In their own words...

[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...embedded#at=28

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L08ZW...eature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6SzT...eature=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.