Don Kay flew 52 combat missions in B-24s into Italy and later flew 27 combat missions in B-29s into Korea. His story is included in the section on B-29s.

LLOYD K. RANDOLPH

BRIEF BIO:

Lloyd Randolph was born on February 12, 1918 in Clarksburg, WV. In the spring of 1942 he enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He went through Basic Training in Santa Ana, CA; Advanced at Ellington Field, TX; and Gunnery School in Las Vegas, NV. His major theaters of wartime operations were in Europe in WWII, in the period June 1944 to February 1945, and Korea, June 1950 to February 1952. He flew a total of 35 combat missions in WWII and was awarded eight Air Medals. He retired from active duty at Holloman AFB on January 1, 1963, with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.

He and Anne were married in Clarksburg on July 13, 1940, before he enlisted. Their daughter Jane is a Senior M/Sgt USAF.

HIS STORY:

My place as a Navigator on a B-24 was in the nose facing to the rear. It was drafty, noisy and cold but we had adequate flying clothing to keep warm, including an electrically heated suit. Mine shorted out once at 56' below Zero and burned a hole in my pants, and me, before I could unplug it. Fortunately for me we had to abort the mission because all our windows froze over and we couldn't fly formation.

I had a fold-down table to work on and all the instruments I needed to either direct the airplane or follow along to keep track of our position. Although trained as a Celestial Navigator I never used my sextant after Navigation School. (I had to take it with me everywhere I went.)

For the first few missions we had a Bombardier but we changed to bombing on a lead plane's smoke and the Bombardier got to ride in the nose turret and I toggled out the bombs on the smoke bomb.

I had armor plate under my feet but none around me. one Bombardier I had would crawl under my table when we got in flak and then ask me to lay a flak jacket on him. He aggravated me considerably. To get to the nose you had to crawl through a tunnel under the flight deck and past the folded-up nose wheel. once in the nose I had plenty of room but I had no gun to fire and just had to stand and take whatever came. (The moments of sheer terror.)

Standing for an 8 - 10 hour mission was tiring but even if I had had a seat I don't believe I could have sat down. Somebody had the bright idea of issuing chest pack parachutes and my worst nightmares were of bailing out without my parachute.

My wife and I were returning home from helping my mother celebrate her birthday when we heard the news on the car radio that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor.

The rest of the winter and early spring we debated our course of action. I had heard of the Aviation Cadet program and I was still within the age limit (I was twenty-four) so with my wife's permission (she had to sign a waiver) I drove the sixty-five miles to a Recruiting office where I could enlist in the AC program.

I was too short for my weight. I could either grow taller or lose weight. I did, and signed up to be a Cadet. By that time the pipeline was full and I had to go home and wait to be called. I continued at my job of Foundry Foreman until November when my call came to report to Fort Hayes, Ohio.

I traveled there by train and entered the world of the Army. Since Cadets were issued special uniforms and Fort Hayes had none, I did KP and other details in civilian clothes until enough Cadets were gathered to make a troop train to take us to Santa Ana, California for Preflight. We sat up or sprawled where we could to sleep for eight days.

Santa Ana was still new and not completely finished. Sidewalks and streets were unpaved and the winter rains made everything a mud-hole. The barracks had no heat and no hot water. The first lesson was easy to learn: "Grouse about everything." Fat lot of good that did. We were issued uniforms--not the Cadet ones--they were discontinued. Fort Hayes could have outfitted us after all.

Days and weeks were spent in physical exams, classification tests,, drill, PT and all the rest of Basic Training. After some surgery on my eyes I qualified for Pilot,, Navigator or Bombardier, and wonder of wonders, was given my choice. I chose Pilot Training and after a while was shipped to Ryan Field at Tucson, Arizona where we trained in PT 22s, a low-winged monoplane.

This is a period better skipped over. I attempted to teach the Air Corps a new way to fly but they weren't ready for it and after 12 solo hours I gave up. Seriously, it was the most confused period of my life. I had no trouble understanding the mechanics of flying but that was just the way I flew--mechanically. I never did get in tune with the airplane.

Back to Santa Ana and Navigator Training. First to Mather Field at Sacramento after Gunnery School Las Vegas. Then Mather was closed and equipment and students shipped to Ellington Field at Houston,, Texas. I had no trouble with Navigation Training and graduated a Second Lieutenant.

My wife came to the graduation--the first time I had seen her in two years. After a leave at home in West Virginia I reported to Westover Field, Massachusetts for training in a B-24. No choice. Just "Shut up and get on the airplane." Crews were made up and for the first time I saw the guys who were going to be my closest associates. Everybody seemed to have some shortcomings. The Pilot was hard of hearing; the Co-Pilot couldn't see too well; and the Bombardier was called "Bathless" by his classmates. He must have weighed 260 lbs. and had trouble hitting the ground with the practice bombs. We flew 20 hours at 10,000 feet before he got enough bombs on target to qualify. But qualify we did and went to Mitchell Field to pick up new B-24s to ferry them to the United Kingdom.

The only fuel consumption data we had on the airplane was on the flight from Mitchell Field to Goose Bay, Labrador and when they announced that we were going direct to Nutts Corner, Ireland, I quickly calculated that we didn't have enough fuel to get there. I told the crew that, and we debated what to do. Finally we decided to lay low and see what everyone else was gonna do. The other crews were in the same boat, so we figured if they are going, so are we.

Over a hundred B-24s took off singly that night. We were number 56 on the list. I don't remember the interval but it was something like 20 minutes. We climbed--oh so slowly--with the fuel mixture leaned out to where the cylinder head temperature began to rise and nobody let his weight down. The Flight Engineer read the fuel gauges about every fifteen seconds and I calculated the fuel consumption at least that often until at the Point of No Return it looked like we had enough fuel to get halfway around the world. It was a good thing too because the B-24 just ahead of us skidded off the runway and we had to circle for two hours before could land.

We parked the airplane and went to chow and that was the last we saw of that airplane. We left Nutts Corner by GI truck and went to a holding area for a couple of days, then by boat to England and a replacement depot. A couple of days there, just long enough to tangle with English beer--not pretty--and then went by train to North Pickenham, in East Anglia, and the 492nd Bomb Group.

Our introduction to the 492nd was a list posted on the bulletin board of the twelve crews lost on the last mission. All at once War was real!

We flew our first mission the day after D-Day and got introduced to flak. The 492nd was a hard-luck Group and we lost crews twice as fast as other Groups on the same mission. Nothing seemed to help and finally the Group was inactivated and crews were dispersed throughout the 2nd Bomb Division.

I was selected to go to a Top Secret project (now declassified) called Project Dolly. We were given USA Passports as Airways officials and outfitted with civilian clothes, given unarmed stripped-down B-24s painted black and were sent to a British base at Leuchars, Scotland.

The mission was to fly to Stockholm, Sweden over occupied Norway and then on to Moscow. The British refused to give us exit visas to Russia and so we flew round trips to Stockholm. I never did find out what we were supposed to haul but we always seemed to have passengers to Sweden, and I think we hauled ball bearings back--a violation of Sweden's neutrality--which probably -- which probably accounts for the Top Secret classification. We got credit for a combat mission for each two trips and I had two missions when the project collapsed.

The Project Commander was Col. Bernt Balchen--famous for flying explorers to the Arctic--who was raised in Norway and was an intimate of the Royal Family.

One evening in the Club at Leuchars, the Americans had drunk up the Club's quota of Scotch whiskey and the bar was closed. I looked around and all the Brits were at rigid attention. The object of their posture was Prince Olaf, the Commander of forces in exile and the heir to the throne.

He spied Col. Balchen and rushed over to embrace him. Col. Balchen introduced all of his people to the Prince while the British Commander looked on furiously. When the Prince turned to the Brit he was asked what he'd like to drink and he said, "Scotch, please." out came another case and the Americans helped to demolish it too.

