Stories and Accounts
They all need to have their story told and recorded.
From: Col. O. A. Israelsen
As I think back over both the war years and the years after, I am impressed by how well insulated I was from the horror.
When I arrived in April 1944 the whole thrust was "to get the bombs on the target."
And for us, the target was something very specific--railroad yards, factories, V-2
sites, airfields, harbor facilities, etc.
We didn't think of it as bombing people or their homes.
And I personally saw (on the ground) very little of bombing destruction either during or after the war.
On trips to London we saw some of the "Bombing of Britain" destruction.
A V-2 destroyed a building that took out Windows for blocks.
The most heart--rending sights then were seeing so many refugees living
in the subway stations--mothers, babies, grandparents, all ages and really looking miserable.
There is one more disaster mission….. It was to Cologne on October 17, 1944.
During the war I did see a fire on our base from a B-24 shot down as we
were returning after dark on June 7, 1944 and were hit by German night
fighters (or one fighter). My crew was leading that mission, Maj Joe
Garrett, our 4th Squadron Commander, was the Command Pilot riding in our
copilot's seat. (This was the first of the two disaster missions he was on
that I mentioned to you in an earlier email about him). Actually we were
the first B-24 to land and as soon as we touched the runway the control
tower advised all of us in the two squadrons that "bandits" were
attacking. We were soon off onto a hardstand and out of the airplane into
a ditch as we could see the second squadron approach the base being attack
by a German fighter. Three B-24s were shot down from that squadron and
one from ours. Most, but not all, crew members parachuted safely. One
airplane crashed on our base and came to a stop in the Personal Equipment
building (mostly parachutes) setting it on fire. There had been a few
after-dark fighter attacks in 1944 but only a few that year and I think
this was the last. It would not have happened had the weather been okay
to bomb our primary target, one of the submarine harbors down the west
side of France. We went on to bomb the secondary target, more harbor
facilities further away and were late getting home at about 11:30PM, just
after dark.
This incident weighed heavily on our Sq. Commander, Joe Garrett, but
another one on August 24 to Kiel was much worse. This must have been the
cause of his breakdown and refusal to fly when in October he was assigned
as command pilot for a mission to strike the synthetic oil plants in the
Merseberg area. The August 24 mission was to Kiel. There was very heavy
flak over the target. Several of our 4th Sq. B-24s were shot up
seriously, including the lead in which Joe Garrett was the Command Pilot.
He was riding that day with the lead crew of Bill Mackey. There were four
lead crews in our Squadron at that time: Israelsen's, Mackey's, Notman's
and Heath's. Typically, Mackey and Notman would fly lead and deputy lead
on a mission and on that day Israelsen and Heath would test fly two other
lead airplanes assuring that the bombing and navigation equipment was
ready for the next combat mission. Had this mission to Kiel been a
mission just before or after the one on Aug 24, Israelsen and Heath would
have been lead and deputy lead rather than Mackey and Notman. We four
lead crews knew each other well--we had trained together at Blythe,
California after the 34th Bomb Group was reorganized from a training group
to a combat group beginning in February 1944. Also, the officers of
Mackey's crew lived in one room of a quonset hut there in Mendlesham,
England and my four officers (including me) lived in the other room of
this two-room set-up.
At Kiel the German flak guns disabled Mackey's lead B-24 a minute or so
before "bombs away". Notman took the lead. There was much confusion.
About half of the twelve 4th Sq airplanes were able to follow Notman's
lead and drop bombs on his lead bombardier's run to the target. Mackey's
B-24 limped off out to the North Sea but could not maintain altitude so
Garret and Mackey decided to give the bailout signal and all bailed out
successfully, and were afloat on Mae West preservers, except Joe Garrett.
My initial copilot was a first pilot by then and was on that mission. He
had followed Mackey's damaged B-24 and circled the "in the water" crew for
30 minutes or so giving fixes to British Air Rescue. But the North Sea
weather was very bad at the time, it was more a German zone than a British
one, and the crew was not rescued.
