FINDING / HITTING THE TARGET -- by Lyle Nelson

At 3rd Air Force Headquarters in Florida I was assigned to a B-29 lead crew near the end of the war (AUG 45). The aircraft was relatively new and still had a few bugs. The huge R-3850 engines swung large props with wide blades (like a foot wide), as longer, thinner, more efficient blades were limited by the landing gear length. Every so often we would come down with an engine out.

Entry to the plane was thru the nose wheel well. In an emergency in the air the nose wheel had to be extended to exit the aircraft. Our instructions for emergency exit were to freese the top navigation plexiglas dome with a fire extinguisher, break the frozen plastic and get out.

The navigator's position was on the left side of the fuselage behind the pilot with a small window looking out directly in line with that big prop of the left hand inboard engine. It raised the hair on the back of the neck when you considered what would happen if a blade happened to come off the prop at an inappropriate time.

Directly to the right in the center of the fuselage was a very large general electric automatic gun sighting computer for use by the gunners. I thought that big computer would take care of any enemy P-shooters coming after us. Later it was found that the computer could not keep up with the speedy jets, and I understand the B-29's were then restricted to night bombing missions in the far east.

Aft from the 6 foot high by 3 foot wide computer, the radio man sat facing aft against the right hand side of the fuselage. Just to the back, at about chest level, was the tunnel going back over the bomb bay to the rear compartment, where the gunners hung out. There were gun sighting stations where a gunner could take control of several gun positions to defend against an incoming P-shooter. The tail gunner had to crawl through a small tunnel back to the tail gunner position, which was really cramped. The seat had to be flipped up to get into the compartment. Then you stood up (sort of) and flipped the seat down under you.

The viewing windows were just inches from your face, one on each side. This was no place for a claustrophobic airman. Our leather helmets had built-in communication head sets. The oxygen mask hooked up to the helmet across your face and included a microphone. On take off, this assembly was worn with goggles in place to guard against flash fires (that's what we were told).

One of the high points of my flying there in Florida was when we flew in echelon formation. Looking out the navigation dome you could see huge awe inspiring expanses of aluminum of the wings of the B-29s stacked up above us.

Just as I was transferring to 3rd AF, the B-29 Enola Gay obliterated the war Japanese manufacturing city of Hiroshima and sealed the fate of Japan. I was a captain at this time earning $458 per month. This was an excellent salary in 1945. I was then given two options: 1. Enlist indefinitely in the Army Air Forces, 2. Get out. Indefinite sounded like a very long time, so I opted out to go back and finish my mechanical engineering degree at Iowa State. I had been drafted out of my sophomore year there in July of 1941.

BRIEF BIO:

Don Kay was born on December 13, 1922 in Port Chester, NY. When he was almost 20 years old he enlisted in the Army Air Corps, at State College, PA. In Feb 1943 he went through Basic Training in Miami Beach, FL and in October 1943-March 1944 through Advanced Training at Big Spring Bomb School. He later took additional training at a number of other special schools. His major wartime operations in WWII were in July 1944-April 1945 in the Pantanolla, Italy, area, where he flew 52 combat missions in B-24s, and in Okinawa, where he flew 27 combat missions into Korea in B-29s. For his WWII service he was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross and six (6) Air Medals. He was discharged at March AFB, CA, in November 1951, with the rank of First Lieutenant.

On February 25, 1949, at Keesler AFB, he married Doris. Together they have two children, Laurence and Robert.

HIS STORY:

I enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Force as an Aviation Cadet in Harrisburg, Penn. on 10 November 1942 when I was 19 years old. I actually enlisted in State College, Penn. A recruiting team came up to Penn State to get people to join up. A lot of my classmates and upper class men in the Beta House had already gone into the Military. My enlisted Serial Number was 13094087.

I was in my Junior Year in Mechanical Engineering in the Fall of 1942 and was getting tired of college. Studies were getting tough and lots of my Fraternity Brothers had left to join up. I wanted to be a Flyer from early on in life. Also, I felt it was my patriotic duty to fight for my country.

I'd gone back to civilian employment while waiting to be called up. I had very little notice to report to Miami Beach, Florida, in Early February,1943. There wasn't enough time in advance to get a Pullman Reservation so had to go from Hartford, Conn. to Miami, Fla. in an early 1900's coach. The Military had taken over Miami Beach and it's resort hotels. I lived in a hotel just off the Beach called the "Ann-El". We had our meals in the hotel dining room. All of us cadets were volunteers. We had a bunch of draftees from North Carolina in the hotel, some of whom had never worn shoes before.

We got up about 6A.M., dressed and had breakfast and came back to our rooms to clean up and get ready for training. We'd march off to the Miami Beach public golf course for training. We practiced marching and had classes out under the Palm Trees. Near the end of our basic training we had a day at the rifle range. The food wasn't too bad for Army Chow. We had to be careful not to waste any food and we had Air Corps O.C.S. candidates watching over us. I got chewed out my first meal by one for leaving too much on my plate.

After Basic training, we Cadets (re-named Aviation Students) were put on a Troop Train and shipped to a College Training Detachment (CTD) at North Carolina State College in Raleigh, N.C.

Some time after I enlisted, they changed the Aviation Cadet requirements from having to have at least two years of College to passing a test and then going to a CTD. Most of the people in my group were from Pennsylvania or close by. Only a few of us going to NC State had two years of College. The basic intent was to give the non-college kids enough Math & Physics so they could understand Aircraft Engines, etc. I think we were at State for about three months.

After CTD we were shipped to Nashville,-Tenn. to the East Coast Training Command Classification Center to see if we were qualified to be Pilots, Bombardiers, Navigators or Armament Officers. I qualified for all four and picked Pilot. From Nashville we were sent to pilot pre-flight at Maxwell Field in Montgomery, Ala. We were under classmen in Pilot Class 44-C for one month. When we became upper classmen the system was changed and we couldn't "haze" the new Cadets!

From there I went to Primarv Pilot training at Ocala, Florida. I had a 15 minute solo in a PT-17 Stearman but had a wingtip touch. After four check rides I was washed out. I then had the choice of where I wanted to go next. My choice was to be a Bombardier. I was sent to Moody Field in Valdosta, Georgia to the Bombardier Pool. From there I was sent to Laredo, Texas to Aerial Gunner's School. This was a 6 weeks course, and part of the course was spent at Eagle Pass, Texas. Moody Field was a Twin Engine Advanced Pilot Training Field.