With the project folded, we all went back to Bomb Groups. Mine was the 389th at Wymondham. I was a Navigator without a crew, so for several missions I checked out Navigators on their first missions. Nearly every mission was marred by some incident caused by the crew's inexperience so finally I told the Group Operations officer that it was "no crime to be a new crew but I didn't want to be 'new' on every mission." He scrounged up a Pilot and Co-pilot and Gunners and made a crew.

I was halfway through my tour three times. When the tour was 25 missions I had 12 (at the 492nd) and when it was 30 missions I had 15 and when it was 35, I had 17. I began to think I'd never finish. When I had 34 in, with one to go, I got orders to go on Rest and Recreation (R&R) for two weeks. I cried, cussed, prayed and begged the Operations Officer to let me fly one more before I went but he was on orders to R&R himself, and he couldn't change them.

After R & R the Operations officer did get us on a milk run for my last one. The rest of the crew didn't finish when I did but I didn't volunteer to continue with them. My tour was really unremarkable; it was mostly boring hours of high altitude flying interspersed with moments of sheer terror.

One such moment comes to mind. It was Christmas Day, 1944 and we had recently been assigned a new Major without combat experience. Because of his rank he was to lead our squadron on Christmas Day. The mission was close support of the ground troops caught in the Battle of the Bulge. We were to fly at relatively low altitude and bomb targets of opportunity. There would be fighter cover in a definite area and we were to stay in that area.

Either the major didn't know where the area was or he didn't know where he was. We got out of reach of the fighter cover and got jumped by four FW-190s. They took out four of our twelve B-24s on the first pass. I was with one of the new crews and of course things got exciting. The Co-Pilot got on the intercom and hollered, "Our guys are really hittin' 'em!" Of course what he saw were the muzzle-flashes of the FW-190s.The 190s were coming back for their second pass when one lone P-51 came -barreling through their formation and drove them off. The Major got smart all at once and we hurried back to the protected area.

I was calm throughout this brief action and recorded everything that happened so I could give a good report when we got back. At the debriefing I got out my log and COULDN'T READ A WORD OF IT! I was calm but my pencil wasn't. I wish I had kept that log, it was a dandy.

Another time we got severe flak damage over the target and had to feather engines Two and Four. One of the others had a runaway prop and the other one had a surging turbo. Of course we couldn't maintain altitude or keep up with the formation.

The Co-pilot was busier than a one-armed paper hanger with the hives. He'd catch the prop and then the turbo. The Pilot had all he could do to keep us on course for home. We threw everything that was loose overboard to lighten the plane: guns,, ammo, everything. The Radio Operator threw all his tuning units overboard. They were bulky but didn't weigh a pound apiece. That prevented any hope of long-range communication.

We made it to England only to be told to go to Manston, a base east of London designed for crash landings. It looked to me like they had paved a square mile. The landing was a good one and we parked and went to be debriefed and got some chow,, and when we came back the Brits had stolen everything that was loose. Anything they could use on one of their planes was gone. They didn't take the bomb sight, I guess because it wouldn't work with their auto-pilot. We got a hop back to our base and never saw that airplane again.

Occasionally we carried 4,000 lb. bombs for a special job and one time one of our crews came back with one they couldn't drop. A hard landing, and the bomb came loose and skittered down the runway under the airplane. Fortunately damage was minor. It tore off one bomb-bay door but didn't explode, but the order came, "Don't bring one of those big ones back." We were given a set of coordinates of a spot over the English Channel where we were to jettison any big bombs we didn't drop on a target.

Sure enough we had one that wouldn't drop, so we headed for the jettison spot. I had a British-made G-Box, a sort of short range Loran that could establish your position within 50 ft. We were down at 10,000 ft. but the surface was obscured by a dense layer of clouds. I set up the G-Box to home on the spot and steered until the blips came together, and toggled the bomb out. I told the Pilot I had the radio compass tuned to a radio at our Base, the "buncher, " and he was to home on that radio until I got a heading for him.

We had just turned so the Radio Compass needle was at zero degrees and straightened out when the needle did a 180' turn indicating we had just flown over the radio. The Pilot nearly had heart failure. He said, "We've just bombed our Base!"

I got a little excited myself and checked everything and couldn't find any mistake. At about that time the Radio Compass needle went back to zero and we relaxed. I lost confidence in that RC though and checked my calculated heading pretty carefully. We came close to heading for Sweden that time!

With my tour over, I was given a choice: fly back to the States in a war-weary B-24, or go by ship. I don't think they got any volunteers to go by plane. We embarked on the USS Wakefield, a former passenger liner with a mixed cargo of sick and wounded and others being rotated back home. Since the Wakefield had sufficient speed to outrun any Subs, we were unescorted. About two days out came the announcement, "Now Hear This. This ship has sprung a leak and our speed has been reduced to 12 knots. Our destination has been changed from Boston to the Newport News Shipyard."

Now we were a prime target for the Subs. We were not labeled a Hospital Ship because we didn't have all hospital patients. All at once we had several hundred lookouts. Every one scanned the ocean all the time.

I finished the war as an instructor at Ellington Field, Texas, and Monroe, Louisiana. When the need for Navigators ended I wound up in a pool of unassigned officers at Dayton, Ohio. I was interviewed for and selected for an assignment as an Air Inspector in Headquarters USAF. I spent a four-year tour in that office and was reassigned just in time to go to Japan as an Air Inspector in Headquarters 5th Air Force, and then to Korea.

I continued in the Air Force until I had 21 years service. I retired in 1963 as a LtCol and have lived in Umpqua, Oregon ever since. I came home, braces and all. Since then I have had a real good life, for all of my 79 years, with no regrets.

WILLIAM (BILL) E. CORRELL

I was born in Grand Haven, Michigan on December 24, 1924. When I was still quite young, my parents, William E. and Emma , moved to Stockton, California where I grew up. After I left high school, I worked on the railroads and then went into in the shipyards at Sausalito on San Francisco Bay after Pearl Harbor.

I was inducted into the U.S. Army Air Corps in March 1943 at Sacramento. After completion of basic training at Fresno, CA, I was shipped to Sioux Falls, South Dakota to radio school. From here, I moved to gunnery school in Laredo, Texas, then returned to Fresno to qualify as a ball-turret gunner.

OPERATING THE SPERRY BALL TURRET

The Sperry ball turret wasn't a position for either a tall man or anyone who was claustrophobic. It featured two 50 caliber machine guns capable of firing 400 rounds per minute. Because of possibly overheating the barrels, we were taught to fire in three second bursts whenever possible, but in the heat of battle I'm sure we often exceeded this rule. The spent cartridge links and cartridges would eject through a chute. On one occasion these showered onto another B-24 below me and its spinning props hurled them through its fuselage causing great damage.

Each gun had boxes which held about 400 rounds of belted ammunition. Part of my duties was to install the guns prior to each mission and to remove them afterwards, for cleaning and checking. I was also responsible for loading my ammunition boxes.

During takeoffs and landings the ball turret was retracted and the guns were set facing aft. I would wait in the waist area until we were safely airborne and return there prior to landing. To man the turret, it would be lowered and the guns depressed, which brought the armor-plated door in line with the fuselage. Then I could enter the compartment, slide down into a fetal position and close the door behind me. The 13-inch diameter vision panel was then between my feet, about 30 inches away (the circular plate, lower center, in the adjacent picture), while the gun sight was right in front of my eyes. Actually it was quite comfortable, but you couldn't stretch your legs very much.

The turret was powered by a 32-volt motor. It could rotate 360 degrees in the horizontal plane and the guns could be depressed from the horizontal to the vertical position. To rotate the turret and elevate or depress the guns, I had a hydraulic / electric control stick in each hand ,on either side of the gun sight. The triggers were also mounted on these controls. When operating the turret, my hands were actually located at my sides. Moving the sticks sideways made the turret rotate and pushing or pulling it moved the guns up and down, giving me full freedom to track a target at any position below the aircraft.

