by Capt. Theodore J. Van Kirk as told to Lt. Ed Timmins

Most visitors to this site are familiar with the names Tibbets, Ferebee and Van Kirk as the pilot, bombardier and navigator of the "Enola Gay". The following piece by Dutch Van Kirk will tell you about an earlier top secret mission they flew together as a B-17 crew.Their ship was named "The Red Gremlin" and this top secret mission was to transport Gen. Eisenhower from England to Gibraltar for the start of operation "Torch", the opening of the new front in North Africa. Another account of this mission appears in Gen. Tibbets' book as the chapter titled "Ike Goes To War On A Two-by-Four". To find out more about the history of Tibbets, Ferebee and Van Kirk visit Gen. Tibbets web site: Gen. Paul Tibbets

The Red Gremlin on it's way to Gibraltar
(Painting by William Phillips)

History books probably won't say anything about our secret mission to Gibraltar. At most, they might mention that the first heavy bombers used in Tunisia were flown all the way from England. In the same way, most of the intensive preparations for the great landing operations in Africa will be obscured in the accounts of the success of the invasion itself.

Our mission was one of those that was "hush-hush." Actually it was the first mass flight of combat-seasoned units from England to Gibraltar and was pretty important from several angles. To us of the crew of Red Gremlin and to the crews of the other five -Fortresses, it was a long and dangerous hop even under normal conditions... 1,000 miles over hostile and unfriendly waters. Besides, we carried several high-ranking officers as passengers. The Luftwaffe would have relished the chance to annihilate our formation . . . had they known.

From a navigational angle, it was a long "sweat" through bad weather... a mission flown so low over the waves that nothing but "wind-pilotage" was possible for hours at a time, 1,000 miles of rough sea through weather that almost prohibited the use of radio and put sunline shots out of the question. It was also the beginning of a new aerial threat to the Nazi fortress of Europe, for Red Gremlin and one of the other planes were to be the nucleus of the heavy striking force of the North African Air Force. The Gremlin itself added eighty-one more missions against the Axis with this new unit built up when more combat-proven fortresses were flown over the same route. We had already flown nine bombing missions from the British end of the crossfire.

Though the flight itself was difficult and the weather bad enough to make me sweat over my navigation all the way -- even though it was exciting to have high ranking officers aboard, it was almost an anticlimax to the excitement of the mysterious preparations. For us of the Gremlin's crew, it was the second dose of the pressure that goes with such secret preparations. Six weeks before we had flown unescorted over the same route on another secret mission. Probably because of this earlier flight we had been selected to lead the massed flight to Gibraltar. But because the Germans knew by now that the flight was feasible, precautions were even more intensive.

Preparations were begun well over a week before the flight when the six planes designated were taken off schedules of bombing missions. our of the crews were told to strip their ships of all movable guns and to prepare for a week's absence from our base. It was planned that these four planes would return to their bombing duties after completing the mission. Of course, none of us knew where we were going at the time.

Red Gremlin and a second ship were scheduled to fly into Africa behind the invasion troops as advance echelon of the not yet assembled North African Air Force. We weren't told that either. We were just told that we would not return to our former base. These two ships, both B-17 Fs, kept all their guns and equipment aboard. The members of the crews were told to take as much of their equipment and light weight belongings with them as possible. Bulky articles like bedding and clothing rolls and extra clothing were left behind to be shipped to us later. As it turned out, these were the things we needed most when we got to Africa... and the only things we didn't have for some time.

our ships our own assigned ground crews were brought to this base.

As soon as we landed we were escorted to a large building where we were checked in and assigned to quarters where we were to live in comparative isolation for more than a week. Before we were permitted to leave this building we were given long lectures on security and made to remove all insignia which would identify us as American flying officers. Great pains were taken to make sure we wore no markings which might identify us as belonging to a particular outfit, and we were not even allowed to wear our wings.

On only one occasion were any of us permitted to leave the post. That was when payday arrived and checks had to be cashed... otherwise we would have arrived at Gibraltar dead broke. We had received our checks, postdated, when we left our base but naturally could not cash them until regular GI payday. Two officers were allowed to go to town to cash checks for all the members of the flight.