The reason we went to Gunnery School was that the Bombardier on the crew was also the Armament Officer and could take the place of any Gunner if need be. After Gunnery training, I was sent to Big Spring Bombardier School in Texas. It was a twelve week course, our class was the first to go the extra 4 weeks, for Navigation Training.

I had trouble at first with night Bombing but did better near the end of the course. Having washed out once I didn't want it to happen again. Luckily, I got my 2nd Lieutenant commission, rather than becoming a Flight Officer. I also had a slight problem with "Combat Bombs", but some of our pilots were very helpful and got a few hits for us. This was where we had a short run at low altitude and dropped without the use of the Bombsight .

I graduated from Big Spring on 18 March 1944 and had a 10 day delay enroute to Biggs Field in El Paso, Texas, for Combat Crew training in the B-24 type aircraft. I arrived on base about the first of April. We joined class EP6-14, which meant we'd graduate from training on 14 June. Some of the gunners were familiar with our pilot, from Transition training, but the Navigator and I were new to the crew. We were assigned a co-pilot who'd been flying Navigators for some time. We dumped him after only a couple of flights. He was married and was trying to set a record for sex in a week, and scared the entire crew. The Gunner's came to the Navigator and me and asked us to tell the pilot of their concerns. We were happy to do so. Shortly thereafter we got a new one, right out of Twin-Engine Advanced.

We took a troop train from El Paso to Topeka, Kansas, to pick up our aircraft and combat gear. We didn't get a plane so took another train ride to Camp Patrick Henry in Newport News, Va. We left the US on the Grace Liner SS Santa Rosa on 30 June 1944 for Europe.

I served in both WW2 and Korea as a Combat Bombardier. In WW2 I served in Italy in the 783rd Bomb Squadron,465th Bomb Group,55th-Bomb Wing of the 15th Air Force. Our Air Force Commander was Major General Nathan Twining. I flew 52 missions in WW2 as a 2Lt and Flight Lead Bombardier. In the 783rd my Squadron Commander was Lt. Col. Burton C. Andrus, West Point 1941.

After a week or so in Bagnoli, 10 crews were put on GI trucks and sent to a B-24 Bomb Wing to be assigned to a Combat Unit. We all ended up in the 55th Wing. We all had our .45 Cal. automatics but no bullets. There were quite a few Italians nosing around the area, so we chased them away with our empty weapons! By the time we got to Spinnazola, it was getting dusk. We had an air raid by "Bed Check Charlie", a German observation plane. It gave us the feeling that we were in the "real world" at last. We were treated to dinner before they sent us off to the 465th BG. Four crews were picked, Johnson's, Parkinson's, Owen's, and William's. All of us had been at El Paso together and the Bombardier's had been in the same class. At the end of 8 months I'd be the only one of the Bombardier's around. Two Dead and the other a POW.

We arrived in the dark to the 465th BG. We were greeted by a chorus of "You'll be sorry"! All four crews were assigned to the 783rd Bomb Squadron. Our crew took over the tents of Lt. Greenwood. They had been shot down two days before. It was a good tent as it had a concrete paving block floor and a table on the tent pole.

We had to be checked out by the Squadron before we went into Combat. I had two checks by Flight Bombardiers and dropped a few bombs. I must have impressed both Bombardiers as I was sent to "Lead Bombardier's School" in early September.

Finally, on July 28th, I went on my first mission, to the Ploesti oil fields, in Romania. We didn't have any losses in our squadron but the 15th Air Force had fairly high losses for the day. It's been 52 years since that day but I can remember it as though it were yesterday! It was only a few days later that we all flew together, as a crew.

In July of 1948 I was recalled to Radar Officer's School at Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Miss. Only one other officer finished the course with me in the time allotted. We finished in February, 1949. Most of the class went to Japan, I was sent to Alaska, ending up on St. Lawrence Island. It was only 35 miles from Russia and 200 miles from Nome.

In February,1950 I was recalled to the Strategic Air Command and assigned to Castle AFB in Merced, Calif. This was a B-50 Group so they didn't need Bombardiers, so off to March AFB I went. I was assigned to the 2nd Bomb Squadron of the 22dn BG. This was part of the 15th Air Force. I was immediately put on a combat crew. Capt. David O'Sullivan was the Aircraft Commander.

Shortly after becoming combat ready the North Korean's invaded South Korea and the War started! I was still a 1st Lt. General Sully and the rest of the crew had gone to Arizona to pick up a B-29 for the Squadron when we were alerted for Korea. At first I was picked to go with a group of "New Comers". Then they picked people with the least number of overseas points. That let me out as St. Lawrence was a 3 point per month duty. Then they asked for volunteers, and got none. As a last resort, Colonel Edmundson, the 22nd Group Commander Volunteered the whole group!

Since my crew was gone and Lt. Harold Confer's Bombardier was on leave, I was put on his crew to go overseas. "Colonel Ed" flew as Command Pilot with Confer's crew so I ended up on the first plane to leave the states for Korea, on 4 July 1950. We had our pictures taken every place we landed on the way over. Had to wait until dark to take off as it was so hot and we all were loaded with extra equipment. Finally I landed in Okinawa, to fly our missions.

We were there long before our ground crews so we had to load our own bombs. It was a little "hairy" as the bombs were left over from WW2 and had been sitting there since that time. The cavities for the nose & tall fuses were full of rusty water, etc. Since most of the Bombs were RDX they were rather sensitive. The Ordinance Crews would kick the bombs off the trucks onto our hard stands and drive away. I always took my gunners out in the nearby fields until they had given us our bomb load. As I remember, we never had any bombs blow up due to being kicked off a truck.

I ended up flying 27 Missions over Korea. The Bomb Group was lucky as we only lost one crew, and that was on the last mission. They were from another Squadron and crashed into the sea on take-off. There were only a couple of survivors.

On one mission to North Korea a piece of flak missed hitting me in the head by a foot or so. It came through the side of the plane and hit my escape kit which was sitting on my Navigation Table. If I hadn't put the kit there I would have been hit. I was so honest that I didn't keep the kit, but I did keep the piece of flak!

I had the lowest "Circular Error" in the Group for quite awhile until I had a bad bomb run and got a picture of my bombs going way off the target.

DAILY ROUTINE

In Italy our "get-up" time was dependent on the location of the target and the Group's position in the bomber stream. Usually it was between 0300-0500. Most of the time I'd be awake waiting for the Aerodrome Officer (AO) to come to each crews tent or casa to get them up. Usually, the junior officers got this duty. Since I never flew as a 1st Lt, I had the duty fairly often, even on the days that I wasn't scheduled to fly. I'd lie awake listening to the AO knock on the various doors, and wait for him to come for me. What a relief when it was all over.