It was normal practice while enroute to the target to fire a short burst to ensure everything was okay. At all times while in the turret I had to wear an oxygen mask, containing a built-in interphone with which to communicate with the rest of the crew. I wore an electrically heated flying suit, boots and gloves. Although I wore a parachute harness, there was not enough room in the turret for the parachute, so it was stored in the fuselage. When I had to bail out I had to undo all my electrical, oxygen and safety harnesses, point the guns aft and down, open the armored door and climb back into the aircraft, there to clip on my parachute.

After a few missions, with the help of the parachute riggers, I was able to modify a pilot's back chute so that I could wear it in the turret. We tested it, by throwing it out with weights attached and opened by a static line tied to the aircraft, and it worked very well. Thereafter I always wore this chute. I was only able to do this because of my small stature. After that, to exit the aircraft all I had to do was unlatch the armor plated door behind me (as shown in the above picture) and roll out backwards.

BACK TO THE STORY

My next posting was to Muroc AFB (now Edwards AFB) in California's high desert, for crew formation and overseas training. On completion of the course, the crew moved to Hammer Field near San Francisco to pick up a B-24 to ferry overseas. During this training period, I reached the rank of Corporal. That's my crew in the adjacent picture. I am in the front row on the left end.

Most of the aircraft were unpainted, but we were assigned a camouflaged aircraft, which had several mechanical problems. The rest of the group departed, but we were delayed for a day or two while the snags were fixed. During the air test our pilot did a low-level beat up of Alcatraz Island, and took us under the Golden Gate bridge. When we landed a reception committee was waiting for us, but we got away with denying it since no one got our number. Apparently, we had passed very close to a fishing vessel.

Eventually, we departed for Phoenix, Arizona, where the left brake seized up when we landed, causing us to depart the runway into the desert. After a new wheel assembly was installed we headed for Robbins Field, Georgia. However, our intrepid pilot decided to detour to beat up his home town of Nanafalia, Alabama. Unfortunately, our radio operator failed to wind in the trailing antenna, so we lost the lead ball from the end of it. It did some damage to property, including downing power lines and hitting a car, but the pilot's parents covered the damage, so we avoided a court marshal yet again.

Landing at Robbins we were caught in a cross wind, with one wing tip almost touching the ground. The pilot caught it, touched down and promptly left the runway, crossed a manicured lawn and struck a parked aircraft with a wing tip before we came to a halt. Needless to say, we were not very popular. It didn't help at all when I started laughing when I saw the tire tracks across the lawn!

It took three weeks to get the damage repaired so the pilot took off for home on unofficial leave. We had to cover for him on several occasions. Eventually we departed, but we returned three different times for either weather or mechanical problems. Some of these were actually excuses to stay at Robbins a little longer as we all enjoyed the location.

After some veiled threats, we decided it was time to go and headed for Europe, with stops in Miami, the island of Trinidad and Belem, in Brazil. We then headed across the Atlantic Ocean to Dakar, in West Africa, and then to Marrakesch, in Morocco. Assigned to the 15th Air Force, we flew to Giulia , Italy, where we handed over our new B-24. We were then trucked to Grottaglie, near Taranto, in the "heel" of Italy.

There we were assigned to the 717th Bomb Squadron of the 449th Bomb Group on May 16, 1944. The 449th BG was part of the 47th Bomb Wing which also consisted of the 450th, 376th and 98th Bomb Groups, all located within about 50 miles of our base. Each group was normally made up of four squadrons. Although I did not know him, at this same time Frank Fanger, another Southern Oregon Warbird, was flying waist gunner in this same Bomb Wing, in the 450th Bomb Group out of nearby Manduria, Italy (see the following story).

We barely had time to settle in to our tented accommodation and find our way around the base when I was assigned to our first mission. It had taken us until midnight to get the tent up and squared away but at 4 am I was roused and informed I was going on operations, with another crew. My baptism by fire was a trip to Orbetello, Northern Italy, where we were hit by flak which severely damaged our oxygen system. I was horrified to see another B-24 flying alongside us shot down at the same time. One of our gunners photographed it going down with one engine shot clean out of the aircraft. The picture later appeared in the national press. As we came off target and headed for home we had to request permission to leave the group and returned at low level over the sea as the oxygen supplies in the rear of the aircraft were running out.

A day later, on May 18th, I went to Ploesti, in Rumania, with a different crew, to bomb the infamous oil refineries. The weather was bad and we couldn't see many others from our group, so we just stuck to the primary heading. Unfortunately, six of us failed to pick up a group recall, to abandon the mission, so we few headed alone for the toughest target in Europe. As we broke out into the clear we could see the big dark cloud from the flak barrage and several fires burning on the ground, where B-24s from another group ahead of us had been shot down.

As we steadied on the bomb run, the aircraft slightly behind us took a direct hit and exploded. While watching it head down, I was stunned by a big flash in front of my turret. Our aircraft, named "Old Ironsides", had taken a direct hit just after the bombardier had toggled the bomb load. We headed down from around 21,000 feet with two engines out on one side. The pilots managed to level off at about 8,000 feet and turned for home. After the flight engineer had checked the systems, he announced that he doubted whether we would make it home. We just had too much battle damage.

Just then, the tail gunner called out "Bandits", and six German fighters swept in to attack us. They couldn't have been very experienced as we managed to shoot three of them down. However, some of their bullets had hit an oil line in one of our remaining engines so it had to be shut down. The flight engineer announced that the situation now was indeed hopeless and he was getting out. At this point, the pilot came on the intercom and told everyone to stuff any personal items in our pockets and get out as fast as possible. Needless to say this was quite a shock as I'd only been in Italy a couple of days!

When the bailout bell went, there was a bit of a problem at the back when one of the waist gunners accidentally opened his parachute while still in the aircraft. We had to have him hold his arms out while we carefully folded it back and forth, handing him the pilot chute to release as he jumped. Happily, he got a good `chute. Just before I climbed out I was reminded by the copilot to retract the turret and bring the guns horizontal, so that those bailing out from the forward hatch wouldn't hit the guns on their way out. The airflow tended to keep their bodies close to the belly of the plane until they were clear. Finally it was my turn and I bailed out, through the bottom hatch.

Once my `chute opened, at about 5,000 feet, I got myself stabilized and looked around. I saw other `chutes in the air and watched our B-24 smash into a ridge. As I neared the ground all hell broke out below me, with the sound of small arms fire. Looking down I saw some men in a clearing shooting at me. I started swinging the chute from side to side, scaring myself even more when some of the `chute panels collapsed.

Then I realized that I was going to land in some trees. There was little that I could do about it so I curled up into as tight a ball as I could. Crashing through the branches I stopped before I hit the ground and rebounded. I ended up suspended about six feet off the ground, between two of the trees. I had just managed to swing to one tree and get one leg out of the harness when I heard someone coming. Foolishly trying to hide behind the tree, my chute was still visible above my head, I was confronted by an armed man. He said nothing so I put my hands in the air. However he suddenly departed again, so I rapidly got out of the rest of the harness and took off like a scared rabbit!

I didn't get very far because I was still wearing my heavy flight gear, so I stopped to take it off. As I was doing this I heard somebody else coming, so again hid behind a tree. The new arrival kept coming straight for my tree so, when he was about 20 feet away, I stepped out with my hands up again. He stopped about six feet from me, looked me over and said "Amerikanski?" I replied "American flier" and he laid his rifle down and gave me a great big bear hug! About ten more of his comrades arrived to greet me and I was so relieved that I wanted to kiss them all!