For a week we were in virtual isolation, leaving our barracks only to visit the RAF officers' club and mess. We listened to more security lectures and indulged in the usual ready room sports of poker, blackjack and cribbage especially after payday. We just waited. Finally one afternoon early in November the pilots, navigators and radio operators were told our destination and purpose. We drew maps and were briefed for the flight by RAF officers at the base. The identities of our passengers remained a secret.

The pilot of Red Gremlin, Lt. Col. Paul W. Tibbetts of Miami, was to lead the flight. I was to be lead navigator for the six planes, though we were not to fly formation, but trail each other in follow-the-leader fashion. The two RAF officers who had briefed us on our previous flight outlined the route, the radio stations and the weather... which did not sound too good. They gave us procedure for approach at Gibraltar and warned us of the up and down drafts that make landing there difficult.

We were especially warned not to fly over Spanish or Portuguese territory because they were technically neutral and because observers from the ground might pass on the information that fortresses were flying to Gibraltar from England. The course across the Bay of Biscay 'was drawn far enough out to sea that patrol planes of the Luftwaffe would not be apt to discover the flight. We were told not to fly at altitudes high enough that we might be picked up by shore detectors near Brest. The weather took care of that danger, however. For the first half of the flight we could not have gone higher than a few hundred feet if we tried. Later the winds were more advantageous down low, so we stayed below 400 feet just about all the way.

At the end of the briefing we were told we would have passengers with us. Even then they did not tell us who they'd be. They referred to them merely as "bodies" and told us the "bodies" would arrive just before the take-off. Arguments as to whom the "bodies" might be took the place of the usual "Texas bedtime stories" as we climbed into bed earlier than usual. All of us except Colonel Tibbetts got a long night's rest. As flight leader he was most concerned about the weather which got worse as the "night went on. He stayed up, studying sequences by the hour trying to figure when the ceiling might lift. We were scheduled to take off as soon as possible after daybreak.

We were awakened early in the morning and went to our planes as soon as we had eaten. To our surprise our passengers were already waiting. They had already decided which groups were to fly in which planes. They were assembled beneath the wings of the ships in which they were to fly, as it was raining lightly. In the half lights we recognized the members of the staff who were to fly in our plane. A general and his orderly and three American and Canadian staff officers were to ride with us. Several other famous officers were among those who rode in the other ships.

The crew of the Red Gremlin at Polebrook Air Base in England. Standing (left to right) are: Col. Paul Tibbets, Lts. Dutch Van Kirk, Gene Lockhart, Tom Ferebee, and Sergeants Fitzgerald and Walker. Kneeling (from left to right) Sergeants Rich, Hughes and William Titsworth.

For awhile it hardly looked as if the weather would improve enough to let us set out on schedule. The clouds were low and thick. Low intermittent rain and fog cut visibility to a mile or so. For awhile Colonel Tibbetts was not sure whether we could get off that morning at all. I don't know what would have happened if he had found it necessary to postpone the flight. The decision was left entirely up to him. None of the higher ranking officers who were to ride as passengers made any comments or suggestions.

We waited around for more than an hour for later weather reports before it was decided to risk a take-off. Both Colonel Tibbets and I well remembered the wicked weather we had had to buck when we were flying back form Gibraltar before. We wanted no more of that! The later weather sequences were more promising. They indicated that the ceiling was low and the weather bad for the first hundred miles or so, but showed that we could expect improving conditions after we turned south. It was decided that we would take off anyway and fly below the 400-foot ceiling until we had a chance to go higher. With gusty winds and the poor visibility I prepared myself for a long, hard "sweat." There would be no chance for precision navigation.

During all this delay the officers in charge of the movement fidgeted and worried. They were afraid the Germans might come over and strafe the field while the "bodies" were still there. There was no telling how long such a secret would hold out. As it turned out later, the secret lasted just long enough for our section of the flight to get through. One ship of the six, which had to wait over another day because of brake trouble, was attacked by German fighters.