Back in the crippled B-24, Joe Garret attempted to bail out, he said
later, but had trouble with parachute straps snagging and he noted that he
could maintain altitude. So he flew the airplane back to England. Or
reaching land, he bailed out and headed the airplane back out to sea. It
did not get back to the sea. It crash landed on a small farm and skidded
through the farm home and barn. Fortunately no one was at home. As I
remember a pig, or pigs were killed.
Though I was not on this mission, it certainly affected the morale our
Group, and especially the 4th Squadron, more than any of the events up to
that time. Fortunately, that happened as our Group was changing to B-17s.
We went off combat operations after that mission, checked out in about 70
new B-17s that were ferried in over a period of just three or four days.
We then went back to practice formations just as we had done with new
B-24s in California and England back in February and March of that year.
Disastrous missions on June 7 and August 24, 1944.
Neither of those two missions affected our crew directly.
On the June 7 mission we had landed and parked at a hardstand when the
German fighters (in complete darkness) opened fire on the Squadron following us.
My crew was not flying the mission on August 24 but the loss of the lead crew,
billeted in our quonset, and the way in which they were lost in the North Sea,
after they had successfully bailed out and were in life rafts. did have a lasting effect on our morale.
The mission that was nearest to finishing us, or making POW's of us, was a
major attack on Cologne on October 17, 1944.
The 8th AF, as I remember, targeted Cologne for 5 days straight.
We were on the mission the 4th day of that 5-day assault.
Typically, raids at that time were by 1200 bombers (B-17s & B-24s) and 800 fighters.
And at that time the German anti-aircraft gunners were very, very good.
Their guns were also more and more concentrated as the allied troops were driving the
Germans troops further and further back into Germany.
On this mission, my crew was the lead crew for the 34th Bomb Group (4th,
7th, and 391st Squadrons--12 B-17s in each).
Major Bill Fandel, Commander of the 391st Squadron was the Command Pilot flying in our copilot's seat.
The copilot then rode in the tail turret to keep an eye on formations behind us.
Fandel had flown command pilot with us before. We knew him to be one of the
best Command Pilots in our Group and that was a plus. Sometimes Command Pilots
lost their cool and really interfered with getting the job done.
All went well in forming the Group and getting to
the IP, the initial point where the bombardier began his run, about 6
minutes normally from the "bombs away" point. As we got closer to "bombs
away" the black puffs of antiaircraft bursts became thicker and closer.
Dropping of chaff to deceive antiaircraft radar helped some. We could see
thick clouds of black bursts well below us and away from us in different
directions. But the German gunners were not completely deceived. On this
run we took our hit just about the same time that the bomb release was
automatically triggered by the bombsight. The hit was really a bouncer.
I could feel the aircraft impact through my seat--just like a terrific
bump in a farm truck from a deep pothole at 40 mph or so! At that moment
I glanced to the right to see the B-17 (the deputy lead plane flown by
lead pilot Bill McAllister) peel off away from the formation. The peel
off involved his banking with his left wing up and we could see a jet
fire coming from the lower surface. The fire indicated they had had it!
We managed to keep our B-17 on course and continue to lead the Group out
of the target area and back to our air base at
Mendelsham, England. However, the airplane was badly damaged. The burst
had done lots of right wing damage. We were aware that the gasoline from
both right wing tanks was lost promptly.
Fortunately Boeing and the AF
had anticipated such and we were able to transfer fuel from the left tanks
and keep all four engines going all the way home. Only one crew member, a
waist gunner, was hurt and though he bled considerably from a flak wound
to his fanny, it was a superficial wound--as I recall he was patched up
and back to flying with us the next mission. Years later he and his
family came from Clinton, Kentucky to visit us in Virginia. On a family
visit to the Pentagon (where I was working at the time) his younger nieces
and nephews broke out in hilarious laughter. They were reminded by some
Pentagon art of the fanny wound to their uncle Charles that resulted in
his getting a Purple Heart.
On landing we found more damage that could not be assessed in flight.
First, at touchdown the right tire was a goner. We were soon off the
runway to the right. The wing spar was also severely damaged. I was told
by maintenance at the time that the airplane would be salvaged--flown no
more. However, our 34th Bomb Group Assoc., historian who set up the 34th
web site http://members.tripod.com/ValortoVictory searching the AF records
found that a B-17 with the same serial number was flying combat missions
in early 1945. Guess the maintenance depot put it back together.