We took off along a small trail at a rapid pace. We hid for a while when we thought someone was trailing us, then we kept going until it was dark. Arriving at a small village, an old lady came out and spit at me, until someone explained that I wasn't a German. I was taken into a building which was being used as a "partisan" headquarters. There I was given a glass of Rakkia, a potent clear liquor, and that started a series of toasts.

I had come down in Yugoslavia and been rescued by some of Tito's freedom fighters. These small groups were living in the mountains and giving the Nazis such a hard time that the Germans had several thousand men searching for them in a "take no prisoners" war.

I passed around my only pack of Camels, which quickly disappeared but created many smiling faces. They then offered me loose tobacco and papers to roll my own. All interface so far had been by sign language but eventually they found someone who had lived in Los Angeles 20 years earlier. His English was very rusty but we managed to convey what we needed. After eating and getting some much needed rest that night, in the early morning we again took off along the trail.

About noon we came across another small group which, to my surprise, included our bombardier. In the late afternoon we arrived at another settlement, where we found our copilot and radioman. Continuing on, we were forced to making a detour off the trail. German troops had straddled our route and cut us off.

When we stopped for the night we were out in the open, with no food or shelter. We were forced to sleep huddled up closely to share our body heat on the exposed hillside. Unfortunately, as a result, I picked up a bad case of body lice from my traveling companions. At daylight, we moved on and rested the following night in the hayloft of a small barn, where food was available. It felt like the Waldorf Astoria!

During the night, another group joined us and someone huddled up to me again to keep warm. When I awoke I discovered that my sleeping companion had been a large muscular woman. Any evil thoughts were soon dispelled when she strapped on two bandoleers of ammunition, a pistol and a rifle, and then hung nine hand grenades from her belt!

For the next five days, we kept off the trails, slept in the open and had virtually nothing to eat. Nine days after being shot down we arrived in a village which was obviously a major partisan base. There were fifty other British and American airmen that had been rescued. Amazingly, they had a working radio, which had been salvaged from a crashed P-47 Thunderbolt, so were in touch with the 15th Air Force. The partisans had also constructed a landing strip in an apple orchard and covered it with brush, as a camouflage easily removed when necessary.

I hadn't been there long when a Gooney Bird (Douglas C-47) flew over and was contacted on the radio. Some brush was set afire to guide it in. It was loaded with arms and supplies for the partisans which we helped to unload, with the help of some Italian prisoners of war. ( These prisoners were used for work details around the camp. Two tried to escape but they were recaptured and hung. After that the rest remained close to the camp.) Then the aircraft was filled with wounded and those that had been waiting some time and it took off.

A couple hours later a second C-47 arrived, which we rapidly unloaded. Then the rest of the more recently arrived airmen, including me, scrambled on boarded. We were flown to Bari, in Italy. In all, 54 downed aircrew were flown out on those two flights.

Before we left the Yugoslavs most of us had stripped down to our skivvies so that we could donate our clothing and shoes as they were desperate for such items. Arriving on the base, to our embarrassment we were greeted by a couple of Red Cross ladies. Some of the guys didn't want to leave the aircraft! However, the sight of coffee and donuts offered by the two women soon dispelled any shyness!

We were then taken to the base hospital for hot showers, de-lousing and medical checks, and were issued new pajamas. The entire contingent was placed in a ward and held there under tight security for five days, where we were interrogated and briefed on the need to maintain silence regarding our escape and rescue. After that, I was flown back to my base in another Gooney Bird.

There I was reunited with my original crew, the one I had trained with. After signing a waiver I was allowed to stay on operations in the same theater, and I was returned to flight status. Normally if an airman was shot down and escaped with the help of an underground organization he was not allowed to fly in the same war zone again. However, when payday came around my records showed that I was missing in action. Well, I hollered out that I was there but they refused to pay me.

Eventually it was arranged for me to get an advance, but it took quite a while before I was able to draw pay from the normal pay parade. Meanwhile, my parents had been notified that I was missing. When I got back to base, I wrote to tell my parents that I was free again. Both letters were published in the Roseburg Review (shown on the previous page).

On June 10, just 23 days after being shot down, I returned to operations. On that day we went to Porto Marghera, to bomb the marshaling yards there. We took some damage from flak. About this time, the number of missions we had to fly before being returned to the USA was fifty. However, as many of our missions were considered near suicidal, in some cases we were given credit for two missions for a single combat flight. This was the first raid on which I got credit for two trips. A day later, we hit oil tanks and left two oil tankers burning in Trieste. One ship was badly damaged and a huge black cloud boiled up from it for several thousand feet.

The next day, June 13, we went to Munich. To quote my diary at the time, "The sky was black with flak and it ripped through our ship like buckshot through a paper bag. My turret was put out of order and one engine disappeared with a direct hit. We made it to base and crash-landed without injury to any of us."

Though most of the damage to the plane was done by flak shrapnel (I still have a piece that hit me in my possession today), my turret was wrecked by cannon shells from a FW190 fighter. Amazingly, most of those cannon shells hit the ammunition cans at my side but did not hit me! The plexiglass panels surrounding me were shredded and the turret was cracked open, and I received a few superficial scratches. The gears which rotated the turret wouldn't work, the shaft driving them was broken, so the two waist gunners rescued me by rotating the turret with their feet until it was in a position where I could open the door and climb into the aircraft.

On June 24th we had another trip to Ploesti, but we did little damage. The trip cost the squadron one B-24, named "Giddy Giddy Boom Boom", lost to the usual heavy flak. Happily, the entire crew bailed out and were returned, via the Resistance pipeline, almost three months later.

Our next two trips, one to Toulon and one to Vienna, were failures. On the first one we couldn't find the target, the U-boat pens, because of very bad weather, so we brought our bombs home. On the second, we had to turn back when the copilot became very sick. As it happened, that raid turned out to be a rough mission for the rest of the group, the oil tanks in the Vienna area were very well defended.

On July 2nd and 3rd I flew two more back-to-back "tough" missions. The first was to Budapest where, for a change, we bombed an airfield, destroying some 25 aircraft on the ground. However, we paid a heavy price, four B-24s lost to fighters. Then we were back to oil storage tanks, this time to Giuriu, in Rumania. Again, we were hard hit by fighters. I had a good shot at one but wasn't sure that I had hit him. However, he didn't return for more. After we landed, other crew members told me that they had seen my score break up on the way down.

Our ship, named "Lil Joe Toddie", was one of the several B-24s I crewed on. It was considered a jinx ship, suffering numerous casualties amongst earlier crews. However, it served our crew well on the several missions I flew in it, and it was one of my favorites.

Then it was back to Ploesti. Our target was the Concordia Vega refinery but we couldn't see it properly because of all the smoke. The group leader ordered us not to bomb so we circled back. Eventually we bombed the Romano Americano cracking plant, which was in the clear, and destroyed it. Over that target we spent an unusually long twelve minutes receiving heavy anti-aircraft fire. We had some battle damage, and the bombardier received some minor injuries from flak splinters, but the rest of us were unharmed. The 449th received the Distinguished Unit Citation for that mission.

On July 12th we had another break from oil targets. We were part of a force that dropped 1200 tons of bombs on two bridges near Marseilles, France. This was a bit of a milk run for a change, all our group returned safely. However, on July 14th we went back to Budapest, and to the bloodiest air battle of my career. Our group managed to down four enemy fighters, confirmed, plus one probable and several others damaged. Tight formation flying resulted in good bombing and the loss of just one B-24 on that day, a trip I will never forget.

On July 19th we made a trip to Neuaubling, near Munich, and dropped a load of 2,000 pound bombs on an aircraft factory. Surprisingly we encountered very little fighter opposition, for a change, but the flak was intense for a while. After a day's rest, we went to Brux, Czechoslovakia, again to attack oil facilities. Thick cloud prevented us from finding the target so we all returned to base, safely. On July 22nd , we were again back to Ploesti, meeting heavy flak and fighter attacks, resulting in the loss of one B-24. The success of this mission was in doubt because we couldn't see the target, due to heavy smoke screens. However, a pall of black smoke rose out of the haze and towered above our high flying formation, so some success must have been achieved.