When we boarded our ships all the luggage had been loaded, as much as was required for the nine regular members of the crew and the five passengers. Most of this weight was distributed in the bomb bay and in the nose. Even though it meant that the bombardier, Lt. Thomas W. Ferebee, had to ride in the small passageway between the cockpit and the navigation compartment, this was the most efficient way- to load the ship.

By packing the nose with as much of the weight as possible very little of the baggage had to be kept in the waist section. On our last run most of the weight had been loaded aft, making the plane tail heavy and reducing the air speed. It cramped me at my plotting table but I preferred speed to comfort.

Our passengers rode in the radio compartment and in the bomb bay which was so crowded that they were forced to stand. At the beginning of the trip, the general's orderly, a sergeant stood in the bomb bay. At intervals the general relieved him and stood there himself. At take-off time we had been reduced to five ships because of the brake trouble in the ship piloted by Capt. John Summers. Rather than take a chance on being closed in completely we took off in the haze and weather.

Because of poor visibility we took off at intervals which we kept later on in the interests of economy of fuel. If we had flown in formation it would have meant considerable waste of gasoline by the planes on the wings due to the continual adjustment and re-adjustment of throttles and mixture controls. It would have been much more fatiguing for the pilots, too. On gaining flight altitude... if you can call 200 feet "altitude"... we turned south into the channel, steering our course to the west when about twenty miles offshore. Then we turned westerly and paralleled the southern coast of England until we were well out to sea. Throughout this leg I checked the metro winds by bearings and fixes on radio stations and coastal landmarks. They proved very accurate, thanks to the RAF weathermen.

We made our turn to the south about a half hour west of Land's End. The entire first leg had been flown at 200 feet and only 100 to 200 feet below the ceiling at best. I applied my metro wind for the next zone with confidence and immediately began studying the waves to check their appearance. I knew that it might not be possible to read drift or get a fix-wind for sometime, and I wanted to be able to tell just by observation when a wind shift might occur.

The wind at that time was shifting around to northerly and was giving us a good ground speed. That was fine. We were flying right down on the deck and those ocean
waves looked cold and menacing. I wanted to get out of that weather and climb a bit to get a driftmeter reading.

I always sweat out any flight... especially over water. Even if all the information I have tells me that I'm perfectly on course, I worry every minute until I see destination. This time I started my sweating even before we left the ground, for, though I had flown the route before, I had never made a long over-water flight at wave crest altitude and without the benefit of the sun.

It wasn't long before the radio stations that I had been using on my westerly leg began to weaken and become unreliable. The stations on the continent itself also proved unreliable and I began to worry even harder. Around this time the weather began to clear a bit and gave promise of letting us climb a little before long. However, since we were at our closest approach to enemy-held shore since we turned in the channel, we decided to stay down a while longer. We might have been picked up by aircraft detectors if we had climbed at that time and we were in easy range of land based fighters

. Maybe this decision saved us the experience of Captain Summers' trip. His was the ship that was delayed an extra day because of brake trouble. They were flying along at about 5,000 feet when the tail gunner noticed a JU-88 above and astern. In the next instant another plane was seen off the left wing, a third at three o'clock and a fourth below. Captain Summers slammed the throttles forward and dove for the deck before they could make a concerted attack, forcing them to come down from above and pull out of their dives while a good distance above him.

The 88s came in all right, apparently expecting to find a totally unarmed victim. In a couple of minutes the permanently mounted guns of the tail and top and ball turrets, manned by gunners with combat experience, had knocked two of them into the sea. The other two turned tail for land. In this encounter, Lt. Thomas Lohr, co-pilot of the ship, was wounded in the arm and was unable to fly the ship. The duties of copilot were taken over by their passenger for the rest of the flight

Later, it was said, this attack was caused by careless talk by a member of a ground crew who bragged too much about the events of the day before when our flight ,had taken off. It might have been that or it might have been detection apparatus on the French coast.

In our case we stayed down on the deck, partially because the winds were shifting around further to our backs and partially because the breaks in the base of the ceiling were not high enough.