My crew continued our tour with the required 30 mission (for lead crews at
that time) on 29 November 1944. We did not get home in time for Christmas
but did arrive in New York harbor on Jan 4, 1945. McAllister's crew on
our right at Cologne were not so lucky. I think six of the ten bailed out
successfully. The six were POW's. One, the bombardier, escaped on one of
the POW marchs. I heard nothing about their survival until 1984. That
year the 34th Group held its first reunion in Nashville, Tennessee. Bill
McAllister was the banquet speaker. He described their being hit by an
Anti-aircraft burst. He told of his crew being concerned with much
structural damage to his right wing and then finding that their left wing
was on fire--that was the signal to leave.
My tour in B-24s and B-17s from May 23,
to November 29 was during the period of many D-day support missions to
France, Belgium, Holland that were (relatively easy most of the time) and
the period of massive raids on German oil facilities (Merseburg, etc.)
when antiaircraft artillery was the Germans best defense. German fighters
in our time were short on fuel and pilots and did not get through our US
fighter cover to the 34th Group until an all out effort sometime in Feb or
Mar 1945. So I felt fortunate to avoid the fighter period--except for
that after dark aberration on June 7.
Fighter Ace Gabby Gabreski
was shot down on July 20, 1944 and was a POW for the rest of WWII.
Gabreski was also an ace in Korea. He was brought back to the US to tour
fighter units and lecture on the Korean air battle. For this duty he was
assigned a T-33 two seater jet aircraft. Also, he was stationed at San
Bernardino, a good place for his family while he was out visiting fighter
units all over the US. An organizational spot was found for him on the
staff of Maj Gen Victor Bertrandius, then the Deputy Inspector General of
the Air Force. An organizational spot for me had been found the same way.
I was on the staff helping Gen Bertrandius and Brig. Gen O'Keefe keep
track of aircraft accidents and aircraft safety in the Korean War. On the
organization chart was a little square with two names, Gabby's and mine
indicating that I worked for him though I really did not. And outside the
Bertrandius' office were about 8 desks, mine next to his. But he was
gone, nearly all the time. One day when he was at home he asked if I
would like to go on a flight with him in his T-33. Sure! We were out
for an hour or so in and out of clouds in Southern California--the closest
I have ever been to flying a jet fighter--strictly a bomber pilot. Gabby
was a most pleasant and interesting person. But there was another reason
that July 20, 1944 caught my eye. That was the day that a team of Hitler's
officers attempted to assassinate him. They failed and were assassinated
and the war went on. But July 20 was also the day that our target was a
munitions factory at Russelsheim. The assigned lead crew that day had to
abort just about the time we entered Germany. We as deputy lead crew took
over and had a very successful bombing run and bomb damage pattern.
Fellow 4th Sq pilot Joe Marks visited Russelsheim with his family in the
1980's and wrote to me that he considered that the best mission of his
tour. Being a wing crew, not a lead crew, he finished his 35 missions in
August--it took us 3 months longer. Joe later joined American Airlines
and retired as a Captain many years ago. He lives in Salt Lake City now
and I see him from time to time.
A Day in the Life of a B-29 Crew,
ANOTHER HAZARD IN A CADET’S LIFE
There was a new danger thrown into the life of Cadets in training in Preflight that summer of 1942.
The hazards of the training program were increased by issuing sabers to the Cadet Officers.
It was reported that the first month alone, there was a noticeable increase in the daily sick list.
It was feared that when they finally could master the saber, there would be no safety on the base for the poor “Misters”.
At San Antonio alone, one Flight Sergeant of
43-D by the name of Jacoby, lost one ear, part of his nose and received a perfect cue ball haircut on the left side
of his head at the hands of one Cadet Officer.
Bruce Butler,
My father is Bruce E. Butler born July, 1924 in Kingsport, Tennessee. Dad enlisted in the US Army the summer of 1941.
