assessment of required deflection to hit moving targets. Further experimentation lead him to acquire the knowledge to assess deflection needed for a range of speeds. Within a couple of weeks he had attained four further kills and a half share. Caldwell's method of "shadow shooting" became a standard method of gunnery practice in the Middle East.

On 29 August 1941 Clive Caldwell was attacked by two Bf 109s North-West of Sidi Barrani. One of his attackers was the Bf 109 E-7 "black 8" of 2./JG 27 piloted by one of Germany's top aces, Leutnant Werner Schroer who was credited with 114 Allied planes in only 197 combat missions. Caldwell's P-40 "Tomahawk" of 250 Squadron was riddled with more than 100 rounds of 7.9 mm slugs, plus five 20 mm cannon strikes which punctured a tyre and rendered the flaps inoperative. In the first attack Caldwell suffered bullet wounds to the back, left shoulder, and leg. In the next pass one shot slammed through the canopy, causing splinters which wounded him with perspex in the face and shrapnel in the neck. Two cannon shells also punched their way through the rear fuselage just behind him and the starboard wing was badly damaged. Despite damage to both himself and the aircraft, Caldwell, feeling, as he remembers, "quite hostile" turned on his attackers and sent down one of the Bf 109s in flames. The pilot of the second Messerschmitt, the renowned Leutnant Schroer, shocked by this turn of events, evidently made off in some haste. Caldwell's engine had caught fire, however he managed to extinguish the flames with a violent slip. He then nursed his flying wreck back to base at Sidi Haneish.

Caldwell's most successful day was the 5th of December 1941 when he shot down five Ju 87s in a single engagement during operation "Crusader". Here is the combat report of that action:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I received radio warning that a large enemy formation was approaching from the North-West. No. 250 Squadron went into line astern behind me and as No. 112 Squadron engaged the escorting enemy fighters we attacked the JUs from the rear quarter. At 300 yards I opened fire with all my guns at the leader of one of the rear sections of three, allowing too little deflection, and hit No. 2 and No. 3, one of which burst into flames immediately, the other going down smoking and went into flames after losing about 1000 feet. I then attacked the leader of the rear section...from below and behind, opening fire with all guns at very close range. The enemy aircraft turned over and dived steeply...opened fire [at another Ju 87] again at close range, the enemy caught fire...and crashed in flames. I was able to pull up under the belly of one of the rear, holding the burst until very close range. The enemy...caught fire and dived into the ground."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Due to his aggressiveness, exceptional combat skills, and determination to strafe ground targets, Caldwell soon acquired the nickname "Killer" which he apparently was not particularly proud of. The name however stuck and was commonly used in referring to Caldwell. In opinion of Wing Commander R.H. "Bobby" Gibbes (he battled in 3 Sqdn RAAF in North Africa and in the SW Pacific under Caldwell's command): "Clive Caldwell was given the name "Killer" (a name which was not of his choosing or liking) due to his habit of shooting up any enemy vehicle which he saw below when returning from a sortie. Invariably he landed back at his base with almost no ammunition left."

Caldwell was promoted to flight commander in November 1941 and received the DFC and Bar simultaneously on December 26 by which time he had 17 victories. He was promoted to Squadron Leader in January 1942 and took command of 112 Squadron RAF flying Kittyhawks. It was due to his leadership, confidence and daring, his work with a contingent of Polish pilots attached to 112 Squadron, and continued success with this squadron that he received the Polish Cross of Valour (Krzyz Walecznych).

In contrast with the great successes of Skalski's Circus , Polish pilots' endeavours with 112 Squadron weren't as fruitful. A group of 12 Polish ferry-transport pilots volunteered for RAF service on 29 August 1941 and after training they joined "Shark" squadron in February 1942. On 14 February, 1942 the patrolling 112 Sqn RAF and 3 Sqn RAAF encountered a formation of 32 enemy aircraft and Sec.Ltn. Dula downed an MC 200. In combat with 6 Bf 109 fighters from I/JG 27 on 21 February 1942 three "Kittyhawks" of 112 Sqn were downed, two of them piloted by Polish pilots: Sgt. Derma and Ltn. Jander. On 13 March 1942 pilots P/O Bartle (English) and Sgt. Rozanski (Polish) left a formation of 12 "Sharks" in the Tobruk area and they were caught by surprise and attacked by Oberfeldtwebel Otto Schulz (4./JG 27, MIA on 17 June 1942, 42 victories). Both were downed, but Rozanski luckily escaped his crashed, burning aircraft. On the following day Sgt. Urbanczyk together with S/L Caldwell got one Bf 109. On 15 March 1942 112 Squadron was moved from the front line to Sidi Haneish for replacements. Polish pilots didn't return to duty in this unit from 16 April 1942.

Whilst with 112 Squadron, the Australian government asked that he be released to return to Australia to command a Wing in the defence of Australia. This Wing was to consist of 3 Squadrons of "Spitfires", and Caldwell spent some time with the Kenley Wing before returning home to acquaint himself with the new aircraft. The Japanese were threatening Northern Australia, and several Australian towns were regularly being bombed. Caldwell left the Middle East with nineteen individual and three shared confirmed enemy kills, six probables, and fifteen damaged.

On his departure from the Middle East, the Marshall of the RAF Lord Tedder wrote of Caldwell: 'An excellent leader - and a first class shot.'

On taking up his command of No. 1 Fighter Wing based in Darwin, Caldwell again showed his outstanding fighting abilities and claimed a further eight Japanese aircraft by August 1943. Caldwell's tally was twenty-eight and a half by the time he left the Wing in August and for this feat he received a DSO to add to his DFC and Bar and Polish Cross of Valour.

[bobbysocks]

How Worcestershire RAF fighter pilot helped Stalin defeat Hitler
by Adam Aspinall, Sunday Mercury


THE last surviving member of a secret RAF squadron who helped save Russia from defeat by Nazi Germany has finally revealed the truth about his wartime heroics.

Eric Carter was a 21 year-old fighter pilot in 1941 when he boarded a blacked-out train in Hull with his 81 Squadron and taken to Liverpool.

The young airmen were then ushered on to a waiting ship and set sail for the open seas, still none the wiser about their destination.

Rumours within the squadron suggested they could be heading for Africa – but they soon discovered they would not need any warm weather gear.

Eric was part of Force Benedict, a clandestine operation to save the strategically vital Russian port of Murmansk.

It was being targeted by the Nazis who were marching relentlessly towards Moscow.

The mission to protect the port and train Russian fighter pilots was top secret because Stalin did not want the world to know he needed British help to defeat the invading Germans.

And such was the secrecy surrounding the ultimately successful operation, that it was largely forgotten for nearly 70 years.

That is until the chance discovery earlier this year of a medal awarded to Force Benedict’s Wing Commander, Group Captain Henry Neville Gynes Ramsbottom-Isherwood.

He was one of only four non-Russians awarded the nation’s highest military award, the Order of Lenin, which was sold at auction in Sothebys this week for £46,000.

Eric, now 89 and living in Chaddesley Corbett, Worcestershire, revealed how he and his comrades were plunged into a grim battle of life and death in the skies above the port on the edge of the Arctic circle.

He said: “Force Benedict was a very well kept secret.

‘‘Stalin did not want his people to know that he had asked the West for help and we were threatened with a court martial if we said anything.

‘‘I was young and must have been mad, but perhaps we were just a tougher generation. I knew the average lifespan in the air was just 15 minutes but I was determined to volunteer after hearing the atrocities the Germans had carried out on the Russians.”

Eric had joined the RAF in 1939 and was initially posted to the famous 615 Squadron who were recuperating in Wales following the Battle of Britain in 1940.

He served with them for a year, defending the skies over Liverpool and Manchester, before being transferred to 81 Squadron. Alongside 134 Squadron, they made up 151 Wing which was sent to save Murmansk.

Eric said: “Murmansk was a pivotal point in the war. It was Russia’s Battle of Britain, the battle for their very survival, and we had to hold on to the port at all costs.

“Our job was to escort Russian bombers and fight off the German planes. We went on 60-odd missions and never lost one bomber.

“But we were only 10 miles from the German base.

“Their General repeatedly asked Hitler for more men so they could overun our airfield but he refused, so we got lucky there.’’

Life in the freezing under-siege city was tough and the threat of death constantly stalked the British pilots – with German bombers above and trigger-happy Russians on the ground.

Eric said: “Murmansk was like Beirut, it was all rubble.

“And the Russians soldiers did not bother to ask who you were, they just killed you on sight. So we were issued with special passes and had to hold them in front of us as we walked anywhere or else we would have been shot.

“It was minus 40 most of the time. Our aircraft and transport vehicles had to be started up every 20 minutes to prevent them from freezing for good.

“And life was so cheap out there.

“Labourers working on the airfield would sometimes freeze to death after a night drinking and in the morning they would be just scooped up and put in the back of a truck.

“But that helped build the strongest camaraderie with your pals because that was all we had. You depended on them for your life and they were all that you lived for.

“Yet we never thought Murmansk was a hopeless cause, never considered defeat and never contemplated that Britain might be invaded if we lost.

“We were determined to win and that’s what we did.

“When you were up in the air you were nearly always in trouble, but Murmansk was the key to everything at that point so we just had to survive.

“We used to fly in pairs to cover each other and shot down our fair share of Luftwaffe, but the Germans gave us a very hard time.

‘‘Yet although we lost a pilot on the first day, we only lost one other during our time there.’’

Wing 151 carried out 365 sorties during a four-month stay in Murmansk, shooting down 11 Messerschmitt fighters and three Junker 88 bombers before handing the secured port back to the Russians on October 13, 1941.

By then the deep snows had begun falling and the German army was set to stall within sight of Moscow. It was the beginning of the end of Hitler’s invasion of Russia – and the turning point of the Second World War.

Eric and his comrades returned to Britain without fanfare after the operation.

He married his wife Phyllis, who he described as “wonderful wife and mother”, while on leave in 1943, before being posted to Burma for the remainder of the war, flying Spitfires and supply missions in Dakotas from Rangoon to Calcutta.

His beloved wife passed away four years ago, after 62 years of marriage.

But the people of Murmansk have never forgotten Eric’s bravery and he has been invited back to the city many times in recent years where he is still feted as a hero.

“The Russian Government has never forgotten what we did for them,’’ said Eric, who is the last survivor of 81 Squadron – and possibly the last remaining member of Force Benedict.

“Me and my wife were invited to the Russian Embassy in London during the 1980s for a ceremony of remembrance with the Ambassador.

“It was a funny occasion and he had a big rant about Margaret Thatcher, I didn’t know where to put my face.

“And I have been repeatedly asked back to Murmansk to remember what we did for them.

“The Russians think a lot more of their war veterans then we do in Britain and they have really looked after me every time I have been over there. They even let me go on board one of their nuclear submarines and how many British people can say they have done that?

“A lot of my pals died during the war and I’m the only one left now.

“I hope our sacrifice and the freedom people enjoy now means it was worth it.”

[bobbysocks]

more raf in the ussr...

Stalin's British heroes: The discovery of a forgotten medal reveals the extraordinary courage of the RAF aces who fought for the Soviet Union


The Messerschmitt was screaming towards him on a head-to-head collision course, but it was Flight-Lieutenant Micky Rook who got his shot in first. He held his nerve, pressed the firing button of his Hurricane fighter plane and the German Me109 exploded in mid-air, disintegrating before his eyes. Another hard-won 'kill' for the RAF in the early years of World War II.
Yet this was no part of the famous Few's dogfight over Kent. The waters beneath Rook's plane were not the English Channel but the icy Barents Sea off Murmansk on the northern edge of the Soviet Union, deep inside the Arctic Circle.
Rook was part of 151 Wing, a little-known RAF group who fought against the Germans alongside the pilots of the Soviet dictator, Joseph Stalin, for four vital months in the winter of 1941. Code-named Force Benedict, its mission has been largely forgotten for nearly seven decades - until the chance discovery earlier this year of a medal awarded to the splendidly named Wing Commander Henry Neville Gynes Ramsbottom-Isherwood, who led 151 Wing.

The red and gold Order of Lenin, resplendent with hammer and sickle and a platinum portrait of the Russian revolutionary leader, is one of the rarest ever won by a British serviceman. It had lain untouched at the back of a cupboard in Sussex for years.
At a Sotheby's auction next month it is expected to attract bids as high as £30,000.
The story behind the medal is an extraordinary one. Stalin's Russia and Hitler's Germany had a non-aggression pact - until Hitler tore it up and huge numbers of German forces invaded the Soviet Union in June 1941.
The Russians had been caught on the hop, largely because Stalin himself had ignored many warnings about such an invasion, and now they desperately needed weapons and supplies to stem the Nazi advance.
Stalin urged Winston Churchill, Britain's wartime leader, to send him Spitfires, the RAF's latest and fastest fighter planes. Churchill refused.
Britain was still struggling to keep the Germans at bay across the Channel and needed its best aircraft for that fight. But to show willing to his new ally, he dispatched Hurricanes - 40 of them to begin with, hundreds later.
As trainers and technicians went the men of 151 Wing, made up of two squadrons, Nos 81 and 134. They were officially under the command of Admiral Nikolai Kuznetsov, head of the Soviet Navy and Naval Air Service, and their orders were to undertake 'the defence of the naval base of Murmansk and co-operation with the Soviet Forces in the Murmansk areas'.
In practice, their job was to get the Hurricanes flying, train the Russians in their use, hand them over and return to Britain. But since they were within easy range of air bases in Germany's ally Finland, they would also go into action, escorting Russian bombers to these targets and shooting down as many German aircraft as they could

Speed was crucial. The ruthlessness and intensity of Operation Barbarossa, Hitler's attack on the Soviet Union, sent the Red Army reeling. It was essential to get the planes to Russia and flying as soon as possible - and before the winter snows began.
The first batch sailed from Liverpool on August 12 in a convoy headed for the port of Archangel, on Russia's White Sea.
Aboard the SS Llanstephen Castle were 16 Hurricanes in crates, with all the spares and kit they would need to get them in the air. The flotilla of ships, codenamed Dervish, was the first of the PQ convoys that later become notorious because so many of their ships were sunk by Nazi U-boats on that run through near-freezing seas to northern Russia.
The second batch, of 24 Hurricanes and their crews, were put on board HMS Argus, an escort carrier converted from a World War I Italian merchant ship.
She sailed from Greenock on August 19. When the Argus reached Murmansk Sound, the Hurricanes were to fly off from its deck and go directly to a remote and windswept airfield at Vaenga, 15 miles north-west of Murmansk on the Kola peninsula that borders Finland.
All 39 were to rendezvous there at a brutally exposed base whose rutted grass strip was open to the bitter winds and snows of the Russian winter. In all, around 550 RAF air and ground crew made this their home for the next four months, a very short time to get their mission completed in temperatures that would go down to -15C, with daylight that varied from 23 hours at the start to three at the end, and rain, mist, snow and ice.
They achieved miracles. Just six days after the Llanstephen Castle docked at Archangel on August 30, three Hurricanes took off for flight testing. Nine days after arrival all 15 were flying, to the delight of the pilots and the Russians. They flew up to Murmansk and the first operational patrols began.
Heading the operation was Wing Commander Ramsbottom-Isherwood, who, despite the overwhelming old-world Englishness of his name, was from New Zealand.
Short, wiry and tough-minded, he was a career RAF flyer in his mid-30s. He was probably the most experienced pilot in the Wing and had been awarded an Air Force Cross for his hazardous duties flight-testing Spitfires, Hurricanes, Typhoons and

Described as having a mouth like a steel trap he was, as one of his men said, not to be trifled with, although he did have a sense of humour and was known to enjoy a party. Once, in Murmansk, his absence at breakfast was noted after a particularly lively Anglo-Soviet celebration the previous night.
His pilots - many of whom had flown in the Battle of Britain of the previous year - were young and keen as mustard, although a bit surprised to find themselves 170 miles north of the Arctic Circle when they had initially believed they were going to the desert, a subterfuge designed to keep the mission secret before they set off.
Among them were Micky Rook and his cousin, the moustachioed Squadron Leader Tony Rook, both dashing six-footers. There was also one very short man, Flt Lt Jack Ross, who was a formidable flyer, having already shot down five German aircraft. He supervised much of the Russian pilots' flight training.
Vaenga, their base, was on a sandy silver birch-covered plateau a few miles from Murmansk Sound. It lacked concrete runways and tarmacked roads and there were no hangars - the aircraft were scattered in wooden pens screened by branches.
But living conditions were good. The men had brick barracks with solid windows and plenty of wood-fired heating.
On the very first day, the Russian hosts produced a welcoming breakfast that included champagne and brandy - delights that were not, however, to be repeated.
The only complaints came from younger officers who found the daily menu of smoked salmon, caviar and cold ham a poor substitute for the bacon and eggs and sausages they were used to. The youngest occasionally complained: 'Oh, hell, here's that smoked salmon again.'
But they saw their job as more than just assembling Hurricanes for the Russians and training them in their use. Here was a not-to-be-missed chance for these Battle of Britain veterans to take on the Luftwaffe again in a different theatre of operations.

On September 12, six patrols and escorts went out and 151 Wing had its first skirmishes with enemy planes. Three of the enemy were shot down, but at a price - the loss of sergeant pilot N. Smith, the Murmansk mission's only combat fatality.
His aircraft was hit behind the cockpit. Unable to bail out because the cockpit rail was damaged, it is thought he attempted a crash-landing on rugged ground and was killed.
Others flirted with death, as Flight-Lieutenant Rook did when he took on that Messerschmitt, one of six flying in formation. At 7,000ft over Finland, he had become separated from the rest of his patrol and, at first, thought the six planes he spotted ahead of him were his own men. He sidled up alongside them before realising his mistake.
They turned on him. He blasted the first one out of the sky and then dived for home at Vaenga with the other five enemy fighters on his tail. They chased him down to mast height over Murmansk Sound before he shook them off.
As he said later, having landed after one of the stiffest dogfights of his life, he sat sweating in his cockpit for a good five minutes before he could lever himself out. The Germans, he said, 'must have thought I was either bloody brave or bloody foolish'.
In all, Wing 151 carried out 365 sorties during its stay at Vaenga, claiming 11 Messerschmitt fighters and three Ju88 bombers shot down - a very creditable tally, considering how short the mission was. On October 13, the handover of the Hurricanes to the Air Force of the Soviet Northern Fleet started.
On October 26 the first Luftwaffe aircraft was destroyed by an ex-151 Wing Hurricane flown by a Russian pilot. Force Benedict's job was done. It was time to go home.
But before leaving, the Wing organised a farewell party for their hosts. The whisky, gin and port proved too much for the Russians, despite their liking for copious amounts of vodka.
On November 16, an advance party left for Archangel to sail back to Britain.
A fortnight later, Wing-Commander Ramsbottom-Isherwood, Squadron Leaders Rook and AG Miller and Flt Sgt Haw were awarded the Order of Lenin, the only four British servicemen so honoured in the whole of World War II.
In the list of Russian honours, the only one higher is the Order of Victory, and only one of those was awarded to a Brit - Viscount Montgomery.
On a fine spring day in late March 1942, the four were invited to the Soviet embassy in Kensington where Ivan Maisky, the ambassador, presented them with the medals.

The importance of the event for Anglo-Soviet relations was shown by the presence of Clementine Churchill, representing the Prime Minister Winston Churchill; Sir Archibald Sinclair, Britain's Air Secretary; Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, the Chief of Air Staff; and Air Marshal Sir William Sholto Douglas, head of fighter command.
Ramsbottom-Isherwood was also awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross for his Russian exploits. He later flew in the Far East and survived the war, rising to the rank of group captain. Afterwards, he became commanding officer at Martlesham Heath RAF base in Suffolk.
On April 24, 1950, he took off in a Meteor jet fighter, then just coming into service, for a test flight. Over Kent, he ran into blinding snowstorms and icy conditions.
He flew over West Malling at 200ft and headed for RAF Manston. At 10.45 the aircraft dived into the ground four miles east of Tonbridge and disintegrated, killing him outright.
Extreme icing was the likeliest cause of the accident. At only 44, the man who had led Force Benedict through the wintry skies of Northern Russia had died in conditions similar to those he and his men had encountered and overcome in distant Murmansk.
His medal, along with his other awards, stayed with his family. His wife remarried and went to America. She is now dead. His only child, India, just 10 when her father died, had little interest in medals. Eventually she settled in Rottingdean, on the East Sussex coast. She is now frail and in her late 60s.
In February she moved to Somerset to be looked after by friends.
While her house was being cleared, a plastic bag containing her father's long-forgotten medals was found at the back of a cupboard.
In it were his AFC and DFC 37 - and that rare and elusive Order of Lenin. From that find has emerged a rarely remembered story of World War II bravery and the odd, forgotten campaign fought by the men of 151 Wing in a remote, cold corner of the Soviet Union.


picture: Group Captain H N G Ramsbottom-Isherwood was one of only four non-Russins awarded the Order of Lenin

[bobbysocks]

this is pretty interesting....

Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn't famous for anything
heroic. He was*notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie." He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was
very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.
To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends, as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago*mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example.

One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al "Scarface" Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.
*The poem read:

"The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop,at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time.* For the clock may soon be still."

STORY NUMBER TWO

World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless.* He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger.There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft.

This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor. A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29.* His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O'Hare Airport in*Chicago*is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.



So, the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor. It's located between Terminals 1 and 2.

SO WHAT DO THESE TWO STORIES HAVE TO DO WITH EACH OTHER?



Butch O'Hare was "Easy Eddie's" son.

[bobbysocks]

World War II fighter pilot is reunited with the Spitfire he was shot down in 65 years ago

A fighter pilot shot down over France more than 65 years ago has been re-united with the Spitfire that almost became his tomb.

Piotr Kuryllowicz was serving with the RAF in 1943 when he bailed out of his blazing Spitfire Mk IX over the Somme after an attack by a Luftwaffe fighter.

The plane, which plummeted 20,000 feet into the ground, lay buried six metres deep until it was recovered in 2005 by French enthusiasts and sent for restoration.

And this week, the 90-year-old who now lives in Canada, took his place back behind the controls for the first time since he was shot down.

Remembering the last time he flew the plane with No. 315 and No317 Squadrons, he said: ‘We were always having lectures, every week it would be something different. In one they told us if you are more than 250 feet away from the enemy, don't bother firing because you will only dent the aircraft from that distance.

Well, we were over Somme flying close escort and I looked over my shoulder and could see someone firing at me, I think it was a Focke Wulf or a ME109.

‘I thought they were too far away to do any damage, the next thing I know I could hear someone on the radio saying Kuryllowicz is on fire.’

Mr Kuryllowicz, who received the Polish Cross of Valour for his wartime efforts, was captured by the Germans while the plane lay wrecked in the French fields until 2005.

He remained a POW until the end of the war, interned in the Stalag Luft III prisoner of war camp made famous in The Great Escape and The Wooden Horse.

The plane was recovered by French aviation enthusiast Pierre Ben and a team from Somme Aviation 39-45, who discovered it buried 6 metres below the ground.

Remarkably some of its original skin was intact, including the squadron insignia and markings, which helped them to identify it and trace Mr Kuryllowicz.

At a special ceremony in France in 2006, he saw the wreckage for the first time and was presented with a crowbar that could have saved his life.

Mr Kuryllowicz used the tool, mounted on the inside of the door, to break the jammed lock of the cockpit canopy, before climbing free of the burning plane and parachuting to safety.

‘As I climbed out on to the side of the plane I remember looking at the rivets and thinking how big they looked. It is strange the things that go through your head when something like that happens,’ said Mr Kuryllowicz.

‘I make sure I have a crowbar in every car I drive now.’

Airframe Assemblies has been involved in restoring or repairing around 90 per cent of the 54 Spitfires thought to still be flying.

[bobbysocks]

a short from one of "the few"

“Our day in a fighter squadron started one hour before dawn and went on to one hour after dusk. This meant that we were on duty from about 3.30 am during the summer and autumn of 1940 and stood down at about 10.30 in the evening. That is of course, when we were not called upon to fly throughout the night, which occasionally happened.”

On the morning of the 15th September 1940, Tom Neil was shaken from his sleep and scrambled with his fellow pilots of 249 Squadron. Leaving the grass airfield at North Weald, the Hurricanes lifted off and began to climb away from the aerodrome.

With tired eyes, the pilots rigorously scanned the arena for the opposing Hun. Flying as Yellow 2, Neil watched as Bf 109s flew over several thousand feet above. Soon after, Ack-ack began to thump into the air at the approaching formation of Dornier 17 bombers. The Squadron turned towards them to attack. Neil positioned himself slightly below and dead astern to the nearest aircraft. With the gun button set to ‘fire’, Neil closed in and sprayed the port side of the Do 17. After putting in a second burst, Neil fell back to maintain his position and watched in amazement as two large objects were flung from the Do 17. In a flash, Neil looked up as the two men passed over his Hurricane with undeveloped parachutes. The crew had bailed out and almost collided with their startled attacker. Suddenly Neil was in the presence of hungry 109’s looking for trouble. After some intense manoeuvrings and fighting, Neil looked around to find he was alone. The action had disappeared as quickly as it had started.

Neil kept his head turning in all directions, knowing full well that there could be hidden bandits skulking in the vast amounts of cumulus cloud. Sure enough, he spotted a Dornier slightly above him. Neil opened up the throttle and set after it. Flying high above the Thames, he quickly caught up with the Do 17, realizing that he wasn’t alone. About 200 yards on Neil’s left was a Spitfire, chasing after the bomber in front. Hurricane and Spitfire flew line abreast and watched as the Hun took cover in the large cotton wool clouds. Quickly re-emerging, it took evasive action and began to dive towards the Estuary. Neil and his companion began astern attacks, taking it in turns to fire short bursts into the Dornier. With smoking engines the aircraft turned eastwards towards the sea. After a final attack, the Hurricane’s guns fell silent. Neil watched the Spitfire deliver the remainder of its ammo and then pull away. The stricken aircraft lost height and grazed over the convoy of ships below. Exhausted, the Dornier’s tail slumped and collided with the North Sea. Leaving the Hun to submerge in the waves, the RAF’s finest veered away.

Flying inland together, the Spitfire pilot gave a wave from the cockpit and pulled away, leaving Neil to head back for North Weald.

[bobbysocks]

The Luftwaffe’s Flying Dutchmen

The following is the translation from French of an article by German historian Hans-Werner Neulen which was published in the February/March 2001 issue of AÉRO JOURNAL magazine, published bi-monthly by Aéro-Éditions of F-32500 Fleurance.

All the countries occupied by the Germans between 1939 and 1945 supplied the Luftwaffe with aircrew contingents, of greater or lesser importance and for the most part these were comprised of volunteers. In proportion to the size of their small nation, the Dutch were probably the most numerous. The following is the history of four such men.

To face the German invasion of the Netherlands on 10th May 1940 the LVA could assemble some three hundred aircraft, of which 25% were combat types (being utilised by Lv regiments 1 & 2) Dutch military aviation offered vigorous resistance to the Luftwaffe. In five days of combat, the Dutch lost 80 aircraft (70% of their front-line strength). The Germans losses totalled 328 machines (1) (including 206 brought down by anti-aircraft guns)

FOREIGN VOLUNTEERS
Five years of occupation followed. During this period a small number of Dutch nationals collaborated with the new masters of the Netherlands. Some fifty thousand Dutch volunteered for Service in either German military (Waffen-SS, Kriegsmarine) or para-military (NSKK, OT, RAD etc) units. Only a minute fraction of these volunteers chose aviation.

A list prepared in 1945 for judicial purposes (Strijders in Duitschen Dienst aan het Oostfront) states – via informants or unit names – the existence of twenty-two Dutch nationals who served as ‘aviators' (2) This list is most likely incomplete, it was prepared in haste shortly after the country was liberated and thus with little retrospection. It is however accepted that about a dozen Dutchmen did serve as active aircrew. This is a large contingent for a western European nation.

It may be said that the citizens of the Netherlands possessed a ‘trump card’ faced with the racial policies of the national-socialists. They were viewed as a Germanic race and so could enrol without problems in units such as the Waffen-SS. The Luftwaffe authorities however, were for their part, more reserved and hardly willing to put their machines in the hands of foreigners. It was too easy for a candidate to desert in possession of a modern aircraft or to reach neutral countries or land behind enemy lines. This intransigent opinion was to be relaxed during the course of the war. The losses of German aviation provide evidence of how it became possible for Estonians Latvians, Russians, Norwegians, Danes, French, Belgians and others to enter the exclusive ranks of German aircrew. They are found in all units, fighter, night-harassment, bomber, etc. Despite understandable desertions at the war’s end, it is nonetheless clear that the greater part of these foreign volunteers died alongside their German colleagues before the final collapse of the IIIrd Reich.

The reasons why foreign volunteers chose to serve in the Luftwaffe are simple to understand; a desire for adventure, idealism, love of flying, fascination with modern technology, political convictions and even as a profession (it may have been seen as training and preparation for a post-war career in civil aviation) Another important element was the fear of ending up as an infantryman on the eastern front. This was the lot of most Estonians, Latvians and the French from Alsace-Lorraine who having been incorporated into the Reich were then automatically enrolled into the Wehrmacht. Fear of foot service in the East was undeniably a factor for prospective foreign aircrew. In view of all this and of the skills and capabilities demanded of aircrew, it is becomes clear why those of a mercenary disposition, attracted to military service merely for the pay, are not found among the ranks of aircrew. This is also true of the four Dutch volunteers whose tales are related below.


KLAAS VISSER
Klaas Visser was born on 24th December 1921 in Amsterdam; the son of a shopkeeper/delivery driver. He attended school from 1927 to 1936. Then his schooling was interrupted and he worked fulltime in his parent’s shop, whilst attending evening classes through to 1937. In September 1942 for reasons which remain unknown he volunteered for active service in a German unit which also remains unidentified. Whatever, in a CV signed by him on 10 July 1943 he states being employed as a chauffeur in Berlin. His military ID states that he was attached to aerodrome A 9/VII, namely Crailsheim. On 20 March 1943 he concluded basic training at Fliegerregiment 51 and was posted on 1 June 1943 to 6/Fl.Rgt.90. He was subsequently assigned on 1944 to 9/NJG.1 His engagement seems to have come as a shock to his family, as he wrote in his CV. ‘My relationship with my parents, my brothers and sisters and my friends is not good in view of my voluntary service in the Wehrmacht’

Perhaps Visser was thinking of reversing his choice – but this would prove to be out of the question. His voluntary Luftwaffe service was not to be terminated by a voluntary retirement! In September 1944 in regard to the fast advancing allies, NJG 1 had to abandon its bases in Belgium & Netherlands. III/NJG 1 reached Fritzlar via Werl and Krefeld. Visser was allocated to a crew as gunner (3). On the evening of 12 December 1944, Bf 110G-4 G9+OT (Werknummer 440135) with Flieger Hans Apel (pilot) Unteroffizier Walter Trenck and our Gefreiter Visser took off on a sortie. That night Essen was the RAF’s target – during which they dropped more than 2354 tonnes of bombs on the town. G9+OT was engaged and destroyed by an allied night-fighter. Trenck and Apel survived (4) but Visser was killed near Dorsten. The young Dutch volunteer is buried in the local cemetery of Marl-Brassert.

WILLEM EDUARD DE GRAAF
De Graaf, an experienced and competent KLM pilot would prove to have more of a chance. He was born on 11th January 1908 in Soekaboemi (Netherlands East Indies) His father originated from the Netherlands, his mother was Indonesian. He joined KLM in 1926 to become an aeronautical engineer. From October 1930 through to the start of 1933 he was in the service of the LVA so as to obtain his military pilot’s brevet (in 1931) and his B brevet (in 1933) As of May 1st 1933 he was appointed a co-pilot on KLM’s European and Asian routes. It is most probable that, during this period, he experienced rebuffs or prejudices due to his appearance and background and these accordingly may have influenced his attitude.



After the invasion of his country De Graaf became an adherent of the NSB and was accepted with no problems. (perhaps understandable in view of the close links between the mother country and her colonies). De Graaf’s choice perhaps can be explained with simple ‘belonging’ psychology: that of being a ‘half-caste’ who was always viewed as an ‘outsider’ by the ‘Dutch’ – then becoming a fully accepted member of the party which collaborated with the Germans.

In 1942 he applied to join the Luftwaffe and was eagerly accepted despite his ancestry not exactly complying with ‘Aryan’ requirements. In April this member of the ‘old brigade’ found himself in the 4th recruit company of Fliegerausbildungsregiment 42 in Salzwedel. But he soon left this ‘boy’s unit ’ to serve as a delivery pilot between an aircraft factory in Leipzig and Rangsdorf airfield. In 1943 he was with the celebrated Versuchsverband des ObdL. This was an elite unit carrying out special missions and dropping agents behind enemy lines. This posting proves in itself the obvious capabilities of the Dutch-Indonesian pilot, and the confidence placed in him by his superiors. On November 3rd 1943 he received a serious leg injury when his B-71 (Czech licence-built Tupolev SB2) DR+PG Werknummer 230 crashed in the northern Crimea. His injuries kept him from the front for some months.

In February 1944 the Versuchsverband des ObdL was incorporated into the equally renowned KG 200 and De Graaf and his comrades performed many more audacious and secret missions as Kommando Maria of I./KG200. Flying diverse aircraft, often captured types, they would ensure agents were dropped close as possible to targets before leaving them. Willem Eduard De Graaf survived to 1945 when he was trained to fly jet fighters. After Germany capitulated he went undercover for a period in Germany itself before reaching South America. At this point all trace of him was lost (7).

JOHANNES ANTONIUS KUHN
Johannes Antonius Kuhn. Born in Amsterdam on 15th November 1908 was destined to survive WW2. Having obtained his pilot’s brevet in 1932, he was applied in 1937 for a six-year posting to the KNIL. He was accepted on August 14th. In the colony the reserve NCO flew Martin 139 bombers, but in 1938 he was repatriated due to health problems related to the tropical climate. En 1939 he re-engaged for service in the ML. He started with the unit I-2 LvR (equipped with Fokker C-V & Koolhoven FK-51) before progressing at the end of 1939 to V-2 LvR (a fighter unit) to re-train as a fighter pilot. At the start of 1940 he was the pilot of a Douglas DB-8A. The Netherlands had 28 of these aircraft. It is amazing that they were in service as fighters as they were designed as two-seat bombers. A shortage of fighter aircraft had forced the Dutch to take this drastic measure. Kuhn’s (nicknamed ‘Bulletje’ by his colleagues on account of his short stature) involvement in the May 1940 actions was to be brief. On the 1oth May his DB-8A N° 392 was shot down near Pijnacker (probably by a Bf 110 of II./ZG1) Kuhn and his radio-operator NCO Staal were able to leave the machine but Kuhn suffered serious injury to a knee as a result of the crash landing. This meant long months of recuperation in hospital which then followed. In 1942 he was regarded as fully recovered and discharged on 15th October, having been declared as unsuitable for flying duties. That same year he applied to join the Luftwaffe. What was his motivation? In 1944 during interrogation by the British he stated that his German fiancée pushed him into making this choice. One suspects that this was purely an excuse.



Anyhow, in view of his prolonged absence from flying, the Luftwaffe were not going to let him escape the need for re-training! From October 1942 through to April 1943 he was at Flieger-Ausbildung-Regiment 63 at Toul (F) before moving on to the Flugzeugführerüberprüfungschule at Prenzlau. Subsequently at the start of January 1944 he moved to Schlachtgeschwader 101 (a ground-attack unit equipped with Fw 190 and some Hs 129s) based at Orly (F) After an interlude training at Quedlinburg, the Dutchman was transferred to Überführungsgruppe West, a ferry unit formed in mid-1943to fly new or repaired aircraft from factories to front-line units.

Überführungsgruppe West comprised 4 Geschwader. Kuhn belonged to the third. It Willie recognised that Kuhn had arrived at a bad moment. In the weeks preceding June 6th 1944 the ferry pilots had to accept the risk of allied intruder fighters spoiling for a fight. Many pilots were shot down due to this cause. When the ferried aircraft finally reached the airfields, they were then likely to become targets for allied bombers. After the invasion on D-Day 6th June, Überführungsgruppe West abandoned their advance bases and retreated to within the Reich borders. The quality of the pilots declined rapidly as a result of losses reaching 35/40%! Kuhn was particularly depressed as, being based at Langendiebach, he regularly had to take-off in He IIIs of TG 30 participating in supply flights for the German pockets of resistance on the Atlantic coast.

He decided to desert. To do so he had to wait for a favourable moment, which presented itself on 30th August 1944. On that day he was flying one of fourteen FW 190A8s being sent to reinforce JG 26 at Brussels-Melbroek. Kuhn was flying Werknummer 171747. Time was getting short. At 11:30 he took off for Belgium. He passed Aachen & Ostend and then headed west. Close to the many ships at sea he crossed the North Sea. So as not to run the risk of being shot down by British flak, he did not head for a known aerodrome, but managed to put his aircraft down in open country near Monkton in Kent. It was a good landing and his aircraft suffered only minor damage. It would receive the serial AM230 and would be displayed to the public many times; at Farnborough in 1945 , then going to the Science Museum in London in 1946. It was later scrapped.

As for Kuhn he remained a POW in Great Britain until 1949. In the 1980s he was given a friendly welcome by Dutch military aviation veterans. His peers managed to sponge over his ‘intermezzo’ in the Luftwaffe.

KLAAS VISSER
Klaas Visser was born on 24th December 1921 in Amsterdam; the son of a shopkeeper/delivery driver. He attended school from 1927 to 1936. Then his schooling was interrupted and he worked fulltime in his parent’s shop, whilst attending evening classes through to 1937. In September 1942 for reasons which remain unknown he volunteered for active service in a German unit which also remains unidentified. Whatever, in a CV signed by him on 10 July 1943 he states being employed as a chauffeur in Berlin. His military ID states that he was attached to aerodrome A 9/VII, namely Crailsheim. On 20 March 1943 he concluded basic training at Fliegerregiment 51 and was posted on 1 June 1943 to 6/Fl.Rgt.90. He was subsequently assigned on 1944 to 9/NJG.1 His engagement seems to have come as a shock to his family, as he wrote in his CV. ‘My relationship with my parents, my brothers and sisters and my friends is not good in view of my voluntary service in the Wehrmacht’

Perhaps Visser was thinking of reversing his choice – but this would prove to be out of the question. His voluntary Luftwaffe service was not to be terminated by a voluntary retirement! In September 1944 in regard to the fast advancing allies, NJG 1 had to abandon its bases in Belgium & Netherlands. III/NJG 1 reached Fritzlar via Werl and Krefeld. Visser was allocated to a crew as gunner (3). On the evening of 12 December 1944, Bf 110G-4 G9+OT (Werknummer 440135) with Flieger Hans Apel (pilot) Unteroffizier Walter Trenck and our Gefreiter Visser took off on a sortie. That night Essen was the RAF’s target – during which they dropped more than 2354 tonnes of bombs on the town. G9+OT was engaged and destroyed by an allied night-fighter. Trenck and Apel survived (4) but Visser was killed near Dorsten. The young Dutch volunteer is buried in the local cemetery of Marl-Brassert.

Notes:
1. Including losses inflicted by British & French fighters....
2. It is likely that some listed as ‘aviators’ were actually Luftwaffe drivers or flak crew.
3. Gunners did not need such long training as pilots or radio operators. Often groundcrew flew as gunners
4. A brief respite. Both were later KIA on 21 February 1945
5. This is as amazing as the case of Fleming Guido Rombouts, who joined the Algemeen SS and transferred straight away to the Luftwaffe. Rombout was succesful in achieving his goal although it seems he did not even at the time possess a civil pilot’s licence. He eventually joined JG 1 and was also killed in combat.
6. Other sources (Prien & Rodeike) state Werk-Nr. 27091 and call him <Fw. Dr Johann Vliegner > – some Dutchman!
7. Perhaps, like many others, he intended becoming a civil airline pilot in S. America

[bobbysocks]

US pilot who crashed in Britain in 1944 returns to unveil memorial to comrades after plane wreckage is found.

Waiting in the departure lounge at JFK in New York for a flight to London, an announcement came over the public address system. We would be traveling with a very important passenger, it said.

An elderly man was sitting in a wheelchair. This, we were told, was Norman Landberg, who had flown 56 missions over Europe in B-24 Liberators during WWII. He was returning to Britain for the first time since 1945 to be guest of honor at a ceremony to unveil a memorial for two of his comrades, who had died when a plane he was flying had crashed on take-off.

America has a great sense of respect for war veterans and the passengers rose to applaud Mr Landberg as he was wheeled through the gate and down to the plane. I found him sitting in business class, his seat set in the reclining position, being cosseted by two flight attendants, a modest, quiet-spoken man in a tracksuit and trainers, slightly bemused by all the fuss.

During the war, Lt Landberg of 36 Bomber Squadron, as he was then, was stationed in Cheddington Air Base in Ivinghoe, Buckinghamshire. His trip to Britain was not only the first time he had been back to the country since 1945, he told me, but the first time he had been in an aircraft, "I'm a little nervous." He thought for a moment. "Anticipatory."

It was all very different from flying over Germany in a B-24. "What was that like? Oh my God, there was no insulation. It was cold as hell, 50 degrees below. Your wings would be flapping all over the place, rackety as anything. It was terrible."

Mr Landberg's squadron was engaged in special operations, attached to RAF 100 Group. His B-24 did not carry bombs but top secret radar-jamming equipment. His job was to fly lone missions over Germany, without any support from fighters, in advance of the Lancaster bombing raids. Flying below enemy radar, Lt Landberg would circle an area at an altitude of between 50ft and 100ft, transmitting radar signals designed to fool the Germans into scrambling their fighter squadrons in pursuit of a non-existent enemy.

By the time the actual bombers arrived - or so the theory went - the nightfighters would be back on the ground refueling. Mr Landberg's description of this is succinct: "Scary."

He was just 21 at the time, responsible for the lives of his 10-man crew. "That responsibility was not lost on me and that's the reason I'm coming to England." On the night of Nov 15th 1944, Lt Landberg took off on what he expected to be a routine - if such a word can be used - mission.

Shortly after take-off, his aircraft lost power. "All my lights went out. My engineer had a flashlight which he shone in my eyes. I couldn't see the instruments and my left wing caught the ground and I started to tumble."

The plane hit the ground, ploughing across two fields. The aircraft was loaded with 4,000 gallons of fuel and 26,000 rounds of ammunition. It should have exploded but amazingly, it didn't.

However, Lt Landberg's navigator and best friend William Lamson and the left-waist gunner Leonard Smith were killed on impact. The cockpit in which Lt Landberg was sitting was ripped from the fuselage and thrown 300 yards from the wreck. "I just snapped off the safety belt and stepped out onto the ground" he said. "Oh my God, it was something."

The other seven crew members also survived. Lt Landberg had a week of rest in Torquay before rejoining his squadron to fly another 30 missions.

At the end of the war he went back to his home and young wife Elizabeth in Atlantic City. "She was a great girl" he said. "She still is."

He thought of staying on in the Air Force, "but I'd sort of had my fill. Particularly of flying." He went to engineering school and then got into sales. "I was travelling all over the country, you can sell anything and I loved driving a car."

Mr Landberg has been so affected by the crash that he never spoke of it, not even to his wife. It might have passed, forgotten, into history had it not been for Chris Jellis, a 43-year old film prop man who lives in Ivinghoe. Mr Jellis' cousin owns Force End Farm, where Lt Landberg's B-24 crashed in 1944. For years, he had been plowing up bits of the wreckage, including live .50 cal ammunition without knowing what they were from.

In 1993, Mr Jellis himself picked up a piece of metal bearing a manufacturer's plate - Ford Motor Co. Dearborn - and soon became, in his own words, "a bit of an anorak on the B-24." A local historian told him that American bombers had been stationed at Cheddington. Through military records here and in America he determined the squadron and names of the crew of the crashed bomber. Dialing every N Landberg in phone directories in America, he eventually found his Lt Landberg.

I said "Is that Lt Landberg?" Mr Jellis told me. "He said 'No-one's called me that since 1945' "
When I told him I'd been picking up bits of wreckage from his plane for years, he said "Didn't they clear that sucker up?"

Mr Jellis resolved to erect a memorial in honor of the two airmen who had died. Yesterday, Mr Landberg joined the only other surviving member of his crew, the tail-gunner George Eberwine, whom he had not seen since the end of the war, at a ceremony to unveil the marble stone at the site of the crash. The ceremony included a dedication by a USAF chaplain, fly-past and wreath laying.

Mr Landberg later planned to visit the American war cemetery in Cambridge and the Imperial War Museum. As we neared Britain on Thursday, Mr Landberg told me, accepting a drink from a flight attendant, that the flight "was quite something". It might even have cured his aversion for flying. "It was most pleasant." he said, as we taxied to the arrivals gate. "I don't think I'll be quite so nervous flying home."

[bobbysocks]

My turban saved my life after I was shot down in dogfight, reveals Sikh WWII flying ace

A sikh fighter pilot's life was saved by the padding in his turban after he was forced to ditch his plane in a WWII dogfight.

Squadron Leader Mohinder Singh Pujji, one of only a handful of Indian ace flyers in the RAF, crashed into the English Channel after his plane was shot down in a mid-air skirmish.
Advised to plant his stricken Hurricane in the sea because he was unable to swim, the 22-year-old nose-dived into the water.
Rescuers boarded boats to help the young flyer, who crashed landed near the White Cliffs of Dover, and pulled him from the wreckage with bad head injuries.

But Sqdn Ldr Singh Pujji, now 91, has told how his specially-adapted headgear, which even had his wings sewn onto it, acted as a cushion for the crash-landing.
He said: 'The padding of my turban saved me, it was full of blood. I was taken to the hospital but after seven days I was back to flying again.'

He added: 'I couldn't swim. I carried on until I saw the white cliffs of Dover and I thought, "I'll make it."
'The aircraft was a total wreck. I was dragged out and I heard voices saying, "He's still alive, he's still alive." Because my eyes were closed I couldn't see.'

Sqdn Ldr Pujji added how his turban was fitted so that the earphones could go over the top and how he carried a spare in his cockpit.
'I had a special strap made to hold my earphones. I used to carry a spare turban with me so I would have one if I got shot down.
'I thought I was a very religious man, I shouldn't take off my turban.'
Sqdn Ldr Singh Pujji surrounds himself with wartime memorabilia at his sheltered accommodation block in Gravesend, Kent.

He relived his daring wartime exploits ahead his memoirs published later this year, called For King and Another Country.
He said he signed up for the RAF after responding to an advert declaring 'Pilots needed for Royal Air Force' in an Indian newspaper.

And after learning to fly in 1937 he was one of only eight pilots from the Empire colony deemed good enough for fighter duties.
Arriving in August 1940, at the height of the Battle of the Britain, the young officer then flew countless missions against Hitler's Luftwaffe.

He said: 'Every day was a question of life and death. Every flight we made we weren't sure we were going to come back.
'It's a job which can't easily be described, escorting convoys over the English Channel, going over occupied countries looking out for enemies, escorting bombers and making interceptions.

'In one minute we would have to be strapped in and up in the air ready to meet enemy fighters. This was three to four times a day, throughout six months.'
He had another lucky escape when he was shot down by Rommel's army in the Western Desert in north Africa.

He said: 'I didn't know what to do. I wasn't on fire, I didn't get hurt. I knew if I carried on north I would get to the Mediterranean, but any other direction I knew nothing.
'I gave up and sat on top of my plane and after a while I saw a cloud of dust. I did not mind who it was picking me up, Germany or Britain.
'I started waving my shirt and luckily it was the British.'

Sqdn Leader Pujji, who was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his bravery, hit the headlines last year after campaigning against the BNP.
He was angered by party leader Nick Griffin's use of the iconic Spitfire to symbolize Britishness.

[bobbysocks]

The Death of George Preddy

CHRISTMAS DAY 1944
By Samuel L. Sox, Jr.


The 9th Air Force, already operating from the continent for months providing close ground support for Allied armor and infantry, found itself much in demand and greatly overworked. The 9th sent an urgent request to the 8th Fighter Command requesting two additional fighter units to come to its aid. On the 23rd of December, Preddy led his 328th Squadron along with the 487th and 486th to a small remote 9th Air Force field located at Asch, Belgium, designated Y-29. The field was so close to the German lines that aircraft in the landing pattern were occasionally fired upon by enemy antiaircraft units.

The 352nd was not accustomed to the tough living conditions it now faced. Living in tents was a far cry from the Nissen huts the pilots occupied at Bodney. Most of the troops thought they would freeze to death the first night. The next day was spent getting the unit settled down and assembled. The ground crews who were transported in C-47s became lost and arrived a day late. The first mission from Y-29 was a milk run, no action. Christmas Day found flyable ceilings and two missions were scheduled that day. Preddy led his unit on the second one, a support mission into Germany with the bombers from the 8th. Lt. Gordon Cartee was Preddy's wing man. Cartee recalls, "After stooling around for a while, due to no action, we were vectored to an area close to Koblenz, Germany, where enemy aircraft had been encountered. Preddy, receiving the call said, "They've started without us, let's join them." Preddy immediately turned in that direction. Just as Mitchell was about to peel off, he looked up and spotted two 109s coming down on him and Lambright. He called to Preddy for assistance, but there was so much chatter on the radio that Preddy never heard him. Mitchell believes to this day that, had Preddy heard his cry for help, he would never have placed himself into the series of events that were to follow.

Cartee continues, "Preddy spotted two 109s and got into a Lufbery with the first one. Neither were gaining much advantage when all of a sudden another 109 cut in front of him. He eased up on his controls just enough, gave it a short burst, blazed it and then resumed his pursuit of the first one. The 109 lost his concentration seeing his buddy flamed and Preddy nailed him. Preddy's score now totaled 27.5 aerial and five ground victories. Moments later, Preddy and Cartee were vectored to an area southeast of Liege where it was reported that enemy aircraft were strafing Allied ground troops.

As they neared Liege, they were joined by a white nosed Mustang from the 479th FS, Lt. James Bouchier, who had become detached from his squadron. From the initial intercept point, approximately 3 to 4 miles SE of Liege, Preddy, now from a height of about 1500 feet, began to accelerate having picked out a long nosed FW-190 in the distance heading Northeast. He radioed “tally ho” to Control and was immediately cleared to make the intercept. There was also some talk between Control and Preddy about intense flak in the area of intercept and it being halted so the attack could be made. Unknown to Preddy, Cartee and Bouchier, was that their line of flight was taking them over the quad 50 cal. AA of “A” Battery of the 430th AA (who was attached to the 258th FABN XIX at that time) positioned on the west side of a large clump of trees 2 miles Southeast of Aachen, Germany. As they neared the AA gun positions, Preddy was hit first by ground fire, followed by Cartee and Bouchier. Cartee saw Cripes A'Mighty begin to lose coolant, the canopy came off and Preddy began a chandelle maneuver to his left. Cartee noticed that a tracer that had entered his cockpit was on the floor moldering. Without getting it out of the way, it could start a fire at his feet. He began trying to kick it around still trailing Preddy. Lt. Bouchier's Mustang also received fire, began smoking and he too broke left, climbing to about 1000' where he realized that he would have to bail out to free himself from his severely damaged P-51. He released his canopy, rolled the '51 over and dropped out safely landing in the British sector 7 to 8 miles North of where he had been hit. Further up Preddy's and Cartee's line of flight, now a couple miles South of Weisweiler, Sgt. Charles Brown, PFC John Starzynbski and Lt Murray Grobman ( 258th FABN XIX Corps) were standing at the NE edge of a very large wooded area approximately 2..5 miles SW from the a large church located in the little town of Langerwehe. They were startled by the sound of a sudden burst of quad 50-caliber mounted on a half track from behind and to their left. The burst lasted 3 to 4 seconds. When they looked to their left, just coming into their field of view was Preddy's Mustang, now upside down, approximately 200 to 300 feet altitude and 20 to 30 degrees nose down attitude.

Up in the steeple of the church in Langerwehe, as had been the case on several other occasions, was Sgt. Harold M. Kennedy and his buddy Cpl. Elmer L. Dye (both with the 104th Infantry Division). While the Battle of the Bulge raged just a few miles away, it was relatively static in their sector where the Division had dug in on the chance that the Germans might veer in their direction. Division headquarters had been set up in a large steel foundry just north of Langerwehe. Dye and Kennedy had spent quite a few hours killing time by posting themselves in the church tower with binoculars and watching the considerable air activity along the front.

Cartee recalled having passed over a wooded area and seeing in the distance a large church in their flight path. The woods NW of the church were occupied by elements of 555th AAA (AW) BN which were located on the northern edge of the German penetration. Their weapons were 40 mm anti-aircraft guns and quad .50 cal. machine guns. They were assigned to protect US troops from low flying German aircraft. The ground was frozen, covered with snow and the sky was filled with snow and heavy clouds making it very easy for the German armor to move about. The troops had lined up for a hot Christmas dinner consisting of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries and pumpkin pie. T/3 Leo J. Thoennes, of "B" Battery, recalls that he had just taken his mess kit of food and walked to the nearby gun section #4. Suddenly, before he could eat his dinner, what was thought to have been a P-47 (a FW-190) and a P-51, came over with their guns firing. The NCO in charge of the battery ordered his guns to return fire.

Kennedy recalled that as the Mustang passed over the church, firing from the 555th batteries became continuous and heavy. Lt. Mitchell, some distance away, recollects seeing multiple tracer rounds that gave every appearance of being "a whole field of golf balls," so intense was the anti-aircraft barrage.

From their vantage point looking NE, Sgt. Charles Brown, PFC John Starzynbski and Lt Murray Grobman saw Preddy fall from the Mustang at about 200 feet, his parachute not deployed and Cripes A’Mighty now inverted disappearing behind a tree line where they heard her hit the ground. Cartee glanced over his shoulder to see the Mustang continue it's rotation and violently impact the ground. After things quited down a bit, Lt. Grobman took his jeep and drove over to see what he could find. Later on when he returned, he told Brown and Starzynski that he did not go the crash site but he found where Preddy's body was located, added that the pilot was identified as a Major and his chute wasn't deployed. Brown recalls within minutes of the crash, 2 Me-109s flew over line abreast on the same path as Preddy and no US AA guns fired.

Sgt Kennedy and Cpl Dye went to the crash site of the Mustang noting that the largest portion remaining of the Mustang was the engine. Kennedy recalled seeing a piece of the fuselage on which swastikas had been painted.

Lt. Cartee returned safely to the field at Y-29 and made an uneventful landing.


William, George's brother, was also a P-51 fighter pilot and he too was killed in action over Budejovice Airfield in Czechoslovakia on April 17, 1945.

[bobbysocks]

here's one from the "strange but true" files....


http://www.flixxy.com/world-war-ii-fighter-pilot-reincarnation.htm

[McQ59]

here's one from the "strange but true" files....


http://www.flixxy.com/world-war-ii-fighter-pilot-reincarnation.htm


Spooky...

[bobbysocks]

an account from the battle of midway...

2nd Lieutenant William. V. Brooks

I was pilot of F2A-3, Bureau number 01523, Our division under Capt. Armistead was on standby duty at he end of the runway on the morning of June 4, 1942, from 0415 until 0615. At about 0600, the alarm sounded and we took off. My division climbed rapidly, and I was having a hard time keeping up. I discovered afterwards that although my wheels indicator and hydraulic pressure indicator both registered "wheels up", they were in reality about 1/3 of the way down. We sighted the enemy at about 14,000 feet, I would say that there were 40 to 50 planes. At this time Lt. Sandoval was also dropping back. My radio was at this time putting out no volume, so I could not get the message from Zed. At 17,000 feet, Capt. Armistead led the attack followed closely by Capt. Humberd. They went down the left of the Vee , leaving two planes burning. Lt. Sandoval went down the right side of the formation and I followed. One of us got a plane from the right side of the Vee. At this time, I had completely lost sight of my division. As I started to pull up for another run on the bombers, I was attacked by two fighters. Because my wheels being jammed 1/3 way down, I could not out dive these planes, but managed to dodge them and fire a burst or so into them as they went past me and as I headed for the water. As I circled the island, the anti-aircraft fire drove them away. My tabs, instruments and cockpit were shot up to quite an extent at this time and I was intending to come in for a landing.
It was at this time that I noticed that a important feature in their fighting. I saw two planes dog-fighting over in the east, and decided to go help my friend if at all possible. My plane was working very poorly, and my climb was slow. As I neared the fight both planes turned on me. It was then that I realized I had been tricked in a sham battle put on by two Japs and I failed to recognize this because of the sun in my eyes. Then I say I was out-numbered, I turned and made a fast retreat for the island, collecting a goodly number of bullets on the way. After one of these planes had been shaken, I managed to get a good burst into another as we passed head-on when I turned into him. I don't believe this ship could have gotten back to his carrier, because he immediately turned away and started north and down. I again decided to land, but as I circled the island I saw two Japs on a Brewster. Three of my guns were jammed, but I cut across the island, firing as I went with one gun. But I could not get there in time to help the American flier and as soon as the Brewster had gone into the water I came in for a landing at approximately 0715 (estimated).
It is my belief that the Japs have a very maneuverable and very fast ship in their zero fighters, plenty of fire-power . They can turn inside the Brewster, but of course on the speed I would be unable to say as my wheels were jammed about 1/3 way down all during the fight, causing considerable drag.
My plane was damaged somewhat, having 72 bullet and cannon holes in it, and I had a very slight flesh wound on my left leg.
It is my express desire that Lt. Sandoval, deceased be logged up with the bomber which one of us got in our first run.

[bobbysocks]

RAF museum podcast series....

http://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/podcasts/rafm-podcast-series.xml

[bobbysocks]

Mi Amigo : the Fate of a Flying Fortress

At Hunters Bar, Sheffield, in the north of England, there is a green space called Endcliffe Park. Kids still play football there after school. Some things never change.

John Glennon Kriegshauser was Missouri-born, and his sweetheart came from Ohio. About the way he met his destiny, we can know little and imagine much.

An incredulous man went in search of a stone, and was moved to write a book.

A doctor who wanted to be an artist pondered the ring-pulls of beverage cans.

And there was once a machine called the B-17. Its legend will never be dimmed.

All these pieces come together in the terrible and wonderful story of Mi Amigo.

Testament


This is a letter I hope is never mailed...

...My final word is that I'm glad to have been able to lay down my life for a cause which I believed was just and right.

As dusk fell on 22 February, 1944, a Flying Fortress fell from the sky over Sheffield, and crashed in woodland at the edge of a city park. In spite of the efforts of townsfolk, none of its crew of ten could be saved. Accounts of the incident were sparse from the beginning, and soon they became confused and embellished. Some of the mysteries surrounding the stricken aircraft's final hours could perhaps be resolved by the chroniclers of the formidable 8th Air Force. Some of them might never be explained.

The paucity of information about the last flight of Mi Amigo has itself become part of the myth. Commentators have speculated that the truth is too harrowing to be lightly told. We should remember, though, that this was just one sorrow among a relentless litany of sorrows. More than 40 other aircraft, and more than 400 other airmen of the Mighty 8th, were lost on that very same day. No single tragedy could merit special attention. All of the telegrams were brief.

Under such circumstances, the reminiscences that take the place of a more formal record have a poignant and intimate quality. For many years, the fate of Mi Amigo was almost unknown outside the families of her aircrew and the veterans of the Royal Air Force Association who diligently mark her anniversary.

But some tales, even half-complete ones, possess a remarkable power. They endure quietly in the folklore of the community that bore witness, until they bloom in the imagination of succeeding generations. They bloom because they weigh on the heart and summon the spirit at one and the same time.

This is such a story.

Black Thursday

14 October, 1943 was a fateful day in the history of the 305th Bomb Group. Fifteen of its B-17 Flying Fortresses set out from their base at Chelveston, Northamptonshire, taking part in one of the huge daylight raids that characterised this middle phase of World War II. Their target was a notorious one, a ball bearing plant at Schweinfurt, and its tenacious defence had already inflicted grievous losses in an earlier sortie. Sixty bombers failed to return from the mission. Of the 305th's complement only two came home; the worst percentage loss endured by any allied bomber squadron in the entire war.

Far away in Seattle, a B-17G rolled out of the Boeing plant on the same date. Her serial number was 42/31322, and the bomber born on Black Thursday was destined for a dreadful fate of her own.

The G-variant of the B-17 incorporated features adopted as a direct result of the first disaster over Schweinfurt. The aircraft underwent several refinements throughout its European war service, and nearly all of them were to enhance its defensive firepower against fighter attack.

The B-17G was the ultimate version, and it was equipped with no less than thirteen 0.5" machine guns. The distinctive chin turret with its forward-pointing twin cannon was added at this time. These guns were remote-controlled, under the charge of the bombardier. Eight of the crew of ten were called upon to operate the various machine guns in the event of a dogfight. Sometimes it was still not enough.

Mustering

The newborn B-17 spent the rest of 1943 flying around the United States, progressively acquiring the accessories of war. She sojourned in Illinois, Colorado, Wyoming and Nebraska. They furnished her with her fearsome guns, and with radio and navigational instruments, and they attached her bomb-racks. Within the Perspex nose canopy, they fitted the latest precision Norden bombsight.

It was appropriate in its way that the aircraft became all-American in the course of its augmentation. It would have a crew to match; young men, bright and optimistic. They were Everymen from Everywhere:

Lt John Kriegshauser (Missouri) - pilot
2nd Lt Lyle Curtis (Idaho) - co-pilot
2nd Lt John Humphrey (Illinois) - navigator
2nd Lt Melchor Hernandez (California) - bombardier
S/Sgt Harry Estabrooks (Kansas) - engineer and top-turret gunner
Sgt Charles Tuttle (Kentucky) - ball-turret gunner
S/Sgt Robert Mayfield (Illinois) - radio operator
Sgt Vito Ambrosio (New York) - right waist gunner
M/Sgt G. Malcolm Williams (Oklahoma) - left waist gunner
Sgt Maurice Robbins (Texas) - tail gunner
This crew was assembled at Geiger Field, Spokane, WA. It was destined to train together for longer than it would fight together, though in truth such an outcome was not unusual.

On the day that they all died, the youngest of these men was 21 years of age and the eldest 24. Lyle's wife was carrying a daughter he would never see. Vito's wife had spent a single day with her new husband before he left for England.

They came to Europe via Newfoundland, over-flying Greenland and Iceland before touching down at Prestwick in Scotland on 16 January, 1944. Within a fortnight, Mi Amigo was at Chelveston, and they painted a large letter 'G' in a triangle on both flanks of her tail. Now she was marked as part of the 305th Bomb Group. In a little over three weeks, she would fly fourteen successful missions.

At this stage of the war, with the Luftwaffe's combat effectiveness still at a high level, bomber crews completing twenty-five missions would be allowed to return home to the United States. Many did not get that far. The average number of missions flown by a B-17 crew was fifteen. As the end of February 1944 drew near, Mi Amigo's luck was due to run out.

Harvey

David Harvey was not a native of Sheffield, but he had already been a resident there for fifteen years when he chanced upon a story that he found hard to believe. A book discovered in the Imperial War Museum's repository at Duxford said that a Flying Fortress had crashed in his home city, and moreover in a part of it that he knew well.

Harvey was already a devoted researcher of the air war in Europe, and he was incredulous for two reasons. First, he knew that no planes of this type were stationed as far north as the Yorkshire city and that an off-course bomber returning home in distress would be expected to come down much closer to the east coast. Second, he couldn't understand why his friends (who were well aware of his interest) had never mentioned the incident.

There was even supposed to be a memorial stone in a park where he had often taken his children to play. He went looking for it.

The stone weighs half a ton, carries not one but two bronze plaques, stands about fifty metres from a busy café and is surrounded by ten oak trees deliberately planted to commemorate the lost airmen. In spite of this, it's deceptively easy to overlook. David Harvey didn't find it immediately, but when he did find it, he knew at once that he must tell the story.

Harvey's deeply moving little book was published in 1997. It remains the only substantive public account of the legend of Sheffield's Flying Fortress.

Naming

Superstition and sentimentality combine in the naming of a warplane. This one acquired its personality with the help of its Spanish-speaking bombardier. Melchor Hernandez surely did think of the craft as his friend, and the others acquiesced.

Mi Amigo was a good name. Discreet and reassuring, it belied the terrible purpose of the recipient. It captured the reliance of ten men on this unnatural thing of the skies, and it suggested their calm acceptance of their lot. It wasn't a vain name, or a defiant name. Mi Amigo still sounds like the choice of men who considered themselves neither heroic nor wronged.

She would have had nose-art. Sadly, there is no record of the image she bore. The only known photographs of Mi Amigo depict her smouldering remains among the trees, with only her tail recognisable.

Even her colouring is uncertain. Some eye-witnesses, who saw her while the fire was contained within the fuselage, claim she was the natural silver-grey of her aluminium skin. The intact tail, though, appears to have been painted in a drab camouflage shade. Depictions of the 305th BG's livery are inconclusive.

The Allies were committed to bombing round the clock. While the RAF carried out the night-raids, the 8th Air Force was assigned to daylight missions. For the Americans, camouflage was probably ineffective. A best guess is that Mi Amigo was mainly silver, with a tail plane in green and black.

Chelveston

They called it Big Week, that third week of February 1944. The air war was coming down to a simple equation. British and American bombers strove to destroy Germany's aircraft factories, and Germany's existing fighters strove to stop them. It became clear to the Allies that mass raids might overwhelm the Luftwaffe's defensive capacity, and Big Week was intended to do just that.

The first three days of bombing wreaked impressive destruction from Rostock to Augsburg, but the allied losses were also severe. Part of the problem was that the Americans were stretching their own capacity in terms of fighter escort. The plane of choice for that role was the medium-range P51-D Mustang, but these were new entrants to the theatre and not yet up to the numerical strength needed to cover bombardment of this intensity.

So it was that Col. Curtis Le May assented to fresh plans for his 305th Bomb Group. This contingent of the much larger force would attack the Germans' principal northern fighter base itself, at Alborg in Denmark. The intention was to compromise the Luftwaffe's defensive response. If they engaged the bombers bound for Germany, then they might have nowhere to come home to. If they chose to defend their airfield, then there might be no factories left to build their successors.

Kriegshauser and his crew would have learned this in the briefing room at dawn on 22 February, only minutes before taking to the air. The ground crew would have readied Mi Amigo during the night, including the stowing of her 4000-lb bomb load.

It was a morning like many others, though the weather was already poor and worsening. Mi Amigo's four Wright Cyclone engines powered up to their full 5000 horsepower as the Aldis lamp at the end of the runway winked her turn. Moments later, she climbed into the gunmetal skies of a wintry Northamptonshire morning for the last time.

Artist

In about 1992, a doctor called Tony Kemplen decided that it was now or never as far as his artistic ambitions were concerned. He put his career in General Practice on hold, and enrolled on the Fine Arts degree course as a mature student at Sheffield Hallam University. Some time later, looking for inspiration for a project, he was strolling through one of the green spaces on Sheffield's west side. He noticed the ring-pulls of aluminium drinks cans littering the ground around the café in Endcliffe Park.

Kemplen had heard the story of Mi Amigo, and knew that many aeroplanes including the Flying Fortresses were made of aluminium. What if some of this aluminium had been strewn over this slope before, in the wreckage of an American bomber that crashed here fifty years ago?

Zero Hour

By around noon on that Tuesday in February, 1944, the 305th were over the coast of Denmark. The sky was blotted with the deadly black smoke-puffs of flak from 88mm anti-aircraft guns. Worse still, the cloud-cover was solid, and the bombers had little hope of locating their target. If the nature of the mission had been different, the bombers might have turned for home sooner. This time, though, it was imperative to maintain the threat, and so draw the teeth of the German fighter squadrons.

The first wave of Focke Wulf 190 fighters came out of the cloud close to the formation, leaving the gunners little time to respond. Judging that manoeuvrability was now the most urgent need, the squadron leader jettisoned his bombs. The rest of his convoy immediately followed suit, and the unburdened bombers climbed and wheeled back out to sea. For a little while, the enemy aircraft disengaged.

In the Park

Close to the bottom end of Hunterhouse Road at Hunters Bar, Fred Nichols had an electrical repair shop. Jeff and Tony, for a while yet too young for their call-up, were working there that afternoon. The kids who would soon be playing football in the park were still at their lessons. Some of them might already have been thinking about those precious minutes of abandon between the school bell and the fall of darkness.

In the streets nearby, there were bakers and bar-keepers, a dentist and a clergyman and many more who would all tell their stories in the days to come. For now, though, none of them can have imagined what they were destined to see.

Debrief

Big Week went well for the 305th. They deployed 300,000 tons of munitions for the loss of seven aircraft. Even the Alborg sortie, with a zero bomb-count, could be judged a success, since it prevented the interception of the raid on Rostock.

Two planes didn't make it back from Denmark. 42/31409 went down into the sea, its engines crippled by sustained enemy fire. Mi Amigo also took heavy damage, but Kriegshauser resisted the Focke Wulfs' efforts to isolate his craft from the main formation. The plane was still airborne when the Germans fell away, with ammunition and visibility compromised. She was by now well out over the North Sea, heading west in dense cloud.

Observers from neighbouring aircraft later gave a consistent, if detached, account. For whatever reason, Mi Amigo could not effect radio communication. More than one of her engines was misfiring, and her skin was in tatters. She was having difficulty maintaining altitude, and soon began to fall behind.

There was no effective way to assist a bomber in this situation. Its crew could not bale out over water, since they would die of hypothermia within minutes if they entered the sea. The first battle was simply a matter of regaining land, and after that it would be down to luck and the skill of the pilot. The squadron leader did all that he could, by assigning one plane to try and nurse Mi Amigo home. That done, he lead the rest back to Chelveston at full speed.

Mi Amigo was now almost alone. An hour before, the clouds had probably saved her. Now they became her nemesis. A tight escort was impossible because of the risk of collision. The nursemaid lost the stricken B17 some five hundred miles off the English coast, and, after a few minutes of tentative patrolling, the search had to be abandoned. Mi Amigo, it was assumed, had lost her struggle, and had plunged into the cold sea.

Hourglass

Mi Amigo did not crash for another four hours. What happened in the intervening time will never be known. We can only try to piece together John Kriegshauser's dilemma from the known facts.

At some point, she went off course, her flight ending a hundred miles north of her home base. This suggests that her navigational equipment was disabled, and possibly that the two crewmen in that area of the aircraft (the navigator and the bombardier) were incapacitated. The condition of the rest of the crew is unknown, though the fact that enemy fighters appear to have been able to sit on her tail and strafe her engines might mean that the tail-gunner and ball-turret gunner had also been lost.

Kriegshauser must have been aware of another aspect of his crew's welfare, too. The six men behind the cockpit of a B17 were exposed to severe cold when flying at altitude (in fact they wore electrically-heated suits for this reason). Waist-gunners in particular sometimes literally froze onto the aircraft's fabric, and so injured men who could not support themselves were prone to suffer a horrible death.

Mi Amigo's pilot may well have been faced with a dreadful choice. For the reason above, he would have wanted to fly at low altitude in warmer air. The damaged engines, on the other hand, might have denied him the power to ascend, so that the height he started with would be all he could ever have. We can surmise that the approach to the English coast was a slow, and perhaps irresistible, descent.

The condition of the engines may also explain why Mi Amigo flew so far inland (around a hundred miles) without apparently trying to make a landing. The weather conditions give a further clue. Though it was still daylight, cloud cover was complete down to about 500 feet. Kriegshauser probably judged that he would have insufficient power to abort a blind approach, and so chose instead to fly on for as long as he could, hoping that the cloud would clear. It never did.

SK329858

This is the Ordnance Survey grid reference of the place where Mi Amigo came to earth. It's also the partial name of Kemplen's exhibition.

The artwork is diverse, all of it beautifully judged and executed, all of it deeply touching.

There are playing cards, a perfect symbol of the lives of young men wiling away hours on the very brink of fate.

There is the ten of hearts, each spot a portrait, and almost too much.

Chaos

It was just before five o'clock in Endcliffe Park. Youngsters chased their football in the failing light. They heard her before they saw her.

Some accounts say that the aircraft tried to put down in that tiny green space, but that the pilot pulled up the nose when he saw the children, and hit the hill instead.

Some say that it circled, that it rolled, that it clipped the trees even as it broke the cloud. Some say that the engines stuttered at the last.

This can't all be true, and yet none of it really matters. All that can be said for sure is that photographs prove that the aircraft was pointing down the hill when it crashed. If Kriegshauser's last act was to save the footballers, he carried it out by bringing the plane down too soon, rather than by over flying the field.

Mi Amigo shed her tail, and slewed to a halt among the trees, her wings and fuselage more or less intact. Fire broke out internally, but for the first couple of minutes the astonished onlookers were able to draw close. The children were shooed away, since at least one man's corpse was thrown clear, though no public record identifies him.

Some observers describe cries from within. Some say that they begged for help, and others that they pleaded with would-be rescuers to get away. One young Sheffielder said he tried to pull an airman clear, but the man's legs were trapped and the flames consumed him.

Nobody seems to have considered the possibility of live bombs on board. It was only once the fire took hold, and ammunition began to crack and whine, that the huddle of people on the hill dispersed in search of shelter. The inferno, when it came, was shocking in its intensity. An hour after the crash, as the last natural light faded away, the remains of Mi Amigo were ashes and blackened shards of metal, and all hope had gone.

Legacy

There is an annual service on the Sunday closest to 22 February. Wreaths are laid at the crash site. The service is read in St Augustine's at Brocco Bank. The anniversary is kept by the Royal Air Force Association.

Jeff Hawkins was one of the young electrical apprentices at Fred Nichols'. His account is especially coherent and eloquent. He describes the immediate aftermath but also the scene three days later, when the authorities re-opened the park and children combed the slope for souvenirs. The clearance of debris seems to have been slapdash, for Jeff himself recovered a broken watch, stopped at two minutes past five, and someone else found a misshapen signet ring. The stream at the bottom of the bank yielded a pair of flying goggles.

Charles Tuttle, Harry Estabrooks and Maurice Robbins still lie in the American Military Cemetry at Madingley, Cambridgeshire, along with nearly four thousand of their countrymen who gave their lives in the defence of Europe between 1942 and 1945. The other seven were interred here briefly, too, but their remains were later reburied in the land of their families.

There are at least two h2g2 Researchers, one American and one English, who possess a copy of David Harvey's little book. This Entry can't add anything to that account, and it might never have been written, but on the evening of 5 November, 2005, the Englishman drove past Endcliffe Park, and there were trails of fire and showers of sparks in the sky above the fateful hill.

Eulogy

John Kriegshauser DFC was an unassuming young man from St Louis, with a job in a shoe factory, a 1936 Ford Sedan and a fiancée called Peg. His letters show that he believed in the cause he fought for and he knew the risks he took. He fought to save his aircraft and his friends until the very last.

Nowadays, the schoolchildren of Sheffield learn about Mi Amigo, and about John's sacrifice, and the sacrifice of many others like him. The city's vitality, manifest in its children, is part of their legacy.

It was a terrible war. The destruction wrought by allied bombing should never be forgotten, but the picture sometimes painted of a merciless toll inflicted on German cities is not the whole story. Big Week opened the floodgates, it's true, but the price of ascendancy was paid by thousands of young airmen before it, and by no small number afterwards.

At the time of writing, it's the onset of winter in Sheffield, making the copse on the slope cold and grey and a little eerie. There were no children there today, as the light faded like it did on that evening half a century ago. Mi Amigo was there, though. Her presence can still be felt.

How many places like this must there be? Nothing about this story, neither the aircraft nor the place, is unique. Nothing about it is even unusual. All of this happened so many times that we become numb to it.

But we shan't forget. Not now. Not ever. Let Mi Amigo stand for what we should aspire to and for what we must never repeat, an enigma for all time.

[bobbysocks]

eyewitness...

On a mission to Merseberg (No 146) on Nov 8th, 1944, two planes of the 457th mysteriously collided while in formation. One of the planes was s/n 42-38064 named "Arf & Arf" piloted by Lt Arnet L Furr. The other plane involved in the collision was s/n 44-8418 named "Bad Time Inc II". The pilot of Bad Times Inc II was James Elduff. The copilot of "Bad Times Inc II" was Lt James Jenkins, Jr.

The official account says that "Arf & Arf" was cut in two by "Bad Time Inc II". The two portions of "Arf & Arf" spiraled into the sea with no survivors. "Bad Time Inc", while badly damaged, was able to return to base and flew again only to crash land in Belgium while on a mission to Euskirchen several months later

In the June 1991 issue of the Association Newsletter is a letter written to the Association by George Crockett regarding this incident. It is published here in it's entirety.

"Reading Lt Jenkins (Copilot on "Bad Time Inc.) article in a previous issue of the Newsletter brought back many vivid, but sad memories. I remember sitting across from Warren Rankin and Leroy Wetzel at breakfast on the morning of Nov 8th, 1944. It was to be the last time we would eat together or see one another. Our mission was to be the Luena synthetic oil plant at Merseberg. Fourteen of our planes were assigned to it. We had already crossed the channel when we were recalled due to bad weather.

As we were returning over the coast, we were met with a "flak" barrage and flew through it without any apparent damage. We were flying above and to the left of Lt Elduff. I was the right waist gunner on Joe Coleman's crew "Rattle Snake Daddy". Lt. Furr's, "Arf & Arf" was to the right and below Lt Elduff's "Bad Time Inc.". As I looked down on Furr's plane, I waved to their left waist gunner, and he waved back. As I watched, they started edging closer and were climbing closer to our level. At the time I thought they were just tightening the formation but they suddenly climbed up and under Lt. Elduff and hit him. The next thing I saw was "Arf & Arf" in two parts plumeting towards the water.

Contrary to the account in Col. Byers "Flak Dodger", one chute did open. We were instructed to 'hold position'. Joe (our pilot) said "To hell with you, I'm going down" and we went. We were going to try and drop a raft. We made two passes about 30 feet off the water and managed to drop a raft near him, thanks to Tom Crowley (our bombardier) who was calling the shots. The man in the water was Glen Wisdom. He made it to the raft and waved. We thought he had been saved but could not get any information on him. As we left the area, there was a swarm of fighters circling over him and the "flak" started up again trying to reach them.

It was hard to return to our hut and find their bunks empty and their personal effects gone. A lot of us cried to ourselves that night. We were given a 48 hour leave and found ourselves drowning our sorrows in London. When we got back, there was a new crew in their bunks and business went on as usual. There were two other survivors from that crew. Ed Rambler had left the crew a month before and Sgt Ramoe went to the hospital with severe abdominal pains the night before. He was replaced by Sgt Brunsvold, flight engineer. Joe must have caught "hell" for doing what he did but I thought he deserved a medal."

[bobbysocks]

Ken Blakebrough Lutzkendorf


On my first mission, the airstrike against Schmalkeiden, I encountered a minimum of anti-aircraft fire (flak) and a solitary enemy fighter attack which was repelled. This experience left me with a confident feeling that there was a chance to survive the required 35 missions. My optimism was shattered when I flew my second mission on February ninth.

This time the target was an oil refinery at Lutzkendorf in eastern Germany. In the briefing room the curtain was removed from the large wall map showing a deep penetration flight into Germany of nine hours duration. We were warned to expect heavy flak plus aggressive fighter attacks. If shot down we were reminded to avoid capture by the now increasingly enraged German civilians. Clear weather was predicted at the target with a deterioration to heavy clouds on the return flight.

In the equipment room I checked out a parachute a flotation vest and, for the first time, took an electrically heated suit which was of a coveralls type and activated by plugging its cord into an electrical unit in the cockpit. The choice of the suit was a mistake. When I tried to use it in the severe cold at high altitude I found a problem with its heat distribution which required me to frequently adjust its temperature.

Takeoff and Group assembly proceeded as briefed and we joined the long stream of bombers heading toward Germany.The long flight to the target area was uneventful. Our plane and the eleven others in the low squadron of the Group maintained a good tight formation. Ahead of us I noted the lead and high squadrons were also keeping a good formation. We reached the Initial Point.

The bombing run began. As we closed in upon the target, bomb bay doors open, we were suddenly engulfed in a barrage of black, hour-glass shaped, bursts of heavy and accurate flak. A shell exploded near my right window sending metal splinters through the plane's thin fuselage and into the cockpit. My first reaction was that I must be wounded but there was no pain, no sign of blood. I turned to look at Ralph and Peschan but neither of them complained of wounds. It was a close call for the three of us.

The flak continued during the course of the bombing run. It seemed as though any second we'd be blown out of the sky. Finally, the plane gave an upward lurch as the bombs were toggled out by Steve in the nose compartment. This was followed by a yell over the intercom by Beran, "Let's get the hell out of here." An outcry which he made thereafter on every mission as the bombs fell away. It also meant he and Steve were removing their masks and lighting cigarettes from which they would alternately inhale smoke, then switch back to their masks to inhale oxygen. This was their way of smoking in an unpressurized plane at an altitude of 25,000 feet, five miles above the earth.

An overcast of heavy clouds developed and continued to drop lower on the long, and what I felt was tediously slow and stressful, homeward flight.

When we crossed the English coastline the formation spread out due to the clouds and fast approaching darkness and we soon found ourselves separated from the other planes. Within minutes it became too dark to use ground references to navigate. We were forced to fall back on "dead reckoning", an inexact system wherein we followed a compass heading given us by Beran based upon his best estimate of our present position in relationship to the airfield at Glatton. As we flew this compass heading which would in theory bring us to Glatton, each crew member was assigned to a window as lookout for other planes, hopefully to give sufficient warning against collision in the dark and plane-filled sky.

The flight continued for some time, altitude 1,000 feet. Then, we glimpsed the dim outline of runway lights of an airfield below us. A hurried discussion between the cockpit and the navigator. Yes, it was agreed that we had flown sufficient time via "dead reckoning" to place us over the Glatton airfield. We started to fly a counter-clockwise landing pattern, landing gear down. Suddenly another B-17 loomed in front of us. Ralph yanked back on the control column to avoid collision. I held my breath, prepared for a fatal collision, it seemed there was no way to avoid a crash. We missed but it had been very close.

We turned on a final approach to the runway. Too late to contact the control tower now. The altitude gained during the effort to avoid collision was making us come in too high, too fast and slightly to the right of the runway. I hit the full flaps position just as Ralph chopped the throttles all the way back to idle speed, we had to lose height and speed otherwise we would overshoot the runway. The plane settled to the runway, bounced, then stayed down in a full three-point stall. The end of the runway was in sight. Full brakes applied with the hope we wouldn't nose over. The plane stopped rolling at the very edge of the concrete. Ralph and I were momentarily exhausted. We slumped on the dual control columns and breathed deeply.

We started to taxi, looking for our parking hardstand. We saw other B-17s parked adjacent to the taxi strip, but something was wrong. These planes had the insignia of a triangle enclosing the letter "S" on the high dorsal rudder rather than our own triangle "U". We'd landed at the wrong airfield. This was Deenethorpe, home of the 401st Bomb Group.

In view of the weather conditions there was no question of a takeoff and attempt to find Glatton that night. Before we left our plane I pocketed several of the jagged-edged shell fragments lying on the cockpit floor. After we were served dinner, a truck from Glatton picked us up.

The Lutzkendorf mission was an awakening for me. Enemy anti-aircraft fire and the German Luftwaffe were not our only perils. Both the severe English weather with resultant lack of visibility plus the crowded skies were also our enemies. How to survive 33 more missions?
How?

Note: The name Lutzkendorf no longer exists on a map of Germany, The area is now known as Krumpa.

[bobbysocks]

the south pacific Jack Cook

After our training mission at Lae, we flew a new B-24 to Biak, a Dutch-held island near the "head" of New Guinea. Biak was a huge supply depot for the Allied Forces. We were there a few days and all cash transactions were in Dutch guilders. We had to exchange our dollars for guilders before making any purchase. While at Biak we received our assignment to the 22nd Bomb Group which was located on Palau Island in the Pelelieu Group.

We departed Biak for Palau on our first solo flight over water. We were given maps of the Pacific Ocean and the radio frequency of a homing beacon located on Palau. I can assure you that nothing focuses your attention more than flying over open water, trying to find a small chain of islands, with a "green" navigator providing directions and a radio homing frequency you hope is valid and operating. As it turned out, the heading provided by my navigator, and the heading provided by the radio beacon (when we got within range) was about a ten-degree variance. My co-pilot, Rick, and I discussed this variance for about two minutes, and elected to go with the radio beacon. Had we stayed with the navigator's heading we would have missed the islands.

After landing at Palau, and reporting to Group Headquarters, we were assigned to the 33rd Squadron. Our squadron commander turned out to be Major Albert Hutchinson who was on his third tour of combat duty. We were shown to our tent quarters and found our way around the area locating such necessities as the mess hall, latrine, operations and other facilities.

From Palau our group was supporting the invasion of the southern Philippine Islands by land forces led by General MacArthur. After the ground forces secured Samar and Leyte in the Southern Philippines, our group moved to Samar. During this time I was flying as a co-pilot as part of the squadron indoctrination process. No pilot was allowed to fly, as first pilot, in combat until he had satisfied the squadron commander as to his abilities. Also, during this time, I learned that my navigator and bombardier had requested they be removed from my crew, alleging I was an unsafe pilot. I likely flew additional missions as co-pilot because of their allegations. When I was released to fly as first pilot, I received a replacement navigator and bombardier. All other crew members remained.

From Samar our group supported the invasion of Luzon and the northern portions of the Philippines. After MacArthur's forces secured Luzon our group moved to Clark Field, about 50 miles north of Manila. We used our B-24s as transport planes and hauled much of our squadron equipment from Samar to Clark field. Heavy gear, such as trucks and jeeps, was hauled by sea transport. Since telephone communications were not in place during the early days of the move, it was standard operating procedure to fly over the squadron tent area at 1000 feet, "razz" the props, and the squadron would send trucks to the airfield to pick up the incoming equipment. On one flight I decided to fly lower than 1000 feet and give my buddies a louder notice of my arrival.

I flew along the edge of the tent area about 10 feet above the ground at top speed (around 200 miles per hour) and made a beautiful left climbing turn. As I climbed to around 1000 feet I looked back over my shoulder and noticed two tents had blown from the prop wash. My momentary joy quickly faded.

I proceeded to the landing field and as I taxied to a stop on the ramp area, Major Hutchinson cam roaring up in a jeep. He was dressed only in his undershorts, tennis shoes, a ball cap, and he was hopping mad. It turned out that one of the tents was Major Hutchinson's, and he was taking a nap as I flew by. He gave me a thorough "chewing out" and told me to report to him in the squadron area. After further lecturing in his tent he gave me additional punishment as Duty Officer for four consecutive days. This meant I had to spend my nights in Squadron Headquarters (awake) monitoring the phones and maintaining contact with Group Headquarters. I also had to fly my regularly-assigned missions. I did not get much sleep during those four days. I did not "buzz" the tent area again.

About fifty years later I found Major Hutchinson's address through a group newsletter, and wrote him. I introduced myself as the one who had "buzzed" the tent area at Clark Field many years ago. He answered that he remembered the incident quite well. Unfortunately, he passed away shortly thereafter from massive cancer. I would have enjoyed visiting with him about some of the antics I and other pilots perpetrated during our tours of duty. He later promoted me to Flight Leader and I had the honor of leading the Squadron and Group on several missions.

Some flying antics by other pilots may be of interest. While the group was stationed at Palau one pilot decided to entertain his buddies by "buzzing" the beach. He flew a few inches too low and cooped some sand into the bomb bay of the B-24. His flight engineer told him about the sand, so he proceeded a short distance off shore and flew low enough to scoop up sea water to flush out the sand. The combination of sand and salt water in the cables and other mechanisms resulted in the airplane being scrapped. Another incident happened after we moved to Clark field. The peasant rice farmers used bamboo trees to mark the boundaries between their rice paddies. Bamboo is a tough, fibrous plant that will not easily break. One afternoon a pilot was having some fun "buzzing" the local rice paddies, when he saw a farmer with his water buffalo plowing the field. He focused on the farmer and forgot to pull up in time to clear the bamboo. When he landed at Clark Field, bamboo was impeded in the nose, wings and engine nacelles. The airplane had to be scrapped.

Each pilot took his turn performing local engineering flights. This happened when a new engine was installed, or other major maintenance was performed, and the airplane was tested before sending it on a mission. It was my turn, this particular day, and as I was being briefed by the line chief, he mentioned that three or four infantry GIs standing nearby wanted an airplane ride. I said, "Sure." Since a new engine has been installed on this plane, I asked the line chief if it would be OK to feather the engine on take-off. He said, "Yes. In fact, it would be a good test of the feathering system."

We feathered the engine at about the time we lifted off and continued the climb on three engines. After a few minutes we started the engine and continued to local flight. We were to fly for about an hour to thoroughly check all the systems. During this time, my co-pilot, Rick Giannarelli, asked how slow a B-24 would fly. I replied I didn't know, but we could find out. We slowed the aircraft, dropped wing flaps and landing gear, and were mushing along in a nose-high attitude. Rick was watching the airspeed and I was waiting for the signs of a stall. All of a sudden the plane fell off in a spin to the left, and we made about one and a half turns, losing about 1500 feet before I could recover. To this day I can't remember how slow we were going. Soon it was time to return tot he field. We landed and taxied to the parking area. After shutting off the engines, I noticed those infantry GIs off to the side, kissing the ground. They obviously had more of an airplane ride than they anticipated. Unusual things can happen when B-24s are flown by fun-seeking pilots in the 20-to-24 age bracket.

Another unusual incident sticks in my memory. It was customary to send a single aircraft to the next day's target area to gather weather information and to harass the enemy. I thought it unusual that this crew wore their combat boots, had their pistols and canteens on their web belts, and were fully dressed in combat fatigues and flight jackets. We usually flew in very casual clothes, such as shorts and tennis shoes. Our concern changed to worry when their plane failed to return from their mission over China. Three weeks later the entire crew returned, and we learned they had bailed out over China to "test" the escape methods established to recover downed American airmen. They each had a barracks bag filled with many Chinese "souvenirs", some looked quite valuable.

During all this "fun" activity, we continued to fly our assigned missions, and each crew flew on a schedule of about every other day. From Clark Field we regularly bombed Formosa and mainland China. On one occasion, I led a squadron detachment to the island of Palawan, in southern Philippines, and from there we bombed Japanese airfields along the west coast of Borneo. We flew four missions on that assignment, and since the missions were about 13 hours long, we had to carry extra fuel in bomb bay tanks and a reduced bomb load. We bombed from low altitude, at 5000 feet, and could feel the concussion from the bombs as they detonated. On one of our Borneo missions, a plane was hit and was unable to return to home base. The pilot made a belly landing on the beach and a Navy Catalina amphibious aircraft picked the crew up. As I recall, the crew did not suffer any serious injuries.

A P-38 fighter outfit was stationed at the airstrip on Palawan, and they used to show off by flying over the runway, in formation, and peeling off to land. As our B-24 squadron returned from our last mission, I had our planes form an "echelon right" formation and approached the runway at an altitude of about 50 feet. As I crossed the threshold, I pulled my plane in a steep climbing left turn, and each plane followed in sequence. The crews on the ground said it was the greatest show they had ever seen. The P-38 pilots were unable to top our little act. Morale and esprit de corps were especially high in our outfit.

Weather systems were a continual factor during our flight operations. Major Hutchinson required each pilot to maintain instrument flight proficiency by scheduling regular training flights in the local area. Captain James F. Rock was our instrument flight instructor, and although he was an excellent instructor, he had an abrasive, superior attitude and was universally disliked by all the pilots. In addition to instrument flight, he would usually include "engine out" practice and other emergency procedures during an instruction period.

His usual format was to start with the "student pilot" making a series of turns at a 30 degree angle of bank. Then the same series at a 45 degree angle of bank, and at a 60 degree angle of bank. In order to maintain constant altitude in a steep turn, the B-24 required a lot of back pressure on the control column. Rock would never allow us to use both hands, and this placed considerable strain on the left arm. He insisted we always keep our right hand on the throttle controls. Our instruction was performed "under the hood", that is, the windows were covered with colored plastic and the students were wearing contrasting glasses that made the windows appear black. We could not see out. Then Capt. Rock would have the student repeat the series of turns with certain flight instruments covered. Soon we would be flying using needle, ball, airspeed, and altimeter. Capt. Rock was seldom pleased with our performance.

On one mission, I was grateful for the instruction received from Capt. Rock. Ours was a single ship mission to perform weather recon, and to bomb Japanese barracks near Canton, China. We encountered a broad weather system off the coast of China and had to penetrate it to get to the target, as well as return. While in the weather system on the return flight, I noticed the vacuum gauge was reading "zero". This meant most of our flight instruments were unreliable. I immediately started flying by "needle, ball, airspeed and altimeter", and we passed safely through the weather front. Due to Capt. Rock's instruction we made a safe landing at Clark Field, rather than becoming another statistic. Thereafter, I was never reluctant to fly training missions with Capt. Rock. My last information concerning Capt. Rock was that he was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. I am not sure he still lives.

Another interesting part of combat was formation flying. After take-off we would form on the lead ship and proceed to the target. Our average mission was 10 hours, so this provided a lot of time to sharpen our skills. My co-pilot, Rick, and I established the schedule of flying 30 minute shifts. During our early missions our skill level was not that great and we had to work extra hard to keep a good position, but after several missions we noticed an improvement. After climbing to altitude and establishing cruising speed, the lead aircraft would rarely change power settings. Theoretically, all other aircraft in the formation should be able to do the same. Not so, at least with low-skilled pilots and very cumbersome aircraft. At the end of our early missions, both Rick and I would be soaked with perspiration from the exertion of formation flying.

After several missions, we had each refined our technique to the point where we could fly our shift by making a few minor power adjustments. We soon became expert at the art of formation flying, and would not be "worn out" after a mission.

One more incident regarding formation flying. A new replacement pilot had been assigned to me for this particular mission. He was a captain, I was a first lieutenant, and he had been a B-24 instructor pilot prior to coming overseas. I informed him of my practice of the 30-minute schedule while in formation, and he accepted. After take-off and once we had formed on the lead ship, I gave him the controls. His skill level was the same as I had experienced early in my combat flying. It came time for my 30 minute shift. I quickly stabilized the aircraft as to speed and position, and flew with much less effort than the captain. Then it was his turn again. The same thing happened all over again. He was working extra hard to maintain speed and position. All during the mission he struggled and then watched me smoothly handle the ship. After our landing he stated, "I have instructed for over a year, but I have never seen, or even believed, a B-24 could be flown in that manner." I accepted his compliment.

[bobbysocks]

p 40 stories....

The P-40 first saw combat in the skies above the North African desert. Squadrons such as No. 112, who painted ferocious shark mouths on the front air intake of their P-40's and inspired other squadrons to do likewise, flew Tomahawks. They strafing and bombed German tanks, trucks troops, and regularly mixed it up with bombers and the famed Messerschmitt Bf-109 fighters. The Warhawk held its own against its German enemies and was considered by both the British and Germans to be superior to the Hawker Hurricane. In fact, in an effort to reduce losses for No. 33 squadron, obsolescent Hurricanes were replaced with P-40s.

North Africa was the first place the Hawks and Eagles met, but it was not their last confrontation. On the Russian front Soviet P-40s faced the Luftwaffe's 109s and Focke Wulf 190s with considerable success. In Italy the 325 Fighter Group, known as the "Checker-Tailed Clan" because of the yellow and black checkerboards painted on their tails, scored two impressive victories over German 109s.

On 1 July 1943, 22 P-40s made a fighter sweep over southern Italy. Forty Bf-109s surprised the checker-tails, engaging them at moderate altitude where the P-40 performed best. After an intense dogfight the Germans lost half their force while only one P-40 failed to come back.

A similar event took place on the 30th of the same month in which 20 P-40s were bounced by thirty-five 109s. The Germans limped home after losing 21 of their own while the checker-tails came through with only one loss. The Germans lost 135 aircraft (ninety-six of which were 109s) to the pilots of the checkered-tail P-40s while shooting down only seventeen of the 325th.

Back in North Africa, the most successful engagement by Tomahawks was what has come to be known as the Palm Sunday Massacre. Just before sundown on Palm Sunday, 18 April 1943, P-40s on anti-transport patrol spotted over 60 Ju-52s escorted by 21 fighters off of Cape Bon, making their way to Sicily. Elements of the 57th and 324th as well as the British 92 Squadron intercepted. 11 Spitfires covered 46 P-40Fs as they pounced on the Axis formations, ripping them to shreds. The carnage ended with 59 Ju-52s and 16 fighters crashing into the sea or Tunisian soil for the loss of only 6 P-40s. While the P-40's debut was not as spectacular as the A6M's it was very favorable, and just a preview to the P-40's later success.

On 7 December 1941 .... Most of the 180 P-40 fighters on Oahu were destroyed on the ground; the three airfields lay in shambles.

A few American fighters got off the ground. Two P-40s piloted by George Welch (a friend of Chuck Hawks' father) and Kenneth Taylor managed to get airborne and score some of the first American victories of the war. By a stroke of luck their planes had been reassigned to a remote field in an effort to disperse forces in the event of an air strike. After witnessing the first minutes of the attack they phoned the ground crews to arm and fuel their aircraft. The two pilots jumped into a car and raced to their aircraft. They were strafed by a dive-bomber on the way but escaped unharmed. Upon reaching the field they found their planes intact and ready to go. Welch and Taylor took off and quickly engaged the Japanese. Before the attack was over they scored 7 victories between them, including a few Zeros, while taking only minor damage, although Taylor sustained an injury to his right arm.


The tactics of The Flying Tigers were the key to its astounding record.... On sighting the Japanese they would dive on them at high speed and slash through their formation, guns blazing. After the attack the Tigers would use the speed from the dive to exit the combat zone and climb for another pass. It was essentially a drive-by shooting.

Saburo Sakai, Japan's leading ace to survive WW II, recounted an incident over Port Moresby, New Guinea where a P-40 piloted by Les Jackson used this tactic with deadly efficiency. This is Sakai's account of that encounter.

"We passed Moresby and the bursting flak fell behind. I sighed with relief. Too soon! Nearly a mile above us, a single P-40 fighter dove with incredible speed. He came down so fast I could not move a muscle; one second he was above us, the next the lone plane plummeted like lightning into the bombers. Six hundred yards in front of me, I watched the fighter- he was going to ram! How that plane ever got through the few yards' clearance between the third and fourth bombers of the left echelon, I shall never know. It seemed impossible, but it happened. With all guns blazing, the P-40 ripped through the bomber formation and poured a river of lead into Miyazaki's plane. Instantly the Zero burst into flames. With tremendous speed the P-40 disappeared far below."


...a few units managed to hold their own against the advancing Japanese.

One such group was the Australian 75th squadron stationed in Port Moresby. This group faced long odds, much like the AVG. With only a handful of planes and a trickle of resources, they were the only serious aerial defense against Japanese attacks coming from Rabaul and Lae. The men of the 75th had a great responsibility; they had to stop the Japanese or leave Australia open to invasion.

The Australian pilots displayed an immense amount of courage against daunting odds. It was not uncommon for only one plane to challenge twenty or more Japanese. After 44 grueling days of combat the 75th destroyed 35 planes with another 15 probables and roughly 50 damaged. Their loss was 11 pilots and 16 P-40s lost to combat and 6 to accidents. Though theirs were not an outright victory, the brave souls of the 75th saved Port Moresby and held off the enemy until more squadrons could be formed.

[bobbysocks]

talk about a "clingy B!TC#!!

Margaret Horton

Christmas 1944 was my fifth Christmas as a W.A.A.F......
When I went to Kirton, it was a Fighter Command Station, much used to rest crews from active service during and after the Battle of Britain, but also a fighter station in its own right. As the war in the air changed, Kirton’s use as an operational fighter station decreased and it turned increasingly to house a training function. From 1942, it was a training base for the R.A.F. Regiment, of which my friend, Mac was an Instructor. He had already seen service in the Middle East. In May 1943 it became the home of 53 OTU (Operational Training Unit). They used some of the older Spitfires as well as basic training aircraft. At that time, the Station Commander was Group Captain Hawtrey, a cousin of Charles Hawtrey, of ‘Carry On’ fame. He was remembered as being eccentric!

But there was another incident about flying training. As I mentioned, Kirton had a satellite airfield at nearby Hibaldstow. This was in April 1945, not long I had been posted from Kirton and was in Brussels. It involved a W.A.A.F. flight mechanic, ACW Margaret Horton, and a veteran Spitfire. When an aircraft engine had been serviced, the practice was for the training instructors to run the engine and do a particular test. Margaret had finished work on the Spitfire, when the pilot began this test. It was necessary, if it was windy, for a mechanic to sit on the tail of the aircraft while it taxied to the end of the runway ready for take-off. The mechanics were given the order, ‘Tails’. Having got to the runway, the aircraft would pause for the mechanic to drop off. This time the pilot did not pause. Whether he was unaware that the order to ‘tail’ had been given, nobody knows. He just carried on with Margaret Horton hanging on for grim death, and him unaware that he had a ‘passenger’ on the tail. ‘I thought the aircraft was tail-heavy’, he said later. The Spitfire had risen to 800 feet or more when the strange shape of the tailplane was noticed from the ground. The emergency services were called out and the pilot talked back in without being told what had happened. The aircraft landed safely with Margaret Horton still in one piece. Just how daft the machinery of the R.A.F. could be was shown when she was reprimanded for her unofficial flight and charged for the loss of her beret! She was posted later to West Raynham and, despite her ordeal, survived into her eighties.

taken from 'WW2 People's War is an online archive of wartime memories contributed by members of the public and gathered by the BBC. The archive can be found at bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar'

[bobbysocks]

life and death aboard a b17

"I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit..."

Joseph Hallock was a twenty-two-year-old first lieutenant serving as the bombardier aboard "Ginger" a B-17 flying out of its base north of London. Hallock dropped out of college to enlist in the Army Air Force in June 1942. After training as a bombardier, he arrived in England in November 1943 and began his combat career on the last day of the year:

"My first raid was on December thirty-first, over Ludwigshaven. Naturally, not knowing what it was going to be like, I didn't feel scared. A little sick, maybe, but not scared. That comes later, when you begin to understand what your chances of survival are. Once we'd crossed into Germany, we spotted some flak, but it was a good long distance below us and looked pretty and not dangerous: different-colored puffs making a soft, cushiony-looking pattern under our plane. A bombardier sits right in the plexiglas nose of a Fort, so he sees everything neatly laid out in front of him, like a living-room rug. It seemed to me at first that I'd simply moved in on a wonderful show.' I got over feeling sick, there was so much to watch.

We made our run over the target, got our bombs away, and apparently did a good job. Maybe it was the auto-pilot and bomb sight that saw to that, but I'm sure I was cool enough on that first raid to do my job without thinking too much about it. Then, on the way home, some Focke-Wulfs showed up, armed with rockets, and I saw three B-I7s in the different groups around us suddenly blow up and drop through the sky. Just simply blow up and drop through the sky. Nowadays, if you come across something awful happening, you always think, 'My God, it's just like a movie,' and that's what I thought. I had a feeling that the planes weren't really falling and burning, the men inside them weren't really dying, and everything would turn out happily in the end. Then, very quietly through the interphone, our tail gunner said, 'I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit.'

I crawled back to him and found that he'd been wounded in the side of the head - not deeply but enough so he was bleeding pretty bad. Also, he'd got a lot of the plexiglas dust from his shattered turret in his eyes, so he was, at least for the time being, blind.Though he was blind, he was still able to use his hands, and I ordered him to fire his guns whenever he heard from me. I figured that a few bursts every so often from his fifties would keep the Germans off our tail, and I also figured that it would give the kid something to think about besides the fact that he'd been hit. When I got back to the nose, the pilot told me that our No. 4 engine had been shot out. Gradually we lost our place in the formation and flew nearly alone over France. That's about the most dangerous thing that can happen to a lame Fort, but the German fighters had luckily given up and we skimmed over the top of the flak all the way to the Channel."

"They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces..."

In early 1944 the number of missions required to complete his tour of duty was extended from 25 to 30. This meant that Lt. Hallock and his buddies, each of whom had been counting down each mission, now had five additional to fly. We pick up his story as he begins his 27th (and worst) mission:

"We had a feeling, though, that this Augsburg show was bound to be tough, and it was. We made our runs and got off our bombs in the midst of one hell of a dogfight. Our group leader was shot down and about a hundred and fifty or two hundred German fighters swarmed over us as we headed for home. Then, screaming in from someplace, a twenty millimeter cannon shell exploded in the nose of our Fort. It shattered the plexiglas, broke my interphone and oxygen connections, and a fragment of it cut through my heated suit and flak suit. I could feel it burning into my right shoulder and arm. My first reaction was to disconnect my heated suit. I had some idea that I might get electrocuted if I didn't.

I crawled back in the plane, wondering if anyone else needed first aid. I couldn't communicate with them, you see, with my phone dead. I found that two shells had hit in the waist of the plane, exploding the cartridge belts stored there, and that one waist gunner had been hit in the forehead and the other in the jugular vein. I thought, 'I'm wounded, but I'm the only man on the ship who can do this job right.' I placed my finger against the gunner's jugular vein, applied pressure bandages, and injected morphine into him. Then I sprinkled the other man's wound with sulfa powder. We had no plasma aboard, so there wasn't much of anything else I could do. When I told the pilot that my head set had been blown off, the tail gunner thought he'd heard someone say that my head had been blown off, and he yelled that he wanted to jump. The pilot assured him that I was only wounded. Then I crawled back to the nose of the ship to handle my gun, fussing with my wounds when I could and making use of an emergency bottle of oxygen.

The German fighters chased us for about forty-five minutes. They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces, and I fired so fast that my gun jammed. I went back to the left nose gun and fired that gun till it jammed. By that time we'd fallen behind the rest of the group, but the Germans were beginning to slack off. It was turning into a question of whether we could sneak home without having to bailout. The plane was pretty well shot up and the whole oxygen system had been cut to pieces. The pilot told us we had the choice of trying to get back to England, which would be next to impossible, or of flying to Switzerland and being interned, which would be fairly easy. He asked us what we wanted to do. I would have voted for Switzerland, but I was so busy handing out bottles of oxygen that before I had a chance to say anything the other men said, 'What the hell, let's try for England.' After a while, with the emergency oxygen running out, we had to come down to ten thousand feet, which is dangerously low. We saw four fighters dead ahead of us, somewhere over France, and we thought we were licked. After a minute or two we discovered that they were P-47s, more beautiful than any woman who ever lived. I said, 'I think now's the time for a short prayer, men. Thanks, God, for what you've done for us.'"

Last Mission: "One more, one more, one more."

The twenty-eighth [mission]was on Berlin, and I was scared damn near to death. It was getting close to the end and my luck was bound to be running out faster and faster. The raid wasn't too bad, though, and we got back safe. The twenty-ninth mission was to Thionville, in France, and all I thought about on that mission was 'One more, one more, one more.' My last mission was to Saarbriicken. One of the waist gunners was new, a young kid like the kid I'd been six months before. He wasn't a bit scared - just cocky and excited. Over Saarbriicken he was wounded in the foot by a shell, and I had to give him first aid. He acted more surprised than hurt. He had a look on his face like a child who's been cheated by grownups.

That was only the beginning for him, but it was the end for me."

How To Cite This Article:
"Life and Death Aboard a B-17, 1944," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2005).

[bobbysocks]

shot down over france.

On the morning of March 5, 1944, Flight Officer Charles Yeager strapped himself into his P-51 fighter and joined a mission to attack targets in the Bordeaux area of France. The twenty-one-year-old Yeager occupied the "tail end Charlie" position of his four-plane flight - the most vulnerable place to be. However, Yeager was no novice. He had three months' experience in combat and had already shot down two German aircraft. On this day his luck was to change.

As the flight neared its objective, three German FW 190 fighters suddenly attacked from the rear, targeting Yeager's P-51. Caught by surprise, the young pilot tried to evade his attackers but to no avail. The enemy's gunfire slammed into his aircraft, severing his control cables and forcing Yeager to jump for his life.

Successfully escaping his plane, his parachute open, Yeager was still not out of trouble. As he floated to earth, one of the FW-190s turned and dove on the vulnerable pilot with the intent of finishing him off. The enemy fighter grew larger and larger in his vision but Yeager could do nothing but hang helplessly suspended from his silk canopy. Suddenly, the German plane burst into a fireball - its pilot so intent on his deadly mission that he had not seen the P-51 on his tail.

Within minutes after his landing, Yeager was surrounded by French Resistance fighters and beginning his escape journey that would take him to Spain, Gibraltar and back to England. Three and a half years later, the young pilot would make his mark in history as the first to break the sound barrier.

Parachuting Into the Unknown

After Yeager successfully made his way to Gibraltar he filed a written report of his experience and was debriefed by a British intelligence officer. The following is excerpted from these reports:

"Three FW 190s came in from the rear and cut my elevator cables. I snap-rolled with the rudder and jumped at 18,000 feet. I took off my dinghy-pack, oxygen mask, and helmet in the air; and then, as I was whirling on my back and began to feel dizzy, I pulled the ripcord at 8,000 feet. An FW 190 dove at me, but when he was about 2,000 yards from me a P51 came in on his tail and blew him to pieces.

I landed into a forest-clearing in which there was a solitary sapling about twenty feet tall. I grabbed the top of the sapling as I passed it and swung gently to the ground. My chute was hung up in the tree, however, I hid my mae west and started off to the south-east, for I thought that I was in the forbidden zone. Before I had gone 200 feet half a dozen Frenchmen ran up to me. Some of them got my chute down, and one of the men took me by the arm and led me to a house some 200 yards away. There I was given food and civilian clothes. A gendarme was seen approaching the house at this moment, and so I was quickly hidden in the barn. When the gendarme left I was brought back into the house where one of the men who had left the group now returned and gave me a note in English telling me to trust the people in whose hands I was. I was then taken to another house about a kilometer away, and from there my journey was arranged."

Escape

The house to which Yeager was taken was actually a hotel run by an English-speaking French woman and her daughter. The next morning the man who took Yeager to the hotel returned and took the pilot to the home of a ""fleshy, white-haired man and his family" where Yeager spent one night. The British debriefing officer continues the report whose content masks the life-threatening danger each of Yeager's benefactors places himself into.

The next morning the same guide returned and took him by bicycle to a young couple of 35 years with a son, Jean, five years old who live in a farmhouse off RN133 near the lake at Font Guillem au Pujo between Pompogne and Houeilles. Here Yeager lived for seven days. Then a farmer from Houeilles took him to a house half a km. from Nerac. This is the house of the regional maquis (French Resistance) chief, Gabriel; and here Dr. Henri -, the doctor of all the maquis in this part of the country, lives when he is in the vicinity. After Yeager had been here a few days, Dr. Henri arrived in the Franbel (the name of a local pencil company) lorry and went after Nahl and the six sergeants with him whom he then brought to the maquis near Nerac. He then went back to Castel Jaloux and from there brought Seidel to the maquis.

On 25 March the Franbel lorry brought Nall, Seidel, and the six sergeants from the maquis, picked up Yeager, Dr. Henri and a Belgian lieutenant and drove to a farmhouse 4 kms. S. of Nerac. From this point Yeager's journey was the same as that of Seidel and Nall."

How To Cite This Article:
"Shot Down Over France, 1944," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (1998).

[bobbysocks]

Charles Lindbergh in Combat, 1944

In 1944 Charles Lindbergh took part in over 50 combat missions in the South Pacific. He participated in numerous bombing and strafing attacks and shot down one Japanese aircraft. The question arises: how was Lindbergh, a private citizen, able to strap himself into the cockpit of a fighter aircraft and take part in combat missions? The search for an answer to this question starts 17 years earlier.
Charles Lindbergh had captured the hearts of the American people in 1927 by becoming the first to fly solo across the Atlantic (see Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927). His new-found fame was a double-edged sword that gave him access to the halls of American power while simultaneously engulfing him in a notoriety that would lead to heartbreak and self-imposed exile.

On the night of March 21, 1932 the Lindbergh's 20-month-old son was kidnapped from their isolated New Jersey home. The child's body was discovered in a nearby wooded area two months later.

This tragedy and the subsequent trial of the only suspect apprehended in the case only increased the press's interest in the "Lone Eagle." Teams of reporters and photographers hounded his every move. To escape this incessant pressure, the Lindbergh's fled America and sailed for England in December 1935.

Lindbergh returned to the United States in the spring of 1939 as war clouds began to envelop Europe. He had visited Nazi Germany and was convinced that America should stay out of any impending conflict because it was no match for Germany's military might. Lindbergh became a spokesman for the America First Committee that advocated US neutrality in the event of a war in Europe. His position had political consequences. President Roosevelt publicly attacked America's former hero and in response, Lindbergh resigned as a colonel in the Air Corps Reserve.

After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 Lindbergh offered to reactivate his Colonel's commission but the Roosevelt administration refused. Rebuffed, Lindbergh turned to the private sector but only Henry Ford would offer Lindbergh an advisory position to help in the transition of Ford Motor Company's production lines to outputting bombers rather than cars.

By 1944 Lindbergh had became a consultant with the United Aircraft Company helping them with field testing of their F4U Corsair fighter. The spring of 1944 found Lindbergh in the South Pacific teaching Corsair pilots how to dramatically decrease their plane's fuel consumption and increase the range of their missions. His task required that he join the Corsair pilots on their missions in order to better understand and change their flying techniques. This is how Lindbergh, a private citizen, managed to make his way into the cockpit of a combat fighter, take part in over 50 missions and shoot down one Japanese plane.

"My tracers and my 20's spatter on his plane."

Lindbergh kept a diary describing the day he shot down his only enemy fighter. We join his story as he flies with a squadron of four P-38 "Lightning" fighters to attack a Japanese airfield on an island near New Guinea. Below them they see two enemy aircraft and prepare to attack:

"July 28

We jettison our drop tanks, switch on our guns, and nose down to the attack. One Jap plane banks sharply toward the airstrip and the protection of the antiaircraft guns. The second heads off into the haze and clouds. Colonel MacDonald gets a full deflection shot on the first, starts him smoking, and forces him to reverse his bank.

We are spaced 1,000 feet apart. Captain [Danforth] Miller gets in a short deflection burst with no noticeable effect. I start firing as the plane is completing its turn in my direction. I see the tracers and the 20's [20mm. cannon] find their mark, a hail of shells directly on the target. But he straightens out and flies directly toward me.

I hold the trigger down and my sight on his engine as we approach head on. My tracers and my 20's spatter on his plane. We are close - too close - hurtling at each other at more than 500 miles an hour. I pull back on the controls. His plane zooms suddenly upward with extraordinary sharpness.

I pull back with all the strength I have. Will we hit? His plane, before a slender toy in my sight, looms huge in size. A second passes - two three - I can see the finning on his engine cylinders. There is a rough jolt of air as he shoots past behind me.

By how much did we miss? Ten feet? Probably less than that. There is no time to consider or feel afraid. I am climbing steeply. I bank to the left. No, that will take me into the ack-ack fire above Amahai strip. I reverse to the right. It all has taken seconds.

My eyes sweep the sky for aircraft. Those are only P-38's and the plane I have just shot down. He is starting down in a wing over - out of control. The nose goes down. The plane turns slightly as it picks up speed-down-down-down toward the sea. A fountain of spray-white foam on the water-waves circling outward as from a stone tossed in a pool-the waves merge into those of the sea-the foam disappears - the surface is as it was before.

My wingman is with me, but I have broken from my flight. There are six P-38's circling the area where the enemy plane went down. But all six planes turn out to be from another squadron. I call 'Possum 1,' and get a reply which I think says they are above the cloud layer. It is thin, and I climb up through on instruments. But there are no planes in sight, and I have lost my wingman. I dive back down but all planes below have disappeared, too. Radio reception is so poor that I can get no further contact. I climb back into the clouds and take up course for home, cutting through the tops and keeping a sharp lookout for enemy planes above. Finally make radio contact with 'Possum' flight and tell them I will join them over our original rendezvous point (the Pisang Islands).

The heavies are bombing as I sight the Boela strips; I turn in that direction to get a better view. They have started a large fire in the oil-well area of Boela - a great column of black smoke rising higher and higher in the air. The bombers are out of range, so the ack-ack concentrates on me-black puffs of smoke all around, but none nearby. I weave out of range and take up course for the Pisang Islands again. I arrive about five minutes ahead of my flight. We join and take up course for Biak Island. Landed at Mokmer strip at 1555.

(Lieutenant Miller, my wingman, reported seeing the tracers of the Jap plane shooting at me. I was so concentrated on my own firing that I did not see the flashes of his guns. Miller said the plane rolled over out of control right after he passed me. Apparently my bullets had either severed the controls or killed the pilot.)"

How To Cite This Article:
"Charles Lindbergh in Combat, 1944," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2006).

[Davedog74]

top notch stuff dale,best thread on this forum

[bobbysocks]

special thanks to McQ59 for the translation of these stories...

these are about the norway boys in the 331 and 332 sq.

December 1944

Tally Ho, Tally Ho! 25 Me 109 slightly above. The squadron leaders shows experience and skill and gets the whole squadron into a good position for an attack on the Me109’s without being seen. The squadron is now experienced and knows how to turn a bad situation into a good one. The Germans on the other hand are inexperienced and have still not seen the attacking formation of Spitfires. In a matter of minutes 12 German ME109 are blown out of the sky, another 2 damaged with the rest of the German formation running for the nearest cloud.
In the last part of 44 and 45 the Germans are less to be seen in the sky. 331 and 332 continues their crusade towards victory, mainly now by focusing on ground targets such as flak batteries, German vehicles and basically whatever German things that still move on the ground. It’s however a risky business and many fine pilots are killed by flak or low flying. The occasional dogfight still happens, but the Germans are cautious and often escapes before the Norwegians can get a hold of them.

[bobbysocks]

again thanks to McQ


Mascots

The two norwegian spitsquadrons both had their little mascots. 331 had a dog called Varg who followed them through thick and thin. If his caretaker was shot down, Varg would be given to another, but he was everyone’s mascot and they all took care of him. 332’s mascot was not so popular. A goat called Mads. He was said to be a real pain in the ass and often found himself in places he shouldn’t have been, for example being the showman when Crown Prince of Norway, Olav visited the squadrons. Mads ended his life when he was shot dead by a guard after one of his little trips out in English countryside by night. According to the guard he did not answer to his call of identity.

It was quite normal to have mascots. On a norweigian minesweeper they had a St. Bernhard called Bamse. Someone rose a statue of it after the war. It was raised in Scotland.

Bamse (Norwegian for "teddy bear") (1937 - 22 July 1944) was a St. Bernard that became the heroic mascot of the Free Norwegian Forces during the Second World War. He became a symbol of Norwegian freedom during the war.
Bamse was bought in Oslo in Norway by Captain Erling Hafto, the master of the Norwegian whale catcher Thorodd, and he was taken to sea from an early age.
Military service At the onset of the Second World War, Thorodd was drafted into the Royal Norwegian Navy as a coastal patrol vessel, based in Hammerfest, and Bamse was enrolled as an official crew member on 9 February 1940. After the Nazi invasion of Norway on 9 April 1940 the Thorodd was part of the naval opposition to the Germans and had as one of its uses POW transport. Shortly before the 10 June 1940 capitulation of mainland Norway, Thorodd was one of 13 Norwegian naval vessels to escape to the UK, arriving 17 June 1940. She was converted to a minesweeper in Rosyth from June 30, 1940 and stationed in Montrose and Dundee in Scotland, where she remained for the rest of the war.


Bamse and his crew Bamse lifted the morale of the ship's crew, and became well known to the local civilian population. In battle, he would stand on the front gun tower of the boat, and the crew made him a special metal helmet. His acts of heroism included saving a young lieutenant commander who had been attacked by a man wielding a knife by pushing the assailant into the sea, and dragging back to shore a sailor who had fallen overboard. He was also known for breaking up fights amongst his crewmates by putting his paws on their shoulders, calming them down and then leading them back to the ship. One of Bamse's tasks in Scotland was to round up his crew and escort them back to the ship in time for duty or curfew. To do this, he travelled on the local buses unaccompanied, and the crew bought him a bus pass which was attached to his collar. Bamse would wander down to the bus stop at Broughty Ferry Road and take the bus down to Dundee. He would get off at the bus stop near his crew's favourite watering hole, the Bodega Bar and go in to fetch them. If he could not locate his friends he would take the bus back to base.

From his ship's mascot, Bamse became mascot of the Royal Norwegian Navy, and then of all the Free Norwegian Forces. An iconic photograph of him wearing a Norwegian sailor's cap was used on patriotic Easter cards and Christmas cards during the war. The PDSA made him an official Allied Forces Mascot.

Suffering from heart failure, Bamse died on the dockside at Montrose on 22 July 1944. He was buried with full military honours, and his funeral was attended by hundreds of Norwegian sailors, Allied servicemen, schoolchildren and townsfolk from Montrose and Dundee. His grave site in the sand dunes has been looked after by local people and by the GlaxoSmithKline factory. The Royal Norwegian Navy holds a commemorative ceremony every ten years.

Post-war honours. Bamse was posthumously awarded the Norges Hundeorden on 30 September 1984 for his war service. In 2006, he was also awarded the PDSA Gold Medal (sometimes known as the "animals' George Cross") for gallantry and devotion to duty, the only WWII animal to have received this honour.

A larger than life sized bronze statue of Bamse, made by Scottish sculptor Alan Herriot, was unveiled by HRH Prince Andrew at Wharf Street in Montrose on 17 October 2006. On the Norwegian side the Norwegian consul in Edinburgh, Bjørn Eilertsen, was present bringing greetings from the Norwegian king, Harald V. Also in attendance were Lathallan School Pipe Band, representatives of the Royal Norwegian Navy, Hans Petter Oset, director of the Royal Norwegian Navy Museum, and the daughter of Bamse's owner, Vigdis Hafto. A smaller bronze version of the statue has been purchased by the Royal Norwegian Navy Museum (Marinemuseet) at Horten in Norway.
His epitaph on the grave in Scotland :

BAMSE 22-7-1944. Faithful friend of all onboard the «Thorodd». Largest dog of the allied naval forces

[McQ59]

Ups... A little bit of a misunderstanding Dale. I didn't have to translate them, I found them in cyber. Thing is i thought they were pretty cool. Specially the one about the goat "Mads" :-)

[bobbysocks]

The Battle of Britain, 1940

In the spring of 1940, Hitler's armies smashed across the borders of Holland and Belgium and streamed into the northern reaches of France. The German "Blitzkrieg" moved swiftly to the west and the south, splitting the British and French defenders, trapping the British army at Dunkirk and forcing its evacuation from continental Europe. The Germans entered Paris on June 14 and forced France's surrender on June 22. England now stood alone awaiting Hitler's inevitable attempt to invade and conquer the island.
Great Britain was in trouble. The soldiers rescued from Dunkirk were exhausted by their ordeal. Worse, most of their heavy armaments lay abandoned and rusting on the French beaches. After a short rest, the Germans began air attacks in early summer designed to seize mastery of the skies over England in preparation for invasion. All that stood between the British and defeat was a small force of RAF pilots outnumbered in the air by four to one.

Day after day the Germans sent armadas of bombers and fighters over England hoping to lure the RAF into battle and annihilate the defenders. Day after day the RAF scrambled their pilots into the sky to do battle often three, four or five times a day. England's air defense bent but did not break. By September, the Germans lost enthusiasm for the assault. Hitler postponed and then canceled invasion plans, turning his attention to the defeat of Russia. In appreciation of the RAF pilots' heroic effort, Winston Churchill declared: "Never before in human history was so much owed by so many to so few."

The "Few" in Their "Finest Hour"

In the summer of 1940, twenty-one-year-old Pilot Officer John Beard was a member of a squadron of Hurricanes based near London. Waiting on the airfield while his plane is rearmed and refueled, Beard receives word of a large German attack force making its way up the Thames River towards London. The afternoon sun illuminates a cloudless blue sky as Beard and his fellow pilots lift their planes off the grass airstrip and climb to meet the enemy. The defenders level off at 15,000 feet and wait for the attackers to appear:

"Minutes went by. Green fields and roads were now beneath us. I scanned the sky and the horizon for the first glimpse of the Germans. A new vector came through on the R.T. [radio telephone] and we swung round with the sun behind us. Swift on the heels of this I heard Yellow flight leader call through the earphones. I looked quickly toward Yellow's position, and there they were!

It was really a terrific sight and quite beautiful. First they seemed just a cloud of light as the sun caught the many glistening chromium parts of their engines, their windshields, and the spin of their airscrew discs. Then, as our squadron hurtled nearer, the details stood out. I could see the bright-yellow noses of Messerschmitt fighters sandwiching the bombers, and could even pick out some of the types. The sky seemed full of them, packed in layers thousands of feet deep. They came on steadily, wavering up and down along the horizon. 'Oh, golly,' I thought, 'golly, golly . . .'

And then any tension I had felt on the way suddenly left me. I was elated but very calm. I leaned over and switched on my reflector sight, flicked the catch on the gun button from 'Safe' to 'Fire,' and lowered my seat till the circle and dot on the reflector sight shone darkly red in front of my eyes.

The squadron leader's voice came through the earphones, giving tactical orders. We swung round in a great circle to attack on their beam-into the thick of them. Then, on the order, down we went. I took my hand from the throttle lever so as to get both hands on the stick, and my thumb played neatly across the gun button. You have to steady a fighter just as you have to steady a rifle before you fire it.

My Merlin [the airplane's engine] screamed as I went down in a steeply banked dive on to the tail of a forward line of Heinkels. I knew the air was full of aircraft flinging themselves about in all directions, but, hunched and snuggled down behind my sight, I was conscious only of the Heinkel I had picked out. As the angle of my dive increased, the enemy machine loomed larger in the sight field, heaved toward the red dot, and then he was there!

I had an instant's flash of amazement at the Heinkel proceeding so regularly on its way with a fighter on its tail. 'Why doesn't the fool move?' I thought, and actually caught myself flexing my muscles into the action I would have taken had I been he.

When he was square across the sight I pressed the button. There was a smooth trembling of my Hurricane as the eight-gun squirt shot out. I gave him a two-second burst and then another. Cordite fumes blew back into the cockpit, making an acrid mixture with the smell of hot oil and the air-compressors.

I saw my first burst go in and, just as I was on top of him and turning away, I noticed a red glow inside the bomber. I turned tightly into position again and now saw several short tongues of flame lick out along the fuselage. Then he went down in a spin, blanketed with smoke and with pieces flying off.

I left him plummeting down and, horsing back on my stick, climbed up again for more. The sky was clearing, but ahead toward London I saw a small, tight formation of bombers completely encircled by a ring of Messerschmitts. They were still heading north. As I raced forward, three flights of Spitfires came zooming up from beneath them in a sort of Prince-of -Wales's-feathers maneuver. They burst through upward and outward, their guns going all the time. They must have each got one, for an instant later I saw the most extraordinary sight of eight German bombers and fighters diving earthward together in flames.

I turned away again and streaked after some distant specks ahead. Diving down, I noticed that the running progress of the battle had brought me over London again. I could see the network of streets with the green space of Kensington Gardens, and I had an instant's glimpse of the Round Pond, where I sailed boats when I was a child. In that moment, and as I was rapidly overhauling the Germans ahead, a Dornier 17 sped right across my line of flight, closely pursued by a Hurricane. And behind the Hurricane came two Messerschmitts. He was too intent to have seen them and they had not seen me! They were coming slightly toward me. It was perfect. A kick at the rudder and I swung in toward them, thumbed the gun button, and let them have it. The first burst was placed just the right distance ahead of the leading Messerschmitt. He ran slap into it and he simply came to pieces in the air. His companion, with one of the speediest and most brilliant 'get-outs' I have ever seen, went right away in a half Immelmann turn. I missed him completely. He must almost have been hit by the pieces of the leader but he got away. I hand it to him.

At that moment some instinct made me glance up at my rear-view mirror and spot two Messerschmitts closing in on my tail. Instantly I hauled back on the stick and streaked upward. And just in time. For as I flicked into the climb, I saw, the tracer streaks pass beneath me. As I turned I had a quick look round the "office" [cockpit]. My fuel reserve was running out and I had only about a second's supply of ammunition left. I was certainly in no condition to take on two Messerschrnitts. But they seemed no more eager than I was. Perhaps they were in the same position, for they turned away for home. I put my nose down and did likewise."

"Battle of Britain, 1940," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2000).

[bobbysocks]

Bombing Raid on Ploesti, 1943

Ploesti was a vast complex of oil refinery facilities located some 30 miles north of Bucharest, Romania. It supplied an estimated sixty percent of the refined oil necessary to keep the German war machine running. In the words of Winston Churchill, Ploesti was “the taproot of German might.” It was a strategic target whose destruction allied planners hoped would deliver a severe blow to Germany’s ability to carry on the war.

The blow was to be delivered by American B-24 bombers flying out of the Libyan Desert, across the Mediterranean Sea to the target and return - a two thousand mile journey that would push the abilities of both planes and crews to their limits. This would not be the first raid on Ploesti - this had occurred in June 1942 -, nor the last, but it had the highest expectations. Five bombardment groups – two borrowed from the Eighth Air Force stationed in England – equipped with B-24 Liberator bombers began low-level flight training in the Libyan dessert. Flying in formation at altitudes of fifty feet or lower to avoid radar detection and impede enemy antiaircraft fire.

Loaded with extra fuel tanks, 178 attack planes struggled aloft from their Libyan airstrips early Sunday morning August 1, 1943. They flew into a fiery hell that would be remembered as "Black Sunday." Trouble began almost immediately. Unbeknownst to the air crews, the Germans had broken their communication code and monitored their flight almost as soon as they took off. As they approached their target, the lead flight made a wrong turn up a mountain valley taking one of the following flights with it. Detected by German radar, the attacking Americans had lost the element of surprise.

Arriving on target, the B-24's were confronted with one of the most heavily protected facilities the Germans had. Surrounded by hundreds of anti-aircraft emplacements, heavy-caliber machine guns and defending aircraft, Ploesti's defenses included a specially designed flak train made up of freight cars whose sides could drop revealing anti-aircraft artillery that spewed death from its guns as the train raced in tandem with attacking planes. Smoke stacks obscured by billowing smoke from exploding storage tanks also took their toll on the low-flying B-24s.

Fifty-three aircraft – each with a crew of ten – were lost in the attack. Later surveillance flights revealed that approximately forty-two percent of Ploesti’s refining capacity had been destroyed. However, it took only a few days for the Germans to bring the complex back to its previous fuel output.

"To the very end he gave the battle every once he had."

Captain Phillip Ardery was a squadron leader during the attack. We join his story as his B-24 approaches the target and he observes the action from the co-pilot's seat:

"We were very close behind the second flight of three ships. As their bombs were dropping we were on our run in. There in the center of the target was the big boiler house, just as in the pictures we had seen. As the first ships approached the target we could see them flying through a mass of ground fire. It was mostly coming from ground-placed 20 mm. automatic weapons, and it was as thick as hail. The first ships dropped their bombs squarely on the boiler house and immediately a series of explosions took place. They weren't the explosions of thousand pound bombs, but of boilers blowing up and fires of split-open firebanks touching off the volatile gases of the cracking plant. Bits of the roof of the house blew up, lifting to a level above the height of the chimneys, and the flames leaped high after the debris. The second three ships went over coming in from the left, and dropped partly on the boiler house and partly on the cracking plant beyond. More explosions and higher flames. Already the fires were leaping higher than the level of our approach. We had gauged ourselves to clear the tallest chimney in the plant by a few feet. Now there was a mass of flame and black smoke reaching much higher, and there were intermittent explosions lighting up the black pall.

Phifer, the bombardier, said over the interphone, 'Those damn bombs are going off. They ain't supposed to do that.'

'That ain't the bombs,' I answered, ..that's the gas they're cookin' with.'

We found ourselves at that moment running a gauntlet of tracers and cannon fire of all types that made me despair of ever covering those last few hundred yards to the point where we could let the bombs go. The antiaircraft defenses were literally throwing up a curtain of steel. From the target grew the column of Flames, smoke, and explosions, and we were headed straight into it. Suddenly Sergeant WeIls, our small, childlike radio operator who was in the waist compartment for the moment with a camera, called out, 'Lieutenant Hughes's ship is leaking gas. He's been hit hard in his left wing fuel section.'

I had noticed it just about that moment. I was tired of looking out the front at those German guns firing at us. I looked out to the right for a moment and saw a sheet of raw gasoline trailing Pete's left wing. He stuck right in formation with us. He must have known he was hard hit because the gas was coming out in such volume that it blinded the waist gunners in his ship from our view. Poor Petel Fine religious, conscientious boy with a young wife waiting for him back in Texas. He was holding his ship in formation to drop his bombs on the target, knowing if he didn't pull up he would have to fly through a solid room of fire with a tremendous stream of gasoline gushing from his ship. I flicked the switch intermittently to fire the remote-control, fixed fifty caliber machine guns specially installed for my use. I watched my tracers dig the ground. Poor Pete. How I wished he'd pull up a few hundred feet and drop from a higher altitude.

As we were going into the furnace, I said a quick prayer. During those moments I didn't think that I could possibly come out alive, and I knew Pete couldn't. Bombs were away. Everything was black for a few seconds. We must have cleared the chimneys by inches. We must have, for we kept flying - and as we passed over the boiler house another explosion kicked our tail high and our nose down. Fowble pulled back on the wheel and the Lib leveled out, almost clipping the tops off houses. We were through the impenetrable wall, but what of Pete? I looked out right. Still he was there in close formation, but he was on fire all around his left wing where it joined the fuselage.

I could feel tears come into my eyes and my throat clog up. Then I saw Pete pull up and out of formation. His bombs were laid squarely on the target along with ours. With his mission accomplished, he was making a valiant attempt to kill his excess speed and set the ship down in a little river valley south of the town before the whole business blew up. He was going about 210 miles per hour and had to slow up to about 110 to get the ship down. He was gliding without power, as it seemed, slowing up and pulling off to the right in the direction of a moderately flat valley: Pete was fighting now to save himself and his men. He was too low for any of them to jump and there was not time for the airplane to climb to a sufficient altitude to permit a chute to open. The lives of the crew were in their pilot's hands, and he gave it everything he had.

Wells, in our waist gun compartment, was taking pictures of the gruesome spectacle. Slowly the ship on our right lost speed and began to settle in a glide that looked like it might come to a reasonably good crash-landing. But flames were spreading furiously all over the left side of the ship. I could see it plainly, as it was on my side. Now it would touch down-but just before it did, the left wing came off. The flames had been too much and had literally burnt the wing off. The heavy ship cartwheeled and a great shower of flame and smoke appeared just ahead of the point where last we had seen a bomber. Pete had given his life and the lives of his crew to carry out his assigned task. To the very end he gave the battle every once he had.

The August 1 raid on Ploesti was code-named Tidal Wave.
Five Congressional Medals of Honor were awarded for the mission - three posthumously. This is the most awarded for a single combat mission.
Although further air raids were launched, the output of Ploesti refineries was not squelched until the Soviet Army overran the facility in August 1944.

"Bombing Raid on Ploesti, 1943," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2008).

[bobbysocks]

The Doolittle Raid, 1942
America Strikes Back

Once the shock of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor subsided, the focus of American military planners turned to retaliation - even if it was only symbolic. A few weeks after the attack, Lt. Colonel James H. Doolittle presented his superiors with a daring and unorthodox plan. B-25 bombers, normally land-based, would be transported by an aircraft carrier to within striking-distance of the Japanese mainland and launched to attack a number of cities.

A top-secret training program began immediately. The major problem was to learn how to force the bomber, which normally required a minimum of 1200 feet of runway for takeoff, to get airborne using the 450 feet of a carrier deck. After weeks of training, the volunteer crews flew to San Francisco where they boarded the USS Hornet and joined a small flotilla of ships headed for Japan.

The attack was launched on the morning of April 18, 1942, 150 miles further from Japan than planned out of fear that the task force had been spotted by the Japanese. Doolittle gunned the lead plane and lumbered successfully off the carrier's flight deck. Fifteen planes followed, each one skimming just above the waves and carrying a payload of four bombs. Thirteen bombers targeted Tokyo; the others struck Nagoya, Osaka and Kobe. Flying low, the planes were cheered by civilians who thought they were Japanese.

After dropping their bomb-loads on their assigned targets, the attackers flew on until they ran out of fuel. Fifteen of the crews landed in Japanese-occupied China and made it to friendly territory with the aid of Chinese peasants. One crew landed in the Soviet Union and was immediately interned. Eight airmen were captured by the Japanese, four of whom were later executed.

Although the raid was materially but a pin prick, its psychological impact was monumental. It elevated the flagging American moral and destroyed the Japanese conviction that they were invulnerable to air attack. The humiliated Japanese command hastily planned an attack on the American outpost at Midway - an attack whose failure would become the turning point of the war in the Pacific.

Takeoff:

Lt. Ted Lawson piloted one of the attacking bombers. We join his story as he watches the strike leader, Colonel James H. Doolittle, gun the engines of his B-25 and attempt to take off from the carrier deck:

"A Navy man stood at the bow of the ship, and off to the left, with a checkered flag in his hand. He gave Doolittle, who was at the controls, the signal to begin racing his engines again. He did it by swinging the flag in a circle and making it go faster and faster. Doolittle gave his engines more and more throttle until I was afraid that he'd burn them up. A wave crashed heavily at the bow and sprayed the deck.

Then I saw that the man with the flag was waiting, timing the dipping of the ship so that Doolittle's plane would get the benefit of a rising deck for its take-off. Then the man gave a new signal. Navy boys pulled the blocks from under Doolittle's wheels. Another signal and Doolittle released his brakes and the bomber moved forward.

With full flaps, engines at full throttle and his left wing far out over the port side of the Hornet, Doolittle's plane waddled and then lunged slowly into the teeth of the gale that swept down the deck. His left wheel stuck on the white line as if it were a track. His right wing, which had barely cleared the wall of the island as he taxied and was guided up to the starting line, extended nearly to the edge of the starboard side.

We watched him like hawks, wondering what the wind would do to him, and whether we could get off in that little run toward the bow. If he couldn't, we couldn't.

Doolittle picked up more speed and held to his line, and, just as the Hornet lifted itself up on the top of a wave and cut through it at full speed, Doolittle's plane took off. He had yards to spare. He hung his ship almost straight up on its props, until we could see the whole top of his B-25. Then he leveled off and I watched him come around in a tight circle and shoot low over our heads-straight down the line painted on the deck."

The Attack:

We rejoin Lawson's story as he pilot's his plane towards its bomb target in Tokyo:

"I was almost on the first of our objectives before I saw it. I gave the engines full throttle as Davenport [co-pilot] adjusted the prop pitch to get a better grip on the air. We climbed as quickly as possible to 1,500 feet, in the manner which we had practiced for a month and had discussed for three additional weeks.

There was just time to get up there, level off, attend to the routine of opening the bomb bay, make a short run and let fly with the first bomb. The red light blinked on my instrument board, and I knew the first 500-pounder had gone.

Our speed was picking up. The red light blinked again, and I knew Clever [bombardier] had let the second bomb go. Just as the light blinked, a black cloud appeared about 100 yards or so in front of us and rushed past at great speed. Two more appeared ahead of us, on about the line of our wingtips, and they too swept past. They had our altitude perfectly, but they were leading us too much.

The third red light flickered, and, since we were now over a flimsy area in the southern part of the city, the fourth light blinked. That was the incendiary, which I knew would separate as soon as it hit the wind and that dozens of small fire bombs would molt from it.

The moment the fourth red light showed I put the nose of the Ruptured Duck into a deep dive. I had changed the course somewhat for the short run leading up to the dropping of the incendiary. Now, as I dived, I looked back and out I got a quick, indelible vision of one of our 500-pounders as it hit our steel-smelter target. The plant seemed to puff out its walls and then subside and dissolve in a black-and-red cloud. . .

Our actual bombing operation, from the time the first one went until the dive, consumed not more than thirty seconds."

Crash Landing:

About 6 1/2 hours later, Lawson's plane is low on fuel as the crew spots the Chinese mainland and Lawson attempts to land on a beach in a driving rain:

"So I spoke into the inter-phone and told the boys we were going down. I told them to take off their chutes, but didn't have time to take off mine, and to be sure their life jackets were on, as mine was. I put the flaps down and also the landing wheels, and I remember thinking momentarily that if this was Japanese occupied land we could make a pretty good fight of it while we lasted. Our front machine gun was detachable.

. . . Davenport was calling off the airspeed. He had just said, 'One hundred and ten,' when, for some reason I'll never understand, both engines coughed and lost their power.

In the next split second my hands punched forward and with one motion I hit both throttles, trying to force life back into the engines, and both prop pitch controls. And I tried to pull back the stick to keep the nose up, so we could squash in. We were about a quarter of a mile off shore when we hit.

The two main landing wheels caught the top of a wave as the plane sagged. And the curse of desperation and disappointment that I instinctively uttered was drowned out by the most terrifying noise I ever heard.

It was as if some great hand had reached down through the storm, seized the plane and crunched it in a closing fist.

Then nothing. Nothing but peace. A strange, strange, peaceful feeling. There wasn't any pain. A great, restful quiet surrounded me.

Then I must have swallowed some water, or perhaps the initial shock was wearing off, for I realized vaguely but inescapably that I was sitting in my pilot's seat on the sand, under water.

I was in about ten or fifteen feet of water, I sensed remotely. I remember thinking: I'm dead. Then: No, I'm just hurt. Hurt bad. I couldn't move, but there was no feeling of being trapped, or of fighting for air.

I thought then of Ellen [Cpt. Lawson's wife] - strange thoughts filled with vague reasoning but little torment. A growing uneasiness came through my numb body. I wished I had left Ellen some money. I thought of money for my mother, too, in those disembodied seconds that seemed to have no beginning or end.

I guess I must have taken in more water, for suddenly I knew that the silence, the peace and the reverie were things to fight against. I could not feel my arms, yet I knew I reached down and unbuckled the seat strap that was holding me to the chair. I told myself that my guts were loose.

I came up into the driving rain that beat down out of the blackening sky. I couldn't swim. I was paralyzed. I couldn't think clearly, but I undid my chute.

The waves lifted me and dropped me. One wave washed me against a solid object, and, after I had stared at it in the gloom for a while, I realized that it was one of the wings of the plane. I noticed that the engine had been ripped off the wing, leaving only a tangle of broken wire and cable. And with the recognition came a surge of nausea and despair, for only now did I connect my condition with the condition of the plane.

Another wave took me away from the wing and when it turned me around I saw behind me the two tail rudders of the ship, sticking up out of the water like twin tombstones."

"The Doolittle Raid, 1942," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2007).

[bobbysocks]

The Battle of Midway, 1942

The Doolittle Raid on Japan in April 1942 demolished the Japanese military's perception that their homeland was immune from air attack. They realized that in order to protect Japan, their defensive perimeter had to be extended eastward. Midway, a tiny island a thousand miles from Hawaii became the target.
The Japanese threw almost the entire Imperial Fleet into the battle - six aircraft carriers, eleven battleships, thirteen cruisers, forty-five destroyers, assorted submarines, transports and mine sweepers. The Americans had cracked the Japanese code and knew something was up. The thin American defense consisted of three aircraft carriers (Hornet, Enterprise and Yorktown), eight cruisers, fourteen destroyers, and the aircraft stationed on Midway itself. The Yorktown, mauled in the Battle of the Coral Sea, limped into battle after band-aid repairs at Pearl Harbor.

The Americans had surprise on their side, and luck. On June 4, they discovered the Japanese fleet northeast of Midway. An air battle quickly developed. The turning point came at mid-morning. The Japanese fighters were drawn down to sea level by attacking American torpedo bombers, the vast majority of which were destroyed. Their sacrifice cleared the skies above for the American dive-bombers. Within minutes three Japanese carriers were ablaze. Hiryu, the fourth Japanese carrier retaliated with an air attack sinking the Yorktown. That afternoon American aircraft caught the Hiryu, inflicting serious damage. The Japanese fleet retreated. The one-day battle reversed the tide of war in the Pacific, six months after Pearl Harbor. From that point on, Japan would be on the defensive.

Under Attack

Alerted of Japanese plans through intercepted messages, an American Task Force awaited the enemy steaming towards Midway. The Japanese struck first with an attack on the island. The Americans located the Japanese fleet in the early morning and commenced a costly air strike that only 6 of the attacking 41 torpedo bombers survived. Mitsuo Fuchida witnessed the battle from the deck of the aircraft carrier Akagi:

"The first enemy carrier planes to attack were 15 torpedo bombers. When first spotted by our screening ships and combat air patrol, they were still not visible from the carriers, but they soon appeared as tiny dark specks in the blue sky, a little above the horizon, on Akagi's starboard bow. The distant wings flashed in the sun. Occasionally one of the specks burst into a spark of flame and trailed black smoke as it fell into the water. Our fighters were on the job, and the enemy again seemed to be without fighter protection.

Presently a report came in from a Zero group leader: 'All 15 enemy torpedo bombers shot down.' Nearly 50 Zeros had gone to intercept the unprotected enemy formation! Small wonder that it did not get through.

Again at 0930 a lookout atop the bridge yelled: 'Enemy torpedo bombers, 30 degrees to starboard, coming in low!' This was followed by another cry from a port lookout forward: 'Enemy torpedo planes approaching 40 degrees to port!'

The raiders closed in from both sides, barely skimming over the water. Flying in single columns, they were within five miles and seemed to be aiming straight for Akagi. I watched in breathless suspense, thinking how impossible it would be to dodge all their torpedoes. But these raiders, too, without protective escorts, were already being engaged by our fighters. On Akagi's flight deck all attention was fixed on the dramatic scene unfolding before us, and there was wild cheering and whistling as the raiders went down one after another.

Of the 14 enemy torpedo bombers which came in from starboard, half were shot down, and only 5 remained of the original 12 planes to port. The survivors kept charging in as Akagi's opened fire with antiaircraft machine guns.

Both enemy groups reached their release points, and we watched for the splash of torpedoes aimed at Akagi. But, to our surprise, no drops were made. At the last moment the planes appeared to forsake Akagi, zoomed overhead, and made for Hiryu to port and astern of us. As the enemy planes passed Akagi, her gunners regained their composure and opened a sweeping fire, in which Hiryu joined. Through all this deadly gunfire the Zeros kept after the Americans, continually reducing their number.

Seven enemy planes finally succeeded in launching their torpedoes at Hiryu, five from her starboard side and two from port. Our Zeros tenaciously pursued the retiring attackers as far as they could. Hiryu turned sharply to starboard to evade the torpedoes, and we watched anxiously to see if any would find their mark. A deep sigh of relief went up when no explosion occurred, and Hiryu soon turned her head to port and resumed her original course. A total of more than 40 enemy torpedo planes had been thrown against us in these attacks, but only seven American planes had survived long enough to release their missiles, and not a single hit had been scored. Nearly all of the raiding enemy planes were brought down."

Five Minutes That Changed The War

The Japanese were now caught in a logistical nightmare. Wanting to follow up on their earlier attack on Midway, they armed their bombers with bombs. However, in the midst of battle, scouts spotted the American Fleet, so the bombers were ordered refitted with torpedoes. Simultaneously, the Zeros defending the Fleet returned to their carriers for rearming and refueling. At this moment, more American attackers appeared, Commander Fuchida continues his story:

"Preparations for a counter-strike against the enemy had continued on board our four carriers throughout the enemy torpedo attacks. One after another, planes were hoisted from the hangar and quickly arranged on the flight deck. There was no time to lose. At 1020 Admiral Nagumo gave the order to launch when ready. On Akagi's flight deck all planes were in position with engines warming up. The big ship began turning into the wind. Within five minutes all her planes would be launched.

Five minutes! Who would have dreamed that the tide of battle would shift completely in that brief interval of time?

Visibility was good. Clouds were gathering at about 3,000 meters, however, and though there were occasional breaks, they afforded good concealment for approaching enemy planes. At 1024 the order to start launching came from the bridge by voice-tube. The Air Officer flapped a white flag, and the first Zero fighter gathered speed and whizzed off the deck. At that instant a lookout screamed: 'Hell-divers!' I looked up to see three black enemy planes plummeting toward our ship. Some of our machine guns managed to fire a few frantic bursts at them, but it was too late. The plump silhouettes of the American 'Dauntless' dive-bombers quickly grew larger, and then a number of black objects suddenly floated eerily from their wings. Bombs! Down they came straight toward me! I fell intuitively to the deck and crawled behind a command post mantelet [rolled mattresses providing protection from shrapnel].

The terrifying scream of the dive-bombers reached me first, followed by the crashing explosion of a direct hit. There was a blinding flash and then a second explosion, much louder than the first. I was shaken by a weird blast of warm air. There was still another shock, but less severe, apparently a near miss. Then followed a startling quiet as the barking of guns suddenly ceased. I got up and looked at the sky. The enemy planes were already gone from sight.

The attackers had gotten in unimpeded because our fighters, which had engaged the preceding wave of torpedo planes only a few moments earlier, had not yet had time to regain altitude.

Consequently, it may be said that the American dive-bombers' success was made possible by the earlier martyrdom of their torpedo planes. Also, our carriers had no time to evade because clouds hid the enemy's approach until he dove down to the attack. We had been caught flatfooted in the most vulnerable condition possible - decks loaded with planes armed and fueled for attack.

Looking about, I was horrified at the destruction that had been wrought in a matter of seconds. There was a huge hole in the flight deck just behind the amidship elevator. The elevator itself, twisted like molten glass, was drooping into the hangar. Deck plates reeled upward in grotesque configurations. Planes stood tail up, belching livid flame and jet-black smoke. Reluctant tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched the fires spread, and I was terrified at the prospect of induced explosions which would surely doom the ship."

"The Battle of Midway, 1942" EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2001).

[bobbysocks]

Edward Gignac

Leading Purple Flight shortly after rendezvous with bombers, I saw a straggling B-17 at about 5,000 or 6,000 feet. At approximately 1530 I saw an E/A** approaching the B-17 from 6 o'clock. I immediately called in the bounce and started down. The E/A scored several hits on the B-17 before I could get to it. As I closed in on the E/A he broke off his attack on the bomber with what appeared to be a violent aileron roll. The E/A then pulled up in a vertical climb. I reefed back violently and took a short burst. My closing speed was very high so I could not follow him up. Even though my burst was very short and at a great deflection, I claim destruction of this Me 109 as Lt. Heller, flying Green 2 saw the pilot bail out just after I fired at him, and he also saw the E/A explode as it hit the ground."
** Enemy Aircraft

These are the words of Captain Edward Joseph Gignac, USAAF describing one of the high points of his outstanding flying career on March 8, 1944. An excellent Flight Leader and pilot, Gignac never attained the exalted title of 'ace' with the Army Air Forces. However, his awards, accomplishments, and the respect garnered from his peers clearly marked him as an outstanding pilot.

This All-American flyer 's love of the air , competitiveness, and daring mainfested itself in another way early in life: on skis.

'Eddie' Gignac, was born on West Street in Lebanon, New Hampshire on September 7th, 1918. A quiet boy from prime skiing country, Eddie was on skis by the age of three wearing boots tailored to fit his diminutive feet. "Rather on the short side", as a friend later described, Gignac's stature grew slowly, as his skiing prowess advanced rapidly.

Around age nine 'Eddie' tried leaping from the ski jump in his home town, and found it to his liking. With encouragement from the local ski coach, jumping became his serious avocation by 7th grade. Soon, a high school aged Gignac was making his presence felt in Northeastern competitions, winning several prominent winter meets and perfecting a somersault leap off of ski jumps.

Gignac entered Kimball Union Academy on scholarship in 1936, and gave notice of arrival to the ski world. After major Class B skiing victories in 1936, 'Ed' qualified for Class A (top level) ski jumping competitions with a second place at Brattleboro VT during the '37 season (in February of 1938). This set up one of the biggest upsets in ski jumping to that date.

One week later, on February 27, 1938, Gignac ran away with all of the marbles at the U.S. Eastern Amateur Ski Jumping Championships at Gilford New Hampshire. His unprecedented debut in Class A was marked by outjumping the top Olympic, National and Eastern title holders of the day, giving him the Eastern U.S. jump title.

In the fall of '38, he entered Middlebury College in Vermont and continued his winning ways despite a college football related knee injury. During the '39 ski season, he joined a national invitational exhibition tour with other top U.S. ski jumping stars, and claimed Lake Placid's Ski Meister Trophy for all-around skiing prowess. Though his nagging knee injury cost Gignac a place on the '40 Winter Olympic team, he bounced back to take the College Class jump title at the Nationals held in Berlin N.H. An ace jumper and competitor in anyone's book, 'Ed' began looking for another challenge for his considerable talents.

With enough college credits under his belt and rumors of war about, Edward Gignac enlisted in the US Army Air Corps in the spring of 1941 after his mother's death from cancer. Technically too short to qualify, 5'-3" Gignac wrangled himself into flight training, starting at Darr Aerotech in Albany, Georgia. Surviving upperclassmen, washout checks, poor food, and scrubbing the wind tee for an improper takeoff at Augusta, Georgia, he was soon off to Pursuit School at Craig Field. "Learning how to effectively take lives and destroy property" was his joking description of this last stop before graduating Class 41-I as 2nd Lieutenant Edward J. Gignac. This was December 12, 1941, and America had been at war for five days.

The following Silver Star Medal writeup describes what June 18th, 1942 held in store for him:

"For gallantry in action over New Guinea, on June 18, 1942. This officer was flying a P-39 type aircraft as part of a flight of three, which intercepted nine enemy bombers and eight enemy fighter planes. The enemy fighters were at a considerable height above the bombers, and when our planes attacked the bombers, they were met by a diving head-on attack by the Zeros. Lt. Gignac selected one of the bombers and continued to press the attack in spite of the fact that a number of Zeros were firing bursts into his plane. After the first pass, he chandelled in front of the bombers and, though slightly wounded, he managed to damage another bomber. After the encounter, Lt. Gignac succeeded in flying his crippled plane back to the home base and landing it. His persistence and fearlessness are highly commendable and are in keeping with the best fighting traditions of the U.S. Army Air Corps."

July 11, 1942 brought a winning day for the embattled 40th Pursuit Squadron home team, with five hard fought victories over the Japanese. 'Gig' was not so fortunate however, as he experienced an engine failure just prior to the attack on the enemy formation. Fellow Airacobra handler Philip K. Shriver remembers, "From 15,000 feet with a glide angle of a flat rock, he managed to cover a considerable distance and crash land alive on a makeshift strip. From that day forward, he carried the mark of every pilot that crash landed a P-39...an imprint of the gunsight on his forehead."

Though carried on the 40th Squadron's roster, extended recuperation from his injuries prevented further combat flying before rotation home in the late Fall of '42.

Gignac, promoted to 1st Lieutenant, arrived home for a well- deserved leave in November. Posted stateside to the 320th Squadron of the 326th FG (an OTU or Operation Training Unit for P-47 Thunderbolts), Edward noted that, he "wanted a crack at the Germans next." This OTU Provided the original cadre of pilots that formed the 352nd. Fidgeting at the lack of combat activity, Gignac took a Thunderbolt home for a memorable 'buzz' of Lebanon and Kimball Union Academy before being assigned to the 21st Squadron of the 352nd Fighter Group.

Attaining Captain rank in March of 1943, Gignac's experience found him well suited to Flight Leader status in the 486th (as the 21st was renamed in May). The 352nd shipped for England on the Queen Elizabeth, and arrived at their Bodney airbase home in July. Operating from this base, the 352nd produced some of the top scoring ETO aces, and later boasted the nickname 'The Bluenosed Bastards of Bodney' for their blue painted cowlings.

Adapting to ETO missions pounding the Luftwaffe's fighters, 'Pappy' Gignac put his first mark in the victory column with a shared kill over an Me 110 January 30th, 1944 while flying his P-47D-2 Thunderbolt (aptly named 'GIG'S-UP'). While the nickname 'Pappy' was commonly applied to older experienced pilots, Assistant Crew Chief Art Nellen remembers that Gignac's sobriquet was from his chin's resemblance to the Lil' Abner character Pappy Yokum's chin. Only war could advance 'Little Eddie' to 'Pappy' in a few short years.

Undoubtedly this chin was carried high as Gignac was awarded the DFC in February, less than a month before the March 8th Me 109 victory described at the start of this article. This victory was the first using a P-51 Mustang for the Group, which was transitioning from the shorter-legged P-47s in early spring (see the chapter entitled "Raining Thunderbolts" for more on this eventful mission). Though people close to 'Pappy' noted that combat was taking its toll on him, he was advanced to Assistant Group Operations Officer in April. Promotion to the rank of Major in May prompted another new job, acting Group Operations Officer. Gignac proudly wrote in a letter home, "I'm no longer a mere cog, I'm a wheel."

June 6, 1944 is a date that Americans remember with pride. D-Day! The 352nd FG was busy shaking the earth bombing and strafing in France to prevent movement behind the beaches. The following day brought more of the same, as the Luftwaffe was not able to contest the skies.

The second mission of June 7th found Gignac leading a tactical assault flight of Mustangs over France. 'Pappy's' Mustang, 'GIG'S-UP II', wasn't available for this mission, so he was flying his CO Willie O. Jackson's P-51B 'Hot Stuff'. After bombing a marshalling yard at Trappe, a group of prime movers, fueling trucks, and personnel carriers, were spotted near Voisin-le-Bretonneux at 1400 hours. Quickly setting up a 'race-track' strafing pattern to prevent mid-air collisions, gunnery passes began. After the second set of passes, a large amount of light flak began reaching for the 486th pilots. Asked if he was going to make another pass, Gignac radioed, "I can't, I'm on fire." The Mustang, hit in the right wing ammo bay and streaming smoke, pulled up to 2000 feet as Pappy tried to gain altitude for bailing out. The plane was then seen to nose down sharply, and explode in mid-air as the right wing fuel tank exploded. "Pappy" was killed instantly.

The Germans in the area removed his dog tags and ordered the French Mayor of Voisin-le-Bretonneux to bury his body, and assist in salvaging pieces of the aircraft. While at first blush the removal of the tags sounds barbaric, in fact this was common practice as the Germans forwarded dog tags to the Red Cross for notification. Sadly, "Pappy's" tags never made it to the Red Cross, causing him to be listed as Missing In Action (MIA) until much later. It is presumed the Germans with the tags were later killed in the hedgerow fighting in France.

At great risk to himself, the Mayor secretly recorded the remnants of the aircraft's serial number on the fin as well as the "Hot Stuff" nose art during the salvage operation. As the graves registration personnel moved into the Voisin area later in the war, the Mayor came forth with this crucial information he had recorded, allowing "Pappy's" identification to be established later when lost-aircraft records were researched in 1945.

An interesting fact to note is that the French citizens of Voisin-le-Bretonneux never knew the identity of the heroic American aviator that was briefly interred in their cemetery in 1944. In 1999 Gignac's sister Marilyn, using the author's research records, walked into the Mayor's office in Voisin-le-Bretonneux to inquire about her brother. Now a French-speaking Catholic nun, she was greeted with welcoming arms once the official realized that "Pappy" was their "unknown hero". On June 7th, 2000, the Town of Voisin-le-Bretonneux dedicated a permanent memorial to Gignac, recognizing the sacrifice he made to the liberation of their country from Nazi oppression.

The author Brewster, writing for the Kimball Union Academy Alumni Bulletin in 1947 eloquently remembered Gignac:

"He was a great little guy; his heart as large as his body was small, and his physical courage was boundless. He flew, wearing the colors of Uncle Sam in his last great event with the same fullness of endeavor that so marked his life. After a desperate losing battle in which his body was riddled and scarred by the bullets of the Japanese, he returned as indomitable as ever to go forth to the European front and there in his last great contest, ride his last plane with its symbolic name, 'GIG'S-UP'."

Fellow flyers and friends contributing to this article remember Edward as, "rather quiet, unassuming, a rock of stability, well liked, respected, a fine man, excellent pilot, peerless leader, fair, trustworthy, decent, a great gentleman, and one Hell of a man." While a man could have much worse words said of him, they also miss the slightly wild edge that led this All American to fly from ski jumps and airfields around the world. A great remembrance from his home town sums this up well: "He was a hellion, in the nicest possible way."

Edward Joseph Gignac is buried in the American Military Cemetery located in Epinal, France overlooking the Moselle River. His awards include the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross with one Oak Leaf Cluster, the Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters, and the Purple Heart.

[bobbysocks]

Raining Thunderbolts

The 352nd Fighter Group flew an unusual mission out of its Bodney airfield in England on March 8, 1944. It was unusual not in its intended bomber escort goal, but rather in the composition of the Group on the mission. Using a mixture of seven P-51 B/C's and fifty P-47D's, Mission 69 was a success in one respect for the 352nd, and an unexpected, hair-raising tragedy in another. Victories over the Luftwaffe were chalked in the win column, though these were tempered by foul weather and falling fighters.