Meanwhile, on July 23rd, I was assigned to yet another crew. However, this didn't last long. On my 25th trip, a mission to Berat, Albania, to bomb German oil storage tanks, we encountered very heavy flak. One engine was destroyed and our electrical and hydraulic lines were badly damaged. Even worse, two of our crew were wounded. This raid was unique in that once we reached our bombing altitude, around 20,000 feet, we could see our base and the target at the same time. This was the shortest mission we ever flew.

After this, I requested that I not be assigned to any permanent crew. For the remainder of my operational flying I served with several different crews. I seemed to settle into a routine whereby every fourth mission I would fly with the operations officer in the lead plane.

My next outing, on July 27th, was back to Budapest, to bomb the Hun Armament Works. We scored many hits with our 500 pounders. We suffered intercom system damage but no injury to the crew. After this, I had a break until I made yet another trip to Budapest. This time the primary target was an airfield, which we totally destroyed.

By now, the Allies were preparing for the landings in Southern France. On my next trip, on August 14th, we targeted coastal heavy gun batteries in that area. We flew through the night and at daybreak went in to bomb the coastal guns just as the landing craft began their run to the beaches. The sight was incredible! Apart from our own contribution, the coastal guns and troop positions were being hit by both medium bombers and fighters, both land- and carrier-based, supported by a massive gun barrages from the massed warships, including battleships, lying off-shore. In spite of the lack of enemy opposition we lost several aircraft enroute. None were lost in the target area.

On August 27th, on my 31st mission, I almost bailed out for a second time. We had gone to bomb a bridge at Ferrara, in Northern Italy, when the copilot screamed over the interphone something about being hit -- and a wing was coming off. Just then, the aircraft dropped a wing and it appeared that we were indeed going down. We had encountered accurate heavy flak and I knew that we had been hit. I was in the process of abandoning the aircraft when someone said we were okay. What happened was that the copilot had been describing the aircraft ahead being hit. As it started to lose a wing our skipper had to turn sharply away from it!

My ship led the entire attack force the following day when we bombed bridges in Hungary. While enroute we lost one engine and, so we could maintain formation, we had to salvo part of our bomb load. As we reached the River Danube, a second engine began to fail. After that we were forced to give up the lead, leave the protection of the group and straggle all the way home by ourselves. Earlier, another B-24 in our group had managed to return home alone safely by dropping down to a very low altitude. Our pilot remembered this so he hedge-hopped us all the way back. This greatly impressed the Group's commanding officer, who happened to be acting as copilot. I had a grandstand view because I rotated my turret to face forward, so that I could shoot at any opposition we ran into.

Our next mission was to down bridges in Yugoslavia. We were heading home in formation and feeling pretty secure. We were flying just below the clouds, popping back in whenever we saw fighters. As we were approaching Brod, in Yugoslavia, the bombardier pointed out that the squadron ahead was encountering heavy flak. My pilot elected to divert sharply away from the stream to avoid this.

Unfortunately I had just decided that, since things were pretty quiet, I'd get out of my turret for a quick smoke. The quick turn into the stream prop wash slammed me against the fuselage and broke my nose, and puffed up my eyes until I couldn't see. On landing I went to the sickbay to get fixed up, and was grounded for several days. When I could see again I returned to the squadron to resume flying. On September 13th we hit railroad bridges near the Brenner Pass, to try to prevent the German armies from retreating.

On September 15th I got a change of scenery when, on my 35th mission, we were detailed to bomb marshaling yards near Athens, Greece. Unfortunately, we couldn't find the target, covered by low clouds, so we came home, unharmed, with our loads. I then went to Vienna twice in three days. On the first attack, we missed the target, a railroad bridge. We made up for it on the next mission when we unloaded our bombs on a German airfield with great success.

Two days later I finally got to see Greece when we accurately bombed the marshaling yards at Larissa. There was only light flak over the target. The next day, we had a mission to destroy a bridge at Trento, in Northern Italy, but low cloud prevented us from bombing the target. However, this didn't stop the defense from putting up a heavy barrage. Many of our group came home with flak damage. The next mission, on October 4th, was no better. We did find the bridge in the Brenner Pass which was our target, but failed to hit it.

On October 7th Viennese marshaling yards were our primary target. When we left they were almost totally destroyed. Only one B-24 was lost to fighters, the crew bailed out safely over Allied-held territory. The October 11 mission to Vienna, to again hit the oil tanks, was aborted before we even got near the target due to very bad weather. That was a particularly cold flight, with the temperature minus 32 degrees Fahrenheit.

The following day a German troop concentration near Bologna, Northern Italy, felt the effect of 1,271 tons of bombs dropped by 698 heavy bombers, including ours.

However, since returning to flying status on September 13, I had suffered terrible headaches on operations. When I returned from the Bologna mission, I again went to see the doctor. This time they X-rayed my head, and discovered that I had a fractured skull. They again wanted me to stay in the hospital, but confirmed that, once mended, I would be returned to flying status, to complete my "Fifty". I elected instead to go straight back on flying status so I could complete my tour as quickly as possible. My idea was to get back to the USA and go into hospital there. The base hospital in Italy was not a particularly pleasant place to be.

My penultimate mission is best described by quoting from the notation in the small diary that I kept at the time. It reads " October 18. Vienna, Austria- Target was aircraft factories, which were missed. Flak was intensive and very accurate. We got the hell shot out of us. We got in by only a miracle - our hydraulic lines were shot out and we had to land without flaps. An 88 mm shell ripped through our wing but was evidently a dud as it did not explode. All four engines cut out just a few seconds after our wheels hit the ground - It was Rough!" Actually, even my diary didn't tell the full story. We ended up going off the runway on landing at high speed with no brakes. In the ensuing crash, both pilots were killed and the aircraft was rendered a total loss. The rest of us suffered minor injuries.

My last mission, credited as the 50th in my log, but only my 43rd actual trip, took place on October 23, when we again went to bomb the Brenner Pass. It was covered by clouds so we flew around until we spotted a road bridge, and destroyed it. When we returned the official photographer recorded the event by photographing me against "Classy Chassis", my chariot for this event ( see adjacent photo).

I stayed with the group for a short while as a gunnery instructor and then, even though I had priority to fly home, I elected to take what I thought would be a relaxing ocean cruise. Unfortunately, the French ship we boarded at Naples provided very poor accommodations and even worse food, so it was with great relief that we eventually arrived in New York harbor. From there, I went by train to the relocation center in Southern California and was eventually sent to Oakland AFB, where I was told I would be admitted to hospital. But it didn't work out that way. First I was treated at a clinic then, after I had protested, I was transferred to Oakland Regional hospital, for about six weeks, and then was moved to another hospital in Menlow Park, near San Francisco.

My headaches continued. Eventually they determined that my sinus tubes were damaged. I spent another ten months in a hospital, by which time the war was over. I returned to Oakland, Oregon, for a 90 day furlough. Unfortunately, my headaches returned. But, in December of 1945 I was finally discharged.

Some time later, after I was married, my wife was reading the local paper and came across an article about the War Memorial in Roseburg. According to the article, my name was on it! We contacted the newspaper and asked where they got their information. Sure enough, they got it from the War Department, where I was still listed as MIA. My name is still on that Memorial!