We'd get up and get dressed and go over to the Officer's Mess for breakfast. Trucks would pick us up and take us to Group Headquarters for briefing. The officers and airmen were briefed separately. This was the first time we knew what the target would be. We were then taken by truck to the flight line to pick up our flight gear and go to our aircraft. We usually had at least 45min. to preflight the plane before take off. Since the Bombardier was the Armament Officer on the crew, I had to make sure the Bombs were in okay and that all the guns and turrets worked. Jimmy Henry was my Armor Gunner so I relied on him to check the turrets. When "start engine" time came around we were already to go. If all was "GO" we'd see a green flare, if the mission was scrubbed a red one. After take off we'd head for the assembly area and get into formation. Then off to the target!

We had no real "relief tubes, as such" on a B-24, so we had to take care of our bodily functions before take off. Most hard stands had 55gal. drums buried in the ground to be used as toilets. They had a hole cut in the top to sit on. In the winter or any cold day they would "frost over". Seems as I always had to go first and ended up warming up the seat! It gets cold even in mid-Italy in the winter.

New Aircraft have a very distinct odor, metal, gasoline, oil, etc. It can be rather pleasant but gets unpleasant as time goes by. I saw death quite often but luckily not up close, except for one tragic event. On my first mission, I saw planes blow up. I also saw a plane in a tight spin, with no chutes, all the way into the ground. Death was all around but lucky for me it was in other planes and not mine. I really can't recall a machine gun on my plane being fired at a German fighter in my whole tour. I did see them go by after other Groups that were not flying a tight formation. They never heard old Lt. Col. Josh Foster say: "I'm leading the formation today and if you don't fly a tight formation, I'll court martial yo ass!"

In late November or early December 1944 we were going to an aerodrome in Yugo slavia. Lt. Harold Owens and crew were on their 49th mission. They took off just ahead of the plane I was in. It wasn't Fred's crew but someone I trusted to get to the target and home again. Something went terribly wrong and they blew up at the end of the runway. We were just about to start our take off roll when the Flight Engineer yelled: "My God, Lt. Kay, there goes Lt. Owens!" All 10 men on the crew were killed instantly.

We blew a tire stopping so missed a "milk run". On the way back to the Squadron Area I had to stop at the crash site. I cut up a parachute and covered the remains of Harold Owens and the co-pilot Bob Wills. The regular co-pilot was in Russia trying to get back home and Tom Bell's co-pilot was flying. They were all buried the next day at the American Cemetery in Brindisi, Italy. I had a "flash back" over this event some years later and it scared the hell out of me.

My job in combat was to drop bombs on the enemy. I must have impressed the Bombardiers who checked me out as I was sent to Bari, Italy in September, 1944 to Lead Bombardier's School. While there I met General Nathan Twining, CO of the 15th Air Force. Some time later he visited the 465th Bomb Group and came over to the 783rd Officer's club while I was there writing letters home. I offered him one of my beer rations, but he declined.

During my tour in Italy I flew most of my missions in a Lead Capacity. I won a DFC for saving a mission over Maribor, Yugoslavia, on Dec. 27, 1944. I was in Deputy Group Lead position when the Group Leader failed to drop. I dropped on the target and the rest of the Group dropped on me, and scored maximum hits on the Rail Yards. I finished my tour on 10 March 1945 over Vienna, Austria. When I started my tour, 50 missions was the norm. Targets in Germany, Austria and Rumania counted double. Part way through it was changed to 35 sorties, no double credit. Under the old system I had 52 Missions or 35 sorties. Just taking off with 10-500 lb. bombs and 2700 gallons of 100 octane gas 35 times was "hairy" enough!

REST AND RECREATION

During the winter we pretty much stayed in our tents or casa's and read or played cards. There was usually some kind of a card game going on over at the Officer's Club. We had some good bridge players and lots of poker players. I normally stayed in the casa we had built and read. Most nights, if I wasn't fIying, I'd be at the Officer's Club drinking and socializing. We had some pretty good parties at our club. There was a field hospital nearby plus Red Cross girls. Once in awhile we'd get South African nurses to come over from the Bari Area. Ours were the best in the Group! I still have a South African nurse's "PiP" on the zipper of my A-2 flight jacket. A PiP is a 2nd Lt's bar from the British Military.

We had USO shows once in awhile at the Base. Joe Louis came on one to referee some GI fights. The best show I saw in Italy, other than the Opera, was an ENZA show in Rome. That's the British version of our USO. It featured Ben Lyons and Bebe Daniels plus the "'Bob Hope of England". It was at the Rome Opera House. I was given a 3-day pass to Rome while the rest of the crew went to Capri. This was after our plane crash in Sept. 1944.

About half way through your tour you were sent to Rest Camp, usually on the Isle of Capri in the Bay of Naples. After our crash our crew was sent to Capria, all except me! I said if I can't go to Capri I wanted to fly, so they sent me to Rome. It was an interesting three days. I went to the Vatican and saw all the sights of Rome. Not too much later I went to Capri, with Lt. Harvey Wright's crew. His bombardier and navigator had already gone so I took their place. We lucked out on the way to Capri, three newly arrived Red Cross Girls were reporting for duty and were given the week off to get acquainted with the island. This was a break for us, and we dated them every day.

My girl was Ellie Donahue from Boston, Mass. After I finished my Missions, and was on my way home through Naples, some of the other lucky officers and I from the 783rd went over to Capri for the night. None of us had a Class A uniform so we had to borrow neckties, etc., to look military. A major friend of Ellie's lent me some gear so I could get into the hotel for dinner. That night I got to Dance with my Congressman, Claire Booth Luce. She was a good dancer and a charming Lady. In 1977 I took my wife, Doris, to Capri and we stayed at the same Hotel!

Shortly after we went to Capri poor Harv and his crew were shot down over Germany. Harv was a new Captain. He must have tried to evade and put up a struggle, for soon after he was captured the Germans brought in Harv's blood stained uniform and gave it to Bill. Bill was only 19 or 20 at the time. Lucky for him a German guard kept a crowd from harming him in a train station on the way to a Stalag Luft (Airman's prison camp).

Late in the fall of 1944 we had a USO Show come to our Base and one of the attractions was S/Sgt Joe Louis, the heavyweight boxing champion. He didn't box but acted as referee for some GI.'s. He took off his shirt while in the rinq and his shoulder muscles were a lot larger than my thighs!