During boot camp at Fort Jackson, SC, dad volunteered for flight duty and was accepted. After boot he was sent
to Offit Field. He was training as a flight engineer and gunner, but developed an inner ear problem that caused him
to have blackouts and he was "washed out" on a medical.
He was then assigned to maintenance section training on P&W Engines and was transferred to the 70th Bomb Sq. which
was being formed in Kansas. In January ’42, the 70th boarded the troop train at Ft. Riley, departed for California
and shipment to Australia. They were stationed in Northern Territory, Australia very near Darwin.
The 70th Bomb Squadron was a medium Sq. and flew both the B-25's and the B-26. They were assigned to the
42nd Bombardment Group, 11th Air Force. After the 70th was fully formed with enough aircraft to begin flight ops
they moved up to the Fiji Islands and established operations off Savu Island.
Due to manpower shortages, Dad said he was assigned to flight line ground crew duty and all the engine work he did
on Fiji were just engine swaps.
Dad was promoted to Buck Sgt while on Fiji and worked as assistant crew chief on different aircraft. In time,
Dad made Ground Crew Chief for a new B-26 tail number #7590. He stayed with this bird until his unit was rotated
back to the States in late ‘44.
After the fall of Guadalcanal, the 70th moved to Henderson Field and flew missions out of there, until they
left for retraining and refitting as a B-29 Heavy Sq in late ‘44.
Dad said that even though the Island was considered "liberated" some Jap holdouts remained on the Island and that
sometimes they came under mortar and sniper fire on the flight line.
After his bird #7590 sustained battle damage so severe it put her in the "bone yard",
he spent some of his duty time helping to haul 250, 500 and 1,000 pound bombs from the beach landing point to bomb dumps.
He laughs today about how casual they all were about it, at the time. These bombs were stack loaded on to
dump trucks at the beach, then hauled to a dump point on a hillside above the bomb dump and literally "DUMPED" off
the side of the hill into stock piles. Often while EO&D crews were gathering bombs for the next day's missions.
In late ‘44 the 70th was shipped to Omaha for retraining as a B-29 Squadron.
When VJ day come the 70th was at Polk Field, LA making ready to redeploy to the Mariannas.
Mother was there with Dad and they were newly weds. The 70th was deactivated quickly after VJ Day.
They were active at the time of Pearl Harbor.
Mom and Dad were home by Thanksgiving of ’45, a civilian couple, and spend the next 58 years together,
"keepin house" until mother passed away Dec 11, 2001.
Dad is home alone now. He still won't say a lot in any detail about the war, which is something WWII vets seem
to have in common, but it's not uncommon today to come in and find his old photo album out on the table.
This was something Dad and Mom kept "put away" when we were all kids living at home.
Dad's church has a "book of prayer" where members write down the names of those they want prayers said for.
Each Sunday the congregation offers up a prayer for those listed in the prayer book. As far back as I remember
Dad has entered into the Prayer book, "Those left behind, 70th Bomb Sq, USAAF".
They all need to have their story told and recorded. It's living history that is fading away fast on us.
Dad is "old school" all the way, no computers, no e-mail.
Brothers always,
It's living history that is fading away fast on us.
Charlie Brown
The most unusual war story told by members of the Delta Eagles was that of
retired Lt. Col. Charlie Brown.
Brown was on his second mission and first as an aircraft commander in a
B-17 on his way to bomb an FW190 aircraft
manufacturing plant near Bremen, Germany, Dec. 20, 1943.
Brown, then 21 years old, was assigned to the 379th Bomb Group,
Kimbolton, England.
The aircraft was hit by flak, knocking off the nose of the aircraft,
taking out two of his engines and leaving two
turning, but only one could be controlled.
The formation he was flying with pulled away and left him to fend for himself.
Eight German fighters attacked the aircraft and, according to Brown,
they took a bad beating.
Brown remembers his crew shooting down two of the
attacking aircraft. The tail-gunner was dead, three of the 10-person crew
were seriously injured, the left stabilizer
and rudder were blown off, large, gaping holes were in the right wing
and on the waist of the fuselage, and there
were only a few working guns left on the B- 17.
Four 20 mm shells had blown up in the radio room, knocking out all communications.
Brown also had a bullet wound in his right shoulder.