FRANKLIN H. FANGER

BRIEF BIO

Frank Fanger was born on August 4, 1922, in Wolsey, SD, and on February 10, 1943, he was drafted, in Medford, OR. He ended up a B-24 radio operator and right waist gunner in the Army Air Corps. He went through basic training at Sheppard Field, Texas, Radio School in Sioux Falls, SD, and Phase Training at Gowan Field in Boise, ID. His major theater of wartime operations was with the 721st Bomb Squadron, 450th Bomb Group, 47th Bomb Wing, 15th Air Force in Italy, over the period April through September, 1944. He flew a total of 50 combat missions and was awarded the Silver Star and several Air Medals. He was discharged at McCleland Field, Sacramento, CA, in September 1945, with the rank of T/Sgt.
He and Ruth were married in Corvallis, OR, on June 8 1947. They have three children, Stephan, Christine and Kathryn.

HIS STORY:

My remembrance of the train ride from Medford to Portland for induction into the army is still vivid. It took the train all night to make the trip. I believe we stopped at every farm along the way to pick up full cans of milk and set off empty cans. After we had our physicals and were sworn in, we were shipped to Fort Lewis for testing. The testing was a breeze as I had had my college education interrupted by Uncle Sam. Next came another train ride of several days duration. I had been drafted into the Army Air Force! I couldn't believe my luck. As we went over the Colorado Rockies on our way to Sheppard Field, Texas, they put on more engines. About this time one of the men had terrible headaches. He subsequently had an early discharge.

I remember two things about Sheppard, one was trying to scale the walls in the obstacle course and the other was the fact that a lot of Oklahoma real estate moved to Texas on a given day, then was redeposited somewhere in Oklahoma the next day. We had barracks inspections every Saturday. We never knew exactly when they were going to come. One Saturday it had rained and we were having trouble keeping the floors clean, even up on the second floor. About the middle of the afternoon someone spotted the C.O. coming for inspection. The floor was still a mess. Two men grabbed brooms and started sweeping toward the trash can. I lifted the can and they swept the dirt under it. When the C.O. entered the barracks that G.I. can was slowly wobbling to a stop on top of that pile of dirt. Luckily the M/Sgt was between the C.O. and the can as they walked by. The C.O. probably wondered why we were all trying to keep a straight face.

From Sheppard it was on to gunnery school near Laredo, Texas. I can still remember how sore my shoulder got from that 12 gauge shot gun while trap shooting from the bed of a moving GI truck. The other vivid experience while at Laredo occurred while firing a 30 caliber machine gun at a sock being towed by another plane. We stood up to fire our rounds. we had a safety belt with a chain attached to the floor of the ship. I found out that the safety chain was really longer than it needed to be. One day, after finishing my rounds, and before I could even stow my gun, the Pilot decided to improve my gunnery experience by slowly rolling the ship. That's when I dis-covered that the chain was too long. My shins were banging on the top of the cockpit. Then he had the gall to ask me if I enjoyed my ride!

From Laredo, it was on to Sioux Falls, South Dakota .... not many miles from my birthplace. By the way, I was born in a little farm-house. I was in such a hurry to begin life that I had had my break-fast before the doctor got there. He still charged Dad $25.00 for his services. I never heard the last of that.

It was now summertime, and we were on the graveyard shift at radio school. We were supposed to sleep from 11 am to 7 p.m. If you don't know, this is the hottest part of the day, and in tar paper barracks it was pure misery. They made us stand up in class, but even then we sometimes fell asleep.

One Sunday, after church, a lady invited me to Sunday dinner. (This was part of my reason for going to church!) While waiting for dinner, I noticed a photo of the woman who had been my English teacher when I attended Huron High School. I learned she was my host's daughter! What a coincidence!

After Sioux Falls it was vacation time. It seems like I had a whole month to get from Sioux Falls to Salt Lake City Air Base. Upon arriving at the air base, we were left to stand for several hours on the windswept parade ground until everyone arrived. My overcoat was in my duffel bag, which was already in Boise. I hit sick bay over that deal.

From Salt Lake, I was sent to Boise and joined my crew for our phase training. We flew a lot over Eastern Oregon for our air to ground gunnery. While hunting in that area last Fall, I found a 50 caliber belt link. One day while doing the air to ground thing, I was ordered from my radio post to the rear of the ship to do my target practice. When I got back there, the floor was covered with puke and smelled to high heaven. I fired my rounds on the next pass and headed for my radio room. I had just sat down on my stool when it hit me. I barely got my head through the door into the bomb bay when my breakfast decided to leave.

One day we flew to Blythe, California, and saw Boulder Dam on the way. I think this was a two day trip. From Boise we went to Kansas to pick up our ship. We had our crew picture taken in front of the plane at that time. That's me in the back row, third from the right.

We flew to Miami, Florida, where we stayed a couple of days. When we got up in the morning, our clothes were like damp dishrags. I've never been able to figure out why anyone would like to vacation there, much less live there!

From Miami we headed for Brazil. For some reason I can't remember our first stop, but it must have been in the Dominican Republic. Our next stop was in Trinidad. From there we flew to Belem, Brazil, and then to Fortaleza, Brazil. While there, we all bought cowboy boots. Sure must have been a boost to their economy, although they were quite cheap by our standards, as I recall. We were in Fortaleza for several days, not knowing when we would leave. We were there on April 20, as I wrote a letter from there on that date.

From Fortaleza, we flew to Dakar (Senegal) Africa. This was an experience I will never forget. We had been up since 6 am when we were notified after evening chow, that we would be leaving at midnight. Shortly after take off we were flying through a tropical storm. The blue flames bouncing along our wings were quite disturbing.

The flight across took us eleven hours. The navigator and I had to stay awake the entire time. The Pilot and Co-Pilot took turns. Every half hour Lt. Gage would give me our position and I would send it to the base in Brazil. After we got halfway across, I changed stations to Dakar. To make matters worse, many operators didn't monitor the frequency before starting their messages. I was com-pletely exhausted upon arriving in Dakar. We missed lunch because the mess hall was closed before we got there. The crew tried to wake me for supper but couldn't. I slept clear through to the next morning.

From Dakar we flew to Marrakech, then to Algiers. (4-25-44) We went into town and took in a movie. Balky (our ball gunner) tipped the usherette 1 lire, which is less than a penny. She was furious!

From Algiers we went to Tunisia. There we slept in sideless tents on canvas cots with one blanket -- the coldest night I have ever spent! The next night we went to the plane and got our fleece lined flight suits.From Tunisia we flew to an Italian air base at Manduria, Italy. Here we were assigned to the 721st Bomb Squadron, 450th Bomb Group, 47th Bomb Wing, 15th Air Force, and to a real barracks with hot showers and all! Although I did not know him, at this same time Bill Correll, another Southern Oregon Warbird, was flying turret gunner in the same Bomb Wing, in the 449th Bomb Group out of nearby Grottaglie, Italy (see the preceeding story).

May 5 -- We finally flew our first complete mission on this day. "Dutch", our tail gunner, got an ME 109 today. This was also my first Ploesti mission.

On May 24, we went to Wiener Neustadt, Austria. Our group of 28 ships was jumped by over 100 fighters coming at us out of the sun. We were in the last position in the formation when they hit. Fifteen minutes later we were flying in #2 position when our escort of P-38s finally arrived. That evening Axis Sally asked us how we enjoyed the reception.

On June 13, we headed for Munich to bomb an ME 109 aircraft factory. Enroute our #2 engine gave up the ghost and the prop had to be feathered. Captain Price ordered the bombardier, Lt. Bozzo to salvo the bombs. He promptly hit the salvo switch, but forgot to first open the bomb bay doors. The bombs crashed through the doors and left them flapping in the slip stream. There was no alternative then but to drop out of formation and return to our base. Capt. Price ordered me to man my radio and to make contact with our base. I was in the waist section of the plane, so this required a walk through that open bomb bay without a chute.

Another memorable mission was my 21st, on June 16th. We went to the oil refineries in Bratoslov, Czechoslovakia. Forty to fifty fighters attacked us. We were leading the formation that day. Our tail gunner, Ray Steensgard, was firing furiously at a 109 that almost crashed into us. At the last moment he veered to the right and was a sitting duck for me at the right waist position. I can still see him slumped in the cockpit, to this day. Capt. Price and Sgt. Ames were wounded in this attack.