The 8th Fighter Command began taking delivery of the Merlin-powered P-51 B's and C's in early 1944. Groups such as the 4th FG (with their hard-lobbying and respected boss Don Blakeslee) received the first Mustangs, and the 352nd had to wait a few weeks before a Merlin-powered mount nosed its way onto the field. March 1st saw the arrival of seven Mustangs, including the first two aircraft which were assigned to Group C.O. Col. Joe L. Mason ("This Is It" s/n 43-6776, code PZ-M) and 486th FS CO Lt. Col. Luther H. Richmond (s/n 43-7196, code PZ-R). The 486th was the first squadron to receive the Mustangs as Mason stabled his mount with that unit. Using a loaner P-51B for training in late February, the efficient Col. Richmond had his transitioned squadron pilots ready for action in early March. The 486th would fly the March 8th mission with seven Mustangs and 16 Thunderbolts - a very unusual occurrence due to differing performance and fuel economy profiles.

March 8th dawned ominously with typical English winter weather - full overcast from 700 feet to 3500 feet. The pilot's briefing revealed the 352nd was to provide withdrawal support for a mixed force of Second Air Division B-24's and First & Third Air Division B-17's. This comprised an aerial armada of some 600+ bombers which would be returning from the Berlin VKF Ball Bearing Factory (near the Spree river in the heart of Germany). This was a "maximum effort" for the 352nd FG, with the 328th and 487th Squadrons each launching seventeen P-47's into the gloom along with the 486th FS's twenty-three mixed birds. The 486th Mustangs lifted off first in view of their increased endurance over the P-47's. The Thunderbolts soon followed, and formed up into their typical flights of four planes and headed into the "soup" (dense cloud overcast) in trail.

As was common during the war, only the flight leader would fly by instruments through this overcast. He would maintain the flight path by careful attention to his instruments, as he had no visual clue of attitude in the dense fog. The other members of the flight would maintain visual contact with the leader, and fly formation on him (as close as possible in very bad conditions). All of this could become very hairy if vertigo reared its ugly head. Vertigo is a sense of disorientation and dizziness brought on by the inner ear sensing false movement of an aircraft when the eyes have no visual reference. This is common when flying in overcast or dark conditions. In other words, the pilot can be flying straight and level in dense clouds, but his inner ear may be telling him that he is out of control in a spiral. This is combated through attention to, and belief in, the flight instruments and what they reveal. Of course, if a pilot is not flying on instruments but rather his leader, it is easy to become disoriented.

Taking off in the first flight of P-47's, Stanley G. "Stan" Miles of the 486th (flying his "Bundle of Joy", P-47D-5, s/n 42-8490, code PZ-S) found himself flying in extremely poor visibility conditions. At times his leader and other members of his flight disappeared from view even though they were just off his wingtip. The 486th flight led by Henry Miklajcyk was following close behind in near-zero visibility too. "Mike" Miklajcyk was piloting borrowed a 353rd Fighter Group P-47D-10, s/n 42-75157, coded LH-Y. It is not currently known why "Mike" was not flying his regular steed, "The Syracusan", code PZ-K, serial number 41-6531, a updated P-47C-5RE that was the oldest 'Bolt in the outfit. However, it was not unusual for a pilot with an assigned aircraft to fly whatever aircraft was serviceable on any given day.

"Mac"

In Miklajcyk's flight, Donald "Mac" McKibben flying his "Sneezy" (P-47D-15RE, s/n 42-76323, code PZ-Y) takes us back to what he experienced, "Our Squadron (486th), comprised of multiple flights of four aircraft, was ascending through the thick overcast. Following the usual procedure, the flights entered the overcast one after the other. Our Red Flight had the Number One pilot, Miklajcyk, flying on instruments. Numbers Two and Three (Bond and myself) flew visual formation on Number One, and Number Four was flying visual formation on me. I did not know it at the time (due to poor visibility and my concentration on flying formation on Miklajcyk), but my wingman in the Number Four position had to leave the formation and fly on instruments due to a bad case of vertigo. Therefore, he was not
involved in the ensuing incident.

Apparently, Lt. Miles inadvertently became separated from his flight while trying to fly visual on his leader. Suddenly, I became aware of the form of an airplane where it shouldn't be (above and to my left), and numerous pieces of aircraft tumbling about.

I reacted with a violent move up and to the right. Normally I would have recovered and continued on instruments. However, my gyro horizon instrument was tumbling uselessly due to my sharp maneuver, and I knew there wasn't enough room under the overcast in which to recover visually. I opened the canopy and started out on the wing. Halfway out, I discovered that I was still attached to the plane by my oxygen hose. I tore off the mask, got out onto the wing and jumped.

I tumbled through the air for a second and pulled the ripcord. It turns out that I was upside down when the chute opened. The opening shock dislodged my escape pack from the pocket inside my flight jacket. It came up and hit me in the face, resulting in a little 'shiner' later. I didn't have much time to look around as I floated down in my parachute, due to the low overcast bottom that day. I tugged the risers a little to maneuver into a plowed field instead of a road, and saw the flaming wreckage of my plane nearby. On the same side of the road as my plane crash was a little house and a nice lady came out and offered me some tea. On the other side of the road was a thatched roof house that had been set alight by the burning gasoline thrown from the wreckage, as well as some smoldering trees in a churchyard. Somewhere around here I still have a pin and a certificate from the 'Caterpillar Club' for using my chute."

To observers on the ground, it seemed to be raining Thunderbolts. Mr. and Mrs. Lemon lived near the site where "Sneezy" plummeted from the sky and exploded. Mrs. Lemon recalled, "We heard a loud clattering noise, and then there was silence." Mr. Lemon adds, "I was working at Hapton Hall, heard the noise, and knew something was wrong. Seconds later a plane came hurtling earthwards, so I grabbed my bicycle and headed to the scene of the crash. A few moments later a pilot parachuted down and landed approximately 100 yards away from the wreck. Debris and burning fuel was flung towards a thatched cottage which eventually burned down, and the elderly lady owner Daisy Moss was trapped in the toilet outside by the propeller. My wife eventually removed it so she could escape. Ten or so fire engines from Hethel and Hardwick came to fight the fire, but a strawstack near the wreck also caught fire and eventually burnt out as well. A sycamore tree in the churchyard 250 yards away was also badly scorched." The gas-filled "Sneezy" certainly created a stir when it returned to earth.

Back at Bodney that evening "Mac" stopped in at the Officer's Club. Mac's friend and fellow pilot Ted Fahrenwald was there and recalls, "I was in the Officer's Club that evening at Bodney when Mac came in for a few drinks. After he relaxed, the delayed shock hit him and he turned white as a sheet. I ended up escorting him back to his bunk".

No "Bundle of Joy"

Stan Miles confirms this traumatic incident with, "The day was solid overcast. I am not sure if it was raining, but I estimate the ceiling at 700 feet, though others may have differing estimates. I was not flying on instruments that day as we climbed into the overcast, as I was flying visual on my flight leader. I lost sight of my leader and was soon hit from underneath and behind by Henry Miklajcyk, flight leader of the flight following mine. I was pushed over into a dive as a result of the collision. My engine was knocked out and hydraulic fluid and oil came back all over the windscreen so I couldn't see in front of me. I pulled out of the dive right at the tree tops, and out of my side window I spotted a large base with a beautiful runway below. I dropped the gear, as it did not depend on the hydraulic system to be lowered, and landed on that base. I rolled to a stop and it turned out to be the bomber base at Hethel. It had an exceptionally long and wide runway, not like the grass field at Bodney. Fortunately I did not try to bail out, as when I got on the ground, I discovered the canopy was stuck shut from the mid-air collision.

I recall seeing a couple of columns of smoke at the time, which presumably were Bond, Miklajcyk and McKibben's crash sites. A lot of Hethel's personnel met my plane as I stopped. They got me out and took me to base operations. I waited there for a while until someone from Bodney came over and gave me a ride back. I never went to the hospital, and I certainly didn't visit the Officer's Club as I was greatly saddened and depressed by the events of the day. I was actually in a state of shock for several days."

The USAAF "Report of Aircraft Accident" details the damage to "Bundle of Joy" as, "Cowling torn up, Engine oil cooler line broken and further damage, and Prop tips bent." The plane was left at the 389th BG's base at Hethel and sent off for scrap (see accompanying photograph). Stans adds, "I believe I got a temporary plane upon my return to base, before I was assigned one of the new P-51s."

"The Syracusan" Jumps Too

Miklajcyk was intently flying by his instruments when the collision occurred, undoubtedly preventing him from seeing Miles' aircraft. "Mike" (with a now-crippled P-47 at low altitude) quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valor as well, and took to his chute. The "Report of Aircraft Accident" flatly describes the P-47 as, "Completely Demolished". This a simple way of saying that the big Thunderbolt augered into a hedgerow between Wreningham and Flordon, almost completely burying the aircraft.

A piece of "Mike's" aircraft landed just a few feet from farm worker Philip Taylor from Flordon, "I was busy muck-spreading some 500 yards away from the crash site, and the exploding shell noise startled my horse. My brother Leslie was working in the field nearest the crash and rushed to the scene. He was also scared by the exploding shells and beat a hasty retreat. He then watched the fire burn up the plane from a safe distance, but he did not know what happened to the pilot." Miklajcyk soon landed safely in his parachute without any injuries, thus also joining the "Caterpillar Club". Upon hitting the ground and gathering up his parachute, he was greeted by a forward young lad from Flordon who asked, "Can I have your parachute mister?" (This is believed to be John Griffiths, of an East London family of who had moved to Flordon to escape the Blitz of 1940).

Earl Bond

The report for Lt. Earl H. Bond recounts, "Lt. Bond was flying Red Two when his flight leader collided with another ship in the overcast. It is believed that in pulling away from the debris of the collision, Lt. Bond lost his orientation and spun in." It also states that this aircraft was "Completely Demolished". At 1425 hours the aircraft impacted at the edge of a wood one half mile from Mergate Hall, Bracon Ash. Earl Bond was killed instantly, and his Thunderbolt burned out completely. After the recovery of Bond's body, the remains of "The Bid" (P-47D-5, s/n 42-8652. Code PZ-O) rested undisturbed for 46 years, partially hidden by a bean crop, dense woodland and ground ivy. The boundary hedge still bears the scars of the crash, and a large oak tree remains blackened and malformed in the upper branches.

Local English farmer Rex Webster recalls the collision, "I remember it being around lunch time and hearing what sounded like aircraft in the clouds fooling around, then some noise, followed by three aircraft diving out from the cloud in violent spins. Seconds later there were three separate explosions as they hit the ground, one on the boundary of my Father's land in Braconash." Another similar account from Philip Taylor adds "I had just returned from dinner at about 13:30 and was muckspreading that afternoon on a horse drawn wagon when incident occurred. I could hear the noise of aircraft above, but could not see them as they were flying in the clouds. Then all of a sudden there was a sound like smashing crockery, and the planes came diving out of the clouds. One crashed at Hapton up by the houses, another came down up near the "Sheds" at the back of John Bett's Land in Braconash, and one landed just across the field from me on Webster's Meadow. I think another came down on the airfield at Hethel. I remember seeing the pilot floating down up there at Hapton, he looked a bit like one of them Thistle down seeds. Now the pilot of the one on the low meadow, I don't know where he came down, the wind must have carried him away from the crash because I never saw him."

The remaining 352nd FG fighters assembled on top of the overcast and proceeded on their mission to escort the withdrawing bombers after their attack on Berlin.

Great credit is due to parachute rigger Michael Sandorse of the 486th Squadron. Known to the pilots as "Sandy", he was lauded for his fanatical attention to detail, and a perfect record of 25 out of 25 chutes performing when called upon during the war. The pilots had every confidence that if they had to take to their chute, it would operate as advertised. Each pilot had two or more parachutes fitted to them, and these were unpacked, dried, and repacked every two weeks, or sooner if there was any unusual use or humid weather. This presented Sandorse with an unrelenting and tedious job. Pilots such as Luther Richmond, Henry Miklajcyk, Stephen Andrew, "Gus" Lundquist, "Mac" McKibben, Ted Fahrenwald, "Jim" Gremaux and many others owed their lives to his capable hands. March 8th proved yet again the value of a well-packed and maintained parachute. As an aside, in his rare "spare time" Sandorse sewed pockets into the inside of pilot's leather A-2 flight jackets to house their escape maps and escape pack (as described by McKibben earlier in this article).

Over in the 487th Squadron, things were little better on March 8th as the aircraft ascended into the overcast. William "Flaps" Fowler tells us his experience, "You asked me if I recall that mission. How could I forget it! It nearly scared the life out of me. In those days, I could pull back the blackout curtains in the morning and tell instantly whether I was going to have a good or a bad day. The weather was almost always bad, and that constant threat was what worried me.

March 8th, 1944 was my first combat mission. While waiting in our pilot's ready room over in the 487th area that morning, Colonel J.C. Meyer (487th CO) said to me, 'Fowler, how are you on instruments?' I replied that I hadn't thought much about it, but I'd had the usual training. This query put me on guard I guess because I thought, 'They'll never lose me in the overcast." "Flaps" was piloting P-47D-2, s/n 42-22492, code HO-F.

"Well it turns out I was assigned Crowned Prince Red Two position as wingman for Major John C. 'Curly' Edwards, who was leading the 487th Squadron that morning. This meant we were at the front of the entire squadron, and it is a wonder that it didn't turn out tragic with all of those P-47's following us. After takeoff we entered the overcast, and the flying game changed. Visibility went from bad to worse. At times I couldn't see Edwards at all, and it was like flying formation in a milk bottle. Most of the time all I could see was his wingtip, but as I said this would sometimes vanish. I eased over towards Edwards to try to keep his plane in sight, as I was supposed to be flying visual on him, and didn't want to lose him. My Lord, it turns out I was already close enough!

I ended up with my right wingtip resting on top of Edward's left elevator, though for a while neither of us knew this. You see the downward slipstream from his wing tended to securely hold my wing on his elevator. Of course, this blocked the control of Major Edward's elevators, and eventually he felt his plane not responding. He tried to move his controls several times but couldn't. He then in desperation gave his stick a big tug back to break it loose, and his plane shot straight up out of formation. Thinking about the three flights directly behind me, I eased back too and we both popped out of the overcast around 4000 feet or so. We realized that our aircraft had sustained some damage in the mishap and were not fit for combat, so we aborted and returned to base. We landed our planes, went our separate ways, and surprisingly I have never talked to him about it since the event.

Thinking back on it now, I shudder to think how close my Thunderbolt's big prop was to Edward's cockpit for my wingtip to have been overlapping his elevator. However in that overcast, there was just no visibility. We were fortunate that it did not turn out worse in our squadron."

"Curly" Edwards recalls, "We were flying fairly close formation shortly after takeoff on that mission, and I do not recall it being all that unusual that we got fouled in the overcast. I remember that a wingtip was pushed up a little bit, but not much else. Of course, we were fortunate to be flying P-47's, because they were pretty hard to damage." "Curly" was flying P-47D-11, serial number 42-75523.

"Pappy" Scores

The remainder of the day went considerably better for the pilots of the 352nd, with an eventual 2-0-0 scoreboard. Edward "Pappy" Gignac, flying P-51B-7NA s/n 43-7022, code PZ-W (Al Wallace's aircraft "Little Rebel"), was first to score that day. Over Dummer Lake he saw a lone B-17 being attacked by a Messerschmitt Me109. His Encounter Report fills in the action for us:

"Leading Purple Flight shortly after rendezvous with bombers, I saw a straggling B-17 at about 5,000 or 6,000 feet. At approximately 1530 I saw an E/A approaching the B-17 from 6 o'clock. I immediately called in the bounce and started down. The E/A scored several hits on the B-17 before I could get to it. As I closed in on the E/A he broke off his attack on the bomber with what appeared to be a violent aileron roll. The E/A then pulled up in a vertical climb. I reefed back violently and took a short burst. My closing speed was very high so I could not follow him up. Even though my burst was very short and at a great deflection, I claim destruction of this Me 109 as Lt. Heller, flying Green 2 saw the pilot bail out just after I fired at him, and he also saw the E/A explode as it hit the ground." Obviously, this was the first victory using a Mustang for the 352nd FG.

Edwin "Ed" Heller, flying his P-51B-7NA number 43-6704, code PZ-Hbar (later the famous "HELL-ER-BUST"), confirmed the victory with: "Purple Leader saw the bomber being attacked and said he was going down for a bounce. Green Flight gave cover. Right after he made his pass I saw a parachute open at about 6,000 feet, looked around for the enemy plane, and saw it going down in flames. I followed it down and saw an Me-109 explode as it hit the ground. I confirm the destruction of this aircraft."

Sharpshooting Meroney

The other victory scored that day was credited to the highly talented and aggressive Virgil Meroney of the 487th FS. Over Meppen a few minutes after Gignac's victory, Meroney spied three enemy aircraft attacking the rear of the bomber formation. His Encounter Report allows, "I was leading Blue Flight. We made rendezvous with the bombers on time and conducted our escort without incident. No attacks were made until after the Group leader ordered everybody out, at which time out squadron was at the rear of the bombers and on the same level - about 20,000 feet. The Me-109s came out of the sun with a lot of speed and made a 90 degree attack on the rear bombers, breaking away in rolls. I called them in and went after the lead two as they stayed together, the third having broken in a different direction. Our speed was not great as we had been escorting at reduced throttle, so it took me some time to close on the E/A's. When I was still about a 1000 yards away, two other P-47s came in very fast from my left, but the leader of the E/A's chandelled and I followed him as the other two P-47s continued chasing his wingman. I made an attack, firing a short burst at 400 yards and 90 degrees, trying to make him break, as he was trying to get in position on the two P-47's chasing his wingman. I was successful, for he broke for the deck and I was able to close to 300 yards. I fired several bursts at him at tree top level. When I got some hits he pulled straight up, and by cutting my throttle I stayed with him and fired another burst at 100 yards, getting many hits. Big pieces fell off of the E/A, and it was covered in flames. I overtook him and as I pulled up on his right wing he jettisoned his canopy. I was sitting right on his wing and got a good look at him.

The nose was extra long, and big, so it may have been an Me-209. It was painted in the usual colors with a dark slate top and light underside, with crosses on both wings and fuselage. In front of the cross on the fuselage was a dash and then some black chevrons pointing towards the nose.

The pilot was trying to get out of the burning plane. As he was still alive I skidded underneath to give him another burst. But before I got my sights on him he bailed out and immediately opened his chute. The burning plane spun down and crashed. My wing man, Lt. Ross, had been with me the whole time, and we climbed back up with full throttle and joined our squadron at 21,000 feet and continued home." Luckily, Meroney was flying his assigned P-47D; the meticulously maintained "Sweet Louise/Josephine", code HO-V, serial number 42-8473, crewed by Bronze Star winner S/Sgt. Al Giesting.

The Luftwaffe Viewpoint

Artist Troy White located a fascinating tie-up while doing some research in noted Luftwaffe researcher Donald Caldwell's book "The JG 26 War Diary Volume Two 1943-1945", and also in his earlier tome "JG 26 Top Guns of the Luftwaffe". In a rare case of German and USAAF reports corresponding, it details Meroney's encounter from the German perspective.

"At the time Hptm. Meitusch was Commanding Officer of III./JG 26 and was flying a Bf 109G-6, WNr: 162032, code Black 21 with the cause of loss listed as P-47s from the 352 FG. The location was North of Meppen.. Also lost was Uffz. Emil Kampen who was KIA in Bf 109G-6 WNr: 410743, code White 5, cause of loss listed as 352 FG. The location was Steinhunder Lake".

The narrative reads: "Hptm Mietusch did reach the heavy bomber stream but with only a handful of his Messerchmits. His first attempt to close with the bombers was fended off by the escort, which shot down Uffz Kampen, who crashed with his plane.

Meitusch and two other pilots made a beam attack on the rear of the bombers of a combat wing and then rolled away. A flight of P-47s from the 352nd FG went after the three Messerchmits. Two got on the tail of Meitusch's wingman. When Meitusch went to his aid , the leader of the P-47 flight was able to damage the German plane with a burst of fire at high deflection. Meitusch broke for the deck and the Thunderbolt pilot was able to close on him easily, firing down to a range of 100 yds. Large pieces flew off the 109, which was a mass of flames. Meitusch jettisoned his canopy and jumped out. His chute opened immediately, and he landed safely but with injuries severe enough to keep him in the hospital for the next few weeks. Hptm. Staiger took comand of the Gruppe until Meitusch's return.."

The pilots of the 352nd pilots have differing opinions of the merits of the P-47 versus the P-51. All agree however that the increased range of the Mustang at that time was a distinct advantage in covering the bombers. Lt. Col. (later Major General) Richmond relates, "I recall that March 8th was the withdrawl escort mission from Berlin, when the bombers were badly shot up over the target by flak and then encountered severe and unforecast headwinds going home. I remember breaking up our squadron, as the P-47s had to leave due to fuel as we neared the German border. I assigned each element to escort the B-17s that had fallen below the formation that were obviously in trouble due to feathered engines and such. I mention that mission in my log as I was greatly impressed that we were able to stick with the bombers so much longer than the P-47s could. I did not see any enemy aircraft on the mission, just a lot of flak over Holland. My wingman aborted somewhere along the line, and I escorted a B-17 to a successful ditching in the middle of the North Sea. All 10 of the bomber's crewmen were picked up by two British flying boats. The greatly increased range of the P-51 over the P-47 really made a lasting impression on me. For example, on a later mission, I logged 7:15 hours in my aircraft."

Simon and the "Digs"

"Digs", or the excavation of wartime aircraft crash sites, are very popular in England and Europe. This amounts to historic archaeology, as often the remains of the aircraft (such as the engine) are 15 feet or more below the surface. Simon Dunham, in conjunction with other "diggers" in his area, began researching USAAF crash sites near his home in the late 1980's. He has graciously provided an accounting of what was recovered at each crash location.

The first of the three lost Thunderbolts to be excavated was Earl Bond's "The Bid". The first review of the site on September 13th, 1990 brought to light the impact crater and small pieces of metal including an aileron trim tab still painted olive and grey, and parts of the Pratt & Whitney engine. A week later a large metal detector located more wreckage, which was excavated and identified. These remains include manufacturer's plates, .50 calibre ammunition, pieces of wheel rim, more engines pieces, an elevator counterweight, the propeller boss, pieces of canopy plexiglass, and sections of ammunition chute. As is usual in the case of an aircraft crash, many unidentifiable small pieces of aluminum and steel also surfaced.

On August 15th, 1992, the crash site of "Mac" McKibben's "Sneezy" was pinpointed and excavated. Due to the hard, flinty ground, the aircraft basically shattered upon impact, spreading itself around the surrounding countryside. From this site was recovered remains of the instrument panel, more .50 calibre ammo, remains of the gunsight, pieces of the Pratt & Whitney engine, the prop feathering gear, the undercarriage lever and knob, and a seat harness buckle. Also included was a folded section of cowl panel, which when opened revealed a portion of a yellow handpainted letter on olive background; the nose art from "Sneezy". This is now in the collection of pilot "Mac" McKibben.

The last of the Thunderbolts, Miklajcyks's "loaner" P-47, was located on September 1, 1999 by Simon Dunham and Nigel Beckett. It was pinpointed by Rex Webster of Flordon Hall Farm, near Mulbarton, in a narrow water meadow next to fields in the Tas River Valley. The remains of the aircraft were exhumed on September 12, 1999. Engine cylinder heads, valves, wheel rim sections, .50 calibre ammunition, spark plugs, a .50 calibre machine gun barrel, and numerous other small bits were excavated and cataloged.

This last dig brings closure to this unusual and tragic, though ultimately successful mission for the famed 352nd Fighter Group.

[bobbysocks]

20,000 feet without a chute...
( he actually had a chute but it didnt open )

Alan Magee

On January 3, 1943, in the midst of a bombing raid on German torpedo stores at St Nazaire, France, a miracle took place that is still remembered 50 years after.

Snap!Crackle!Pop! Nose Art S/Sgt. Alan Magee, from the 360th Sqdn. a gunner in B-17 #41-24620, aptly named Snap! Crackle! Pop! was tossed out of his burning aircraft at 20,000 feet. Unfortunately, he was not wearing a parachute. As he fell from the plane, he asked God to save his life. "I don't wish to die because I know nothing of life" was his appeal to The Almighty." Then he lost consciousness and crashed through the glass roof of the St. Nazaire railroad station.

He regained consciousness in the first aid station where he was carried before he was taken to a hospital. "I owe the German military doctor who treated me a debt of gratitude," said Magee. "He told me, 'we are enemies, but I am first a doctor and I will do my best to save your arm.'" The doctor, whose name he never found out, saved his arm and also took care of his multitude of injuries.

All this action took place on the 303rd Bomb Group's ninth bombing mission and fifth to St. Nazaire. It proved to be a costly mission. The group lost four aircraft to enemy air action, one carried Major C. C. Sheridan, the 427th Squadron Commander.

Magee at his crew's monument On the 23rd of September 1995 Alan E. Magee, accompanied by his wife Helen, returned to St Nazaire to take part in a ceremony sponsored by French citizens, dedicating a memorial to his seven fellow crewmen killed in the crash of Snap! Crackle! Pop! in the forest at La Baule Escoublac on Jan. 3, 1943.

The Magee's were welcomed to France by Michel Lugez, American Memorial Association President. who greeted them at the Nantes/Atlantique Airport and acted as their escort throughout the various ceremonies.

On Saturday, September 23rd, after a mass in memory of the seven killed aviators, the entourage proceeded to the crash site where the memorial was uncovered and dedicated. This was followed by the planting of "a tree of peace" by Magee.

The following day the Magees, accompanied by Michel Lugez, visited the U.S. Military Cemetery of St. James in Normandie, where Alan paid his respects at the graves of his crewmates: Lt. G. Wintersetter, T/Sgt. Dennis C. Hart, T/Sgt. A.M. Union, Sgt. M.L. Milam and S/Sgt. E.W. Durant.

During his visit to St. Nazaire, Alan visited the Hermitage Hotel, where he was treated by the German doctor, also the harbor and the submarine pens and also the ancient railroad station with its glass roof that cushioned his fall 50 years before.

As he looked at the railroad station with its glass roof, he said, "l thought it was much smaller." Actually he had never seen the railroad station before because he was unconscious when he hit it on his fall from 20,000 feet.

Alan was also named "Citizen of Honor" of the St. Nazaire town by its Mayor. "It should be repeated that St. Nazaire was 90 percent destroyed," said Michel Lugez. "Also numerous Nazarians were deported to the concentration camps or shot while helping U.S. aviators evade the enemy in their efforts to get to Spain to rejoin their units back in England; also the landing in Normandy and our liberation by the U.S. Army and Allied Troops was very much appreciated by the local population."

Lt. Glen M. Herrington, the navigator of the crew lost his leg to enemy gunfire. He was captured upon landing. He later became one of the first AAF men to be repatriated. He died in 1987. S/Sgt. J.l. Gordon who also bailed out and became a POW is still among the unknown number of people we have never located.

The 303rd Bomb Group's B-17 41-24620 Snap! Crackle! Pop! was named by Capt. Jacob Fredericks, 360th BS, who flew the ship from the U.S. to England.

Before entering the USAAF, he had worked for Kellogg Co., the creators of Rice Krispies cereal and its "Snap! Crackle! Pop!" promotional slogan.

According to Michel Lugez, "This aircraft's fragment comes from the right forepart of an American B-17 bomber (Flying Fortress) shot down the 3rd of January 1943 in the forest of La Baule-Escoublac.

The section containing the slogan was cut from the fuselage by the Germans. It became a 'war trophy.' It decorated the wall of a villa called 'Georama,' an important property next to St. Marc sur mer/ St. Nazaire which looks down upon the sea, opposite the Loire's estuary and of course occupied by the Germans.

At the end of the war, before they were captured, the occupying enemy threw the trophy 'Snap! Crackle! Pop!' off the cliff along with an RAF aircraft bomber's company crest. They were recovered in the rocks bordering the sea by Michel Harouet. On the left side of the aircraft there was a signature: Clinton H. Dole restored in August 1989."

In spite of being shot down 50 years ago, the spirit of Snap! Crackle! Pop! still lives on.

[themeistor1]

Thanks for the great stories man.

[bobbysocks]

AN INTERVIEW WITH
CAPT. ARTHUR HEIDEN

Q.: Your aircraft, "Lucky Lady" (P-38-J10-LO serial #42-67427, squadron code MC-H) was chosen by Bill Phillips as the P-38 to be portrayed in the "Classic American Aircraft Series" of stamps for the USPS. What was your reaction when you first heard about this?
AWH: The S/N and J model has never really been resolved as it is. For some reason the serial number had been scrubbed from the area on the gondola, just below the left wing leading edge. The S/N that has been used is really From my old painted P-38 that crashed on 4-23-44 by either Vernon Beasley or Al Learned trying to get home after being badly shot up.

Q.:I have seen records that the aircraft was #42-104086, originally coded MC-F while Maj. Franklin was the pilot. There are pictures showing clearly that the serial number was missing while he was still flying her. David Knight, of the 20th. Fighter Group Historical Society seems to agree with this info.

AWH:David has most of that stuff right-on. You are right about the Sq. letters for MC-F = Franklin. Both the P-38 and P-51s I flew were coded MC-H.

Q.:What was your reaction when you first saw the stamp?

AWH: Jack Ilfrey called and told me about it -- I thought he was pulling my leg! I had seen the panel of stamps mentioned in magazines like "Air & Space", but had not paid close attention that the P-38 was of Lucky Lady. Was a very nice feeling, but I started worrying about the flak I would get from all the other P-38 drivers. However they have been kind. Still would like to know how it happened? First, I have to blame Jack as he knew Phillips and have always been happy with the art work and that something vulgar hadn't been chosen.

Q.: "Lucky Lady carried a picture of actress Laraine Day on the nose, was this a decision you or the crew made?

AWH: Lt. Pierson & I had played around with naming our A/C the "Lonesome Pole Cat" and the "Shiftless Skunk", but my old A/C crashed and Pierson moved over to 55thFS and was later lost. I was reassigned Franklin's A/C and Ground crew. Max had mentioned that we should rename this A/C something other than "Strictly Stella's Baby". So one day we were all at the A/C and Max sets us down under the R/Wing and asks me what should be the new name. I asked if anyone had a good name, but no one came up with one. I had been playing around with an inspiration, "Lucky Lady" so we would not be held down to only one girl friend and could be related to by all the crew and no tattoo to be embarrassed by later. The crew were quick to approve so that was decided.

Q.: Who wrote her for the photograph?

AWH: Laraine Day was very popular, at that time with lonesome GI's, so Max asked us what we would think if he should write her and ask for a photo. Miss Day promptly answered with a nice letter and a beautiful negligee photo.It was promptly attached to the L/gun door.

Q.: So was the actual picture itself placed on the aircraft or did someone paint her likeness on it?

AWH: I have recently asked Max how they did this so well and protected it from condensation and other moisture, but he doesn't remember. As Bong had done this I guess the technique was well known. He remembers a compound that was in use at that time called "Water Glass". He remembers it being used to waterproof canvas like tents and Jeep tops. Sounds like the wood glue that people use for art work (decoupage) that dries clear. Plexiglas cover and frame with some type of rubberized sealing. Max and the crew wrote back and forth with Miss Day and she seemed very proud and interested in all events her airplane was involved in.

Q.: You have been quoted as saying that a pilot's heroes were his ground crew, and you are still close with T/Sgt. Max Pyles, your crew chief during the war, tell me alittle about Max and your crew...

AWH: Max Pyles is gifted with a superhuman mechanical ability and insite. This he demonstrated in WWII, Korean War, and Cold War in all types of aircraft, P-26's to B-36's to Jet's to ICBM's. Many times, I've asked him how on earth he came up with answers and perceptions to things that stooped others cold. He just Grins and says it's like a flash bulb going off in his head. Dead serious, he believs that the Lord tells him. I would not believe any other man telling me that, but I sure won't argue with him.

When I started flying with the 79thFS, Max and his crew had just started crewing Maj. R. C. Franklin's new airplane. Parked directly in front of the SQ. Operations building he was handy and always willing to answer any and all questions I might ask him. There I spent most of my time. I'm sure we were observed by Franklin and he had asked Max if he should run me off. However, when Franklin finished his combat tour, Max asked him to assign me as his replacement since my old plane had just been destroyed.

P-38's were having all kinds of mechanical problems that no one except Max had an answer. Max had been saying that this situation was ridiculous and if I would listen to him and do as he said we were going to get through this without all those problems. I had listened to him for several months and was convinced that Max Pyles knew what he was talking about. Besides being very proud of the opportunity of this assignment, I was determined to do my part. Strong willed as could be, Max had no trouble expressing or letting anyone know how it should be. Max would be delighted to help anyone or answer there questions, but Private or Field Grade better not come around with Mickey Mouse or they had down-the-road directions. My contributions were to listen, ask questions, and try to build on what I had learned in Aircraft Mechanics School and in Flying School. What better world could you have with such as Max Pyles, R.C.Franklin, Mark Hubbard, and Harold Rau as superb teachers?

Q.: In the past we have talked about the discrepancies in records that have led up to many arguments over many pilots confirmed number of air victories, what is your take on all of this?

AWH: The whole subject of confirmed victories is a mess. God only knows. As an example, I seriously question victory records, especially Rau, Bradshaw and Wilson's. As to the two I got in Lucky Lady, I really don't have a comment.

I am guessing here, that the Claims Review Office was confronted with the problem of comparing the claims, from day to day, with the intelligence gathering of Luftwaffe combat capabilities. These would differ as much as 100%. Reality had to prevail. I could see Rau & Wilson telling Claims Review to deduct from their claims before those of the line pilots. Also, there was the fact that they were busy leading and distracted from trying to make certain of their gunnery.

Q.: What were the requirements, as you remember them, for a confirmed victory?

AWH: Victory claims requirements were to have seen the enemy aircraft on fire, or crash, or pilot bailout, or disintegrate. Best to have another witness. A big problem was smoke as an engine at full throttle could lay down lots of smoke. Obliviously, a "smoker" was generally claimed and that was the problem and others that appeared out of control. Rau and Wilson would not have had time to follow any cripples to confirm that they crashed. At debriefings, a pilot had no real proof other than to let the gun-camera be the witness. Even then, the P-38 gun camera film was so bad that it was next to useless because the camera was mounted in the nose with the guns. On P-38L's the camera was relocated to the external mounts pylon.

Q.: There are pictures of you and the crew with "Lucky Lady" that show three kills on her, but they appear to be left over from when Maj. Franklin flew the aircraft as they are situated differently than the two shown in later pictures of the aircraftwhen you flew it. I know that has led to some confusion among us enthusiasts...

AWH: That sounds logical. Painting Swastikas on the airplanes were left to the ground crews. For their entertainment, they would get the film as soon as they could and make their own determinations on what they would paint on the A/C.

Q.: In retrospect do you remember any specific missions as being very rough?

AWH: Toughest missions? Early escort missions were extremely tough. With Spring of '44, we started strafing heavily defended airfields. These could generally be murderous, especially if multiple passes were carried out. I have strafed where there was no return fire and others where the smoke was so thick you nearly had to go on instruments and every A/C was hit. With these, simple deduction, told you that survival was next to nil. With Escort missions and Air to Air Combat most would stay in combat for the duration -- A fighter pilots dream. Of course, that was from the Spring of '44 on when the 10 to 1 ratio had been reduced and also the Luftwaffe pilot quality.

Q.: You have told me about some eight-plane missions that were flown that there aren't alot of mention of. Were these primarily bomb runs, escorts of recon. planes or strafing missions?

AWH: Note that some 8-plane missions are not recorded in King's Cliffe"(the book which Chronicles the 20th.FG History). As you state these were as you guessed, bombing, escort of other low level missions for CAP or diversion, escorting weather or recon and such. I recall being sent out on the deck (very low) to skip bomb bridges. One I remember, Capt. W. W. Smith & I with a two-flight section were sent after a rail-bridge in the low country North of Paris. We used heading changes and other formations for diversion, picked up our nav brackets and headed for the bridge. Reaching the river, just a big ditch, with a bridge without superstructure, W. W. reported that he didn't have it in view at about the time it came up on my side. I told him that I had it and to follow me. With delayed bomb fuses, all four of us stuck our bombs into the embankments. With the four 1000 pounders that bridge disentragated and rose way up in the air -- right into W. W.'s face. He survived, but talk about upset! We considered these missions fun and welcomed the freedom to freelance as we did when we were sent out as spares for escort missions.

Q.: We spoken before about the differences between the Lightning and the Mustang, is it true that many pilots were really gung ho about the Mustang and it helped to boost morale...

AWH: For most of us, the P-38 was our first love and in many ways a test of our manhood. To most of us, the P-51 transition was just something new and exciting. Col. Wilson gave us a good sales job and it was a modern aircraft, modern systems, and a new challenge. It had gained a great reputation by the time we got them. All the conversation was just so much BS that floats around. Doubt that anyone realized how the flood of P-51's and pilots would become so significant. The thoughtless crap we endured in print, after the war, was what stirred up old P-38 pilots. You, Corey, Carlo and JJ (members of a e-mail list that features several webmasters, aviation writers and USAAF/USAF veterans, including Capt. Heiden) have forced a reanalysis that even we were not getting deep enough into. I am excited about this and am impatiently waiting on the things in the works.

Q.: Did you have any time to get acquainted with the P-51 when the transition happened? Was there any apprehension about going from the added safety margin of a twin-engined aircraft to a single?

AWH: We did have a short time to get familiar with the P-51, but it was fun. We liked the Merlin engine and its ability to take 61"HG for extended periods, the new K-14 "no miss um" gun sight grew on us, the comfort, 7 hour missions were hard on the rear but extended our world and feeling of usefulness. The one engine business crossed our minds, especially over the North Sea, but wasn't a big deal. The accusation that the 51 had more range, well, countered with the fact of not having 38L's and 300gal tanks (3 hours more) in the ETO made that argument stupid.

Q.: You have stated you thought that training in the early part of the war was "ridiculous" and lacked alot of the necessary seat time. Did you get any assistance from the squadron's vets?

AWH: Training and transition were anything but optimum during all of WWII. We just had to figure it out -- study the manuals, learn the numbers and quirks from any available source. When we transitioned to 51's we had one per Sq. and were directed to get 5hrs, we did a lot of take-offs and landings. Not enough time to mix it up with each other. The new aircraft was starting to come in, and were prepped. We probably flew them once or twice. No gunnery, we hadn't got to use that new gyro gun sight(K-14) before combat. That was troubling, for it had to be set up for combat. Set in the wing span and the turn the motorcycle grip on the throttle to capture the target. We were surprised it worked great. It wasn't till well into '45 that replacements had any 51 time and then only 10hrs transition, no gunnery in it, even up to VE-Day.

Q.: Was there a period where you had to grow used to the difference in having the firepower out in front of you, as in the P-38, to the three-to-a-side configuration of the P-51?

AWH:38/51 guns were of no problem, another bunch of BS. K-14 gun sight and an emphasis on gunnery training in RTU's was a tremendous improvement.

Q.: When you and the other replacement pilots arrived did you receive any training or help from the veteran pilots there?

AWH: Veteran pilots did try to help us new replacements as best they could. Most important was that Col Hubbard set up several training/engineering flights. Weather was a bit of a problem and they wanted to get us as comfortable as possible before sending us out in bad weather. They took us on a milk-run mission out over the French Coast and waited for another good day to take us on a real mission. Formation climb-outs and mission returns in bad weather was a scarry thing for us and for the older guys with a bunch of people who had never had the expierence.

Q.:It has been said that many of the losses of USAAF pilots in the ETO can directly be attributed to mechanical problems...

AWH: Mechanical loses were the predominate factor. However, most losess can be atributed to training in full or in part especially with the season/weather factors. Lack of individual combat training would be telling also. Remember being up on a slow-time flight. Out of boredom, I bounced Capt. Bob Meyers as he was on take off. He proceded to give me a terrible working over and chewing out. It gave a valuable lesson and change of attitude. Embarassed, I vowed I would never let that happen to me again.

Q.: What was the Group's reaction to Arch Whitehouse's story, "The Loco Boys Go Wild"?

AWH: It came out in November 0f 1944, so it was on the stands after I had returned Z of I. Hence, I don't know if anyone got to see it while in Combat.

Q.: After your combat tour with the 20th.FG where you assigned next?

AWH: After returning to the States I was assigned to a single-engine RTU at Tallahassee, FL. Of course there, they were flooded with military, but always treated exceptionaly well.

Q.: Looking back now what do remember the morale being during your time in the ETO?

AWH: At first, no one was telling us that we were winning any war. We did what we could and we are all proud of our effort. It would have been nice to have received two or three times as many pilots and airplanes and been able to make some flashy records. However, King's Cliffe was a very small field and had trouble getting all three Squadrons on it. I hope we gave some comfort to many bomber crews.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[bobbysocks]

heres one for buzz bomb about buzz bombs...

The buzz bomb season settled down late that afternoon. I was on the street, walking around aimlessly, when I heard a loud putter like a motorcycle. Suddenly the putter coughed and died. I had heard all about the V-1 buzz bombs from the pilot who had brought me over from France and I knew this buzz bomb was going to hit somewhere pretty close. You could sense that.
People stopped walking and stood rooted in their tracks. There came a kind of boom, then an ear-splitting roar. I felt the sidewalk beneath me move. Two blocks away I saw a building, lighted by fire, crumple into the street, and it seemed to me that tons of glass were crashing everywhere. There was something more terrifying about the robot pilot in a V-1 than there was when bombers came over with live pilots in them.There was an awful uncertainty...

An Englishman, who was standing mear me, said it was a good thing that D-Day came when it did of the Germans might have wiped London off the map with their buzz bombs. He said when the buzz bombs first started coming over, all the anti-aircraft guns in London would open upon them but after a week of this, the military decided not to shoot at them and maybe some of the bombs would go on past London, which they did. I was astonished at the casual way the Britisher talked. From his tone of voice, we might have been in the Savoy-Plaza Bar, having a Scotch-and-soda, and I wondered if we Americans would have stood up as well if the tables had been turned.

By this time the fire fighters, rescue squads, and the Home Guard were on the scene, and they all swept into action. I tried to do what I could to help but the English moved too swiftly for me. I walked back to my room at the hotel but not to sleep.

It didn't take London long to set up a good defense against the robot enemy. On later missions I saw great masses of balloons several thousand feet high in the air. These balloon barrages were centered southeast of London - between London and the Channel- and there was also a large concentration of guns placed in this area, which was known as "Flak Alley." This stretegy greatly eliminated the number of bombs that got over London.

The People were taking to the air raid shelters, as they had done during the blitz. In the early part of the afternoon the Londoners would begin making their makeshift beds in the shelters and in the corridors and stations of the subways. By 11:00P.M. one could hardly get on and off the subways for all the sleepers around.

We Americans tried to be pretty fatalistic about the buzz bombs. We wouldn't go to the air raid shelters. We figured sort of foolishly if our time had come, the bomb with our number on it would find us whereever we were - in the American Melody Bar or in the air raid shelter.

The night before I left London I had gone to bed early. I had spent hours at headquarters that day waiting to see the Colonel, only to be told nothing save to come back the following day. I was mortally knocking it off when the next thing I knew I was sitting squarely on my behind on the floor and there was the most awful rocking you've ever felt. For my money, the hotel was doing a Betty grable rhumba, and I clipped it down to the air raid shelter and spent the rest of the night there- to he**, with that stuff about your number being on it...

The buzz bombs seemed to pursue me. The next morning on my way to headquarters I could tell we were going to have an unwelcomed visitor. The people on the street were freezing up and waiting to see if they were going to have to fall flat on the sidewalk. Sure enough we had to fall flat, and it would have to be raining that morning.

The English showed a courageousness during the buzz bomb season that was unequaled by anyone else so far as my personal knowledge went. They'd go to work in the morning, not knowing if they'd have an office to work in, and in the evening when they started home they'd never know whether they had a wife or a home to come back to.

The uncertainty was far worse than when the bombers came over. The Britishers had warning then, but the buzz bomb was right there --bringing sudden slaughter, ravaged homes and buildings, and anguish and sorrow.

[bobbysocks]

TOP SECRET MISSION: PROJECT "ANVIL"
By: William W. Wells, 55th.FS, 20th.FG

It was one of those rare summer days in England, warm and sunny, August 12, 1944. On this day the 20th. Fighter Group flew two missions. The first one was east of the Seine River escorting B-17's on another bombing mission with our P-51s strafing their way back home hitting any moving form of transportation. The second mission, just east of paris, was similar to the first; bombing by heavies, fighter-bombing and then strafing targets of opportunity. Both were quite successful.
In the meantime, those pilots not on the main missions were on standby in their respective operations areas. About 4p.m., the phone in the 55th. Squadron Operation rang. Someone from Group Operations called to tell us to get a flight of four P-51's in the air at once and fly to a field called Winfarthing-Fersfield located about 15 miles southwest of Norwich, and about 60 miles east of Kings Cliffe. We were to report to a Commander Smith of the US Navy. Lt. John Klink and I with two other pilots (unknown at this time) took off as directed and reported to CommanderSmith, US Navy, at Fersfield for the mission briefing.

Commander Smith took us into the briefing room and closed the door. He began by saying that this mission was, next to the invasion of Normandy itself, the highest classified mission of the war. In fact it was 17 years after the war before the facts of this mission, called Project "Anvil" were made public. Needless to say, he swore all of us to secrecy.

Commander Smith told us of the extreme concern of the Allied High Command over the unleashing of the German V-1 and V-2 robot finds. For months, the Allies had made countless bombing strikes on suspected V-1 and V-2 launching sites without much success and yet with the loss of nearly 450 planes and 2,900 aviators. Some other means of stopping this onslaught was desperately needed.

It was for this reason that Project "Anvil" was conceived. The idea was to create a pilotless "drone" aircraft with some two tons of high explosives and, guided by remote control from another plane, send it crashing onto a launching site. This idea had previously been used in the Pacific Fleet where a specially designed drone had been loaded with explosives and directed against targets. Something bigger and more powerful was needed here.

Commander Smith explained how this Project "Anvil" was to be implememnted. He pointed out a PB4Y Liberator (B-24) painted all white parked on the side of the field. This he said, was our drone; but because of its heavy weight, it would have to have a pilot and co-pilot to take it off and get it set on course. After it was on course and before it reached the channel, the two pilots would bail out, leaving the PB4Y under the control of accompanying radio control planes.

He went on to tell us that the drone was loaded with 374 boxes, containing 55 pounds of Torpex each, and six Mark-9 demolition charges containing 100 pounds of TNT each. This came to 21,470 pounds of high explosives. He then told us of the other planes which were to participate in this project. The first plane to take off was an RP-38 photo ship, then a Mosquito photo recon ship, then two PV-1 Venturas, especially equipped with radio equipment, for guiding the drone. After this, the drone (PB4Y) itself would take off and finally the four P-51's. We were told to climb up and maintain about 1,500 feet above the PB4Y drone at all times until it was launched on to the target. We were then to accompany the PV-1's back to Fersfield base and report to Commander Smith.

At 5:52p.m. the aircraft proceeded to take off in their proper sequence. The drone leveled off at 2,000 feet; the photo planes went up to 15,000 feet; the PV-1's were also at 2,000 feet but about 200 feet on either side of the drone. We took our position at 3,500 fetand throttled way back, constantly turning so as not to over-run the drone.

The Nazi occupied island of Helgoland was the target, since this island was a proving ground and launch site for V-2 missiles. I'm sure all of the Allied pilots remember this island fortress in the North Sea. We drew flak from here every time we crossed the Danish coast.

The remote control system of the PV-1's and the drone were to be checked at five points. The first point "Abel" was over Framlingham, about 25 miles southeast of Fersfield. Then the drone would turn north to point "Baker" at Beccles, thence south to point "Charlie" at Clacton-on-Sea and on to point "X-Ray" near Manston airfield, wherethe PV-1s would take control and the two pilots would bail out. Then the drone would be directed to pont "Dog", about two miles south of Dover and thence toward the target some 350 miles to the northeast.

The drone and its control ships and the P-51s moved towad Checkpoint "Abel". Just before they reached Framlingham, the drone pilot signaled by radio that he was ready to conduct the first radio-control check. Point "Abel" was passed at 6:15 p.m. the group then turned left for point "Baker" over Beccles. We flew over Heveningham Hall, the home of Lord Huntingfield, crossed the Blyth River and could see the North Sea off our right wings. The tall tower of St. Michael's loomed ahead in the town of Beccles. At 6:20, the drone was over a field near the villages of St. Margaret and St. Lawrence. We, in the escort P-51's, were in a slow, lazy right turn and were looking right down on the drone directly below us. Suddenly it exploded in a searing orange ball of fire blowing us up into the air another 1,000 feet. A huge mushroom cloud boiled up to 25,000 feet and nothing remained of the drone or the two pilots.

We returned to Fersfield and landed. We told Commander Smith what had happened even though he could hear the blast and see the high cloud. He told us that, sadly enough, the same thing had happened the previous week to another drone. He also told us that the pilot, in this joint Navy-Army Project "Anvil", who had been on our mission was Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr., the son of the Ambassador to the court of St. James, Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., from Boston. Young Joe was an outstanding flier and had volunteered for this mission knowing full well how dangerous it was. A true hero, he was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously.

Joseph P. Kennedy Jr was the brother of late US president John F. Kennedy

[bobbysocks]

not ww2 but pretty damn good...

Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Pilot, via Plane and Pilot Magazine



As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the

question I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can

be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend.

It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed,

but there really isn't one number to give, as the jet would always give

you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35

miles a minute. Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most

missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it

run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot

had his own individual high speed that he saw at some point on some

mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way,

and max power was in order. Let's just say that the plane truly loved

speed, and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn't previously

seen.



So it was with great surprise, when, at the end of one of my

presentations, someone asked: What was the slowest you ever flew the

Blackbird? This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was

reminded of a story I had never shared before, and relayed the

following:



I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my

back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe

and the Iron Curtain, when we received a radio transmission from home

base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a

small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71

fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot,

and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see

the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem; we were happy to
do

it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to

find the small airfield.



Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back

seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic

speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze.

Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had

a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we

were close, and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw

nothing. Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a

little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from the 325 knots we were
at.

With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said

we were practically over the field, yet there was nothing in my

windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in

hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile,

below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the

tower, in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet,

still day, with no wind and partial gray overcast. Walter continued to

give me indications that the field should be below us, but, in the

overcast and haze, I couldn't see it. The longer we continued to peer

out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the

awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my

flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As

I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart

stopped, and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full

forward. At this point, we weren't really flying, but were falling in a

slight bank. Just at the moment, both afterburners lit with a

thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was), and the

aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower.

Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of

fire-breathing titanium in their face, as the plane leveled and

accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer

than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of

ultimate knife-edge pass.



Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall

without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes.

After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was

reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said

the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had

ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise

maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that

some of the cadets' hats were blown off, and the sight of the plan form

of the plane in full afterburner, dropping right in front of them, was

unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of breathtaking

very well, that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just

excited to see our low approach.



As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight

suits, we just sat there: We hadn't spoken a word since the pass.

Finally, Walter looked at me and said, "One hundred fifty-six knots.

What did you see?" Trying to find my voice, I stammered, "One hundred

fifty-two." We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, "Don't

ever do that to me again!" And I never did.



A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officers'

club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71

fly-past that he had seen, one day. Of course, by now the story

included kids falling off the tower, and screaming as the heat of the
jet

singed their eyebrows. Noticing our Habu patches, as we stood there
with

lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such

a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, "It was

probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that

plane". Impressive indeed.



Little did I realize, after relaying this experience to my audience that

day, that it would become one of the most popular and most requested

stories. It's ironic that people are interested in how slow the world's

fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it's always a

good idea to keep that cross-check up -- and keep your Mach up, too.

[bobbysocks]

Top Secret Project Ivory Soap -- Aircraft Repair Ships
by Bruce Felknor

As 1943 ended, German forces had been defeated in Africa, and Italian troops were helping the Allies drive Germany out of their country. Operation Overlord and the Normandy landings were far advanced in strategic planning. Major planning efforts were under way to hasten victory in the Pacific.

The top-secret atomic bomb was a year and a half from its first test. In the Pacific Theater everything depended on conventional warfare, with B-29s bombers carrying the island-hopping war all the way to the Japanese home islands, with P-51s protecting the bombers.

One thing was certain: the invading aircraft would face a skilled and deadly foe in the air. Major damage to our planes was inevitable, but many of them would limp safely back to base. What then? No advanced air field had either the men or the machine shops and other facilities necessary for major airplane and engine repair and rebuilding.

Thus was born Ivory Soap, a secret project kept "classified" for more than a half-century. It is not even mentioned in the official history book "The Army Air Forces In World War II."

The idea arose in Air Corps staff meetings in Tunisia and Italy. It then went to Washington, where it was approved by the commander of the Army Air Corps, Gen. Henry H. "Hap" Arnold, and by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Ivory Soap consisted of 24 ships and some 5,000 men drawn from the Army, Navy, and Merchant Marine. The ships were six Libertys and eighteen 180-foot freight/salvage (F/S) auxiliary vessels that were converted into floating machine shops and repair and maintenance depots. Their main "clients" would be B- 29s and P-51s but they could handle any other aircraft as necessary.

The Libertys were designated Aircraft Repair Units, Floating (ARUs), each with a total complement of 344 men. The Aircraft Maintenance Units (AMUs) were 187 foot long ships built by Higgins in New Orleans and had a complement of 48 men. The ARUs (Libertys) had shop space big enough to accommodate components of the enormous B-29s. The more numerous and smaller AMUs could handle the fighters. Because of their shorter cruising range fighters advanced bases had to be more numerous, and closer to the targets; so did their floating repair depots.

The ships were operated by the Army Transport Service (ATS), all of whose officers and men were merchant mariners. They were well-armed against air attack: each Liberty had a 3-inch 50 at the bow and a 5-inch 38 aft, plus twelve 20mms and two 40mms. Proportionately less firepower went aboard the auxiliaries. The guns were manned by Naval Armed Guard crews.

Acquiring the ships and getting them to the deepwater terminal at Point Clear, close to the Marine Air Technical Services Command at Brookley Field, outside Mobile, Alabama, began in the spring of 1944. Once in place, they had to be modified. For the Libertys this meant fitting them with machine tools, cranes, and all the elements of complete machine shops. Similarly, equipment for sheet metal work, fabric repair facilities. They carried a large inventory of steel, lumber, aluminum, and other materials to manufacture needed parts.

Facilities had to be built into the ships to accommodate two big R-4B Sikorsky helicopters on board. These were to locate downed planes, rescue their flight crews and passengers, ferry shipwrights and mechanics wherever they might be needed on the islands of the Pacific campaign, and to haul parts.

Each ship was also equipped with two motor launches and two DUKWs or "ducks," amphibious trucks for carrying parts too heavy for the helicopters. Divers were part of each crew, so room for their support equipment was also necessary.

Similar work on the 18 smaller maintenance vessels, which would be principally concerned with smaller fighter planes, went on simultaneously. When the ships were ready, so were their crews and repair teams. Selecting the men and training them for the unfamiliar parts of their new assignments took time. The mechanics and machinists had to learn rudiments of seamanship and swimming, including how to abandon ship if need be. The Assistant Commandant was C. E. Hooten, a Mariner, and other Merchant Marine Officers were part of the Army teaching staff at Point Clear

All Army technicians required marine survival skills before they could board the 24 depot repair ships at Mobile, Alabama in 1944

The Liberty ships selected for Ivory Soap were:

Original name Name as Aircraft Repair ship
Rebecca Lukens Maj. Gen. Herbert A. Dargue
Nathaniel Scudder Brig. Gen. Alfred J. Lyon
Richard O'Brien Brig. Gen. Asa N. Duncan
Robert W. Bingham Brig. Gen. Clinton W. Russell
Daniel E. Garrett Maj. Gen Robert Olds
Thomas LeValley Maj. Gen. Walter R. Weaver

Inevitably, the six hybridized Libertys were known as "The Generals." The 18 auxiliaries, each named in honor of an Army Colonel, naturally, were "The Colonels."

These ships returned hundreds of wrecked or seriously damaged B-29s and fighters to battle.

On October 1, 1944, SS Maj. Gen. Herbert A. Dargue sailed for New Orleans, then to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to join a convoy through the Panama Canal. Once in the Pacific, she sailed alone, chugging along at the Libertys 10 knots per hour toward Eniwetok in the Marshall Islands. There the Dargue was ordered to Saipan, in the Marianas, where heavy action was about to begin. In November they dropped the hook in Tanapag Harbor near Saipan.

One of the ship's helicopter pilots, First Lt. Daniel A. Nigro, recently recalled some of their experiences in an interview with Sue Baker for the Air Corps magazine Airman at Wright- Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. (See her story online at Water Wings )

Nigro and his fellow pilot, John Halpin, flew repair personnel to airstrips on the island and returned with aircraft parts needing repair in the Dargue's shops. Frequently they would carry so many parts needing repair that they taxed the helicopter's capacity. "We did anything -- even taking off the 'copter doors--to lighten our load," he said.

While the Dargue was at Saipan her gun crew shot down two Japanese "Betty" bombers. They got another Japanese plane in May after they moved on to Iwo Jima.

The information in this article came to me through Fred M. Duncan, who was a 16-year-old merchant seaman when he found himself part of Project Ivory Soap. Now the survivors of that hardy band are in the seventies to nineties.

Small honors have been paid to them at last. The Air Force Museum at Dayton, Ohio, established a museum exhibit commemorating the ships and men of Ivory Soap.

A Memorial Plaque was dedicated there on October 3, 1997. Fred Duncan and other survivors from all three services--Army, Air Corps, Naval Armed Guards, and Merchant Marine assembled in a reunion at Washington, D.C., in October 1998.

[bobbysocks]

Col. Harold Rau Remembers
The 20th. Fighter Group

"...Some of the outstanding missions that I recall being involved with in the 20th. Group... well, of course the big show at Salsbury*, where we took off in the afternoon after the bombers had already been there and were on the way home. We were able to sneak in and pull off a pretty good strike on the airport at Salsbury and too also to shoot down a few krauts on the way in and the way out, and bang up a few locomotives.
We found out that the P-38 was a pretty good low-altitude airplane and from there on, up through D-Day, we concentrated very heavily on low-altitude attacks. We did alot of skip-bombing, dive-bombing, strafing and also some high-altitude bombing with the Droop Snoot..."

"One of the missions that stands out in my mind was a mission to skip-bomb a railroad bridge in the vacinity of Amiens, in France. We decided to go in over the coast at about 1,400 feet, which supposed to be a little too high for light flak and a little too low for heavy flak. We were rudely jolted out of this theory when we crossed in over the coast of France, down a little bit north of Le Harve, when we ran into some of the worst light flak that we had ever encountered. It was appearant that, as D-Day was approaching, the Germans had moved everything they could get their hands on into the coast so they could protect that part of their flank. As we drove in across the French Coast, the small-arms fire, the 50 caliber and 37 mm fire was pretty intense and all of us were getting pretty badly hit.

"E.O. Smith was flying as white leader in my group, my squadron, and he got hit. We each had a 1,000 pound bomb under each wing, 2,000 pounds all together. E.O. Smith got hit and caught fire in his engine, which of course was right over the 1,000 pound bomb. Somebody in his flight let out a shrill cry, 'White leader, white leader, bail out, bail out, you're on fire!' E.O. Smith, being the strong, clown Texan that he was simply came back, ' Alright, god d**n it, I know it.' About 30 second later the same shrill voice came over the R/T (radio telephone) again, screaming louder than ever, 'Bail out, bail out white leader, you're gonna' explode!' E.O. Smith came back, very calmly, "Alright god d**n it, I'm leaving.' And about that time he did.

The rest of the story is pretty well known, he bailed out and had his Texas grandfather's old 45 on his hip, he shot a couple of krauts when they came close to him...He escaped, evaded, got with the French underground and got back over the Pyrenees and eventually came back to rejoin his outfit again. His is one of my favorite stories of individual heroism of the war in that under the most adverse of circumstances he could be so calm and do everything as deliberately and quietly as he did."

"I remember one of the most colorful characters in the 20th., of course, was Jack Ilfrey. Jack's greatest stunt was, having gotten hit and bailed out while dive bombing and strafing south of the Normandy beachhead after the invasion. He bailed out and started to walk north with the idea that he would eventually get back to our own lines.

He stopped a young French boy on the road and traded everything he had for the French boy's clothes and his bicycle. He traded, among other things, his fountain pen, his watch, his money and his clothes, his parachute... he gave this all to the French kid and got on this bicycle dressed as a French peasant. He had a little blue beret on his head and he started pedaling towards the north. A German convoy came along and he latched on to one of the trucks and let them pull him for several miles up towards the front lines. When they got up close to the Front Lines, the truck stopped and the driver got out and grabbed Ilfrey off the bicycle, gave him a boot in the tail, said 'Get going Frenchy!' and took his bicycle.

In order to get away with not being able to speak French, Jack kept pointing to his ears and saying 'boom boom,' pretending he was deaf. A German doctor picked him up and took him to a German hospital and forced him to work there for several hours as an emergency man when they were bringing the wounded from the front. After he'd worked ther quite awhile, the German doctor gave him a couple packs of German cigarettes and a pat on the a** and told he to get going. So, Jack started north again, and eventually got through the German lines and up into the British lines, and identified himself. The British took him into their headquarters and eventually got him a hop back to King's Cliffe.

When he got back to King's Cliffe he was still wearing his blue denims, the funny little soft-soled shoes, the blue beret and blue shirt that he had gotten from the boy. I have a picture to this day of Jack as he arrived back on the base after this. Jack was one of the most daring and skillful and aggressive fighter pilots that we had

"Another of the really, truly great fighter pilots, and also one of the most individually courageous men I ever knew was Cy Wilson. Cy Wilson came to the group as the Squadron Commander of the 55th. Squadron while I was in command. Then, when I went home on emergency leave in July of 1944, he took over command of the group. The day I arrived back in England and hopped a ride back to King's Cliffe, I got out of the airplane and was met by Jack Randolph who greeted me with the news that Cy was down in the North Sea and people were trying to fish him out. Well, as it turned out the Germans beat us to it and they fished him out and he was a POW. I had the chance to see Cy after the war, when I was stationed back down at Langley Field. He came to my quarters and we sat out on the sun porch of my quarters for about four about four or five hours and, over a bottle of scotch, refought the whole war. We decided that, if it wasn't for us the whole thing would have been a total loss. Unfortunately Cy was later killed when he crashed a jet down in North Carolina** and he wiped himself and the jet both out.

Cy was always a cool head, no matter what happened. We had been strafing an airdrome in southern France. Cy's wingman got hit and knocked out an engine. The boy lost his head and completely panicked. He started screaming over the R/T, 'I'm hit! I'm hit! I'm gonna' die! I've only got one engine, I can't make it!'

Cy pulled along side of him and said, 'Shut up and fly your god d**n airplane!' The kid started screaming somemore, 'I can't do it! I can't do it! I've only got one engine!' Cy said, 'Alright, I'll cut off an engine too and we'll both fly home on one engine.'

So he did, deep in enemy territory, down on the deck, Cy very calmly feathered the corresponding engine to the one the boy had shot out and said, 'Now come on, get on my wing, we're going home.' He led him home and both landed safely cause Cy had the leadership and guts to do what it took to get that boy out of his panic and get him home."

footnote:

THE DROOP-SNOOT P-38

Largely the creation of Col. Cass Hough of Operational Engineering, the Droop Snoot was a P-38 converted to carry a bombsight and bombardier in the nose. Work on a prototype commenced at Bovington in January, 1944, the project being transfered to Lockheed at Langford Lodge for the major engineering needed. The aircraft's name was bestowed when someone, viewing the cut-off nose during modification, enquired as to the purpose of the "droop-snooted P-38." Changes involved all armament and associated equipment being removed from the nose, an escape hatch fashioned on one side, a plexiglas moulding fitted to the front, Norden bombsight and bombing fitting installed, together with a seat for the bombardier and oxygen supply. Tactical employment was planned whereby the Droop-Snoot would lead a tight formation of standard P-38s, all carrying bombs on the wing shackles, to make a high speed attack on heavily defended targets such as airfields. A mass drop would make on the Droop Snoot release in samilar fashion to the mode of attack used by medium and heavy bombers. Designed bombload for the Droop-Snoot was two 1,000 lbs. bombs, but a maximum of 6x500lbs. bombs could be carried. Successful trials were carried out from Bovington over Bradwell range using aircraft # 42-681184, while six other conversions were being made at Langford Lodge.


The first operational use of the Droop-Snoot was on April 10,1944 when 20th. and 55th. Fighter Groups used one each to lead formations. Droop-Snoots were subsequently employed by all for 8th.AF P-38 Groups and by the 56th. Group to lead P-47 Thunderbolts. Other conversions were made by BADA for the 9th.AF.

In July it was recommended that all but three Droop-Snoots be transfered from the 8th.AF, those retained being aircraft #42-104075 used by operational engineering, #43-28490 used for the Aphrodite Project, and the third used for the Dilly project.

[bobbysocks]

John Carroll, The Saga of "A" Flight; Lost November 29, 1943

This tabulate returns to the days of yesteryear when 20/20 vision was quite normal, coordination was automatic, briefings were at uncompassionate hours, each time respects were paid to "Festung Europa" there were numerous more of them than there were of us. Such was the circumstance, November 29th, 1943.


I was flying wing to our C.O. Major Milton Joel when our flight was cut off by a gaggle of Me-109s and the group was headed away from us in a westerly direction. Joel and I went into the "weave formation", which theoretically would protection one another's tail. Directly after our first pass-by I caught a glimpse of a P-38 headed down trailing smoke and minus a section of tail (Albino or Garvin?). Following our third pass-by it became obvious that "the weave" does not perform without flaw. At the crest of my turn I glanced across the projected pattern and observed what should be Joel's A/C seemingly to disintegrate. Almost immediately thereafter, I felt an instant yaw to starboard and noted the engine on fire, plexiglass everywhere, and the instrument panel badly damaged. I kicked rudder into the yaw and opened the port engine to the fire-wall, at the same time putting the nose straight down and headed for the cloud layer. On breaking out at the base of the layer, and utilising it for top cover, I took a heading for England on the magnetic, which was still operable. After approximately five or ten minutes, with the cross feed off (the prop would not completely feather) I determined the fire was getting out of hand. I realised I could not make the island without either exploding or crashing into the North Sea, which at that time of year had little in common with the Caribbean!

When bailing out of a P-38 one must render considerable delicacy, lest one desires a speedy trip to eternal reward - or damnation as the case may be. At this point I found that the canopy release handle would not perform its assigned task. By raising the seat and using my head as a battering ram and with the aid of a reasonable slipstream I was able to dislodge the obnoxious piece of equipment. I then lowered the port window, trimmed the A/C into a 45 degree climb, cut the engine, and climbed out onto the wing holding on to the corner of canopy. At almost the peak of the stall, I let go and missed the tail by about a foot. This was most fortunate, as going out feet first on one's belly, the counter-weight could proffer a rather serious problem. Now here is the period in which the individual obtains a morbid curiosity as to whether the chute is going to open. As a result of this dilemma I counted to ten, per instructions, faster than normal beings count to two. Upon reading this one may justly surmise as to its workability!! May the Lord bless and keep all chute packers, past and present!!

The landing, if one may call it that, was on the roof of a barn-like building in Holland somewhere west of Meppel. Ignominiously the chute collapsed sending me on a Disney-like ride down the roof and ending, not unlike a ski jump, onto some form of ancient farm machinery. This display of dexterity lost me the use of my right leg for some months to come. It was also at this time that I came to realise I had been wounded in the right hand and shoulder. Curiously, I felt neither until this time. The Wermacht arrived having followed the chute down... one would have thought they had caught John Dillinger rather than saintly John Carroll. "Luft gangster, Chicago, Roosevelt's terror flieger" they greeted, plus a few chosen obscenities, which at that time I understood to a minor degree. (However, upon my release I was quite able to return curse for curse in fluent Kraut.)

I was ultimately taken to Leewarden, Amsterdam, Dulag Luft, and finally to Stalag Luft I, Barth, Germany, in North Compound I, under Col. Byerly. I served as entertainment officer due to my background in broadcasting and the theater. This was a task of reasonable importance due to the facilities at hand and the substantial emphasis placed on morale. It even obtained a field promotion for me but I would be most remiss if credit for fortitude, versatility, and camaraderie to my compatriots were not acknowledged here.

Liberation was the closing chapter of an unforgettable phase of my existence. It is an experience the normal set of nerves can seemingly endure only once in a lifetime. In a moment months of starved energy, enthusiasm, and expectation are suddenly released. Such was the setting at Stalag Luft I, high up on the Baltic Sea, May 1st, 1945.

[bobbysocks]

Lt. William C. DuBose, "Evading the Enemy"

It was about 2 pm on Saturday, June 17, 1944. We were flying over the beautiful green wheat fields and farms of northern France. Our mission that day was to glide two eleven second delayed action, thousand pound bombs, into a railroad bridge, across the Somme River near Perrone. The purpose was to help cut the German supply lines leading to Normandy.

There were 48 of us on this mission. We were to take turns flying in elements of two about 100 feet above the water, release our bombs just as the target passed through our gun sight, pass over the bridge and make a sharp climbing turn to the left. Not far beyond the bridge the river swept left and on the right bank was a German airfield.

When our turn came, my flight leader Capt. Don Penn and I dove down and flew along the river towards the bridge. We could see French people atop the high banks waving and cheering us on.

Apparently we were only about 10 seconds behind the aircraft ahead of us. As we lined up on the bridge, one of the bombs from the previous P-38 went off in the water far short of the bridge and I could not help flying through the splash.

Don release one bomb instead of two so I quickly changed my trigger switch so I would also only release one bomb. My thought at that moment was that we were to make a second run along about 20 feet above the train. Then all hell broke loose. German flak positions on both sides of the tracks opened up on me. They couldn't miss. Shells flew through my wings and nacelles. Instantly I triggered my guns and dropped the bomb but it was too late. My plane was on fire and Don was screaming for me to bail out.

I pulled up, jettisoned the canopy, unhooked my seat belt and decided to go out over the top because smoke was pouring into the cockpit. After I pushed myself up into the slip stream, I was pinned against the back of the canopy hanging half in and half out of the plane. I couldn't move and just dangled there for a few seconds until my plane turned over into the dead engine and started down. A few seconds later I was pulled free. I saw the tail whip by and I pulled the rip cord. My parachute opened with an explosion and I saw my plane burning on the ground. I looked around to see where I was going to hit and tried to turn my chute so I would hit facing forward but it was too late. I slammed into a wheat field going sideways and broke and dislocated my right ankle and sprained my left. I hit with such force that my one-man dingy was popped loose and spread all over the area. I pulled in my collapsed parachute and unhooked my harness. We had been told to bury it but I did not have the strength so I left it there and crawled about 30 feet to a dirt road. At the top of a hedge row on the other side I could see German soldiers running from the village of Chaulnes towards my plane which had hit about 100 yards from where I had landed. I crawled back across the road and into the wheat field and headed towards some trees about a mile away. As I crawled towards the edge of the field I saw two German soldiers running towards me. I thought they saw me so I laid down. They got to the edge of the wheat field and turned down towards the road. Had they have run straight ahead, they would have tripped over me.

At this point, I decided it was too risky to crawl across an open field so I headed back to the hedge row on the side of the road and hit myself with leaves and bushes. I looked at my watch, it was 3:15 PM. As I laid in that hedge-row, forty German soldiers combed the area looking for me. A few came within five feet of me as they walked and drove along the road. Luckily they gave up after only a few hours.

As evening approached, I could see the lights of a farm house several miles away. I decided that would become my destination. I hadn't crawled very far before I realized this was going to be a painful task. My green summer flying suit gave little protection to my knees. Perhaps if I got to my feet and could find something to use as a cane, I could hobble to my destination. I saw a concrete power pole in the distance. I crawled to it and tried to pull myself to my feet. It was too painful. I could not put any weight on my ankles. I sat down, tore the legs from my flight suit and wrapped them around my knees. This gave me some relief.

As early morning light appeared my knees were bleeding and every movement was painful. I decided to sit on my back-side and push myself along backwards using my hands to propel me. I did this from early morning until late that afternoon.

About 5 pm I reached a dirt road near the outskirts of Chaulnes. Finally, a woman and her young daughter walked by. I got to my knees so they could see me and yelled, "I am an American." The woman was startled but kept calm. She grabbed her daughter's hand and pulled her along, apparently telling her not to look back at me or say anything.

Approximately 30 minutes later a man came walking down the road in my direction and seemed to be looking for me. I hollered at him and he came over, knelt down and spoke to me. Using my French-English translation card from my Escape Kit, I was able to show him sentences that stated that I was an American airman, shot down, injured, thirsty, hungry, and wanted to be hid. He was cautious and asked if I could speak German, Spanish or French. I was not able to speak any of these languages but from the little I had learned in high school, I could understand what he was getting at. He wanted to make sure I was not a German spy planted there to find out who were members of the French Resistance. He motioned for me to stay low in the wheat so I would not be seen, then he left.

Sometime later two teenage boys came looking for me. One motioned for me to crawl across the road and follow them. I got across the road but was not able to crawl any further. One of the boys helped me on his back and ran about 100 yards down the road to a driveway leading into a farm. His father was waiting for us with a wooden wheelbarrow. They put me on it and put an old piece of carpeting over me and wheeled me back to a barn behind the house. In the corner of the barn was a pile of grain. Somehow, they pushed me up and over the crest so I was hidden between the grain and the wall. I quickly fell asleep.

Hours later when it was dark, I heard voices below and could tell someone was crawling up toward me. They brought me a piece of bread and a bottle of water. After I had eaten, they pulled me down and took me into the house. I was taken to a bedroom on the second floor where we attempted to communicate. I do not recall how many people were there, but I do know they were concerned with my physical condition. One lady was from the local Red Cross. They called her, "Mademoiselle Rouge." There was nothing she or anyone else could do to help my ankle. They took what was left of my flight suit, my GI pants and shirt and gave me a sweat shirt and pair of pants to wear. I kept my wings and dog tags.

The next morning I was awakened and a man who could speak English appeared. He was a former World War I English soldier who had married a French lady and settled in France. They put me in his horse drawn carriage, told me to lie down so I was hidden, and I was driven about ten miles out into the country to his farm. He told me that their big beautiful home had been burned by the German occupation forces as they invaded France. They now lived in the servant's quarters nearby. There was not room for me in this one bedroom house which they shared with their daughter. They had cleaned out a chicken coop for me. Actually the chicken coop was adequate. It was clean, had a cot and an end table and the chickens next door were noisy but good company. While there I was made to stand and hobble around with a cane as soon as the swelling when down. I am sure they were concerned about getting me mobile as soon as possible and moved somewhere else. Both my legs were black and blue all the way to my hips.

Two weeks later I was transported back to the village of Chaulnes and put into the care of the Edward LeBlanc family. They lived on the main street about two blocks from the railroad station where I had tried to bomb that train. The downstairs front of their house was a store. Their living quarters were behind the store and upstairs. I lived in a bedroom on the second floor. During my approximate three week's stay with the LeBlancs the railroad yard was bombed by B-26 bombers. I was watching them fly over and saw and heard the bombs falling. Even with my bad ankles I ran down the stairs and out the back door to their slit trench bomb shelter. A piece of metal from one of the bombs when through the wall of my room. Numerous French civilians and German soldiers were killed or wounded.

The French had given me false identification papers and use the picture from my Escape Kit (we all carried out picture taken in civilian clothes, just in case we were shot down). My French name was Jean Pierre DuBose. I was supposed to be a friend of the family from the Normandy area who was deaf and mute, injured during the invasion of France. The LeBlancs had neighbors sympathetic to the Russians who visited quite often unannounced. They would bring their map of Europe and discuss the latest positions of the Russian and American fronts. The LeBlancs were not sure their friends should know they were hiding an American flyer so every time they visited I played the roll of a deaf and mute person.

The French insisted that I get out of the house occasionally to get some exercise. They got me a bicycle and we rode along the dirt road beside the flak positions so I could see my enemy. They also took me out to the hole in the ground where my P-38 had hit. I can assure you I was not enthusiastic about making these bicycle trips. It was more interesting to watch the 100 regular German troops and 100 SS troops who occupied this village and manned the flak positions march down the main street every evening singing German songs. I stood at an open window upstairs in the back of the LeBlanc's house and watched three or four German soldiers standing on a road just behind their yard. They saw me watching and yelled something. I had no idea what they were saying so I just stood there. One of the soldiers pulled out his pistol and fired at me. I got the point and moved away from the window!

I at a lot of boiled tripe, strawberry sandwiches and chicken. The sanitary conditions were not the best and a few days before I was to be moved to another family I got diarrhea. It made me very sick and very weak. However, the French school teacher who was to take care of me for the next few weeks showed up and we took off on our bikes. I was so weak I had to walk beside my bicycle and put it up any kind of incline. On one of our walks up a hill we were accompanied by a German soldier. My French school teacher friend and he talked all the way up the hill. I just played deaf and mute and was scared.

I lived with this family about two weeks and was told that I would be transported by car to another location. This time I was picked up by two members of the French Resistance. In the car was an American B-17 gunner ... my first contact in a long time with someone with whom I could really communicate. As we drove north through the countryside we saw a group of P-47s strafing. Our driver immediately pulled into a farmyard and parked under some trees. We all ran for the house. Shortly after we got into the house two truck loads of German soldiers drove into the yard and parked under the same trees. AS the soldiers ran for the house, my new B-19 gunner friend and I were told to run out the back and hide behind an outhouse near the edge of a field. We hid there for what seemed like eternity, watching the P-47s strafe on one side of us and the German soldiers milling around in the house on the other. Finally, the P-47s left, the Germans left, and we departed. We were taken to the apartment of a Madame Heller in the village of Billy-Montigny. She was the head of the French Resistance in that area. She was Australian and her husband a Hungarian photographer. They had been caught in France when the Germans invaded. Neither were French citizens but were forced to stay there during the war.

We arrived in time for dinner and were told we would be spending the night with a brewer on the edge of town. We were told to walk down the stairs to the street, turn right, go to the corner, cross the street and wait for a car to pick us up. We did this but no car showed up. We waited and waited. It was getting late, 8:45 pm and curfew started at 9:00 pm. Finally, a young man riding a bicycle showed up and motioned for us to follow him. He could see that I could hardly walk so he put me on the handle bars and drove several blocks and then told me to get off and walk straight ahead. he then went back to get my friend and in this manner shuttled us to the brewer's home on the edge of town. We were lucky no German soldiers were around or we would have been apprehended for being out after curfew.

Our new French host offered us food and drink. I was too scared to be hungry. The next morning we were awakened and given coffee and cognac and a tour of the brewery. Under the loading dock of his brewery was a secret entrance to an area where he had stashed hundreds of cases of champagne and a room where he kept his radio. Here he could listen to broadcasts from the BBC direct to the people of the French Resistance. Radios were outlawed by the Germans. Upstairs in one corner of his brewery were stacked hundreds of cases of empty bottles. His car was hidden behind them.

Madame Heller and her driver came by that afternoon to take us to our next destination. On the way we picked up a typical looking Englishman, mustache and all. Madame Heller tucked our wings and dog tags in her bosom. We came to a gate guarded by several German soldiers. The soldiers, the driver and Madame Heller spoke for a few minutes and finally the guards raised the gate and we drove through. My heart was in my mouth! Our destination was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Dernancourt who live in the city of Lens. Six other Allied airmen already lived with them. From that point on the nine of us lived together in the room above their store which was located on the main street of the city.

By day we played poker with our, "escape money", sunned ourselves in the brick courtyard behind the house, shared by a pig, or watched the activity of the German soldiers from the windows upstairs. We all picked out pretty girls on the street whom we would like to meet when we were liberated. We also helped prepare the meals. We ate a lot of soup which contained everything our hosts and their close friends could conjure up to put into the pots. We spent many hours grinding, peeling and stirring.

This is where I met Clifford O. Williams, a P-38 pilot from the 343rd Fighter Squadron. He had been shot down the same day that I got into the 55th Fighter Group. The nine of us consisted of two Australians, two Canadians, two Englishmen and three Americans. Madame Heller had also found places for about 14 other Allied airmen to live in the Billy-Montigny, Lens, area of northern France.

One evening while all of us were sitting around the dining room table eating, we heard a scream from the teenage girl who was minding the store up front. She came running back to warn us that a German truck with many soldiers had driven up and parked in front of the store. We all thought that some one had turned us in and we would be taken prisoners and the French people shot! As it turned out the Germans had stopped to take hostages. They made it a point to take a husband or wife from a family ... never both. This was shortly before we were liberated by the English 1st Army. The French were out every night blowing up bridges, killing German troops and cutting telephone wires. For several weeks, we could hear the explosions, see the flashes of light as the French Resistance did their thing... things like putting unexploded bombs into carts and dragging them under railroad bridges where they hoped they would eventually explode.

It was interesting to watch the German troops retreat. For several days before the English 1st Army arrived, the Germans came down the main street heading north in every conceivable mode of transportation imaginable... trucks, cars, bicycles, horses, horse drawn carts, tanks and on foot. This went on 24 hours a day. Finally the English 1st Army rumbled through with tanks and trucks and many troops. Everyone was waving and cheering, flags were flying and people were crying tears of joy. As the troops sped by they threw us cigarettes and candy bars but would not stop. When a convoy finally did stop we told them we were Allied airmen and needed transportation back to Paris. This was arranged but it took a few days. In the meantime we were treated as heros by the townspeople, were given a banquet and asked to march in a liberation parade. In the parade with us were French collaborators. The women collaborators had their heads shaved and they were kicked and spit upon as they marched along. The pretty girl I had picked to meet after liberation was one of those women!

We were eventually turned over to the American 1st Army and then transported to the Hotel Maurice in Paris. There the Evaders and Escapees were interrogated. Our false identification was taken and we were given clothes and a cold water bath, my first in three months.

Paris still had pockets of Germans but that did not bother us. As soon as possible, we were in the sidewalk cafes drinking champagne and trying to pick up French girls. We were then flown by C-47 back to London. I was put into a tent hospital north of London where I spent another month or so. Every V-1 shot toward London seemed to pass over this location - another very terrifying experience! I was flown back to the good old United States in November of 1944 and soon returned to my home state of California. Again I was put in a hospital where they tried to repair my ankle.

And you know, the irony of all this is that very few people understand why I like to watch WW II Air Force movies on TV and will not buy a Japanese or German car! Vive la France and God Bless America!!!!

[bobbysocks]

Leonard "Kit" Carson's account of the air battle of 14 January, 1945.


The 357th Fighter Group came to life by the clatter of the teleprinter machine in group operations, punching out Field Order 1515A from 8th Fighter Command, northwest of London, a hundred miles away.

The night watch at group ops scanned it and then the field phone and the one in our squadron orderly room buzzed lightly. The Charge of Quarters picked it up and heard, "Roust'em, the briefings in one hour". He then knocked cautiously at our door, as if he knew the hostility inside to being roused at such an uncivilized hour. In the blackest part of the January night we groped our way to consciousness, pulled on cold boots and stumbled to the mess hall through the half frozen mud that comprised the local real estate. The Nissan huts that were our home looked like igloo-shaped freighters floating in a sea of mud. The freezing cold was the wet kind that permeates the soul. The only thing good about the morning was that the weather wasn't as rotten as it could have been.

No one bathed or shaved after getting up. Sleep was more important and if doing something didn't make the missions shorter, improve the weather or your chances, why bother? All the amenities plus a combat ration of bourbon or scotch, administered by the flight surgeon, would come after the mission if you wanted it. Many pilots ate nothing before a mission except for the usual fighter pilot breakfast, a cigarette and a cup of coffee. Some believed that having an empty stomach made them more alert. Some believed if they were gut shot in combat, the likelihood of peritonitis was less on an empty stomach, if they got back at all which was unlikely in the event. However, I'll leave the medical truth of that belief to the experts. Who's going to argue with a man trying to shave the odds of survival in his favor?

Being a farm boy I ate everything in sight, because I had learned about the need of food to generate body heat when you're going out to work in sub-zero temperatures. None of the misgivings had anything to do with the Luftwaffe per se. Most of the pilots believed as I did, that, with the superb fighting machine we had in the Mustang, they couldn't lay a glove on us if we saw them coming. We made it our business to see them, that's what it was all about. Escort fighters were the defensive line backers, as in football, and you can't clothesline the opposition if you don't see them.

My first concern was of having to bail out or ditch in the North Sea in winter and dying of exposure. Nobody hates cold water more than I do. I've never taken a cold shower in my life if there was any other choice. If you didn't get out of the water into your dinghy within 20 minutes, death from exposure was almost certain. The near freezing water would take the body heat from you that quickly.

The second was bailing out and lying in a PW camp hospital with a broken back or a gangrenous arm or leg with drugs and medical expertise in short supply, or non-existent.

Third was of being massacred by the civilian population if I went down in the area of a heavily bombed target. It happened to others. I had no illusions about my reception by a hostile, overwrought mob of bombed out civilians, especially if I were standing next to a wrecked Mustang with 19 swastikas painted on its side. They weren't going to hand me any bouquets. The Geneva Convention and the Rules of War would be several light years removed. It could be a one-on-one gut level confrontation with a mob. That's the reason I carried my service Colt .45 and two extra clips of ammo.

After bacon, pancakes and coffee the pilots took the dirt path that had been scuffed across a small meadow and walked almost idly in clumps of 3 to 4 to group operations for the briefing. Small talk, the latest jokes, a lot of bull and some bitching passed back and forth, mostly about weather. The Army was recouping the situation i the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes, in the worst weather that Europe had seen in 30 years. For the past two weeks we tried to climb up through that crap, as much as 25 or 30,000 feet thick, picking up ice most of the way, only to have the mission scrubbed and ordered to return home. We lost 13 pilots that month, at least 6 of the losses were directly attributable to the weather. The P-51 was a fine weather airplane but if an inexperienced pilot panics, gets vertigo or collides with someone in that muck, nobody can help him.

The pilots were fed up with the morning scramble to get to briefings and then having the mission scrubbed, sometimes before the actual briefing started. Hurry and wait. Attitudes on the morning of January 14th were no different. As the 66 pilots of the 3 squadrons filed into the briefing room they were watched by Doc Barker, our group flight surgeon, checking for red eyeballs, sniffles, and bronchial coughs. I walked in with John Sublett and my wing man, "Hot Shot Charlie" Duncan ... both aces. Damned comforting to have an ace for a wing man. That kid's got his head screwed on real good and is a fine a shooter and rudder stomper that ever came down the pike. "Is it scrubbed yet?" "Nope still on." "Fraid so, the B-17s have already taken off, I heard'em forming up to the west as we came in."

The ominous red ribbon that marked our route and target ran eight feet across the large briefing map of Europe pasted to the wall at the rear of the speaker's stage.

"What's the Target?" "Berlin" "Dammit, I can see that." "Someone said Derben/Stendahl, but for you and me, that's Berlin" "All I need is one more trip to Berlin to round out my career in aviation" "What's at Derben?" "Snow and sauerkraut."

Briefing time. Over six thousand kids just out of their teens, but in reality light years away, and a few old timers over 30, in Mustangs and Fortresses were converging for a single purpose. The bombers had indeed taken off and a corps of crew chiefs, armorers and radiomen were in a last minute hustle to get the fighter escort off. The name of the village, Derben, at the end of the ribbon, really didn't matter. It was Berlin - in January.

The chances of evading the enemy and walking out if you were shot down that time of year were zero. The nearest friendly territory was occupied Denmark, but even that was a 250 mile hike from the target area. The chances of being mobbed and cut down by civilians, the SS, or a trigger happy private in the Wehrmacht were excellent. The chances of becoming a POW, with your skin in one piece, in that populated area were somewhere between mediocre and non existent. The best bet was to put yourself in the hands of the Luftwaffe, if you could spot an airfield on the way down. Failing that - well, be sure and take mother's little helper along in the shoulder holster. Wisely used, it could put some distance between you and any hostile parties on the ground and make the difference in staying alive.

"The target's probably a couple of forty pfennig outhouses." "Yeah, they'll think the sauerkraut backfired. It'll cause a national stampede." "That's our secret weapon." Talk. Just idle, nervous loose talk while you're standing by waiting for something to happen.

This was my 99th mission n a year, the 14th to Berlin. No sweat. The vital characteristic of the whole group was that they still had the "spirit of attack." If that spirit doesn't exist you're out of business. The fundamental characteristic of fighter action was at all times and in all places to be on the offensive, because only the fighter that attacks has the advantage. He was the hunter to avoid being the hunted. If he, or his airplane, could not perform sufficiently well to do this, then neither had any reason to exist. The pilot was trained and the airplane was designed to carry the fight to the enemy. The cavalry had sprouted wings.

We came to attention as the Group Commander arrive. Colonel Dregne had planned and was leading the mission. A congenial and thoughtful man, he'd fly all day and write papers on tactics at night and shoot them up to Fighter Command. He wasn't asking them, he was telling them how it was done. There had been no precedent for strategic escort against the Luftwaffe and we wrote the book, mission-by-mission, as we went along. Dregne had a strong intuition about how to put a fighter group in the right spot to clobber the opposition. The mission was to be a North Sea cruise over 300 miles of water to the coast of Denmark, avoiding land fall and flak to the last minute and then turning southeast to Derben/Stendahl just west of Berlin. The target was 180,000 tons of oil storage. The weather was clear over the target. The 357th was assigned the lead escort position to the 13 Combat Wing of Fortresses which was leading the 3rd Air Division column of B-17s. Within the 13th Combat Wing, the 95th Bomb Group was leading the whole force, followed by the "Bloody" 100th and the 390th. All three of these veteran groups had participated in the Schweinfurt ball bearing plant raids in October 1943 and the 95th had been the first group to bomb Berlin in March, 1944. We were at Berlin too, that day, as the first P-51 group assigned to General Doolittle's 8th Air Force. Now we were to rendezvous again west of Denmark over the North Sea. The intelligence portion of the briefing centered on the massed "company front" attacks by the Luftwaffe Fighter Command that could be expected. We were aware of this from previous missions but the reminder did no harm. In round numbers they would probably attack in groups of 40 to 50 Focke Wulf 190s or Me-109s, spread out in lines 6 or 8 abreast and coming head on to the Forts in wave after wave. There might be a few of the Me-262 jet fightgers which were 80 mph faster than the P-51s. They could be a problem. A general assessment of the air war did not reveal any tendency on the part of the Luftwaffe to ease up on their defenses. On Christmas eve 1944, General Doolittle dispatched 2034 heavy bombers and 1000 plus fighters over Fortress Europe, probably the greatest air armada that history will ever record. While escorting a part of that force into central Germany our group destroyed 31 Luftwaffe fighters for a loss of 3. On Christmas day we went to Kassel, just east of the Ruhr with no opposition in sight ... 5 hours sitting on that rock hard dinghy before pulling up to a government issue plate of turkey and cranberries. Riding the "point" position on escort today, we could expect to meet the first assault of the company front attack. Timing on our part was imperative. We had to be in position at the point of the column of Forts at all times. If they got into the column head on there would be no getting them out ... and they would most certainly be there. The weather was good over Germany and our line of flight was a clear threat to the Berlin area.

At the appointed time 66 airplanes came to life around the perimeter of the field. To anyone standing at the control tower it sounded like as if 2 or 3 new Merlin engines were born every second. The sun cut itself on the edge of a cloud and a shaft of light bled down-onto the field, giving some promise of relief in the weather. There's no chatter on the radio. There's nothing to talk about. The radio was for emergencies, enemy surprises, or if someone had to abort the mission. Otherwise stay off the air. Hotshot Charlie came puttering down the taxi strip and waited for me to pull out ahead of him - I was leading Blue flight so we were the 9th and 10th airplanes in sequence in takeoff position. Getting into the right position in the group gaggle of airplanes was easy. Once you're in the right sequence taxiing out, the chore of getting airborne into the right formation slot was only a matter of throttle and bending.

Once airborne, we settled back for the two hour haul to rendezvous with the Forts. A few of our Mustangs called in to abort and return to base. Landing gear won't retract, engine too rough, coolant hot. Once in a while someone had a slight case of flu that developed into stomach cramps, in that event there's only one thing you can do; abort and hope to hell you make it back before the pressure overcomes you sphincter valve. There are no toilets in fighters. When you get the cramps 2 hours from home base it's a crisis of will power. We did have relief tubes with a plastic funnel on the end to urinate in, but the residue would freeze and plug up the tube. The second time you relieved yourself on a long mission you were stuck with a plastic funnel of cold pee in your left hand while flying with your right. After another crisis of will power you drop it to the floor and hope that you don't have to get inverted in a dog fight any time soon.

We came up on the 3rd Division column of Forts with their red, black and yellow rudders clearly visible. Tooling on up front to th e13th Combat Wing, we found our three bomb groups. Once again we rendezvoused on time as briefed. Our good reputation was maintained; we had never missed a rendezvous. Colonel Dregne, as "Judson Red Leader" put his lead squadron of escort high over the 95th Bomb Group at 30,000 feet, my squadron on the right flank at 26,000 feet and the third squadron on the left flank at the same altitude. The division column of Forts was at 24,000 feet. Now for the wait. Everyone got their eyeballs focused into the distance waiting for those tell-tale specks on the horizon or condensation trail to show. We could see for 50 miles in that air. We turned right and headed southeast to Berlin They were tracking us and now they knew our intent. There was a Jagdgeschwader forming up out there somewhere (literally translated, a "hunting group" consisting of about 120 fighters). We would fight in pairs when they hit. That was a basic article of faith in American fighter training. Our group of 58 planes would break up into 29 pairs (8 had aborted with problems); a leader, who was also the shooter, and a wing man to cover his tail and back him up with another set of guns. After a year in combat we did those things intuitively. We hadn't been in escort position more that 30 minutes when the enemy force was sighted pulling condensation trails and approaching from Brandenburg. They were coming at us out of the sun at about 32,000 feet.

'JUDSON RED LEADER, CON TRAILS AT 11 O'CLOCK HIGH, ABOUT 100 OF 'EM" "JUDSON RED LEADER HERE, ROGER. DOLLAR, CEMENT AND GREENHOUSE DROP YOUR TANKS'

That was understood to be the order for our three squadrons to attack' no need for any other chit-chat. What was there to talk about? The moment of truth had arrived, this was where the propaganda stopped. It was time to clothesline the opposition and put some numbers on the scoreboard for our team.

'JEEZUS, LOOK AT 'EM COMIN'' "SHUT UP AND DROP YOUR GODDAMN TANKS'

Switch to an internal tank, punch the red button on top of the stick and away they drop; 116 wing tanks streamed fuel out the broken connections into the stratosphere as a prelude to the clash. It was a reassuring sight to the crews and gunners in the Forts. below. They knew we were spring-loaded and ready to go. Flick on your gun and camera switches. It all took 5 seconds. The head-on rate of closure was fast. The opposing force was about 60 Me 109s at 32,000 feet flying as top cover for 60 Focke Wulf 190s at 28,000 feet, which was the main attack group. The 190 group was spread in the anticipated "company front", flying 6 or 8 abreast and several lines deep.

Both fighter forces drove home the attack. We had not been pulling contrails at our altitude so they had no idea of our actual strength. The odds were 2:1 in favor of the Luftwaffe. My squadron and the one of the left flank met the FW-190s head on. Col. Dregne met the Me-109s with his high squadron. Our position and timing were perfect but we couldn't completely stop the first assault. Nothing but a brick wall could have.

"Hot Shot Charlie" had kicked his Mustang about four wing spans out to my right where he could see me in his peripheral vision and watch the 190s come in. He was waiting for my first move. We both fired as we met them and just a half second before the first wave passed. I hauled it around at full power in a steep, tight chandelle to reverse course and attack from the rear. At this point our three squadrons broke up into fighting pairs, a leader and a wing man. I closed to about 200 yards on a Focke Wulf and fired a good burst, getting strikes all over the fuselage and closed the range to about 50 yards. No long range gunnery here. Just shove all six guns up his butt, pull the trigger and watch him fly apart. I hit him again and he rolled to the right and peeled down and started a series of rolls which became more and more violent. He was smoking badly and the ship was obviously out of control. I pulled up and watched him fall. The pilot did not get out, in fact he didn't even release his canopy.

Duncan and I pulled back up toward the bombers when we saw another formation of 20 to 30 Focke Wulfs to our rear. Another P-51 joined up so there were three of us. We turned 180 degrees into them, it was all we could do. Pure chance had put us on the spot. We fired head on but got no hits. I popped maneuvering flaps and again with full power did the tightest chandelle with all the "g" force I could stand, probably about 5 or 6 gs. I fired at about 300 yards, getting strikes on the nearest 190 that was turning into me. He headed into me violently but evidently pulled too hard on the stick in the turn and did a couple of high speed snap rolls and wound up on his back with his auxiliary fuselage fuel tank perched upwards against the horizon. While he was poised there I hit him with another burst, pieces came off the ship and he began boiling smoke. He split-essed and headed for the deck. I followed until he hit the sod at a shallow angle, bounced in a shower of dirt and crashed; again, the pilot never left the ship.

I was by myself now, Duncan and the other Mustang having left to take care of their own fortunes. That's the way it was in a massive dog fight such as this; it quickly broke down into 40 or 50 private battlegrounds. I learned later that Duncan was busily engaged in the destruction of two FW-190s in another corner of the sky.

I climbed back up to 14,000 feet when two Me-109s with barber pole stripes on the spinners came by beneath me. The reson for the stripes was that we were up against Jagdgeschwader 300 of the Reich Defense Force located around Berlin. Neither one saw me as I dropped to their rear and fired at the closest one. They dropped partial flaps and broke violently away from my line of fire. I used my excess speed to haul back up and regain my altitude advantage. The two enemy ships pulled into a tight Luftberry circle but I stayed out of it. I made a fast headon pass at their defensive circle but got no hits. The bore of the cannon mounted in the center of the 109 spinner looked as big as a laundry tub in the brief instant that we met. The leader broke out of the circle and headed for the deck. I dropped down to engage tail-end Charlie as he too headed for the deck in a nearly vertical dive. All of a sudden he pulled it up into a climb and shopped his power, losing nearly all his speed. this was the old sucker trap maneuver that would put me in front, and him behind, in firing position. I kept my excessive speed and fire walled the Merlin and stated firing, closing the range down to 40 or 50 yards. I was so close that the 109 virtually blocked my vision through the windshield. I was getting hits all over the fuselage and as I pulled up vertically over him, a maneuver that he could not have followed at his low speed, his engine coolant system blew. Over my left shoulder I could see that he went into a tumbling spiral, out of control. Again, undoubtedly, the pilot was hit.

So ended the engagement for me, two Focke Wulf 190s and one Me-109 destroyed; 1050 rounds of ammo fired. Our group destroyed 57 1/2 enemy aircraft, that's an Air Force record that still stand today. We lost three pilots as the price of the victory. Things were not all that great, however, in the Combat Wing of Fortresses. One entire squadron of B-17s of the 390th did not return. The 390th "C" squadron was attacked by Focke Wulf 190s and all 8 Fortresses were destroyed. In addition one ship from the 390th "A" squadron also went down. The reason that the FW-190s hit the 390th Forts so hard is that they were lagging a few miles behind, because of engine trouble, and could not catch up. When the attack came they lost the benefit of the fighter escort ahead of them or the collective defensive firepower of the 95th and 100th Bomb Groups. The Luftwaffe singled them out as the obvious weak spot in the division column and chewed them up with cannon fire for half an hour. Cut off from the support, nine fortresses and nearly a hundred men disappeared from the sky.

About five hours after takeoff our squadron telephone reports on confirmed victories began trickling into Groups Ops. They couldn't believe it. There were so many claims; maybe the same planes were being reported twice? "What the hell, don'tcha think I can count?" "Well check it again goddammit, somebody's gone ape down there." "Okay, Okay, Quitcher bitchin." Hanging up, wait 30 minutes and reconfirm. No individual was making excessive claims but nearly everyone did something to help the total score.

The report went on to 8th Air Force at High Wycombe. They didn't believe it either and wanted it rechecked. Unusual to say the least. It broke the old record of 38 destroyed in a single engagement by 19 1/2 (one gets a 1/2 victory by sharing it with another pilot who attacks the same enemy ship). Everyone finally became convinced that the reports were correct. However, it was two days later before General Doolittle , assured that he had the correct figures reported the victories at a staff conference. This follow-up report is about 30 years late, General, but we owe it to you anyway. The real reason for our success comes in two parts. First, our position and timing were perfect., We had 58 Mustangs exactly where they were supposed to be when the attack came. When the 100 plus contrails of the Luftwaffe appeared out to the southeast there were no surprises. Secondly, of the 58 Mustang pilots at that spot, 23 of them were aces. The leadership of the flights and squadrons of the 357th and many of the wing men were aces. You had the first team on the line, General; 58 Mustangs with 23 positions manned by aces was one hell of a potent force. Those 23 pilots accounted for 41 of the 57 1/2 destroyed.

That's the report that should have been made but it wasn't, because the facts were buried in the statistics of the pilot's roster for that day and no one thought to look there ... but it's true. The Luftwaffe never attacked in such force again; the war was over 4 months later. General Doolittle sent a message to the pilots of the 357th that reads: "You gave the Hun the most humiliating beating that he has ever taken in the air. Extend my personal admiration and congratulations to each member of you command both ground and air, for a superb victory." Coming from the man that raided Tokyo in an Army B-25 from the deck of a carrier, the message had a special meaning that will never be forgotten.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hc81CZVWSzs&feature=player_embedded

[bobbysocks]

This is a collection of stories about the same mission flown by the 357th FG on 20 January 1945.

One the Same Day by Will Foard

A day or two after our group of eleven replacement pilots arrived at Leiston Airbase, we were on a tour of the base. It was probably January 25th, 1945.

We were up in the base control tower having a look-see when a flight of P-51s radioed they were coming in. This flight of four were returning after landing in France the day before where they had stopped over for fuel. This was not a common situation to land in France.

The weather was socked in bad. A mortar flare was fired for the flare to appear above the overcast directly over the base. This would give the flight a fixed location. The flight leader brought one wing man down flying on his wing tip through the overcast on an easterly heading to break out under the clouds over the North Sea. With about 100 feet or so of clear space between the water and the clouds, they did a 180 degree turn to find the coast and the little town of Aldeburgh and then the broken down Abbey building.

We at the tower could not see the main runway or across the field due to the low clouds. We could hear an aircraft touch down on the concrete runway and at the same time, the flight leader was gunning his engine to climb back through the clouds. The wingman had landed on the longest runway which has a S. W. heading. The first time we saw the wingman was when he taxied by the tower on the perimeter track. The flight leader had gone back up above the clouds to bring in another wingman and go through the same performance until all were safe on the ground.

YOU CAN IMAGINE WHAT EFFECT THAT EPISODE HAD ON US GREEN REPLACEMENT! You can also understand our adoration of that flight leader. HIS GUTS AND INSTRUMENT FLYING ABILITY. My recollection is that the flight leader was "Pete" Peterson, of the 364th Fighter Squadron of our 357th Fighter Group. Our training in the states hadn't really sunk in to my noggin until that day at Leiston Control Tower and hearing about the English weather.

After our indoctrination of the importance of instrument flying, I took a REAL INTEREST in learning about "NEEDLE-BALL and AIR SPEED!"

DIARY FROM JOE DESHAY 25 January 1945

Cold! 16degrees. Released from combat mission schedule. "Pete" Peterson in C5-T along with V and F and another P-51 come back after landing in France. Finished an engine change on C5-Q. Received package from Ellen and two V-Mail Letters.

Letter from Robert Clark to Joe DeShay 30 Jun 96

The letter from Will Foard prompted me to write because I also was in the tower when Pete Peterson did that outstanding fete of bringing in his flight. I had a great respect for Pete and his flying ability and thought that his effort that day should not be forgotten but I felt that it should be written about by a pilot and not a desk jockey. (As I remember we were called waffleasses). Since I was first assigned and leader attached to the Group for about two years and came to Leiston via Casper, Ainsworth and Raydon perhaps I can add a few words:

I don't recall the replacement pilots but Will was certainly there because he has all the details right. So as I remember it the flight was on a forward strip somewhere in the Low Countries, that the long runway ran NW-SE, and that we saw the aircraft as they crossed the intersection with the E-W runway but I really don't trust my memory after 50 years.

Pete had been able to get through on a field phone that morning to ask about the weather. I told him that the field would be below minimums all day and strongly advised him not to return. As you recall the old timers had, with good reason, great confidence in their ability and they all had a strong homing desire. How many times have I heard "don't worry, that is my home field and I know it like the back of my hand." Pete demonstrated that he did know it like the back of his hand and he was correct in thinking that if a big mission was scheduled for the next day, it was very important to have his flight available.

They headed for the Leiston and the Radio Direction Finding (RDF) guided them in. As they crossed the field they took a reciprocal heading to the runway in use and using dead reckoning set up a holding pattern several miles offshore. RDF positioned them directly off the end of the runway. We could then hear Pete warn his wingman to fly a very tight formation and not to lose sight of him. We then heard "there's the coast, - see that church - see the big tree - there's the runway." Then after a couple of seconds (due to the distance from the tower) we heard the roar of his engine. He did that routine three times without any trouble before he landed. Truly remarkable.

Letter from Pete Peterson to Joe DeShay 30 Jul 96

Thanks for transmitting the letter from Robert Clark. Clark's letter and your Newsletter story about my instrument landing with my two remaining wingmen, Roland Wright and Ernest Tiede, prompts me to write about the same story from my memory of the mission.

On January, 20, 1945, I was Red Flight leader and my wingman was Ernest Tiede. Tiede had transferred to our Squadron from the 363rd. Ed Haydon ( who is credited with taking down Nowotny) was my element lead and his wingman was Roland Wright. Dale Karger was leading White Flight. I have forgotten what the originally scheduled mission was, but about the time that we were to return home, we engaged 2 ME-262s near Brunswick. It appeared that one 262 pilot was checking the other one out in the jet.

They did not run away; it appeared that they wanted to engage in a fight. We were at about 20,000 feet and the two 262s split....one went down to about 18,000 feet and the other stayed at about 22,000. Both flew in a large lazy circle, one opposite the other with me and my flight in the middle. Since it appeared that the upper jet was waiting for me to jump the lower one, I called Karger to turn back as if he were going home and climb back to jump the high jet while we circled. Karger and his flight did just that and the upper jet never saw them return. He was apparently concentrating on me and my flight. Karger got him with out any trouble and then Karger and his flight headed home.

When the upper jet was eliminated, the lower jet headed down for home in a hurry. I rolled over, split "S"ed and poured on the power. In no time, I hit compressibility with no control at speeds in excess of 650 mph. After finally getting control at the lower denser air, I pulled out in a wide sweeping arc just over the treetops and pulled up behind the 262 for a perfect shot at 6 o'clock. Unfortunately, I was out of trim and my tracers went right over the top of his canopy. He left me in a cloud of kerosene exhaust, as if I were standing still. In the meantime, my flight caught up with me and we headed for Lechfeld Airbase which I anticipated to be his home field. Maybe we could catch him on landing. We flew over Lechfeld at about 6,000 which bristled with flak emplacements. There were about 100 jets nose-to-tail parked on the inactive side of the field which meant that they were out of fuel, insufficient pilots, or both. We were not sure of the traffic pattern or which end of the runway the jet would use, Tiede and I cruised toward the south end. Haydon and Wright spotted him on the approach at the north end. Haydon headed for the jet, but Haydon was too high and made an easy target to the flak guns. When they opened up, I swear they put 3 or 4 20mm shells in the same hole...in the engine!!

On the R/T, Haydon said that he was on fire. He pulled up and bailed from about 400 feet and landed on the airbase ending up a POW. Roland Wright, following Haydon, was fence-post high and the flak never caught him. Wright wiped out the 262 on the approach.

The remaining three of us reassembled south of Lechfeld and I called for them to check their fuel. We were briefed before the mission that our minimum gas to get home that day would be 135 gallons because of strong headwinds. I had 135 gallons, and Wright, who was "Tailend Charlie", was down to 85 gallons or less. It was pretty obvious that we were not going to make it home, so it was imperative to find a "friendly" airport.

Flying at about 8,000 feet, deep in Germany in nasty weather, we headed west through a weather front with icing and instrument flying conditions. I was pretty concerned about Wright at about this time because his fuel was getting dangerously low, and being on instruments flying on me, he would not have a prayer if his engine cut out. We finally broke out and spotted a large town near a river and we turned to it. Lo, and behold there was an airport, covered with snow, no tracks from aircraft traffic, but there appeared to be an ME-109 near a hangar. I told Wright to land, tail-first because of the unknown depth of snow, and wave his arms if they were friendly. If they were not., then get the hell out of the way because I would shoot up his airplane. Out came a Citroen full of people to the airplane as I circled with Tiede. Finally, Wright waved his arms; Tiede and I landed. We were southeast of Paris at Auxere, France, and the front lines were 60 km down the road at Dijon. When Wright landed, his engine quit for lack of fuel. The Me-109 I had seen was gutted and abandoned.

Auxerre had a small company of MP's and the town had been recently "liberated". I asked the MP's for help with communications to get fuel so we could get out of there, but in the meantime we got rooms in a hotel and some food. Our fuel would be coming from Patton's tank corp and there was no telling when that would occur. The small contingent of French aviation cadets on the airfield pushed Wright's plane to the hangar area where we waited for fuel.

Finally, after a 5 day wait on January 25th, a truck with a trailer full of 5-gallon Jerry cans arrived and the French cadets filled up our planes. The weather was beautiful in Auxerre and we were anxious to get home...so we took off for England. In Clarks's letter, he thought I had made a phone call to check the weather. I don't recall ever contacting the base since we had no available communication. There must have been confusion between this mission and another. The first knowledge I had of the weather in Leiston was when we were about mid-channel, and I contacted the tower for an altimeter setting so I could have an accurate reading of altitude for an instrument letdown.

The weather at mid-channel was a solid wall of fog from 1500 feet down to the water. It looked like a wall of concrete along a straight vertical line. There was quite a roar on the radio when they heard from us because the last anyone knew was that we were in a dogfight with ME-262s. Major Gates got on the radio and said that there was no way that we could get in because the field was socked in solidly with fog. He thought that we may have to bail. Can you just imagine that one? I thought that I could give an instrument approach a try....even though we had no GCA (Ground Controller Approach) or instrument landing equipment on the field.

At mid-channel, we were flying in a "V" formation, with both wingmen stacked above me as I started a letdown in an attempt to get under the soup. I got down where the altimeter read "0" and one of the guys said, "Pete, you better get up...a wave just went by!" At that point, discretion was a better part of valor so we climbed back up above the fog to about 2,000 feet. When I guesstimated that we were within the general area of the field, I asked the tower to fire a rocket so we could get a fix on our position relative to the field. The rocket came up just above the fog and dropped back and I told the guys to circle the area of the rocket because I was going to try an instrument approach.

Footnote from bobbysocks: i remember my dad telling me that many a pilot returning from mainland europe crashed into the "white" cliffs of cover because the fog was so dense that they couldnt distinguish it from the fog bank above.

Since our longest runway had a bearing of 240 degrees, it gave me a clue that maybe I could apply my high school geometry to an instrument letdown and we could then make it in. So I headed out a little way toward the channel and turned straight North at 0 degrees. As I kept talking on the radio for bearings, they fed me bearings to the field back to me. First, 300 degrees, then 290 degrees, then 280 degrees. When they gave me 270 degrees (making a 90 degree angle with my true north), I clocked the time that it took for the bearing to change to 240 degrees. Twice that time was the time it would take me to reach the field on a heading of 240 degrees which was the alignment with the runway.

The runway 240 degree heading and a heading of 270 degree makes a 30 degree/60 degree right triangle as I flew north. In a 30 degree/60 degree right triangle, the side opposite the 30 degree angle is half the length of the hypotenuse. In this case, the "hypotenuse" would be my line of approach toward the 240 degree bearing, turning toward the landing on the runway. As I descended toward the runway and got to about 50 feet above ground, I could see straight down and spotted the end of the runway! I knew then that we could make it in by just repeating what I had done. I climbed back up on instruments and picked up Roland Wright who flew off my right wing and we went through the same triangulation. As we turned on the approach and started the letdown on instruments, I let down my wheels; Wright lowered his wheels and stayed back just far enough to still keep me in sight and follow my instrument flying. I dropped flaps; he dropped flaps. As I got to about 50 feet, I spotted the runway and called it out to him He picked up the sight of the runway and landed. I did the same thing with Tiede and he landed. I then did a tight 360 degree turn about 50 feet off the ground and landed.

The people in the tower could hear us; could hear the tires squeal on landing; could hear me powering up to go back up, but could not see us. At no time did the Tower see us until we taxied by. The Tower and DF guys did a helluva job or we could not have made it. It was the best flying that I had ever done....or ever since. Without an automatic pilot, instrument landing system, or GCA to assist us, we managed to get in safely without losing airplanes or pilots.

It was really great to see you at the reunion and I deeply appreciate your thoughtfulness in sending me a copy of the letter from Pete about the mission he and I shared on January 20, 1945. The details Pete gave are exactly as I remembered it.

After this mission and because of the interest in the ME-262, I was later sent to London for an interview with the BBC. As you may remember, they used to make radio broadcasts of war experiences during the war and this one was broadcast over the BBC. They also sent a recorded record of it to KSL radio in Salt Lake City and it was broadcast locally and this is how my family heard about it.

KSL also made a 78 RPM record of it and sent it to my family. After your newsletter story about this mission, I found the phonograph record and listened to it again as it was broadcast during the war, and it confirms the facts as Pete related it in his letter. The interview broadcast covered only to the time that I landed out of fuel in France.

Several years later, the Air Force Times did a study on the ME-262 and according to that, the ME-262 which I was credited with on Jan 20, 1945, was the 8th one that had been shot down and the 357th FG was the leader in ME-262 kills when the war ended.

20 January 1945 - Truly a Memorable Day By Robert G. Schimanski

Here is the story of only two pilots of the 357th FG, the 364th FS, that flew with about 58 other pilots on 20 January 1945, escorting bombers over the Ulm/Augsberg, Germany area. The field report of the mission states as follows:

LF 1010 Osterd 20,000 RV 1st 3 Grp 4th force S Charleroi (est) 26,000. Bs 1325 N Luxembourg 27,000. LF out 1415/1435 Overflakkee/Ostend 0/25,000. Grd target straffed vicinity Ulm. One section left Bs at target to investigate Me 262 at 18,000. Jet pulled away in slight dive at speed estimated 500 plus. After about 5 minutes chase plane shot down over Lechfield AD as it attempted to land. Lt Haydon hit by light flak and bailed. Observed at 32,000 2 contrails over Lechfield circling slowly downward. 1 flight climbed to investigate at 15,000 they became apparent as Me 262s. One of them made a head on pass at an element of the section, which turned into him, whereupon the jet headed toward Munich. In vicinity of Munich the 262 turned north which was one turn too many - the element cut him off in the turn and pulled rapidly within firing range, destroying the 262 whose speed in chase was estimated 500 plus.

Rather dull and uninteresting but it does not describe what happened to two of us who got locked in that day.

When we took off in the morning the weather was atrocious, clouds and instrument flying in formation almost all of the way until we arrived in the Angsburg area and then it was sunny, clear and blue skies. Soon ME262 jets were spotted and our group gave chase. Lt. Dale Karger states:

As I try to remember this specific mission it was clear, blue sky, at that time, probably about 50 to 80 miles west of Munich. I remember the snow on the ground when a train was spotted. I don't know what our specific mission was that day or why we were at fairly low altitude. We started a run to strafe the train. I was flying greenhouse white and Lloyd Zacharie was my wing man. The Alps were could be seen south of us. We spread out a little as was proper for this kind of run. I can't remember whether we were abreast as a squadron or went in as individual flights. When I was within range I started firing and one of my guns "ran away" (wouldn't stop firing) when the trigger was released. I turned a few degrees (to keep from hitting anything out ahead of me) and started to climb. I really didn't realize that my wingman (Zach) had stayed with me. I can't recall whether I announced my problem over the RT (Radio Transmission) at the time. As I was climbing at about 6,000 to 7,000 feet at this time with gun still firing, someone called out "Two jets circling above us." Pete" Peterson said he would start up to intercept and I said that I was already climbing and would also continue on up. My runaway gun had expended all its ammo at this time.

These two jets continued to circle and were estimated to be about 30,000 ft., but as I think about it now, they were probably closer to 20,000 feet because it didn't take us long to get up there. When we got within about 1,000 ft. below them they decided to split up and started to descend. The one I latched onto headed east toward Munich in a slow descent. Having a speed advantage he began to slowly pull away from me. He was about 4 or 5 miles ahead of me and I was about ready to turn back, when I saw him start a steep turn to the left. He was over Munich at about 5,000 feet by this time. I did have the idea that maybe he was trying to draw me over Munich to draw anti-aircraft fire. Anyway, when the 262 started his left turn, I turned 90 degrees to the left. Anticipating his high rate of speed, I thought I could cut him off and it worked, except he was crossing in front. I had the diamonds on the gun sight all the way closed and decided to lead him slightly with the pipper. Almost immediately as I fired the pilot bailed out at about 3,000 feet. I am reasonably sure that I saw a hit on or around the cockpit area. Of course, at that distance, it could have been a reflection. One thing for sure, the pilot had some reason for going overboard at that precise time. The ME 262 immediately crossed into a wooded area where I observed smoke but no flame.

You know, when the bloods get pumping with excitement of the "moment" you sometimes do some dumb things that you wouldn't do under normal circumstances, or things you aren't too proud of, like taking a couple of shots at the pilot and a big gold ball on a church steeple at a nearby town. These things you also never forget.

On this particular mission my own plane was in for repairs so I was flying Steve Waslyks's "My Lady Diane." Can't remember the C5 number. He told me it was a real smooth running engine, etc. And to make sure I brought it home in one piece. Well! He was right. That engine was so smooth it was scary, but as fate would have it, I didn't bring it home. As Zack and I started back alone we found the weather had deteriorated to IFR (Instrument Flight Conditions) conditions in eastern France and went IFR into clouds and snow. By this time we were aware of the fact that we were not going to get anywhere near the United Kingdom. We had really chomped up a lot of fuel in the jet chase and it was down to probably the last 50 gallons. I called a fixer station and got a vector but he was 125 miles away so I decided to gingerly let down through the overcast, not having any idea of the elevation or terrain below. Needless to say the good Lord was with us and we broke out at about 500 feet in a snowstorm. No luck in finding a landing strip and Zack reported gauges bouncing on empty. I told him to pick a good snowy field an belly it in while I continued to look for a 9th AF field, anywhere. Zack reported he was down and ok, it seemed like only a few minutes later that I came over an air field and was glad to see P47s instead of ME109s parked there.

After making about three passes on a snow-covered runway and fearing running out of gas, I came in over some wires and seemed to float forever. When I finally touched down, about half way down the runway, on steel mat, with snow, it was like being on a sled. I figured I was home free until I hit the brakes at which time I took a toboggan ride downhill on the runway off the end and into a frozen pile of dirt. That took care of Wasylyk's "My Lady Diane."

After retrieving my gun camera film and being interrogated, by the Lord only knows who, I found out I was close to the town of Rheims (The Champagne center of France). No room for me on the base so I was billeted in a nice hotel in Rheims. Quite a large city park in the middle of town was jammed to the curbs with all kinds of military supplies. They were very lax about blackout and I had no problem doing some pub crawling. I finally stopped at a place with a good dance band and even neon signs in the windows. Very strange, I thought as we were probably within 60 miles of the front lines.

Well, I didn't hear anything about Zach till the next day. He had been pointed to the same base I was by some Frenchies. He had a little problem communicating, as he didn't speak French. We went out that day on a C47 to Paris where we spent a couple of days, then hitched a ride on another C47 to England.

So I guess you could say that the 262 I got cost two P51s. But as least we lived to fly another day.

After Karger landed on the continent he was interrogated by Army Intelligence Officers, who then called our base to advise us of his whereabouts. Karger has not told you all of his combat that day because the intelligence officer wanted to know if we had fed him raw meat for breakfast. Karger had been locked in to a most difficult situation.

1st Lt. Dale Karger was young, even in a war where youth was the norm among fighter Pilots. On the 20th of January 1945, Karger was still about three weeks short of his 20th birthday, and with four victories behind him, was about to become, as far as is known, the youngest ace in U.S. aviation history. One of only three American men to become aces before their twentieth birthdays!

Here is my story of that day. I helped chase the jets and tried to box them in but never could get close enough to fire my guns; instead I used up a lot of fuel and then had to think about getting home through absolutely horrible weather. Some of the squadron elected to return with me rather that setting down on the continent. I flew on instruments in a solid overcast for a long time at about 25,000 feet. Miraculously as I crossed the coastline a single hole appeared through the clouds. I could see the coastline and I elected to descend and cross the channel at an altitude of 200 feet. As I crossed the channel the ceiling got lower and lower and at about 50 feet I went back on instruments and climbed to about 500 feet. I then called into the tower (Dryden) and asked for a heading home, and was told that the base had been closed and that I should return to the continent. I then asked for a heading to any other airfield in England and was told England was socked in and all bases were closed. I was low on gas. I knew I could not return to the continent, and I did not want to ditch in the channel. (Virtually impossible in a P-51) "Locked in" I continued on to England with the other airplanes on my wing and told Dryden that I did not know who closed the field but as leader of Greenhouse Squadron returning I ordered the field to be reopened and all operations would proceed as normal. The flare truck was to be in full operation at the beginning of the runway. Pilots flying with me were advised that we would first try to land under my instructions, and if I could not make it, they were to climb to 1,000 feet, make sure they were over land, and bail out. (I now find it interesting to note that after hearing of my decision to reopen the field, no superior officer on the ground countermanded my orders.)

Dryden gave me a heading and I approached the base at an altitude of about 250 feet on instruments with my wing men tucked in already. The flare truck fired it's flares. I saw the flares and knew I was over the beginning of the runway heading 240 degrees. I then made a single needle width turn of 180 degrees heading into the downwind leg at 60 degrees climbing on instruments to about 400 feet to give me a little breathing room. I then flew an extra long down wind leg in order to have extra time to again line up on the runway. I completed another 180 degree single needle width turn, got another heading from Dryden and discovered I was exactly on course. Lowered partial flaps and dropped the gear, cut the throttle, and started descent from 400 feet very carefully. At 300 and 200 feet I could see nothing but slop all around me. At about 150 feet I couldn't see ahead, but I got the first glimpse of mother earth straight down below me. Full flaps, cut throttle, and saw beginning of runway while looking straight down. I say down on the left side of the runway, with number two man on the right, etc. We landed without mishap, and then had extreme difficulty in taxiing to our revetments, because of rotten visibility. My loyal crew chief, Sgt. Wilbur Reich, was there waiting for me. I had brought our airplane home once more. (Sgt Reich was one of the more experienced crew chiefs, but had already lost two pilots and two P-51s through no fault of his own. He and I got a new P-51 D, C5-O, serial number 414334; and he and I successfully finished my tour of 70 missions without a scratch, bullet hole or flak damage. Later I discovered that my aircraft ended up in a scrap yard in England and was bulldozed flat by a D-8 cat. Seems to me the 8th Air Force should have given it to me and told me to fly it home.)

The commanding officer, who I am sure had closed the field was waiting for me in the pilots ready room. His only question to me was "Where is the rest of the group?" Seems like a lot more should have been said.

And that is how two free spirits got locked in on 20 January 1945, and we were only two of sixty pilots on that mission. I now wonder what happened to the others.

[bobbysocks]

Lt. David G. Elliott's interrogation report

I hit a locomotive and the explosion hit my plane, tore off my tail and set the engine on fire. I tried to climb to bail out, turned over a forest S. of Reims, rolled out of plane in 6 seconds and the plane fell in a forest. The tail of the plane hit me on the thigh and sprained my left ankle. I landed on the edge of the forest near the German flak batteries, a few feet from my plane. My chute caught in a tree --- I got out of my harness and ran for about five miles in different directions but making south towards Vitry. My first aid kit and toilet kit were strapped on my chute and I had to leave them. At 2100 hours I sat down and took out maps and used my mae west as a mattress and my helmet as a pillow and covered my face until dawn. I then buried my goggles, throat mike and everything I didn't need. Then, in the morning of August 11, I headed SW and walked in a forest and spent the night N of Champsfleury. Next day I came to a clearing. I saw a young woman and 2 men cutting wheat. I watched them for several hours. Then at 1100 hours when the girl was near me I stepped out and called to her. She finally came over with one of the men. I used the phrase card to declare myself and asked for water. They told me to hide where I was and after an hour Roger Couteau, about 35 years old, brought civilian clothes and water. He then took me to town to his house. He fed me and hid me in a barn for 4 hours. At 8pm he put me in a room where I stayed for a day or two. A. M. Griselle was very helpful and M. Pinard, the mayor of Champsfleury, gave me cigarettes.

There were German soldiers in town and things were getting hot so Couteau hid me in a barn next door to his house. I got very ill here. I was here until 23 August. Then M. Couteau came and said he was Chief of Resistance and that a Russian woman had told the Germans this and that next day 3,000 Germans were coming into town. At 1500 hours that day he and I went on a bike to Arcis sur Aube, convoyed by Resistance men on bicycles. We went South of Arcis to another small town where there was a Maquis stronghold. Couteau left me with the Maquis chief, who with his wife and aide, took me in a car into a forest NW of Troyes next to the river. There I stayed with the Maquis until 26 August. Saturday the 26th, about 0400 I heard trucks and at dawn a Maquis scout came to say that the Americans were there. So I went out to the road and got into a medical truck. It took me to a headquarters at the front lines. I saw Col. Clarke and Lt. Col. Wodin (4th Armored Division) and I gave him tactical information. We were surrounded by 1,000 Germans and had a skirmish with them. I bivouacked with them and next day was sent back in a POW convoy to Sens to Corps headquarters. There I saw a G-2 major. Then Major Muller, AC, took me to XIX Tac and then I went to Lemans and thence to Laval and Bayeaux Airstrip for a flight back to England.

Lt. Robert B. Hoffman's story

Hoffman, affectionately known as, "Old Dog", because he called others by that name, was flying with Littlefield in Hellcat White flight on the day they were bounced by Me-109s. Both were pulling off a dive bomb run on a bridge at Sens, France, when bounced. Each had dropped a 500 pound bomb and as they pulled up Littlefield heard "Hellcat break!, Hellcat break!" and glanced over his left shoulder to see Hoffman nearby with a 109 sitting on his tail with all guns blazing.

Littlefield yelled, "Dog break right!", as he broke right. During the break Littlefield saw Hoffman in a spin with both engines pouring smoke and flames.

Hoffman bailed out and broke an ankle on landing. He hobbled through the French countryside until he made contact with a Frenchman who turned him over to a member of the French Underground. He lived with the French for three months and was taken to Paris to await transportation south. In Paris he was turned over to a man who spoke excellent English. This man spoke of bars in Los Angeles that Hoffman had also frequented. They became friendly in the short period that he was in Paris.

One day the Frenchman said that it was time for Hoffman to leave and provided him with a car and driver. As they were driving through Paris, the driver stopped the car and motioned that he had to make a phone call. When he returned, they drove only a short distance when they came to a German roadblock. Hoffman was taken into custody and placed in Frenze Prison in Paris. While in the prison, he talked to a P-51 pilot who had exactly the same experiences in Paris! They came to the conclusion that the French Underground was unwittingly funnelling airmen into Paris where this Gestapo agent spent a few days with them and then packed them off to prison. Apparently, too, when the Gestapo undercover agent had called for a roadblock, those responsible were a bit slow in responding.

Hoffman was taken to Buchenwald, where the infamous Ilse Koch, noted for making lamp shades out of human hide, was on the staff. There were about eighty-three Americans and the same number of RAF and other Allied Air Force members. A good number of the Allied airmen had been turned over to the SS or Gestapo by French who did not want to become involved.

Allied airmen were eventually sent to Stalag Luft III when Reichsmarshall Goering heard of their imprisonment at Buchenwald. These men were later sent to Stalag Luft VII A at Moosburg via Nuremberg prison when the Russians were approaching Stalag Luft III. During one of these prison transfers Hoffman described a forced march in which he was threatened with being shot if he did not keep up with the rest of the prisoners. He had rebroken his ankle and was marching with a makeshift crutch. He was liberated at Stalag Luft VII A by Patton's Army.

Robert Bruce Hoffman was born in 1921 and was from Baltimore, Maryland. He was a survivor.

Lt. Julius M. Hummel relates his experiences

Julius "Joe" Hummel, the only pilot of the 55th Fighter Group to escape from German captivity relates his experiences:

I was shot down while strafing a German airfield near Halberstadt, Germany. I received head and knee injuries after crash landing and had difficulty walking so was captured almost immediately. I was sent to Stalag Luft III, near Sagan. In January 1945, we were sent to an old Italian POW camp near Nuremberg. About the 2nd of April 1945, the Germans decided to march us to Munich. Bill Laubner, also a pilot in the 38th squadron and I were shot down on the same mission and were together as POWs. Bill could speak German and we along with Jack Sturm, a P-47 pilot from the 355th Fighter Group, plotted our escape from the line of march. Bill's leg started giving him trouble so he had to abandon the escape attempt with us. But he distracted the nearby German guards so successfully during a rain storm that Jack and I made our break and got away cleanly. The weather was cold with rain and sleet and quite miserable for the next 4 or 5 days.

We took refuge in barns, in villages, and dense trees. The first few days we moved only at night, finding it fairly safe to move through towns and villages after nine p.m., but holed up during the day. We had to depend on road signs, we had made crude drawings from an old German map and an occasional glimpse of the stars to navigate at night. When the weather improved it became much easier. We moved from 25 to 30 kilometers south of Nuremberg to the north west towards Wurtzburg. We were not making good progress so started moving during the day as well, avoiding towns during the day. Running low on food we liberated potatoes, chickens, bread, eggs and milk from milk cans set out along railroad tracks for the milk train. We were eating a lot higher on the hog than in POW camp. But our feet were paying the price.

We were close to capture several times but bluffed our way out by claiming to be Polish or Spanish workers and once by claiming to be German soldiers. About midnight we were hurrying through a town and blundered into the town square filled with German troops taking a break. Probably around 800 to 1,000 of them. Fortunately it was a fairly dark night and we told the German colonel who stopped and questioned us that we were German soldiers hurrying to catch up with our unit that was about 5 kms. ahead. We snowed him good and it worked. One bright sunny morning while following a railroad track we stopped to fill our water bottles at a spring. Two Germans in uniform stopped and questioned us. So we said we were Polish workers and were going to work on a farm ahead of us, just beyond the next town. They told us to go ahead of them. They were in uniforms with overcoats that we had not seen before. We had just decided that they were not armed when a third one showed up and he was armed. We walked further on and then found out they were slave labor guards in charge of between 25 and 30 young 16 to 20 year old Polish and French boys and girls who were repairing bomb damage to the tracks. They had a Polish boy question us so I distracted the guards attention and Jack told the boy in German who we really were. The boy pretended that he could not understand us fully so the guards called a Frenchman out and we did the same with him. In the meantime all the other kids found out who we really were and started to offer us bread, cheese and sausage. Then the guards really smelled a rat and the big wheel with the gun said he was going into town and get the army officer to come and deal with us. As soon as he was out of sight Jack and I took off for the woods. The two guards told us to stop and tried to get the kids to stop us but the kids just laughed and waved goodbye to us.

After about 12 days and the Lord only knows how many miles we walked, very nearly being bombed by our own bombers near Roth and being strafed by a German night fighter near some burning German tanks, we finally made contact with armored units spearheading the 4th Infantry Division of Patch's 7th Army south of Wurtzburg. It was pretty darn hairy, we were told that U.S. soldiers had been watching us since about 2 a.m. with the aid of night vision enhancement equipment when we were looking for food in the lockers of the burned out tanks. They said the only reason they did not fire at us was that our clothes did not look like German uniforms. So they decided to wait until daylight and see if we came out of the shell hole and then challenge us, which they did. We stayed with the 4th until they had transport going to Ludwigshaven a couple days later. From there to Arras, France and in a C-46 where the C.O. of the C-46 outfit flew us to Camp Lucky Strike. Within a week we were on a ship bound for home.

[bobbysocks]

Lt. Walter C. Klank tells his story

December 24th, 1944, Captain Howard and I were on our way back from a raid. I was flying wingman and we were at 15,000 feet. We spotted four Me-109s at approximately 10,000 feet. Howard shouted lets get 'em and started down still carrying his wing tanks. I yelled back, "Get rid of your tanks." He jettisoned his tanks and I had one hung up. It finally shook loose, but by this time Howard was already tangling with the 109s. I shot down one and then Howard said he got two and was going home. I yelled at him to wait for me - I had been heading east back into Germany and he was becoming a distant speck going west.

My crew chief had mounted a P-38 mirror over my canopy and as I made a swinging turn west I spotted four 109s coming down on my tail. We ended up in a tight turn to the left. My "G" suit allowed me to easily out turn them and soon I was on the tail of number 4, so I decided to add another 109 to the days record. I loosened up on my turn and saw strikes over the engine/cockpit area, the 109 rolled over and pilot bailed out.

About that time I saw holes appearing in my left wing - as the 109 behind me corrected his aim the nose cannon made slashes through the left wing and slugs from his wing guns must have come over the left shoulder of my armor plate - the instrument panel exploded. The slugs must then have dropped down and took out the controls - the 51 flipped over on its back - nose down - no control response - no trim tab response. Reduced throttle and decided to get out. I was hanging upside down with my head almost touching the canopy. I jettisoned the canopy and my arms were sucked out over my head - finally got my right arm back down and flipped safety belt open - I was immediately sucked out of the cockpit.

I apparently struck the vertical stabilizer and was knocked unconscious. My next recollection was falling feet first toward the ground, admiring the brown and white patchwork effect of plowed fields and snow. A small voice said pull the cord - I did - nothing happened - I pulled it again and threw it away. The chute cracked open - the risers jerked me up straight and my feet hit the ground. That's close enough for one lifetime!

Two young soldiers (I recall they were SS) had witnessed the fight and were waiting for me. They immediately went for my shoulder holster and 45 and were very disappointed that I wasn't carrying a gun. My face was bleeding profusely, I assume cut by the exploding instrument panel. My Mae West was soaked in blood and my right arm was useless. I was becoming weak and the two soldiers helped me unbuckle my chute harness and supported me as we made our way toward a narrow road.

I later surmised when I hit the tail my right arm must have scraped along the leading edge of the tail. Days later when I finally was able to remove my clothes I discovered the skin had been stripped from the outer portion of my arm and the arm was firmly attached to the shirt sleeve with dried blood. In a week or so I regained full use of the arm. The facial cuts, particularly above the left eye concerned me and for a while I though I had lost the use of the eye. Once I was able to wash the dried blood out of the eye I was able to see OK.

I had landed in a plowed field and for some reason the two soldiers left my chute there. By this time a group of people from a small village were approaching and in a rather ugly mood. I suspect but for my two captors I might not be writing this. As we reached the road - everyone suddenly dived into the ditches on each side of the road and I was left standing alone. Considering discretion the better part of valor I dove into a ditch also and just in time - a B-17 returning from the raid cut loose three 500 pounders that apparently had hung up. They landed in the plowed field straddling my chute. What a Christmas Eve - shot down and bombed all in one day!

On to the village and into the house of the Burgomaster. The house was crowded with villagers - some seemed "friendly" and emptied my pockets of candy, chewing gum, soap, etc. We had planned to land in Brussels and spend Christmas there, so I had brought along some trading goodies. They were puzzled about my "G" suit hose and kept pulling on it. I finally removed my A-2 jacket and flying suit and gave them the damn thing. I'll never forget the look on their faces, they had no idea what it was. The Burgomaster however, put it away as one of his personal treasures.

I was next loaded into a side car of a motorcycle and taken by a soldier to an MP jail in Frankfurt am Main where I spent Christmas and the next couple of days. No medial attention and boiled potatoes for Christmas dinner. Several days later, a German Lt. and his girl friend took me by staff car with a driver to Dulag Luft. The car appeared to burn wood to produce the fuel or steam for the engine. The roof was piled high with split wood.

I felt stronger at this point and seriously considered escaping by stabbing the Lt. and then the driver. I had not been well searched at the jail and had been able to conceal my boot knife. However, I realized I didn't know how to operate the car, doubtful if the girl did, it was below zero and I really didn't know where I was, so I decided to see it through to the next stop.

We arrived at the Dulag, Dec. 30, 1944, and I was the only one in the room with a German sergeant when I was told to strip. The sergeant paid no attention to me and continued to read a comic book. I thought well one last laugh - I threw my boot knife so that it stuck in the bench next to the sergeant. You have never seen such big eyes or heard such foul language - he spoke English fluently.

Then into solitary in an old 6 ft. x 8 ft. x 10 ft. cell with a blanket too short to cover my feet and shoulders at the same time. I believe I was there about 10 days with frequent interrogations and "role playing" in the cell next to mine. The hauptman that interrogated me spoke fluent English and said he had been raised in Chicago.

Finally off to the train station and on to Stalag Luft I, near Barth, Germany on the Baltic Sea. No one talked for the first day. We all looked at each other with suspicion. Several times the train stopped when fighters flew overhead, the guards got out, but locked us in. Fortunately we were never strafed. The food was meager and greasy, we all had the G.I.'s. What a trip.

Next stop Berlin, and a march through the city and then onto another train. I never understood this transfer but was glad we were surrounded by soldiers. The civilians were ugly and we saw what appeared to be Allied soldiers hanging from lamp posts. Not a pretty sight! The next part of the journey from Berlin to Stalag Luft I, I have no recollection of for some reason.

At Stalag I, we separated, went through a records section, were given blankets and mattress cover, later to be filled with straw, and my A-2, leather jacket was taken and I was given a GI overcoat one size too small. At least it was warmer. I was then taken to the compound that would serve as my home for the next 6 - 7 months, barracks 307, room 2.

Those months were spent in one room with 20 other American flyers. We became good friends, but never got together for the planned reunion in New Orleans. This was a boring time, nothing to do, the library was small so it didn't take long to ready everything. Cold and hungry, we went through the Kriegie trick of cutting up the barracks for firewood, etc. and constantly worked on the drawings and poems in our Kriegie books.

One night our barracks "goon guard" reported the Germans had not locked us in and said they would be gone in the morning because the Russians will be here tomorrow. Liberation at last! I believe it was May 21, 1945. The next morning we were all out early, the guard towers were now manned by GIs and were in effect an Allied camp in German territory.

My buddy Don and I climbed on the roof of our barracks from where we could see Barth's city square in the distance. As I recall around noon a horse drawn caravan arrived led by a horse drawn hansom cab. As the cab reached the center of the square it stopped. The driver slumped forward over the cab, the caravan stopped and the soldiers continued what must have been one long party since they had their women and booze with them.

Finally, after what seemed like hours the door of the cab opened, the colonel (we later learned) stepped out - missed the step and fell flat on his face in the square. No one rushed to his aid, he finally struggled to his feet and apparently barked out orders whereupon the caravan began to act like a military organization. It turned out this was a "unit" of Cossacks. They were dressed in the typical costume with bandoliers of ammo slung across each shoulder. However, they carried stubby machine guns instead of rifles.

Later, we learned through the "grape vine" that the Russian colonel was very upset with us for sitting there in an orderly manner. We should have torn down the fences, raped the women, etc. The Russians threatened to march us down through their lines to the Baltic Sea. Colonel Gabreski, a senior American officer took a firm stand that that was not going to take place. He did however order the fences torn down and a "joint" feast for the next night. The feast went well and we were back in the good graces of the Russians.

The German airfield, close by, contained a concentration camp which we subsequently learned about. That was a gruesome tale, too long to recount here. It also contained booby trapped German planes and an underground buzz bomb factory.

Several days later a caravan of GI trucks picked us up and drove us to an airfield where B-17s loaded with "bug" powder were waiting to take us to decontamination camp. The flight on the 17, my first, in the converted bomb bays, plywood over the bomb doors, is a story in itself. The hydraulic system on the flaps or gear or both failed and we all though - "Oh boy"! Made it through prison camp and now we die in a 17. But we made it.

After decontamination and new clothes we were flown (in my case) by a "hot" pilot in a C-47 to Le Havre, France and settled in Camp Lucky Strike. That's another story in itself. We ate the camp out of food in three days. Almost two weeks had gone by when we discovered our contingent had been "misplaced" by the transportation officer loading Liberty ships with POWs. Under the "stress" of never seeing home again, three of us took off for Paris. After ten days of the sights and sounds of Paris we headed back to Lucky Strike, right up the gang plank of a Liberty ship and a miserable rough trip back to the States. Victor Mature, a movie star, was the Chief Petty Officer in charge of food, and he did his best to make us at home.

German J 2805 reported Lt. Klank captured and aircraft 99% destroyed.

Lt. Klank's postwar statement claimed two Me-109s prior to being shot down and bailing out. On this mission he had been flying with the 3rd Scouting Force, a weather reconnaissance unit stationed at Wormingford which the 55th Fighter Group supported. The 3rd SF did target weather reconnaissance in advance of the bombers.

[bobbysocks]

Lt. William Laubner

I was shot down near Rhune, Germany, while on the first all fighter sweep scheduled by the 8th Air Force. Our target was an airfield southwest of Berlin. My flight was supposed to provide top cover but Wyche (flight leader), took us down to join in the fun. On the way out on the deck, we passed a flight of FW-190s going in the opposite direction, but they did not bother with us. I strafed a locomotive, power lines and a dry dock facility on the Rhine River which was surrounded by flak towers. My left engine was shot out and my left fuel tank was set on fire. I crash landed near a German anti-aircraft camp and taken prisoner. I hit the gunsight and broke my nose. I cut my knees getting out of the burning ship. My left shoulder felt as if it had been hit with a hammer. After I was put in jail, I took my flight jacket off and noticed a right angle tear on the side of the left shoulder. Evidently a round must have penetrated the armor (the planes armor plate, behind the pilot), and backpack (parachute), and sliced a hole in the jacket. I did not require hospitalization. Lady luck was with me on that mission!

After my capture, I could still understand enough German to make out the rivalry that existed between the two anti-aircraft officers trying to claim credit for my being shot down. One was CO of an 88 mm crew and the other had the flak towers. When a German major walked in everyone snapped to attention. I was sitting with my right leg resting on the top of my left knee. The officer nearest to me kicked my leg off of my knee and made me get up. I left with the two officers still arguing over who was going to claim me. It was hard to keep from smiling. I sat between the major and another officer on the way to the local lockup. We passed an airfield with 109s parked under netting. They remarked to each other that I would have liked to report the location to our air force if I could. That bought another smile to my face. I went through the interrogation center at Frankfurt and from there to Stalag Luft III. My interrogator at Frankfurt spoke perfect English. He told me that he had lived in Hackettstown, N.J. As I was sticking to the name, rank and serial number routine, he told me more about our outfit than I knew myself. He named our CO, Jolly Jack Jenkins, our base name and location, wing number, wing commander, Red Cross girl's names, etc, etc. I finally asked him if he thought he was going to win the war? He said if he didn't think so he would not be sitting across the desk from me. He also told me that they were waiting for Bob Rosenburgh. This told me that he knew I was in A flight, as Bob was also in A flight. I was really too small a fish to waste much time on.

I was at Stalag Luft III until the early part of 1945. I received permission from our barracks commander to converse with the guards. We called them ferrets. Since the barracks were built with a crawl space, the ferrets would crawl under them in order to pick up bits of information. They could speak and understand English. The floors had cracks between the flooring and when we heard them underneath we would get water buckets and brooms to clean the floor. We could hear them scramble out and of course that tickled hell out of us. They could not chastise us because keeping our room clean was S.O.P.

Another humorous diversion was trying to find the camp radio. Time and again a block was singled out and made to wait outside while the guards searched the building for the ever elusive radio. They never did find it. This always brought smiles to our faces. I was not mistreated because I was captured by the military. I did see some POWs that were man-handled by civilians before being turned over to the authorities. I also saw the Gestapo come into camp and take out three POWs. We heard that their gun cameras showed they were shooting civilians and other non-military targets. We never saw them again. We received soup, potatoes, black bread and occasional horse meat. We also received Red Cross parcels periodically. These parcels were used to augment the German rations and were eagerly received. Another bit of humor. We used to comment on our rib showing physiques when we were taken for an occasional shower.

At the end the Germans marched us out, for three days, to Spremburg. Around March of 1945 we were marched to Moosburg. Joe Hummel, who went through flying school with me, was shot down on the same day and we were in prison camp together. Joe and I and another pilot named Sturm, who flew P-47s, plotted our escape on the march to Moosburg. I developed blisters on my feet so gave them half of my rations and they took off during the night. They made it back but I had to wait to be liberated by Patton.

Needless to say we were hungry all the time and the movement from camp to camp in the dead of winter with snow on the ground in just a pair of leather shoes was not too comfortable. We were literally liberated by General Patton on 29 April 1945, pearl handled six gun, polished boots and helmet. His tank rammed through the front gate and he got out and said, "Did any of these bastards mistreat you?" I believe he would have shot them on the spot. We'd heard that he'd given one of his pearl handled six guns to one of his paramours. Don't know how much truth there is in that story, but when he came into camp I had to see for myself. Sure enough he only had one strapped to his waist.

Lt. Robert M. Littlefield "The Bridge at Barentin"

It was a bright, clear, and beautiful Sunday afternoon. Our squadron was top cover for the other units while they worked over a German airfield outside Paris. It was to be a milk run and as we circled above our attacking planes, I unhooked my oxygen mask and had a cigarette. After completion of the attack and on the way out, I spotted a train approaching a large multi-spanned brick bridge at the village of Barentin and called it in to Captain Buck Earls, my flight leader. We were Hellcat White flight, which meant Buck was leading the squadron and I was his element leader. Lt. Francis Matney was my wingman and Lt. Francis Waice was Buck's wingman.

The attack on the train was made by White flight only. Buck gave us the signal to spread out and go into trail in preparation for the attack. He and Waice went in first and I could see their strikes all over the locomotive. Great billowing clouds of steam shot skyward from the locomotive as they pulled off. I made a right diving turn and put my pipper (gunsight) on the car behind the locomotive. Matney was on the outside of the turn and behind me.

I squeezed the trigger and saw strikes from my six fifty caliber machine guns as I raked the box cars. By this time the locomotive and box cars had stopped on the bridge. I gave it another burst, saw more strikes on the cars but as I pulled up I heard a loud explosion and my P-51 lurched. My stomach tensed with a burning sensation because I had previously experienced that same sound over Germany, which resulted in my shot-up P-38 being totaled in a crash landing at Old Buckenham, England. I realized that I had taken an explosive shell hit on the leading edge of my right wing at the inboard 50 caliber machine gun. The wing was burning fiercely and close to a gas tank. I decided to bail.

I made a quick call to my flight, informing them of my situation. I was doing about 350 miles an hour so I pulled up and delayed a bit before I pulled the emergency canopy release handle. After leaving the plan, falling head first, I pulled my rip cord, the chute opened and at about the count of three I gently hit the ground. As I was examining light wounds on my neck and chin I heard gunfire and immediately hit the dirt and started looking about to establish the direction of fire. It was the ammo in my crashed plane cooking off about 150 yards away!

I gathered my chute, hid it in some bushes, and walked to a farmhouse nearby. A lad of about 16 was watching as I approached and I identified myself as an American pilot and asked where "le Boche" were. He motioned that they were all around. He obviously was of no help. An older man walked up and asked, "le parachute?", and I pointed to where I'd hidden it. When he returned he signaled for me to get the hell out.

I had walked only a few dozen yards when a man, walking a bicycle, with a big smile on his face, motioned to follow him. We soon passed a lady who gave me the V for victory sign. We stopped for a moment to talk to another lady who told me to take off my flight suit, which I did. A moment later she began shoving me down the road and talking excitedly. As I followed Rene, riding his bike, I glanced back and saw two German soldiers walking up to my crashed plane with rifles at the ready.

We were at a sharp bend on a direct road so were out of sight of the Germans within a few steps but I ran like hell for as long as I could until I was running so slowly that Rene became alarmed and got off the bike and ran while I rode. He took me to his parent's farm and hid me in a hayloft. I was beginning to think I was living a class B movie. Shortly, Rene brought me into the house. Years later he told me his father was furious with him for bringing me home; the Germans would have shot them all if we were caught. At the farm there were five members of the family all trying to ask questions by sign language.

A short time later three men, one with an arm in a sling, called me out of the hay and told me were taking me to an English speaking lady. Two bicycles were provided for Marcel and myself and we set off down a dirt road until we arrived at a main cement highway. In about 20 minutes we arrived at Chateau le Matra, a large 150 year old, three story building. I was taken into a darkened room where a lady about five feet two inches tall, buxom and plump, proffered her hand and said in a very heavy French accent, "I am Madame Angele Greux." She was the wife of Armand. She motioned me to a chair along side hers and opened a map of northern France. "You are here", she said, pointing to the small town of Barentin in Normandy. she then began speaking rapidly and I could not understand her. I became alarmed because I feared that if everyone thought she spoke perfect English and I did not understand her they would be suspicious of me. I knew the French Underground had executed German agents attempting to penetrate their organisation. She must have sensed my dismay for she said very slowly, "Pardon my English, I have not spoken it since 1936 when I worked in England for two years. You will be living here."

Henri and Armand arrived and I was introduced to the eleven who lived here. The chateau was owned by a wealthy French farmer, Monsieur Douillet, who, with his wife and family, lived in a small home nearby. The chateau had been requisitioned by the Germans for people who had been bombed out of their homes in Rouen. The others who lived there were: a very old lady whose name I never knew, a young boy of 7, named Pierre, not related to any of the household; Henri's sons, Daniel Couture, age 22, and Andre Couture, age 18, Micheline Guilloux, age 12 on that very day, niece of Angele; Madame Glasson, age 47, and her daughter Janine, age 22 (Janine was engaged to Daniel). And Huguette Greux, age 19, sister of Armand. No one worked except to help local farmers in exchange for food and they were living on their savings. In addition to the food received from local farmers, there were rabbits and chickens in hutches in the back yard. We never had wine but drank cider, a very weak hard cider made from local Normandy apples. The children drank it too. Henri and I drank it with baking soda because it gave us heartburn.

I was also provided with an identification card with my picture, the photo provided by me courtesy of the US Army, a food ration card and a paper that stated I was deaf and dumb so that hopefully, I wouldn't be sent to Germany for forced labor.

Local people who had seen me were told that I was Angele's deaf and dumb cousin from Dieppe. My French identification card stated that I was Robert Joseph, address in Dieppe. All records in Dieppe had been destroyed in a bombing raid so this could not be disproved.

One day as Armand and I sat quietly watching Angele knit, we were startled by the roar of an airplane, firing its guns, right over our roof top. We all dropped to the floor. I peeked out the window to see two British Typhoon fighters who had caught five German soldiers in a small civilian panel truck in front of the chateau. "Feld-grau", (field gray), which was what the German soldier was called, after the color of his uniform, were running in every direction. When the planes left, the soldiers got back in and drove the truck into an apple orchard next to the chateau. The Typhoons had riddled the truck but hadn't hit one vital part and the Germans had escaped without a scratch! Needless to say, I was very disgusted with their marksmanship and told the French my fighter unit would have destroyed the truck.

It was rumored that the Americans were nearby. Paris had already been liberated. So Henri, Angele, Daniel, Andre, Janine and myself started walking toward the seine. Armand still hadn't returned. We had gone only a short distance when we encountered two young Frenchmen, one with a 25 caliber automatic pistol and the other with a single hand grenade. There was automatic gunfire coming from a short distance north and they were going to help the French Resistance who had a small group of Germans "cornered".

About an hour later we ran into Scottish commandos advancing with guns at the ready. The officer in charge apologized for not having transportation to take me to Duclair, on the Seine River, so we continued until we arrived at an almost totally destroyed Duclair. I gave Angele my GI watch and my escape kit, which was always issued prior to each combat flight, and which contained 2,000 francs ($40.), silk maps and language phrase sheets of which I had made good use. After long teary goodbyes and many hugs and kisses, I left my dear friends who had made me one of the family for three weeks. The British interrogated me and flew me back to London on September 3, 1944. There I was interrogated at 63 Brook St., by the American military. My interrogator said there were 40 men a day, like myself, coming through enemy lines.

Lt. Howard W. Rhodes

On July 28, 1944 I was on an escort mission in a P-51, shortly after the group switched from P-38s. The target was Merseburg, Germany. We observed two B-17s falling in flames. We assumed that they were under fighter attack as no flak bursts could be seen. The squadron leader radioed, "Drop tanks and let's go" and turned towards the bombers.

I dropped the exterior tanks after switching to the interior 90 gallon fuselage tank. Unfortunately my engine quit. I was unable to get the engine going. The only action I was able to get out of the engine was occasional burps from using the primer. I had agreed with some buddies, that if we ever did go down we would try to do it in style. So I told the guys not to take the new Wellington boots I had just gotten from Peal's, but my voice was sufficiently projecting my anxiety that it wasn't funny.

At about 3,000 feet indicated, (being blissfully unaware that the ground was not at sea level), I determined to bail out. I found myself facing upwards, being caressed by a gentle breeze. It was a delightful sensation; there was nothing to do but open the parachute, no more struggling to get power. After enjoying for a second or so, I pulled the rip cord rather halfheartedly and nothing happened so I pulled it hard. No sooner had the parachute opened than I hit the ground. I was sure I was dead because everything was black and there was a kind of warm, flooding, pleasant sensation, Nirvana. I actually thought at the moment that the Hindus were right, it seemed to me precisely as I had understood the Hindu notion of the afterlife to be.

Very shortly thereafter consciousness began to return, and I could begin to see that I was on a hard packed dirt farm road. I unbuckled the parachute harness and, taking stock, observed that my wallet was still in my back pocket. I should have left it in the ready room, since it contained, of course, my identification and sources of information to the enemy.

There was a ditch about twenty yards away. I tried to walk there but I couldn't walk because of an injury to my back and foot so I crawled over to a big bush on the top of this ditch bank. I left the parachute there with my wallet which I tried to hide under the litter. Then I crawled out into the corn field because there was a hill beyond it. About fifty yards into the corn field, still crawling, I looked up and about a foot away were two shoe topes and above them this red haired and mustached farm worker with a tiny pistol pointed at me. He first words were, "Me Polska." I understood him to mean that he was a Polish farm worker, not a German, and that he was sympathetic with my situation. In any event he assisted me up and helped me stagger over to the edge of the field where there was a fat old German farmer with a hunting rifle.

We went down the road to his home and into his little study, a tiny room with a desk in it. He let me sit in the corner. After fifteen or twenty minutes, a car came and a blond man about forty years of age dressed in a grey suit with a Nazi arm band on his left sleeve got out. He greeted the farmer with a Hitler salute, then shook his hand, then repeated the same greeting to the farmer's wife and their several children in descending order of age. He then drew himself up, turned to me and with a torrent of abuse, in German, which I could not understand except the part about being a North American Air Gangster, then he slapped me on both cheeks, grabbed me by the shoulders and made me face the corner of the room. Then he tried to interrogate me in English, asking me where I had come from. I was so unaware of the Big Picture that I didn't even know that I could have come from Italy, instead of England, so I said America.

A policeman arrived in a three wheeled car, one wheel in the front and two in the back. He put me in the back seat. Around the same time my parachute appeared along with the wallet which I had attempted to bury. The policeman took me and my effects to his home in the town, apparently so that he could show me off. He left me in the car and went inside.

We then drove down to the city jail which consisted of one cell. He gave me some bread, but I wasn't really interested in that. I really hurt. I had strained my back. I think I had a compression fracture but I never had any medical treatment so I don't really know. My left foot was so far extended over my low quarter shoe on impact that it was bleeding around the upper line of the shoe.

After joining up with some B-17 crews, we were taken through Frankfurt to Oberursel, a Luftwaffe interrogation station. On arrival, I was called into a tiny office in which there was a private, a little guy, but obviously a sophisticated and intelligent person. He asked me to fill out a form. The form had "Red Cross Information" at the top, and then it asked for name, rank, serial number, home address, with spaces for all kinds of military information. If I had filled out the whole form it would have given the store away. I filled out my home address and parent's name, as well as my name, rank and serial number. I declined to go further. He said he didn't give a damn anyway, as he was doing Red Cross duty and that the interrogation would come later. He said that we had to spend some time anyway, so we might just as well talk.

(Howard Rhodes was interrogated by Hanns Scharff, August 3rd, 1944.) The interrogation started with the usual cigarette or cookie, and then he said, in substance, I had to identify myself as an officer of the United States Army, that if I failed to do so I would be treated as a spy. That they weren't trying to get information; that a second lieutenant couldn't tell them anything anyway that they did not already know; that I could come in saying I was Colonel Bullshit with my dog tags; but that I had to prove it. Note that I was twenty-one, not a colonel, did not have proper insignia, and that I didn't have any dog tags. He said that the Geneva Convention had been mistranslated by the Allied governments, and that I was obliged to tell them what unit I was from; I gave him name, rank and serial number. He replied, "Oh dear, Lt. Rhodes, don't be such a bore!" Then he got from behind his desk a volume and started flipping through it. He first asked if I was from the 4th Fighter Group, P-51s, and of course, I just stared at him. He finally got down to the 55th Fighter Group, P-38s. "Oh no", he said, "just changed to P-51s." (The one big secret I thought I knew). Well, I made a little involuntary reaction, and he said, "Oh my goodness, Lt. Rhodes, you don't think we don't know that yet?" He said his name was Hanns Scharff.

Nothing further of substance transpired. He told me a lot more about the 55th. Then he stood up, told me the interrogation was finished, that I would be on my way in a couple of days, and wished me good luck. He stuck out his hand, I took it, and bang, the door opened with another prisoner outside looking at me as though I had just divulged the secret of the atomic bomb.

Later, we were taken to Dulag Luft in Wetzlar and given showers, our Red Cross parcels, clothing, cigarettes and food. We were put on a train to our permanent camps. No fun spending all night in the Berlin marshalling yards, hoping it was not the night's target for the RAF.

They hauled us into the prison camp, Stalag Luft I, and since other contributors will have told you a great deal about prison camp life, I will not. But one thing about any detention facility is that detainees, ie, the prisoners, have a lot of hostility about their detention. Rightly or wrongly, they take it out on the guards who represent the detaining power.

Early in 1945, the camp commandant issued an order requiring the transfer of all identified Jewish prisoners to a single compound within the camp. We all inferred our Jewish buddies were to be mistreated, so we ranted and raved and yelled and screamed, actually considering trying to attack the guard towers and revolt, but cooler heads prevailed and the transfer occurred the next day, although we stayed up until midnight, probably. Since our compound was next to the Jewish compound, we spent a lot of time talking to our buddies across the intervening fence for a period of days, and finally it just seemed a normal thing, and no one was mad any longer.

The Oberst in charge of the camp, who also commanded a nearby Luftwaffe air base, where jets were based, the nearby sugar factory where slave laborers worked, and a nearby death camp, came to our compound to visit us. I remember that I kind of wondered how, in his mind, he justified the different sort of treatment for the people in the various camps he commanded. One morning we woke up after hearing the sounds of artillery for a couple of days, and all the Germans were gone.

When we got back to London, we waited to go home for weeks. When I saw on the bulletin board orders for transport for an officer, Albert LaChasse, who I knew had already hit Los Angeles, I adopted his name and identity and got on board the ship. When we got to Camp Miles Standish I was put under house arrest for ten days, but I was home, and they had a hole in the fence. That's my story.

[bobbysocks]

The Bomber Plot Who Escaped To Fly Fighters

Ed Appel flew to England during February, 1944. Before returning to the States, he not only had flown both heavy bomber and fighter planes during WWIl, he had been shot down twice while over enemy territory - once in a B-24 bomber and again in a P-47 fighter. Both times, Ed eluded the Germans who were hunting for him, and made his way back to the Allied ground forces.

His B-24 was shot down during his 30th (and final?) mission. He describes the flight this way. On my 30th mission I flew as Command Pilot on Lt. Frazee's crew. It was on the 15th of September, 1944. The target was at Karlshrue, Germany. Just before we reached the IP, we broke into the clear. We had just started our bomb run when we were hit.

We took a monstrous hit on the right wing which knocked out the two right engines. The two left engines were still running, but we had no turbos and the fuel cells were ruptured. The rudder cables were cut so we had no use of our rudders. The windshield had caved in from the blast, and gasoline spewed all over. I thought we were going to burn. However, we managed to get the plane turned by using the ailerons but losing altitude fast. We headed westward towards France. With the loss of two engines' power, along with other damage, we couldn't hold altitude. In that case a B-24 is like a falling rock.

