excerpt from
                      "TALES OF A TAIL GUNNER:
                  A Memoir of Seattle and World War II"

                     SHELL LODGED IN NUMBER THREE ENGINE

 One morning in the fall of 1944, we were scheduled for another bombing mission. I was getting up early with the guys when I heard someone say," I hope we'll be lucky again today". Comments like this were common to hear in the mornings.
(click on image) 
     Hurrying to the briefing after a good breakfast of French toast, bacon and hot coffee, we were informed that the target for the day was a large aircraft engine factory at Bremen, a large city in northwest Germany. If we hit that factory, we knew it would never produce engines for fighters that might knock us out of the skies for good.
     Whenever we flew over the north sea or the English Channel, we would be escorted to the enemy coast by British Spitfires, at which point our P-51 Mustangs picked up escort duty. We knew the Spitfires were reliable, but I always loved the sight of those mustangs. On our way to Bremen we knew that we would be flying over at least three enemy fighter airfields, so we kept our eyes wide open. Sure enough , just before we started our bomb run and we heard the fateful sentence, Bandits in the area!
     We hit our IP, turned and started our bomb run and headed for the target. Fishbone left his radio and turned the switch that opened the bomb bay doors. At that moment, the flak started coming up. Following bomber logic, we felt a little safer, knowing that the german fighters would be unlikely to pursue us in the midst of all the flak. As we approached the target, the flak got heavier and heavier. All we could do was fly as quickly through as possible, drop our payload and hope for the best. We dropped our bombs, banked to the right and got out of the cloud of flak. Edgar directed the B-24 toward our fighter escorts.(click on image) 
     As the tail gunner, I probably had the best view of the target. I recognized the factory complex from the aerial photo shown to us at the briefing. It was covered with smoke- it looked like a great hit to me.
     The bomber was still banking to the right to get away from all the flak, when out of nowhere appeared four German ME-109 fighters. The nose gunner informed us they were headed toward us at about eleven o'clock and he started firing. Firing their nose cannons at us, they dove through the formation at a terrific speed crossing over me at about  four o'clock. I started firing, following my tracers. A moment later I saw our fighters head out after them. With our Mustangs in hot pursuit of the germans, we felt a lot safer. Or so we thought.
     The copilot  Frank Collela, made an announcement over the radio. "Hey you guys, there's a shell lodged in between two cylinder heads of our number three engine". Frank had a view of the disturbing site, because the number three engine was outside his window, a few feet away. No member of our crew said a word. It was probably the only time during the entire war that our crew was completely silent. I said to myself, "How is it possible for that shell to be lodged between our cylinder heads when it had to pass between three fast-rotating propellers to get there?"
     Frank tried to rouse us again. "There's a shell lodged in our number three engine. It looks like a twenty-three millimeter."
Again, silence.
     Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. Being a smart ass, I said "Do you want me to climb out on the wing and kick it off?" What do you do when you've got a shell lodged in one of your engines, twenty-one thousand feet over Germany? Not a damn thing that's what. We were all thinking the same thing: Could it really be a dud? All we could do to find out was to sweat it out and hope. If the shell did explode, there was a better than even chance that it would take the wing with it, and we would be headed straight down. We had no choice but to stay in formation, but our wing men sure kept their distance. We were all very concerned believe me.  (click on image)
     Heading for England, we crossed the enemy coast over holland, still at twenty-one thousand feet. Once we reached the north sea, we dropped to about ten thousand feet. The air was heavier there, and we were bound to bounce a bit more. This made us a little nervous normally, but with a shell in our number three engine, it was terrifying.
     Flying over England, we knew we would be landing in about twenty minutes. We all wanted to be walking on the ground, but we also wanted to avoid jostling that damn shell to much. When our wheels hit the runway, it jarred the plane a bit, but nothing happened. Whew, it felt wonderful to be on the ground again. Once parked in the dispersal area, we all hurried out to take a look at the wayward shell which, by all rights should have killed us. Even the ground crew and crews from other planes crowded around, amazed.
     A pilot who had flown behind us that day told Spencer, "I never took my eye off your plane. I expected it to blow at any minute."
     A few minutes later, the English technical people showed up with their ladders and repair equipment, telling us to clear away from the aircraft. One of the airmen claimed, "The shell has got to be a dud."
     Another said, "You're crazy. It can't be."
     The point of the shell was about one inch from hitting the wing. Some claimed that had the shell hit the wing, it would certainly have exploded. At this juncture though, the discussion was academic. We were on the ground, and that was all that mattered. at the debriefing they informed us that there had been about two hundred and fifty enemy fighters in the area. The P-51s had gotten the better of the luftwaffe that day. the following day we heard that one of our pilots had shot down five bandits. A helluva good days work! All we could do was sit and wait for the next mission.
     It was on the very next bombing mission in the fall of 1944 that we spotted the first jets the germans sent up. We were over the Zeider Zee, Holland, coming out of Germany and headed for home, when suddenly we spotted the first ME 262. It went through our formation so fast and turned so sharply that I wondered if it weren't really a runaway missile. It seemed to have double the speed of our fighters. All of a sudden, it turned and headed east.
     When we arrived at our base, S2 was informed. We had a massive meeting that night. Intelligence was very concerned about the possibility of a new air war. But as it turned out, those jets weren't that effective. A lack of fuel seemed to hamper their performance. Bombing those oil refineries really paid off!

(click image to see crew picture) 


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