A piece of hot metal took out Capt. Price’s intercom and lodged in his left buttock. Lt. Hartman, the co-pilot, was looking the other way and was unaware of Capt. Price’s problem until he noticed a problem with control of the ship. By the time he took over the controls we had other problems. Sgt. Ames, in the top turret, was wounded by enemy machine gun fire. The Plexiglas turret bubble was destroyed. Also, probably from the same enemy fighter, some hydraulic and electric lines were severed.

With the co-pilot in command, with a wounded turret gunner and with a number of aircraft systems inoperative, we nevertheless were able to continue leading the formation on over the target and then back to our home base. Our entire crew was awarded the Silver Star as a result of this mission.

On July 10th the Chaplain told me that my brother Archie had been killed in action. He was with the armored infantry on Anzio beachhead.

On August 4th, my birthday, our entire crew got promotions. I was now a T/Sgt., and had 43 missions in. We were now back flying as a crew again, with Captain Price.

On a mission to Weinerneustadt we had another close call. On the bombing run, with the bomb bay doors open, we suddenly smelled gasoline. The engineer opened the door to the bomb bay and was drenched with gasoline. A shell had come up through the catwalk, almost dead center, and exited through the wing, puncturing a huge hole in the fuel tank. Obviously it was a dud, or set to go off at a higher altitude, or we’d be dead.

After the bomb run we stayed with the formation for a while. Capt. Price asked us if we wanted to bail out or try to get back. Everyone wanted a chance to get back to Italy. He ordered us to throw out everything we could, ammo, guns, my radio set, etc. Needless to say no one did any smoking on the way home.

Finally we were able to land, at Naples. By the time we were on the runway all of our engines had quit. Fire trucks and ambulances greeted us and a tug came out and towed us in. We spent several days there waiting to get our ship repaired. We were able to go into Rome one day, to see the sights.

All through the latter part of July, when not flying bombing missions, we were practicing flying formation missions at night. This was a really scary set-up, with many planes crashing into one another. This was in preparation for the invasion of Southern France.

After repeated raids on sub pens and gun emplacements, the big day finally arrived. We took off at 2:30 am to be there ahead of the invasion forces. What a spectacle! We really had a good view of the invasion. This was my 49th mission.

On August 20, we flew to Budapest and bombed the marshaling yards. My last mission!!

I came home from Italy to the good old USA, on the SS Athos, arriving on Sept. 27. Some memories of that voyage: We were in a bad storm -- so bad that waves were washing over the ship. Most of the Air Force personnel weathered it pretty well, but the poor ground troops were very sick. While on "guard duty" at the ship's mess hall, I observed the crew checking on some strings hanging down the side of a big kettle on the stove. They were tied to turkey heads! Another time, in the dimly lit corridor outside the galley, a cook came out and offered me something that appeared to be a piece of cake. Imagine my surprise when I bit into Limburger cheese!

After arriving in New York, it was a long train ride to the West Coast and a well-earned vacation. As I think back on it, I was out of the States for only 5 months and eleven days.

My next duty assignment was Chanute Field, Illinois, where I became a foundryman, making officers' desk name plates out of old airplane props. It was there that I, along with 20 other officers and enlisted men, received my medals. Only two of us received the Silver Star. There I am in the adjacent picture, on the far end of the line, fourth one down.

In the spring of 1945 I was transferred to McClelland AFB near Sacramento. While there, on weekends, I worked as a truck driver and at a cold storage facility in the peach harvest. Our barracks were right across the street from a row of engine test stands and engines roared 24 hours a day. It took a couple of weeks to get used to the racket.

After my discharge I returned to Medford and to Oregon State College, where I had left off two years earlier. A lot had been packed into those two years. I changed from Mechanical to Industrial Engineering, with building construction as a major. After graduating I alternated careers between an Industrial Arts teacher and a building contractor.

STEPHEN V. LAWNICKI

BRIEF BIO:

Steve Lawnicki was born on December 11, 1923 in Chicago Heights, IL. On March 10, 1943 he was drafted, still at Chicago Heights. He went through Basic Training at Keesler Field, MS; Gunnery Schools in Laredo, TX; Gowen Field, ID; and Topeka, KS. His major theater of wartime operations was in the ETO, with the 712th Bomb Squadron, 448th Bomb Group, based in Seething, England, as a gunner in B-24’s. He began combat flying on May 16, 1944 and on July 16, on his 13th mission, he was badly wounded by flak. After three months in hospitals he was shipped home. On April 1945, at Santa Ana Air Base, CA, he was discharged, with a partial disability, with the rank of S/Sgt.
On April 20, 1947, again in Chicago Heights, he married Lucille Petrone. They had two children, Stephen Jr. and Victor.

HIS STORY:

In March 1943 I attended B-24 mechanics school at Kessler Field in Biloxi, Mississippi. I was then transferred to gunnery school in Laredo, Texas. There we learned the basics of gunnery, like stripping and re-assembling guns and skeet shooting. They also had some AT-6's with a 30-cal. gun mounted in the back seat. We sat back there, facing backward, and fired at sleeves that were towed past by another plane. Then there was the Beechcraft SNB-1 with a makeshift gun turret on top. It was pretty realistic and gave us a good feel for the real thing.

Then we went on to Salt Lake City for more gunnery practice and then Boise, Idaho, where we were introduced to the B-24, and formed up our crew. We had no choice in forming our crew, we were simply called out by name. We were then off to Topeka, Kansas, where we picked up a new B-24, which we promptly called "Hello Natural 2". Why that name I couldn't tell you. We then flew on to Grenido Field in Manchester, New Hampshire, where we picked up our winter outfits and flight gear, including our 45 pistols. We then flew the northern route through Goose Bay, Labrador, Iceland and Wales, ending at Stone, England. In late May 1944 we were assigned to the 448th BG, 712th Bomb Squadron, and moved to Seething, England.

It was with a mix of fear and non-fear that I looked forward to combat. We had little choice anyway. In a typical mission we gunners had nothing to do with preflighting the aircraft. We simply went to mission briefing (the whole crew), picked up our flight gear, drew some "escape money" and went down to the line. I was assigned as nose gunner. We had a bombardier but he was assigned as a crew gunner. We were one of those rear echelon bombers that simply dropped on the lead plane. When the lead plane dropped his bombs he also dropped a smoke bomb (a bomb that was smoking as it left his plane). When we saw the smoke bomb leave the lead plane we pickled our bombs off as well. Our bomb load was normally 4-2000 pounders. In all of my 13 missions I saw only two enemy planes, and they just passed us by. Our real enemy was the flak.

June was the Squadron's most active and important month since its arrival overseas. D-Day of course was the most important event, but also of note were the facts that on the 22nd of June the Group completed its one hundredth mission, and that the squadron averaged one mission a day in spite of adverse weather conditions. The picture below is of the crew of the "Hello Natural II'. I am the guy in the front row, far right.

With the invasion of the continent well under way activities settled down to a more normal rate. June had been so active that July seemed rather routine in comparison. The Fourth of July came and went with only a few flares as celebration as it was feared that any more might strain Anglo-American relations. During the month the Squadron participated in seventeen combat missions over Axis-held territory.

On my 13th mission, on July 16, 1944, while flying the forward turret over Saarbrucken, Germany, there was a loud explosion in my turret. I felt no pain but I realized something was wrong because air was coming out of my right side, along with lots of blood. Curious -- how could this be happening to me? The turret had been twisted by the explosion so I couldn't get out. Shortly after that everything got pretty hazy and I guess I passed out ---

The following is an account from the diary of one of Steve's crew mates, the navigator, on that fateful day:

16 July 44: The target was the Marshaling yards at Saarbrucken, Germany. We were dropping 10,500 pound bombs. This was another of those early briefing jobs that gets one up with a headache. The mission was intended to be a drop through an overcast (PFF) but at the target it was clear enough to do visual bombing. I could see the Saar area was pretty wooded hill land.