I was home on my 30 day Combat Leave when the War in Europe ended. At the end of my leave I was sent to Atlantic City, NJ, to be checked out for "Combat Fatigue". I was okay and could have gone to the War in the Pacific had I wanted to. Central Instructor's School at Midland Bombardier's School was my first choice but by the end of my stay in Atlantic City they'd changed the Point System and I opted to get out and go back to Penn State.

When the war with Japan ended I was back in college. It was a great celebration, and I got to ride on a fire truck around town! I was-one of the very first combat vets back on campus. I was interviewed on the Local Radio Station and gave a talk before the faculty lunch club. My A-2 Jacket was a sure way to get the younger students to ask me "What was combat really like?" Also the coeds out numbered the men by a large percentage, so it was easy to get a good looking sorority date.

In WW2 I was awarded The Distinguished Flying Cross and The Air Medal with three(3) Oak Leaf Clusters. Also The 465th Bomb Group won The Presidential Unit Citation with Oak Leaf Cluster. Since I was in the Group when these were awarded, I am able to wear them forever on my uniform. I'm entitled to quite a number of Campaign ribbons for overseas service. I also earned The Liberation Medal for WW2 from France and a similar medal from Greece. Since I only flew 27 missions in Korea, I earned two more Oak Leaf Clusters to my Air Medal, for a total of five.

LYLE NELSON

BRIEF BIO:

Lyle Nelson was born on March 30, 1918 in Scranton, IA. He took Basic Training as an Aircraft Navigator September-December 1942 at Hondo Army Air Base. During his WWII career he was based stateside as an Instructor in Research Navigation and an Engineering Officer. He was released from active duty in December 1945 at Drew Field, FL, with the rank of Captain. He continued in the USAF Active Reserves, at Hampton, VA, and Los Angeles, CA, until 1969 when he retired, with the rank of Lt.Colonel. While at Hampton he commanded a Reserve Squadron.

On June 20, 1942, at Ellington Field, TX, he married Ruth (Neal). Together they have five children, Larry, Linda, Randy, Kristi and Heidi.

HIS STORY:

While a sophomore at Iowa State College in 194l, I received a 1-A rating from the Ames, Iowa draft board. Upon request, they graciously delayed my induction until I had taken my final exams for the term. I took my last final on 9JUL4l and was ordered to report for active duty on 10JUL4l.

At Ft. Des Moines, I said I wanted to fly. Six days later I was discharged "for the convenience of the Government", and inducted into the Regular Army (for a four year instead of the one year draftee term). Suddenly I found I was being paid $75 a month instead of the $21 stipend of a draftee.

At Jefferson Barracks near St. Louis, we were shown a large number of Army Air Corps Technical Schools which were available. I knew the least about radio, and therefore could learn the most, so volunteered for the Aircraft Radio Operator and Mechanic school. At Scott Field, east across the river from St. Louis, I found some of the instructors somewhat less than brilliant and knowledgeable. The war was just starting. However, by diligent studying, I received a very good education in the mysteries of Aircraft Radio Operation and Repair. Upon graduation, I was appointed Instructor. Several months prior to this, I had applied for an Aviation Cadet appointment. Ten days after graduation from Radio School, I received orders to report to Randolph Field at San Antonio. I was an Aviation Cadet.

Background. I had been washed out of pilot training at Cimarron Field west of Oklahoma City when I ground looped a PT-19 on my first solo flight. I don't believe the problem was all my fault. I have an IQ of about 160. It appears to me that the military are not geared to handling too high or too low IQ's. One of the top cadets, the cadet colonel, was washed out of navigation school. It's sort of fun looking back at these orders and running into names I had forgotten. I'll get on it one of these days and try to come up with more details of the cadet training days.

Upon graduation from Flight School and appointment as a brand new 2nd Lieutenant, I was appointed Aircraft Navigation Instructor at Hondo Army Air Force Base west of San Antonio. I also spent about a year as Squadron Engineering Officer. This involved calibrating and maintenance of navigation instruments on 25 or 30 AT-7 navigation training aircraft and several Lockheed B-34 bombers converted to navigation trainers. Later, I was transferred to Navigation Research and Development. We researched aircraft navigation methods and equipment and wrote text books for Army Navigation Schools.

An interesting school session took place at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It was a super secret course on LORAN (Long Range Radio Navigation). This new electronic navigation system was very interesting due to my electronics background. I understand that Berlin was bombed for the last six months or so of the war using SHORAN, a type of LORAN.

After a stint at Selman Field, Monroe, Louisiana and AAFNIS (Army Air Forces Navigation Instructor School) at Ellington Field, Texas, I was ordered overseas in July 1945. It might be noted that just as I was being transferred to Selman, my No.1 son was born. Currently (1997), he is an airplane driver flying Boeing 747's commercially. He is retired from the USAF after 20 years service, much of which was spent as Aircraft Commander C5A. On the basis of tests at Lincoln Army Air Field in Nebraska, I was declared a Lead Crew Navigator and assigned to a B-29 squadron at 3rd AF Headquarters in Florida. On my way to Florida, Japan folded. The Enola Gay had delivered the world's first tactical A-bomb. The B-29 was piloted by Col. Paul W. Tibbets. (As an aside, Enola Gay Haggard-Tibbets, grew up on a farm near my home town of Glidden, Iowa, population 910. Currently, Glidden boasts a population of somewhat over a thousand).

During WWII I was stationed at HAAF, Hondo, Texas, about 30 miles or so west of San Antonio. I came in as an Aviation Cadet, was graduated as a brand-new 2nd Lt. and appointed as an aircraft navigation instructor. Part of the time I served as a squadron engineering officer responsible for the navigation instruments in about 25 or so AT-7 navigation trainers and several C-60's and Lockheed Lodestar B-34's which we converted to navigation training use.

As aviation cadets reporting to the field, we were given orientation lectures, issued flying and navigation equipment and assigned to barracks. At the end of my training, I was appointed by President Roosevelt as a 2nd Lt, on 16 Dec 42. We usually attended class for a day and then flew for a day. I clearly remember sitting in class and looking with longing at those glorious silver wings on the chest of the instructor. And it was a wonderful day when we finally got our wings.

Initially we studied and used navigation tables H.O. No. 211 and H.O. No. 218 to reduce our star sights to lines of position on our mercator charts. Later we received H.O. Pub. No. 214 which allowed considerable time to be saved in plotting a position. In those days we figured on using about 20 minutes to plot a position with 3 stars. There were two officers in our cadet class. One was a bomb-aimer (bombardier) from Canada and the other a Phd who headed the physics department at Eastern Illinois state teachers college. During our course, one of President Roosevelt's sons came through to get his navigation wings. I understand one week end the C.O. flew him to Washington and they dined with the first family.