First we salvoed the bombs and then had the crew throw out anything loose in order to lighten the ship. In minutes we had gone from 24,000' to 10,000' and the front lines were still 100 miles away. It was time to bail out and we did. Our B-24 crew was scattered over miles of Eastern France.

When my chute opened, it was only seconds before I hit the ground - in a ploughed field. I shucked my chute and saw two men running towards each other about half a mile away, so I didn't go that way. I hid in a vineyard for awhile. Thinking it wasn't a very good place to hide, I started to get up. I heard "Halt." Coming across the field toward me was a line of German soldiers. They could have shot me easily, but they kept yelling "Halt."

I pretended I didn't hear them and kept walking away. I walked into a clump of trees and then ran like a scared rabbit out the other side and down into a slew where I jumped into the water and hid among the slew rushes. They knew I was in there somewhere because they kept walking around the edge of the water. They would get together on one side and fire their burp guns through the weeds, Scared the hell out of me. They all left except for one man. I could see him standing there watching the place. After awhile they all came back and went through the same procedure - shooting and all. Finally they left. I stayed there until dark.

Heading West
Ed began his westward walk toward the front lines. He traveled mostly at night, hiding in any cover he could find during the day. He had an escape kit with a compass, a map, a hack saw blade and some concentrated rations. He also had his .45. On coming to the Donau River, he used the hack saw to cut a chain that moored a small boat. The boat was on a cable that had a pulley hanging on another cable that ran across the river. Ed was able to pull himself across. He staged a repeat performance at a second river. A third river turned out to be a lake which he could have walked around but ended up sitting in the middle of the lake.

Ed Appell had several close calls. In one instance, he carefully entered a barn in which he found a horse. He took the blanket from the horse, stuffed some potatoes in his pockets and started back out just as some German soldiers came by. In another instance, he was sitting in the woods waiting for nightfall when he heard two civilians coming towards him. He drew his .45 and hollered "Halt." They would not stop though I kept hollering. One finally did stop and then the other stopped advancing. One stayed there and the other took off. Ed took off running from the one, and out ran him.

After that, he would go up to a house right after dark and knock on the door. Usually the man of the house would answer. Ed would immediately state that he was an American flyer and needed food. He was fortunate. Many times they invited him in to the table. They gave him bread meat and coffee. He would leave his gun on the table, and after eating, would leave and make as many miles as possible so they wouldn't catch him.

A few days later, he decided to cross a field in the daylight when he saw a French farmer and his wife at work. Shortening his dramatic story, Ed says, "they hid me in a hayloft along with their son who was also hiding from the Germans. Though he was French, he had been conscripted for duty with the Germans on the Russian front. After being wounded in one leg, he went AWOL and was spending the rest of the war in the hayloft. So the two of us spent about two and a half months right there when the Germans were pushed out and American tanks, trucks and troops came down the road. l was out!

Later I learned about the navigator who jumped before we did but did not make it. His chute never opened. Two others of the crew hid out in a farmhouse near Alsace Lorrain for about a month, then decided to get out, joined the French underground, put on civilian clothes and tried to make it through the lines. They were caught and shot as spies.

I had talked my friend, Capt Paul Anderson into flying this last mission with me. He ended up doing 9 months in Stalag Luft #1, Barth, Germany. In the summer of 1945 in our home town of Redfield, SD his first words to me were, "You son of a gun. You take me on a trip over Germany, and you dump me out."

Back In England
While waiting for orders to the US Zone of Interior, Ed decided he would try to hook on with a fighter group. By his own statement, he guessed that he was flak happy. He contacted Dave Shilling of the 56th Fighter Group. Colonel Shilling said, "Sure, come on down." And down he went.

That was quite a kick, getting out of bombers and into fighters. Like getting out of a truck and getting on a motorcycle. After checking out in the P-47, I flew 16 dive bombing, strafing and escort missions. My last mission came on 16 April, 1945. I was busily strafing Muhldorf Airdrome, 50 miles east of Munich. I came in on the deck and was shooting into ME-109s sitting on the field. I picked up a lot of ground fire. The engine started running rough and I was losing power. I started to pull up. I shouldn't have done that over the enemy airfield. They really started getting hits.

I tried to get over one last hill before bellying in. As I started to clear, the right wing stalled and went down. I cart wheeled across the country side and thought school was out. By some miracle, the plane came to rest right side up. I crawled out and ran until I reached some trees.

He traveled at night, as he had done before, stole boats and crossed rivers, got food from a few German homes and eventually reached the front lines where he "surrendered" to US Army troops. Traveling at night toward the west and the front lines, I finally got near the front lines where there was a lot of shooting. One night I heard the shooting move to the east. The next morning I crept out to the edge of the woods and watched the roads. Finally I spotted Weapons Carriers, Tanks and troops that were definitely ours. I came out of the woods with my hands held high. Believe it or not, it was the same outfit I came out with the first time. By the time I got back to Paris, the war was over. I rode on an LST across the ocean with a whole load of ex-POWs.

[bobbysocks]

From the nose of his B-24 Liberator commanded by Lt. John French, came those words from F/O Robert Timms of the 700th Bomb Squadron who was watching his entire 445th Bomb Group disintegrate. Wave after wave of FW 190 fighters from the three Sturmgruppen had approached the 445th unmolested and were now driving through the formation, all cannons blazing. In just a few short minutes the Kassel mission was escalating into a full-scale disaster for the 445th. In the opening moments of the battle, frantic radio calls for help went out on the fighter channel.

I saw Pearson's ship to our left blossom with sudden bright flame, then kick over and down, Carlow's ship behind him hurt and distressed, trying to fight off the angry bees. Then it fell like a broken toy. I felt the thud of our own ship being hit hard. Where are our fighters!? Where are our fighters!? Oh, God!!...
Even as the bombers were falling, P-51 Mustangs of the 361st Fighter Group were not far away and were heading at full speed for the fearful scenes of destruction over Eisenach. While that day was undoubtedly a black day for the 445th from Tibenham, Norfolk, the same mission ironically was uniquely successful for a single squadron of P-51 Mustang escorts who only the previous day had arrived at their new base in Little Walden, Essex. Ernest Schroder of II./JG 300 had just passed through the bomber formation and registered two kills. Now he was circling in large downward spirals the two B-24s in their death throes. He could see some ten to fifteen large columns of smoke rising through the cloud layer where crashing aircraft had exploded ...

Everywhere was burning wreckage. The fields were covered with many white parachutes where American and almost certainly German fliers had come down. I arrived at 100 meters above ground and could clearly see the crewmen who had bailed out running through the fields. Suddenly, diagonally from the front, a yellow-nosed airplane shot towards me, an American fighter unmistakably.
The fighters Robert Timms so desperately wanted to see must have arrived very shortly on the scene after the third wave of FW 190s had gone through the bomber formation. They would soon have a very dramatic effect on the 27 September 1944 air battle even if they could not save the American bombers. In the lead bomber Timms heard his nose turret gunner exclaim, "Oh, you sonovabitchin' lovely angels, you... "

The 361st Fighter Group had been assigned as one of five fighter groups accompanying the Kassel force on that day. Its component 376th Squadron, known as the "`Yellowjackets" for the bright yellow noses on their P-51s, was destined to make its mark on that day.

Forty-five of the group's Mustangs had made their scheduled rendezvous with the bombers of the 14th Combat Wing over Holland before penetrating German air space that day ... but as the Focke Wulf Sturmjager hit the B-24s, the radio headsets came alive with the cries of pilots calling out enemy aircraft. Now Ernst Schroder was immediately in trouble.

Both of us opened fire simultaneously with our big caliber weapons. The American immediately scored a hit on my tail. My weapons, on the other hand, failed after a few shots. I began to fly with evasive movements.
Schroder believes he escaped with his life because he had come down to 100 meters altitude. The P-51 quickly lost the camouflaged FW-190 against the trees of the forest-covered valley sides over which they were flying. "I landed after minutes of fearful seating at Langensala after a total of ninety minutes flying time. Part of my rudder had been torn away."

Meanwhile, Lt. Victor Bocquin leading the 376th FS was able to bring his guns to bear on the first of three Focke Wulfs that he would personally destroy that day. "I caught an FW-190 just before we hit the clouds and began shooting at 300 yards, getting good hits. I followed him into the overcast and lost him, but then saw a chute when I came out and his plane spinning down."

Elsewhere in the action, other 376th pilots, no strangers to aerial combat, operating in groups of two or three, were in frenzied pursuit of the FW-190 Sturmbocke. lst Lt. William Beyer, Red Flight leader and Robert R. Volkman, flying his wing, pressed home their attacks.

I got on the 190's tail and he did his best to lose me, doing split S's and tight turns. I followed through his maneuvers until he started to climb. I opened fire at about 100 yards getting hits. He popped his canopy and bailed out...
With its extra armor and guns, the A-8/R2 Sturmbbock was a very un-maneuverable heavyweight and was totally unsuited for low altitude turning dogfights. Verner Vorberg of II.JG4 was in the fight but made it back to Welzow, south of Berlin.

Individual pilots were being wiped out by the escort fighters. Seven Satffel ceased to exit. Five Staffel came away much better off and must have broken off before the Mustangs arrived. On my return to Welzow, a wheel along with its shot up support fell off when I let down my landing gear. I had to land on my belly...
Othmar Zehart, one of the most experienced pilots of II.JG4 and Staffelkapitan of 7.JG4 was lost and is still listed missing today. He was one of the few survivors at that stage from Sturmstassel, and in nine Sturm missions had shot down seven American bombers. Amongst the relatively more experienced aces of IV./JG3 the carnage was not so severe. One notable victim was Verner Garth Staffelkapitan 14./JG3 who bailed out of his burning FW 190 and landed uninjured. Karl Dieter Hecker of 15./JG3, who had just registered his fifth Viermont victory, was another who bailed out although badly wounded. A similar fate befell Lt. Ernst Rex who had just shot down his first B-24.

In total, some 25 Focke Wulf 190 Sturmbockes were shot down along with four of the bf 109 escorts. Only one P-51 Mustang was lost, a member of Blue Flight; lst Lt. Leo Lamb would not return to England. Gerhard Vivroux would claim him as his l lth victory. On landing, the victorious pilots of the 376th discovered they had destroyed eighteen FW 190s in the air and three on the ground - a 376th record, with Victor Bocquin claiming three and William Beyer five. (During September, Beyer had downed 72-victory German ace Major HIaus Mietusch after a protracted dogfight.)

The events of September 27, 1944 mark a watershed in the fortunes of the Jagdwaffe's Sturmgruppen. Clearly capable of pulverizing an unescorted bomber, the average Sturmgruppen pilot was at a terrible disadvantage when faced with aerial combat with the U.S. escort fighters. Wellequipped eager P-51 pilots had a distinct edge. Tactically the Sturmgruppen formation, while providing firepower in mass against the bombers, would become increasingly more difficult to be effective as more U.S. fighter escorts ranged over central Germany. The writing was on the wall after the Kassel mission.

This is a perspective from both sides of the battle over Kassel on the ill-fated mission of September 27, 1944. Quoting participants Ernst Schroder of II./JG 300 and F/O Robert TIimms of the 445th Bomb Group, these excerpts appeared in an online account of that epic battle in the skies: Those of the 376th Squadron, 361st Group who were there could no doubt add much to this narrative.

On September 27, 1944, the 445th Bomb Group flew a mission to Kassel, Germany with thirty-seven aircraft. There was a solid undercast and navigational errors were made such that a different target was hit (Gottingen) about thirty miles northeast of Kassel. This put the entire group out of the bomber stream: they were on their own. Ten minutes later, about one hundred German fighters jumped the group of bombers. The entire battle took less than five minutes. We lost twenty-five crews and ships at the scene of the tragedy. In addition, two ships crash landed in France, two crashed at Manston, England, and five crashed near our base at Tibenham, England, which means that only three ships returned and landed at our base.

During a target escort mission to Kassel, the 376th set an ETO record with claims of 18 E/A destroyed in the air, plus seven damaged, and three destroyed on the ground, plus one damaged. Lt. William R. Beyer became an “Ace in a Day”, claiming five Fw190s destroyed, but Lt. Leo H. Lamb was KIA.

The ferocity in which the Fw-190's attacked is evident by their claims of bombers destroyed which of course is not correct. 56 B-24's destroyed and 25 shot out of formation. For fact, we do know that IV.Sturm/JG 3 was the first to attack and had no high cover. I would suspect that their claims of 17 B-24's is correct, as they lost no pilots KIA, but had 5 wounded. They lost 6 aircraft to bomber return fire, and 3 damaged. II.Sturm/JG 4 came second with II.Sturm./JG 300 and the Bf 109 Gruppen coming in at a close 3rd, probably within 30 seconds to a minute of the JG 4 unit. These units probably shot down the stragglers not already shot down by JG 3.

[bobbysocks]

A native of Augsburg, Josef ‘Sepp’ Schmauz was 22 when the war started. Having joined the German army, he did not cherish the thought of fighting on the ground. So he quickly applied and was accepted for the Luftwaffe and after training was posted to II Gruppe/Kampfgeschwader 53 (II/KG 53) ‘Legion Condor’ at Lille-Vendeville in northern France in the latter months of 1940. His function was beobachter (observer) in a five-man He 111 crew.

Once deemed suitable for operational flying, ‘Sepp’s’ crew was assigned to 6 Staffel in April 1941 and in the months that followed, they flew 12 missions over he UK against Belfast (probably April 15, 1941), London (three times), Liverpool, Portsmouth, Sheffield (likely May 8, 1941), Brighton, Southampton, Ipswich, Harwich and the bomber airfield at Stradishall in Suffolk (possibly May 11, 1941).

Sepp Schmauz, with more than 290 bombing missions over Russia, was withdrawn from operational flying to be an instructor, but following the Allied invasion in Normandy in June 1944, returned to 6/KG 53 to fly limited bombing and re-supply missions over northern France.
On August 28, 1944, the Gruppe was recalled to Germany where it was to convert to bombing missions carrying an underslungV-1 ‘doodlebug’. Sepp recalls: “On August 28, 1944, 09:15, our He 111 took off from Rouvres, near Verdun, to fly to Babenhausen. The first contact with fighters, P-51 Mustangs was in the area of Bernkastel at the river Mosel. Our reaction was to fly as low as possible, at about ten metres flying height.
“Three of the fighters immediately launched an attack. During the first, our Heinkel was hit in the fuselage. Our radio operator told the pilot, Lt Fritz Will, and myself that two comrades had been wounded by the gunfire. There were several more attacks which also hit our aircraft.
“To avoid being shot down and crash we tried to carry out an emergency landing on a field near the village of Hahn. While carrying out this manoeuvre a Mustang, coming from the right, fired into our glazed nose. It was obvious that the pilot wanted to hit the cockpit crew.

“Lt Will succeeded in belly-landing our He 111 on the field. I had already opened the pilot’s sliding hatch to make getting out… easier for him. The other members of the crew who were able to escape had left… at the side of the fuselage.
“They crept along the furrows away from the plane. The pilots of the enemy fighters acted very fairly because they did not shoot at us. They shot at our Heinkel until it burst into flames.
“In the meantime we had reached Hahn which was only about 300 metres away. The villagers who had been running towards us lead us into the village Inn. The landlady helped us and sent for the doctor.
“Because of the strain and the concentration during our emergency landing I had not noticed until now that I had been wounded by shell fragments in my right upper arm and the right part of my chest. Our radio operator and the engineer were wounded, too.
“Only seven out of our crew of nine had arrived at the inn. Our gunner, who was the last to arrive, told us that Lt will and Ogefr Hermann Deubner had not left the aircraft, so they burnt in the plane. They had probably suffered such severe or even deadly wounds that they were not able to leave the plane. We were deeply shocked by the death of our comrades.
“An ambulance took the three of us who were wounded to a hospital in Bernkastel for further medical care. Because of his severe wounds our comrade Ofw Ludwig Römer lost his right leg…”

[bobbysocks]

Encounter with Me 262s Over Berlin

In February, the 353rd came to grips with the Luftwaffe in the air only once, and then it was a hard chase to score. The quarry were Me 262 jet fighters, and the engagement can best be described by the encounter report of the Group Leader, Major Blickenstaff.

"I was flying with the 350th Squadron as Jonah (Group Leader) on a free lance mission, 22 February 1945. While we were patrolling between Brandenburg and Muritz Lake, my White Three informed me that the bombers had reported jet aircraft in the vicinity of Brandenburg. From northeast of Brandenburg we encountered four Me 262s and the entire Group gave chase.

"When first seen, these E/A were in a diving turn to the left in a staggered string formation. The E/A broke formation when they reached a southeasterly heading and Seldom (350th) Squadron chased one which continued in a left turn. We followed him through a cloud and discovered ourselves over the heart of Berlin, at 7,000 feet. A short time later, still chasing this E/A north of the city, we encountered another Me 262 flying at about 2,000 feet in the haze coming toward us. I rolled over after him, my flight following, and dropped tanks in an effort to gain more speed. This E/A evidently decided to take advantage of the haze and hit the deck. We chased him for 7 or 8 minutes at full throttle in an easterly direction but were unable to close. Being a bit discouraged and believing that we were near the Russian lines, I decided to break off. After a climbing turn to reassemble the flight, we started homeward on a course of 280".

"We were at about 8,000 feet northwest of Berlin when I noticed another 262 flying east in the haze. I was able to pick up enough speed in the dive to close on this E/A and opened fire at a range of 600 to 700 yards. Strikes were observed in the left jet, and a thin stream of smoke began to trail from it. Finding that I was able to close even more, I opened fire again at a range of 4-500 yards. The E/A responded with some rather wild evasive action so that I was unable to keep my sight upon him. The Hun then dove for the deck and started pulling away, but I scored strikes again on the left jet. The E/A pulled up sharply and slowed down enough for me to close and get strikes again. Smoke began to pour out of the left jet. The pilot jettisoned the canopy and bailed out the right side. The plane rolled to the left and split essed into a forest. I rolled over and snapped a picture of the wreckage with my K-25 side camera about two seconds after it went in."

This victory was Blick's fifth, making him an ace. Meanwhile, after the four Me 262s were bounced, Capt. Gordon B. Compton caught on to the number four jet and fired by line of flight calculation. He scored a few hits on the right engine which slowed down the jet enough for him to open fire from 350 yards dead astern. Further hits were scored, the plane zoomed, the right engine burst into flames and the pilot bailed out. The Me 262 went down, bringing Compton's total of air victories to 4.5.

If the hunting of enemy aircraft in the skies was poor in February, hunting of grounded aircraft picked up considerable. The 27th turned into a field day, following a bomber escort to Leipzig. Major Walker L. Boone, leading the 350th Squadron, went looking for targets of opportunity in the Botha area. "Old Eagle Eye" spotted 50- plus assorted aircraft on Rohrensee Airfield, made a quick pass to test the defense, received no response and then led the Squadron in a ring-around-the-airdrome strafing attack. Results of the 350th's strafing were 37 planes destroyed on the ground and 16 damaged. Major Boone himself accounted for 7-4. Capt. Herbert G. Kolb was second high scorer with 5-3. 2nd Lt. Roland J. Lanoue destroyed 2 FW 190s and 2 Me 410s.

On the following day, B-17s were escorted to Kassel, after which the squadrons went looking for ground targets. Lt. Lanoue spotted a small satellite field near Gotha and was given permission to look it over. He found planes dispersed and well camouflaged and made a strafing attack, soon being joined by other squadron planes. Strafing lasted for several minutes, and when it was over 8 twin engine planes and 1 single engine plane were destroyed and 3 twin engine planes damaged. On the way out two 350th planes revisited Rohrensee Airfield, destroying one twin engine plane and damaging another. Major Blickenstaff, who had been leading the Group with the 350th, had suffered a flak hit while escorting the bombers. He returned safely to base with his hydraulic system damaged and made a beautiful one wheel landing.

Throughout February, after completion of their escort duties, the Group went after ground targets, other than aircraft, on 14 days, including each day from the 20th through the 28th. Claims from ground attacks for the month were:

113-19 locomotives,
50-369 rail cars,
35-23 motor vehicles,
0-11 tanks,
0-5 gun positions,
0-6 buildings and 0-4 barges.

[bobbysocks]

Nuthouse Control

At 1420 hours, Nuthouse Control told the squadron to patrol in the Rheine-Dummer Lake area. While proceeding to that location the controller directed the planes back to their assigned area. With a heavy heart, Blickenstaff led his charges south and swept uneventfully through the Hersfeld-Kassel area. They then turned in a northerly direction and proceeded on that heading west of Kassel, flying at six to seven thousand feet. It was 1515 hours when Seldom Red Leader and Blickenstaff spotted enemy planes below, heading west. At about 3,000 feet there were 15-plus FW 190s carrying bombs while, some two thousand feet above them, 15-plus Me 109s flew top cover. Both formations were in line abreast formations.

Red (2nd) Flight turned into the enemy aircraft, and Blick took White (1st) Flight down in a diving right turn to complete identification of the lower planes. He pulled up behind and to the side of the right outside aircraft, saw the Focke Wulf's "big white cross on the fuselage", slipped astern of this plane and opened fire.

At the same moment Red Flight dove into the middle of the enemy formations, going after the low gaggle too, and Blue (3rd) Flight, led by Major Robert A. Elder, bounced the right flank of the top cover 109s. Just as Blickenstaff was ready to fire on his 190, its pilot saw him, jettisoned his bomb and reefed to the right. Blick turned with him for a half circle, scored strikes and sent the 190 rolling over and diving into the ground. Each of the other White Flight planes had also picked a 190 before the enemy pilots broke in all directions. White Two, Capt. Hartley, and White Three, Lt. Louis W. Lee, followed their 190s and shot down both.

At the same moment Red Flight also hit the 190s. Red One failed to get his as a handful of Me 109s bounced his flight. Other 109s were being engaged at that moment by the three Mustangs of Blue Flight. Major Elder and Blue Three, Lt. Guthrie, got onto two 109s before they broke formation, Elder shooting the wing off his and Guthrie sending his down in flames. Blue Two, Lt. William R. Hubbel, caught a 109 turning north, fired in to point blank range and sent it winging straight into the ground.

Thirty seconds after the first shots were fired, Mustangs, Me 109s and FW 190s were in a great whirling dog fight, made up of a number of individual lufberry chases, just above the deck. Into this swirling battle came Yellow (4th) and Green (5th) Flights, avoiding the 109s and hitting the 190s. In the middle of the battle, Lt. John F. May lined up on a 109 that had bounced his element leader, Red Three, and scored hits on its fuselage and wings. The Messerschmitt split essed and exploded at 200 feet. May looked back over his shoulder and saw four 109s bouncing him. He broke violently left and crashed into another 109, losing his left wing. May was in a flat spin but managed to bail out. While floating down to become a POW he saw a 109 on the ground with a piece of his wing embedded in its cockpit - his second and last victory for the day.

After destroying the first FW 190, Wayne Blickenstaff had continued through in a climbing turn and picked up a 109 at 5,000 feet. He opened fire, closed to zero range, getting strikes all over it, and then registered more strikes as the German pilot obligingly leveled off. Pieces came from the 109's wings and tail, then the canopy popped off and the pilot attempted to jump, but the 109 smashed into the ground before he could get free. Hurriedly looking around, Blick received a vivid impression of 109s and 190s going down in flames and the fires of many destroyed aircraft on the ground.

As Blickenstaff had gone up to get his second victory, Major Elder broke down toward the 190s. He latched onto one and after some maneuvering closed to 300 yards and opened fire. The 190 flamed up, went into a spin and hit the ground just after the canopy came off but before the pilot could jump. Immediately, Elder found himself in a big, turning fight with twelve 190s, between the deck and 1,000 feet. One Focke Wulf reversed his turn and Elder got on his tail, fired and was still closing when his third victim split essed into the ground. Pulling up to 1,000 feet over the blazing wreckage, he found another 190 flying between trees straight away from the fight. He dove down to within 100 yards dead astern, and his first shots sent his fourth victim into the ground in "a big, long splash of black smoke and fire."

Above, Blickenstaff had gone into an orbit at 8,000 feet, planning to reform the squadron as he felt the excitement was over for the day. He could not have been more wrong. Clearing his tail, he saw a 109 coming down on him from 4 o'clock high. He went into a 360" turn and ended up on the 109's tail in a 50" dive. A few shots brought smoke from the Messerschmitt and then it half rolled into some trees. Going by, Blick snapped a picture of his third victory with his K-25 side camera. Climbing back up, Blickenstaff suddenly recognized Elder's P-51, by its camouflage, as Elder fired and damaged a 190. Tracers came from his guns, indicating less than fifty rounds remaining per gun, and there were two 190s on his tail and others circling. Blick called that he was covering him, and Elder swung around, got on a 190 and out- turned him. This German reversed his course and ended up straight ahead of Elder, who carefully fired from 100 yards. His fifth victory flamed and crashed.

While this occurred, Blickenstaff came in on the 190 on Elder's tail, only to be dismayed to find that just one of his guns was firing. But a few shots were enough. The 190 trailed smoke, split essed and went straight in for Blick's fourth victory. Once again he started a climbing turn, thinking to reform the squadron, when he saw a 190 in a left orbit 1,000 feet below. With only one gun, he circled above him and called for someone to come down and finish the FW. When no one responded, he slid in behind the 190 and raked the cockpit with his single gun. The plane smoked, slewed off and crashed into the ground - Blickenstaffs fifth kill. Suddenly, there were only Mustangs in the air, seventeen of them. The battle had been so fierce that beside the loss of Red Four, Lt. May, four other planes and pilots were missing - White Four, Yellow One, Green Three and Green Four. Despite these losses, the 353rd had had its greatest single day's air victory of the war with the destruction of 29 enemy fighters, plus seven damaged.

In White Flight, Blickenstaff had destroyed 3 190s and 2 109s; White Two, Hartley, had 2 190s and 1 109 plus a 109 damaged; and White Three, Lee, had 2 190s and 1 109.
In Red Flight, Red Two, F/O Richard N. Gustke, damaged a 109; Red Three, Lt. Walter A. Prescott, destroyed 2 109s; and Red Four, May, got 2 109s.
In Blue Flight, Blue One, Elder, shot down 4 190s and 1 109 while damaging a 190; Blue Two, Hubbell, got 2 109s; and Blue Three, Guthrie, destroyed 3 109s and damaged a 190 and a 109.
In Yellow Flight, Yellow Two, Lt. Howard H. Hakonen, damaged a 190; and Yellow Three, Lt. George W. Robison, destroyed a 190.
In Green Flight, Green One, Lt. Clark, destroyed 2 190s; and Green Two, Lt. Francis O'Neil, destroyed a 109 and damaged another.
The 352nd Squadron flight did not score. Major Elder's five victories, combined with four he had scored previously with another group, brought his total of aerial victories to nine, and Lt. Col. Blickenstaffs five doubled his score to ten. Their outstanding accomplishments in becoming aces in a day marked the only time in the history of the 8th Air Force that two pilots from the same unit destroyed five or more enemy aircraft in the same engagement. A week later, Blickenstaff became Group Operations Officer, and Major Elder became Commanding Officer for the 350th Squadron.

[Gilly]

Not a war time account but at 89 pretty impressive

The rear gunner who lived to tell the tale
By Mario Cacciottolo
BBC News
4 February 2011

http://i941.photobucket.com/albums/ad256/paulcgill/ce7b40f4.jpg

John Hall is drawing on his own wartime past to mentor current ex-military service personnel on how to cope with civilian life
A man who survived 60 missions as a Lancaster rear gunner during World War II might be forgiven for trying to forget his wartime experiences.
But John Hall, 89, of Sunderland, is doing exactly the opposite - drawing on his time as a "tail-end Charlie" in missions over wartime Europe to mentor former members of the UK's armed forces who have recently left the military and are struggling to cope with civilian life.
He has been attending group sessions in Sunderland for such ex-servicemen that are run by Forces for Good, a project that is part of the About Turn charity. Based in the north-east of England, the charity aims to help ex-service personnel and their families.
These sessions are for those former members of the nation's armed forces struggling to re-adjust to civilian life, who are either experiencing difficulties with finding work, coping with combat-induced stress or homelessness.
I get the impression now that they come out of the armed forces with this trauma; they're given a bit of a talk and that's it”
"I talk to them and try and find out their story first, find out what's troubling them," he said.
"I try to show them that they have got friends, that they're not alone. I try to give them confidence to carry on, rather than sit back and let it all happen."
Mr Hall, who was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross by King George VI in 1943, has also given presentations to group members who have served in Northern Ireland, the Falkland Islands, Bosnia, Sierra Leone, the first Gulf War, Iraq and Afghanistan.
During these lectures he talks about his own wartime experiences, how he managed to deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and adapt to civilian life after leaving the services.
About Turn says Mr Hall's "wisdom and enthusiasm" helps to encourage those recently out of the military to get their lives back on track, by using examples from his own heroic wartime past.

'Flak happy'
In 2008 the National Association of Probation Officers suggested that up to 8,500 veterans are currently in prison and another 3,000 are on parole - although the Ministry of Defence disputes this, saying its latest figures show there are 2,820 veterans in prison.
Many veterans will have suffered from PTSD, and when asked if he experienced this himself, Mr Hall says how his wartime missions left him "a bit flak happy" - he raises his hands and shakes them.
"You also had nightmares, but after 12 months you got yourself hardened to it. But you had to stick it out or else you were labelled a coward," he added.
Mr Hall had every reason to suffer nightmares. Estimates for the life expectancy for a WWII Lancaster rear gunner vary but are never high, mostly about just five sorties.
John Hall was shot down twice and landed in the Channel both times His remarkable figure of 60 missions included being shot down twice into the Channel, the first time seeing him and his crew spending about four days in a dinghy.
They were picked up off the Isles of Scilly, apparently only minutes away from heading out into the Atlantic Ocean where they would probably have been lost forever.

Royal appointment
The end of this particular story reveals plenty about how stress was combated in the 1940s.

"Shortly after we got back our commanding officer Guy Gibson told us to get into a Lancaster and go fly around for a couple of hours. We couldn't work out why he'd told us to do this, but he later said he wanted to keep our confidence up and it worked."
Wing Commander Gibson later became famous for leading the legendary Dam Busters raid in 1943.
As a result of his own wartime heroics, Mr Hall's DFC medal was pinned on his chest by King George VI, who showed signs of his famous stammer.
"He spoke to me afterwards and stammered a bit. When he got stuck on a word, I'd say 'Oh yes sir, I know exactly what you mean' to save him embarrassment and he looked quite grateful for that."
Remarkably, Mr Hall does not know what he was given his medal for, only that it was "For Valour", because he never saw his citation.
One of the crucial factors, he says, in keeping his own spirits up after the war ended was the fact that his old job, working in the paper-making trade, was kept open after the war ended.
The life expectancy of a Lancaster tail gunner in WWII was only a few flights This meant he had employment and therefore structure to return to once he was out of the regimented life of the military.
He also volunteered with the Air Training Corps, training future pilots, until his retirement in 1982.
"Having that bit of security, knowing there's a job waiting for you when you come out, makes a difference.
"I get the impression now that they come out the armed forces with this trauma, they're given a bit of a talk and that's it. They are lacking in advice and help.
"And the story I've had from one or two is that when they've tried to get a job, they're asked what they've been doing of late, as if all their time in the military doesn't count for much.
"When a bloke's time is coming up he should be put on certain courses for retraining back into Civvy Street. For the last three months of service they should train you as a plumber or electrician, something they can use in civilian life."


About Turn
Those who served six years or more, and all those medically discharged regardless of how long they have served, are entitled to the full resettlement programme, to help re-adjust to civilian life; those who served between four and six years qualify for the employment support programme, a tailored job-finding service.
And those who have served less than four years are interviewed and signposted to the various welfare entitlements and other support offered by the government, ex-services charities and the voluntary sector.
Tony Wright, of About Turn, said Mr Hall sets the standard at the group sessions he attends by always being punctual and well dressed, and is "idolised" by those he meets there.
He added: "John's wisdom and experience bring a great deal to the sessions and whilst he views the younger soldiers of today as heroes, they in turn idolise him and are astounded by the fact he was involved in so many bombing raids and was shot down on two occasions.
"John is an inspirational character and his input is a crucial element of our work. He could be sat at home isolated and thinking his role and contribution to society was over.
"However, he has proved that he and many others like him could be playing a huge role in supporting and helping young combat veterans when they return to the community."

[bobbysocks]

361st FG rememberances

"I well remember my first mission. After take-off and climb over the sea, some jock above and ahead of me cleared his four .50s with a burst of fire as we always did. The empty casings rattled off my windscreen, scaring the hell out of me. I thought the Jerries had 'zeroed in', and I was going to be shot down." -

Thomas Jones - 95th

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"My last mission was, February 3, 1943, we were escorting B-26 bombers on a routine anti-shipping mission against Rommels supply ships. We ran into 8 or 10, Me210s and Me109s. The flight leader turned into me and I had to immediately pull a tight turn to get away from the flight leader. After recovering from the tight turn, I jumped right back in the middle of that hornets nest, remembering Jimmy Doolittle's orders, 'protect the bombers'. I was flying every way but straight in a collection of machine gun bullets, that was striking my P-38. I shot the 'green house' off an Me110 which was firing at me and must have wounded the pilot, as he pulled into me for a mid air collision. I went straight up and chopped the throttle on one engine and did a wing over, and there he was, right below me. I gave him the, 4 fifties and the 20 mm. He caught fire. Then I was going to attempt another interception of them and in all the machine guns firing at me, I just happened to pick up a tracer in my right elbow, shattering the joint. I managed to get away from them and headed West until I figured it was time to turn South, out into the desert where the 82nd Fighter Group was located. I don't remember who pulled me out of the cockpit after I landed, as I was out of it-due to shock and loss of blood. I was taken to a British Field hospital, at the time of the Kasserine Pass Battle. Then I was sent to the, 298th British General Hospital in Algiers. As soon as I was ambulatory, I was placed on a British hospital ship headed for the first American hospital in Bristol, England. After winding up a 9 month hospital experience, which included 2 more hospitals in the United States, it was back to duty and confined to the US. No more 'fighters'."-

Soren "Whitey" Anton - 96th

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"We could hear the engines of a P-38 coming in 'HOT', way to 'HOT'. No one on the ground had any idea that Whitey had been shot. The plane touched down and just kept moving and moving and getting closer to structures. It finally stopped just short of running into a structure. Of course, by then, everyone had figured out that there was something seriously wrong with Whitey. A bunch of guys jumped up on the plane, to get Whitey out, Johnny Caputo (97th), being one of them. By this time, Whitey had completely passed out, from shock and loss of blood. Whitey was immediately taken to the hospital for a very long road, to recovery, from his wounds. Upon looking into the cockpit of his P-38, no one could figure out, 'how', he ever made it back to the base."-

Lincoln Jones - 96th

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"The recent story in the 'FLY PAST' magazine about the 82nd FG, brought this mission to mind. My 24th mission was to escort a 'Photo Recon' to Munich, Germany on December 3, 1944. We were challenged by an attack from above our foursome. I remember that there were three of us, escorting, one P-38 'recky'. We did peel off and follow the Me262 down but to know avail. We did have to jettison our tanks and go to the deck as we were over Munich and were treated to much ground fire. The debriefing was more complete than any of the others and seems that it lasted over an hour. I don't recall the other two guys, but something tells me, Snow, was the Flight Leader and I'm thinking, Harley Barnhart, may have been involved. I did fly my first ten missions as a B-24 co-pilot and lost my crew on July 3, 1944, as I sat a 'mission out', to make room for a pilot to complete his tour. They were shot down in a raid to Ploesti and were all taken prisoners in Sofia, Bulgaria. Happy circumstances created a happy meeting with Major Gardner in Rome and he helped me transfer to the 95th FS where, Bill Blurock, Ron Graham, and Don Stoutenborough became my mentors as I learned to fly the P-38. These were lucky days indeed. I completed my tour of 50 missions on February 18, 1945."

Maurice 'Ole' Olson - 95th

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'The American and British Liberation of Greece'. The 82nd Fighter Group mission for this liberation was to provide cover for the C-47's towing CG-4A gliders. The destination was Megara Airdrome, West of Athens. The date was October 16, 1944. There was a stratus overcast only a couple thousand feet above the Mediterranean and the 'gooney' birds and gliders were hugging the ceiling. We, as escort cover, could not fly above them, so, we flew along side making lots of turns to stay with them. Well being an experienced glider infantryman, I was a 60 millimeter mortar squad leader in the 82nd Airborne Division before being an Aviation Cadet, I lowered my wheels and flaps, and slid into a 'very tight' formation with one of the gliders. Immediately, M-1 rifle barrels, started popping out of the small plastic windows! I got the message. I 'slipped out' and resumed my proper position in formation. After the 'gooney' birds and gliders had landed, our group proceeded West, to an island to land for refueling. Now, knowing of this refueling stop. I had placed all my ration cigarettes on the right side of the cockpit. They covered the emergency hydraulic pump and valve. On landing each P-38 was positioned next to several 55 gallon drums, which contained gasoline. The pilot was to fill the tanks while a man hand pumped from the drums. This man wore an open shirt and shorts made from burlap! His shoes were in shreds. With no place to trade my cigarettes, I gave them to the man. The British officer in charge of the refueling, 'chewed' me out, something fierce! He said, "I made this man, rich"! After refueling, we flew back to Vincencio, our home base.

Roy Norris - 96th

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Early winter 1945, I flew an escort mission to Bratislava, Czech. On the way to the target, my 'wingman' had an early return as did a 'flight leader' in the 96th. The 96th 'wingman' was told to come over to the 95th Squadron and fly my wing. The anti-aircraft fire was well directed and some B-24s were shot up over Bratislava. I happened to be very close to a damaged B-24 and reported that my 'wingman' and I would escort him home. We were unable to establish radio contact with the crippled B-24, so hand signals were used between myself and the B-24. After about a 1/2 an hour, heading South, I spotted a single aircraft coming up from the South towards us. I positioned myself and 'wingman', up sun, to be able to make an effective pass should this aircraft be a bandit. As it was, it was a B-24 looking for the cripple we were bringing home. At the moment I was instructing the undamaged B-24, where I wanted him, to position himself, all hell broke loose with anti-aircraft fire on the crippled B-24. I instructed my 'wingman' to stay up with the undamaged B-24, as I dove down to get the crippled B-24, to follow me out of the flak. As the crippled B-24 started his turn, parachutes started to come out of the ship. I counted ten. The last chute to open, got caught on the wing tip of the falling B-24 and went right into the ground with the aircraft. If the pilot from the 96th, remembers this story, I would appreciate him contacting me, through the, Webmaster of the, 82nd Fighter Group website, as I never knew who he was.

Bill Hayduk - 95th

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" IF YOU AIN'T, 'CUTTIN' THE GRASS' !!!..... THEN DON'T BE 'BUZZIN' !!! "

Robert Kirtley - 95th

[bobbysocks]

The Ghost Ship
The date was November 21, 1944; Lt. Harold R. DeBolt with the 401st Squadron was assigned a B-17G number 43-38545 from the 324th Squadron, Hal's 33rd mission. The plane was so new; it didn't have a "Name" yet. It was only the 3rd mission for this plane. The mission was to go back to Merseburg, Germany and was lead by Major Klette.

The weather was terrible, with solid clouds everywhere as the mission proceeded. Most things had been routine until he turned on the bomb run. The formation tended to slow up in the turn and with bomb bay doors open, DeBolt's aircraft stalled and dropped out of formation. At this instant he was attacked by enemy fighters and also began the run through a very heavy and accurate flak barrage. Due to malfunction with the bomb release mechanism, the bombs would not drop. This caused the aircraft to fall further out of formation. About this time the whole ship took the blast from a flak burst just below the bomb bays, the plane was badly damaged.

The explosion caused the bombs to drop but No. 2 and No. 3 engines also went out. No. 2 was out completely and No. 3 was wind milling and causing undue vibration throughout the aircraft. The crew began jettisoning all surplus equipment in an effort to lighten the Fortress as DeBolt set course for home. The plane was losing altitude and was turned to a heading of 270 degrees west, for friendly lines. The crew stayed with the plane as long as they could and when it was down to 2,000 feet, Hal gave the signal for everyone to "bail-out" and they did, while the Fort continued on its way with the autopilot doing its job. All chutes opened and the men were picked up by British infantrymen soon after landing.

The damaged Fortress continued onward, losing altitude and remaining in a perfect landing attitude. The Fortress mysteriously made a perfect three point landing in a plowed field. It ground looped at the end of the field and sat there with engines still running, undamaged in an open field, near Liege, Belgium. The landing was in a flat strip area, near a British Army encampment. A British Officer ran out to help the crew, but only found neatly stacked flying gear inside and was astonished to find no one on board. He inspected the Fort (as a possible German trap) but found no one. He then turned off the operating engines. The British Officers name was Major John Crisp.

The Stars and Stripes published the story the next day and called DeBolt's B-17 - a Ghost Ship, or Phantom Fort.


Flights Over Germany (Shot Down Twice)

By Warren D. Price


At that time 25 missions was considered a tour and you would be eligible to come home however that was changed to 35 before I could finish my tour.

My first mission, April 1944, was to Munich, Germany and it was here that I learned real fear with fighters all the way in and the heavy flak over the target. This mission made it certain I wanted out of the waist position and into the tail if I was going to make it through this tour. At this time our crew was reduced from 10 men to 9 to put together new gunnery crews. This meant one waist gunner would sit out the next mission. That day was my day to stand down and my crew was shot down over Leipzig with no reports of anyone bailing out. This was a bad day for a lot of us.

When this happens, the extra crew member is put on stand-down basis for a couple of weeks to recover from the shock before being assigned to a new crew.

I spent my time on the skeet range and the gunnery range trying to keep busy. A Major Reaume and I shot skeet together on several days before the crew was lost and we both had 7 missions at this time. He had flown about every type of plane they had in England and was getting ready to fly lead for the 401st squadron. I had told him that 2 wanted to fly the tail position but didn’t look forward to starting with a new crew again. A short time later my name was posted on the board and was assigned to fly the lead plane crew tail position with the Major Reaume crew. All of this crew had rough combat experience and it was difficult to know that every man was as good as there was at his job Major Reaume’s mother owned a small airport in California so he grew up in a cockpit and it showed. He outranked all other active pilots on the base but I never saw him use that as a tool to put another pilot in line. His rank made him second in command over the entire 91st Bomb Group but his skill made him the No. #1 man to contact if there was a problem. He said very little about his personal life except that he was single and an Air Force Academy graduate. All of his first lead crew members were single except the navigator and that position had to be filled with the best the group had regardless.

We made the rest of our tour together and as I look back today I am sure I idolized him and I’m sure that he was aware of this. Many times when we were coming back from a mission he would give me a call as soon as we came to the English Channel to let me fly the plane across the channel. Later when flying weather ship out of Monroe, Louisiana, I spent hours in the cockpit getting a crash course on flying the big 4 engine jobs.

The following days flight crews list was posted around 4pm so we had time to prepare. Most important was a shower with a soap that prevented bacteria. This was important in case of a wound it could be hours before receiving medical attention.

The day the Battle of the Bulge began we were in the air before the news was announced so was unaware of the situations. We went deep into Germany to hit oil fields and refinery and started our "let down" to 10,000 feet early to get off oxygen. We believed we were over safe territory and had pulled off our masks and eating our lunch when ground fire opened up at point blank range. A large hole appeared 3 feet above me in the tail section and another round hit an outside engine so they had our range and speed programmed another engine had to be feathered so we couldn’t gain altitude. The ground fire had concentrated on our plane and the rest of the group was able to get out of range before getting hit. We were able to cross the German lines and the two feathered engines did not catch fire so we had time to consider our options. The navigator was hit in the shoulder so bailing out was not considered. It was decided by Major Reaume to crash land in the best area we could find. To stay in the air in our condition was foolish with German fighters in the area. For us to call our base would have alerted the fighters to our problem so we picked an alfalfa field to set it down. There were 3 Belgium workers in the field and I’m sure our problem scared them too. The Belgium people were not to be trusted and in some cases were pro German. With this in mind we hoped they would cooperate and further problems would be avoided. The landing was good enough that no one was injured and the navigator was still conscious and in good condition. Reaume was able to communicate our needs to the Belgians and each of us carried an escape packet with money, a price was agreed upon and we started our walk to a mine entrance where we would stay until dark. As soon as it was dark we started the walk to Liege, Belgium where we would find friendly troops and contact our base. We arrived in Liege in the early morning and M.P.’s put us in an old hotel for some rest. The navigator was taken to a field hospital and we radioed our base that we were safe. Two days later we were aboard another B-17 headed for home. An incident did occur when Reaume explained what we wanted the Belgians to do. They wanted to go home to tell their family where they were going. This of course was impossible because they could not be trusted and could very well come back with a truckload of Germans. They finally realized they could not be left and agreed to go as planned.

In December of 1944 we were shot down again and crash-landed at Merville France without incident. Our base flew in a B-17 in for us, parked it at the local airport and the two pilots caught a ride back to the home base immediately. We were notified that our plane had arrived and would be gassed and ready by the time we got to the airport. Both pilots had been celebrating the landing of yesterday and were slow to get our gear, etc., to the new plane. It was evident there was an altitude problem when we called the tower for take-off clearance. They weren’t ready to go back to our base and the tower control was not sympathetic. It was a short flight home and the flight bulletin board had us scheduled for a mission the next day.

The English people are a serious type. They are masters of the art of conversation and I found them to be students of history and very knowledgeable with American history. Their sense of humor is usually lacking and I attended a number of comedy shows in Cambridge that were slapstick type comedy and very boring after 15 minutes. The dry humor most of us enjoy is unknown to the British. Their transportation was mostly train and bicycle and since it rains often for 10 months of a year, every bicycle has a raincoat tied to the rear-carrying basket. All students and adults carry a book or newspaper or both. They read constantly and it is evident in their correct English. There is some slang but not much.

The food served in English pubs was plain and good. Meat, sugar and coffee were in very short supply during the war so this is not a true evaluation today. We always rode our bikes to a local home that served "Fish & Chips" when we had a day off. Their fish was always fresh and their potatoes were far superior to anything in the U.S. They always offered beans and Canadian bacon at the pubs and this was always a treat. Their bread was the old "home baked" type and was excellent. The pastries were poor by our standards and we stayed with the toast with peanut butter and orange marmalade for our dessert. I think our government shipped marmalade to the ETO in tank cars as it was everywhere. The tea was a good substitute for coffee but was never hot enough for me.

I carried my fly rod with me every place except on missions. I fished the small lakes and streams and caught carp and suckers. They had trout rivers but not in our area. The local farmers had pheasant and a type of grouse and they would allow us to hunt. All of the game was given to the farmer and they were very appreciative.

Soon after arriving at our base in England our first acquisition was a bike. For safety reasons all buildings were scattered over a large area and the need for transportation was top priority. There were many of them for sale on the base and a good used bike was cheap. The jeep was used to transport us with equipment to our plane but on days that were on stand down, it was our bike to get us to the range, etc.

Our library was almost non-existent and we borrowed from the men that received books from home.

On April 15, 1945 the major and I finished our tour with a milk run that was a short trip to a submarine base. We were home by mid-afternoon and we thought a low buzz job over the tower was a good idea. A mild reprimand was the penalty but we felt it was the thing to do.

We both had 6 air medals with battle stars so we knew a discharge was waiting when we got home.


Where Did You Come From?

A Story by Mike Banta

RMY A/C 936, IDENTIFY YOURSELF

February 19, 1994, on my eighteenth mission, I was hit in the right hand by a piece of flack. After landing, they took me to the hospital where the doctor took stitches in my hand and then took me off of flying status till my hand healed to the point where I could use my hand in flying.

Since the injury did not confine me to the hospital but prevented me from flying, they gave our crew a week's flack leave. This meant that we were free to go anywhere in Great Britain. We took a train to Aberdeen at the furthermost northern tip of Scotland, as far as we could get from the war, and we had a marvelous week's vacation from the terror of flying combat missions.

Upon our return, my hand still had not healed and the doctor kept me off of flying status while the rest of the crew started flying missions filling in on other crews where one of its members was unable to fly. On March 10, my hand had healed to the point where I was again put on flying duty.

During the nineteen days I was not on flying duty they assigned our B-17, Yankee Gal, to another crew. I was told that they did this because they were assigning us a new plane that had flown only one mission as we were now a seasoned crew and that Yankee Gal, which had completed many missions had been assigned to a new crew that had just arrived on base.

This sounded like our crew was receiving a great honor. We were told that since this was a new B-17 that we would have the privilege of naming it. I was told that the name and picture would be painted on the aircraft next time it had to be taken to the hangar. The crew brought up name after name but Ray, the copilot and I, being from California favored "Sunkist Miss," from the song "California, Here I Come." The debate raged on but to no effect, because after test flying the B-17G prior to flying it in combat, Ray and I flatly decided we did not want this aircraft.

On the test flight the number four-engine propeller ran away. This meant the mechanism for controlling the pitch of the propeller was not working when at full military power which is the power setting used for take off. On take off the propeller pitch control did not work and the RPM of the propeller and engine increased till it exceeded the red line on the instrument gage. We had to reduce the power of that engine or it would tear apart. Thus, it was almost like taking off with three engines, which was no problem on a test flight but could be very dangerous with a full bomb load.

At cruising power, the prop pitch regulator worked reasonably well though it had to be watched carefully. Next, the plane was vibrating so badly that the sliding window next to the pilot seat kept sliding open. I had to keep sliding it closed with my left hand while flying the plane with my right hand. This left no hand for the throttles and other controls which I found quite unacceptable.

We tried to trim up the ship with the trim tabs but they made little difference in the attitude of the ship no matter which way we turned them. The ship simply wouldn't trim up no matter how much Ray and I tried.

Next, we heard a tearing of metal and then a whoosh from the Bombardier - Navigator compartment below and in front of us. This was followed by an excited announcement from the navigator that the hatch through which the pilot, copilot, navigator and bombardier enter the aircraft had torn away and left nothing but a gaping hole. Many other smaller problems were reported from other positions on the plane.

When we landed A/C 936, I loudly proclaimed to the crew chief that I did not want A/C 936 and please return Yankee Gal to our crew. The crew chief promised to fix every thing we had written up on the flight sheet but he said, as I knew, that he had nothing to do with assigning aircraft.

I went to the ready room for the 324th Bomb Group and spoke to the Major, telling him that A/C 936 was a piece of crap and we wanted Yankee Gal back.

"They told me that I was honored by being given this aircraft with only one mission on it that I could name as my own ship." I said, "but what has happened to Boeing that the quality of the aircraft they are now building had dropped so low?"

The major said that they could not reverse the assignments but that they would guarantee to repair all the faults in the aircraft prior to our first combat mission in A/C 936. He again reminded me of how lucky I was to be able to name my own B-17. I left the meeting naively believing him.

March 24, 1945, our crew flew our first mission in A/C 936. I was assured by the crew chief that the prop control on # four engine had been fixed and was working properly and that he had found the problem with the trimming mechanism so that we should have no problem trimming the aircraft.

On take off for that day's mission, with a full bomb load, the propeller on engine # 4 again ran away with the RPM again going out of sight. I again had to cut the power on that engine, a hazardous measure with the heavy loading of bombs plus a full load of fuel. The aircraft was hard to trim and Ray and I fought all day to hold close formation. When we returned from the mission, I called the crew chief over and told him of the danger in which he had put our crew. He promised to change every part of the prop pitch assembly system, which was a closed system, before our next mission.

Our next mission in our "new" B-17G, A/C 936, was on March 28, to an aero engine factory at Spandau. The crew chief said he had replaced every part of the prop pitch system and, therefore we should have no problem. Once again, #4 propeller ran away at maximum power used during take off but we had little difficulty lifting the aircraft into the air well prior to the end of the runway. We were fit to be tied. It seemed as if no one cared that we were flying a disaster waiting to happen. We were flying as right wingman to the Squadron lead ship and on the way into the target the group leader got slightly off course and inadvertently flew us over a known flack area. Our squadron was flying high squadron in the group formation and we received
accurate and tracking flack as we unnecessarily flew over this known flack area on our way to the target. The squadron leader and the aircraft flying of his right wing received heavy flack damage. Captain Gaines, the squadron leader had two engines shot out while Lt. Smith on his right wing, lost one engine. We were the only plane in the element to receive only light battle
damage. This was fortunate as we already had one engine acting up.

With the Squadron lead flying on only two engines, his aircraft was losing altitude and with the primary target still many miles away, he decided to attack a secondary target, the Stendal marshaling yards.

We were obviously anxious and irritated by the accurate flack area that the group leader had unnecessarily flown us over and also at being unable to attack our primary target. Thus, when we landed, I was in an especially irritated mood and lit into the crew chief for not correcting the problem with the prop control.

"Take the whole engine and propeller off and replace them." I demanded.

"Sir," he said, "there is nothing more in this world that I would rather do, but I asked and the brass say that we can't throw away a perfectly good engine. I've replaced everything in the prop control system and I don't know what more I can do."

"If that prop runs away on our next mission," I told the crew chief, "I will assure you that it won't be a perfectly good engine when we return to the base."

Our next mission was to Bremen on March 30th; to strike the submarine and shipbuilding yards. Since the sub pens were made of heavy reinforced concrete, we carried a maximum bomb load of thousand pound delayed action bombs. We were leading the rear element that day. Again on take off, #4 prop ran away and this time we barely had enough runway to lift off with a full load of gasoline and the extra heavy bomb load. This engine had to go, I determined. The engine blew about half way to Bremen.

"Feather #4." I called to Ray on the intercom.

Ray reached out and hit the feathering button on the instrument panel and turned off the ignition and gasoline. The propeller continued windmilling and black oil poured from the rear of the engine. The prop control mechanism not only wouldn't control the RPM on take off, but it was also incapable of feathering the prop. With the prop windmilling instead of feathering, the
wind resistance of the unfeathered prop took one of the remaining engines to just push the dead engine through the air. It was like flying on two engines and with an extra heavy bomb load, our air speed dropped and we were unable to hold our altitude.

I called to our two wingmen and released them to catch up with the formation. I then called Major Klette, our Squadron commander and reported the mechanical difficulties and that we would be only able to hold an altitude of about seven thousand feet with the heavy bomb load. The Group was attacking at an altitude of twenty-five thousand feet. Since we had no bombsight, I informed him, we were aborting the mission which meant we were turning around and heading home. At this time we were flying all alone without any protective formation, a position in which the German fighters loved to catch a B-17.

Unbelievably, he told me to continue to the target, find the drifting smoke from a smoke marker bomb and drop my bombs on that. Bremen was very heavily protected by antiaircraft batteries. At seven thousand feet we would be sitting ducks. If the antiaircraft didn't get us, the German fighters would be waiting for a stricken B-17 flying alone miles into Germany with one
engine out and windmilling. It became abundantly clear to me that the Major intended to use us as a decoy to bring up the German fighters who would be looking for a B-17 flying alone with one engine out. This would permit our little friends to make some kills.

By this time we had fallen far enough behind the Group that radio transmission was breaking up and it was hard to decipher our transmissions to each other. It was obvious that he was having trouble understanding what I was saying and he had no idea of what I could understand of what he was saying to me. I thought a moment and realized that to drop bombs on smoke markers from bombs dropped ten or fifteen minutes before would only plow up some German farmers sauerkraut patch. Yet our chances of surviving this desperate and foolish attack were extremely poor. Our aborting the mission was not impairing the rest of the group as our B-17 had been removed from the squadron because of mechanical failure which incidentally could have been
avoided if someone had not been so stingy with new engines.

"I can't hear you clearly." I radioed to the Major. "Did you say return to base? The reception is so poor that I can't make out what you're saying."

"No!" he shouted. "I said . . . " and his voice became inaudible.

"Roger," I said, "I'm following your advice and returning to base."

When we reached the channel, we were holding our altitude at about seven thousand feet. We opened the bomb bay doors and released our unarmed bombs over the channel. I radioed the base for permission to come straight in for a landing. They cleared me for a straight in approach. We had a smooth landing with no difficulties and taxied to our assigned revetment.

The crew chief was waiting for us and came over to see his B-17 covered with oil and dripping all over the tarmac. "Well," he said I see you got rid of the engine. The plane will be going into the hanger for major repairs. Would you like to have the name you've chosen and a pretty girl painted on the nose? This is your chance to have the artist do the art work."

"Hell no!" I said, "I'm still trying to get rid of this dog. If I name it, it's mine for keeps."
We never did get rid of A/C 936 and flew it for most of our remaining missions. After the engine and propeller were replaced, we never again had a problem with the prop running away on take off. We even got used to the ugly way it flew. I'd like to tell you that the ugly duckling grew up to be a swan but that would be a lie. We did however learn to love the ugly duckling
though not enough to name it.

There was no way that they were going to tell me what had happened to A/C 936 prior to it being assigned to me. For fifty years I wondered and wondered. At the fiftieth reunion of the 91st Bomb Group Memorial association at Oklahoma City, I met Dale Darling (no relation to our copilot) who served as radio operator on the Laws crew. He has spent his last few years photocopying the records of the group at the Army Archives. At my request, he researched the
history of Army A/C 936 and the following documents tell of the dirty trick those bastards pulled on me when they gave me that brand new B-17G with only one mission on it.


>From a letter to Dale Darling, November 13, 1994:

My request concerns the information on what happened to A/C 936, DF-Z, of the 324th Bomb Squadron prior to its being assigned to me and my crew. From Ray Bowden's book, I can determine it was assigned to the 324th right after A/C 911, Bull Session, was assigned to the 323rd on November 5, 1944.

A/C 936 must have received major battle damage after November 12th when I flew my first check out mission. In checking the information you sent me, I find 926 did not fly on any of the missions I flew until it was assigned to me just prior to my March 24th mission.

I would be eternally grateful if you can find the time to check the mission critique sheets from November 5, 1944 through December 12, 1944 to see if A/C 936 flew any missions and, if so, any evidence of damage received. The mystery of what happened to A/C 936 between when it arrived on base in November or December 1944 and March 1955 when it was assigned to me is one I am most anxious to solve.

Your buddy in the 324th,

(His answer said that 936 had been shot down on it's first mission but made a forced landing in allied occupied France. It was flown back to Bassingbourn and declared salvage. After six months as a hanger queen it was resurrected from parts of several hanger queens and given to me.)

[bobbysocks]

Don't Count Your Chickens Before They Are Hatched
or, Don't Count Your Victories Before You See Smoke - Lt. Ted E. Hoffman (343rd FS)

It was late January 1945 and we were flying an escort mission to Hamburg. We had rendezvoused with the bombers just before crossing the Netherlands Coast. It was a cold but clear day with a few scattered clouds below us. The entire coastline and the full extent of the Zuiderzee were plainly visible.

My thoughts as we crisscrossed above the bombers were; this will probably be another dull mission. German fighters hadn't challenged us for some time at this stage of the war. We would probably follow the bombers to the target and stand off to the side while anti-aircraft fire was clobbering the bombers. On the way home, we would probably go down and look for trains or other targets of opportunity. Occasionally, a bandit would be caught trying to get some flying time in what had become an American sky.

We had been with the bombers about an hour, flying at 27,000 feet, when an airfield came into view from under my left wing. I was startled to see a Me 262 taxi into takeoff position at the end of the runway. I announced my departure, dropped my external tanks and headed straight for the end of the runway. The adrenaline was flowing as I watched the 262 begin his takeoff role.

I continued to zero in on the end of the runway and throttled back a bit as my speed continued to build. At that moment, a victory seemed to be in the bag. The 262 had just broken ground and I was at seven or eight thousand feet, still heading for the end of the runway. But it didn't take long before the outlook for victory began to dim.

I flared out about 50 feet above the runway and couldn't budge my ailerons and rudder. It was as if they were set in concrete. I stole a quick glance at a shaking instrument panel. The airspeed, as near as I could tell, was over 600 MPH. Everything was happening faster than I can tell it or write it down. I zoomed past the Me262 just above treetop level about 15 feet off his left wing tip.

I pulled up into a steep climb to kill air speed. As I was climbing I noticed a utility type aircraft below me, puttering about ten feet above the ground. I made a steep diving left turn and scattered lead off his left wing tip. As I pulled up from this near victory, in front of me was a site to behold. The 262 was leading about 15 P-5l s across the airfield in range of anti aircraft fire. I was in a position to cut him off in his turn. When he saw me he turned away and left us in his wake.

As I departed the airfield I discovered my wingman was still with me. How he did it I'll never know.

1Lt. Wayne E. Rosenhoff

I was captured in Wranowitz, near Pilzen, Czechoslovakia on September 22 at 07:30. I hid in haystacks, hedges, and culverts by day and travelled by night some 110 miles from Sonneberg. I had crossed the border unobserved on September 20 at 04:00, but was taken into custody on Sept. 21 by a Czech policeman when I requested food from a farmer near the village. After a night in the large civilian prison in Pilzen, I was escorted by a Luftwaffe NCO by train to Frankfurt and then by streetcar to the interrogation center at Oberursel. The trip lasted 16 hours.

I bailed out at about 20,000 feet. The sky was filled with falling B-17s, some spinning, some afire. Upon seeing hordes of open parachutes above 20,000 feet, I was determined to delay my opening. I fell what seemed to be forever in a dizzy, groggy condition, hardly conscious of my rate of fall. Only a few moments after I pulled the ripcord, I saw that I was going to land in a forest, so I covered my face with my arms. When everything stopped the chute had settled over the tree tops at just a perfect height. I unbuckled my chute and stepped onto the ground without ever having hit it.

In the escape kit I found both useful and non-useful items. By far the most important were five "energy" pills with directions to take one each day. Whatever they were, they worked like a charm for me. I could walk all night and rest all day without any need for anything but water. Two days after the last pill, however, hunger pangs were irresistible. My first attempt at scrounging was to try to eat a raw sugar beet, which is impossible to do. My second was to pick and eat a handful of green plums. This caused a gastric explosion worthy of mention in the Guinness Book of World Records. It occurred at about 22:00 on a clear but chilly moonlight night. My misery index at that time was my lifetime's greatest (at least till now.)

On the eighth day I entered a farm in the middle of the night, dreaming of stealing something to eat ... perhaps eggs, a chicken, or? Anyway, what I did find was a big ole rabbit in his hutch. So I dispatched it with my two hands.
After carrying it inside my shirt the rest of that night and all the next day, I prepared it for my dinner. I chose the twilight hour because of concern that some resident would see my very carefully laid fire even though I was now in a somewhat sheltered ravine. Roast rabbit is great if you're really hungry, and was I ever. But without some "go with" item, nor any salt for enhancing flavor, a great amount of rabbit remained for another day. Carried wrapped in parachute cloth, I nibbled on rabbit until captured. I managed to keep it with me through my night in jail, my morning at a Flakschule, and part of my journey to Frankfurt. My escort bade me toss it out the train window as we passed over a bridge. My feelings were mixed about doing so, but by that time it was unlikely that I could have eaten any more, even without the rations of brot and wurst and bier which he had drawn for the two of us.

On the train trip: This was a local train. At each stop, more people would get on. Soon my escort and I had to give up our space out of deference to many aged passengers. Later after dark, we could no longer stay together. More people crowded into the vestibule. Soon we could not even bend over or raise our legs to help circulation. At the last I could not even move arms or legs, nor could anyone else. But these people were desperate apparently, and only occasionally would someone murmur a complaint. There was lots of room for us in the afternoon for the obvious reason that few trains avoided the sharp eyes of eager P-51 pilots. In fact, I'd had some trains in my own gunsight not too long before this.

On meeting my first two Czechs: The farmer I approached was a peasant living in his two room, floorless house with his wife and meager possessions in one and an open door into the other which was his cow barn. He took me a short way to the village's mayor's house. Here, a man came to talk to me in English. He had lived for many years in Iowa where he had been a shoemaker, but had returned to his homeland to live out his remaining days. "You have had great good fortune", he said. "You will go to a camp where you will be with your friends, where you will get food and a place to sleep. But, more than that, you will someday return to your home and family, because for you the war is over!"

Following thirteen days of solitary confinement and intermittent sessions with the Interrogation Officer, Hanns Scharff, and one of his NCOs, who gave me my first shower and sent me on to Dulag Luft, the temporary prison camp at Wetzlar, which is about 30 miles north of Frankfurt am Main. Here I received clean clothing, "regular" three-a-day meals and an official welcome into the German POW system. Five days later, on October 12th, a trainload of American air force officers was sent out to their permanent camp, Stalag Luft I, near Barth, on the Baltic Sea. Each six seat compartment on a large number of railroad cars was filled with six prisoners together with enough Red Cross food parcels for the journey. Except for escorted trips to the men's toilet, we prisoners were locked in these compartments for the entire four day trip. Our greatest discomfort, however, was an overnight wait in Berlin while the city was under almost continuous attack by air. We were not bombed however, and gave thanks to the Red Cross for the great white crosses painted on the roofs of our cars.

Having lots of free time in the Stalag, I made a notebook out of tin cans with a piece of stripped barbed wire holding it all together. As a matter of fact, tin cans became our source of cups, baking pans, air tubes for escape tunnels and just about everything else. The notes taken over the eight months until repatriation make reference to the following:

Oct. 16, 1944: Arrived Stalag I at 07:30 and assigned to the South Compound, Block 11, Room 11, for 16 POWs commonly known as "Kriegies". The complete word is kriegsgefangenen, meaning prisoner of war.
Nov. 16: Thanksgiving --- our special menu: Breakfast... bacon and powdered eggs. Dinner ... 1/2 can of spam, potato chips, boiled cabbage and chocolate fudge pie.
Dec. 25: Christmas --- soup, boiled cabbage, choc. fudge pie, nuts, candy, plum pudding, honey and coffee.
Dec. 27: Moved to North Compound Two, Block 3, Room 11.
Jan. 3: Moved to North Three, Block 8, Room 12. Feb. 2: Moved to North Three, Block 9, Room 2.

Explanation on moves: In South Compound, barracks, called blocks, had equal numbers of British and American pilots. A British Wing Commander in our block made the arbitrary decision to require all residents to go out the back door for the twice daily roll calls. This was an affront to all but only we Americans took action to show our extreme displeasure. He had blocked off the front hall at the point where his room and his deputy's rooms began, thereby gaining about 100 square feet of additional space for his "Day Room". We climbed over the lockers blocking the hall, stepped onto his table and then out the door, So, the German Camp Commander did away with this mixed bag of POWs. A roommate friend and I opted to go to another compound, knowing that North Three would be our eventual destination when construction was finished there. As new barracks were finished, there would be a general shifting of persons for a variety of reasons including compatibility.

Feb. 16: Food parcels have been cut off.
March 6: Saw RAF night bombing.
March 8: Heinies open new mess hall for one meal. No parcels yet. The famine is on!
March 9: Coffee brought to rooms two times each day.
March 29: We eat, thank God! Thousands of parcels are in camp. This has been Hell!
April 3 : My first, and only, letter from dear wife Esther comes on our first wedding anniversary. A lovely day!
May 1: Russkies come thru, and, hey, we're free! What a great feeling!

The Russians herded in about 125 head of cattle and butchered them. We had T bones, hamburger and everything else we had hungered after for so long. We got along exceptionally well with our new found friends.

[bobbysocks]

Anglo-American Relations


How a relatively small island like the U.K. could have accommodated the overwhelming hordes of outsiders so gracefully in WW II is beyond my understanding. And we have even continued to be "best friends" ever since. There were, of course, points of disagreement and friction, but they were worked out, as friends do, amicably, with good grace and humor.

One well worn quip concerned the Briton's reply to the American who asked, "What do you British think of us Americans?" The answer, "Well, you're overpaid, over-confident, over-sexed, and over here." Americans enjoyed that one as much as the British did.

"Lend-lease" was an apt title for a logical exchange of overages and shortages. The British had brussel sprouts, Scotch, fog, land, communications, military intelligence, transport, rescue services, bicycles, and fresh food, for example. We had manpower, production facilities, raw materials, bourbon, shipping, and (much to British disgust) peanut butter and Spam. So both sides provided what they could for the war effort. Both had goodwill, and shared it generously.

Our British neighbors welcomed us into their homes, but their tightly rationed food supplies made dinner invitations embarrassing to our friendly hosts. So the American policy from on high was that when we received an invitation to share a meal with our neighbors, we would take along food from our messes, as hostess gifts.

Brig. General H.W. Bowman

A View from the Top Turret (Oral History)


19 August 2004

My name is Beattie B Dickson and my crew position was Engineer, Top Turret Gunner.
War can often turn even the most beautiful day very deadly in the blink of an eye. Case in point, on March 18th, 1945 we were flying a mission to Berlin. The day was clear and the sky was almost cloudless. Being in the Top Turret gave you the best view of the formation. In the Top Turret you could not see the ground but you had the best view of everything else. In fact I think it was the best position on the plane. One of the things I liked to do was to swing the turret around and look out the back at the contrails streaming out behind the formation. On this mission to Berlin I was doing that when I happened to see the wing tip disappear from one of the planes in our group. I then saw other indications that the group was taking hits. I said what’s going on here? There were no German planes to be seen and the other gunners were not reporting any incoming fighters either. By this time in the war I knew what flack looked like and the damage that was taking place to our group had to be coming from enemy fighters. So where were they? At this point I figured out that they had to be hiding in the same contrails that I had been enjoying moments before. So I turned the turret around and sure enough back behind the group were two German Jet fighters firing big anti tank guns at the group. I gave them a short burst and they knew the game was up so they hit the go button and off they went in a flash. From that day on I never let myself lose concentration like that again, however I can still see those majestic contrails in my mind.

A Trip on the "Paris Express"


29 November 1944

I was invited to be radio operator on a flight to Paris. It did not take me very long to accept the invitation. Others on the crew were: "Jumbo" White, Ralph Dempsey, Rufe Causey, Harold Kuenning, Bill Dolan, Russ Newman, John Studeny, Cloyd Sellers and Mac McDevitt. There was one passenger aboard, Harold Bowman.

There had been a number of rumors concerning Colonel Bowman's call to Headquarters, United States Air Forces in Europe. After we took off and I was settled in the radio operator's seat, Colonel Bowman came into the room and sat on the floor next to me. I offered him my seat, but he refused saying that I had a job to do and should be in the seat. We had a very interesting chat on the way to France. I asked him if he thought that he would be transferred. He answered that he hoped to talk General Spaatz into allowing him to stay with the 40lst. I wished him good luck and said that we all hoped he could stay with us.

Captain G.I. Blumenthal


A Crew Gets Together


I came to Great Falls, Montana from the class of 43-D Pilots. I was assigned as a co-pilot to a Lt. Stann, who was on vacation at that time. Major Brown took me up for a check ride. It was a beautiful night; you could almost touch the stars. After the usual procedures, Major Brown proceeded to show me how to do a "chandel" in a B-17. What a thrill! It wasn't long before he introduced me to a pilot who was floating around Great Falls with no crew. His name was Bill Riegler. We were assigned to the 613th Squadron and sent to Cutbank. Our navigator was a big Swede by the name of Einer Anderson. He was built like a brick - you know what, and I would have hated to have skated against him in a hockey game. Andy, Bill and I were joined by a hotshot bombardier who outranked us. He had seen action in the Pacific, and was rumored to have sunk a Jap ship without a bombsight. We were quite awed by this burly Texan who acted like a typical Army Sergeant. His name was Durward W. Fesmire. We just called him "Fes". That's how we got together at Great Falls.

2nd Lt. Tom R. Cushman


The Radio Operator's Mission


20 August 2004

My Name is Harold M Mauldin and my crew position was Radioman.
My primary role was to send and receive messages via Morse code. On the day of a mission we went to special briefings where we received the code for the day. Depending on the days mission, which could last up to 13 hours depending on how deep the target was, we had to listen for incoming message traffic the whole time. As I think back on it, I know that even in the heat of battle I was able to block out all the outside commotion as I concentrated on receiving messages and keeping the message log. I some how, like other radiomen, had the ability to just block out all the noise and focus on my job. Even to this day I sometimes wake up hearing dot-dash signals in my ears. I think this is due in part to the stress of battle and the long hours of concentration required in the radioman’s job. Each mission was different with most being filled with hours of mainly dealing with the cold and listening to music which often turned into short periods of intense message traffic and the associated sounds and feel of battle all around. It was like that on most missions, going from near boredom to fighting for your life in a mater of seconds.

[bobbysocks]

February 1945
United States Strategic Air Forces in European Theater
Eighth Air Force
First Air Division
First Combat Wing
381st Bombardment Group (H)
February 1945

Microfilm Roll B0370: Frames 0178 – 0189
Transcribed by Scott Burris

We started February with a mission to Mannheim, Mission No. 224 for the Group. The marshalling yards were our objective and 37 of our aircraft were dispatched under command of Major Winter. We led the entire Eighth Air Force over the target.

The weather was bad all the way and the outfit had to climb over a high cloud front to assemble. It was 10/10 at the target and a new bombing technique, the twin-beacon “Micro H”, was used for the first time with results subsequently reported as successful. Aside from the weather, the Group had little difficulty. Flak was meager and inaccurate, and there were no enemy fighters. Battle damage was slight.

There was one abortive, Lt. Kuhn, in a 535th aircraft, suffered engine difficulty over the Channel, jettisoned his bomb load, and came on home, with only one engine left, and forced to land down wind, Kuhn’s plane crashed into and knocked down two ground crew huts. Nobody was injured but the plane was badly torn up.

The Daily Bulletin published the news that, effective February 19, only official (TPM forms 3) passes would be acceptable in London.

S/Sgt. John C. Marinace, waist gunner, was awarded the DFC (GO 92, 1BD, 1 Feb.) “for outstanding ability and exceptional ingenuity”. Mentioned in the citation was a mission (5 Oct. 1944) on which Marinace brought a wounded tail gunner out to the waist for first aid while his ship was afire, and then crawled back to man the tail gun after the fire had been extinguished.

A two-plan mission, with Berlin as the “A” objective, and Dresden as the target in Plan “B”, was scrubbed because of weather 2 February.

Unable to transcribe frames B0370-0179 to 0181 from the digital scan. Transcription follows from the original microfilm and trusty Dukane 27A25 microreader.

Major William G. Fullick, Group Bombardier ???? since the activating of the 381st, was transferred to Nuthampstead to become the Group bombardier there.

Twelve Air Medal Clusters were awarded to Group members in GO 95, 2 Feb.

1st Sgt. Charles D Butts, of the 535th, was awarded the Bronze Star Medal in GO 94, 1 Feb.

February 3 was a big day in the history of Eighth Air Force. Berlin was the target and 1,000 bombers were sent to hit military targets within its limits. Capt Edward M. MacNeill, flying his last mission (his seventh over Berlin) was in command of our contingent of 36 aircraft and the Templehof railway district was our specific target. Capt. Klinksiek was the lead pilot.

Flak was moderate but accurate. MacNeill said there was much less flak than there used to be “in the old days”. Flying weather was good, and, although the formation found a solid undercast from the European coast almost to Berlin, the clouds broke at the target and it was wide open over Berlin. Ours was the twelfth Group to bomb and strike photos show our explosives landing to the right and on the assigned MPI.

The formation returned 40 mins early with two ships missing. Listed as MIA are the following:

2nd Lt. John B Anderson, pilot; 2nd Lt. Leonard A. Wall, co-pilot, 2nd Lt. Paul C.G. Cayoni (Cayori in roster, Gayard in Medical and 532nd Osborne transcribed diary), F/O Carl H. Forbes, Jr.; and Sgts. George R. Nessley (Nessly in roster), Carle E. Kempainen (Kemppainen in roster), Curtis P. Wallace, Michal J. Medzic, and Robert N. McGreavy.
2nd Lt. Paul O. Pucylowski, pilot; F/O Harry M. Yarnes, 2nd Lt. John E. Kelleher, S/Sgt. A. H. Zichterman, T/Sgt. Joseph J. Noxon, T/Sgt. Clarence E. Way, Sgt. Stuart R. Mitchell, S/Sgt. Karl R. Green, and Sgt Robert M. Landes.

Anderson’s aircraft was last seen at approximately 52-44N-13-28E with its No. 2 engine afire. The plane swerved off the target and left the formation where it was seen under control long enough for the entire crew to bail out. Nine ‘chutes were seen, one evidently in a delayed jump. The aircraft made a climbing turn after everybody was out and then exploded.

Pucylowski’s fate is a mystery. Nobody noticed anything wrong with his aircraft. It was last seen at 52-??N—13-23E when it left the formation made a sharp turn and slid underneath, disappearing from sight. No ‘chutes were seen.
There was one casualty. It was S/Sgt. Jeremiah B. Hogan, 534th waist gunner, who suffered a slight flak wound in the forehead.

The mission got a heavy play in the press. Strike photos taken by our Group, showing a Fortress with contrail silhouetted on the target on which excellent hits were obtained, appeared on page 1 of at least three London papers. Capt. MacNeill’s quote led the Eighth Air Force story.

There was a stand down February 4. It was a cold, rainy day, with low hanging clouds and a marrow-chilling wind. The only events of importance were decoration. Group members were awarded 17 Air Medals (in GO 103, 4 Feb.) and 49 Air Medal Clusters in GO 104, of that date. DFC’s were awarded Capt. Fred Davison, one-time pilot of Stage Door Canteen, and 1st Lt. Melvin R. McIntyre, bombardier. Both had completed tours of duty.

There were several promotions announced Feb. 4, notable among them the elevation to captain of Ralph J. Gaw, 534th pilot.

A mission intended for Munich was scrubbed Feb. 5 after briefing. Although the day turned out beautiful, it started as a stinker, heavy rain and overcast sky. Throughout the night the full thuds of explosions were heard and rumors were they were V2’s going off in the distance.

William J. Muckerman, sub-depot adjutant, was promoted to captain February 5.

Lt. Col. Conway S. Hall, 26-year-old command pilot, former Group operations officer and, more recently, Group air executive, took over command of the 381st officially February 6. There was a mission on that day too. Our 37 aircraft were under command of Capt. Ewing S. Watson and the briefed target was Lut??edorf.

The lead squadron’s lead ship had trouble with its VHF which was alternately going out and coming back. As a result, the formation was somewhat scraggly. Patchy clouds made it possible for the navigators to proceed by pilotage until the target area was reached. Here it turned 10/10, and the lead VHF came on just in time for Capt. Watson to hear the Division commander say he would attack a target of opportunity. Our formation followed the bomber stream to a wide open area where the bombardier picked a a town with a railroad running through it and bomb visually. The target was identified as Ohdoruf. Crew men said the bombs landed along the railroad in the built-up area.

There was virtually no opposition. The formation caught meager flak at the enemy coast going in and no flak at the target. There were no enemy fighters. Two of our aircraft failed to bomb with the formation and dropped their explosives on Steinbeck.

A Purple Heart was awarded to S/Sgt. Allen M. Jones, 534th ball turret gunner, for wounds received on the mission of 8 May, 1944. The award was made in GO 108, 5 Feb.

Two Air Medals and 48 Clusters were awarded to the Group in GO 109, 6 February.

The mission intended for a target at Osterfeld, Germany, February 7, was recalled after the aircraft had taken off.
The day gave rise, however, to an unprecedented one-man attack on Germany. Lt. Taylor, of the 532nd, was unable to stay with the formation because he lost the boost on his No. 3 engine. He cut north in an attempt to intercept the formation before it went out over the coast. His radio operator failed to hear the recall order and Taylor, unable to see a formation, and unwilling to come back as an abortive, calmly proceeded on to Germany alone. He ran into a 10/10 cloud, figured that was why he missed the outfit, made a Gee-H run on Essen, and let fly at that target. He hit accurate flak and came back with major battle damage, but he made it all right. Credit for the mission was duly handed out and Taylor and Blakeney, the navigator, were awarded back pats, after the head office brass had worried, for a time, about the problem of whether or not Taylor should be court martialed.

Austin W. Simmons and Charles O. Todd, Jr., 535th pilots, were promoted to captain. The announcement was made in the February 7 Daily Bulletin.

Eight Air Medal Clusters came down to the Group in GO 113, 7 Feb.

There was another scrub Feb 8, and this time the intended target was Wesel.

On the ninth, in response to an Army request, 37 of our aircraft went out for an attack on the motor road viaduct at Arnsberg, Germany. Capt. Cronin, assistant Group operations officer, led the contingent, which flew all the way to the target over broken cloud only to find the objective completely covered. In addition, the cloud layer ran much higher than briefed, completely enveloping our aircraft at bombs-away, which was handled on PBO-GH technique. There was neither flak nor fighter at the targets and all our Forts and crews returned without casualty or incident.

Five new crews arrived on the base early this same evening. Pilots and the squadrons to which assigned are: Lts. Smith and Perry, 535, and Lts. Hall, Hull, and Adelmeyer, 534.

Missions intended for targets at Kassel and Munster were scrubbed on the tenth and eleventh, respectively. On the latter night, highlighted by a dance at which Lt. Cols. Hall and Reed were present as guests of honor, the Station’s new non-commissioned officers’ club, located in the old quartermaster building adjoining combat mess, was officially opened. Membership is limited to top three-graders.

Col. Leber was unable to attend, being required at the officers’ club, where he and Brig. Gen. Gross, First Combat Wing commander, presented DFCs and Bronze Star medals to combat and ground personnel.

Monday, Feb. 12, was cold and drizzly and we had a stand down. Four new combat crews arrived on the 1930 train at Great Yeldham. Lts. Huff and Scherman and their crews were assigned to the 532nd, while Lts. Peyton and Roettger went to the 533rd.

Having completed his tour of combat duty, Col. Leber, with Lt. Col. Fitzgerald, 532nd C.O., left the group for new assignments on Tuesday, February 13. Lt. Col. Conway S. Hall, who joined the Group at activation in January 1943, and who has served as its air executive and deputy commander ever since, as been assigned to command. He is one of our veteran combat pilots, and led the epic Schweinfurt attack of August 17, 1943.

Flying as “B” group in the Combat Wing, which led the entire First Air Division, we turned what might have been a miserable and costly failure into one of our outstanding combat performances Feb. 13.

Dresden was briefed as the target center, but the field order carried a strict injunction that nothing whatsoever would interrupt the bomber stream, heading for a target very close the advancing Russians in southern Germany. Consequently, when the Group ahead of us led off course because of a foul cloud and contrail conditions over the central Reich, Capt. Tyson, 535th operations officer up as Group leader for our 37 bomber contingent, realized the time schedule had already been upset. He therefore had no other choice but to seek a target of opportunity.

While we peeled off in search of such an objective, after sustaining considerable damage from AA defenses, the Group ahead went plowing on through the cumulo-bango weather and flak prevailing over Munster. Capt. Pelenik, Group lead bombardier for the day, began looking for a hot target through weather that constantly varied between VACU and fubar. Although he was unaware of the full importance of what he finally selected at the time, he lined up on a vast industrial pile which later proved to be the long-sought-after SudetenländischeTreibstoffwerke, an A-plus priority synthetic oil plant two miles northwest of Brux, Czechoslovakia.

There, as strike photos later proved, lead and high squadrons did an excellent visual job, with heavy and tight bomb concentrations placed in and near the plant buildings.

The 12-plant low squadron, failing to recognize Palenik’s bomb run, made up for the oversight a few minutes later when they hammered home their explosives on the Skoda arms plant at Pilsen.

It was a rough day, with the formations encountering moderate to intense flak, first at Munster, next at Brux and finally at Pilsen. On the way out, the crews observed our excellent escort in large dogfights with the Luftwaffe although none of our formations were attacked.

Eighteen of our aircraft landed away from base, thirteen of them on the Continent, most of them for lack of fuel or because of engine failures. Two crews bailed out of their aircraft over Belgium and, of these, two were injured – 2nd Lt. E. B. Wulf and S/Sgt. C.J. Kubiak, pilot and tail gunner respectively, who were hospitalized in Belgium. Four drifted into enemy lines and presumably were made prisoners.

Missing in action are: Sgts. D. McCartney, radio; W. Tresti, ball turret; P.D. Boland, waist; and M.P. Bioavert, tail, all of the 534th.

It was rough back at the base after the remnants of the formation came in, too. The rest of the day was spent in trying to determine what it was the Fortresses hit. Grave fears were expressed that the formation was over Chemnitz at the bombs away and that the explosives had fallen on the Russians. When the target had been identified, however, there was great rejoicing. For it developed that the bombs had fallen on an objective which the Eighth had been seeking for months.

The most unusual experience of the mission belonged to 2nd Lt. Hugh D. Robinson, Jr., Wulf’s co-pilot. Having bailed out of his Fortress, Robinson was picked up just inside the Allied lines by American soldiers. Examined by a doctor, he was ordered to the hospital at Leige for X-rays. He went off in an L5, was clouded in while in the air, flew around until the fuel gave out, and then bailed for the second time. That wasn’t all. He was in a B-24, for a ride back to England, when the Liberator’s landing gear collapsed while it was taxing for take-off.

We went back to Dresden February 15, with Capt. MacNeill in the lead ship of our 24-aircraft formation. Although the formation was briefed for clear weather over Dresden, MacNeill was informed by the weather scout that it would be 10/10. There was no flak at the target but the formation encountered anti-aircraft fire both at Brux and at the bomb line. It was meager and inaccurate although it covered a wide area. The formation bombed Dresden, using PFF method. Two of our aircraft hit other targets, one dropping near the Wesen-Ems canal, the other hitting Lingen, Capt. Carpenter, low squadron leader, was forced to abort and jettisoned his bombs in the Channel. There were no losses or casualties.

With Major Bordner in the lead ship, a 37-aircraft formation from here participated in the attack on transportation targets at Nurnberg the following day. Although there was good weather at the Belgian coast, clouds began building up to 27,000 feet in Germany, and it was 10/10 over the target. The formation made a mickey run and the bombing results were unobserved. Flak at the target was meager and inaccurate, generally bursting behind the formation. On the bomb run, two bombs from Lt. Lundquist’s aircraft dropped through the wing of Lt. Davis’s Fort, but there were no casualties. Lt. Stevens, who lost two engines on the way in, pulled out of formation, bombed Staden all alone, and returned early.

Three Air Medals and 45 Clusters were handed down to the Group in GO 116, 9 February; and there were five more Clusters for us in GO 140, 15 Feb. Capt McLandon M. Stallings, 535th pilot and 1st Lt. Henry S. Tabor, 535th navigator, were awarded DFC’s in GO 142, 16 Feb. Both had completed duty tours.

There were nine Air Medals and 40 Clusters in GO 145, 16 Feb.; nine more Air Medals and 18 Clusters in GO 147, 17 Feb.; three Air Medals in GO 149, 19 Feb.; and 27 Clusters to the Air Medal in GO 152, 20 Feb.

The Purple Heart was awarded to T/Sgt. John N. Nassar who had been wounded Feb. 14, in GO 143, 16 Feb.
February 17 the 535th Squadron basketball team captured the station championship, defeating the 534th ordnance five by the score of 41 to 38.

Nurnberg was our objective again Wednesday, Feb. 21, and the No. 1 visual target was the armament factory. Our aircraft were under command of Major Taylor. The formation found broken clouds all the way in, building up to 10/10 at the target. The bombing was done by PFF methods and results were unobserved. Flak was meager and inaccurate at the target.

We were briefed to attack the marshalling yards at Gardelegen Feb. 22, hitting the objective from 12,000 feet. We formed part of a great effort of 3,000 bombers intent upon knocking out as many enemy communications centers as possible. The RAF and the Russians were in the show. Crews were briefed to attack any railheads as targets of opportunity.

Our 37 aircraft were commanded by Capt. Tyson. The formation missed the primary because it was forced out of position in the traffic pattern by another Group. Tyson went on to Kobbelitz for a good visual coming of the overcast at the marshalling yards. The high squadron bombed at Klotze, also attacking a marshalling yard with good results.
Gen. Gross was present at the interrogation and, after the critique by the lead crews, he presented the Legion of Merit to Major Kurner, the Bronze Star to Major Greenlee and the Purple Heart to Sgt. Nassar.

With Major Sandman in the lead ship, 37 of our aircraft took part, February 23, in the continued assault on German communications. We were briefed for HOF. A complete 10/10 undercast prevailed all the way in and the formation searched Germany for a suitable target. Major Sandman finally located Meiningen, where the lead and high squadrons bombed the marshalling yard. The low went on to Adelsberg, having been unable to line up on Meiningen, and hit the rail center there with fair results. Although the bombing was carried out from 13,000 feet, there was no opposition with the exception of about 12 bursts of flak going in and a like amount coming out. The search for a target caused many of the aircraft to run out of fuel and 11 landed away from base. All were subsequently reported all right.

While the mission was going on, 44 enlisted men, the second contingent from this station, left for the infantry.
Hamburg was our objective Feb. 24 and 36 of our aircraft participated, with Capt. MacNeill commanding. The mission was uneventful. The 5/10 undercast encountered at the coast began building up as the formation went along and there was doubt until the last minute as to the type of bombing to be attempted. The formation finally used PFF methods and results were unobserved. Lt. O’Neill, with one engine out and two others malfunctioning, bombed a target of opportunity and returned early.

Preflighting an aircraft for the mission, Sgt. Thomas S. Downey, an assistant crew chief, was hit and killed instantly by a revolving propeller when a fire broke out in an engine. Downey was trying to put an extinguisher on the flame.
Sunday, February 25, we went in to Munich with Capt. Cronin in command of our 37 aircraft. It was an exceptionally satisfactory. The ground was visible all the way to the target. Although there were smokepots hiding the target, wind blew the smoke away and gave us a clear look at the objective. We bombed visually, and, although we hit to 398th MPI instead of ours, our bombs “walked right across the marshalling yards”. Flak was moderate and accurate but it didn’t start coming up until after the bombing run. There were no losses and no casualties.

Meanwhile, back at the station, Anna Neagle with Herbert Wilcox, Phyllis Calvert and Jean Nent, three of Britain’s best known film stars, helped “Stage Door Canteen” celebrate its 105th mission. There was a birthday cake with 105 candles, which Anna Neagle cut and the others served, with coffee. A picture of Miss Neagle holding out a slab of cake to M/Sgt. Clarence B. Bankston, crew chief, on a knife, appeared in most of the English papers, particularly those controlled by Lord Kemsley. Clarence Winchester, Group Captain Mahaddie and Harold Thackrau, of State Door Canteen in London, and Peter Murray Hill, actor and husband of Miss Calvert, were present as were, also, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Plummer, Gen. Gross was also in the party.

Major Winter led a formation of 37 of our aircraft to Berlin on Monday, and the trip turned out to be a milk run. It was a solid 10/10 at the target and the bombing was PFF. The only opposition was meager and inaccurate flak, although some Jerries were reported in the target area. The radio reported, later in the day, that more than 3,000 tons of bombs fell on Berlin in the operation.

Tuesday was another PFF day as Major Bordner led 37 aircraft to attack Leipzig. It was 10/10 at the target. Although there was a heavy flak barrage at the target just before we got there, for us the anti-aircraft fire was reported as meager and inaccurate. There were no incidents. Results were unobserved.

We had a stand down Wednesday, Feb. 28, the first after a string of nine consecutive operation days.
We were awarded 31 Air Medals and 36 Clusters in GO 156, 22 Feb.

Purple Heart decorations were awarded to 2nd Lt. Eugene E. Pauley and Sgt. Edgar J. Browns, both wounded on the mission of Feb. 16. The awards were published in GO 161, 23 Feb.

There were seven Air Medal Clusters for us in GO 158, 23 Feb.; nine more in GO 163, 24 Feb.; eighteen Air Medals in GO 167, 25 Feb.; and 40 Air Medals and 89 Clusters in GO 170, 26 Feb. The final award publication of the month for us was GO 173, 27 Feb.; and that brought us 86 more Air Medals.

[bobbysocks]

ENEMY PILOT IN THE CROSS FIRE
I will never forget the only enemy that I ever saw in
combat. An air war is very impersonal, even more so now that
we fight with missles and rockets that are remote controlled.
We in the air seldom saw anyone we are fighting even in WW-2.
We see planes and targets but not people.
On this particular mission, we were to bomb aircraft
factories in middle Germany. We met very stiff fighter
resistance, so we were pretty busy trying to protect our own
plane as well as those around us. We then got the call,
"Bandits at twelve o'clock high!" They were all lined up and
began to come in from the front of our plane. This was a
closing speed of over 600 MPH which was pretty fast for that
time. These were the latest planes that Germany had to offer,
FW-190s, brand new from the very factories that we were
headed to bomb.
I was in my regular position at the right waist gun. I
spotted this plane coming in over our left wing and firing at
everything in the squadron. Tis all happened in milliseconds
but seemed like a lifetime. Every gun that could was firing
at him and when he got even with my position I could see my
tracers going into his cockpit area. He was looking directly
at me. He couldn't have been over sixteen years old, with
short blond hair and no beard. He had what we have come to
know as the typical Hitler Youth sneer on his face. He
thought he was invincible. At that moment he turned 90
degrees away from me and blew up into a cloud of smoke. I can
still see the face of the only enemy I ever knew. I didn't
even claim a "kill" when I returned to briefing at our base
in England. I was always too glad to be back without a
scratch.

BICYCLE
The only bicycle that I ever owned was one I bought when
I was stationed at Chelveston, England. The one I bought was
a black girls bike with a magneto light and brakes on the
handle bars. It cost me the equivalent of $45.00 in English
pounds which were worth at that time a little over $4.20 per
pound.
Most of the boys learned to ride their bikes at night in
total darkness carrying a quart of beer in each hand. This
was quite a trick, especially after an evening at the local
Pub.
One evening some of us went into a village close to camp
and when coming back, a pretty girl passed me on the road. I
took after her intending to catch her and make conversation
if she would talk to me. I was riding pretty fast in the dark
when I hit a deep pothole in the road. I did a complete flip
with the bike and the first thing that hit the ground was the
left side of my face on that rough asphalt road. I peeled all
the skin off my face. I got up, picked the bike up and looked
all around to see who had seen me make such a fool of myself
over a girl that I never did meet.
I kicked the bike back in shape and rode on into camp
which was only a few miles ahead. When I got there I reported
to the first aid station for repairs and comfort. They wanted
to keep me but I wouldn't stay because I had a mission over
Germany to make the next day. They painted my face with
mercurochrome and I went on to my bunk to sleep. I didn't let
a peeled face keep me from flying and I heard from my buddies
about that bike wreck for a long, long time.

D-DAY
I've heard it said, "Nothing good ever came out of a war
and I've made this statement myself many times. I wouldn't
take a million dollars for my experiences in what my
generation calls the "Big War", and I wouldn't give two cents
for any more of it. There are many personal stories that come
out of any war, so I've tried to put some of mine down on
paper so I could reminisce and maybe others would be just a
little interested. It is now some forty or fifty years after
"My War" as I try to recall some of the both serious and
funny highlight of things I saw and did. I was a twenty year
old gunner in a "Flying Fortress" (Boeing B-17 Heavy Bomber)
in the Eighth Air Force at the time of "Operation Overlord"
which we commonly call "D-Day" in the invasion of Europe.
On the day of June 6, 1944 we were, as usual, assembled
for a briefing before our mission which was to bomb ahead of
the landing troops in Normandy, France. Our officers went
through all the usual form of weather reports and forecasts,
our primary target, our secondary targets, our routes,
altitudes, times and destinations. With all this done in
detail then the question was asked, "Are there any
questions." One sleepy Sergeant in the back of the room
raised his hand and was recognized. His question was,
"Colonel, Sir, while we are doing all this, just what will
the German Air Force be doing?" A hush fell over the room.
You could have heard a pin drop if anyone had dared to drop
it. The answer was simply this, "They won't be there, son, We
will have so many of our planes in the air, there just won't
be any room for them."
The crew that I was with always flew in the number one
or number two position as we were of the "Pathfinder Group"
which meant that we had the "radar bomb-sight" used to bomb
targets that couldn't be seen through the cloud cover. When
we boarded the plane there were several officers who wanted
to fly as observers. We had a Major to go with us so I told
him he could have my gun in the left waist. He was glad to
get such a good observation point. I put a sleeping bag in
the floor of the plane and watched the war through an unused
camera port in the floor of the plane. Sure enough, we didn't
see any enemy planes in the air on that mission and found out
later that the German Air Force only put up two fighters in
the whole Normandy invasion. We made that mission without
firing a shot or being fired on. We dropped our bomb load
where we were supposed to and came home without incident.

HERSHEY BAR
There should be some interest by someone in advertising
when I say, I owe my life to a Hershey Bar. Well not quite
but here is the story as I lived it.
I was with a B-17 Pathfinder crew in WW2 when we were on
a mission to bomb some selected target in southern Germany in
April of 1944. I was flying my regular left waist gun
position on our way in to the target some time after we had
cleared the French coast heading south and somewhat east.
Flak was heavy and because of that we had no enemy fighter
opposition. We also had no friendly fighter escorts for the
same reason.
I was sitting on an ammo box watching the flak blossom
all around us and wondering when one of those bursts would
have our name on it. Those flight suits that we wore had
pockets on the legs and so when we sit down many time things
would fall out of them. Just then a Hershey bar i had stashed
for future snack fell out and landed in the plywood catwalk
on the floor of the plane. I looked at it for a moment and
then decided to pick it up. When I bent down to retrieve it I
heard a "Whomp" and sat up to look out a small hole about the
size of a quarter just at eye level. That piece of shrapnel
fell to the floor from the other wall of the plane. When I
picked it up it was still warm from the explosion.
I don't think it could have been fatal but you can bet I
would have gotten a headache if I hadn't picked up that
errant Hershey Bar.
I still have that piece of German 88 mm. flak as a
souvenir.

STAND DOWN AND LIVE
Many unusual things have happened in my life to make me
believe in "Guardian Angels." One night after we had been
transferred to the 422nd Squadron because our First Pilot had
been made Squadron Commander, we were alerted for a mission
early the next morning. Needless to say, we didn't sleep much
that night because we were too excited about the next day.
After midnight, the duty clerk came into our barracks calling
out the crews to wake up and report to the flightline for a
mission. When he was about to leave, we realized that he had
not called us. I asked him, What about Captain Conklins
crew?" He said, "You're not going, you've been replaced, go
back to sleep." We did just that but got out latter to wait
for the Squadrons return. We counted the big B-17 Fortresses
returning to base like everyone else and knew that several
were missing. The crew that had replaced us didn't come back.
One of the men was a friend of mine. I have a scarf that
belonged to him. After fifty years, I don't even remember his
name, but he took my place that night. Thanks, friend.

[bobbysocks]

and someone thought a Po2 was slow.... :grin:

German U-boats prowled U.S. shores and the "slot" of the Florida Straits was a favorite hunting ground and transit channel for them. Navy blimp squadron ZP-21 out of NAS Richmond, Florida, patrolled the straits to stop them. The silvery, nonrigid airships, graceful but enormous, were used for spotting and reporting surface ships and aircraft. The "K" ships were armed with four depth bombs and a .50-caliber machine gun mounted in the nose of the blimp car... not that these were expected to see much action. Blimp patrols were usually long, tedious and uneventful, until the night of 18 July, 1943, when the German submarine U-134 slipped into the straits.

At dusk on the mainland, the flight briefing concluded for the two blimps scheduled to patrol that night, during which two "friendlies", a tanker and a freighter, would pass through the straits in convoy. K-74 and sister blimp, K-32, would screen the slot. The destroyer Dahlgren out of Key West was on station in the straits. The two blimp crews readied for takeoff. K-74's crew consisted of Lieutenant Nelson Grills, pilot; Chief Aviation Pilot Jandrowitz, copilot; Ensign Damley Eversley, navigator; AMM2c Isadore Stessel and AMM3c Schmidt, mechanics/bombardiers; ARM3c Eckert, rigger/gunner; ARM3c Robert Bourne, radioman; ARM3cs Giddings and Rice, assistant radio operators; and SN Kowalski, assistant rigger.

The K-ships taxied and soared above the base. K-32 turned south by southwest to fly over Key West and sweep northward up the straits. Lt. Grills and his crew in K-74 headed straight over the Atlantic, then turned south and into the annals of Naval Aviation history!

Night fell and the U-134 rose from beneath the sea. It was a quiet evening. The sea was mild and the winds light. The sub's crew threw open the hatches to vent carbon dioxide and take in fresh air, then clambered topside. The long hours passed while 500 feet above, K-74 was approaching on an overhead course.

About 23:30, a bright spot appeared on the blimp's radar. The possible contact was encrypted and transmitted back to base. In the cramped gondola, the 10 Navy men took stock of their weapons and the impending situation. The blimp headed toward the radar contact.

K-74 sailed out of a cloud bank and found the U-boat cruising below. The blimp circled as her skipper weighed the realities: the sub was on a course heading right for the two merchant ships which were sailing down the straits, 30 minutes behind K-74. The merchant ships were at risk and K-74 had the element of surprise in her favor. Grills transmitted his intention to attack. At 23:50, K-74 dropped to 250 feet and began her bombing run.

As the distance closed, the watchstanders aboard the U-boat sighted the blimp. The Germans opened fire with 20mm machine guns located aft of the conning tower. AOM3c Eckert returned fire from the car's nose mounted machine gun. Then, the German 88mm deck gun commenced firing.

U.S. Navy tracers ricocheted down the length of the sub's deck, while enemy fire thumped into the airship bag. A round punctured the shield beside Eckert's gun. He slapped another belt in and continued firing prolonged bursts.

When the airship passed over the U-boat, antiaircraft fire hit the K-74's engines. The starboard engine burst into flames. As AMM3c Schmidt turned to extinguish the fire, ARM3c Bourne dashed off the squadron's mayday signal: "Urgent, Fired On." The airship was now directly over the sub. AMM2c Stessel pulled the bomb releases, but the bombs did not leave the rack.

With enemy fire punishing her undefended stern, K-74 limped out of range. Schmidt had extinguished the fire, but both engines were damaged. The airship was losing altitude. The crew dumped gas and jettisoned the tanks. No help. K-74 slowly descended. At 23:55, the tail of the airship touched the water and began to settle. The battle had lasted five minutes. It's harrowing aftermath began.

Wearing their "Mae West" inflatable vests, the crew entered the water through the doors and windows of the flooding blimp car. The life raft, tossed out without a tether line, immediately deployed and drifted away with the Gulf Stream. They were on their own.

Grills swan back around the sinking car to make sure all crewmen had escaped. In so doing, he separated from the others and the same strong current carried him away. When he got his bearings, the blimp was nowhere in sight. Instead, a dark shape was bearing down on him at flank speed. It was one of the merchant ships coming down the slot, oblivious to the battle that had occurred. Grills recalled, "It was coming right at me and I was frantic to get out of the way, shouting and waving my hands. I saw the watch on the fantail, smoking a cigarette." The ship passed in the night, leaving Grills alone in the water.

The rest of the K-74's crew stayed together beside the settling blimp bag. They held on to each other in two bobbing masses adrift at sea. Through the long night they did not know if the U-boat would return to capture them as prisoners or finish them off. They had no idea how much damage Eckert's marksmanship had done. Nor did "Sparks" Bourne realize his Mayday transmission was picked up by K-32's ARM2c Turek, who realized it must be K-74 in trouble and relayed the message to NAS Richmond.

At first light, a Grumman J4F Widgeon amphibian from ZP-21, took off to begin the search. At 07:49, the aircraft was over the scene. The sea was getting rougher, while nine men splashed and waved. The aircraft saw them and dipped its wings, but it was too choppy to land. The aircraft flew off to find the Dahlgren and lead her to the scene. Rescue was on the way.

Stessel had become separated from the rest when the men had let go of each other to wave. The others saw the shark fin break the surface and head straight for him. There was no time to warn Stessel before the shark attacked. The sailor went under. Momentarily, he reappeared, bathed in crimson. The water frothed as he went under a last time, spreading a red cloud on the surface. The rest of the crew positioned themselves, back to back, and drew their knives.

At 08:15 on 19 July, K-74 finally sank; the only airship lost to enemy action in World War II. From under the sea came somber volleys fired in requiem for Petty Officer Stessel. K-74's armed depth bombs detonated, exploding in a mournful salute, as if, paying homage to this Navy hero lost in battle.

Dahlgren soon arrived and the Jacob's ladder was thrown over the side for the survivors. Small arms fire kept back the circling sharks while the crew of K-74 climbed to safety. A launch of bluejackets, with a Thompson submachine gun in the bow, searched in vain for any sign of Stessel.

Meanwhile, the K-74 pilot continued to drift miles away. Grills struck out towards the Florida keys on the horizon. It was late in the day and the aviator was severely sunburned and nearing exhaustion when K-32 passed over. Keen-eyed AMM3c Max May, saw the struggling swimmer, and the K-32 dropped flares. Grills had swum six miles before he was sighted, picked up by a launch from a local rescue unit and transported to Dahlgren. He had been in the water for 19 hours.

After the war, German Submarine Command records revealed U-134 reported downing a U.S. Navy airship. The sub cited sustaining battle damage to her No. 5, main ballast tank and No. 4 diving tank. After surviving two more attacks, U-134 was ordered to return to base in France for repairs. Enroute in August, her luck ran out when two Royal Air Force bombers intercepted her in the Bay of Biscay and sent her to the bottom. A blimp for a sub: the wages of war.

If the airship had not joined the battle, the U-boat would have come upon the tanker and the freighter before Dahlgren or shore based aircraft could have intervened. Because of the blimp crew's actions, the merchant ships got through.

Grills and Bourne were awarded the Purple Heart. After their release from active duty, radiomen Bourne and Turek received Letters of Commendation from the Secretary of the Navy for their quick actions as did AMM3c May his sharp lookout. Grills was initially reprimanded for engaging the enemy sub, but twenty years after the event, Grills was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Isadore Stessel was posthumously awarded a commendation medal 40 years later, which was given to his surviving family members.

[bobbysocks]

William Blystone

DR: What did you do before the war?


WB: I graduated from High School in 1940, loafed until I was 18 years old then went into coal mines working
with my father. War was declared Dec 8 1941 and I enlisted in army on 16 Dec 1941.

DR: Would you give me some bio information on your war years?

WB: I was in the 78th Fighter Group, 82nd Fighter Squadron from early 1942 until we lost our P38s to North Africa in early 1943. I transferred to a Fighter Training Squadron crewing P-47s. I joined the 82nd at North Island Naval Station in San Diego, CA after attending aircraft maintenance school in Keesler Field, MS. and Lockheed factory school in Burbank,CA.. I was an aircraft mechanic. The Group left California in late 1942 and after a troop train ride across the US we boarded the Queen Elizabeth and with 15,000 other troops we sailed for England arriving around 27 Nov. 1942. We went To Goxhill Airfield near Grimsby and with our P-38s practiced escort duty with a local B17 Bomber Group. Our planes were then sent with pilots into North Africa and we were without planes for a short while. Some of us mechanics were sent to RAF schools for various training. I was at a Mobile oxygen producing school for a month but never saw another mobile unit during my entire time in England. We got P-47s then and after a short time the Group was sent to a new station at Duxford, near Cambridge. I transferred to a fighter training squadron at Atcham airfield near Shrewsbury, where we gave training in P-47s to new pilots, mainly the Eagle Squadron pilots who were transferring from the RAF to the American 8th Air Force. I was there a year or so and then went back to Goxhill crewing P38s again in the training outfit. After a few months our outfit was sent to Leiston Airfield to the 357th Fighter Group where we worked on P51 Mustangs. I was in the 362nd Fighter Squadron as a crew chief. I went into Germany with the Group after the war ended in Europe and pulled occupation duty for about 7 months during which time I got the job of crewing a C-47 Gooney Bird for a couple months flying as engineer. I left the unit in March 1946 and was discharged from the service and went back to my home in Pennsylvania. I had been away from home from December 1941 until March 1946 and hadn't seen my parents during that time. That’s about it.

DR: Do you remember the names of the planes and the pilots whose planes you worked on? If so, could you tell me the names of the planes
and the pilots of those planes?

WB: Sorry, the only plane I had for a spell was named for my wife, Jessie.
The others were just numbers mostly and some were War Weary aircraft
that were used after completing their combat and were given to us in the
training units to use for training pilots. Many still had the names that were on
them when they were in combat and we didn't change that. I had a couple
regular pilots then, but can't remember their names. I had numerous new pilots that flew training flights in A/C I crewed, but I don't remember their names. After all that was over 55 years ago and I'm now 78 years old.

DR: Did "Jessie" have the same name on both sides of the plane, or just a name on the right? Do you remember the tail numbers, or did they remove all numbers and just leave the "WW" on the vertical stabilizers?
WB: The name “Jessie” was on both sides of the plane. I had another that I remember now called “Snake
Eyes”. It had a pair of dice with 1 dot on each to make a total of 2, which was snake eyes if you tossed the dice. I didn't play dice, but used to watch a few of the other guys losing their money. We got paid once a month and usually had some plans to go to town if we could and spend some of it. After getting into a crap game, many changed their mind about going to town because they lost all their money and would have to borrow, or wait until the next payday. The War Weary aircraft still retained their original names and numbers, at least the serial numbers if I remember correctly and most still had their D-Day markings of white and black bands on the fuselage and wings if they lasted that long.

DR: I am a bit confused. I thought you were a crew chief, responsible for the maintenance of the planes. Did you also fly, or did you train the new pilots on the functioning of the plane? You say you had your own plane
and I thought only pilots had their own plane. Like I said, I am a bit confused and I could use some clarification.


WB: I was a mechanic crew chief, however I also was on flying status as engineer on the C47 we had assigned to the 357th Group when we were in the Occupation airforce in Germany late 1945 into 1946. I was only on flight status for a short while and got off of it shortly before the C47 was taken over by another crew chief, which was fortunate for me as the plane crashed into a mountain and all aboard were killed later on. In early 1943 until Feb. 1944, I was in the 495th Fighter Training group at Atcham Airfield near Shrewsbury, England. I crewed P-47 Thunderbolts there and as the planes were used for training and had no assigned pilots, the crew chiefs could name their own planes as they wished, if the CO concurred. In Feb. 1944, I was assigned to the 496th Fighter Training Group, 554th Fighter Training Squadron at Goxhill near Grimsby, England. I then crewed P-38s again and as it was a training base, we could name our own planes, as they were not assigned to any pilot. I named my P-38 “SlipStream Sally” and it was featured in my hometown paper in Pennsylvania along with a write up about me. In Dec. 1944, our unit left Goxhill and was attached to the 362nd Fighter Squadron, 357th Fighter Group, at Leiston, England to crew P-51s. We were given the War Weary aircraft that were deemed no longer combat ready by the group, for use in training new pilots that were assigned to the group. These planes had seen better days, but we kept them flying. They still had their names that were given to them by their pilots and crew chiefs, but there was a big WW painted on the vertical stabilizers so they could be seen as training aircraft. This training unit I was in was called “Clobber College” and had write ups in the Stars and Stripes and Yank magazine, military publications put out by the army. We had a logo of a duck on crutches with a bandaged head as our unit identification. Our group gave training to many of the newly assigned pilots that later went into combat with the regular squadrons. We were assigned instead of attached to the 362nd I think in April 1945 and I was with them when we were assigned to Germany until I went Stateside for discharge. In Germany I can't remember any assigned pilots to the aircraft. I know the planes I worked on there were flown by various pilots and we could name the planes we were assigned as we saw fit. I hope this straightens some things out for you. Many crew chiefs named their planes back then, although assigned pilots had first choice.

DR: You mentioned the “Clobber College”, could you tell me more about the function of that group and what your day to day routine involved?
WB: At Clobber College all we did was work from daylight until nightfall, unless we had a flight in the air, or we had to work at night to do some extra maintenance to get a plane flyable.

DR: What did you men do to train the pilots in the "Clobber College"?
WB: Our men only maintained the aircraft at Clobber College. The pilots using our planes were already assigned to units in the 357th Group and the squadrons were the ones who actually did the transition training. We didn't have pilots assigned to the Clobber College although we did have an officer assigned as Maintenance officer. I can't remember his name.

DR: Did you have any other functions with the 357th Fighter Group?
WB: Only as a mechanic, although I had a crew putting all the P51s in storage at Neubiberg, in early 1946. Pilots and mechanics were few and far between shortly after we went to Germany; everybody except some of us diehards had gone home.

DR: To whom did you report?
WB: I reported to my CO, Major Carson, or to the first sergeant of the 362nd, to which we were attached

DR: Do you remember the A-20’s flown at the “Clobber College” to tow targets? Could you give any details
about them?
WB: I never saw any A-20s at Leiston. Did I miss something? They may have flown from another field.

DR: You say you do not remember the names of the planes you worked on, other than “Jessie”. Do you remember any of the numbers?
WB: I don't remember any a/c numbers.

DR: According to my understanding, you worked with the P38, P47 and P51 in the various Fighter Groups you belonged to, could you tell me how the 3 compared to work on?
WB: The P38 was the hardest to work on, as it had two engines and lots of exhaust turbo supercharger problems at times. The P47 was the easiest and P-51 in between. None were too hard to maintain.

DR: Were any models of the P51 harder to work on than the others?
WB: I think all the P51 models were the same to work on by the plane mechanics. Maybe some radio and armament problems were different.

DR: How did weather impact your job?
WB: We worked in all kinds of weather, but of course when the planes didn't fly we could also get some rest. Winter was hardest, as the cold affected the oil and also the feel of the airplane itself. I think it liked warmer weather as much as we did.

DR: Did you ever come under fire, while you were with the 357th?
WB: Never came under fire with the 357th, but was in a few air raids during the 1943-44 period. In London, or some of its suburbs, where we usually went when we had some time off for a few days, which was few and far between.

DR: You met your wife, (who served on an English AAA unit), while serving at Leiston. How did that take place?
WB: Met Jessie one night at a pub. We were all playing 21, a form of Black Jack for pennies. There wasn't much to do around Leiston in the evenings.


DR: Do you recall any funny, or memorable incidents while serving with the 357th FG?
WB: Saw Otto Jenkins buzz the field on his final mission and crash the plane. He was too low.

footnote: my dad talked about this. Otto bragged he was going buzz the field like they had never seen before. that he did...unfortunately he spread his plane and himself in 3/4 of a mile swath of pieces and flames. BS

DR: What do you remember of D-Day and what were you doing on that day?


WB: On D-Day 1944, I was still in Goxhill crewing “Slip Stream Sally”. All we did was put on the D-Day markings of white and black stripes on the planes, or rather our maintenance unit did,I didn't. Our planes as far as I know, didn't participate in the battles that day.


DR: What functions did the C47 you were an engineer on, perform?
WB: The C47 we had was used mostly for liquor runs and trips to various places for rest and relaxation. We flew to France, London, and Brussels and down to the Riviera. I quit crewing the plane before it crashed in the Alps in October 1945, while on a trip to the seashore near Nice, France. Most of the passengers were officers and I think 3 Red Cross ladies, as well as the plane crew. The plane wasn't found for a few days, as it was buried in the snow when it hit the mountain.

DR: What type of training for your position did you have and do you feel you were well prepared for your functions?
WB: I went to airplane mechanic school at Keesler Field, Mississippi and then to Lockheed factory school at Burbank, CA., before reporting to North Island Naval Air Station in San Diego to join the 82nd Fighter Squadron. They started me off right away as an assistant crew chief and I made Corporal in July 1942 as I remember. I started to crew my own planes, then after we lost the P-38s to North Africa in early 1943, I went to a training squadron at Atcham

DR: Looking back, how do you view your WWII experience now?

WB: The best years of my life were those 4 years during the war. Much better than working in the coal mines. I saw service after that until 1966, retiring as a Chief Warrant Officer. Served in Germany for 6 years
after the war period, many places Stateside and only one year in Vietnam, in 1963-64. That's about it.

[bobbysocks]

Dr Thomas Tredici regarding his WWII experiences

I was born and raised in Monessen Pennsylvania about 30 miles south of Pittsburgh. Like most of the lads there, even if you went to college, you had to do your stint in the steel mill, nearly every on in town worked at the Pittsburgh Steel Company at one time or another.

In the early days of the War, the spring of 1942, the draft was in force for 21 year olds and above. As the War progressed, they had to change the rules to accept 18 year olds to compensate for the heavy losses in Europe. With that change, I applied for the Army Air Corps (AAC) with aspirations to be an aviation cadet. Back then, the AAC required a written test. Thank goodness for good old Monessen High School because according to the sergeant who administered the test, I did well. Despite this, he said go home, and wait until you hear from us. Well, having passed the test, I went home and spent a very happy Christmas of 1942 with my family, all of whom were quite proud.

In early January of 1943, I received a letter instructing me to report for duty at the Pittsburgh post office! The letter said don't bring anything except your shaving kit. I went to Pittsburgh and boarded a train bound for Florida, or so I thought. Having a good grasp of geography (again gleaned from good old Monessen High School) I realized we were not heading south but west! Apparently, the trains took whatever route was available. One night we stopped in the Kansas City rail yard. The next morning I was awakened to the sound of mooing, so I looked outside and saw we were parked next to a cattle train in the rail yard!

Finally we headed south towards Florida. I remember standing outside between the cars as we passed through a great swamp in Florida. The track was raised about 3 feet above the water and you could see nothing but swamp as far as you could see. This was in January 1943.

Our destination was Miami Beach. When we got there we found out they had no barracks of any kind. What they had a lot of were hotels, so we actually stayed in a hotel for our 8-week basic training in Miami. We aviation cadets were in hotels, but the OCS candidates stayed in better hotels. During this time, we learned that Clark Gable was also training in Miami Beach so we went in search of him, but we quickly found out he was out of our reach. His class was in the Rony Plaza Hotel.

One thing we did was to destroy a premiere golf course. This was due to the very thin soil underlain by sand, so with thousands of men marching all the time, we made minced meat of the grass and we ended up marching in sand.

Surprisingly, there was really not much to do but train and stay in the hotel. Another clever idea in being at this time was the College Training Detachment (CTD). There was very low enrollment in colleges, due to the war. As a result, the colleges had the space and the classrooms, which was just what the Army Air Corps needed. I went to Wittenberg College in Springfield, Ohio and was assigned to a large house that had been a fraternity house. We did a lot of PT (physical training), but no sports were allowed. At the time, being 19, none of us understood why we could not participate in sports. Looking back, it is clear that they did it to prevent injuries that might have an impact on a pilot's ability to fly in adverse conditions of combat. Anyway, this arrangement really was pretty neat because it was just like going to college, but on an accelerated schedule. We studied math, geography, and a lot of meteorology, which was to become very important to us as pilots. I stayed there about four months but before I could take my final exams, my orders arrived and I was sent to a "Classification" center. This was set up (San Antonio for Eastern Training Command) and Santa Anna California for the West) to give thorough medical and psychological examinations to determine if you were fit to receive training to be a pilot. One test was a 78 rpm phonograph record (if anyone does not know what this is, ask your grandparents!) with a small opening, about a ½". They would rotate the record at varying speeds and see if you could follow the hole and insert a probe at the appropriate time. After all was said and done, the testing resulted in a high percentage of accurate projections as to who would complete pilot training successfully; the actual percentage was over 90% accurate! The results helped classify you for a pilot, navigator, or flight engineer, training according to your results on the test, hence the name "Classification" Center.

Having passed my pilot classification, I went to Ryan Aeronautical School in Tucson, Arizona. This was a private flying school to teach basic flying skills. They had a Ryan PT-22 as their primary trainer. The PT-22 was a low wing monoplane with reinforcing struts above and below the wing. This was originally designed to be a racer; our versions were modified to an open two-place cockpit. It was quite maneuverable, but they changed the engine from an inverted in-line engine to an air-cooled rotary engine. Except for being underpowered, you could do aerobatics quite easily. It was also very durable, and almost impossible to damage. One interesting fact was you could predict when a stall would occur by listening to the sound the wire struts made as they vibrated.

I went on to Basic Flight Training at Minter Field, Bakersfield, California. Here we flew the BT-13 Vultee aircraft. We flew in a simulator for instrument flying. This was a Link Trainer. Successful training here allowed you to go on to Advance Flight Training.

Advanced Training for me began at Pecos Army Air Field in Pecos, Texas. I will never forget the smell of rotting cantaloupes when we went into town. We discovered that the staked rail cars were filled with cantaloupes, but they were not in cartons, but stacked on top of each other. As a result, the fruit on the bottom was crushed which dripped juice all over.

Our training was done in a Cessna UC78; a twin engine aircraft built especially for the AAC. We flew with 4 on board, the instructor and 3 trainees. Surprisingly, it was built of wood! We ended up calling it the "Bamboo Bomber". The AAC ended up replacing it as the glue could not stand the high temperatures during the day and the cold at night. It was 110 degrees in the day and 45 degrees at night. Even so, I never saw any crashes.

We flew all over west Texas. You could see the McDonald observatory from 100 miles away! The sky was absolutely clear so you could always get your bearings by looking for that silver dome. At night it was a different story. With the blackout, the only lights we could see were the cowboy fires and the "light line" used by the airlines for navigating. These rotating beacons were placed every 10 miles in the flight line between major cities along which the airlines flew. You could see as many as 4 or 5 beacons at one time so you could find your way using the rotating beacons.

Another navigation aid that we used was the radio range.
After this training I went to Yuma Army Air Field in Arizona for B-17 training. We also formed up as a crew for the first time and trained as a crew for here on. Training included all the crew, practice bombs were dropped; emergency evacuation drills (for bailouts) and many, many take-offs and landings. Take-0ffs were done at Max power with full "loads" to simulate what we would have to do when loaded with fuel, bombs, and ammunition. Bombing practice used sand in the bombs with powder to mark the place it hit.

My crew got orders to go to Lincoln Nebraska to get our own B-17 and fly to Europe! But when we arrived in Lincoln, there was a revision of plans and we were told we were not getting a plane, so we stayed in camp waiting for orders. It was November 1944 and it was cold! The only place that was warm on the base were the showers. We lived in tarpaper shacks with one pot-bellied stove for heat. So we waited until told to board a train for Fort Tauton Mass (near Boston) to be issued our flying gear (including a 45 cal pistol which we never had until then.)

From there, we boarded the IL de France, which was a luxury ship making some of its last runs. We had many troops on board from all branches. All I ate for 5 days was Butternut cookies. During our crossing, which we made alone and unescorted, I barely slept due to the constant drumming of the engines (this ship was quite fast, but old and made lots of noise). The ship zigzagged the entire way which slowed the crossing considerably. This was done to evade German submarines. Our landing was at Glasgow Scotland. I still remember the pitch of the train whistle in England and Scotland.

We were promptly moved to our base at Glatton where I was assigned to the 457th BG-Heavy, 751st Squadron, 1st Bomb Division of the 8th Air Force. There were 12 planes in our squadron. Many times our entire squadron would fly raids by the 8th AF to some target in Germany. Especially when there were 1,000 plane missions. We flew in formations, typically low at about 28,000 feet, medium at 30,000 feet and high at 32,000. If you were assigned to the high squadron, you could be above the flak, which was the safest place to be.

My first mission was in November 1944, and my last mission was early May 1945. Our crew got one break for about a week and went to a "flak house" near London. This was a mansion that the AAC leased to use as a place for R&R for the bomber crews. It had everything from huge grounds with stables, archery range, bicycles, good food, and a bath tub! Plus they had a staff waiting on us. I remember hearing the V-2 rockets fly over us as they descended on London; it was an unmistakable sound.

Interestingly enough, we did not have fighter escorts the entire way on our longer missions to places like Poland. When the fighters had exhausted their fuel, I could see their extra fuel tanks tumbling off and we knew they were leaving and then we would be on our own.

I completed 18 missions before the War ended in May 1945. Remember, that we had to fly 25 missions to complete a tour, but with a loss rate of 4% per mission, it was nearly impossible to complete an entire tour.

While flying as "lead co-pilot" I flew with crews other than my own on three missions. (The "Lead co-pilot" flew with new crews to break them in.) After three of these missions, I gladly returned to my own crew. I can tell you that not all crews were the same, and I was never comfortable except with my own crew that I trained with and knew well.

Dr. Tredici: BITS and PIECES::

Glatton Field

457th BG (Heavy), 1st Bomb Div, 8th AF.
4 Squadrons, I was in the 751st
12 planes in our squadron

Even though we did not refuel in flight, we carried out very long missions. We would fly into Poland or Czechoslovakia then on the return flight land at a field controlled by the Air Corps in France, refuel, and fly back to Glatton in the UK.

We had Fighter escorts but they did not stay with us on our longer missions. You could see the P-51's glistening in the sky around us, and while they were there, we never had any German fighters attack. Then as our fighters ran low of gas, they would drop their wing tanks and we knew they were leaving soon.

During my tour, German fighters were a lesser threat than the flak, which was enough. The Germans would throw up intense flak directly in our path as we approached the drop point. They filled the sky and we had no choice but to fly right into it to reach the target. Neither the German fighter aircraft nor our own fighters would ever fly into that; but we had to do it to accomplish the mission and that is where we lost our bombers.

After the War, we re-fitted our B-17 by putting plywood decking over the bomb bays, then loaded up with our personal gear (our 10-man crew) along with 10 other flyers. We flew back to the U.S. in stages so we could refuel in Scotland, in Iceland, at Blue E West 1 Greenland, then we landed in Chickopee Falls Connecticut where we left the plane. I got orders for B-29 training, but before going to training I got leave for 1 month in June. On my return from leave, I went to Sioux Falls Army Airfield in South Dakota and waited for my orders. Before any orders arrived, I heard about the atomic bombs and the War in Japan ended, thank God. The biggest problem then was what to do with all the people at the base. I was sent to Randolph Field, Texas. By Christmas of 1945 I was back home with my family: boy was my mother happy.

I entered college at Washington and Jefferson College Washington, PA. Then on to medical school at the University of Pittsburgh. I went on to become an Ophthalmologist. I continue to work today (2004! (editor's emphasis)) for the U.S. Air Force in the USAF School of Aerospace Medicine in San Antonio, TX. During my career, my branch helped numerous pilots to retain their flying status through the use of new technologies to maintain their vision. I have written papers on what we have done for our fliers; we have salvaged many pilots who would otherwise have been grounded. It might have been as simple as contact lenses. As technology grew, we used intra-ocular lenses with a nearly 100% success rate. This allowed these pilots to fly in every aircraft and in every situation, including combat. Given that each pilot costs $4,000,000 to train, we saved the Air Force significant funds. I am quite proud of my branches accomplishments, as well as my service to the U.S. Air Force.

I have thought about "heroes" and decided that the real heroes of the war were the ones who did their job every day. Somebody had to get the job done in a steady, reliable fashion or we would never finish. Thus the little things could really become big. For instance, if a ground crew member did not check tires properly, there could be a flat tire on takeoff, which could result in a disaster and an incomplete mission etc.

Webmaster: What would you like the younger generations to remember or learn about WWII?

In WWII I saw the country come together as never before or since. Like oxen pulling a plow; if they were facing opposite directions, the field would never get plowed. But pulling together, the job got done in good time. I think WWII was the pinnacle of our Country working together, and I am proud to have been a part of it.
Today much is made of the term "diversity". Well we also had people from many backgrounds, Italian, Polish, Jewish, etc but when the time came to get the job done, we were all Americans on the same team, with the same goals. If we are going to get anywhere, we have to remember that lesson.

Where were you when Pearl Harbor was attacked?
Dr. Tredici: I was in my back yard in Monessen, PA.

[bobbysocks]

another APHRODITE mission story...

Charles Shinault does not consider himself a hero, but a previously secret, now unclassified, document in his possession speaks to the contrary. The letter from Eighth Air Force Commanding General, Carl Spaatz to Lt. Gen. Ira C. Eaker in Washington D.C. refers to the termination of a secret project in the ETO and its possible effective use against Japan. What the letter does not mention is that this experimental project was wrought with danger. Charles Shinault had volunteered for the same hazardous duty that took the life of a young Navy Lieutenant named Joe Kennedy. And Lt. Kennedy was awarded a posthumous Navy Cross, second only to the Medal of Honor!

Charles L. Shinault was born in Booneville Mississippi on 24 September 1921. Charlie and his twin brother grew up in rural Mississippi and graduated from Booneville High School in 1941. Both went on to start college and Charles left school in November 1943 to join the Army Air Forces. (Both became pilots and his brother served in the PTO) Aviation Cadet Shinault took primary flight instruction in Avon Park Florida, and advanced multi-engine training in Blytheville Arkansas. As a “butter-bar” lieutenant, Charlie transitioned to B-17 training and was assigned co-pilot of a new crew. Stateside training took them to numerous bases across the “Zone of the Interior”. Finally, their replacement unit was ready for overseas deployment.

Shinault and his crew flew their plane overseas via the “Northern Route” departing on 10 April 1944 and arriving in England fifteen days later. Poor weather conditions over Iceland caused the delay. They were assigned to the 337th Bomb Squadron, 96th Bomb Group, 3rd Air Division. Their Base was at Snetterton Heath, in East Anglia. Shinault, as co-pilot of a B-17 named “Cabin in the Sky”, continued fine-tuning his formation flying skills and helping train the crew for their combat debut. That day came on 20 May 1944 with a mission to Brussels Belgium. Charlie continued missions as the co-pilot, but wanted to be a first pilot, that is, an aircraft commander. He saw his chance to move to the left seat when he read an announcement on the bulletin board at the 96th Group Headquarters. The Third Air Division was recruiting volunteers from among the Division’s Bomb Groups for a “secret and dangerous mission”. No one knew what the mission would entail, but Charlie signed up for transfer to Project Aphrodite.

Second Lieutenant Charles Shinault reported to Honington Air Depot where modifications were being made to ten war-weary B-17’s. The plan was to convert a total of sixty-five aircraft. The armor, turrets, oxygen system, and all unnecessary equipment were being stripped from the aircraft. The Fortresses were being lightened and remote control units were being installed and connected to the autopilots. The different procedures were performed at several bases during the course of the retrofit. The equipment was code named Azon, which had previously been used with some success in remotely guided bombs. Several Forts were fitted with another new technology called television. The bomb bay of each aircraft was also reinforced to accommodate a 20,000-pound load of Torpex high explosive. The upper surfaces of the planes were painted white to improve visual tracking. After all work was completed, the aircraft were flown to Fersfield, where most of the missions originated.

These modified, heavily loaded bombers were to be flown into targets by remote control. Since the technology for remote-controlled takeoff did not exist at the time, pilots were required to take the planes up, trim them out and establish the remote link-up with the “mother ship” following behind the explosive laden “baby”. The handling characteristics of these birds were very different, given the enormous load. So besides having to learn to handle the off balanced bomber, pilots had to learn how to check the complicated electrical circuitry and arm the fuses of the TNT payload. After flying a predetermined course around the English countryside, and verifying proper control was established, the pilot and technician were to bail out.

Training for Shinault and the other volunteers began on 1 July 1944 under great secrecy and strictest security. Political pressure to launch the first mission as soon as possible was exerted due to the frequency of V-1 guided missile attacks on England. The launch sites of the V-weapons were to be priority targets. After twenty-five hours of flight training and technical instruction, target planning and crew assignments were made. Charles Shinault was assigned to Mission Number Eleven. Target: The oil refinery complex at Hemmingstedt. During this time the Navy had also recruited volunteers for Special Air Unit No.1, a similar project. One of their volunteers was Lt. Joe Kennedy, oldest son of Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy.

The first mission went off on 4 August 1944, with tragic results. One of the aircraft failed to handle properly and the plane stalled and crashed before the pilot could bail out. Undeterred, the project continued as scheduled. The seventh mission was flown by the Navy team on 12 August, with similar results. It was suspected that the engineering of the fuse arming circuitry was unreliable, but the mission went forward as planned. The flight progressed normally, until suddenly, the aircraft exploded, killing both onboard. The most likely cause was the electrical system, which was switched on prior to the crew parachuting out. Further operations were delayed for a month. Then the ninth mission, 11 September, was also marred by a fatality. All went well until the pilot jumped and the static line, designed to open the parachute automatically, wrapped around his neck. He was killed instantly. Several others had been slightly injured upon landing, so nothing was routine. It was, indeed, dangerous work!

Shinault and the others were well aware of the tremendous uncertainty and danger of continuing the project. But it was duty he had volunteered for and Charlie knew he “had to see it through”. He had little time to worry, because his flight took place three days later. In the ensuing time, the Azon equipment was replaced with newer, more reliable radio-controls, code named Castor. On the morning of 14 September 1944, Shinault and the other pilot, Lt. W. G. Haller, took off in their drone loaded with twelve tons of volatile high explosives. Charlie remembers “we did everything by the book” and the remote controls worked perfectly. The arming circuits were checked and rechecked, nothing was left to chance. With the autopilot set and the fuses armed, their work was done. All the months of training and preparation came down to this last action. All that was left was to safely exit the aircraft. Sitting with his feet dangling in the slipstream, he snapped his static line to the ring and dropped out. Then the unexpected happened. Charlie’s head struck the hatch coaming, cutting a gash above his left eye. Momentarily disoriented, he wasn’t sure what had happened. He said, “It was a good thing that the chute opened automatically, because I may not have been able to pull a ripcord myself”. Dazed but alive, Charlie rode his chute to a soft landing in a farm field. Unfortunately, the farmer did not know whether the parachutist was friend or foe, and it took Charles a while to convince the armed farmer he was an American. The two Aphrodite volunteers were picked up and taken back to Base where they learned the fate of their drone. Unfortunately, visual contact with the “baby” had been lost due to poor weather conditions and it missed the target.

Overall, none of the Aphrodite Missions met with much success, owing to less advanced technology, poor visibility, bad weather, accurate anti-aircraft fire, and just bad luck. But Shinault had participated in a Top Secret Program and was sworn to secrecy. After returning to his old unit, he said nothing about his temporary duty. He was promoted and made a first pilot. He flew the remainder of his 35 Mission tour in the left seat of a B-17G named “Sittin’ Pretty”. These missions were, however, far from uneventful.

On several occasions his aircraft was damaged by flak. And on another mission, the bomb racks jammed and the entire ordinance load piled up in the bomb bay. The incendiary clusters hung on the upper mounts had released but the lower bombs did not. “The little propellers on the arming vanes were spinning away”, he said, making for a very unpleasant prospect. The bombardier suggested he drop out of formation and descend to a lower altitude so they could work without the cumbersome walk-around oxygen bottles. Shinault took the aircraft down below 10,000 feet and the bombardier was able to discard the oxygen bottle. He carefully removed the arming fuses and wrestled some of the loose bombs out through the open bomb bay doors. Unable to free the jammed shackles, the 500 pounders and some of the other hung ordinance had to remain in place. Worried that the bombs could still come loose, Shinault ordered the crew to disconnect the electric cords from their heated suits and use them to tie the shackles in place. By then, they had done all they could and Charlie could see the “White Cliff of Dover” looming in the distance. As they approached Snetterton, the crew voted to stay with the aircraft, and Shinault radioed their situation to the Tower. They were cleared for a straight-in approach. “That was the smoothest landing I ever made!”, Charlie admits. He was ordered to taxi the plane to the end of the runway and park behind the earthen revetment. The ordinance men then unloaded the remaining bombs and “lost about forty gallons of sweat in the process!” That day, fraught with danger, was not caused by a life and death struggle with the Luftwaffe, but by the use of the wrong type of bomb shackle. But it was life and death just the same.

With his Combat Tour completed, Charles shipped home on 24 February 1945, only to return on 20 March 1946. After a year of Occupation Duty he again returned to the “Z-I” in March of 1947 with 1 year, 10 months, and 23 days of overseas service. Captain Charles L. Shinault was released from the United States Army Air Forces at the Separation Center, Fort Dix New Jersey on 12 May 1947. And like millions of other former servicemen, he returned to civilian life to get married and raise a family, content with the knowledge that he had done his duty. And the World was a better place for having done it.

[bobbysocks]

The Final Chapter of the Battle for Arnhem Bridge

On September 26, 1944, all of the First Parachute Brigade of the British First Airborne commanded by Col. John Frost were either killed or captured in the battle for Arnhem Bridge. Col. (now General) Frost was captured, wounded at the north end of the bridge with less than 100 of his men. This epic battle is described in Cornelius Ryan's book A Bridge Too Far. It was decided that use of this bridge would be denied the Germans, and on October 6, thirty-six B-26s of the 344 Bomb Group attacked the bridge. The bridge over the lower Rhine River, almost 2000 feet long, consisted of a 500' suspension span over the river, the remainder supported by concrete abutments was over a mud flat. The suspension span was the target. The bridge was not destroyed in this attack, and one ship was shot down. It happened that the ship lost was "Nick's Chick", the plane assigned to my crew. While planes were assigned to individual crews, they did not have exclusive use of it. On this mission, First Lt. Herbert Moore and his crew were flying "Nick's Chick" but our regular radio operator, Sgt. Norman Truax went along to try out some new radio equipment. Three members of Lt. Moore's crew were later reported to have been seen in a Belgian hospital.

When I reported to the 344th Bomb Group, 495 Squadron, on April 22, 1944, on a replacement crew, bombing was by boxes consisting of three flights-- a total of 18 planes. Only the lead and deputy lead carried a bomb sight. When the lead ship dropped his bombs, each plane following dropped theirs. As the bombs were released at pre-set intervals, this created a bomb pattern a hundred feet or more long depending on the drop interval. The advantage was that a large pattern gave a better chance of hitting the target. However, if the lead bombardier was off, the efforts of 18 planes and crews were wasted. The decision was made to bomb by flights and the number of targets destroyed increased dramatically. In May, 1944, I was assigned to Capt. Nichols' crew and, after considerable practice bombing, we were designated a lead crew.

On October 7, the group again attacked Arnhem Bridge. We led the second flight. At the briefing we were told that 67 guns defended this target. The first flight was led by 495 Squadron CO Col. Jens Norgaard arid Group Bombardier Major James Brady. they hit the north end and approaches to the bridge but did not knock it down. As can be seen in the strike photos, our first bomb hit short of the bridge, allowing the heaviest part of the pattern to develop on the suspension span. Each plane was carrying four 1000 lb. bombs which destroyed the target. I noted a 35 second bomb run in my diary.

A commendation from the Commander of the 344th Bomb Group, Lt. Col. Robert W. Witty, states:

"On 7 October 1944, Capt. David C. Nichols was flight leader of the second flight in an attack on the heavily defended railroad bridge at Arnhem, Holland.
Despite the intense accurate heavy flak that the enemy opposed this attack with, Capt. Nichols flew a perfect bomb run and kept his formation intact. 1st Lt. Robert Warda, navigator, contributed highly to the success of the attack by his expert navigation. Taking advantage of the perfect bomb run flown by Capt. Nichols, 1st Lt. Malcolm G. Edwards calmly performed his sighting operations and was not in the least disconcerted by the flak bursting all about the aircraft. He dropped his bombs with the greatest precision directly on the center of the bridge and demolished it.

The cool manner in which this bombing team performs its duty under the most adverse conditions is commendable and reflects the finest traditions of the Army Air Forces."

On December 2, 1944, we bombed Endorff, Germany, a fortified town. Both Sgt. Dollahan and I were seriously wounded and the plane heavily damaged by flak on the bomb run. We managed to complete our bomb run and hit the target. Even though we lost an engine, Capt. Nichols nursed the plane to an emergency landing at a deserted German airfield near Rheims, France. The plane was so heavily damaged that it was never flown again.

[bobbysocks]

Memories of a Tailgunner by Lt.Col. Eugene Carson

Remembering:

“I no longer hear the roar of the engines, the chatter of the guns and the savage bursting of the flak. The smell of cordite and the fumes of gasoline no longer curl into my nostrils. The great air war of World War II is history. However, there are nights and there are days I find myself reliving moments of a now historic era. The memory returns as if a realistic dream and once again I find myself a member of a B-17 crew. My eyes search the sky for the Luftwaffe; flak rattles our B-17. I see aircraft fall, both theirs and ours. Too few parachutes dot the sky. I slowly come to the realization, I am here and it is now. The records of the 8th Air Force list more than 47,000 casualties with over 26,000 deaths.


There were short missions and long missions. But there never was an easy mission. Each mission however short or long was filled with danger from the onset to the end. The final bell tolled for those involved in on-ground explosions, crashes on take-off, the all too frequent mid-air collisions, crashes during flight and crashes on landing. In some cases death came from friendly fire and errant bombs dropped from one of our own aircraft flying at a higher altitude onto one of our aircraft at a lower altitude.


Courage:

“People speak of courage. I am not really sure about courage. Under moments of stress when it seems there are only seconds to live strange things take place. Who can give you courage or train you to know exactly what to do when a burst of flak punches a softball size hole in the windshield and fragments spray throughout the cockpit area? Who can prepare you to do what is necessary when severed oxygen and hydraulic lines ignite with unbelievable intensity next to a box of flares? I’m still not sure it’s courage when you conquer intense pain from wounds and continue to fight for survival. Such are not moments calling for courage; they are moments demanding action. There is no time for courage.

The need for courage comes the next day. It comes the day after you have returned to your barracks where you found the empty bunks already stripped of personal effects and property. There is no trace of the personal effects of the prior occupant. You endure a long and lonely night of bad dreams and sleep fitfully with interrupting thoughts. You know you are going again at dawn; it is then when there will a need for courage.”

Ground Crews:

“Ground crews often worked through the night to repair the damage and get us ready to go again. Their ability to affect repairs overnight under what were nearly impossible conditions was amazing. They never let us down. They were there waiting long before it was time to take off and they were there long after we returned from a mission. In short the ground crews were incredible. There was nothing quite so sad as watching a ground crew pick up their equipment and move reluctantly away from the hardstand when their airplane failed to return.”

[bobbysocks]

Mission to Schweinfurt, Germany.

It was an early wake-up call on 14 Oct. 1943. My navigator, Lt. Foster, had returned from pass and my crew, without substitute, was scheduled to fly this mission.
We discovered, just prior to the mission briefing, that our flight position would be tail-end Charlie. The Group leader would be my roommate, Captain Harry Lay. This was to be his 30th and last mission with the 91st Bomb Group. Lt/Col Milton would accompany him as co-pilot and mission commander.
It was still dark and very foggy after the briefing as we were being trucked to our aircraft. We were the last crew out of the truck - arriving at an aircraft from another squadron. (aircraft 42-5714, 323rd Squadron).
When we arrived at the aircraft I was met by the aircraft crew chief. He was distraught and excited when he informed me that there must be a mistake because his aircraft was not Combat Ready and it had never, ever, been scheduled for combat. In response to my question concerning it's use, he informed me that it was an older aircraft used only for local flying and primarily for instrument flying. While this discussion was taking place the bomb-loading crew arrived and began loading the bombs . I had no time to discuss this situation further with the crew chief as it was obvious the aircraft was on the schedule if bombs were to be loaded.
We discovered the aircraft had the old style bladder type oxygen system and that meant we needed extra masks as the bladder types would clog up with ice at high altitude. My crew had flown with this equipment when flying older model B17's during training missions prior to our overseas assignment. The "Demand' type oxygen system on the later model aircraft corrected this problem. The crew chief - once reconciled that his aircraft was going into combat - did everything possible to assist my crew in obtaining additional oxygen masks and additional ammunition. He advised me that the engines on the aircraft were "high-timers" and that particular problem was his main concern. The extra weight from the additional ammunition was one of my concerns and both the flight crew and ground crew monitored the distribution of the additional ammo.
The weather remained wet and foggy and we would not have been surprised if the mission was scrubbed, but after a long wait the green "go" flare appeared and we were on our way.
Once on the runway, the only visible directional mark was the white center stripe.

It was a full instrument take-off and climb-out using air speed, climb rate and timing procedures.
We were the third aircraft to locate Capt. Lay's lead aircraft and after waiting for some time for other aircraft to join up, I pulled into formation on the right wing of the high element leader. It became increasingly obvious as we started on course that several aircraft assigned to our formation had either aborted or for some reason were having difficulty in locating the formation. The left wing position in Capt. Lay's lead element remained vacant for a considerable period of time and I debated whether or not to fill that slot; however another B-17 finally pulled up into that position.
Enemy aircraft of all types began attack at coast-in. ME-109's and FW-190's were the principal attack aircraft - coming in from all directions - while JU-88's, ME-110's and Hinkle 111's were observed flying parallel to our formation - just out of range of our gunner's 50-caliber guns. These aircraft were reporting our position and firing rockets into the formation. Any aircraft in our formation that was crippled or fell behind could expect to be singled out for mass attack by the enemy. On the way to the target, FW-109's were lining up ahead of the formation and then making head-on attacks; doing a split-s maneuver after passing under the B-17 formation. It was during these attacks that the navigator, bombardier and lower turret gunner were most effective in providing defensive fire from our aircraft,
At the initial point (IP), the fighter attacks lessened and intense enemy flak was encountered. Just after bomb release over the target our aircraft received what appeared to be a direct hit by a burst of flak and the #4 engine caught fire. We were able to feather the propeller, the fire was extinguished and we remained in formation with three operating engines.
After bombs away and leaving the target area, the fighter attacks resumed and all gunners were firing at the enemy. I heard S/Sgt Brown, the ball turret gunner, and several other crew members call out kills; however there was no time for discussion - everyone was too busy fighting off the enemy.
Approximately 45 minutes after departing the target area we were still in formation and for the first time on this mission I turned over control of the aircraft to Lt. Johnson, the co-pilot. We were holding our own and the three operating engines were also holding steady despite higher than normal power settings. At this time FW-190's were observed flying above our formation and they were releasing what appeared to be bombs, down, into and through our formation. I was busy looking up and trying to help S/Sgt Sly, the top turret gunner, in locating the enemy fighters flying overhead. It was during this period that our aircraft was suddenly struck by heavy enemy gunfire. The right inboard engine (#3)was hit, severing fuel and oil lines. The main oxygen tank - located in the passageway below the pilot - exploded with a loud "bang". Concurrent with the explosion Lt Johnson let go of the control wheel and "hunched" down and forward , covering his head and face with his arms. His shoulders shoved the control wheel forward and the aircraft immediately started a severe descending dive out of formation. From my seated position I could not force Johnson to release the control wheel. I unbuckled my seat belt and standing in the aisle used all my strength to finally force him back to an upright seated position. These actions were immediate and necessary before I could regain control of the aircraft.
I had recovered control of the B-17, but we were out of formation and had descended about 1500 feet below our formation. I feared that Lt. Johnson had been hit by enemy fire, however he was not injured and the only explanation offered by Lt Johnson was that when he heard the oxygen tank explode he feared a 20mm cannon shell was in the cockpit and about to explode.
Regardless of the cause, our aircraft was now out of formation and severely crippled with two engines inoperative. I was unable to feather the propeller on #3 engine. There was no fire despite an obvious fuel leak in the inboard section of the right wing. We continued to drift further behind our formation and in fact we found ourselves, for a short period of time, in the middle of another group of B-17's that were at a lower altitude but following the route of the 91st Bomb Group leader. That formation, also, soon left us behind.
It was a battle trying to keep the aircraft airborne without exceeding the engine operating limits on the two remaining engines. Main system oxygen had been destroyed and the emergency oxygen was near depletion. The bladder type masks were a major problem. I descended to 18,000 ft - the maximum altitude where we could operate for a time without oxygen. There was no cloud cover below us that might help in evading the enemy.
During the 30 or 40 minutes after departing our formation, our crew was under constant enemy attack and it was a life or death struggle to survive. We were no longer being attacked head-on, but we had enemy fighter and fighter-bombers attacking us from side angles. The last words I received from the tail gunner, Sgt Smith, were "Skipper, there are 7 ME-109's trailing us with their gear down. They are making single passes - gear up - then attack". I told Sgt. Smith to "get one for me".
We, the crew, still had a limited supply of ammunition and we retained the hope that we could fend off the attackers and return to England utilizing the two remaining operating engines. I wanted to maintain altitude until we were closer to the enemy coast-line before starting a descent with two engines inoperative on the right wing. A descent too early could result in having to ditch in the North Sea. During this period of struggle for survival, I heard several crew members announce hits and possible destruction of enemy aircraft. I remain convinced that S/Sgt Brown, the ball turret gunner, and other members of my crew destroyed as many as four enemy aircraft during the unrelenting attacks by German aircraft.
Suddenly and without warning #1 engine lost power. It appeared from my position that the two top cylinders had blown and smoke was coming from that area. Flames were coming from the lower part of the engine. My attempt to feather the propeller were futile. I hit the bail-out warning bell and gave the verbal order to bail out. All crew members acknowledged with the exception of Sgt Smith, the tail gunner. Lt. Johnson and S/Sgt Sly assisted each other with their chutes - the bomb bay doors were opened and both men jumped out from that area.

As the crew members were departing the aircraft, I received word from S/Sgt Kuhlman, the radio operator, that Sgt. Smith was unconscious - no apparent wounds. Kuhlman had been to the rear of the aircraft to obtain additional emergency oxygen bottles. After this report I received no response from any crew members in the rear of the aircraft. All forward members of the crew, with the exception of the navigator, Lt. Glen Foster, had departed the aircraft. Foster had not yet bailed out, but had assisted Lt Runner, the bombardier, in evacuating the aircraft. Runner was suffering from mild anoxia and appeared to be confused; however, thanks to the valiant efforts of Lt. Foster, his bail out was successful.
Foster came to the cockpit area wanting to know if I was going to crash-land or bail-out. He wanted to do what ever I was going to do. I told him that I was going to parachute out, but that I had received word that Sgt Smith was unconscious in the rear of the aircraft and I wanted him to check on Smith and if he was in the aircraft but unconscious to attempt to get Smith to an exit and if possible throw him from the plane concurrent with pulling the parachute ripcord. That accomplished, he should notify me and immediately bailout. If Smith was not in the aircraft, Foster was to notify me and then bailout without further delay. Foster acknowledged and headed for the bomb bay.
Shortly after Lt. Foster entered the bomb bay on the way to the rear of the aircraft, a Ju-88 - coming in from the right rear, strafed the B-17 - putting gunfire in the fuselage and in the cockpit area just to the right of the pilot's control column. The co pilot's windshield and the right cockpit window were shattered. as well as the co-pilot's instrument panel. I was not injured but my left leg felt numb from the shock of the explosion in the cockpit.
All crew members with the exception of Lt. Foster and possibly Sgt .Smith, should have been out of the aircraft before the initial hits from the JU-88 were received. The landing gear on the B-17 had been placed down after the bail-out order was given in the mistaken belief that the aircraft would not be fired on when it gave the wheels down signal and it became obvious that the crew was abandoning the aircraft. My first action was to retract the gear. I glanced to the left and saw the JU-88 pulling up into position just above and behind the left wing of our aircraft- possibly positioning for gunfire into the left cockpit. I immediately made a sharp left turn directly toward the JU-88 and kept the B-17 in a tight spiral turn to the left . I maintained maximum air speed while in this circling dive.
I had no report from Lt. Foster , so had to assume the gunner, Sgt Smith, and possibly the navigator were still aboard and could not bail out. I was flying at 18,000 ft. when the Ju-88 struck and the spiral dive was started. I could see a small postage -sized clearing of land in the middle of what appeared to be a dense forest . I decided on a forced "crash" landing. #1 engine was still on fire, but I could see only white smoke - no flames. I kept the air speed above 300 mph. until level-off about 200 feet above the ground. The descent had been so rapid the windshield and pilot's side window were frosted over. I opened the side window as I flew over the small clearing. The airspeed was still high, 240 mph. I saw Lt. Bill Runner on the ground, at the edge of the clearing, wildly waving his arms as the aircraft went by. I made a tight circle to the right as I had full visibility from the shattered windshield and co-pilot side window. I could not maintain airspeed on one engine for any extended period. I completed the low-level circling maneuver, leveling off for the final approach. The airspeed had slowed to 150 - I slapped the flap lever down and flew flat for a fairly high-speed, gear-up landing. I went through a small wire fence - stopping just short of a larger wooden-wire fence and a ditch. I had "unbuckled" to take control of the aircraft from Lt Johnson and from that period on had been so occupied with the recovery and control of the aircraft that I had no opportunity to get "strapped" back in. I had made the crash-landing without benefit of the seat belt and shoulder harness.
With the bomb bay doors open, all of the sounds of an aircraft making a belly landing were amplified. The first sound I became aware of after the aircraft came to a stop was the pounding of my own heart. I glanced out to the left wing - the fire in #1 engine had been in the lower part of the nacelle - there was some smoke, but no visible fire. The landing had evidently smothered the flames. I had cut the ignition switches just before touchdown. I glanced around the cockpit and remembered to push in the IFF destroyer buttons.
I called out Foster's (navigator) and Smith's names as I scrambled through the aircraft to the rear entrance. There was no response - and there was no one in the area of the main fuselage. Once outside the aircraft I checked the tail-gunners position and it was also vacant, I then assumed that all crew members had bailed out.

[bobbysocks]

i should save this for halloween but i will never remember ... so.

Spitfire-ghosts
England is in many ways the homeland of ghosts.

Thousands of castles and old houses who have stories circling around them about lost spirits who does not seem to get peace. Everyone knows Tower of London and it's ghosts and most of us have heard stories from England which makes you shiver down your spine.


Old airports are no exception. In the aviation and historic aviations theres many stories or headless pilot ghosts, Rolls Royce Merlin sounds in the air but no plane to be seen or persons in pilot gear spotted walking around on airfields only to disappear into thin air. Here are some of those stories..

«The Ghost Mosquio and visitors from the past»

At West Malling Airfield the story goes that you can hear a De Havilland Mosquito at a specific time and date. Visitors to the airfield have reported they have been surprised by a very low flying propellor driver airplane without actually spotting it. They only hear the engines that seems to pas straight over their heads. And always at the same time and date. In 1993 a group of security guards called in from the old guard-office and said that the airfield had visitors. The adjutant at the airfield went promptly over to greet the visitor. The problem was, there was no visitors there! The guards then explained to the adjutant that the person who had arrived were in uniform with a long, gray military great coat and black gloves. The person seemed to have been quite young. Nothing special in that maybe, but the airport never really had visitors in those uniforms anymore, and great coats hadn't been trendy for many years. They never did find out who the visitor was. Could it have been an officer from world war two paying a late visit?

«Liberator and ghost planes in Germany»

At Cosford in England stands an old american Consolidated Liberator from the days of world war two. On one occasion a lucky person was given permission to enter the plane. He had been told by the airfirlds employees that mysterious things happened with the Liberator. Sometimes voices could be heard from the bomber and the radio could suddenly recieve disturbed messages. It is not known if he ever did experience any eerie things while inside the bomber.

The same person who entered the Liberator also had a strange experience sometime in the 1980's. While he was biking at a British airbase in Germany he heard several propellor engines in the air. The weather was very poor and he didn't see one airplane. It seemed to him that up to several airplanes were doing aerobatics and practised landings and take offs. Engine revs changing, steep turns, diving and climbing. He thought this was very strange and went up the control tower and asked about what was going on. Those people could on the other hand report to him that there were no airplanes over the base on the radar and no airplanes were planned for take offs or landings because of the poor weather.

«The Biggin Hill ghost Spitfire»

A ghost-Spitfire phemonon are quite common and the Spitfire-ghost at Biggin Hill is probably the most known of them all. People have reported of Merlin engines in the air even at the most terrible winter days with strong wind and low cloudbase. Many of the people reporting that they have heard the Merlin sound knows quite well how a Merlin sounds.


Biggin Hill was one of the most important airfields during the Battle of Britain and also later during the war. Tangmere airfield, known as the place where the legandary Dougles Bader operated from also has a story circling about a ghost-Spitfire that supposedly lands at Tangmere and then takes off again.

«Visitors at night»
Lots of things seems to be going on at West Malling and during one of the big airshows the place hosted during the 80's, it was not uncommon for visitors (for example the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight) to park their airplanes in the old hangars with security watching over them at night. It was normal during these airshows for some of the aircrews taking part of the show to dress up in correct world war two outfits. Close to where the BBMF was parked a security guard was keeping an eye on the planes when two men appeared. They were well dressed in these sort of retro WW2 clothes. Since many people did used those clothes during an airshow weekend he didn't think much of it even it was very very late. The two men walked over to the guard and asked for the way to the officers mess. They told the guard they were late for dinner. The guard explained that there were no officers mess at West Malling and the two men thanked for his help and started to walk away from him. What then happened remains with him to this day. The two men had simply vanished into thin air, straight infront of him! They just disappeared! The guard left the hangar quickly, quite shaken up and was found some distance away from the hangar. He was very shaky and had even wet his pants. None of the BBMF crew had been in the hangar at that late moment of the day.

«The Polish pilot»

During the second world war Lindholm Park was used as an RAF airfield with Wellington bombers. It was from here some of the first raids on Berling at night took place. On one of the first of these daring missions a Wellington bomber crashed at the end of the runway and the entire Polish aircrew were lost. In the years after, stories started to go around about a figure in pilot gear asking local citizens for the way home in a foreign language.

The rumours and the story spread to the local nearby villages of Finningley and Hatfield and it was told that the crashed Wellington's tail section rose and sank in the landscape when the ghost was out walking.

During the 50's the airfield was the home of a squadron of Avro Lincoln's and the ghost were still to be seen. A mechanic working late was so frightened by the ghost that he ran from his post and was later put against a court for abondoning his post during service.

The ghost continued to scare people at the airfield and it was observerd on several occations standing beside the beds of the pilots on the base. A pilot was so scared by the ghost that everyone in the building woke up from his scream.

During the 70's a Wellington was dug up and four persons were buried at a nearby cemetary. In 1975 Ltn. Colonel Stephen Jenkins and an RAF squadron leader returned from nearby RAF Finningley when they observed a figure in pilot gear standing where the Wellington bomber had been dug out.

The history ends in the 80's when a corpse was found. It was of Polish heritage. He was never identified because of the age of the corpse. They buried him at the same place as the other four who had been found earlier. No observations have taken place since then.

[bobbysocks]

For king and country
The official 1942 report by the RAF especially took notice of the Norwegian squadrons and their efforts. 331 were the leading fighter squadron when it came to shooting down enemyaircraft. 332 were 3rd on the list.

The beginning

When Nazi-Germany invaded Norway in the early hours of 9th of April 1940, the tiny fleet of British built Gloster Gladiators were sent up to meet them. Finn Thorsager was the first Norwegian to engage enemies in the air in Norwegian history. He was joined later this morning by others. Amongst them was Per Waaler and Kristian Frederik Schye, but even a heroic effort by these young men couldn’t stop the Germans invading Norway. They were out-numbered and out performed by the German machines.

When the fighting in southern Norway was over in the spring of 1940, Captain Bjarne Øen was given orders by General Otto Ruge to gather as much personell as possible. He was told to gather as many mechanics, pilots and other volunteers and get them over to Great Britain as soon as possible. From there he would be able to create fighter squadrons as way to continue fighting in northern Norway. It didn’t take long before this plan was scrapped because of the rapid progress of war with the surrendering of northern Norway and the invasion of France shortly thereafter.

In the middle of June the same year the decision was taken to re-locate their plans from Great Britain to Canada. From there they would train pilots and personell and in due time send them over to England to form Norwegian fighter squadrons. Pilots engaged in action in April, like Waaler, Thorsager and Schye would later find themselves in Canada, at Norway’s training camp called Little Norway. The squadrons formed would include as much Norwegian personell as possible, but would belong to the British Royal Air Force and under British command. Norway’s government would pay for the expenses and in return get British fighter planes.

In July 1941 it was all set and the first Norwegian fighter squadron was formed under the squadron codes of (No) 331 Squadron. Later in January 1942, a second Norwegian squadron was formed, this one under the name of (No) 332 Squadron.

331 squadron were (from the pilots own point of view) unlucky and found themselves located on the Orkney Island in protection of the British naval base at Scapa Flow and the surrounding area. They longed for some real action and though the population were friendly (they usually proclaimed themselves of Norwegian heritage after a couple of whiskies) and the activity peaceful and quiet, they desperately wanted to get themselves down to southern England for some real action. They did not avoid casualties, among several incidents was the death of pilot Ulf Wormdal from Hamar. Ulf died tragically when he did not pull up in time when doing practice attacks on a squadron of British Swordfish torpedo planes. His Spitfire crashed into the sea and Ulf was never seen again. Another tragic accident happened when John Nordmo (present at Fornebu on the 9th of April) drowned on a day out arranged by the squadron.

Finally on the 4th of May 1942, 331 squadron was re-located to North Weald airfield, just outside London. Right on the front line. 332 Squadron, operating from Northern England at the time, followed shortly thereafter.

A veteran from the Battle of Britain at the age of 21, Wing Commander David Scott-Maldon chose the Norwegian wing as his post and took control of the green but very eager Norwegian pilots. Why Scott-Maldon chose the Norwegian wing is a secret only known to him. When Scott-Maldon left the Norwegian wing at North Weald he was given the highest form of decoration a foreigner could receive by Norway. No one deserved it more than Scott-Maldon they said. Later the squadrons would be led by Dane Kaj Birksted, a sharp shooting Danish fighter pilot, Norwegian Helge Mehre, and Wilhelm Mohr amongst others.

Dieppe

The Norwegian squadrons were up in the air several times a day during the ill-fated Dieppe raid by led by Canadian forces. Led by Scott-Maldon they got stuck in with the Germans at several occasions.