“The last thing I remember was looking up at the ground as I was on my back inverted.
The next conscious memory was that I was pulling up over the trees,” Brown said.
The aircraft had plummeted five miles. The Germans broke off their
initial attack because they thought they had
destroyed the aircraft after it spiraled out of control.
After setting his course for the North Sea, a German Me-109
appeared shortly after Brown crossed a German airfield.
In a 1990 meeting with the Me-109 pilot, Franz Stigler,
Brown learned Stigler had actually come up to get his third B-17 kill for
the day after rearming, but chose
not to shoot down the plane when he saw how badly damaged it was.
“It took me five years to track down this pilot, who now lives in British
Columbia, and we are the best of friends today,” Brown said.
A picture of that encounter, signed by the German pilot and Brown, hangs in
the Daedalian Room of the Charleston Club.
The picture was placed there in April 1992 during another Delta Eagles reunion in Charleston.
“He flew behind the aircraft and could see how badly the plane was shot up,” Brown said.
“He then moved to a few feet
off my right wing and waved at me. I closed my eyes and
shook my head and hoped he would go away, he didn’t.
I nodded my head. I knew he wanted me to land from his hand gestures.
I sent one of my guys up to the top turret,
not to shoot back, but maybe hoping that it would scare him away.
He was looking intently at our airplane.
He gave a wave, a salute, rolled over and left, just as we turned toward England.”
Brown recalls from his later meeting that Stigler was actually trying to get him to go to Sweden,
which was only 30 minutes away.
“Franz had said it was the most badly damaged B- 17 he had ever seen that was still flying,” Brown said.
“He was 27 years old and a very experienced pilot, but he didn’t shoot us down because
it would be just like shooting down a man in a parachute.
“I barely made it into England and did not want to land in the North Sea,” Brown continued.
“I was down to about 250 feet off the ground and two ‘jugs’ (P-47s) flew by me and scared the
living hell out of me.
They began to circle and led me to the runway which was about 10 degrees off my heading.”
A little later, Brown was met by the commanding officer who asked why he had not bailed out.
“I explained that I had three people on board who could not bail out,” said Brown.
“The CO told me he was going to submit me for our nation’s highest award, but it never happened.
He was rebuked when he tried to submit the package, because they did not want word to get
out that a German fighter had let a B-17 get away.
There was nothing in American records about the German pilot incident, and the report was classified.
I never told the story again because nobody would have believed it.
FRANZ STIGLER
After a long extraordinary life, Franz passed away on March 22, 2008.
Predeceased by his parents Franz, Anna and brother Gustel,
he is survived by his loving wife Hija daughter Jovita;
grandchildren Melina, Corbin, Jason and Nathan;
great grandchildren Mackenzie and Aidan; niece Christiane (Burkhard);
special brother Charlie Brown; soul mates Jim, Anne and many friends.
By sparing the lives of Charlie Brown and his B-17 bomber crew during WWII,
Franz Stigler performed one of the best documented acts
of chivalry and compassion in the history of air combat.
People of Maine….with a BIG heart. - Dec. 2007
The Christmas wreaths at Arlington National Cemetery -- some 5,000 --
are donated by the Worcester Wreath Co. of Harrington, Maine.
The owner, Merrill Worcester, not only provides the wreaths,
but covers the trucking expense as well.
He's done this since 1992.
Also, most years, groups of Maine school kids combine an
educational trip to DC with this event to help out.
Making this even more remarkable is the fact that Harrington
is in one the poorest parts of the state.
A story of years ago:
On a windswept hill ringed by rolling countryside is a graveyard,
the resting place of 178 Union soldiers and one lonely Confederate,
mistakenly shipped north from Virginia in a pine box 145 years ago.
The white marble headstone, reflanked each Memorial Day by an American flag
and the Confederacy's Stars and Bars, only tells part of the legend.
The large letters at the top of the tombstone spell out, "Stranger."
Beneath is a smaller inscription, "A Soldier of the Late War. Died in 1862.
Erected by the Ladies of Gray."
It is a paean to the people of Gray who gave the unknown soldier an honorable burial,
hoping that their sons -fighting on blood-soaked battlefields-
would be treated in kind if found dead on enemy soil.