As for octants (usually referred to as sextants), we used the A-12 training sextant primarily for ground training in taking celestial altitude sights. Then we got A-10's for flight training. After I was graduated, we got a new Bendix unit a 5851-1 which we called the A-15 unofficially. This unit had an automatic 2 minute averaging device. You wound up the spring device then held the celestial body in the sight until a shield dropped at the end of 2 minutes. After the war I purchased several of these octants on the surplus market for use in marine navigation for 11 or 12 dollars each. I navigated many transpacific yacht races to Honolulu and Tahiti as well as other ocean cruises using this octant. In fact, I delivered a technical paper at a meeting of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics at Los Angeles on 27 Jan 73. It demonstrated the practicality of using an aircraft octant at sea, which did not agree with a hydrographic office publication.

We had 3 training squadrons on the field. With this much flying, it was inevitable that there should be crashes. We lost several AT-7's. Also one evening I was walking over to chow when I heard an explosion and saw a black smoke cloud rising over by the town of Hondo. A B-34 had lost power on take off and had crashed. I was in the drum and bugle corps. We later marched to the train depot to see the remains of the crew sent back home. After I transferred to research I heard that a couple of light observation planes had been on the field. A couple of pilots took one up and crashed with fatal results.

One night a training flight came in over San Antonio. One AT-7 collided with another in such a way that a propeller cut the cables controlling the elevators of the other plane. I heard two versions of what happened then. One version had the pilot swinging the wheel back and forth with no effect then jumping up, grabbing his parachute, running back to the door to help the cadets get the door open. As the door came open, he got pushed out. Another crew member's version went like this. After the collision, the pilot donned his chute and went back to help the cadets open the door. As they worked at it, the pilot ran back, pushed them aside, opened the door and jumped out. In any case the cadet in the back seat apparently froze and went down with the plane. The chutists could hear the plane swooping down with the engines running. It crashed in open country in the sage brush.

Later they built a dozen or so houses as residences for field personnel. A sewage treatment plant had been set up just south of the field. I car-pooled with an operator who worked at the treatment plant.

After I was graduated I brought my new wife down from Iowa. We rented a cabin a couple miles south of the little town of Castroville. It was about half way back toward San Antone from the field. We had a lot of enjoyment out of living in that little cabin there by the Medina river in a big pecan orchard. The fields of blue bonnets were particularly beautiful. We often swam in the Medina river. A couple of sergeants and the civilian working at the sewage treatment plant lived in the area and formed our car pool. Gas was rationed and we were required to drive at 26 mph to save gas.

As squadron engineering officer, I had 4 quite sharp enlisted men to help in navigation instrument calibration. Most of our time was spent "swinging" aircraft compasses. I usually flew as co-pilot with one man in each navigation training position. Sometimes we swung the compasses on the ground using a large wooden bar swivelled at one end and running the aircraft wheels up against the bar, raising the tail and running the engines.

One of these fellows was a private. Every time it appeared that I could get him promoted, he would pull something like throwing chairs at MP's on the Mexican border. I never was able to get him promoted even though he was pretty intelligent (technically).

I should probably mention one particular crew chief. Every aircraft had a crew chief who was responsible for the maintenance of that plane. Almost invariably every plane flew on a red line, which meant that some of the many engineering changes and upgrades which came through were not completed. Only one aircraft, a C-47, ever flew on initial. that meant all orders had been complied with. However this sergeant was often broken back to private for such things as cheating at poker, etc. The rules said if you wanted to set back a sergeant, it was necessary to break him back to a private. This man was probably the best crew chief on the field.

Quite often the technical inspector, another engineering officer and myself would get our crews oriented with the day's work and then repair to the coffee shop. From there we would run out to the skeet range. Each officer had an allotment of 12 gauge shells to use up shooting skeet. We had a lot of practice and got quite good at it. However the C.O. could usually get 73 or so out of a possible 75. We had 12 gauge pump repeaters. We were also given instruction in handguns. My hand got beat up using the big six shooter "hogleg" as it was designed for a much larger hand than mine. The 45 automatic however was no problem. with no previous training, after orientation, I shot for score and got a marksman medal. As you may guess, this was no sergeant york level of marksmanship.

Then there was the saga of John Barleycorn. Initially, liquor was served at the officers club. Then something must have happened as the C.O. banned liquor in the club. A rather elaborate funeral was held out in front of the club. A mound of dirt with a cross with John's name and the date recorded this sad occasion.

On week-ends navigators could set up "proficiency" flights. On one trip heading up to Iowa, we hit a weather front over Missouri. We were completely in the "soup" going through the front on "George", (the autopilot). We were flying peacefully along with zero visibility at 10,000 feet when suddenly the altimeter started unwinding, with the air speed meter rapidly climbing higher. I was riding copilot. The 2nd Lt pilot grabbed the wheel and started pulling back. The g's were pushing us down in the seats and I checked my parachute on the cabin door sill back of me. I had heard of the possibility of the aircraft wings folding up.

Soon the plane stalled out, as it had been pulled up too far. The pilot caught it and got it settled down using needle and ball. We were still in the clouds. He started stooging around in the soup while I looked for a opening to the ground. Finally I spotted a hole and we dove down through it. We came out in a valley with clouds covering the hilltops on both sides.

We tuned in the beacon at St. Joseph, Missouri and followed the valley out to the Missouri River. When we got in the airport landing pattern we could not hear the tower because of static on our radio. Finally I asked the tower to give us a green light if they could hear us and it was o.k. to land. We were a bunch of happy (and lucky) guys to get on the ground safely. Somehow a parachute had been pulled and was opened on the rear cabin floor. We were probably no more than 15 seconds from the ground when we pulled out.

They once flew a British Lancaster bomber into the field. The RAF had some really advanced equipment. They had a unit which projected a spot of light on your position on a map positioned on the table beneath it. Then it used data directly from the aircraft instrumentation to keep up with the current position. This system appeared to be way ahead of our research. The Canadians and, I believe, the British used a drift meter costing about $40. We had them available, but normally used much more complicated gyro stabilized instruments costing $1250. It always seemed to me the small increase in accuracy of measuring wind drift was probably not worth the additional complication and cost.