All this while I got my winds right from the waves... just looking at the sea and picking one out. I could tell the direction by remembering that the wind always comes from a point perpendicular to the crests of the waves and that the whitecaps seem to slide into the wind. The wind force I judged from the size of the waves and the amount of whitecaps and ripples on the roller s. Fortunately the winds did not change much in force from the wind I had verified to the turning point. Actually when the crests seemed to get a little white I added a couple of knots to the force I already knew, and when they subsided a little I subtracted a couple of knots.

When we were some 300 miles along, the ceiling had lifted somewhat and I asked the co-pilot, Lt. Dick Wiley of Lafayette, Indiana, to climb up as high as he could get so I might try a drift reading. We got up to about 700 feet and tried a double drift. Even with the face of my B5 open, however, the field of view slipped by too fast to give me any more accurate wind than I was getting by wind pilotage. So we settled back to a couple of hundred feet... where I knew the wind fairly accurately... and continued at low altitude. I then resumed my labors of trying to cross bearings from continental radio stations to get a fix.

I had no luck until we were about two thirds of the way southward from our turning point to the northwest comer of Spain. Then I picked up a couple of reliable bearings from a Spanish radio station which supplemented my wind pilotage until we were abreast of the Spanish coast. When we got closer to the Spanish coast we began to see numerous small fishing craft and occasionally a larger vessel. We detoured around these to avoid identification as a flight of bombers. We knew we would not excite much curiosity if it was assumed ours were just cargo planes which made that run quite frequently.

The glimpses we had of the Spanish and Portuguese coasts were most attractive. We could see long white beaches backed up by rough hills and mountains covered with green forests. The small towns along the coast were lined with wharves. Beacons and scores of fishing craft gave indication of the principal industry. Portugal hardly looked like a country alive with spies and informers, yet any one of those little crafts and any one of those little towns might have harbored observers eager to betray our flight.

Near the coast we climbed to about 1,000 feet and began to parallel the coastline, flying from point to point just in sight of land until we reached the southern point of Portugal. Here we continued southward out of sight of land before turning in to Gibraltar. We had been directed to approach Gibraltar from the southwest to further avoid suspicion of observers in Spain. As long as it appeared that we might be arriving from West Africa it might be assumed that our flight was a routine trans-Atlantic ferry movement.

As soon as we sighted the coast of Spain for the first time, I eased up in my sweating and got a chance to look around at our passengers. The entire trip they had . been very stoical about it all and hadn't been curious as to how we were progressing. When I looked at them now with my relief from the pressure of uncertainty, it seemed that they probably hadn't even been concerned about our ability to get there. After a grind like that I get sort of envious of people who can make a flight like that without nerve strain... though I guess they were under a strain of a different type.

When we turned into the Straits, Colonel Tibbetts called to the general and invited him to watch the approach to Gibraltar. He stood up there between the pilot and co-pilot seats and watched as the Gates of Hercules came into view. I'm sure I was more thrilled at the sight than he.

After passing through the straits we turned north into the field and lowered our wheels. We circled while the bombardier answered the challenge from the tower with both Aldis light and flare pistol to be cleared to land. Landing at Gibraltar is a difficult assignment even for a good pilot. There so many up and down drafts and haze that often it takes several approaches.

The difficulty of landing at night was the reason why the sixth plane was held over in England for another full day. If they had started as soon as their brakes were fixed they would have arrived late, which would have forced Captain Summers to make his first landing at Gibraltar at night.

We circled and circled the "Rock" waiting for permission to come in, only to discover there had been an accident on the runway a few minutes before. We had to fly around for half an hour before we were cleared to land. It was rather irritating after a long flight. Finally they let us come in at an angle at which the drafts were really troublesome. It was a tough landing but well made and thrilling enough to top off a really exciting flight.

As our ships landed our passengers were whisked away into inner recesses of the rock and we were whisked away to the officer's mess.

That was the real climax of the mission.

- Dutch Van Kirk

Editor's note: The above article was taken from Navigator's Log, July, 1944.

Mank thanks to Mike Heffner for securing this story for us from Dutch Van Kirk.