The Stranger's story, scarred by tears of tragedy and triumph,
began with the death of Lt. Charles H. Colley,
the 29 year old son of Amos and Sarah Colley of Gray.
Colley dashed to join Federal forces when the war began,
and was placed in Company B of the 10th Maine Volunteers.
He was one of about 200 other soldiers from Gray, a tiny town of 1,500 people
that sent proportionately more of its native sons to battle than any other Maine community.
Colley was wounded at the Battle of Cedar Mountain, Va. -by most historians accounts-
a minor skirmish in a war that killed 529,332 men. Of those, 364,511 were Union soldiers
and 164,821 were Confederates .
(Total deaths were over 620,000, about 360,000 from the North and 260,000
from the South)
At Cedar Mountain August 9, 1862, there were 3,500 casualties.
The Union forces battled against heavy odds.
Twenty thousand Rebels led by Gen. Stonewall Jackson,
under Robert E. Lee's orders stopped the Yankee advance on Richmond.
By dusk, General Banks and his men were routed, sustaining heavy losses.
Colley died September 20, 1862, in an Alexandria hospital of wounds
suffered at Cedar Mountain.
His parents, notified by the War Department,
sent money for their son's body to be shipped home.
The casket arrived.
By intuition or because Amos and Sarah wanted one last look at their son,
the sealed box was opened.
Inside lay a uniformed Confederate soldier.
He may have fallen beside Colley in the battle,
may have a similar name, may have died near the Gray native in that Alexandria hospital.
But he was here, hundreds of miles from Southern soil,
a stranger accustomed to semi-tropical climate, rather than the severe cold of Maine.
They could have returned him to the South.
They could have rejected the notion of burying him alongside their own for after all,
he and his fellows would be the enemy for three more years.
But these grief-stricken Mainers who would send more than one third of the town's men
18 year old and up to war, instead donated land in the cemetery for the Confederate,
chipped in for a headstone and gave the Rebel a proper burial.
War Department authorities were notified of the mistake.
Colley's body was located and returned, buried a stone's throw
from his Southern counterpart on the same breezy knoll.
The identity of the stranger, a mystery to the townspeople then, as he is unknown today.
The two flags, taut and stiff in the spring wind, reappear each year.
Amos and Sarah Colley were the Great, Great grandparents of this web manager.
30th Sq, 19th BG, Guam, 1945,
by Aircraft Commander Capt. George Savage
We took off from North Field, Guam on 9 March 1945 for participation in the first night
low level attack against Tokyo.
We were one of about 300 B.29s proceeding individually. We carried (24) 500 pound incendiary bombs.
We arrived over Tokyo about 2 A.M. on 10 March 1945. There was fire everywhere with hundreds of searchlights
going every-which-way.
We were among the last of the attacking aircraft and by this time the people on the ground had gotten really
angry with us Yankee Dogs.
Our target was anywhere in the city. Mac Wooldridge, our Bomb Aimer, asked what he should aim at and
since our altitude was
only' 5.800 feet he said he would have no trouble hitting anything. I said to find some place not on fire.
He looked around
and gave a heading to a dark area. We were just flying around like we were on a Sunday School
picnic and oblivious to the fatal
hazards all around us. What a joy to be 21 and immortal!
l was zigging and zagging like the book said and hoping we wouldn't run into another B-29.
I did see a few of them caught in
searchlights with tracers pointing their way but wasn't aware that it could happen to us.
Mac called out and said he had a target.
Just ahead was a lovely land of darkness not yet ablaze and at the front of it was a magnificent
building that looked like the
Jefferson Memorial. We were so low that it was not difficult to pick out the details.
Mac said to follow the PDI for about 30 seconds
and it would be Bombs Away. "30 Seconds Over 'Tokyo", sounded keen. just like the movie!
But a rude awakening to the realities
of war was in store for us!
As soon as we took up a straight heading, one-by-one searchlights caught us until,
just before bombs away, we were in the beam
of 10 or 15 of them. Seemed like we were the top of an Indian teepee with all the poles converging on us.