One time while I was engineering officer, we had a problem with the compasses. They seemed to go ape when the wheels came up on the AT-7. I went up to Wichita to the factory to attempt to find a solution. There I found that they magnafluxed the landing gear components and sometimes left them highly magnetized. I also found it quite a thrill to walk through the factory and be the subject of wolf whistles from the predominately female factory employees.

This tale is second hand. I understand that army pilots were complaining about the tendency of the AT-7 to nose over when brakes were applied while taxiing. I have seen an AT-7 nosed down on the taxi way with beat up props and oil running on the concrete. A factory pilot took up an AT-7 and landed it with the brakes locked. The tires blew and the concrete ground away the bottoms of the wheels, but the aircraft did not nose over. I'm not quite sure that all conditions were completely comparable however.

Another problem occurred when an eager beaver navigator riding co-pilot reached over and threw the switch raising the landing gear on take off. The plane had just cleared the run way but settled down on the concrete with gear retracted. It sounded like a large tin can sliding along on the concrete.

Later I made Captain and was earning $458 a month, a handsome salary in those days. Soon the Military gave me two options: 1. Sign up indefinitely in the Army, 2. Get out. Indefinitely sounded like a very long time to me. I opted out and returned to Ames to finish the Mechanical Engineering curriculum.

I went to work as an Aeronautical Research Scientist at NACA (now NASA), Langley Field, Virginia. The fancy title resulted from my college degree. Some other employees without degrees were classified as Engineers. The Research work there was very interesting as well as challenging.

In 1953 I began working as a Structural Research Engineer for Northrop Aircraft in California. Then was employed by several aircraft companies, including Hughes Research Lab (ion engine for very efficient space propulsion) and North American Aviation, who was managing the NASA Saturn space program. I became leader of a small engineering group who worked out probabilities of astronaut survival in land vs. Sea landing of the capsule after reentry. The land configuration was changed to sea landing.

All this time, (to1966) I had been active in the Air Force Reserve (including a stint as C.O. of a Reserve Engineering Research and Development Squadron in Virginia) and had risen to Lt.Col., my present rank.

In 197l, North American disbanded their Saturn crew. I then went to work for the Federal Aviation Agency as a Technician and Engineer. Upon turning 62 it appeared it would be best to retire. I would receive Social Security, a Civil Service pension and a Military pension. A triple dipper is an enviable position, so I opted to retire.

Currently, Ruth, my wife of 54 years, and I live on our 3 acres west of Roseburg, OR. I keep quite busy by such as President of the local Amateur Radio Club, President of the Friends of the Douglas County Library System and member of the Friends of the Douglas County Museum, plus taking care of our 3+ acres and being active in local politics. Four years were spent on the local School Board.

In Aug '96, I returned to Glidden, Iowa for Glidden High School Class of '35 61st reunion. One member of the class retired as a USAF Colonel, while two other members of the class retired as Lt. Col., this out of a class of 34 graduates. Classmate Lt. Col. Doyle Simons was a pilot on President Roosevelt's Sacred Cow (the Air Force One of those days). Altogether, Life and the Military have treated us well.

DEFENDING THE PLANE

LYLE DICKINSON

BRIEF BIO:

Lyle Dickinson was born on January 22, 1923 in Manitowoc, WI. When he was just 19 years old he enlisted in the Army Air Corps, at Eau Claire, WI. He took Basic Training at Fort Sheridan, IL, and Advanced at Chanute Field, IL. He had additional training at Davis-Monthan in Tucson, AZ; at Lowery Field in Denver, CO; and at Smoky Hill in Salina, KA. His major WWII operations were in the China-Burma-India theater, May-July 1944, where he flew combat missions to Bankok, Yayata, Japan. He was discharged on October 18, 1945 at Ladd Field in Fairbanks, AK, with the rank of Sergeant.

On February 5, 1944, at McPherson, KA, he married Betty. Together they have three children, Jeff, Linda, and Paula.

HIS STORY:

The mornings were still very crisp in early April 1942 in Fort Sheridan, Illinois, and I found myself doing warm up calisthenics with a bunch of other 19year-olds who, like myself, had no idea of what lay ahead. Although I took some pride in the fact that I had enlisted instead of waiting for the draft, I soon learned that distinction was lost on the drill sergeants and others above me who were to control my destiny.

At some point in the myriad of screenings and testing, I responded in the affirmative to what seemed like a casual question: You don't object to the Air Corps do you? Somewhere in the next few weeks or months, about the time I determined that the bathroom was the "latrine" and that meals were "chow", I found myself in aircraft maintenance school at Chanute Field, Illinois. Some 10 months or so later, having completed A.M. school, I was thrust, with little or no opportunity for objection, into a specialized training school. Of all the components of A.M. training, e.g. hydraulics, propellers, engines etc., the area in which I clearly remember as not distinguishing myself was electrical. In the unfathomable logic of the army, I am sure you now know to which specialized branch I was assigned.

I was introduced to my duties as an electrical specialist at Davis Monthan Field, Tucson, Arizona. Little did I know that my illogical selection as an electrical specialist, like my unknowing acceptance earlier into the "Air Corps" would set the stage for my ultimate combat role. The principal aircraft on which we were permitted to practice our maintenance skills was the early model B-24, that was before they became fitted with a nose turret.

The impeller of the turbo supercharger on those engines was mounted horizontally on the bottom of the engine. It was finely balanced and spun at tremendous speeds during operation. It would take some time to finally come to a stop after engine shutdown, many times long after the aircrew had left the airplane. I have an indistinct recollection of us marking a chalk or paint line on an impeller and making wagers on how close that line would come to a corresponding one on the adjoining frame when the impeller would finally come to a stop. Such pleasantries occupied our unofficial time.

A considerable portion of our duty responsibilities began to consist of generator replacement. If my memory serves me correctly, there were two generators in the accessory section at the back of the Pratt & Whitney R- 1830 engines. I cannot recall precisely how, but flight engineers were inadvertently shorting out the field windings during what should have been routine in-flight electrical checks. The next thing I knew, we (the electrical specialists) were placed on temporary flying status to monitor the flight engineer's test procedures.

Somewhere in this process we evolved into potential aerial gunners. The "temporary" flight status became a thing of the past and I soon found myself at Lowery Field, Denver, Colorado, undergoing aerial gunnery training. Most of our in-flight training was in B- 17's and on more than one occasion, while standing ankle deep in 50 caliber shell casings beside an open window in a very cold airplane, I questioned my judgment in arriving there. But we were destined for bigger things.