A German Dornier 217 finds himself surrounded by angry Norwegian Spitfires and only seconds go by before the German plane shivers and black, thick smoke gushes from its engine. One or two parachutes opens ups while the attacking Norwegian Spitfire breaks hard left to avoid hitting bits and pieces from the doomed German machine.

The pilots look down and see soldiers in their landing crafts waving at them while other soldiers lies dead on the beaches colouring the sand red of Canadian blood. A section of German Me109 breaks and attacks the Norwegian formation. No need for a Tally Ho. The Norwegians break hard with planes flying everywhere.'

A Spitfire sneaks onto the tail of a Me 109, and suddenly the German pilot is hopelessly lying over his stick while the Me109 spirals down towards the ground. Another break left with German bullets hitting somewhere down the fuselage of a straight flying Spitfire. Break, break, break. The pilot gets pressed down in his seat, almost blackening out from the pressure. The Me109 hits but the Spit gets away.

Another Spitfire got its wing shot off. No parachute. The wing falls to the ground like a leaf while the Spitfire spins further and further down before it hits the water in a gigantic splash.

The Norwegian squadrons lost 2 pilots during the Dieppe raid. 3 others were taken prisoners by the Germans. In return they shot down 15 enemy aircraft, 3 probables and 14 damaged. The best score of all RAF squadrons that day.

Mascots

The two squadrons both their little mascots. 331 had a dog called Varg who followed them through thick and thin. If his caretaker was shot down, Varg would be given to another, but he was everyone’s mascot and they all took care of him. 332’s mascot was not so popular. A goat called Mads. He was said to be a real pain in the ass and often found himself in places he shouldn’t have been, for example being the showman when Crown Prince of Norway, Olav visited the squadrons. Mads ended his life when he was shot dead by a guard after one of his little trips out in English countryside by night. According to the guard he did not answer to his call of identity.

Towards D-Day

The Norwegian squadrons continued their operations over the channel and into France. Covering American or British bombers on their way to targets on the continent were one of their jobs. Sometimes they were on offensive patrols over France or the channel trying to get the Germans up in the air to fight. Other times they were flying low offensive sweeps into France. The youngest pilot of them all, Marius Eriksen, barely 19 years old of age got shot down when he tried a head-on attack on a FW190. He survived and was taken prisoner. His best friend Jan Eirik Løfsgaard is not so lucky and is shot down when Marius is on leave in London. Other casualties included Captain Stein Sem.

-We dived side by side heading for the coast of France. Just before reaching the coast a FW190 appeared just over and behind Sem’s plane. I called out to him over the radio but it was too late. Black smoke came out from his engine. I heard him calling to me over the radio but I couldn’t hear what he said. I last saw him breaking hard right and upwards with thick black smoke still coming out. I pulled up and to the left but the plane got into a spin and the engine stopped. I couldn’t get the plane out of the spin and knew I had to jump out. I couldn’t get the canopy open and thought I was over and done with. At 4000 feet the plane flatted out and I continued over the channel before the engine stopped again and glycol streamed out. I finally got the hood open enough to get out but the release handle hit me in my face and I had to get out by pulling myself up and kicking the stick hard enough so I would get free. Covered in blood and oil I had a hell of a time finding the parachute opener but found it after awhile and the chute opened at 300 feet. I got into my dingy and after half an hour I was picked up by a British fishing boat. – Pilot Officer Malm.

6th of June 1944 and the show was on. 331 and 332 were there. In the early mornings they took of from Manston patrolling the shores of France. They saw it all. A pilot described it like a huge theatre. It seemed that a person could walk across the channel and not get wet because of all the ships. They saw the little dots on the beaches, some running inland, some lying dead down there while tanks, cars and all kind of vehicles moved inland from the beaches. When they were low on petrol they headed back to Manston. They fuelled up and went back into action. In 10 days they would cross the channel. Leave North Weald for good.

Even though the Luftwaffe were not up in numbers it did not mean it was a peaceful business. Trigger happy sailors often opened fire on them from their ships.

June 8th 1944

-Why are they shooting at us? Can’t they see were friends? Idiots! Are they that nervous? Get up into the clouds! Now! Climb! Who’s that over there? My God, it’s Leif! He’s hit by those crazy navy guys! There he is, I see him clearly. “Red 1, this is Red 2 are you alright?”. There’s smoke coming from his engine. Oh God. “This is Red 1, return to base, 020 degrees”.

More smoke coming from Leif’s plane. He’s not going to make it. He’s weaving all over the place. Oh no, there he goes.”

Red 2 was the last who saw Squadron leader Leif Lundsten alive. The last thing he did before his death was to give his squadron the right course for him. He was never found.

-Tally Ho, Tally Ho! Fifteen Me109 and FW190 six o’ clock low, going down! Going down with the sun behind them, the two Norwegian squadrons with the British 66th squadron attacks the German formation. The Germans fall down from the sky like leafs from a tree. An over-whelming force of Norwegian and British Spitfires takes the Germans completely by surprise

When the fighting was over, 8 German planes were shot down, another probably shot down with another nine damaged. One Norwegian lost his life. Kjell Sandvig.

After a slight delay, the squadrons were on their way over the channel and to France. Later Holland and Belgium. Long gone was the cosy days at North Weald. The conditions on most of these airfields were poor. At one place the smell of corpses were so bad that the pilots could smell it even up in the air. The Germans had been in such a rush to get out that they never found the time to bury their soldiers properly. Suddenly an arm or a leg could pop up around the airfields. And the smell were always there.

December 1944

Tally Ho, Tally Ho! 25 Me 109 slightly above. The squadron leaders shows experience and skill and gets the whole squadron into a good position for an attack on the Me109’s without being seen. The squadron is now experienced and knows how to turn a bad situation into a good one. The Germans on the other hand are inexperienced and have still not seen the attacking formation of Spitfires. In a matter of minutes 12 German ME109 are blown out of the sky, another 2 damaged with the rest of the German formation running for the nearest cloud.

In the last part of 44 and 45 the Germans are less to be seen in the sky. 331 and 332 continues their crusade towards victory, mainly now by focusing on ground targets such as flak batteries, German vehicles and basically whatever German things that still move on the ground. It’s however a risky business and many fine pilots are killed by flak or low flying. The occasional dogfight still happens, but the Germans are cautious and often escapes before the Norwegians can get a hold of them.

The story about Wing Commander

Rolf Arne Berg

The pilots of 331 and 332 doesn’t really want to talk about themselves and what they did in their Spitfire during the war. They would much rather talk about their friends. Those who did make it and those who didn’t. According to them, if there’s one of those people that need special attention, its Rolf Arne Berg.

Rolf Arne Berg was one of those people who is seldom noticed in peace time. A shy, intelligent man from Trøndelag in Norway. He was with 331 squadron all through the war until his death in February 1945. He took especially care of the new pilots and gave them confidence. He was one of the best pilots Norway had according to his friends. He was first and foremost a friend and not a snobby officer. He could to some seem arrogant, but this was not the case. He was one of those everyone loved and enjoyed being in company with. He was a gentleman and got along exceptionally well with the British RAF boys, not only because of his personality, but also because of his fantastic flying. He was calm, steady and exceptionally relaxed in dangerous situations.

Flying was his life. After a sortie he just took a deep breath and wanted to take off again. When he died, some people are certain that he more sorties than anyone else in the entire 2 Tactical Air Force. Together with his friends Martin Gran and Svein Heglund he often talked about what he would do after the war. Rolf sometimes wanted to continue flying, other times he wanted to buy a fishing boat or travel the world to see places and meet girls. Rolf though, wasn’t a big flirt like some others. He was a man of romance and Heglund knew he had someone special waiting for him. He wanted someone to live with for the rest of his life. It didn’t happen.

Saturday February 3rd 1945.

Rolf’s bags are packed. His operational duty are over. He’s on his way to a well deserved rest. Maybe see his girlfriend. Relax. Go to Chamonix and ski.

With the briefcases in his hands he listens closely as 332 squadron tells the CO of lots of German places parked on an airfield in Holland. He wants to go. This is an opportunity he can’t miss out on. Sitting ducks on an airfield!

But Berg is officially “posted” and not on the squadron roster. He begs his CO for yet another sortie. Mehre denies him the trip. Follow the rules he says. But Berg doesn’t give in and takes his case to the top level and get permission to go by his best friend, ‘Zulu’ Morris.. By a hairs length.

It’s a simple hit and run attack.

Berg leads the squadron to the place were the planes were reported to be seen. Nothing there. Just dummy planes on the ground. Dummy planes put there to trick Allied planes into the massive flak they had placed in the area.

Berg gives his orders. “Going down, now!”. And so they go down. Berg leads and then it happens. The Germans opens up with everything they got at them. Massive flak. Like flying into a wall of fire. Berg continues on but then pulls out and goes up.

Someone calls out on the radio; “Red 3 is missing!”.

But it’s not red 3, it’s red 1.

Berg’s Spitfire is seen loosing it’s wing and then goes straight down without any form of control. It crashes into a farm house without exploding. The rest of the squadron lands at their base without their leader.

“Wing Commander Berg missing sir” reports Martin Gran to Morris.

Morris turns away and starts crying, the only time he’s seen crying when with the Norwegian squadrons during the war.

Rolf Arne Berg died on his last trip, plus one. A trip that shouldn’t have happened. He was tired, done, finished. He was found dead in his Spitfire and was buried on a cemetery close by.

331 and 332 squadron finished their last sortie on the 21st of April 1945.

1055 22nd of May 1945.

36 Spitfire planes start their engines. At 1105 all of them were airborne. Destination, Sola, Norway. Open formation. The moment they had been waiting for had come. They were going home. They left Norway beaten. They arrived in England with nothing more than their clothes and a couple of belongings. Now they were coming home in Spitfires. The war was over.

[bobbysocks]

Air Marshal Ivan Kozhedub was one of only two Soviet fighter pilots to be awarded the Gold Star of a Hero of the Soviet Union three times during World War II. The other, Aleksandr Pokryshkin, had flown from the German invasion in the summer of 1941 through the end of the war, during which time he scored 59 aerial victories in MiG3s, Bell Airacobras, Lavochkin La-5s and Yakovlev Yak-9Us.

Ironically prevented from fighting because his skill as a pilot made him more useful as an instructor, Kozhedub did not fly his first combat mission until March 26, 1943. On February 19, 1945, he became the only Soviet pilot to shoot down a Messerschmitt Me-262 jet fighter and, on April 19, 1945, he downed two Focke-Wulf Fw-190s to bring his final tally to 62–the top Allied ace of the war.

In contrast to Aleksandr Pokryshkin, Ivan Kozhedub is associated with a single fighter type, the series of radialengine, wooden aircraft designed by Semyen Lavochkin. The last of them, La-7 No. 27, has, like its pilot, survived to graceful retirement-in the airplane’s case at the Monino Air Museum.

AH: Could you share with us something of your youth and education?

Kozhedub: I was born on June 8, 1920, in the village of Obrazheyevska, Shostka district of the Sumy region in the Ukraine. I was the youngest of five children in our family. I had a hard time when I was a child and never had enough to eat as a teen-ager. I had to work all the time back then. My only toys were handmade stilts, a rag ball and skis made of barrel planks.

In 1934, I finished a seven-year school. At first, I wanted to go to art school in Leningrad, but realized that I’d hardly get through. For two years, I attended a school for young workers. In 1940, I graduated from the Shostka chemical technical school.

AH: When, then, did you develop an interest in aviation?

Kozhedub: A craving for the skies, which I could not identify as such at the time, was probably born in my heart when I was around 15. It was then that airplanes from a local flying club began to crisscross the sky over the village of Obrazheyevska. Later on, no matter what I might be doing–solving a difficult math problem or playing at ball–I would forget instantly about everything as soon as I heard the rumble of an aircraft motor.

AH: A lot of people are fascinated by aviation, but what caused you to take the big step from enthusiast to participant?

Kozhedub: In the 1930s, the Komsomol (Young Communist League) was a patron of aviation and, naturally enough, we were all crazy about flying. I remember well the words of my school teacher: ‘Choose the life of an outstanding man as a model, and try to follow his example in everything.’ For me, a boy of 16, and for thousands of other Soviet teen-agers, the famous pilot Valery Chkalov was such a man. The whole world admired his bold long distance flights in the Tupolev ANT-25, such as his 1936 flight from Moscow to Udd Island, Kamchatka–9,374 kilometers in 56 hours, 20 minutes–or his shorter but more hazardous flight of 8,504 km in 63 hours, 16 minutes from Moscow to Vancouver, Wash., via the North Pole, on June 18-20, 1937. He was also a fearless test pilot, and it was during a test flight that he lost his life on December 15, 1938.

Realizing full well that it would be difficult to attend a technical school and learn to fly at the same time, I still filed an application at the local club. That was in 1938, when the Japanese violated the Soviet frontier near Lake Khasan. That fact strengthened my desire to receive a second profession that would be needed in the event of war.

AH: Can you describe your training? How many flying hours did it take to qualify as a pilot? Was your training typical for a Soviet pilot, civil or military?

Kozhedub: At the beginning of 1940, 1 was admitted to the Chuguyev military aviation school. It was the beginning of a new life for me. At the flying club, we had just been working on the ABCs, whereas at the school, serious training was buttressed by tough military discipline. At our school, to become a pilot you had to fulfill a flying quota of about 100 hours.

AH: What was your perception of the state of Soviet aviation and general military preparedness prior to and in the months following the German invasion?

Kozhedub: Of course, we were young at the time. We believed that our country was absolutely ready to rebuff any aggression. Any fighting on our own territory was considered unthinkable. Everything we read or heard over the radio about the war to the west seemed very remote to us. Needless to say, at that time we did not know that more than 40,000 of the most talented military leaders had been killed by Stalin’s purges a few years earlier. We realized what had happened much later. Every report about the retreat of our troops made our hearts bleed.

AH: Did the Soviet Army Air Force (VVS-RKKA) undergo any changes in structure, philosophy or strategy during the war years? If so, what changes did you notice?

Kozhedub: The experience of hostilities in the early months of the war required a change in the tactics and organizational structure of fighter aviation. The famous formula of air-to-air combat was: ‘Altitude-speed-maneuver-fire.’ A flight of two fighters became a permanent combat tactical unit in fighter aviation. Correspondingly, a flight of three planes was replaced with a flight of four planes. The formations of squadrons came to include several groups, each of which had its own tactical mission (assault, protection, suppression, air defense, etc.). The massive use of aviation, its increasing influence on the course of combat and operations, required that its efforts be concentrated in those major specialties.

Fighter air corps making up part of air armies were set up for that purpose. Hundreds of fighters took part in crucial tactical and strategic operations. Quite often, air-to-air combat developed into a virtual air battle. The arsenal of combat methods used by Soviet fighter aces came to include vertical maneuvers, multilayered formations and others. Out of the 44,000 aircraft lost by Germany on the Soviet-German front, 90 percent were downed by fighters.

AH: Did you request a transfer to the front as a combat flier, or were you given such duty by your commanders?

Kozhedub: I requested a transfer to the front more than once. But the front required well-trained fliers. While training them for future battles, I was also training myself. At the same time, it felt good to hear of their exploits at the front. In late 1942, I was sent to learn to fly a new plane, the Lavochkin LaG-5. After March 1943, I was finally in active service.

AH: What was your first impression of the LaG-5, your first combat aircraft? Did it have any special quirks or idiosyncrasies?

Kozhedub: I got LaG-5 No. 75. Like other aircraft of our regiment, it had the words ‘Named after Valery Chkalov’ inscribed on its fuselage. Those planes were built on donations from Soviet people. But my plane was different. Other fliers had aircraft with three fuel tanks, which were lighter and more maneuverable, whereas my fivetank aircraft was heavier. But for a start its potential was quite enough for me, a budding flier. Later on, I had many occasions to admire the strength and staying power of this plane. It had excellent structural mounting points and an ingenious fire-fighting system, which diverted the exhaust gases into the fuel tanks, and once saved me from what seemed certain death.

AH: Did you know anything of the less-successful predecessor of the LaG-5, the LaGG-3? Did you ever fly that plane and, if so, how did it compare with the later Lavochkins?

Kozhedub: All those planes were one family. So naturally enough, every new generation flew higher and farther. However, I did not fly the LaGG-3 myself. I know this plane was designed by Lavochkin together with his colleagues, Gorbunov and Gudkov, in 1940. It had a water-cooled engine, and like all early models, was not faultless. Its successors, the La-5 and La-7, accumulated combat experience. They had air-cooled engines and were much more reliable.

AH: To what unit were you first assigned? How were you received by the men of the regiment?

Kozhedub: My first appointment was to the 240th Fighter Air Regiment (Istrebitelsky Aviatsy Polk, or IAP), which began combat operations on the first day of the war, on the Leningrad front. Since many graduates of the Chuguyev school served there, I did not feel out of place, not even at the beginning. Our pilot personnel included people of many nationalities. There were Belorussians, Tartars, Georgians, Russians and Ukrainians. We were all like one big family.

AH: What was the typical strength and organization of a Soviet VVS regiment (Polk) or squadron (Eskadril) during World War II?

Kozhedub: Since the war was teaching us its bitter lessons, we had to change tactics as we went along. Thus, considering the experience of the first battles, the Air Force went over from 60-plane regiments, which appeared to be too heavy, to regiments consisting of 30 fighters (three squadrons). Practice showed that this structure was better, both because it made the commander’s job easier and because it ensured higher flexibility in repelling attacks.

AH: Your first week of combat was over the Kharkov sector, during the last great Soviet defeat prior to the decisive battle of Kursk. Allegedly, you yourself were badly shot-up during your first combat by German fighters. What was the state of morale among you and your comrades at this time?

Kozhedub: In my first combat, I did not get a single scratch, but my plane was badly damaged. My commander said, with good reason, ‘Make haste only when catching fleas.’ I did not heed his advice. It seemed to me I could down at least two or three enemy planes at one go. Carried away by the attack, I did not notice an umbrella of Messerschmitt Bf-110s approaching me from behind. Of course, that was a bitter experience and a serious lesson for me.

Despite general failures, our morale was quite high. Many, like myself, had their families in Nazi-occupied territory. We were all thirsting for revenge.

AH: What was your impression of the skill and courage of your Luftwaffe opponents at this time–and later? Did you perceive any changes in their skill and élan between 1943 and 1945?

Kozhedub: The sinister colors of the German Messerschmitt Bf-109s and Focke-Wulf Fw-190s with the drawings of cats, aces, arrows and skulls on their sides, were designed to scare Soviet pilots witless. But I didnt pay much attention to them, trying to guess as soon as possible the plans and methods of my enemy, and find weak spots in his tactics. However, I always respected the courage of the German aces. It would have been stupid to underrate the enemy, especially at the start of the war.

After August 1943, the supremacy in the air finally went over to the Soviet pilots and, by the end of the war, we were locking horns with hastily trained youths more and more often. The onetime conceit of invincibility claimed by Göring’s aces had gone up in smoke.

AH: How did Soviet and German aircraft compare throughout the war? What type of enemy aircraft did you have a particular respect for?

Kozhedub: In combat potential, the Yak-3, La-7 and La-9 fighters were indisputably superior to the Bf-109s and Fw-190s. But, as they say, no matter how good the violin may be, much depends on the violinist. I always felt respect for an enemy pilot whose plane I failed to down.

AH: Describe a typical ‘day’s work’ for a Soviet fighter pilot. How many sorties did you normally fly per day?

Kozhedub: The phrase ‘day’s work’ does not fit in here, for we had to fly all day long. I myself was surprised at the potential endurance of the human body in an emergency. Three to four sorties a day during an offensive was quite routine. True, one sortie would be very different from the next.

AH: Your first success was over Kursk on July 6, 1943. What were the circumstances of that victory’?

Kozhedub: We were ordered to attack a group of Junkers Ju-87 dive bombers. I chose a ‘victim’ and came in quite close to it. The main thing was to fire in time. Everything happened in a twinkling. It was only on the ground, among my friends, that I recalled the details of this battle. Caution is all-important and you have to turn your head 360 degrees all the time. The victory belonged to those who knew their planes and weapons inside out and had the initiative. On July 7, I downed a second plane and, on July 8, I destroyed another two Bf-109 fighters.

AH: The Battle of Kursk involved thousands of aircraft in a mammoth struggle for tactical control over the battlefield. What role did you and your comrades play toward the Soviet victory?

Kozhedub: In actual fact, I had my true baptism of fire near Kursk. We escorted bombers, fought enemy fighters and neutralized air defense batteries. The battle for Kursk was a landmark in the development of the forms and methods for operational and tactical use of Soviet aviation in the war years. In its first defensive stage, our airmen flew 70,219 sorties. Tactical aviation accounted for 76 percent of the total, long-range aviation for 18 percent, and air defense fighters for six percent. During that period, they destroyed 1,500 enemy planes. Our losses were 1,000 aircraft. During the counteroffensive, our flyers made 90,000 sorties, about 50 percent of which were designed to support attacking troops, and 31 percent to achieve supremacy in the air. The enemy lost up to 2,200 planes in that time.

AH: To what do you attribute your growing success thereafter?

Kozhedub: Young pilots often ask how they can learn to fly a fighter quickly; I came to the conclusion that the main thing is to master the technique of pilotage and firing. If a fighter pilot can control his plane automatically, he can correctly carry out a maneuver, quickly approach an enemy, aim at his plane precisely and destroy him. It is also important to be resourceful in any situation. At the first stage of combat skill, I dreamt of downing an enemy plane–the tactics of an air battle were theory to me. The second stage began with the training at the front before the Battle of Kursk. The fighting near the Kursk bulge was a new stage. The battle for the Dnieper was yet another.

Having become the commander of a squadron, I began to lead groups of planes and direct the actions of pilots during combat. The next stage was called lone-wolf operations. Being deputy commander of the regiment from the 1st Belorussian Front, I flew together with another pilot to the front lines in search of targets. There were many more stages like these. It is never too late to learn.

AH: On May 2, 1944, you received an La-5FN specially dedicated ‘In the name of Hero of the Soviet Union Lt.Col. N. Koniyev.’ You allegedly scored eight victories in seven days flying this aircraft. How much of an improvement over the La-5 was that La-5FN?

Kozhedub: It was, practically speaking, a simplified version of the La-5 developed in the same year, 1942. It had a boosted engine with direct fuel injection But it was important to me for different reasons. Vasily Koniyev, a beekeeper from the Bolshevik collective farm (Budarin district, Stalingrad region), bought it with his own money and asked that it be named after the nephew of the famous Marshal Vasily Konev, killed at the beginning of the war. Indeed, this plane was a lucky one for me. Out of the eight Nazi aircraft I destroyed while flying it, five were the much-vaunted Fw-190s.

AH: In July 1944, you were posted to the 1st Belorussian Front as vice commander to the 176th Guards Fighter Regiment, and received La-7 No. 27, in which you would score your final 17 victories. What were your command responsibilities; did they effect your flying habits?

Kozhedub: At first, I was upset by my new appointment but only until I found out that I could fly with aces who went on lone-wolf operations. Day in and day out, we would fly in the morning and analyze our sorties back at the squadrons at noon. At 9 p.m., we used to gather in the canteen, where the commander gave an account of the results of the day. In this regiment, I also began to team up with Dmitry Titarenko.

The 176th Guards Fighter Regiment carried out 9,450 combat missions, of which 4,016 were lone-wolf operations; it conducted 750 air battles, in which 389 enemy aircraft were shot down.

AH: How did the La-7 compare with its La-5-series predecessors?

Kozhedub: The La-7 had top-notch flying characteristics. It was a very obedient plane, which attained a high speed by the standards of those days. I must say that the La-7, the La-9 and Yak-3 were perfect planes. Their characteristics virtually reached the ceiling for piston-engine planes.

AH: For a wooden airplane, La-7 No. 27 must have been a sturdy and reliable airplane to serve you faithfully over 10 months of combat. What was the key to the robustness of these aircraft?

Kozhedub: The Lavochkins were simple, reliable aircraft. I met with their designer, Semyon Lavochkin, and visited plants where they were built. He always listened attentively to all remarks. The margin of safety was so great that, while pursuing the enemy, I exceeded the estimated loads without thinking twice. I was certain that the plane wouldn’t let me down. I reached speeds of 700 kilometers per hour (434 mph) and even more on it. The La-7 was an upgraded version of the quite good La-5FN, which had the M-82FN engine. Lavochkin modified the design of the airfoil, changed the locations of the aircooling intakes, and upgraded the design of the central part of the wings.AH: What were the circumstances of your success over the Me-262?

Kozhedub: On February 19, 1945, 1 was on a lone-wolf operation together with Dmitry Titorenko to the north of Frankfurt. I noticed a plane at an altitude of 350 meters (2,170 feet). It was flying along the Oder at a speed that was marginal for my plane. I made a quick about-face and started pursuing it at full throttle, coming down so as to approach it from under the ‘belly.’ My wingman opened fire, and the Me-262 (which was a jet, as I had already realized) began turning left, over to my side, losing speed in the process. That was the end of it. I would never have overtaken it if it had flown in a straight line. The main thing was to attack enemy planes during turns, ascents or descents, and not to lose precious seconds.

AH: What of your last combat, with Lieutenant Titorenko on April 19, 1945?

Kozhedub: On the evening of April 17, we went on a lone-wolf operation over the suburbs of Berlin. All of a sudden we saw a group of 40 Fw-190s with bomb loads, flying at an altitude of 3,500 meters in our direction. We climbed to the left and flew behind them under the cover of clouds. The odds were obviously not in our favor, but we still decided to attack since the enemy aircraft were heading for our troops. At maximum speed, we approached the tail of the formation, out of the sun. I opened fire almost point-blank at the wingman of the last pair of aircraft. The first Fw-190 fell into the suburbs of the city. Several planes turned to the west, while others continued their flight.

We decided to drive a wedge into the combat formation and break it up. Making a steep dive, we swept past enemy planes. As often happened in such cases, the Nazis thought that there were a lot of us. Confused, they started jettisoning bombs. Then they formed a defensive circle–each fighter covering the tail of the one in front of him–and began to attack us. Titorenko skillfully downed the plane that followed me. At that point, we saw our fighters and we turned for home. But suddenly, we saw yet another Fw-190 with a bomb. Apparently, the pilot had received a warning, for he made a quick dive and jettisoned his bomb over the suburbs of Berlin. But I still reached him on the recovery from his dive. The plane literally burst in the air. We made a good landing but our fuel tanks were completely empty. After that battle, I brought my personal score of downed Nazi planes to a total of 62.

AH: What were the highlights of your career in the VVS after August 18, 1945, when you were awarded your third Gold Star?

Kozhedub: After graduating from the Academy, I occupied several different high posts. But I always considered the training of young pilots my chief responsibility. It gave me a kind of satisfaction that could possibly only compare with one more gold star.

AH: Have you any comment on the present state of the art of Soviet aviation, military or civil?

Kozhedub: The Air Force is equipped with powerful and reliable aircraft, and a new generation of airliners is coming to civil aviation. That is beyond doubt. But still the main role is played by the person who is in charge of this perfect hardware–the pilot.

AH: In retrospect, which did you consider the better Soviet fighter design–the La-5 series or the Yak9 series?

Kozhedub: I always preferred the La-5s and always considered them the best ones. When I was a bit younger, I often went to Monino, about 25 miles northeast of Moscow, where my La-7 is on display at the National Air Museum. I would sit in its cabin, and life would seem more cheerful. For me, it is the time machine that takes me back to my youth, to the formidable ’40s.

AH: What do you consider to have been the best fighter airplane–regardless of nationality–of World War II?

Kozhedub: The La-7. I hope you understand why.

AH: As a flier, if you had a choice of any airplane in the world, old or new, which one would you most like to fly?

Kozhedub: My choice is the Buran–the Soviet space shuttle. I don’t know a better plane. This wonder plane was developed in the last decade, literally before my very eyes. Aviation is said to be the cradle of cosmonautics, and with good reason.

AH: Have you any final comments?

Kozhedub: Yes. I’m glad that perestroika in my country is paving the road to a time when all threatening combat hardware will be stored in the Monino museum.


Fighter air corps making up part of air armies were set up for that purpose. Hundreds of fighters took part in crucial tactical and strategic operations. Quite often, air-to-air combat developed into a virtual air battle. The arsenal of combat methods used by Soviet fighter aces came to include vertical maneuvers, multilayered formations and others. Out of the 44,000 aircraft lost by Germany on the Soviet-German front, 90 percent were downed by fighters.

AH: Did you request a transfer to the front as a combat flier, or were you given such duty by your commanders?

Kozhedub: I requested a transfer to the front more than once. But the front required well-trained fliers. While training them for future battles, I was also training myself. At the same time, it felt good to hear of their exploits at the front. In late 1942, I was sent to learn to fly a new plane, the Lavochkin LaG-5. After March 1943, I was finally in active service.

AH: What was your first impression of the LaG-5, your first combat aircraft? Did it have any special quirks or idiosyncrasies?

Kozhedub: I got LaG-5 No. 75. Like other aircraft of our regiment, it had the words "Named after Valery Chkalov" inscribed on its fuselage. Those planes were built on donations from Soviet people. But my plane was different. Other fliers had aircraft with three fuel tanks, which were lighter and more maneuverable, whereas my fivetank aircraft was heavier. But for a start its potential was quite enough for me, a budding flier. Later on, I had many occasions to admire the strength and staying power of this plane. It had excellent structural mounting points and an ingenious fire-fighting system, which diverted the exhaust gases into the fuel tanks, and once saved me from what seemed certain death.

AH: Did you know anything of the less-successful predecessor of the LaG-5, the LaGG-3? Did you ever fly that plane and, if so, how did it compare with the later Lavochkins?

Kozhedub: All those planes were one family. So naturally enough, every new generation flew higher and farther. However, I did not fly the LaGG-3 myself. I know this plane was designed by Lavochkin together with his colleagues, Gorbunov and Gudkov, in 1940. It had a water-cooled engine, and like all early models, was not faultless. Its successors, the La-5 and La-7, accumulated combat experience. They had air-cooled engines and were much more reliable.

AH: To what unit were you first assigned? How were you received by the men of the regiment?

Kozhedub: My first appointment was to the 240th Fighter Air Regiment (Istrebitelsky Aviatsy Polk, or IAP), which began combat operations on the first day of the war, on the Leningrad front. Since many graduates of the Chuguyev school served there, I did not feel out of place, not even at the beginning. Our pilot personnel included people of many nationalities. There were Belorussians, Tartars, Georgians, Russians and Ukrainians. We were all like one big family.

AH: What was the typical strength and organization of a Soviet VVS regiment (Polk) or squadron (Eskadril) during World War II?

Kozhedub: Since the war was teaching us its bitter lessons, we had to change tactics as we went along. Thus, considering the experience of the first battles, the Air Force went over from 60-plane regiments, which appeared to be too heavy, to regiments consisting of 30 fighters (three squadrons). Practice showed that this structure was better, both because it made the commander's job easier and because it ensured higher flexibility in repelling attacks.

AH: Your first week of combat was over the Kharkov sector, during the last great Soviet defeat prior to the decisive battle of Kursk. Allegedly, you yourself were badly shot-up during your first combat by German fighters. What was the state of morale among you and your comrades at this time?

Kozhedub: In my first combat, I did not get a single scratch, but my plane was badly damaged. My commander said, with good reason, "Make haste only when catching fleas." I did not heed his advice. It seemed to me I could down at least two or three enemy planes at one go. Carried away by the attack, I did not notice an umbrella of Messerschmitt Bf-110s approaching me from behind. Of course, that was a bitter experience and a serious lesson for me.

Despite general failures, our morale was quite high. Many, like myself, had their families in Nazi-occupied territory. We were all thirsting for revenge.

AH: What was your impression of the skill and courage of your Luftwaffe opponents at this time--and later? Did you perceive any changes in their skill and élan between 1943 and 1945?

Kozhedub: The sinister colors of the German Messerschmitt Bf-109s and Focke-Wulf Fw-190s with the drawings of cats, aces, arrows and skulls on their sides, were designed to scare Soviet pilots witless. But I didnt pay much attention to them, trying to guess as soon as possible the plans and methods of my enemy, and find weak spots in his tactics. However, I always respected the courage of the German aces. It would have been stupid to underrate the enemy, especially at the start of the war.

After August 1943, the supremacy in the air finally went over to the Soviet pilots and, by the end of the war, we were locking horns with hastily trained youths more and more often. The onetime conceit of invincibility claimed by Göring's aces had gone up in smoke.

AH: How did Soviet and German aircraft compare throughout the war? What type of enemy aircraft did you have a particular respect for?

Kozhedub: In combat potential, the Yak-3, La-7 and La-9 fighters were indisputably superior to the Bf-109s and Fw-190s. But, as they say, no matter how good the violin may be, much depends on the violinist. I always felt respect for an enemy pilot whose plane I failed to down.

AH: Describe a typical "day's work" for a Soviet fighter pilot. How many sorties did you normally fly per day?

Kozhedub: The phrase "day's work" does not fit in here, for we had to fly all day long. I myself was surprised at the potential endurance of the human body in an emergency. Three to four sorties a day during an offensive was quite routine. True, one sortie would be very different from the next.

AH: Your first success was over Kursk on July 6, 1943. What were the circumstances of that victory'?

Kozhedub: We were ordered to attack a group of Junkers Ju-87 dive bombers. I chose a "victim" and came in quite close to it. The main thing was to fire in time. Everything happened in a twinkling. It was only on the ground, among my friends, that I recalled the details of this battle. Caution is all-important and you have to turn your head 360 degrees all the time. The victory belonged to those who knew their planes and weapons inside out and had the initiative. On July 7, I downed a second plane and, on July 8, I destroyed another two Bf-109 fighters.

AH: The Battle of Kursk involved thousands of aircraft in a mammoth struggle for tactical control over the battlefield. What role did you and your comrades play toward the Soviet victory?

Kozhedub: In actual fact, I had my true baptism of fire near Kursk. We escorted bombers, fought enemy fighters and neutralized air defense batteries. The battle for Kursk was a landmark in the development of the forms and methods for operational and tactical use of Soviet aviation in the war years. In its first defensive stage, our airmen flew 70,219 sorties. Tactical aviation accounted for 76 percent of the total, long-range aviation for 18 percent, and air defense fighters for six percent. During that period, they destroyed 1,500 enemy planes. Our losses were 1,000 aircraft. During the counteroffensive, our flyers made 90,000 sorties, about 50 percent of which were designed to support attacking troops, and 31 percent to achieve supremacy in the air. The enemy lost up to 2,200 planes in that time.

AH: To what do you attribute your growing success thereafter?

Kozhedub: Young pilots often ask how they can learn to fly a fighter quickly; I came to the conclusion that the main thing is to master the technique of pilotage and firing. If a fighter pilot can control his plane automatically, he can correctly carry out a maneuver, quickly approach an enemy, aim at his plane precisely and destroy him. It is also important to be resourceful in any situation. At the first stage of combat skill, I dreamt of downing an enemy plane--the tactics of an air battle were theory to me. The second stage began with the training at the front before the Battle of Kursk. The fighting near the Kursk bulge was a new stage. The battle for the Dnieper was yet another.

Having become the commander of a squadron, I began to lead groups of planes and direct the actions of pilots during combat. The next stage was called lone-wolf operations. Being deputy commander of the regiment from the 1st Belorussian Front, I flew together with another pilot to the front lines in search of targets. There were many more stages like these. It is never too late to learn.

AH: On May 2, 1944, you received an La-5FN specially dedicated "In the name of Hero of the Soviet Union Lt.Col. N. Koniyev." You allegedly scored eight victories in seven days flying this aircraft. How much of an improvement over the La-5 was that La-5FN?

Kozhedub: It was, practically speaking, a simplified version of the La-5 developed in the same year, 1942. It had a boosted engine with direct fuel injection But it was important to me for different reasons. Vasily Koniyev, a beekeeper from the Bolshevik collective farm (Budarin district, Stalingrad region), bought it with his own money and asked that it be named after the nephew of the famous Marshal Vasily Konev, killed at the beginning of the war. Indeed, this plane was a lucky one for me. Out of the eight Nazi aircraft I destroyed while flying it, five were the much-vaunted Fw-190s.

AH: In July 1944, you were posted to the 1st Belorussian Front as vice commander to the 176th Guards Fighter Regiment, and received La-7 No. 27, in which you would score your final 17 victories. What were your command responsibilities; did they effect your flying habits?

Kozhedub: At first, I was upset by my new appointment but only until I found out that I could fly with aces who went on lone-wolf operations. Day in and day out, we would fly in the morning and analyze our sorties back at the squadrons at noon. At 9 p.m., we used to gather in the canteen, where the commander gave an account of the results of the day. In this regiment, I also began to team up with Dmitry Titarenko.

The 176th Guards Fighter Regiment carried out 9,450 combat missions, of which 4,016 were lone-wolf operations; it conducted 750 air battles, in which 389 enemy aircraft were shot down.

AH: How did the La-7 compare with its La-5-series predecessors?

Kozhedub: The La-7 had top-notch flying characteristics. It was a very obedient plane, which attained a high speed by the standards of those days. I must say that the La-7, the La-9 and Yak-3 were perfect planes. Their characteristics virtually reached the ceiling for piston-engine planes.

AH: For a wooden airplane, La-7 No. 27 must have been a sturdy and reliable airplane to serve you faithfully over 10 months of combat. What was the key to the robustness of these aircraft?

Kozhedub: The Lavochkins were simple, reliable aircraft. I met with their designer, Semyon Lavochkin, and visited plants where they were built. He always listened attentively to all remarks. The margin of safety was so great that, while pursuing the enemy, I exceeded the estimated loads without thinking twice. I was certain that the plane wouldn't let me down. I reached speeds of 700 kilometers per hour (434 mph) and even more on it. The La-7 was an upgraded version of the quite good La-5FN, which had the M-82FN engine. Lavochkin modified the design of the airfoil, changed the locations of the aircooling intakes, and upgraded the design of the central part of the wings.

AH: What were the circumstances of your success over the Me-262?

Kozhedub: On February 19, 1945, 1 was on a lone-wolf operation together with Dmitry Titorenko to the north of Frankfurt. I noticed a plane at an altitude of 350 meters (2,170 feet). It was flying along the Oder at a speed that was marginal for my plane. I made a quick about-face and started pursuing it at full throttle, coming down so as to approach it from under the "belly." My wingman opened fire, and the Me-262 (which was a jet, as I had already realized) began turning left, over to my side, losing speed in the process. That was the end of it. I would never have overtaken it if it had flown in a straight line. The main thing was to attack enemy planes during turns, ascents or descents, and not to lose precious seconds.

AH: What of your last combat, with Lieutenant Titorenko on April 19, 1945?

Kozhedub: On the evening of April 17, we went on a lone-wolf operation over the suburbs of Berlin. All of a sudden we saw a group of 40 Fw-190s with bomb loads, flying at an altitude of 3,500 meters in our direction. We climbed to the left and flew behind them under the cover of clouds. The odds were obviously not in our favor, but we still decided to attack since the enemy aircraft were heading for our troops. At maximum speed, we approached the tail of the formation, out of the sun. I opened fire almost point-blank at the wingman of the last pair of aircraft. The first Fw-190 fell into the suburbs of the city. Several planes turned to the west, while others continued their flight.

We decided to drive a wedge into the combat formation and break it up. Making a steep dive, we swept past enemy planes. As often happened in such cases, the Nazis thought that there were a lot of us. Confused, they started jettisoning bombs. Then they formed a defensive circle--each fighter covering the tail of the one in front of him--and began to attack us. Titorenko skillfully downed the plane that followed me. At that point, we saw our fighters and we turned for home. But suddenly, we saw yet another Fw-190 with a bomb. Apparently, the pilot had received a warning, for he made a quick dive and jettisoned his bomb over the suburbs of Berlin. But I still reached him on the recovery from his dive. The plane literally burst in the air. We made a good landing but our fuel tanks were completely empty. After that battle, I brought my personal score of downed Nazi planes to a total of 62.

AH: What were the highlights of your career in the VVS after August 18, 1945, when you were awarded your third Gold Star?

Kozhedub: After graduating from the Academy, I occupied several different high posts. But I always considered the training of young pilots my chief responsibility. It gave me a kind of satisfaction that could possibly only compare with one more gold star.

AH: Have you any comment on the present state of the art of Soviet aviation, military or civil?

Kozhedub: The Air Force is equipped with powerful and reliable aircraft, and a new generation of airliners is coming to civil aviation. That is beyond doubt. But still the main role is played by the person who is in charge of this perfect hardware--the pilot.

AH: In retrospect, which did you consider the better Soviet fighter design--the La-5 series or the Yak9 series?

Kozhedub: I always preferred the La-5s and always considered them the best ones. When I was a bit younger, I often went to Monino, about 25 miles northeast of Moscow, where my La-7 is on display at the National Air Museum. I would sit in its cabin, and life would seem more cheerful. For me, it is the time machine that takes me back to my youth, to the formidable '40s.

AH: What do you consider to have been the best fighter airplane--regardless of nationality--of World War II?

Kozhedub: The La-7. I hope you understand why.

AH: As a flier, if you had a choice of any airplane in the world, old or new, which one would you most like to fly?

Kozhedub: My choice is the Buran--the Soviet space shuttle. I don't know a better plane. This wonder plane was developed in the last decade, literally before my very eyes. Aviation is said to be the cradle of cosmonautics, and with good reason.

AH: Have you any final comments?

Kozhedub: Yes. I'm glad that perestroika in my country is paving the road to a time when all threatening combat hardware will be stored in the Monino museum.



This article was written by Jon Guttman and originally published in Aviation History Magazine in September 2000.

[bobbysocks]

Explosion in Mid-Air

On July 11th, 1944 we were just forming up on a mission to Munich, the fourth largest city in Germany. Our target was to be a jet aircraft plant located in the city and over 1200 heavy bombers were dispatched to the target. This was the Group's 86th mission and my 11th mission.
Our crew was made up of me, Jack W. Gazzale (Pilot), Jim Philips (Copilot), Fred Oglesby (Navigator), Ralph Hipsman (Engineer), Everett Broadie (Nose Gunner), his brother Robert Broadie (Tail Gunner), Bob Ehlert (Ball Turret Gunner), Burt Chenkin (Radioman), and William Becker (Waist Gunner).

At approximately 0930 and about one hour after takeoff and still forming up over England, the crew began to smell fuel. Suddenly the left wing was engulfed in flames and exploded, sending the aircraft into a severe spin preventing anyone from moving to an exit.Seconds later the main fuel tanks and possibly the bomb load exploded and the aircraft disintegrated. I was blown from the plane still strapped in my seat and Oglesby and Evertt Broadie (in the nose) were ejected through the nose section, severing Oglesby's left leg. Oglesby related that, as he fell toward earth unconscious, he became aware of something slapping him in the face and it was his boot and the severed leg. He pulled the ripcord and noticed his blood soaked parachute deploy before passing out again.
Witnesses on the ground reported seeing me plummeting toward the ground still strapped into my seat and at the last possible moment, unbuckling my seatbelt and pulling the ripcord. I received only minor injuries, but the trauma of injury and lost crew members was devastating.

Oglesby, bleeding profusely from his severe injury, was in a way, lucky. He landed in a tree beside the road just as an ambulance and crew came by on their way to a hospital with plasma. They and some farmers immediately removed Fred from the tree and applied emergency first aid, although they were unable to save his leg, he did survive and died only last year. Jim Phillips, Ralph Hipsman and Everett Broadie were lost in this crash.

The debris covered a five mile long path with an engine at the beginning and the largest piece, the tail section, at the other. Some debris fell on a B-24 base, causing a departing B-24 to abort it's takeoff after being hit by some of the debris.

Fred Oglesby and I are Colonels in the Confederate Air Force and I have the distinction of being a charter member of the High Sky Wing. Oglesby was a member of the Arizona Wing, which operates the B-17 "Sentimental Journey", whose markings are those of the 457th Bomb Group.


the nissan hut

To me, a Nissen hut at Glatton during the winter of 1944-45 was a man made cave. The interior was always cold, damp and gloomy. The windows were covered by thick blackout curtains, the overhead light bulbs, two to a hut, gave scant lighting. As a result, the time spent in the hut was mostly for sleeping. Off duty time was largely spent at the officer's club where there was a hugh fireplace which gave off some warmth, if you stood close enough.

The hut provided quarters for up to twelve men but my hut usually housed ten. There were no chairs, no table. Men in lower bunks could sit down, but men in upper bunks were disadvantaged.

In my hut no lingering ties of friendship seemed to develop. For example, the four officers of the Don Meyers crew, a typical crew, shared my hut from the time I arrived at Glatton in December until they finished their tour in March. Within a matter of days, they received travel orders, packed up, left for the Stone Replacement Depot and we never heard from them again. No final good-byes, no exchange of addresses. Why was this so?

To begin with, the Nissen provided cramped and uncomfortable quarters, an atmosphere not conducive to social conversation. We tended to share limited personal information about ourselves. The infrequent talks seldom touched on serious matters as the war or future plans. I didn't know who was married, not anyone's home state with the exception of a bombardier nicknamed "Tex" Huddleston, who I assumed, was from Texas.

There was another factor, and it was probably the primary one, working against the creation of friendships, namely combat missions. We tried to deny it to ourselves but the missions concentrated and dominated our thoughts, You could'nt help thinking that maybe tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or the next day after that, you might be wounded, face captivity or even death. A man was meditative about missions and survival. Maybe we tried not to know each other too well, so if a man from the hut was posted as missing, or killed, the loss would be less personal.

For the seven months I was stationed at Glatton there was no combat loss in my hut. On one occasion after a mission John Medwin was declared missing in action, but his plane landed safely at an alternate field and he later came back to Glatton.
The only man wounded in those seven months was Bill Pursell, who got his first medical attention from a British doctor when his plane landed at a Royal Air Force base due to a shortage of fuel. The flesh wound on his leg was painted with a generous amount of a disinfectant called Gentian-Violet. For a time he was the "man with a violet leg" but he fully recovered.

Your bunk bed was a repository for your mail and other items. One day I returned from a mission and found a good-looking box lying on the bed. It was an Air Medal, given for six missions. Additional increments of six missions brought flimsy sheets of paper to the bunk informing me that Oak Leaf Clusters were added to my Medal. This method of award delivery lessened the luster of the award. No ceremonial rites, no hand shakes.

The practice of rating an officer with an efficiency report continued even in combat. In view of what one of my reports contained, or more correctly what it did'nt contain, I was lucky that my report even reached me. The rating completed by the 750th Squadron Commander, Major James Havey, on March 15, 1945, stated "the only rating I can fairly give this officer is UNKNOWN."

If there was anything good to be said about living in a Nissen hut, it was the omission of a mainstay of military routine in the States, the inspection of Quarters. We took advantage of this; we wasted no effort to make up bunks or to be neat. This disarray added further to the man-made cave atmosphere of the Nissen hut.

[bobbysocks]

This is Leon Finneran's letter to Don Boyle.....................


Hi Don,

Sorry for the delay in answering your letter. My wife and I went on a few days vacation for the holiday weekend. Now that everything is back to normal, I will try to answer some of the questions you probably have been asking yourself all these years about the rest of the crew and the plane. Bear in mind my memory isn't what it was then. I will tell you now what I remember at the time of seeing the burst of AA (Antiaircraft fire) that got us.

We were on the bomb run and I had the turret facing straight ahead. I saw about three shells break in front of us, each one getting nearer the plane. The last shell (which one whether the 3rd or 4th I can't remember) hit us and knocked out both our outboard engines. Lindskoog (Copilot) immediately began to try to restart one of the engines. I could see gas was pouring over the starboard wing. I reminded Kerr that trying to restart the engines might start a fire. He then feathered both engines. There was no hope of getting home but Kerr said he thought we could make it to Switzerland. We could'nt hold our altitude so Kerr ordered us to throw out everything we could find to lighten the plane.

After pulling out of formation, Kerr told me to get the flare gun and continue to fire hoping we could find fighter protection. I did this and it seemed almost immediately we had fighters on each wing. Kerr was talking to the pilot on our left wing using the FM radio and asked for an escort to Switzerland. They headed us toward the Swiss border but after some time the pilot told Kerr that with all the cloud cover he could not be sure whether or not we were over Switzerland, but thought we were very near the border. The fighter pilot wished us luck and left us. I was standing between Kerr and Lindskoog looking at the clouds below and wondering how we were going to get down through them safely. I was talking to Kerr about the conditions and how we were still losing altitude when one of the other members of the crew said over the intercom that he saw a hole in the cloud cover and that he could see mountains. I then also saw a break in the clouds and told him that I could see we were below the peaks. He then pushed the light signal to prepare to bail out and almost immediately sounded the bail out signal (the bell). He asked me to stay a little longer to see if we could get down. (at this point the four gunners in the back of the plane bailed out but for some reason no one in the front of the plane did....electing to stay with the pilot.) I believe he knew none of us would have much of a chance if he left the controls.

We were flying blind and still losing altitude. I don't know how long it was but I noticed we were beginning to loose oil pressure on the overworked #3 engine. It acted like it was about to give out. There was no way of knowing what damage the flak had done to the two engines that were still operating.

Page 1 of 3

Not being much of a hero, I told Kerr we I did'nt think we were going to make it and I thought it was time for me to jump. He agreed. I went forward to the nose hatch, put on my chute pack and released the hatch. Lindskoog, who followed me down, was kneeling beside the hatch waiting for me to go. The nose hatch looked too small so I took off one of my flying boots. Lindskoog reminded me I might break my foot without my boots so I left the other one on and went headfirst out the nose. Lindskoog jumped after me, but I don't know if his chute didn't open or if he was too low. (the search party later found his body on the shore of Lake Constance). I flipped over in the air and pulled the ripcord and the pilot chute came out but it seemed to me real slow. I started to panic and pulled at the parachute cloth. The chute opened and at the same moment I heard the sound of the plane crashing. It's hard to describe how you feel at a time like that because I knew there was no way the others could have gotten out. I knew that none of them survived. I experienced an odd feeling as I floated down. After I heard the plane hit, it was as if I was in a vacuum, no sound, nothing, it seemed so quiet that if someone whispered miles away I would have heard it.<

It seemed like only a few seconds after I pulled the cord that I could see I was headed for the side of a mountain. I tried to control my direction but it didn't do any good. My chute caught on the peak and I was knocked very hard against the side of the mountain. I don't know how long I was out but when I came to I found the ripcord was still in my tightly clenched fist. The clouds had almost gone and I could see across the valley and the I could see our burning plane.
I was high on some Swiss mountain in the middle of July and there was snow all around me. I don't think I have ever felt as alone in my life, not knowing where you guys were, and knowing what had just happened to the others.

My chute was caught on the peak and there was no way I could get it down. On one side of the slope was snow, on the other, after I looked, was a sheer drop of about three or four thousand feet. The trouble with the snow side was I had to brace my back against the mountain and go side ways on top of the snow an inch at a time. If I slipped it was a quick ride to somewhere......I didn't want to find out where. After reaching a level spot and removing my parachute harness, I took the top part of my underwear off and wrapped it around the foot with no boot and with a lot of Irish luck slowly made my way down into the valley. I broke into a barn and slept in the loft that night. If anyone had said one word to me at that time I think I would have jumped through the roof of the barn.

The next day I took my escape kit maps and compass out and plotted my course. Before going into the service I was a city boy, I knew nothing about a compass or about reading a map. Nevertheless, there I was in the barn with everything laid out as if I was Columbus about to discover the New World. Needless to say, the course I took was later proved completely wrong. (When I was picked up by the Swiss border guards, I was heading back into Germany).

Some time before I met any border guards, I walked quite a way thinking I was headed into Switzerland. The next day I came across a small cabin with all the windows boarded up. I had plenty to drink from the stream coming down the mountains. I must have been out of shape on the trip because I fell quite a few times and could only walk a few minutes at a time. My head still hurt from the landing so that could have been the reason. I found a pick near the cabin and broke one of the boarded up side windows. I hadn't eaten in a couple of days so I looked for food. There were canned goods on a shelf but I couldn't read the labels so I was still hungry. There were four big bunks against the wall with straw in them, so I took a big knife from the drawer in a table and stuck it in the straw beside me when I laid down.
I don't know how long I was asleep but the next thing I knew the door opens and three men in uniform come in. They put their rifles in the corner and started to take their coats off. They still hadn't noticed me as the side boards on the bunk were high. When you were captured you said you thought they were Swiss guards, in my case I thought they were Germans soldiers(Swiss and German uniforms are similar). As I said, not being much of a hero, I let go of the knife and made a little noise but did not move out of the bunk. I told them I was American and when they pointed to the buttons on their uniform (Swiss cross) I almost laughed out loud. They gave me cheese, wine and raw bacon (My mother would not believe me because I cut all fat off any meat I eat) When we left, one of the older guards (over 50) gave me his shoes and socks and went barefooted. One gave me his jacket because he said we were only 200 yards from the Germans and if they thought I was American they might shoot.


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The next day they sent me to a Swiss hospital to have my head xrayed and in a couple days I was with other American crews that had landed in Switzerland. I was interned for about 6 months until four of us got in touch with the French resistance fighters who took us through the German lines and we made it back to England. After leaving Switzerland we stayed on the outskirts of Nancy, France near the Swiss border. We were later taken to Lyons and flown from there to England. From England I went home for a few weeks and then to Atlantic City for R & R.


It feels good after all these years to tell my experiences to someone who cares. I know you want to know about the officers too.

A couple days after being placed with the Americans, I was told that the Swiss found our wrecked plane. They were going to bury the three officers the next day . They were Kerr, Levine and Shilling (they could not locate Lindskoog's body since he was not with the plane wreckage ). I went to the funeral with officers from the American Embassy and a Swiss honor guard. They played Taps and had the Swiss Army fire a last salvo for them. They found Lindskoog some time later and he was given the same burial service. They were all burried in a small Swiss town called Thun.

To this day I can't get over how lucky I was. By all rights, I should have been with you men, or with the real unlucky ones, the officers. Your luck was bad, mine got better.(editors note - The four enlisted men who bailed out when the order was given by Kerr, were Boyle, Ahlfors, Younger and Hegedus. They too landed in the mountains but on the German side of the Swiss border and were taken prisoner and ended up in the prison camp at Stalag Luft #4 and endured considerable hardship before they were freed.)
That about does it Don. You made a mistake when you asked me to tell you everything that happened after you jumped. If you tell someone about what happened on that last mission, they listen but unless you've been through it, no one really cares, so I hope it sheds some light on what you wanted to know. In my mind I've gone over that mission hundreds of times and still can't get over how luckiy I was. Lucky not jumping and becoming a POW. Lucky not waiting too long and ending up with the others. It was only a matter of seconds that I missed ending up with them. Compared to what you guys went through, my experience wasn't much.


I remember some details as if they were yesterday....Kerr saying "Okay, you had better go too" and I know that Lindskoog's last words to anyone was when he told me I might break my foot in landing without my boots. I still feel sad seeing him kneeling beside the nose hatch talking to me and waiting for me to jump. I still feel sad that we never shook hands or wished each other luck, I hope it was because we were either scared or being young never thought anything bad could happen to us and would see each other on the ground. It's been a long time to say it, but I'm happy for every one of you that made it out. Maybe not in the best of health, but at least alive. After all these years it feels good to tell of my experiences to someone who cares. Hoping to hear from you soon.
Your friend from another time,

Lee Finneran

[bobbysocks]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpJTdu4hjFA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gvy5M4OKR8Y

[bobbysocks]

Lt. Col. Bill Holloman flew "Red Tail" P-51s with the 332nd Fighter Group in World War II -- the famed Tuskegee Airmen. He continued flying during the Korean War and Vietnam, was the first black helicopter pilot in the Air Force and later became a professor of history at the University of Washington.

"I'm proud to be associated with that group of men who not only fought racism among the Nazis, but also here in America," Holloman says.

He'll speak on the contributions of the Tuskegee Airmen in a Black History Month presentation at the Pacific Aviation Museum at Pearl Harbor tomorrow and Sunday.

It's one of the great stories rising from the so-called Greatest Generation, the tale of the "Tuskegee Airmen," the all-black squadrons that not only scored victories over Nazis in the air, they scored strikes against racism on the homefront. As an inspirational paen, it's a story that can't be told often enough.

Particularly now, during Black History Month. Which is why the Pacific Aviation Museum at Pearl Harbor is bringing in Tuskegee Airman Bill Holloman and others to give a couple of talks on the subject this week. Except that ...

..."During the war, nobody ever heard of Tuskegee Airmen," explains Holloman.

Say what?

"We were 'those colored pilots,' " said Holloman. "Then we were 'Negros' until 1963, when we became 'black.' Then somebody dreamed up 'African-American,' which I sort of resent. I'm an American who happens to be of African descent. And I'm proud to be associated with that group of men who not only fought racism among the Nazis, but also here in America. Some of our pilots who were captured by the Germans were asked, why would you fly for a country that treats you as second-class citizens? Compared to what the Nazis were doing, America is the greatest nation on Earth."

The phrase "Tuskegee Airmen," Hollomen explained, came about in the 1970s when veterans of the fighter group organized an educational trust under that name. It comes from the all-black Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, a university that served as a conduit for young black men to join the Army Air Forces.

In 1941, Congress pressured the military into creating a black flying unit, but the plan was nearly scuttled by overt racism within the War Department, which commissioned "scientific" studies from the University of Texas proving that blacks couldn't handle anything as complex as a flying machine. This notion was scuttled by, of all people, Eleanor Roosevelt, who showed up at the flying field one day and insisted that she be taken up in the air in a Piper Cub flown by a black pilot.

Eventually, the 99th, 100th, 301st and 302nd all-black squadron were formed, collectively under the 332nd Fighter Group. And if you're wondering why there are four squadrons instead of the usual three, "we were the only four-squadron group in the armed forces," said Holloman. "And it was because we were segregated."
Not just pilots. The Tuskegee Airmen also consisted of hundreds of black support personnel. "And one of the beautiful things about being in a segregated unit," said Holloman, "is that you couldn't be transferred out away from your friends. We became a family."

Holloman hails from St. Louis, and like many aviators of the era, tried flying by jumping off the garage roof with a sheet tied across his shoulders. "That is, until my mother got wind of it, and my father had us try jumping off a box instead. 'If you can fly off the box,' he said, 'I'll let you jump off the garage.' "

The airplane-crazy kid went to Tuskegee for training, graduating in class 44H, and Holloman says that nearby Tuskegee Airfield was unique in the sheer variety of training aircraft. "Usually, cadets would move from one field to another, learning different types of aircraft. But since we were segregated, instead, all the types of aircraft came to Tuskegee."

Holloman became rated in the famous P-40, P-39 and P-47 fighters, and like many aviators, his heart was stolen by the sleek P-51 Mustang. The 332nd painted their aircraft with distinctively crimson control surfaces, and thoroughout the campaign in Europe, the "Red Tails" were noted as a fierce bunch of fighter pilots who went the extra air mile to protect bombers -- and often the crews who praised them didn't know the Red Tails were black.

Star Wars" creator George Lucas' dream project is a movie about the 332nd, called, naturally, "Red Tails." Holloman was called to Los Angeles last week to consult on the script.
"By 1945, we pretty much controlled the air," said Holloman. "We'd do five escort missions, then get to do one search-and-destroy or strafing mission, which we preferred because it was more exciting! As a whole, fighter pilots are crazy young men, and we liked it that way."

The armed forces were desegregated in 1948 by executive order, creating by law -- supposedly -- the only fully integrated communities in the United States. "I discovered quickly that you can have friends in the military, and be treated as an equal, as long as our kids didn't date," said Holloman. "If there was any good that came out of World War II, it was the notion that we ignore the color of our skin when we're in the trenches together. America is not perfect -- 'America' is a goal, a dream to work toward."

[bobbysocks]

My recollections of Tuskegee airmen...

Edited on Wed Feb-16-05 01:50 PM by HamdenRice
My father was in the 332nd Fighter Group of which the 99th Fighter Squadron was part.

First of all, a quible that my father always corrected. It is a bit unfair to always talk about the Tuskegee airmen, rather than the 332nd Fighter Group. Usually the term is meant to apply to the first squadron of fighter pilots trained at Tuskegee and assigned to the command of African American Army Air Force General Benjamin O. Davis, as the 99th Fighter Squadron. But after the 99th proved their prowess (despite vicious criticism) General Marshall expanded the black pilot program to an entire fighter group, the 332nd. Moreover, this group included not just pilots, but mechanics, intelligence, medical corp -- every other function you would expect in a large fighter group, and all African American staffed and led. My father was a corporal in the 332nd.

There was a lot of officer/enlisted man comraderie, and after the war, my father stayed in touch with some of the officers as well as many fellow enlisted men. One night when I was in college, nearly 30 years ago, my uncle from California was in town, at the time still in the Air Force, and my father and mother had a dinner party. A 332nd pilot they both new attended.

He told me the story of a mission over Germany. Remember, the 332nd consisted of fighter pilots who often escorted bomber groups. Bomber groups were still segregated and entirely white. Bombers were much larger planes with longer range, and so they would pick up their fighter escorts closer to the targets. Although the bomber group commander was in overall command of the mission, it was up to the fighter squadron commander to instruct the bomber group commander when the mission had to end because the fighters would run out of fuel first.

The fighter squadron, of which this guest was a pilot, heard the radio trafic in which the black fighter squadron leader told the bomber group that it was time to turn around. The bomber group commander said over the radio he wasn't taking commands from a nigger and stayed over the target area. The fighters had no choice but to stay with the bombers.

The bombers finally decided to turn back. According to this dinner guest almost every fighter pilot ran out of fuel before reaching their bases in Italy, and crashed. He himself ran out of fuel a few miles from base and managed to glide to base. As he told this story, we were sitting next to a table lamp. I'll never forget what he said next:

"See this face? This is not the face I had when I went into the war. I glided in, but without power I crashed on the runway and my head went through the cockpit, and the glass shredded my face."

As he leaned into the lamp light I could see that his face was lightly striped with scars running from the front of his fact to the back of his head. He continued:

"I was in the hospital till the end of the war. After the war, all us black pilots were given the choice of either resigning our commission with officer's rank or being demoted to enlisted men, because the Air Force was not going to have any more black pilots. I resigned with my officer's rank. But when the Korean War began, they called me up and I went back into the Air Force as a pilot and officer."

[bobbysocks]

Bob Hoover is a pilots pilot. he is famous for his one wheel landings that he preforms at airshows. it was a coin toss as to whether it was going to be him or yeager who flew the x-1. this is a long ( even after i editted ) but worth reading...

"Jimmy Doolittle was my idol," he said. "I wanted to be just like him."

At 15, Hoover began taking flying lessons. Each Sunday, he pocketed the two dollars he'd earned for 16 hours of sacking groceries and showed up at the airport for a 15-minute lesson in a Piper Cub. After almost a year, he finally had the eight hours needed to qualify for solo flight. But he had a problem.

"I was nauseated every time I got airborne," he said.

When Hoover did finally fly solo, he was pleasantly surprised to find that without his instructor, the plane flew better and he didn't get as sick. "Every time I found I could handle one maneuver, I went on to the next one, until I conquered the airsickness," he said. "I did all sorts of aerobatics with airplanes that weren't designed for it. I didn't know any better, but I managed to do it without hurting them."

He found out quickly that he loved to perform various routines, and was soon practicing harder maneuvers, like Cuban 8s, Immelmanns and hesitation rolls.

Hoover graduated from high school in 1940. On his eighteenth birthday, he joined the Tennessee Air National Guard. He was a tail-gunner trainee in the 105th Observation Squadron.

"I wasn't eligible to go to the Air Corps flying school, because I hadn't turned 21 and didn't have the requisite two years of college," he explained.

Still, some of the officers let him fly the dual-control Douglas O-38s, and he continued to buy flying time with the few dollars he earned in the Guard. In the meantime, World War II had begun. Although the United States hadn't officially entered the conflict, the Tennessee National Guard lived up to the state's reputation as the "Volunteer State," and after requesting the privilege, went on active duty in September 1940. Hoover's squadron was soon transferred to Columbia, S.C., where it was meshed into the Army Air Corps.

A change in regulations appeared to be the answer to Hoover's dream of flying in combat and, ultimately, becoming an ace.

"They lowered the age to become a pilot from 21 to 18," he said. "The squadron's commanding officer gave me an opportunity to become a second lieutenant and a pilot in the Air Guard. However, I found out that if I went through his routine to become a military pilot, I would have an 'S' in my wings, which would mean 'service' pilot, not combat."

"I wanted to be a fighter pilot in the worst way," he said.

Shorter pilots were likely to go to fighter training and taller ones to bombers and transports. At six feet, two inches, Hoover definitely had a problem, as did a short friend, who wanted to go to transports but had been given a fighter assignment. The two developed a plan and visited a sergeant in the personnel office.

"I slipped a 20-dollar bill to him and said, 'He wants transports and I want fighters. Just switch those names, and everybody will be happy.' That's how I became a fighter pilot," Hoover said.

Hoover reported to the 20th Fighter Group, stationed at Drew Field, Tampa, Fla. After training in the single-engine AT-6 trainer, he advanced to the P-40 and the P-39 Airacobra. He was soon putting the "Widow Maker" through a series of loops, rolls and spins.

When Hoover was transferred to the European theater, although he was just a sergeant, he was placed in charge of 67 pilots, both officers and enlisted men. He arrived in England in December 1942. His unit was sent to Atcham airfield, near the small town of Stone, north of London. There, they flew British Spitfires.

In a ceremony in December 1942, Hoover and the other enlisted pilots, who hadn't received officer commissions, were designated flight officers, a rank equivalent to an Army warrant officer.

Africa

Two months after the Allies' November 1942 invasion of North Africa, Hoover's outfit was transferred there. He thought he was finally going to combat, and wasn't happy when he found they were headed to a supply depot in Mediouna, assigned to a replacement pilots' pool.

A few days after their arrival, the commanding officer, Col. John Stevenson, announced that a French major would be delivering and demonstrating a brand-new Lockheed P-38 Lightning. Although he had never flown the single-seater, twin-engine, twin-boom fighter before, Hoover had more twin-engine time than anyone else, and was told to put the plane through maneuvers after the initial display. Determined to outperform the major, Hoover put the Lightning through a series of low-altitude aerobatics.

"I was shutting down one engine and rolling into it, which is a no-no," he said. "Then I started up again, and shut the other one down and rolled in that direction. Then I started to do things with just one engine. When I landed, the colonel reprimanded me in front of everybody. He said, 'Young man, I want to see you in my office, immediately.' I thought, 'He's going to ground me.' When I knocked on the door, he yelled, 'Come in,' and by the time I got through the door, he was out of his seat and had his hand stuck out. He said, 'Young man, I've never seen anything like that in my life! I have 300 hours in that airplane; I'd kill myself if I tried to do that!"

He officially grounded Hoover from that airplane. But at places including Oran and Oujda, Morocco, he became familiar with the new P-40 and the P-39, and tested Spitfires and Hurricanes. Although he was unhappy with his assignment, he later regarded it as a great learning experience.

"Flying so many airplanes gave me invaluable abilities," he said. "I had every kind of emergency you could think of, and I learned to be quick in my thinking."

He also became skilled at test-firing weapons, perfecting his talent until he could hit targets upside down and do four perfect consecutive round loops, accurately firing at targets at the bottom of each loop. During testing, Hoover had a couple of narrow escapes, but his most serious incident up to that point occurred in the Vultee Vengeance A-3 1, a light attack bomber. During a routine test flight, torching occurred; fire spewed out around the cowling next to the exhaust stacks each time the landing gear was lowered and the throttle was reduced to idle.

As Hoover tried to land, an explosion blew out the bomb-bay doors. The plane was completely engulfed in flames. Hoover told his mechanic to jump, but when he did, his parachute harness caught on the stowed .30-caliber machine-gun mount in the rear cockpit.

Hoover rolled the plane and shook the sergeant loose, but by that time, Hoover was too low to parachute. He added full power and rolled the plane from its inverted position, extinguishing the fire. Then he climbed to 10,000 feet, shut off the fuel supply and dead-sticked back toward the field. On final approach, the aircraft burst into flames. Hoover set it down, jumped out and ran.

The Distinguished Flying Cross

While training in Florida, Hoover had become good friends with Tom Watts, another P-39 pilot, who was from Globe, Ariz. By early 1943, Watts was with the 52nd Fighter Group, in Palermo, Sicily. Hoover hoped to get his chance to join the group when he met Major Marvin McNickle, on his way to taking over the 52nd FG, and shared his disappointment at not being in combat. McNickle said that if Hoover could get a transfer, he'd back up his request.

But Hoover was ordered to report to the 12th Air Corps headquarters in Algiers, which was organizing a ferry command. Their commander, Colonel Eppwright, had requested Hoover for his operations officer. Hoover was disappointed to find that he would be checking out pilots in airplanes and later, leading them in a North American B-25 Mitchell bomber to airstrips on the fighting front. He would also be bringing pilots back to Algiers to pick up planes that would replace those lost in combat.

After piloting a B-25 bomber to lead six P-40 fighters to Licata, following the invasion of Sicily, Hoover complained to a two-star general, Joe Cannon.

"I told him I'd just led these airplanes from Africa and about everything else I'd done," Hoover recalled. "I said, 'All I ever wanted was combat. I have enough time now to go home, but I don't want to go home. I came here to fight!'"

Hoover also told him about McNickle's invitation to join his group, if he could get a transfer. Cannon said he'd try to help. Hoover later discovered that Eppwright had stalled an order for his transfer.

"He told me I'd probably be shot down, and that he was just trying to save my life," Hoover remembered. "He said that if I stuck with him, I'd be quickly promoted, and before the war was over, I'd have any assignment I wanted."

Finally, Eppwright told Hoover he could leave, after he checked someone out in the B-25 to take over his responsibilities. The next day, he received copies of his transfer orders. Not wanting to give Eppwright a chance to reconsider, Hoover headed for Boco de Falco Air Base at Palermo for the B-25 check ride.

"Palermo had just fallen into our hands," Hoover recalled. "I put my footlocker in the back end of that B-25, and I got in the pilot seat. These fellas said, 'Where are we going?' I said, 'Palermo.' When we got to Palermo, I took my footlocker out and said, 'Fellas, you're checked out. So long!'"

4th Fighter Squadron, 52nd Fighter Group

Hoover joined the 52nd Fighter Group in September 1943. Assigned to the 4th Fighter Squadron, his initial duties involved escorting Allied ship convoys carrying supplies. The newly designated combat pilot was disappointed that those excursions never resulted in dogfights with the enemy.

But Hoover became a hero when the squadron was offered a shot-up B-26 Martin Marauder, if someone could retrieve the plane from a short stretch of beach in the Straits of Messina. No one felt they could get the plane airborne, because it was in a narrow, obstructed area.

The challenge intrigued Hoover. He and a mechanic flew an L-4 reconnaissance plane to look at the bomber, which they found on a 1,000-foot crescent-shaped stretch of sand that had a 12-foot drop-off to the water at one end.

Hoover had studied manuals describing the plane's capabilities and knew they would need to lighten the aircraft. Two days later, the mechanic and a crew of 10 men began removing the copilot's seat, most of the instruments and everything else that wasn't essential to fly the plane.

The recovery effort took more than a month. On takeoff, Hoover had less than 100 gallons of fuel. With about four feet of clearance on each side of 600 feet of steel matting now covering the sandy beach, and a 300-foot extension of chicken wire beyond that, he was able to lift the nose of the B-26 and head toward Palermo. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his effort.

When orders came for the 52nd to relocate to Corsica, Hoover was told to fly an Italian Fiat to the new base. The vintage World War I aircraft had been discovered behind a damaged hangar, and Hoover and some of the base mechanics had restored the single-seat, high-wing monoplane. Traveling to Corsica in the aircraft was tricky, since he had only a float compass and no navigational aids. But he finally saw the southern tip of Sardinia.

"The Italian Air Force had surrendered, but these people didn't have anybody to surrender to," he recalled. "I landed, and they said, 'We surrender.' I said, 'I can't accept this. I have to be up in Corsica; all I'm asking for is some fuel and something to eat.'"

As Hoover neared the edge of the island, a flight of P-38s thought he was an enemy plane.

"They were going so fast, they couldn't slow down to shoot at me," he said. "I wagged the wings and pointed to the American insignia on the side of the airplane."

It won't happen to me

On Jan. 24, 1944, Hoover's twenty-second birthday, he lost his roommate and best friend. After being shot down near the coast of Calvi, Corsica, Tom Watts had successfully bailed out of his Spitfire. But high winds dragged his parachute into a reef of rocks offshore, and he drowned. It wasn't the first fatality for his band of men, but it hit Hoover the hardest.

A little over two weeks later, on Feb. 9, 1944, Hoover, who had been promoted to flight leader, took off from Calvi. He was heading a four-plane-formation of Spitfires on a mission to patrol the waters off the Italian and French coasts, between Cannes and Genoa.

Hoover was flying Black 3, a Supermarine Spitfire Mk. Vc, on a harassment mission to search and destroy enemy ships and trains. After Hoover and his fellow pilots had successfully destroyed a German freighter in the harbor near Savona, Italy, they flew back to base to refuel and then returned to patrol.

When Hoover caught sight of four German Focke-Wulf 190s, he called out their position. One of the FW-190s was on the tail of James "Monty" Montgomery, a friend who had been shot down a few months earlier and had spent three days in a life raft before being rescued. Hoover frantically called for Montgomery to break left to avoid gunfire. He knew he would need all the speed he could get, so he had to get rid of his aircraft's external fuel tank.

"That's high drag," he said. "It really slows the airplane down. I had only 1,100 horsepower and was capable of doing only 215 mph. The airplanes I had engaged had capability of 350 mph. It's like racing a Model T Ford with a Cadillac."

But when Hoover pulled the handle that would release the external fuel tank, the handle came off in his hand. With the Spitfire's superior turning ability now his only defense, he headed straight for a German fighter. He spat out a burst of .50 caliber gunfire and then saw billows of smoke streaming through the sky.

He had his first kill of the war, but had no time to celebrate. Montgomery had been hit, and Hoover watched his aircraft burst into flames. Now, two FW-190s were after Hoover. As he dove left, he noticed that his two friends had veered off and left him to fend for himself.

Not being able to release the external fuel tank seemed unlucky at the time, but now it made Hoover's Spitfire so slow that the F-190s overshot him. When two more enemy aircraft turned in toward him, Hoover fired and hit one of the FW-190s. Just when he thought he might escape, shells hit his engine cowling from underneath. An enemy fighter had hit him with a high-angle deflection shot.

"I saw this airplane, 90 degrees out here, and I just ignored it," Hoover recalled. "How could you ever get an angle shot like that?"

Hoover felt severe pain shoot through his lower body as another FW-190 closed in on him. The enemy pilot must've thought Hoover had no firepower, because he swooped under Hoover and pulled up in front of his nose. Hoover shot a burst of gunfire, but seconds later, the Spitfire's engine exploded, and a ball of flames engulfed the aircraft's nose.

"I called and told the British patroller, 'I'm going down at sea, so alert the Dumbos (Walrus amphibian rescue planes) to start flying,'" he recalled.

He opened the cockpit, released his shoulder and seat straps, rolled the plane and pulled his parachute's ripcord. The parachute didn't open until three or four hundred feet above the water. His life vest, riddled with shrapnel, wouldn't inflate, and when he hit the cold water, he felt immense pain in his lower body.

As he floated in the icy water, about 20 miles off the coast of Nice, France, he saw four Spitfires approach. When a group of FW-190s swooped down on them, one Spitfire was shot down and the others turned away. After four hours in the water, Hoover was picked up by a German corvette.

Prisoner of war

At Nice, France, German guards took Hoover to a local jail. Even though he was searched, he wasn't given medical attention for his shrapnel wounds.

"Fragments of metal got into the backs of my legs and my private parts," he said. "It wasn't anything at that time; they were just flesh wounds."

Hoover was transported to the Continental Hotel in Cannes, headquarters for German officers. There, to all questions, Hoover answered as he'd been taught: "Robert A. Hoover, flight officer, 20443029." After days of lengthy, futile interrogation, he was transported to the southern coast of France, near Marseilles. There, he made his first of several escape attempts. When he was caught, he was confined to a dark basement cell.

He was then herded into a train compartment, and was soon heading north, toward Switzerland. Near the border, Hoover slipped out a small bathroom window and made his way along the tracks. He heard gunshots, and guards soon surrounded him.

When they arrived at the German Luftwaffe interrogation headquarters at Oberursel, north of Frankfurt, Hoover was put in solitary confinement. Over the next week, he would be questioned several times, but was still obstinate. One day, as he stood before a bullet-riddled cement wall, a frustrated German captain addressed him.

"You still have a chance," the captain said, and Hoover responded, "Robert A. Hoover, flight officer, 20443029."

"When they stood me against the wall, I thought, 'Well, it won't hurt for very long,'" he recalled.

As Hoover waited for the end, the captain said something to the Germans, who dropped their guns. Once back inside, the captain addressed him again, asking why he continued to be stubborn, since they already had information on him and knowledge of his aircraft from gun camera film. After repeatedly giving his name, rank and serial number, Hoover was returned to his cell. The Germans eventually did learn additional information about him, and Hoover was furious to know someone wasn't able to hold his tongue.

Hoover became even more determined to escape. After one attempt, he was kicked repeatedly, resulting in head and facial injuries that left permanent scars. The Germans still hadn't offered to treat his other injuries, which were now infected. Finally, an interrogator told him to drop his trousers. His swollen testicles and red, inflamed groin led the interrogator to believe Hoover had syphilis.

"I thought, 'Maybe I do!' I'd been having a lot of fun," Hoover chuckled. "But it was actually blood poisoning. They didn't treat me until I got to the main prison camp."

The next day, Hoover and other POWs were stuffed into a boxcar in the marshaling yards near Frankfurt.

"The British were bombing the marshaling yards," he said. "One of the British POWs had been the lead navigator on some night flights a few weeks before. He said, 'I say, old chaps, it looks like we've had it. We're the target.' Everybody was praying; bombs were bursting all over the place. The guards went to the air raid shelters and left us there to die."

Although those in his boxcar were unhurt, one car exploded, killing everyone inside. The prisoners finally arrived at Stalag Luft 1 in Barth. Double 10-foot barbed-wire fences surrounded individual compounds, while a similar fence enclosed the entire camp. POWs were aware that if they crossed a "warning wire," they would be shot. Searchlights, mounted on the guard towers, illuminated the entire area.

An obsessive pursuit of freedom

Guards boasted that no one had ever escaped from Stalag 1, but Hoover and many fellow "Kriegies" continued their "obsessive pursuit of freedom." He tried to escape at least 25 times, and as a result, spent a lot of time in solitary confinement.

Sometimes, while in confinement, Hoover talked through the walls to other prisoners. One was Col. Russ Spicer, who became an inspiration to his fellow POWs. Within earshot of German officers, he had given a bold speech about Nazi atrocities and reminded the prisoners not to get friendly with their captors.

"Russ was my hero," Hoover said.

In early spring 1945, Allied Supreme Commander Gen. Dwight Eisenhower believed the war was almost over. He issued orders to POWs.

"He told the soldiers that were going out on missions to pass the word: POWs were not to escape after a certain date," Hoover recalled.

By that time, 10,000 prisoners were held at Stalag I. It was a significant increase over the 1,200 who were there when he arrived. Despite Eisenhower's directive, Hoover and others still devised ways to escape.

"I had been on an escape committee," Hoover explained. "We'd been trying for so long. We were dedicated, digging tunnels and running at the fence. I once got caught hanging on the barbed wire, with dogs nipping at my feet. I really was scared, but I'd been working so hard at it, and I wasn't about to quit."

In April 1945, the Russians were getting closer, and German guards started deserting. Hoover had been a POW for more than 15 months. His partners in his latest escape scheme were Jerry Ennis, from the 52nd Fighter Group, and a Canadian airman named George.

"We found a board underneath one of the buildings," Hoover said. "A bunch of people who had worked on the escape committee created a diversion. They started a fight on one side of the compound, so the guards were all looking over there. We ran out with this plank, put it up over the top of the fence and climbed out."

The prison camp was located on a peninsula that jutted into the Baltic Sea. The three escapees went through the woods and gathered wood and grapevines for a raft.

"Jerry was on the raft," Hoover recalled. "He held our clothes while we were in that cold water, pushing this thing across. We had to go about 2,000 feet, before we could get to the other side of the little inlet. When we got over there, the Canadian thought he'd be better off by himself."

Hoover and Ennis spent the night at a deserted German farmhouse, under hay in the barn. The next morning, they stole bicycles from a small village.

"We kept heading west and landed in the middle of the Russian lines," Hoover said. "They were still fighting the Germans. It was a slaughter."

As Allies, Hoover and Ennis spent the night with a group of Russian soldiers. Ennis spoke fluent French and was able to communicate with some French-speaking Russians. The next day, another group of drunk, friendly Russian soldiers stopped them at a nearby village and invited them to a local church. Later, at another German village, a distraught elderly woman with a bloody cloth wrapped around her hand asked Hoover and Ennis if they were Americans.

"The Russians had cut off her finger to get her wedding ring," Hoover recalled.

The woman led them to an area where they found many victims whose throats had been slit, then another spot where hundreds more had suffered the same fate.

"The Russians showed no mercy," Hoover said.

While Hoover and Ennis traveled, they avoided revealing that they had been POWs.

"The Russians believed if you were captured, you were a collaborator," Hoover said. "We knew the Russian philosophy by then, so if they asked what had happened to us, I would say, 'We were shot down over Berlin, and we've been evading ever since.'"

The two men eventually ended up in a walled compound of farmhouses, where more than 50 people were staying. Most were French, who had been forced into labor camps when France fell to Germany and were now trying to flee the Russians.

"These people were all trying to get back home," he said. "Since Jerry could speak French, they opened their arms to us."

That night, as Ennis and Hoover slept in a hayloft, a tank broke through the wall of the compound.

We could hear them speaking Russian," Hoover remembered. "They were looking for people and anything they could take. They came into the barn, and I heard somebody scream. They were poking the hay with a pitchfork. When they finally came near us, we stood up and held up our hands. Jerry started speaking in French. Eventually, we found somebody who understood a little bit. We said we were Allies and had been evading, and we were trying to get back to our lines. They killed almost everybody else."

Up, up and away?

When Hoover and Ennis left that area, they came across an abandoned Luftwaffe air base, just inside Germany's border. The base was deserted, except for a few ground crew. As the men looked for an aircraft that might be flyable, they were surprised to be totally ignored. They discovered at least 25 Focke-Wulf 190s, but none were airworthy.

"They were all shot up," Hoover said. "I finally came to one that had a lot of holes in it, but not in any of the vital organs."

Although he had never flown a Focke-Wulf 190, Hoover had learned about the aircraft from a fellow POW, Gus Lundquist, who had gone to England to evaluate captured German airplanes.

"He talked one of the lead generals into letting him fly a mission, and was shot down," Hoover said. "One day, I told him that I wanted to go to Wright Field after I got out, and he said, 'I'm from Wright Field!' When we'd have an opportunity, he'd sketch in the dirt where everything was."

The men made plans to use the plane, but Ennis had decided not to fly out with Hoover.

"He never wanted to fly again," Hoover said.

When a mechanic noticed the men, Hoover motioned him closer with a gun he'd acquired during their travels. They discovered that the German could speak French.

"Jerry told him that if he didn't help me get airborne, he'd kill him," Hoover said. "I got in the cockpit and the German helped me get the engine going. The fuel gauge was full and the engine ran up nicely."

Realizing that the Germans could shoot at him as he took off, Hoover closed the canopy, opened the throttle full power and went across the grass field to the runway.

"I got airborne and pulled the gear up," he remembered. "The stupidity of what I was doing hit me. I thought, 'Here I am in a German airplane, without a parachute.'"

Since he was flying a plane with a swastika painted on the side, the Allies might take aim as well.

It was overcast at about 4,000 feet," he said. "I pulled up to the bottom of that overcast, so I wouldn't be a target."

Hoover headed north until he saw the North Sea.

"I didn't have any maps or charts," he said. "I knew that if I turned west and followed the shoreline, I would be safe when I saw windmills, because the Dutch hated the Germans."

He followed the coastline to the liberated Zuider Zee in Holland. When he saw windmill, he looked for somewhere to get fuel.

"I had passed over some airfields that appeared to be deserted, but I knew that deserted runways were often mined," he said.

He found a field and decided to land, but hit a ditch he hadn't spotted from the air.

"I ground-looped it and wiped the landing gear out," he said.

Hoover was disappointed.

"I wanted to get the plane back to England," he said.

As darkness approached, he remembered seeing a road past some trees.

"I thought if I walked to that road, maybe a military vehicle would come along," he said. "Just as I got ready to go into the trees, farmers with pitchforks came at me from all sides. They thought I was a German. They couldn't speak English, so I kept pointing towards the other side of the trees, and they took me there. I stopped an English truck. I said, 'I'm an American, but they think I'm a German!' This fella said, 'Get in here with us.'"

Hoover grins and says that later, everybody considered him a hero.

"People made it sound like a great escape, but the guards had deserted us," he said.

According to Hoover, in the two weeks before the Americans liberated the camp on April 30, 1945, about 200 POWs actually escaped.

"General Eisenhower was correct," he said. "We would've been safer to stay there. It was the dumbest thing I've ever done."

Hoover doesn't know of anyone else who flew an enemy plane out of Germany.

[bobbysocks]

Lt. William C. Florentine Jr.

We took off the morning of November 13, 1943, joined up, went to Bremen, Germany, joining the bombers at the coast. They had just finished their bomb run when we were jumped by 250 enemy fighters. I never have seen so damn many airplanes, the wrong kind with the wrong markings, in my whole life! They attacked us like a swarm of locust or bees. Someway or another we, Karl Garlock my wingman and Joe Marsiglia, our flight leader, got separated from the rest of the (sqdn.) formation. We engaged the enemy. I ended up all alone. I found out later that we lost seven P-38s. Of that seven I was one of three that was not killed. I started a climb to get back to my unit when I saw pink tracers going by either side of my cockpit. The cockpit filled with smoke so that I couldn't see so I wound down the windows and the smoke cleared. My right engine quit and I feathered it. I glanced up in my rear vision mirror and saw a Me-109 firing at me and lined up with him were four more 109s! No matter what I did I was cold meat on the table! I put my plane in a dive, but not fast enough, and the 109 put a 20 mm shell into the armor plate directly behind my back. I decided that was enough! I pulled the canopy release handle and pulled out of my dive at about 4500 feet. I had started at about 23,000 feet. I crawled out on the wing and hooked my toes on the window sill and at the propitious moment straightened out and left the airplane. I stupidly had been buckling my chute under my Mae West instead of over it. When I pulled the ripcord and the chute opened, the mae west was forced up under my nose so that I couldn't see zip. I heard the roar of the Me-109 going around me. Hell, I thought I was for it now, he was going to shoot me. I probably gave him a bit of humor in his busy life at the Front because I was trying to get the Mae West down from around my face so I could see what the hell was going on. I tried to turn the chute 180 degrees around so that I would have the wind to my back. I hit in a plowed beet field in Holland I found out later. I sat down real hard, hitting butt first and ramming my knees into my chest. I felt a snap in my lower back and the pain was excruciating. I laid flat on my back thinking I might have broken my back. I sat up and the Me-109 was still circling me. He flew by so close I could see his face and he saluted me and buzzed off. He had been busy all this time notifying some Germans at the border station of my location.

I got to my feet and tried to give six or eight Hollanders my parachute but they would have none of it. I walked to a hut at the edge of the field and took off my tank, bib-type, coveralls and my winter flying boots that I wore over my shoes. I looked to my left and there was this huge dumb looking German soldier with a rifle in his hands. He said, in German and with no expression on his face, to come with him. He bundled me into a motorcycle sidecar and put my chute and flying boots on top of me and we drove down a red brick road, about a quarter of a mile to a German border station. I was treated with respect but notified that I was a prisoner and that for me the war was over. I was placed in a brick cell, in a WW I era building by an old man. It was afternoon by now and I started to go into shock. I started perspiring profusely and getting chills. They gave me some ersatz coffee and a slice of bread. At dinner I was given soup, 2 slices of bread and a cup of ersatz coffee. I was terribly cold and they heaped greatcoats over me. The following morning, Sunday, at 10 AM, a big German 1 /Lt. and three soldiers in a recon vehicle arrived and told me to sit up on the back of the seat. The Lt. drove and that son-of-a-gun drove under every low overhanging limb he could, trying to knock me off! I was kept busy ducking limbs of trees, etc. I didn't know it but they were taking me to an Me-110 station outside of Rheine. On the way we looked at a crashed P-38, not mine. We stuck in the mud and he broke the drive train trying to get out, all the time glaring at me as though it was my fault. We ended up walking a mile across a field to some red brick building surrounded by barbed wire. I believe it was a political prisoner prison. I was left at a guard house where they took my cigarettes but allowed me to keep some chewing gum. I asked for water, which they gave me. There were a group of soldiers and some women all playing cards and seemed to be enjoying themselves. At dark a two door Opel vehicle arrived and I was told to get into the back seat with a big burly soldier who kept calling me "gangster" and "Chicago gangster". Again the Lt. drove and he kept getting lost. He didn't know where we were. We eventually got to the Me-110 station near Rheine where I was interrogated from about 05:30 PM to about 08:30. They found my compass and the silk maps in the webbing of my tank jacket. They showed me the passport photo of Gene Stephens. He was one of the four who was killed and they wanted to know who he was because the body had no head when they found it. He had been on fire because the lower left corner of the photograph was scorched. I told them I did not know who he was. I just gave them my name, rank and horse power, (serial no.). They took me to the mess hall which was closed. As we approached the mess hall we passed an Me-110 pilot who saluted me and I returned the salute. The guards got me some bread, table margarine, sausage, and ersatz coffee. I didn't eat the margarine because it tasted badly. The guard insisted I eat the margarine. I motioned that I did not like it. He insisted I eat it, he had a gun, I ate it. I was taken to the front gate guard house where I spent the night sitting up. I was invited to sleep in the guard's bunk room but I couldn't stand the stench so I declined. The guards permitted me to sit up all night then. About 05:30 AM I was given something to eat and placed on a bus that took me and my guard to a railroad station.

We arrived during an air raid. We went into a shelter with civilians and some Hitler Youths, pompous little asses who strutted and preened - really comical. The all clear sounded and we boarded the train and headed for Frankfurt. We arrived at Frankfurt and the guard didn't want to take me on the electric train because he was afraid of having trouble with the civilians. We walked to an interurban electric street car and while walking I noticed the pale, thin look of the civilians. It was quite apparent that they were not getting enough to eat. We boarded the electric car and arrived at Oberursel where I was placed in cell no. 23. There I was interrogated by two different individuals. One was a school teacher from Leipzig, a gentle man. During the next two weeks, they told me all sorts of amazing personal things about me, such as: where I was born, who my parents were, that I had a brother in the navy, where I went to school and what flying schools I'd attended and even my graduating class in the Air Corps. I believe if they had the sense to use it properly they would have gone farther in making a dent in our military capabilities than they did.

I was taken with a number of other prisoners and spent about a week in a transit camp, (Wetzlar). We were loaded on a train for our permanent camp at Barth, Germany, Stalag Luft I. I arrived on the 10th of December 1943 and spent the remainder of my eighteen months of incarceration there. The trip took 4 days and nights and we were each given one half of a Red Cross food parcel. We slept on benches, under benches and on luggage racks, anywhere we could. The toilet facility was a hole in the floor at the end of the car. The filth and stench was terrible with four days of travel. We walked from the railroad station at Barth to the camp. My time at Barth was an incredible experience that I wouldn't want to go through again, but wouldn't trade for anything. It taught me a lot about human nature and my fellow man. The Germans left on the 28th of April 1945 and on the 29th the Russians showed up.

Robert N. Jensen

I joined the 338th Fighter Squadron at Portland, Oregon in April 1943. I had graduated from flying school at Williams Field, Arizona with cadet class 43-D. That fall the 55th Ftr. Grp. was shipped to England. I had about 175 hours in the P-38, none of it in preparation for high altitude bomber escort. A few hours transition time in our new planes in England and we went into combat. I have no excuse for being shot down on my 12th mission, but I do feel we had far too little training and were rushed into combat because we had planes capable of long range missions, something sorely needed at that time.

I was tail end Charlie in a three ship flight with Chas. Beall as flight leader and Bill Shank as his wingman on Nov. 13, 1943. The mission was bomber escort, target Bremen, Germany. Before we caught up with the bombers I lost the left engine and dropped out of the flight. I was attacked by a twin engine German fighter but managed to avoid significant damage and may have destroyed him as he went into the clouds smoking. I tried to head for England in the clouds but broke out with an Me-109 on my tail. He set my plane on fire and I bailed out.

I was burned about the face and neck and had shrapnel wounds in my left leg and arm before I bailed out. The chute was damaged by burning bits of my clothing after it opened but I landed relatively softly, a few Kilometers inside Germany straight east of Amsterdam.

I was picked up by German civilians immediately since I could not walk or run. I was taken to a rural schoolhouse where I was picked up that night by German soldiers in a truck. I was taken to a prison in Lingen, Ems, Germany where I received treatment by a French prisoner doctor and received no medical treatment from Germans.

While I was at the prison the only Red Cross medical parcel ever received there came in. It contained some type of sulfa powder. The French doctor used part of the sulfa on the infected leg of an American navigator and part on my face which had become infected. I suspect that my life was saved by that Red Cross medical parcel. After about two months I was able to travel and six of us American prisoners were taken to the interrogation center near Frankfurt. The train trip through the Ruhr Valley was at night and rather exciting as the city we went through was being bombed by the British. Upon arrival at the interrogation center I was placed in a small cell in solitary confinement, as were all prisoners.

The cells were small rooms about 6 by 8 feet in one story wood buildings. The one window was covered by an outside wooden shutter. The door was an ordinary wood door with a hasp and padlock on the outside. I remained at the interrogation center for about a week, and was interrogated about once each day. A guard would bring me from the cell to the interrogation office. The man who interrogated me spoke excellent American with no trace of accent. He was a small man and appeared to be forty or fifty years old. He was always polite and offered me a cigarette each session.

The first time he questioned me he was under the impression I was a bomber pilot and kept asking me what happened to my other crew members. I did nothing to make him think otherwise, but by the second or third session he knew who I was and what outfit I belonged to and the last time I saw him he showed me an aerial photograph of Nuthampstead and pointed out my Nissen hut. He then told me that since I had been shot down for over two months I had no current knowledge and would be released from interrogation and sent to a prison camp. I'm sure he learned a lot by watching my expressions when he told me of others from my squadron who had been shot down, and other intelligence tidbits. I wasn't treated badly except that I was refused medical treatment. One wound in my leg was infected and it worried me. I was told that as soon as I answered questions properly I would be sent to Dulag Luft where I could get medical treatment.

While at the interrogation centre I tried to escape. I had been given the liner to a heated flying suit to wear and I took the electrical connector from the suit apart. I used a piece of metal from the connector to slip through the window shutter and raise the outside latch. A Russian prisoner working on the grounds outside the building saw me and made his way to the window. He gave me a cigarette and two matches, but let me know that I could not get outside the grounds in that direction. I next used the metal piece to take the hinge pins out and had just opened the door on its hasp when I heard the guard walk out to the main hallway. Just as I got out of the cell the guard returned. So much for that.

At Dulag Luft, which was a holding camp where prisoners were kept until sent to a permanent prison camp, I was given clothing and a Red Cross personal care kit which consisted of a razor, blades, soap, toothbrush, tooth powder and a comb. I don't recall more than that. The camp was run by American prisoners under German control, with a mess hall, medical personnel and bomb shelters. It was truly a bit of heaven after the interrogation centre and the prison. After a week or so, a boxcar load of us were shipped to Stalag Luft I at Barth, Germany, where I spent the rest of the war.

The train ride to Barth was not especially enjoyable. The boxcar was crowded and had none of the usually considered necessary amenities. We stopped several times, for from one hour or so to several. Usually when we stopped the guards would open the doors but we were not allowed out. There were no sanitary provisions except buckets which were emptied by prisoner volunteers when we stopped. Drinking water was provided, and we had taken food from Dulag Luft, so it wasn't as bad as some other stories I've heard. We left on Jan. 17, and arrived in Barth on Jan. 20, 1944. We passed through Berlin on the way, but of course couldn't see anything as there were no windows or holes to look through.

On arrival at Barth we were marched to the camp. As we entered the gate I saw a former cadet classmate who recognized me. He told me which barracks he was in and I managed to get myself assigned to that barracks, number 1, just inside the gate and just across from the German offices, the hospital, the "cooler" and the Russian prisoner barracks.

Stalag Luft I had been entirely populated by British airmen before the Americans started coming in. A short time after I arrived an American colonel came in and since he outranked the British camp commander, he took over. There was a rather loose military organization inside the barbed wire. Each barracks was a squadron, with a squadron commander and a small staff. The Germans allowed us to run the camp as long as we obeyed their instructions. A typical day started with outdoor morning roll call by the German guards, then breakfast. Occasionally we would be kept outside after roll call while the barracks was searched. The usual reason for a search was to find escape tunnel entrances, locate forbidden items, or to see that rations were not being stored up in preparation for an escape attempt.

When Red Cross food parcels were available we ate fairly well. When that supply was interrupted we got by on German rations. These usually consisted of hot cereal and ersatz coffee in the morning, a slice of bread with oleomargarine or jam at lunch with more ersatz coffee, and thin soup with another slice of dark bread at night. Occasionally we were given horse meat, rutabagas or potatoes. There was a communal kitchen where the German rations were prepared, then delivered to the various barracks. Any other food, including that from Red Cross food parcels, was prepared in the barracks rooms, usually on makeshift stoves and using homemade pots, pans and dishes. There were times when we had no Red Cross food parcels. At that time the camp kitchen put out soup or barley each day at noon. The barley was in the form of a boiled whole-grain cereal, and was sent to each block (barracks) in five gallon cans. The block ration officer rationed it out to each room, and when ready, he gave the call, "Barley up!". This brought an avalanche of hungry Kriegies storming down the hall with every available can or bowl. The barley was eaten with salt as a soup, or if sugar was to be had, it was eaten as a cereal, or made into a pudding or cake.

Red Cross food parcels were supposed to be provided on a basis of one per week but we seldom got them regularly. After the Germans left and we took over the camp, just before the war ended, we discovered a lot of evidence of Red Cross food parcels at the Flak Training School near our camp. This confirmed our suspicions that some of the food parcels were consumed by the Germans. We also occasionally got Canadian or British Red Cross food parcels. An American parcel contained:

12 oz. Spam
2 oz. Instant coffee
12 oz. Canned corned beef
16 oz. Powdered milk (Klim)
6 oz. Liver pate
8 oz. Sugar
8 oz. Canned salmon
16 oz. Raisins or prunes
8 oz. Cheese (Velveeta)
8 oz. Chocolate (D ration bar)
4 oz. Jam or marmalade
4 oz. Soap
8 Biscuits
100 Cigarettes
16 oz. Oleomargarine
7 Vitamin tablets

In addition to the Red Cross parcels we sometimes received personal parcels or cigarette parcels sent from home, but this was pretty rare. Cigarettes were a medium of exchange and non-smokers who got them were considered rich. Some prices were:



D Ration bar (chocolate) 50
Spam 90
Corned beef 70
Liver pate 30
Salmon 35
Sugar (8 oz.) 50
oleomargarine 50
Jam 40
Cheese 60
Biscuits 60
Prunes 50
Raisins 70
Powdered milk 120
Instant coffee 60
Bouillon cubes (6) 30
Sardines 20

Occasionally prisoners would put on a show with original music, terrific acting and a lot of talent. Some sports equipment was provided by American support organizations so the sports minded could do their thing. A rather scantily supplied library provided some reading material. Some prisoners provided classes in one thing or another. Card playing was probably the most common pastime. Beds were straw filled mattresses on wooden bunks. Much time was spent fashioning necessities such as pots, pans and dishes out of tin cans or whatever was available. Ingenious contraptions for cooking, lighting and housekeeping proliferated.

Bedtime came early in the cold winter months since fuel was scarce and lights even more so. Guards with dogs patrolled outside the barracks and when window shutters were open on warm summer evenings the dogs would sometimes attempt to visit. A bath house provided infrequent showers. Laundry was done by hand when water was available. When I first arrived at the camp separate latrine buildings were in use but one indoor facility was installed in our barracks about a year later.

We were liberated by the Russians at war's end.

[bobbysocks]

Lts. Gevorkian and Kester crash landed their P-51s on the same beach in southern France and evaded through Spain together.

Part of Gevorkian and Kester's story is related by Monsieur A. Auger, a Frenchman, who aided them: "The 26th of August 1944, I was on my way to Cap Ferret to see my parents. Suddenly, at the cemetery, I saw a soldier in uniform in the dis*tance coming this way. Thinking it was a German (even though they had left Cap Ferret at the beginning of August), I jumped into a ditch. The soldier did exactly the same thing. That's when I discovered that he was an American soldier.

"Relieved, and as happy as I, the man tried to explain to me in his language that he was a pilot, and, showing me his scarf which was his navigating map, was going to Cherbourg. (This was actually a silk escape map that was carried by all U.S. aircrew members.) He explained as best he could that he and another pilot, (Kester), were caught in a thunderstorm and that their compass*es went berserk. I then showed him on his scarf where he was and explained to him that, without knowing it, he had crossed a mine field! It is a miracle that the man didn't blow up because, except for a few paths, the beach was covered with mines."

Mademoiselle Marcelle Mora relates her story of the incident: "The 26th of August, (1944), we all rushed to the beach to see the planes, out of gas, one behind the other, 3/4 of a kilometer apart. With all my friends we hugged the pilots, posed for a picture in front of the airplanes. I remember the pilots were taken care of by the FFI, (the French Resistance Group), of Cap Ferret."

Lts. Gevorkian and Kester were turned over to Monsieur Guy Schyler, of Alfred Schyler Fils & Co., Bordeaux, and Prince Stanislas Poniatowski, who in 1939 was President and General Manager of Hispano-Suiza, SA., a French company that built gasoline engines and the famous "Moteur Cannon". He had been jailed by the Germans for refusing to aid the German war effort.

Monsieur Guy Schyler now picks up the story: "On August 26th, 1944, I received a call from Colonel De Luze, commanding officer of the F.F.I. (French Forces of Interior - Maquis), to inform me that the planes that had been cruising around the Arcachon Bay were now flying north, then south, that one of them flew out of sight facing the ocean, and the two others had crash landed on the beach, a few kilometers from the small village of Lege-Cap Ferret adjacent to the Bay of Arca*chon. Colonel De Luze having asked me to investigate, I in turn called Prince Stanislas Poniatowski. We sailed for the spot where both aircraft had pancaked. We were living on the opposite side of the bay.

"Sam and John told us they had lost their formation because of a heavy storm, and were surprised not to find mountains printed on their scarf (escape map), after the estuary of the Loire. They were completely lost, having no idea where they were and practically no more petrol in their tanks. They also were not aware that there were a good many Germans at Royan as well as at Le Verdon, so they did not perform any attack on them, whereas the Germans thought they had better keep quiet unless the American pilots might well bring some trouble should they attempt shooting at the planes!

"An F.F.I. group joined us, wishing to recover the guns as well as munitions, which were useless because they were specially designed for the airplane. I myself took the compass, even though also of no use. Both aircraft were on the ocean side of the beach, so we had to climb a small sand dune to reach the beach on the Arcachon Bay side where our boat was anchored. Sam, John, Ponia*towski and myself, crossed the bay to our homes. The Poniatowski family were direct neighbors to my mother.

"Next morning I contacted Major Xavier de Laborde Noguez, whom I had asked to join us at Bordeaux to organize the return of the Americansto their base through Spain. Xavier was then with the F.F.I. fighting the battle of Medoc under command of General de Larminat. Xavier, as well l as Poniatowski and de Luze are all now dead Xavier had organized, during the German occupa*tion, a Resistance group specializing in getting French or foreigners out of France through Spain and forwarding information to London. As men*tioned above, the German forces, having left Bordeaux and, in general, the Aquitaine region, there was then no need to hide our American friends."

Lt. Gevorkian told the interrogator in London: "My fighter plane, and that of 2nd Lt. John E. Kester, landed on Cap Ferret, W. of Bordeaux, on 26 Aug 44. We were both put up at the house of Prince Stanley Poniatowski, Villa Hyowawa, Boul de L'Ocean, Arcachon, for 12 days, a very well known man to the Resistance and acting mayor of Arcachon. Then we were taken by Guy Schuyler, who lived next door, to Bordeaux, where we stayed 2 days at the home of M. DuBreille, FFI Member, known to Mlle. F. Rauly, 23 Rue des Villas, Cauderan (Gironde). M. Xavier Testas arranged for us to be sent to Hendaye, and we were taken there by M. et Mme. Gabriel Testas. From here we went to Gastes to pick up a number of other Americans and British (Volz, Walsh and Christ), all now returned to duty, and then joined A!lied control on about 10 September."

The procedure if near the Spanish Costa Brava was to take the evader through the French/Spanish border to Barcelona, where he was hidden in a safe house, of which there were a good many in the city. There Tom Forsythe, of the American Consulate, took over to get the airman back to England, usually through Gibraltar.

John Potter, counterintelligence for the O.S.S. in Spain and Portugal, remembers "double cross*ing" things he dealt with in Andorra, the tiny (191 sq. m.) republic in the eastern Pyrenees, such as receiving word that, "I've got four aviators hid*den in the mountains. Twenty thousand pesatas each ($2,190.) is wanted or they go back to the Germans." Mr. Potter said that in counterintelli*gence work, one does not deal with choir boys!

Lt. Kester was killed, 14 Jan. 1945, strafing a German airdrome. Major Gevorkian was killed in a P-51 accident, 7 Aug. 1945, in southern Germany. In 1982, Ailes Anciennes, a French non-profit organization that works to save historic aircraft, recovered Gevorkian's and Kester's P-51s from under tons of beach sand for restoration.

George Korinek

Our fighter group had been assigned escort duty to protect a B-17 bombing mission in Germany. This part of the mission was uneventful and we didn't experience much enemy action other than flak. At this time I had 60 plus missions and 285 combat flying hours. After our rendezvous with the bombers, we were relieved by another fighter group and began our return to our base at Wormingford, England. Since we had not been bounced by enemy fighters and had not dropped our belly tanks, we had plenty of fuel left and so requested permission to hit targets of opportunity. The request was granted. From our altitude I had previously noticed a freight train heading for Paris. I took my flight down and made a strafing run on the train. About four cars behind the locomotive my machine guns hit an ammunition car which exploded. I pulled up to avoid the explosion and in doing so saw several German Me-109's parked in a pasture at the edge of a wooded area. I went down to tree-top level to strafe them and caught ground fire. It hit my left engine which caught fire. I managed to strafe the gun crew firing at me before I bailed out at low altitude.'

"bailed out at a low altitude," is a very modest understatement. Korinek almost lost his life! The official encounter report submitted by a member of his flight, Lt. Wayne Lanham, states: "Lt. Korinek had been strafing a locomotive and was hit by flak while strafing a plane on an airdrome. Lt. Korinek bailed at 300 feet and his chute opened at about 100 feet." (or lower!)

I was downed near Evereux, France, west of Paris. I'd landed in a grain field and hid there for several hours while German soldiers searched for me. On their second combing of the field, about ten young Wehrmacht soldiers saw me and fired several shots at the ground along side me and, needless to say, I surrendered! They put me aboard a 6 x 6 truck and took me to their operations headquarters several miles away. In route the truck passed through a dense forest. Several of the soldiers who had been talking among themselves didn't notice some low, overhanging branches and were swept off the truck. In spite of my predicament, I found this so funny that I broke out in laughter. The soldiers were so young and inexperienced that they seemed more embarrassed by this than disturbed. After picking up the soldiers who had been brushed off we continued on our way.

After we reached their headquarters I was interrogated by German flying officers, who could not speak English. They had an enlisted man who knew enough English to translate for them. I feigned ignorance, but since I had studied German in college, I knew enough to better prepare my answers as they asked for information concerning my unit and mission. After this attempted interrogation, I was sent to a jail house in Evereux. I was placed in a cell with some crew members from a shot down B-17. Several of these men had been badly injured with compound fractures but we were prevented from helping them by an armed guard.

The following day I was transported to Chartres, France, where I saw more American prisoners from downed B-17s. We were paraded through the streets to the derision of the French people. We were then transported to Paris by motor lorry and put on a train there to Frankfurt am Main for further interrogation. I was impressed by their intelligence organization, for they knew more about me and my family than I could have ever imagined. (Hanns Scharff interrogated Lt. Korinek on July 11, 1944.)

I spent eleven days in solitary confinement and was constantly interrogated. I was then sent by train to Stalag Luft III in Sagan, Germany, for permanent incarceration. I spent a little over seven months there. On January 20, 1945, we were forced to evacuate our camp and march through the countryside, deep in snow, for several days. About three or four days after the march we were loaded in 40 x 8 box cars enroute to Stammlager VII A, at Moosburg, near Munich.

We were liberated on April 27, 1945 by General Patton's 14th Armored Division. Our treatment by the Germans was satisfactory considering that we were prisoners. Regimentation and the lack of food and boredom were our biggest problems. We were always hungry and I went from 166 pounds to 115 at the time of my release.


Victor LaBella

We were on a bomber escort mission to Berlin. About twenty minutes into Germany my right engine began to lose power. I turned towards home and my good engine began to lose power too and I started a descent. I descended to the tops of the cloud-cover at about fifteen hundred feet and decided to leave the airplane. I turned her over (upside down) and bailed out. I landed in a large cultivated field and immediately got picked up by the Home Guard. They had rifles and held me until some regular military took me to a local town and threw me in the hoosegow. The next day a Luftwaffe enlisted man accompanied me on a train ride to the interrogation center near Frankfurt am Main at Oberursel. The scariest part of this trip was that our 8th Air Force had bombed the train station that very day, so they stopped the train a few miles out of Frankfurt and all the passengers were put on busses. Here I was amongst all these people who were going in to check on their loved ones. My guard was very indifferent to my concern and I frankly stayed as close to him as possible. These people knew who I was and looks of hate and loud talking with threatening gestures alarmed me. I'd heard stories of how German civilians had killed downed airmen. I knew that my lone guard could never protect me even if he wanted to. After a slow agonizing ride we arrived in Frankfurt where I was taken to the interrogation center and thrown into solitary for two days. They fed me soup and black bread. I was brought before an interrogator who spoke perfect English and told me how he'd attended some college in California. I guess I was brought before him two or three times in which he asked me a few questions. After a few more days I was put in a box car with a lot of others and sent to Stalag Luft I.

I think I was in the south compound, block 14. There I ran into Joe Marsiglia, White, Ernest George and a couple of fellows with whom I'd gone to flight training school. After the long miseries of prison life we knew that the war was coming to an end and one day all the guards were gone. Some of our fellows took off and others remained. We had a lot of German women that were frantically trying to get into the compound with us. They were terrified of the advancing Russian army. When the Russians started arriving, they were not the regulars but a group of undisciplined, badly dressed, raggedy-assed of hoodlums. They went into town and were breaking into the homes and taking whatever they wanted, including cash and valuables, raped women and generally terrorizing the local populace. I believe this was actually planned by the Russians so that when the main body of the army came in, about three days later, and established discipline, the local people having undergone such horrible experiences that they were psychologically beaten into submission and would accept the new troops as their protectors.

When the Russians came into the camp we were treated very well. They rounded up some live stock from the local area and brought them into the camp, slaughtered them, and we had our first fresh meat since taken prisoner. I had been there fourteen months and some of the RAF pilots had been there for four or five years.

Our commanders, theirs and ours, asked that we stay in the camp, because we were going to be picked up. I don't know this to be a fact, but I heard that some of the Americans that didn't stay, that took off walking or by bicycle, you know how Americans are, especially after being imprisoned, were never heard of again. Well, shortly, B-17s came and flew us down to Camp Lucky Strike. We were there a week or ten days. Some of us took off for Paris. After being in prison we wanted to eat, drink and be merry ---- and be bred, (laughter). I think I fooled around in Paris for ten or fifteen days. Ernest George was with me and we then returned to Lucky Strike. Things were rather loose, the fellas were going into French towns or catching plane rides back to England. I eventually returned to the States by ship.

I stayed in the service and retired in 1963.

[bobbysocks]

Capt. Bert McDowell Jr.

I learned the importance of freedom the hard way! Our fighter group had a policy of the, three squadrons taking turns going back into Germany to look for "targets of opportunity" when escorting our bombers back from the target. On this mission it was the 338th's time and down we went from the 30,000-foot assigned level to 8,500 feet where we could more easily see enemy truck convoys, airfields, oil tanks and other choice targets.

I spotted an airfield in southern Germany (near Gerolshofen), called it out over the radio and down we went as fast as our "Mustangs" would go, coming in over the airfield fence at about 20 feet with the airspeed needle on the 400-miles-an-hour mark, all six guns on each plane blazing away.

I could feel the German shells from ground guns hitting my plane but had no idea how severe the damage. I lined up on a Junkers 88, a twin-engine bomber, and through the thousands of "red golf balls" coming at me from both sides, I could see my bullets hitting the JU-88 and setting it on fire. Just before I got to it, the plane blew up. Instinctively, I ducked my head and pulled back slightly on the stick to pass over the burning wreckage.

After flying for almost ten minutes, the engine froze. Wheels and flaps up, I set my P-51 down almost perfectly and came to a sudden stop. I was out and running for a wooded area, waving to my buddies who were circling above me to let them know I was O.K. When darkness settled in, with snow on the ground, I walked on muddy back roads all night. As dawn broke, I hid in another woods. It rained all that day, a bitter, cold, steady rain. I never spent a more miserable time in my life. I had no hat and was wearing summer underwear!

When dark enough to travel, I started walking towards the Allied lines and passed Germans who were coming home from work or shopping. The blackout was in effect, of course, so people appeared as dark forms. I walked all night again and just before dawn hid in another forest. I was awakened by voices. Looking cautiously from under my bush, I stared into the wrong end of two German Lugers. Two S.S. soldiers! One shouted: "Raus! Raus!", which I understood to mean, "Get the hell out of there." The taller of the two said in broken English: "You are lucky ... vor you der vor iss ovfer."

I was marched to a tiny village a couple of miles away to their detachment headquarters. There the German S.S. soldier who spoke English asked if I was hungry. I replied, "Ja!". He gave me a hot bowl of potato soup, two slices of black bread and a cup of ersatz (artificial) coffee. I wolfed it down.

The commander sent for a local female school teacher who spoke English and asked me many questions, such as where were the other members of my crew, what target did we bomb, where was our base in England, what type of plane were we flying, etc. Each time I answered by giving my name, rank, serial number and reminding her that this was in accordance with the Geneva Convention, to which Germany was a signatory member. She gave up and I was put in the cellar of a small house. No dinner that night. No breakfast the next morning.

Escorted by two guards, we walked five or six miles to a railroad station in a small village. While sitting in the tiny station, a small boy of about eight, who was with his mother, kept staring at me. Finally, he walked over to me, pulled out a cheese sandwich from a brown paper bag and offered it to me. I said "Dunker" (thank you, one of the few German words I knew). I almost cried, I was so overwhelmed by this gesture of generosity and friendliness to a prisoner of war.

We boarded the train for the hour's ride to Mannheim. There we rode a trolley car to the end of the line, then walked some four miles to an airfield, where I was imprisoned for two days, then transferred to the Luftwaffe interrogation center at Oberursel, a suburb of Frankfurt. There I spent 11 miserable days and 10 nights in solitary confinement while being interrogated.

They told me that I could not tell them anything that they did not already know. On the evening of 22 February 1945, about 50 of us were taken to the Frankfurt Banhof (railroad station). We were sitting on the floor when we heard the air raid sirens scream. Soon the eerie sound of falling bombs interrupted our thoughts ... RAF bombers were bombing the city! The railroad marshaling yard took a terrible beating but NOT ONE BOMB DROPPED ON THE BANHOF! The Good Lord answered our prayers!

After waiting seven hours for another freight train (the one we were scheduled to take was blasted to smithereens), we climbed aboard boxcars for the intermediate staging camp at Wetzlar. European boxcars are tiny when compared to American ones. There were 44 of us crammed into each boxcar, which meant we had to take turns sitting and standing. We were issued one can of meat and one loaf of bread, plus some water, for each six men. The meat was spoiled and we became violently ill. It was a nightmarish two-day and two-night journey ... an unbelievable mess!

About four days later, it was off to my first permanent P.O.W. camp at Nuremberg, also by boxcar. We were marched from the railroad yards to the camp, Stalag 13-D (I was in Compound 8). At 11 a.m. on 4 April 1945, we were informed that we were leaving camp at 1 p.m. and to be ready to march. Promptly at 1 p.m. down the road we marched, 8,000 of us, in a column of threes, with German guards and police dogs on each side of the column.

After three hours we were spotted by some American P-47 "Thunderbolt" fighter-bombers. They attacked us with 500-pound bombs and strafed us with their eight .50-caliber machine guns. It was sheer panic -- every man for himself!

After it was over, there were dead and dying all over the place. Among those killed (I counted 12 in my immediate area) were some who had been captured in North Africa in 1942 and had been through all kinds of hell ... forced marches in snow, half starved, and now this.

We marched all that night, in the rain, and all the next day in the rain until 11 p.m. before we finally stopped for the night, lying on the ground, trying to sleep. Every now and then we were given ten-minute rest stops. We walked into Stalag VII-A, Moosburg, Germany, near Munich, on 20 April 1945, we could hear the rumble of tanks of General George S. Patton's Third Army in the valley. A P.O.W. climbed up the flagpole at the main gate, threw down the Nazi swastika flag, then hauled up the Stars and Stripes. There were very few dry eyes among the newly liberated prisoners that morning!

My experience taught me something I had previously taken for granted ... how very precious is freedom. And food. And cleanliness. And warmth. And sanitation. Never before had I given any thought to having clean clothes waiting for me when I got out of the shower. But I do now, even after some 45 years


Wes Tibbetts

Several people told me to read the book Goodbye Mickey Mouse. It is a great story and I highly recommend it for it is very close portrayal of the men who composed a fighter squadron. One particular scene is about two fighter pilots who had too much to drink one night and what happened to them as a result of their overindulgence. That made me think of Wes Tibbetts and a similar night we shared.
Wes was a very fine looking fellow and almost the maximum size allowed for a fighter pilot. While in college he became a light middle weight boxer and won the Gold Gloves championship for Iowa. If you have ever boxed, you know this is no simple feat.
When I joined the 55th Fighter Group in Portland, Wes had been there and had come in with the new fresh lieutenants who were the class ahead of me. It included Joe Myers, Giller, Ryan, Marsiglia et al.
I liked Wes but he was never in my crowd. We never double-dated (although I am sure that the girls we no problem for him – he was very handsome man as you can see in the picture.) We were just friends in the early days but, as time went on, and especially when we were in combat, we became closer.
Wes was just a quiet and great guy. He did have something that I am not sure you would say made him special, but it did make him a “one and only” as far as anyone else I have ever met. By swallowing air, he was able to pass wind at almost any time. Somehow he decided it would be a great trick to pass wind in the form of Morse Code. If you don’t recall the sound of Morse Code, it is: A…dit…daaa B..daa..dit.dit.dit C:Daa.dit.daa.dit and so on down the alphabet.
Everyone got to know Wes for there was always a new officer coming in to the group. Eventually one of the old timers would say, “We have a guy that can fart the alphabet”. Naturally the new man would say you are crazy and a bet of some kind was bound to follow. The old timer would then come and get Wes and lead him to the fellow who would bet against him. I saw this happen in our room at night, at the Officers’ Club, and even in London when we were on R&R. Wes always seemed pleased to show the new man his unique talent and certainly never wanted any of the bet money. His demonstrations would always gather a crowd and his performance was always followed by tons of laughter.
Wes and I went overseas with the 55th and were stationed at Nuthampstead. There was a fair sized Quonset hut that contained the officers of the 338th and the flight leaders. That would be Sqd. Co.: Busching, Exec: Jones, Adj: Hall, S-2: Gabbert, Doc Garnett and the four flight leaders, Patterson, Beal, Marsiglia, and Tibbetts.
The night of the story, we had been flying out of Nuthampstead long enough to have some tough losses. Wes and I had both been flying every day for a week, trying to put up all the planes we could, filling in for some of the fellows who were ill. About 6pm that evening we got a call that there was to be an all out effort the next morning. Neither of us had been scheduled to fly, but after Doc and Bushing had checked around, they found they were short of a couple of pilots. So Wes and I volunteered.
We had all planned to go out that evening to something special, a Danny Kaye Show. So at about 8pm everyone took off but Wes and me. Both of us felt we needed the rest to be ready for combat the next day.
About 9pm we got a phone call saying the mission had been cancelled due to bad weather. Wes and I were so happy we got out of bed and started shooting the breeze. At that time I never touched a drop of liquor for I always wanted to beat my opponent and I would rather go in to combat with him having a hangover (, rather) than me. I knew I wasn’t going to give him any advantage. Wes was the same for he had been a great athlete and there is no place for liquor when you want to be in top shape.
Both of us had given our combat liquor to Busching and knew that he stored it in his footlocker. Somehow in shooting the breeze we decided it would be a good idea to celebrate tonight and have just a shot of bourbon. We put in enough bourbon to sufficiently fill the bottoms of our very large canteen cups and proceeded to have a drink. Well, let me tell you, if you never have any liquor and you drink it straight with no water, it arrives at the top of your head The first drink hit our funny bone and each drink thereafter seemed to hit a higher level of funny bone. We kept this up until the two of us drank the whole quart (they were quarts in those days). I remember that we were sitting at a picnic-style table with the cross supports you had to stop over to get out. Well neither one of us could step out and the last thing I remembered was crawling (there was no way I could walk!) back to my bed and into my sleeping bag.
I was vaguely aware of being slapped in the face and lots of turmoil going on around me, but I was in too deep a stupor to respond.
A day later when I came to, Doc Garnett told me the rest of the story. When they came back form the show that evening, they found Wes drunkenly trying to get in bed with me muttering, “The only way we’re going to get through this is to stick together”. They had a helluva time getting Wes away from me and Doc was slapping me, trying to get me to wake up. When he couldn’t wake me and saw that Wes was in such bad shape, he knew we weren’t merely intoxicated but in need of immediate medical attention.
He rushed us both to the hospital and had our stomachs pumped out. When I finally woke up almost a day later, I can remember the terrible terrible task it was just to open my eyes. What pain. And there was Wes in the next bed. Normally I think I would have laughed under the circumstances, but this was no laughing matter.
I often wonder if I would have lived if Doc hadn’t been in the room. Someone else probably would have just got Wes to bed and figured we would sleep it off. Doc said there was no way we would have made it with the lack of tolerance we had for liquor.
We stayed in the hospital another day and by that time we could laugh about it. We both thanked Doc Garnett for saving our lives. I certainly would have felt bad to be shot down by a bottle of bourbon.
Wes Tibbetts was shot down on a flight to (Gotha). That was a day we lost a number of pilots. A day that it was a tough show. We never heard from Wes on the radio and as far as I know he just disappeared. Was it flak? Did he call on the radio and it was jammed so we didn’t hear him? If by chance there is life after death then I want him to know that I still think of him and miss him saying “good-bye”.

[bobbysocks]

I’d known since Annette & I dated that her uncle had been killed in WWII while serving as a pilot. Annette’s father Wilbur would tell me from time to time pieces of information about his brother Brad. I knew Brad was a P-38 fighter pilot in the Army Air Force. He was missing in action in Germany or France in March of 1944 and later declared killed in action, after the war Brad was returned to the U.S. for burial in Jan of 1949.

I also wanted to know Brad’s story but Brad’s siblings and widow Mary Ellen who had never remarried were all alive and well and I was a little concerned about what they might think of me digging into Brad’s service and ultimate death.

2nd Lt. Bradford R Wikholm was a pilot of a Lockheed P-38J “Lightening” fighter plane in the U S Army Air force during WWII. This was a single seat aircraft that was heavily armed with four 50 caliber machine guns and one 20mm cannon all mounted in the nose of the plane. It was the first fighter plane to reach and exceed 400 miles an hour in airspeed. The P-38 stood out from other fighters as it had a dual tail, in fact the Germans sometimes referred to it as the “fork tailed devil.” Lt. Brad Wikholm’s service # was 0-753770. Brad was assigned to the 338th Fighter Squadron as part of the 55th Fighter Group.

I learned that each fighter squadron usually had 25 or so planes attached to it with 16 flying per mission with an occasional spare or two. The rest would be grounded for service or possible repair due to battle damage. This would mean that the entire 55th would field about 50 aircraft per mission on average.


The 55th was very active as their record shows & Brad flew a number of missions during his time with the group. Brad was the pilot of P-38 tail # 42-67989. On March 18th, 1944 a major bombing mission was launched, the main target being Friedrichshafen, Germany. This mission involved nearly 2000 aircraft including bombers & fighter escorts including the 55th.

All of the bomber groups did not bomb the same target as some groups were split off to other nearby targets as part of the same overall mission. They encountered fierce opposition & losses were heavy as 43 bombers & 13 fighters were lost to enemy aircraft & flak.

The bombers successfully dropped their bombs & were on their return flight near the German town of Gottenheim not far from the French & German border when they were attacked from fresh German fighters including both FW-190 & Messerschmitt or ME-109 fighter planes. The 55th engaged the German fighters & tried to lure them or chase them away from the bomber formation in order to protect them from further loss when Brad’s P-38 was hit by enemy fire. I finally received Brads missing aircrew report or MACR # 3100 and it contained some graphic details of Brads final moments on the mission. Capt. Val Bollwerk was the flight leader for the 338th fighter squadron for that days mission and his statement is included in Brad’s Missing Air Crew Report. Capt. Bollwerk indicated he was the last witness to see Brad’s plane. His statement reads as follows:

“2nd Lt. Bradford R Wikholm was flying in my flight, we were in the target area and engaged with enemy aircraft. He was hit in the right engine and started burning. He dived and put the fire out. The enemy aircraft were chased away from him. He was going down and to the west apparently all right for he had the aircraft under control at apparently 6000 ft. I was then bounced by 4 enemy aircraft and lost him. This was the last I saw of him and he was not under attack by enemy aircraft when I last sighted him. I did not see him bail out and I believe he defiantly had the aircraft under control when I last saw him.” It also included a hand drawn map of the approx area where Lt. Wikholm’s plane was last seen near Gottenheim, Germany close to the French border city of Colmar located in the Alsace region of France. Some records said Brad went down near Gottenheim, Germany and others later mentioned France. I know Brad was recovered from France so it was clear that the U.S. Army simply did not know for some time just where Brad’s plane had gone down. Anyhow Capt. Bollwerk lost sight of Brad when he peeled off to evade & engage the German fighters and no other American pilots or aircrews witnessed what happened to Brad. He never returned to England nor did he ever turn up as a POW. So Brad was declared as missing in action for about two years. He wasn’t declared killed in action until two years later in 1946. The day that Brad was lost I knew from earlier research that he was the only loss for the 55th on that day. After Germany surrendered the U.S. military began earnestly searching for our missing and dead servicemen. The U.S. Army was contacted by villagers in and around Hohwarth/St. Pierre Bois, France that an American airman was buried in a local church cemetery. They eventually sent an Army graves and registration recovery unit into the area and investigated this along with numerous other claims and found it was true and exhumed Brads remains and interned him at the new U.S. Military Cemetery at St Avold, Metz, France. In January 1949 he was returned to the U.S. and interned in the Golden Gate National Cemetery in San Mateo near San Francisco, California in plot l/6 8155 on Jan 6th, 1949.

My research results were beginning to slow down despite the fact that I had found what I thought were several key pieces of information. I had a number of replies from my posted queries on the Internet but they were not producing much new info at this point. I went back to some sites that I had visited before or thought I had when I found that someone else had posted a query asking if anybody knew Lt. Bradford Wikholm and that he wanted to be contacted. It was posted nearly seven years ago and had sat unanswered all that time but I was still hopeful & excited to answer it & told this person he hit the jackpot.

He emailed me the very next day & told me he had a propeller from Brad’s plane wreckage in his private collection and wanted info on Brad. He was in France & knew several details about Brad including the correct aircraft tail # and other facts that convinced me he was not pulling my leg. His name is Patrick Baumann from the village of Holtzwihr.

Patrick is a wine salesman and represents a local grower in the area so he travels throughout the region a lot and has made many contacts and friends over the years and he is an avid WWII historian who is especially interested in the air war. His hobby over the last 20 years is to research and locate WWII aircraft crash sites in the Alsace region of France. His goal is to research every known site in that region.

Patrick also heads the Association of the Aerial Remembrances of East France. He often donates remnants of plane crash sites to nearby and sometimes far away museums. In the case of Brad’s propeller Patrick tells the story of how he drove by a home in the region that had this propeller propped up in their garden and Patrick just had to have it. The owner wouldn’t part with it but after Patrick had stopped by a few times asking about how the guy obtained it he finally agreed to part with it but Patrick had to trade another piece of aircraft wreckage for it.

He offered to run an ad in the local newspaper to attempt to locate any witnesses who remembered that day long ago.

Patrick and I exchanged emails & info several times & we both were excited when he received letters from two witnesses who saw Brads final moments above & Brads plane crash. They stated that they watched as the smoke from Brad’s plane stopped as the fire appeared to have been extinguished but then Brad was jumped by two German fighters both of which were model ME-109’s. Brad was somehow able to out maneuver one German pilot & shoot him down. That German crashed landed a few miles away but the pilot survived it although we have not yet discovered his identity. Patrick’s research has since identified these pilots as belonging to German fighter group JG-106. In maneuvering to shoot down an enemy plane you would often try to position yourself behind the other plane to achieve a premium position to shoot him down. Based on one witnesses account and the physical evidence from a propeller from Brads P-38 that was salvaged from the crash site it appears that Brad and the German pilot now identified as Lt. Broo at one point found their planes coming face to face and engaged each other. The one propeller from Brad’s P-38 that Patrick now owns has two bullet holes entering from the front and exiting out the rear. As I understand at this point and admit I have yet to clarify is that the propeller only mounts facing one way. This would collaborate the witness who stated that he saw them fly at each other firing their guns. Brads aircraft apparently was hit again as his plane was again on fire or maybe the original damaged area reignited and started trailing smoke again. The German pilot Lt. Broo for whatever reason broke of the engagement and did not pursue Brad the last few moments before Brad crashed. Maybe he knew that Brad’s plane was so severely damaged that Brad was no longer a threat or maybe he was low on fuel. Either way he did not follow Brad all the way down which the pursuing pilots sometimes did if possible to ensure a confirmed victory. Captured German Luftwaffe records show Lt. Broo’s engagement with Brad was credited to him as a “probable victory” not a confirmed victory. Regardless the witnesses said they watched as Brad flew over an old castle on a hilltop across a wide valley past their homes flying right toward the old St. Gilles Church sitting on the opposite hill top. They watched nervously as Brads P-38 narrowly missed it passing just over the church steeple. Just as he passed the church steeple he rolled his P-38 over so it was upside down and dropped out of it “bailing out”. They saw two “pilots” fall out of the plane and later found that the second pilot was actually a life raft that was positioned behind Brad in the cock pit and automatically dropped out with the pilot. But many witnesses thought that two pilots bailed out. P-38 pilots had to bail out in an upside down position and drop out of the cockpit as the aircraft had a dual tail and a stabilizer that spanned in between that they were likely to strike if they bailed in an upright position. Anyhow they lost sight of both Brad and the aircraft as they both disappeared behind the hilltop and church but heard a dull whoop as the aircraft crashed into the far hillside out of view. Then seconds later they saw the smoke rising in the distance from the burning wreckage.

By ironic fate Brad’s picture appeared in the Los Angeles Times on March 15th 1944 just 3 days before his loss. It shows Brad sitting in the cockpit of his plane with Lt. Orville Goodman kneeling on the wing talking to Brad before a mission. Its caption reads “California Pilots in England”. Since Capt. Val Bollwerk was the last to see Brad’s plane & did not actually see Brad shot down or crash there was no official record of his death for U S Army until he was recovered after the war. Therefore Brad was listed as Missing In Action or MIA until 1946 when he was declared dead. Since no American military personal witnessed Brad’s dogfight with the two German planes he does not receive any official credit for shooting down or forcing down the ME-109 either. This no doubt happened to a number of pilots during the war.

Patrick also received a letter from Mrs. Irene Meyer the widow of the former mayor of Hohwarth. Mrs. Meyer’s husband had two photographs of Brad, in these photos Brad is in civilian clothes and they are apparently his escape & evasion photos. Pilots carried these in case they were shot down behind enemy lines & survived they might be able to use them to make false id’s and passports to escape. Mrs. Meyer sent these to Patrick who in turn sent them to me via email. Mrs. Meyer does not know where her husband got the photos but fortunately they kept them for 59 years and never discarded them. Mrs. Meyer also included a photograph of Brads original grave in St. Gilles Church Cemetery apparently taken immediately after his burial showing it completely covered in flowers including a large floral wreath hung over the cross marking his grave. In that photo there’s also a woman with two children standing behind the cross. The back of the photo had the following written on it: “Bradford Wikholm 18/03/44. Jeanne, sister of Lucien, of Direction (or of Lens?)”

Patrick went to the town to meet a couple of witnesses & then went to the actual crash site along with his friend Lt. Col. Le Clair Yves of the French Air Force & with a couple others they used a metal locator to find & dig up fragments of the plane & sent several of those fragments back to the U.S. to me. I have those fragments in my home and after sixty years it’s just amazing to have parts of Brads plane sitting on my desk. I gave a number of these to Brads widow Mary Ellen and his siblings.

A new and most informative and the closest involved eyewitness came foward named Fernand Huber who was 13 years old at the time. He including his wife Annette who was also a child at the time and the others we later met at the memorial gave us the following additional information. “It was the afternoon of March 18, 1944. It was a beautiful day and dry, many people were busy cutting their vines (this is wine country). I heard and saw an armada of allied bombers on their way returning toward England when the Luftwaffe attacked them. The attack started while they were still on the German side of the Rhine River heading towards France. Fernand himself saw several aircraft shot down that day alone. He mentioned how three bombers went down on the German side of the Rhine and two came down on the French side of the river. One came down near the town of Muttersholtz and the other close to Chatenois. The attack was fierce and included both German fighters FW 190’s and Messerschmitt or ME-109’s. Suddenly an American P-38 was coming down with his engine on fire. His plane was approaching dangerously close to St Gilles Church. At about that distance the pilot bailed out with the villagers below watching closely. They thought that two pilots bailed out but later realized the second pilot was just a life raft. Sadly Brad was too close to the ground for his parachute to properly perform. His plane struck the ground in the forest between Hohwarth and Sauloch near Oberhagel. Brad was found less than 200m from the plane wreckage. He was lying close to a fir tree. Many people rushed into the trees all over the hillside at first trying to locate both pilots or so they thought. Fernand was the first to find Brad with his father right behind him. He saw that Brad had been killed instantly and could not be helped. Mr. Huber said he found Brad with his parachute pulled all the way out of the pack but was not fully opened up. He also said that Brad looked in good condition, meaning he was not wounded while he was in the aircraft. Whether out of reaction or instinct he removed Brad’s emergency survival kit from and stuffed it under his own coat. The German soldiers were right behind Fernand and when the soldiers caught up they chased Fernand several feet back and he watched them search Brad for anything of intelligence. The soldiers were going through his belongings. He had three uniforms with him including: his flight suit, regular uniform and a change of civilian clothes all of which were worn over each other. His flight suit being worn on the outside over his civilian clothes with his regular uniform under them. I assume that it was intended that if shot down he would strip his flight suit off and instantly be in civilian clothes and if caught he would strip them off and be in uniform. It would also help to insulate him as the P-38 itself was not insulated and could be around 20 degrees below in flight. He also had flight boots over his regular shoes with him. Fernand continued to watch in amazement and saw that Brad had three different currencies on him including: American dollars, French francs and German marks to have the maximum chance to slip into the population of the country where he would most likely go down. The Germans would not let the villagers remove Brad from the forest that night so a few of the local men stayed in the forest with Brad overnight where he lay as well as a few German soldiers who kept guard at the crash site and over Brad. The Germans allowed them to remove Brad in the morning, which they did by a horse drawn cart to the Town Hall where he remained for two hours. They decided he couldn’t stay there so they took Brad to the home of Fernand Huber’s family. Fernand’s parents owned a large home which was formerly an old school house that was located on a sloping hill so that at the lower end were two large storage rooms. The larger room was used by the local volunteer firemen as a storage room where they kept their equipment. In this room was a large table where they brought and laid Brad on it. He was kept there for the next two days with some villagers coming by at different times with flowers to pay respects to the brave fighter pilot who gave so much for them. The German soldiers would not let them bury him yet as they came by two other times to search him again for possible intelligence information. The last time the Gestapo came and actually removed his flight suit and took it. Fernand saw that Brad had on a nice pair of Brown shoes under his flight boots and Fernand was so interested in those shoes as the war had been going on for a few years now and new shoes were no where to be found but out of respect no one dared to remove Brad’s shoes.

During this time while Brad was at the Huber’s home the local villagers were forced by the German soldiers to go back to the crash site and dismantle the wreckage with hand tools and load the parts onto oxen carts and horse drawn wagons to haul it off with Fernand helping to help operate the cart brakes. He remembers the engines were very heavy and required very hard work to load them. While at the Huber’s home the local volunteer firemen took turns standing watch over Brad so that he was never alone. This fact was represented at the memorial later, in fact Brad was never alone from the time he was located moments after the crash until he was buried.

Finally after two days at the Huber’s home Brad was taken to the cemetery at St. Gilles Church and buried. The villagers risked much as they turned out and completely covered Brads grave with flowers and installed a large cross over it and then hung a large floral wreath on it. Someone took a picture of it that I had mentioned earlier. Several witnesses stated that to this day they do not know who did it but someone or several would come by and put fresh flowers on Brads grave regularly for two years until Brad was recovered by the U S Army. His grave was never without fresh flowers when they were available and just as remarkable was that they remembered that someone had placed a French flag at great risk on Brad’s grave in the summer of 44 much to the displeasure of the German authorities. A courageous gesture in occupied France. The German soldiers removed it but the same man came by another night and spread another French flag over it again. The Germans were angry this time and went to several nearby homes questioning and threatening the locals so he didn’t do it again as so not to endanger innocent villagers.

I finally received the IDPF or Individual Deceased Personal File this did not offer a lot of new information but it did provide a number of collaborating facts to what some of the witnesses and Patrick had already uncovered and offered.

Patrick did contact the mayor of Hohwarth reminding them of Brads sacrifice & that March 18, 2004 was the 60th anniversary of his death. Patrick advised them that four members of the Wikholm family are coming to hold a memorial that day at the crash site. He inquired if they would be interested in participating in the memorial as well. Patrick mentioned the suggestion of possibly renaming a local street in the village or placing a memorial plaque in honor of Lt Wikholm’s sacrifice there. We found out later on at the memorial that the village hadn’t planned anything at all but they got into the spirit of it all and in ten days flat had approved, planned, designed, engraved and built the memorial plaque at the site only about 40 feet from the actual crash site.

I never dreamed that when I started this quest to know the truth regarding Lt. Bradford Wikholm that it would result in the journey it became including traveling to France to remember Brad where he gave his life so long ago and now here we were.

I awoke early on the morning of the 18th to look out of the window over past the Rhine River at the black forest in Germany.

We had breakfast and Patrick met us at the hotel and we followed him to a church in Holtzwhir. About 10 feet high on the side wall was a plaque honoring a British Lancaster bomber crew that had been shot down nearby loosing 3 of the 10 crewmen. Patrick had had it dedicated ten years before at a memorial for that crew. Brads memorial was Patrick’s second dedication and an even bigger one he said. The Channel 3 news crew met us.

We now headed about 20 km to Hohwarth. Along the way we passed about a dozen ancient castles dotting the hills. We wound our way through the hills until we came upon a church on a hilltop. This was St. Gilles Church and was surrounded by a small walled cemetery. After standing it for a few seconds Patrick opened his notebook and showed us the photo of Brads original grave with the family standing behind it and pointed out to the hillside and said look. Here we were standing looking at Brad’s original grave with the exact hills silhouetted in the background. Then Patrick said to look at the actual grave and said that the little boy named Gerard Herbst who was standing in the old photo is now buried in that same grave. After Brad was removed and sent to the states that the family of that boy kept the plot and about 5 years ago he died and was buried in it. Wow!

We took lots of pictures and the news crew did the same focusing on Duane and Patrick mostly. After spending some time there we drove to a restaurant in town where we met several people including: two uniformed French Air Force officers a Lt. Col. Philippe Moral and Lt. Francis Bouillt. We also met Mrs. Irene Meyer who had provided the photos of Brad’s escape and evasion pictures and the original grave photo, we met Mrs. Herbst the widow of Gerard Herbst, the boy in the old grave photo.

Patrick hurried us to go and we left to go to the actual memorial and crash site. We arrived quickly and found about 75 or more people already waiting there. The local village school had come as well to attend this memorable event. The news crew set up and we saw a plot with a log border around it with the U S and French flags covering the monument. I gave an 8 x 10 inch portrait of Brad that I had brought and he placed it under the flags in front of the still hidden monument.

We then met the Mayor of Hohwarth Daniel Gross and the French Counsel General. Unfortunately I did not get his name. Patrick lined us up and right as it was beginning we heard the unmistakable noise of jets approaching. We all turned our eyes toward the sky and watched in awe as the two French Air Force fighters soared overhead. They were Mirage 2000 models and one was slightly ahead of the other. Wow! What a moment just about 60 years to the moment that brad’s P-38 crashed only about 40 feet from where we were standing. I couldn’t stop thinking about Brad and of Mary Ellen at that moment and of how much they both sacrificed that day. Brads life came to an abrupt end and Mary Ellen spent the rest of her life without him.

Patrick got up next and read a speech that his brother translated for all of us talking about that day 60 years ago and honoring all the airmen who were downed that day. As I mentioned earlier 8 aircraft or about 71 Americans were shot down within sight of the town that afternoon in the span of a few minutes. Then the Mayor and Duane (Brad’s brother) went up together and removed both flags revealing the large stone with the memorial plaque mounted to its face. The marker states:

In memory

2nd Lt. Bradford R. Wikholm

Pilot with the 55th Fighter Group

8th U S Air Force

Killed in action

18 March 1944

Patrick then brought Duane the family flowers to place at the base of the monument, which he did.

The monument was flanked during the whole ceremony on each side by the two French Air Force officers and then flanking them were a six man volunteer fireman’s honor guard. They were there to represent the memory of those who stood watch over Brad while he was lying at the Huber’s home for two days before burial 60 years ago. Then Patrick had a large portable tape player and stereo and played the U S national anthem and then taps followed by La Marseillaise. The officers saluted during the appropriate songs as we all hand our hands over our hearts.

The dedication was now over and we walked a short distance to the actual site where Patrick’s friends had hung an American flag right over the impact site. It was facing the wrong way I noticed as I quietly chuckled but it was a nice touch over that sacred ground. While we talked and listened to people telling about the times and memories an elderly woman of about 80-85 years came down from the road and started talking in French of course. She began to weep slightly but told of how young and how handsome Brad looked and how bad she felt for his family back home but stopped mid sentence and exclaimed that “my God did he have big feet”. They all laughed and had to explain to her that his thick padded flight suit was over his other clothes and shoes. For 60 years this woman thought Brad had gigantic feet. Again this was a moment of humor in a tragic circumstance. Mr. Huber during all this had picked up a stick and was digging around the site and dug up two fragments of the plane while we stood there. He gave the big piece to Duane, which I believe Duane brought back home.

We then returned back to our hotel in Bischwhir for a short rest, Patrick came and we followed him over to his home to watch the news coverage. It was maybe a seven minute long storyline and was done very well. It featured Duane of course as Brad’s only sibling there but also featured Patrick quite a bit. Annette had a really nice shot of her laying flowers at the memorial for her uncle Brad. I had brought a number of pictures of Brad and Mary Ellen and earlier in the day the cameraman asked me to hold my album open as he filmed shots of those pictures. Most all of them were on that broadcast as well including Mary Ellen’s. I was very happy to see that they featured and talked about Mary Ellen as she sacrificed so much also. After the broadcast we all went to old town Colmar and had a wonderful dinner before parting back to the hotel. Patrick stopped by in the morning before Annette & I departed and gave us one copy of the local newspaper with an article covering the memorial dedication. Patrick also gave a bottle of wine to Duane and I as a parting gift and we said our goodbyes. Annette and I took the train back to Paris to sightsee more and Duane and Sylvia drove back a different route that what they came.

How do you end a story like this? I think the key is you don’t end it. Those that loved and lost them will never forget what they did nor how they died. Nor do they forget the void left in their lives. News anchor and author Tom Brokaw called them the “greatest generation.” Brad was one of over 400,000 Americans who died in WWII. I hope in some small way I gave a little something back to Brad along with the good people of Hohwarth and St, Pierre Bois and Patrick Baumann with the dignity and honor Brad deserves.

[bobbysocks]

Capt. Joe Foss was a pilot in the "Cactus Airforce"...in the PTO and racked up an impressive record. here's a little on him followed by an interview of him in 1943.

With 26 victories, Joe Foss was the first American ace of World War II to tie the World War One record of the legendary Eddie Rickenbacker. His actions with the Cactus Air Force earned him the Congressional Medal of Honor and the cover of LIFE magazine. After Guadalcanal, he served a second tour in the Pacific, ending the war as the second highest scoring Marine ace. (He has since become America's top Marine ace, due to post-war re-evaluations of Pappy Boyington's victories.) After WWII, Joe went on to become the youngest governor of South Dakota (two terms), helped start the American Football League, and served as President of the NRA. He was active in numerous civil and patriotic organizations until his death in January of 2003.


U. S. CONFIDENTIAL


Interview of

CAPTAIN J. J. FOSS, USMC
Executive Officer, VMF-121

in the
Bureau of Aeronautics
26 April 1943

Captain Foss tells of experiences as a fighter pilot on Guadalcanal. In his narrative he discusses among other topics Jap and U. S. air tactics, attacks on convoys, the P-38, strafing, gun-spread on planes, ammunition combinations, gunnery, float planes, oxygen, radio, Jap pilots.

Distribution: To all units ashore and afloat concerned with aircraft

GUADALCANAL-JAP TACTICS

I went into Guadalcanal in VMF-121. Major "Duke" Davis was Commanding Officer and I was the Exec. We flew off a converted carrier, about 350 miles off Guadalcanal, arriving October 9. Our second day there, we started air operations.

At that time the Jap attacks were with the Type-1 high altitude bomber, coming in in formations of from 27 up to 35 with fighter escort; altitudes from 22,000 to 26,000 feet. They would send down a fighter sweep before the bombing attack. About 12 Zeros would arrive 30 to 45 minutes ahead of the bombers, — apparently to draw up all our fighters to start an engagement. About the time an engagement started the second wave of Zeros would come in. They always came in at high altitude, somewhere about 30,000. By the time they arrived, they were hoping you were down at a good low altitude where they could work on you.

The first outfit that came in would always spar around; they wanted to draw you down so that the high altitude boys could get a good pass at you. Once of that was enough to cure me, and everyone in our outfit. We went in to get something that looked like easy bait and as we started in the Zeros that were above us came down on us. They had a little bit too much speed to do much damage. They didn't shoot down many, but they hit just about all of us.

So whenever we'd see about six Jap planes that seemed to want to engage us, we were quite sure they had plenty of high cover. If the fighting was on even terms, they weren't at all anxious to engage us. But whenever they had the long end of the deal, they were anxious to engage. Along with the bombers there would be six to eight more Zeros. They'd fly to the rear and above, about 3000 feet

above the bombers, doing loops and slow rolls, to slow them down so they could stay with the bombers. They were usually up around 30,000 feet. Then there were another six just prowling around. You never could tell where they were; they would circle wide and try to come in from the opposite direction.

When I got there, we seemed to be getting off late. The Japs got wise to the fact that if they made a circle and came in over the mountains we couldn't pick them up on the Radar as soon as we used it when they came right down the channel. With the mountain interference on the Radar we hadn't quite enough warning to make it up there. On several occasions I reached the same altitude as the bombers, — a bad situation. We didn't have time to climb into a position to get a pass at the bombers. Sometimes my outfit made a parallel run to the bombing formation but couldn't gain a bit on them; we stayed right there just out of range. Their gunners would be shooting at us while Zeros stayed up and didn't seem to want to come down. Finally they could come down, and then we'd get to fight the Zeros. One reason why my squadron had lot (SIC) of Zeros to its credit is that we always wanted to get into a scrap. When there was nothing else around, we always went after the Zeros, if they didn't come after us.

U.S. TACTICS

Instead of scrambling all the fighters on the first warning, we would send up one flight of eight and sometimes twelve planes just to spar around with these first fighters. They circle around for a long time before they engage; they never press the attack. We were just trying to hold off 'till we could get some more fighters with plenty of oxygen and gas up there in time for the bombers. We always got at least eight planes to the bombers.

At that time, we were allowed 40 F4F's on the field, about 30 of which were operating. Out of these 30, we could guarantee to have 24 in the air.

The P-38's didn't arrive until late in October. The day they arrived was the last time that the Japs came in with their big formations for high altitude bombing.

Until October 25 we had air combat every day, sometimes two and three times a day. On October 25 we knocked down 17 Zeros and 5 bombers. That attack was the last that came into the field. Every day we picked them up on the Radar. They'd come down to within 40 miles of the field and orbit. We covered the field, and went out in their direction far enough to intercept them, if they came in. That went on for about a week. After that we decided to see what was out farther. As soon as we'd start out, they'd evidently see us coming and turn around, for our control would call us and say they were departing. This went on until November 12, when the Jap

battle ships came down, and we had a Fleet engagement through the 15th. During that engagement the Jap dive bombers came down a couple of times. Our boys intercepted them and cleaned out just about the whole formation.

DESTROYING A CONVOY

Then they brought a convoy down the channel consisting of eight transports and four cargo ships covered by nine destroyers and three light cruisers. When they were at this end of New Georgia Island, the ENTERPRISE group came in to help us. After we hit them the first time the warships turned around and left their cargo and transport ships to fight it out for themselves, with very light Zero coverage. That was the end of that outfit. The four cargo ships got through that day, because we went after the transports first. The cargo ships arrived at Guadalcanal the next morning — the l5th. I took off just at daylight and spotted them as they were coming around Savo Island. I went on up the channel; and when I came back, three of them were in flames. Then we strafed the beach, and the fourth one couldn't unload anything. A P-39 dropped a bomb right in the hold and an SBD dropped another one. That ship was evidently loaded with oil. It was the end of the four cargo ships.

CHANGES

I left Guadalcanal the 17th of November. On January 1st I came back and found that things had changed. They now had course rules around the field and MP's; enemy action was very erratic. We flew a lot of patrols over the ships in the channel. We were bringing in a lot of supplies. We made fighter sweeps up over Munda and Rekata Bay and once in a while saw a Jap cargo ship, accompanied usually by one or two destroyers, coming down the channel headed for Munda. They would try to leave Bougainville late enough in the day to be coming into our range just at dark. If we came out to intercept them, we had to come back to the field after dark. Usually the weather was really bad up that way; there were squalls almost every day all along the line; it was really a workout to get back.

Then part of our Fleet force went up and shelled Munda. While they were en route, we covered them until darkness; then the next morning we picked them up at daylight and flew fighter coverage over them. We had only four Grummans to cover them but didn't think it too few at the time. Coming back, I was the first one out at daylight and didn't see a thing for three hours. Just after I had been relieved by the other half of my flight, eight dive bombers, which had evidently been watching, came in. My four boys jumped in, shot down five of the dive bombers, and put two more smoking.

BLUFF

By that time my boys were out of ammunition and decided to
circle around the ships to get a little protection from their AA fire. But the ships chased them out of there. Then twelve Zeros jumped in (we were about 65 to 70 miles from Guadalcanal at the time). There was a smart chap leading who told the boys to move up on line. The four of them got in line. Then as soon as one of the Zeros peeled off and came down for an attack, the chap on the opposite end just buzzed up and started a head-on run at the Jap as he came down. The Jap would pull right up and give it up. One of my boys who had pulled up at him would slide into the middle of the formation. Then they'd just keep shifting back and forth. The Japs chased them all the way to Guadalcanal, where one of the Zeros burst into flames and flew into the water. Our boys didn't have a bean left in their guns.

COMBAT TACTICS

On January 15, we went to get an AK, evidently coming to Kolombangara or to Munda, accompanied by one destroyer. It was about 15 minutes before dark when we arrived. There were eleven dive bombers, eight Grummans, and eight P-39's. We had four Grummans at 18,000 (that was I), four Grummans at 16,000, and eight P-39's lower; the dive bombers were at about 12,000 feet. It was so dark that if I had been any higher I couldn't have seen the dive bombers. We kept crossicg back and forth so that we'd loop behind the others and cover their tail. Just as the first dive bombers started in, the Zeros jumped in and attacked the P-39's at low altitude, about l4,000 feet. Then the four-plane section of Grummans which were at 16,000 feet dived in and rescued the P-39's. They shot down four of five Japs. I didn't dare go down because I saw six Zeros at my altitude just waiting for me to go down. I just stayed up and circled around trying to get a shot at them. Finally they moved in and started making a pass on me. By this time we'd gone past our range and didn't dare use full throttle or we'd have run out of gas before we got home. As the Zeros went back to re-form and came back for a second time, we slid into a cloud and got away from them. Every one got home, with the exception of one of my four who had a head-on collision with a Zero. When we got back to Guadalcanal, I had less than ten gallons of gasoline left. One of my wing men ran out of gas taxiing off the runway, so we had a pretty close run on fuel.

After that, there weren't any Jap ships coming down the channel in daylight hours. They'd always start from the far end of Bougainville and be out of our range by morning, though we made sweeps every morning.

About noon on January 25th or 26th a bogey was picked up, and one flight was scrambled along with four P-38's which climbed up and hit the ceiling at 18,000 feet. There they circled around, and waited for the bogey to move in. Over Savo Island we spotted our first planes — about twelve Zeros. I gave the command to move in and see what was there. As we got out toward the Zeros, I came to a big gap in the clouds and decided to take a short look above to see

what was up there — I saw plenty! There were above twenty more Zeros up there and in back of those, about twenty more dive bombers! They wanted us to go on out and attack the Zeros over Savo Island. Then those boys would call and say, "They're out here now; go on in and take the field". We just circled between the field and Savo Island, under the clouds, and they just kept sparring around but didn't attack us. They sent bait in within 2000 or 3000 feet directly below us; they pulled right in front so we'd make a run on them, I just called and told everyone to stay in formation. The P-38's were flying on the opposite side of a large circle - we covered each other's tails. Finally two of the Zeros decided they were going to get some action. They met us, head-on, a little off to the side so we'd swing over at them. But we didn't; we just passed them about 100 yards off. They decided to swing around to get on our tail, failing to notice that the P-38's were following. They pulled in front of the P-38's; that was the end of those two birds.

We sparred around there for about an hour. In the meantime all airplanes came up — had sixteen more Grummans, eight P-40' s, and two more P-38's. The Japs turned around and went home with their big outfits. They'd lost five in the deal and hadn't fired a shot.

I left the last of January.

THE P-38

Q. What was your impression of the P-38's?

A. The P-38 is really a good plane as an interceptor, above 20,000 feet. If you get notice that a bogey is coming in, and don't have much time, give it to the P-38's; they can really get up there. If it's above 20,000 feet they make their runs, go on out far enough to make a turn, and come back for another run, When the P-38's were sparring around with me, they would buzz way down below me, take a look, then go up through a hole in the clouds, take a short look around and come back down. They ran all around the sky while I was doing my best just to stay where I was.

Q. Was any attempt made to use them at the limit of their range?

A. They went clear up to Bougainville. They sent P-38's to fly cover on B-17's and on B-24's. There would be Zeros above them and below them would be more Zeros, float bi-planes and float Zeros, but their orders were to stay in formation with the bombers. If any of the enemy fighters made an attack, they'd just pull up, give a short burst, and the enemy fighter would pull right back up out of range. When they failed to do this one day, three of them were shot down. They went down below 20,000 feet to get some "easy meat", (these float bi-planes that can turn on a dime) - went down and tried to dogfight - that was the end of three P-38's

Q. Did you do much strafing on enemy ships?

A. Yes. When we first came, they said there wouldn't be much strafing of enemy ships; I thought I'd start out on canoes or something easy. But our first assignment was some transport ships. Before we went out (I was going out in another formation just to get the idea), the leader said, "Now I don't like to go down close, but you just follow me." When we got out there, there were four or five cargo ships and nine destroyers. We went right on down. I don't know how he missed the ship. That was my first indoctrination in strafing. We came in at about a 45° angle. There were plenty of AA bursts, too close for comfort, on that attack. From then on I was leading.

We went out again around October 13. There were six cargo and transport ships with sevel (SIC) destroyers covering them. The cargo ships were in column with three destroyers on one side and four on the other. We were supposed to go in and strafe a cargo ship, but when we came out they spotted us. They all turned in different directions when I came in at the usual 45°, I failed to look out for a destroyer over at the side, and she real1y packed them right into the middle of the flight. She didn't shoot anyone down. But on the way out one plane in another flight was shot down. I didn't seem to have enough speed, so the next time I went out to strafe destroyers I came down at about 70° and just made a tight spiral to keep my fire right on the decks. The boys came in a little from the side; none of us got shot down that trip.

The next time we went out to strafe a light cruiser off New Georgia. We lost one man out of eight on that deal.

On November l4th my flight had the pleasure of strafing a Jap battleship off Savo Island. The bad thing about that was that they had pompom guns on her, all forward of the big guns clear to the tip of the bow. They kept shooting even after we started sprinkling around right into the gun positions. Finally we shut them up. I couldn't tell you whether they were worked by indirect control - I never did see anyone there. I came right down, but I was looking at other things.

As far as strafing goes, you got a lot of it. Then strafing the fields - we made several attacks on Rekata Bay, a seaplane base. There we really did some good work. We'd get five or a dozen planes and set them on fire. We'd get the radio-shack, and things like that, or get a gas dump - start a few fires, etc. They had five or six AA guns there. And then their small arms fire was something fierce. There is a point at Rekata Bay with a little island right at the end of the point. Whenever you strafe that bay, you come
past this point, right off this island. On this island they have an anti-aircraft position covered with small arms fire. Every time we went through there, somebody got badly shot up, but we always had enough speed to go around the corner and make a forced landing down the coast. The boys usually get back, unless they were killed in the plane.

When the field at Munda was constructed, we made several attacks, getting as high as a dozen planes one day, started fires around the field, got some trucks, dropped in one time and surprised the men whe were working on the runways, and cleaned the field off pretty well. They kept moving in anti-aircraft and three-inch stuff. The last time I went to Munda there looked to me to be around twelve big anti-aircraft positions located so that if you got in there you'd really have to pull a Houdini to get out. Their small stuff would light up the boundary of the field, when they started shooting. Everybody that went in there got pretty well peppered

They have a new destroyer, comparatively new, with anti-aircraft. It resembles the ATLANTA class cruiser, in shape of the turrets. When you come down on those babies, they light up like a Christmas tree. Just about everyone in the formations gets hit a few times

Q. What was the highest altitude at which you operated?

A. The highest altitude that my outfit operated was 31,000 indicated. We could have used a few thousand more feet on several occasions. Our main trouble with the Grumman was that we couldn't get enough altitude in time. We liked to make overhead and high side runs; those were the only two runs that we ever used. Once in a while someone would use a headon run, When we used the headon run, we'd come out behind the Zeros - where some of them had a clear shot at you.

Q. If you'd had planes with a good enough rate of climb, would you have used it up to 35,000 or 36,000 feet?

A. Yes.

Q. What was the effect of the strafing on the ships?

A. Sometimes it'll start a fire on a cargo ship, and on the troop transports the decks are just packed with men. When you strafe the deck on a troop transport, you really do some damage to personnel. When you strafe a destroyer, that's the end of anti-aircraft from that destroyer, if you're placing them good, up and down the deck. They'll stop shooting at you when you get to about 3000 feet.

There were two destroyers that came in one afternoon. Broad daylight around Savo Island, and they saw two of our little old corvettes. These two corvettes saw the destroyers coming, and started

on down the channel, trying to outrun them. The destroyers cut loose and had them well bracketed. When the little fellows saw there was no use trying to run, they just turned and headed straight towards the two destroyers, shooting full blast with their 3-inch. I'll swear that one was sinking - there was a squirt of water coming up - and they were still shooting at the Jap destroyer, All the men on the two corvettes were saved. Then we went out and strafed the Japs. After they cleared Savo Island, one of them exploded, caught on fire, and sank. Then a little farther on, the other one did the same thing. They gave the last four planes credit for sinking two destroyers. But as for doing any damage to a cruiser or battleship, in my estimation, you don't do any. The main thing is to draw fire so that your dive bombers and torpedo planes can get in. When the torpedo planes were coming in on this battleship, the battleship would blaze away with big guns trying to cause geysers so that the torpedo planes would fly into them. They did that all day, but they didn't get a single torpedo plane. I saw one of Captain Dooley's hits, he got one right amidships. I was just a few feet off from the ship when it hit. Then I saw thousand-pound bombs hit on the battleship, and they still kept shooting their big guns; they never would shut up those big guns; torpedoes would hit them and thousand-pound bombs, still the big guns kept going.