Just as bombs away occurred,
so did reality. Suddenly a series of "Whoomp, whoomp" was heard all over the airplane.
Sounded like many big doors being
slammed shut in an acoustic auditorium What it was, was Jap shells exploding in our airplane.
And then everything happened at once.
Ed Acheson, our Radio Operator, was out of his seat checking the bomb bay to see that all bombs released.
While he was off his seat,
it was riddled by shrapnel. When he went back to his seat, a shell exploded right where his head had been!
Jerry Kalian, our Flight Engineer, called out that #4 engine had lost all its oil pressure and was losing power,
I told Ernie Dossey, our Co Pilot, to feather it. He did and, ever alert, I put in a little aileron
to hold up the right wing.
Buck BuckIey, our Right Gunner, called in and said he thought he had been shot.
He didn't hurt any but his arm was bleeding!
What a diagnosis, but correct!
Air Corp photographer had hitched a ride at Guam and was taking pictures out of the rear hatch above the APU.
When things got chancey he came back inside for the company of Bob Morgan, our Radar Operator.
Fortunately that was
just before a shell blew up the APU where he had been standing and also, as I later became aware,
did horrible things to my elevator cables.
In the midst of all this, Don Turner, the Left Gunner, calls out that # 1 is on fire.
Sure enough, Jerry Kallan confirms
that oil pressure is gone so I tell Ernie to feather #1 and he does. I, however, somewhat less alert,
forget to release the aileron
pressure I had applied when we lost #4.
About this time I am becoming aware of the fact that we are getting into a rather perilous predicament.
So I look around to see where we are.
As I look out my side window all I see is black which seemed peculiar considering Tokyo was on fire.
I then look up through the overhead windows and discover Tokyo.
It was no longer peculiar, it was most distressing.
As we appear to be inverted at 5,000 feet, it is obvious we are going to crash.
Two thoughts pass through my mind in rapid succession.
First, "So this is how an aircraft gets shot down." The second thought was more positive.
"Since we ain't dead yet, surely something can be done.”
The second thought was the best and being a frustrated fighter pilot I just rolled the
aircraft to an upright position.
All these gyrations did, however,
serve a useful purpose. We escaped the deadly cone of searchlights.
Being completely lost, I asked Bill Born, our Navigator, for a heading.
He gives me an easterly heading to get away from Tokyo prior to turning South for Guam.
I turned to this heading using the Fluxgate compass and also become aware of very
sloppy elevator control.
After a couple minutes Bill calls up
and says to check the heading. I do and report we are heading east.
Bill says to check the Whiskey compass. What a shock! We are actually heading northwest.
As we were still at 5,000 feet and there were I0,000 foot mountains northwest of Tokyo,
this qualified as a sad turn of events.
I dutifully turned to an easterly heading using the Whiskey compass.
Seems that not only the Fluxgate, but also the Radar and autopilot had become battle casualties.
With a brief respite now at hand I observed that we were no longer a 4 engine bomber
but had become a 2 engine transport. As such, we were over loaded and
needed to reduce our weight. I ordered the crew to jettison all loose and heavy objects from the plane.
I learned later that in addition to flak jackets and such,
one of the loose and heavy objects which they so dutifully jettisoned was my pride and joy, my hat,
weighing all of 8 ounces, with a beautiful "50 Mission" crush on it.
How fortunate I was to have a crew so dedicated and obedient in carrying out my orders.
As we proceeded east the glow of Tokyo could be seen to our right. As we left that behind us we turned
south and for home. As we once more came abreast of
burning Tokyo we were happy that we didn't have to go back in. But the joy was short lived.
Bill Brooks, our Tail Gunner, had come forward to relieve Buck
at the right blister. He called up to report that 3 or 4 fighters were paralleling our course.
Another terrible turn of events! It seems that 20th Air Force
had decided that if our guns were loaded we might shoot down other B-29s in the dark so we had no ammo on board
except for what we carried in our 45 automatics
and that is not too effective against fighters. [t also seemed probable that my decision to
jettison all flak jackets might have been a bit premature.
I told Bill to get back in the tail and let me know when the fighters made a pass at us.