My next assignment, Smokey Hill Air Force Base in Salina, Kansas, brought together future combat crews and the camaraderie that accompanies such events. The high points of my stay here was meeting and marrying the woman who was to share my life for the next fifty plus years, and the arrival of our new B-29, subsequently christened the "Georgia Peach". Our new superfortress was indeed a few steps up from the relative spartan surroundings we had grown accustomed to on the B-17. The central fire control system, or CFC, which permitted the operation of gun turrets electrically from a remote position, was the cutting edge of technology.

In the unaccustomed seated position we were able to bring to bear, with the cooperation of other gunnery positions, the firepower of six 50 caliber machine guns and one 20mm cannon from either of the waist gunner positions. When an attacking fighter trains his sights on the bomber the continued forward motion of the bomber creates the visual impression to the waist gunners that the attacking aircraft is sweeping around the back of the bomber, creating all sorts of seemingly contradictory action to direct your fire effectively. This as called a "pursuit curve", and all the admonitions of our gunnery instructors about allowing sufficient "lead" came to mind. I am certain that I am not alone in frequently falling back on watching the tracers that reassured us that our aiming was correct. Before departing for our combat duty, I have a fairly clear recollection of decimating a flock of some farmer's geese that had strayed onto our gunnery range. So much for youthful exuberance.

Our departure from Smokey Hill was without fanfare and without any of us knowing what our ultimate theater of operations would be. Since the air war in Europe appeared to be a major consideration, and considering our direction of travel (from Kansas to Presque Isle, Maine, and further northeast to Gander Lake, Nova Scotia), England appeared a likely destination. Sometime, at a predetermined location, sealed orders were opened and our pilot announced that our first landfall would be north Africa. To say that we were surprised would be putting it mildly. The ball was now in the navigator's court and he did a masterful job.

The next morning's touchdown at Marrakech brought with it the realization that we had just crossed the Atlantic Ocean. Somewhere about this time we became aware that we were now a part of the 20th bomber command, headed by (then) Brigadier General Curtis Lemay. Our journey to our final destination in India was pleasantly interrupted by a stay in Cairo, Egypt, where modification to the wing fuel tanks were made, giving us the opportunity to see the sights.

Even during the war years tourists were a well recognized part of the local economy and we were solicited at national historic sites as well as on the street. There were hawkers and pitchmen aplenty, as well as the ever present camel. It was during a trip to the giant pyramids and the sphinx that I learned of this animal's propensity for spitting, apparently without provocation. The memory of a fellow crewman leaning forward and gingerly holding his shirt front outward in an attempt to dislodge a large glob of camel spit the size of your fist from the front of his class A uniform, is as vivid in my mind today as when it occurred.

Antiquity, especially when associated with a military or historic event, has always captured my imagination. One of the highlights of my trip to Cairo was to be able to lay my hand on a cannonball, partially buried in the wall of a mosque, that had been fired from one of Napoleon's cannon.

I am encouraged to believe that India is a beautiful place, rich in cultural history, but I am afraid from the perspective of a 21 year old, there for purposes other than to appreciate the surroundings, it was not so. On our base at Kharagpur, some sixty miles or so from Calcutta, barrage balloons hung lazily in the sky at the base perimeter and around the area where the planes were parked. Their mooring cables were connected to mobile mountings and discouraged strafing attacks by enemy aircraft. Zigzag slit trenches, also for protection against strafing aircraft, filled most of the ground space between the thatched roof barracks.

And above all was the constant heat and humidity. For one living in a climate where high heat and humidity rarely, if ever, occur at the same time, it is difficult to comprehend how adversely such a combination can effect the most common activities. The only way you could light a cigarette was with a lighter. Match heads turned to mush a short time after being in your shirt pocket. Needless to say Zippo and Ronson lighters went for a premium. Unwelcome companions were the scorpions who managed to find their way into our boots if left uncovered overnight. Knocking out the scorpions was a fairly routine morning ritual.

A weekend pass to Calcutta was an opportunity to absorb the mystery and color of this country. As stated previously, my perspective was limited to the momentary pleasures. I remember the Royal something-or-other bar, on the main thoroughfare of the city, patronized principally by British and American officers, was an oasis in the midst of the otherwise dominating clamor, congestion and filth.

Despite warnings that certain sections of Calcutta were off-limits to military personnel, and if found there would result in a lengthy quarantine, we ventured into such places. With the huge population of Calcutta in a relatively small area, space for whatever purpose was at a premium. Cremation, particularly for the less affluent (and that seemed to be the bulk of the populace) was the primary disposal of the dead. We were advised that cremation facilities were a part of municipal services. These burning ghats as they were called, numbered a half dozen or more in the city. In each of these an open air cremation, attended by family members, was conducted on the average every three to five minutes continuously 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Each burning ghat had numerous cairns permitting simultaneous cremations.

The burning ghat that we visited was adjacent to the sacred Ganges river. Juveniles, festooned with human skulls and bone ornaments, were present to provide information and photo opportunities. Although they appeared to have the run of the place, their attention was to visitors instead of to the bereaved family members and I suspect their activities did not have the sanction of the authorities. Corpses awaiting disposal were lying against a rear wall, some covered with sheets of tin or old truck doors. The ambient temperature was near 100 degrees and many of "the waiting" had been there for hours if not days. Truly an unforgettable experience.

Although I don't recall that any of us were specifically aware of the Japanese war effort in our area, they had made significant incursions into the Burma-Thailand peninsula. Consequently, our first mission was to Bangkok. While my memory may be hazy about specific targets in that area, I have a clear recollection of us having to abort on one mission when we lost prop control on both inboard engines. A runaway propeller creates an immense resistance. It in fact ceases to propel. It is turning freely by the force of the air against it created by the forward motion of the aircraft. Not only has the pilot lost all control of the speed of the propeller (normally related to the speed of the engine), he cannot "feather" the blades, he cannot turn them edgewise into the wind as he would if the engine was disabled. Our successful return to base was the result of pilot skill. I remember the lowering of the landing gear was delayed till the last possible moment to avoid additional drag, and I happily reported my left side gear down and locked only feet from the surface of the runway. A close call.

The B-29 was soon to make it's mark in the war and cause more than a few Japanese military leaders to lose sleep and wonder why they ever got started in this thing, especially when they realized that land based bombers in far away China could reach their homeland. In retrospect I believe our efforts were the precurser to the flight of the Enola Gay and the first atom bomb drop. We knew that something was in the wind when we started flying gasoline in 60 gallon drums over the highest mountains on earth to an advance base in China. The "hump trips were memorable and more than once we were alerted to the possibility of having to bail out. The turbulence encountered, even at the extreme altitudes we flew, was hard to imagine. On several occasions I remember whispering a silent "thank you" to the Boeing engineers as I watched the "Peach's" wing tips flap up and down like a gull's through a range the height of a man.