Bombs were away at 0924 and shortly afterwards we were hit hard by a flak burst. A large piece of metal went through the nose turret, hit Steve Lawnicki, passed through the nose turret doors and missed my head by inches, finally lodging in the astrodome.

Steve was hit hard in the side and he thrashed about, moving the turret. He went into a coma, thus making it impossible for us to get at the controls of the turret. The long-armed armor gunner was finally able to get at the turret crank after Wilson and I had failed. We finally got the turret lined up and the doors open. Thereupon we were ready to aid him.

Tex gave him a morphine injection in the arm, a good job, I think. I cut away the clothing and found everything blood soaked. The wound was a deep hole, about the size of a quarter, and it was bleeding freely. I put a compress over the wound, put Lawnicki's arm over the compress and with Tex's help tied his arm firmly to his body with two tourniquets. At the same time I applied digital pressure under his armpit. I believe this was fairly effective (I don't know why).

We worried about his breathing as he had pulled his oxygen mask off his face. Tex tried to fix it once but the mask came off and an icicle formed on his nose. Breaking away the ice I finally got him set right and with emergence oxygen he came around. When we got ready to land there was a layer of ice on his face with two breathing holes in it.

With these things done I tried to do a little navigating and was able to fix us as we passed out into the channel. Giving the pilot a heading I calculated an ETA and went back to Steve. I corrected the pilot once and we came in just two miles to the right of base. What luck!

Meanwhile, Tex and I moved Lawnicki from the turret. He was fast returning to consciousness. We moved him out as carefully as possible under the circumstances and slid him back along the walk as far as we could. I was afraid of internal injuries so I kept his legs bent. I was unable to get out of the nose so when the plane landed Lawnicki and I were right alongside the nose wheel.

An ambulance was waiting as we pulled off the main runway and then left onto a cross runway. The ship that landed behind pulled around us and stopped along our side. Its tail was a few feet clear of the main runway, When someone questioned its nearness to the runway I looked up at the strip to see another plane come barreling in and go off the strip. I screamed and ran for my life. I thought sure there would be an explosion (there wasn`t).The plane sheared off our tail and rammed into the other plane killing a gunner instantly. All three planes were now wrecks.

Fortunately, everyone except the co-pilot had cleared our ship because it had been smoking all the way back from Germany. None of our crew was hurt, our co-pilot was very lucky.

We counted over 300 flak holes in our plane. Three engines were hit and two props ran away intermittently. With all these things happening on one mission we ended up a pretty shaken crew. The enlisted men's morale was particularly low because the crews of the three wrecked planes were all from the same barracks.

I spent the next three months at the 231st station hospital. Since this was not long after the D-Day landings, the ward I was in was mostly filled with casualties from that battle. Eventually I was returned to the U.S., to AAF Convoy Hospital, Santa Ana, California. I was awarded the Purple Heart, an Air Medal with one Oak Leaf Cluster, the E.T.O. ribbon, and two campaign stars. I was awarded a partial medical disability and was discharged on April 17, 1945.

BOB BLACK

I am T/Sgt Bob Black. For most of my active military career I was a flight engineer. I flew about 40 missions in B-24 bombers.

For several years prior to December 1941 I was a cowboy, with a good job and not a care in the world. Then came December 7th and my world changed, along with millions of others at that time. After a day of feeding cattle in 5-degree weather I heard that Japs had bombed Pearl Harbor. After someone told me where Pearl Harbor was, my buddy and I got very patriotic and decided it was better in the service than staying there and slowly freezing to death. We had class deferment from the draft and couldn't gracefully quit the ranch. A few days later, when new help arrived, they joined the cavalry and, much to their disgust, I joined the Army Air Corps.

After basics at Sheppard Field, Texas, I went to gunnery school in Las Vegas, Nevada. Upon graduation we had a pass into town. Five of us had seven dollars amongst us. Not much money. So, we went into a casino to try to increase our finances. I was chosen to play our money, hoping that beginners luck might prevail. I sat down at a blackjack table with one other player. To our great fortune, the dealer kept going broke at each deal. After we were 50 dollars ahead he closed the table, said our luck had changed, shook our hands, bought us a drink and wished us good luck. I thought of that dealer many times since.

I shipped out the next day to Jefferson Barracks, and got a seven day furlough to go home. It took four days to get home, I stayed two days and on the way back the train hit some cattle. We were delayed about two hours. When I reported back in I was two days AWOL. The CO wanted an excuse and the only one I could think of was the cattle. The CO got on the phone and after some time said I was restricted to barracks for three days. On my discharge six years later I was docked $4.00 for being AWOL due to a train wreck.

After some further schooling and transfers I ended up in the Panama Canal Zone, at Howard Field, in the Sixth AAC. After some more training we installed a bomb bay tank at left at dusk. Only the navigator knew of our destination. The next day we landed in Africa, on detached service.

After 20 missions there we came home for a few months and then were assigned to a special group. We went to Langley Field, Virginia, for special flight training. There we got a new B-24J with special electronic equipment, airborne radar. After that we were supposed to train radar operators. We went first to Hawaii but the air space was too crowded there, so off we went to New Caledonia.

Our first stop for refueling was Canton Island, eleven hours flight time. We saw no shipping, no land marks of any kind. When our ETA was up no island was in sight. Radar was supposed to pick it up but no such luck. Everyone really scanned the ocean. Our navigator was busy double-checking his figures. With about 90 minutes of fuel left it was getting quite hairy. Finally our tail gunner called and said, "I think I just spotted a palm tree to our rear." It was Canton, all right, one half mile wide by 1-1/2 miles long with eight feet elevation at high tide, and one palm tree. From then on we depended more on Ernie our navigator than on radar.

Two days later we were at Espiritu Santo, assigned to the 13th Army Air Corp, 5th Bomb Group, 868th Bomb Squadron. There we flew night missions while waiting for new radar recruits. Then we moved up to Guadalcanal to conduct some night scouting missions. Our instructions were that if you don't see anything go drop your bombs on some Jap-held island.

Then we were off to New Guinea and night missions on New Britain, which just happened to be the most heavily defended base in the South Pacific, next to Truk. When you got near New Britain you would have thought it was the fourth of July from all the flak that came up. Then we went up to Los Negras in the Admiralty Group and flew night missions over Truk, Palau, Biak, Hollandia, Yap, Waidky, and a couple of others. But Truk was the really tough one.

On the morning of June 10, 1944 we took a hit from flak that pierced our right wing between the fuselage and the number three engine. Thank the good Lord it was a dud. However, it severed our fuel lines and gas just poured out. There was nothing we could do about it. An hour later we were out of gas and had to ditch. Our beloved B-24 just disintegrated on impact and everyone was thrown from the plane. We lost seven crewmen and the rest were in bad shape. The waist gunner had both hips dislocated and the tail gunner had both arms broken. I had two double compound fractures of the left leg and a spiral fracture of the right leg.

We got the small raft located near the right wing and after some time we got aboard. We spent the next five days and four nights watching the planes going back and forth to Truk. We were finally spotted and picked up by a PBY. Five weeks later I was back in the states at Walla Walla, Washington, at McCaw general hospital.

After five more weeks, with braces on both legs, I got a pass for one night. I went to the air base across town, to the NCO Club, to get a beer. When the bartender saw me he let out a yell and came flying across the bar. We both ended up on the floor. People thought we were fighting but it was a warm welcome from a good friend from Los Negras. He had thought I was dead and vice versa. I woke up the next morning in the hospital in my own bed but to this day I have no idea how I got there. After three and one half years in the hospital I came home, braces and all. Since then I have had a real good life, for all of my 79 years, with no regrets.