Q. Did you see her sink?

A. No, sir. That's the thing we all missed out on. We got the old thing dead in the water at about 4 o'clock in the afternoon; you could see that it had a slight list. It was then about two miles off Savo Island. A nice big cloud came up, what you'd call a thunderhead, up to about 24,000 feet and tight down to the water. The Japs were right under that thing. They were in that place with five destroyers, a light cruiser, and that battleship. We couldn't get in to get at them. I tried to go under the thing because I knew that they would be taking personnel off the battleship, and I thought that was really a chance to score. We'd go in there a few feet and we couldn't tell the water from the rain. It was solid. We just turned around and came back out again, That night, they evidently left a skeleton crew aboard and towed the battleship around Savo Island so that it could take a few shots at Henderson Field as a farewell. There was one salvo of big stuff came in that night - that was all. Some think it turned over and sank after that one. Whether they planted dynamite in it or not, I don't know; but the next morning there was a big explosion. We never sighted the battleship again.

Q. I don't suppose you ever identified it — what class

A. It was of the KONGO Class.

Q. Do you feel that fighter strafing is worth while in making the torpedo and bombing attacks more effective?

A. There's a lot of pro and con on that because sometimes it will cost you about 50% of your fighters. You really lose the fighters on that deal. When you do get out and get out alive on a strafing attack on warships, you just aren't good, you're lucky.

Q. It does silence the anti-aircraft?

A. Yes, it does on destroyers and transports, but on cruisers and battleships the anti-aircraft keeps pegging away. The only thing that I silenced on the battleship was pompom guns. The anti-aircraft there was still plenty of that around - I got one hit right under my wing. I had an idea of turning one way but just happened to turn the other way. It hit where I would have been.

SPREAD BETWEEN GUNS

Q. How important do you think it is to keep your guns from being too widely separated?

A. I noticed on the F4U that the guns are really close together. I was wondering if they weren't so close together that they'd overheat.

Q. I didn't mean close to each other - but you've got one group of guns on one wing and one on the other wing - whether that's 15 or 10 feet, does it make very much difference?

A. No, sir. I wouldn't say that it did. In the Grumman whenever we've caught troops we've been able to wipe out the whole outfit. One day, my wing man and I caught some troops on the road as we came out of a dive. They just stood still until we went by, and I called to him and said, "I'm going to do a quick wing over here and start shooting; you just get right under my wing and shoot where I am." We cut loose and when we came back, they were all knocked off. Our guns were set for 250 and 350.

Q. How about combat against other aircraft - does the spread between the two-gun emplacement make very much difference there?

A. No, sir. In combat, against the other planes, I've always used my outboard four guns and left off my inboard guns to save them in case I ran short on ammunition. On one occasion I made a mistake and instead of turning on my outboard four guns, I turned off my outboard four and turned on my inboard. When I started shooting, it sounded like a sewing machine; but I happened to be right on him and got him with the two. I'd like six guns on the plane and save two in case something goes wrong with the others or if you run out of ammunition.

Q. Did you have any trouble with the reflector sight in night strafing?

A. Never did any night strafing or night fighting.

AMMUNITION COMBINATION

Q. In shooting at aircraft, what was the ammunition combination?

A. One-one-one. When we were in there the first time, we had one-one-one. When I came back, all the pilots said it won't be so easy shooting down Zeros now because they've got armorplating in them and they have self-sealing tanks. They told us that they weren't blowing up like they used to. So we took a short check on the ammunition. The ordnance chief or someone had decided that maybe they should get rid of some AP ammunition they had over there. About 50% of it had been loaded - with five AP's, an incendiary, and a couple of tracers. As a result they weren't blowing the planes up so readily. We got that changed right then and now and started out the same way again, blowing them up.

Q. Do you think the AP was necessary? We had an idea that tracer and incendiary were enough.

A. Well, the AP comes in handy with headon (SIC) passes at Zeros. In fact, about 25% of the Zeros shot down are direct headon (SIC) passes; just staying right in until the last second, hoping you get him or hoping he pulls up. That's where your AP comes in handy because you just keep drilling him right head on with the AP. He usually goes down or up.

Q. Did you see any skip-bombing?

A. No, Sir.

Q. What do you think of the idea of it for fighters?

A. I don't know enough about it to make any comments.

GUNNERY

Q. What do you think of the use of tracer? Did you use your tracer for sighting?

A. Yes, sir. To start out I used the sight. After I got started, however, I just dropped my seat clear down so that I wouldn't have my neck stuck out and just barely looked over the edge. Then I used my tracer altogether, but, I had previously used the sight enough to know right where to shoot. As for deflection shots, I'd always lead enough so that I'd never underlead. I'd always over-lead. When you overlead, you just ease forward on your stick and you can always see as far as the axis where he's going to go. You shoot in front of him and just ease forward on your stick. He flies right into it - you see your tracer work right on him. And on the tail end shot just give a burst of tracer, If it's over or under, you just go up or down. I never wanted to sit up high enough to look at the sight. I just stayed down. To start with, I flew around looking in the sight. It works fine, as far as the sight goes; but after a while you don't need it. Is fact, I don't believe any of the boys that had been in combat a lot were using it; they all slid away down in the seat.

Q. Depended entirely on tracer?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. How close do you have to come to do effective damage?

A. When we started out, all our shooting was out of range. We would begin on the enemy a quarter of a mile away, and by the time we actually got into range we'd used up our ammunition. Then we started getting in there from 300 yards to 50 foot off, and really started hitting them. Then we moved it down so that we'd shoot right at 100 yards - then you can't miss. If you're off to one side or the other, just kick it on. If you shoot too far off, you scare 'em! If you keep your tracers out of there - the Jap pilot shoots. I've seen him shoot half a mile off; they just keep shooting until they go on range, and they're still shooting whan they pass you. They really get rid of the ammunition! I talked to the boys when a new outfit would come in. When you talk to a man before he goes out the first time, it doesn't do any good; but after he's been out the first time or the first two times, then you can talk to him. He knows what you're talking about. I'd just tell them, "Get in there, really get them in your sights, and really shoot close." I told one group that, and every flight scored on the trip. They'd all had a couple of combats before; they were shooting away out of range - 500 or 600 yards.

Q. Have you flown the F4U's?

A. Yes, I have. One 1½ hour hop in it. There were no other planes in the sky, so there was nothing to compare it to. But I liked the way it climbed and handled.

Q. How bad is the visibility?

A. I kept the seat clear up and my head up in that little knot on the top. I think that it would probably be all right, - unless it was on a Zero, a full deflection shot going full speed.

FLOAT PLANES.

Q. What do you think about float fighters?

A. Well, sir, those float fighters that they have don't last

anytime at all, I mean, they're sure death. Anytime we ever tangled with float fighters, none got away. If you got float fighters and mentioned it to somebody, he'd just laugh.

Q. There's been a lot of talk about float planes.

A. Shooting float planes is just like shooting down clay pigeons. They buzz around - they'll turn on a dime. I saw five P-39's chasing one one day. They had just started to shoot when he decided that was enough of that; so he turned around and came headon back out. The P-39's scattered and went all directions. Then they made another run; and when he'd see them all bearing down on him and start shooting, he'd made a quick turn and jump right back through them nearly causing them to have collision with each other. They were all so crazy to get him that they chased him for fifteen minutes before they finally got him. Another morning my flight ran into two of them, and all seven of the boys turned off after the one. I had the other one to myself. I didn't want to fool around with him; so I gave him a burst and he started smoking. I thought I had him. I then raced over to get this other one that they were chasing. I started over and looked back. The one that I thought I'd got was taking off again up the channel. I went back.

Q. What good are they to the Japs? Or how do they use them?

A. They use them at low altitudes, and they use them to jump SBD's. They come in handy as search planes. At first they had no bases on Guadalcanal, Munda, and Kolambangara; their closest land base was Kahili. They moved these seaplanes into Rekata Bay, and from Rekata Bay they could sneak out and catch SBD's that were flying the different searches. They can handle an SBD. They can maneuver but they just haven't got the speed, I've seen them do slow rolls and all that stuff with their float plane.

STRAFING

Q. In strafing a destroyer, what is the maximum distance for attack?

A. In strafing a destroyer, I would start shooting at 3000 feet. Some of them start shooting at 5000 feet; but in my opinion that's just wasting time and ammunition. I go right down and pull up below 1000 feet. After I pass the destroyer, I am right on the water. In strafing a troop transport, I'd drop over the bow or the stern, so that when I went out I was right on the water. I just cleared the ship, went over it, and then really snaked along. We shot all the way in, down to 500 feet - by that time you're really going, high speeds - we were always upward of 300 when we came by. On the way out none of us were hit; it was when you were coming down that you were in a bad spot. You have to look out for crossfire. The ship that you're strafing isn't the dangerous one; there's one on each side; they start playing a crossfire into you, and they pretty well
put it on you. When six or seven or eight destroyers and cruisers were escorting transports and cargo ships, we'd come in and attack the corner warships so that we'd draw fire from these ships and give the dive bombers a chance to go in and drop on the cargo and transport ships. They used to shoot the fighters in preference to the dive bombers. Whether they couldn't tell a dive bomber from a fighter, I don't know. The Grumman looked so chubby that they right away thought it was a dive bomber with a big bomb on it!

Q. Can you hit anything with a TBF in a 45° dive - using bombs?

A. They put these bomb racks on and I know they got one hit. That kind of attack was comparatively new when I left there, so I have really no word on that.

Q. How did you coordinate strafing with dive bombing?

A. The fighter flight commander would use his own judgment. The dive bombers never told us. As soon as I'd see them getting ready, I knew just about what to do, so then I carried out my attack. It worked well.

OXYGEN AND RADIO

Q. Have you any comment on oxygen, communications, radio equipment?

A. In regard to oxygen - when new pilots went in, there'd be a couple who would fail to have their mask on tight, or would get excited and get the mask off their face, and pass out. Everytime that some new pilots came in we'd always lose a couple of men. A lot of time we'd have gasoline left after returning. If the Japs kept orbiting out there, we wouldn't have enough oxygen to stay; we'd have to go on back down and hope that someone else got up there in time for the attack. They used to pull that old stuff all the time. They'd start an attack in and then turn out and go back out and orbit a while and then start in again for the attack, and then change their mind again. They knew that we were using gasoline and oxygen.

Q. Were you using the white mask or the newer one?

A. They were about 50-50 when I first arrived. Later all the white ones were gone, and we were using the latest one, the big one. Some don't like the large mask. They like the little white one. As far as that's concerned, either one was all right. We just left the mask in the plane. We flew a different plane every hop so you never had the same type mask twice in a row.

We had a lot of trouble with the radio. They'd go out. They'd get them back in commission, but they'd go right out all the time. And then when we'd get 35 or 40 miles away, we were unable to receive Guadalcanal. We could talk to each other, and maybe the base could
hear us; but we couldn't talk back and forth to the base. That's a handicap. The radio as I use it in combat is very important, because I direct the whole flight with it. We talk back and forth, though we don't put on a lot of unnecessary stuff over the air. If you see a Zero banging up and down and if one chap get's another one in his sight, you just yell over at him that there is a Zero on his tail to give him a chance so he doesn't make any fancy pull-ups. We saved a lot of necks by the radio. I've talked to the Army pilots the same way when I had P-38's or P-39's in combat with me. We'd direct the attack, and tell them not to attack or to move around to the other side.

Q. Did you use the throat microphone?

A. Altogether.

Q. You didn't have microphones in those new masks you got out there?

A. Yes, sir, in some of them they did. As it happened, I had the throat mikes all the time.

Q. Do the Japs use radio much in their tactics?

A. One time they happened to be on our frequency, and we couldn't use our radios at all. Whether they were just being funny, I don't know, and I don't know what they were saying. It was just some mad mass of Japanese over the radio. They blocked us, and we couldn't say a word. We got off that frequency in a hurry. That's the only time I ever heard the Japs on the air

JAP TACTICS

They have a rather unusual way in their attacks. The leader always shies around; his wing mate flies back far enough so you can hit him off without the leader's ever knowing it. They fly more or less in a column - the wing man is supposed to stay with that leader. How he does it, I don't know. When you stay 200 or 300 yards behind your leader and try to follow him, you've really got something on your hands. The wing man has a tough time of it. I talked to some of the Japanese through an interpreter, some of the Japanese pilots, and they'd always shake their heads about following their leader, and talk about their heads going around and around. I see their point.

U. S. TACTICS

In our attacks, we'd move in close. Eight planes right close together. If we broke up it would be first one four-plane section and then the other four-plane section; then into two planes. In the end it's just a big dog fight. My wing man would stay right on me until there'd be a plane in front of me that I was chasing.
Then a plane would be coming from one side or the other, and that was a farewell for my wingman. He just made a quick swing out, and he'd always get a head-on shot, probably not such a good shot; but he'd put out a shot and make a quick turn. I'd turn around the other way and hope that we'd come back together; if we didn't see each other, we joined up on the first Grumman we saw. And always branch out from that again. I had my boys fly up more or less on line when they were going into an attack; they flew pretty well up. If the attack moved in from the tail end, I'd just call to him; and he would lead the attack in - he'd be first man in, and I'd be last. Instead of all having to slide over, I'd just call him, and he could take over. We had very good luck that way. We were never surprised. He flew back about 30° I'd say, or as much as 45° but never any of this column stuff. I always want to know where all my wing men are.

Q. Are the Jap pilots who have teen taken prisoner high-grade people?

A. The Zero pilot seems to be the better of the two, Bomber and combat pilots. They were very young, lads of 19-21; with very good builds. As for intelligence, they were pretty "thick". I don't mean to say they wouldn't answer my questions, because they would really answer questions. They would tell you about their fighter cover and about their tactics - things that we had been able to figure out already from the attacks. They gave us very accurate information in regard to six planes down and six up, and twelve planes in a flight. The Japs are pretty well broken up when they're taken prisoner. One told me the only reason he ever joined up in the Air Corps was so he could fly. Now he couldn't fly anymore - by that he meant that he'd never be able to fly for Japan again; and we won't take him on. He was out of luck. He was a 21-year chap who had gone to the University of Tokio.

[bobbysocks]

another cactus pilot...sadly its his obit.

Robert Galer, hero just doing his job

He was not much to talk about his heroism, the kind that gets you the nation's highest decoration, the Medal of Honor.

But in the archives of the Marine Corps Historical Center are the words of the young Robert E. Galer, who died Monday in Dallas at age 91, a retired brigadier general. Not even his wife, Sharon, knew about the historical material at the Washington., D.C., center.

It came about in December 1942, when Mr. Galer was 29, a fighter pilot on furlough on his way to his family home in Seattle.

Mr. Galer had his roots here. He was a 1935 University of Washington graduate in engineering, earning money working at the school's bookstore; he had played basketball for the UW, leading it to a division championship and earning All-America honors as a forward. He later was inducted into the Husky Hall of Fame.

It was what Mr. Galer did from August to September of 1942 that earned him the medal given at the White House by President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

The citation said: "Leading his squadron repeatedly in daring and aggressive raids against Japanese aerial forces, vastly superior in number, Major Galer availed himself of every favorable attack opportunity, individually shooting down 11 enemy bomber and fighter aircraft over a period of 29 days."

In 1942, his squadron was assigned to Guadalcanal. On the Web site globalsecurity.org, a defense-policy organization, there is a description of conditions during those days of war:

" ... miserable ... The field was either a bowl of black dust or a quagmire of mud. Malaria and dysentery were constant companions. Sleep in mud-floored tents was constantly interrupted by bombardments from Japanese ships and planes."

Mr. Galer was shot down three times as he flew the Grumman Wildcat F4F-4s.

Interviewed by the Corps, he recounted one of the times he was shot down. He spoke in the colloquialisms of those times:




"I pancaked into the water near Florida Island, a small bit off the Solomons some 25 or 30 miles from Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. It took me an hour and a half to swim ashore, which gave me plenty of time to do some worrying ... about the tide turning before I made it, or about man-eating sharks and poisonous stingrays which infested the waters. ... "

Mr. Galer was awarded numerous other medals, including a Purple Heart and Distinguished Flying Cross.

He also served in the Korean War, making a harrowing escape in August 1952, when his Corsair plane was shot down. His foot caught in a cockpit strap and he dangled head down as the plane plummeted. He finally managed to parachute 150 feet from the ground, suffering cracked ribs and a damaged shoulder.

He retired from the Marine Corps in 1957, then worked as an engineer on missiles in Texas, and finally in real estate. He died of a stroke.

A memorial service was held yesterday in Dallas. Besides his wife, Mr. Galer is survived by three sons, Robert, of Park City, Utah; Vincent, of Dallas; Charles, of Dallas; a daughter, Christine Brooks of Dallas; a brother, Fred Galer of Seattle; and six grandchildren.

Sharon Galer said her husband still had a Husky blanket. She said he had "great stories" about the war but never brought them up himself.

"He was very humble and felt like he was doing his job," she said.

[bobbysocks]

WWII Battle of Midway pilot honored

Jim Muri thought he was getting together with his buddies for lunch Friday at Gusick’s — something the friends hadn’t done for a while.

At 92, Muri, a decorated World War II combat pilot, had been ill but was feeling better and missed his pals.

Walking slowly with a cane and with a friend, Yellowstone County Commissioner John Ostlund, at his side, Muri entered the Billings restaurant where friends and fellow pilots had gathered to surprise and honor the decorated veteran.

Friday marked the 68th anniversary of Muri’s death-defying flight over a Japanese aircraft carrier on June 4, 1942, during the Battle of Midway.

Ostlund said it was a coincidence that the date he’d picked for the luncheon turned out to be the anniversary of the famous flight. The timing called for making the lunch a bigger to-do.

About a dozen people, including Yellowstone County Commissioner Bill Kennedy, Sheriff Jay Bell and Undersheriff Seth Weston, joined in surprising Muri.

Muri, who grew up near Miles City, may have been surprised at the gathering, but he was well aware of what day it was.

“Oh, yes,” Muri said when asked if he had remembered the date’s significance.

Close friend and retired airline pilot Roger Nelson and Muri recounted the events that day as they examined a painting depicting the flight. The painting was created for the cover of Aviation History magazine.

“Absolutely fabulous,” Muri said as he gazed at the painting and the B-26 bomber No. 1391, named the Suzie Q, he piloted.

Muri flew one of four twin-engine bombers that took off from Midway Island on June 4, 1942, to attack a powerful Japanese fleet that was preparing to invade the U.S. military outpost about 1,100 miles west of Hawaii.

Muri’s plane was riddled by anti-aircraft fire and bullets from attacking Japanese fighters. After unsuccessfully launching a torpedo at the Japanese carrier Akagi, Muri probably saved his crew with an improvised maneuver. He banked hard and flew right down the length of the Akagi’s deck, correctly guessing that Japanese antiaircraft gunners couldn’t swing their guns fast enough to shoot him down.

Muri outran the Japanese fighters and crash landed on Midway. There were more than 500 bullet holes in his bomber, Muri said. He was only 24 years old at the time.

Muri and his crewmen, three of whom were wounded, were later awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. In 2003, Muri received the Jimmy Doolittle Award for outstanding service to the U.S. Army Air Corps in a ceremony in Washington, D.C.

The anniversary luncheon featured a summary of the Battle of Midway by Lonnie Bell, a longtime Billings broadcaster and World War II Navy veteran who was stationed in Hawaii while the battle was fought.

Bell also strapped on his guitar and sang “Midway,” a patriotic ballad he wrote more than 30 years ago. The song memorializes the flight of 1391, pays tribute to Midway’s veterans and salutes the sacrifices made by Vietnam vets.

In another happy coincidence, Bell wrote the song long before he ever met Muri. It wasn’t until about nine years ago that Bell learned that Muri lived in Billings. Don Cooper, a mutual friend of Muri and Bell, helped make the connection.

Cooper met Muri at a Thanksgiving dinner at the home of his daughter, Kristie Ostlund, who is John Ostlund’s wife and used to clean Muri’s house. Cooper and Bell went over to Muri’s house a few days later and the three became fast friends.

Bell called the connection “absolutely insane.”

Muri and other first-wave attackers inflicted little damage on the Japanese fleet, but they set the stage for a decisive U.S. victory. Over the course of the three-day battle, Japan lost four aircraft carriers and hundreds of its most experienced pilots. The United States lost the carrier Yorktown, but kept possession of Midway Island and checked Japanese expansion in the Pacific.

Nelson, who accompanied Muri to Washington when he received the Doolittle award, told Muri his flight was historic.

“Yes, it was,” Muri agreed. “It sure was.”

[bobbysocks]

remember the movie 1941?? well maybe it wasnt so off the mark... :grin:

( and actually it is in a book...found one of my dad's old paperbacks and researched the pilot)

THE DAY THE JAPANESE BOMBED THE AMERICAN WEST COAST

Lt. Nobuo Fijita

It could have been a great book, a book about a Japanese WWII pilot who bombed the American West Coast. That’s what I heard, that he actually flew his warplane over the coast and dropped bombs on the America mainland. I had the chance, but I missed out writing that book.

A Greyhound bus driver told me the story and I didn’t believe him. I was sitting directly behind the driver, nearing Brookings en route to San Francisco, when he said, “Japanese aircraft bombed this place during World War II.”
The Japanese did launch a series of ill-directed high-altitude balloon bombs destined for North American and one or two fell harmlessly but the Japanese never bombed the mainland––or so we believed. I perked up when the bus driver mentioned the Japanese pilot had made a return visit to the US and the newspaper in Brooking ran the story. I had to check it out.
Later, I went to the newspaper. “That’s right,” the editor said, “one of those war secrets; would still be hush-hush had not the pilot come for a visit.” I could hardly believe it. The newspaper carried a photograph of Lt. Nobuo Fujita, 78, was appearing in Brookings, “nearly 48 years after he flew the only successful bombing mission against the US mainland.”
Secret or not, this had to be one of the most daring feats to come out of the war. From the editor I got the pilot’s address and wrote to him. He agreed to meet with me. I was flying from San Francisco to Bangkok and stopped in Tokyo and made the two-hour train trip to his village, and there I met Nobuo Fujita, a fail and soft-spoken man. I could hardly believe he had to tell me. He spoke some English, with the help of a dictionary.
He told how that bombing mission on California wasn’t his first against America. On November 21, 1941, he had sailed aboard I-25, an attack submarine, under orders to proceed to Pearl Harbor and join forces in the attacked on December 7. Aboard I-25 was his small Zero-type reconnaissance seaplane.
The plane was kept in a sealed deck hanger. It had to be assembled on deck and taken apart when it returned. Once assembled, the plane was catapulted with compressed air down a ramp on the deck. Top speed was barely 150 mph, and its only armament was one machine gun. But it did carry two 76-kg bombs.
After Pearl, I-25 returned to Yokosuka whereupon Fujita was ordered to report to Naval Headquarters. He was nervous when he entered the commander’s office. He was informed his next mission was to bomb the American mainland. He laughed when he told me the story. Where would it be, he asked himself, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles? Disappointment followed. He was to fly to Oregon-California border, drop incinerary bombs and set the forests on fire. Forest fires, not a city.
1-25 sailed from Yokosuka on August 15, 1942, and on an early morning in September sighted Cape Blanco light¬house. The submarine surfaced due west of the Oregon-California border and nipped into a cove. The aircraft was assembled and armed. With two 76 kg incendiary bombs aboard, Fujita was soon airborne. The sun was rising above the fog as he climbed to 2,500 metres. When they reached a heavily wooded area, he released the bombs.
On the return Fujita took the plane down to treetop level and hedgehopped back to awaiting submarine. They were beginning to submerge when the duty officer sighted an enemy airplane coming out of the sun.
I-25 dove and was 18 metres under the surface when the first bomb exploded. The submarine rolled sharply and the lights went out. Another bomb dropped by but missed. Fortunately damage was minor and repairs could be made later. That night they surfaced and made repairs.
Since they still had four incendiary bombs left, Fujita decided to make a second bombing mission. Knowing it was dangerous to fly during daylight hours he planned a night flight.
Before midnight, 50 miles west of Cape Blanco, I-25 surfaced and the crew assembled and armed the plane. Fujita took off in the dark, flew inland for about half and hour and dropped his bombs in a forest area east of Port Orford. He saw the explosions of red fire in the dark.
On the return flight, Fujita was very careful to avoid being seen. He turned off the engine when he reached the coast and glided well out to sea before starting the engine. Once safely aboard Fujita reported the success of the mission.
They spent the rest of the patrol time attacking merchant shipping. I-25 sank two tankers, one on October 5 and another on October 6. Not until they were down to their last torpedo did they decide to return home. Then on October 11, they fired their last torpedo at one of two submarines travelling on the surface about 80 miles off the Washington coast. The submarine, a Soviet L 16, blew up in a terrific explosion.
How was it possible that an enemy plane could fly over US territory and not be spotted? And why weren’t the bombings ever made known? For the answer, I had to go back to the archives in America.
The truth is Fujita in his low-flying plane was spotted by four people and reported in each incident. A milkman was driving his truck when there was a break in the fog and he saw an airplane coming in over the coast. He called the Coast Guard and was told he didn’t know what an airplane looked like.
A teenager who was out hunting instead of being in school saw the plane but was afraid to report it.
An unidentified soldier at Cape Blanco saw the plane and wondered what stupid fool was flying around in a putt-putt with a Japanese insignia trying to frighten the daylights out of everyone. His CO told him to get some sleep
A Forest Service officer on watch heard what sounded like a Model A Ford backfiring looked up to see a pontoon plane. He called headquarters but the operator attached “no significance to the report.”
The most interesting report concerned the US bomber. The twin-engine Lockheed neared the California-Oregon border when the pilot saw something dark in the water ahead. He made a pass and seeing that it might be an enemy submarine, dropped two 300-pound bombs. He then banked and made another approach but did not see any damage or oil on the water. It was long after the war that he learned he had not only seen a submarine and dropped a bomb on it, but that he had actually hit and damaged it.
What Nobuo told me next during my visit in Japan I could hardly believe. After the Pearl, he flew reconnaissance missions launched from I-25 over Sydney and Melbourne in Australia, Wellington and Auckland in New Zealand and other Pacific ports that included Suva in the Fiji Islands and Noumea in New Caledonia––and was never detected.
I wanted to visit Nobuo again. There were so many questions I had to ask, and maybe even write his biography, if he agreed.
A few year later I was in Tokyo and thought I’d like to see Nobuo again. I phoned his home. It was too late. Nobuo Fujita had passed away some weeks before.
All that remains is a plaque on the California-Oregon border, a wooden marker on a mountainside, and the memories of a few people who are still alive. But even those will soon be forgotten. The full story will never be told and a part of history is lost forever.

an interesting footnote to the story

TOKYO, Oct. 2— Nobuo Fujita, a Japanese pilot who flew bombing runs over Oregon in 1942, apparently the only time that an enemy aircraft has ever bombed the American mainland, died on Tuesday at a hospital near Tokyo. He was 85.

The cause was lung cancer, family members said.

Mr. Fujita, whose incendiary bombs set off forest fires in Oregon's coastal range, played the key role in a quixotic plan by Japanese military commanders to put pressure on America's home turf in World War II. The idea was that the United States Navy would then be obliged to retreat from the Pacific to protect the West Coast.

A quiet, humble man who in his later years was deeply ashamed of his air raids on the United States, Mr. Fujita eventually forged a remarkable bond of friendship with the people of Brookings, the small logging town whose surrounding forests he had bombed. Last week, as he lay dying, the town council of Brookings hailed Mr. Fujita an ''ambassador of good will'' and proclaimed him an ''honorary citizen'' of the town.

On his first postwar visit to Brookings in 1962, Mr. Fujita carried with him a 400-year-old samurai sword that had been handed down in his family from generation to generation. He presented the sword, which he had carried with him throughout the war, to Brookings as a symbol of his regret, and it now hangs in the local library.

Mr. Fujita's daughter, Yoriko Asakura, said today that there was a bit more to the story. She recalled that her father had been very anxious before that visit, fretting about whether Oregonians would be angry at him for the bombing, and so he had decided to carry the sword so that if necessary he could appease their fury by committing ritual suicide, disemboweling himself with the sword in the traditional Japanese method known as seppuku.

''He thought perhaps people would still be angry and would throw eggs at him,'' Mrs. Asakura recalled, adding that ''if that happened, as a Japanese, he wanted to take responsibility for what he had done'' by committing seppuku.

Mr. Fujita's grandson, Fumihiro Asakura, said his grandfather had been deeply moved that the people of Brookings treated him hospitably, showering him with affection and respect that he felt he did not deserve. From this remarkable mutual magnanimity, Mr. Fujita began the metamorphosis from an enemy bomber of Brookings to its honorary citizen.

Brookings is a remote town of 5,400 on the southern Oregon coast, focused on logging and farming, but it now has an excellent selection of Japan books in its local library.

''He gave $1,000 to the library to purchase books about Japan for children, so that there wouldn't be another war between the United States and Japan,'' Nancy Brendlinger, the Mayor of Brookings, said by telephone. ''He was always very humble and always promoting the idea of peace between the United States and Japan.''

Churches and businesses in Brookings contributed $3,000 to pay for Mr. Fujita's trip to Oregon in 1962, and when he could afford to, he responded by paying for several local people to visit Japan. He also made three more visits to Brookings over the years, planting trees to mark the spot where he dropped the bombs and taking part in a 1994 ceremony to dedicate a state historical marker near the site.

In the war, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, of course, and even bombed some islands off Alaska. But the air raids on Oregon were the only attacks by Japanese airplanes on what were states at that time.

A submarine carrying a crew of about 100 and a small plane with folded wings slipped across the Pacific to the unprotected waters off the Oregon coast. In the predawn darkness of Sept. 9, 1942, the crew assembled the plane and shot it into the air with a catapult. Mr. Fujita, who was a warrant officer, oriented himself with the Cape Bianco lighthouse and flew over the coastal range, dropping two 168-pound fire bombs over the forests in the hope of setting terrible forest fires.

Mr. Fujita's plane had been spotted from the ground, but no one had anything better to shoot at it with than a deer rifle, and so he flew back to the submarine -- and was horrified to discover that it was not there. He feared that it had been discovered and forced to leave him behind, but he eventually found it and landed in the water on the plane's floats.

The submarine's crew members quickly stowed the plane and dived to 250 feet, where they stayed quietly -- listening to American depth charges -- as the United States Navy searched frantically for them.

Three weeks later, Mr. Fujita flew an almost identical mission and dropped two more bombs. None of the bombings, on either mission, caused much of a fire, but they did provoke alarm up and down the coast.

Although Mr. Fujita's were the only air raids on the American mainland, Japan did release thousands of balloons carrying bombs. The winds carried the balloons across the ocean to the western United States, where they landed and set small fires. The only fatalities were a group of people on a church outing in Oregon and perhaps a woman in Montana.

Mr. Fujita's air raid was regarded in Japan as heroic. The main front-page article in the Asahi newspaper's evening edition on Sept. 17, 1942, carried a headline: ''Incendiary Bomb Dropped on Oregon State. First Air Raid on Mainland America. Big Shock to Americans.''

After the war, Mr. Fujita started a hardware store in Ibaraki Prefecture, near Tokyo, but it eventually went bankrupt. He later worked at a company making wire, and he rarely talked of the war or of his younger brother, who was killed in the fighting. Mr. Fujita's survivors -- in addition to his daughter, six grandchildren and one great-grandchild -- do not even know where the brother was killed.

His family members did not even know that he had bombed Oregon until he abruptly announced in 1962 that he had been invited to Brookings and would be going for a return visit -- with his sword, just in case.

[bobbysocks]

in keeping with the notion that the sequel will be a pacific air battle....

REMEMBERING MIDWAY

by Captain Roy P. Gee, USN-Ret


Here I am, sitting at my computer, trying to recall the details of my involvement in a great naval battle that was fought 61 years ago. I'm 83 years old and as my recollections of combat fade, I seem to get braver and more heroic than I really ever was. I needed some help in remembering those long-ago events, so I’ve relied upon a letter that I wrote back in 1988 to Bill Vickrey, a Battle of Midway historian, detailing my participation in the battle. In addition, I’ve used certain dates, times, and facts contained in various Battle of Midway logs, reports, and books in order to maintain as much accuracy as I can. My flight log was not recovered when the Hornet was sunk in the Battle of Santa Cruz, which meant that I’d lost the most valuable resource a pilot can have in reporting what he did in the air.

With those qualifications then, here is my story at the Battle of Midway.

As I grew up in Salt Lake City Utah, I believe I was unknowingly preparing for war. I was a member of the Mormon Church, a very conservative Christian faith. I became a Cub Scout and eventually advanced to the Boy Scout program, where I reached the rank of Eagle Scout. As youngsters, my friends and I played war games between the Yanks and the Huns, or the Chinese. We dug trenches and then went “over the top,” which was a well-known phrase from World War I. That meant that the infantry troops came out of their trenches, rushed up and over their high, protecting walls of dirt and sand bags, and from that position made a frontal assault through “no man’s land” against the enemy’s frontline trenches. I remember playing that game many times in my early youth.

Also, I remember as a youngster having seen several movies about World War I aerial warfare, such as “Wings” and “The Dawn Patrol,” and from that I developed a great desire to learn how to fly an airplane. I visualized myself as a gallant young aviator, flying a Spad fighter, and dog-fighting with Baron Von Ritchhofen (the “Red Baron”) and his bright red Fokker triplane.

I participated in the ROTC program as a platoon commander in high school, and during the summer months I learned infantry strategy and tactics in the Citizens Military Training Program, provided by the U.S. Army at nearby Fort Douglas. I participated in that program during four consecutive summers, graduating as a Sergeant-Major and with a temporary commission as a 2nd lieutenant in the U.S. Army Infantry Reserve Corps.

But I still wanted to fly. During my sophomore year at the University of Utah, I completed an aviation class in pilot training, which was sponsored by the Civilian Pilot Training Program. That program was established by President Roosevelt in order to gather a very large cadre of young pilots who could quickly be inducted into the armed forces whenever necessary. I completed the program and earned a private pilot license.

One day in June of 1940, a U.S. Navy aviation recruiting team came to Salt Lake City. I took their flight physical exam with the belief that if I passed that tough test, I would be a cinch for acceptance by the U.S. Army Air Corps. Instead, as fate would have it, I was skillfully talked into becoming a naval aviator. Because of that decision, the course of my life has led me to this moment in time. I now know that I made the right decision on that June day so long ago.

Upon completing flight school at Pensacola in 1941, I eagerly awaited my orders to see whether I was staying there or going on to Miami. The patrol bomber and cruiser scout pilots were trained at Pensacola, while candidates for any of the fighter or attack squadrons were sent for advanced carrier training at NAS Miami. The orders came—Miami! I was destined for the air group of the brand-new USS Hornet (CV-8).



DAY OF INFAMY


Before boarding the Hornet, the air group was stationed at Norfolk, where my roommate was Grant Teats. During the first weekend of December, Grant and I took a trip with two other buddies to Washington, D.C. to see a pro football game between the Washington Redskins and the Philadelphia Eagles. During the course of the game we began hearing announcements for Admiral or General So-and-So to report to the War Department, or for Congressman or Senator So-and-So to report to their offices at the Capitol. There was a suspenseful feeling throughout the stadium that something awful had happened. Our fears came true when a man sitting in our vicinity with a portable radio exclaimed that reports were coming in from Hawaii about Japanese aircraft bombing and torpedoing Navy ships at Pearl Harbor. Many had been sunk or severely damaged. Scores of people quickly left the stadium, as did my three shipmates and me.

We drove back to the Naval Air Station at Norfolk, Virginia, and reported to the squadron duty officer for further orders. We felt nothing but hatred for the Japanese at that moment. Their navy had carried out a very dastardly and cowardly sneak attack against our navy on the morning of the Sabbath. President Roosevelt put the attack in perspective: “December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy!” When our country declared war on Japan and Germany in the following days, I was both mentally and physically prepared to do my duty to God and my country.

The Hornet pilots were like a group of race horses chomping at the bit. We were in a big hurry to get into combat against those “dirty Japs” who had attacked us in such a devious manner. In retrospect, though, I think that I wasn’t fully aware at that time of the enormity of the situation or the realities of war.



ABOARD THE HORNET



After the Hornet launched Jimmy Doolittle's B-25s on 18 April 1942, task force commander RADM "Bull" Halsey, in the flagship USS Enterprise, ordered a 180 degree reversal of course back towards Hawaii. Our aircraft were moved from the hanger deck to the flight deck, and we pilots were able to get in a little flight time. I was with Bombing Squadron 8 (VB-8) while my former roommate Grant Teats had been assigned to Torpedo Squadron 8 (VT-8). Our two squadrons plus Fighting 8 (VF-8) and Scouting 8 (VS-8) flew CAP and search missions during the 7-day transit back to Hawaii.

On the 25th of April, as Hornet approached Pearl Harbor, the air group flew to Ewa airfield on Oahu. After the fly-off, Hornet proceeded to its berth at Pearl Harbor. After four days in port, Hornet departed Pearl on the 30th, recovered the air group, and steamed to the South Pacific in order to aid USS Yorktown (CV-5) and USS Lexington (CV-2) at the Battle of the Coral Sea. While en route, the pilots of VB-8 and VS-8 flew many 200-mile search missions. During one such mission, LT(jg) Randal Gardner and his radioman-gunner (R/G) from VB-8 failed to return. They were never found.

The Battle of the Coral Sea was over before Hornet reached the scene, so the ship was ordered to return to Hawaii. We flew still more searches on the return leg, and tragedy struck VB-8 again when ENS Louis J. Muery and his R/G, Richter, failed to return. We later learned that they made a forced landing in the water as a result of engine failure and had spent 23 days in a rubber life raft before washing into the rough surf of an island. The raft capsized in the surf, and as the two weakened survivors struggled to get ashore, Richter drowned. Muery was later rescued.

Hornet arrived at Pearl on May 26th, but sailed again only two days later—we and our sister carriers were to repulse an expected Japanese fleet assault against Midway Atoll.



PLOTTING THE ENEMY’S COURSE


We went to general quarters at 0630 on the morning of June 4th. All Hornet pilots and crewmen were at flight quarters in their ready rooms. A PBY flying from Midway had spotted the Japanese task force. The teletype in VB-8's ready room was steadily clicking away with navigational data that I diligently copied to my chart board, as did the other VB-8 pilots. The required information consisted of following elements: (1) enemy position, course, and speed, (2) own task force position, course, and speed, (3) wind speed on the surface and at various altitudes, (4) latitude and longitude of the operational area plus magnetic compass variation. Using these four elements, each pilot was responsible to prepare his own navigational solution for flying a relative motion course to intercept and attack the enemy, and also the return course back to our carrier.

CHAG (Commander, Hornet Air Group: Stanhope C. Ring) had his own navigation solution, as did our VB-8 CO, LCDR Ruff Johnson, the VS-8 CO, LCDR Walt Rodee, and the VT-8 CO, LCDR John Waldron. The VF-8 CO, LCDR Mitchell remarked that he would use the solution that was chosen. The squadron COs’ solutions were different from CHAG's, but he overruled them and said that the air group would fly his navigational solution. LCDR Waldron strongly disagreed. (The conflict over our proposed navigation was explained in my 1988 letter to Bill Vickrey, and is reported on page 84 of A Glorious Page In Our History, published in 1990. Waldron subsequently decided that he’d follow his own solution, and told his Torpedo 8 boys to follow him—he would lead them to the enemy.)



“PILOTS MAN YOUR PLANES”


Suddenly, “Pilots Man Your Planes” was announced. We all wished each other good luck as we left the ready room for the climb to the flight deck and our SBDs. (And by the way, climbing up and down the ship ladders many times a day will get you in great physical condition! Carriers didn't have escalators in those days.)

I met my R/G, Radioman First Class Canfield at our assigned SBD and went over our mission and recognition charts with him. I don’t know which particular aircraft (side number) we flew that day—my only record of that went down with the Hornet at the Battle of Santa Cruz.

After completing an inspection of the aircraft and its bomb, Canfield and I climbed into the cockpits. As I sat there waiting for the signal to start engines, I suddenly got the same feeling of apprehension and butterflies in the stomach that I got before the start of competition in high school and collegiate athletics. The butterflies left after takeoff as I focused on navigating and flying formation. Our two squadrons (VB-8 and VS-8) rendezvoused in two close-knit, stepped-down formations on each side of CHAG's section, which consisted of CHAG and VS-8 wingman ENS Ben Tappman and VB-8 wingman ENS Clayton Fisher. CHAG's section was flying above and somewhat separated from VB-8/VS-8 and was escorted by 10 VF-8 F4Fs. As we proceeded to climb to 19,000 ft, we soon lost visual contact with VT-8. We were maintaining absolute radio silence and were on oxygen, and our engines were on high blower. I eased my fuel mixture control back to a leaner blend in order to conserve fuel as we leveled out at 19,000 feet and proceeded on our assigned course.

We continued flying on a westerly heading for some time and were getting close to our point of no return without seeing anything of the Japanese fleet. LCDR Johnson decided to break away and fly towards Midway because some of our pilots didn’t have enough fuel to return to the Hornet. So we left CHAG, VS-8, and VF-8 and flew to Midway. Shortly after we turned towards Midway, LT Tucker, for some reason, turned his section of 3 SBDs away and headed in an easterly direction. As the remaining 14 VB-8 SBDs headed towards Midway, ENS Guillory suffered engine failure and made a forced water landing. He and his R/G, ARM2/c Cottrell were observed to safely leave the aircraft and get into a life raft. They were later rescued by a PBY.

As we approached Midway, the skipper signaled us to jettison bombs. Afterwards, as we continued our approach to the Eastern Island airfield, we received sporadic AA fire that caused minor damage to some of the planes, but it quickly ceased after our SBDs were recognized as friendly. Shortly thereafter, ENS T. J. Wood ran out of gas. He and his R/G, ARM3/c Martz were safely rescued after ditching their aircraft. ENS Forrester Auman ran out of fuel on his landing approach and safely ditched in the lagoon, where he and his R/G, ARM3/c McLean were rescued by a PT boat. After the remaining 11 SBDs had landed, we taxied to an area where our aircraft were refueled and rearmed with 500 lb. bombs. Refueling from gasoline drums was necessary due to fuel trucks being damaged from the Japanese air attack. The runways had not been damaged, but certain buildings and the water system had been hit.

Midway Air Operations had notified Hornet of the arrival of VB-8 at Midway. LCDR Johnson was ordered to return to the ship and to attack any Japanese ships that we might find while en route. So we departed Midway and returned to the Hornet without incident. We were recovered aboard at about 1400 with our 500 lb. bombs intact. When I entered the VB-8 ready-room, I was shocked to learn that none of VT-8's 15 TBDs nor VF-8's 10 F4Fs had returned, and that all the crews had been declared MIA. I went to the wardroom to get something to eat and paused to look at the empty chairs that were normally filled by my friends from VF-8 and VT-8. It was a sorrowful site, but I could only dwell on it for a moment—the announcement came for all VB-8 pilots to report to the ready room immediately.



ATTACKING THE HIRYU



Upon entering the ready room, I was informed that we were launching on a mission to attack the Japanese Carrier Hiryu. The attack group would consist of 9 VS-8 SBDs carrying 1000 lb. bombs and 7 VB-8 SBDs carrying the 500 lb. bombs that we’d loaded on Midway. No VF escort would be available. The enemy ships were located approximately 162 miles out, bearing 290 degrees. I plotted my course for intercepting the enemy formation and returning to the Hornet. LT(jg) Bates, the VB-8 flight leader for this mission, briefed us on tactics for the strike. We were ready to go.

Since we’d seen no action that morning, I thought that this could be VB-8's first exposure to real combat. We were ordered to man our planes at about 1540. I met Canfield at our SBD for the second time that day, and we completed our same routine and boarded the aircraft. We went through the takeoff checklist after I started the engine, then we were ready to roll when our turn came. As I approached the take-off position, I was given the stop signal followed by the hold brakes signal, and was then handed over to the Takeoff Control Officer (TCO), who held a stick with a brightly colored flag in his right hand. When the deck ahead was clear, the TCO rotated the flag above his head, which was the signal for me to rev the engine to full takeoff power while holding the brakes and keeping the tail down with the elevators in the full-up position. The TCO made eye contact with me, then suddenly bent forward on his knee, pointing the flag towards the bow. That was my signal to release the brakes and let ‘er rip. It’s an exhilarating way to take off in an airplane, and old-time carrier pilots can recount many interesting tales.

We were safely airborne and proceeding to our rendezvous point. Our VB-8 SBDs, led by LT(jg) Bates joined up with VS-8 and LT Stebbins, who was the strike leader. The Enterprise had also launched a much larger strike group about 30 minutes before ours.

By the time we arrived in the target area, the Enterprise group had already finished their strike. That had cleared the upper altitudes of Zeroes, leaving our approach over the enemy force unopposed. The Hiryu was observed to be completely on fire, so LT Stebbins directed us toward other suitable targets. He took VS-8 toward one while signaling LT(jg) Bates that our squadron was to bomb a nearby cruiser. We maneuvered to make our attack out of the sun from 15,000 ft. There were puffs of AA fire all around us.

Just as we were approaching the dive point, we noticed several explosions on the ocean’s surface, quite some distance from the target. Looking up, we saw a flight of B-17s high above us. They’d dropped their bomb loads right through our formation, missing us as well as the enemy ships!

We then tailed off into our dives. LT(jg) Bates had the lead plane (bomb 50 ft. off the starboard bow) followed by ENS Nickerson (100 ft. astern). I was next (hit astern). The second section dove next with ENS White first (miss), followed by ENS Friez (miss wide), followed by ENS Barrett (hit on starboard quarter), followed lastly by ENS Fisher (no release). During the dive, what looked like orange balls were popping up at me and continued coming from all directions during my high-speed retirement at sea level. Following the strike, all 16 of Hornet’s SBDs rendezvoused unscathed and returned to the ship, landing back aboard at dusk. VB-8 had at last lost its combat virginity.



TRAGEDY ON THE FLIGHT DECK


The Hornet's deck log reported the following remarks on Friday, 5 June 1942:



"Zone Description: plus 10

0 to 4

Ship darkened and in readiness condition three.

0110: held funeral service and buried the remains of the late Lieutenant R.R. INGERSOLL, U.S. Navy; the late CUMMINGS, W.B. JR. Pvt, USMC; the late HUMFLEET, L. E., Pvt, USMC; the late IGNATIUS, W.B. SGT, USMC; and late MAYER, E.A. Sea. 2c, USN, in Latitude 30 degrees- 19' N, Longitude 174 degrees- 52' W."



Thus, the Hornet's deck log recorded the final resting place of five brave men who were mortally wounded at their battle stations during a tragic landing accident that had occurred the day before. Radar had observed many bogeys in the direction of Yorktown, which was reporting that she was under attack by enemy aircraft. The sky in her direction was filled with AA bursts. As the attack subsided, Yorktown’s fighters were low on gas and ammo and were ordered to land on either Hornet or Enterprise. A wounded pilot flying F4F, side number 5-F-4, crashed on landing aboard Hornet, which caused the plane’s machine guns to accidentally fire. That resulted in the five deaths noted above in the ship’s log, and it also wounded 20 other men at their battle stations.



SEARCHING


Hornet went to general quarters for an hour at 0530 on the morning of June 5th. Thereafter, readiness condition 2 was set in order to await strike scheduling from CTF 16, and by late afternoon we had been in the ready room for most of the day. Readiness condition 2 allowed the pilots to leave the ready room for meals so long as we kept updating our chart boards with the latest navigational data reported on the teletype.

A mission assignment from CTF 16 finally came in at about 1700. We were tasked to search for and attack a damaged Japanese aircraft carrier and its escorting ships bearing 315 degrees, about 300 miles out and on a westerly course with a speed of 12 knots. At about 1730, I launched in SBD no. 8-B-8 with an eleven-plane strike group consisting of CHAG and ten VB-8 SBDs. Clay Fisher was again flying CHAG’s wing, and our skipper, LCDR Ruff Johnson was leading a nine-plane division of three stepped-down sections, slightly separated from CHAG and Fisher. LT Tucker's section was flying loosely on the LCDR Johnson’s left, while LT Moe Vose had positioned his 3rd section aft of Tucker’s and stepped down to facilitate maneuvering. I was flying number 3 on the right wing of Vose, and LT John Lynch was number 2 on his left wing.

We proceeded on course at 18,000 feet to search for our target. After about an hour, five B-17's were sighted apparently returning to Midway. We continued on course, and at about 1910 a lone enemy cruiser was sighted heading west. We passed it by in order to locate the damaged carrier, but to no avail. At our maximum range, CHAG reversed course back toward the cruiser we’d previously sighted. We found it again shortly after 2000, and it began to increase speed and send up AA fire as we formed to attack. We followed CHAG down toward the cruiser, which skillfully maneuvered to avoid our bombs. CHAG's bomb failed to release and none of the other ten hit the ship, although there were several near-misses.

We all turned toward home with little attempt to rendezvous after our dives. I was able to form up with Vose, and we flew back toward the Hornet together. By the time we approached the task force, darkness had enveloped the ships and it didn’t seem that a deck landing would be possible. Suddenly their lights came on and we were ordered to land. I followed LT Vose into the landing pattern, and Canfield and I went over the carrier landing checklist: wheels down and locked, flaps down, tailhook extended. I picked up the LSO and his lighted wands as I turned into the groove. My approach speed was good, but I was a little high. The LSO gave the high-dip signal, meaning I was to drop the nose, come down about ten feet, and resume my approach attitude. The LSO then gave me the Roger signal, followed shortly by the cut engine signal, and I landed the aircraft, catching the third wire. This was my first night carrier landing in the SBD, and I felt very good.

After my tailhook was cleared from the arresting wire and put in the up position, I revved the engine in order to quickly clear the landing area and move forward so that the barriers could be raised in time for the next plane to land. After the propeller stopped turning and the wheels were chocked, Canfield and I climbed down and proceeded to our ready rooms. As I went through the hatch and down the ladder, I felt uncomfortable with the surrounding bulkheads and passageways. Somehow, they looked strangely unfamiliar. And for good reason—as I entered what I though was VB-8’s ready room, I discovered that I’d landed on our sister ship, the Enterprise! And of course, LT Vose had done the same thing.

They told me I’d be assigned to fly another search on the following morning, so I was billeted in a room and told to go to sleep. Although three additional Hornet pilots (ENS Doug Carter of VB-8, ENS Jim Forbes of VS-8, and one other whose name I don’t remember) had also landed aboard Enterprise, I don't recall having any contact with them while aboard.



MOGAMI AND MIKUMA



I awoke about 0500 on June 6th and remembered that I was on Enterprise and scheduled to fly a 200-mile search that morning. I hopped out of the bunk, washed myself a little, slipped into my flight suit, and hurried to the wardroom for breakfast where I encountered an atmosphere similar to the one in the Hornet's wardroom the previous morning: many missing pilots would never again sit in the empty chairs. I have never forgotten that feeling.

I finished breakfast and went quickly to the ready room to prepare for the mission. The search group was launched at 0700, and Canfield and I were flying a sector to the southwest at 1500 ft. I was on autopilot, making it easy to keep track of my relative position from the task force as the search proceeded. After about an hour I noticed several silhouettes on the horizon ahead. As the distance closed, I could see that they were four ships in formation on a southwesterly course. I dropped down to 800 ft. and tracked them for several minutes in order to record their position, course, and speed, and also to determine their ship class from my IJN silhouette cards. The two larger ships were cruisers with pagoda-type superstructures, and the other two were destroyers. (I later learned that the two larger ones were the Japanese heavy cruisers Mogami and Mikuma.)

Remaining at a safe distance out of AA range, I dictated a message for CTF 16 to Canfield. The message contained the enemy formation’s composition, relative position, course, and speed. Canfield sent the message by radio but got no confirmation that it had been received. He was concerned that a problem with his radio transmitter might have prevented the task force from receiving the message. It was already 0835 and I decided to get out of there and back to task force ASAP. Arriving over the Enterprise at about 0930, I dropped them a message containing the data on the enemy cruiser formation that we’d located. I then returned to the Hornet’s air pattern to await recovery. After she launched a strike group, I was recovered aboard at about 1015. I proceeded to the bridge in order to brief RADM Mitscher on the details of my sighting. After reporting to the VB-8 ready room, I was told that I wouldn't be flying any more that day.



FINAL PATROL


No flights had been scheduled for the VB-8/VS-8 pilots on June 7th, although half of us were on standby in our ready rooms from 0600-1300 while the other half did the same thing from 1300-1900. Our SBDs were also on standby, loaded with 500 lb. bombs and machine gun ammo. On June 8th we were tasked to provide intermediate air patrols covering sectors up to 50 miles out from Task Force 16 during ship refueling operations. I launched in 8-B-7 at 1340 to fly an intermediate patrol, and after a time I spotted a life raft with one man in it. I rocked my wings to let him know that I saw him and tried reporting his bearing and distance to CTF 16, but once again Canfield got no response. I noticed that I wasn’t receiving a ZB homing signal either. I reversed my course in order to fly back toward the task force, but it had become enveloped in a local storm and I couldn’t see it. With my ZB inoperative, I didn't want to waist fuel waiting for the ships to break clear of the weather, so I decided to fly to Midway. I radioed CTF 16 with my decision and reasoning, and changed course for Midway, which wasn't far.

I was directed to taxi to the Marine Air Group area upon landing, where Canfield and I reported to the air group commander, Lt. Col. Ira Kimes. He informed us that we would be temporarily assigned to the Marine bombing squadron pending further orders. A message was sent to the Hornet notifying them of our safe arrival on the island, and a reply was received that we were to turn our SBD over to the Marines and to await sea transport to back to Pearl Harbor.

Around June 20th, USS Pensacola (CA-24) put into Midway in order to pick up wounded personnel and other survivors of the battle for transport to back to Pearl Harbor. Canfield and I boarded the cruiser for the short transit to Hawaii, and rejoined our squadron a few days later. While en route, I asked the Pensacola's communications officer about Canfield’s transmission concerning the man I’d spotted in the life raft. He did some checking and later told me the message had been copied and the man was rescued. I felt very relieved, but I never found out his name.

[bobbysocks]

A Vivid Memory of Midway


Commander Clayton E. Fisher, USN-Ret

by Ronald Russell

In September 1941, upon completion of pilot training advanced carrier training in Florida, Ensign Clayton E. Fisher was assigned to Bombing Squadron 8 (VB-8) aboard the brand new carrier USS Hornet (CV-8) at Norfolk, Virginia. The ship was placed in commission in October, and for the next few months conducted shakedown and training operations in the Atlantic and Caribbean. One day in March 1942, two Army B-25 medium bombers were mysteriously brought aboard the ship just before it got underway for an unexplained operation. The VB-8 pilots were amazed to see the two big planes take off from the carrier. Without knowing it, they had witnessed the first operational test of Lt. Col. Jimmie Doolittle’s proposal for attacking the Japanese mainland with carrier-launched B-25s.

Fisher and the rest of the Hornet’s crew got to see the real thing two months later, as Doolittle and his sixteen B-25s launched from the ship on their dramatic mission that stunned the enemy’s high command. As a direct result, Japanese Admiral Yamamoto was given the go-ahead for his expansive Midway operation, in which Fisher flew five missions as the pilot of a VB-8 SBD dive bomber.

The morning of 4 June 1942 saw the Hornet airmen’s first combat sortie. Fisher was assigned to fly wing on the air group commander, an honor that brought him a great deal of apprehension since the much-feared Japanese Zeros would seek out the group commander’s flight in any air combat. But it was not to be—only Torpedo Squadron 8 (VT-8) among the Hornet’s four squadrons made contact with the enemy carriers; the rest returned to the ship or in some cases landed in the sea due to lack of fuel.

Later that same day, VB-8 was sent with other squadrons to attack the Japanese carrier Hiryu, which had escaped the devastating strikes that morning by USS Yorktown and USS Enterprise aircraft. The Hiryu was already fatally hit by the time VB-8 arrived overhead, so the squadron dove on one of its escorting cruisers. Fisher’s 1000-pound bomb failed to release at the bottom of his dive, nearly driving his SBD into the water. As it happened, the extra weight propelled his plane through and beyond the enemy task force at an enormous speed, and he was relieved to see Japanese antiaircraft gunners firing well behind him as a result.

By the following day, June 5th, four enemy carriers had been sunk, but Admiral Spruance, was uncertain whether there might be more. While searching for additional Japanese ships, a lone destroyer, the Tanikaze, was sighted and attacked by multiple Navy squadrons as well as two flights of Army B-17s. Fisher’s bomb missed just astern of the ship, which may have been the luckiest vessel on either side in the Battle of Midway—over a hundred bombs were dropped on the elusive target with only minor damage from a near miss.

The 6th of June saw further searches for possible Japanese carriers. Two cruisers and two destroyers were found and attacked by planes from the Hornet and Enterprise as well as Marine aircraft from Midway. Fisher’s bomb missed on that sortie, but on a second flight that afternoon he got a crippling direct hit on the destroyer Arashio as it tried to screen the cruisers Mogami and Mikuma. The Mikuma sank as the result of that action, while the badly damaged Mogami and Arashio eventually made it back to port.

The Battle of Midway was finally over. By the end of the day on June 6th, Fisher was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He had logged seventeen hours on his five combat sorties. His most vivid memory of Midway, though, was not the trauma of aerial combat. Instead, he remembers looking into the VT-8 ready room as the sun set on June 4th. What he saw was a ghostly emptiness. Instead numerous pilots reviewing the day’s battle, there were just empty seats. The only sign of the men who should have been there was their uniforms hanging on hooks, after having changed into their flight suits.

But he had survived, and there were other sorties to be flown and battles to be fought. He would do so both in the Pacific and in Korea, in SBDs as well as F6F Hellcat and F4U Corsair fighters.

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Clay Fisher was an SBD pilot with VB-8, USS Hornet, at the Battle of Midway. On the morning of 4 June 1942 he flew as wingman to air group commander Stanhope Ring. The following text is taken from e-mail messages to the BOMRT in 2001 and 2005. In these messages, Clay describes his dive bombing and other combat experiences in the SBD.)

DIVING THE SBD

Check list before diving:

1. Shift to Low Blower.

2. Shift to low prop pitch. (We wanted full maximum power setting as we broke our dives.

3. Hit full split flaps. (In early 1942 the SBD had to reduce speed to be able to split the flaps, which was tough when under attack. Douglas came out with an engineering change that allowed splitting the flaps at any speed. Also, we could dive at various split flap settings.)

4. Open the cockpit hatch. I think this was to prevent the windshield from fogging up due to the changes in temperatures during the dive. (Our gunner's hatch was always open due to the twin gun mounts. In combat, the gunner was facing the tail during the dive. For training dives, he turned his seat to face forward. Those gunners were some of the bravest!

If I remember correctly, at our standard 70-degree dive with full extension of the dive flaps, our maximum diving speed was only about 240 knots. You felt like you were hanging on a string. That slow speed let us release a bomb between 1500 and 1000 feet. We could do a "snap pullout." The blackout was more severe but of a shorter time period. I always tried to lower my head for the pullout, and it reduced the blackout. In our standard dive, the plane was vertical to the water or ground, but the track downward was 70 degrees. You felt no pressure on your butt or seat belt when you had it right. It was like you were floating.


The SBD did not have shoulder straps. Sometime after the BOM, our mechanics made us a single chest strap that we could tighten for ditching, etc. I ditched at Santa Cruz without landing flaps, and I think that makeshift chest strap saved my life. &nbps I still banged my head on the instrument panel and was momentarily knocked out. I didn't remember anything after I chopped my throttle, until the cockpit filled up with water.


Our standard squadron tactic was to try to position the formation so we could roll down in either a left of right 90 degree turn to pick up the target's course. We did not form the old pre-war "Hollywood" echelon for the individual breaks from the formation. We flew 3-plane sections and 3-section divisions. On the break, the #1 plane dropped down and immediately broke 90 degrees (either right or left). The following sections ditto. The longer we could stay in formation so our gunners could fire, the more protection we had against the fighters. We practiced to see how fast we could break into our dives. With sufficiently close intervals, we could have all 9 dive bombers in a column.

The inside of the split flaps were painted red, and the last plane could see eight red bars. That prevented possible midair collisions if a pilot got out of position. If our flight leader rolled left into the dive, he turned left after his dive recovery and continued straight ahead. The other 8 planes would expedite a join-up on the inside of his turn. Getting back into formation for mutual protection was essential. We practiced this tactic, and were good at it, although in combat it was almost impossible to get all 9 planes back into formation.


I think out dive bomber tactics were far superior to the Japanese. The long initial glide and then the final pushover that the Vals used had 2 weaknesses: (a) their initial long shallow dive made our fighters' job easier, and (b) it was difficult for them to get into the final dive position. I don't know if the Vals made 70-degree dives with only the fixed landing gear acting as dive brakes.

The SBD had a glass window below the pilot's feet, which I guess was for sighting the target, and for a straight pushover dive. The glass was cleaned before takeoff, but engine oil always smeared up the glass. The SBD engine threw quite a lot of oil. You could always tell an SBD pilot by the oil on his flight helmet!


FORMATION FLYING

Questions on flying and fighting the SBD:

--did you commence a dive by the famous half-roll into a dive, pulling positive G, or by diving straight ahead, pulling negative G?

--where was the dive brake extension handle located?

--where was the bomb release located?

--the SBD apparently had a telescopic sight in front of the pilot. Was it used for bomb aiming or gun aiming or both?

--even in summertime, it should have been pretty cold flying at 15-19.000 ft altitude. Contemporary photos show pilots & crewmen in thin clothing--no fur jackets. What did it feel like, actually?

--was there any trim change when extending the dive brakes?"

The old Hollywood movies of Navy dive bombers usually showed the formation flights "peeling off" from an echelon of aircraft "stacked up" flying a "step-up" formation" (each aircraft flying above the aircraft ahead). This was because the early dive bombers were biplanes and the upper wing would block out the plane you were flying formation on. The SBD was of course a monoplane and flew "step down" in all formations, which was a much better formation for combat. The attachment below describes the SBD flight formation.

The trim tab and dive brake controls were located on the left side of the cockpit just below the throttle handle. When we were in position to open the split flap ("dive brakes"), we hit the flap handle and as we steepened our dives. As our speed increased, we had to keep adjusting our rudder tab to keep the aircraft from skidding. The pilot’s right hand and arm controlled the "joy stick."

The SBD had a manual bomb release lever down low on the left side of the cockpit and an electrical switch on the top of the joy stick.

In 1942 The SBDs had a telescope used as a bomb sight and also as a gun sight for the two forward .50 caliber machine guns that fired through the propeller. Later SBD models had a virtual image combination bomb and gun sight.

Most of the SBDs flew at about 12 to 14 thousand feet, and it did get pretty cold but the June weather during the BOM was tolerable.

Estimating the correct "lead" on a fast moving ship and keeping the rudder trimmed were the secrets to obtaining a direct bomb hit. It took a lot of practice bombing on a moving target to become a proficient dive bomber pilot. Unfortunately, most of the younger dive bomber pilots that flew during BOOM never had the opportunity to practice very much dive bombing in the SBD.


In combat situations we wanted to be able to stay in our defense formation as long as possible until our flight leader led us into our 70 degree dives. Our flight leader would roll into a 90 degree sharp nose down turn and his inside wingman broke next, followed by his outside wingman. The sections behind broke the formation the same way. We wanted to get into our dives as fast as possible. Once in our 70 degree dives, the Zero fighters could not attack but had to spiral down and attack after we pulled out. Our flight leader would always try to do a 90 degree turn after pulling out of his dive so we could join up on the inside of his turn. Then it was a simple relative bearing problem, just sighting through the back edge of your windshield at the plane’s windshield you were joining up on. Acquiring that position quickly put you back in formation.


In a 70 degree dive with those very effective dive brakes we could release our bombs as low as 1200 to 1500 feet.

So many artists concepts of SBDs attacking aircraft carriers show the planes glide bombing. I will describe the standard SBD dive bombing run during 1942. It was a 70 degree dive--the plane’s track or path is 70 degrees, but the plane is in a vertical position to the surface of the water. You knew when you were in a good 70 degree dive when your butt was not pushed against the seat nor were you hanging on your safety belt. You were sort of floating between the seat and your safety belt.

The split flaps, or what the pilots called dive brakes, were painted bright red on the inside of the flaps. The holes helped create more drag. When we broke our formations started our 70 degree dives in a long column, you could see those red flaps of all the planes diving ahead of you.

I think the Douglas Aircraft designer who conceived this flap arrangement was a genius. Early in 1942, Douglas made a flap modification that let the dive flaps open at high approach speeds as we started in to our dives. Our maximum dive speeds were actually pretty slow, around 240 knots. You felt like you were just hanging there and going too slow when the aa stuff was coming at you.

Another great feature of the flap arrangement was to be able to “collapse” them just as you started pulling out of the dive. This greatly accelerated the plane’s speed and gave the Japanese gunners problems leading the target with their guns.

All navy SBD dive bomber squadrons flew combat missions from a standard 9 plane division of 3-plane sections, with the sections and the wingmen flying in stepped down position. That formation provided maximum firepower from the rapid firing twin mounted .30 caliber guns, bringing a possible 18 guns to bear on attacking zero fighters.

[bobbysocks]

olife mentioned the "night witches" in the operation husky thread. i had already posted some of the soviet women ace stuff but had more.


a soviet documentry with english subtitles...some good stuff here

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSEro1gVbOY

[bobbysocks]

since its a russian theme day...

Boris Safonov's "British Show".

The most well-known Russian fighter ace during the first period of the war, was the young Boris Safonov, flying with 72 SAP (Composite Aviation Regiment) in the Murmansk area in the far North.

Before his death on 30 May 1942, Safonov had scored 17 victories, of which at least 8 can be verified by Luftwaffe loss records. During his last combat, he was credited with another 3 kills - bringing his total to 20 (according to his flight book; higher figures are given in various Russian publications). What makes his achievement remarkable is that 14 of these victories were achieved during the three first months of the war, while Safonov was flying an I-16 "Ishak" fighter, far inferior to the German Messerschmitt 109s.

During the RAF fighter pilots' stay in this area in the fall of 1941, Boris Safonov gave the RAF pilots an impressive show of combat skill. In September 1941, the Air Force of the Soviet Northern Fleet was reinforced with thirty-nine British Hawker "Hurricane" fighters of Wing Commander H. N. G. Ramsbottom-Isherwood´s 151 Wing, including Nos. 81 and 143 Squadron. Twenty-four were flown to Murmansk and fifteen to Arkhangelsk. The British were eager to revenge themselves for their humiliating defeat in the air over the same area on 30 June 1941, when German fighters had shot down 15 British aircraft sent out from the carriers "Victorious" and "Furious" - without a single German loss.

On September 12, the twenty-four "Hurricanes" bound for Murmansk took off from the aircraft carrier Argus in the Barents Sea . That same afternoon, the British pilots of 81 Squadron flew a combat mission over the front lines. They bounced five Messerschmitt 109s escorting a Henschel 126. In the ensuing action, the Messerschmitt-pilot Leutnant Eckhard von der Lühe and the Hurricane-pilot Sergeant Smith were both shot down and killed. (The British pilots claimed to have shot down three Bf 109s plus the Hs 126. During the following five weeks, the RAF pilots took part in several combats, claiming 16 confirmed victories, 4 "probables" and 7 damaged enemy aircraft - a high over-claim - for the loss of only 2 "Hurricanes".)

But at the hands of an expert, the old I-16 was still to be reckoned with, as Boris Safonov would show the British guests. On 6 September 1941, the Luftwaffe had raided 72 SAP´s airfield. Safonov and four other I-16s met the attackers in the air, claiming two Ju 87s shot down. Clashing with the escorting Bf 109s, A. Kovalienko had been credited with one kill while another '109' was 'shared' between Safonov and Maksimovich. According to the Russian report, a third Messerschmitt crashed into the ground while chasing the agile Ishaks. None of these claims can be verified in the loss tables of JG 5 (which by all means not necessarily are complete).

Three days after the arrival of the British - 15 September 1941 - Safonov decided to demonstrate his abilities. This was to become Safonov´s most successful day: A Schwarm of Messerschmitt 110s from 1.(Z)/JG 77 was out on an escort mission for the "Stukas" of Hauptmann Arnulf Blasig´s IV.(St.)/LG 1, attacking Soviet ground troops in the Zapadnaya Litsa region. Leutnant Heinz-Horst Hoffmann, the pilot in one of the Bf 110s, spotted a lone I-16 below. Hoffmann was one of the veterans of the Zerstörerstaffel, with three victories to his credit. Without hesitating, he put the nose of his twin-engine fighter down to make an attack. He didn´t realize the trap until too late. A dark green I-16 with the bold inscription "Smert fashistam!" ("Death to the fascists!") painted in two-feet-high white letters on the side of the fuselage came shooting down from above. It was Boris Safonov´s "White 11". Hoffmann´s Bf 110 was hit in an engine. The plane made a roll and went down from low altitude, exploding on impact three miles west of Zapadnaya Litsa. Having scored his 12th victory, Safonov turned against the "Stukas". One of them went down in flames, Safonov´s 13th victory. Shortly afterwards, the Russian ace caught a third German plane, Hs 126, and shot it down as well. On the following day, Boris Safonov received the highest Soviet award, the Golden Star - the token of the Hero of the Soviet Union.

As the British pilots left for home, the Hurricanes were naturally handed over to 72 SAP. With a better outfit, the Soviet fighter pilots were able to inflict growing losses upon the small Luftwaffe forces on the "Polar Front". Marking the end of 1941, Boris Safonov claimed one Messerschmitt 109 on 17 December and one He 111H-5 (piloted by Unteroffizier Engelbert Roithmayer of 1./KG 26) on 31 December, flying a "Hurricane" fighter.

[bobbysocks]

Pokryshkin's Falcon

Alexander Fiodorowitch Klubov was born in 1918, in the small country-village of Jerunovo, in the Wolgograd region. His father was Fiodor Ivanovitch, a country worker, who nonetheless was a sailor on the battleship "Aurora", and thus was a witness of the great shot - the signal that began the Bolshevist Revolution of 1917. After graduating ground school, young Alexander arrived in Leningrad, where he worked as a turner in an industrial plant named "Bolshevist". He joined the Soviet Aeroclub, and after basic training, decided to make aviation his life. In 1939, Klubov volunteered to Military Aviation School, and after finishing training, was promoted to the rank of Leutnant. That promotion came just before "Barbarossa" the German invasion of the Soviet Union.

In August of 1942, Klubov entered front-line duty as a fighter pilot. In one of very hard battles over Mozdok, his I-153 suffered heavy hits. The plane caught fire, and Klubov was forced to bail out, but not before flames had badly burned his face and hands. Despite many weeks in the hospital, Klubov's skin remained scarred. In the autumn of 1942, Klubov was awarded the Red Flag Medal. By early 1943 he returned to front line duty with the 16 GvIAP, commanded by famous Alexander Pokryshkin . The unit entered battle 9 April 1943 and by the end of that month, had been in 28 air battles, in which Soviet pilots downed 79 aircraft of the following types: 14 Bf 109E, 12 Bf 109F, 45 Bf 109G, 2 FW 190, 4 Ju 88, 1 Do 217, and 1 Ju 87. The most successful pilots of this period were: Cpt. A. I. Pokryshkin - 10 Bf 109, Sen. Lt. V. I. Fadieyev - 12 Bf 109 and Sen. Lt. G.A. Rechkalov - 7 Bf 109 + 1 Ju 88. Under Pokryshkin's leadership and with daily exposure to heavy combat, the young pilots got a lot of experience (or died...).

The following is an excerpt from Alexander Pokryshkin's book "The Sky of War", devoted to young Soviet pilots. This is an episode during the fierce Battle of Kuban in the summer of 1943, when the 16th GvIAP flew P-39 D Airacobras.

""...They flew their sorties without interruption, with heroism and battled with great skill. Klubov, Trofimov, Sukhov, Lukianov, and Zherdiev. Not long ago, they were new and inexperienced. Now they lead big formations and successfully fulfill combat missions in extremely difficult conditions. Especially distinguishing himself with courage and total control of his aircraft, was Alexander Klubov. He was calm, and a little phlegmatic on the ground, but in the air he totally changed. He was brave, determined, and full of initiative. Klubov did not wait for the enemy, he tried to find him. He had the special "spirit" of a fighter pilot.

One day, we got very nervous about Klubov. It was sunset, his flying limit had surely been reached, but Klubov had not returned from a reconnaissance mission. Following my radio call, he simply replied: "I am in combat!" After that, the radio went silent. I was worried that something could be wrong.

Suddenly his aircraft appeared, having been so long awaited by us. But he flew in a very odd way. He flew down, then rapidly climbed again. It was obvious that his steering system was damaged and only his will and excellent piloting kept his plane in the air. I ordered him, by radio, to bail out, but he did not hear me. His radio was damaged.

When his fighter began the landing maneuver, I was really terrified. I was sure, that his "swinging" flight would end with a ground crash. But Klubov kept the machine in control and landed successfully without his landing gear down. Aviators, standing on the runway, rapidly ran to help him, but Klubov climbed as calm as ever out of his cockpit. He walked around his plane, wondering over all the many bullet holes and said to his aircraft, "You fought very well, my friend!"

Klubov said nothing about his duel with six Messerschmitts, nor that he had shot down two of them."
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Alexander Klubov, was twice (on 13 April 1943, and then posthumously, on 27 June 1945) awarded the highest military award of the USSR, the Golden Star, as a Hero of the Soviet Union. He flew 457 sorties and took part in 95 air combats. He scored 31 personal victories and another 19 were claimed as 'group' kills. On 10 October 1944 (some sources say on 1 November 1944), Klubov was killed in the crash landing on the Jezowe airfield (25 km from Stalowa Wola, Poland). It was a training flight in the new La-7 fighter, and there was a malfunction of the plane's hydraulic system.

[bobbysocks]

Piotr Kozachenko - F.J. Beerenbrock´s defeater (?).

Piotr Kozachenko was born in 1914, in the small village of Korostienie in the Ukraine. When he was 20 years old, he attended the Flight Training School. After ending his training, he was ordered to an Aviation Regiment. As a volunteer, he joined the Chinese forces against Japan. During fights over the Uchan Provence he downed 11 enemy planes. In 1938, he was awarded the Order of the Red Flag. In 1939-40, he flew over the Karelia area and achieved 4 aerial kills.

On 22 June 1941, the first day of the war with Germany, Major Kozachenko and his group of I-153 aircraft of the 249th Fighter Regiment (249 IAP) flew ground attacks against German forces at Lubera city (near Zytomierz). On the next day, a group of seven I-153's, under his command, intercepted 12 Heinkel He 112 B fighters of the Rumanian FARR´s Flotila 1 Vinatoare attempting to raid the Bolgard airfield. Kozachenko shot down the He 112 piloted by Adj.Av. A. Codnet, where after his group returned to base without losses. Commanded by Captain Alexander Ivanovich Halutin, the 249 was credited with 25 aerial victories for the loss of 10 planes and six pilots from June to October 1941 (when the unit was withdrawn from combat to be re-equipped with the LaGG-3).

On 10 July 1941 Kozachenko and his group of fourteen I-153 aircraft of the 249th Fighter Regiment (249 IAP) flew ground attacks against German forces on the road from Lubera to Krasnopol' (Zytomierz region). On 14 July Kozachenko's group of five I-153 destroyed enemy headquarters near Shurupovka village ( Vinnitsa region ), and on the next day, a group of seven I-153's, under his command, intercepted 12 Heinkel He 113 (really Bf 109F, possibly from JG3). Kozachenko shot down the He 113 near Kazatin, whereafter his group returned to base without losses. (from 1941 God. Yugo-Zapadniy front : vospominaniya, ocherki. Lvov, 1970 - Year 1941. South-West front : memoirs, essays. L'vov, 1970 - via Yuri V.Shakhov - thanks!) Note: the describe of the same (probably) combat against Heinkel fighters appeard twice and with different dates - depending from source.

In 1942, this regiment flew over the Caucasus - Kerch front area. On 1 February 1942, a formation of six LaGG-3 fighters led by Kozachenko spotted a group of 15 Messerschmitt Bf 110s. Catching the Germans in an unfavorable position, the Soviets downed 5 of the twin-engined fighters. During a strike on Mineralniye Airfield a few days later, Kozachenko shot down a Bf 109. Shortly afterwards, Kozachenko and six other pilots of the Fighter Regiment's 7 fighters blew 8 Junkers Ju 52s out of the sky in one combat. Being promoted as commander of the 249th IAP, Major Piotr Kozacheko received the Golden Star of a Hero of the Soviet Union on 6 May 1943.

At this time, his regiment was instructed to organize "free hunting missions" on German Ju 52 transport aircraft. During one of these "free hunts", Kozachenko was seriously injured. He was hit in his left arm and stomach. He was able to return to base, but after landing he remained in the cockpit until his comrades helped him out. He was admitted to hospital for some weeks.

In the summer of 1944, he returned to duty in the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, commanding the 163rd IAP. With this unit, he saw action in the skies over the encircled German troops near Minsk. His Regiment operated as part of the Soviet 4th Air Army on the 2nd White Russian Front. Frequently, his regiment was ordered to cover special versions of the Petlyakov Pe-2 during very important Reconnaissance missions. These Pe-2 reconnaissance crews put great faith in Kozachenko's cover, and named him "Daddy" (in Russian - "Bat´ka"). In March 1945, the 2nd White Russian Front fought near Gdansk and Gdynia. On 18 March 1945, "Daddy" Kozachenko was killed in an aerial combat while escorting reconnaissance Pe-2's. The last words heard from him in the radio, were "I'm hit, going for a 'Taran'!" (air-to-air ramming). This same day, as Kozachenko was killed, Hauptmann Joachim Brendel, the 189-victory ace in III./JG 51, claimed 3 victories over East Prussia...

Kozachenko flew 227 combat missions and downed 12 German planes. He was awarded the Soviet Hero Title, and four times was awarded the Order of the Red Flag. He also received the Alexander Nevski medal and many other awards.

According to my sources, there is information that Kozatchenko probably, on 9 November 1942, shot down a well know German ace - Oberfeldwebel Franz-Josef Beerenbrock (who had over 100 kills). Here is the story:


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"One day, a group of fighters, commanded by Kozachenko, escorted a single Petlyakov Pe-2 on a photo reconnaissance mission. The German AAA was very intensive. But suddenly the Flak held its fire. German fighters were approaching. The enemy showed great determination to destroy the reconnaissance plane, but the Soviet fighters managed to keep the Pe-2 safe. The Pe-2 could make a second reconnaissance run, and a third run, but during the fourth photography run, one Fw 190 came up close behind the Pe-2. Flying at the same speed as the bomber-reconnaissance aircraft, the Fw 190 opened fire. The Pe-2 crew was caught by surprise and the radio operator was killed. A large hole, about the size of a man's head was blown open in the cockpit. Kozacheko was very close, and he saw many markings on the Fw190's fuselage, especially an indian with a bow near the cockpit. "This is a German ace from Mölder's Regiment" Kozatchenko thought. He was so close that he even could see the German ace smiling. The German's smile did not last long, however. "Daddy´s" fire was completely devastating and the German plane plummeted downwards. After a few seconds, Kozachenko saw the Fw 190 explode as it crashed into the ground. The Pe-2 was damaged, but able to return to base. Having taken some very important photos, the Pe-2 crew received personal thanks from the C-in-C of the 2nd White Russian Front, Marshal Konstantin Rokossovsky. After the war, German POW Captain Gabel (of the "3rd Mölders Squadron") informed the Soviet intellegence that on the same day as Kozachenko had scored this victory, the excellent German ace Beerenbrock was posted as missing."


Note: There are some oddities surrounding Kozachenko´s supposed downing of Franz-Josef Beerenbrock: First, Beerenbrock (who certainly belonged to JG 51 "Mölders") never flew a Fw 190, but a Bf 109. And secondly, the 2nd White Russian Front had not been up yet by the time as Beerenbrock was shot down. Either, this is due to a printing mistake in the Russian report (indeed very common in all war reports); or there remains the alternative that it was not Beerenbrock, but another ace of JG 51, that was shot down by Kozachenko.

[bobbysocks]

Admiral Nimitz Arrives At Pearl Harbor - Dec. 25, 1941

" I was privileged to be one of the pilots that flew Adm. Nimitz from San Diego to Pearl Harbor on Christmas Day, 1941, about two weeks after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Adm. Nimitz was to relieve Adm. Husband Kimmel and take over the badly wounded Pacific Fleet. We took off from San Diego in the early evening of 24 Dec in a PB2Y-2, Coronado, BuNo. 1635. The Coronado
was a 4 engine seaplane, a big brother of the PBY Catalina. My log book shows the flight took 17.2 hours and we arrived at Pearl Harbor about mid morning of Christmas day, 1941. Upon arriving at Pearl, we invited Adm. Nimitz up to the flight deck and asked him if he would like to observe the damage and destruction inflicted by the Japs. He eagerly accepted. We made
wide circles over Pearl Harbor as well as Hickham Field. He was seated in the left hand pilot's seat for purposes of this observation and he just kept shaking his head and clucking his tongue. God knows what was going through his mind but if it was anything like what was going through ours it was: "Those dirty bastards! Somehow, someway, we are going to make them pay!" We were looking at the West Virginia, the California, the Utah, the Arizona, all crumpled hulks. We were looking at skeletons of what were once hangars and flight lines filled with the junk of what were once military planes. The carnage was sickening.

And with all of this on his mind, what was Adm. Nimitz' demeanor as he disembarked to take on this great responsibility? He took the time to shake the hand of every member of the crew and thank them for a comfortable flight and apologized to each for having taken them from their families
on Christmas Day! What a giant of a man. What a great leader to take over the Pacific Fleet! Why do I write this now? Two reasons: First, because I feel proud that we were able to deliver the right man to the right place at the right time. And second, I said I was one of the pilots on that flight.

The others were:
Lt. Bowen F. McLeod, USNA '30,
Ens. Ross C. Barney,
Ens. Thomas Robinson,
Ens. Frank L. DeLorenzo (all ex-aviation cadets)
and Warrant Machinist Clarence L. Pearson.
So why DO I write this now? Because of those five, I am the only one still living and I am 84 years old. Tomorrow might be too late!March 28, 1999 Frank DeLorenzo,
Captain, U.S. Navy (Ret.)

Although he flew Nimitz to Pearl Harbor in the four engine PB2Y Coronado
on Christmas day, they had actually tried to take him there the day before.
Christmas Eve, Delo took the PB2Y out in very rough windy weather. As he tried to turn the flying boat into the wind, the wind was so strong that the plane dipped to one side as he tried to make the turn. Delo looked out the window and saw a prop start to beat the water and knew he should not continue to try to get the plane turned into the wind. They aborted this afternoon attempt to fly due to the weather, and took the plane back to shore. Perhaps at this point they should have taken the plane ashore, but someone decided to keep them in the water. Delo and Ross Barney had to stay up all night, keeping the engines running. They were unsure of the weather and afraid the bow line might separate. So the two of them
had to sit there all night, periodically revving the engines. In the morning, the weather abated and Delo was able to go home and get some rest. That afternoon, Delo and the crew of that PB2Y Coronado were able to take off and make the sixteen hour flight to Pearl Harbor. I must think that at this point in the war, they must have had some concerns about running
into trouble on the way there. We had just been in the war two and a half weeks, a war we were unprepared for. Who knew what trouble might be in the way of their flight to Pearl Harbor. Nevertheless, Delo and the crew did their duty conveying Admiral Nimitz to Pearl Harbor to relieve Admiral Pye (who had relieved Kimmel) and take over the command of the Pacific Fleet.
They arrived at Pearl Harbor the following morning. I asked Delo if there were any smoke or flames still burning from the attack and he said the fires were all extinguished. However when they landed in Pearl Harbor, the harbor itself was covered with six inches of oil. It was a mess. After landing, Nimitz thanked the crew and asked about his cruise chest being brought ashore.
A Lt. Commander (whose name is intentionally not mentioned herein out of respect to the dead and his family) told Nimitz there is no way we can get the cruise chest out before the plane is brought ashore. An ensign, Tommy Robinson, took the cruise chest out the tunnel hatch and placed it in a dingy.
He soon had the chest ashore, which embarrassed the Lt. Commander after he had just Nimitz it could not be done.

[bobbysocks]

Remembrance of a Rear-Seater

by CAPT N. J.”Dusty” Kleiss, USN-Ret

27 April 2007

Tracy Lewis asked the Roundtable if it could give her more information about her great uncle Thurman Randolf Swindell, AOM1/c, who was KIA in the Battle of Midway. Tracy is interested in knowing this man not only as a relative, but because she is taking a history class in college and must have a paper about a famous person of WWII. The Roundtable passed Tracy's request to me to determine if I could give any additional information other than that given to her by the Roundtable.

I first met Thurman Swindell in the fall of 1941, when I was given a collateral duty as Education Officer of Scouting Six. One of my first assignments was scoring the official (closely secured) tests for enlisted personnel to meet qualifications to a higher rating. One of the first official tests I examined was for determining the necessary qualifications of moving from 2/c to 1/c status. There were only two enlisted men of Scouting Six who met possible advancement to that difficult promotion. Meeting official tests was not enough. The contenders also had to score on petty officer ratings, approval from their division officer, their executive officer...and they had to obtain approval of Chief Myers. Gaining approval from Chief Myers was about as difficult in reaching Mount Everest without stopping for breath.

Chief Myers, with a small crew, could repair a shot-up plane brought in on an afternoon and have it ready for flying at 0400 next morning; that was after replacing a wing or a tail and checking all items including the compass. If the plane was beyond repair, he would hoist it onto the overhead and bring down a new one and make certain that everything worked. Then he would repaint the plane and put in all markings and insignia. He would do everything except replacing an engine. That chore was left to Chief Dodge. Before the Pearl Harbor attack, Chief Myers’ hair was black. A few months later it was totally gray.

My little black book shows that Swindell made 3.54 on the official exam, 3.8 on petty officer ability, good ratings from all commissioned officers, and an OK from Chief Myers. That was the highest rating ever given by Myers. In contrast, the other applicant for possible advancement to first class made 3.1 on the official exam, a 3.2 rating for petty officer ability, and was not recommended for advancement by the division officer, the executive officer or by Chief Myers.

Now let me give some indication of what an AOM1/c [Aviation Ordnanceman First Class] was expected to do, and how he must train those under him. On the night of 7 December 1941, our Torpedo Squadron Six and five of us in SBDs (carrying hydrofluoric acid for TBD smoke screen), and some F4F fighters searched late into the night to hit Japanese carriers. We couldn't find any. Those F4F fighters were shot down by our people on Pearl Harbor. We SBDs landed on our ship ahead of the TBDs. One new TBD pilot, who had never landed on a carrier at night, made a rough landing. The torpedo broke loose, its propeller started twirling, meaning that it was armed and needed only a little bump on the nose to explode. "Slim" Townsend, the flight deck officer, saw it coming towards him at high speed. Slim jumped on it like a bucking bronco, steered it away from the island, and stopped it. Two ordnance men ran to it, disarmed it in two or three seconds, and helped place it on a cart, out of the way, allowing the next plane to land without circling.

Swindell was not on any SBD of those 7 December 1941 flights. He and his crew were too busy putting depth charges, bombs and ammunition on aircraft. On 20 February 1942, AOM2/c Swindell flew with ENS M. A. Merrill in 6-S-19 on our attack against Wake Island, which had been captured by the Japanese. We sunk one ship in the harbor and damaged another ship as we made a "dog leg" heading back to our Enterprise. (We never went directly back to our ship because that would show the enemy our position.) We were tearing that ship apart, using left over ammunition, when a U.S. cruiser several miles away saw what was happening. She fired one salvo, sinking that ship. Only four Japanese survived. We captured them, interrogated them, and made them the first Japanese prisoners of war. Lots of damage was done to Wake Island from our dive bombers and from shells from our cruisers.

On 4 March 1942 Swindell flew with ENS Merrill in 6-S-3, making an attack on Marcus Island. Based on heavy cloud cover and many AA batteries aiming at us, it was hard to tell how much damage was inflicted on their hangars, storehouses, and oil and gasoline tanks. One thing we knew for certain: we clobbered their radio station. We heard Tokyo repeatedly calling Marcus to answer. They continued for the next 24 hours. Marcus never replied.

A photograph of 13 May 1942 has a caption showing that Swindell was now AOM1/c. Apparently a vacancy had opened for that petty officer slot. Almost always a slot opened only when the previous recipient was lost in battle.

On the morning of 4 June1942, Swindell flew with ENS J. Q. Roberts. I watched them dive on the Kaga, two planes ahead of me. They were in the fifth plane to dive. I never saw them again. I was too busy aiming my bombs on the Kaga. The official battle report states, "forced landing near Kaga." Neither Roberts nor Swindell were ever found. All available evidence indicates that their plane was shot down by AA gunfire.

It took only four hits, only seconds apart, to demolish the Kaga. Each of us carried a 500-pound bomb and two 100-pound incendiaries. Additional hits were made, but many SBDs had to select other targets because flames and smoke obscured the carrier. The Battle of Midway was won in less than five minutes. That's all the time it took to make three of the best Japanese carriers into balls of flame.

It might be noted that only the very best people occupied the rear seat of our SBDs in battle. Don Hoff, of Fresno, California, who was a Radioman 3/c at that time, assures me that AOM1/c Swindell had flown numerous previous flights. He was an expert in gunnery, and was capable of operating all the numerous radio equipment in our SBDs. That included knowing how to operate the new YE-ZB homing equipment. Not all SBD plane crews from other carriers were able to operate the new YE-ZB homing system. They landed on the ocean. Fortunately, most of those crews were picked up at the end of the battle.

Statistics show that our dive bombers were the best in the world and they sunk more Japanese military ships than any other method, including attacks by submarines and surface ships. That great method paid a high price. More than half of our original Scouting Six crews were lost in the first six months of WW II. Just imagine sitting on the back seat of an SBD during combat. You would face to the rear, holding twin .30 caliber machine guns, scanning the sky for Zeros, ready to shoot them down before they shoot you. Then, suddenly, you are plunged downward vertically at 250 miles per hour, pushing downward on your seat with a force of one ton at eight "G’s" after the pilot has dropped his bomb. Then you must be ready to aim at more Zeros. Then the pilot tells you to go on the air, or switch to the homing frequency, or give hand signals to nearby crews in Morse code. All of this requires securing the guns, reaching forward, changing radio coils, and moving dials accurately and quickly.

We pilots always received medals when our airplane and crew did something important. The enlisted man in the back seat was rarely mentioned. I would have been killed long ago had it not been for the skills of my RM3/c, John Snowden. As Educational Officer, I had selected him before other pilots noticed his abilities. He scored number one in all categories for promotion, the highest ever recorded in my little black book.

[bobbysocks]

Captain N.J. "Dusty" Kleiss

MIDWAY!

Prior to the Battle of Midway our only "200 mile out and 200 mile back" searches relied on dead reckoning, using wind information, and revising wind changes by watching ocean waves using the Beaufort Scale. Just before the Battle ofMidway we had YE-ZB line of sight electronics equipment. When we were up 4 miles high we could locate the carrier more than a hundred miles away.

After taking some Marine airplanes to Wake Island early December 1941, we encountered a terrific storm as we headed back to Pearl Harbor. One destroyer broke a seam, and we were one day late arriving into Pearl Harbor. Had we arrived on time at our berth Fox Nine, on 6 December 1941, WW2 History would have been different. The ENTERPR1SE would have gone down with the battleships. The Japanese would have made more scheduled attacks, destroying ammunition depots, fuel depots and repair facilities. Also there would have been no early raids in the Pacific, no Jimmy Doolittle Raid and no victory in the Battle of Midway.

Because we were a day late, were carrying full loads of service ammunition and were declared to be at war, (As stated in this 28 November order in my LogBook, the ENTERPR1SE pilots tangled with the Japanese before the Japanese attack,tangled with them during the attack, and chased them as they ran for home that night. All this is recorded in THESE PAMPHLETS written by Dr. Cressman, a retired Navy historian.)

Many historians report that FUJITSU, the Japanese Air F orce Commander, sulked in his cabin for a month afterwards because he was not allowed to make additional attacks. On the other hand the Japanese Admiral was told that radar pictures indicated that 59 aircraft were headed his way and he decided to scram for home. But enough of previous history.

The Battle of Midway foundation started in the code room of Admiral Nimitz's headquarters in Honolulu. His experts had broken the latest Japanese code, knew that a giant armada was being assembled in total secrecy, but couldn't figure out the code word designated for the United States target.

The code breakers guessed that Midway Island might be the target but they weren't at all sure. Admiral Nimitz gave them a go-ahead to have a fake, unclassified signal sent from Midway Island. It said that the fresh water distilling system was out of commission and fresh water supplies were running low.

The Japanese bought this garbage and reported, in their new code, that target X was running short of fresh water. Midway Island was definitely the target. At that point in time, the ENTERPR1SE was dropping off planes and pilots at Efate Island. The Battle of the Coral Sea was in progress. We arrived there just as the battle ended.

The United States won, but the old LEXINGTON was sunk and the YORKTOWN barely made it afloat to get back to Pearl Harbor. The repair facility said that her repairs would take several months. Admiral Nimitz said the YORKTOWN had to be repaired as best as could be accomplished in a days.

Like the ENTERPRISE, the YORKTOWN was to lie in ambush for the midway attack. The movie named the "Battle ofMidway" depicted the YORKTOWN pilots singing and playing guitars to pump up their spirits for the forthcoming battle. As a matter of fact the YORKTOWN pilots were trying to get a little badly needed hours of sleep, and the ship's crew ere trying to get some things working. Our Captain Murray outlined our ambush strategy, and said that the Japanese would make a feint attack on Dutch Harbor, Alaska, intending that we would send all our forces there. The one thing he didn't tell us was the Japanese were sending 189 ships and we were ambushing with ___.They had eight of their aircraft carriers and we had the HORNET, the ENTERPRISE and the battle damaged YORKTOWN.

Vice Admiral "Bull" Halsey was unable to go with us. He was hospitalized with hives. Our shipmates revered him. Ensign Tom Eversole and his torpedo bomber plane got lost in fog and bad weather enroute to attack Wake Island. Halsey turned his entire fleet around, found the rubber raft of Eversole and crew, and clobbered Wake Island a day later than scheduled.

Halsey chose Admiral Spruance to replace him. Spruance was not an aviator, but he matched exactly Halsey's evaluation of risk philosophies. He knew the abilities and limitations of carriers and the abilities and limitation of other ships. Admiral Kimmel, by contrast, understood neither.

Halsey knew that our cruisers had only 8 inch guns and the Japanese had some 18 inch guns. Both the US and the Japanese signed the Washington Conference Treaty. We trashed our 18 inch guns, the Japanese built theirs. As Will Rogers said, "America never lost a war or won a peace conference. "

On 3 June 1942 we waited in ambush. All pilots were ready for take-off on a minutes notice. Later in the day we were told that an Air Force pilot had reported, "Enemy sighted. Main body", nothing further. Finally we pilots were told to get a few hours of sleep and get a hasty breakfast. Next day our ready room speaker reported that a PBY pilot flying through clouds had spotted a number of aircraft carriers below him. He calmly reported Latitude, Longitude and course and speed of the enemy. Later some pilots would also argue whether he added, "Please notify next of kin." Somehow the PBY was not observed by the Japs.

We immediately launched our dive bombers at 0945. LCDR McClusky headed the Air Group with Lt. Earl Gallaher just behind him. I led the next section to the right of Earl. We had 16 SBD's.

Just behind and below us were 15 SBD'S led by LT. Dick Best. Thirty-one ENTERPRISE planes in all. A similar number was launched from the YORKTOWN and from the HORNET.

Shortly after we took off, a scout from Midway reported that the Japanese carriers had reversed course. Now they were coming closer to the ENTERPRISE instead of going farther away.

The TBD torpedo planes were now within range. They were launched immediately from our three carriers. Hopefully these slower aircraft, with a closer target distance, would arrive just as our dive bombers made their attacks. Strict Radio Silence kept our dive bombers from learning about the new location and direction of the enemy.

Now let us think about things as Admiral Yamamoto, head of the armada, saw them. The Midway Island attack would be a piece of cake. The easy capture of this important base would cause the United States to sue for peace. His plan had worked perfectly and he had taken every precaution. His huge armada had travelled farther north than normal sea lanes. No submarines had detected him. Midway was unaware, and ill-prepared for an attack. The side attack of Dutch Harbor would surely send U.S. forces to head directly there. He would ambush and slaughter them.

As he expected, our U.S. Midway scouts finally detected his main body forces. All U.S. forces would go there. His undetected four best carriers a safe distance away, could wreck Midway at will. Then his battleships would clobber what was left, and his 5,000 troops from his transports would come in. Admiral Naguma, in charge of the Japanese carriers, had taken every precaution. He didn't think that any U.S. carriers were present, but to make sure he sent his scout planes 360 degrees for all possibiltties. One scout in one sector was delayed a couple of hours. Engine trouble. The other scouts returned to Naguma assuring him that no U.S. ships were present. The flustered, hurried, remaining scout, covering this missing sector, flew directly over the cloud cover on top of our aircraft carriers. He reported to Naguma that no U.S. Ships were present.

Nagurna wasn't worried even if U.S. carriers were present. He had his best carriers and his best pilots with him. His aircraft torpedoes were vastly better than ours. Our torpedoes would malfunction if dropped higher than a hundred feet or dropped at a speed faster than 100 knots. Ours had a tiny explosive warhead. Japanese torpedoes worked well when dropped from 200 feet and at speeds up to 200 knots. They also had a deadlier war head.

His carrier pilots bombed Midway exactly as planned. They told him that they severely damaged the installation and they had encountered little oppostion. Still Nagumo had that sixth-sense feeling that all was not well. Some SBD's and TBF's had been sighted. Were they coming from Midway? He ordered his planes loaded with torpedoes and carrier-type bombs.

No sooner than this was accomplished than his scouts reported that the U.S. Air Force was bombing his transports. Urgent help was needed to bomb Midway a second time to keep B 17's from using Midway. The combat loads of his carrier planes were removed, and exchanged for bombs to make holes in runways. No sooner was this accomplished than a Japanese scout reported finding our ENTERPRISE and YORKTOWN carriers. Japanese planes were again reloaded with torpedoes and different type bombs. Bombs and ammo were stacked everywhere.

In the midst of all this confusion, all three squadrons of U.S. torpedo planes arrived. Japanes fighter planes slaughtered them. All TBD's had attempted to drop their torpedos. Only a handful of torpedo planes escaped. No torpedo hit any carrier.

The Japanese had learned from the Battle of the Coral Sea that our torpedoes could only speed at 31 knots. Jap carriers moved at 30 knots, so they just sped away from torpedoes being launched. Our loaded TBD's could only fly at 100 knots. Jap fighters easily picked them off as the TBD's tried to get ahead of the carrier.

Now fast track to our SBD's. McClusky found an empty ocean where the enemy carriers were supposed to be. He figured that the Japanese must have reversed course. Soon he saw a destroyer going at high speed. This had to be a picket ship going to catch up with his fleet.

Suddenly we saw the KAGA, the AKAGI and the SORYU almost below us, in an open stretch of clouds.

"Earl and I will take the one on the right. Dick, you take the one on the left."

We went into eschelon formation. McClusky and his two wing men dived first, then Gallaher and two wingmen, then me and then the rest of Scouting Six, all heading for the KAGA. Dick Best and Bombing Six dived for the AKAGI. The YORKTOWN dive bombers dived for the SORYU.

The situation was a carrier pilot's dream. No anti-aircraft, all three carriers heading straight into the wind. Two fighters were above us, but they were not making an attack.

MClusky and his two wingmen missed. Earl Gallaher's 500 pound bomb hit squarely on a plane starting its take-off. His two 100 pound incendaries hit just beside it. Immediately the whole pack of planes at the stern were in flames 50 feet high.

I couldn't see the bombs landing from the next two planes, but flames had spread. to the middle of the ship. My bombs landed exactly on the big red circle forward of the bridge. Seconds later the flames were 100 feet high. Walter Lord later learned from the Japanese that my bomb splashed a gasoline cart, throwing its flaming contents into the KAGA's bridge.

A fighter attacked us as I pulled out of my dive. John Snowden, my gunner, disposed of him in five seconds. A second fighter came at us. John disposed of him. Then it was a survival to escape anti-aircraft fire while passing near a dozen ships until I'd reached ten miles toward Midway.

Ten minutes after the attack I saw a large explosion amidship on the KAGA. Rockets of flame, pieces of steel bolted upward to about three or four thousand feet high.

Dick Best's squadron had bombed the The KAGA and the YORKTOWN bombers hit the SORYU. Both were burning fiercely

The KAGA then sent up a huge brown cloud of smoke. I could no longer see the ship and presumed it was sunk. The other two fires were visible 30 miles away. As directed, I headed 40 miles toward Midway before heading to our carrier. As I climbed slowly up to cloud level I saw a Jap fighter heading at me. I headed directly at him and he ducked away into a cloud.

Then I saw a Bombing Six plane land in the sea and the crew getting their rubber raft. I marked their position

Then on my left a few miles away I saw several dozen planes from the HIRYU flying at high speed toward our carriers. I'd glimpsed this 4th carrier, about 20 miles away, during my dive.

I had used every trick I knew to get every mile out of each drop of gas. The ENTERPRISE saw me coming, headed into the wind. I landed on the carrier without circling. I landed with five gallons of gas. We had launched 16 SBD's. Eight made it back

As soon as our SBD's were loaded and gassed, we took off for the HIRYU. Before I got back to the Big E, the Japanese from the HIRYO had exploded torpedoes on the YORKTOWN, setting her temporarily on fire and causing her to be abandoned. Her airplanes landed on the ENTERPRISE and HORNET .

We added these additional YORKTOWN SBD's to our group, making a total of 24 planes for our second attack and headed for the HIRYU. None of the HORNET's dive bombers were with us becase they were not able to find the enemy carriers.

Our second attack was different. Lots of fighters everyhere. Four of them attacked the plane ahead. Adkins, the radioman-gunner started aiming at them. Somehow his twin machine gun broke loose. He shot down the first fighter holding the twin machine guns like a shotgun. The three other three fighters ran away. Previously Adkins needed help to carry this weapon.

Gallaher was first to dive. He and the next pilot missed because the HIRYO made a tight semi-circle. The third pilot made a hit directly in the center of the flight deck. Mine landed on the same spot. More hits were made. Explosions and flames appeared but they were mild as compared with the damage witnessed on the KAGA and the other carriers.

We launched 24 planes for this attack. We lost none of them.

During the middle of the night Nagurna sent out a message to his fleet to take Midway regardless of all cost. Meantime a U.S. submarine reported seeing a silhouette of a Jap Carrier. It could by the damaged HIRYU or maybe a 5th carrier.

Admiral Spruance wasn't about to trade 8" guns against 18" guns in a night battle. He also might encounter an unknown Jap carrier. By daylight it became obvious that the entire armada had headed for home.

Why Naguma changed his mind is uncertain. It might have been the report he received from an interpreter who had drawn information of Ensign O'Flaherty and Peter Gaido, lst Class Machinist Mate of our Scouting Six squadron. Their SBD had been forced down. They were rescued from their rubber raft by the Japanese. They knew they would be questioned, and had time to set their stories straight. Neither had even seen Midway.

Independently, under death threats, they had to describe the fortifications of Midway. Each told about the hundreds of five inch guns that ringed Midway, the dozens of PBY's there, the thousands of Marines there and all the extra reenforcements. The Japanese sent the information to the Naguma, killed both of them, and dumped their bodies in the ocean.

At dawn we found only an empty ocean, The Japanese had headed hell-bent for home.

On the fifth of June we could only catch up with a small cruiser at dusk. She did everything right. We scored no hits. She shot down one of our planes. On the sixth of June we caught up with the battle cruiser MIKUMI and sank it. Her picture is in my log book, with its few survivors on its stern, just before she sank. Some destroyers were badly damaged.

The HORNET dive bombers found some more large cruisers, sinking at least one. Then we could no longer chase the Japanese. The destroyers were bone dry. We were ready to head for Dutch Harbor to give them some help, but we were told that the Japanese had left, and no help was needed. So we headed back to Pearl Harbor for a beer.

And now I will mention the REAL heroes of the Battle of Midway.

The Marine pilots who flew our discarded, shot-up SBD's attacking the Jap carriers. Of the entire squadron, only one pilot survived.

Of the TBF pilots from Midway, only one survived.

The Air Force B-17 pilots like Dave Hassimer, of Air Force Village I who scouted the Japanese foces and engaged in combat with their planes, bombed transports, and made our dive bombing attacks possible. They let us sneak in the back door and do the mischief.

Let us not forget the valient torpedo crews who unflinchedly gave their lives to give a great shot at the laps. Also let us pray for the dive bomber crews who knew they had no chance of reaching our carrier.

Remember also the shipboard crews of the YORKTOWN and the ENTERPRISE who did their work perfectly.

Particular kudo's go for the boiler-tenders of the ENTERPRISE, who totally rebricked her boilers with the ship underway. A hot, dangerous operation. One I'd never heard of before. They gave us 30 knots of speed which helped us dodge a submarine torpedo. It passed astern 50 feet behind the ship.

We, the survivors, had the easy part. The tough ones are the wives and family members who lost everything.

[bobbysocks]

In the Rear Seat at Midway and Santa Cruz

by ATC Richard T. Woodson, USN-Ret

Born Into a Navy Family

I was born on Nov. 24, 1920 in Paterson, NJ to Russell M. and Eileen Nellie (neé Ring) Woodson. My father was a chief radioman in the U.S. Navy. We moved to Philadelphia in 1924, but my father was soon transferred to Guam in the Marianas Islands. After he found housing for us (a corrugated iron shack in Merico), my mother, older sister, and I took the train cross-country to San Francisco, got aboard the USS Gold Star and sailed to Guam. After a few months at Merico, my dad found a much nicer residence for us in Agaña.

We left Guam in February 1927 and came back on the USS Henderson through the Panama Canal. We arrived a month later in New York City where there was approximately two feet of snow at the time. We then went to Fire Island on Long Island, which had a lifeguard station with high-speed boats to get the rum runners, a lighthouse station and its crew, and a USN radio direction finder’s station where my dad was in charge. Due to the fact there was no school there, he requested a humanitarian transfer and we ended up in Amagansett, Long Island, NY. I started first grade there in 1927.

Late in 1928 my father was transferred to the Philadelphia Navy Yard to a destroyer and we moved to Philadelphia where I attended St. Agatha’s School. My dad retired from the Navy in 1930 and we moved to Pittsburgh, then Cleveland, Ohio; Idaho Falls, Idaho; Miles City, Montana; and finally to Denver, Colorado where I finished my education in 1939 at East Denver High School.

Aviation Radioman

I joined the National Guard while still in school. While in the Guard, I applied for Annapolis but was not accepted. In December 1939 I joined the Navy (without being discharged from the National Guard) and went to boot camp at San Diego. My friend Doan Watson reported at the National Guard roll call that I had joined the Navy. After boot camp I went to aviation radio school on North Island NAS, and graduated in June 1940, I believe. I went aboard the USS Manley, DD-74, for transfer to the Panama Canal Zone. I arrived at Cocosolo about one and a half weeks later and was assigned to a PBY squadron, VP-32, in Panama.

I stayed with VP-32 until August 1941 when I was assigned to the commissioning of the USS Hornet Air Group. I was posted to VS-8, a dive bomber squadron. We flew SBC4s. We had our shakedown cruise in the Caribbean, went back to Norfolk (we were there on December 7, 1941) and finally went to San Diego around March 1942 where we changed our SBC4s to used SBD3s. We went from San Diego to San Francisco where we picked up Jimmy Doolittle and his 16 B25s and sailed for Tokyo. We launched the B25s for their raid on Japan on April 18, 1942 and returned to Pearl Harbor.

Four Sorties at Midway

We went to Midway. I flew four times during the battle: the morning of June 4th with pilot Don Kirkpatrick, the evening of the 4th with Al Woods (his rear seat man was missing so I volunteered to fly), and the evening of the 5th and the morning flight of the 6th with Kirkpatrick. We made attacks at all times except the morning of June 4th, which was an abortion for Hornet air group. We never found the Japanese on that run. Torpedo Squadron 8 found the Japanese, however, but they were all shot down with one survivor, George Gay. My friend Ronnie Fisher was killed in that raid. I wrote to a girl he had been corresponding with to let her know about Ronnie. We continued writing to each other and she later became my wife.

I was injured at Midway, but not seriously. After we landed I mentioned to a friend that it really hurts when you wear your helmet for a long time. He asked, “what’s all that blood?” I took my helmet off and he got some pliers and pulled a half-inch piece of shrapnel from under my left ear. I didn’t know about Purple Hearts and knew there was another flight that day that I didn’t want to miss, so I never reported that injury.

Visiting the Cannibals

We returned to Pearl Harbor and then left for the South Pacific and the Coral Sea. We were to be joined by the Saratoga approximately the end of August, but it was hit by a torpedo. My pilot, Kirkpatrick, and I saw the oil slick while on the lookout for Japanese submarines. The Saratoga had a 20 by 26 foot hole in its starboard bow and was returned to the states.

The Wasp then joined us and on September 15th was hit by torpedoes and caught fire. Ten of our planes took off from the Hornet and flew to Espiritu Santo so the Wasp’s planes could land aboard. Five dive bombers were sent ahead of the ship on a search mission for Japanese subs and were then to go on to Espiritu Santo. Five of us in SBDs ran out of fuel and ditched near Pentecost Island in the New Hebrides. One pilot, Tipas, didn’t have a radioman since he had about five cases of liquor in his back seat to possibly sell on the island. He took a different route and crashed on another island in the area.

We spent about four days on the island and were finally rescued by PBYs. All of the islands were inhabited by cannibals—friendly, we hoped. We got back aboard the Hornet and our next mission was on October 5th when we (four fighters and 12 to 14 dive bombers) attacked Rekata Bay in the morning and Guadalcanal later that day. Rekata Bay was a seaplane base that we helped destroy.

Life and Death in the Santa Cruz Islands

On October 15, 1942 we hit Bougainville in an early morning raid, and on October 26th we fought at the battle of the Santa Cruz Islands in the Solomons campaign. As Kirkpatrick and I pulled out of our dive after dropping our bomb, we found we were joined by four Japanese Zeros, two starboard and one to port several hundred yards away, plus one behind and below only about 25 yards away. We were 50 feet above the water and making evasive moves, but we were shot in the tip of the wing and rudder. The Zero behind and below us shot me with a 20 mm. cannon shell that came up between my feet and destroyed my radio transmitter and another that went through my left knee and left side, taking out part of my cockpit. That shot slewed me around which put my guns toward the port side of our plane. I shot his wing off and watched him crash. We were so close that, if he had lived, I could have recognized him if I saw him on the street. He was my third unconfirmed kill that day.

We made it back aboard the Enterprise since the Hornet had been sunk. We were the next to last plane able to land on the Enterprise. A crewmember was heard to say, “look, that plane’s bleeding!” It was from my wounds. Our plane was so damaged that it was shoved over the side.

I had surgery two days later. When we pulled into Noumea, New Caledonia, I was transferred to the Solace, a hospital ship. The Solace had to go back to Guadalcanal so the injured were transferred to the Lurline, a passenger ship, and I ended up in San Diego in December at Balboa Naval Hospital. I was finally allowed to go on liberty in February and met my future wife for the first time.

Into the Atlantic

I spent five months in the hospital at Balboa and was released in April 1943. I had orders to CASU 5 (Carrier Aircraft Service Unit) which I didn’t want and reported instead to Commander, Fleet Air West Coast for an assignment. I finally found a dive bomber squadron (SBD-4s or -5s) that I was qualified for and went to VC-58, then forming at Sand Point Naval Air Station in Washington. We changed to TBF-1s and after training we went to San Diego, were fitted with rocket rails, went across country to Quonset Point, and finally down to Norfolk where we got aboard the CVE USS Block Island. We made one trip with four destroyer escorts to Casablanca and back which took about six weeks. We dropped sonic buoys after German submarines submerged but didn’t make any attacks.

My pilot, LCDR McCroskey, died in a night field carrier landing practice accident at East Field. I started flying with LT Helmuth E. Horner on the USS Guadalcanal on the next trip. In the middle of April 1944 we contacted a submarine on radar, made an attack and hit it with two depth charges that destroyed the ballast tanks. It couldn’t submerge and they abandoned ship. All 58 or so crewmembers survived and were brought aboard ship.

About two nights later (we flew five nights out of six, launching at 2330 and recovering at 0400) we caught another submarine on the surface. It submerged while we were making a run on it and we dropped a sonic mine, a “hot dog,” which went off and destroyed the submarine. We recovered seven or eight survivors.

Patrol Bomber Aircrew

The Guadalcanal returned to the states and Horner and I went out next time on the USS Wake Island. We didn’t see anything on that trip. We returned to Norfolk where I got orders to flight school at Pre-Flight Training in Iowa City, Iowa. Before reporting for pre-flight training, I married Betty Lou Mathes in Long Beach, CA. I then went to the University of Iowa for pre-flight school. I got out of there in June 1945 and went to Memphis, TN for primary training. I was in primary training when the war ended and we stopped flying for several weeks while the authorities figured out what to do with us enlisted pilots. They basically ended up purging us from the program.

I went from there to electronics school at Dearborn, Michigan at the Ford Factory. Mr. Ford wanted his property back since the war was over so the school was transferred to Great Lakes Naval Training Center. I left there and went to Annapolis. While there, I got my private pilot’s license. I spent a year at Annapolis and then was transferred to VPMS-1 in Bermuda. When I reported to Norfolk, I found out that VPMS-1 was being decommissioned and I ended up in VPML-8, the first P2V squadron formed at Quonset Point. I went there in July 1947.

I took a discharge from service in October 1947 in order to get on the west coast where my wife and newborn daughter were living at the time. I reenlisted a month later in VP-42 at San Diego, a PBM squadron. In September 1948 we left San Diego and went to Tsingtao China. We spent seven and a half months in Tsingtao, came back from there and were decommissioned. From there I went to VA-195 at Alameda Naval Air Station. I spent about four months there, then requested a transfer to VC-5 at Moffett Field. I got the transfer around September 1949 and stayed in VC-5 until June 1954.

Around April 1950, while with VC-5, I was in one of three crews that flew a P2V off the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Navy wanted to get into the atom bomb race. This was a test run to see if a P2V could possibly carry an atom bomb for a long distance. I flew with Fillmore B. Gilkeson non-stop for 24.5 hours. We had to maintain a true air speed of 200 knots and climb to 10,000 feet in order to drop the bomb. In that trip we passed over Cuba, bombed (simulated) the Panama Canal, and returned to Moffett Field non-stop, a trip of approximately 5,000 miles.

Down to Earth At Last

I left VC-5 in 1954 and took orders for shore duty at Pt. Mugu, CA. I stayed at Pt. Mugu for two years and in July 1956 received orders to the Naval Air Technical Training Center ATV School. After finishing there I went to Jacksonville, FL to VFP-62. I retired from active duty in August 1959 and returned to California where my wife and I had bought a house. I completed my service with a Silver Star, three Air Medals, two Letters of Commendation and one Purple Heart.

I went to work for Naval Air Missile Test Center at Pt. Mugu in November 1959. I worked there on several different projects, Gorgon Five and so on, until 1976 at which time I retired with a total of about 37 years of federal service. I had a TV shop in the meantime and ran it until 1983 when my wholesaler closed down. Without a source of parts I decided to give up that work. I played golf with a group of friends most of the time, did crossword puzzles, etc. My wife and I had four children. They are now all married and live in California. I have one grandson, three granddaughters and two step-granddaughters.

My wife passed away on June 4, 2001 from ALS (Lou Gherig’s Disease). I’ve been living by myself with my two cats since that time in the same house we bought in 1954. And that’s about all I have to say.

[bobbysocks]

Interrogation Nav 16, Commander Masatake Okumiya

12 Oct 1945

Biography

OKUMIYA, Masatake, Commander, I.J.N.

OKUMIYA was experienced, intelligent and logical. His professional interest and enthusiasm were combined with accuracy, frankness and a knowledge of detail which made him an excellent source of information. He was for 14 years a commissioned officer in the regular Navy, served for the last 12 years as a naval aviator logging 2,000 hours of flight time. After 2 years service on a light cruiser and destroyer, he learned to fly. Thereafter he served in carrier air groups, on board carriers, and on carrier air staffs.

Division Officer, YOKOSUKA Air Group 1939-1941
Aviation Instructor, KASUMIGAURA Air Station 1941-1942
Air Staff Officer, 4th and 2nd Air Flotilla 1942-1944
Air Staff Officer, Naval General Staff July 1944-October 1945
Air Staff Officer, Ryujo ALEUTIANS June 1942
Air Operation Officer Staff, 2nd Flying Squadron RABAUL August 1942-February 1944
Air Intelligence Office, Japanese Naval Historical Research Department TOKYO August 1945


Interrogation

INTERROGATION NAV NO. 16
USSBS NO. 75
BATTLE OF EASTERN SOLOMONS, 23-25 AUGUST 1945
BATTLE OF SANTA CRUZ, 26 OCTOBER 1942
SOLOMONS CAMPAIGN, 1942-1943

TOKYO
12 October 1945

Interrogation of: Commander OKUMIYA, Masatake, IJN, Class 1927, I.J.N.A. On Air Staff and Commander RABAUL Air Group 1942 - 1943.

Interrogated by: Captain C. Shands, USN.

Allied Officers Present: Commander T. H. Moorer, USN.

SUMMARY

SANTA CRUZ: Composition of Japanese Second and Third Fleets, which were operating just north of the SOLOMONS to (1) support Japanese landing on GUADALCANAL, 13-23 October 1942, and (2) to intercept U.S. troop convoys to GUADALCANAL and U. S. Carrier Task Force. In carrier duel on 26 October, SHOKAKU, ZUIHO and CHIKUMA were damaged. Heavy Japanese air losses contributed to weakening defense of SOLOMONS.

SOLOMONS: GUADALCANAL an intermediate step in southern movement. Main action in SOLOMONS Campaign considered (1) GUADALCANAL (2) MUNDA (3) VELLA LAVELLA (4) EMPRESS AUGUSTA BAY. Inability to hold SOLOMONS attributed to U.S. Navy sea and air action in SOLOMONS Area and lack of landing barges. Heavy-bomber raid on airfield more effective than carrier raid. Carrier raid most effective on aircraft and shipping. RABAUL and TRUK neutralized due to inability to supply. Employment of submarines to supply isolated garrisons considered poor policy. Mining of RABAUL a deterrent to submarine supply operation. Aircraft pilot reports of damage inflicted on enemy always optimistic and only used for newspaper publicity. Staff planning used pessimistic estimate.

TRANSCRIPT

Q. Do you know how the RYUJO was sunk in the battle of 23-25 August 1942?
A. It was by carrier dive-bomber and torpedo planes about 25 August. The SHOKOKU, ZUIKAKU and RYUJO were in the SOLOMONS at this time. About the 24th, the carrier RYUJO, the heavy cruiser TONE, and 3 DDs were attacked near GUADALCANAL. They didn't know the source of the dive-bombers and torpedo planes but they were carrier type and came from the direction of GUADALCANAL. Perhaps one destroyer was also sunk.

Q. Are you familiar with the Battle off SANTA CRUZ, 25-26 October 1942?
A. I was there and am familiar with it. I was on the Air Staff of the 2nd Flying Squadron.

Q. What ships were involved?
A. Composition of Japanese Fleet at SANTA CRUZ, 25-26 October. 1942

Second Fleet Vice Admiral KONDO, N., Commander in Chief
1 (CV) JUNYO 2nd Flying Squadron
2 (BB) KONGO, HARUNA 3rd Flying Squadron
4 (CA) ATAGO, TAKAO, CHOKAI, MAYA 4th Flying Squadron
2 (CA) MYOKO, HAGURO
1 (CL) JINTSU (?)
12 (DDs)

Third Fleet Vice Admiral NAGUMO, C., Commander in Chief, and commanding whole fleet.
3 (CVs) SHOKAKU (F), ZUIKAKU, ZUIHO 1st Flying Squadron
2 (BBs) HIEI, KIRISHIMA 11th Squadron
2 (CAs) SUZUYA, KUMANO 7th Squadron
2 (CAs) TONE, CHIKUMA 8th Squadron
1 (CL)
12(DDs)

[See Annex A]

Q. Was the HIYO in the action?
A. No. HIYO had engine trouble at TRUK. The JUNYO was alone in Second Fleet, but I don't believe it was near enough to get in any action.

Q. Did any of the pilots and planes that survived the Battle of MIDWAY come down into the SOLOMONS?
A. In the MIDWAY Battle there were a great many survivors. Because our pilots were in the air when carrier sank, they were rescued by destroyers. Most of the MIDWAY flyers were put on the carriers SHOKAKU, ZUIKAKU and RYUJO. The pilots left from MIDWAY were familiar with carrier operations so put them on these carriers.

Q. What was the mission of the Task Force that was operating in that area?
A. It was a support for the landing operations on GUADALCANAL, scheduled for between 13th and 23rd October.

Q. Did the action of the SANTA CRUZ Battle have any effect upon the landing date?
A. I heard landing was completed on the 25th but that the results were not as successful as expected.

Q. Did that action have any effect on the 14 November night battle?
A. No. The Task Force went back to TRUK on 30 October after SANTA CRUZ Battle, reorganized, then came the 14 November action. Do not know if it affected the plans. Only the 2nd Flying Squadron's planes engaged at SANTA CRUZ, so they had planes during the time of the November action.

Q. What carriers were damaged at SANTA CRUZ?
A. SHOKAKU received four bomb hits on port side amidships and two at the after elevator. The ZUIHO received one bomb hit near the after elevator. The cruiser CHIKUMA got five bomb hits. The destroyer TERUTSUKI got a near miss by a United States flying boat about midnight after the battle. When TERUTSUKI was bombed, the Japanese knew American planes were near the fleet so the Japanese carriers continued to retire northward. Some cruisers and battleships stayed near scene of battle and saw your carrier burning. I saw it from the air. They proceeded to Truk.

Q. Do you know how long after sunrise the first hits were made?
A. The ZUIKAKU was hit about two hours after daylight, about 0830. The SHOKAKU was hit later, about 40 minutes after the raid of Japanese airplanes had departed.

Q. Were any airplanes aboard the carrier when hit?
A. No, all off in attack group except about 16 planes in the fighter cover.

Q. Did those planes come back to the SHOKAKU later?
A. No, they couldn't land on board. They went to the ZUIKAKU and ZUIHO.

Q. How many planes did the aircraft carrier normally carry?
A.

SHOKAKU ZUIKAKU ZUIHO JUNYO
VF 27 27 21 18
VB 27 18 18
VT 18 18 6 9
72 63 27 45

About 2/3 were lost. Total lost about 100.

Q. How many planes were involved in the operation from the carriers?
A. About 176. There were three waves. They all went out in the first wave; fewer planes in the second raid, about 60; then in the third wave about 30.

Q. Was the MYOKO or TONE hit by bombs?
A. I think not, but there were near misses. I am not certain. An awful lot of torpedoes came but no hits. In my opinion it was a heavy attack.

Q. Were any horizontal-bombers involved in this attack?
A. About ten B-24s, but the Japanese fighters drove them away so were not attacked. Late at night we received a torpedo attack from possibly, a B-24, but we were able to avoid it by evasive action.

Q. Where did the damaged ships go?
A. All went to TRUK. Then the SHOKAKU, ZUIHO and CHIKUMA returned to JAPAN for repair. It took about 3-4 months to repair the SHOKAKU.

Q. Were any other cruisers or battleships hit?
A. I didn't hear that they were.

Q. When did you receive first information of our carrier Task Force?
A. When south of the GILBERTS, north of HEBRIDES. The Japanese headquarters at TRUK knew of a convoy of transports and battleships approaching GUADALCANAL from the southeast about the middle of October. They believed United States Navy convoy would be about lat. 14°S, 191°E on chart, south of GUADALCANAL. The Japanese carrier force didn't think so since they knew our search planes from GILBERTS had sighted an American carrier approaching from the east. Japanese carrier force was supposed to attack south convoy but hesitated to do so. Because of radio silence this information was not sent to TRUK. Communication difficulties. TRUK did not know of American carriers. So the Second and Third Fleets waited north of GUADALCANAL while your carriers approached. Our carriers were familiar with position of your carrier force the entire time although TRUK did not have the information regarding position of our carrier force. Our force hesitated about how far south to go. The thing that decided it was your approach. One of our scout planes, scouting on bearing 098°T, saw your carrier force in the morning of the 26th. He was supposed to scout 260 miles southeast and 100 miles north.

Q. Did you have submarines in the vicinity?
A. I think they were farther south.

Q. Did you have any report that your planes had damaged or sunk our carriers?
A. There was a report from the planes that an ENTERPRISE class carrier was hit, maybe two. The reports did not come in clearly. We were sure that one was sunk because we saw it, but we didn't get complete reports on the second carrier. Became less certain while waiting for reports that did not come in.

Q. Were any of your pilots instructed to carry out suicide attacks on our carriers?
A. No orders were given; but two of them, on their own initiative, did so. The commander of one wing was one of those that made a suicide dive-bombing attack.

Q. You say a large formation of bombers attacked in the afternoon of the 26th, but no hits were made; is that correct?
A. The statement is correct.

Q. Did the Second and Third Flying Fleets come down the night of the 26th to pursue our ships?
A. Some of our fast ships approached scene of battle but turned back when your burning carrier was sighted.

Q. What were the plans for establishing bases in the SOLOMONS? Where were your principal bases to be located?
A. RABAUL was principal base. GUADALCANAL was an intermediate step for going south.

Q. What interrupted the completion of that plan?
A. I think that sea and air force of the United States Navy. The fact that Americans landed and were able to hold at GUADALCANAL.

Q. While the Americans held GUADALCANAL, were Japanese naval pilots or Army pilots employed in the raids at GUADALCANAL?
A. Almost entirely naval. Few scout planes of the Army. Attacking was done by Navy planes. Navy personnel came first and were land-based. After the sinking of the RYUJO, they added more Navy to them. They also came to BUKA in September.

Q. Why were the reinforcements of GUADALCANAL sent down in small units instead of one mass attack?
A. Didn't have enough landing barges to make a landing. The main point of difficulty in our landing operations was the lack of landing barges. Boats and destroyers were used for landings. But we didn't have enough barges to begin with. Had plenty of big ships but not enough landing craft. Damage from American planes made it worse.

Q. What battles did you consider the principal action in that SOLOMONS Campaign?
A. We considered it all the same thing, but most important was GUADALCANAL, MUNDA, VELLA LAVELLA, EMPRESS AUGUSTA Bay.

Q. Did the bombing of the SOLOMONS airfield effect operations?
A. They got our field completely at MUNDA. We had about 20 planes there which did a very good job in the first battle; but when they landed one day to refuel, they were done in by American fighters. Because of bombing and strafing we couldn't repair or develop the field afterwards. We had only one site at MUNDA. We could only use KOLOMBANGARA for communication. I was at BUIN the toughest part of the time. At BUIN, at the beginning, the Americans used too small bombs. Even at the worst we were still able in the early days to continue to use the field because the bombs used were too small.

Q. What type planes dropped the bombs?
A. B-24, B-25, B-17, and dive-bombers. From August 1943 the big bombers came over from [RUSSELL Islands]. Some times we received five attacks in one day. Because of the damage of BUIN at the end of August 1943, we alternated between BALLALE and BUKA; and by September despite building of an auxiliary field, at BUIN, the BOUGANVILLE Area became impractical for air operations. All planes and personnel retired to RABAUL. After the fighter planes had left BUIN, all resupply was practically impossible.

Q. Did the ground troops remain on BOUGAINVILLE?
A. Yes, the troops brought from GUADALCANAL went up to BOUGAINVILLE Island from all the SOLOMON ISLANDS. Remaining infantry troops gathered at BUIN.

Q. How did they travel between the islands?
A. January 1943 by destroyer. They evacuated GUADALCANAL with 20 destroyers. MUNDA, RENDOVA and VELLA LAVELLA troops were also evacuated by destroyer. The closer islands were evacuated by submarine and very small boats.

Q. Do you know about any losses of any ships; for instance, KINUGASA and KIRISHIMA?
A. In November the HIEI (BB) received a PT boat torpedo, damaged rudder and after completing circumnavigation of SAVO Island, was bombarded by an American destroyer or cruiser. A Japanese destroyer contributed to sinking the HIEI. Also she received damage from American destroyer and cruiser bombardment and by bombing from American planes. KIRISHIMA also sunk.

Q. Did the HIEI go on to GUADALCANAL to continue bombardment even though damaged?
A. Before she sank she was still shooting. The KIRISHIMA was sunk due west of SAVO Island. Due to no air support the cruiser YURA was also sunk about 25 October. It was near RABAUL, I think.

Q. Following the loss of the SOLOMONS Chain what were your new plans?
A. After the loss of the SOLOMON ISLANDS, the Americans were able to attack RABAUL with all types of planes. Because we had difficulty in supplying RABAUL, we took all the planes out of RABAUL to TRUK, about 21 February 1944. Following the first carrier Task Force attack upon TRUK, about 17 February 1944 by the Americans, the airplane losses were heavy; so we flew all but six planes to TRUK for reinforcements. Later about June or July, five or six planes at a time were flown from TRUK to KAVIENG and the ADMIRALTY ISLANDS. In August and September 1943 I was engaged in flight training near SINGAPORE, therefore I did not know what happened in the SOLOMONS at that time. I am not sure of any other plans but I think we were looking for some other area in which to make a defense.

Q. What happened to ground personnel at RABAUL and TRUK?
A. A good many had to stay. As many as possible were taken out by planes, flying boats and submarines to PALAU and DAVAO. A lot of them were killed by American bombing operations at RABAUL. Many aircraft maintenance personnel killed from that reason. Later operations were hampered because too many skilled personnel stuck at RABAUL unable to get out.

Q. What type of bombing do you consider the most effective?
A. B-24s were most effective on land bases. Because our fields were few, it was the size of bombs that did the harm. Little ones didn't do much harm. The number of crashes attempting to land on damaged fields was very great after B-24 raids. In a place like RABAUL where there were many fields, big bombs were not such a determining factor because we could land on an auxiliary field. Bombing effectiveness depends upon the target. The main thing that bothered us in operation was having several fields hit at the same time, leaving nothing to be used as auxiliary. Carrier planes on a small island with small targets or against ships were most dangerous. In an isolated place like TRUK with its many fields, carrier planes were most feared due to accuracy and repeated attacks. Whereas the heavy-bombers could only come one flight a day, carrier planes would keep coming all day for several days. Carrier planes always destroyed many of our planes and shipping which could not be easily replaced, whereas heavy-bombers mostly damaged airfields which were repairable. Also some supplies.

Q. Was the shipping in RABAUL Harbor damaged by bombing?
A. The big bombers did very little damage but the dive-bombers did whatever damage was done to the shipping. There were many ships sunk in the harbor by dive-bombers.

Q. Were we wise in attacking the RABAUL airfields?
A. Most distressing thing for us in a place like RABAUL was to have the shipping bombed. However, that depends on the target. The worst was attacking the shipping approaching RABAUL full of supplies.

Q. Were the American night bombing attacks effective on your shore bases?
A. The men became fatigued. Cut down fighting power. Didn't hit much.

Q. Were you present at any ports where American planes mined the harbors?
A. I was at RABAUL when that was done. At first they were not much of a nuisance and damage was minor. Later they were serious because they interfered with the supply submarines coming in.

Q. Do you know why submarines were used to supply instead of attack?
A. The use of submarines was not well done. Due to the loss of air control and shipping, the great length of supply lines committed our submarines to a policy of supply. The point is that there was no area fully consolidated enough to take care of itself. None of the points were self dependent. The use of submarines came from high authority, but I think the Army insisted upon their use.

Q. Do you know if airplanes were scouting for submarines which sank the WASP in September 1942?
A. I don't know much about that. I was on my way home, but plans were for that. In practice, communication between them was very bad.

Q. In early March 1943, our air forces pressed an attack on a large Japanese convoy in the BISMARK SEA. Do you know what losses the Japanese sustained?
A. It is being made upon FEAF report. If you will excuse me I would rather not talk about it until later.

Q. In the two battles of KULA Gulf, 6 and 13 July 1943, what were the losses?
A. Four destroyers were sunk, but I was at RABAUL. Didn't hear full details. The main thing that showed up for us was our bad radar.

Q. When was the radar first used on the airplanes?
A. First on planes at the beginning of 1943. After MIDWAY first on ships.

Q. When was the first on shore?
A. Little before July 1942. They were experimenting with it before the war.

Q. Did you have any plans to go back to BOUGAINVILLE after withdrawing?
A. No, We couldn't supply it.

Q. What were your duties in September-October 1945?
A. Came back to the Navy General Staff on 20 August last year, on action reports, current operations.

Q. What damage was thought inflicted on the United States Third Fleet off FORMOSA, on 14, 15 October?
A. Not very accurate reports. Most of the reports were from flight personnel who couldn't see very well. They said they thought they had caused damage to or sunk ten carriers. We thought back in the office that they probably had done serious damage to only four. Pilots report optimistically. We put that stuff in the paper. We thought in the office, and made plans accordingly, that the damage inflicted was less and that they had only seriously damaged four or five carriers.

Q. Did you feel that you had seriously affected American strength?
A. We took the pessimistic view when making plans, but made public the optimistic reports.

Q. Did you receive any information about American damage through radio despatches?
A. Yes. During operations, some of the ships we thought had been sunk began sending out radio, signals, so we knew they were not sunk.

Q. Was this done by traffic analysis, breakdown of code signs, or breakdown of the message?
A. We figured that certain very valuable ships have a particular wave length, and therefore we learned what the wave lengths were. When communicating with your own planes, we figured out what carrier it was.

[bobbysocks]

Interrogation Nav 6, Captain Mitsuo Fuchida

18 Oct 1945

Biography
FUCHIDA, Mitsuo, Captain, I.J.N.

FUCHIDA served 25 years in the regular Navy. An aviator with 3000 hours in the air, FUCHIDA aboard Akagi, was in command of the air groups of CarDiv 1 from August 1941 until July 1942. Wounded during the Battle of MIDWAY, he was hospitalized for approximately one year, then in June 1943 senior staff officer, 1st Air Fleet at KANOYA, and, subsequently, when 1st Air Fleet moved to the MARIANAS, at TINIAN. In April 1944, FUCHIDA transferred to OYODO as Staff Officer (Air Operations) of Combined Fleet. When Fleet Headquarters moved ashore to HIYOSHI in September 1944 he continued as Staff Officer (Air Operations) until the end of the war. FUCHIDA answered questions frankly and carefully. He was considered one of the most lucrative sources of information and a reliable witness.

Commanding Officer, Air Group CarDiv I August 1941-July 1942
Hospitalized August 1942-May 1943
Senior Staff Officer, 1st Air Fleet June 1943-March 1944
Staff Officer (Air Operations), Combined Fleet April 1944-August 1945

Interrogation
INTERROGATION NAV NO. 6
USSBS NO. 40
THE ATTACK ON PEARL HARBOR
THE KAMIKAZE CORPS IN PHILIPPINES AND OKINAWA

TOKYO
18 October 1945

Interrogation of: Captain FUCHIDA, Mitsuo, IJN, a naval aviator since 1928. As air group commander of the AKAGI he led the attacks on PEARL HARBOR, DARWIN and CEYLON. In April 1944 he became Air Staff Officer to CinC Combined Fleet and held that post for the duration of the war.

Interrogated by: Lt. Comdr. R. P. Aiken, USNR.

Allied Officers Present: Col. Philip Cole, AUS; Captain W. Pardae, AUS; Lt. Robert Garred, USNR.

Summary:

Captain FUCHIDA discussed the attack on PEARL HARBOR, and the organization of the Kamikaze Corps during the PHILIPPINE Campaign. He also furnished information relating to suicide attacks during the OKINAWA Campaign, and Japanese Naval and Army Air Forces plans to resist an invasion of JAPAN proper.

Transcript:

Q. What was your status during the PEARL HARBOR attack?
A. I was an air observer.

Q. How many and what types of aircraft were used in the attack?
A. A total of 350. In the first wave:

50 High level KATES
40 VTB KATES
50 Dive-Bombers VALS
50 VF ZEKES

In the second wave:

50 High level KATES
80 Dive-Bombers VALS
40 VF ZEKES

Q. How many aircraft were lost; failed to return to their carriers?
A. 29 in all. 9 VF in the first wave and 15 dive-bombers and 5 VTB in the second wave.

Q. Which units of the fleet participated in the PEARL HARBOR attack?
A.

BBs HIEI, KIRISHIMA.
CVs AKAGI, KAGA, SORYU, HIRYU, SHOKAKU, ZUIKAKU.
CAs TONE, CHIKUMA.
CL NAGARA.
DDs 20 (large type).

Q. How many aircraft were employed as Combat Air Patrol over the PEARL HARBOR attack force?
A. 50 VF from CVs plus 12 float planes from the BBs, CAs and CL. These were in addition to the 350 planes used in the actual attack at PEARL HARBOR.

Q. How many CAP were on station at a time?
A. about 1/3 of the 50 aircraft were airborne at a time.

Q. Any losses from CAP, either VF or float planes?
A. None.

Q. Any additional planes employed as ASP?
A. None, VF served as ASP as well as CAP.

Q. How many pilots were lost in the attack?
A. A total of 29-none were recovered from the 29 aircraft that failed to return.

Philippine Kamikaze Operations

Q. Were the CV Air Groups, that left the EMPIRE in October, 1944 being sent to the PHILIPPINES for Kamikaze action?
A. No. Part of the 601 Air Group was embarked in October 1944. From the remainder of the Air Group pilot personnel, 30 VF pilots were selected in November 1944 for Kamikaze operations and were sent to LUZON, to join the 201 Air Group.

Q. Were any of the 601 Air Group, embarked on carriers in October 1944, being sent to the PHILIPPINES defense as Kamikaze pilots?
A. No.

Q. How were the 30 fighter pilots selected for Kamikaze operations?
A. They were all volunteers.

Q. How did they rank in flying experience with the other pilots in the Air Group?
A. They were the best.

Q. Regarding Japanese plans for the defense of the homeland against Allied landings, how were Kamikaze aircraft to be employed?
A. According to plans, all Kamikaze planes were to be expended when Allied forced attempted landings on KYUSHU.

Q. Were any kamikaze planes to be held back for the defense of the KANTO PLAIN area?
A. On paper, all aircraft (both Army and navy combat and trainer types) were to be used to resist Allied operations against KYUSHU. Actually, I believe that some Army Air Units would have been held back to repel an invasion of the KANTO PLAIN.

Q. At OKINAWA, what was the ratio of ships hit to aircraft expended in kamikaze attacks?
A. I think about 1/6 of the total aircraft used hit their target.

Q. How many Kamikaze aircraft were expended during the OKINAWA operations?
A. About 900 in all.

500 Navy Aircraft from JAPAN
300 Army Aircraft from JAPAN
50 Navy Aircraft from FORMOSA
50 Army Aircraft from FORMOSA

These figures are approximations.

Q. Of the 900 that were expended in the OKINAWA Area, how many hit their target?
A. Although it was widely publicized that 400 had been successful, I think that 200 would be more accurate figure.

Q. What percentage of hits did the JNAF expect in the KETSU Operation?
A. We expected about the same percentage as during the OKINAWA operation.

Q. How many Kamikaze aircraft were to be used during KETSU Operations by JNAF?
A. 2500, of which 500 were combat aircraft and 2000 were trainers. We had about 2500 remaining combat aircraft which would be used during KETSU Operations for search, night torpedo, and air cover.

Q. What were the plans for the use of Kamikaze aircraft during KETSU Operations?
A. 500 suicide planes were to be expended during the initial Allied landing attempt. This force would be supplemented by other kamikaze units brought in from SHIKOKU, SW HONSHU, Central HONSHU, TOKYO Area, and HOKKAIDO.

Q. How were JNAF Kamikaze aircraft deployed throughout the Empire?
A.

500 in KYUSHU
500 in SW HONSHU
500 in TOKYO Area
300 in HOKKAIDO
200 in SHIKOKU.

Q. What was the size and deployment of the JAAF Kamikaze Force?
A. Approximately the same as the JNAF. 2500 aircraft deployed similarly.

[bobbysocks]

It was on December 6, 1952, that Zenji Abe finally consented to tell his side of the story about Pearl Harbor. He began by quoting a Japanese proverb: 'The defeated should not talk about the battle.' He then added, 'I can only say that I fought as I was trained in those times.' What follows is his account.
In April 1941, I was in command of a bomber company on board the carrier Akagi. There were nine bombers in my company. All the airplanes of six carriers were assembled in several aerodomes at Kyushu, and we trained hard every day and night, without rest.
The bombers dived in at an angle of 50 to 60 degrees and released their bombs on the target at an altitude of 400 meters. Our target was a naval vessel that attempted to escape from us, and each plane used eight practice bombs on the vessel. We had some bombers that dived into the sea due to their pilots' severe exhaustion, caused by excess training.
Zero fighters (Mitsubishi A6M2s) were busy with dogfighting exercises and target practice. Three-seat attack bombers (Nakajima B5N2s) had the exercise of level bombing in formation at the height of 3,000 meters and of torpedo bombing at extremely low level.
As a navy lieutenant and a company commander, I trained my men–not knowing what we were training for–paying the greatest attention to their achievement in precision bombing. My company had various duties in our training, but when we attacked and bombed ships, even if we were bombing for five hours, and our bombs did not hit the ships, our training was considered worthless and we would have to bomb more. When I think of the hard training of the torpedo planes that flew every day over Kagoshima City, almost touching the rooftops and having the practice of dropping torpedoes at low altitude, I must conclude that our higher command headquarters had already begun to plan the raid for Pearl Harbor.
It soon proved true. The proficiency of the crewmen for each type of airplane had reached its required standard, and many combined exercises had been practiced. One day in October, all of the officers above the grade of company commander in our task force were assembled at the Kasanohara Aerodrome in the southern part of Kyushu. Commander Minoru Genda, the operation staff officer, came into the conference room and without formality opened the curtain on the front wall to reveal models of Pearl Harbor and Oahu Island, constructed on the full space of the wall.
For a few moments, he explained the plan of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Then Rear Adm. Munetaka Sakamaki, who had just returned from Germany, reported the progress of war by the German air force. All this was only confided to the officers who would lead the attack, and all was kept in the highest degree of secrecy.
When I was authorized to have a few days' leave in November, I called my wife to Kagoshima, fearing that it might be the last time I would see her. Cheerfully, I sent her and our 6-month-old baby to her native place, without informing her about the coming war.
Now aircraft were being stowed aboard the carriers. One day before leaving Kyushu from Kunashiri Island, our last assembling point, a party was held in a restaurant in Kagoshima. Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, commander in chief of the task force, exchanged cups of wine with each of the officers, shaking hands with them. I thought that I perceived the sparkle of a tear in his eye.
Our six carriers left for the assembly point at Hitokappu Bay, each followed by a destroyer. Some passed through the Sea of Japan, while the others went around the Pacific coast. Our departure was covered by training planes from several airfields in Kyushu, which continued to broadcast radio waves similar to those made by our carrier planes while exercising, in order to camouflage the sudden change in them when we left.
From November 19-22, all ships of the task force of the Hawaiian operation concluded their assembly in Hitokappu Bay. They were: our unit under Admiral Nagumo, composed of the six carriers Akagi, Kaga, Soryu, Hiryu, Shokaku and Zuikaku, with the mission of carrying out the air attack on Pearl Harbor and military installations on Oahu; the covering unit, made up of the light cruiser Abukuma and nine destroyers under Rear Adm. Sentaro Omori; the supporting unit, consisting of the battleships Hiei and Kirishima and the heavy cruisers Tone and Chikuma under Rear Adm. Gunichi Mikawa; the scouting unit of three submarines under Captain Kijiro Imaizumi; the Midway Island attack unit of three destroyers under Captain Yojin Konishi; and the supply unit of eight tankers under Captain Kyokuto Maru.
During the few days we stayed at Hitokappu Bay, the final consultations were held. At 6 a.m. on November 26, we departed Hitokappu Bay, passing eastward through the stormy North Pacific Ocean, keeping away from the merchant ship routes–secrecy was important.
But still it was not yet decided to commence hostilities at that time–merely to deploy for war. Nagumo's fleet was advancing on the staging area at 42 degrees north, 170 degrees west.
On December 2, the combined fleet received a telegraphed message that war would break out on December 8 (Tokyo time). Therefore Nagumo's fleet continued its advance and speeded up to 24 knots. At 7 a.m. on December 7, we rapidly approached Oahu.
Before dawn the next day, December 8, Nagumo's fleet was 200 miles north of Oahu and sent out the first wave of the air attack force at 1:30 a.m.–30 minutes before sunrise. The second wave took off about one hour later. The entire assault force of 354 aircraft was commanded by Mitsuo Fuchida
'The fate of the Empire rests on this battle. Let everyone do his duty.' This was the famous signal that Admiral Heihachiro Togo hoisted on his flagship, Mikasa, at the Battle of Tsushima Strait during the Russo-Japanese War, 36 years before. Now, right above my head, the same signal snapped in the wind at the tip of the mast of our flagship, Akagi.
The wind was competing with the roar of the plane engines warming up. First away from the carrier were nine Zero fighters, led by Lt. Cmdr. Shigeru Itaya. The planes were guided by hand lamps in the dark. They moved one by one into position and took off into the black sky.
Next, Commander Fuchida took off, closely followed by his 14 attack bombers, and then Lt. Cmdr. Juji Murata's 12 torpedo planes. The radio operator-observers could be seen waving their rising sun headbands (specially prepared for this day) in response to the farewell of the ship's crew. In each pilot's mind as well as in the minds of the crewmen, both those remaining behind and those on the planes, was the thought: 'With this one torpedo, this one bomb, if God wills.' All were united in a common purpose.
From the other five carriers, planes were taking off and falling into formation while gaining altitude, circling the task force. When they were formed up, they set their course south.
All the carriers were anthills of activity. Planes were lifted from the hangars and readied for the takeoff of the second wave, which was to follow the first by one hour. From the Akagi there were nine Zero fighters under Lieutenant Saburo Shindo and the 18 bombers, of which I led the second company.
My men were standing in a row. Their eyes were bright and eager and their mouths firm. Such was the extent of their training that I only ordered 'Go ahead,' knowing that they would do all that should be done, even under unexpected circumstances.
I went to my plane, and from the pilot seat I tested the voice tube to my observer, Warrant Officer Chiaki Saito. I then examined my instruments very carefully.
The ship was rolling and pitching, but not enough to cause me any concern. I felt as if it were just another routine exercise.
The carriers were now turning into the wind. We took off across the bow, one by one, as the first wave had done. We circled to my left and formed up while gaining altitude in the lightening sky. Our wave was led by Lt. Cmdr. Shigekazu Shimazaki and was made up of 35 fighters and 78 bombers under Lt. Cmdr. Takashige Egusa. My own unit, Assault Group 11, was led by Lieutenant Takehiko Chihaya, who was in the observer-gunner's position on the lead dive bomber. As junior buntaicho (squad leader), I led the rear company within the group.
Our 167 airplanes turned south, with the fighters covering the sides, one hour after the first wave. The weather was not so good. A 10-odd-kilometer wind was blowing from the northeast, and the sea was rough.
As we flew, I thought many thoughts. If we could not find the carriers, our secondary targets would be cruisers. I wondered if the special midget submarines had arrived in the harbor. They were to wait until the air attack started. Could we ask a man to have patience like this? I worried that one of our bombs would be dropped by mistake on their back.
I don't know how long I meditated, but I was suddenly aroused by Warrant Officer Saito's voice. From the back seat, Saito let me know that he had caught a radio signal.
Commander Fuchida had given the signal to attack. It was 3:19 a.m., December 8, Tokyo time and 7:49 a.m., December 7, Honolulu time.
I looked back and my planes were following me as steadily as if I were their father. I was assured that all of them had heard and understood that radio signal.
I waited for what seemed millions of hours for the next radio signal. It was really only several minutes later that Warrant Officer Saito called through the voice tube, 'Sir, the surprise attack was successful.' Saito was an excellent man and also quite an expert as an observer and radio operator. He had much experience in battle. He was killed the following year, but he always acted in any critical time as if he were playing a game.
He was calm, as usual, at this historic moment. I, on the other hand, was a little nervous. I took deep breaths and tested my guns. I checked the fuel, altitude meter and all apparatus once more–speed was 125 knots, altitude 4,000 meters. Everything was OK. I test-fired my machine gun, and it chattered eagerly.
The formations in front of me flew on majestically as if nothing could stop them. I was filled with impatience. What would Pearl Harbor look like? Would the island of Oahu look like the map I had studied? My eyes strained toward the horizon through breaks in the clouds.
Finally, a white line appeared, breaking the smooth edge where water meets the sky. Above the white line of the breakers was a blue-violet color. 'There is Oahu,' I informed Saito through the voice tube, trying to keep my voice calm. I approached the island with a mixture of dreadful fear and fascination. I felt it was the 'devil's island' of Japanese legend. I wondered if aerial battles had already started above the island. Our formation, led by Commander Shimazaki, continued on a 180-degree bearing.
The scattered clouds gradually decreased, and I could see a part of the devil's island clearly. As we crowded the shoreline, a group of black puffs of smoke appeared to our right front, and then another group appeared quite near our formation–about 200 in all. Anti-aircraft fire! Except for scattered shots in China, it was the first time I had experienced that. I watched the puffs come closer and closer. The thought flashed across my mind that perhaps our surprise attack was not a surprise at all. Would we be successful? I felt awful.
We passed Kahuku Point on our right. Commander Shimazaki had just changed our direction. Then I spotted Kaneohe Air Base just as had been planned. This was just like an exercise. Everything was all right. My nervousness went away. I became calm and steady.
We had not met the fighter resistance we had expected, and our own fighters had broken formation to attack the airfields. Commander Shimazaki gave the signal to attack and then peeled out of the formation, leading the main part of his group to strike Hickam Field. The rest of his group attacked Kaneohe Air Base and Ford Island. Our bombing altitude was 400 meters, below the cloud bank. In spite of this extremely low altitude and severe anti-aircraft fire, our group did not lose so many planes, although 29 of us were hit and crashed.
Our 78 bombers turned to the right, and led by Egusa, approached Pearl Harbor from the east. At the head of my bombers, I brought up the rear of the formation. Our altitude was 4,000 meters at the time, and beneath the clouds ahead I could see Pearl Harbor. Dive bombers were swooping downward to the attack.
Above the city of Honolulu, the companies successively speeded up and went into their attack formations. I checked my bombing equipment and slid the canopy over the cockpit. I could not see well due to the smoke, but as I drew nearer, I made out a line of battleships on the near side of Ford Island. Some were covered by smoke, and others were spouting great brown waves of oil from their sides. Their decks and superstructures danced with the flashes of anti-aircraft guns that all seemed to be pointed at me. I caught sight of another formation of bombers diving below on our right, and I no longer felt alone. One by one they dived until the last had gone into his dive, and then it was our turn.
I banked as a signal to my men and headed down. From the ground, thousands of tracer bullets soared upward, seeming to gain speed as they passed close by my plane. My altitude was 3,000 meters and my speed 200 knots. I applied my air brake and took the cover off my bombsight. I was diving at about a 50-degree angle. There were no aircraft carriers in the harbor, so I decided to attack a cruiser.
Ford Island was ablaze, and a heavy pall of smoke hung in the morning air. With my eyes glued to the bombsight, it seemed that fiery candy-colored bullets were being funneled directly into my eye, but seemingly at the last moment they whizzed by the sides of my plane. My other eight bombers were following close behind me in a straight line.
I caught my target, a big cruiser, squarely in the middle of the range scale of my sight. Warrant Officer Saito began to call the altitude. A strong northeast wind was blowing the plane to the left. I corrected for the drift as the target drew nearer and nearer until it almost filled my sight. 'Six hundred meters,' Saito called. 'Ready…release!'
I released my bomb and at the same time pulled back on the stick. I almost blacked out for a moment, but I pulled out at 50 meters to the sound of Saito's voice in the voice tube. My observer was excitedly calling out the results of our bombing. 'Formation leader short. Second plane short. Third plane hit! Adjustment correct. Second echelon successful!' I was later able to identify our target as an Omaha-class light cruiser–Raleigh.


The entire attack lasted about two hours. I saw only the part in which the second wave participated. Later, upon our return, I heard the story of the first wave from Commander Fuchida's own lips.


As the first wave approached Pearl Harbor, a faint haze of kitchen smoke from houses preparing breakfast hung over the water. It was a peaceful scene. Fuchida was observing through his field glasses, and as the wave drew nearer, the basket and tripod masts of the battleships Nevada, Arizona, Tennessee, West Virginia, Oklahoma, California and Maryland appeared through the haze. Every battleship of the U.S. Pacific Fleet was in the harbor. There were no aircraft carriers, but Fuchida smiled at the luck that fate had given him. He gave the order for attack formation and led his own formation around the west side of Oahu and over Barbers Point. This point had strong anti-aircraft installations, but not a shot was fired.
As he drew near to the fleet, nobody stirred. Everyone appeared sound asleep. Confident of the success of his mission and in obedience to his instructions, he radioed, 'Our surprise attack is successful.'
This signal was picked up by our flagship, Akagi, and relayed to the war council in Tokyo and to Nagato, the flagship of the combined fleet in Hiroshima. Upon receipt of this message, the signal was sent to waiting units poised to attack Malaya, Hong Kong, Guam, Wake and other targets.
Soon after Fuchida sent his message, black smoke rose above Hickam Field and then Ford Island. This showed that the dive-bomber attack had started. In the distance, Hoiler Field was also covered with heavy black smoke.
From his post as commander of the attack and leader of the level-bombing group, Fuchida saw a water spout and then another and another appear beside the group of warships. That indicated that the submarine torpedo attack was underway.
He gave the attack order to his formation to begin bombing. Suddenly, intense anti-aircraft fire burst in front of his formation. The bursts were first ahead but then adjusted to burst among the planes of his group. Most of the fire came from the ships, but some came from anti-aircraft positions on shore.
He expressed his admiration for the enemy's ability to react to an attack and fight back so quickly after the raid started. The anti-aircraft fire became more and more accurate. Suddenly, Fuchida's plane shuddered violently and fell off into a slip. He later found that one of his control cables had been almost shot away. Nevertheless, he put his planes into attack formation to hit Diamond Head. As they came about, a red and black tower of fire, almost 1,000 meters in height, rose from the battleship Arizona on the east side of Ford Island. The explosion was so violent that it rocked the planes across the harbor. He signaled his bombers to hit Maryland again, and the battle became more and more severe. By the time the second wave arrived, the battle was at its height.
After two hours we broke contact and returned to our carriers, arriving at 8:30 a.m. Our overall losses were nine fighters, 15 dive bombers, five torpedo bombers and 54 men killed in action. We had destroyed the main power of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. We missed our main objective, the aircraft carriers, since they were at sea, but Admiral Nagumo considered us to have accomplished our mission.
I was still in a dazed and dreamy state when I returned to my quarters. I entered the tiny room and began to remove my flying clothes. In the center of my otherwise clean desk lay the envelope containing my will, addressed to my father. Suddenly, my spirits lifted. It was good to be alive.
At 9 a.m. the fleet turned northwest, and we headed for home. The raid was over. We had accomplished our mission. The war was on.
I have been asked by many American officers why we did not follow up our advantage and invade Hawaii. I was in no position to know the strategic plans, but I suppose no one expected our raid to be so successful. Also, it would have been very difficult to supply and support an invasion force over such a long distance. As we Japanese know, even a few Americans can put up a very strong resistance, and I think it would have been a very hard job.
I have told of the Pearl Harbor raid and my part in it from my own experience. Today, thanks to American generosity and understanding, Japan is beginning its history as a free democratic nation. When I graduated from the National Police Reserve and reported to my first assignment, it was on December 8, 1951. At the time, even I did not realize the significance of the day. Those persons who lost husbands and fathers and sons, of course, can never forget that day, and I am afraid that even this small story is like opening an old wound. I pray from the bottom of my heart for those who were killed in action and their bereaved families.
I once explained the meaning of the word samurai to an American. The words are written with two Chinese characters. The first means'stop enemy's sword,' and the second means 'gentleman.' So you see, actually there is nothing aggressive in the samurai spirit; it is the same as your American defense.
The late Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, who commanded the force that struck Pearl Harbor, was strongly opposed to war with the United States. He knew America, and although opposed to war, he was also a loyal naval officer. When he came aboard the flagship Akagi, he told us: 'If we go to war with the United States, you will have to face the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Its commander, Admiral Kimmel, is an extremely able officer, selected for his post over many older officers. It will be very difficult to overcome him.'
Two days after we attacked Pearl Harbor, we were listening to the American radio in the command compartment of the Akagi. Admiral Nagumo was in the room. When I told him that Admiral Husband Kimmel had been relieved because of our attack, he was very sympathetic and said he was very sorry for him.

There was no ill feeling or hate before the war against the United States. Why did we make such a mistake? No more Pearl Harbors and no more Hiroshimas should be the watchword for those who believe in peace.


I hereby again pray for those who lost their lives at Pearl Harbor…with all my heart.

[bobbysocks]

Heroes: the Royal Air Force ...some wellington tales or should i say tails

"...when we landed the ground crew, instead of coming to give us a hand, cleared off as fast as they could. We were mystified-until we climbed out. Then we got the shock of our lives. Sticking out of a tail fin was a 250-pound bomb. The bomb had been dropped by a Liberator of the American Air Force over the same target area..."

the Lucky Escape



John Robertson was the maternal Grandfather of this story's contributor, Mark "Macky" Coff. John was born in Scotland and moved to England. He joined the RAF during the war years -- approximately in 1939 and continued to serve with the RAF until 1948. He was serving in the middle east when he was recalled to the UK on July 7, 1945.

During the war years, John flew a total of 73 bombing missions including the mission that will be mentioned in this essay.

John Robertson flew on a number of different aircraft including the Gipsy moth, Tiger moth, Westard Wallace, Gorackburn Skua, Page Harrow, Anson, Oxford, Wedon, Billington, Lancaster, Vickers Warwick and a Dekota (All RAF). He also flew on a Viscount (not RAF).

John Robertson was the tail turret gunner (Type FN 120). His RAF squadron was the 108 Squadron, and the call sign was "Charlie." John had a record of twelve Me-109's shot down to his credit as well as the 73 bombing missions he flew.

The most memorable mission took place on April 4, 1942. While on a mission to Tripoli from a base at Kibrit the Vickers Wellington when his place was hit by a 250-lb bomb that was dropped apparently by a B-24 Liberator in a flight above his flight.

My Grandfather John Robertson was an Officer in the Royal Air Force in the second world war. He flew bombing raids all over Germany and had the unenviable task of a rear gunner (tail end Charlie).

Whilst on one of these raids a U. S bomber above my Grandfathers Wellington released its load. One of these bombs hit the tail of his aircraft cutting him of from the rest of the crew. My Grandfathers crew carried on and dropped their load then returned back home. On landing they were shocked to see the ground crew running away because amazingly with all the noise in the aircraft they were unaware of the deadly cargo they had on board. A specialized team took over getting everyone out safely. The bomb was tested and found to be in perfect working order."

In John Robertson's own words:

"In June 1942 I took part in a raid on Tripoli as the Rear Gunner in a Wellington bomber. There was a lot of flak over the target and in all the confusion no one noticed anything out of the ordinary happening to the plane. Mission complete, we had a peaceful 300-mile flight back to the desert airfield at Kibrit. But when we landed the ground crew, instead of coming to give us a hand, cleared off as fast as they could. We were mystified-until we climbed out. Then we got the shock of our lives. Sticking out of a tail fin was a 250-pound bomb. The bomb had been dropped by a Liberator of the American Air Force over the same target area. I was only three feet away from the bomb in the rear gunner's nest. A good job I didn't know it was there at the time!"



Included with this essay of John Robertson, we are fortunate to have some aerial images of targets taken before and after some of the raids that John went on as well as some extracts of John Robertson's journal that he kept after each raid.