Seems the fighters were very leery of the fire power of our Super fortress
but then they were not on the mailing list of 20th Air Force. As such, they decided to make
quartering attacks from the rear and one-by-one. As they rolled into
their attack, Bill would call it out and I would turn into them spoiling their aim and the tracers
would whiz harmlessly by. This kept up for a few minutes,
seemed like hours, until we ducked into some clouds and lost the fighters. But the Gods of War
weren't through with us yet.
On taking better stock of our situation we found that our fuel transfer system had been hit and we couldn't get
the fuel out of # 1 and #4 fuel tanks.
This meant that we couldn't get back to Guam but had to try for lwo Jima where the Marines had gotten a
foothold on the island. That was the good news.
The bad news was that when the fuel transfer system had been shot up, puddles of AVGAS were left all over the
bomb bay.
The smell of AVGAS throughout
the airplane was quite disconcerting but what really took the hide off the hog was the St. Elmo's Fire which was
shooting sparks all over the airplane,
inside and out! I could say that the airplane exploded and all aboard were lost but that would spoil a great story.
Instead, we endured this situation
for what seemed like forever until we finally broke out of the clouds and continued on to Iwo Jima uneventfully.
Fighting was still going on at the North end of lwo when we got there but the ex-Jap strip of about 4,000 feet on the
South end was OK. We made our approach
and as our gear came down some bad news came with it. Strange articles fell from the left gear well.
The upshot of it all was that we had no brake pressure
and one of the wheels on the left gear was no longer round.
With great skill I maneuvered to touch down on the very end of the runway. About 3 feet off the ground as I was
pulling back on the wheel the control cable
snapped and the wheel fell into my lap. I yelled to Ernie, our Co-Pilot, to pull back on his wheel. He did so
and he made an honest-to-God grease job.
But with no brakes, and a bad wheel on the left gear; and, wouldn't you know it, a cross-wind from the left,
as soon as rudder control was lost we started
to veer off the runway to the left. Coming the other way on the left side of the runway was a Jeep with a lone occupant.
I waved frantically trying to get
him to turn out of the way. He gave me a broad smile and waved back in a friendly manner. As the Jeep disappeared under
the wing I expected to feel a bump
as what was left of the landing gear squashed the Jeep and it's friendly occupant. But no bump and it turned out the occupant
ducked and the onlv damage
was that the Jeep wind shield vanished as the wing flap scraped it off.
We came to an abrupt halt against the hill on the left of the runway. Everyone got out OK, except for Mac Wooldridge.
He got a bloody nose when the nose
gear came up through the floor and gave him a kiss. There was no fire, only one terribly abused B-29.
Later that day I was sitting in what appeared to be a big shell hole. A grungy Marine was there too.
He was dirty, grimy, and had eyes like two pee holes
in the snow. I felt that in spite of the recent past I wouldn't trade places with him for all the goodies in the world.
I started to tell him so but
before I could say it he blurts out, "I wouldn't trade places with you for anything in the world."
l guess that's what makes the world go 'round.
We finally got back to Guam where I expected to be greeted with a tumultuous hero's welcome. Instead I was hustled to Group Headquarters
where I was forced to sign a Report of Survey in the amount of $450,000 for one each B-29.
I am still paying for that sucker. My next payment is due April 15.
Following that episode, Sergeant Jacoby learned to salute, say: “All present”, and run for his life.
One of the main difficulties seemed to be “Present Arms”.
In that case, the saber was brought up to the forehead and then moved smartly down to the side, removing,
in the process, that portion of the anatomy of the unfortunate cadet nearest the Cadet Officer.
One enterprising Cadet by the name of Dutko suggested a solution to this problem: take the sabers away from the
Cadet Officers and issue them shorter ones with which they could not reach the other cadets.
They would then have to stretch to make contact with the ear of the nearest “Mister” and this would never occur,
as every cadet knew how much Cadet Officers hated physical exertion of any kind.
from his son, Dave Butler (AFCESA)
Please contact me if you were on Fiji or Guadalcanal or know someone who was.
I'd love to hear from you and Dad would also. E-mail:bubbaspop@earthlink.net
Dave Butler