"His Offices Cap goes down at the sides instead of standing tall like other British Caps. this is because he thought the German cap was much better looking and made his look similar, a task which often got him into trouble with his superiors. He received the DFC for his service over Europe, and a membership to the Goldfish Club for coming down in the sea.

As well as receiving the D.F.C. John was a Boxing Judge and a member of the "Goldfish Club" for coming down in the sea (unfortunately the date is not stated). He was in the Masonic Lodge with his brother Robert whom he opened a bookshop with after the War. He was also a keen drummer.

Text of Newspaper Article:

Page 10 -- The Peope's Journal, Saturday, September 10, 1055.

The best "pictale" of them all

Although it's 13 years since this "pictale" was taken, it's worth every penny of the ten guinea price for the best one of the season.

It comes from Mr. JOHN ROBERTSON, 70 MAIN STREET, CROSSHILL, GLENCRAIG, FIFE.

An ex-R.A.F. airgunner, he completed 73 bombing missions and was awarded the D.F. C. for his part in operations over Europe.

Mr. Robertson is a member of the famous Goldfish Club. To qualify you must have come come down in the sea. Mr. Robertson owes his life to a rubber dingby.

But his most hair-raising expoit happened over Africa. Just read this: --

In June 1942, I took part in a raid on Tripoli as the rear gunner in a Wellington bomber.

There was a lot of flak over the target and in ----------- no one noticed anything out of the ordinary happening to the plane.

Mission completed, we had a peaceful 300-mile flight back to the desert airfield of Kobrit. But when we landed the ground crew, instead of coming to give us a hand, cleared off as fast as they could.

We were mystified -- until we climbed out. Then we got the shock of our lives.

STICKING OUT OF A TAIL FIN WAS A 250-POUND BOMB.

The bomb had been dropped by a Liberator of the American Air Force over the same target area.

I was only three feet away from the bomb in the rear gunner's 'nest'. A good job I didn't know about it at the time."

[bobbysocks]

TALKING TO BILL POOLE, WORLD WAR II PILOT


Bill Poole could have been the youngest air force pilot flying B25 bombing missions during the waning weeks of World War II. Four years before, when he was 16, he told a recruiter in Montgomery, Alabama that he was 21, to get into U.S. Air Force glider pilot training. The day the war ended, May 8, 1945, he was in Naples, on his way home. Seventy missions and a lifetime of memories were behind him.
Poole, who now lives in the Burro Mountains with his wife, Pat, says he first came to New Mexico during his flight training. Deming, Roswell, Las Cruces and Ft. Sumner all are part of his history. "We flew all through this country. Went up and down every canyon, with B25's, all the fuel we wanted to burn... they figured we might as well learn how to fly close to the ground because we were going to need it."

Remembering how he felt during his first missions, Poole says, "It was terrifying. No question about it. Flying my first and second mission, we were shot at by 92 88mm guns, radar controlled. And I mean, those guns literally lit up the sky, right in front us, popping all around us.

"I've got a piece of flak in my archives. It came through the window right behind my head, and hit that big B25 bulkhead, right behind the pilot's deck. I ducked my head like that..." Two men Poole had known through most of their training together flew their first mission and last mission on the same day. Poole states: "It was pure roulette, as to who caught flak. Planes routinely returned to the airfield with hundreds of holes. We jokingly called it `flak to cumulus'...... as you would get closer to it, you start seeing orange centers, and before long you could smell it, and hear it, and before long part of it would be raining on, or through, your airplane - so if you were prone to lose self control, you had a problem (laughing)."

Self-control was never Poole's problem. Being too young to enlist was. But he got help from a far-off enemy. "When the Germans invaded Crete with a secret weapon called gliders and paratroopers, the Allies immediately said `Hell, we've got to have this type of deal.'" Gliders were capable of silently flying 50 or more miles behind enemy lines, allowing one man into infiltrate deep in enemy territory.

Bill continued "Now mind you, I was a high school drop out. I dropped out in the tenth grade. But I still told my friends, `Hell, I'm going to be a pilot,' but they just laughed at me.When he heard the U.S. Air Force was recruiting men for glider training, he seized the opportunity to make good on his bragging. "To volunteer, you had to have your birth certificate, which shot me down, and you had to have three letters of recommendation from people who knew you back home (the Horatio Alger thing). So here I am 17 years old, going down to see this sergeant, who was playing the regular beauracratic statistical game, `cause he was supposed to have so many people on his list, and he didn't have enough. He said, `How old are you?' and I said, `I'm 21,' figuring that if you're going to lie, you might as well make it a big one.

"Then this Sgt. says, `You got your birth certificate?' and I say, `No, I just decided to enlist yesterday. No way I can get those damn birth certificate and letters of recommendation.' So, he says, `Alright you - be here tomorrow when the trucks leave and you'll be on the orders.'

"So the next day, there I was on those damn orders, riding for a half a day or more in the back of a GI truck going to Randoph Field. We did calesthenics and tumbling because we figured that you'd have to be a virtual commando to be a glider pilot to land behind the lines - you'd have to pick up your own rifle and become an infantryman. So we started all that training. They had people who had experience in calesthenics and tumbling and gymnastics and this type of thing. So we had a nice workout for several weeks.

The tricky thing, according to Poole, "was the ability to control [the glider's] airspeed and stop the bloody thing when you got on the ground. You'd have to put the nose forward(smacking motion with hands), get that skid on the ground, put the brakes on, or go between two trees and wipe the wings off and stop the machine that way [Note: the planes were not expected to ever have to fly again]. We'd get towed for hours, then land at a strange field. We got quite proficient - hell, all we needed were a couple of pot flares [for visibility]. We could land anywhere - that was the idea, to land behind enemy lines, supposedly." In Roswell, in March of 1943, the air force announced they had accumulated too many glider pilots. The glider pilots were offered regular power-flight training, which Bill took.

Poole's most memorable combat mission was number sixty-nine, flown April 9, 1945. "We were on the bomb run with our doors open. There were three hundred aircraft, and everybody was sending out their bombs. The second box (a formation of 24 airplanes at a higher altitude) overtook us and dropped about 625 daisy cutters through us. Eight of them hit my airplane. Only one had fallen far enough to arm, and that one blew the rearmost part of the wing. All the flaps - gone. One of them lodged in the left engine, and the others went right on through. I mean, (they) go right through, but they also make a hole as big as your head!" With some sarcasm, Poole drawls, "That's called friendly fire." "We had no instrumentation as a result of that. I had to come about eighty miles back to the aerodrome. The crew voted to fly it back, rather than jump." His crew included some who had washed out of pilot training. Asked if they might have had more confidence in him, as a result of that, his answer was a strong, "Yes!"

On the trip back, he says, "we were losing altitude all the way, drawing full power. I kept telling the guys, `go back and see what the hell the damage is. There has to be some damage.' They just said `Can't see a thing Lt.' I think they were just scared out of their wits. They didn't want to know..."

Poole approached the field. When the landing gear were extended, they saw long strings of rubber where the left wheel should have been. He ordered his co-pilot, Milfried, to give them about 15-20 degrees of flaps [flaps slow the airspeed and increase the rate of descent)]. The airplane started to turn upside down. Poole yelled repeatedly to put the flaps back up,. There was just enough pressure to retract them. "Otherwise," he says, "we would have been finished right there. We had 1000 miracles that day!"

Knowing the plane was on the verge of a stall (nose dive) the whole time, he made a typical glider approach to the runway. He relates: "The very second I started raising the nose, it quit flying... then we hit the ground. I couldn't hold it straight. I was having to carry full left engine and nothing on the right engine, and after about a quarter of the runway I said, Well, hell you can't do this forever. You gotta do something. So I said `Milfried, get ready to pull the landing gear.... Now, when I say pull' em, YOU PULL em!'" Poole hollered the command, chopped the power, and reached up to shut off the master and two magneto switches. Centrifugal force prevented the action, until the plane stopped a skidding ground loop, a huge, crunching circle, with the landing gear collapsing sideways.

The crew reported their radio man, airman Jollie, was injured. "We thought he was dead. I kept sending people back there. `Hell, he's dead Lt., he's dead!' they were saying.

"We stopped and jumped out of the damn thing. The medics come running out, `Any body hurt?' I says, `I think you got a dead man in the back end.' We went down to see him that night, in intensive care. `You can see him in the morning, probably.' Well, hell, in the morning, he's been flown out. Yeah, we all thought - he's been flown out - six feet under. See - they'd never tell you that kind of thing."

For many years, Poole thought the man had died. About 1983, at a convention (the 57th Bomb Wing) in Massachusetts, the Poole's were told that Jollie was alive, and living in New Jersey. He hadn't lost his life, but he had lost a leg. The Poole's found his address and phone number soon after, and contacted him. In reply to Poole's letter, Jollie wrote, "As my old friend Mark Twain said, The story of my demise is greatly exaggerated."

The two men met at another 379th convention, eight years later. Jollie handcarried a touching letter from their daughter to Poole. She wanted him to know how much she appreciated his saving her father. "I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't even have my father," she had written.

Back at the aerodrome, his superiors tried to give Poole a Silver Star for gallantry. "I said, Keep your Gawddam decoration. There's nothing gallant about it. Those bastards bombed me. There was no bravery involved. We were trying to save our ass."

So then my superior says, `Well how about a Purple Heart? You got a bump up here on your head.' I said, `Hell, I didn't get that in the damn airplane!' The bump on his head, Poole explains, was caused because "we were living in Italian villas, fronted by wrought iron gates with manways through them. Well, the manways were made for midgets... about five feet high. Now, I'm over 6 feet! Being in that deranged attitude when I got off that GI truck coming up from the air field, I didn't duck low enough and I hit that damn gate."

For his final mission, Poole got a new airplane. "We were required to do seventy missions by that time. They considered a misssion less risky at that point. So on April 19th, they walked into the briefing room and heard they were going to Rovereto, in Brenner Pass. "I says, `Oh my God. Of all the damn places to have to go on your last mission.'"

They were part of a flight of 24 aircraft (6 planes in four layers, 300 to 500 feet above one another), following another flight just like it. As Poole tells it, "The planes were more than a mile ahead of us, just getting the hell shot out of them. You didn't hear anything. You could only see the `flakto cumulus.'" His group did not draw a burst. "The only thing I can figure is that they used all of their ammunition on the first group, because this was in the waning days of the war."

Poole added, "Ironically, you have such apprehension, that, some ways it's worse than getting shot at. You cringe and wait it out. You're so built up that all hell's going to tear lose any second.. and it just doesn't happen, and your feet get ice cold. I came off those targets in the Brenner Pass, which were heavily fortified, in the dead of winter, and I'd open the side window because I'd be sweating like hell - but my feet were ice cold. And your hands... most of the time you had to sit on one hand and fly with the other.

Asked whether there was competition between the pilots during training or combat, he answered, "No. During training the biggest threat was if you didn't perform, you'd be washed out. So everybody did the best they could do, continuously, because of that." After being commissioned as pilots, he again said, "The only competition was the typical politics that you have everywhere, in business and industry and anything else... There's always somebody trying to politic."

How did WWII affect his life? "The biggest impression [it left on me was that] freedom doesn't come cheap. I cannot overemphasize that. See, the modern generation thinks freedom is free. And serving in WWII convinced me that man is just guilty of folly, because he assumes all he has to do is be nice and nobody will ever bother him. When, really, I am more convinced than ever, that there is always some Saddam Hussein who wants to take over the world."

Answering the question "Did the war make you live your life differently than you might have?" Poole stated "Well, my flying obviously had something to do with my career, because it... provided an entree into the construction industry. I started flying for construction companies and I had a very, very interesting and fulfilling career in real estate development (Poole was at one point construction manager for the Irvine Company, Newport Beach, CA., and worked on the Big Canyon Golf Course). I was also involved in the construction of hundreds of houses... some of them big things, like 35 acre man-made lakes with complete circulation for them."

Poole says he doesn't think the war affected him psychologically. "I was always a very diligent person before I went into the war." So, after the war, it was just more of the same? "More of the same."

Poole is a veritable library of information, and he has many, many other stories These, however, must be saved for another day. * * * *

[bobbysocks]

Ben Rosman
jug pilot...

I was always drawn to airplanes and flight. As a youngster I built and flew model planes. I recall that when I was eight my mother could not find me—I had ridden my bicycle to Roosevelt Field, four miles from my home in Hempstead, to observe the planes.

In 1940 I started working at Grumman Aircraft and used my first paycheck for flying lessons. In January 1943 I enlisted in the air force for pilot training and graduated in January 1944 as a fighter pilot. At the age of 21 I was flying a P47 Thunderbolt in the 12th Air Force, 86th Fighter Group, 527th Squadron and saw combat in Italy, France, and Germany. My plane, part of a flight of four aircraft, carried two 500 pound bombs and eight 50 caliber machine guns mounted on the wings.

Our mission was to bomb and strafe trains, trucks, bridges, airfields, and enemy troops. At times we were called to support front line troops by bombing nearby targets, often hidden tanks, that stymied the advancing troops. Almost always we came under heavy anti-aircraft fire, which took its toll of our planes and pilots. On one mission in Italy we were assigned to bomb a small bridge and then find targets of opportunity to strafe with machine gun fire. We were hampered by a heavy fog which reduced visibility to only one mile. We spotted a troop train and were firing at the engine when I found myself flying dangerously between smoke stacks that I had not noticed and narrowly missed hitting. We did manage to hit the troop train and set it on fire.

On that same mission we spotted six German tanks on a road. As I was diving toward the tanks, and now only ten feet over the ground, I spotted a two story house next to the target. Pulling up fast, I missed the house by only a few feet. This “target fascination” — where you focus so intently on a target that you fly into it—was a common danger fighter pilots faced. When I returned to base after this harrowing experience, I appealed to the flight surgeon to send me to rest camp. In all I flew 112 missions and received a Distinguished Flying Cross, twelve air medals, and many campaign medals.

The flak was always heavy because we flew very low. We were in Italy, the ground gunners were good. In France they were much better, but when we got to Germany they were very good shots.

On this one mission - 4 plane flight - we had bombed a rail track and now were looking for trucks. I found 4 trucks and I was only 50ft. in the air shooting at the trucks when I flew over a 20mm cannon. He just pointed the THG20 straight up . As I went over him I got hit in the tail. I was able to bring the plane back without too much trouble.


I now am a volunteer in two museums on Long Island devoted to the history of flight. One museum, American Air Power, located on Republic Airport in Farmingdale, has twelve vintage World war II planes, including the P 47 Thunderbolt, the type that I flew. Cradle of Aviation on Mitchell Field features the history of aviation on Long Island.

It has an IMax Theater and a non flying P 47. 15, 638 P 47s were built but only six still fly.

Ben's interview ( worth watching )

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rg0qc_NEsU4&feature=player_embedded#at=28

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L08ZWLblIx4&feature=related


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6SzTBNyjf4&feature=related

[bobbysocks]

Charles E. Dills (1922 - )
27th Fighter Bomber Group
WWII

We're coming to the end of the line, as we are all above 80 now.
I can find nothing on the web about my group. I was a pilot in the 522nd Squadron of the 27th Fighter Bomber Group from 1 November of 1943 till the end of August 1944.

As I re-read this and other accounts of wbat was suppposed to be the same time in history and the same location, I begin to realize what an ingenuous little boy I was at the time. But I did a man's job when that job needed to be done. I have to say that I'm a bit proud of my actions at the time.

You will find no foul language in this account. I don't know what it would add. You know all the words, put them in if you need to. Our language was absolutely foul. Your imagination can probably duplicate it.

We had a Red Cross girl, Gretchen Allswede. that would serve coffee and donuts when we came in from a mission. I don't know how to explain our behavior when we returned from a mission. There was an adrenalin effect, I'm sure. We were subconciously relieved to find ourselves alive although we never admitted that there was a possibility we might not return from a mission. When we came in from our planes my memory is of a constant chatter, in a foul almost foreign language. When asked if it ever embarrassed her, Gretchen Allswede would reply, "The only thing that embarrasses me any more is the fact that I don't get embarrassed." I have a lot of respect for these girls that came over here and exposed themselves to the problems and the gossip, just to do their part. And it was always a touch of home that helped keep us sane. Thank you, every one!

Most of the stories of this time and place are overly concerned with the sexual escapades. I wouldn't know. We had all been exposed to the venereal disease movies and frankly, they scared the whey out of me and I would have walked to the other side of the street to avoid the potential. There were the proverbial little boys in North Africa that would tug on your arm on the street saying, "Hey, Joe, want a chicken dinner?" When we said no, he would say, "Hey Joe, want my sister? First time!" I never knew anyone that accepted the offer. I'm sure there were those that did but never me.

I had a wonderful crew chief that took care of me through all 94 of my missions. I was in very bad physical shape toward the end and I'm not sure I ever said thanks. That was incredibly bad and I have felt guilty for 60 years. I've tried to locate him but with no success. This picture on the right is from Rowan Person's album and is labeled, Tiny Hunter, but it doesn't look right to me. But this was over sixty years ago!
His name was "Tiny" Hunter from Albuquerque NM. I believe his first name was Leslie but I'm not sure. We never called him anything but "Tiny".
The A-36 had a tailwheel that could be locked or unlocked. Unlocked it was in full swivel which we needed when taxiing on the ground. But when you lined up for takeoff you were supposed to lock it. It had about 5 degrees of swivel in this position.
We heard various stories of things that happened before we arrived. I remember a story about Forbes. He was shot down going back to Gela Sicily from a bombing raid in Italy. He ditched in the water off Italy, just north of Sicily. He was said to be about 4 miles offshore and could actually see the montains at the coast. He got in his dinghy and paddled all day. It didn't look like he was getting closer so he jumped out of the dinghy and started swimming in his Mae West. After two days of this, his arms were getting chafed so he threw the Mae West away and continued swimming. After a half day of this he was picked up by an Italian fishing boat and eventually got back to the group.

There was another story about someone taking off without locking his tail wheel. Maybe it hit a rock or something but it sent him at an angle to the runway. He got off the ground, limped out over the hills and no trace of him was ever found!! I suspect he got the plane turned around, went off the coast to come back and land but went down in the Mediterranean instead.

We were given three ninety minutes flights to familiarize ourselves with this new airplane before we were scheduled for our first mission.
One of the guys that came up with me was a Lt. Wellons. On his third and last familiarization flight his engine quit when he was probably 1500 to 2000 feet over the field. He set up his approach as if he was still flying a P-40. He tried to make two 360 degree turns, which would have been "proper" in a P-40. But the A-36, with its laminar flow wing sank faster than he realized. He did not make it around the last turn into the field, did not have enough altitude and in trying to stretch it, stalled, crashed and was killed. This was the usual result in a "tombstone turn" that I mentioned back in Africa. He was scheduled for his first mission the next day!
We tended "not to notice" such occurrences.
We moved to another airfield called Gaudo as it had a metal mat runway and we could fly, even in the wet weather of the Mediterranean rainy season.

Gaudo 7 November - 19 January 1944

Today 9 November 1943, there is a practice formation. I was late getting off the ground. Some kind of engine problem as I remember. The ceiling was around 4500'.
I went out looking for them. There are a lot of mountains almost anywhere in Italy. They went right up into the clouds so one had to be careful. But I did it. I got into a canyon and the ground rose gently in front of me, up and up, into the clouds. And away we go. Up into the clouds I went, full throttle. I didn't know where the hell the rocks were. Up and up and I finally broke out on top at 11000 feet. Pretty. But I wasn't up to noticing pretty.
I headed out over a bit south of west to get over the Mediterranean. Finally, when I figured it was safe, I put the nose down and went back into the clouds. For those of you that have never done it, it is an eery feeling. Learning to fly instruments is really learning to trust your instruments. Anybody can fly on instruments, but it takes training to believe your instruments when your instincts and your guts tell you they're dead wrong. Believe them, though, or you will wind up wrong, dead.

After a bit, the artificial horizon started to wobble and then stood straight up. This tells me that I'm on my side. I didn't believe it with my heart, but my head kicked it around until it was back where it was supposed to be.
A bit later, same thing, again. I kicked it back down.
A bit later it happened again. This time, while I was cussing out the instruments, I broke out of the clouds. And there I was, going down sideways. Unbelievable. Yet believable because I trusted my training.

I have been asked for more specifics about the location of these fields. I will try to indicate generally where they were, but they were usually dirt fields, scraped out by a bulldozer. Paestum (Capaccio) was a dirt field, unusable when the rains started in November. Gaudo was dirt covered by metal mat and was all-weather.

I cannot emphasize too much how flimsy my memory is of locations. Everything we dealt with was temporary and I'm sure all traces were obliterated within a few years.
The dirt field called Paestum was a generally E-W runway, probably a couple miles south of the site of the ancient Greek City of Paestum. I remember riding past it with very little interest at that time. I don't remember being able to see it from the airfield but as I remember, there were low trees to the north of the field.
It was the emergency field for the Salerno beachhead and as such should be on some military maps of the campaign. I doubt that it was even a mile from the water. I remember it was within reasonable walking distance of the Mediterranean. There was a sunken landing barge just off shore. We used it for target practice with our brand new shiny 45's when we first got there. I don't remember doing it twice.
It was on this beach that we collected trees , pinecones etc. for Christmas. The landing barge was a landmark on the mission where I got lost. I went south to the Mediterranean coast, followed the coast past Ischia and Capri till I found the sunken barge and then went in to land. As I remember, the approach to the runway was direct from this barge. I know this is precious little in the way of precision, but I hope it helps.

The next day, we bombed guns north of Rocca. And the next day was the infamous mission number three, at Pontecorvo. A river ran through Pontecorvo and in the middle of town it made almost a right angle turn to the south. There were several bridges across it that were military objectives. The Germans used them to transport supplies, etc. We made a beautiful divebombing run but missed completely. Apparently there was a strong wind. About three months later we went back to do it again. The bridges were there but the town was flattened. In talking with other people I got the impression that every group in Italy had been there at least once.

The first two missions were "milk runs", supposedly easy. The third wasn't supposed to be all that bad but we ran into rather intense flak. We approached the target as usual at 14-15000 feet. We rolled over on our back, flew to the target and pulled straight down. I plunged straight down, tried to get a good aim, dropped the bombs and pulled out in a gentle climbing arc to the right. There was quite a bit of flak but I just did what we had done in the training missions we had been doing.
They were gone! Nowhere to be seen!
Then I saw two of them, higher than me and traveling north. I said to myself, "Great, they've come back for me." So I turned toward them. Then one of them cocked up and I saw the four 20 mm cannons sticking out of the wing! They weren't A-36's, they were P-51-A's from the 111th recon squadron. But did they know who I was. I probably looked like an Me-109 to them. So I turned south and headed toward the deck at full throttle, all the way to the firewall! There was a notch between two hills and then it was a gentle slope down to a plain. In this full power glide to the deck the indicated air speed went up to 460 mph. When I got down to the deck the speed gradually sank to 405 mph. I was still in enemy territory and I was alone.
I went over a town and if there had been any TV antennas I would have cleaned them off. A little while later I remember what I thought was a canal. There was a tree on each side but I wasn't going to raise up and go over them. I kept down and went between them. Yes, of course, I was scared. When I thought I was behind our lines, I throttled back to the red line and the speed sank to 350 mph.
Italy lies at quite an angle and I was going due south knowing I was going to intercept the coast. Pretty soon I crossed the coast and turned left to follow the coast back to the base. I throttled back to a normal cruise and watched for landmarks I could recognize. First there was the Island of Ischia, and then Capri. Now I knew I was close. I was still flying very low. And then I saw the half sunken landing barge that was just offshore at our base. So I turned toward the base and my engine started to sputter. We were well trained and my hand immediately grabbed the fuel selector and switched tanks. The engine caught and I suddenly realized I had flown the whole mission on one tank and ran it dry! I went in and landed and as I was taxiing to my parking area, the rest of the mission arrived and landed! I don't remember anyone asking what happened but I was of course de-briefed by the Intelligence officer.
I think I remember being concerned about punishment for the mission I missed. I had no idea what it would be so I didn't worry about it.

On my eighth mission I was flying Major Kelly's wing. We were north of Rome and the country was hilly. If the truth be known we really had no business being there. We had about a 700' ceiling and we were flying below it, of course. The clouds were so low we had to break up into twos. The Major and I were going east and I was on his left. He took the middle of the valley so I was on the hill side of him. A hill, somewhat higher than the other hills appeared in front of me and I had to raise up slightly, into the clouds. I had to get back down so I turned a bit to the right and let down and broke out into the valley. The Major had already turned south and I was behind him so I added throttle to catch up. As I was catching up he turned east again and I went racing out in front of him due to my excess speed. So I throttled back so he could catch up. And then I noticed he was closing fast so I accelerated. But he went by me and I tried to catch him. Then I saw what he was after. There was a Heinkel 111 crossing from our right to the left. He did a pursuit curve to the left side of the plane and set it on fire between the cockpit and the left engine. I gave it a burst as I went by and then I just got off to one side and watched. The other six airplanes came out of their vallies and there was a feeding frenzy below the 700' ceiling. I don 't understand why there were no collisions. The plane was obviously on the way down so there really wasn't any point to it. The Heinkel started to drop its left wing more and more and finally hit the ground after probably about 110 degree turn to the left and hit the ground in a shallow 45 degree bank. The entire left wing broke off at the root and flew up into the air. I can still see the cross on it. It slid across the ground leaving a tall streak of flame behind it. It seemed to be about 50 feet high and several hundred feet long. We got back home with no further incident. Our intelligence officer visited the are later and was told by the people that there were fifteen pilots on board that they were obviously trying to ferry out of there.
In January we bombed the port of Civitavecchia twice. It was a port N of Rome. I vividly remember one of the two missions. We went straight down on a ship at a dock. I wanted to do a good job so I probably stayed in the dive a little longer than I should have. After I dropped my bombs, I looked out and got ready to pull out of the dive and there was a 500 lb bomb sitting there right in my way. I can still see the lettering on the bomb, 536 lbs GP (General Purpose). I had to continue straight down until it passed me before I dared pull out!
+++++++++++++

Sometimes learning can be a dangerous game and if we're lucky we will survive to make use of the lesson. I was landing in my A-36 one day and when I touched down, the right wheel strut started stuttering. The wheel wasn't turning. Instinctively, I hit the left brake and simultaneously gave a blast to the engine and had the stick all the way back. Hitting the left brake would tend to raise the tail and I was trying to blow it back down with the engine and the elevator. I did it in several short bursts and finally the wheel broke loose and started rolling. When I told the others about it, someone asked me if I tapped the brakes on takeoff to stop the rotation of the wheel before it retracted into the well. I agreed that I had and they said, "Never do that! The brakes are a disk type with 23 disks, 12 steel and 11 bronze. If you tap them, the sudden heating can actually weld some of these discs together." The reason I tapped them was a habit left over from the P-40. The P-40 had canvas liners in the wheel well and no fairing doors. If you retracted the wheels without tapping the brake, the rotating wheel would eventually tear the canvas up and let dirt etc get into the wing.
It was nice to have a concrete runway. We took off in two ship formations. The leading pair would fly south for several minutes then make a slow 180 degree turn to the left and the rest of us would form up into the four ship flights. We usually sent eight airplanes, occasionally twelve.

One day, about 5 February, we were on a straffing mission, flying low, cruising around and looking for targets of opportunity. I was flying number 4 and the element leader was Truman Forbis, from Oregon. When flying this type of mission, we characteristically flew at about 200 feet in a regular formation but spread out so we could look around for targets.
We were flying down a wide valley and I was looking around for targets, occasionally looking back to make sure I was in position on Forbis's wing. Then one time I looked back and he was in a 60 degree dive. In about one second he covered the 200 feet at 300 mph and exploded! I couldn't believe it. I circled several times, calling him on the radio with no answer. I finally accepted that he wasn't going to be there and returned to base.

Later, when the area had been captured, Captain Washburn of 522nd Headquarters drove to the area and talked to the people. He said that they had buried the pilot. They also told him there was a bullet hole in the canopy. It would appear that some rifleman down below shot ahead of us somewhere and without realizing it his bullet must have hit Truman in the head, he slumped over the stick and pushed the plane into the ground. Two hundred feet can disappear very fast at almost 300 mph. He never knew what hit him.

On the 17th, as I was taking off, my engine just about quit on me. I had two 500 pound bombs and a full load of gas and ammunition. I could just maintain 150 feet, full throttle with the wheels up. I was so low I had trouble locating the runway. There were buildings below so I didn't want to jettison the bombs. I came around to the left until I saw the runway and then turned away and set up for a landing. I didn't dare put the wheels down until the last moment because I would immediately start losing altitude and I might not make the runway! I finally got lined up for the final and everybody on the ground thought I was going to belly in on the bombs.
At this point I should explain the landing gear. There were two fairing doors that came down first, then the landing gear would come down and then the fairing doors would come back up and lock.
When I was sure I was going to make it to the runway, I put the gear down. The fairing doors came down, the gear came down, I hit the ground and then the fairing doors came up. At least that's what they told me. It was that close! This was 17th February, a date that will live in feardom!

[bobbysocks]

more charles dill...very long story...i have editted most of the incidentals out

the whole entire colorful story is at http://www.charlies-web.com/WWII_med/index.html

One of the squadron pilots was a boy from Oklahoma, Robert Fromm. He was up north of Rome one day and spotted a truck. He went down to strafe it and it exploded right in front of him. It blew him off course and right through a tree. He was already heading upward so he jettisoned the canopy and prepared to bail out. The plane got to 900 feet and he noticed the engine seemed to being running all right so he decided to wait before bailing out. It was difficult to control and wouldn't go faster than 160 mph or get more than 900' altitude. He got it turned around and headed south. His course took him right over Gaeta Point, one of the hottest flak spots around. He put-putted over Gaeta at 900 feet and 160 mph. Apparently the gunners could not believe he was so low and slow and they shot way out in front and he escaped without further injury!
He decided he would bail out when he saw the first boat since we controlled the water. When he got to the first boat, he saw another. And another and another. He leapfrogged all the way back the the base and came in for a landing. His antenna had been knocked off so there could be no communicaton. His right wheel came down, but not the left so they shot him a red flare. He poured the coal to it and went out over the hills. He got it turned around somehow and came back the other way. This time they just let him land. The gear was rather wide so it was common to touch one wheel down first and then you would set the other one down. He said that when the right wheel touched, he went to put the left one down and he quickly realized that he didn't have a left wheel. So he held the left wing up as long as possible. It finally sank down, touched the ground and the plane slid in a slow arc till it stopped. pointing about 30 degrees to the left. There were twigs, etc stuffed up the gun barrels. If he had tried to use them they probably would have exploded. He had a piece of a 5 inch limb jamming the left gear.
He was shot down and killed later, after I left the group.

One of our pilots learned the hard lesson of why you bail out of a P-40 (or other single engine, piston powered airplane) on the right side. The prop corkscrews the air behind it in a way that if you bail out to the left, it supports you so the tail can hit you. If you bail out on the right it throws you down out of the way. I am not sure of the name, maybe it will come to me later but I think his first name was Jesse. (I finally remembered, Jesse Harris.) He was hit while strafing a truck and had to get out of his plane right NOW! Unfortunately he went out the left side and his back was broken by hitting the tail. The first thing he knew, he was lying on the ground surrounded by angry Germans. He was put in a hospital. When the Germans retreated he was left behind with a skeleton staff as he could not be moved. He made it and probably lived a good life afterward.

Another pilot, Ernie Weidenhammer, beat the odds. He was up by Rome when a 20 mm shell exploded in the cockpit, right in front of him. It hit a nerve in his right arm and he could not use it. He, of course, was bleeding all over but managed to fly the plane for forty five minutes with his left hand. I suspect he couldn't touch the throttle so he belly-landed under power on the grass and passed out. The meat wagon gathered him up and rushed him to the nearest military hospital. They cut him open all the way down the front and across the middle, picked out 58 pieces of steel and stitched him back together. Some time later he came back to the outfit because they had a faster way of rotating him back to the States. I rushed up and said, "Hello Dutch, good to see you". He hoisted his right arm a little and shook hands. He was rotated back to the States. He has attended a number of the reunions of the group and enjoys golf. He had to have both knees replaced a couple years ago. I've always wondered if it was an aftereffect of the shrapnel damage. (This event may have happened at Santa Maria.)

On my 76th mission, 24 May 1944, Squadron Commander Major Emil Tanassy was leading Red flight and I was leading White flight. We were to bomb the town of Cori. We taxied out and parked at an angle off the side of the runway like the feathers on an arrow. We shut off the engines and waited for our takeoff time.
Suddenly a jeep came roaring out to the Major's plane and a guy jumped out and up on the wing and said something to him. Our time came and we took off. I think our mission was to bomb a target and then look for targets of opportunity. But I'll never forget what happened. The Major got a 20 mm(?) shell in his engine. The engine didn't stop but there was oil all over the place. He couldn't see because there was oil on his goggles. I went up on his wing and talked to him to keep him straight and level while he cleaned off the oil so he could see. He jettisoned the canopy and we headed for the Anzio beachead and the emergency strip. He went in and belly landed. He landed long and if he had not touched down there he probably would have cleared the edge of a gully and hit the other side head on.! I don't remember him going on another mission. That was too close!

I re-formed the squadron of seven planes and took over the lead. We were finished anyway so I headed back home. We went down in the directon of Gaeta Point. The main coastal highway to Rome came west out onto the Pontine Marsh area then turned north toward Rome. Lo and Behold! there was a big truck convoy, out in the open, closepacked and about fifty miles beyond the bomb safe line. But I was suspicious because the Germans would not have allowed themselves to be caught out in the open and exposed like that so I took a chance. We buzzed them and saw that they were ours! So we went home. During the de-briefing we found out that that was what they told the Major before we took off, that there had been a breakout and to be careful. The only one that knew had been shot down!

Somewhere in mid-April I was on a mission and the flak was going pretty good. All of a sudden there was loud noise and large hole appeared in the left (?) wing. The torn edges were sticking up above the wing at least six inches. I was worried about a possible damaged spar which might cause the wing to fold up. I had heard that the wing could fold back over the cockpit and prevent one from getting out but it seemed OK so I kept heading back home. When I arrived at Castel Volturno, I flew down the runway waggling my wings indicating I was in trouble. I then set up for a landing and came in fast because I knew the left wing would stall out before the right one. I almost had a problem because the wing stalled out sooner than I had guessed it would but I was close enough to the ground to land safely.

One day we were out straffing after a bombing run and I saw a truck. I went down to strafe it, thinking my 500 pound bomb and six 20 pound fragmentation bombs had already been released. These frag bombs were very touchy and resembled large hand grenades, only much worse. They had a large (1/2'?) square piece of spring steel wound around as the outer casing. When the bomb exploded it broke this spring, which was under tension, into vicious chunks of ragged steel which had the spring tension release and the explosive to send them in all directions. It was a devastating anti-personnel weapon. We had three under each wing. I thought I had dropped them and my wingman said there weren't any on my left side. So one or more on the right side had hung up on the arming wire when I went in to strafe the truck. I was very low, let off a burst and went over the truck at probably no more than fifty feet. And a blast occurred just as I went over the truck. We think one or more of these bombs shook off as the guns fired. I must have destroyed the truck but I didn't even look. I was too busy trying to figure out if I was flying. I was hit by a number of bomb fragments, the closest came in under the seat and went out the window on the right side. There was a bundle of useless wire along the floor on the left side of the cockpit which was one of the sets of cables to the rudder and elevator. Fortunately they had two sets or I would have decorated the landscape right there!
The airplane was flying all right so I headed back to base. I didn't know what damage had taken place. So I touched down gingerly and then found out that my left tire was flat. I brought the mixture control back to idle cut-off to kill the engine. The plane rolled along but was bound and determined to go to the left, rolling on two odd sized wheels. I controlled it as best I could and the plane finally stopped off the left side of the runway pointing about 30 degrees from the direction of the runway. Apparently one can land on a flat tire if it is already flat. But if it blows after you touch ground or on a takeoff run it will cause a crash, usually a groundloop. I was told that they patched over 70 holes in it! And yet another helping of luck!
One day they decided to oil the taxiways to keep down the dust. The taxiway was a zigzag path that made it a little easier for us to see in front. The engine blocked the forward view. We used to zigzag as we taxied because the various parts of the taxiway were too long to just go straight forward, as I found out one day. When the strips were oiled, they became very slippery so we taxied one length, cleared the next length and then taxied straight down the middle, without zigzagging. I was taxiing and cleared the next length, then went right straight down the middle. When I approached the next bend and started to turn into the next leg, I saw that some Brit had pulled his truck out and parked it right in front of me at the curve. There was no way I could miss him. I tried my best but I wound up sliding sidewise, very slowly, but surely and stuck my left wingtip through his windshield. Nothing was said to anybody that I remember. I of course missed this mission.

My plane seemd a bit slower than the others and I had to use a bit more throttle to keep up so I used more gas. I had an idea that I took up with the engineering officer, Joe Glover. I suggested that we remove the big round wingtip and replace with a wood one shaped like the P-51/A-36 wingtip. He didn't think it would be a problem. I got permission from the squadron commander, Major Joe Kelly and went back with Joe Glover to the plane. We removed one wingtip and were discussing the next step when Major Kelly drove up and told us to stop and not do it. He said he would't know how to explain it if I had an accident!

There was a kind of invisible line down the middle of Italy. The 15th AF, the bombers, were on the east side and the 12th Tactical AF was on the west and almost never the twain did meet. However, one day we saw a B-17 at about 1500' passing our field, making a gentle turn to the left, obviously intending to land. Then we saw parachutes as he came around, gently, lower and lower. He finally made a very gentle, very smooth landing and brought it slowly to a stop at the end of the runway on the parking ramp. We ran over to meet the pilots and find out what was going on. The little hatch under the cockpit flopped open and the pilot and co-pilot dropped to the ground, running at top speed. As they passed us they pointed up at the left wing. We could see a bomb sticking out of their wing and nobody knew whether the little safety spinner had come off or not!

When I got back to the group I found they had changed planes to P-47D's. So I did the usual ground work and then it came time for me to take it up. I taxied to the end of the runway, ran up the engine to check it, and then straightened up with runway. I could look down the runway and see where I had crashed a week before. Pushing the throttle forward and taking off was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. It would have been so easy to taxi back, park it and quit flying. I found out why a horseman gets back on the horse immediately after being thrown.
I always hated the P-47. I would rather have a P-40 for the work we were doing. When you pulled out of a dive it mushed terribly. That is, it kept going down before it would start coming up. The first week we had them, as I remember, at least eight planes came back with telephone wires, fence wires and grapevines due to the unexpected sinking when one pulled back the stick. It had a terribly variable fuel consumption rate. At cruise it used about 120 gallons per hour. But in a combat situaton the rate could go up to 370 gallons per hour (from the tech orders!). Your reserve could disappear in a few minutes. We had a mission where none of the eight planes made it back to our field. They had to land at other fields and gas up. And as I remember three of them bellied in, fortunately on our side of the lines. Our entire mode of attack had to be changed. We couldn't cruise at 200' and then strafe, We would probably hit the ground when we tried to pull up. We no longer did vertical dive bombing so our accuracy suffered. We were constantly easily visible so we had to fly over ten thousand feet and then dive on a target, very visible, all the way down! While it had an engine that was excellent in most respects, it had a Hamilton Standard oil operated propellor. If one got a rock through the spinner, you would lose the oil, the propellor would go flat and you would go down. One of our people had it happen and he finally bailed out at about 4500 feet rather than go into the clouds with mountains below.
I've heard P-47 pilots bragging about how much punishment it could take. So what! You had to fly it in a way that it took a lot of punishment. The last thing it was, was invisible. The A-36 and even the P-40 could sneak around at low level and strafe and they wouldn't even see you till you were gone. The P-47 always had altitude and was brazenly visible to anyone holding even a peashooter. Sure it absorbed punishment. It was always an obvious and flagrant target!
Ugh! It was designed to fly at high altitudes and we had to use it at low altitudes! And so on!!

We had trouble getting any ice and that was a real problem for the bar in the recreation tent! So the mechanics figured a way to take a 150 gal external fuel tank apart and the fit a gasket and bolt it back together so it would hold water. Then we sent one of the new boys that needed the altitude practice up to 25000 feet for an hour with the tank half full of water. It was mounted on the belly and when he came down the exhaust from the turbosupercharger had melted the ice. So they made a second one, mounted them on the bombracks and sent him up to 25000 feet again. This time he came back with about 200 pounds of ice.

I flew my last mission on 17 August 1944, D-Day +2 in Southern France. It was an eight plane area sweep in Southern France. I was leading the second flight of four. We flew from Corsica to Southern France over a good bit of water. We crossed the invasion fleet at altitude and then descended to a several thousand feet as we looked for "targets of opportunity". All of a sudden we started getting a lot of flak (antiaircraft fire) and it drove the two flights apart. They circled to the left and we went to the right in a large arc. When we had completed about 180 degrees I saw an airfield down below. I waggled my wings to get the flight in trail (in single file) and then dove a mile or two to the east of the target field as though after something else. When we got down to the deck I turned ninety degrees to the right toward the airfield. As I approached the field I saw planes were already smoking. That's when I tumbled to the location of the other flight. They had just straffed the field and the gunners were on their guns and waiting for us. I stayed under a hundred feet, hit the gun trigger and kicked the rudder back and forth to spray the field with bullets. I stayed low for over a mile past the field. My wingman followed me and escaped unharmed. The element leader made a serious mistake and climbed to several hundred feet and his plane got hit. His wingman totally blew it and pulled up in a steep curving climb to the right. This is the absolute worst thing he could have done. He lost speed and they just walked up his tail and shot him down. His plane stalled, flipped into a spin and did about one turn before hitting the ground. We saw his chute open and then collapse almost immediately. It must have opened almost at the time he hit the ground. We flew over there and saw the white chute gather itself into a ball and stuff itself in the hedge. We couldn't see him but figured he was all right. We circled the area to intercept anyone going in his direction. I strafed a motorcyle that was heading his way and then climbed to 4500 feet and headed for the beachhead that had an emergency field.
I didn't know how badly the element leader's plane was damaged. His radio had been hit so he could not transmit.
We went over the emergency field and I pointed down and he shook his head. So we headed out over the fleet with our fingers crossed, hoping their aircraft recognition courses would be effective. They let us go by without incident and when we got past the fleet we let out a relieved breath and I set a course of 120 degrees for Corsica. This wasn't exactly the course we had approached on so it was a bit of an educated guess. It couldn't be too far off of course but after all, Corsica was an island. It would be possible to miss it. I figured the damage on the element leader's plane would probably mean that he was using more than normal fuel so I didn't want to waste any time getting him back.
About halfway to Corsica I thought I should check with a controller to make sure we were on the right course. I switched to channel D and called for a fix. The answer told me to tranmit for a fix which I did, counting to ten. He came back telling me to steer 220 degrees! Being well trained to follow instructions, we did. This implied that we had already passed Corsica. This didn't seem possible so I switched to channel C and called "Grassy Hill" at the tip of Cape Corse, the peninsula that sticks out of the northeast corner of the island. I transmitted for a fix and he told me to steer 90 degrees to the tip of Cape Corse and that we were sixty miles out.. Since our field was 30 miles south and at sixty miles, each mile is one degree, I added 30 to the 90 degrees and came back to my original 120 degree course. We landed safely and went in to debriefing. Toward the end of the debriefing, the intelligence officer and I went to the map to figure out where we had been. Then we took the back azimuth (40 degrees) from that point and it led back to Genoa, then in German hands. We decided that I must have been talking to a German and that if I had followed his instructions we would have run out of gas in the middle of the Mediterranean!
On the way into the debriefing I passed Major Hugh Cameron, the Group Executive Officer. I said to him, "I don't know if you know it or not, but that's the last time I'm going up there." He said, "OK, tell it to the Colonel." I had 94 missions by then and realized I was putting my people in jeopardy because I was tired, shot, pooped out and a hazard to fly with.

[bobbysocks]

some iwo pony pilot or as they refered to themselves pineapple airforce...quotes:

Captain Howard Russell, 72nd Squadron:
We had been on many missions to Haha and Chichi by now and the relative ease with which we completed our work perhaps made us a little cocky. In any case, we were ready. With the long trip ahead - all over water- fuel consumption was my first consideration; my capability in combat over Japan I did not doubt. Rescue seemed so well planned, loss of life by drowning or abandonment did not enter my mind. I was a flight leader with a good crew and I was ready.

Captain Herb Henderson, 45th Squadron:
Lord, was I eager to go. Dawn was just breaking on Iwo Jima as a hundred Merlin engines crackled to life and filled the air with their rhythmic roar. For this band of Hawaiian flyers it was the World Series, graduation, and the departure of the crusades, all rolled into one. There was a sense that participation would confer on each a sort of redemption from the historic disaster of 7 December 1941 and the recent slaughter of 26 March 1945. Even those being left behind were primed to an emotional peak for the grand culmination.

Corporal Russell Bishop, 47th Squadron:
We knew that our proficiency, sweat and sacrifice was on board those Mustangs and had great pride in the outfit and what we were doing. Right then, I wouldn't have swapped places with any civilian at home. First off the ground, about 0700, were Colonel Jim Beckwith of the 15th Group and Major Dewitt Spain, leading the 21st for the convalescing Ken Powell. Circling and climbing at assembly points near Kita Rock, they gathered their squadrons and, accompanied by B-29s as navigators, set course for Tokyo, a few compass degrees west of North.

Mechanical gremlins, who would hound every mission, took an early toll. Jim Beckwith, with a bad oxygen system was one of the first to turn back. General Moore found he had a stuck gas switch and, with some bitterness, he too left the formation. Hank Ryniker, one of the spares, was tickled to fill a gap in the 47th Squadron's Yellow Flight. The last abort in the 15th Group occurred over 200 miles from base and Second Lieutenant Charles C. Heil of the 78th was summoned as the last spare. Far behind the main force, he doggedly pursued the mission. After some 600 miles of solo navigation Heil overtook a formation of B-29s but was bewildered at the absence of any other P-51s. He had located a wing assigned to bomb Nagoya and gamely assumed a protective stance over 153 Superforts. Ninety-six Mustangs, under strict radio silence, swept north. Beneath them the Nanpo Shoto Islands, a spine of rugged volcanic peaks, punctured the ocean surface forming a chain that reached to within 65 miles of Tokyo. However, in the vastness of the Western Pacific, the widely interspersed outcroppings offer no more of a landmark than a tombstone on the plains. Trenches on either side of the small islands plunge to depths as great as 5,000 feet. The cold, bleak Nanpo Shoto is a meteorological cauldron off the Asian littoral where migratory west bound highs converge with moist tropical trade winds. Moving north with the sun, the clashing weather patterns could form frightening systems but posed no threat to the mission of 7 April. Finally doing what they had trained for, the squadrons of the Seventh were exercising cruise control procedures and experiencing the realities of very long range operations.

Major Jim VandeHey, CO, 78th Squadron:
We all dressed like we were going to the North Pole and I didn't even bring along a candy bar.

Captain Howard Russell, 72nd Squadron:
Special power settings for our Merlin engines had been prescribed, but not really tested by us. High manifold pressure and low RPM were specified. It was said that these settings were developed and tested by Charles Lindbergh. A rather unsettling procedure resulted: Set the manifold pressure at 36 inches, RPM at 2,000. Reduce RPM until engine cuts out (about 1,750 to 1,800 RPM), then ease the RPM forward until you got a smooth engine, all this in auto-lean. This was historically murder on engines and against all the rules we had been taught about engine care. But it worked, even though some engines were ruined by the time the flight was over. Severe piston burning was often the result, but most of the engines made it. Less than one hundred miles from Tokyo the Mustangs sighted their charges, 103 Superfortresses of the 73rd Bomb Wing high over Kozu Shima Island.

Captain Art Bridge, 45th Squadron:
It was a real spectacle. The 29s were just finishing their assembly in a grand circle as we arrived. I could see the lead B-29s were at 12,000 with the rest staggered back all the way up to 18,000. My flight was covering the point and we began to scissor to maintain our airspeed and not get ahead of the bomber stream. Flying top cover over the bomber stream, the 15th was in the lead position as the strike force approached the coast of Honshu.

Captain Harold Russell, 72nd Squadron:
During the flight, perfect radio silence was maintained all the way to Tokyo, when some would-be tour guide in the group announced, "Fujiyama!" Another 15 or 20 minutes passed and then we were busy doing what we had trained to do for three or four years.

Well beyond Iwo Jima, Frank Ayres' P-51 had begun siphoning fuel from an overflow vent and he began switching back and forth from internal to external tanks hoping to correct the fuel flow problem. Sighting the snow-capped peak of Fujiyama he thought to himself, "Frank, what are you doing so far from Lake Charles, Louisiana?"

Crossing the coast at 1045 the Mustangs began dropping their 110 gallon auxiliary wing tanks, preparing to do battle on their fuselage tanks. Todd Moore spotted and called out the first Japanese interceptor flying below them, a likely decoy. "Stay in formation," cautioned squadron leader VandeHey. John Piper's flight was likewise tantalized by a single low flying Nick over Tokyo Bay, then by four single-engine Tojos that came toward them head-on, breaking down and away while still out of range. After the feints and the lures had failed, over a hundred Japanese fighters began making aggressive passes on the lead squadrons of the bomber stream. In a short space of time, in a narrow piece of the Pacific sky, 300 adversaries converged on each other. For the Makin veterans as well as those who had never seen an enemy plane in flight, it was an awesome and unforgettable sight. The Japanese attackers may not have expected the fighter escort, but in keeping with their air defense doctrine they concentrated on the big bombers. Finally, Bob Down and Dick Hintermeier of the 47th Squadron were in position to deal with a Nick that had committed itself.

Captain Dick Hintermeier, 47th Squadron:
I made a high frontal quartering pass that hit the right engine and set it smoking. Down's bursts struck the canopy and right engine and the plane broke into flames. In quick succession Down, Hintermeier and First Lieutenant Eurich L. Bright intercepted single-engine Japanese fighters plummeting toward the B-29s. Executing 180 degree overhead to stern passes Down and Bright each flamed an aircraft, then Bright nailed two more. Jim Tapp burned a Tony penetrating the 78th's top cover, then swung about to deal with a rocket or bomb carrying Dinah coming head-on through the bombers. A faulty aneroid switch sent his engine to low blower preventing him from closing with the enemy, so he pulled back on station. Major VandeHey, however, got his sights on a Dinah and, ignoring fire from the rear gunner, let off a burst that tore away the left engine cowling and set the plane afire. On the right side of the bomber stream, where Major Snipes' 45th Squadron was stationed, a pair of enemy fighters with altitude and speed advantage approached head-on.

Major Buck Snipes, CO, 45th Squadron:
We pulled up but couldn't get any lead, and the Japs were past us before we could even shoot. I pulled off just before stalling and vowed at the time never to get myself in that predicament again. Shortly after that two Nakajima "Tojos" came in front of me and my wingman, Henderson. I took the left one and he caught fire and went down. Captain Herb Henderson, 45th Squadron: I closed on mine to firing range and began shooting from dead rear. As I gained on him I realized I must have stopped his engine, because he slowed so fast that I overshot and had to pull up to avoid a collision. As I did so Buck came in behind me and fired a burst at mine. The pilot jumped and we could see his chute floating below as we caught up with the bombers.

The B-29 formations bore steadily through a flak smudged sky toward the bomb release point as if they were on a track, while the interceptors of both sides swarmed about the majestic parade. In clear weather over the target they unloaded their deadly cargo on the Nakajima industrial complex. Anti-aircraft fire or a Japanese 'Ta-Dan" bomber* finally scored hits as a Superfortress, its Number 2 engine burning, fell from formation and angled toward the coastline.

Major Jim Tapp, 78th Squadron:
An unpainted "Oscar" was in the vicinity. Don't know if he was going after the burning B-29 or not but he was a fighter and represented a threat to the bombers including the cripple... I started a 90 degree pass on the enemy plane firing continuously until dead astern. Pieces were coming off and striking my plane as we closed. I ended up with four Nicks. The Oscar didn't ignite but just spiraled into the ground.

Landfall was made approximately 10 minutes after rendezvous and first interceptions were encountered over Sagami Bay between Atami and Hiratsuka, 30 to 45 mile's short of target. Jap fighters were of all types with Nicks, Tojos, Irvings, Tonys and Zekes pre-dominating. Twin-engine aircraft were numerous. The enemy pilots avoided encounters with our fighters, and concentrated on the big bombers. "They attacked, ih the majority of case's from 10 through 2 o'clock, and a few from astern. Japanese fighters were unaggressive, and attacks, when they did occur, were uncoordinated. Our forces claimed 21 enemy aircraft destroyed 5 probably destroyed and 7 damaged. Our own losses were 1 P-51 destroyed, 1 ditched and 1 damaged. One of our fighters exploded, while in the target area, cause unknown. Both wings came off and fighters did not see pilot bail out, although XXI Pomcom crews reported seeing a parachute. On return to base one pilot low on gas bailed out over rescue DD 200 miles north of Iwo and was picked up by the ASR Destroyer. Four fighters provided cover for Superdumbo and rescue submarine at the Rally Point. One fighter, becoming separated from his flight, accompanied another B-29 strike force to Nagoya. A total of 39,645 gallons of gasoline was consumed while 22,893 rounds of .50 caliber ammunition were fired during the course of the mission. Again on 12 April Mustangs escorted B-29s over the same target. On this mission pilots claimed 15 enemy aircraft destroyed, 6 probably destroyed and 3 damaged. Friendly losses were 4 Mustangs, with 2 pilots reported killed and 2 considered missing.

First Lieutenant Robert H. Roseberry, 78th Squadron:
As we dove, I remember thinking that I had to stick to Captain Moore's wing no matter what happened. He was a veteran and this was my first air action. We saw four Hamps doing lazy eights in a loose string over the B-29s. Moore closed on the tail of the string and exploded the fourth plane with a short 20 degree deflection shot. At full throttle we began firing. I was stacked in so close to the Captain that his ejected shell casings were hitting my plane. I flew within 60 feet of the third Hamp. Its bottom was blown out and the plane was burning and falling rapidly out of control. I fired a short burst at the number 2 Hamp with absolutely no results. Frankly, I was more concerned with sticking to Moore and not getting lost than in getting a Hamp. While the 15th Fighter Group bore the brunt of the Japanese attack, the 21st Group, covering the rear half of the bomber stream, suffered the first casualty. Shortly after dropping wing tanks, lieutenant Robert G. Anderson, an element leader in the 531st, was seen to roll and split-S toward the ground, his aircraft showing emitting smoke and flame. Whether flak or a fuel generated malfunction, there was no explanation for the loss. Anderson crashlanded and died of injuries.

Captain Harry Crim, CO, 531st Squadron:
It was a picture book day. We were about three miles behind the 15th at 16 to 18,000 feet. (I couldn't help recollecting that this was ideal range for German 88s in the ETO. They could knock the whiskers off a gnat at this altitude.) We seemed to be moving in slow motion and at first we were like spectators. We saw no enemy aircraft, but then the 15th engaged and we saw the first big black streak falling out of the sky. A twin-engine Nick finally intruded into the 21st Group's territory and Adolph Bregar brought it down. Having passed through formations of the 15th, Japanese fighters may have assumed they had shed the escort.


Captain Harry Crim, CO, 531st Squadron:
A lone Tony came alongside the bomber stream some 200 yards out and was leisurely choosing his target. I was 2,000 feet over him and rolled down to intercept but had too much power and overshot. I reduced power, pulled around and he was still shopping among the bombers. I took a shot at him, it didn't faze him; then another burst from 1,000 feet and I knocked off his right wing. He never took any evasive action, was entranced with the B-29s and never knew we were there. Climbing back to escort position, I overtook a slow flying Nick and had to throttle down.

I backed off, ran in behind him and started picking up hits on his left engine. Coming as close as 50 feet, I hit the cockpit and then the right wing as he just gradually fell away. He was down to about 4,000 feet when he turned over and went in. I was fascinated at the way Japanese planes would burn and break up [no armor protection, no self-sealing fuel tanks]. The Messerschmitt 109 was a tough aircraft, hard to knock down, and when damaged, the German pilots dove for the protection of their anti-aircraft batteries. You didn't dare follow them down into the 88s' dead zone. Almost an hour after the rendezvous, the great formations disengaged as the B-29s withdrew. The Mustangs headed for the Rally Point (RP), a map co-ordinate off Honshu where B-29 navigators, B-17 Superdumbo rescue planes and rescue submarines all congregated.

Major Jim Tapp, 78th Squadron:
When we started into the target area we were flying a neat squadron tactical formation. As we began engaging enemy aircraft, we broke down to flights pretty much independent of one another. Now, as we departed Japan, there we were (the 78th) all together again. That really amazed and pleased me. We had all our pros on that mission. As the P-51 pilots left Japan they returned to the discipline of cruise control. Auxiliary tanks long since dropped, they had been flying and fighting on fuselage tanks for some 50 minutes. Many were into the reserve supply of 184 gallons in the internal wing tanks, and with Iwo Jima over 600 miles away, the contest to conserve fuel engrossed them. It was a hopeless exercise for one young pilot.

[bobbysocks]

pineapple af pilots cont......

Major Jim Tapp, 78th Squadron:
When we started into the target area we were flying a neat squadron tactical formation. As we began engaging enemy aircraft, we broke down to flights pretty much independent of one another. Now, as we departed Japan, there we were (the 78th) all together again. That really amazed and pleased me. We had all our pros on that mission. As the P-51 pilots left Japan they returned to the discipline of cruise control. Auxiliary tanks long since dropped, they had been flying and fighting on fuselage tanks for some 50 minutes. Many were into the reserve supply of 184 gallons in the internal wing tanks, and with Iwo Jima over 600 miles away, the contest to conserve fuel engrossed them. It was a hopeless exercise for one young pilot.

First Lieutenant Frank Ayres, 47th Squadron:
By the time Sammy Powell and I started heading out to the RP, I was pretty sure I couldn't make it home, because my fuel gauges were going down so fast. I didn't say anything about it until we rejoined John Piper and Joe Brunette. When I realized that I couldn't make it back to Iwo Jima, I got the shakes for a minute and (this may sound like I was ready for a "Section 8") I heard a voice saying, "Don't worry, you will be alright." I was totally relaxed from then on. Over the years I have thought back to that time and thought how close I felt to my Maker - it was an eerie experience and, if that is how our good Lord works, I wish I could experience it again. By then, Piper was excited and kept saying, we'll get you home, Frankie," and I just said, "I know it," and really believed it. The B-29 pilot (Cloudhopper Charlie) told me to set my power for max range and he would adjust his power to keep me in formation so I never had to reset my throttle. Two hundred miles short of Iwo Jima, Ayres' fuel gauges went to empty and the B-29 advised him that they should be near the station of an ASR destroyer, code named Warcloud.

As we approached the area where Warcloud (DD Cassin) should be, we had to let down into the overcast. The B-29 couldn't contact Cassin by radio but we started letting down. Just as we broke out of the clouds at about 50 to 100 feet, the navigator said, "Warcloud should be straight ahead," and there it was! I broke away, buzzed the DD about mast height and jettisoned my canopy to let them know I was in trouble. Visibility was very low and there were at least 20 foot waves and strong winds. I unfastened my safety belt, rolled the trim tab forward and climbed to 2,000 feet at approximately 180 mph. When I reached 2,000 ft I half rolled to the right and as soon as I stopped the roll the wind sucked me out. All I knew about bailing out was to pull the D ring to open the chute. Never had a briefing or any training.

When I cleared the plane, I pulled, and the D ring and two cables to the chute pins came out. My first thought was, "My gosh, you've broken it!" I didn't know the whole assembly came out. I must have been sprawled out with legs spread because the next thing I knew the chute came through my legs and I flipped. Being in the soup is like no place else - I heard my plane go off and hit the water and then there was a total silence. I slid back into the seat and unfastened the leg straps and held onto the chest strap latch. I thought you just floated down easily and that when my feet hit the water, I would just unfasten the chest strap and slide into the ocean. Imagine my surprise when I broke out of the overcast and was in the water before I could do anything. I went so deep in the water I was at the point that if I didn't surface soon, I wouldn't make it. I had taught Boy Scout life saving and had taken the Instructor Survival Course at Hickam, so I considered myself a good swimmer and I think that is what saved me. When I finally surfaced, the wind had caught my chute and it started dragging me across the water like an aquaplane.

The leg straps went through a slot in the life raft seat pack and that's where it stuck so I couldn't get free. My Mae West strap was fastened to the life raft, so I pulled myself by that up to the raft pack and up to the shrouds while I was skimming from wave to wave. Finally I was able to spill my chute. Some time later, the Cassin appeared - I could see them one moment and then they would go behind a wave. They spotted my chute floating on the water and then me. They started to come alongside me and threw ropes with weights on the end for me to catch, but they would sink before I could grasp one, so then they would reverse engines and try again. I didn't want to get too close to them because of the high waves and danger of being sucked into the screws. Finally, I yelled into the wind, "Throw me a ring buoy." The skipper thought I was in a panic, couldn't hear what I was saying. A sailor with a bright bushy beard dived overboard with a rope around his waist and swam out to me and grabbed me by the arm. They reeled us in like big fish. As we approached the rope ladder on the port side, one moment the waves had us almost under the ship and the next you were above the rail. On one of the "ups" someone grabbed me by the back of my flight suit and lifted me right on deck. Until then I felt perfectly calm and under control, but when I started to walk, my legs turned to rubber and they helped me to the ship's doctor's cabin.

By 1430 the P-51s had returned to base, including Charlie Heil, who had done a solo escort to Nagoya with a rough engine. Three B-29s had been lost over Tokyo, two to AA and one a victim of a Ta-Dan bomber. Two P-51s and one pilot had been lost but XXI Bomber Command and Seventh Fighter Command were elated with overall mission results as were the participants. The fighters, while performing their escort job to near perfection, had combined to claim 21-6-6 over Japanese attackers as substantiated by witnesses and gun camera film. It was a mission of historic achievement considering its length and duration, and prompted an award of the Distinguished Unit Citation to both 15th and 21st Groups.

However, unlike most historic events, this was not a once in a lifetime effort. Plans were immediately laid for the next VLR mission. They had to repeat the feat of flying and fighting 1300 miles from their base another 50 times before war's end, under conditions judged so arduous that 15 VLR missions had tentatively been established as the goal for completion of an individual combat tour. Along with the statistical success of the first VLR mission the pilots had a dual sense of humility and deep self-satisfaction.

First Lieutenant Hank Ryniker, 47th Squadron:
Over Tokyo, there were planes all over the sky. We (our flight) saw 10 or 12 enemy planes. Gave chase to a couple, all of us got in some bursts - may have made some hits. Cameron, number three man, was very low on gas so we didn't chase too much - he landed with five gallons! I was scared - just plain fool scared and I think it was justified. Not so much from the enemy, but from being so far from home, limited (very) gas and just one old engine turning that fan up front. Logged seven hours, 15 minutes and my rear end is so sore I can't sit down. Had interrogation, movies taken and a party thrown by fighter command -1 was so tired, I slipped out early. Come what may, I've seen combat, seen the enemy and I've been over Tokyo so everything has been worth it.

A field order for the next VLR mission looked like a repeat of the first - escort 73rd Bomb Wing to Tokyo, takeoff at 0800, 12 April, 1945. The similarity ended there. The mission went badly from takeoff as a sudden wind change caused Captain Sam Powell to ground loop his fully loaded P-51. Second Lieutenant Ralph N. Heintz made an emergency landing after a panel under his engine was blown off. At departure time on Field Number 2 there was a wind change and the 21st Group had to taxi to another runway, wasting precious fuel and getting off late. Their B-29 navigators left the assembly point on schedule, however, and the Group had to chase them for some distance. The last squadron to take off, the 531st, estimated that they would burn too much fuel catching up and turned back. Together the two groups mustered just 82 aircraft.

16 April 45, P-51s attacked aircraft and installations at Kanoya airfield, Kyushu.
At the target, two squadrons flew diversionary and protective high cover at 16,000 feet, while two squadrons went into the target at a minimum altitude to strafe. Another squadron flew medium altitude cover for VWB 612 Marine PBJs which made a rocket attack coordinated with the fighter sweep. No enemy airborne aircraft were sighted until after retirement. When several were seen a few miles to the north and too far to follow and attack. Enemy losses of aircraft on the ground-were undetermined. Four of our aircraft and two of our pilots were lost. A FBJ was lost and 2 crew members are listed as missing. These missions were followed during the ensuing months of April, May and June by 22 additional VLR Missions, 14 of which were effective. The air echelon of the 506th Fighter Group assigned to the Twentieth Air Force and attached to VII Fighter Command for-administration and operational control, began to arrive on Iwo on 11 May. Their first tactical mission was flown against the Bcnins on 18 May and 53 aircraft were airborne on their first VIR Fighter Strike May 28th on Kasumigaura airfield.

First Lieutenant Hank Ryniker, 47th Squadron
"Of all things!! All of us who returned yesterday because of engine trouble, had to meet a Group board who determined whether or not it was justified. The armchair strategists who sit behind their armor plated desks thought the pilots might be goofing off evidently. I've got a dozen missions each one certainly at risk to my life, but if they think I'll fly an airplane over 1,200 to 1,300 miles of open water that my experience of nearly 1,000 hours says isn't airworthy, they are mistaken. I like at least a 50-50 chance and I'll not reduce those odds unless it's a damn site more important than some ranking officer's reputation."



By the end of May, Twentieth Air Force had assembled sixteen B-29 groups in the Marianas, and the strategic offensive against Japan was being delivered in four hundred planes, sledgehammer blows. Earlier low level night raids had been effective, but costly, so LeMay reverted to high altitude daylight missions, attacking Yokohama on 29 May.

Three hundred miles from Iwo Jima the familiar front appeared before 15th and 21st Groups sent as escort. However, this one seemed not to be anchored in the ocean, so the squadrons let down to 2,000 feet and passed under the weather. Five hundred miles from base, just 100 miles short of Honshu, 20,000 feet over Hachijo Jima, 101 Mustangs rendezvoused with 454 Superforts and the great fleet proceeded three hundred miles from Iwo Jima the familiar front appeared before 15th and 21st Groups sent as escort. However, this one seemed not to be anchored in the ocean, so the squadrons let down to 2,000 feet and passed under the weather. Five hundred miles from base, just 100 miles short of Honshu, 20,000 feet over Hachijo Jima, 101 Mustangs rendezvoused with 454 Superforts and the great fleet proceeded toward Yokohama. From the IP to the target Japanese fighters lanced their way through the bomber stream displaying aggressive tactics not witnessed since early April.

Major Jim Tapp, CO, 78th Squadron
My squadron was level with the 29's and a couple of miles out front...I was flying a new aircraft with a K-14 computing gunsight. We had no chance to train with it... From our vantage point we could see fighters all over the place ahead. Then they started in and we took them head-on. The first one broke below us. I found two big problems: One, the new sight was not easy to use and two, the firing pin springs in the six 50s had taken a permanent set. Four guns failed to fire, one fired a few rounds and quit, and I was left with one gun for the rest of the mission. Since we were taking mostly head-on passes, I had a feeling of deep futility. I must have made over twenty passes wishing for my own airplane, the old N-9 gunsight and six good machine guns. We were effective, however, in that the Japanese seemed willing to break off their attacks on the B-29s and engage us.
One of them, a Zeke 52, broke early and turned ahead of us. We were closing on him, of course, and about 10 to 15 degrees off his tail. I was able to manage the sight and the one gun did its job. Incendiary strikes were seen in the wing root area and he caught fire.

First Lieutenant Bob Roseberry, 78th Squadron
"It's one of those days I should have stayed in bed. When Major Tapp gave the order to drop wing tanks both of mine refused, cutting down my speed. We got involved with some Jacks. Tapp fired on one and when it dove past us my wingman and I rolled over and went down after it. During this time a Jap fighter made a pass at us and apparently scored several hits on my gas tanks or a fuel line. I then realized that I was all by myself over Japan with two wing tanks that refused to come off and a slightly used P-51. My wingman had lost me in the clouds and the squadron had turned out to sea."

Second Lieutenant Leon Sher, 47th Squadron
I was tail end Charlie and we were jumped by Tojos. We scissored too soon and I got hit with two or three 20 mm shells in the wing and flap, another through the fuselage below the tail and one shattered the canopy and passed between my legs. Fortunately, they broke off. I had lost some flap area and the stick was fluttering."



Aces on both sides were up this day as near 150 Japanese fighters tore at the great formation, some displaying dazzling acrobatics. Captain Todd Moore was distracted by a lone Zero on the tail of a P-51 amid the 45th Squadron. To distant to intervene, he watched as Sadaaki Akamatsu, a legendary Japanese ace, shot down Rufus Moore and sped on with seeming impunity through the escort.

Captain Todd Moore, 45th Squadron
If he had been an American he would have been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Second Lieutenant Jack Wilson, 531st Squadron
"He made us look like a bunch of truck drivers."

Moore had himself shot down two Jacks and a George in a series of savage actions, and as the battle waned he played the tourist.

[bobbysocks]

earl robisheaux p38 pilot in the PTO tells his story in a video interview ( 1 hour 15 mins )

http://www.vtv15.org/veteransSpeak.php?v=36

[bobbysocks]

Black Sunday
by 1st Lt. Calvin Wire


16 April,1944 at Nadzab.

On this day, the 475th FG lost more men in a single day to weather related accidents, than in any combat action with the enemy. Here is a survivors tale.......

Our mission today is escorting B-24's and B-25's to Hollandia. This is to be our 7th mission of softening of the general area prior to the proposed landing of the Army and Marines. The weather reports of last two days have been bad, with the possibility of a hurricane moving in. The meteorologists strongly recommended that all flights be canceled, however the man in charge said the mission must go on as planned.

As usual, the bombers took off first, formed out and headed for Hollandia. Some 15 minutes later, the three squadrons of the 475th Fighter Group took off and headed out. We flew Through the normal clouds and rain storms, catching up to bomber formations south of Wewak. Normal procedure is to takeoff on our main tanks and as soon as we gained altitude, we switched to our belly tanks.

As we closed in on the Hollandia area, Captain Kimball, who was leading the 433rd squadron, called to tell us to switch to our internal tanks and the to drop our belly tanks. I was flying P-38L, which have, besides the main and reserve tanks, two small 45 gallon tanks in the wings, out near the tips. (Where possible it is best to use this gas first, so that the extra weight on outside wings is reduced prior to entering into any violent maneuvers. It just makes good sense.) I switched from my belly tanks to my outer wing tanks and both engines died. I immediately switched back to my belly tanks and got the engines started again. This time I switched only to the left outer wing tank and again the left engine stopped. I switched back to the belly tanks and tried again with the right tank- same result. I then went to my main tanks with no problem. I called Captain Kimball and told him my problem, and he replied as we might need all fuel we had, I was take my wing man and head back home. I called my wingman, Lt. Mort Ryerson. and told him I had to "SNAFU" and that he was to come with me. At this time, I was back to my belly tanks to make sure I would have is much time in the air as possible.

We flew at about 12,000 to 13,000 feet altitude, between a solid overcast and lower broken clouds. We had no problems until we were south of Wewak, approaching the edge of the Owen Stanley Mountain Range. At this time, we were looking into a solid all of clouds from the ground to as high as we could see. I had flown a number of missions in this general area before and knew that some of the mountains were 13,000 to 14,000 feet high, so we climbed 20,000 feet looking for any opening- no luck. We then headed North and went down to 12,000 feet again. We flew East and West along the wall of clouds, searching for any opening. Nothing doing! As we were headed back east, I saw a plane on our left and so we headed for it. There was a nice big B-24 heading home. I called Morton said: "We hit it lucky, this guy has a co-pilot, navigator and radioman let’s latch on and follow him home". We snuggled in close on his right wing. He rocked his right wing to let us know we were welcome and then headed into that awful wall of clouds, we kept tucked in for about 10 to 15 minutes, when all of a sudden the B-24 went into a sharp left turn. I told Mort to hang on and climb. We made a 180 Degree turn and headed out.

It took us about 10 minutes settled down, and about this time along comes a full squadron of B-25's. Again we tucked in on the right wing of the rear B-25. After about 5 Minutes or so, the whole squadron of B-25's went every which way. And again we went straight up an into a 180 degree turn and back out. After we were out of the worst of it, I called Mort and told him that usually along the coast, when the weather came in from the east, the clouds would rise a bit as they approached land and leave a space we could fly in and still see what was ahead. He said: "Okay, let's give it a try." So then we proceeded east to the coast and headed south. My guess was correct to some degree as we had about 40 Feet between the clouds and the water and they kept working up and down. As it was raining hard, our vision through the windshield was nil, so we flew by looking out of the right side windows at the line of surf. I tried to maintain a minimum of 20 feet in altitude and about 50 feet east of the surf line. Everything was working out OK, until suddenly the coast took a sharp turn out to sea. I pulled back on the stick, but too late. I didn’t quite make it over a tree which I nicked with the right propeller. We got back out to the surf line OK, but my right engine were shaking a bit, so I feathered the right propeller and shut the engine off. About this time Mort called and said "Wire, I can’t take anymore this. I've got plenty of gas. and recently have had a lot of instrument flying. I'd like to break off and try to climb out of this." I told him, "OK Mort, best of luck." He started climbing and I found out much later he made it fine. In the meantime I kept going down the coast, and I was awfully tense and as you can probably imagine, downright scared. I really had no idea just where I was except somewhere on the East coast approaching Lae. I kept going and all of a sudden I saw a small landing field with some planes on it just inland from the water. I immediately swung to my right to make a landing. however I was going to fast to make the turned to the field so I flew over the Westside the field and then headed out over the ocean. When I got out far enough so I could just see the field, I headed south down the coast. As I did the clouds came down forcing me lower and lower. All of a sudden I saw a wave that seemed to be higher than my wing. I hauled back on the stick, but too late. I hit the top of the wave. Hitting the wave bounced me up a bit and the nose started going down. I pulled back on the stick to level out and it came all way back into my lap. I knew then, I had lost control the plane. I leaned back and locked my shoulder straps, cut the mixture control off, and dumped the canopy. All this took very little time, but it felt like I was in a vertical dive, but it was probably not vertical. But none the less a dive. (The P-38, as you likely know, handles well at 220 miles per hour indicated and this was what I had been flying at the time)

I cannot remember hitting the water. I couldn’t see it coming, nor feel it, nor hear it. All I know is I came to feeling is though I had needles in my ears. I unfastened my seat belt and kicked out of the plane. My clothes and parachute had enough air in them to float me to the surface. All I could think of was getting my life raft out. It took me some time and struggling to do so. I was getting tired of trying to stay above water. Then I thought "You fool, you have a Mae West on." I pulled the string and it inflated and I laid back for a bit of a rest. I finally got a my life raft out and inflated. This will show you how stupid or cocky I was: Here I was in the sea with real strong and awful waves, trying to get into that raft over the big end.

I finally figured it out and turned it around and climbed in. It was full of water so I spent the next 15 or 20 minutes bailing it out. That was another mistake, with the water out it rode high like a big piece of balsa wood. The wind through me and my raft around like a balloon and it didn't take long to push the small end underwater and fill boat so it would ride better.

I think I was about a half-mile off the coast when I crashed. All went well after I got the water in the raft. The wind in the meantime was pushing me toward the shore. I could see line of huge breakers ahead of me crashing over a reef and into the bay. This gave me another fright, but I must have been on the crest of a wave and it carried me over the reef and into the bay and much smoother waters. Coming toward me from the shore was what looked like a native dug out canoe with two men. Both of them were wearing some kind of conical hats. I immediately thought they were Japanese. I got my .45 out and tried to shoot at them. Luckily the gun wouldn't fire. They were GIs and towed me to shore. We had to wait at the landing strip for two B-24's and two B-25's to crash land on the strip before we could cross. They took me to their first aid station and made temporary repairs to my face. I had torn off the bridge of my nose, and had a large cut on my forehead, in over my eyebrows. and my front teeth had been driven through my lip. They told me that the strip was at Yami Point. North of Saidor. The next day they sent me by LST to Saidor, and then by plane to in Army hospital in Sydney. They kept me there for about four months for plastic surgery and R&R and then back to Biak in August.

[bobbysocks]

some short tales...

"I'm with the air force, not the infantry!"
After forming the 432nd Fighter Squadron in the year 1943, the men of our group left on a ship from Amberly Field, Australia, heading towards Port Moresby, in New Guinea. When we arrived off the shore of Port Moresby, we got into an LCI, or Landing Craft. At that time, it was mid afternoon. The man driving the LCI told us all to make sure to duck down for the landing. He also said to make sure we were wearing our helmets, and that we were carrying our guns. We approached the sandy, golden beach, with coconut trees, and extremely thick shrubbery leading to the jungle. We could hear many loud, screaming voices, which we could not understand. We assumed it was the Japanese, and that we were in an invasion. I was trembling with fear, and I remember saying to a buddy standing next to me, " Hey, we are in the air force, not the infantry!!". We finally landed, and the front of the dull gray LCI dropped open for us to get out. Much to our surprise, we saw an estimated amount of 30-50 natives spread out across the beach. They were yelling loudly at us, waving their arms. It was their way of greeting us to their land. I asked a friend named Murray where the Japanese were, and I was told that they were about 20 miles inland. We passed by the natives, to load trucks to our destination of Dobodura Air Strip.

Close Call at Dobodura Air Strip
While at Dobodura Air Strip, we were bombed and strafed by the Japanese at least 2-3 times per week. I assumed that they had an Air Strip on the other side of the mountain towards the East, where the sun rose each morning at about 5:00 AM. I was crossing the strip to get to a P38 that I was assigned to work on that day. I was walking through the middle of the olive green, metal air strip, just as the sun was rising that day. I saw four of my buddies to the side of me hiding in shrubbery, farther to the side of the Air Strip. They waved to me to lay down, and were yelling to me to lay also. I followed their directions immediately. Right after I laid down on the Air Strip, something happened that was of great surprise to me. A Japanese Mitsubishi Zero, with it's easily visible Rising Sun design painted on it, was shooting at me. The shooting lasted less than 30 seconds, but bullets had landed 2-3 feet on both sides of me. I got up and ran towards my four friends on the side after the zero had passed overhead. As I was running, I noticed that my knees were shaking. I felt so scared, yet happy to have come out alive, all at the same time. I thanked them with much gratitude, once I reached them. They told me that I was extremely lucky that I didn't get hit, or even killed. I knew that this was very true, and I was ever so grateful.

Piss Call Charlie: A Pilot's Fantasy
On the East side of Dobodura, about 10 miles or so, stood a mountain. This mountain could have been 8 miles high. Every single morning, we were strafed by a Mitsubishi Zero at around 5:00 AM. ( around sunrise ) It aimed at our planes, and also aimed at us. It was a big nuisance, and we called it Piss Call Charlie. One day, a pilot was fed up with this particular plane. He decided that he would shoot that zero, and stop it for good. I believe this pilot was Joe Forster. So, bright and early at 4:30 in the morning, he took off in one of our P38's. It was a shiny, silver plane, which had yellow propeller noses. He bravely circled the skies above us, waiting for the Zero to arrive. We could see our P38 chasing the Japanese Zero. The P38's guns were rapidly blasting at the Zero. They passed the Air Strip, and began to climb. Our pilot got a direct hit at it, and put an end to all of the future "Charlies".


Pete Madison's Narrow Escape with Death
On a fighter sweep from Biak, Maj. Thomas McGuire led Hades Squadron over the harbor at Manokwari, Vogelkop. Spotting a small freighter, he ordered the Lightning's down in a strafing run. When queried about releasing belly tanks, the Major replied in the negative. The freighter would take nothing to finish and the patrol could continue. His men complied.
A P- 38 encumbered with 165 gallon drop tanks was a fearsomely heavy thing that in combat had two disadvantages. A single tracer bullet hit in those gas-laden containers can turn an airplane into a fireball. Young lieutenant H. N. "Pete" Madison graphically discovered the second liability.

Rolling in on the freighter, Madison focused on its bridge, now covered in tiny winking flashes his API rounds. This ship grew larger in the lieutenant’s bullet proof windshield when he decided to pull out of his dive. As the pilot pulled back on the steering yoke, the Lightning shuttered and groaned as the tanks’ full weight fought the pullout. Furthermore, Madison was still on cruise control settings, engines nowhere near requisite power. Instead of its characteristic zooming climb the ship sank lower and lower, the Japanese freighter now blotting out his forward vision. As the P- 38 barely cleared the bridge, a mast surged into view and Madison braced for a crash.

The noise and impact stunned the lieutenant as the right engine grazed the mast, the propeller breaking free and smashing the cockpit, Plexiglas shards badly cutting his head. Slamming into the mass flipped the Lightning over as it cleared the ship. Despite the pain, Madison chopped power on his good engine, righted the craft, and set out for home.

Squadron mate Lieutenant Harold W. "Hal" Grey escorted Madison out of the target zone and at 300 feet above the ocean they flew towards Hollandia. Running low on gas, the wounded Lightning made a belly landing on recently captured Wadke Island. Seeing no one tumble out of the smoking craft Lt. James A. "Jim" Moreing landed and ran to the stunned Madison whom he found callable he filling out a form five, "Report on Aircraft Condition." He had been lucky.

[bobbysocks]

The Split-S that Failed
By Col. H.B. Reeves

The 431st FS launched eight P-38's from Clark Field early the morning of March 28th, 1945. We, along with other P-38's from the 475th FG, were to escort a Group of B-25's whose mission was to strike Japanese shipping along the China coast. As a result of the great distance to the target, it was necessary to carry maximum fuel. Additionally, we had been given a secondary mission of glide bombing. For this mission, we were loaded with a 2,000 General Purpose bomb on one shackle and a 300 gallon fuel tank on the other. This was the heaviest load for takeoff that I had experienced in a P-38, and it turned out to be a piece of cake; I had plenty of runway left when I broke ground.
I was the element leader of the last flight (#3). Shortly after takeoff, a wing man up front experienced mechanical difficulty and had to abort the mission. It was necessary to move my wingman forward to fill the empty space, leaving me as Tail-end Charlie. The mission went as planned and after the B-25's cleared the target, we made our bomb run releasing at 4,000 ft. We then escorted the bombers toward home to about 30 miles offshore. As we had not seen any enemy fighters, we requested a release from the bombers. We received an okay. At this point, we turned back for a fighter sweep down the French Indo-China coast to the south. Twenty to thirty minutes later, a radio call sounded "BANDIT" and the fight was on. My flight, down to 3 P-38's, stayed at about 10,000 ft., while the others engaged the Japanese fighters at 15,000 to 10,000 ft. We swept across the area of Can Rahn Bay without seeing an enemy aircraft. Disappointed, we turned toward our base (Clark Field) and reduced power for economy cruise. We were a long way from home.
We no sooner got cruise condition set when I noted in my rear view mirror three Japanese fighters (HAMPS) at shooting range, their wing and cowl guns blazing. I yelled "BANDITS" on the radio and kicked hard right rudder as well as hard forward yoke. This action rolled me almost to an inverted position. I managed to get full power (Max RPM, 60 inches of MANIFOLD PRESSURE and full rich mixture) as I completed a diving turn to the right, coming up to about where I began the evasive maneuver. I was looking for the Japanese fighters. I saw my flight leader who was engaging a HAMP and his wingman was in trail behind and below him. Suddenly, another HAMP came into view and was lining up on #2 P-38. As soon as I noted this HAMP, which was climbing rapidly and trying to close on #2, I maneuvered to get into a trailing position. I was rapidly closing on the HAMP. He was 1400-1500 ft. above me and 1600-1800 ft. ahead of me. I continued to close rapidly on him and when I was nearing firing range, he did a rapid half roll, and started into a split-S.

Note: This was a typical attack maneuver used by the Japanese and was often effective. A HAMP would complete a Split-S, then roll out and climb to a level astern of his target.

Things happened rapidly within the next few moments. The HAMP'S diving flight path was bringing him directly in front of me. I lowered my nose to get a lead. The HAMP was in a vertical dive and our two aircraft were closing rapidly. I was looking at the top side of the HAMP as I started going down. I was essentially in a right side up position, but I began to lower my nose to get off a short burst. Both aircraft were at about the same altitude when I fired. I observed flashes on his canopy and wing roots just before the HAMP passed from my view. Immediately, I broke right to look for him. Instead of the HAMP, I saw the Japanese pilot in his parachute. My turn took me right past the parachute, and I could see that the pilot's head was hanging.

My flight leader and his wingman were engaged with three more HAMPS. I kept my speed up and climbed to join them. I was nearing them when a HAMP suddenly appeared from the usual afternoon cumulus. I promptly latched on to him and closed to firing range. I fired two fairly long shots, and splashed him. He was burning and smoking as he hit the low-lying hills. We turned for home and reduced speed.

We had gotten further and further from home and had several minutes of high fuel consumption during the dogfight. As we coasted out at about Can Rahn Bay, we slowed to cruise speed. We kept our heads on swivels as we didn't have fuel for another fight. We discussed the kills we had made and when we were about 15 minutes out, we fired all remaining ammunition to lighten the aircraft weight and give us increased mileage per gallon of fuel.

After landing at Clark Field and filling out the Form 1, I noted the sortie had been 9 hours and 25 minutes. That's a long time to sit on the folded one-man dinghy.

[bobbysocks]

a link to the war diary of james waymire a gunner in the 323nd Sq of the 91st heavy bomb group. has the original diary and a typed rendition of it.



https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=explorer&chrome=true&srcid=0B_DA9UVjLAgvYTc2Yjk4NjktYjYyZS00YWE2LWEwMGY tZWE3OTEyNTQ2YTli&hl=en&pli=1

[bobbysocks]

A Few Words about Thomas McGuire
by Major General Franklin Nichols

When I graduated from flying school in April 1941, I was assigned to Wheeler Field, Hawaii to fly fighters. I was elated, as this was my first choice and I arrived there ready to be a gung-ho fighter pilot and enjoy living it up in Hawaii. Then in December 1941, the Japanese changed my life forever and we were playing a different game. It became a matter of survival--- kill or be killed.

In August of 1942, I volunteered for the Fifth Air Force in Australia and joined the 7th Fighter Squadron, 49th fighter group en route to Port Moresby, New Guinea, flying P-40s. Initially, I was a wingman, then a Flight Leader, and then Operations Officer of the squadron. I hoped that I would become the Squadron Commander of the 7th Squadron, but that was not to be.

In March of 1943, Colonel Hutchison, the Group Commander told me to pack my bags. I was going to activate a squadron, in a new twin-engine P-38 Fighter Group, being formed in Brisbane, Australia. Starting with experienced cadre from the 49th Group and the balance of the squadron, new personnel from the United States, we were to have the 431st Fighter Squadron combat-ready in three months. I was walking on air. This was a chance to form a squadron using my ideas and my objectives and this is when I first met Tommy McGuire. He had recently been assigned to the 9th Fighter Squadron, of the 49th Group, and was reassigned as one of my combat-ready pilots, and he joined me in Brisbane. McGuire had little combat experience and no victories, but he had been in the Alaskan theater. Though I didn’t know it at the time, he was one of the few pilots in the Pacific who had been trained to fly p-38s back in the States, and he was highly-qualified in this type of aircraft.

At first I thought he was just another fighter jock and I welcome him and turned him over to Captain John Hood, my Operations Officer. Two weeks passed before I had my first serious conversation with him. John Hood came to me with a problem of assigning McGuire. He should have been an element leader but none of the Flight Commanders wanted him. They all said that "he talks too much." It was strictly a matter of personality conflicts. I told John to send Mac to see me and I would try to resolve this petty personality problem. Mac didn’t know that there was a problem, so I told him I needed an Assistant Engineering Officer who was highly qualified in the P-38 to test fly all the new aircraft arriving in the squadron. He would okay each plane or recommend proper maintenance for it. Since I was beginning my flying transition into the P-38, I also told McGuire that I needed an experienced P-38 instructor pilot to check me out and get me combat ready in that aircraft.

We met the three month challenge of achieving combat-ready status and we proceed to Port Moresby the latter part of August and on the day after our arrival we flew our first combat mission. We were flying out of twelve-mile strip for a month, and waiting for our new strip to be completed across the mountains in the Buna area. In late September we finally got the squadron together as a complete unit. Our combat results had been outstanding. We had been on several successful air-to-air combat missions. and our number of confirmed victories was rapidly growing. McGuire’s talents as a fighter pilot were soon evident and he was one of the first members of the group to be an ace, shooting down five enemy aircraft. With long-range P-38s we were able to escort the bombers to new Japanese airbases at Wewak, Kabul, and Hollandia, and our air-to-air opportunities had increased considerably during the period and Mac became one of our leaders in confirmed kills
On 16 October 1943, I received a call in the evening from the Fifth Fighter Command telling me to report to General Wurtsmith the next day. I caught the courier early the next morning and arrived at his office about 10 o’clock. He explained that I had been selected to return to the states for one month’s leave and said another month would be approved if I wanted to stay longer. He wanted to award me the medals I was due, that day, so I could return that afternoon to make arrangements for change of command of the squadron and take care of details for my departure. I was elated but also sad that I was leaving the best job I ever had with the finest squadron any commander ever had.

Late that afternoon I caught the courier and returned to the squadron. I was met at the airplane with the news that my squadron had been involved in some heavy aerial combat defending American shipping in Oro Bay. The good news was that the 431st Squadron had made a big air-to-air interception of a large bomber and fighter force with great results. The bad news was that McGuire had been shot down after he had destroyed three enemy planes.

Later that evening we learned that McGuire had been picked up by a PT boat twenty miles off shore. He had "borrowed" my airplane, since his was in for repairs, and he had bailed out of the burning craft after being wounded. It was that he survived as his parachute had become entangled and opened just before he hit the water.

There were standing orders that no one would fly my airplane without my permission. McGuire had taken it anyway, knowing that a maximum effort was important to protect our forces. I was glad McGuire had survived but I was upset that he had taken my plane. The next morning I headed to the hospital where I planned to ream him out real good.

I learned that McGuire had been repeating over and over, "My God, Major Nichols is really going to be mad at me for losing his plane." He was right, but he had broken ribs, shrapnel wounds, severe burns, and his eyes were bloodshot, and when I saw how badly he was injured I could only console him. I told him how proud I was of him for shooting down the Japanese planes and surviving. I said, "To hell with it, I don’t care about the airplane." Of course I was lying about the airplane but it made him feel better.

I was convinced this was his last combat mission and he would not fly combat for a long time, if ever. In fact, when I left in a few days for my trip home to join my wife in San Antonio, I met Tommy’s wife, Marilynn, for the first time and I assured her that he would never fly combat again. I told her I was sure he would be coming home after his recovery. How wrong I was and how mistaken I was with his motivation to remain and fight the war to it’s very end. He would be one in a million and my hero.

I will never forget the last conversation we had when I visited Mac at Hollandia. I was a Lieutenant Colonel with the Fifth Fighter Command and he was now a Major and the Squadron Commander of the 431st Fighter Squadron. He told me, "Colonel Nichols, I remember when we started out in Brisbane in 1943, you had a goal to make the 431st the best fighter squadron in the Army Air Force. My goal is the same as yours." He gave his life making that goal possible.

[bobbysocks]

This account is the story of James Reasman's time in the 27th Fighter Bomber Group

Northern France

We landed at an airfield at St. Dizier. Our quarters were tents located on the grounds of a fairly large chateau. The senior officers and the Officer's Club were in the chateau itself. Some new pilots were there waiting for us. One said his name was Dave and that he had been an instructor in P-47s for two years. As we were talking and getting settled in our new quarters, a Jug from the 86th came over and buzzed us in a welcome wagon gesture of sorts. The plane had a shark's mouth painted on its nacelle. I suspected it was my Irish friend, Reilly. He did a pretty good job and he shook the hell out of our tents. But the new guy, Dave didn't seem to be impressed.
"What's the name of our Engineering Officer?" he asked.
"Captain "Pappy" Devin."
"I think I'll see him tomorrow. Maybe he has a plane that needs a test hop. Something like that requires an answer." My new friend and I took off for the chateau to eat dinner and forgot our conversation.
The next evening during our usual pre-dinner bull session, Dave said he checked out a plane and buzzed the 86th.
"They won't forget that buzz job for awhile," he announced.
"Oh, yeah" What did you do; blow a couple of tents over?"
"No," he replied, "I buzzed them inverted."
I thought maybe he went down the runway upside down or something like that. A few days later I visited Sgt. Ed Gregg and found out what Dave did.

"Honest to God, Jim. I looked up and saw this belly tank coming at me with an airplane hanging from it. He got everybody's attention then came back and did it again and to make sure no one missed it, he did it again."
"You mean here or out on the runway?"
"Here. I swear he pruned that tree there. Then he went into a sharp climb doing a couple of rolls and then he came back down the runway and did the prettiest eight point slow roll right on the deck that anybody ever saw."
That was the end of the buzz jobs and Dave had a nickname, Dangerous Dave.

The Germans were being compressed so their armament was denser. Captain Wasserman, our G-2, maintained a map to chart our missions and the map showed the gun emplacements. Each 88 gun emplacement was a red dot with a red circle of about 3" diameter indicating the range of that gun. The war front was an almost solid line of red circles. German 88's were a pilot's worse fear. It could throw a charge up to over 10,000 feet with a black cloud that looked like a figure eight. I don't know about the other pilots but, in my case, when I heard eighty-eight, I flinched. And I flinched for at least five years after the war was over.

Captain Wasserman's map showed a solid line of three inch circles, except for one area where the circles were close but didn't touch. That became our corridor to fly behind enemy lines. Maybe the circles didn't touch but we always received one single lone solitary shot going through that spot and it was always close. So close that we nicknamed it Annie Oakley.

Other outfits used the same corridor. On day as we approached it,, a flight in front of us got its welcoming shot. The radio crackled, "oh, oh. Annie got me. I am returning to based. Blue Leader, take over the mission."

When we went through, we received our one shot greetings, too.

At first, our missions were similar to our missions in Italy. Hit behind the lines at supply centers and distribution points. Every once in a while, we would get a peachy keen escort mission. Our air superiority was so overwhelming t this point there were seldom any problems. I had almost seventy missions and had not seen an enemy plain flying yet. That was soon to change.

THE mission was composed of four flights, sixteen planes. We were going on a dive-bombing mission and it was led by Major Joe. A short time after crossing the bomb-line and after receiving our ceremonial blast from Annie, one of the pilots noticed enemy aircraft circling overhead. It appeared they were about to sweep down on us. Major Joe gave the order to arm our bombs, drop them, then form a Luftberry. A Luftberry manuever is strictly defensive. The planes fly in a circle so that every plane's tail is covered. If an enemy plane is foolish enough to get on one of the planes, there was a plane in position to shoot him down. That the theory anyway.

I found myself looking back at my tail and each time I did, I was that big beautiful engine nacelle. SO I relaxed and looked around. Damn! 180 degrees from me was a Messerschmidt on the tail of a P-47. At the same time, Major Joe screamed over the radio, "Kill him. Kill him. Get that son ofa bitch."

Nothing happened. The ME peeled off and joined his friends. Soon they were gone and we returned to base.

At the de-briefing, Major Joe was furious. I never saw him so angry. And the sad part, no one saw the ME except Joe and I. Joe looked at me and asked, slightly incredulous, "You saw him, Reasman?"

"Yessir, but he was opposite me. You didn't want me to break formation, did you?"

"Hell, no." He looked at me with new respect. I think I emerged from the doghouse at that moment.

Search and destroy missions were on the increase, especially when there was an overcast at a few thousand feet. On one such occasion, our mission was composed of three flights and the overcast was about two thousand feet, a very dangerous height. At that altitude, the Germans were able to throw everything at us; 88s, 40s, 20s, rocks and mess kits.

One of my favorite flight leaders, Pappy by name, was directing the mission. By the way, anybody over 25 years of age was called Pappy or some other antiquated reference to reflect his ancient achievement.

We found a train in a wooded area with very discernible white steam coming out of the engine. Pappy sent one flight down and three 88s opened fire. I think it was a set-up with the train as bait. Two of the guns were at the rear of the train in a heavily wooded area. One gun was directly under meat the head of the train and was located in the backyard of a house. The gun was protected by a ring of sandbags. I asked Pappy for permission to put the gun out of commission.

"Roger, Blue three."

I told my wingman to wait until I pulled off the target before he came down and I would protect him when he pulled off the target. Down I went and poured those eight 50s into the gun emplacement. I pulled off to the left and watched my partner do the same thing. I circled watching the gun. It didn't move.

Soon Pappy gave the order to hit the deck and we buzzed back to our lines safely.

We moved again; this time to Nancy, France. Actually it was only near Nancy. Our airfield was on top of a little knoll. The runway was steel panels or mesh. The hump in the runway was so extensive that when you landed on one end you couldn't see the other end. On a mission we aborted, probably due to bad weather, we landed with our bombs. The tower was usually about a good third of the way down the runway. When I landed, the tower started to scream so loud that I couldn't understand them. As I passed the tower, I looked over at them and saw the reason for their panic. The 500 pound bomb on my right wing had fallen off and was doing a creditable job of imitating a porpoise. All I had to do was goose the throttle a little and get away from it. The poor guys in the tower could only watch and pray it didn't go off. If it had, the tower would have been blown to bits.

We heard of an incident of a P-47 landing with its bombs, the bombs dropping off and exploding; destroying everything of the Jug behind the canopy. I was told the pilot came out OK but was deaf for two weeks. I wonder how he is today.

Our whiskey ration came in and I was very disappointed. It was two bottles of Black and White Scotch. I didn't like whisky much and that applied especially to Scotch. So I took one of the bottles down to the line. I was climbing into the cockpit to get ready for a mission. The crew chief or the armament chief would stand on the wing and help the pilot with the parachute, the acrobatic straps, the safety belt, oxygen mask, etc. When I was all comfy, I handed the chief the bottle of Scotch. I looked past him at the armament chief and he had a horrified look on his face. What did I do wrong?

The next day, the armament chief was helping me into my outfit. "You know, Lieutenant, when he gave that bottle to the chief I just about shit."
"I noticed. What the problem?"
"The chief is an alky."
I groaned. "It turned out OK. I'm proud of him. He took it back to the barracks and gave everybody a drink. You are a popular man down there."

The plane I was assigned had seen better days. When I got back safely from a mission, I was not only glad the Germans had not shot me down but the plane was in good enough condition to get me back. The skin had scorched streaks on it and the aluminum was heavily oxidized. A beauty queen it wasn't. The next week, that plane was polished to a high gloss. It sparked. Major Joe complimented me on how good it looked. He was puzzled by my nonchalance. I told him I didn't know what happened. I guessed the crew decided to shine her up. He walked away, shaking his head. Of course, I didn't tell him about the Scotch.

We took our laundry top a nearby village. We drove up with dirty laundry (and soap) and picked up clean laundry. The village was a farming community. In France, the farmers lived together, a throwback to the fuedal days when they lived together for defense reasons. The barns were on the first floor or ground level and the living quarters on the second floor. It made for very odorous living quarters.

We were informed we were moving again; this time into Germany. We were to be the first Army Air Corps unit across the Rhine. We were cautioned that the move was "Top Secret."

The day before the move I went into the farming village to pick up my laundry. Of course, I had no dirty laundry to leave.

The young woman asked, "No lange?"

"No."

"Departe' Allemayne?"

I gave her a noncommittal shrug.

She wagged her finger at me and smiled, "No fraternize fraulien, eh?"

So much for top secret moves. She was right. In Germany we were not to socialize or otherwise with the Germans. I took my clean laundry and left.

[bobbysocks]

This account is the story of James Reasman's time in the 27th Fighter Bomber Group

Germany

On the return of one of our missions, we ran into a flight of B-17s circling. They wanted to know if we were their escorts and we replied no. They pleaded with us to take them in but our flight leader said he would call for permission first. Permission was granted and back in we went. The escort was uneventful. We landed. Two missions and one landing; a helluva lot better than one mission and three landings.

The German Wehrmacht was retreating rapidly. There was a problem, however. They would abandon a town but when our ground troops entered, the citizens of the town would use their weapons to snipe at our troops and kill a few. A tactic was developed of setting up loud speakers on the edge of town and requesting the major to come out under a white flag. Some of my missions involved flying over towns that were reluctant to send out the mayor. The town would be informed by loud speaker that the P-47s overhead would come down and strafe them if they didn't surrender. Sometimes they gave up and sometimes we strafed. They always eventually gave up with no loss to our troops. P-47s were feared. The German propaganda told their citizens that the American pilots were Chicago gangsters!

On these missions, we were always given a secondary target in case the town surrendered. One time, our secondary target was reporting to a ground communications unit for instructions. Another procedural wrinkle was assigning a pilot to the front lines to work with the ground troops and tell us what the ground commander wanted accomplished. Our troops were waiting on one side of the river getting ready to attack a very picturesque little town on the other side that was nestled between two hills. The liaison pilot instructed us to strafe the two hill tops because there were guns up there. One flight took one hill and the other flight took the other. I could not see the telltale wink of enemy guns firing so we just strafed the hills at random. It was getting dusk and we asked for final instructions before returning home.

"Yeah, give the town a good going over. We are going across pretty soon."

It seemed a shame to strafe that town. It looked like a picture postcard. We flew over our troops, went across the river and set a few buildings on fire.

Another secondary target was very interesting. We showed up at a fairly large town. There were a few multi-storied buildings. To the south of the town, on a hill were three of our tanks. We watched the tanks fire and looked at the town and saw a building disintegrate. And then we spied a German tank leaving town. It was huge and painted "bad guy" black. It tired to make it across an open field; a very bad mistake. Twelve P-47s did a round robin on that tank. Our efforts seemed futile. I know I made at least three passes myself. Then one of the armour piercing bullets rattled around inside that tank and set the ammo off. Whoom…whom…whom. It didn't go all at once but time after time. I am sure our tanks saw it from up on the hill. That made me feel very good.

I don't remember my 93rd mission but I remember landing and seeing the field encircled with A-26s. When I shut off the engine and the crew chief climbed up to help me out of the cockpit, I asked him what was going on. He told me the A-26 outfit could not land at their field because it was weathered in. As soon as it cleared, they would be taking off.

After the debriefing, I went out to look over the A-26s and their crews. When I graduated from Basic Training, most of the class went to single engine. I was hoping I would find an old Aviation Cadet buddy and I did.

Red Ramsey and I had boarded a troop train together in Pittsburgh, Pa. and had been together through Basic. I invited him up to the Officer's Club for a drink. We were sitting at a table recalling some of our Cadet good times when Ellis, the assistant Operations Officer walked up.

"Reasman, Joe wants to see you right now."

"What the hell for?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him!" And he gave me that crooked grin.

I asked Red to wait for me and as I approached Major Joe's office, I saw six other pilots waiting there. What the hell; a secret mission or what?

"Are they all here, Ellis?" Joe asked.

"Yessir."

Joe had a big smile on his face and announced, "Men, I am proud to tell you that you are now First Lieutenants." And then he handed out silver bars for our collars. He didn't need to bother with me, I had polished my gold bar so much and so long that it was already silver. At least, it wasn't gold.

I returned to the bar to a celebration. Promotions always meant a party and the drinks were on the promoted. At least, I got to share expenses with six other guys. I do not remember much after that. I just barely remember going to bed at two in the morning, very inebriated. Guess who was awakened at five by the German wake up call? You guessed it. Me and two other very hung over brand new First Lieutenants. The Operations Officer had to be sadistic.

I slept in my GI shorts, swung out of bed and put on my GI brogans. I walked around in the chilly morning air, I poured cold water over my head, I brushed the fuzz off my teeth and when I dressed, I walked to the briefing room. I hated coffee then but I crank a couple of cups. Somebody told me it would wake me up. I didn't.

My 94th mission was a three flight search and destroy. I really was beyond caring. I would just play follow the leader and hope to hell we didn't find anything. At least nothing noisey.

But we did. A train. Didn't they know enough to hide when it got light? Down we went with guns blazing. Oh, oh. The sides of two of the cars dropped away…Flak cars and they started to return fire. I head never seen flak cars before but when somebody shoots at me I have a tendency to want to shoot back. Soon the guns were not firing at us. I don't know what was in those cars to warrant two flak cars to guard them but nothing exploded or burned. We returned to base. At the debriefing, one of the new First Looies said he blacked out leveling off for a landing and I believed him! Thank God, I had no more missions scheduled and I hit the sack.

One day, a few of us were sitting around the Pilot's Ready room when Captain Wasserman walked in. "I need four volunteers…You, you, you and you, he pointed. One of the "yous" was me. We followed him into the briefing room.

"You are to go on an escort mission. You won't get credit for a combat mission but you can log combat time. You are to meet a B-17 full of VIPs here," he pointed to the map, "And escort it up to the front lines. Just go where they go." He didn't know who the VIPs were…political, military, entertainers or what.

The Old Prospector was leading the flight and when we joined up with the B-17, he put me and my wingman on the left wing and he and his wingman on the right wing. The front is very easy to see. It was a solid line of smoke and dust across the face of Germany. The B-17 headed Northeast. I very dutifully kept my head on a swivel. We were protecting a precious cargo and I didn't want any surprises. When we were about ten miles from the front, the B-17 did a 180 and flew back to where we came from. "Hey," the Old Prospector yelled, "The front is back that way." Then he ordered me to cross over and join up into echelon right. "OK, follow the leader."

He started to do barrel rolls round the B-17 and then we did a loop off the right wing and then a loop off the left wing. Oh, Lordy, I thought. I don't know who those VIPs were but sure as the Good Lord made little green apples there was a very high ranking officer aboard and he was probably flying that damn boxcar. We were going to catch hell when we landed.

We didn't. But we gave Wasserman a good laugh when we told him what happened.

The rumors were flying about the end of the war but there were a few scary missions in store. On one mission we caught a German convoy in a valley between three hills. The approach to a strafing run was difficult. We would pop up over a hill, give a quick squirt from our guns and pull off. We were in more danger of hitting a hill or each other in the close confines o that valley. One of the planes popped up and gave a quick shot when he realized he was shooting at an ambulance. But it wasn't an ambulance. It was full ammo and it damn near blew the pilot our of the sky. At the debriefing, he claimed his engine quit for a second and so did his heart.

The next mission was an escort, usually a milk-run but not this one. Our three flights met a large group of B-26s. Our leader placed one flight to the right of the group, one flight to the left and his flight at six o'clock high. Dangerous Dave was my wingman. After dropping their bombs, we started to return to our lines. Somebody called out, "German jets six o'clock low!" Right under us. I started flipping up on my wing, knowing Dave could take care of himself no matter what I did. I saw a wing fly off a B-26 and another bend away from the group. Parachutes came out of two planes. I still didn't see the attackers. Then Dave cried out, "Let's go, Reasman."

I did a split S and directly in front of me was a German jet. I fired. I missed. I dropped my wing tanks and pushed my throttle to the fire wall and hit the water button. That damn jet left me like I was standing still.

By this time Dave and I were below the cumulus clouds and we started to climb up through them. When we broke free, I saw a P-47 ahead of me and he started to turn toward us. I thought Maybe those jets were coming back. I turned for a quick look, saw nothing and, when I turned back, a parachute was floating down through the clouds. What happened? Who was it? Why was it? I saw no flak and there was no radio message. When I rejoined the flight, I saw it was the leader's wingman who was missing. Damn!

At the debriefing, we tired to spot the general area all this happened. Since I was lost most of the time I wasn't much help. I didn't know that when a pilot went down, a team was sent to that area when it was captured, to find out what happened. A few weeks later, the area was captured and Wasserman sent two teams to investigate. They found out nothing. But Wasserman came up with a brilliant idea. A lot of Polish DPs (displaced persons) were in the area, used by the Germans as forced labor. So he sent Lipiarz, our only Polish speaking pilot

The Polish DPs knew and led Lip to a Catholic church yard and showed him the grave. The pilot had been killed when he landed. A tragic story to end a tragic mission.

[bobbysocks]

Checkertails - Part 1 - The Legend of the 325th Fighter Group

This is Part 1 of a Two-Part Documentary detailing the story of the 325th Fighter Group "The Checkertail Clan" who fought in the Mediterranean Theatre of Operations.

This has taken 3-years of research, which has included the discovery of new, never before seen footage and photos supplied by the surviving members of the now Legendary Fighter Group.

Created using WW2 footage, archive photos, the footage and pictures detailed above, as-well as interviews filmed in the US with surviving Veterans, this is Part 1 of a comprehensive history detailing the exploits of "The Checkertail Clan".

http://blip.tv/file/4433167

[McQ59]

Great Bobby :-)
Checkertailstory is ab fab!

[bobbysocks]

On August 19, 1942 Flight Officer Hollis "Holly" Hills, an American serving with No. 414 Sqn of the RCAF, took off from Gatwick in the pre-dawn darkness, as "weaver" (wingman) to Flt. Lt. Freddie Clarke. Flying at wavetop level, the glow from the searchlights and AA fire at Dieppe permitted him to stay with his leader. Once over the target, they were promptly separated; both returned safely. On the second mission that morning, they saw a huge dogfight filling the sky over Dieppe, and Hills spotted four Fw 190s off to their right. With his radio out and unaware of the German fighters, Flt. Lt. Clarke left himself open and was hit. Then Hollis caught one of the FW's with a deflection burst. It started smoking and flaming, then the canopy popped off. Hollis fired again, and the plane fell to ground. He headed for home, shepherding Clarke as he went, dueling another Fw 190 for miles. In his fight with the Fw's, he lost sight of Clarke. After that, Hollis flew home uneventfully, to a dinner made rather somber by Clarke's apparent loss. But next morning, Clarke re-appeared over Hollis' bunk, smelling of seaweed; he had ditched off Dieppe and been rescued. He had witnessed and could officially confirm Hollis' victory over the Focke-Wulf, the first of many aerial victories for the Mustang. And Clarke had the dubious honor of being the first combat Mustang to be shot down in the war by the Germans.

I joined [the Royal Canadian Air Force] in June 1940 and was called up for enlistment in September of that year. Due to problems in the starting of the Empire Training Scheme, I did guard duty until preflight training and selection for aircrew started for me in mid-December at the Hunt Club in Toronto. I finished that and was accepted for pilot training.

I reported to #7 Elementary Flight Training School mid-January 1941. There I was trained on Fleet Finches, graduating in March. It was then on to Service Flying Training School at Dauphin, Manitoba, on Harvards [North American AT-6, called Texan in the U.S. Army]. We were the second class at the station. I received my wings and was designated a Sergeant Pilot on 22 June 1941, the day Hitler invaded Russia.

I was able to swap orders with an 18-year-old who wasn't too interested in going abroad and obtained his overseas posting. Via rail and ship I arrived in England in August. OTU followed at Old Sarum in Wiltshire on [Westland] Lysanders and [Curtiss P-40] Tomahawks. It was then on to RCAF Squadron 414 at Croydon (Greater London).

We trained and did some OPs in our Tommies, hours and hours of practice fights [against] Spits and Hurricanes from the operational squadrons at Biggin Hill, Kenley, and Redhill. There was no better way to get proficient at airfighting other than the real thing with bullets. We got Mustang Mk Is in June 1942, getting our battle experience with them at Dieppe in August of that year. I got a FW-190--that was the first enemy plane for the Mustang. I also did some train busting and photo missions in the bird.

I transferred to the U.S. Navy November 8, 1942, and returned to the States in December on the Queen Mary. I was send to Jacksonville, Florida, for indoctrination as a naval officer, having been commissioned as a Lieutenant j.g., then on to Miami for air gunnery training. We flew Brewster Buffaloes and Grumman Wildcats. After the first hop as a student, I spent three months there instructing the instructors. [With the war only a year old, probably Holly was the only pilot at Miami with combat experience.]

I did a one-year carrier-based tour in the Pacific Theater in VF-32 (with them I got four Zeroes), then VF-150 and VF-97 till war's end.

I am the only fighter pilot who flew in the two greatest air battles of the war: Dieppe in 1942 and the Great [Marianas] Turkey Shoot in the Pacific in 1944. The thing that I am most proud of is that in my 25 years as a military pilot, I brought back everyone I took out, wartime or peacetime.

-- Commander Hollis H. Hills, USN retired

[bobbysocks]

Big Yank’s Crew Story

The following is excerpted from the book, "483rd," by Donald Stern, Turner Publications, Paducah, Ky, 1994.

The second Unit Citation was for a March 24, 1945 mission. It was called the longest mission flown in Italy, 75 miles beyond Ruhland to the capital of the Fatherland, Berlin. The target was the Daimler-Benz Tank Works which had been assembling heavy and medium tanks for direct shipment to the Russian front. The bomb pattern was accurate in spite of an attack by 16 ME-262 German jet fighters. In the ensuing battle, we were credited with the destruction of six jets against the loss of only one Fortress, the Dailey/Dean crew of the 817th.

The following is an account of the Berlin raid told by the air crew of the plane, the "Big Yank", 840th:

The 483rd is the only Bomb Group in the entire Air Force to be credited with having shot down three German turbo-jet fighters (Me-262) on one mission by one plane, and is the only Group with an aerial gunner to be credited with having shot down two Me-262's. This is the story of the gallant crew that was the Group’s tail-end Charlie in the Big Yank on the Berlin mission on March 24, 1945 and who won these honors for us and helped to earn the second Presidential Citation awarded to the 483rd Bomb Group (H).

Two days before the Berlin mission, the Group had bombed some oil refineries at Ruhland some 75 miles southeast of Berlin at just about the usual limit of the B-I7's range. During the Ruhland mission a direct flak hit on one of the squadron's planes had set it aflame and It began to weave all over the sky, out of control. Lt. Strapko couldn't see the flaming plane or have any way of knowing what was happening except for the reports being given by the gunners in the rear of the plane. The prompt and accurate comments by the gunners made it possible to keep out of the dying plane's path.

Before each mission, it had been the crew's custom to gather in an informal group on the hardstand and exchange a few stories and do some kidding. It was no different for this mission to Berlin, and the fellowship between each of them seemed to release same of the tension that everyone felt. And to add to this day's powwow, Big Yank's Crew Chief, Irvin Davis, found a Lincoln head penny on the hardstand and gave it to (Pilot) Lt.William S. Strapko for good luck. Strapko gave the penny to co-pilot Clair Harper for safe keeping. It was a comforting feeling to each of them that they shared respect for each other and had confidence that each would do his job well when the occasion demanded it, regardless of stress or distraction.


With "take-off'. crew activities followed the normal routine that each position demanded. But in the back of each man's mind there was this thought that "we are in the most vulnerable position in the formation and we can expect little protection from those planes nearest us ." Or, " we are the choice target for fighters." Perhaps even both thoughts passed through their minds, but such thoughts tend to keep one on his toes throughout a mission.


The flight to Berlin proved to be routine and uneventful until they began to approach the target. When they were about 15 miles from the target, the pilot warned everyone to be especially alert for enemy fighters and to hope that none showed up. P-51s formed their escort and were nearby, but some of the German fighters broke through the P-51's surveillance screen and dived on Tail-end-Charlie just as it turned toward the target, the most vulnerable position of the mission.


It was no wonder that the German fighters were able to get through our fighter screen, they were Me-262 turbo-jets and for a second they would be a dot in the sky , the next moment they would be a speeding ball of fire with bullets and cannon spitting out lead at their target. As was the usual case, these Me262's had waited far behind and high until the Group was committed to the bomb run, where the pilot must fly as straight and level as he can to get the bombs on target. There are no maneuvers or evasive action possible once the plane is committed. The plane and the crew are at the mercy of the flak and everything else the enemy can throw at it.


Alert as the gunners were, four of the Me262's came at the Big Yank so fast they caught the gunners by surprise. They were in echelon flight, and dived past the plane, swept under it and circled around in a large circle to begin their second pass and attack. By this time the gunners were ready and as the fighters slowed a little in order to avoid over-shooting the plane, the gunners poured their bullets into the flight path of the Me-262's.


The gunners kept up a running account over the Intercom of what was taking place. Tail gunner Lincoln Broyhill saw two Me-262's in echelon approaching his position and let go as they came within range, the first Me-262 turned away at about 200 yards, he said, "I had seen my tracers going into his fuselage and I'm sure he was badly hit. The minute the first fighter turned away the second came boring in, and I had to keep my guns going, and again at about 200 yards, it turned away and began to spiral down. My guns then jammed because they had been going too long."


About this time, co-pilot Clair Harper, who says he was doing what every co-pilot does at such a time, praying and feeling like he should open his window and fire his 45 out at anything that came into sight, glanced over to his left and saw an Me-262 heading straight for the Big Yank. He yelled to the top turret gunner, Howard Wehner, who, already pumping lead into one Me-262, turned his turret towards the incoming fighter that appeared to be headed for a collision with the Big Yank.


Harper then hollered to the pilot. "Bill, he is going to ram us! " There was little Strapko could do but brace himself for the expected crash, By this time Wehner was firing at the fighter and at about 150 feet, the Me-262 reared up and exploded. Wehner had destroyed his second Me-262 and Harper said later that he could actually see the German pilot's eyes before it was destroyed.


The other gunners had all been very busy keeping the swarms of jets away from their plane, so much so that no one really had much time to be sure that it was his firepower that knocked a plane out of the attack. The bombardier was keeping his eyes glued to the planes ahead so that he would be able to drop his bomb load upon command of the lead bombardier The navigator was busy with his usual assignments, none of which can easily be reflected in relation to what was taking place and at such a rapid pace.

How each man felt during this attack, only he knows, but Lt. Strapko, summarized his feelings with, "it's difficult to express the human personal side of events such as these because each of us had his job to do. Some required quick responses, others, like myself had it) sit and listen to the intercom to what was going on, and in my case, being preoccupied with keeping the plane under control, keeping information and in good position during the bomb run, and not being in a position where I could do anything to avoid the attacking planes."

He added, "I'm sure that the personal and human side that has been related here was experienced not only by our crew members, but by every crew on the mission, the fright that was inside of each of us, our thoughts, hopes and prayers when it was over, was a common feeling shared by all."

After the bombs had been dropped on the Daimler-Benz Tank Works, they came home, the crew calm and composed and ever alert until they were once again safely back in Italy. The fuel tanks were practically empty when they arrived at home base, in fact some of the Group's planes had to land at alternate bases to refuel before continuing on home.

The crew of Big Yank officially received credit for destroying three Me-262's and one probable. It shared in the destruction of six Me-262's and several gunners were credited with jointly knocking down a jet with the aid of gunners from other planes in the box. Lt. Strapko said it very well with: "Everything was very difficult that day while the attack was going on. Every man was fighting for his life and did not have time to keep score."


(On the one plane that went down, the Dailey/Dean crew, 817th, all 10 members survived as Pow's)

[bobbysocks]

The Saga of "Sweet Pea"

The 2nd Bomb Group
B-17 # 38078 on Mission 279
to Debrecen, Hungary
Marshalling Yards on
Sept. 21 1944

The Flight Crew Story

This raid produced one of the great flying fortress survival stories of the war. 2nd Lt Guy M Miller and crew of "Sweet Pea" were approaching the target when an 88mm anti-aircraft shell slammed into the plane's mid-section exploded, and nearly tore the Fortress in two. Huge sections of the waist on both sides instantly disappeared, control cables were cut, electrical and communications systems went powerless and silent. Half of the bombs fell out of the bomb bay, the lower turret was jammed with the gunner inside, and the explosion blew deadly debris in all directions. The left waist gunner, Elmer H Buss was killed instantly. The right waist gunner, James F. Maguire had multiple wounds but was saved by his back pack parachute serving as a flak suit, saving his life. The tail gunner, S/Sgt James E Totty was mortally wounded and died on the airplane. The radio operator, S/Sgt Anthony Ferrara was peppered like buckshot with shrapnel fragments in the chest.

The stunned crew started its battle for survival. Lt Miller and his copilot, Lt Thomas M. Rybovich struggled for control of the airplane and begin assessing what they had left to do it with. Most of the control cables were cut and his major control was through use of the engines which miraculously, were undamaged.

Lt. Miller thought about ordering bail out but decided against that when he learned he had one dead, three wounded, and one stuck in the ball turret. The wounded were gathered in the radio room for first aid. The bombardier/gunner, S/Sgt Robert R Mullen came back from the nose section and helped Sgt Gerald McGuire, upper turret gunner, bring the mortally wounded S/Sgt Totty from the tail to the radio room. McGuire did finally succeed in freeing Cpl William F Steuck from the ball turret. Later it was learned that turret was resting on only three safety fingers which were all that kept the turret from falling out of the airplane with Steuck inside. There were still six bombs hung up in the racks and Mullen climbed into the bomb bay and released them one by one with a screw driver.

Against seemingly impossible odds, Lts Miller and Rybovich now faced the reality of trying to nurse their mangled airplane and its battered crew across several hundred miles of enemy territory and almost 600 miles back to base. Navigator, 2nd Lt. Theodore Davich plotted a course and the pilots very gingerly set what was left of "Sweet Pea" on the long trek homeward. (This account is set out in the book "Defenders of Liberty" but I thought it such an outstanding achievement for this crew I would repeat it here.)


A First Hand Account of the Landing from Someone on the Ground

The story as told by Jack Botts, Ex-Radio Operator, 414th Sqdn, 97th BG, Amendola, Italy.

I was with the 97th BG, and we also had bombed the Debreczen target that day. I was standing on top of our plane, swabbing out the top turret barrels, when somebody pointed off to the south. There was this plane, making wide swings about 5 miles away, obviously trying to line up with our runways. We couldn't see damage from that distance, but were curious because of the odd maneuvering and the distress flares being fired.

The plane passed us about 100 yards away as it landed, and we all yelled in surprise at the big hole through its waist. Four of us jumped into a jeep and drove over to where it stopped. The tail wheel had collapsed about half way down the dirt runway (between a steel mat and an asphalt strip), causing the plane to ride to a stop on the ball turret.

We arrived at the plane with several other jeeps just as the crew was getting out. Somebody yelled that the ball gunner was still in the ball, so a couple other guys and I opened the turret and pulled out the gu;nner, who was in bad shape emotionally. He had not been able to move the ball nor communicate with the rest of the crew. One photo shows the turret hatch laying on the ground where it fell when we opened it.

Another account that I read reported that the ball gunner had been freed from the ball on the way back from the target. It's a small matter, but it still stands out in my mind after nearly 65 years. My wife and I revisited Amendola in 1990 and the Italian air base that is there now was laid out much as it was way back then.

That was one of the finest flying feats I had ever witnessed, since there were no tail controls in that plane. We in the 97th always had a good relationship with those in the 2nd BG, and I wish all its surviving members well. Best wishes to you.

The Ground Crew Story

The story as told by S/Sgt James Reiman in an email received July 7, 2003


"A tough old bird flew again! I was inducted into the service in Saginaw, Michigan March 1943. After basic training it was off to sheet metal school 555 and then shipped overseas to Casablanca, North Africa for more training. Several months later several of us from the 339th Air Service Squadron were sent to Amendola Air Field near Foggia, Italy. We were immediately attached to the 2nd Bomb Group. I was in sheet metal work repairing many B-17s. On this day, September 21, 1944 the mission left our field early morning and after the mission was complete the main body of crews returned to our base on schedule as usual. We could tell that certain planes did not make it back. It had to have been about 2 hours later when we heard this lone B-17 with what sounded like engine trouble coming into our base. We were working in our repair area near the third runway, a dirt runway which was built for emergency landings. As I looked up at the B-17, the fuselage physically appeared to be swinging from side to side. I couldn't help but think that the pilot and co-pilot were doing one heck of a job bringing her in. They held her tail up off the ground as long as they could and the tail had not snapped off yet. It came to a stop just a short distance from our work area. Little did I know of the condition of the crew until later. I walked over to look at the damage which was a lot of sheet metal work and said to myself, "God, you could drive a army jeep through the hole of the waist of that B-17". It was resting on the ball turret under the B-17 as it collapsed from lack of stability in the center area. I examined the damage and realized that the only thing holding the plane together was the four metal struts on top and bottom of the fuselage. They had to have been very weak from the trip and the explosion of the shell.

It was standard procedure that we work in pairs to complete our work as it would speed up completion time. After we salvaged the parts, my partner, Emmett Shearer, of then Oakland, California, and myself repaired the plane. Sweet Pea went back into service shortly after but only as a transport plane. She had seen the last of combat by now. I cannot remember how many days and hours we put into the repair, but the area of repair was a vital part of the aircraft and everything had to be done just right. I do remember that Boeing considered it the most damaged B-17 that ever came back after being hit while on a mission. Emmett said he saw a picture of it in Washington DC at the museum and also in the Boeing Museum of Flight in Seattle, Washington.

To this day, I vividly remember the sight of Sweet Pea coming into the runway and what pride Emmett and I shared in completing what was told to us as an impossible task. Today E. A. lives in Washington State and I still live in Michigan. We can still recall those days and our comradeship throughout the war."

[bobbysocks]

What was it like to fly a combat mission as part of a B-24 crew in WW II
by Chet Humeniuk 14 May 1992

"Every afternoon we checked the Squadron bulletin Board to see if our crew was scheduled to fly. If our crew was listed we usually spent a quiet evening. Maybe wrote a letter home. Basically it was a time to do some soul searching and to think of home and family.

The whistle blower came around mighty early in the longer days of summer. 0130 AM being the earliest. We had the choice of getting up then and going to breakfast or staying In the sack a while longer. Most of us opted not to eat breakfast. It gave us a few minutes of "twilight zone". The war sometimes seemed unreal and far away. It didn't seem logical that in about 6 to 8 hours the Germans were going to be doing their best to blow us out of the sky.

I don't know how all the Bomb Group's operated, but in ours the entire crew went to briefing. A curtain hung over our flight path map until briefing started. The big if - what target. When a "biggie" like Viener Neustadt, Austria or Ploesti, Romania came up you could sense the mood change. Less wise cracks, less talking. I remember looking around at the crews and wondering whether they or we would be absent from next briefing.

Next came a stop at the parachute bldg. Early on we kept on gear in our tents until someone discovered that chutes could collect moisture and wouldn't function at high/cold altitudes. Our chutes were our life lines. We treated them like babies. Always made sure the release pins were not bent, etc.

On to the flight line, engine run up, a check of what ever position you had that day. While I was at one time or another in every gun position/turret on the plane I generally flew the left waist position. Sometimes we had an extra camera crew member along. His job was to ready and operate the camera during target strike. We generally did not relish this. It further crowded an already crowded area.

A flare was fired signaling time to start the engines and taxi out. As our turn came up those of us in the rear of plane usually got up against a bulkhead. I felt we all "died a little" on take off. A full fuel and bomb load. Getting off the ground I felt was almost half the danger of the mission. It took awhile to get a few hundred feet of altitude.

After we gained some respectable altitude we began a circular pattern usually near our base and our B-24s began to cue up into formation. Once that was completed we normally headed out over the Adriatic Sea. Over water we gunners loaded and tested fired a few bursts to check out turrets and guns.

Then started the "long haul". It took several hours to climb up to altitude. Most targets we hit around 25 thou mark. Anything less like 22 or 23 thou we felt exposed. Maybe it was psychological, but we wanted all the altitude we could have. Actually the B-24 was only capable of getting up around 26 or 26.5 thou with loads we carried.

Eventually the formations got stretched out in one long line. At times one could see the sun glistening off of planes as far ahead and behind as one could see.

The 1st pilot was on the radio net with other planes in the formation. The rest of us were on intercom. We spent a lot of time just talking. Occasionally we would even sing a few songs to break the monotony. When I look back I am amazed at the length of time we were in the air. While the average time for our over all missions averaged 7 hrs some missions were more like 8 hrs.

On a few missions the Germans had hauled in some anti aircraft guns on rail cars and caught us with some pretty accurate fire about half way to target. Those incidents were quite a shock coming out of the blue so to speak. Our nose gunner got a chunk of shrapnel in his knee on one such incident. He was back with us in a week or so.

We had fighter action from time to time, but toward the end of our tour of duty these attacks became less frequent.

By the time we reached the target area our adrenaline was up. A small cloud of blackish smoke would be visible ahead. This smoke accumulated from rounds fired earlier on previous formations. Final heading for target was made at I. P., Initial Point, I think it stood for. We were then about 5 minutes or so from target. Anti aircraft fire we faced was field artillery turned skyward. The ususal fire was 88 MM rounds fused to explode at our altitude or on contact. Some big targets also had 105 MM guns, the "wham" from those I felt I could feel to the core of my body. The target area was where we took the largest percentage of our losses. A few planes took direct hits - usually there were not any survivors in those cases. Finally came the upward lurch as the bomb load left the bomb bay. Next the formation would make a big left or right turn to get out of target area and we started the long haul back.

Once far enough away from the target to not be receiving anymore rounds there would be a certain amount of chatter on how it went. A few other times when we lost a plane right along side ours over target there was more like a stunned silence.

The trip back was filled with various concerns. How our fuel was doing? Any engines that took damage? Would they keep on running? Occasionally an engine had to be shut off and prop "feathered". When we had a target to the East or Northeast our first goal was to at least make it back to the Yugoslav Mtns. If the situation was such that the plane couldn't be brought all the way back to base these area had friendly underground that would help bring crews out. Fortunately we never faced this fate. Our crew never had to bail out or ditch.

Once back over the Adriatic the let down was fairly swift. It was good to see Italy and home base. Flares were used by planes to indicate they had wounded aboard. Our 1st pilot was the only other crew member we had wounded. He took a piece of shrapnel in his lower leg. A good deal of the time we got back with a number of holes in our planes. In fact one of our "D" model 24's was named "Patches".

Some of the other names I remember also mainly from older "D" models, were Professor D and Flame McGoon. It was always encouraging to come off a target and see the older planes still coming thru. A good deal of the "Ds" had desert camouflage coloring from North Africa campaign. Actually they had a higher cruising speed than the new G and H models. Mainly they had less turrets.

After unloading from plane we were taken to debriefing. When we first arrived we had an oz of whiskey credited to us after each mission. After we had accumulated enough for a bottle each we threw a big party. Later we got the ounce right after debriefing. One time one of the other crew members didn't want his and I had a double. Going back to our tent I had the feeling I was walking about 2 feet off the ground. It was probably too big a belt after being on oxygen for hours, little to eat, etc.

Our tent, one of 3, sat in a small vineyard. It was very much like "the swamp" in Mash. It was home to six of us enlisted men from our crew. The Officers had barrack like qtrs. Many a bull session was had over the months. We eventually got closer to the other crew members than even our own families.

Finally came the day when I had my missions in and I got to stand down while our crew made one last mission to finish their req'd missions. A day of mixed emotions for me.

My last mission with crew had been on 15 July 1944. Our target that day was Ploesti, Roumania. It was one of the 5 missions our crew flew over Ploesti.

My mission record is dated 29 July, 1944. We were flown to Naples later to wait out a troop ship convoy back to the States. Our crew began to split up at the "Repel Depot" as it was called. Only one of our crew members was assigned to the same tent as I was. We heard daily rumors about the convoy due in "that day". It did finally arrive. About 12 days later we saw the Statue of Liberty as we pulled in to New York Harbor.

In looking back I felt we had a better than average combat crew. We had the only Eskimo flight crew member we knew of. He was our Flight Engineer. I drew 2nd Flight Engineer/Gunner. Our ground crews were some of the best in the world. The crew chiefs and other personnel worked their hearts out to make our planes combat ready.

We didn't win the war because we were that much better than the Germans. Mainly it was a war of attrition. USA and Allies just wore down the opposition.

We weren't all that brave either. Coming off of one of our missions to Ploesti one of our 24's slid back along side and below us after taking a mortal hit. A few minutes later our navigator said, "If I could have surrendered to the Germans back there they would have had another POW".

Did being in combat make me a better person? I don't know. Maybe a little more humble.

For better or worse we toughed it out and lucked out. The Good Lord was with us."

C.T. Humeniuk/Flight Eng./Gunner 515 Sqdn, 376th Bombardment Group H AAF

[bobbysocks]

The Frascati Mission on May 23, 1944
By T.Sgt. Raymond Roemer, Flight Engineer, 515th Squadron

"We slept later that day because the target was not a long one. Briefing promised that it would be an easy one. That should have been a warning to us . We were loaded with 1000 pounders and the Target was the Supreme Headquarters, German Forces. North of the Anzio Beach Head.

San Pancrazio was a neat place to fly from. The weather was warm that spring and on one occasion we went swimming in sight of Roman watchtowers on a sandy beach. The next day we would be at 20,000 feet and 30 degrees below zero, thinking about the warm weather.

We were flying on the left side of the lead ship in our element and we approached the target area from the water (the Bay of Naples). We started the run and then at the last second aborted. When the bomb load is released the lightened ship lifts up and away. This time for whatever reason we turned, did not drop and started a climb.

The weight of the full load made us slow and in the turn the ship on the right side of our element took a hit. It tore out a section of the fuselage from the trailing edge of the wings back on the waist windows. Someone remarked on inter-com "You could drive a Jeep through that hole".

The B24 is constructed with a main spar that begins at the rear of the flight deck then forms the catwalk continuing on to the waist section dividing at the Ball-turret and main hatch and ending at the tail turret. When I looked at that hole, the only thing holding the tail empennage to the rest of the ship was the main spar sections. Their radio was out and several of the crew was in wounded in the waist. The control cables run through the main spar in a channel then straddle the main hatch and Ball then continuing on to the tail section. The hole had severed these cables. They were in rough shape. No time to salvo and be sure not to hit friendly troops. So the entire element broke off from the rest of the formations and headed out to the water. Mitch and the other lead ship pilot opted to fly wing and contact Naples for an emergency landing.

The Pilot of the severely damaged ship with dead and wounded aboard salvoes over the water then started a controlled descent turning slowly, now leading the element. Mt Vesuvius was on our right with a plume of smoke rising above us. Suddenly the spar could not hold any longer and the ship dived in to the green slope of the huge mountain. By the time we made a 180 only a black mark on the ground marked the spot.

There were 11 men on board that fateful ship. The usual 10 man crew and 1 photographer. Mitch writes in his notes for the mission.They dove straight down and burst into flames. No survivors. Gallagher and Fuller, two swell fellows. The worst was watching them clean out them tent that night and try to not remember. Other accounts of this crew who all received the Silver Star are in Walker's book. I will always remember them and the brave men that showed the fondness and fellowship for their crew. It is something that only a crewmember understands."

[bobbysocks]

An Account of My Experience Leading Mission #206
By Ralph "Red" Thompson, 515th Squadron Commander

"This is an account of my experience in leading Mission #206 of the 376th Bombardment Group (H). The date was 28 December 1943, the target was the railroad repair facility at Vicenza, Italy about 500 miles northwest of our base at San Pancrazio, in the "heel" of Italy. I was in the pilot's (left) seat and Lt. Colonel Ted Graff, the Group commander was in the right seat. Colonel Graff and I were friends; I was the 515th Squadron commander, so he was also my boss.

The conduct of the mission was hampered by cloud decks and haze. We opted to climb to cruise altitude over our base, since there was a hole in the 9 to 10 thousand ft. overcast. This delayed us, but we knew the 98th Group would also be delayed. Arriving about 8 minutes late at our rendezvous, we did not see the 98th. From then until we arrived in the target area we felt that the 98th was ahead of us. Later at the 82nd Fighter Group (P-38's) rendezvous we failed to see them. Again we felt that the other groups were ahead of us. The 98th had been designated the lead group. En route we saw a formation of aircraft to our left. We turned toward them but soon determined that they were B-17's, so resumed our heading to our target. We saw no other aircraft, heard no radio comments. We flew between decks at about 11 thousand feet and were in the clear at the head of the Adriatic, as briefed. As we approached the initial point we saw a formation ahead of us. We thought that they were the 98th Group until we quickly realized they were enemy fighters.

By that time Jerry was attacking and destroying the 512th Squadron. We dropped our bombs on the target and turned toward base. We had lost 10 of the 17 B-24's that had started the mission.

Clifford Wendell wrote eloquently of his misfortune of being shot down, losing members of his crew, being a prison of war. He wrote further that I broke radio silence to try to find the 98th and the 82nd, that other A/C commanders tried to persuade us to abort the mission, that "ordinarily" we had instructions to abort if a rendezvous was missed, all inaccurate. I did not know that it was my "last mission" and I wonder how Wendell knew it. The furor after the mission resulted in me being "stood down" and thus my tour ended. Wendell erroneously assumed that my thought processes regarding turn-backs, finishing my tour, etc., co-incided with his. Not true. We had different perspectives, it appears.

We were not used to having fighter cover; we had confidence in the weather forecast. Colonel Graff was on his 13th mission, I on my 39th. We discussed the weather, the inability to rendezvous with either the 98th or 82nd so we agreed to proceed, still thinking the other 2 groups were ahead. What else? We were fighting a war, we had orders to bomb a target, we had 17 bombers and crews. We were combat crews doing our thing. It would have been a dereliction to turn back. The mission was conducted professionally. We got clobbered."

[bobbysocks]

The Raid on Vicenza, Italy, December 28, 1943
Cliff Wendell


The weather was rather bad on that day and most of southern Italy was covered by a heavy layer of clouds. There was some question at briefing whether or not we'd take-off because of the bad weather, so we waited at the planes for the final word that the mission was on. I was flying #65 "RED WING'', the ship we flew overseas. This was to be my 25th combat mission and the rest of the crew had about the same number except Jack O'hara, the right waist gunner, who was flying his 50th that day and expected to complete his tour of duty. He was not a regular member of my crew, but was substituting for one of my men who was sick.

As we stood around the plane waiting for the signal to start up, we all congratulated Jack and told him how lucky it was that his last mission was to be a milk run to Vicenza. We had bombed the same town 3 days before on Christmas Day and had seen no flak and no fighters, so we really expected it to be easy. We finally got the green flare signifying the mission was on, so we taxied out and took off. The leader circled the field at about 1,000 ft. and gradually every plane fell into its proper place in the formation. The 515th was leading that day with six ships, the 512th with six ships was low and to the left, and our squadron, the 514th, had five ships flying high and to the right of the leader. "Red Wing's" position in the formation was on the right wing of the high squadron leader. As one of the 514th ships was forced to turn back right after take-off, we had five ships in our squadron so there was no right wing plane in our second element, There-fore, our plane was farthest to the right and in an extremely vulnerable position.

At briefing we had been told that we would rendezvous with the 98th Bomb group and with a P.38 fighter group at an altitude of 3000 feet over a certain point on the Adriatic Coast. However, as there was a hole in the clouds just over our field, our leader decided to climb above the clouds and attempt to rendezvous with the other groups above the overcast. Consequently we continued circling the field and climbed to an altitude of about 14,000 feet before we were above the clouds and set our course for the rendezvous point, it took us about 35 minutes to climb to this altitude and as a result, we were 35 minutes late to the rendezvous point. Here we circled two or three times and Capt. Thompson attempted to contact the other groups by radio. By this time, they had apparently gone on ahead without us because there was no answer. At this point we probably should have turned back as we were instruct to do, ordinarily, if the rendezvous is missed.

The decision was up to Capt. Thompson and Col. Graff in the lead ship, and they decided to attempt to complete the mission unescorted. It is easy enough now to second guess their judgment in this case, but I believe they were influenced by the fact that this was Capt. Thompson's last mission, and he was naturally anxious to finish up so he could so home, if we had turned back then, we would not have been credited with a mission so he would have had to fly another one some other day, · Also the fact that Vicenza had been an easy target before probably affected the decision. At any rate, we turned north and started ftying up the Adriatic. At this point, a number of the pilots in the formation chose to break the rule of radio silence and started a conversation with the lead ship questioning the wisdom of continuing and suggesting that: we ought to turn back. Of course, this was pure folly, because if the Germans were listening, the fact was being advertised that we were unescorted. The mission continued uneventfully, and we crossed the coast line south of Venice at about 11:30. We were then at about 21,000 feet and slowly climbing to our bombing altitude of 22,500. We flew inland for about 40 miles and then turned North toward our target, the railroad roundhouse and engine repair shops at Vicenza less than 50 miles away. It was then that fighters were first reported, and we saw a whole swarm of them, like little dots in the sky, climbing up to meet us. It was later reported that there were over one hundred of them against our little handful of 17 bombers. They were all FW 190's and Mg 109's, single-engined German air craft armed with 20 mm cannon. The attack started almost immediately and our ship became the primary target because of our vulnerable position. The group was flying in very close formation for maximum protection, and it was comforting to see all the 50 cal. machineguns on the neighboring ships which would help drive off the attack. I was especially thankful for the nose turret on our squadron's lead ship, the first time we had had such protection as all our other ships were B-24 D's which didn't have nose turrets. Four fighters attacked from the rear and the tail gunner "Red" Sansone was just triumphantly announcing the destruction of the first one when six others turned toward us from the front and attacked at one o'clock in a string formation.

As they went flashing by a hail of bullets passed diagonally across in front of me, and I was afraid for the welfare of the boys in the nose. Charlie Borger, our bombardier, was firing the machine gun in the nose, but it wouldn't work properly and only discharged one bullet at a time and would not fire continuously. As the fighters went by they raked us from stem to stern and the noise of the bullets striking the ship was the most fearful sound I had heard in combat. Everything was happening very quickly now. The radioman, Arex Mikaitis, in the upper turret and Jack O'Hara at the right waist gun teamed up to shoot down two of the attackers and "Red" Sansone got another one at the tail for a score of four shot down. But the damage had already been done. I was intent on flying as close to the lead ship as possible and hoping we had weathered the attack with no casualties, when Don Jefferies, the engineer, clapped me on the shoulder. My first thought was that he had been hit, but as I turned to look I saw him pointing toward the bomb bay. His microphone had become disconnected in the excitement so he could not talk to me but the look in his eye told me what had happened. Through the small window in the bomb bay door I saw a blazing inferno. All our gasoline and oxygen was burning around 8000 lbs. of bombs we had there. As Jefferies pulled the red handle to salvo the bombs, I banked the plane to the right and left the formation, at the same time giving the order on interphone to the crew to bail out, and ringing the alarm bell. There was another fire under the co-pilot and one in the nose wheel cornpartnent and the cock pit was fast filling with smoke. The number three engine was smashed and there was another fire in the rear of the ship forward of the ball turret. During the attack Jack O'Hara had been hit and knocked down by shell fragments in the arm, but he had gotten back to his gun in time to help shoot down the fourth plane and then had been sprayed by burning hot oil when #3 engine was hit. Barely able to see, he was assisted to the escape hatch by Angleton and Young, the other two gunners who also had been burned about the face and neck. "Red" Sansone stuck by his guns in the tail turret until he had shot down his second ship, and then looking around he saw the others had bailed out so he grabbed his parachute and quickly left the ship.

Bill Lovaas, the navigator, and Charlie Borger, the bombardier up in the nose had survived the attack unscathed. Upon hearing the order to bail out, Bill pulled the two handles to open the nose wheel doors, but nothing happened. Something had gone wrong with the mechanism, probably having been hit by a shell. Bill went back to get his oxygen mask on again and Charlie came out to the nose wheel compartment. When Bill returned he found that Charlie had succeeded in opening one of the doors and had apparently slipped into the opening and was stuck there, effectively locking the other door shut. He was hanging with his head, arms, and feet out in the slip stream and struggling to free himself. Bill tried to pull him back in, and tried to push him on through, but was unable to budge him. Charlie soon ceased his struggling as he became unconscious through lack of oxygen and Bill followed suit shortly after when the oxygen in his walk around bottle gave out. Later they were both thrown free as the ship broke up. Bill woke up hanging in his parachute, which had miraculously opened, and found himself about 2000 feet above the ground. Charlie never regained consciousness and fell to the ground.

To return to the flight deck, Mikaitis climbed down out of the top turret, and he and Jefferies proceeded to open the door into the bomb bay, however, the fire immediatey advanced onto the flight deck so they closed the door again. My good friend and co-pilot Jim Parsons was sitting in his seat calmly donning his parachute and waiting to help me in whatever way possible. I caught his eye and gave him the signal to leave as I was setting the ship up on the automatic pilot. He went back and helped Jeff and Mike put out the fire on the flight deck and then led the way out the upper escape hatch, a little door in the ceiling just behind the pilot's seat. About this time I had the plane flying by automatic pilot so I left my seat end grabbed my parachute thinking everybody must have already bailed out. However, Jimmy was just pulling his feet through the hatch and Jeff and Mike were standing below waiting to follow him out, It had taken them more time, of course, to put out the fire and to make the difficult climb through the upper hatch, than it would have taken if they could have bailed out through the bomb bay which was the normal escape procedure. So I returned to my seat, put on my parachute, and connected my oxygen mask again. The ship had started into a slow spiral to the left so I adjusted the auto-pilot controls to try to bring it back to a straight glide. Just as I was about to leave my seat again, for the legs of the last man were disappearing through the hatch, the right wing weakened by the intense fire gave way, and the plane fell off to the right into a violent spin. I was thrown out of my seat and was pinned back against the control pedestal and windshield by the force of the spin, I tried with all my might, but couldn't move a limb or a muscle. I prayed for deliverance, but I thought I was done for, and I thought what a blow it would be to my father and mother and sisters when they received the news. It seemed as though I had been in the burning ship for an awfully long time and now it must be approaching the ground, All of a sudden the ship must have broken apart because I was thrown away from the window and was standing between the pilot's and co-pilot's seats, I was completely disoriented and didn't know whether I was standing on the ceiling or the floor. There was so much smoke I couldn't get located and was unable to find the escape hatch which evidently slammed shut when the plane went into the spin, However, I spotted a small patch of daylight which seemed to revolve in front of me, As soon as it seemed below me I took a dive for it. This hole must have been back of the bomb bay somewhere and seemed about 20 feet away. The force of my dive carried me through all the broken and twisted wires until my arms and head were through the hole when the wires caught on my flying suit and held my legs inside the ship. Once again I thought I must be too close to the ground to escape now and I thought the force of the spin would tear me apart in the middle but after about one revolution my clothes ripped and I was thrown clear.


As soon as I was thrown clear of the ship, I was surrounded by an intense silence, such as I had never experienced before, and I was also filled with a great feeling of relief to be free of the burning ship at last. As soon as I could get my bearings I found I was falling head first toward the ground and I still had about six thousand feet of altitude. I knew then I'd be safe and wasn't even worried that the parachute might not open. When falling at such a height, one doesn't really feel like he's falling, but it's more like floating in the air and the silence is really remarkable. I could see and think very clearly. A couple of days before this mission I attended a lecture on parachute jumping, and the instructions I received there came back to me now. I tried to maneuver my body around so that I'd be falling feet first before I pulled the rip chord, but as soon as I got my feet straight down I'd do a flip and be falling head first again , so I compromised and got my feet lower than my head and pulled the rip chord. The chute opened much quicker than I thought it would, giving me a terrific jolt. I had my harness adjusted loosely for comfort in flying, and for that reason the chest buckle hit me in the chest and knocked the wind out of me and probably fractured my breast bone. At any rate, I couldn't draw a deep breath until two months later. While I was recovering my breath I started swinging like a pendulum. At first I disregarded this and just hung in my harness and panted, but when I started to swing so far the chute started to fold under I began to work against the swing and succeeded in slowing it down somewhat. At first it seemed as though I was just hanging in the air, but as the ground came closer the sense of falling increased, and the last three or four hundred feet the ground came up very fast. I was on the up swing when I landed which helped cushion my fall somewhat. I fell forward on my left side and immediately collapsed my chute. I knew that speed was now essential if I were to escape, but as I could see no one about, and I was still struggling for breath, I sat down on the lovely silk cloth of my parachute and gloried in the fact that I was still alive. I looked up and saw a group of parachutes high above me and drifting to the northeast. They were most likely my crew members and I noted their direction so that I could join up with them if possible. Just then a B-24 came into view diving down and being chased by a couple of fighters. As I watched, it burst into flames and about five parachutes trailed out behind it when it exploded and the pieces came fluttering down to earth to land only a mile or two away.

I had landed in a plowed field on the side of the hill. As I descended the hill a couple of farmers came up to meet me. We tried to converse but somehow I had forgotten even the few Italian words I had learned back at the base. We came to a secluded spot and I sat down to examine my knee which I had sprained slightly on landing, All of a sudden a whole crowd of curious people began to appear out of nowhere and I had to leave because any Germans around would be sure to investigate a crowd. One of the fellows in the crowd who seemed to be a leader and was friendly to me indicated I should follow him. I hoped he was a partisan and followed along. We walked three or four hundred yards along the path, turned a corner, and walked right into two armed Italian soldiers. They held their rifles on us and one of them searched me for any weapons, and that was it. I was a prisoner.

They escorted me back across the field where the wreckage of "Red Wing" was strewn, and they allowed me to look over the wreckage for any sign of my crew. It was then I saw the sad sight of a body lying in the middle of the field, and I knew it must be one of my crew. I hurried over wondering who it would be. There was a crowd of people gathered around him, and as I worked my way through I found that it was Charlie Borger, the bombardier, the one who had become stuck in the escape hatch. You can't imagine what a blow it was to see that my friend was dead. We had worked and played and shared danger together for a long time and such experiences bring crew members into a very close relationship. Somebody in the crowd had removed his parachute, and so we pulled the rip chord and spread the chute over Charlie's body.

Then the soldiers and the crowd escorted me to the small village of Lozzo, about a half mile away, and I was placed in a small dark cell in the village jail. The commandant was a fat and haughty fascist decked out in fancy uniform, but he wasn't too proud to steal my pen and pencil set, and my billfold giving a squeal of delight when he discovered it contained about $100 worth of invasion money.

All afternoon i was this commandant's prize exhibit as he brought in his influential friends and proudly displayed his American prisoner. They all tried to talk to me in Italian, German, or French, but none could speak English. I was hungry and tired and sore in body and spirit and trying to overcome the terrific shock of the day's experiences, so I did not much care about being such an exhibit.

Finally at about five o'clock in the afternoon the cell door opened again and there stood two German enlisted men in Luft waffe uniforms. It was a shock to see them because I believe this was the first time the thought entered my mind that I would probably be brought into Germany to one of their notorious camps where the chance of escape would be so slim. They took me outside where they had a motorcycle and side car. The square in front of the jail was crowded with curious onlookers, but whether they were friendly or unfriendly I could not tell. I got into the side car, and the two Germans got on the motor cycle, and we proceeded to the town of Abano-Terme near Padua. It was a long cold ride as somebody had stolen my leather flying jacket, and I had only my flying suit and a pair of khakis to protect me from the wintery winds.

At Abano I was taken before an officer who asked me a few questions, he did not press me, but merely took my name and then had the interpreter bring me over to the officer's mess to get something to eat. He brought me to a table where two boys from the 515th were sitting, both of them bandaged up from burns they had received. I didn't know the fellows, and they didn't know me so our conversation was rather guarded for a time until we were sure of each other's identity as we each feared the others might be Germans trying to obtain some information through such a subterfuge.

I was served a large platter of boiled potatoes covered with a very good meat gravy and coffee. I was famished by this time so it tasted very good to me.

The mess hall was filled with Germans, but our table was near the back of the room, and we were left pretty much alone. We sat there for an hour or two and then they brought in about eight more fellows from the group to eat. When they served them, the waiters also brought the three of us who were there originally, another big helping of the same potatoes and gravy which we accepted with pleasure.

After eating we were loaded on a bus and rode almost all night to Verona. We were each placed in a separate cell, and after being searched and examined by a doctor we were allowed to go to sleep. When I awoke I heard a lot of talking out in the hall. The place had been filled up with survivors of the massacre so they did not have enough cells for everybody, but had to leave a dozen or more men together in a large room at the end of the hall. When the guards left the room, one of the fellows unlocked my door, and I joined the larger group. Here I found three members of my crew, and we were able to piece together the story of what had happened. They knew of three other crew members who were in another part of the building, and were fairly certain that everybody had gotten out of the ship.

During that day I had a chance to talk to every surviving member of my crew. Jack O'Hara was most seriously injured, having been badly burned, and he was taken to the hospital where he was to remain for three months.

At this time none of us knew that Jimmy Parsons, our Co-pilot, had also been killed. When he didn't show up at Verona, we were all anxious for his welfare, but we hoped that he had been able to evade. Probably the full story of what happened to him will never be known. Shortly after the war was over, he was declared "Killed in Action" when his grave was found in a military cemetery near the place where we were shot down. About a year later Jimmy's folks had a letter from an Italian Priest who found Jimmy's body. From his description of the circumstances, it would seem that he had been shot by some German pilot as he was hanging helpless in his parachute. What a tragedy it is that such a fine fellow as Jimmy, who had so much to live for, should be the victim of such unfair play.

During the afternoon and evening, we were all interrogated by a German Sgt. who could speak excellent English. I don't'believe he obtained very much information from anybody. He talked to me for about 15 minutes asking me questions about the group such as, how many airplanes we had, where we were based, how I came overseas, etc. When I told him I wasn't required to tell him any more than my name, rank, and serial number, he said he would turn me over to the Gestapo, and they could make me talk. However, he wasn't very insistent, but seemed anxious to tell me how much they already knew.

They had obtained one of the information sheets we had been given at briefing, stating each pilot's name, squadron, airplane number, and position in the formation. Besides this, he had some other records which he showed me, which listed the names of all the important officers in the 514th Sqdn. giving their positions. The information was all essentially correct except it was about two months old and didn't list the changes that had taken place. To one of the men from the 512th, he showed some pictures of his Squadron Area at San Pan, and he knew who lived in each tent in the area. So the German Intelligence was very efficient and was able to gain a great deal of information about us, though through what source it is hard to tell.

The next morning, December 30th, a small group of us were assembled and taken to the depot. They had taken away our flying boots and flying coveralls, so some of us had khaki uniforms and others had only their baby blue bunting electrically heated suits and what a comical sight they were.

I and three other fellows were placed in one compartment with two German guards, who were evidently on their way home on leave. Each one of us was given a half a loaf of bread and a lb. of butter as our day's rations. It took us all day to go from Verona through the Brenner Pass and then to Munich. To amuse ourselves, we talked about our German guards who could not understand a word of English. You would be surprised at the horrible insults that passed complctely over their heads, and might sometimes even be acknowledged by a sort of a friendly smile.

At Munich we walked into the crowded station, but the people did not seem to notice us. By this time we didn't look anything like the pride of the American Army with our black beards and makeshift uniforms.

After a long wait, we got on another train and traveled all night to Frankfurt. We walked from the depot through the streets of the City and here the people were openly very antagonistic as they had already been bombed a few times. Some spat at us and others made as if they would throw stones at us, and they all looked like enemies indeed.

After a long walk through the cold, wet snow, we arrived at the infamous "Hotel" on the outskirts of Frankfurt, the German Interrogation Center. We were all placed in Solitary Confinement here.

A person who hasn't experienced it, probably can never realize what a terrible ordeal such imprisonment is. My cell was a small room about 5 feet wide and 12 feet long. Its only furnishings were a table, chair, and a hard bed. There were two small windows at the end covered with frosted glass. The room was heated by an electric radiator which was controlled by some diabolical fiend who kept the room either unbearably hot or freezing cold. Here I existed for 4 eternally long days.

My mind was full of thoughts of the terrific experience of the last few days and of doubts about my future fate, and it was impossible to drive these thoughts out of my mind. The first 24 hours I slept a good deal, but after that I was all slept out and couldn't sleep any more. The nights especially, were interminably long.

In the morning we got 2 slices of bread and a cup of ersatz coffee; at noon a bowl of cabbage soup; and at night, 2 slices of bread and a cup of ersatz tea. Truly a starvation diet. I was so hungry that when the meal came, I would wolf it down in a minute and still be ravenously hungry.

There was a church bell someplace in the neighborhood which tolled off every quarter of an hour. I'd listen for the time so I could count the minutes until the next meal.

Many of the prisoners were interrogated here, but for some reason they never got to me. One evening a German Officer came in and told me I was leaving. I followed him down the hall and there I met Bill Lovaas and Don Jefferies. One of them had managed to get a cigarette someplace and the three of us shared it, our first smoke for a week.

We spent the next three days in a small camp in Frankfurt and had our first taste of Red Cross food. What life savers those food parcels were to be, I doubt if many of us would have survived a year and a half of prison life if it hadn't been for the International Red Cross.

From this camp we journeyed to Stalag Luft I at Barth, Germany. My navigator and I were still together while the rest of our crew was sent to a camp near Vienna.

We travelled in one of the small European box cars. Fifty four of us crowded in together and a good share of the 54 were survivors of the 376th Group. When we got together and compared notes, we found that of the 100 men involved, about 50 were killed and about 50 became prisoners.

It took four days to make the journey. We were so crowded we had to take turns sleeping. One night we were stalled in the marshalling yards at Berlin, and this was at the time when the RAF was making almost nightly raids on that City. Fortunately, they visited some other target that night.

We stayed in Stalag Luft I for 16 1/2 months, but as that story has been told so many times before, I will not elaborate on it.

On May 1st, 1945, we were liberated by the Russians, and on May 14, the 8th Air Force flew in and brought us to France.

[bobbysocks]

Strawberry Bitch

By Daniel P. Rice- Pilot- 512th Squadron, 376th Bomb Group

The airplane which became named the Strawberry Bitch and later was placed on exhibit at the United States Air Force Museum was assigned to our crew at Herington Air Force Base, Kansas, in late August, 1943. I signed an issue ticket for it there. At that point it was merely one of many B-24Ds off the assembly line at San Diego, distinguished from all the rest of its model only by its serial number — at least until it had received its coat of camouflage pink paint. At that point it became one of a much smaller 'group.

We took the airplane up to check it out and found everything to our satisfaction except for one thing. As we put it through its various trial maneuvers, I noticed that the air speed indicator registered consistently about seven or eight miles per hour slower than it should. (Climbing speed, cruising speed, stalling speed, landing speed, etc.) I recall commenting to the crew after landing that "It looks like we have a real dog".

But I was not willing to let it rest that way. I sought out the maintenance officer on the flight line, explained my observations to him and asked him to check the airspeed meter for accuracy. Clearly, he didn't want to do it. I'm sure he felt that it would be an exercise in futility. But I persisted, and with all good grace, in spite of his reluctance, he agreed to make the test. When I checked back with him later, he told me with some wonderment that his men had replaced the instrument. Their test procedure had shown that it registered seven miles per hour too slow.

As the various necessary procedures preliminary to our departure were being completed,
Someone on the crew was thinking that the airplane should have a name. I had not given that any thought, so when our engineer, Sergeant Haberman, came to me asking if they could name it, I agreed. When he told me the name they had in mind, I was a little taken aback. It would not be completely accurate to say that I "approved" their suggested name but I did accept it, and overnight through the talent of someone, there on the flight line, one pink B-24D number 42-72843 became the Strawberry Bitch. That is, the name was painted on there.

The picture of the red haired Vargas girl was not added until after we had been in the 512th Squadron for a while. I don't remember for sure just where that was done. It could have been at Enfidaville, Tunisia, but I believe it more likely that the picture was added after we moved up to San Pancrazio, Italy. We left Herington on the morning of August 28, 1943, bound for Dow Field at Bangor, Maine. On that flight, after much close observation, I concluded that our artificial horizon was just slightly out of level, and wrote it up on the proper form. Again, the flight line maintenance people promptly installed a replacement instrument.

The next morning we were off again, bound for Gander, Newfoundland. We carried a large brown sealed envelope with instructions to not open it until after we were airborne. After we had gotten lined out on course, I opened it and found Operations Orders Number 398 directing crew number 34-4, whose pilot I was, to proceed by air in B-24D number 42-72843 to Cairo, Egypt, and report to the Ninth Air Force for further assignment and duty. Two other crews from the Bridges Provisional Group were included in the same order, those of Lieutenant John M. Repp and Lieutenant William Metzger, Jr. I paid close attention to the new artificial horizon on that flight and found it satisfactory.


At about 08:45 PM local time on August 30, we left Gander for the flight across the North Atlantic to Prestwick, Scotland.

Most of that ten hours and twenty minutes was about as dull and boring as it can get. For the most part we were between cloud layers, so we could not have seen the ocean even if there had been something down there to look at or any light to see it.

Our navigator couldn't see the stars to check our position by celestial observations, so we just sat there and kept the compass on his dead reckoning headings. It was almost like spending ten hours straight in a Link Trainer. I did have one small diversion though. After a little while I had the feeling that we were flying in a shallow bank to the left. Our instruments said we were OK, but I couldn't help remembering that just two days ago I had an artificial horizon, which was not quite accurate. Could I trust this one? Should I?

That question was answered in favor of training over "feeling" and it turned out that instruments were indeed a more reliable indicator of attitude than the "seat of the pants". We made landfall just where we were supposed to, or at least within reasonable distance, and all was well.

I suppose that we would have been moved on out on the next leg of our trip the next day except for the weather. As the day began, a solid overcast hung low over the field, and nothing was moving. I think it would be accurate to say that the field was closed except for emergencies. We kept an ear tuned and an eye peeled for another pink B-24D, serial number 42-72844, with Bill Metzger and his crew who were traveling with us but who had been held over at Gander. We watched in vain as his expected ETA came and went. The only airplane that came in was a C-54, which rolled to a dead stop on the runway and stayed there. It was rumored that he didn't have enough fuel left to taxi in, and also that two very high-ranking Air Force generals were aboard. I can neither confirm nor deny the rumor.

It turned out later that Metzger and his crew had been up there somewhere in that soup but were not allowed to land. He was diverted to a small grass field somewhere in the general area, where the airplane was lightened so he could get it back in the air to come on to Prestwick when the weather would permit landing there. Of course the things removed from the airplane had to be brought on to Prestwick by some other means so it could all be reassembled for the continuation of their journey.

The next morning, September 2, we were off to St Mawgen, in Cornwall, which would be the jumping off place for the second long over-water leg on our way to Africa. Here there was another hitch. It was discovered that gasoline been dribbling down over the exhaust pipe of our number one engine, so it was determined that we should be sent to a B-24 repair depot at Watton, northeast of London to get it fixed. There they found a fuel leak in the auxiliary wing tip tank system, and corrected it. Then on September 6, we went back to St Mawgen. Another bug had to be worked out.

That same day we took off for Africa a little while before midnight, and landed at Marrakech about ten hours later. For some reason we were allowed only a very short rest and then were told to move on, even though we had been in the air about 12.5 hours out of the last 24. We chose a fairly short hop (4:40) to Algiers, and rested there a couple of days.

We made one more stop, at Tripoli, before arriving at Cairo on September 11. There we received new orders, to report to Devesoir, which was located on the west bank of the Great Bitter Lake, for the airplane to be made ready for combat and then on (or back) to Berka Two at Benghazi, Libya. There we would join the 376th Bomb Group. We checked in there on September 16, and were further assigned to the 512th Squadron. The Strawberry Bitch was now poised to begin to fulfill its purpose, that of combat operations against the enemy.

My crew did not have the Bitch on any of the airplane’s first three missions. It was assigned to different squadron "old- timers" who had the privilege of breaking in new airplanes, and I was sent out as co-pilot with others who had the dubious honor of breaking in new pilots. Others of the crew were also given temporary "one-mission assignments during this break-in period. We finally were put back together for my fourth mission but with a different airplane.

It was the Bitch's fourth mission — my fifth — before we were all back together again in "our" airplane. We took off from Benina Plain at Benghazi to bomb Tatoi Airdrome near Athens which was being used by the Germans in their fight with the British over some islands in the eastern Mediterranean. We landed back at Berka Two.

I think we caught them by surprise, for there was no fighter opposition at all and no effective antiaircraft fire. I don't remember any at all. The next day we were back in the Athens area again for the same purpose, this time at Eleusis Airdrome. The German fighters were ready for us. The "tail end Charlie" element at the extreme right rear corner of the formation took quite a beating as the fighters came at us from the rear. We were in the left wing position of that element and saw both the right wing and the lead ships catch fire and go down. We took a lot of hits ourselves, including 20mm cannon shell bursts in our main wing fuel tanks, but did not catch fire. Our top gunner (engineer) was injured about the left side of his face and head by fragments from the shell burst and holed Plexiglas, but fortunately the wounds were not deep nor life threatening. After a short healing period he was back in the harness and pulling his share of the load again. I don't suppose I ever did know the full extent of the damage absorbed by the airplane that day. Most of those details have long since dissolved in the mists of time anyway. But I do remember the three or four — possibly more — holes in the top of our wing and fuel tanks through which I could look in and see the gasoline gently sloshing back and forth as the airplane was slightly rocked by our movement on it. If I had a coffee cup, I could have reached in through the holes and dipped out the fuel. In retrospect, it seems to me that as I was watching both of my element mates go down in flames, that was the quintessential time and place for the expression: "There but for the grace of God go I." I certainly am at a loss for any other explanation of why they went down and we did not.

I remember too the good sized jagged hole in the left vertical stabilizer at or just above its attachment point to the horizontal tail surface where other explosive shells had found us. And at least one non-explosive one found us too. Curiously, it had entered the trailing edge of our left wing exactly in the center of the seam created by the riveting of two sheets of aluminum skin together. It had traveled forward through the wing and out through the de-icing boot on the leading edge. Then, there was a pronounced dimple in the center of one of our propeller blades, which it had hit after exiting the wing.

As we had approached the base, we could not establish contact with the tower, and once on the ground it was easy to understand why. All of our antennas had been shot away. That in itself was no big deal, but I think it serves to indicate the amount of bullets and shell fragments which had been, flying about the airplane.

So the Strawberry Bitch's fifth mission was sort of a rough one for it. That was more damage than our squadron ground crews were prepared to handle, so the airplane was transferred to a maintenance squadron for repair. It did not return to duty until November when my crew had it on the 10th and 11th for its 6th and 7th missions. We had it again for its 11th mission on November 29th, and Its 14th on December 15th.

The December 15th mission was my last flight in the Strawberry Bitch. Our target was the Avisio viaduct just south of Bolzano in northern Italy, but the airplane couldn't quite make it. Just about the time we crossed the northern coast of the Adriatic Sea, our number four engine started trailing a streamer of dense black smoke, so we feathered the propeller, dropped out of formation, and brought our bomb load back home. My recollection is that we had blown a cylinder.

Thus did my own personal association with the Strawberry Bitch come to an end after about 150 hours as its pilot. About 40 of these were combat hours, about 40 were in non-combat flights in the Mediterranean area, about 63 were in transit from Herrington to Benghazi, and about seven were in check-out flights at Herington.

The association ended, that is, until I found it again at the Air Force Museum in the spring of 1975. With the gracious permission of museum personnel I have enjoyed the privilege of revisiting its cockpit on four different occasions with different members of my family. I am deeply appreciative.

I am afraid that this brief "overview" has long since lost the quality of brevity. Perhaps I can ration-alize this by claiming to have added some bit of information about the airplane that is not contained in the Museum's files on it.

[bobbysocks]

Dogfight ends in an unlikely bond

Barrie Davis has long wanted to look into the eyes of the pilot who nearly blasted his P-51 Mustang out of the sky over a field in Romania during World War II. After 65 years, he'll finally get his chance.

In a rendezvous arranged by a magazine writer and his filmmaker son, Davis and his wartime nemesis, Ion Dobran, will meet face to face for the first time later this month.

It will be different now, of course. Davis, who flew for the U.S. Army Air Corps, and Dobran, a Romanian Air Force pilot, both went on to become aces during the war. Just months after their dogfight, Romania changed sides, fighting with Allied forces to defeat Hitler.

After the war, both men went home and resumed their civilian lives. Davis went into newspapers and printing, running Gold Leaf Publishers. Dobran worked a series of trades before becoming a pilot in civil aviation. A world apart, they worked until they could retire. But each held on to the memories of military service and wondered, at times, about the fellow in that other plane.

"I'm just eager to see him," Davis said of Dobran. "I never saw him or his airplane the day he shot me up."

Davis had been an eager recruit.

A 1940 graduate of the former Wakelon High School in Zebulon, Davis enrolled in early 1941 at Wake Forest University. That fall, he dropped out to enlist in service just as America was about to enter the war.

The way he remembers it, the Air Corps sorted men this way:

"If you were smart, they made you a navigator. If you were steady, they made you a bombardier. All the rest of us, they made pilots."

Davis was trained as a fighter pilot and assigned to the 15th Air Force in the U.S. Mediterranean operations, based in southern Italy. He was 20 years old.

His primary job was to escort bombers on raids. The one-man fighter planes protected the slow-moving bombers and their crews.

But from Italy, the planes sometimes had to travel three hours in one direction just to reach a target. After some delicate negotiations, the Soviet government agreed to let Allied forces put temporary bases in what is now Ukraine from which to launch bombing runs.

Davis and his P-51 Mustang arrived on June 2 at a base so remote that some of his fellow "Checkertails" -- named for the tail design on their planes -- feared they would run out of fuel before they found it.

On June 6, they were assigned to escort a fleet of B-17 bombers attacking a Romanian railroad yard, a nerve center in the network that sent war supplies to Germany.

He didn't see it coming

Three squadrons of P-51s and the bombers left around 7:30 a.m., with Davis in his trusty Mayfair 24. Right over the target, they were met by the Romanian air force. Almost instantly, it seemed as if there were 100 planes in the air. Then all at once, they were gone.

In fact, Davis could seeonly one other plane, that of fellow pilot Wayne Lowry. They fell in side by side and started back to the base.

Lowry spotted the plane that came from behind Davis. He later told Davis he had thought it was one of their own.

At first glance, historians say, the German-made Messerschmitt Bf-109G looked a lot like a P-51.

This one came in fast, firing its cannon and machine guns. The first cannon round blew the canopy off the Mustang and knocked Davis unconscious. Lowry went after the Messerschmitt, firing, and saw the pilot head for the ground.

When Davis came to, all he knew was that he was cold.

"The dew on my shoes from where I had walked through the grass that morning was frozen," he says. The plane was still flying along at 20,000 feet, where it was 4 degrees below zero.

He took the controls and surveyed the damage.

"He had just mutilated the right wing," Davis says of his attacker. "He was a pretty good shot."

He flew it back to the base, where he later learned there was an unexploded shell in the gas tank. It should have blown the thing up.

A surgeon and his assistant picked metal and plastic bits out of Davis for half an hour, wrapped him in gauze and sent him to his tent. There was no hospital.

That night, he says, the bandages started falling off, so he unwrapped them and went back to work. A few days later, he was back in Italy, minus Mayfair 24, which, as far as Davis knows, never flew again.

The Air Corps lost two other P-51s and their pilots on that mission.

First enemies, now pals

By October 1945, Davis had flown the 70 missions he needed to get sent back to the U.S. He chalked up six in-air "kills" and six more on the ground, more than enough to qualify for the title of ace.

He also gathered stories to last a lifetime.

Dan Dimancescu wanted to hear them. Dimancescu is a retired management consultant and sometime adventurer who has written about several expeditions for National Geographic magazine. He and his son started a film company in Romania, where Dimancescu's parents were born.

They learned of Davis and Dobran a couple of years ago from an amateur historian in Romania who has spent hours studying World War II records and Romania's role in the war.

Records show that Dobran claimed a victory over Davis that day, but that Dobran had to land his own damaged plane on its belly, and it likely never flew again.

About a year ago, Davis and Dobran exchanged letters.

He seemed relieved, as Davis was, that there were no hard feelings.

"In wartime," he explained, "my permanent motivation had been to put down planes, not to kill people. I was always content and thankful when seeing a parachute opening up out of the plane I had hit, because I thought that, somewhere, far away, a mother or a girlfriend were ... waiting and hoping."

Now two old men who have come to hate war - Davis, 86, and Dobran, 90 - are waiting and hoping. Davis, along with one of his sons, and Dimancescu and his son will fly to Bucharest toward the end of January to meet Dobran. During the trip, they will stop at the graves of some of the American aviators who died during the war.

"You have given me much joy," Dobran wrote to Davis. "I have got a new friend and I have received confirmation of a victory, fortunately not over Barrie Davis, but only over Mayfair 24."

http://vimeo.com/9245684

video of the meeting ( takes a while to load )
Two World War II fighter pilot 'aces' who faced one another in a dogfight over Romania met in Bucharest on January 23rd, 2010. The was the first time they met face to face in 66 years. Dobran would tell Davis: "I always wanted to destroy the plane, not the pilot." In response, Davis said: "I'm definitely the lucky one as a shell was found unexploded in my P-51 Mustang's fuel tank." Dobran shot Davis' fighter from his own Romanian Air Force Bf109 Messerschmitt only to be later by Davis' squad leader.

[bobbysocks]

two more former foes meet...

Back in 1990 I met two former fighter pilots who last saw each other in 1944;one was German,the other a Texan of the A.A.C..
The place was Dobbins Air Force Base,Marietta,Georgia.
The German was Oblt.Gunther Schack (R.K.holder) andthe American was Bud Nowlin. Herr Schack spoke very little English so I translated for them.
Here's some of what Schack said: "I owe my life to a good man!
I was stationed in the third group of Fighter Wing Molders in Lyck,E.Prussia on the 6 Aug.,1944. We were astounded that a hundred American "furniture vans" (4 motor aircraft) were flying from Danzig eastwards. Every available plane was ordered to intercept-ALL NINE OF US!
The group commander was elsewhere (Hptm.Diethelm Eichelstreiber) and so I had to take command. We met the "big herd" at the (for us) unusual height of 18,000 feet....very close to the Russian front lines.
It was reported to us that no fighter escort was present and it took a seemingly long time for us to overtake the bombers, which flew at many different heights, and to attack from the front head-on.
But before we could attack Mustangs suddenly appeared out of the sun. My old patched up ME 109 took a hit in the cooler and I had no more thoughts than to continue west and make a belly landing in German territory.
As I was concentrating on a place to land and diving somewhat to cool the engine, suddenly a Mustang pulled alongside me and our eyes met. Then,he waved and continued east...After I was on the ground I received artillery fire and was hustled to cover by some German infantrymen into a bunker. Almost on the frontline I had landed in a small salient surrounded on three sides by the Russians!
Again and again I've asked myself: "Why didn't the American fighter pilot continue to shoot? Did he have jammed guns or not?"

And the Texans (Bud Nowlin) view: "I hit him twice and knocked out his engine, but didn't kill him. Before he went down I flew up alongside him and was so close I could see the differences in our oxygen masks. I gave him a wave and kept going."

It tooK 46 years before these two men met again.
Bill Graham,a New York businessman, German speaker and aviation buff, was the man responsible for Schack's efforts over the years to locate the chivalrous American pilot.
Pouring over old military records and flight logs Graham at last had his man and the two began communicating. Bud lives in Texas.
Then, at Dobbins A.F.B.-these two old eagles met in person.
I felt it an honor to act as a conduit between these two interesting men.
Following a long visit I escorted Herr Schack to a local Civil War battlefield park (Kennesaw Mountain) and conversed in German about this long ago action.
Herr Schack further stated that, "on that day in 1944 I became a pacifist and remain so today."
Maybe there is hope for mankind yet...J.v.Canon

hollis "bud" nowlin hosted gunther schack's visit to the 357th reunion in georgia years ago. the two remained good friends to the end.

[bobbysocks]

Combat Experience of Dean O. Holman


Our third mission was a target in Germany . The plane we were flying had been on over 50 missions. The engines were not running right, but our pilot did not want to turn back. We flew into a snow storm over the Alps in formation, but came out of the storm with no other planes around. We did turn back because we could not keep up with the formation. We got back and was ready to land. But we were about four miles from the air field. I was in the back of the plane and had checked to see that the landing gear was down and locked. I called the pilot on the intercom and verified that the gear was down and locked. The three other men in the back of the plane were also preparing to land. We heard a noise in the bomb bay like a cable snapping. I checked on it but saw nothing wrong. We still had the twelve 500 pound bombs on board. I sat down on a box of ammunition to take off the electric flight boots and put my shoes on.

Suddenly we hit the ground. As we did an ammunition belt fell out of a box that was mounted high on the outside wall of the plane and hit me on the head. The plane hit some rocks and stopped suddenly. The next thing I knew I landed in the laps of the other three who were sitting with their backs against the bulkheads--their usual position during landings. My first thought was that the landing gear was not locked and had given way. But when the pilot and copilot seen that we were going to land in a field they pulled the gear up to make a belly landing on the cultivated field. I thought that we were landing on the runway. We were about four miles short of making it back to the air base.

My head wound bled a lot. By the time several hours later that the medics got to me they thought I was hurt pretty bad. I hadn't shaved for a couple of days. I looked pretty rough with blood running down the sides of my head into my beard. They gave me my first purple heart for that injury. By the time I actually got it my head was all healed up.

When the plane stopped moving we tried to open the waist windows to get out, but they were jammed and would not open. Through the small glass in the center of the window we could see one engine smoking. The floor of the plane was about twelve to eighteen inches off the ground at the belly gun mount. There was some glass in that section. The tail gunner, Sergeant Nustad, picked up a fifty caliber machine gun and broke out a hole large enough for us to crawl through. This plane was built before they started putting a ball turret in them. So there was an opening in the bottom where the ball turret was installed on later planes that was covered with plexi-glass and had bars across as machine gun mounts. The machine gun was the only thing we had heavy enough to break the glass and knock the gun mount out so we could get out.

We used a fire extinguisher and threw dirt on the engine that was smoking to put out the fire. The pilot and copilot made a very good belly landing, but we slid into a large pile of rocks which brought us to a sudden stop. Those in the front of the plane got out through a broken window in the cockpit.

As the navigator, Lieutenant McKay, was going out he heard Sergeant Philip Dickey say his feet were caught, and he couldn't get out. The bombs had come forward and bent the bulkhead against his feet. A gas line was broken, and high-test gasoline was dripping on Dickey's lower legs and feet. Lieutenant McKay went back in the plane and stayed with Philip, and gave him some morphine for pain. A young boy rode a horse to where we were but left before we could get the horse to go for help.

A short time later the base sent a plane to look for us. We fired several flares so they could see us. We also laid down in the field so they would know someone was injured. They had trouble finding an opening in the rock wall large enough to get the medical and rescue equipment to us. Before they arrived I crawled around the bombs to see if I could get to Philip's feet, but I couldn't get to them.

One doctor thought they would have to cut his feet off to get him out. They had to be especially careful because of the leaking gasoline. But they started tearing the airplane apart. While they were working we heard a hissing sound that we thought was a bomb about to go off. We all started to run. The pilot had an injured leg but he still ran over me. Turned out it was a leaking oxigen tank. Around 10:00 PM they made the rest of us return to the base. They got him out about two hours later, about eight hours after we crashed. They saved Philip's feet, but he had a lot of trouble and pain the rest of his life. Years later, while visiting Philip and his wife, Sally, he told us that back home the morning after the crash their 3-year-old daughter woke up and told her mother, "Daddy went boom."

A short time after that crash the nine of us--all of our crew except Dickey, who was in the hospital--was to go to the Isle of Capri for a week of rest leave. They put about twenty men on a B-24 to fly us to Naples , Italy . The plane only got about 500 feet off the ground and wouldn't go any higher, so we landed and got on another plane. We all enjoyed the week of leave. But even after the leave our tail gunner, Art Nustad, was still afraid to fly. He quit flying and was assigned other duties.

After returning from rest leave we flew ten more missions. I think they were mostly over Yugoslavia . I had not flown over Germany until February 22, 1944 , when we went to Regensburg , Germany . We returned without much trouble. The heater in the cockpit quit working and our pilot, Lieutenant Thurman's feet were frostbitten. So our crew was not supposed to fly the next day.

At 4:00 the next morning they woke me and said I was to fly with another crew. One of their crew was sick (drank too much the night before). The pilot of that crew was Captain Henry B. Gibbons from Ft. Worth , Texas , and the copilot was Second Lieutenant Michael J. Solow from Grand Rapids , Michigan . Keith Denton, our other (right) waist gunner, flew with another crew that day, too.

We were going to Styer, Austria , to bomb a ball bearing factory. Before we got there we encountered a lot of German fighter planes, Messerschmidt 109s. All the fighters I saw were Goring Yellow Noses. I was hit in the left ankle, which was broken, and had several shrapnel wounds. Whenever we encountered enemy fire we had flack vests we put on. They snapped at each shoulder. The snaps were so high on the shoulder that we couldn't snap them ourselves. The other waist gunner couldn't get one of mine snapped. So my flack vest must have fallen off in the fracas. I don't remember ever taking it off. I wouldn't have gotten as many shrapnel wounds in my chest and back if it had been in place.

Two of the other gunners were also hit. It was customary for the pilot to give the order to bail out, but the intercom was out to the front of the plane. The pilot and copilot may not have been able to give us the order to bail out even if the intercom had been working. After we got home we found out that the pilot and copilot were the only ones killed in our crew that day. It seems they died from enemy fire while the plane was still in the air.

When we saw the plane was on fire we made the decision on our own that it was time to bail out. The place to bail out of a B-24 was a hole in the floor, not an opening in the wall like we often picture. We were trained to sit at the hole with our feet hanging, then jump out feet first. The first guy was sitting at the hole hesitating to jump. But the second guy was ready and anxious to get out of the burning plane. So he shoved the first guy out.

I had trouble getting my parachute on, so I was the last one of the four men at the back of the plane to get out. The first aid kit that was on the parachute harness had slipped down and was in the way to snap the parachute on my chest. I finally got it. I didn't take the time to unhook my oxygen mask and intercom. My injured left ankle hurt enough that I was hopping around on one leg. I didn't want to try to maneuver around to sit down at the hole to bail out, so I just dove through the hole head first.

We attached our parachute to a harness on our chest. So we were trained to lean back when we pulled the rip cord. Otherwise the shroud lines could cut your face all up as they were yanked out by the parachute. Apparently I did that okay. I didn't have any trouble with the shroud lines.

A lot of planes were shot down and a lot a parachutes were in the air. A German fighter flew by me and the pilot waved at me. I waved back. It was no time not to be sociable. Glad he didn't shoot.

We were trained to bend our legs when we landed. I was especially careful to bend my left leg. I sure didn't want to land on it. I made a pretty good landing. I landed several yards from a farmhouse. Four older men picked me up and took me to the farm house. Later a German soldier came to the house and they gave me first aid. The navigator of the crew I was with was in the same farm house. They put us in a bobsled pulled by two horses and took us to an ambulance waiting on a road. There was several inches of snow on the ground.

That is the last I remember until I woke up the next morning in a hospital room in Wels, Austria, with a cast on my leg and several bandages. I got gangrene in my leg and a week later an Austrian doctor, Dr. Mussman (pronounced MOOSE muhn), amputated my leg below the knee. In the bed next to me was Morris Ruttenburg, the tail gunner of the crew I was flying with. He had been shot in the right ankle. Two other Americans were in the room--Joe Fritsche from Sacramento , California , and Lieutenant Kendall Mork from North Dakota . We spent the next three months in those beds in that room, and the following eight months in a prisoner of war hospital.

[bobbysocks]

in honor of the anniversary of the doolittle raid...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlFAk0NAJko&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgt8PMoRGG8&featur

[bobbysocks]

454 & 459 RAAF stories from the middle east...

Stories from Bob Norman - 459

(1) The blankets

Whilst in Sarafaud Hospital, Palestine receiving treatment for a burst eardrum, Bob Norman chatted with a chap with leg wounds. Bob discovered he'd been in charge of transport and had a lot to do with evacuating wounded of both sides from the firing line to hospital.

"We had a lot of trouble with the Arabs," he said.

"What Stealing?" Bob asked.

"Yes blankets. They would hop on to the back of the trucks and pull the blankets off the wounded. We lost hundreds of blankets that way until we planted a guard on each truck. Each guard carried a few hand grenades, and if a 'wog' took a blanket he got a 'pineapple' to go with it. That put a sudden stop to the blanket stealing".



(2) The German goods

"Eastern Command decided to give the ground crews of 459 a rest as they had been fighting backwards and forwards along the North African coast for nearly 3 years, and although they had individual leave they needed a break in the "green belt" ----- a few months in the lush fields of Palestine would work wonders for them. We packed up and within the hour we were on our way to Ramat David.

The North African desert is absolutely amazing. One can spend months out there and not see a soul other than one's own people, but decide to move and within minutes the place is swarming with desert nomads. They seemed to pop up out of the ground. It would have been alright if they had waited until we had packed up all we wanted and then helped themselves. But they couldn't bear to wait and started carrying away items we intended to take with us. -----"

That being said, Bob went on to describe a funny story of Bill East (459) and Jack Simmonds (459 - RAF) with some 'left-behind German' goods...

"Bill and Jack found a perfectly good German BMW motor-bike in the desert which they rode about the compound. Joe Aitken (459)and Arnold Jones, another new pilot, found a German desert car in which they used to drive to the Mediterranean for swims. They couldn't use any of our fuel, but that didn't matter; there were plenty of dumps of Italian fuel. Joe and Arnold knew they couldn't take the desert car to Ramat David, so they left it in the bundu for the next mob to use.

But Bill and Jack were determined to take the BMW with us, they tried the aircraft door but it wouldn't go through, so they asked me could they use the bomb bay. I said yes, provided they could sling it on the bomb racks and clear of the bomb doors. "I'll give you ten minutes," I said. I knew the Chief didn't want his record of "up and away within the hour" spoiled.

They were still trying to sling the motorbike up when time ran out. The other aircraft were starting their motors so I had to order them away while I closed the bomb doors before starting up. They were like little boys losing a toy. I'm sure I saw tears in their eyes as we taxied away leaving the bike behind."


Story from Kev O'Brien - 454

The Parachute

One day while I was sitting in the turret happily shooting down M E 109's, F W 190's, J U 88's (in my imagination).... Harold 'Blue' Munce - (454) was watching bombs dropping on target through the bottom hatch when something flew past his head and disappeared below. He called me on the intercom -- "Hey Kev your parachute has just fallen out!". "No Blue, that was your chute". "No Kev I've still got mine" And so the conversation continued till -- "You be nice to me Kev, you know you need me to jerk the quick release catch for you to get out of the turret!" "OK Blue, it was my chute!" From up the front -- "You two shut-up back there, we're here on serious business!".

Of course I knew that if the worst happened Blue would hand me the chute -- "Here Kev, you take it, I'll stay with the aircraft". "No Blue I cant let you sacrifice your life for me!" "Yes Kev, you're a better bloke than I am - the world can ill afford to lose you!" He was right of course. "OK Blue, I'll see you get a posthumous VC for this!". From up the front again "will you two shut-up!! If you're going to go on like this whenever we go out, I'll leave you at home next trip!". In response to that terrible threat all we could do was make rude signs with our fingers towards the front, who would like to miss a chance to get shot down? As it happened , of course, nothing bad happened till we got home when the parachute section refused to believe that we could let a chute fall out. "You buggers have pinched the thing and are going to flog it to the tailor in the village!". Sometimes the truth just cant be believable!


Here is an incident remembered by Blue Munce - 454 and told by Kev O'Brien

We were taking off from Benghazi one time in order to escort a convoy when a freak gust of violent wind blew us off the runway. We were heading for some buildings too fast to stop, so in a panic Ron retra ted the wheels and we did a ground loop - slid on the belly of the aircraft in a circle till eventually stopping in a cloud of dust! Blue looked out the window and announced that we hadn't caught fire. I had seen too many of the aircraft that the pilots were converting to from Avro Ansons that did burn on crashing and didn't feel too confident about our situation. There were three versions about what happened next.

1. That Blue wore the tread-marks of my flying boots up his back for the next few weeks - absolutely untrue!

2. That I courteously said "after you Blue" and waited for him to leave first - nearly true!

3. Blue's account. That I yelled "get out!" and threw him out the top hatch (our usual way out through the bottom hatch was deep in the sand of the desert). Probably nearly true! Blue was lost in admiration of my strength under terror and referred to me thereafter as "Mighty Mouse!"

from Ross Singleton-
CANADA 459 Squadron

I was on 459 Squadron near Tobruk in 1942-43. When we went on leave we flew a Hudson or Ventura to Cairo for maintenance, on our return we flew one that had been repaired back to our squadron.

On one such leave George Lalor, who was a W.A.G in my crew teamed up with me, we met an old friend of mine, Bob Woods, who had graduated with me as an Observer in Canada. Bob was flying in an RAF Transport Squadron stationed near Cairo. After celebrating in Cairo, he invited us back to his Squadron. We continued our celebrations in the Sergeants mess. The Squadron had a mascot monkey "Sgt. Shufti Sheifti", who was very highly strung from too much flying. He was grounded in the Mess and had become an alcoholic. Each night he went to sleep in a sad state up in the ropes at the top of the tent that housed the Mess. He drank only water during the day, but at night he would come down to the bar where people would buy him drinks. He would also steal food from people's plates. He did this to me and I became upset, particularly when I thought of the sanitation in respect to monkeys and I threatened to strangle him. This offended one of the RAF Sergeants and he and I had a fairly strong argument. Someone called the Military Police and I was arrested and put in jail. The jail, of course, was a tent. The guard was an Irish L.A.C. with a gun. My friends bought me a bottle of Cyprus Brandy which I shared with the guard. We eventually went to sleep. In the morning we woke up to bright sunlight. While we slept like two innocent babes, Arabs cut the ropes on the tent, loaded it onto a camel and disappeared into the desert. The poor guard still had his gun and his prisoner, I don’t know how he explained the loss of the tent. When we returned to our Squadron, my C.O., when he stopped laughing, dismissed the charges against me!

[2 -- Norm Gilham - 454] A Slight Embarrassment

It was quite a dark night on the Adriatic coast of Italy in early April 1945. One 454 Squadrons aircraft was heading south to base after a successful mission near the Austrian border. Apart from the engines there was the usual eerie silence of an intruder over enemy territory at night, and then:

"Pilot to Navigator"

"Navigator here, go ahead Norm"

"What do you make of that glow over the water at nine o'clock, Ross?"

"Navigator to Pilot. Looks like a fire, could be a ship."

"Pilot to Wireless."

"Wireless here, skipper."

"Break radio silence Geoff. Request base permission to investigate what appears to be a burning ship."

Silence once more except for the engines, and then:


"Wireless to Pilot, permission granted."

"Thanks Geoff".

I then turned out over the Adriatic Sea.

"Turret to Pilot."

"Go ahead, Tom."

"I get a good view from up here, Norm. Certainly looks like a fire and getting much bigger."

All watching in silence as we go further out towards that glow.

"Turret to Pilot".

"Go ahead, Tom."

"I hate to say this Norm, it's the moon coming up!"

"Pilot to Navigator, I'm afraid he's right Ross. Have you got a course for base?"
"Navigator to Pilot. It is the moon Norm. Course to base 210 degrees."

"Pilot to Navigator, thanks Ross. Turning onto 210 degrees now."

We returned to base safely, and we were commended for our initiative, but other crews did not let us forget our "burning ship" for quite some time. The bonus of course was a little humour at a very serious time in our lives.


Another thing I should mention is that most people have the impression that the Air Force operated from established airfields and buildings. In war time of course, that is not he case. You simply make airfields as you go along, and live in tents. 454 Squadron was considered to have the best equipped mess under canvas; due to our scrounging in towns as they were taken from Germans.


THE ILL-FATED DERNA MISSION by

Royal Jay Christensen

While stationed with 454 RAAF Baltimore Squadron in Benghasi, Libya, one of our aircraft was severely damaged on 27/2/44, on its return from Melos in the Aegean Sea by two German ME109's. In the running battle, the Baltimore was riddled with 26 cannon strikes but managed to crash land at the landing ground at Derna, Libya. F/O Ray Crouch was the British RAF pilot and was awarded the DFC for his airmanship. We were notified at Berka 3 of the crash, and a crew of Aussie ground crew were dispatched to Derna to pick up the air crew and also usable parts from the demolished aircraft. Our crew included an Australian Motor Transport driver, an Aussie Aero-engine Mechanic, an Aussie fitter, and a British RAF armourer, and a Canadian radar mechanic. This multi-national group boarded the truck transport and headed for Derna, some 200 miles to the east. We reached the Derna landing ground and found the uninjured air crew billeted at 278 AMES on the airfield.

We were immediately busy salvaging equipment from the crashed Baltimore when an urgent radio message was received at the AMES office. It stated that one of our aircraft had just crashed about 10 miles east of Derna and that the crew were injured and required immediate first aid assistance. We could see the black smoke rising to our east; and since we had the only truck, we were dispatched to the crash scene. There were no real roads, so it was necessary to follow old tank tracks to stay safely away from possible land mines. A deep ravine prevented us from reaching the crash site, so we left one member of our crew to guard the truck and the remaining four men with only first-aid kits walked the remaining distance.

As we came over the last hill, a shocking panorama stopped us in our tracks, and we dove behind some boulders. A huge Swastika on the burning tail of a German Junkers 88 was not what we expected! An open parachute was on the hillside, and an individual was walking on the far side of the smoking debris. Our rifles were being carefully protected back at the truck, and we only had our first-aid kits and equipment in our hands. The individual turned out to be a British Army soldier who had just reached the wreck and was afraid we were German. Two of the German aircrew were dead in the burning aircraft, the third member was killed when his parachute hit the nearby hill. We later learned the Junkers '88 was on a routine reconnaissance flight and was shot down by a British RAF Spitfire aircraft.

The vital moral lesson we quickly learned was NEVER PUT YOUR COMPLETE TRUST IN RADIO COMMUNICATIONS.

[bobbysocks]

In 1942, on a quiet day in October, Bobby Gibbes sent a few of us rookie pilots on a low-flying exercise.

I was really enjoying it. Flying just a few feet above the ground and waving to Diggers of the 9th Div. Suddenly all the chaps on the ground pointed in the direction I was flying and started waving madly. I looked ahead and there was this palm tree!

I jerked the joystick back as hard and quick as I could. - I think I closed my eyes too.

When I got back to the Squadron base and landed, there was Harry Knight waiting for me. He was the plane’s Fitter.

“What the HELL have you done to my airplane???”

- Palm fronds were hanging from the wings and the tail and I was bloody lucky to come out of it alive.

I won’t repeat what Bobby Gibbes had to say…


some quips from Alan Clark 3 Sq RAAF


Did I mention that Tigers had no canopy or cockpit cover of any kind? But there was one saving grace - we had WAAFs to swing the propellers. Good strong lasses with no ambivalence about motors or, as far as I know, horses.

There was a little joke doing the rounds at Clyffe Pypard -

Q: What happened to the WAAF who forgot to put the chocks under before swinging the prop?
A: "Dis-ast-er" … (Say it out loud and think about it...)

Also in the pilot’s briefing room there was a blackboard with the following written on it:

"An instructor sent his pupil back to the base to get an insulated screw. The pupil came back with a WAAF and a pair of rubber gumboots!"



It seems that during his (US equivalent) SFTS in Texas some Women’s Army Corps girls arrived on the base to take over the radio telephone communications set-up. As a consequence, swearing over the R/T became a Court Martial offence. One of the trainee pilots on a cross-country exercise got lost and the following dialogue took place between the trainee and the control tower. Trainee: “Hello base, for Christ’s sake give me a course to steer - I’m all f***ed up.”

The squadron commander, who happened to be in the tower at the time and possessed a very distinctive southern accent, picked up the microphone and said, “Mister, what is your name and serial number?”

There was a long silence, then came, “I ain’t that f***ed up!”


My last flight, however, turned out to be a lot less boring than all its predecessors. With the trainee busy sending Morse Code in the back seat, we were stooging along somewhere close to Narromine, where another Tiger Moth EFTS was stationed. Quite a few Tigers were around, going about their routine training, when they obviously spotted this intruding Wackett, broke off their training and came belting over to me for a spot of “dogfighting”. Forgetting all about my pledge to fly straight and level, I immediately engaged about five Tigers in spectacular aerial combat but as the Tigers outnumbered me and could turn in smaller circles than I was able to do, they were soon on my tail. Time to go home, so I broke off the conflict and headed towards Parkes with my possibly terrified passenger. One of the Tigers persisted however; he got up above and behind me and made another classic fighter attack. Diving down fast onto my tail he shot past just below me, but very close. There was a loud "thump" and then he dwindled earthwards. “Shit!”, I thought, “He's hit my bloody fixed undercart and knocked it off.”

What to do? Very difficult to land without wheels, even more difficult to land with only one wheel. My first brilliant solution was to climb up to the nearest big cumulus cloud, position myself between the cloud and the sun, fly towards the cloud and see if I could get a silhouette of my undercart (if any) against it. No such luck, so I flew home and made a very tentative landing, without incident.

As we didn’t have the means to communicate in the air, it wasn’t until we got back to the hangers that the trainee could say, “Sir, we have lost the trailing aerial.” Oh shit! That was it. Having forgotten all about the blessed thing in the heat of battle it was obvious that the Tiger had got the aerial caught round his prop. No wonder he dwindled! It turns out also that he crashed - but more of that later.

Those of us who had trained as fighter pilots still held romantic notions about our prospective role in the air. We were soon to be enlightened about all this.

So, instead of racing off and flying Spitfires, we were now told that there was no more demand for fighter pilots and that we would all be converted onto bombers, a process that would take many months of special training. While there was a certain amount of awe-inspiring appeal in the idea of a 19-year-old Sergeant Pilot flying a huge four-engined bomber over Germany as captain of a crew of seven and with no second pilot, I decided that my true expertise (such as it was) was in single-engined flying.

So I set about exploring ways to make this happen, if at all possible. As it turned out, if you volunteered to go to the Middle East, you could stay on singles as that was the only Theatre of War outside Russia that any ground fighting was going on, and this is what I did. There was still a long wait though, as the EATS was working so efficiently by now (1943-44) that the UK was flooded with trained airmen. So here was another parting of the ways for old friends as most of our intake ended up on bombers. Many, like Ken Grose and Rex Loton, did not survive, but some, like Bill Fallon and Errol Ingram, did - Bill as a rear gunner (tail-end Charlie) and Errol as a pilot completed full operational tours of duty and lived to tell the tale.

The Kittyhawk was a sturdy, attractive veteran of the North African campaign but without the Spit’s charisma. As they were only operating in Italy, at least Burma was ruled out! But, we were told, the Aussies amongst us were destined for Italy, as both Australian Squadrons (numbers 3 and 450) were operating there, supporting the British Eighth Army, as they had done throughout the long Western Desert campaign. Indeed, 3 Squadron had been in the Middle East since June 1940, during which time it had had many updates of aircraft type, starting off flying Gloster Gladiators, a semi-obsolete biplane which would not have been out of place in WWI! Actually it was about this time, unbeknown to us, that No.3 was converting to the best and most effective fighter of the war, the P51, known as the Mustang, but little did Lew Ranger or I think that we would end up there flying these magnificent machines.

After some 15 hours on these, the big day came for me on October 20, 1944, when I was to have my first flight in a Kittyhawk. What an awesome thrill! To fly a single seater fighter the first time - no instructor, just you. They could tell you how to fly it on the ground but, thereafter you were on your own. To start with it had a much more powerful engine than anything we had flown before. We had previously flown only in radial-engined, air-cooled motors, this one was equipped with a 16 cylinder, in-line, liquid-cooled Allison, which seemed to stretch out in front of you forever. Don’t forget that I still hadn’t learned to drive a car.

Unlike most present-day planes which have two main wheels and a nose wheel, P40s had a tail wheel, so that you couldn’t see in front of you until you had given her the gun and got up sufficient speed to lift your tail up. This done, you roared along the runway at maximum revs until you felt that beautiful feeling of leaving Mother Earth, and then you were flying. It is hard to describe the feeling of being in control of all this complex machinery and power. As you lift off and retract your undercarriage the feeling of being airborne, of feeling the subtle currents of air gently acting upon your machine, is awesome. The seemingly limitless power at your fingertips and the three dimensional control of height and direction is heady stuff indeed. However, on this first trip in a P40 there were many other things to think about; lots to remember and lots to learn and get the particular feel of this beautiful, sleek beast. Somewhat to my surprise I managed the landing OK in spite of the considerable difference in speed and feel from anything previously. It’s a funny thing that throughout my flying career I never ceased to be amazed that I could actually land these flighty creatures!

Flying training in the Kittyhawk proceeded through the usual gamut of exercises, spins, formations, cross-countries etc. Somewhere I have a few quite good photos, taken by me with a very unreliable cheap camera, of Lew and I low flying across the desert. This was quite a feat as I had to fly one-handed, formating with Lew, and still try to take the photos. Unfortunately at this time one of our group, a good friend and fine chap, Geoff Swinbourne, crashed his Kitty and was killed. Another funeral - we buried him in a desolate piece of desert. He was only 19 years old. But for the rest of us it was get up in the air and get on with it.

It happened thus: air-to-air gunnery practice is usually done by a pair of planes both carrying cine cameras, which were used instead of guns for obvious reasons. Both pilots would shoot at each other using the cameras, the films of which were analysed later in the Station’s theatre. In this instance there had been a serious stuff-up as one of the planes (Spitfires) was loaded with cannon shells instead of film. The pilot of this plane, Jim Fletcher, a mate of ours, lined up the other plane, laid off the necessary deflection and pressed the trigger. His aim was obviously very good as he only let loose some 12 cannon shells before he realised what was happening and took his finger off the button. The incident above resulted and we returned to Jungle Jim’s rudely interrupted monologue.

He had every right to be very angry, as what we had done was not only rude but a potentially serious breach of Air Force discipline. Jungle Jim, ever a mild man, only remonstrated with us mildly. Never the less it was not a good way to kick off with a reportedly perfectionist type instructor.

more from alan to come...

[Willie-Wall]

http://www.spitfireperformance.com/mustang/combat-reports/4-anderson-8april44.jpg

Second part of the second paragraph....that must've been a sight to see! These are great reads, nice find Bobby! +1

(I know I'm a little late on all these stickies, but I just have to give credit :P)

[Ratman91101]

Fantastic site Bobbysocks!Better than Ace of Aces mag I used to read.Cool.Thx for sharing.

[bobbysocks]

your welcome...
now that i have a little break in the action, a little more from alan clark.

DAF was a Tactical Air Force, as distinct from a Strategic Air Force such as the various long-range bomber forces of the RAF and USAF. Within this structure, No. 3 had, over the years, performed a number of roles: reconnaissance, dive-bombing and strafing, bomber escort, and aerial fighting, sometimes individually and sometimes all together. In my time, and for some time earlier, the main role was close support for the ground forces of the British Eighth Army. This entailed moving up fairly close behind the advancing ground forces in order to respond to their requests for help ASAP and also shorten the range of the flights. This latter, however, was becoming less important with the advent of the longer range Mustang. As it was now the depth of winter, both the British and the American Armies were bunkered down on both sides of the north-south running Apennines, so there was almost no call for close support. Instead we spent our operational time ranging widely over Yugoslavia, Austria and Northern Italy, dive-bombing bridges, strafing trains, trucks, tanks and even horse-drawn vehicles, which the Germans were increasingly needing to use.

We also did some bomber-escort duties which, for us, were “a piece of cake”, as there was no German aerial opposition to worry about. When the bombers reached their target, we would move to one side while they copped all the flak. I personally took part in three of these to Vienna, Klagenfurt and Graz and the trips, for us were uneventful (although not so for the bombers), except for Vienna when, for a few brief minutes, high above us we saw one of the new German jet or rocket fighters streaking across the sky at tremendous speed. This put a serious dent in us Mustang flyers’ sense of aerial superiority, but it was only brief and never recurred before the war’s end.

My stay on No. 3 lasted until April 3, 1945, when I was shot down on my 25th Mission. Though brief, this period was for me replete with incident, in contrast to that of my peers, Lew, Peter Martin and Ron Horton, all of whom had joined the squadron at the same time and all of whom went through the rest of the European War unscathed and, apart from the usual exigencies of dive-bombing and strafing under fire, without too much drama. Let me explain a bit. Some months before arriving, both 3 and 450 had apparently, through attrition and tour expiration, run out of experienced flight leaders. So an SOS was sent to Australia for some pilots with one tour of operational experience. As a result, four pilots with a tour done in the Jap war were flown from Australia straight to Italy, two each for 3 and 450. They, of course, were excellent and experienced pilots but the aerial war against Germany into which they were now thrust was vastly different to that which they had experienced in the SW Pacific. In the event, all four were shot down: the 3 Squadron duo - FLTLT John Hodgkinson DFC and FLTLT Barney Davies - both while flying in front of me!

At full strength, we flew 12 aircraft in three sections of four: "Red", "White" and "Blue". We flew in very loose formation, called “battle formation”, a method that the RAF had learned from the Germans years before during the Battle of Britain. The pre-war tactics of showy close formation had proved disastrous in that campaign, as the pilots’ attention was totally taken up watching each other and failed to see the enemy coming.

Each four flew at staggered heights with the mission leader as No. 1 in the Red section. Newer pilots (“sprogs”) flew in the No. 2 position about 75 metres behind the leader, while the other two in the four formed a square with 1 and 2. It was the number two’s job to search the sky continually, while the No. 1s checked the ground and also navigated us to the target. Our squadron’s radio call sign was “Shabby” (hence the name of my Laser “Shabby Red 2”). It was from this position that I got shot down.

But prior to that, on March 6, Hodgkinson, as Red 1 (with me right behind him at Red 2) got shot down in rather dramatic circumstances, which I won’t recount here as the detail can be found in a brief article I wrote for the 3 Squadron Association newsletter that is now on the web here .

Hodge was taken prisoner. On April 1, two days before I copped it, I was again flying Red 2 behind Barney Davies when he too got shot down. Flying over a mountainous area of Yugoslavia, Barney had spotted a couple of trucks full of German troops. He told the rest of the squadron to stay up and called me to follow him down to strafe. This was fairly exhilarating, as we had to dive and weave our way through the peaks of the mountains to get at the trucks. As we started shooting, a large amount of flak (anti-aircraft fire) came up at us. Neither of us was hit but we had to pull up very steeply to avoid the mountain on the other side of the road. We circled back to where we had started the attack and Barney (who was nothing if not intrepid) said:

“All right, Shabby, we are going in again!”

“Shit!”, I thought, for not only had the flak been heavy but we had been briefed never to attempt a second run as the enemy would be:

(a) Better prepared and;

(b) Rather angry and thus liable to do nasty things to you if you got shot down.

Which is exactly what happened to Barney. At a low point in his dive (about 100 feet or so above the trucks), he was hit by several 20 mm cannon shells. Cool as ever, he called:

“Hit! Bailing out, Shabby.”

He pulled up to about 1500 feet, with me quite close on his tail, where he executed a perfect ‘bunt’ bail-out; that is, after jettisoning the Mustang’s Perspex canopy, freeing himself from all the impedimenta, such as straps, helmet, radio mike, oxygen mask etc., he pushed the nose of the plane hard down (he was still climbing at this stage) and floated upwards, beautifully turning somersaults in the air until he pulled the rip cord and that life-saving canopy mushroomed out.

“Wow”, I thought, “that’s the way to do it, so easy and graceful; that’s the way I’ll do it, if and when my turn comes.”

But, as I found out, it is not as easy as it looks first time (and this was, I think, Barney’s third go at it). By now, in spite of my general inexperience, I was the leading Squadron close-up eye-witness of bale outs, one very good and one botched, almost fatal one. Mine, two days later, was similar to, if not worse than, the latter.

At this point, while on the subject of bale-outs, I may as well go forward to recount my own bale out, two days later on April 3. This was to be the day of an athletic carnival for No. 3 and supposedly we had been stood down for the day. As an athlete of some past standing, I had been looking forward to this event, but the Operations phone rang, summoning us into the air.

The reason for this sudden change of plan was as follows: Several days before, a large Russian advance had revealed an enormous column of retreating German troops, tanks, trucks etc. on a road in Slovenia. The retreat had been temporarily halted by bombing a passing train at a level crossing, thus the column was at our collective mercy. Many squadrons had been involved in the two-day carnage, while the column was halted, and it was to this that No. 3 had been summoned.

Now, ever since the Battle of Britain in 1940, it had been a fighter squadron tradition that, at the sound of an alert, the pilots belted helter skelter to their machines and took off in a cloud of dust. Although the need for such urgency was long since past, it was still deemed prudent to get airborne with some celerity. So off to the strip in our 3-ton truck (we were now based at Cervia) and into the waiting planes. To expedite take-off, all aircraft were allotted randomly and each had a parachute with dinghy attached in position, with straps spread out so that the pilot leapt in, clipped on the parachute harness, then the restraining straps, helmet, goggles, oxygen mask, and radio; then roared off into the wild blue yonder.

My allotted plane for this mission (another armed recce) was a Mark III [serial KH631, marked "CV-V"], a slightly older model than the new Mark IVs, which were now arriving regularly as replacements on the squadron. It was armed with six 0.5¢¢ machine guns and two 1000lb. bombs. After clambering in, I was amazed to find that the parachute straps were set up for an impossibly huge person. Instead of fitting snugly, the straps flopped about so loosely that there seemed to be every chance of falling out of them if I had to bale out. In addition, the ripcord metal ring, which you had to pull to open the parachute, instead of fitting neatly in its slot on your chest, was dangling on a foot-long piece of wire almost touching the floor of the cockpit. Very piss-poor maintenance, I thought. But, no time to speculate, off I went to take up my position behind our newly appointed flight commander, FLTLT Tubby Shannon who had arrived several weeks earlier to start his second tour of operations.

One thing about being young and silly (I was 20 at this time): you feel indestructible, bullet proof as it were, and so I said to myself:

“Well it will be all right just this once.”

However, with Murphy’s Law always lurking in the background (albeit as yet undiscovered) - it wasn’t. So off we flew across the Adriatic and into Slovenia until we had almost reached Maribor, a large town on the Austrian border where somebody in the formation spotted a Fieseler Storch aircraft flying low beneath us. This was exciting stuff as most (if not all) of us had never seen a German plane in real life before.

Tubby decided that just he and I would attack it; so leaving the others up top, we jettisoned our bombs (all 4000 lbs of them) and dived down to attack. At this point I should explain that the Fieseler Storch is a light reconnaissance aeroplane, totally unarmed and capable of a top speed of about 90 mph (150kmph), whereas we were much faster and very well-armed.

As Dusty Lane had shot another one down two days before, there was some speculation as to why such aircraft should be flying at all and Wing Intelligence had suggested that these planes may have been transporting high ranking German Army officers trying to escape from both the Eastern and Western fronts, which, by now, were rapidly approaching each other. Their escape plan was, presumably, to try and reach the Austrian redoubt which, as yet, had not been overrun.

However, there is an alternative possibility. These planes had been used to spot Partisan movements in the mountainous regions nearby and it is possible that this accounted for their aerial presence. Whatever, down we swooped, putting down our flaps and throttling right back to reduce our speed. The Storch, by this time had spotted us and staying just above the ground positioned himself behind a nest of German anti-aircraft guns (Oerlikon 20 mm cannons as it turned out) so that we had to fly right across these low and slow to get at him.

As we did this, he banked steeply to fly at right angles to us so as to make it as difficult as possible for us to hit him. In other words he was maximizing the deflection we had to use to shoot him down. By way of explanation, when you are shooting at a target crossing your path, you have to aim a certain amount in front of it in order to hit it, otherwise the bullets will just pass harmlessly behind him. The amount you have to allow for, of course, depends on the speed of the target, which you estimate and then lay off the correct amount on your gunsight - rather like clay pigeon shooting really.

We both opened fire as we drew near the German guns; every fifth bullet of our combined twelve 0.5¢¢ machine guns was a “tracer”, that is a bullet that has a fiery glow, thereby indicating the path of all the other bullets. I was amazed to see our bullets run up the wing of the Storch , which then burst into flame and crashed. Almost immediately there was a hell of an explosion which seemed to lift my plane up in the air, large holes with ugly jagged edges appeared in both wings and ailerons, the engine started pouring black smoke and my lateral control of the plane almost disappeared.

The engine, however, continued to function, even though it was emitting sounds of dire distress that suggested to me that I wouldn’t make it back over the Adriatic. I had managed to climb to 5000 feet and decided to head southeast. While I was doing this in my terminally-stricken plane, which was pouring huge amounts of smoke (presumably indicating some, as yet unseen, fire) and uttering horrible sounds of malfunction, Tubby kept badgering me with R/T calls, asking me where I was. Momentarily taking my mind off my multifarious problems, I had a look around: green fields below, mountains in the distance. How the **** could I know where I was precisely?

So I ignored Tubby and got back to the problems at hand. Decisions had to be made; getting back across the Adriatic was obviously out of the question; should I head for the mountains, where Partisans were allegedly active, or for the Russian front which was only some 30 miles to the East? The latter had some difficulties, so I elected for the former.

Let me explain. As we operated fairly close to the advancing Russian front quite regularly, we were equipped, among many other bits and pieces, with a flag, a Union Jack that hung around our necks and was accompanied by the words “Dobra den, ya sum Englesi piloten (Good day, I am an English pilot)”. As we were all dressed in grey English battledress and were wearing wing brevets, the possibility existed that you could be mistaken for a German soldier by the necessarily trigger-happy Russians and summarily dispatched. In the event of being shot down in Russian-occupied territory we were told by Intelligence to advance towards their troops with hands up and quoting the abovementioned words. I thought the Partisans might be a better bet.

Nearing the mountains, I thought it would be wise to blow off the canopy in case of a sudden loss of control, as was the case with John Hodgkinson. This was a mistake as the smoke and leaking glycol now poured into the cockpit, forcing me to decide to bale out immediately, even though I was some way short of the mountains. It was at this point that I remembered my loose parachute straps and, taking my eyes off the flickering instruments, glanced, with some dismay at my dangling ripcord.

No choice - I undid my seat straps, took off my helmet with attached radio and oxygen mask and contemplated which bale-out method to use. Somehow, the bunting method seemed to be losing its previous appeal. Wouldn’t it be easier and safer just to go over the side and risk hitting the tailplane? Thus persuaded, I let go of the control column and tried to clamber out. Halfway out, the slipstream hit me, forcing me back against the cockpit edge with such force that I could neither get out any further nor get back in to regain control of the aircraft. The plane, out of control, slowly went into a dive, the ground appeared directly in the windscreen as we hurtled towards it with increasing speed, with me desperately trying, to no avail, to reach the stick.

A swift and violent death appeared imminent. Still pinned immovably against the rear of the cockpit, the engine noise and smoke reached a crescendo of violence. Then the next thing that happened was an incredible quiet; an eerie silence in marked contrast to the preceding turmoil. Bewildered (in a state of shock really) I wondered is this heaven? How quick! No booking-in formalities, no sign of Saint Peter. Glancing upwards, above me was a beautiful white silk canopy. Wow! Relief; but tempered by the fact that the parachute had about a six to eight foot tear in it, stretching from the edge inwards. Did chutes with tears continue to do so under the pressure of descent? Shelving this query for the moment, I looked down to see green fields seemingly a long, long way below.

As I hung there in the pristine silence there appeared to be no detectable downwards movement whatsoever. Am I going to hang up here forever? I wondered. After what seemed to be an eternity I began to detect a slight downward movement and also a slight sideways progression towards the West. People appeared running towards my descent path. Friend or foe? Ah well, at least I had my trusty Smith and Wesson 38, with its four bullets. Misjudging the final 100 feet or so, it seemed as though I would drift gently and gracefully onto the forgiving earth; nothing happened for a bit then the earth rushed up to meet me and I hit with a dreadful thud while travelling backwards at about 15 mph due to the wind. Dragging along the ground at speed I hit the release buckle and came to rest - more or less in one piece.

People were running towards me, civilians not soldiers, so I walked towards them, whereupon they turned and fled. Perhaps with my grey battledress, winged chevron and trusty six shooter at the hip I looked like a German to them…or maybe an alien of sorts. So I grabbed the parachute and looked for somewhere to hide it, as per orders. No real hiding place so I put it, as best I could under a small bush and headed for the distant hills as I could see what appeared to be German soldiers coming my way from a distant village. As I glanced back, I saw the peasant women pulling my ‘chute out of its hidey-hole, evidently assessing the quality of the material.

Much later, thinking about the bale-out, I have concluded that the following was the most likely scenario. When the plane began to dive because I couldn’t reach the control column, this must have acted as a partial bunt, perhaps just elevating me slightly from my trapped position. The dangling ripcord ring must have caught on one of the many projections and levers in the narrow cockpit. This would have triggered the opening of the parachute in the cockpit! Spilling out into the slipstream, I must have been dragged out perforce, narrowly missing the tailplane, which must have caught the silk of the chute and torn it. Needless to say I didn’t say anything about this horrible bungle in my official report later back at the ranch!

[bobbysocks]

some of fred eggleston 3 raaf

I was proud to be posted to 3 Squadron R.A.A.F. which had a tradition of excellence as a fighter squadron dating back to the First World War. The squadron had been based at Richmond N.S.W. at the outbreak of WWII and embarked for the Middle East on the Orient liner Orontes on 12th July 1940.

It had participated in the highly successful Wavell offensive in November 1940. Flying Gloster Gladiator aircraft, it had immediate success against a superior force of Italian CR42 fighters during its first engagement on Tuesday 19th November.

Re-equipment with Hawker Hurricane fighters commenced during February 1941 and, during that month, the squadron claimed its first victory against the German Luftwaffe which had recently entered the campaign. The victim was a Ju88 bomber.

After the retreat from Benghazi in April 1941, the squadron moved back to Sidi Haneish and, by this time, its score of victories had reached 69 confirmed plus 14 probables. It had also become expert in making rapid transfer from one base to another, keeping up offensive flying in the process.

News was then received that the squadron was to be re-equipped with the American Curtiss P-40 Tomahawk fighters which were fitted with two 0.5" Browning guns firing through the airscrew and four 0.3" Brownings in the wings.

The Tomahawk was a tough aircraft which could take a lot of punishment. Its performance was better than the Hurricane but not as good as the German Me109 or the Italian Macchi 202. Nevertheless, its toughness and manoeuvrability enabled it to be used with great success in the air battles of that time.

After flying Hurricanes, 3 Squadron pilots had some difficulty adapting to the Tomahawks, which had a different type of rudder control and foot brake. As many as 21 had "ground-looped" on landing; damaging the wings. The C.O., Squadron Leader Jeffrey, decided that the new pilots should go to 71 O.T.U. (No. 71 Operational Training Unit) at Khartoum to convert to Tomahawks.

My first operational patrol took place on Sunday 30th November and was a levelling experience for one who felt himself destined to be a fighter ace.

We took off at 0800 hours from LG 122 on an offensive sweep over E1 Adem just south of Tobruk. My position was "Lester 4" paired behind Woof Arthur. We were at 11,000 feet when we saw about 18 Stukas over Bir El Gubi. They dropped their bombs from about 4,000 feet and dived westward - nine in tight formation and six above and behind them. Woof went down in a vertical dive and I followed him down through the Stukas, having a "squirt" at one on the way. I lost Woof and found myself in a melee with Me109s, Macchi 200s, Fiat G50s and Ju87s (Stukas). I had long range shots at a Macchi 200, a Stuka and a Me109 without any apparent effect and, since I was a number 2 without a Leader, I decided to pair off with one of our fellows who was pumping bullets into a Stuka. Before I could get over to him, a Me109 came up behind him and shot him down.

Our fellow proved to be Tiny Cameron who crash-landed, quickly got out of his aircraft, and ran to some bushes nearby. I circled overhead at about 2,000 feet to try to protect him; but the Me109 strafed his aircraft and showed its contempt for my efforts by looping off the deck and strafing his aircraft again. Fortunately, the German pilot evidently had not seen Tiny leave his crashed aircraft. After his second strafing attack, the Me109 went off towards the west and, a few minutes later W/C Peter Jeffrey landed on the desert near Tiny's aircraft and picked him up. They took-off safely and flew back to our base - Tiny sitting on Pete's knees, in the single seater cockpit.

It was a great day for the Squadron, with eleven victories and eighteen damaged. The total now was 106 victories and we celebrated our first century that evening. Woof Arthur was at first missing but turned up later in a borrowed Hurricane, having made a forced landing at Tobruk. He had shot down two Ju87s and two G50s.

No 3 Squadron became the first squadron in the Desert to score one hundred enemy aircraft confirmed.

.................

On Monday 1st December 1941, Sgts. Rex Wilson and Frank Reid "scrambled" early in the morning to intercept a Ju88 which had been coming over the airfield each morning at high altitude on reconnaissance. Rex hit the port engine and the aircraft caught fire. Two Germans baled out. In revenge for an earlier incident, when one of our pilots, Sgt Parker, had been shot and killed while parachuting from his burning aircraft over Tobruk, Sgt Reid tried to shoot the parachuting Germans on the way down and strafed them on the ground. I am sure that Frank Reid and the rest of us were relieved to hear later that the two Germans had survived unhurt and had become prisoners of war.

.......

The Kittyhawk was very similar to the Tomahawk but a bit more powerful and had three 0.5" guns in each wing (instead of the two 0.5" guns firing through the airscrew and the two 0.3" guns in each wing of the Tomahawk). The Kittyhawk IA had a top speed of 354 miles per hour at 15,000 feet and a service ceiling of 29,000 feet. The Messerschmitt Bf 109 F2 Trop. (armed with one 20mm canon, firing through the airscrew boss, and one 12.7 mm machine gun in each wing) had a top speed of 373 miles per hour at 19,700 feet and a service ceiling of 37,700 feet.

I did not ever fly a Kittyhawk. I was shot down and became a prisoner of war before the squadron was fully equipped with them. However, the Tomahawk was very much liked, if not preferred, by many of the old hands in the Desert.

..........

In the evening, we heard that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbour and that America was in the war.

On Tuesday 9th December, we flew on a wing offensive sweep over El Adem when we were "jumped" by Me109s. One of ours went down in flames. Nick, Geoff and a 112 Squadron Tomahawk went up after five Me109s, while the rest of us formed a defensive circle, each following another's tail, thereby, supposedly, protecting him. I was not comfortable in this manoeuvre because it seemed too easy for the Messerschmitts high above to dive and pick us off one by one. After five minutes we broke the circle and I followed Wally Jewell home. Pete Jeffrey, Dave Rutter, Rex Wilson and Tiny Cameron were missing, and three fires were seen on the ground.

Rex Wilson and Dave Rutter were killed, Pete Jeffrey force-landed at Tobruk and returned that evening. Tiny Cameron force landed and returned two days later. Rex Wilson had been recommended for the Distinguished Flying Medal, having previously had 8 victories. The DFM was awarded posthumously. Sgt Mailey got two Me109F's and Pete Jeffrey one. It was Dave Rutter's first operation!

In the evening, after his return from Tobruk, Pete Jeffrey had a post-mortem with us on the day's engagement. I remembered feeling quite vulnerable in that defensive circle with the Messerschmitts circling above and waiting to pounce. I asked Pete, "why didn't someone lead us out of that defensive circle?"

"Why didn't you!" growled Pete! I got the message and kept my mouth shut for the rest of the meeting! Pete then turned on Bobby Gibbes with "where did you get to?"

Bob replied, "Oh! I came home! I wasn't going to stooge around in that circle of death!" In fact, Bob had dived down when we were jumped, his idea being to zoom up and to climb above the Messerschmitts to attack them but when he got up there, he could not find them. I did not know this at the time but I admired Bob's courage in speaking up. Later, he was to command the squadron.

We took-off from El Adem at 1530 hours. I was leading blue flight with Robin Gray on my left and Nick Barr on my right. Woof Arthur was leading the squadron. I was flying Tomahawk AN335 which was in excellent condition though we had some trouble with the 0.5" guns in the cockpit which were inclined to jam, due to the desert dust ingested during taxiing.

We were climbing into the Sun at 10,000 feet, near the Gulf of Bomba, when we saw a number of Me109s taking off from the German base at Tmimi directly beneath us. There was a lot of chatter on the intercom. Suddenly, I felt my aircraft lurch and looked round to see Robin Gray's aircraft had drifted towards mine and his airscrew was chewing off my port wingtip. With the extra drag from the damaged wing tip, I couldn't keep up with the squadron and dropped away.

I soon found that the aircraft responded reasonably well to the controls and, seeing three Tomahawks of 112 Squadron chasing up after five Me109s climbing after 3 Squadron, I decided to join the attack.

With my height advantage, I was able to dive down and come up to make a quarter attack from below. I was the first to open fire and, though the range was a bit long, I succeeded in breaking up the Messerschmitt formation.

The Messerschmitts turned to join battle and a good old fashioned dog-fight ensued. There seemed to be Me109s and Tomahawks everywhere! I made two further quarter attacks from below at Me109s circling to attack. I could see glycol streaming behind each of them but could not claim to have shot them down. I managed to get close behind a third Me109 but, due to the absence of one wing tip, my aircraft flicked on its back just before I pressed the trigger. Meanwhile, I was having continual trouble clearing my 0.5" guns which were jamming!

I got close behind another Messerschmitt and put a long burst into him. I was surprised to see tracer streaming from my wings towards him. I didn't think we had tracer! Suddenly I realised there was another Messerschmitt close behind me and pumping bullets at me. I flicked into a steep turn and got away from him unscathed but, by this time, I had lost a lot of height and the friendly Tomahawks had vanished.

I was at 1500 feet and could see three Messerschmitts circling above me waiting for the kill. There were no clouds and I was at least 60 miles into enemy territory, so I decided to make the best of the situation and try to get at least one of them. One made a head-on attack at me and I pulled up toward him staring at the yawning hole in his airscrew boss through which his canon was pointing at me. My 0.5" guns jammed again but he too seemed to be having trouble with his guns as he did not open fire. I tipped the joystick slightly forward and went under him with what seemed inches to spare.

The net result was that I lost further height and found myself at 1000 feet with my Messerschmitt friends still above me. I could see two of them and was clearing my 0.5" guns saying to myself, "I'll get at least one of you bastards," when I heard a dull "plop" near my feet.

The third Messerschmitt had come up behind me and lobbed an explosive shell into the oil cooler beneath my engine.

I flicked into a steep turn and shook him off but the damage was done and my aircraft was on fire. I was now flying east with a thick trail of black smoke behind me and the Me109 in close pursuit. I opened the cockpit canopy to get a better look but flames and smoke came up around me and I quickly closed it again. This was it! I had to get out fast! I undid my safety belt and disconnected my oxygen line but forgot about my intercom cord.

I flung open the canopy, eased the stick forward - and floated up out of the cockpit into the slip-stream, which swept me back against the tail fin. My intercom cord came adrift and luckily it was my parachute pack which took the brunt of the blow from the tail fin. I found myself spinning like a top but threw out my arms and legs in a spread-eagled position which had the immediate effect of stopping the spin. I was facing down with my arms and legs stretched out and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see my aircraft with its smoke trail fading into the distance with the Me109 close behind.

The land below stretched out like a coloured map and I could see the Gulf of Bomba to the north. I reached for the rip cord with my right hand but remembering Sgt Parker's fate over Tobruk, decided to make a delayed drop, even though I had baled-out at only 1000 feet. I clutched the handle of the rip cord whilst falling freely toward the land below. It was quite exhilarating, and I was fascinated with the view but, all of a sudden, I could see stones and tufts of grass and I realised I was getting very close to the ground.

I yanked at the rip cord and the parachute opened immediately.

I was relieved to feel the support of the shroud lines. I floated for about ten seconds and noted that there was a strong drift toward the east. The terrain was undulating with rock outcrops but, fortunately, I was drifting towards a flat grassy patch. Fortunately also, I was facing the direction I was drifting. In textbook style, I pulled hard on the shroud lines just before my feet touched the ground. Although this helped to cushion my landing, my feet hit the ground with a jar and I turned several somersaults, finally being dragged along on my head by my still inflated parachute. I was glad at the time that my flying helmet was well padded, otherwise I would have sustained severe head injuries.

After a struggle, I finally managed to release my parachute harness and halt my undignified progress across the ground. With no weight on the shroud lines, the parachute collapsed and lay on the ground near me. I stood up to take stock of the position. By a miracle, I was unwounded and seemed to be uninjured by the fall. A couple of weeks later, I suffered acute back pains, but felt nothing when shot down.

I looked around, and immediately saw the Me109 returning at low altitude from the east. He saw my parachute and then saw me and went into a steep left hand turn with the obvious intention of strafing me. I sprinted a hundred yards in eight seconds to take cover behind some rocks just as the Messerschmitt began its dive. He didn't open fire as my cover was good and, as soon as he passed over, I ran to some bushes a few yards away where I had better all-round cover. He did not come back and I assumed that he and his companions had landed at Tmimi, their base nearby, and that a search party might soon come out to find me. It was 1630 hrs and there were several hours of daylight left. I drew my pistol determined to defend myself.

I was completely transformed! A few minutes ago, in the air, where I had been trained to fight, I had faced certain death with detached calm. I was now on the ground with the chance of survival and was completely scared. I realised I would have no chance of resisting a search party and I dared not move before nightfall for fear of being spotted.

[bobbysocks]

original AVG pilot and legend Tex Hill talks.... 30 mins

http://www.eaavideo.org/video.aspx?v=1243520860

actually scroll down that page and there are interviews with several ww2 fighter and bomber pilots ...a lot of good stuff there.

[Rambo Rich 360]

Hey! Thanks for the link Bobby, cool site!

[bobbysocks]

William Y ""Willie"" Anderson...obituary

died at home. He was born June 28, 1921 in Kromfors, Sweden to Helmer and Esther (Anderson) Anderson. In 1922, his family passed through Ellis Island and settled in Chicago. On November 26, 1944, he married Lois Anderson.
He joined the Army Air Corps in 1941 and became a highly decorated veteran of World War II, receiving over 30 medals including the Silver Star and the French Croix de Guerre. General Eisenhower personally pinned on his Silver Star. He flew a P-51 "Mustang" he named "Swede's Steed" on 126 combat missions. He was a triple Ace, and Sweden's only fighter Ace.
He made front page headlines in the Chicago Tribune on June 20th, 1944 when he shot down a German V-1 rocket which he named the "Buzz Bomb". He was the first to ever to do so. During the war he was known as quite a dare-devil----including flying THROUGH the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
He returned to the States and instructed cadets at the West Point Military Academy. Many articles and books have been written about him, and he still receives requests for autographed pictures. He is featured prominently in the Aviation Hall of Fame, the Fighter Aces Hall of Fame, and Who's Who in Aviation History.
After the war he took his flying skills to United Air Lines. He retired in 1981 as a Boeing-747 Captain. He was very popular with his fellow pilots, and would never hesitate to give them a flying lesson. His famous sense of humor entertained passengers and crews for 36 years. His wife Lois frequently accompanied him on his trips; the Honolulu layovers were a special treat for her.
As a father and husband, he was without equal. He adored his wife and pampered her for 66 years. She has nursed him with superhuman care for the last four years. His children and grandchildren took their every problem to "Poppy". He could fix anything, do anything and knew everything. He was the indestructible rock at the center of his family. His brilliance and love have shaped four generations.
He was also generous to others with his time. He served as Commander of the Crystal Lake V.F.W. and he was a member of the Tebala Shrine in Rockford. He gave many hours of his time and continuous financial support to the Shriner's hospital for crippled and burned children. He was a friend of the late Chancellor of Germany, Conrad Adenauer, worked with F. Lee Bailey, joked with Bob Hope, and sponsored Buzz Aldrin into the Aviation Hall of Fame.
He is survived by his wonderful wife and the two daughters he spoiled: Nancy (Paul) Lerner and
Gina (Durant) Carpenter. Also, a son William Anderson, Jr. Six grandchildren: Duffy Godshall, Chad (Stacey) Emigholz, Teresa Turck, Shiloh (Gery) Lee, Rhain Carpenter, and Graham Lerner. Two great-grandsons, Colton Turck and Kaytum Lee.
Services will be private.
"Willie Y", as he was called during his WWII flying days, was highly regarded throughout United Air Lines both for his skill as a pilot as well as his wit. At his retirement dinner in 1981 he closed his remarks by famously saying: "…and may the wind at your back always be your own". God speed, Willie.

[bobbysocks]

On May 19, the 357th Fighter Group was back over Berlin. Blue Flight of the 363rd had just made rendezvous with the bombers when they saw 100 German fighters headed for their charges. “Part of the squadron went for the main bunch, but I saw three slightly higher than I was, so I climbed after them in a Lufbery,” said Lt. Charles Peters. “I was out-turning and out-climbing them up to 31,000 feet. I fired at the last man and saw a strike on his canopy. The ship rolled over and went straight down. I continued turning with the other two until the last man broke away to the left and I followed him down to 12,000 feet. He finally leveled out and I got in a good burst with strikes at the wing roots. He broke hard to the left and then blew up. The pilot was thrown out and his chute opened.”

Lt. Robert Foy destroyed one Bf 109, then closed in in two more. When these aircraft spotted him, they “immediately pulled into a sharp turn to the left,” Foy reported. “The lead ship of this two-ship formation collided with the outside 109 attempting a head-on pass. ( and we thought this was a BoP thing but it did happen in real life) The wing of this ship struck squarely in the propeller of the (other) and was shorn off at the fuselage. The ship burst into flames and I saw no chute. The (other) enemy aircraft lost its prop and the engine nacelle seemed to be crushed and the 109 started into what might be described as an irregular spin.” Foy was credited with three Bf 109s destroyed.

Maj. Irwin Dregne ( Dregne was my dad's hero) was leading the 364th when he spotted the same huge formation, but it was scattered before he could reach them. “I started after a Bf 109 and he split-S’ed for the deck,” Dregne said. “I dove after him. At about 14,000 feet the Bf 109 was in a vertical dive and started rolling. He went into a tight spiral and then started spinning. I followed him down waiting for him to recover. At 5000 feet his canopy came off and I saw the pilot jump. I saw the plane crash but I never saw the parachute open. I never was closer than 1000 yards to the Bf 109 and did not fire my guns.”

Capt. John Storch picked out a straggler who dived for safety. “I followed him and he began to take evasive action, skidding and slipping and half-rolling. When he reached about 13,000 feet he suddenly began to spin. I followed him on down and pulled out of my dive when I could see from the way he was spinning that he would be unable to recover. I watched the Bf 109 spin into the ground and explode. I did not observe any chute. From the way in which the enemy aircraft was spinning I believe the pilot must have in some way damaged his plane by taking such violent evasive action at excessive speeds, as we were both probably indicating about 500 mph.”

Meanwhile, Lt. Leroy Ruder spotted German fighters at higher altitude than the first group diving for the bombers. “After a few minutes, I was in position to fire on an Fw 190,” he reported. “I closed to about 300 yards and opened fire, observing numerous strikes on the fuselage and wings. The enemy aircraft completed a couple of rolls and tight turns. Finally, he straightened out long enough for me to fire a few more bursts from about 250 yards. At the time, we were going at a great speed, with my aircraft nearly out of control. As I fired my last burst, the enemy aircraft started into another roll, with pieces flying from it. Suddenly, the enemy aircraft fell apart. Large sections of the fuselage and tail assembly ripped off and the enemy aircraft tumbled toward the ground, end over end. I broke off my attack at 10,000 feet and climbed back up to locate my flight.” Additional victories were claimed by Capts. Fletcher Adams and Ed Hiro ( who later was KIA), and Lt. Arval Roberson. In all, the group scored 10 kills, and lost no Mustangs.

[bobbysocks]

The 362nd Fighter Group paid a visit to the rail yards at Valenciennes on the morning of May 10, 1944, bringing along an ample supply of 500-pound bombs. The 378thwas led by Capt. Sherwin Desens, but his plane was hit by flak over St. Omer at 11,000 feet and his engine quit. He jettisoned the canopy, “getting a face full of oil in the process,” and he bailed out 3000 feet over the English Channel. When he hit the water, he quickly located his CO2 bottle and dinghy and inflated it. Seeing Spitfires overhead, he fired his flare pistol and they started circling him. Soon, he was rescued by an RAF Walrus flying boat and brought back to England. Capt. Thurman Morrison’s plane was hit by flak over Dunkirk and he was forced to return to base.

After that rough morning, the group executed an afternoon attack on the Champagne airfield near Reims using its own tactics and dropping a combination of 500-pounders, fragmentation bombs, smoke bombs and phosphorus incendiaries. The phosphorus bombs were impressive but they made it impossible to asses the damage to the target. The 379th flew as top cover, and after the other squadrons had bombed it dropped down to strafe the remaining planes; Lt. Gordon Larsen damaged a Ju 88 and Lt. Madison Putnam damaged a Do 217 during their attacks. Capt. Hugh Houghton and Lt. Ken McCleary went down to strafe; “we started a left turn after strafing a hangar when I noticed a glow in Capt. Houghton’s cockpit, which I realized was a fire,” McCleary said. “His aircraft rolled into a vertical bank and slipped into the ground.” Lt. Gerald Major saw Houghton’s P-47D-16 42-75867 “Curtain Call” (B8*5) hit the ground with “a big flash, and it continued burning on the ground.”

Robert McKee was also in Houghton’s flight. As the shaken McCleary joined up with McKee’s wingman, “I remained on the deck in an attempt to avoid the continuing intense flak as I slowly began a turn to the northwest,” McKee later wrote. “About three miles from the airfield, I flew over a small hill and discovered a long train of boxcars moving northward, almost perpendicular to my course. I still had some ammunition remaining for my eight .50 caliber machine guns. With my gun switches and gun sight still on, I waited until I was 1000 feet from the train before I commenced firing from about 200 feet of altitude.

“Simultaneous with my opening fire, all side panels on each side of this train dropped open with their 20mm and 40mm antiaircraft guns firing on our three aircraft. Their opening salvo hit the leading edge of my right wing root and another round hit the right lower side of my engine. I continued spraying my gunfire at these boxcars while inbound, hoping to quiet them down somewhat. After passing over the train, I quickly managed to hide behind another low hill, still being fired upon but not hit. I soon noticed that I had lost some engine power and after getting out of the range of this train’s guns, I began a slow climb to a safe bailout altitude, if that became necessary.

“I eventually managed to level off at 1500 feet but was only able to maintain 155 mph maximum airspeed,” McKee wrote. “The remaining aircraft rejoined squadron formation and continued on without me. I flew on towards England alone with my canopy open, climbing to 2000 feet in case I had to make a quick exit.

“The slower airspeed extended my flight time home for rest of my return flight to England and caused me concern about my fuel supply. It was going to be close. It seemed to take forever, but eventually I had our home base in sight. As I made plans for a long straight-in approach to the runway, I descended to 1000 feet.

“Life is full of surprises and now I faced another one! The engine quit and I was still two miles from the runway. I tried switching fuel tanks with the help of the fuel booster, to no avail. Within a few seconds I was down to 500 feet and flying over many wooded sections of British countryside. I selected two small adjoining fields, about 45 degrees to my left. They were separated by a hedgerow that I hoped I would be able to plow through while making a belly landing into the first one. As I approached the field, I found that the approach side had a row of 70-foot trees that seemed to quickly loom up and above the nose of my aircraft.”

McKee recalled a conversation he had with a civilian instructor many years before involving a pilot intentionally cartwheeling a plane to avoid an obstacle like a fence, with the thinking being that the impact would be distributed around the pilot. Because the P-47 was just above stall speed, McKee knew that if he pulled to miss the fence he’d stall and crash. “Without hesitation, I moved my flight control stick to the left, dipping my left wing about 45 degrees. I then crossed both arms in front of my head and held tightly to the top of the instrument panel. I heard the crunching of tree branches as I felt the sudden deceleration of the aircraft. I sneaked a peek to my left and saw the left wing fold up and inwards as it impacted the ground. I felt the engine’s ground impact force, which threw my head against the right side of the canopy. At this point I closed my eyes and held on tight, feeling a lot of tumbling going on.”

The plane did not catch fire; when McKee opened his eyes, he saw no flames but instead “saw blood everywhere,” he wrote. “It seems that, when I hit my head against the canopy, I had received a long cut above the right eye that had spurted blood around as I turned my head to look about. I tried to slide the canopy open, but found it to be jammed by the fuselage’s twisted metal and would only open about six inches. I almost panicked at this point because I could also see that a lot of red hydraulic fluid had splashed throughout the cockpit and, being concerned that I was going to lose consciousness due to loss of blood, I was afraid of fire erupting before I could get out. I grabbed the control stick with both hands and, squeezing it hard, said aloud to myself, ‘now, hold onto yourself, Mac!’”

Five British antiaircraft gunners raced to the scene and extricated McKee from his smashed Thunderbolt. He suffered the gash on his eyebrow and a broken ankle, probably caused the by the rudder pedal when the tail of his plane was torn off.

Lt. Gerald Majors’ plane was also hit by flak, but he was able to nurse the plane home. On return to base, one of the 378th’s planes had a hung fragmentation bomb, which detonated on landing. The pilot escaped but the plane was a write-off, and it blocked the runway; only Col. Morton Magoffin was able to land. The rest of the squadron flew to Woodchurch, where Lt. John R. Lovett’s hung-up smoke bomb detonated, flipping the P-47D 42-75246 on its back and inflicting a broken back and cuts on Lovett’s face, under his arms and on his legs. Even so, once the fire-fighting crew jacked the plane enough to allow him out of the cockpit, his first request was for a cigar. Lovett was evacuated to the U.S. for recuperation from his injuries. Lt. Robert Kennedy was unhurt when his plane, P-47D 42-22773, crashed at Headcorn on his return from the continent; Lt. Joseph Lane of the 377thbanged up P-47D 42-76442 in a ground loop on his arrival.

[KAV]

Keep em coming Bobby, this is great read.....

[bobbysocks]

been busy with other stuff but will dig some more up soon... but here's something i fell upon. i have vivid memories as a child watching the movie about the bismark.....especially when the HMS Hood and all the brave men went down. but talk about a david vs goliath moment this was it...

Bismarck bombing pilot recalls attack - Jock Moffat took part in the bombing of the Bismarck

It is 70 years since the sinking of the German warship the Bismarck.

The last surviving member of the air attack has been remembering his role on a visit to his old squadron at RNAS Culdrose in west Cornwall.

Jock Moffat, 92, from Dunkeld, is believed to have fired the torpedo that hit the Bismarck's rudder, affecting its steering.

The order came from Winston Churchill to destroy the ship, after it had sunk HMS Hood three days earlier.

Mr Moffat, who was born and grew up in the Scottish Borders, is the last surviving member of the air attack, carried out by 820 Squadron, the oldest in the Navy.

The night before the Bismarck's sinking, a plane from Naval Air Squadrons based on HMS Ark Royal launched a torpedo that hit the Bismarck's rudder.

This action made it possible for the British ships and planes to inflict damage on the heavily-armoured Bismarck.

Remembering his orders while he was in the air, Mr Moffat said: "All of a sudden they said to let her go. I pressed the necessary and my torpedo left my aircraft.

"I can't honestly turn around and say I changed it. But I would like to think I did. They decided it was my torpedo that managed to hit it."

Hundreds were killed on both sides during the sinking of HMS Hood and the German ship.

[bobbysocks]

impressions of the 109 from both sides....

“Renowned test pilot Capt Eric ‘Winkle’ Brown, who has the unique distinction of having flown every major combat aircraft of WW2, was one of the first Allied pilots to get his hands on the Bf109. He recalls: ‘The Bf109 had two problems in combat. It had a very claustrophobic cockpit and was very tight and narrow. As a fighter pilot, you behave like a falcon swinging your head side-to-side in search of prey and particularly trying to look behind. And the rear view of the 109 was very poor. When we knew about that we took advantage of it with close in middle of the tail shooting. The Germans never knew what hit them. I calculate over 60 percent of our kills happened this way. Also, if you increased speed in the Spitfire and Hurricane, you could ease the rudder and trimmer. The 109 had no rudder trim. So the pilot was continuously working against the rudder to catch up speed, and you are bound to make slight mistakes and ruin your sighting. I saw many examples of this. The 109 had an offset to the right gun sight. One of the reasons for this is the plane seemed to always pull to the left as soon as you fired. They seemed to think this then moved the gun sight onto the target as it jerked over. Our tests showed the nose cannon mainly caused this. Our pilots saw numerous times when the 109’s missed an easy target because they were constantly fighting the rudder and missing aim. You couldn’t be an average shot in the 109 you had to be virtually so close a burst would hit something. Another problem that the 109 had was that it could not follow in a steep turn when using lots of power. If so, it would get into your slipstream, and he has these slats on the wings of his aircraft, these would tend to come out and snatch as the airspeed varies. And in these turns when the slats open and close unevenly, a rocking motion develops that ruins your shooting in addition to the nose jerking about. Another tip we learned is to dive as fast as you can. The Spitfire and Hurricane had a very effective elevator and could pull out of a dive. At 400mph, the elevators of a 109 locked solid and the plane would hurtle into the ground. I can’t count the number of German pilots I saw this happen to. So this was a good manoeuvre against the 109 we used very effectively. On the ground, taking off and taxing it was an unstable beast. Huge motor, in a long nose balanced on two ping pong balls, ridiculous design that cost the Krauts many pilots.”

“Once it was in the air is was very manoeuvrable but unforgiving. We learnt quickly and tried to teach new pilots never follow a Spitfire or Hurricane down in a dive, if the slats lock in their slipstream you’ll most likely die and be unable to pull up. It speeded up very fast, if you dived a little but you must work the rudder all the time. They did this to get away, we’d dive at them, they’d dive for the ground, you had half a second to get a shot off. Often we’d be circling high; they’d be circling low beneath us, trying to bait us to dive down. Over France our side had the advantage and waited till their fuel got short. During the Channel battle they had the advantage because the 109’s had only 15 minutes of combat fuel. Extra fuel tanks were unheard of and experimental. You had to get right on your target. It didn’t aim well because with speed the wing slats opened and threw off your aim. Also the big nose cannon pushed it to the left. I waited till my target filled the windscreen; you had maybe a second or two of firing then pull up or roll away. Many pilots died crashing into their targets too focused on firing. You could pull out of a spin but you worked at it. The major problem occurred during take-off. It had a strong engine, and a small, narrow-track undercarriage. If you took off too fast it would turn [roll] ninety degrees. The Russians would catch us on the ground taking off. You’d couldn’t speed up or go over. They hit us many times like this; this is why we staggered the planes over the place so if one went over the others could get up. We lost so many pilots in takeoffs. I lost 4 in one day – one very experienced, in the whole war it was the only time I felt like weeping.”
In 1941 aged 19, Erich Hartman joined the Luftwaffe being posted to the Eastern Front where he quickly claimed increasing number of victories. Proud of the fact he never lost a wingman he claimed 352 aerial kills. At wars end, Hartmann was deported to Siberia where he was sentenced to 50 years hard labour. Released in 1955, he joined the newly-established West German Luftwaffe. He died in 1993.

for more on the 109 ..comments and facts go to:

http://www.virtualpilots.fi/feature/articles/109myths/

[bezshumniy]

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Brocklesby_mid-air_collision

[olife]

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Brocklesby_mid-air_collision

my god!!!!!waoooo!!it what i call THE CHANCE!!!!
nice post my friend ,thx to share!!

[Gilly]

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Brocklesby_mid-air_collision

That's proper mental! Jesus they had balls back then.

[bobbysocks]

that's some damn good flying! hats off to that man.

[bobbysocks]

Bridge Farm, Bradfield in the heart of rural north Norfolk, was the home of William and Matilda Gibbons, and their son Jack. Farming was pretty tough in the thirties and forties, no cars, tractors or combine harvesters; no telephone or electricity in the house.

October 8th 1943 had been just another day, and as is the habit of the farming community, they retired early. On the many RAF airfields across East Anglia it was a different story. Hundreds of airmen were preparing for take-off. Their bombers were fully laden with a deadly load of assorted bombs to be delivered to the heart of the Third Reich. That night the main force was to visit Hanover, with a diversionary force to head for Bremen.

The crew of Halifax HR777 TL-Y of 35 squadron, members of the crack Pathfinder Force based at RAF Graveley in Hunts., were to mark the target at Bremen. They took off at 22.46 hours and headed off to join the formation.

What happened after this is best described by Derrick Coleman, then a nineteen year old air bomber and radar operator.

‘.......... Ross Whitfield had gone to an Australian Squadron and his place as rear-gunner had been taken by a Canadian, Sgt.’Benny’ Bent. About 50 miles from the target I had left the H2S and moved into the nose of the Halifax in preparation for a visual bombing-run using the Mk XIV bombsite. There was no moon, no cloud and visibility was good in a bright starlight sky. I quote now from the official combat report which I obtained from the RAF Museum, Hendon.

‘... the rear gunner (Sgt Bent) saw a Ju 88 at 250yds on the fine port quarter slightly up and closing in fast. Sgt Bent told his Captain (Fg Off Muller) to ‘corkscrew port’. The E/A (enemy aircraft) opened fire at 200 yards with cannon firing a very dull trace, hitting the Halifax and setting the port outer engine on fire. The rear gunner returned the fire with two short bursts, aiming point blank and hitting the fighter, causing it to pull up sharply. The Halifax was now in a spin and the Ju 88 appeared to Sgt Bent to be hanging on it's props on the starboard beam. He gave it another very short burst, observing strikes and saw it fall away, apparently out of control.

By now the bomber was falling fast in a spin with flames pouring from the port outer engine. The pilot regained control after losing 8000 feet in height, but as the port outer engine was u/s and the port inner engine appeared to have been damaged, the aileron and elevator controls also damaged, besides the turret being u/s and other damage to the aircraft, the bombs were jettisoned and course set for base.’’

I was terrified during the spin as I was pinned to the floor of the bomb-aimer’s position, could not move and thought this was the end. Although the report states the bombs were jettisoned, I recall attempting a bombing run on a solitary searchlight which was seeking us. The searchlight went out! Max Muller did a magnificent job in getting the aircraft back to England, gradually losing height all the way and using full right rudder to keep the aircraft straight. My brief attempt to help by tying my inter-com lead round the rudder bar and pulling was very ineffective.

We crossed the English coast in daylight attempting to reach RAF Coltishall, but crashed a few miles short; just not enough power to hedge hop in. In the Halifax the bomb-aimer occupied the co-pilot’s position for take-off and landing. I recall quite vividly while in this position the ‘hedge hopping’ as the pilot struggled to keep the aircraft above ground. The aircraft passed between two trees which hit the wings. It was a complete write off; although the nose and part of the fuselage remained reasonably intact at least one of the engines had been torn away and was on fire. All the crew escaped injury except for Tommy Ellwood, the flight engineer who had taken up his crash position behind the main spar and sustained a bad cut over one eye which required stitching. There was a touch of humour at the end. Blazing petrol had, unknown to him, landed on the back of ‘Benny’ Bent’s flying clothing, but ‘Hoop’ Arnott, the mid- upper gunner had seen this happen so jumped on ‘Benny’ (who must have wondered what was happening) to roll him over, so putting the flames out. A rather nervous couple living in a nearby cottage (sic) initially thought we were Germans, but when they realised we were RAF we were invited inside and given cups of tea until transport arrived. Fl t Sgt Emery was the navigator, and Pilot Off ‘Mac’ Maskell the Wop. There was no doubt in the minds of all crew that we owed our lives to the amazing ability and strength of the pilot, Max Muller.''

In a written account of the same incident by the Flight Engineer, Tom Ellwood, given to Max Muller’s son, Derrick’s recollections are confirmed. It includes the following extracts:

‘ ...........by this time the Halifax was also in a dive and I was knocked off my feet. As I fell I struck my head on the main spar, cutting my face badly but found I was unable to get up because the ‘G’ forces were so great. The Halifax was obviously spinning out of control. To my great relief the plane eventually came out of it's spin. I found Max grimly but firmly in control of a very damaged Halifax. He alone had used his great physical strength to pull that plane out!’

‘....the turret and hydraulic system was damaged, and petrol had been lost from two or three tanks .........the bomb door ...refused to close, adding drag.’ ‘ Max asked us all for our views and opinions on the unpleasant alternatives facing us - bale out now and risk being a POW, fly on and risk a possible ditching/drowning in the North Sea or try and limp home. After a brief discussion it was decided to fly on..........’

‘Our ‘Mayday’ was picked up as we approached our coast and we were directed to Coltishall. The dim lights from the airfield were a welcome sight...the port wheel failed to lock......By this time we were flying on one engine.........The Halifax came down with a heavy jolt, it wavered and crashed finally grinding to a halt. It seems we had hit a tree which, fortuitously, had slewed us around and diverted our progress away from a farm house......eagerly scrambled out as the Halifax was now on fire, to be confronted by two figures behind a wall who were relieved when they realised that we were not Germans.’

‘They helped us back to their farm and provided us with strong hot tea and sandwiches. Never had a cup of tea tasted so wonderful, nor has the feeling of being amongst friends felt so good, as we all sat in the warmth of that farm house.’

[bobbysocks]

Bill Overstreet 357 FG

Not long after this, I had a freak accident. I think it was a mission to southern France. While over enemy territory, a burst of flak cut my oxygen line. Since I was at about 25,000 feet, I soon passed out. The next thing I knew, I was in a spin, engine dead since the fuel tank it was set on was dry. Somehow, I recovered from the spin, changed fuel setting, got the engine started, and dodged the trees that were in front of me. Then, I looked at my watch. Ninety minutes were not in my memory. I had no idea where I was, but remembered where I had been headed so I reversed it. I was able to find the coast of France and headed for Leiston. By this time, I was low on fuel, so I landed at the Fourth Group base. The officer I talked with was Captain Mead, who had lived a couple of blocks from my home in Clifton Forge, Virginia. To top it off, the mechanic who repaired my plane was “Hot Cha” Tucker, a former schoolmate, also from Clifton Forge. I still have a picture of Tucker and me with a P-47. Many weeks later, this story got a lot of publicity – Lowell Thomas on radio, newspapers and TIME magazine. So, that is my claim to fame. I hope I did a little bit that was productive.

During this period, I was flying more with Andy Anderson, while Peters and Pascoe were flying more with Jim Browning. My crew chief was “Red” Dodsworth with “Whitey” McKain as his assistant. Whitey was soon promoted. Whitey and I became good friends in spite of one incident. One snowy day, the visibility was so limited that Whitey was riding my wing to the runway. At the runway, I motioned Whitey to get off, but he thought I wanted him to come to the cockpit. I was watching Andy and he gave it the gun to take off, so I did the same. Poor Whitey was blown off the wing, but was wrapped up so well he wasn’t hurt. I was very glad of that. I never knew of this until, many years later. Whitey was riding with me and told me he had promised himself never to ride with me again. He did ride with me to Oshkosh several times and we had a ball.

Another mission that didn’t turn out as expected was one when I had a sinus infection. When we chased the German fighters out of position to attack the bombers, if most of them had dived away from us, we would sometimes chase them down. This time, I was chasing a 109 in a power dive from about 30,000 feet. Suddenly, my eyes were swollen shut. I was able to keep flying by feel (the pressure on the controls). I called for help and “Daddy Rabbit” Peters said he could see me. He got on my wing, took me back to the base and talked me through a straight-in approach and landing. It was days before doctors could relieve the pressure, and I could see again.

On April 11, 1944, I was flying with Andy, Kayser and Simpson. While we were escorting the bombers, a large group of 109s started to attack the bombers head-on. Andy led us into the fight, trying to break up their formation and keep them from getting to the bombers. Maybe they didn’t like being shot at, but they scattered all over. When most of them had dived away, Andy led us down after three 109s. At about 5,000 feet, Kayser got in position and clobbered one of them. It broke apart and Kay had to dodge the debris. At about 3,500 feet, Simpson closed on another 109 and got two good bursts to the nose section. He rolled over and went straight in. I was busy with another 109 who tried to get behind Simpson. Andy was turning with another 109 in a tight turn. Andy couldn’t hold a lead inside his turn, so he reversed his turn and came in almost head-on. As the 109 broke apart, the pilot bailed out. That took care of the 109s, but Andy spotted a HE111K flying close to the ground. Andy hit him good but directed all of us to make a pass. We all got hits and Andy came back, hitting it from nose to tail. The HE111K tried to crash-land, hit a pole tearing off the left wing, then started burning. As it slid along, the crew jumped out and I believe they were all track stars. They were in a hurry. Andy insisted on sharing the claim, although he easily could have claimed it. He would rather give us some experience and training.

During May, 1944, Colonel Graham ordered side arms to be carried at all times. There was an alert about German paratroopers. On May 12, I destroyed a JU52 on the ground. Andy got another 109 in the air. With Pierce and Michaely, we also destroyed a locomotive, rail cars and some barges.

D-Day through October, 31, 1944

June 6 was the invasion. We took off about 2 a.m. in horrible weather. We had to climb about 20,000 feet to get out of the overcast. It was beautiful when I got on top. The moon was bright, and as planes would break out of the overcast, they were in different attitudes from the long climb on instruments. We never did find our assigned flights, just formed up in flights of four. We went to France to make sure that no German fighters could bother the invasion, and to prevent reinforcements from being brought up. After six hours, we came back to the base for fuel. The Group flew eight missions on the day of the invasion. Smaller flights had different objectives.

The next day, Andy, Simpson, Skara and I strafed trains, trucks and military vehicles. On June 10, the Group claimed trains, rail shacks, boxcars, trucks, lorries and barges. June 29 was a good day. I got behind a FW190 and when I started getting hits, he flipped over and bailed out. I used only 40 rounds the whole day. General Kepner issued another commendation for the 357th and the 361st Groups. We destroyed 48 enemy aircraft without losing a single bomber.

On July 29, I chased a 109 to the deck and had a wing in the grass when he blew up. He must have been trying to get to his base because we were close to a German airfield. My wingman, Harold Hand, and I made a pass and destroyed another 109 and damaged a DO217. I went back and got another 109 but I found that I was alone. I asked Hand where he was and he replied, “I am giving you top cover.” Smart fellow.

On August 6, we started on our shuttle mission. I was leading a flight with Cleland, Pearson and Fennel. Jack Cleland was a New Zealand RAF pilot who had flown two tours in Spitfires and came to us to get some experience in longer missions. On his two tours in Spitfires, no mission had exceeded two hours. What a mixed flight – Cleland and Pearson. Pearson was an American who had gone to Canada, joined the RCAF, then transferred to the USAAF and the 357th. About 7 hours later and after several dogfights on the way, we landed on a grass field in Russia.

The 357th had sent some mechanics as gunners on the bombers so they could service our planes. The trouble was, the bombers landed at a different field and the mechanics never got to our P-51s. The Russian crews put the wrong octane fuel in some of our P-51s and caused a lot of trouble. I was assigned a cot in a tent that came complete with a blacksnake in the cot. When I saw a P-39 on the field, I asked if I could fly it since I had a lot of time in P-39s. Not a chance. They wouldn’t let me get within a hundred feet of it.

We had one escort mission out of Russia. This gave enough time in Russia to find some beet vodka. We thought it was better than potato vodka and decided we should take some along with us. I offered to leave my ammunition behind to make space for the vodka. That was fine until we ran into some 109s on our way to Italy. Naturally, we went after them, but they ran away. However, we got close to the last one and he rolled over and bailed out. Since I was the closest plane, I could have claimed another 109, but I did not want to claim the only enemy plane destroyed with vodka! Now all I had to worry about was to make a smooth landing in Italy to safeguard my precious cargo. Our mission from Italy was a real thrill. We escorted C-47s to Yugoslavia to pick up downed airmen collected by Tito and brought to a small airfield. The C-47s took turns landing and picking up a load of men, then taking off. The amazing sight was as the fellows jumped into the C-47, they were throwing out their shoes, clothing, etc., for their rescuers. I guess everything was in short supply, and our airmen wanted to help those who had helped them. All that was left of the shuttle mission was the return to England. That took about 8 hours. How do you think Cleland, whose earlier missions had not exceeded two hours, felt by then?

I remember many exciting missions. On one, a 109 blew up when I was too close. Pieces of the 109 came into my cockpit and landed in my lap. I still have that piece of extremely light and strong metal. On another, I saw a 109, in a shallow dive after the pilot bailed out, crashing into the side of a factory. Then the engine itself came out the other side of the building, sliding down the street. On still another mission, a cannon shell came through the side of my canopy. It took the canopy, oxygen mask helmet, gave me a haircut, and a bad burn on my neck. Everyone knows you can’t hit a 90-degree shot very often, so I still wonder who the German was shooting at. At least I knew why my canopy was missing. Kit Carson lost his canopy on a mission and was angry with his crew chief until the crew chief took him over to the plane and showed him the bullet holes that caused the canopy to leave. Kit didn’t know until then that he had been hit.

On September 3, 1944, Ed Hiro and I went to a base where they had a B-24 stripped down but loaded with explosives. A pilot had to take off, then bail out when the radio control from the “Mother Ship” took over. By radio control, the bomber was flown in the sub pens and blown up. The sub pens were under heavy rock formations that had resisted bombing from the air. But when the explosion was inside, under the rock cover, significant damage was achieved. Our job was to make sure no enemy planes bothered the mission. My mission log for this day is marked “SECRET.”

This is when the OSS asked me to fly for them. They were already operating almost a regular airline to the Free French behind enemy lines. We picked up airmen downed behind enemy lines, collected intelligence, and provided supplies to the Free French. Soon I was grounded again, and ordered back to the States. What a Halloween present for my family!

[McQ59]

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Brocklesby_mid-air_collision

I bow my head. Deap. A real risk to take to save a few pounds.

[bobbysocks]

Obit...

Major General John Alison
Major General John Alison, who has died aged 98, was an American fighter "ace" and one of his country's most decorated pilots; he later fought behind enemy lines with the Chindits and is recognised as the father of US Air Force special operations.

A combat veteran with seven enemy aircraft to his credit, Alison was appointed at the end of 1943 to join his friend, Lt Col Philip Cochran, to form the 1st Air Commando Group, a secret and highly innovative flying unit.

Alison's composite wing of fighters, bombers, transports, gliders, and helicopters was assembled to support Major General Orde Wingate, the unorthodox British commander of the Chindits long-range penetration force, who planned to land a force of 9,000 men almost 200 miles behind Japanese lines in Burma.

Alison trained his air transport and glider-towing force in preparation for this mission, codenamed Operation Thursday, and the assault took place on the night of March 5 1944. Men and mules were carried in Waco gliders towed in pairs behind C-47 transport aircraft. Alison had only flown a glider on two previous occasions, and never at night, but was determined to participate in the landing of Wingate's force.

He piloted one of the gliders in the first wave, taking 15 men of the assault team. After casting off from the tug aircraft, he brought his glider down safely on the rough "Broadway" landing ground before grabbing his rifle and a sack of grenades and leaping out to join battle with the enemy.

After three weeks in the jungle he was recalled. To get back he flew a damaged C-47 transport aircraft from a jungle airstrip, despite never having flown the type before. On arriving over his destination airfield he had to ask for instructions on how to lower the undercarriage and landing flaps. For his services in support of Operation Thursday, King George VI awarded Alison the DSO.

Alison was immediately summoned to Washington to report to General "Hap" Arnold, Chief of the USAAF, and General Eisenhower, to debrief them on the success of the air commandos; he was then instructed to form four more groups. In the event, only two were formed, and Alison was sent to command the 3rd Air Commando Group in the Pacific, where he participated in the landing on the Philippines and in the air operations at Okinawa.

John Richardson Alison was born in Micanopy, Florida, on November 21 1912. He graduated from the University of Florida with an Engineering degree and joined the US Army Air Corps in 1936.

Before the United States entered the Second World War he served as assistant military attaché in England and helped RAF pilots convert to the P-40 Kittyhawk fighter provided under the Lend-Lease scheme. Not content with a training role, he soon became involved in operational tasks when he recognised that the RAF had much to teach him and his colleagues. In October 1941 he travelled to Moscow to train Russian pilots to fly the aircraft provided under the sensitive US-Soviet Lend-Lease programme. After ten months his repeated requests for a transfer to a fighting unit bore fruit.

In June 1942 he reported to the China-Burma-India (CBI) theatre to join Major General Claire Chennault's 14th Air Force as the deputy commander of the newly formed 75th Fighter Squadron. On July 30 1942, operating from Hengyang in China, he was credited with the first night kills in the theatre. For his experimental night interception work, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. In early 1943 he demonstrated his aggressiveness when he took off during an attack on his own airfield. He engaged three Zero fighters and probably shot one down. He then vectored arriving reinforcements to the battle, after which he made a stern attack on another enemy fighter at close range, shooting it down. His aircraft was damaged and he was forced to make an emergency landing in a river bed. His gallantry and fighting spirit earned him the Silver Star. Ending his tour as commander of the 75th Fighter Squadron, Alison left as an ace with seven confirmed victories and several further probable kills.

After a brief spell in the USA, Alison travelled to Burma in late 1943 to take up his post with No 1 Air Commando.

He resigned from the USAAF in 1946 as a colonel, having added the Distinguished Service Medal to his earlier gallantry awards. He was recognised by his peers as an outstanding pilot. One commanding officer commented: "John Alison has the greatest pure flying skill of any pilot in the theatre – a touch on the controls that knew no equal. His talents were matched only by his eagerness for combat."

After the war Alison held key positions in government and industry, serving as the youngest-ever Assistant Secretary of Commerce for Aeronautics, and sat on the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics and the Civil Aviation Administration. He resigned as Assistant Secretary in March 1949 to become president of the Transit Van Corporation.

In 1950 Alison re-enlisted in the USAF and served in Korea, retiring in 1955 as a major general in the USAF Reserve. He was a senior vice president of the Northrop Corporation until 1984 and was secretary-treasurer of the Air Force Memorial Foundation. He was also a former president of the Air Force Association, an independent non-profit organisation that promotes aerospace education.

A slight figure, Alison was quietly spoken and extremely modest. Greatly admired for his diplomatic skills and his courage in combat, the Air Force Association designated him its "All-American Airman" and named its highest award for industrial leadership, established in 1992, in his honour.

John Alison died on June 6. He is survived by Kathleen, his wife for 60 years, and their two sons.

[bobbysocks]

Geoff Bryson Fisken, DFC, the Commonwealth's most decorated pilot in the south Pacific in World War 11, died peacefully in Rotorua at the weekend. He was 96.

Flying Officer Fisken was a masterful pilot, registering 11 kills.

He started his war years in Masterton, his celebrity, modestly held, while piloting the P-40 Wairarapa Wild Cat.

Such was his fame that on request he regularly visited the United States for reunions. He did not merely rub shoulders with the celebrated actor Eddie Albert, who also flew in the Pacific, and Admiral Nimitz; they rubbed shoulders with him.

Flint-eyed but with the hint of a larrikin, Geoff Fiskin was hewn from the rugged Wairarapa coastline. As a boy he mustered on the unforgiving tussocky terrain, where a muster of one paddock took up to eight to 10 days.

Because he was in a 'service' industry critical to the economy of the war effort, Mr Fisken's bid to enlist was rejected.
Eventually, he persuaded his employer he would be more useful in the air (he made his own glider aged 11 and learned to fly by 14 ) than on the land. To the amazement of his employer, the precocious Fisken once mustered the craggy Wairarapa hills from an aircraft.

Bluff and squarely built, F/O Fisken had a deadly eye in combat flying Buffaloes and Catalinas.

Anxious for active service, like many of his time Mr Fisken was frustrated at the 30-hours a month flying time imposed on NZ pilots.

Eventually attached to 243 Squadron, RAF, squadrons were at times shredded after each scramble, Mr Fisken saw combat in Malaysia (where he contracted dengue fever five times) and Guadalcanal.

His physical toughness became legendary.

Once, following a sortie, Mr Fisken's mechanic fainted when he alighted from his aircraft with a shrapnel protruding from his hip.

''I didn't know it was there,'' Mr Fisken related to the Rotorua Review in 2000 in a rarely accorded interview.

''It felt sore, with blood all down my leg. I tried to pull it out with a pair of pliers at the hospital but it was still too sore. They cut it out and put on some sulthalimide, strapped it up and I was able to fly again in three or four days.''

At most times, allied aircraft were outnumbered roughly 16 to one, Mr Fisken said.

''It was nothing to see 200 or 300 Japanese aircraft in the sky,'' he recalled.

''Anybody in Malaya who tried to dogfight was just a bloody fool.

''It was supposed to be all right in England where there were dogfights all the time, but in Malaya you were dead in five minutes. The Japanese could out-manoeuvre you quite easily with their Zeros.''

Zeros were attacked diving from on high, then flying in an arch from below for a second short in a three- or five-second burst providing the requisite height had been reached. Allied planes would then head for ground when it was realised the Zeroes would not follow.

''Some said the propellers came off the Zeros (at certain velocities) but I don't whether that's true. Whatever the reason, they would never follow you down. But if they were strafing low and saw somebody coming in to land they'd have a go at you _ it was common.''

As his fame grew with his mounting tally, Mr Fisken was sought out by the celebrated Admiral Nimitz at Guadalcanal. Usually, he did not leave his ship but made a concession on learning Fisken was town.

''They gave me five cases of Canadian Club whisky, in little bottles, so I put them in tents for the boys.''

It was American Independence day and Fisken had shot down three enemy aircraft.

The Americans preferred New Zealand pilots as escort cover.

Once covering the cumbersome Catalinas, which were used on rescue missions, Mr Fisken found the flight took them to within 120-130km off the Japanese-occupied land. Relations between the two allies worsened when the New Zealanders found the Americans were farewelling the natives on the island.

''We could have been killed,'' Mr Fisken said. ''The Cats flew only 50 feet above the water and we were less then 500 feet, so we would not have had a show. I asked the Americans if they would pay the bill for our dirty underwear!''

Mr Fisken lived in Rotorua for 31 years. He and his wife Rhoda, who died 14 years ago, had six children, five boys and a girl.

After he sold his Masterton farm, he worked as a manager for TemCo, representing the then Egg Marketing Board. He had also lived in Tauranga and for a short time farmed in Te Puke, retiring in 1976.

Born in Gisborne, Geoff Fisken served from 1941 to 1943, medically discharged but not before he received his DFC in September 1943.

While Mr Fisken said his number of kills was 11, the number can differ between 10 and 13 confirmed victories against probable kills.

He was, however, throughout his life regarded as the highest scoring British Commonwealth pilot in the Pacific.





The notion of "best fighter of WWII" came up again recently on rec.aviation.military. The Buffalo was nominated because it created one ace for every 13 airframes. To which somebody replied: "But weren't they all Finns?" The answer:
"Not all.... Three British Empire pilots became aces flying the Buff. Geoffrey Fisken (a New Zealander with No. 243 Squadron) had six victories in the Brewster, and two others had five."

Well, I checked Christopher Shores, and sure enough in Aces High he credits Fisken with a Ki-27 "Nate" on 12 Jan 1942; three A6M Zeroes on 14 Jan, 21 Jan, and 1 Feb; and two G3M "Nell" bombers on 17 Jan while flying the Buffalo. Here's what Shores has to say about him

"Geoffrey Fisken was born in Gisborne, New Zealand, on 17 February 1918, and was a shepherd prior to the outbreak of World War II. Enlisting in the RNZAF, he was posted to Singapore on completion of his training, initially to join 205 Squadron, RAF--a flyingboat unit. Instead he was trained by 21 RAAF Squadron to fly one of the newly arrived Brewster Buffalo fighters, and was then posted in March 1941 to 67 Squadron which was just forming; from there he moved to the new 243 Squadron when 67 was sent to Burma. As a slightly more experienced pilot at the outbreak of war, he was one of three men detached to Ipoh on 12 December to fly with 21 RAAF Squadron. Returning to Singapore a few days later, he took part in the defence of that island during January. On 31 January so few aircraft remained available to the unit, that the survivors were amalgamated into 453 (RAAF) Squadron together with their pilots, Fisken included. During his final engagement on 1 February he was shot up by two fighters as he was claiming a third shot down, and was wounded in the arm by a bullet and in the hip by a cannon shell fragment. Evacuated before the fall of the island, he returned to New Zealand where he was commissioned, and was subsequently posted to 14 Squadron, RNZAF, to fly Kittyhawks as a Flying Officer."

In three weeks in the Solomons, Fisken ran up his claims to 11, making him the leading Commonwealth fighter pilot against the Japanese. He was awarded a DFC and invalided out of the air force in 1943, whereupon he went back to farming.

[Gilly]

Spitfire diaries: The strange life in Dublin's PoW camp
An attempt to recover a Spitfire from a peat bog in Donegal will highlight the peculiar story of the men - both British and German - who spent much of World War II in relative comfort in neighbouring prisoner of war camps in Dublin, writes historian Dan Snow.
In Northern Ireland in 1941, a routine Sunday afternoon sortie by a pilot flying one of Britain's Spitfire fighters runs into difficulties.
Returning to base after flying "top-cover" for maritime convoys off the coast of Donegal, the Rolls Royce Merlin engine overheats and fails.
The pilot yells into his radio "I'm going over the side", slides back the bubble canopy, releases his seat straps and launches himself into the air.
The air flow hit this particular pilot like a freight train and tore off his boots. Luckily he was able to deploy his parachute and landed in a peat bog. His aircraft smashed into the bog half a mile away.
It sounds like a typical wartime accident but it was anything but. It was the beginning of one of the strangest incidents of WWII.
The pilot was 23-year-old Roland "Bud" Wolfe, an RAF officer from 133 "Eagle" Squadron, a unit entirely composed of Americans.
Bud himself was from Nebraska, one of a number of Americans who had volunteered to take up Britain's cause. Since the US was not yet at war with Germany when the men volunteered, the American government stripped Wolfe and others of their citizenship. These pilots were a mix of idealists and thrill seekers.
When Wolfe was found by the authorities he realised his, already unusual, situation was much more complicated than he had guessed. He had crashed over the border.
Since the South was neutral it had been decided that all servicemen of any belligerent nation that ended up on Irish soil through navigational error, shipwreck or other accident would be interned for the duration of the war.
Wolfe found himself heading not back to his airbase, RAF Eglinton, now Derry International Airport, in Northern Ireland just 13 miles away, but to Curragh Camp, County Kildare, 175 miles to the south.
Here, a huddle of corrugated iron huts housed 40 other RAF pilots and crewmen who had accidentally come down in neutral territory. They were effectively prisoners of war.
It was an odd existence. The guards had blank rounds in their rifles, visitors were permitted (one officer shipped his wife over), and the internees were allowed to come and go. Fishing excursions, fox hunting, golf and trips to the pub in the town of Naas helped pass the time.
But what was really odd was the proximity of the Germans.
It was not just the British and their allies who got lost above and around Ireland. German sailors from destroyed U-boats and Luftwaffe aircrew also found themselves interned. The juxtaposition of the two sides made for surreal drama.
Sport was a notable feature. In one football match the Germans beat the British 8-3. There were also boxing contests.
It appears that the rivalry on the pitch followed the teams into the pub afterwards as well. They would drink at different bars, and the British once complained vigorously when the Luftwaffe internees turned up to a dance they had organised.
Anything further from front-line service is hard to imagine.
It may seem to us like a welcome chance to sit out the war with honour intact, plenty of distractions and no danger, but for Wolfe it was an unacceptable interruption to his flying activities.
On 13 December 1941 he walked straight out of camp and after a meal in a hotel, which he did not pay for, he headed into nearby Dublin and caught the train the next day to Belfast. Within hours he was back at RAF Eglinton where he had taken off two weeks earlier in his defective Spitfire.
He could not have expected what was to happen next. The British government decided that, in this dark hour, it would be unwise to upset a neutral nation.
The decision was made to send Wolfe back to The Curragh and internment. Back in the camp, Wolfe made the best of it, joining the fox-hunting with relish.
He did try to escape again but this time he was caught. Finally in 1943, with the US in the war, and the tide slowly turning, The Curragh was closed and the internees returned. Wolfe joined the US Army Air Force and served once again on the front line.
So great was his love of flying that he also served in Korea and even Vietnam. He eventually died in 1994.
But Wolfe's epic story did not end with his death. Thanks to the highly unusual, soft nature of the terrain in the peat bog where his Spitfire crashed, a team of archaeologists is attempting to dig up his aircraft.
This week I will accompany them with a BBC television crew and record what we hope will be substantial pieces of wreckage emerging from the bog. The bog defeated the attempt in 1941 to gather up the wreckage, so there should be plenty of Spitfire down there, but it may well defeat us.
The digger has to sit on bog mats, big railway sleepers, to spread its 20-ton weight. But even they may not be enough to stop it sinking in. There is also a danger that the hole will simply fill with water or the sides cave in.
It is one of the most difficult excavations that an experienced team have ever faced. Whatever happens, I will be updating Twitter minute-by-minute as the excavation takes place.
Hopefully we will find the physical evidence that will shine a light on the events of that November night 70 years ago and also provide us with a connection to one of the most bizarre moments of the war


by Dan Snow, BBC website 28th June

[bobbysocks]

wow...that is interesting and something i did not know. thanks for posting gilly and keep us updated in the spit recovery. would be good to have another one in the air.

[WildBoar44]

Not much to read apart from a Big "Thank You" bobbysocks and other Authors for what you do on these pages..........:)

Most days I get home later after my family have had dinner.....so gone is the day's I would sit at the kitchen table alone eating.....I now look forward to grabbing my feast and nestle myself at my Pc workstation and read the latest offerings from "In thier own words"...

If I could get one to you.....here is a pint of good English Ale......Cheers !! ;)


WildBoar.

[themeistor1]

I live right beside eglinton aerodrome i learnd to drive there and flew from there many times . there are lots of ww2 aircraft still lying around . There was a spit lying in the mud at the end of the runway for years until they lenghtend the runway also a bolton paul defiant ,corsair ,barracuda and many more . Many aircraft crashed into the sperrin mountains because their compasses were being altered by the metal ores in them .And i've heard plenty of stories about german uboat crews socialising in donegal and the west of the free state. During the war the guns of the free state all pointed towards the North. They also offered hitler sanctuary near the end of the war

[bobbysocks]

journal notes ( long but interesting)

FIRST LIEUTENANT WILLIAM A. MALONE
Navigator- 8th Air Force
303rd Bomb Group
(Hell's Angels)
427th Bomb Squadron
Molesworth England

THE PLANE ASSIGNMENTS


099 "Ole 99"
423 "Jigger Roche"
060 "Pogue Mahone"
527 "Earthquake McGoon"
569 "Means Special" (finished up in it)




REMARKS
Six raids on Munich caused riots in city and Gestapo had to forcefully put down people's desire to sue for peace. On third raid to Big M pleas were intercepted on radio to send firefighting apparatus from Stuttgart which is close to 80 miles away. Apparently incendiaries started huge fires which could not be brought under control. Because of the number of raids on Munich the trip became known as the M-M Special (Molesworth to Munich Special).


The two raids to Cherbourg started ground forces on lightning-like offensive out of St. Lo. Later raids to Paris and Brest supported this offensive.


On raid to Berlin ( Big B ) saw huge palls of smoke rising from our target, which was the Damier-Benz aircraft engine works on southern edge of Berlin. Huge columns of smoke were also seen in heart of Berlin, in Brandenburg (just outside of Berlin), at Hamburg Kiel and Wilhelmshaven, where other Groups bombed.


Raid to Peenamunde was very successful as target was blasted effectively. On way home Group got an ME 210 which made fatal mistake of coming in too close.


Both raids to Merseburg saw great clouds of black smoke at target. Saw a number of B-17's, P-51's and enemy aircraft go down in flames. It was a horrible but fascinating sight to see parts of planes plummet earthward in flames and explode when they hit the ground.


The Brux raid was first real air battle for crew. As result of fight Miles Bruce was killed. Group got at least 4 fighters and lost 1 ship. Other Groups got quite a few. Our fighters finally arrived and must have gotten quite a few more. I believe I got one ME 109. After taking a constant pounding for six straight missions our Squadron has only 4 ships fit for operations. Personnel casualties were comparatively light, but that didn't save Bruce or Newton's crew. Bruce was buried September 14, 1944, in Cambridge National Military Cemetery. The crew was present at his funeral.


Raids on Eindhoven and Hertogenbasch paved way for paratroop landings in Holland--also were in support of drive to outflank Siegfried Line.


Raids to Ruhr and vicinity to cut production, supply and transportation for front lines to a minimum. Cologne, Essen, Munster, Osnabruk, Duisburg and Dortmund are all more than half destroyed and the heart of the Ruhr (Gelsenkirchen, Battrop, etc.) is also pretty well smashed.


Two days less than 4 months was the time span for my tour which started on July 8 1944, and was terminated November 6, 1944. Now I can really start thinking of home!


RAIDS



07/08/44 - 04:30 - Etaples, France - No flak - No fighters - Bridge - Trouble with rendezvous - Hit target - Johnny was co-pilot, rest of crew was Keating's.


07/09/44 - 06:05 - Tours, France - Light flak - No fighters - Bridge - Target was socked in, so hit airfield N.E. Tours as last resort - Bombing good - Flew with crew, Johnny as co-pilot, Schwalow First Pilot - M. DuMont stayed home.


07/11/44 - 09:00 - Munich, Germany - Intense flak, no injuries - 8 holes - No fighters - City - 1 hole in nose - Hit city - Flew with strange crew.


07/12/44 - 09:45 - Munich, Germany - intense flak, no injuries - No holes - No fighters City - Hit city hard - Bomber in Purple Heaven Corner blew up over target just below us - No chutes seen - Flew with crew.


07/13/44 - 09:30 - Munich, Germany - Intense flak, no injuries - 5 holes - No fighters - City - 1 hole in nose - Hit city - Fighter exploded in mid-air below formation but pilot got out OK - Flew with crew.


07/21/44 - 08:45 - Stuttgart (Air Depot N.E. of City), Germany- Target socked in so Group hit Chemical Plant at Mannheim as alternate target - Intense flak - No injuries - No fighters - Chemical Plant at Mannheim - Flew with crew in 099. Engines overheated before I.P.; lost altitude and airspeed. Couldn't bomb primary target because of clouds and had to salvo bombs before Mannheim to catch up with formation and maintain altitude. Dwindling gas supply made whole crew anxious. Landed with about 4 minutes supply left. Really earned flying pay on this one. Group passed target, but our bombs raised hell in small German village.


07/24/44 - 05:15 - Cherbourg (St. Lo), France - Moderate flak - No Injuries - No fighters - No holes - Target was enemy troop concentrations just ahead of American lines - Raised hell with Germans - Flew with crew.


07/25/44 - 04:40 - Cherbourg (St. Lo), France - No flak, no injuries - No fighters - Enemy troop concentrations just ahead of our lines at St. Lo - Blasted positions accurately and big push started immediately after bombing.


07/28/44 - 08:40 - Leipzig (Merseburg) - Intense flak at target and at several places along route - Fighters attacked 2 formations behind us but didn't bother us - No injuries - 8 holes, 1 in plexiglass and 1 in nose - Target was synthetic oil plant 21 miles west of Leipzig at Launa. Seemed to be in flak area for 5 minutes. The longest 5 minutes of my life. Bombed P.F.F. and our Group missed target but preceding Groups hit because huge columns of smoke rose from target. Flew with Hamilton and crew.


07/29/44 - 08:25 - Leipzig (Merseburg) - Intense flak at target and moderate at several places along route - Fighters in area - No injuries - 3 holes - Synthetic oil plant at Launa was target. Blasted hell out of target and columns of thick black smoke rose for 15,000 or 20,000 feet above target. Flew with crew.


08/04/44 - 09:10 - Peenamunde - Moderate flak at target and several places along route - 1 fighter (ME 210) - No injuries - 3 holes - Target was experimental station and laboratories - Huge smoke columns seen and seemed to indicate good results ME 210 got too close to formation and was shot down.


08/05/44 - 03:15 - Pas de Calais (flying bombsight) - No flak - No fighters - No injuries - No holes - Element leader failed to make rendezvous, so bombed an airfield in France as last resort target with fair results. Would have been duck soup for German fighters. Flew with crew.


08/06/44 - 08:25 - Berlin (Genshagen) - Intense flak at target and moderate at several places along route - No injuries - 4 holes - Enemy fighters seen but did not make a pass at our formation. Also saw new jet-propelled aircraft for first time and they scared hell out of {us} for a while. Target was Damier-Benz Aircraft Engine Plant at Genshagen on southern outskirts of "Big B" - Bomb run was visual and target was hit but good. One flak hole in nose just beside my head; with a little more force my flak helmet would have had a test. Smoke rose for from 15,000 to 20,000 feet above target. Brandenburg, about 20 miles west of Berlin was also a huge pall of smoke at the airfield and ammo dumps and it seemed as if all hell had broken loose. Different Groups also raised 4 towering clouds of smoke at Hamburg, and blasted airfields and different targets all the way from Berlin to the coast. It was a beautiful sight all the way back to the coast and it was a bad day for Adolph and his bums. One B-17 blew up and 9 chutes were seen so it wasn't so bad. A helluva day and place to go on raid #13, but wound up O.K. Flew with crew.


08/07/44 - 05:50 - Paris - Intense flak at target and moderate at several places along route - No injuries - 3 holes - No fighters - Target was a bridge across Seine River at N.E. edge of "gay Paree" No.4 engine oil-cooler hit over target and engine wouldn't feather. Prop windmilled. Couldn't maintain airspeed and fell behind Group. For a while we were clay pigeons for every gunner in Paris, but although flak was terrific and practically had our number we escaped with no serious damage. By this time we had lost our formation and had to come home. Took some ticklish navigating to get past other flak installations and still get home as quickly as possible. We sweat out gas but hit English coast and base for a 0-0 navigation mission. Besecker would have been proud of that one. We were pretty lucky all the way round, but bridge was pasted and we got home O.K. even though we ruined an engine with the windmilling prop. Flew with crew and they were perfect - scared as I was but not excited. We were a perfect fighter target without any support but were unmolested. The plane was "Jigger Roche" ---423, which went down on Frankfort raid.


08/9/44 - 06:45 - Pirmasens (German town between Mannheim and Saarbrucken) - No flak at target and only meager at one or two places along route - No fighters - No holes - No injuries. Target was a last resort target after report came back that Munich was socked in. The target we were supposed to hit was a shoe factory in the middle of Pirmasens. We had RDX bombs aboard and there wasn't much left of town after we left. Hit target and a couple thousand Germans besides. Flew with entire crew except Rohner.


08/11/44 - 06:40 - Brest - No flak encountered but there was some in area - No injuries - No fighters - No holes - Target was a concentration of pillboxes and enemy troops and was really hit proper. Flew with crew.


08/12/44 - 08:50 - Metz (France) - A little flak along route - No fighters - No injuries - One hole - Target was a series of railroad junctions and marshalling yards which were important to Germans for supply land evacuation purposes. Triangular target area was completely demolished by new RDX bombs Flew with crew.


08/27/44 - 08:30 - Esbjerg, Denmark - Moderate accurate flak at target - One enemy fighter seen (ME 110) - No injuries - 3 holes - Started out for "Big B" but thick clouds persisted and went up to 32,000 feet. *General Travis led Group and putzed around over Denmark for an hour trying to get through. Finally gave up after touring up and down Denmark and hit airfield at Esbjerg as last resort. 358th lost three ships but only two crews. Flew with crew. * This is General Travis. Travis Air Force Base, California named after him.


08/30/44 - 05:10 - Pas de Calais - No flak - No fighters - No holes - No injuries - Bombed no-ball target in heavy pea soup. A real milk run. Gee-fix at target showed we bombed at least a mile south of target. Flew with crew.


09/09/44 - 07:35 - Ludwigshaven (Mannheim PFF) - Intense flak at target and moderate from Strasbourg and at Luxembourg - About 50 holes, ten of which were about as big as a fist. No fighters. Tailgunner got slight frostbite - otherwise no injuries. Target was PFF center of Mannheim. Flak was intense and very accurate at target. We were lead of the low element, low squadron, high group. Our No. 3 wingman in the Purple Heart Corner was hit by 2 direct flak hits and went down, breaking up on the way. Over target, flak burst right outside window. A piece came through and missed my arm by scarcely an inch, brushing my sleeve as it passed by. Two holes bigger than my fist in bottom of nose. Entire crew believed that our luck had run out. I believe we were all scared - though no one showed it--by the accurate fire at both the target and Luxembourg. Bombs landed all over the place and probably got a few Germans. Besides 323 going down in our squadron, other squadrons in Group lost about 6 planes. Entire Group got hell shot out of it. This was probably our toughest raid. Flew with crew.


09/10/44 - 07:00 - Stuttgart - (visual) - Moderate flak at target and several places on route, especially Karisruhe - No fighters, no injuries. Towers of smoke rose from many targets around Strasbourg, Karlsruhe, Baden. And Stuttgart. Led high squadron of lead group. Three big holes in plane - none in nose. Target was motor works 7 miles from Stuttgart. Damage unobserved. Compared to the last raid this was a "milk run." Flew with crew.


09/12/44 - 09:15 - Brux, Czechoslovakia - Intense flak at target - Hit by fighters just North of Berlin. About 15 holes - One in nose by flak which just missed Rohner's neck - One casualty. Target was a synthetic oil plant - the largest in the world --at Brux. Believe target was hit hard. Fighters, ME 109's and F.W. 190's hit us just N.W. of Berlin. They came in from nose and went around to tail. Our tailgunner was hit on first attack - whether by German shells or one of our own which strayed is only a matter of conjecture. His oxygen hose was severed and although none of his wounds were fatal he died of anoxia before the attack ceased and we could go to help him. There was nothing we could possibly do to save him before it was too late. We all felt his death was a terrible blow. He was a wonderful fellow with never a cross word and an everlasting grin. I believe I got a fighter in the attack for I saw my bullets make small puffs along the entire fuselage of a 109. Merrill DuMont said fighter went into lazy spin with smoke pouring out. With both flak and fighters this was the worst mission yet. On top of that Gen. Travis putzed around waiting for some other Group on the Czech-German border. We all sweat it out. I was scared as hell of both flak and fighters and Bruce in the tail didn't help matters any. We're all praying that the number of missions is lowered. If things continue this way it's almost impossible to be lucky thirty-five times. Now that war is close to Germany, the missions are getting rougher rather than easier. Flew with crew. Requiescat in pace!


09/17/44 - 05:45 - Hertogenbasch - Moderate flak at target and several places along route near front lines - No injuries, no fighters, 5 holes. Bombed road just north of an important bridge across Maas River and canal. Results excellent. Prepared way for paratroop landings. Flew with crew. (Target in Holland)


09/19/44 - 06:05 - Hamm (Germany) - Moderate flak at target and two places on route - No injuries, no fighters, 2 holes, one in wing bigger than my fist which missed gas tanks. Wasn't worried about flak on this one as much as about a mid air collision since the bomb run was made in thick pea soup. Surprisingly enough we didn't see much flak although we expected a rough time since Hamm is in Ruhr Valley and "Happy Valley" as it is called has close to 2000 ack-ack guns. Results of bombing were unobserved because of weather conditions. Target was the railroad marshalling yards which supply the front lines and traffic products of the industrial Ruhr back to northern and central Germany. Flew with crew and because of bad weather had to land at Bungay near coast.


09/21/44 - 06:00 - Mainz (Germany) - Intense flak at target for about 6 minutes - No Injuries - Enemy fighters seen - 3 holes. Bomb run again impaired by weather but observed results were excellent. Target was railroad marshalling yards which supply front lines and which carry most of Ruhr's products to central and southern Germany. Ran into accurate flak on both route in and out of target. Flak at target was accurate and there was plenty of it. Saw quite a number of enemy fighters but they didn't bother us. Also saw a few jet-propelled craft. A B-24 joined our squadron, which we were leading, and the crew will never know how close they came to being shot down for they didn't identify themselves at all. We are getting "trigger-happy" and Jerry no doubt has B-17's and B-24's and we won't take many chances any more. On way home during let-down from altitude the whole wing formation broke up because of thick pea soup which started at 500 feet and went up to 10,000 feet. Hit field at 0-0, thank goodness. Flew with crew.


10/02/44 - 06:30 - Cologne (Germany) - Meager inaccurate flak at target - No injuries - No enemy fighters - Not sure what we bombed but I think bombardier believed he had poor results and tried to pass off blame on navigator. P.F.F. target was center of Cologne, which I know we didn't hit. We were on course for visual primary which was Ford Motor Works 3 miles north of city. Cologne is in the heart of the Ruhr and it really surprised the hell out of us to get a free ride through. Nine to go ---four if they lower it to thirty. Flew with crew. I think we sweated out no flak almost as much as we do when there is intense flak.


10/03/44 - 07:00 - Cologne (Germany) - Intense accurate flak at target, meager inaccurate at Coast in - One injury - No enemy fighters - Not sure of target but believe we were after "G.H." Primary. Results were unobserved. We were hoping the impossible could happen twice in a row but " Happy Valley" was again in true form. The ack-ack had our range and altitude with the first burst and all hell really broke loose. Flak tracked formation right along and just after bombs away, Rohner was hit high up in the back of the thigh. It knocked him head-over-heels out of bombardier's chair but I thought he was only scared by a close miss. The inter-phone was knocked out and it took me a minute or so to find out he was really hit. The piece of flak went through his coveralls but not through his pants. The wound bled very little and resembled a puncture. Nothing serious but he is now the "Purple Heart Kid." We were both lucky because a couple bursts missed being direct hits by a matter of a foot or two. The chin turret was all banged up and nose had quite a few holes. One piece went right through waist --in one side and out the other. Wings were also pretty well perforated and so was tail. Flew with crew. Only eight to go but they get worse instead of better. Navigator in lead was worst I've ever seen, and our Group Leader doesn't deserve to fly a P.T.-19. They really did a miserable job and Johnny had a really rough time trying to keep our Sqdn. out of trouble. Flew lead, high squadron, high group. Saw Adolph's famous V-2 for first time and got coordinates of the launching site of his super rocket bomb. Fighters will probably blast it to Hades in a hurry.


10/04/44 - 07:20 - Cologne - Moderate accurate flak at target - Moderate accurate flak at battlefront near Koblenz - One injury - No fighters attacked, but were seen and attacked lead wing - Bombed Ford Plant by G.H. - Results unobserved. Flak at target was accurate again but we got through O.K. However, when we crossed battlefront they threw up everything but the kitchen sink. It was so accurate that the first burst was just above our nose and a piece hit the bombardier. The wound was slight but if this keeps up the bombardiers won't fly with us. Two in two missions is too many. Again, there were too many close ones that just missed being direct hits. Al Monnig also came awful close to getting it. Flew with crew, except of course, tailgunner and bombardier; latter was Lt. Haakonsen.


10/14/44 - 06:40 - Saarbrucken (Germany) - Meager inaccurate flak at target for us - No fighters - No holes - No - injuries - Bombed important R.R. marshalling yard supplying front lines. Believe we passed target. On bomb run, some fool almost collided with us. Both the pilot and co-pilot were putting on their flak suits and missed us by only an inch or so. The only thing that saved us was quick action by Johnny and Merrill when they shoved the stick forward and dove us out of the way. I guess everyone on the crew hit the top of the plane when it dove down but there were only a few banged heads and skinned knees to show for a close call. Flew with crew except Rohner. Haakonsen was bombardier.


10/18/44 - 07:00 - Cologne - Moderate accurate flak at target, Koblenz and battlefront. No injuries, no enemy fighters. Two holes (big ones--one in nose). Target was Ford Motor Works, but results were unobserved although heading was perfect. The flak was close but this was the closest thing to a "milk run" we're going to have anymore. Saw a couple of those new rockets (supposedly V-2) and I got a pretty accurate position on both. The fighters will probably take care of the rest. Weather again gave us a hard time. Merrill and Bill didn't fly with us but Johnny was pilot and the rest of the crew was along.


10/19/44 - 07:05 - Mannheim - Intense, accurate flak at target - No Injuries, no enemy fighters for us - About 10 holes, three in nose. Target was German "Tiger" tank works at Mannheim. Results were unobserved. We expected a very rough mission on this one, but it wasn't quite as rough as we had figured on. Flak was right in the groove, but Griggs crew was lucky again with quite a few awful close misses. There was a hole bigger than my fist above my head and flak sailed on through the partition nearly getting Merrill. There was a big gash in the chin turret and another in the nose. One very large piece put a hole in the wing, just missed the gas tanks, and took about a foot of the main wing spar off. Still another piece went through the No. 3 nacelle and came within a half-inch of the ignition system. After the target, Jerry tossed up a couple phosphorus shells but did no dam- age. Four to go - things are getting brighter. Flew with crew except Bruce.


10/22/44 - 07:25 - Brunswick (Braunschweig) - Moderate accurate flak at target - Intense observed several places on route. Enemy fighters were in area and hit one Group but our fighter cover was perfect and we didn't see any. Target was oil refinery but results were unobserved. Sweat out flying more than flak and fighters. O'Leary was squadron lead and when we most expected fighters he had us flubbing around a mile or more from our Group. Got a few minor flak holes but nothing much to speak of. The co-pilot, Droll, finished up on this raid. Flew with DuBose and crew. Rohner flew with Flesh. Johnny and our crew were stood down except for Duff who flew with DuBose in the ball. Three to go --the end of the tour draws near!


10/25/44 - 06:50 - Hamm - Moderate inaccurate flak at target - Meager accurate at Osnabruk Intense observed at Munster. Two holes --one in nose--the only two in Group. No injuries - Fighters in area. As we understand it now, it was pretty nearly a milk run. Target was marshalling yard, which I think we pasted, although results were unobserved. Flew with crew and then taking off on seven-day leave.


11/04/44 - 05:35 - Battrop (heart of Ruhr) - Flak was intense but mostly low, thank good- ness. Fighters were seen in distance, but P-51's our Guardian Angels, chased them off. No injuries. About 20 holes, 3 in nose. One hit my foot, went through my flying boot, but my G.I. Shoe stopped it. Lucky! Didn't tell anyone, no sense worrying them. We were in flak for about 15 minutes, which I found out, is one helluva long time. B-24's saved the day for us. They went in about 22,000 (their highest altitude) while we were at 28,000. They got the better part of the flak. Target was oil refinery.. I'll swear G.H. navigator made a mistake and dropped at least a minute and a half early. Results were unobserved. Flew with Davis crew.


11/05/44 - 06:30 - Frankfort - Flak intense and accurate at target. Fighters were in area, but P-51's put the fear of God in them. No injuries, about 10 holes ---three in nose. Were in flak for about 7 minutes and it really had us bracketed. How we ever got through we'll never know. One B-17 got a direct hit in number 2 engine. Plane was under control for about 4 minutes and then really flamed up. Apparently pilot tried to dive ship to put out fire but it was no soap. Ship dived under control for another 30 seconds and then went into a lazy spin. It spun and spouted flame for another 30 seconds, then tail and wings broke off and rest finally exploded. At least 5 men got out. However, I think others probably got out too, because they had all the time in the world. Target was marshalling yard in Frankfort. Results unobserved. Flew with crew except Merrill, and of course, Bruce. Merrill flew as First Pilot in 885.


11/06/44 - 05:25 - Battrop (extra mission because of abort when Flux-Gate and radio com- pass went out, and no Gee Box). Flak moderate and accurate as hell at target. No fighters. About 15 holes, most of them pretty big. Every burst of flak that came up was right in the formation. If there was as much thrown up as the last time, we would have had it. One piece of flak came in just below Johnny's half of windshield and hit him in leg. However, it had spent all its force going through bulkhead partition and a couple of other things and hit him just hard enough to scare hell out of him. Target was oil refinery again. Several holes in wing were just outside gas tanks - thank God! One piece went right through tailgunner's cubby hole and missed his head only because he bent down to fix his boot. G.H. navigator dropped exactly on my E.T.A. and his heading was perfect. Results were unobserved. However, we either got the oil plant or a bunch of Germans, and right now I don't much give a damn which it was. Flew with crew except Merrill, who showed Peterson, a new boy, the ropes. I'm first of the crew to finish. Amen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bobbysocks]

MY FIRST MISSION
from the journal of 2Lt Carroll 'Ted' Binder
KIA 24 May 1944, his 28th Mission,


There was a loud knock on our door, and it was opened noisily. A moment later the lights were napped on and four sleepy combat men were blinking at a harassed looking corporal in the doorway. We knew what his mission was -- I, at least, had been lying awake for over an hour, worrying about the day ahead as I used to do before an exam at Harvard -- and so it was no surprise to us when he read off: Lt. Hofmann; Lt. Binder; Lt. Israelson. Flying with Lt. Gorman in ship 739--Pugnacious Peter. Breakfast at 0330. Briefing at 0430.

We had known, too, that Jim Gorman, a veteran of fourteen missions, would be our pilot on our first expedition. It was squadron policy to break in new crews with experienced pilots, so we had already had a week with Jim in the pilot's seat and Lt. Ray Hofmann, our regular pilot, in Lt. Calvin S. Brothers' regular spot on the right hand side of the cockpit.

The room was cold as we rolled out of our warm, comfortable beds, so cold that our chattering teeth throttled any inclination to talk we might have had. But uncomfortable as it was, I could think only of the things I knew I mustn't forget. Dog tags? Yes, I must have put them on when I first got up. I could feel that cold metal against my chest. Wallet? Yes, I'd remembered to take that out of my pocket and hide it in my bureau drawer. Money? The intelligence officer had said that English pounds could perform miracles in occupied Europe. I felt in my flying pocket suit to make sure that the five pounds I had put there were still in place. Papers? Yes, my pockets had been properly purged of everything that might interest the Hun. As far as I knew, I had thought of everything.

At breakfast it was interesting to note the different expressions on men's faces as they ate. Lt. Jack W. Watson, (of Yankee Stadium fame) who had lost two engines and bailed his crew out in Holland, then brought the ship back by himself, had so completely recovered that he was wisecracking all through the meal. Lt. John F. Henderson, who had to ditch twice in the North Sea and now went on every mission knowing that he was going to die that day (he was shot down three days afterwards), looked grim even when he asked for the marmalade. Lt. J. W. Stuermer, who had completed twelve missions successfully, looked and talked as if he had nothing more ahead of him than a practice flight to Hereford and back (two days later as we were leaving on pass, we heard a loud explosion south of the field. One waist gunner was the only survivor of Stuermer's collision with another Fort). And me, Lt. Binder, who had no idea what was coming, tried to look nonchalant and laughed nervously but loudly when ever anyone said anything.

Another cold truck ride brought us to the main briefing building where crews from all the squadrons were given all the information that could be of value to them that day. Pilots and co-pilots, navigators, bombardiers, and radio operators, each had their own private briefings, with the other gunners lumped together in one large room. After collecting my set of maps, I walked into the navigator's room where the colossal map of western Europe had already been covered with the transparent material on which our mission route was marked. Up to now I had felt the usual first mission jitters, but when I saw the target I felt a strange sense of exhilaration. Berlin was still the Great Untouchable for the Eighth Air Force, but it could not have had more interest to me than Leipzig, which I knew to be one of Germany's greatest manufacturing cities and one of the least attacked of her major war centers. I had expected a short run to a French air field, and I had been afraid. But when I found that it (Leipzig) was to be one of the longest runs yet attacked , my satisfied ambition made me forget my fears, and I knew that I wouldn't be battle shy on my first mission. From then on I positively glowed inside.

Navigator's briefing began with the reading off of a flight plan for all of us to copy. Every course, distance, drift and ETA from departure to return had been worked out by the Group navigator, and if metro (meteorology department) winds proved correct, there would be no work at all to be done on the mission.

Next on the platform was an Intelligence officer who had the latest information on hazards. Every flak town on our route was pointed out to us, along with those airfields which the Germans thought worth defending. At the target, we were told, there were umpty-eight guns, only umpty-six of which could bear on us if we stayed on course. As for German fighters, there were -- hundred twenty single engines, --hundred sixty-twin engine fighters within range of our course. I wondered how intelligence could say that it was sixty-six and not sixty-seven. It seemed doubtful that the best spy network in the world could cut it that close.

A more pleasant subject was the fighter support. We were given the exact points at which we were to be met by our Thunderbirds (P-47's); Lightings (P-38's); Mustangs (P-51's) and the English Spitfires, so that we would not be expecting the various kinds at the wrong times and consequently make the fatal and often-made mistake of calling an FW-190, a P-47 or a Me-109, a Mustang. The weather man was next to be given an audience. In spite of the abuse to which he had been subjected for recent mistakes, he spoke confidently of the 3/10 alto-cumulus clouds to be expected at the target, of the eighty knot wind that would complicate our navigation, of the unlimited visibility in central Germany that day. Each of us was given a weather report to be made out at a specific time to aid in the weather forecasting that night.

I was beginning to think that there was nothing else we could be briefed on when another intelligence officer took over and spent ten minutes describing how to identify the target and how to orient oneself on the bomb run. We were to follow a railway all the way down the run, so it looked like a hard one to miss. The Junkers Aircraft Works factory was certainly distinctive enough to stand out.

Navigator's briefing always lasted at least half an hour longer than anyone else's so we had little time in which to dress. Electric suits, flying suits, life vests (called Mae Wests by both RAF and AAF), and parachute harnesses were on in a matter of seconds. Equipment bags were checked to see that we had the electric shoes, gloves, oxygen masks and helmets necessary for a long flight at high altitude. Then back on the trucks and out to our planes.

We were flying a brand new ship which, for want of a name was known by its call-letter, P for Peter. (It later took on the name Pugnacious Peter.) By the time I arrived on the scene, Ray Hofmann and Jim Gorman had gone over every detail with the crew chief, making sure that all four engines were in perfect shape, that radio equipment was functioning properly, and that oxygen and gas load would be adequate for the long journey ahead of us. Gunners had done their pre-flight work, putting in their guns -- the fifty-calibers they had cleaned the night before, then hand-charging them to make sure they were ready for action. Only Shorty, the ball turret operator (Sgt Ollie G. Crenshaw), was still at work on his guns. The rest had joined the officers around the coal stove in the ground crew's tent.

Noticing that forty minutes remained until engines were ready to be started, I quickly checked my own guns, laid out my equipment, and then made for the tent and broke into the circle around the fire. It was a good feeling being together for a few minutes before going to our separate, almost lonely stations in the plane. I must have sounded like a football coach giving a last-minute pep talk, but I think the others knew I meant it when I said we were lucky to get in on so important a raid, and when I pointed out that with our fighter cover we would not have too hard a time. I don't think I was the only one who left our huddle in the best of spirits.

Outside, daylight had broken and unfriendly-looking clouds were hanging low over the base at Molesworth. We climbed into our ship, and in a moment, one after another of our engines was sputtering, and then catching and throwing out a stream of flame and black smoke.

Before long our plane was on its way down the runway, gaining speed until, the airspeed meter reading 125 M.P.H., Jim Gorman pulled gently back on the wheel and the ship nosed into the air. Around the field once at eight hundred feet, then out on a heading of 310 degrees and up through the clouds at four hundred feet per minute. Every man on the crew was at his station, straining his eyes into the mist to make out the forms of approaching planes. In eight minutes the first traces of blue appeared above us. In ten we had broken through and were skipping along the tops of the higher strata-cumulus clouds. And a minute later we were high enough to see a plane ahead of us turning back toward the field, where we were to assemble around the radio beacon. All we had to do was follow him, for his markings identified him as the leader of our own squadron.

Take-off had been at 0730. By 0835 the six ships of each squadron had taken their positions in neat three-plane V's and the three squadrons had occupied their respective lead, high and low spots in the group.

"Navigator to pilot."

"Go ahead."

"Leaving base on course, two minutes behind schedule."

"Roger."

A moment later, Iz (Lt. Elmer P. Israelson) was on interphone to tell the crew that we were now at 10,000 feet and would have to put on our oxygen masks. In quick succession everyone checked in -- tail gunner, left waist, right waist, ball turret, radio, and top turret. To make sure that no one succumbed to anoxia, either Iz or I ran an oxygen check every five minutes from then on, a precaution that had already saved several lives in our squadron.

Just as our squadron had joined others to form a Group, our group now took up its position with others to form the Wing, and by the time we reached the coast, the wings, too, had taken their assigned posts in the Air Division. It must have warmed the heart of much-bombed Great Yarmouth to see us in the bright sunlight, streaming eastward to avenge the wounds of the free world, and to make it possible for a new and better society to rise. But if it didn't impress Great Yarmouth to see formation after formation head out across the water, it certainly impressed me.

Half-way across the North Sea I went on interphone to tell the crew it was time to test-fire guns. "For Christ sakes watch out for planes when you shoot, and those of you who can, fire into the water." Everyone checked in to let me know the message was understood, and a moment later I could hear and feel -- short bursts fired from all parts of the ship. My own guns barked satisfyingly. It was now time to put on flak suits if we were to be prepared for the enemy coastal batteries, now only twenty miles off. It was time, also, to be looking out for our Thunderbolt escort aircraft, and for enemy fighters from fields that dotted the Dutch coast.

Iz and I helped each other wiggle into the awkward flak suits. They hadn't seemed heavy on the ground, but even at 19,000 feet, a moderate enough altitude, the eighteen pounds of protective armor had become a formidable burden. When I had finally managed to clip mine on properly, I surveyed myself a little ruefully. Holy smoke! The Luftwaffe would be the least of my worries. Flak too for that matter. My real problem would be just to move amid the tangle of wires and tubes that were necessary to keep me going -- the thick, awkward oxygen hose, the wire to my throat mike, the wire to the earphones sewed into my helmet, the plug attachment for my heated suit. Yes, it would be a battle to get through today even if I never saw a German plane or a flak burst.

"Flak at twelve o'clock low," I called nervously on interphone. An equally nervous "Roger" came from the cockpit.

It didn't look like much to worry about -- not much of it and too low to hurt us. So I forgot my initial fear and pressed my face against a window to get a good look -- that thrilling first look -- at enemy territory. Just off our right wing was Haarlem, where our pilgrims first experimented in living abroad and where they made their history-making decision to sail for the new world. On the coast near Haarlem was Ijmuiden, where a year before a dozen marauders (B-26's) had attacked and a dozen had been shot down. And off in the distance at two o'clock, bordered by rivers, canals, and the Zuider Zee, now nearly four years the capital of a nation in chains, was Amsterdam. Knowing that the crew always like to know where we were, I got busy on interphone with the latest bulletin. "Navigator to crew. We're on course just north of Amsterdam. That's the Zuider Zee ahead of us. "Let's all check in." Everyone was really on the ball now. I don't think it took three seconds for the six gunners to answer. It was a good sign.

I was just beginning to wonder where our fighter escort was when I heard Jim Gorman's husky voice on interphone. "Contrails at nine o'clock high." And sure enough, there they were. Too far out for the planes themselves to be visible -- I could make out three groups of vapor trails, thin wisps of white against the deep-blue February sky. The wisps seemed to be extending themselves parallel to our course.

I had hardly focused my eyes on the fighters to the north of us when our right waist sang out: "Contrails at three o'clock high." I could see these, too, and they were close enough for me to make out four wisps in each flight of planes, a little black speck at the head of each wisp. Let's keep our eye on these babies, " called our battle-wise pilot. At Oschersleben the Germans had flown along parallel until our Fort gunners, thinking they were friendly, began to relax. Then they had come in closer and closer, finally committing themselves and attacking when it was too late to stop them. The January 11th communique had reported: "From these operations, sixty of our bombers are missing."

So long as the sky remained cloudless and visibility unlimited, I knew that I had no need to worry about navigation, so I put my maps aside and strained my eyes out into the distance, looking for a speck that might prove a fighter. Occasionally my glance would wander to the ground, or rather to the water of the Zuider Zee. It was now possible to make out a convoy of small ships making their way up the stream shore.

The country of the Zuider Zee was flat, honeycombed with canals, and covered with light snow not quite deep enough to reflect the bright sunlight. There were brilliant flashes now and then, though. They came from the guns at Zwolle.

We had left the Zuider Zee fifteen minutes behind us when I called the crew to report we were now in Germany, four minutes behind schedule. I had worked out a hasty ETA for the initial point and target, now told the crew how much longer we would be carrying our bomb load. "In another hour and forty minutes, we'll be getting the lead out of our pants," I said, and for a reason I cannot now comprehend, I felt quite witty and proud of myself.

Moving across to the other side of the nose, my eye fell on my log, and I noticed that I hadn't had an entry in fifteen minutes. Pacing off roughly forty-five miles with my glove-covered fingers, I looked for a landmark that would pin-point me quickly. There was a good one about fifty miles from my last check point, a big forest with a railway along its eastern edge. I looked out my left window, and there it was off our wing. We were going faster than I had calculated. "We're now over the Teutoburger forest," I called on interphone. "A Hun named Herman licked the -- -- out of the Romans here."

"What is this, a Cook's Tour?" moaned the bombardier.

"O.K., I'll shut up. Just wanted to let everyone know we're in fighter alley now. Let's all stay right on our toes because for the next two hours we'll be in range of the Berlin fighter defenses. The chips are down, so let's give 'em hell."

A minute later the bombardier spotted two fighters at eleven o'clock low. By the time I had picked them up, they had attacked the group ahead of us, peeling off and diving just before they reached the lead plane. They were a mile below us, well out of range, before we reached the scene of battle. Iz fired a couple of hopeful bursts their way, but I confined my activity to entering two silver Focke-Wulfs in my log. We were now crossing the Weser river, so I took advantage of the lull to work out a good ground speed and a new ETA to the target. Just a – – secretary, I thought to myself.

Then an exciting thing happened. Three Mustangs that had been circling high above us dived on the planes on our left. The odds were even numerically, but the Jerries high-tailed it for home, two of them dodging away from their faster pursuers. The third exploded with a bright yellow flash, leaving a cloud of black oil smoke where he had been. So thorough had been the explosion that not a fragment of the plane was visible, and I knew that little pieces of Hans would be floating down river to Bremen for days. It was two minutes after twelve when I entered Hans' demise in my log. Fifty minutes to the target.

Fighters were all around us now, most of them attacking other formations but still near enough to shoot at us if they veered toward us for ten seconds. How I cursed the flak suit that weighed me down as I followed planes from side to side.

The group ahead of us really seemed to be getting it now. One Fort dropped out of formation with a wing on fire. Seven chutes came out of it before a blinding explosion finished off the plane and crew. Another “Seventeen” which must have had a hit in the gas tank exploded while still in formation. Fighters, too, were going down; a few from Fortress guns but mainly from combat with other fighters. Our Mustangs seemed to have the upper hand, pursuing FW's and Messerschmitts right down to the ground and then climbing up for more action. There weren't enough of them to keep all the vultures off us, but they could break up any attempt at a mass attack. That was what really mattered. So long as the Jerries couldn't sit out of range and fire rockets into us, or queue up and come in simultaneously from several directions, we were fairly safe (especially when they were concentrating on someone else). It was strange how detached from the whole battle I felt. I experienced no more emotion when I saw a Fort with ten men in it blow up than I used to experience when such a scene was enacted in the movies. I just couldn't feel I was part of the drama going on in the arena around me.

I had seen Magdeburg as we passed it – I'd even remembered that it was the laws of Magdeburg that German settlers carried to eastern Europe centuries ago and retain to this day. I'd seen Berlin off in the distance to our left, and wondered when we would be going there. (It would be exactly sixteen days later.) But it was only when we had turned south toward Torgau that I realized how quickly the time had passed.

Hastily I called the bombardier and pilot to tell them we were now ready to turn on the “initial point,” then I made sure that the waist gunners were ready to throw out the chaff because I'd been told by old combat men that it did wonderful things to the Jerries below, hampering the aiming their flak guns.

The lead group, a little ahead and to the right of us, was turning. A moment later we were swinging sharp right to keep pace and regain our position. There were no enemy fighters to harass us now, so it was easier for the pilots to concentrate on getting into bombing position. A lot depended on concentration of the formation during the bombing pattern. From the minute we turned at Torgau it was possible to see Leipzig off in the distance. Smoke had risen from the city to well over 15,000 feet, a black cloud foreboding future evil as well as recording previous disaster. Fresh streams of smoke poured from every part of south Leipzig, good evidence that the fires started in the night's R.A.F. raid were still blazing. I found myself hoping that we could do as well.

Bomb doors on the lead ship were swinging open now, followed moments later by the doors of all the other planes.

“Five minutes to the target,” I called on interphone. “Let's start throwing that chaff out now.”

Waist-gunners came back with quick “Rogers.”

I had hardly spoken when I realized that it was well I hadn't put off the signal any longer. Not far ahead of us, at the bend of the railway line we were following on our bomb run, I could see distinctly the outlines of our target, streamlined looking factories in a group just north of the city. And directly above the target hung a seemingly impenetrable wall of flak, an almost solid cloud of little black bursts. My flak suit didn't feel so heavy after all.

Everyone was tense now. The lead ship, which had been doing mild evasive action, now settled down to a straight and level course, making only one perceptible correction as the bombardier picked up the target in his bombsight. We were sitting ducks for the flak gunners and we knew it.

I don't believe I'll ever live a day that seems as long as those last two minutes before bombs away at Leipzig. The bulk of the flak had lowered, forming a kind of floor of black puffs below us, but our chaff had not had its effect on several batteries, which continued to pump quantities of lead into our formation. “Easiest thing is not to look at it,” I thought to myself, so with unaccustomed zeal I proceeded to record heading, altitude, and air speed. I didn't envy Iz, who had to sit up front with his eyes glued to the lead ship lest he miss the moment of bombs away. But then my curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned over Izzy's shoulder to get a good look at the target. Yes, it certainly looked as if we were heading right for it. But of course it was impossible to tell at this altitude.

Just then came the long-awaited moment. A swarm of bombs streamed out of the lead ship, and almost before they had cleared the plane, Iz had flicked his toggle switch and our own bombs were on the way. His relieved voice called triumphantly “Bombs away” on interphone, and a minute later Berman (S/Sgt Seymour Berman, our Radio Operator) called to report that the bomb doors were closing.

Meanwhile the group leader, who had almost run into four flak bursts as the bombs were released, had swerved off to the right and led us through evasive actions so violent that it was all Jim could do to keep us near our squadron. In less than three minutes we had drawn out of range of the last 88 millimeter guns and were all heaving a sigh of relief, so heartfelt that even Pugnacious Peter must have sighed with us. It was only a matter of seconds before we had tightened up our formation and turned our course for home. The temptation to feel that the danger was over was almost irresistible even though I had a flight plan in front of me that told me we still had two hours and a half over enemy territory.

For half an hour after the target we plowed south and west toward the Rhine river without encountering a single fighter, friend or foe. Then, just as the undercast was beginning to break a little, Blakeney (S/Sgt William R. Blakeney – our Engineer and Top-turret operator) spotted four, then eight black specks in the distance. We watched them carefully as they approached, climbing to get well above us. According to my gun-sight they were just over a mile away when they flipped over on their sides to give us a good look at them. They could hardly have been mistaken. They were our own lovely P-38's.

It was only now that I dared relax enough to check in the crew on oxygen, something I hadn't done since the target. All seemed to be well.

Then I noticed two things almost simultaneously. One was that I had to screw up my face in a funny position in order to breathe – had, in fact, been doing it every since Magdeburg. The other was that I felt terribly tired. Checking my oxygen mask, I found that all I had been breathing for the past hour had been the thin air at 19,000 feet – my facial contortions had not let me breathe through my mask, but around it. The mask itself had frozen solid and not a pinhole was left for air to come through.

The realization that I should now be in a state of collapse made me twice as weak as I had been before I'd thought about it (like people who faint an hour after donating blood). I suddenly found that my flak suit was more than I could carry, so I sat down. Knowing that the air at that altitude was not enough to keep me going, I made vain attempts to break the ice out of the sponge pores in my mask and to suck air through them. And knowing that I must now be in a state of collapse, I looked at my fingernails and found them blue.

By now I was just sitting still, breathing hard but thinking little. But I finally got the bright idea of tapping Iz on the shoulder and showing him my predicament. As on every other occasion in the air Iz knew what to do. We had an extra mask, and he tried that. It turned out to be a high pressure type mask, did no good with our low pressure oxygen system. So Iz reached for the outlet hose, held it to my mouth, and turned on the emergency handle. The pure oxygen that poured into me was so effective that within a minute I was transformed from a useless grinning idiot into a navigator reasonably able to keep up with his job – as able, at least, as he had been at the beginning of the mission.

It had taken much “wind” to describe all this, but it was only a matter of six minutes from the time we saw the first P-38's to the time I was back on my feet again. The rest of the mission I was as good as ever, gulping pure oxygen for a minute or two and then breathing this air until I felt too weak to work.

It had seemed like much more than that, but according to my watch it was just an hour and half after bombs away that we had another brief visit from fighters. We were crossing the Rhine, just north of Koblenz when we saw half a dozen ME-109's queue up just out of range. A flight of P-38 Lightnings saw them too, and they were on them in a matter of seconds. One Jerry dived for the ground, two 38's on his tail. We saw him explode less than a mile below us. Two others also dived, then flipped over as the German pilots bailed out. The planes spun to the ground, and were out of sight before they crashed. Meanwhile, the remaining three ripped through our formation, under fire of both our Fortress and Lightning guns, and while they may have been hit, they showed no sign of it as they disappeared to the south.

The rest of the trip seemed terribly dull after what had gone before. Just inside Belgium we were met by swarms of Thunderbolts, and from then on we were always in sight of at least a dozen of them. Occasionally, too, we caught a glimpse of Spitfires which, three miles below us, were keeping a constant patrol around German fighter fields.

A layer of strata-cumulus clouds lay on the ground, so we got only an occasional look at Belgium. Only at the coast did we get a good view of the ground, and what we saw was a fitting climax to an exciting day. Below, and a little to the left of us, were the beaches of Dunkirk, spotlighted by the afternoon sun shining down between the clouds. I looked carefully, and I could almost visualize armies of half-dead men hiding behind the pathetic little sand dunes as they waited for the next boat –or the next bomb. Occasionally I could see the flash of a flak gun, but it only served to emphasize the contrast between the hammer blows Germany was striking at our side in 1940 and the puny little pot shot she could take at us now.

There's no question that the German flak guns were ineffective that afternoon, but nevertheless I felt mightily relieved when, Dunkirk safely behind us, I was able to call the crew and announce that flak suits could now safely be discarded.

“Hallelujah,” said the tail gunner.

“Amen,” said the left waist.

And the others echoed similar sentiments. I myself felt as I used to feel after putting down my canoe at the end of a long portage, so light my feet hardly seemed to touch the ground.

Across the channel to Clacton, our point of entry back in England, we kept a constant look-out for planes, but we knew that the fighting was over. The day when Hun intruders could wait for tired Fort crews over England had long since passed. A Spitfire or a Mustang was now safer than a Focke Wulf over Brussels, let alone London. So we joked on interphone all the way across the water, stopping only occasionally to call off Thunderbolts or Spitfires. By the time we reached England we had dropped to 7,000 feet, so oxygen too was no longer necessary. The mission was all over but the shouting, and we munched sandwiches the rest of the way home.

We were back over the base at 1715, on the ground ten minutes later. We piled out of our planes like a football team leaving the field after a great victory – very tired but very happy. A moment later a truck was whisking us away to interrogation in the main briefing room, where our yen to tell the world about our mission was satisfied by an intelligence officer with a lot of questions to ask. Sipping coffee or tomato juice, or gulping the shot of Scotch issued “for medicinal purposes only,” we chattered like high school girls, telling all we knew and more, about flak, fighters, enemy installations, and bomb damage. Shorty, (Sgt Ollie G. Crenshaw) who had never spoken an intelligible word from his ball turret, now had some astounding information to reveal. He had seen the bombs hit “right on target,” no small feat when the target was covered by clouds when our bombs hit; he had seen rocket-firing JU-88's, unobserved by anyone else; and he had counted a hundred enemy planes, while others had been so blind to see only twenty or thirty.

Interrogation finished, we piled back on our truck for the rough ride back to the plane. It was only now that we got a chance to look over Pugnacious Peter. With extreme pride we counted those nine flak holes! Yes, we'd really been in combat. And with what astonishment we surveyed the fifty-caliber hole in our horizontal stabilizer! But it was when we found out what had made the hole that we really got excited.

It appeared that when we were experiencing fighter attacks in the Magdeburg area, a Focke-Wulf fighter had come in on us from about four-thirty low–out of range for the tail gunner but a perfect shot for the ball turret, and a fairly good one for the right waist. However, the ball turret guns were not operating, and when Sgt. Jensen found that he was the only one firing, he kept “peppering” until the attacker peeled off a hundred yards out, and in tracking, Jensen failed to notices that our tail surface was dangerously close to his line of fire.

What disgusted us was not Jensen's understandable over-enthusiasm, but Shorty's unforgivable failure. We knew that, barring cold conditions not even approaching that day, guns would operate if properly cared for, and we were furious to find that Shorty had never succeeded in firing a single round from either gun, even more furious to see that, far from apologizing, he was now strutting like a peacock, telling the ground crew what it was like to be fighting the war. Under normal conditions, at least one of us would have taken a crack at Shorty's too-active jaw, but we were so tired that we let it go at a warning that a similar incident had better not take place again. Shorty said something about our always picking on him and sulked off to remove his guns.

In ten minutes everyone had taken his equipment out of the aircraft, piled it on our truck and climbed in himself. After a brief stop to deposit our guns at the armament shop, we took another and final truck jaunt to the equipment room.

It didn't take us long to change clothes. We were in too much of a hurry to get to our first meal in fifteen hours (unless two ounces of chocolate and a jelly sandwich can be called a meal.) It was only a matter of minutes before we were in the chow line pleading with the K.P.'s to give us good pieces of chicken. But regular Sunday dinner had been held an hour before, and all that was left for combat men was necks and backs. We made all kinds of profane remarks about paddle feet, but they did no good. So we had to be satisfied with a good dinner of vegetables.

It was 2015 when we finished our meal, and for pilots and co-pilots that was the end of the day. But Iz and I, like all other gunners, still had guns to clean. We found the armament shop too crowded to do them immediately but within a half an hour our guns were stripped and we were busy with brush and gasoline. By 2200 hours we were back in our room undressing.

I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my life when I finally climbed into bed. But I was happier than I had ever been, too. I knew that at last I was part of a war I had wanted to fight every since the International Brigade first stopped the Fascists at Madrid, Spain. And, almost equally important to me, I had a feeling that I was not a coward.

[bobbysocks]

i would love to see tempests and typhoons in the next game. trust me i love all the old birds of that era. so, with that in mind here's a link to comments from tempest pilots. scroll down.....its copy righted so i wont/cant post it. but it is worth reading.....

http://www.wwiiaircraftperformance.org/tempest/temptest.html

[WildBoar44]

i would love to see tempests and typhoons in the next game. trust me i love all the old birds of that era. so, with that in mind here's a link to comments from tempest pilots. scroll down.....its copy righted so i wont/cant post it. but it is worth reading.....

http://www.wwiiaircraftperformance.org/tempest/temptest.html

Cool Beans as we say.......thanks bobbysocks.......Sadly I dont think they will be included ?? :(:(:(


Read something the other day from the book by Chris Thomas & Chris Shores " The Typhoon & Tempest Story".....this really made me sit up and think "my god".........

On 22nd January 1944 , a flight of eight Typhoons from 263Sqn were led on a "Ranger" sweep by their Commander Squadron Leader Geoff Warnes . When crossing the French Brittany coast near Vannes, the flight flew into 10/10th snow cloud and turned back from the primary mission attacking airfields in the Kerlin / Vannes sector and took on the secondary mission of shipping reconnaissance. The weather made visual ID almost impossible as snow and rain squals made formation almost impossible, at about eight miles north west of Guernsey, Squadron Leader Warnes reported that his engine was running rough followed by a further broadcast stating he was going to ditch. The Flight orbitted over head and Warnes was seen struggling to get to his un-inflated dinghy in the icy waters below. In what must be one of the most calculated acts of bravery and despite being ordered not to, a young Australian pilot Flying Officer Tuff was not prepared to see this very popular Commander struggle alone and announced he was going to bail out to help Warnes. Leaving the relative warmth of his cockpit, Tuff bailed out into the freezing snow swept icy waters below in the faint hope of bring aid to his Squardon Commander.

Despite a very good fix and low level ASR search until fuel dictated that the other 263Sqn Typhoons returned to base, Squadron Leader Warnes and Flying Officer Tuff were never found again.......


The "my god " factor.........? how was PO Tuff's act of sheer gallantry recognized ?


Pilot Officer Tuff was only ever mentioned in a despatch......no award, no medal......

Now that to me is bravery........



.

[FOZ_1983]

Ron Marlow
Rear Gunner on Lancaster Bombers
50 Squadron
Skellingthorpe Lincs


In all my ops an enemy night fighter never once came near me, they always stayed away and left me alone. I came to the conclusion it was because they were scared of me and my 4 brownings, and that helped me get through each op.

Ron completed his tour of duty and then went on to training potential new air gunners.

[bobbysocks]

Flier in Libya Mourns Absence Of Pumpkin Pie
Freeze at High Altitudes In Middle East

WASHINGTON, May 23, 1942 — Flying Officer Ian Spengler, R.C.A.F., who comes from Windsor, Ont., and has been flying big Wellington bombers out of the western deserts on raids into Cyrenaica, Greece, Crete and Rhodes has a complaint to make.
"The grub is good out there," he says, "but you can't get good pumpkin pie."
Along with a fellow-Canadian, Pilot Officer Lloyd Warriner, R.C.A.F. and three other Empire airmen he was here yesterday. Both Canadians, who hope to get home for a visit, say there are a good many Canadians out there in the Middle East and they are giving a good account of themselves.
They don't like to talk about themselves but both of them who have flown both in Europe and in the Middle East have seen a lot of action. What's the difference?, you ask.

ALMOST FREEZE
"Well," said Warriner, "when you fly over Germany you meet a lot of ack-ack and the fighter opposition is heavier but you get your job done a lot quicker. Out in the Middle East, you may be eight hours on a run — and don't believe them when they tell you that the Middle East is a hot climate — not when you are flying. You almost freeze at those high altitudes."
Spengler, who has seen a lot of action and has been shot down, smiles when you ask him to talk about himself.
"Can't you know," he said, "the less said the better."
For twelve months he has served as navigator with Squadron Leader John Alexander, D.F.C., a blue-eyed British lad who has served through the Norwegian campaign and who was here with him. Like Spengler, Alexander it a bit tight-lipped about his side of the show. Asked about the Nazi anti-aircraft he said, "It goes cracking along."
Most interesting personality in the team was Squadron Leader Clive Robertson Caldwell, D.F.C., with bar, Polish military medal, a trim young Australian who was once an insurance broker in Sydney. They call him "Killer" because in the course of operations in Libya he has destroyed 20 enemy aircraft.
In one engagement he shot down five planes, deprecated this accomplishment cheerfully in these words, "it all depends on the opportunity, you know, and how your ammunition lasts out. I happened to run into a group that were flying in close formation. When I shot down one, the others obligingly moved over to take his place — they are a bit strong on regimentation you know."
Fighter pilots out there have established a three to one superiority over the Nazis in the air fighting because of the greater flexibility of our planes.

P-40 WAR'S BEST FIGHTING PLANE
Used By 26 Nations Besides U.S.
Accounts For 13½ Enemy Ships For Every One Lost
By JACK STINNETT, 14 December 1944, Washington (AP) — It happened in Buffalo the other day, but only in aviation circles here and among Army fliers scattered over the world did it cause any stir.
What actually happened was that the Curtiss-Wright plant there turned over to the Army Air Forces the 15,000th and last of the P-40's.
It was a P-40N Warhawk, 14th model of the fightingest plane in this war, but now a casualty of wartime aviation progress. The assembly line has been torn down. The cavernous Curtiss-Wright factory there is temporarily as empty as a barn. But in history and in the minds of thousands of pilots, the P-40 will live on for many years.
In something over three years, the P-40's hung up a fighting record that may never be equaled. For a long time, the P-40 was Gen. H. H. "Hap" Arnold's baby. Col. Robert L. Scott, author of "God Is My Co-Pilot" and "Damned to Glory," not long ago summed up many pilots' views when he said "Give me my old P-40 and I'll go back to China any time and slap the Japanese back where they belong."
The P-40 originally was designed as a pursuit plane, but in the hurry-scurry to catch up with the blitzkrieg of the aggressor nations, it became probably the most versatile fighter plane in the skies.
The famed shark-mouthed "Flying Tiger" planes in China were all P-40's. But what isn't generally known is that the P-40's or their "daddys" — the P-36's — chalked up more "firsts" than any other type of fighting plane. For example, they shot down the first ME-109 over France in 1939; the first enemy aircraft downed by Allied or American airmen over Pearl Harbor, Iraq, the Philippines, Australia, Java, the Aleutians, Russia, Africa, Italy and Yugoslavia.
It is claimed that more Army aces to date have flown P-40's than any other plane. Among them, at least, are Wing Commander Clive "Killer" Caldwell, the Australian ace who is credited with 20 and one-half Nazi planes; Col. David Lee "Tex" Hill who dropped 18 Japanese planes in the Chinese theatre; Maj. Kenneth M. Taylor, who sent the first Japanese plane over Pearl Harbor plummeting to death; and Col. Scott, who commanded Gen. Claire L. Chenault's fighter force in China and himself bagged 13 Japanese planes.
In addition to the United States, 26 other members of the United Nations have painted their insignia on P-40's. The P-40's, despite their original design as pursuit planes, have served as dive-bombers, photo-reconnaissance ships, ground strafers and just straight bombers carrying up to a ton of deadly missiles.
In a cross-section made in all theatres, it is estimated that P-40's have accounted for 13 and one-half enemy planes for every one of their own shot down. That estimate based on 457 planes that engaged 1,257 enemy planes, undoubtedly would be cut down considerably in an overall picture, but it still is a record that may never be approached.
As far as production is concerned, the P-40 is gone, but it will be a long time before it is forgotten, either by our Army pilots or by our enemies.

LIQUOR FOR EQUIPMENT
Allegations at Court-Martial
SYDNEY, Wednesday, 17 January 1945 - "There was a dearth of equipment for my command at Morotai, and I learned that the only way to secure equipment for them was to trade liquor to the Americans for services rendered. They had no regular supplies or stocks of liquor, and depended solely upon supplies that could be brought in from time to time."
That explanation was contained in a statement read by Mr. J. E. Cassidy, K.C., counsel for Group-Captain C. R. "Killer" Caldwell, at the court martial at Bradfield Park today on behalf of his client, who declined to give evidence on oath.
In the statement, Group-Captain Caldwell said he was able by such means to obtain heavy earth-moving plant and other equipment from the Americans, who had plenty of equipment at that stage, but no liquor. He further claimed that it was the recognized practice at Morotai, where he commanded No.80 Fighters' Wing, to trade liquor for equipment, but he denied trading for money.
The wing had a total strength of 3000 officers and men. He claimed that owing to his trading in liquor to obtain equipment, the morale of his men remained very high, and they worked with plenty of enthusiasm. Discipline was completely satisfactory.
The statement added that the prices charged for the liquor were high according to mainland standards, but they were the ruling prices at Morotai, and other officers were doing the same thing to help their units. Orders affecting the carrying or sale of liquor by R.A.A.F. personnel were generally ignored during the period covering the charges, and it was not a secret that liquor was being brought in by service aircraft for trading purposes.
On two occasions in September and October 1944, two flights of Kittyhawks made sweeps over Tanimbar Island, and then went on to Darwin. There were seven planes in the first sweep and eight in the second. They each returned to Morotai with liquor. The sweeps had no operational value and were designed solely for the purpose of obtaining liquor at Darwin and bringing it to Noemfoor where the head quarters of the 1st T.A.F., under Air-Commodore Cobby, were located. Those flights were formally authorized by 1st T.A.F. head quarters, and to enable large quantities of liquor to be brought back, the aircraft were stripped of armament and ammunition at Darwin to increase their carrying capacity.

[bobbysocks]

Voennoe Delo: Man at War. Soviet Fighter Pilot of WW II. (English subtitles)
contains brief nudity..... :rolleyes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJdTH8I6ub8

[McQ59]

David and Goliath-2d Lt. Owen J. Baggett

By John L. Frisbee

Many extraordinary encounters took place in the skies of World War II but none more bizarre than this.

The Tenth Air Force in India was, 5 throughout most of its life, the smallest of the AAF’s combat air forces but with a large geographical area of responsibility and an important mission. It was responsible for helping to defend the supply line from India to China and for interdicting the Japanese supply net running from Rangoon, Burma, to the north of that country. Its heavy bomber force – consisting of a few B-24s – was the 7th Bomb Group, based at Pandaveswar, northwest of Calcutta, whence it flew very long missions to targets mostly in Burma. On March 31, 1943, the 7th BG’s 9th Bomb Squadron was dispatched to destroy a railroad bridge at Pyinmana, about halfway between Rangoon and Mandalay and near two active enemy fighter bases. The formation was led by Col. Conrad F. Necrason, 7th BG commander, The B-24 on his right wing was piloted by 1st Lt. Lloyd Jensen whose copilot was 2d Lt. Owen J. Baggett. On that mission, Baggett was to earn a distinction believed to be unique in Air Force history. Before reaching the target, the B- 24s were attacked by fighters. Colonel Necrason was severely wounded, and Jensen’s aircraft was fatally damaged. Oxygen bottles were shattered, intensifying a fire in the rear of Jensen’s bomber. Nineteen-year-old Sgt. Samuel Crostic slid out of his top turret, grabbed two fire extinguishers, and fought the fire in the rear of the aircraft while standing on a catwalk over the open bomb bay. The plane still was under attack by enemy fighters, taking many hits along its fuselage. To help defend the aircraft, copilot Baggett took over the top turret until Sergeant Crostic had emptied his fire extinguishers, giving the crew time to prepare for bailout. Smoke and fumes filled the 8-24. Jensen ordered the crew to bail out.

With the intercom inoperative, Baggett hand-signaled the gunners to hit the silk and, nearly overcome by fumes, put on his own chute. He next remembers floating down with a good chute. He saw four more open canopies before the bomber exploded. The Japanese pilots immediately began strafing the surviving crewmen, apparently killing some of them and grazing Lieutenant Baggett’s arm. The pilot who had hit Baggett circled to finish him off or perhaps only to get a better look at his victim. Baggett pretended to be dead, hoping the Zero pilot would not fire again. In any event, the pilot opened his canopy and approached within feet of Baggett’s chute, nose up and on the verge of a stall. Baggett, enraged by the strafing of his helpless crew mates, raised the .45 automatic concealed against his leg and fired four shots at the open cockpit. The Zero stalled and spun in.

After Baggett hit the ground, enemy pilots continued to strafe him, but he escaped by hiding behind a tree. Lieutenant Jensen and one of the gunners landed near him. All three were captured by the Burmese and turned over to the Japanese. Sergeant Crostic also survived the bail-out. Baggett and Jensen were flown out of Burma in an enemy bomber and imprisoned near Singapore. In the more than two years he was held prisoner, Owen Baggett’s weight dropped from 180 pounds to ninety. He had ample time to think about his midair dual. He did not at first believe it possible that he could have shot down the enemy while swinging in his chute, but gradually pieces of the puzzle came together. Shortly after he was imprisoned, Baggett, Jensen, and another officer were taken before a Japanese major general who was in charge of all POWs in the area and who subsequently was executed as a war criminal. Baggett appeared to be treated like a celebrity. He was offered the opportunity of and given instructions on how to do the "honorable thing" – commit hara-kiri, a proposal he declined.

A few months later, Col. Harry Melton, commander of the 311th Fighter Group who had been shot down, passed through the POW camp and told Baggett that a Japanese colonel said the pilot Owen Baggett had fired at had been thrown clear of his plane when it crashed and burned. He was found dead of a single bullet in his head. Colonel Melton intended to make an official report of the incident but lost his life when the ship on which he was being taken to Japan was sunk. Two other pieces of evidence support Baggett’s account: First, no friendly fighters were in the area that could have downed the Zero pilot. Second, the incident took place at an altitude of 4,000 to 5,000 feet. The pilot could have recovered from an unintentional stall and spin. Retired Colonel Baggett, now living in San Antonio, Tex., believes he shot down the Japanese pilot, but because that judgment is based on largely indirect and circumstantial evidence, he remains reluctant to talk much about it. We think the jury no longer is out. There appears to be no reasonable doubt that Owen Baggett performed a unique act of valor, unlikely to be repeated in the unfolding annals of air warfare.

Thanks to Colonel Baggett and to Charles V. Duncan, Jr., author of B-24 Over Burma.

AIR FORCE Magazine / July 1996

[bobbysocks]

Interview with Vladimir Mikhailovich Mukhmediarov

I, Vladimir Mikhailovich Mukhmediarov, was born in Moscow in 1923. There I lived with my parents and there I went to school. My parents were simple labourers. Family was large, there were five children – four sons and a daughter.
The school I was studying in was supervised by «Pravda» publishing house. From there I went to pioneer camps. Approximately at the age of 16 I entered aeroclub…

— Did you apply yourself, or were you sent by a directive?

I did it my self. When I finished aeroclub, I was younger then 18 years old, and because of this I was not accepted to a military flight school. Later, from winter 1940, I started flying in Zheleznodorozhniy aeroclub.

— What’s your education status?

Secondary school and flight school. I finished the seventh grade. I finished evening high school later, in the army. I had junior officers education and I had to have high school finished.

— What did you study in aeroclub?

There was a program in aeroclub. Theory at first, then flight practice. We flew Po-2 with instructor, take offs-landings. Then maneuvers in the zone. Loops, all kinds of combat turns, zooms. That’s with instructor. Then instructor would allow solitary flight. A bag of sand would be placed in the rear cabin in order not to change weight balance…

— How many flights did you make before your first solo flight?

About fifteen with instructor. In the second aeroclub I flew solo on the sixth flight already.
In the beginning of 1941, in February, perhaps, instructors from Chernigov military flight school came. They examined how everyone was flying, and the best were listed as candidates.
After that my file was sent from the Voenkomat to the flight school. I came to Chernigov flight school in the beginning of April.
I passed medical commission, but at vesting commission they said:
— You are not 18 years old yet. You should go home.
I replied:
— I will be eighteen in the end of April.
— Fine, we will accept you.
And they allowed me to pass. I studied from 1941 until 1943. When the War broke out, we begun studying with increased speed, by a shortened program…
At first we studied on I-15bis and I-16. There also were I-5, but we did not fly them, only taxied and trained holding direction on take offs and landings. The fabric from the wings was torn away, so that no one would take off. It was done because we had no twin control I-15Bis.

— How did you find out about the war?

It was announced.
We started walking with rifles and gas masks. Airplanes were dragged away from the airfield to the forest. At first we knew nothing. Then we noticed an airplane at an altitude of about 1500 meters. We couldn’t see if it was ours or enemy airplane. Then something fell out of it. Somebody said:
— Are they dropping leaflets?
Suddenly those “leaflets” started wining… For increased effect on moral Germans made whistles it the bomb stabilizers. In order to make more noise. Bombs fell to the taxiway. Three men were killed, ten men were wounded.

— When approximately did it happen?

It was in June. Just as war begun, in it’s first days… Their reconnaissance airplanes flew over Chernigov even before the war. I remember how I-16 took off to intercept one, but couldn’t catch up. Junkers flew away – it had good speed.
Shortly after, we were evacuated to Rostov, where we were based at turf airfields. One squadron was at Mechotinskaya, another in Yegorlykskaya. And our squadron at station “Verblyud”, that’s Zelenograd…

— Were you evacuated with your planes?

Yes, with planes. Planes were at flat carts, we were in cargo carts, where beads were made…

— From many other schools airplanes were taken to the frontline units. Was that so in your case?

No, we always were with our planes. Near Rostov we flew a little bit, but when Germans got close again we had to evacuate for the second time. This time to Central Asia. Many schools were sent there. Some were sent to Baku, from there further to Central Asia. We were taking the long way: via Saratov and Stalingrad. We were going at winter 1941–1942 and it took a long time. Via Kazakhstan and Tashkent we came to Kyzyl-Arvat, that’s Turkmenia. No other schools were nearby.
Main squadron stayed in Kyzyl-Arvat and so was all school staff. Other squadrons were spread out in the field bases. We flew a lot. We were trained faster by shortened program. There was a shortage in trained pilots.
I finished the flight school in 1943. Instead of supposed four years of training in took two years. Training was weak. Only piloting, in general. At first I-16. UTI-4. I almost completed full program. In 1942 we received Yaks. They were built in Saratov. I finished Yak-1 training program, again take off-landing, and zone practice.

— Your attitude towards I-15 and I-16?

Neither speed to catch the enemy, nor to escape...

— What was your attitude towards Yaks?

Of course, Yak was much more powerful then I-15 or I-16. It could be felt even on take off…

— Which plane was easier to master? What advantages I-15 and I-16 had? What about Yak-1?

I-16 was a difficult airplane. It was very strict on landing, and in the air it could always spin out of control, when one was performing aerobatics. This spin was not a maneuver, it was rather wide.
Germans were afraid to fly them. Before the war there was some agreement and our pilots tried out Messershmitts, while Germans were offered to try out I-16. They flew, and considered it to be very tricky.

— Everybody said that it easily came out of spins.

Usually it came out easy. But sometimes it was delayed. It would enter dive, and then it would come out…
Yak was easier on take offs and landings then I-16. Yak was landing before its wings got critical angle of attack. I-16 landed at critical angle of attack. If one would pull the stick just a bit more, it would fall to one side…

— When you came to the flight school, what kind of uniform did you have?

Cadets uniform… Like a soldiers uniform, only insignia and emblems indicated that we were cadets. Oh, yes, and the “birds”.

— How you were fed?

Sufficiently.

— When you moved to Rostov how you were fed there?

Not excellently, but also sufficiently. Flight crews have to be fed well, or they will loose conscience in the air. We were fed poorly in Central Asia.

— Was there entertainment in the school: concerts, movies?

In Chernigov there was a Palace of Culture, we went there to see movies. But it was on rare occasions.

— Did you know that our bombers dropped their load on Berlin in 1941?

In 1941 cadets woke up early, gathered near radio and listened to the news broadcast. Then, in August 1941 it was announced that Il-4s bombed Berlin. It was a well-accepted news. They bomb us, why we can’t bomb them?
Il-4 is more of a crow, than a plane. But they made it, and bombed Berlin. Then Germans captured Estonia, and no our aircraft could reach it.

— Did you change uniforms in Central Asia? For example, did you get panama hat?

No, they were not even available during the war. They appeared after the war.
In Central Asia we did not get high boots, just low boots with wrappings. There was some accident somewhere and a conclusion was made that a wrapping jammed controls. It was decided that it is unsafe to get inside a plane in wrappings. There was one pair of high boots for all squadron, when it was a time to fly we would get them on and fly.
Mostly we were fed by rice. There was also a “shrapnel” as we called barley. Meat was lamb and camel. Food was in short supply. Sometimes, when flights were long, we received a second breakfast - sandwiches…
In Kyzyl-Arvat we lived in barracks made of clay, we built them our selves. The roofs were made of hay…
At the Kodzh airfield we lived in summer tents, that’s near Kara-Kum desert, railway station Kodzh. There was one water well within 18 kilometers. Then it became cold, and we installed winter double-layer tents. We made heaters with a long pipe, almost around entire tent so that the exhaust was already cold. That’s how we lived…

— Did you have at least a visiting mobile movie service?

We saw movies perhaps couple of times there. But I remember an actress Shulzhenko. For the first time I saw her performance there. It was a «Concert to the Front», I think that was how it was called.

— In the area of Kyzyl-Arvat there were no airfields…

Airfields there were 10-15 kilometers in length. There, in Turkmenia, nothing was growing. It was flat cracked earth spreading for dozens of kilometers. To the right from us were mountains, there was Iran…

— Where there salt mines?

We went there to get some firewood for our kitchen. Early in the morning, before sunrize, we went to sands to find vegetation for the kitchen. Then we were flying because it was too hot to go to the desert during day time – very hot, up to 40 degrees (Celcium) in the shadow.
There was one well. Depth – fifteen meters. Water – very cold. Then we, starting from about eight o’clock, begun flying, and flew until eleven. After that all movement stopped. It was a period of day when no one was able to do anything.
Airplanes were semi-dug into the sand. We were afraid of the strong winds, which were called “afghanets”.
On Yaks training program was very brief: takeoff – landing, zone. And a bit of formation flight training.

— Route flights?

We did not fly route training, and we did not train to shoot neither in the air, nor on the ground. I believe, never before such training existed.

— During training time, how many flights did you make?

Before I got to the front? A few. They are listed in my logbook. Here: U-2, 57 hours flown. UTI-4 – 24,5…
I finished the school in March 1943. Our group graduated. My friend I and were sent to Saratov, to the ZAP. I went there for three days, once again through Kazakhstan. Airfield was in Bagai-Baranovka. There we were supposed to be trained in ZAP… But mostly we were fooling around there, because there were no airplanes. Then we were sent to Leningrad Front.

— At which rank did you finish the school?

Junior Lieutenant.

— When did you receive Lieutenant rank?

I received Lieutenant rank when I already was in 14th Regiment. After the war ended, I think.

— How pilots were chosen to be sent to Leningrad?

There was no choosing. Pilots were sent where there was shortage of them. In September 1943 I was sent to the headquarters, there I received a directive… I went through Moscow, then Kobona, from Kobona we crossed Ladoga Lake on a ship to Maryin Nos, and finally to Finlandskii railway station. In the Air Army Headquarters, located at Dvortsovaya Square I was directed to Volkhov.
I crossed Ladoga on another ship to Kobona. Then hitchhiked a truck from Kobona to the Plekhanovo airfield. There were two regiments stationed there: the 159th Regiment under command of Pokryshev (equipped with Lavochkins), and the 196th Regiment equipped with Airacobras. It was commanded by HSU Andrei Chirkov.
I was assigned to the ranks of the 196th regiment. I started conversion training on Cobra. It had a front wheel, it’s landing was a bit unusual… But first I flew a Kittyhawk, in order to get used to the instrument panel. It was not common in our aviation: feet, miles… we had to recalculate constantly in our minds. Landing characteristics were very close to Yak, and the only purpose of these flights was to get used to instrument indications.

— How would you compare Yak with Kittyhawk?

Hawk was crap in comparison with Yak… In terms of flying qualities Yak was better. But Hawk was well equipped, excellent radio, good view from the cabin. I made several flights in it. Then I flew in a dual-control fighter. Pilot-instructor was an Estonian. For some reason he couldn’t get to the fighting readiness, and his task was to train young pilots on a dual-control planes.

— Dual control Kittyhawk? Was it a field modification?

I don't know the details, but if I remember correctly, they were rebuilt by our engineers. And when engine hours were exhausted, they installed our M-105 engine.
After several flights on a double-seat fighter, instructor transferred me to the Cobra.
I familiarized myself with Airacobra, performed simulated take-off and stopped, just to feel it on take off. Then I took off, everything was fine. When you land, you shouldn’t pull the stick all the way, and it will get on the nose wheel all by it self. Visibility was good; engine was behind the pilots seat. I believe that Alison was a great engine, I remember it to this day, but airframe was way too heavy. Armament: 37 millimeter cannon shooting through spinner, two sincronized large caliber machine guns firing through the propeller, and four Colt-Brownings in the wings. When one pressed the trigger, it was a firework…

— There are rumors that Cobras was prone to spins?

I’m already coming to this.
All our planes weighted around 3 metric tons. Yak weighted a bit less. Lavochkin weighted a bit more. Cobra had a take off weight of 6 metric tons. (Take-off weight of P-39 Airacobra was about 3.5 tons – I.G.) A lot of armament, a lot of ammunition, a lot of fuel. Heavy airplane. We were stationed with Lavochkins, but especially for Cobras there was an extended runway. Because it required longer runway for a take-off. (Required runway for P-39 was about 500 meters from a grass field and less from a concrete, La-5 required runway 450 meters long with a take off distance 550 meters – IG)
By the way, division commander Matveyev once came to us:
— What’s this plane like? I’m going to try it out.
He tried to take off not on the runway, intended for Cobras, but on the one used by Lavochkins. We saw that he was rolling on the strip and rolling. The strip was almost over. I thought, that was it, he will crash. But he managed to lift off, wings were shaking, but he did take off. Gained some altitude. Landed normally, taxied to the parking area, spitted to the ground and went away without speaking to anybody.
I once was going in a commuter train to Pushkin with him, to the museum of the 275th Division, and asked him:
— How did it happen that you almost crashed in a Cobra?
— You never warned me that I had to extend flaps before take off!
Chirkov didn’t tell him, he thought that division commander would know it himself. He was a subordinate and it is not a subordinate’s business to tell his superior what to do…
Cobra easily entered any kind of spins. Both into simple and into flat spins. It also had bad landing characteristics due to the fact that it was tail-heavy. (This is very unusual comment as most accounts praise Airacobra for its excellent landing characteristics due to tricycle landing gear – IG). There were two of us, who came to train on Cobras, we already mastered take offs and landings. Then they told me:
— Now go to the zone for aerobatics. And look after your tail, Germans are close by, they can shoot you down…
So I flew, sharp turns first, then half-loop down… What’s going on? Earth is so close now? But I was flying at 3 000 meters. In a half-loop I lost 1 500 meters, Yak would loose 600 meters. What a heavy airplane, I thought.
I gained 3 000 again… Zooms, combat turns, half loops, barrel rolls… Then I flew in formation with my friend, with whom we came from the flight school – Sergeant Vladimir Pavlov. He flew very well, he was an excellent pilot. But he did not make it to combat-ready status, got killed in a Cobra.
It happened before my eyes: their pair flew from Volkhov to the airfield at an altitude of approximately 2 000 meters. Leader begun diving, dove, dove, then he pulled out very sharply. His aircraft lifted its nose and then begun falling like a leaf. Chirkov shouted over radio:
— Bail out!
We heard no reply.
— Bail out!
No reaction.
— Bail out!
Airplane fell into the bushes…

— Who was it?

Pavlov. (TsAMO: Pavlov Vladimir Ilyich born 1922, Sergeant of the 196th IAP. Was killed in P-39 accident on 2 February 1944. Burried in Plekhanovo).
He wanted to fight so much… We buried him at Plekhanovo…
Engineers for a long time were investigating the cause of the crash, their conclusion was that stabilizer mount broke on high G maneuver. Aircraft exited the dive with extremely high G load, pilot lost conscience, further on it was uncontrolled fall…
There were a lot of accidents and catastrophes on Cobras...

— People who flew and fought on Cobras have polar opinions about this plane. What is your opinion?

It was not good for fighting.

— That is, you did not like it?

I didn’t like it. But I read a book called “I fought on Cobra” recently – a lot of other pilots liked it.
But there were too many non-combat related losses on them…

— Which fuel did you use? American?

It should have worked on American B-100, which we did not have. On our B-89 engine lost power, and airplane couldn’t give all it was built for. I never flew it fuelled with B-100, and I never fought on Cobra. I only mastered it.
As I completed training I was transferred to the 14th GvIAP equipped with Yaks.

— If you already were combat ready on Cobras, why were you transferred?

This regiment did nothing at a time. Some pilots left to Novosibirsk to bring new airplanes, which came from Alaska. Those pilots that remained at Plekhanovo were doing nothing. Meanwhile, the 14th regiment suffered severe losses, and I was sent there.
I started combat missions on Yak-7TD — it was called “Tyazhelyj Duboviy” (heavy and oak-like – Oak-like is idiomatic expression characterizing such features as being slow and clumsy I.G.). It had four wing fuel tanks and was built for escorting bombers to large distances.
I finished the war on Yak-9U with M-107 engine. Its engine life was 50 hours only. There also were a lot of accidents with this airplane. At high power connecting rods would break. We lost one pilot after the war. Engine on his airplane stalled over Ezel. He decided to belly land, Yak’s nose was long, and he couldn’t see anything directly in front of him, so he hit a large stone. Pilot’s head was smashed against gunsight.
I also had to belly land it. When I was thrown around the cockpit I grabbed gunsight trying to hold on…

— When were you transferred to the 14th Regiment?

In the end of 1943 I think. In April 1944 near Gdov, at the airfield Chernevo regiment commander HSU Svitenko tested me and allowed to combat. We then flew to Narva, Tartu. Then fighting near Narva ended. In the beginning of summer 1944, we went to Karelian Isthmus. In the fights over it our regiment was completely torn to pieces.
Not only our regiment suffered losses, but the entire Division too. Serov Vladimir also perished then. (HSU (posthumorously) Senior Leitenant of the 159th IAP was killed in action on 26 June 1944).
We covered the 943rd ShAP over Karelia. Twice HSU Georgii Parshin served there. We fought alongside with him all the time.
We were based at the airfield Maisniemi. It was a large, grass airstrip. On one side sturmovicks were parked, on the other – our fighters. Every day there were fierce fights… We lost a lot of men. When we entered the battle, there were 55 planes in the regiment. When we finished fighting, hardly a squadron – 10 airplanes were airworthy. All others were lost. We suffered losses everyday… there was too much work to be done…
There is a museum of our Division in Pushkin. I was going there on a train with a General, former commander of our Division. I asked him:
— I’m sorry, General, but why did we suffer so many losses over Karelia?
Former Division commander answered:
— We did all the dirty work. That’s why we lost so many.
That’s his words. Major losses were suffered by the 159th, 14th, 196th regiments and the 29th Guards Regiment. The 191st regiment was equipped with Kittyhawks, so they flew rarely.

— Did you fly escort missions only?

No. As the General said, we did all the dirty work there. When ground fighting begun, I escorted Tu-2 bombers, reconnaissance Pe-2 were escorted by a pair. We also flew close air support…

— Wasn’t Pe-2 faster then you?

No, it couldn’t overrun us. It could outdive us. We were returning from a reconnaissance flight.
— Well, — he said, — goodbye!
Pushed the stick — and went down… We couldn’t catch up, he easily escaped in a dive.

— Were there cases when Yaks wing skin was torn in flight?

I heard about such cases in the flight school, but not in the combat regiment.
In my opinion, and I participated in 25 fights, best fighter of WWII was Me-109G2.
Our planes were called Russfaner by Germans. Yaks were built out of wood. Only when Yak-3 appeared we got an upper hand over Messer. Otherwise Germans were always higher then we were because of more powerful engine. And if they were higher, they were faster.

— Could they be above you only because you were given precise tasks with predefined altitudes?

Yes, this too, but we always were at the limit. Even if you banked too much airplane would loose altitude. They would come in higher then we could fly, and hit us out of there.

— When you came to the 14th Regiment, how you were met?

Normally. HSU Svitenko was the Regiment commander.
— Well, let me test you in the air in a dual-control fighter.
He tested me, and made a note in my logbook – «Flights to the combat missions allowed».

— You are a Tatar by nationality. Were there cases of racial intolerance?

Never.

— You were one of the youngest pilots in the regiment?

Speaking of young pilots. I’ll describe my first combat mission. Squadron commander HSU Zelenov and flight commander Vasiliy Derevyankin took two of us, to show where was what.
We were stationed near Gdov, airfield Chernevo. We took off:
— Look here, there is one airfield, there is another one. Now we are going to the front line, to Narva.
We gained 3 000 meters, and went to Narva. We saw explosions on the ground… Most important for youngster is to keep on the tail of the leader…

— Who was your leader?

Vasiliy Derevyankin. (Leitenant Derevyankin Vasiliy Dmitrievich was shot down in aerial combat in Vussami area on 10 October 1944).
Second youngster was Gordeev, his leader was Zelenov.
We were going back at an altitude of 3000 meters. Suddenly, a radio message came from the ground:
— Go to Gdov! Gdov is being bombed!
Zelenov replied:
— I’ve got two young ones in the flight.
— I order to go to Gdov!
There were a lot of planes over Gdov, Ju-87s, FW-190s… The city was burning. I remember how Vasiliy was shooting… Then I noticed a pair of Fokkers on my tail. I begun tight turn, they followed me, but Yak had a much tighter turn radius… We were chasing each others tails over Chudskoye Lake. I almost caught enemy wingman, but his leader saw it, turned over wing and they escaped.
I noticed the direction they went to, and decided that I should fly in opposite direction. You know, I simply forgot to look at the compass. I flew from the middle of the lake, it seemed that aircraft was not moving at all. Then I noticed a Yak ahead. I flew after him, while he tried to outrun me. It was known that Germans flew Yaks and shot our unsuspecting pilots down.
Anyway, I caught him and made formation. So he led me to Chernevo airfield. We landed, taxied to the full stop. I asked:
— Where is Gordeev?
— He’s over there, in a forest.
It turned out that he was shot down, all cooling liquid had vaporized, so he tried to return to the airfield. He was trying to land his plane, when an engine stalled over pine forest… aircraft suddenly lost altitude, caught pine trees tops and fell to the Ground. But Gordeev stayed alive!
That was my first mission at the front. Then everything seemed as usual…

— Zelenov once was court martialled for loosing 6 Pe-2s on escort mission. Do you know what happened exactly?

No, I know nothing about it. I know that he was sent to our 14th Regiment as a penalty.
Pilots used to say about our regiment that it was a penal regiment. If somebody did something wrong, he was sent to the 14th GvIAP for “rehab”… There were different pilots. Some of the Heroes wanted to stay alive too much…

— Have you heard anything about penal squadrons or regiments?

There was nothing close to infantry. There were no true penal units in aviation. If a pilot did something extra serious, he would be sent to infantry to a penal unit.

— What can you say about Zelenov?

He flew a lot of missions, but he became too cautious in the end of the war. What I heard about him and felt it myself: he wasn’t too keen on entering a fight, and he didn’t care about his wingmen… wingman is a shield of the leader, he covers the leader. Any shield is the first to receive a strike. Zelenov lost many of his wingmen.

— You flew your first mission with Zelenov. Who was your next leader?

Then – with many different pilots… But mostly with Maxim Glasunov. After the war he worked at LII (Flight research institute) – test-flew new Yak-25 in Saratov. He was a good pilot. I flew a lot with him. I flew a lot with other pilots too. If somebody would loose their wingman, I would be appointed to his pair.
In 1944 we experienced heavy losses. Regiment commander should take off and check, what was wrong, why losses were mounting… But regiment commander did not fly. It’s not good, people keep dying. He was a HSU, but he must have decided for himself that he had flown too much, enough is enough. Maybe he was right – they got their share of fighting.
In 1944 our flight of six had escorted Marshall Govorov to Moscow. We took off from airfield in Karelia. He was flying on board of Li-2, and we escorted him to Moscow. He went there to receive his Marshal’s Star. He received his star, we spent a night in Moscow, and then we escorted him back.

— You were still flying Yak-7TD?

Yes, Yak-7TD — this same heavy-oak-like…
On Yak-7TD and Yak-7T there was a 37mm cannon and two large caliber machine guns. That was their basic armament.
Aviation plant in Novosibirsk at first built Yak-1s (Yak-1 was built only in Saratov and not in Novosibirsk – IG), then they begun building Yak-7. Some of them were equipped with 37 mm cannons. Yak-9s also came with 37 mm cannons, for example Yak-9U with a VK-107 engine.

— Was there any visual difference to tell that this Yak was equipped with 37 mm cannon?

They were almost identical in appearance, but you could tell it: in a Yak-9U there was a radiator on the belly behind pilots seat. Yak-7 had a beard – oil radiator under the engine…

— We stopped when Germans were chasing you over Chudskoye Lake…

You mean, I was chasing them.

— You chased them. What happened after that fight?

Then we were liberating Estonia…

— Did anything interesting happen there?

When we were based at Chernevo airfield on 14 May 1944, squadron commander Ivan Baranov had made a head-on ram.
This is how it happened. Ju-88, covered by Fw-190s came to bomb our airfield. There were about 25 Junkers bombers and 12 FW-190.
Only one flight managed to take off when bombs begun falling, and fighting ensued. We, those who did not take off, were looking from the ground. Focke-Wulf was going down in a shallow dive. Our Ivan Baranov was gaining altitude. They were shooting at each other, no one willing to turn away. They collided head-on at an altitude of 100-150 meters…
It was horrible. There was a huge explosion! Our Yak burned out almost completely. The nose part of Focke-Wulf was totally destroyed and he fell into the forest just outside of the airfield boundaries (According to German records Uffz. Heinz Buschan of 6.II.JG54 flying Fw190A-5/F3 was killed on 14.05.44 while colliding with Yak-9. Had previouselly claimed only one Il-2 as shot down on 28.04.1944).

— How often did Germans attack head-on?

It depended on many factors. Some times it happened in a fight. We came in at almost 0, firing at each other, but somebody would turn away – no one wanted to die. It was much better to cut enemy’s tail in terms of rams…

— What do you know about pilot Bibin head on ram.

Yes, Georgiy Bibin. I do not know when he carried out this ram. He came to our regiment when the war ended, we were stationed at Hapsala in Estonia. He told us how it happened.
At the last moment he pulled the stick. Usually it is bad, because then you open the belly of an airplane, and it becomes a good target. Because of this usually you try to push the stick forward, just not to let the enemy see your belly…
He told us:
— I pulled the stick just a little bit, then there was a noise, engine begun shaking. Then it stalled…
He used to be an instructor pilot, very good pilot. Airfield was close to the front line, so he managed to glide from an altitude of 6 000 meters. He landed normally, technicians found bits and pieces of a German fighter in a water radiator… I do not know where he fought. Some where in Ukraine… For head-on ram he was awarded an Order of Red Banner. Georgiy had passed away already…

— What were your thoughts about ramming?

It is highly risky business, you may die yourself, but your enemy may survive. If you are in a dogfight against fighters, there is no true reason for ramming. If you are attacking a bomber, then you may come from below behind and cut his tail by propeller. Without tail control he will fall. If you have no ammo but this bird has to be shot down, you may ram him. But you should do it carefully, to stay alive yourself…

— How many missions did you fly per day?

At Karelia: five, six, even seven. We took off at sunrise and landed at sunset.

— How much time technicians required to prepare airplane for next sortie?

They worked fast. I did not note, but about twenty minutes, refueled, reloaded, and it was ready.

[bobbysocks]

pt 2

— Were pilots satisfied by technicians work?

Yes, they worked excellently.

— Were there cases when they did not do everything right?

No, it would be a case for court martial. With an outcome in a penal unit. No, everything was fine… By the end of the war, in winter, they all had frostbitten fingers…

— In your logbook there are notes: «Me-109 shot down, FW-190 shot up». What is the difference between Shot down and Shot up?

If Shot down – it means that there was a confirmation from ground forces. If I know where and when it fell, a representative officer from our regiment would go there and collect confirmation from the ground troops in this area. Then everything was clear…

— Was there a need to attach wrecks to a report, or was a report itself enough?

Only a document was brought to the regiment… About “shot up”: it happened like this. We flew escort for Sturmoviks. I noticed that a 190 flew past me.
I fired at him from all guns. There was a thick black smoke. No flames, just smoke. “Humpbacks” saw it all. But it did not fall right here, it went in a shallow descent with a trail of smoke. We went on at our target, so no one could say what happened to it…

— Because of this it was recorded as “shot up”?

Yes, shot up.

— Were you payed for a messer that you shot down?

Yes. A fighter cost 1 000 roubles, a bomber was 1 500. I also received a payment for 50 accomplished missions.

— How many mission did you fly?

I flew 85 missions.

— What was considered a combat mission?

A combat mission was when you had a mission to accomplish, even if there was no fight. Dogfights were accounted for separately.

— Were you paid for Focke-Wulf?

It did not fall.

— How did you shot «109» down?

It was a very bad weather. Cloud cover was at approximately 600 meters. We were flying close air support over the front line near Vyborg. There were four of us.
Messers also came in a flight of four. They flew in and out of clouds. Germans were cunning, they were looking for convenient position. When he saw that he could kill you without any risk, be sure that he will do so.
Then I saw – one got out of cloud and is heading almost straight at me. Right into my gunsight! I just pressed triggers and fired all my guns at him... I even thought that we are going to collide. But everything was quiet. Then somebody said over radio:
— Look, Your Messer is going straight down in flames.
That’s how I shot it down.

— In 1944 there shouldn’t have been Germans on “109”s in Karelia. Most likely those were Finns?

No, Germans. At spring 1944 we fought at Narva. At summer we commenced fighting to liberate Karelian isthmus. Here we met those same Germans we fought near Narva. Those same Germans on those same Fokkers and Messers. They flew over the Gulf of Finland to the bases in Finland.

— Did you meet Finns in combat?

Yes. But they did not have Messers. They had Brewsters and some other Fokkers, not 190s. They were no match to our planes.
At first, when we only begun fighting for Karelia, we saw them, then, quite soon, they stopped flying completely. They were very slow, like our planes at the beginning of the war.

— Brewster was quite close to Yak-1.

No, Yak was much better.

— Could you have told by flying signature was it a Finn or a German in the air? Finns had Messers at their disposal.

Finns had their markings: white circle and fashist swastika inside. But we never saw them. We met Germans with black crosses, yellow wingtips, yellow spinner, a bit of the tail was also yellow. Our Yaks had white spinner and tail.

— You mean rudder?

Yes, it was done to easily recognize friend or foe. At large distance silhouettes were similar…

— What was the meaning of camouflage if these yellow bits were clearly visible?

They were no so big. Yellow parts at the wingtips were about 10-15 centimeters in width, and yellow spinner. It had almost no effect on the camouflage.

— Did camouflage work at all?

Of course. It worked against ground. Which one was better: ours or German? I can’t really say.

— Germans had Gray-Dark gray camouflage by the end of war?

Yes, we had Green-Dark green. (By the end of the war Soviet fighter planes had grey – dark grey camouflage and green – black camo was standard prior mid-1943 – IG). Camouflage was needed to hide against earth. If you look upwards you will see airplane in any camouflage. It does not help…

— A lot of our pilots believed that ammo load was not enough on Yaks?

It was enough for a usual dogfight. There were 30 rounds for 37 mm cannon. Can’t say about machine guns.

— At which altitudes did you usually fly?

Combat air patrol at 5 000 meters usually. At this altitude we could fly and fight. Above it M-105 engine lost power dramatically.

— Did you use oxygen mask at 5 000 meters?

No, not yet. No one used them. We took a mouthpiece, sucked it and that was all. Oxygen mask did not allow for a good situational awareness. Situational awareness is everything… If I saw the enemy, I already had 50% chances to win the fight… You have to twist head all the time…

— Did you fly with open or closed canopy?

With closed. If you open it, you will lose a bit of speed… Some flew with open. For example Dubovik, Deputy Regiment commander. When we flew close air support, we often saw that his canopy was almost always open. It was not completely transparent, so the view was a bit obscured.

— Was there an armored glass?

Armored glass was in the front. Behind us was an armored metal plate, about shoulder high, and the rest was armored glass, for viewing of what was happening behind. Our first Yaks were produced with full metal armored headrest. Then it was decided that glass was needed. But the view at long distances was still bad – armored glass was sandwich-like, so visibility was distorted.

— Was there a rear view mirror?

We had them on Spitfires, not on Yaks.

— You flew against Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfs, other pilots also recall that Messer was a better fighter.

Yes. But it would be more correct to compare Focke-Wulf with Lavochkins. They both have air cooled engine.

— But our pilots always recall that Messerschmitts were much better then Fokkers. They say that Focke-Wulf was nothing but rather average fighter… Germans, on the other hand consider Messerschmits as an obsolete construction.

But they improved it all the time.

— But it was getting heavier with every modification and lost it’s handling characteristics.

Messerschmitt was much more maneuverable. If it, for example, went upwards, it would escape. Focke-Wulf was heavy. It even had a turn radius larger then Messer.
The only serious advantage Fokker had over Messer was the amount of guns. That is, if it hit – it’s a kill. Messer had only three guns. But… If you are at the tail and shoot from 200 meter, there is no need in so many guns. Cobras had 7 guns, and that was thought to be too much. Our pilots asked to remove the wing guns…

— We broke the Karelian defense line, captured Vyborg…

Then we went to liberate Estonia. To the airfield Krikovo near Kingisepp. We were stationed there with Humpbacks, from there we flew to Narva. Then there was airfield Smuravievo. From there we also flew to Tartu and Narva. Then we were based near Hapsala – airfield Ungru. Quite commonly we were based with sturmoviks. It was very convenient to be based alongside, we always had a chance to listen to complaints, to decide how we are going to interact in the next mission. We took off and landed together, there was no need to wait for each other. Tactically it was very convenient. When we came back we met the sturmovik pilots in the canteen.

— Were there complaints that fighters abandoned the sturmoviks in flight…

We escorted sturmoviks all the time, and there were no complaints. How can I leave them, if we live together, and even eat together? Abandon sturmoviks? For that you would be court martialled.

— But, you must have heard about such cases… Zelenov was sent to you…

Anything could happen. It was war. We could have shot down many planes, Germans could shoot down many of our planes. This is war and how situation will turn – who knows?

— Have you seen how sturmoviks were shot down?

Not a single one fell before my eyes. I was returning to the base with serious battle damage and a humpback was also returning with damage. I formed up with him, and we returned together…

— How were you shot up?

We were flying with twice HSU Parshin. He flew the lead of a nine sturmovik formation. Our four fighters were escorting them. When they were flying back they usually flew at tree top level, so they would be protected from below. We flew a bit above and behind. This time we flew right over Oerlicon position. That’s small caliber AA guns. We got in such a melee! It was like in the mid of a firework, they shot at us, and there was nowhere to maneuver. Tracers everywhere… They got me. My plane turned on its back and I half-rolled back, and saw a hole in the wing. They tried to finish me off…

— How large was the hole?

I easily went through it myself. Almost all of the center of the wing was knocked out. It was a little bit to the side from the fuel tank. If they would have hit it, my plane would have blown up…
Aircraft flew sideways… They tried to shoot me down, but they did not hit me…
I came back, taxied to the parking space. I came to the earth through the hole in the wing. Well, I thought, it seems I’ll have some rest from fighting. In the morning I came to the airfield – my plane is waiting for me fully repaired. Technicians worked all night. I couldn’t even find where the hole was! As if nothing happened.

— You showed us a detonator from a shell or from a large-caliber bullet…

A Fokker hit me, this time at the beginning of fighting for Karelia. We flew escort for sturmoviks. They did their job and we were returning. Sturmoviks over tree tops, I was flying behind and above. Everything was quiet, nothing looked like trouble... Then, suddenly, fireballs appeared at the side of my cockpit. I automatically gave foot in… When I looked around, there was no one... Well, I missed them. Fokkers attacked me from the sun. I got relaxed, and they caught me off guard…
Engine was working, airplane flies, but there was severe smell of fuel…
They damaged the stabilizer, fuselage and wing. I noticed that a hole was close to the flaps.
I thought that if I will extend damaged flaps, I could roll over, and have no time to recover…
So I extended them at an altitude of 600 meters. Everything was normal, so I landed safely... Landed, taxied to the parking.
The detonator was near the fuel tank. Technician found it later and gave it to me as a present.
We were going to sleep that night. I took off my high boots – they were just issued to me, brand new. Small shell fragments pierced my wraps so it reminded laces. My foot was fine, not even a scratch! I looked attentivley and found small holes in the boot. I was still wearing it after this.

— What did you see when you missed the attack?

Red fireballs flew past cockpit side. And four smoke trails after them…

— That is, tracers helped enemy to aim and at the same time it warned you about attack. If you did not notice it they could have performed second run on you?

Germans usually attacked only once. From about 400 meters. It is almost impossible to hit anything from larger distances. From closer distance it is also dangerous – what if enemy plane would start to disintegrate. But I never actually saw how planes disintegrate; they usually went down on fire.

— Was Yaks armament of 37mm cannon and two machine guns enough?

Usually only first three-four shells would hit a target, then you saw nothing.

— At what distance would you train your weapons?

At 400 meters.

— Did you have armor-piercing rounds?

The belt was armed as following: armor-piercing, high-explosive, high-explosive-incendiary, and tracer. Tracer always, so you could correct your aim… Same as for American planes.

— A lot in a fight depends on luck… According to this: did you have any superstitions?

I had no superstitions.

— How about your regiment? May be pilots did not shave or get photographed before taking off?

Everything was a lot simpler — there was no staff photographer. You could make a photo when there was nothing to do. About shaving – nothing special…
But there was something... Yes! There was no number “13” plane! “12”, and right after it “14”…

— Were there slogans or paintings on the fuselage sides?

There were people who liked to paint. But it was done usually after the war. There was no time to do it at the front.
I remember, when I flew Cobra there was an order of Alexander Nevskii drawn on its door.

— Did you see any “nose art” on enemy planes?

I saw a heart pierced by an arrow with blood drops on a Messer. And a word KAPUT. I saw it after the war on a trophy plane at the airfield near Saratov. (Description matches Karaja aircraft)

— Did you know anything about German aces?

54th Geschwader commander was Hauptmann Fillipp. He was an ace, and Germans treasured him a lot…

— Did you fight in Estonia for a long time?

When we liberated Estonia we transferred to an airfield near Hapsala. I made my last sortie to island Ezel from there. The island was almost completely liberated, but there was a small appendix occupied by Germans. We escorted sturmoviks there. We could see Libava from there, and ships in the port. I wanted to take a look at the port, as long as sturmoviks were doing their job, and everything was calm. I turned towards those ships. Well, I was fired upon from all weapons! I immideatley rolled over and dove away. They decided that I was going to attack the ships, and their AAA opened fire from all ships…
There all our fighting was over. We were sitting in Hapsala and tried to intercept enemy reconnaissance airplanes.

— Were there a lot of reconnaissance planes?

They overflew us maybe 2 times. No one really even tried to intercept, since they were too far, too high and too fast. There was no sense in chasing them.

— Did you fire at ground targets?

We never flew to strafe, our task was to cover sturmoviks. But if everything was clear… I chose targets at will. I once saw a house and strafed it with 37 mm cannon. I clearly saw how my tracers disappeared in the roof…
There was one case.
We went to escort sturmoviks to the frontline. They strafed more or less normally. And then some wise guy from the ground radioed that everything was quiet in the air and we should descend and take part in strafing. There were a lot of sturmoviks, and then we dove… It was a mess — about 40 airplanes overall. Two our fighters collided. Gordeev and Klepikov. There were so many planes in the air, that we had to look after each other trying to avoid collision. They both died. (According to TsAMO on 28 June1944 airplanes of Junior Leitenant Klepikov Aleksey Ivanovich and Sergeant Gordeev Sergey Petrovich collided in midair over the target in Vyborg area).

— Did you end the war in Estonia?

Yes, our war ended in Estonia. Later I was sent here to protect Leningrad sky in Spitfires. I was transferred in it in 1947.

— When it became clear that Leningrad will not fall?

They lived through blockade, a Road of Life appeared. Then they captured a piece of territory and arranged train communication.
But everything was still blocked. Starvation. Pilots were also poorly fed. But they have to be fed well, or they will loose conscience in the air…
Technicians did not get enough food. I used to take extra piece of bread for my technician; I knew that they were in bad condition.
When we fought in Karelia, it was almost normal. Blockade was lifted. We had rice, technicians had barley and millet.
I was fed up with rice and asked:
— Give me «technical» millet.

— You were at the Volkhov Front, how you were fed there?

There it was normal.
I'll tell you one more story. When we were in the Volkhov area, at Plekhanovo airfield, all of a sudden Division on Li-2 commanded by Grizodubova arrived. Li-2 was an excellent night bomber. They were conducting raids on Tallin and Helsinki. Usually they were flying at night. We came to the canteen in the morning and they all are sitting there. We have no room to eat. Than we saw one of their crews are almost crying, they were drunk. We asked what happened.
They flew to Helsinki. They took 4 bombs externally under the belly and small bombs inside the fuselage. So they reached the target and their navigator issued a command to drop bombs. They opened a door and started to drop small bombs. At this time Messershmitt 110 got on their tail, turned his lights on and started to attack. Of course, the pilot of Li-2 initiated evasive maneuver. And mechanic with bombs and without a parachute fell in the open door. Parachute was bulky and interfered with operations when dropping bombs, so when they dropped them they took the chute off.
So they where were grieving about their mechanic.

— What do you think about our and German strike aircraft, which were better?

Our sturmoviks were more effective. We used to say: they worked so much, that they got a hump. Sturmovik pilots were very serious people. But they suffered a lot of losses. Ju-87 was a close support bomber, but it was not even a close match for Il-2.

— Your opinion of bomber aviation?

German was more effective. Their most common bomber was Ju-88. It was a tactical bomber.

— Did fighters shoot down their own aircraft?

I know that Germans were flying our Yaks and I know that ours were flying Messers. I learned about it after I attempted to fly next to our Yak over Chudskoe Lake in order for him to lead me home. And he was scared of me. Cases that one of us in our own regiment will shoot down somebody of our own – no, that did not happen.

— Did strafing by fighters require formal orders in writing?

No, that was done on our own initiative. We helped. Sturmoviks are strafing, all is calm in the air. And then what? Would I bring my ammunition home? Why did I fly?

— Well, you look and there is no enemy. When you go for strafing and here they are, falling on you...

Than we will fight, what else can you do?

— And if you have no ammo, if you expanded all in strafing?

Well, it’s a risk because it is war. Otherwise I will bring all my ammunition back home. I'd better expand it on the ground targets. I can see them.

— How did you learned that the war is over?

We went after new Yaks to Kharkov. We were loaded in Li-2. We came there, and suddenly somebody announced:
— The war has ended!
Everybody opened fire…

— You ended fighting in Estonia. It was the end of 1944. Did you feel bad that people are still fighting and you are sitting in the rear, that you were not going to storm Berlin?

It was no difference, somebody was fighting, but not everybody could be there.

— Did you fly after new planes often?

No, others flew. Ivan Sclyarenko flew to Moscow. He told us that planes were at the Central airfield, right in the town, next to the Dinamo stadium. There, in the canteen he saw how Pokryshkin and Kozhedub were shouting at each other. Kozhedub said:
— All aircraft that I shot down are on the ground, you can count them with no problem. All yours – in the water. Go find them!
I later flew airplanes to Kharkov, we brought planes from there when the war was over.

— Right after the war ended there were a lot of accidents and catastrophes. A lot of planes were destroyed, famous HSUs were killed…

We begun training for a flights in complex weather conditions then. A lot of pilots got killed in such flights. Second wave begun when we started utilizing jet planes. At that time I already flew a transport plane and had to bring coffins to their home towns. Those days it was common to bring perished pilots to their relatives.
A lot of pilots got killed in MiG-15 — engines stalled, spin characteristics were bad… My former wingman got killed in a spin in MiG-15…

— In 1947 you received Spitfires. What can you say about it?

Excellent airplane. There were different versions. There were removable wingtips. If you need to go to a higher altitude a wingtip could be added, it would add about 1.5 m to wing span. We flew mostly with these wingtips – high altitude variant. And if you need to fly for manevering, then the wingtips were removed.
Then wings would look like cut.

— What kind of fuel was used?

Engine Merlin 66, but we flew on our fuel, and it did not give best results. The seat belts were of great construction… If you sit normally, they would follow you, but if you moved sharply they would hold you in place. Like in modern cars.

— Did you use seat belts when you flew Yaks?

Mostly waist belts. I did not use shoulder belts because they limited movement. Of course the risk in case of belly landing increased, but we never thought about it. Most important was that you had to see everything.

— Where was the visibility better: in Yak or in Spitfire?

About the same.

— How Spitfires were painted?

Same as Yaks…

— Did you use drop tanks on Spitfire?

Never seen them.

— What about armament in the wings being further from the center line? Was it a problem?

No, our Spitfire IXs had either 4 cannons or 2 cannons and 4 machineguns. I flew and fired at the cone target. (Spitfire LF.IXE had 2 cannons and 2 .50 machine guns – IG)

— Many pilots recall that they had a problem with propeller pitch regulator when they flew Yak…

Yak had an automatic propeller pitch regulator. If I remember correctly ARV-41 or 44…

— What about Spitfire?

There you could do it both manually and automatically.

— Spitfire had rather narrow wheel base. Did you encounter problems during take-off or landing at side wind?

Of course at strong side wind direction of take-off and landing would change, otherwise one can brake an airplane.

— You flew Spitfires. What was next?

Then a special squadron was formed to train antiaircraft gunners. I was flying at the range as a target.

— Did they really shoot at you?

Well, no. Firing was organized as follows. They aimed at me but the barrels of their guns were turned sideways 45 degrees. Therefore, explosions were on the side. But the quality of aiming could be judged based on the location of these explosions. They would ask: « How do you see an explosion?» I reply: « Saw explosions at my altitude, all is normal». I flew a lot because as one unit will complete their shooting another one will start it over again.
Once I flew to the range and was flying over it again and again. I got bored, and decided to descend rapidly. I turned and went in a dive. I had some nasal congestion. My ears were hurt during the dive. I was swallowing and shouting to clear them up as usual, but it did not help. My ears started to bleed. I ended up in a hospital. I spent almost a month there. My ear failed. I lost hearing on that ear completely. On medical exam they told me:
- You hear nothing, what kind of a fighter are you?
I went to Moscow, to specialized hospital. There I was transferred to transport aviation. I was flying as ship commander on Li-2 and later on Il-14. There were various special assignments. I was flying all over the country. I even delivered C-47 to Krasnovodsk. They brought all obsolete airplanes there, put them on autopilot and shot at them air-to air missiles from fighters.

— Where you offended that you, a fighter pilot, became a hauler?

And whom to be offended at? At myself, at my own health? And I enjoyed transport aviation. A fighter pilot is like a circus performer. They turn around, all this aerobatics and that is all. I liked transport aviation. You engage autopilot and go. I flew at various weather. I liked to fly in clouds and between them. It was interesting. Down there it was totally dark but as you get to the altitude, here is the sun and you fly and enjoy all this beauty.
In the Far East I flew over Kuril islands, Kamchataka, Sakhalin, and Chukotka..

— Which of the transport planes did you like the most?

Of course Il-14. It was not afraid of side winds. It had a tricycle gear and at take-off you practically do not feel wind. With Li-2 it was like a sale and wind influenced it trying to spin you. Il-14 had more powerful engines. It’s a pity I did not have a chance to fly turboprops. I was decomissioned for health reasons.

— What did you do later?

I completed my service in Khabarovsk, came here to Leningrad and became an apprentice for repair of photo and camera equipment. I liked it, and I still like to tweak cameras and lenses.

[bobbysocks]

Porfiriy Borisovich Ovsyannikov

The formula of battle is simple:
You should see the enemy first;
Altitude is the guarantor of victory;
Plus speed and steel nerves.

De facto I was born on 29 February 1924, but de jure on 1 March 1924, in a remote settlement in the center of Russia, in Kursk oblast. The name of the village was Ovsyannikovo, and accordingly my family name is Ovsyannikov. I was a hereditary peasant; my father became a carpenter and a laborer, and my mother was a kolkhoz worker.

How did you get into aviation?

It was simple in our Soviet time—club members worked for free. I considered aviation to be the “profession of the elites.” We ran behind the pilots with open mouths, believing that this profession was incomprehensible.
It was in September 1940, at the beginning of the school year; I recall it like it was yesterday. The 15th of September was such a good day, with light clouds. I was in 10th grade at the time. The school was 5 kilometers from my house, in a former monastery—the [monastic] cells were made over into classrooms. It had an enormous garden, an apple orchard. We had one long break a day—20 minutes. We were running round the garden. Suddenly an aircraft appeared overhead—a U-2, flying so low we could see the pilot. We looked—the airplane was turning around. It made only one circuit and then the bell rang. Like a disciplined student, I ran back to class. The late-comers ran in and announced: “The airplane landed! In the field, close by.”
We were in literature class and whispered back and forth. When 15 minutes remained to the end of the lesson, the door suddenly opened and Fedor Yakovlevich Senkevich—the school principal—walked in. He was a tall man, and with him was the pilot, a man of average height. He was wearing a raglan jacket and carrying a mapcase. He removed his helmet, no earphones, just a helmet, with goggles.
Of course, we greeted him: Zdras’te! [Good day]
He asked: “How are things with you? What are you doing for your lesson?”
The teacher responded: “Now we are reviewing previous reading assignments and checking how well it was mastered.”
He replied: “Then I will take up your time to the end of the lesson. Is that alright?”
“Yes, yes, please do.”
This is when I saw the pilot for the first time. The director declared, “Kids!” (He always referred to us as “kids.”) A pilot from the Kursk aero club has flown to us. He wants to converse with you.”
The pilot gave a brief evaluation of the international situation—the war. It was 1940 and the war was already underway. The Germans were fighting in France, the Maginot line, and so on. Speaking briefly, he said that a supplementary call-up had been declared in Kursk, and they were bringing in boys. Then some of our girls raised their hands:
“What about girls?”
He replied: “Ladies! The government has forbidden the selection of young girls. Before this we had [female] pilots. Young girls were trained. But the government has issued a regulation that this is not women’s business. There are other clubs—radio, parachute class... Help yourselves!”
They grew quiet. The lesson ended and debates began. We had 15 young boys and 15 girls. All the boys gathered: “Well, how about it! Should we go? Let’s go!”
Only two did not go. One of them was our idol. His name was Valka Tutov. He was tall, well-proportioned, and the best student among us. He could make a complete revolution around the horizontal bar, and we still hung like sausages. Overall, he was a strong, developed young man. He said:
“Guys, the medical commission will not accept me. I can’t see out of one eye.”
The second guy was, well, not too bright. You might even say he was retarded.
At the established time, we all raced into town. Only two of our group made it through the medical screening. The remainder, including me, were “thrown overboard.” The surgeon probed me and said: “What is this you have—a left-side abdominal hernia!”
Well, that was all for me.
He said: “I advise you, young man, to go to the polyclinic and get a consultation for the hospital.1 Let them do a relatively simple operation on you. After that, we will look at you again.”
Our village was very religious; so were my mother and father, especially my mother. But she was also quite illiterate—she could neither read nor write. They had suggested to her before that I have an operation. But my mother responded:
“Cut on him? No way!”
Now I went to her and said: “Mama, I am going to the hospital, and they will do the operation!”
She protested, but I went anyway. They did the operation. I went back to school in about two weeks. It was late fall by now. My schoolmates who had been selected for the aero club in early November got their head gear somewhere, and showed them off. Well, we were around 17 years old then. They called themselves pilots.

You said that your village was religious. How did they regard Soviet authority in the village? And how did Soviet authority relate to the “believers”?

The village was Old Believers.2 As they used to go to prayers before the revolution, they kept going after. We did not have a church in the village, rather a prayer house. How did the people relate to Soviet authority? I could talk for a long time on this theme. Briefly—we lived the same way as we used to. Kolkhozes were formed. Peasants hardly wanted to go at first, later they “tried it out.” Nobody complained much; they got used to it. And as before, they crossed themselves and prayed.

So, in the larger sense, Soviet authority did not interfere with your lives?

No. Absolutely not.

Was there a party organization? A Komsomol organization?3

Not in the village. There was one in the school. I was an Oktyabrenok [pre-Pioneer]. On holidays, I participated in the religious processions; when I returned, the other boys teased me. But I was terribly religious, and could not argue with them.
But in all, we were happy and lived an interesting life. From my childhood, as long as I can remember, I participated in religious services and performed my duties for all the holidays. We were brought up with our own idiosyncrasies. For example, the railroad track was 5 kilometers away, and we could hear the whistle of the steam locomotives. Well, they preached that when the locomotive whistled, we had to cross ourselves. And we did. Locomotives were considered as anti-Christ manifestations. Airplanes were beginning to fly — an airplane flew over our village, a passenger airplane. It was flying, I think, from Kharkov northward to Moscow. In one of the sermons, I heard them say:
“It is written in the Bible — iron birds will appear in the sky. The noise they will produce will be the anti-Christ, the voice of the devil.”
And further: “You should not look at them; close your ears and cross yourself.”
This is how we lived.

Meanwhile, an airplane landed at your school?

This happened later. When I went to school, I already had begun to break away. What was the cross about? I had begun to argue with my mother.
“I do not believe in God!”
Of course, she was distressed by this.
But we digress. The young men who had joined the aero club came to the school and said to me:
“They have declared a supplementary selection. Do you want to join?”
“Yes, I do!”
So I went to the doctor again.
“What’s this you have?”
“A scar.”
“What did they remove?”
“Remove” was not exactly the right term—they “took in.” Well, in general he understood. Perhaps it was the pre-war situation and the requirements had been lowered. But in the end, he gave me a satisfactory evaluation.
So we began to go to the aero club, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. As soon as lessons ended, we went from the school into town. Exercises began there at 1800 and lasted three hours. We returned home sometime around midnight. It was 10 kilometers to the town, but we were young.

Tell us what kind of equipment you had in the classes.

Nothing special. Well, of course we had posters and cutaway engines. We studied aircraft and aerodynamics, meteorological issues. Everything was laid out for us in an easy manner. I remember it all to this day. Our instructors must take credit for that. Our first flight was in May, with an instructor, of course. By the way, I had a female instructor. She was the wife of the flight commander—Yelena Karayskaya. She was pretty. My instructor had, I think, 10 or 12 students. So, we flew for the first time. I glanced down and there... I was accustomed to a single stream near the village, and I saw many streams! Well, I had no idea where I was, but overall I liked it. The credentials committee came to us, and everyone passed it: none of us were from a kulak background—we were all peasants.4 We made our flights very early, at 0600. We made four flights in a day, no more.

Did they take you out of class on flight days?

From lessons? No. Examinations had already begun at school. We flew from 0600 to 0900. After 0900, as a rule, they released us and we walked to school. They greeted us with the words:
“The pilots have arrived!”
Our flight program was extended. When demonstration flights began, it was possible to be out for a day. During the first flights, we observed the pilot and did not touch the controls. We also flew on Saturday, Sunday, or days off.
One time my father came home on a Sunday. He worked as a foreman or team leader; he was building something somewhere. Well, now they call them handymen. My father was one of the first in the village to buy a battery-operated radio. He had only a fourth-grade parochial school education. He began to teach me church-Slavonic. We had a Bible at home.
I remember to this day, “Az, buki, vedi...”[the first three letters of the church-Slavonic alphabet].
It was Sunday, and we were still lying in bed. Mother awakened us from the kitchen: “Get up! It’s time to eat!”
It was already 10:00, I think. Father turned on the radio. Some kind of music was playing, over and over, and then they announced, “All radio stations of the Soviet Union are working!” This was the sign-on announcement.
Then Vyacheslav Molotov began speaking, and he declared, “Early this morning, the German Army violated the border... They bombed our cities.” He listed them: “Odessa, Kiev, and Minsk.”
Father listened, then he cried out, “Mother, trouble! Mother, trouble! War!”
Mother wailed, cried, and ran outside. The sun was already high. Everyone in our village learned that the war had begun from us.

Had you finished school by this time?

No, both the aero club and school continued to function. One day, some I-16s landed at our aero club airfield. On the other side of the town, in the south, was a large airfield with a concrete runway. Some SBs were stationed there. Why didn’t they land there? I don’t know. Two of I-16s broke their gear during the landing, I think. They came from Chernigov. Some Messerschmitts harassed them in the air. The war was on, and we were training. Back in June, before the war I think, I took off on my sixth flight solo. Everyone was going through the program, but I was the first to solo. I don’t know why, but everything was going my way, and I was the first among all of our young men. We flew only on the U-2. We also had a UT-2 and a UT-1, but only the detachment commander flew them. I remember how we looked at it; it was such a beautiful small airplane, a miniature. I finished school; we had a graduation party.

Did you have finals right before the war?

No. When our final exam was scheduled, a German airplane flew over. We rushed out of the schoolhouse. It had its own unique sound. It was in the evening, probably; it was a reconnaissance aircraft heading past us for Moscow.
Studies ended and they issued us our papers. Sometime in July, around the 26th, we finished aero club. They gave us a certificate of completion for aero club. “Komsomol, forward!” and we rushed off to the front. Quickly, independently, without any summons, we went to the voyenkomat [military commissariat—draft board]. To the front! We are already pilots! Send us to the front! They received us at the voyenkomat and said, “We are not sending you to the front, but to further flight training!” They sent me and two of my comrades to Chuguev Aviation School.

Did you call it “Chugunok” among cadets? [Chugunok in Russian is a cooking vessel that was used in a traditional Russian oven.]

Not at all. We did not call it “Chugunok.” I heard this the first time from you. Its name was Chuguev School.
On 29th of June, my father and younger brother accompanied me from Kursk railroad station to Kharkov. This was my farewell with my parents. Already on the 6th of August, I was enrolled as a cadet in Chuguev School. The school was large, with seven squadrons. Initially they had a terka there as well.5 We studied the UT-2 and I-16. Later we entered a flight program on the UT-2. We began to fly. We flew without any special strain, and there was no shortage of gasoline. We had not even begun solo flights when suddenly, sometime in early September, around the 10th, I think, flights were curtailed. They prepared all the aircraft that were capable of flight.
We began walking guard, securing the aircraft, with a rifle and bayonet that together were taller than we were. We had one captain, Pavlov, the chief of personnel and supply records. He issued us our instructions. “Be vigilant!” He provided a review of events: spies killed someone here, they blew up a bridge there, and saboteurs landed somewhere else. He described the real situation to us. The nights... The nights are dark in Ukraine. We walked around the airplanes, which were spread out with about 30 meters between them. You are walking, and a gopher scampers from under your foot. “Whew!” And you have some unspeakable feelings… Your senses are on full alert. You are pumping adrenaline. In the morning you hear that in another squadron, sentries shot a horse. Someone shouts: “Halt! Who goes there?”
It keeps walking. Well, it turns out the “walker” was a horse. We had such episodes.
A rumor went around that they would evacuate us. The unserviceable airplanes were burned. On the 15th of September, we set out in a march column. We rolled up our greatcoat and shouldered our rifles and gas masks. We formed up and moved out. Where? For what? The answer to every question was the same—“Forward – march!” With all of the school’s squadrons. Our squadron walked from Blagodatnyy settlement. The squadrons were dispersed. We walked about 40 kilometers on the first day. We moved in this manner on foot 500 versts [approximately 500 km] to Kalach in Voronezh district! The Germans were at Smolensk. At night they flew over us to Kharkov, which they bombed.

Did your instructors stand Alert-1 in the cockpits of the I-16s to intercept enemy planes?6

No, They did not stand watch. At Kalach they mounted us in rail cars. Where were they hauling us? It was a secret! They were correct in concealing our destination, by the way. There was a lengthy delay at Rostov while they permitted a hospital train to pass. I remember that well. They let it pass, and then the Germans bombed it.

Did it have the cross markings, in accordance with all the international conventions?

Yes, red crosses everywhere. But who looked at that? Oh, God! “In accordance with the Geneva Convention…” Oh, come on! They just dropped their bombs.

Did our pilots bomb their medical facilities?

I don’t know. But try to spot the crosses from an altitude of 6,000 meters.

Perhaps the Germans did not see the red crosses?

I don’t know. But that was not my point. I simply said that if we had not let that train pass, then it possibly would have been us and not them. We crossed the bridge over the Don. They transported us to Baku and there transferred us to a steamer. When we were crossing the Caspian Sea, I became seasick, perhaps for half a day. I was thinking, “God! It’s a good thing that I ended up in aviation. Thank God not in the Navy!”
We arrived at Krasnovodsk. The electricity was flowing! There was no blackout, it was as if there was no war going on! They placed us on a passenger train to Chimkent. A [flight] school was based there. The squadrons were being dispersed throughout Kazakhstan and Turkestan. One squadron was in Dzhambul. Ours was in Arys, a railroad hub north of Chimkent. The school was set up on a base for troop ammunition storage facilities.
By the way, Ivan Kozhedub was at our school. One day they held a formation and read a citation to us about Kozhedub. He flew at low altitude and hit something, and then made a forced landing. I have forgotten the details.

What types of aircraft did you have?

We were supposed to graduate on the I-16. We flew the UTI-4, that’s a dual seater. Before that we were supposed to master the UT-2.

Did the UT-2 have straight or bent wings?

Straight. What else?

Were you afraid of it? Was there talk that it would spin?

Indeed, it was complicated in that respect. It would go into a flat spin. At the beginning, for some time, we were forbidden to execute complex aerobatic maneuvers. I will tell you about spins later.
We began to train, and simultaneously constructing the airfield. The Kazakh steppe, gophers, burrows. We leveled the hummocks with shovels—no heavy equipment was available. Summer is dry there, and autumn—you can sink in this soil. Spring there is like a carpet! Initially tulips, later poppies. In mid-May, large flocks of sheep come. What they ate, I don’t know. Everything has dried up, everything is parched. Only camel’s thorn are green, and they remain green all summer.
We built the airfield and began to fly. By now it was 1942. Stalingrad. We finished with the UT-2 and went on to flights in the UTI-4.
After the U-2, when I took off in the UT-2, I began to work the stick abruptly. My flight instructor almost killed me after my check ride: “Do you want to kill me? What were you doing?”
I’m describing how maneuverable it was.
The UTI-4 was small—you could reach out and touch the wingtip, it seemed. In the rear cockpit you could say that your back was resting against the fin. Well, in short order I completed a total of nine flights. Right there it had begun, and just as soon it ended: they took a portion of our instructors to the front, along with the operational I-16 aircraft. Only several crippled airplanes remained. Some even had spreader bars between the wheels to keep the chassis from collapsing. They divided the cadets into two parts: we had four groups in the detachment—114th, 124th, 134th, and 144th. These they divided in half, and only the 114th and 124th flew. I was in the 134th. So I and my comrades spent many unhappy days on the sidelines. While they began to fly an accelerated program, we walked guard, spent a day on guard duty, and the next day worked in the kitchen. They flew and we “licked our lips.”
By now it was November 1942, and I was on guard duty. A call came from the entrance to the dugout. The chief of the guard took the handset. I heard him say:
“Roger!” [Understood!]
He then informed us:
“The squadron commander just came through the checkpoint.”
I was replaced at my post, and a person replaced at his post should then stand watch over the guard house—the awake shift. I was standing on top of the dugout; it was cold, I was wearing a sheepskin coat. I was holding such a long, long rifle—longer than I was tall. Major Yusim walked up. He had his own distinctive stride—he did not raise his head, he looked down all the time. He came up even with me, raised his head, and asked the question:
“Ovsyannikov! Do you want to fly?”
“Yes, comrade Major!”
Then he said to me from below (from below, because I was above him, on top of the dugout):
“An experimental group is being formed, which will, bypassing the UTI-4, go through the program on Yak-7s, which have arrived at the school. We will issue the Yaks immediately. What do you think about that? Well, we will give you an additional course in the UT-2, including high-speed landings and maneuvers in zone.”

Were they dual-control or single-seat Yaks?

The Yaks were both single- and dual seat. We practiced takeoffs and landings and aerobatics in the Yaks. But we also performed this training in the I-16. Also spins. You had only to pull back the stick and it would spin. The Ishak [donkey, the nickname for the I-16] was demanding. But on the other hand, it came out of the spin immediately.

They have told me that the I-16 spun in an unusual manner. Everything normally spins evenly, but the I-16 rotated 360 degrees—slowed, rotated 360 degrees again, and slowed again.

I will not lie about the I-16—I did not fly in them. I flew the UTI-4 [a two-seat version of the I-16]. The Cobra spun in a jerky movement, and the MiG-19...
But let’s return to November 1942. As soon as the squadron commander left, the chief of the guard jumped up: “Are you an idiot? Do you want to be arrested? They will give you ten days of arrest!”
Being on guard duty, I did not have the right to talk or respond. But what kind of question was put to me? It was a provocation! I returned to my barracks after the shift change, and they were already waiting for me—my former flight commander, who trained me in the UT-2, and my instructor, Lieutenant Viktor Polesskiy. They began to train us in a special program. We worked on high-speed landings. You get close to the ground—level it out, and at level attitude carry on for perhaps a kilometer. Well, perhaps this was not necessary, I can’t say, really.
Then we moved on to the Yak-7. In July 1943 they graduated us; we “chased down” the group that had already completed in the Yak-7, but after the I-16. Well, we were like the guinea pigs—test animals. In July they commissioned us with officer rank—junior lieutenant. Before this they graduated as sergeants.

What did you think of the Yak after the UT and UTI?

Well, the Yak was a good airplane. As I began to take off, my back was pressed into the seat—it had a lot more power! As far as manipulating the controls—it was a normal airplane.

Were there breakdowns? How often were they damaged from unskillful flying?

I never had any myself; but in general, well, I don’t remember.

What color were they painted?

The UT-2s, I think, were white and one with a red stripe. The I-16s were greenish. Well, I’m not very selective in my colors, but it was closer to greenish.

Upon graduation, how many total hours had you flown?

Altogether 100 hours, including the aero club. About ten hours in the Yak at flight school. The program was local flight—circuits around the airfield and in the local area. One time we flew cross-country as a pair.

Did you have any examination or test for graduation?

Yes, there was an examination. It was flying around the local area with an instructor. I don’t remember whom I flew with. They also tested us in theory. I finished flight school in July and they issued us canvas boots. Before us they sent out sergeant pilots in puttees, and collected up any new greatcoats among us. Well, we ourselves exchanged them, and no one lost his. They issued us a certificate that said we were officers, and with this certificate... They had just introduced these ranks. Initially we were junior lieutenants. It was different for artillerymen—they held lieutenant rank for six months of their training. Well, Timoshenko was not really fair to us aviators.

Talk about how they fed you during training.

They fed us normally. It was sufficient.

Everyone with whom we have raised this subject has said: “We were not fed enough until we reached the front lines.”

Well, I can attest to that as well. For example, they did not give the instructors a supplementary breakfast. So we gave them supplements from our rations. We were not starving, but if they had given us seconds, we would have gladly eaten them. No, I would not say that we were hungry, no. Our ration was normal, but strictly controlled. Do you understand? It was according to norm.
One time we were sent to sort rotten onions from good ones in a vegetable storage base and we tried to eat them. We had young stomachs.
Well, we went to Moscow. We arrived at the personnel department and, instead of the front, they sent our entire group to Ivanovo—to be transitioned to the Cobra. On the one hand it was unfortunate, but on the other hand perhaps we were lucky. Initially we were upset. Well, we were officers and we were eager to get into the fight.
We arrived in the town Ivanovo at the 22nd Reserve Air Regiment. We went through another “terka” and transition training. There were no dual-control Cobras. They checked us out in Yaks. The food was worse in the reserve regiment than at flight school. I don’t remember the norm number. At the front, you could eat as much as you wanted for dinner. At the training regiment you could eat only as much as they gave you. Don’t ask for more! We were young then, and constantly wanted to eat.

Were they paying you then?

Yes, 550 rubles. But in the market a loaf of bread cost 100 rubles and a bottle of vodka 400 rubles. I recall one time we went together and bought vodka for someone’s birthday.
But more importantly, in essence, we frittered away our time. Flights occurred infrequently and we could have finished transition more quickly. We went dancing to keep ourselves busy and learn how to dance. The dances were free at the local circus.

What was your first impression of the Cobra?

My first impression of the Cobra was that it was a remarkable airplane. I liked it. Why did I like it? I will tell you. You sat in the cockpit and you could see everything, because it had a nose wheel. I did not fly the Lavochkin; I did not fight in the Yak; but I flew it, and I will tell you that the Cobra had good visibility.

What model of the Cobra were these—the “D” or the “Q”?

There were many variants. I do not recall specifically how they were divided up. We even had some with electric drive to change the propeller pitch. Later they were hydraulic—variable-pitch propellers.

Describe the program for transitioning to the Cobra.

What did we do in the Cobra? First, circuits around the airfield, then a program of flights in zone where we worked out the techniques of piloting the airplane. We did as our instructor directed—there was no dual-seater.
Before the completion tests, that is, toward the end of the program, I had an assignment: fly out, then go to a [gunnery] range and fire my machine guns at ground targets. I took off, flew out as required, and then decided I would do a slow barrel roll. I began to execute the roll. While in the inverted position, I somehow moved the stick slightly away from myself. What does this mean? My buttocks came out of my seat and I was hanging in my seat and shoulder harness. While I was dangling there, my airplane went into a flat spin. I began to recover. The first attempt... the airplane did a revolution and the nose came up suddenly, above the horizon. I thought, “Well, now it will recover!” But it went back out of control. Then I collected myself and thought, “What did they teach us?” They taught us well. I applied stick in the direction of the spin. You understand? At the moment the nose dropped, I pulled back on the stick and applied opposite rudder. I looked out and it had taken hold. I recovered. I flew straight home—no gunnery range—straight home. I had the thought, “Bail out!” I’m not lying. I thought, “I will jump!” What will I tell them? I had failed in my flight mission.

What did they say to you about this?

No one said anything, because I didn’t tell anyone about what had happened.

But you didn’t complete the gunnery task.

Think about it. Who was there to monitor it? So it went unnoticed.

What were the armaments on your Cobras?

The two extra wing guns were removed. What remained were two Colt-Browning 12.7 mm [.50 cal.] machine guns and a 37 mm cannon. It had 39 shells in the cannon system, but we snuck in 40. How 40? We loaded one directly into the barrel.

It’s a good thing I was unable to correct you. I was thinking, the cannon has a drum, each shell has a spot... What about the Cobra’s engine?

It was good, but weak in terms of engine hours, and not very good if you flew with too much throttle. I will tell you about it. This was not a fault of the airplane, but ours. Because our gasoline was not suitable.
We flew on our fuel—B-78. The Cobra had a limiter [governor]. The normal supercharger pressure on the Cobra was 67 pounds per square inch. They set the governor on the Cobra so that it would not exceed 45 pounds. Kinematics supported this; it was ours, already developed. It would not give any more with our fuel. Therefore, if one were using our fuel, the connecting rods in the engine would snap.
That’s not all. They glued a piece of paper on the throttle slot. Paper, ordinary paper. You could set the throttle to get only 40 pounds. Maximum 40. But in combat it was possible to get 45 pounds, but only by tearing the paper. Then you had to report this to the mechanics later. They could see this themselves; they then would remove the filters from the engine to check for [metal] filings.
What was dangerous about the Cobra? Its coolant fluid was Prestone [antifreeze], and it burned better than gasoline. In the event connecting rods would snap, a fire would break out. And in most cases—right away.

They said that, even under such conditions, these Allison engines did not last the projected number of operating hours.

Well, you know, this did not affect me—the mechanics worried about such things.

At the front, did you fly on our gasoline? What about at the training center?

At the front. More precisely, at both places. There was no other choice. The American gas was B-100. They could deliver it some places, but we never received any. Perhaps Pokryshkin flew on these aircraft.

Radios. What type was installed in the Cobra?

Very good radios. They were good for those times. At least there were no complaints about them. In general, we had good communications. There were earphones, not helmets, but earphones. There were no helmets. We wore our pilotka [garrison hat] and earphones. We also did not take our [oxygen] masks. In place of an oxygen mask we used a mouthpiece. Like a cigarette holder. We breathed through our mouth and this did not interfere with our ability to see.

How did the Cobra handle in flight? What were its optimal operating altitudes?

I don’t recall. In my opinion, it would even reach 12,000 meters. It was capable of fighting at all altitudes. It was a good airplane, an aerobatic machine. I liked the Cobra, but I did not fight in our fighters, so I can’t compare it to them.

It is well known that at one time the Cobra had a very weak tail section.

This is absolutely true. But we did not crumple our tails, because ours were reworked. Here’s the story. In our regiment, I think two Cobras twisted their tails, and the pilots bailed out. This was before my time. Our diplomatic representatives delivered a complaint to the manufacturer. They sent out the parts to strengthen the tails. Our technicians strengthened the aircraft. We riveted two plates around the tail portion of the fuselage.

We are interested in how your Cobras were painted.

Ours were green in color. Perhaps we did not over-paint ours. They painted only specific portions of the surface—the regimental markings. In our regiment we had white spinners, and I think the rudders were also white. In the 72nd Regiment, they were red, and in the 68th Regiment—sky blue.

What kind of art did they paint on your airplanes?

We decorated them. Stars [denoting victories] were painted on the nose. In our regiment we had Alexey Semenovich Smirnov, who later became a Twice Hero of the Soviet Union.7 When I arrived in the regiment, he was a squadron commander and Hero of the Soviet Union. The young generation arrived and among them was a pilot who drew well. He drew a “joker,” like on playing cards, on the rudder of his plane. There weren’t any other such art cases or attraction to drawing.
Our aircraft were not repainted in the winter. We flew them in green. The stars on the wings? I don’t even remember where they were, but I think they were only on the bottom. The serial numbers remained on the fins, but I don’t remember their color.

Do you remember your tactical number?

I remember one—42. This was already after they had shot me down and I had changed aircraft.

Let’s return to the ZAP.

The reserve air regiment… I was the duty officer for the airfield. The telephone rang:
“A colonel is arriving at your location in an UT-2. Meet the airplane and put it in the hangar.”
I did as instructed—I met him. He climbed out, but he was not wearing the Caucasian fur cap which was given to all officers starting from colonel as a part of the uniform, rather an Astrakhan fur cap. “The ‘merchant’ has arrived!”8
This was sometime in February 1944. We had already completed transition training.

Was there a sense that the war was coming toward an end and you might not make it to the front?

The situation was not that clear yet. Some of the country’s western republics were still occupied.
I will continue. The guest—the “merchant”—turned out to be Colonel Ivanov, the commander of a front-line corps. He was a pilot, as they say, “from God.” He flew in spite of his general’s rank. The only thing he could not fly was a broomstick. He died in a crash after the war in a small German liaison aircraft, the Siebel. I believe that at the time he was a PVO commander.
So, I met him and sent him to the headquarters. I came from the airfield and everyone was already assembled. It turned out that everyone had already been “sold”! I was surprised, but my name was already on the list. In the morning, we were supposed to turn in our belongings and sign out. I gathered up my linens and mattress and carried them on my back to the supply room. A fellow student behind me, from Chuguev flight school but from another squadron, was shouting:
“Ovsyannikov! Wait! Don’t leave! Come back! I am going to go in your place! Captain Sarkisyan will explain everything to you.”
He was the adjutant there. I no longer remember what detachment or squadron. I went up to him indignantly:
“What’s going on?”
He replied:
“Listen! You will still get there! What do you get—550 rubles? He only gets seven rubles.”
This guy, Boris Sosna, was a handsome man. We became friends, we exchanged letters, and he just died last year, in the south, in Pyategorsk. Back then he was a “string puller,” who had gone AWOL on at least one occasion. Because of this they gave him starshina rather than lieutenant. Therefore as a starshina he received seven rubles salary.
“Why am I being held back?”
“It’s all been decided. You’ll still get there.”
So I laid out my mattress again. It embarrassed me to tears.
It was the end of April before another “merchant” showed up. It turned out that they assigned me to the same regiment as my “friend-rival”, as I called him at that time. So at the end of April I left from Ivanovo and ended up in the same corps. But now instead of a colonel, a major general received me. We had a conversation, and from our group he sent me and one other comrade to the guards division. In our corps we had two divisions, one guards and the other not guards. They called it the 180th “wild” IAD. This division was also in Cobras.

How did you get there, to the regiment, from the school in Ivanovo?

Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. They told us how to reach the regiment: “Go to this station, and there you will find your way.”
This was in Valday rayon, the village Somenka, and Somenka airfield. [The 5th Guards Fighter Air Division, 6th Air Army, Northwest Front was stationed at Somenka airfield from March to May 1944. I.S.]
Aha! Right away! There was nothing there.
We arrived at the station with a friend at night, crawled out [of the conveyance], and it was cold. It was spring, the month of May, but still cold. An old woman was stoking a small stove. We asked her:
“Please tell us, how do we get to Somenka?”
She replied:
“Down this path. Go this way. You will get there by daylight.”
“How far is it?”
“Six kilometers and a little bit.”
How much over six kilometers she did not specify, and like fools, we didn’t ask. We found the path and set off. We walked and we walked, and there, to our left and then to our right, the black grouse uttered their mating calls. We walked three-plus kilometers past the six she told us, and the road ended! The road just ended. It was an overcast day, with fog and low clouds. We reached a stream. On the other side was a settlement. The stream was wide, with a log in place of a bridge. We went across and stopped at a peasant hut.
“Does anyone live here?”
An old woman answered: “Yes, Yes, come in.”
We asked her:“Where is Somenka? We have to get to Somenka.”
“Somenka? Yes, I have been there, to a wedding.”
“How far is it?”
“Six kilometers and a little bit.”
Again that little bit!“Which way?”
“Go this way.”
We walked farther. We walked and we walked. Suddenly the overcast lifted and we saw an airplane fly over. It was a U-2, one pass. It dropped down and was hidden by the forest. We walked and we walked; we saw a stream, half full of water. The ducks flew off. We approached the stream and a man was walking, in a dark blue jacket. He was an aviator with a pistol. Perhaps he was duck hunting.
“Look here! Where is the airfield?”
“It’s over there, ahead of you.”
I took off my canvas boots and trousers. My friend Pasha walked straight into the stream and got all wet. I put on my dry clothes and he wrung the water out of his; then we waited for them to dry out. We made it to the airfield. We asked where the division was, and it turned out that the division headquarters was also on this same airfield, in a dugout.
Well, how did they greet us? We reported in the normal fashion. They directed us, I don’t really remember, either to the commander or to the personnel department. It turned out that they left me at this airfield, in the 28th Guards Regiment, in which I fought. My friend was also sent to a guards regiment—the 72nd. This was almost in the opposite direction, but he was lucky—they took him there in a Po-2.
Well, we walked out of the division headquarters, and this same Boris Sosna was walking toward me: “Ah, friend! Come on! Have you eaten? Let’s go eat!”
He took us to the dugout where the canteen was located. He was a regular there already.
“Hey, girls! Reinforcements have arrived! Feed us something!”
What food they had there! We were accustomed to rear-area rations. Here they brought out enormous portions—fried potatoes, a huge cutlet, and compote. I thought to myself: “One could live well here.”

When did you receive a personal weapon?

I arrived at the regiment and was issued a TT. We all had TTs. They gave us uniforms, weapons, and maps. I ended up in the 2nd Squadron. My commander was a major, Petr Ivanovich Isaev. He fought in the Finnish War. We called him “Grandpa.” He was over 30 years old. Later my flight commander became the squadron commander. And so began my front-line journey. They checked my piloting skills. My flight commander checked me out in a dual-control Yak. Later I took off in a Cobra. I flew around the airfield, made several flights, and later in the zone. Then we began to maneuver in pairs. This was to work on our so-called coordination. I established a sort of rhyme with my lead:
“I am your lead,” he said to me,
Looking me straight in the eye.
“Now remember, in your sleep,
You should be close to me!”

Tell us, did you conduct any practice aerial engagements?

Both coordination and training aerial engagements. They trained us well. We fired at both ground and aerial targets. The aerial target was a fabric sleeve towed behind an airplane. They used Cobras to tow it. They rolled it up in a ball, then cast it out, and it fully deployed. My time came to shoot at the sleeve. I sat in my cockpit, waiting for the signal to launch. I could already see the towing airplane—it was almost over the airfield. I took off on signal, raised the landing gear, closed the flaps, and gave it throttle. Suddenly, my engine cut out. It was as if I had closed the throttle myself. I was at about 100 meters altitude, no more. This was in Kalinin oblast — we were surrounded by trees. I glanced to my left and saw a small open area. There was a hamlet and a field. I did not have time even to turn or even drop the gear doors and I was there. I landed. I just sat it down. They said to me on the radio:
“Where are you? Where are you?”
I replied: “I made a forced landing. Everything is okay. Six kilometers out, perhaps.”
Well, the truth was that they had to drive around for 15–20 kilometers to get me to the airfield.
They said: “An aircraft is taking off. Direct him to you.”
So I did that.
“Well, any problems?”
I responded: “Everything is normal.”
“Wait there. They are driving out to get you.”
An engineer and some technicians finally showed up in about an hour, perhaps less. They had to go around a small stream. But they finally found me. The flight technician came with a mechanic for the “evacuation,” as they liked to call such operations.
“What happened?”
I said, “I don’t know. It was as if I closed the throttle.”
Already a rumor was going around that we were going to the front, and now this. They had already sent someone from the regiment off somewhere, because he came down and broke his airplane. He crashed a second airplane. Then he left the regiment. At one time he was the wingman for my flight leader. Now I had taken his place, and also crashed.
I left for the airfield and reported in. We arrived at the regiment and reported there. I told my story. In the evening, we left the airfield to rest, to the village where we were billeted. Our squadron lived on the second floor of the building. I lay down.

Did the other men give you looks?

I don’t know. Some did, some didn’t. You know how a person can blow things out of proportion. I did not pay attention to anyone else. I lay there for a long time. Suddenly, it was night, perhaps midnight, the door opened, someone walked in, and came straight over to me. He came up to me and said:
“Ovsyannikov, you aren’t asleep?”
“No.”
“It wasn’t your fault—the fuel pump broke.”
A great load was lifted from me. It was Fedot Aksenenko, the squadron engineer. He calmed me, relating to me in a caring way. He could have forced me to be tortured until morning. He understood what I was feeling.
Everything turned out alright. The regiment stood down for reconstitution: pilots arrived, new aircraft joined our fleet. At the end of June, somewhere around the 18th, we took off for the front.
We flew to the front at low-level, for purposes of camouflage, in order not to be observed. We went at an altitude of 100 meters. We made an intermediate stop at Andriapol. This was also in Tver region. By the way, my home regiment is now based at Andriapol. True, only its name remains there. We refueled at Andriapol, and flew on to Dretun airfield. It was a primitive strip, also in the forest, 18 or 20 kilometers from the front line. It had been registered by the Germans, and therefore was subject to artillery fire. After we landed, they fired on us. It killed one mechanic and burned up one airplane, but not ours. An American Curtiss was left behind from the regiment that occupied this airfield before us. They “unoccupied” this airfield on our behalf and left behind a damaged aircraft. This is the one that burned. A shell burst literally under the tail of my comrade Sergey Korobov, leaving a big crater. But his aircraft suffered not a single hole. It was sprinkled with dirt, and that was all.

[bobbysocks]

pt 2

What kind of Curtiss? A fighter or a bomber?

The devil knows, likely a reconnaissance aircraft.

High-wing?

Yes, yes.

O-52, perhaps.

Perhaps. They called it a Curtiss.9
We made our first familiarization flight somewhere around the 20th of June. It was right before the beginning of Operation Bagration—the liberation of Belorussia. The genuine combat sorties began soon after that, just two or three days later. The mission was to provide coverage of the battlefield. It was my first combat. On the first sortie, I became separated from my leader. But it was not my fault. The fact of the matter is that there were Messerschmitts there. For the first time I saw from the side how shells flew out of my leader’s airplane. I thought to myself, “That’s some kind of smoke. Is his engine knocking?”
He fired at a Messerschmitt and after his attack zoomed upward. There was an overcast, not thick, but scattered. He jumped into a cloud and I behind him. I came out of the cloud and there was no one to be seen. While in the clouds, he turned and went down, and I went up. This was already at the end of our sortie period. We were low on fuel.

What was the duration of flight of a Cobra?

About an hour. What was the capacity of the fuel cells—I don’t remember. Perhaps four hundred liters. I have forgotten everything. Well, approximately an hour, and if you were flying economically, 90 minutes

A question about fuel. Not long ago a film was released, Peregon [ferry flight], in which they described the following situation. Upon landing a pilot pulled the control stick toward himself; the fuel in the fuel cell poured to the back of the tank and the engine died, although ostensibly there was still fuel. Did such a thing happen, or is this nonsense?

Nonsense, raving nonsense. I have heard so many lies. Horrible! Here now they are announcing commentary for an aviation catastrophe... The commentator says: “You know, the tire, when the pressure is seventy atmospheres...” [about 1000 lb/in2]
How much?
“...and when the tire blows, the airplane is penetrated through...”
Yes, the skin can be penetrated, but seventy atmospheres in the tire? When I hear this, I shout, “How is it possible to give this commentary if they don’t understand anything about the topic discussed?” All these journalists…

Let’s return to the past. You got lost and...

Me? Lost? I fell behind! And I heard – they were shouting:
“Back to base! Back to base! Assemble back at base!”
Well, back to base...
I saw that some Cobras were racing toward me. I wanted to turn around and form up on them, but they flew away. I took a course under the overcast. I knew where, in what area I was, and I arrived home normally. There I told them that I had become separated; I told them how it happened.

Did they chew you out?

For what? I didn’t try to lag behind. My leader—he didn’t transmit his plan to me. And in the clouds... In combat, you try to maintain a distance of 200 meters behind. My first aerial engagement was over rather quickly. Later, it just settled down, and sorties were conducted normally.

Tell us, did you immediately begin to get a picture of what was happening in the fight?

What can I say about “getting a picture”? I knew that I had to maneuver, that I had to get orientation. But the main thing that you visualize, that you must understand, is where you are and what you should be doing.
I will tell you a story. In a sense I was lucky, and in another sense I was not lucky.
In the first case, I did not see a single bomber in the sky. Not one. I had 204 combat sorties in slightly less than a year. Of all the young pilots, I flew more sorties than anyone else. I had a large number of reconnaissance sorties. But primarily we were engaged in non-standard missions—we did ground attack. Yes, they hung bombs on us.
Of course, everything came with time; with the passage of time, one visualized better, but it was very important to have good teachers. They did not simply teach us; before they took us into battle, they checked us out thoroughly. They trained us well and told us everything [we needed to know].

Did you consider your overall training, including that which you received in the aero club, in the reserve regiment, and later in the regiment before combat, sufficient or barely adequate?

Of course, it was not enough. When I went to the front, I had only 12 flights in a Cobra.

With whom did you most often fly in pair?

Not “most often,” but with whom did I begin to fly—this was Senior Lieutenant Boris Aleksandrovich Mukhin, my flight commander. I became his wingman. He ended his service as a division commander. I myself became a pair leader somewhere near the end of 1944.

Did you fly escort?

Of course!

What other kind of combat missions did your regiment execute?

First—covering the battlefield.
Second—escorting groups of shturmoviks or bombers.
Third—reconnaissance. This was secondary.
Perhaps one might consider our main mission to be attacks against enemy ground targets. This included airfields, railroads, and road columns.

What was the most unpleasant mission for you?

Escorting shturmoviks.

What was so complicated for you in this mission?

First, I would say altitude. They are firing at you from the ground from every possible weapon. The shturmoviks’ maximum altitude was one thousand meters. When they drop down—say to 500 or 300 meters, the enemy flogs you with AAA. But you have to stay with them.
Second, they didn’t have much speed. For a fighter, speed is the main thing. They flew at about 250 kph—that’s approximate. For us this was slow. And we had to protect them from enemy fighters.
We have clarified the most difficult mission. My favorite mission? This was to escort the female bomber regiment. I don’t remember its number. The young ladies flew the Pe-2, Peshkas. We liked this mission. They held their formation like in a picture. The men—someone would fall back, the formation would be stretched out.
True, I never saw them drop their bombs from the dive. They always dropped level.

Now let’s turn to the Germans. In your opinion, how good were the German pilots, their training, and their conduct of a battle?

With the exception of the first battle, when I encountered but did not engage them, because I was so focused on holding onto the tail of my leader, I did not encounter any Messers and Fokkers. The Cobra was able to fight with them on par and overcome. The pilots? I don’t know. Either I encountered weak pilots or their aircraft were inferior (or rather defective). You should understand that when I encountered them, well, I had three aerial combats myself.
My first happened at Baus. We went out, this was after the 18th of August (Aviation Day), and I had only drunk a little, but my friends had drunk their “100 grams” and perhaps more, if they were able to acquire a supplementary ration.
We were covering the battlefield. Our commander, Captain Mukhin, was somewhat hard of hearing. I was the flight commander’s wingman, and our second flight was flying higher, somewhere at 600 meters higher. I was out on the far left (indicates with hands), here was the leader, and Sergey Korobov was leading the second pair to the right. I spotted a pair of aircraft coming from the left, trying to come up behind us. Then they put out some smoke. Not long before this, we were informed that a Fokker had come out with a supercharger. When they switched on the supercharger, they smoked. I transmitted to my leader, “Pair from the left!”
Then I transmitted the same message again. He paid me no attention and flew straight ahead. Then I transmitted, “Fokkers are attacking us!”
Again, no reaction. What could I do? Perhaps I was the first to spot the enemy. I turned sharply, zoomed up, and began to chase whomever was behind us.
We got into a dog fight. I turned this way and that, one against two. The rest of my flight did not see me and flew off. I was still engaged. It turned out that I began to get on their tail. I fired, but from a distance. They dove and flew off. I turned sharply upward—the Cobra could not catch them in a dive. Then I heard my leader, the flight commander. He later became a Hero of the Soviet Union—Leonid Aleksandrovich Bykovets: Look! A Cobra is chasing some Fokkers!

Did your Cobras have automatic [propeller] pitch control?

Yes we did. It changed the propeller pitch. Well, when I jumped up to a higher altitude, I ended up in the rear of our group. They had not even noticed my absence. This was my first engagement with Fokkers. I drew the conclusion that I could fight on equal terms with them. My second encounter was near Prikula, also in the Baltic area.

This was your first combat with Focke Wulfs?

We had earlier encounters, but this was my, so to speak, first personal combat. Later came my second, again in an unfavorable situation, and again I was able to get out in one piece. Therefore I will tell you that I was able to fight the Germans in the Cobra.

It turns out that the German pilots did not suffer with enthusiasm during the conduct of a fight?

If someone came up behind me, I also would attempt to get away. What’s wrong with that? Who wants to get whacked? What kind of enthusiasm is that?

Tell us, please, what was your score of downed aircraft in the Great Patriotic War?

Two—not a lot but they are mine!

Honestly?

I don’t know.

According to the archives, it was three:
29.10.44, 1 FW-190, Ilmaya station
13.04.45, 1 FW-190, Khalenen Krayts
13.04.45, 1 FW-190, south of Gross-Dirkshkhaym airfield (according to Mikhail Bykov)

Listen to me. I absolutely do not believe those who say: “I was in an aerial engagement, I did such-and-such, and he went down. And I saw where he fell!”
He is either a fool or he is lying. How many aerial combats did I conduct? Regardless of how many times I fired my guns, not once did I say: “Comrade commander! I got him!”
I normally said: “I conducted an engagement, I fired.”
I take credit for two kills. That’s all.

Did you have gun cameras? Were victories confirmed with them?

They mounted them, but they did not use them to count. Or should I say very rarely. They did not believe them. Of course, if the enemy aircraft blew up... But that was a relatively rare occurrence. Confirmation was required. Who could confirm? Another pilot from one’s group could confirm.

From your own group?

Yes, from your own group. Or a ground unit.

Who among you overall in the regiment looked after this? A pilot didn’t fly out to obtain confirmations, did he?

No. We were fighting. Someone in the headquarters took care of this. Reports came in that an aerial engagement had occurred in such-and-such area and there were downed aircraft there.

Could over-claims be made?

Why not? There could be over-claims. But I don’t know of any such cases. It was difficult to confirm. How would one know if he truly over-claimed or not?

Tell us, did they pay you money for downed aircraft?

Yes. What did they do with the money? They did nothing with it, it was deposited on our account.

Was it common practice to transfer these monies to the defense fund?

I don’t know. That isn’t what we did. But I did not see any money. It evaporated into thin air.

So you didn’t receive it after the war?

I received it after the war, but later the government pulled a trick on us with ruble conversion, and it vanished.

Tell us, do you remember a case when they shot down our pilots?

Yes.

Did the Germans shot at men under parachutes?

I know they did because I saw it. This particular pilot survived the experience. It happened over Dvinsk (Daugavpils). We were covering the battlefield. He was from our flight, Kolya Shmelev. Well, I saw how they shot him down. I saw the Fokker, and how, you know, he gave it to him with all barrels — he had six cannons. Kolya bailed out, and the Fokker tried to shoot him still.

Did the Germans come at you head-on?

You know, forget about these head-on attacks. I don’t know how it would be possible to shoot someone down in a head-on approach. I repeat—I don’t know how in a head-on approach, with a closing speed somewhere around 600 meters per second, to even take aim.

Were there cases when a victory was given over to another pilot? For example, someone did not have enough for Hero status, and they gave him a victory?

It’s possible that they gave it to him on paper, but...

The pilots themselves did not do it?

No, I know of no such case. We did not do that.

Where there cases when you fired on your own aircraft, by mistake?

It happened. And they were shot down. Our own Yak shot down our Cobra. But I am not able to tell you the details—it happened before my time.

In what period, in your opinion, did the regiment fight its heaviest battles?

“Intensive” I can talk about, but I can’t say “heaviest.” Intensive combat occurred when we were attacking Koenigsberg. We sortied five times in a day. But heavy? It was never particularly heavy for us. Well, someone was shot down, and didn’t return from a mission.

On average, how many sorties per day did you fly?

Sometimes two, two or three. The maximum was around five sorties, and this was at Koenigsberg. It was two or three days when we took Zemland Peninsula. Our regiment captured one town with ground attacks, by the way.

How did you accomplish this?

It was right after the capture of Koenigsberg. This town was named Palmnicken. You do not know it, perhaps? You might have heard of Yantarnyy?
Our forces captured Pillau, on the Baltic Sea. Palmnicken remained encircled. There was some kind of company there, defending, sitting in fighting positions. They ordered us to “dig them out.” We dug them out. We made five or six sorties. In the end, they came out and threw up white flags. [In early May 1945, a regiment sortie of 29 P-39s under the command of Major B.D. Milekhin and 16 P-39s led by Guards Captain P.D. Uglyanskiy sortied to conduct bombing attacks on an accumulation of enemy forces in the town Palmnicken. The enemy forces concentrated here had retreated from the Zemland Peninsula. Our fighters conducted two bombing attacks and five firing passes on the accumulated enemy troops and equipment. After these crushing blows, the Germans raised a white flag and surrendered. I.S.]

Bombed them with what?

Bombs, strafing. What bombs? Normally we carried 100 kg and 250 kg. Only one bomb; the bomb hanger was under the fuselage. We did not hang bombs under the wings.

Did you have drop tanks?

No. No drop tanks. They might have used them for ferrying.

How did you feel after five sorties?

Normal.

In their memoirs, the Germans often write that they customarily flew 10 or 15 sorties in a day.

Well, I don’t know about that. They also say that they drank schnapps during the flight.

What is your opinion?

Judge for yourself—if they chased after each of our pilots. Let it be 15! Whatever the number, these poor bastards wouldn’t have had time to go to the bathroom.

Are you prepared to believe that a single airplane could shoot down 15–17 enemy aircraft during a single sortie?12

No!

Absolutely, categorically?

Categorically. They did not have sufficient ammunition to accomplish this.

Perhaps they use one [cannon] shell for each kill?

One round per kill—do you know what you are saying? This might be possible in a shooting gallery. After the war we fired weapons in a shooting gallery. We managed there [to shoot at the target] with two rounds with a ShKAS.13

What was your opinion of the effectiveness of your armaments on enemy aircraft?

The armaments on our Cobras were good. If a 37mm shell hit an enemy aircraft anywhere, that was sufficient. And the machine guns—obviously, they were not cannons, but at least 12.7mm machine guns. These were not 7.62mm.

The number of rounds — wasn’t 40 [for the cannon] somewhat limited?

No. You know, its rate of fire was not that great. I don’t remember now.

Do you remember how you shot down two aircraft?

No. I fired, and it was over. The bullets flew. You could see the tracers. I fired a burst and then maneuvered so some other enemy could not come around on my tail. Just like they taught us. And they taught us well.

Were you wounded?

No. But I got a bump.

How many times did they shoot you down or damage your aircraft?

One time. This happened when we were strafing an airfield. My airplane was damaged, but I landed safely. It was a forced landing. Our forces were already near Berlin, the 24th of April [1945]. Koenigsberg and Danzig had already been captured. There were still Germans on Khel Spit.14 They were flying out of there. The spit extended to the north and south from [an area west of] Koenigsberg. Where the spit went south, there was a group of cut-off Germans. They had an airfield from which they were operating. We flew there several times to bomb and strafe. The fight on 24 April was my last over this airfield.
We flew as a regiment—24 crews. We took bombs. I was in the cover group, in the very last pair. My wingman was Nikolai Pivovarov. I made my dive and dropped my bomb on the airfield, and when I was pulling out, I spotted two aircraft under camouflage netting on the bank of a stream. The plan was to make two passes. I was last—the first aircraft had already dropped their ordnance, and the regiment commander gave the order, “We’re done! Assemble, return to base.”
I had still not made my second pass and went in to strafe these two aircraft. I was diving and had just commenced firing. I felt a thump under my wing. I fired a burst and pulled up. I glanced down and my oil pressure was zero. You can’t fly very far without oil. We did not know exactly where the front line was. They had told us that “everything across the Visla is ours.” That was all. It was spring, and the Germans had blown up the irrigation system. All around us was a virtual sea! Chimneys were sticking up out of the water. I was afraid to set it down in the water. The Visla was getting closer and closer. So I flew on, gained some altitude, perhaps 1,500 meters, but I could feel the engine.
I have already told you that if the connecting rod breaks in a Cobra, there will be a fire. But I made the decision to fly on. I spotted the Visla, where our forces might be. Then I saw an enormous field. On the right side, near the tree line, were some structures, probably hunting cabins and not village dwellings. I radioed to my wingman: “I am setting it down in the field!”
I began to turn and spotted a church up ahead. That meant a populated area, I’m thinking; our troops will be there. “Perhaps I can stretch it out.”
I stretched it out, shut off my engine, and glided, but did not reach it. I landed in swampy terrain, with lakes to the left and right. On my belly, of course. Away from an airfield, one should always land on the belly.

I heard from one pilot, true he flew Yaks, that in a forced landing in the Cobra the engine broke loose and drove the pilot into the instrument panel.

Drivel. I made a second forced landing. When I landed, the only thing that happened was normal for all aircraft—it rotated around 180 degrees. Well, I landed. On this occasion the antenna separated from the radio on account of the landing shock. I figured this out later. I pressed on the push-to-talk switch and nothing happened. I crawled out and my wingman was circling above me. I indicated to him, “Return to base!”
He acknowledged with his wings and departed. He had not even reached our own airfield and was forced to be re-directed to a secondary airfield.
I am standing on the wing. Looking around, I am thinking, “What should I do? Where should I go?” In front of me I spotted the high berm of a railroad embankment. Had I flown farther, my nose would have struck this embankment. It was not visible from above.
Three figures are running toward me. One falls to the ground and two are running. Then this figure gets up and runs and they go to ground. I see our greatcoats.
They are running up to a drainage ditch. When they are perhaps a hundred meters distant, they shout:
“Ruki vverkh! [Hands up]
“Whose are you? Come here!”
Don’t think that I was brave, or some kind of hero. I simply was sure that I was among our own forces.
Again they shouted:
“Hands up!”
I said, “Come here.”
They came over to me:
“What is this airplane?”
“It’s a Cobra.”
You have to understand, they thought it was a Messerschmitt. The German airfield was not that far away, and they had seen Focke-Wulfs and Messerschmitts flying around. They came right up to me and I said to them:
“How far is the front line?”
“A kilometer and a half from here.”
Now it came to me—had I not stretched out my glide toward the town, I might be a guest of the Germans. Not a good thing. I was lucky to have had the presence of mind to land there, in the field. It was a good thing I had spotted the church and thought there might be a garrison there.

Did pilots return to the regiment from German captivity?

They did not come to us. Hero of the Soviet Union Ziborov arrived in the neighboring guards regiment.15 They shot him down over the airfield that we were bombing and strafing on Zemland Peninsula. He bailed out and they captured him. He spent some time in the same guardhouse where I myself sat for two days in peacetime. Our forces were advancing quickly and liberated him. He flew for some time after that.

SMERSH didn’t drag him off?

Listen, excuse me. I don’t know if we would have won the war had there not been a SMERSH.
To make a long story short, when my wingman landed, he told them that I had landed and everything was normal! But it seemed to him that I had landed in German-held territory, because when he was circling around, they shot at him from the ground.
The next day, I asked the battalion commander for a screwdriver. The battalion commander gave us permission, and I took the screwdriver and walked out to my airplane. I opened the compartment hatch, checked around, screwed the antenna connection back on, and turned on the battery switch. I sat in the cockpit and listened. In a minute or two I turned on the power. I picked up my book and read. Suddenly I heard:
“[breaking squelch sound] 116, 116, this is so-and-so.”
It’s ours! But they are approaching the reception limit of my radio. I shout:
“This is 115! How do you hear me?”
I did not get a response, as they went into a dive and at a lower altitude communication was lost.
When Kolka (Nikolai) Shmelev returned, he reported: “I connected with ‘Oves!’” [Oves – oat.]
They called me “Oves,” for Ovsyannikov.
“I connected with ‘Oves’. He contacted me and then communications was broken.”
Sergey Korobov requested a Po-2 from the regiment commander in order to find me and bring me out. By the way, he brought out Shmelev from behind enemy lines around Daugavpils when they shot him down and he bailed out. But it turned out that there was no Po-2 available, and he flew out in a Cobra. He found where my Cobra was lying and circled around. They shot at him again, so he flew home and reported:
“Perhaps the Germans have him! Because I saw the airplane, but there is no one there. I saw German positions not too far away and they fired at me.”
Perhaps it got back to SMERSH that I possibly was in the custody of the Germans. By this time I had gathered up my things and departed. However, no one interrogated me and they did not drag me off anywhere. When I returned, I simply reported to the commander what had happened, and that was it. It was over. By the way, on my return leg I came across Marienburg airbase, where some Navy shturmoviks were based. There were also about a hundred different Focke-Wulfs on the tarmac there, some with unusual long noses.

Did you have a SMERSH man or an osobist in the regiment? What did he do?

We didn’t know him. It was some lieutenant who hung around.

Did your political officers fly?

They flew. All the squadron zampolits flew. At the regiment? He seldom flew.

In general, describe their duties.

You need to ask them this question! They were engaged in ideological preparation. They conducted meetings and read lectures. Standard political work.

You flew cover for bombers and shturmoviks. Were you punished when one of your charges was lost?

It depended on what type of loss, in what conditions. Yes, they punished us. My former flight commander Mukhin, before my time, ended up in a penal battalion, in the infantry. The entire flight was punished because they lost five Ils [Il-2 Shturmoviks]. Fighters shot them down. They sent the entire flight to a penal battalion. But perhaps someone up high over there gave it some second thought, and sent them all back to us.

Did you ever hear of a penal squadron?

No. How so? Who is talking or writing about this?

Ivan Yevgrafovich Fedorov, I think, first put out the rumor that penal squadrons existed.

Well, I don’t know.

By the way, do you know this comrade’s story?

I’ve never heard of it. Have you found much confirmation?

So far, none. We have found some Il-2 pilots who were made [rear-seat] gunners for attacking our own troops. We have heard about this. This happened.

I will tell you what I heard. The Germans put out rumors that we were chaining our shturmovik pilots to their aircraft so they could not bail out. You never heard this? I heard it. But I came across confirmation of these rumors. One time I was flying, and something happened to my stomach. It was so hard that I was ready to stuff my pilotka [cap] under my butt. You understand? Well, I really had to go to the toilet. I landed, and I didn’t even make it to my parking spot. I jumped out of the cockpit and I looked up, and a woman was standing there.
“Oh, sonny, is it true, that they tied you in?”
I had a cord hung around me... It was my helmet-microphone cord.
“People are saying that they tie you in.”
It turned out to be even more scary—we tied ourselves up.

Tell us, how you were secured in flight—lap belt or shoulder harness also?

Normally - only the lap belt.

Did you have some kind of system?

What do you mean?

There was a British system, when the pilot was strapped in, a cable ran from his back to the armored seat. Like in an automobile. Did you have this system?

You know, I can’t give you a straight answer. We seldom used our shoulder harnesses. We had a buckle here, at the navel. We could shove our shoulder straps or our lap belts in here.

Were there cases when, for some reason or other, combat sorties were not counted?

I don’t remember if this happened with us. Perhaps it could have, somewhere. We did not have such instances.

Do you know of an instances of cowardice in battle? Refusal to go on a combat sortie? And the decisions of a tribunal in such cases?

We never had any such cases in our regiment. They brought some cases to our attention, of course. These things did happen.

What [uniform] did you fly in?

A flight suit. In the summer it was regular field blouse. I don’t know what color—some kind of gray-brown.

Did you wear your medals?

Some who had them wore their medals.

What about leather?

Leather jacket? Yes. Winter and summer.

Pants?

We also had leather pants. American.

What was on your feet?

Fur boots in the winter, probably. In the summer we wore high boots. We didn’t wear low boots.

Did you have silk scarves?

Yes, I had some kind of multi-colored silk scarf.

Were you short of flight gear items?

No, no shortage.

What can you say about observation of radio discipline? They say that there were constant problems.

Discipline? We did not jabber any longer than was necessary! Jabber about what? Then we had to respond. We did not sing songs. I do not even understand your question. We used the radio only when it was necessary. That was all.

Did you address each other with codes, nicknames, last names?

Codes. There were exceptions; when the division commander, Rykachev, flew, he called himself “Yu. B.”—Yuriy Borisovich.

Can you provide any details regarding the death of Fedor Fedorovich Voloshchenko?

I can’t tell you anything. He was in our squadron. He did not return from combat when we were in the Baltic area. The battle was at Libava.

What about Yuriy Mikhaylovich Chapliev? Ivan Petrovich Grachev?16

They also did not return. How, what? It’s unknown. We used the phrase, “did not return from combat mission.” These were the first losses in the regiment that I can recall.

What can you remember about the regiment commanders?

I had only one regiment commander in the war. Before I arrived in the regiment, it was Lieutenant Colonel Oleg Markivoch Rodionov. Later, his deputy quickly became the regiment commander, Boris Dmitrievich Melekhin. Rodionov left to become Aleksandr Pokryshkin’s deputy commander, and perished in an automobile accident.

What kind of pilots and commanders were they?

Good, normal. I don’t know about Oleg. Of course, he flew less. It seems to me that regiment commanders did not have to fly often and did not need to.

Can you say anything about Aleksey Smirnov?

He was a remarkable person. He was our idol. A fair-haired Adonis, with a burnt face. But it was not visible too much (he didn’t stand out in a crowd). A hale fellow and a jokester.
This happened at Shaulyay, west of Panevezhis [in Lithuania]. Perhaps 20 kilometers from it was a primitive airfield. We always were stationed at primitive airfields. This was a plowed field, with potatoes or something growing there. We were flying there for the first time. Nearby stood a brewery or a vodka distillery.
To make a long story short, we were parked near this plant, and Smirnov had a rifle. It was a German rifle. Someone, somewhere obtained some shells for it. They were German training cartridges. You could fire at something point blank and the bullets broke into tiny pieces, and nothing else happened. So we taxied in and parked, and we were sitting around shooting the breeze.
The flight technician walks up and Smirnov calls him out: “Why are your aircraft not serviced?”
“What do you mean—not serviced?”
Smirnov presses down and releases—there are five cartridges in the clip. They appear to be absolutely genuine. He loaded the five cartridges into the rifle.
“Do you know what they do for this at the front?” Bang! And we all laughed!
“C-comrade c-c-commander! They’re joking, aren’t they?”
We laughed some more.
Well, this was nothing yet. The squadron commander, Petr Isaev, lands. He taxis over to the parking area. Normally he did not fly combat missions, but he ferried any leftover aircraft. We had one with the nickname “Zebra.” It was camouflaged, dappled. It was the only one like that. Where it came from—I don’t know. Very few men flew it, but they ferried it from airfield to airfield. This airplane was like a log, and normally they set it up for defense of the airfield. [To bring the guns level with the horizon] they dug in the front wheel.
So we hear them declare over the radio that he is coming in for landing, and Aleksey says:
“Hey, now we’ll fool the old man!”
The old man comes in and lands. He sets it down, but where he landed the potato rows went across. The nose of the aircraft drops, and the Cobra hits hard. The nose gear was broken in a big shower of dirt. Well, when there is an accident there is an investigation. The joking was over. But we did have fun sometimes.

Tell us. At the front in those years, was there any kind of nationality clashes?

What do you mean? Listen, guys. You understand that now our enemies are enflaming this national hostility. You understand that?
Bagramyan (Armenian) was our front commander. We had an Armenian aircraft technician and another aircraft technician was a Kazakh. There were Jews. We joked together. The Ukrainians called us “katsaps [butchers],” and we called them “khokhols” [“topknots,” for a Ukrainian custom of cutting all the hair but a single tuft]. But in order for there to be hostility, or some kind of prejudice...
Who has received their freedom today? And who is receiving rights? You and me? No, of course not. There you have it. This is where all this dissension comes from.
“Russian Independence Day?” What have we become independent from? Look into the future, look. This is nationalism; this is new. Our enemies have thrust this “new” on us. This is very serious, very serious.

Let’s return to the war. Tell us, please, did you have people in your regiment who lost relatives to the occupation? Or whose relatives were taken as forced labor to Germany?

You know, I don’t remember. I know that we had one man, pilot Zhora Baranov. He went home to his village after the war, and there he shot a starosta [a person designated by Germans to be a village supervisor – ed.]. The old man had helped the Germans.

Was he charged?

No.

When you came into German territory, was there a desire to get vengeance on the Germans?

You know... Listen, I fought them. And if I had encountered a soldier... But when we settled in East Prussia, we had already driven the troops out. Those still living there were peaceful inhabitants. What was there to fight about with them?

What was your relationship with them?

Well, I generally did not associate with them. They engaged in exchanges of bits and pieces with us. In one of these exchanges, I acquired an accordion.

This was not a “trophy,” you got it in exchange?

This was not a trophy.

Did [the command] issue an order to you? About punishment for thievery and so on?

Yes.

Where were you and what were you doing when the war ended?

Where did we greet the victory? We were around Riga. We had been launching strikes against the Courland pocket from Yushkas airfield. Well, you know that aviation fought only during the day. We were resting. Everyone had been at the airfield since dawn. The squadrons had been scattered about to various places. Suddenly, on the morning of 9 May, the telephone rang. The commander had a field telephone. Right away we were all “on our guard.”
Mukhin, the squadron commander, said on the telephone:
“Understood. Got it. Where? What? Immediately. We got it! We are launching! Mission: ground attack column of troops moving along highway from such-and-such point, in direction of Ventspils, where they are loading on ships.”
We all headed for our aircraft. This was my 204th combat sortie. Just another mission. We did not know about the end of the war. We took off, assembled, then gained altitude. The front was close—perhaps 25–30 kilometers. We were at altitude, and suddenly I hear:
“This is ‘Kedr’ [cedar]. Kedr was the front forward radio-vectoring station.
“111”! (Mukhin was “111”.)
“Do not cross the line! Drop your bombs in a safe place in the Gulf of Riga. Return to base!”
We did not take this at face value. Don’t cross! Who says so? The Germans were very cunning in this regard. Our leader demanded: “Password!”
The other end repeated everything, adding the password. All is in order!
It was strange. But an order is an order. It was forbidden to land a fighter aircraft carrying a bomb. That meant we found the German column, considered this a “safe area,” dropped our bombs, and made a couple of gun runs. Then we returned. When we passed over our airfield, we saw a crowd of people where there shouldn’t have been anyone. We landed, taxied, and shut off our engines. There was shooting on all sides. People were shooting whatever weapon they had, and shouting. We climbed out of our cockpits, which involved opening the door and climbing out on the wing.

Which door?

You could use either one. On the left side, the throttle lever got in the way a bit, but it was possible. Can I continue? They did not let us to climb down from the aircraft. They grabbed us and began to throw us up in the air, catching and throwing us up again. We knew that this meant the war was over. Victory.

Did you ever operate against ships? And after the war, here you told us about the end of the war. Did you still fly combat sorties after the war?

We operated against ships in the Pillau area. We dropped bombs on them.

What was your level of accuracy?

We had hits. Aiming was conducted in the dive, “by the boot.” [An idiomatic expression indicating that there was no bombsight, rather that the pilot simply guessed when to drop the ordnance. An equivalent American expression might be “by the seat of my pants.” Ed.]
We did not fly any combat sorties after the war.

What about the Germans who were trying to make it to Sweden? Did you destroy them?

We weren’t involved in that.

You have said that in the Cobra, the engine coolant was flammable. What was this liquid?

Prestone. I do not know its contents [ethylene glycol – ed.], but it burned well.

Let’s return to the Cobras. The 37mm cannon, a fairly sufficient caliber. When they mounted it on our fighters, significant dispersion of rounds was noted. The first two rounds struck the target and the rest went all over the place. Did you have this problem on the Cobra? Did it shake the aircraft?

No. You must understand the reason for that is that our cannon was mounted precisely in the center of the aircraft.

But in the Yak it also fired through the propeller hub.

Well, I don’t know about that.

What about point of aim? How many rounds could you fire without disturbing the sight?

How would I know?

Well, what kind of bursts did you fire?

They told us to fire a burst of one second. No more than that was needed. Do not waste ammunition.

Tell us, please. Did you have armor-piercing rounds for the 37mm cannon?

We did. We had that type, I think.

Judging by lend-lease archival documents, only high-explosive rounds were delivered, and not armor-piercing.

In my opinion, we had them. But I can’t prove it. In my consciousness, they alternated [high-explosive with armor-piercing]. The same as with the machine guns: armor-piercing, then explosive bullets. Tracers. There was a tracer; this is how I know.17

What was easier to shoot down—a Messer or a Fokker?

I did not fight with Messers. I have talked about the Focke-Wulf. Either I encountered such weak pilots, or… I don’t know.
What about these airplanes? The Germans celebrate the Fokker and the Americans the F-86 Saber. They talk about their field of view, and in ours—ostensibly like in a cage or coop. Somehow I did not feel myself as being in a cage.

[Gilly]

More on the Spitfire found in the Irish peat bog

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-14421581

[Davedog74]

not sure this is 100% true but made me chuckle,
An enemy decoy, built in occupied Holland, led to a tale that has been told and retold ever since by veteran Allied pilots. The German "airfield," constructed with meticulous care, was made almost entirely of wood. There were wooden hangars, oil tanks, gun emplacements, trucks, and aircraft. The Germans took so long in building their wooden decoy that Allied photo experts had more than enough time to observe and report it. The day finally came when the decoy was finished, down to the last wooden plank. Early the following morning, a lone RAF plane crossed the Channel, came in low, circled the field once, and dropped a large wooden bomb.
i do hope its true

[Gilly]

Stumbled over this last night. As it's 72 years to the day I thought I'd share:
No Luftwaffe units were worked harder during Europe's final weeks of peace than were the cherished groups of Ju.87 Stukas, which were being remorselessly groomed for the leading role in the war Hitler was determined to launch against Poland. One of the more experienced Stuka outfits, Group I of the 76th Sturzkampfgeschwader, commanded by Captain Walter Sigel, was sent up from its usual base in Austria to Cottbus, sixty miles southeast of Berlin, as part of the Luftwaffe's general deployment of its strike forces toward the east. It was Sigel's pride that his was one of the early units to be so deployed, especially since I/St.G.76 had been handpicked for a showpiece demonstration to be held for the benefit of the senior Luftwaffe commanders, including Generals Hugo Sperrle, Bruno Loerzer, and Wolfram von Richthofen. Sigel's outfit was equipped with the lastest Ju.87B's, mounting new Jumo 211D engines rated at 1,200 horsepower, nearly twice as powerful as those used in Spain. Sigel hoped to stun the onlooking air commodores with a mass formation diving attack of the entire group, twenty-seven aircraft in all. He succeeded, but in a way nobody could have dreamed of.

The demonstration was scheduled for the morning of August 15 [1939]. The hour chosen, six [a.m.], was undoubtedly selected for the dramatic postsunrise effect it would offer. Just prior to the scheduled takeoff time, a weather reconnaissance plane landed at Cottbus with a report on
conditions over the strike area, a wooded section of Silesia near Neuhammer-am-Queis, thirty minutes' flight time away. Conditions were far from ideal. The weather pilot told Captain Sigel that it was clear above 6000 feet, but below he would find seven-tenths cloud cover all the way down to 2500 feet. Below that, however, visibility was good. This meant that Sigel would have to trust finding a hole in the clouds over the strike area, lead his group down through the murk, and and break into the clear with about five seconds left to line up on the target, release bombs, and pull out. As group commander, Sigel had three choices: to request postponement of the strike until the weather was clear all the way down, to ask that the exercise be scrubbed, or to carry on as planned. Since Sigel was a German officer, and since a galaxy of fearsome Luftwaffe generals were gathering to personally witness I/St.G.76's star turn, only the last option was thinkable. Shortly after 5:30am, Sigel led his group off the field at Cottbus.

Once Sigel left the ground, he was in constant radio communication with the twenty-six other Stukas forming up in squadron strength behind him, but there was no radio link between his airborne group and the strike area at Neuhammer. Thus he could not know of the disaster in the making. Between the time the weather plane had surveyed the area and returned to Cottbus and the time Sigel's group neared the strike zone, early morning ground fog formed into an opaque white blanket covering almost the entire area, rising in places to merge with the fringes of cloud. No more dangerous weather conditions for a dive-bombing attack could have been created.

Sigel, with his Stukas arrayed behind him, approached Neuhammer at an altitude of 12,000 feet, estimating his position by dead reckoning and upon checkpoints which were in the clear on the flight out from Cottbus. Above, a pale blue windowpane sky; below, a sea of rolling clouds tinged with red. The generals were waiting. Sigel rolled the Stuka on its back and shoved the stick forward. The altimeter needle began unwinding in a futile race to keep up with the altitude that was being eaten away at the rate of 375 feet per second. Sigel's bomber plunged into the dirty gray wet muck at a dive angle of seventy degrees doing nearly 300 miles per hour. Closed in by the white world about him, his eyes straining to see past the mist being churned by the prop, Sigel felt time drag. By now, the entire group, echeloned out on his wings, were hurtling through the clouds with him. Where was the clear air promised by the weather pilot?
Any instant now...

Then the horrified Sigel saw not two thousand feet of clear space, but a limitless canopy of trees rushing toward him. Already tensed to the breaking point, his reactions were instantaneous. He screamed a warning to the others and slammed the stick back. Through the blur of a grayout, Sigel saw that he missed death by a matter of feet; the Stuka was zipping through a firebreak below the treetops. His warning came too late for the two dive-bombers riding his tail. They plunged into the earth, sirens wailing, and exploded -- as did all nine Stukas of the second wave. The high squadron's Ju.87's convulsively came out of their dives, but two of them stalled out and smashed into the trees to join the eleven others. Fragments of metal and flesh were scattered across a wide area, and fires started in the summer-dry secondary undergrowth. Plumes of smoke, pyres for the twenty-six airmen who had died before breakfast, rose lazily into the air, blending with the fog that began to dissipate not long afterwards.

The tragedy at Neuhammer, worst of its kind in the recorded history of aviation, was kept secret for a long time afterward. OKL was notified immediately, of course, as was the Fuhrer. One account has it that when Hitler was given the news, he "stared speechlessly out of the window for ten minutes." The reaction is believable; Hitler was a mystic, a believer in astrology, and the wiping out of thirteen of his vaunted Stukas at one stroke was surely an omen. His war against Poland, in which the Luftwaffe was counted on to play a decisive role, was scheduled to begin sixteen days later.
Cajus Bekker- Angriffshohe 4000

As an additional note it seems one Hans Ulrich Rudel was destined for this group but ended up, much to his disappointment at the time, being sent to a recon group.

[bobbysocks]

a video interview with Stewart "Bomb" Finney. think foz and bucket are going to like this particularly...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7USd78ZrrE&feature=channel_video_title

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JZexNnoBaQ&feature=relmfu

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bh1SxsAbtwA&feature=channel_video_title

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slM-Ifvaj9Q&feature=channel_video_title

[bobbysocks]

some 357th stories...

During a mission to Munich, in a nearly complete undercast near Ulm, Capt. Glendon Davis was flying with the second element in Blue Flight of the 364th Fighter Squadron, having lost his wingman in an earlier run-in with German fighters. The three Mustangs were climbing back through the clouds when five Bf 109s came down through a break in the clouds. They failed to spot the P-51s; “We let them get below us, then bounced them from above,” said Davis. “On the turn into them, my second element cut inside me and went for the first three 109s. I singled out the last one and he went for the deck. While he was looking back at me he touched the snow, but pulled it back and kept on going. I gave him a burst from 300 yards, observing strikes and he cut his engine and began a glide for an open snow-covered field. I closed on him, firing steadily all the way and observing my bullets completely riddle his airplane. Just as I pulled up to avoid collision he exploded. Pieces of his airplane hit the top and leading edge of my right wing, smashing it flat. I climbed back up to 29,000 feet and came home alone. I can truthfully say that I owe my life to the excellence of American materials and workmanship.”

While the Blue, White and Green Flights were tangling with the Germans below the bombers, Red Flight, led by Maj. Thomas Hayes, had stuck with the bombers. Soon, several “heavy fighters” tried to take advantage of the situation. “Three or maybe four twin-engine enemy aircraft made a sorry attack on a tight formation of three boxes of B-17s,” said Hayes, “and, I might add, with no apparent results. I called the flight to attack, and while going down they all broke up. One headed south, which I closed up with my wingman, Capt. Currie, as cover. My element, led by Capt. (Jack) Warren, chased two on a heading north. We turned only gradually without diving, which made the kill easy. At 300 yards my first had not enough lead but the enemy aircraft did nothing. Still closing, my second burst caught him square and started the left engine to burn. He reacted now by straightening out where he caught the full effect of all my guns. This was at about 50 to 100 yards and I observed his canopy in addition to other debris leave the plane. I went under him by 50 feet and noticed both engines burning. (I) also (noticed) the black crosses on the underside of the left wing, which was trimmed heavily with bright yellow. His belly was robin’s egg blue and the top a rusty brown. I broke away to come back again when I saw one parachute open and the aircraft go straight down, where it exploded in a snow field.” Because there was no return fire from the tail gunner when he was attacking at close range, Hayes assumed that no observer had been on board.

Jack Warren spotted a single Fw 190 flying straight and level at 1000 feet. “I closed in to about 100 yards from astern and fired a short burst,” said Warren. “I observed numerous strikes on and around the cockpit. The enemy aircraft started a spiral to the left and crashed in an orchard. The pilot undoubtedly was killed. The enemy aircraft was entirely demolished and, when last seen, had started to burn.” Warren later spotted some Me 210s and shot down two of them, raising his score to five and making him the group’s first ace.
Meanwhile, Lt. Col. Hubert Egenes of the 362nd spotted an enemy plane 5000 feet below him. “I went into a 45-degree dive and closed on the plane, a Bf 109, at approximately 10,000 feet,” said Egenes. “I commenced firing from about 250 yards range and observed strikes on his fuselage, wings and underside of the plane. The enemy ship caught fire from the oil coolers near the center of the fuselage underneath. The last I saw of him he was in a steep dive, burning, heading into the clouds. I saw no parachute. “Upon pulling up from this encounter at about 14,000 feet I noticed a Bf 109 forming on another 109’s wing. The first pilot was rocking his wings, apparently signaling for both of us to join up. They must have thought I was friendly, for they allowed me to fly up by the No. 2 man. We were all in a gentle climb straight ahead. Then I pulled up directly behind the wingman and started firing. Pieces flew off his plane and it began burning. He went out of control, rolled over on his back and went down.”
It wasn’t all victories this day, however. Lt. John England and his wingman, Lt. Alvin Pyeatt, were attacked by a trio of Bf 109s. “I peeled off to the right, making a very tight turn into the enemy aircraft,” said England. “Due to the tightness of the turn and a full fuselage tank I went into a high-speed stall (from) which took me about 10 seconds to recover. I did not see Lt. Pyeatt during or after this maneuver. Later I attempted to contact him over R/T, but there was no replay.” Pyeatt’s Mustang “Scrappy,” P-51B 43-6960, was shot down and crashed, killing the pilot.

[bobbysocks]

another one..


On 12 May, the First Air Task Force received an escort to Brux. Lt. William Reese of the 357th Fighter Group was flying on Capt. John Carder’s wing when he spotted two Bf 109s coming in on Carder’s tail. “I called (Carder) to break right,” said Reese. “We came around on the two enemy aircraft’s tails. I followed the enemy aircraft from 8000 feet to the deck, firing short bursts at 400 yards and was unable to close. Finally after a 10-minute chase I observed strikes on the enemy aircraft’s engine and it began to smoke. I then closed to within 100 yards and observed strikes all over the enemy aircraft.”
“At this time, Capt. Carder passed over me from my right to the left and this was the last I saw of him.” Suffering from a balky engine, Carder bellied in and the 7-victory ace became a POW.
During the run in to the target, eight Bf 109s from JG.27 tried to attack the bombers, and three of them were destroyed by Lts. Ralph Hofer, Joseph Pierce and Grover Siems and Capt. Howard Hively. In another attack, Lt. Thomas McDill and Maj. James Goodson each bagged a Bf 109, and four pilots later combined for six more victories. George Stanford was among the last group of victors. “At 10,000 feet, we spotted three Bf 109s below us and went down to attack them from the rear. I picked the one in the middle, and he broke right and down onto the deck. I fired at him continually, starting at about 350 yards. I observed only one group of hits on his starboard wing. For some reason, however, he seemed to think his jig was up, for he pulled up in a steep climb, started to roll over, and jettisoned his canopy.”
Lt. Eliot Shapleigh dove for the same three Bf 109s, his section weaving to lose speed so as not to overshoot. “I opened fire, getting strikes on the wings and fuselage,” he said. “I pulled up as the enemy aircraft went into the deck and exploded.” At that point Shapleigh made a starboard turn and found himself on the tail of Stanford’s Bf 109. Shapleigh opened fire, and the Bf 109 completed his roll and went into the ground on its back.
Lost during the mission was Lt. Roger A. Hilsted, who was shot down by a German fighter. In exchange, the group accounted for 14 enemy aircraft. Lt. Thomas Norris shot down one and shared a second with Lt. Aubrey Hood, while single kills went to Maj. Irwin Dregne, Capts. Maurice Baker, “Bud” Anderson, Paul DeVries and William O’Brien and Lts. Joseph Pierce, Thomas McKinney, Richard Smith and Robert Smith. Shares of victories went to Capts. John Storch, Richard Peterson and Fletcher Adams and Lt. Arval Roberson.
Elsewhere above the bomber stream, the 4th Fighter Group was in action as well. Lt. Ted Lines and his wingman spotted a pair of Bf 109s and the two dropped their tanks to pursue. “They split up and headed for the deck,” said Lines. He saw his wingman destroy one Bf 109, “and just then the other Bf 109 cut right in front of me. I got on his tail and started firing. I followed the enemy aircraft for about 20 miles, and he led me into a flak area. By that time, I was out to get him. I cleared my tail and just as I faced forward I saw this Bf 109 hit the ground and blow up.” Other German fighters fell to Capt. James Happel and Lt. Robert Homuth.


Fletcher Adams was one of several 357th pilots who survived the air combat by parachuting or belling in behind enemy lines only to be killed by civilians. the 357th museum in Ida, La ( his home town i believe ) is dedicated to him and bears his name.

[FOZ_1983]

a video interview with Stewart "Bomb" Finney. think foz and bucket are going to like this particularly...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7USd78ZrrE&feature=channel_video_title

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JZexNnoBaQ&feature=relmfu

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bh1SxsAbtwA&feature=channel_video_title

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slM-Ifvaj9Q&feature=channel_video_title

Great clips Bobby!! Basically tells us the Hurricane could slaughter the 109 haha. Brilliant.

[hurricane]

nice bobbysocks.I flew the yak last night for a couple of hours.gonna jump in the hurricane tonight hopefully.nice part about it is i wont piss my pants with fear.hats off to that old gent.

[bobbysocks]

some stories from Joe Shea 375 FG 362 SQ

The day the Germans blasted the 362nd over the Hague.

On many of the mission I flew on we would enter the continent over the Hague and always at about 18000 feet. This had become more or less routine, and we never expected the Germans to shoot at us. In fact I recall being told in Clobber College just that.

One morning though the Germans had apparently been observing our pattern, our air speed, etc and had polished the barrels of their 88 mm anti aircraft guns one last time before we flew over. There were probably 24 planes in the formation, 4 ship flights in trail and all tucked in nice and close. Guess we wanted to show the Germans what pretty formation we could fly.

Suddenly about a dozen rounds of 88’s exploded right at our altitude and right in the formation. I happened to be tail end Charlie and as I pealed off to the right sharply I looked back and you have never seen a bomb burst of planes the like of what I observed.

The old saying goes, “If you can see the flash and hear the noise, you’re dead.” Well that’s not true. I was at the rear of the formation but both saw the flash and heard the noise and I am sure the rest of the pilots saw and heard the same but we all formed back up and continued the mission. I guess the only casualties were the crew chiefs that had to patch up all the holes in the aircraft.

The moral of this story is to never get too cocky and let your guard down.

Joe B & Joe S got snookered.

I was flying on the wing of Joe Broadhead one day and apparently there had been some action because we were down to a flight of 2 heading home when we came across a German airfield with 7 ME-109’s lined up along one side of the field and 6 on the opposite side. Col Broadhead elected to take the 7 and let me have the 6. As we approached from the east, suddenly the sides of the buildings along both sides of the field fell away revealing anti aircraft guns. Col Broadhead called break and I didn’t have to be told twice we both broke sharply to the right and down to tall grass levels and got out of there full speed.

Don’t know to this day if the planes were real or dummies but somehow feel like we were duped.

The urge to KILL.

During the spring of 1945 it was quite common to perform your escort duties and after returning the bombers to friendly territory, to turn tail and go back into Germany and search out targets of opportunity. On one such occasion, probably south of Hanover, we encountered an unusual cloud pattern. The clouds were in rows much the same as hay farmers roll up the hay into parallel rows across a field. We were flying up one clear space and finding nothing diving down under the cloud row to the next clear spot. On one such maneuver we flew, inadvertently for sure, right over a German airfield and all hell broke loose. I recall looking back and seeing a solid red stream of tracers directly behind my tail. Needless to say, I bent the throttle over the quadrant in an effort to get more speed and somehow managed to stay ahead of the stream of bullets.

End of story? No not quite. I have never been able to erase the memory of the almost overpowering urge to kill the gunners who were firing at me. I wanted to split “S” and blast the gun emplacement. To have done so at that altitude would have been suicidal. It’s the only time during my tour that I was truly insanely angry with the Germans. Since then I have rationalized and understand that they had every right to be shooting at me, after all I was invading their homeland. But at that moment all I could think of was “How dare you.” Guess you might say I took it personally.

2 for me and 2 for you.

Do not recall the name of the pilot I was flying with but apparently we had been in a clash with German planes because we were down to a 2 ship formation. We came across 4 ME-109’s flying along at our altitude and they had not seen us. My leader called out and said, You take the 2 on the right and I will take the two on the left. And be sure to shoot the one at the rear first so you don’t give yourself away. We were closing in nicely from about the 7 o’clock position. We were almost to the magic 250 yard place to open fire when 4 blue nosed P-51s came screaming over the top of us and in an instant the 4 ME-109’s were destroyed. Two burst into massive flames, one the wing was sawed off at the wing root and the other was sawed in half right behind the pilot. All 4 crashed in a field the size of a football field. None of the pilots escaped.

The thoughtless train engineer.

On one occasion where we had gone back into Germany to search out targets of opportunity we ran across a trainload of gasoline. The train was in a small German town and the engineer disconnected the engine from the rest of the train and high-tailed it to the south. Our leader dispatched a couple of 51’s to take out the engine and the rest of us stayed to work over the tank cars.

There was a huge lumber yard right next to the train tracks and our leader instructed us to drop our external fuel tanks on the lumber yard on the first pass and to fire into the lumber yard on the second pass. We then started working over the 20 or so cars of gasoline. On my first pass to fire on the train the tank car I was shooting at exploded and I had to fly through the huge fireball. My gun camera captured a beautiful shot of the top of the conning tower on the tank car spiraling up in front of my plane. Fortunately I missed all the pieces and burst out into the clear in a second or two. On my second pass I was relegated to the 2 cabooses which I managed to splinter quite well with the 6-50 cal guns..

The squadron destroyed all the cars of gasoline and made a proverbial mess of the town in the process.

The amazing part of this experience is that about one block beyond the railroad tracks was a road running parallel to the tracks. All the time we were beating up the place a little old German lady was walking along that road with a satchel over her arm, presumably on the way home from the market. When we left we could still see her walking along the road.

The ME-262 that got away.

It was close to the end of the war and one day while on the return home from a mission, someone shouted break and one of our pilots made a fast break, his guns accidentally fired, and one of our 51’s went down. That evening a TWX came down advising us to turn our guns off when we left the target area because, after all, the Germans never attack us on the way home anymore.

The next day or so we went to the Brunswick area and after we left the target area I turned my guns off as directed.

Apparently there was a ME-262 pilot that did not get the message that the Germans never attack us on the way home.

We were in a 4 ship formation heading home. I was on the flight leaders left wing and the 2 ship element was off a hundred yards to the right.

I had just checked my tail and swept my eyes around past the leader to check the elements tails. Saw nothing so started the return sweep. As my sight went past the leader I saw a small cloud like affair forming out ahead of us. I knew instantly that what I saw was a string of 20 mm shells exploding. My eyes darted to my tail and sure enough, there was a ME-262 firing at me. In a split second I observed that he was closing very fast and could not continue to fire much longer. I also rationalized that he’s missing me now and the present crop of German pilots are extremely poorly trained. I then made the command decision to not make any movement and take the chance of flying into his stream of bullets. I was correct because he stopped firing and started fish tailing in an effort to slow down to stay behind me. He was unsuccessful and slid up past me ever so slowly.

At this point I should have backed off and let the leader have him but my mind never thought of that. All I could think about was, You had your turn, now its mine.” I slid in on his tail but since I was probably less than 2 feet behind him I realized I could not fire because I would be flying through the pieces. I waited till he was out there a couple hundred yards and pressed the trigger. NOTHING HAPPENED. Oh my God, my guns are turned off. I dove for the gun switch and in the process banged my head on the gun sight and knocked myself out. I came to with the sound of spent casings from my leaders guns rattling off my plane. He knocked some pieces off but the 262 got away.

I did get some gun camera image since the camera works even when the guns are turned off.

Ever since the war ended I have wanted in the worst way to find out the name of the German pilot so I could make his acquaintance. I think it would be fun to hash over that day over north Germany.

[bobbysocks]

I havetn found a good stroy in a very long time and just fell onto this one...and it is GOOD!

W.Budd Wentz and his incredible story:

"On the morning of my wife, Bette’s, birthday Saturday, April 7, 1945, we set out on a mission to bomb a ME-262 jet airfield at Parchim, Germany. We took off from Lavenham, England (station 137) flying the B-17G-105-BO (#43-39126) we were assigned in March in position #4 under the Group Leader’s plane. The 838th Squadron was leading that day. The weather was excellent with only a few puffy clouds at about 20,000 feet. At approximately 13:10 hrs, I took the controls from the co-pilot while continuing to monitor the Group radio channel. The talk was relatively quiet with no calls announcing any German fighters or flak at that time. [NOTE - The 486th Bomb Group Association indicates that the 486th BG (H) dropped incendiaries on the Me-262 jet base over Parchim, GR at 1357 LST, 7 April 1945.]
Suddenly, while on route to the IP, we received a terrific jolt and bang. I tightened up on the wheel to prevent it from swerving. The waist gunner reported over the intercom that our plane had been hit in the tail by an ME-109 diving down from 4 o’clock high.
The tail gunner, Sgt. Jewell, was shoved forward 4-5 feet, but was only banged around. The plane was functioning okay so I held position for a few moments. The crew reported pieces of the tail and rudder were coming off. The engineer in the top turret reported that the vertical stabilizer was severely damaged. From the left side of the plane the crew observed that an ME-109 had severely damaged its right wing and was spinning down out of control. No parachute was seen while the crew had the ME-109 in view.
Not wanting to damage any other planes, I increased speed and planned to dive forward out of the formation. Unfortunately the plane didn’t dive when I pushed the wheel forward. I flew ahead of the formation and then cut the throttles back and let down in a flat aspect. After leaving the formation, I found that kicking the rudder didn’t turn the plane either. We couldn’t climb, dive or turn; it was apparent that I had no rudder or elevator control. Keeping the airplane level, I let down and turned by cutting the throttle on the outboard engine on that side and skidded around.
To prepare for emergency landing we dropped our bomb load in an open area then headed in a westerly direction while making a large circle to keep a flat attitude. The crew continued to report pieces falling off. I felt I had better get the plane on the ground. The navigator and bombardier found an airfield to the north with a single light gray runway. It could be worn asphalt or concrete. Low trees and cut grass surrounded the area. I approached in a northern direction and touched down. It had been only about 20 minutes since we were hit. It was odd that we hadn’t see any other fighters near our plane on our descent. We didn’t know if any other B-17s were hit.
On the right side of the runway, in the southeast quadrant, there was one or two small 1-story low buildings. Several new looking ME-262s were lined up under the trees. It was definitely a small facility in a very rural location without much fanfare. In 2005, I learned it was Wernershohe.
We were in Germany and expected to be in a Stalagluft as POWs in short order. At least we were on the ground unharmed. I came to a stop and taxied toward a building. To my surprise American soldiers came running out to the plane. “What the hell are you doing? You aren’t supposed to land here.”, shouted an American Army Major standing in his jeep. We learned that the Americans had just occupied the airfield only 2-3 hours earlier that day.
Upon examining the plane we saw the movable rudder was completely gone and the vertical stabilizer was damaged. The right horizontal stabilizer was reduced to less than one third its size while the left and right elevators were completely gone. The tail of the fuselage was crushed including the tail turret. The tip of a ME-109 wing was embedded in the fuselage. We pulled the tip of the ME-109 out and kept it as a souvenir. [NOTE-A piece of the ME-109 wing section is on display at the Eighth Air Force Museum in Savannah, Georgia.]
Under some trees at the edge of the runway was another B-17. It was an old camouflaged plane with no markings and no chin turret, probably a B17-E or F. It was in rough shape, but no FLAK holes. The plane was pretty beat up, but after inspecting it we ran up the engines from a jeep generator then we took off and flew back to our air base in England. We flew at 3 - 4,000 feet keeping watch for airfields along the way just in case we needed to land again quickly.
We landed at our home airbase in Lavenham several hours after the group had returned. By now it was late in the day and starting to get dark. Somewhat reminiscent of our earlier landing that day an American officer came racing out to our plane, “What the hell happened to my new 17? You were supposed to be here hours ago.” I told the Major that we left his new plane back in Germany and traded it for this one instead.
We were driven to the mess hall but were never officially debriefed or interrogated. Later that evening I was taken to the Squadron Commander, Capt. “Pete” Riegal, and gave him a short version of our events that day. He told me that we would not have to fly any further combat missions in this war, but he would not ground us. We had crash landed 2 times in 28 missions as well as returned 5 times on two engines."

If they made that into a movie noone would believe it!

[McQ59]

I took the liberty of posting this story by Andrew George Linsley, July 2007

Black Thursday 13th June 1940.
As I stood amongst the 131 Gravestones in the churchyard at Stavne, Trondheim, at lunchtime on the 13th of June 2007 I was in good company. I was amongst the Allied personnel who died defending Norway after invasion in 1940. None of the men buried there were over 30 years of age and indeed the majority were only 18 or 19 years old.
As I stood there in the peace and tranquillity of that poignant scene I thought to myself “what a Bl…..dy waste!” 7 of those graves are Fleet Air Arm men; who died together on Thursday the 13th of June 1940, referred to as “Black Thursday”. This is their story… To understand the events we must go back a little further in time. On 7th June 1940, HMS Glorious landed on three Hurricanes from Bardufoss, and so skilfully did the RAF pilots, with no previous deck-landing experience, put them down that it was decided to recover the remainder of the RAF in this way. Thus ten Hurricanes of 46 Squadron and ten Gladiators of 263 Squadron were embarked in Glorious from Skaanland and Bardufoss, as well as the ship’s own nine or ten Sea Gladiators of 802 Squadron and some Swordfish of 823. There then followed a calamitous decision to detach Glorious, escorted only by the two destroyers Ardent and Acasta, to proceed independently to Scapa Flow. It was not known at the time, but the German battle-cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were patrolling between Jan Mayen island and the Norwegian coast, looking out for British carriers. On the afternoon of 8th June, 180 miles WNW of the Lofoten islands, Glorious and her escorts were sighted. At 1630 the Germans opened fire, and within ninety minutes Ardent was sunk, and Glorious, set on fire, and capsized. Subsequently in the freezing northern waters, all but 43 men perished out of a total of 1474 of the Royal Navy, and 41 of the Royal Air Force. Acasta doggedly and coolly launched a torpedo attack on Scharnhorst before she, too, was sunk. Scharnhorst was damaged, and had to return to Trondheim for repairs. On the 13th of June HMS Ark Royal launched, at 0002 fifteen of 800 and 803 Squadrons’ Skuas to attack her. It was a disastrous sortie; carried out in broad daylight, with no cloud cover, intense and accurate anti-aircraft fire, and the Messerschmitts from Vaernes waiting for them above the target. The formation was broken up before it could attack. Only one hit was obtained, and the bomb failed to explode. Eight of the 15 Skuas were shot down. 7 aircrew were killed, and 9 were captured.



Roll of Honour. 803 & 800Squadron
Fleet Air Arm Raid on Scharnhorst at Trondheim 13 June 1940
Lieutenant Robin Southey Bostock Lieutenant George Edward Desmond Finch-Noyes Midshipman Leonard Henry Gallagher Petty Officer Wallace Crawford
Sub-Lieutenant John Anthony Harris [died 14 June 1940] Naval Airman Stuart Rex Douglas Stevenson [died 31 May 1941] Leading Airman William James Tremeer

We SHALL remember them.

[JRHOODY1]

nice hot cup of tea with the great reads here highly recommended gents keep them coming great stuff:-)

[whoarmongar]

John Wray 137 sqdn

"We were the first squadron to become operational on the Hurricane 1V, carrying eight 3 inch rockets with 60lb explosive warheads or, as an alternative two 40mm guns. We opted for the rockets as principle armament becouse they were so devastating. However we were not allowed to take the rockets overland into enemy territory as the air ministry wanted to keep them as a surprise for the invasion when it came,so we kept six aircraft armed with the 40mm cannon just for "Rhubarbs". These weapons were very accurate and really sorted out trains,the 40mm would blow the boiler right off.

Four of use set off on a "Rhubarb" in an area near Le Touquet. The Hurricane IV had no defensive armament the two remaining brownings being used to keep heads down when attacking ground targets with our primary weapons to which our gunsight was harmonised. Moreover with all the weight we now carried, the poor old Hurricane never the quickest climber had a pretty poor rate of climb. On the instrument panel was the boost overide toggle a red knob you could pull out to give emerency boost if required. However if you used it for more than two minuites the engine was liable to blow up. The red toggle had a piece of wire which extended through the instrument panel to the boost control on the engine.

We had just attacked a train when the air was suddenly full of Fw 190s. We had a big turning match, the Hurricane still retained its amazing manouverability and one by one we managed to make cloud cover. We landed back at base individually but more or less at the same time. As we walked in I said "That was a bit of a dicey do, by God". A canadian said "I wasnt the least bit worried, I didnt see any problem." I noticed he was clutching something in his hand and asked what he was concealing. Unknown to himself, he was clutching the red toggle of the boost overide, with a couple of feet of wire attached. He had pulled it right out of the instrument panel !

[JanePiland]

Greetings ...

Thank you for taking your time to read this document about my Father, Gordon A. Piland. My Husband, Thomas E. Baker LTC MP USAR, is the author. The words were written to honor my Father's memory. I want to be sure there is no confusion regarding the authorship of this document. The story is true and serves as a significant contribution to the PILAND Family's oral history.

I am posting this photo on Father's Day in honor of my Dad and Hero ...