More often than not the terrain below was obscured by cloud cover but occasionally we would get a glimpse of beautiful valleys, cascading clear streams, pristine forests and snow scattered slopes. This was the home of the "yeti" or abominable snowman of legend. A stark contrast to the congestion and squalor of the cities.

At our forward base at Chengtu, China, we were treated to the spectacle of hundreds of Chinese pulling large concrete rollers, smoothing out the two mile runways from which we would soon leave on our historic mission. The Chinese people working on the base were always very friendly and helpful. We enjoyed the unusual condition of having our meals served to us instead of having to stand in the chow line. The weather was pleasant and our housing in tents was adequate. When maintenance was being performed at night swarms of very large moths would complicate the mechanics efforts. It would not be an exaggeration to say that some of their bodies were as thick as a cigar.

On June 15th, 1944, after lengthy preparations, briefings, and last minute refueling, the "Peach", groaning with the weight of extra gas and but a handful of bombs, staggered into the air at the very end of the two mile runway. The propwash rippled the surface of the rice paddies for a very long time as we fought our way skyward. I suspect that our altitude gained during the first five to ten minutes of flight was measured in the smallest increments on the altimeter and rate of climb. The ship behind us was not so fortunate and I remember seeing succeeding planes emerge from the huge pillar of black smoke that clouded the end of the runway, marking where she had come to rest.

On this historic mission our target was Yawata, Japan, site of the Yawata Iron and Steel Works. It would become the longest tactical combat bombing raid in history, some 15 hours and 20 minutes, during most of which the uncertainty of enemy aircraft was a consideration. As we settled into the mission, while it was still daylight, a lone Japanese "Nick" fighter appeared on our port side and to the rear. He was just out of effective machine gun range and appeared to be studying us. Apparently since he was alone, he did not wish to initiate any hostile action. Nevertheless our tail gunner fired a few short bursts from his 50ties, which appeared to have no effect on the curiosity of the pilot. It was only after he cut in his 20mm cannon that the intruder decided to leave. He peeled off and that was the last we saw of him.

It soon became dark and the solid blackness was broken only by an occasional town or city's lights, which would suddenly blink out. Blackouts, so common in the defense of London and other cities, prevents the invading aircraft from establishing reference points. It appeared the residents of these cities were well rehearsed in this defensive tactic, despite the fact that they were considerably removed from the area of active warfare, although they were a little slow in getting it done. We were one of the lead ships and most of the mission participants were behind us.

We crouched in our positions, made more uncomfortable by the additional burden of flak suits and helmets. We were blissfully unaware of the difficulties our navigator was experiencing. Cloud cover prevented his opportunity to make reassuring or confirming stellar sightings and that, in combination with stronger than anticipated southerly winds, caused us to miss the target, but not so far that we could not see the searchlights and anti-aircraft fire that was being directed to other ships who had managed to locate the target before us. The requirement of complete radio silence obviously contributed to our circumstance. We turned and flew into a heavy concentration of flak and searchlights before we released our bombs.

There were night fighters in evidence but they failed to cause us any damage. Also, due to the poor marksmanship of the anti-aircraft batteries, the bulk of the flak was below and behind us. Other ships did not fare as well. If we sustained any damage it had no operational effect on the "Peach" and we thankfully turned for home. Coincidental with our bomb bay doors opening at midnight, BBC in London announced to the world that land based bombers had struck the mainland of Japan. In the general view of most crewman on the raid, this premature release of information might well be considered a security breach, alerting hostile forces between us and home.

I was not privy to the details of any subsequent reconnaissance reports but I would not fear contradiction if I said the target damage was minimal but the psychological impact was enormous. Whatever sense of security the Japanese may have felt by reason of their island nation's remoteness to the major battles, it was shattered that night by the realization their homeland was now vulnerable.
The flight back to Chengtu was without incident , and as we touched down, the runway was lined with cheering Chinese as well as news cameras Among those welcoming us back were the survivors of the B-29 that had crashed on take off behind us. Some bandages and crutches were in evidence but as I recall no fatalities. The "Peach" completed another mission, this time to Manchuria, while I was in the hospital with malaria, before we were selected to return to the states as a training crew.

WALLY HUNNICUTT

BRIEF BIO:

Wally Hunnicutt was born in Roseburg, OR, on June 27, 1929. He enlisted in the Air Force on September 6, 1950, in Eugene, OR. He took basic training at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, TX, September 9 through October 23, 1950 and gunnery training at Lowry AFB in Denver, CO, through March 29, 1951. In addition, in 1951, he underwent additional training and crew assignment as a B-29 Central Fire Control Gunner at Randolph AFB in San Antonio, TX, and Forbes AFB in Topeka, KS. His major theater of operations was in the Korean conflict, operating from Kadena AFB in Okinawa, January through July 1952. During that tour he flew 25 combat missions and earned an Air Medal. He also flew in French Morocco, North Africa, July through September 1953. He was discharged on September 10, 1953 at Hunter AFB in Savannah, GA, with the rank of S/Sgt.

On September 19, 1954, Wally married Connie. Together they had three children, Greg, Steve and Tom.

HIS STORY:

I was born and raised in Roseburg, Oregon. Not long after I graduated from High School, while I was attending College at O.C.E., the Korean War broke out. Being single and looking for travel and adventure, I enlisted in the good old USAF. In just under three years I did manage to see much of the world, from East Asia to North Africa, and I ended up flying 25 combat missions in Korea, as a top gunner (Central Fire Control - CFC) in the venerable B-29. It was good duty.

I went through aerial gunnery and remote control turret technician school in Denver, Colorado, and transitional training and crew assignment at Randolph Field in San Antonio, Texas. We also went through training in winter flying in Topeka, Kansas, and in arctic survival on Pike's Peak, Colorado.

In gunnery school we first had to participate in considerable skeet and trap shooting, to teach us the concept of leading a target to hit it. Actually, this may have been detrimental to a B-29 gunner because the remote controlled gunnery fire control system electronically calculated lead for us. We did not ourselves lead the target.

In the actual B-29 gunnery training we sat in a fixed seat, much like the CFC seat in the actual aircraft, and fired at a drone aircraft that flew by us. To save drones and money, the guns were deliberately offset such that if you did everything right you missed the drone. The guns were actually fired to provide training in burst control. We learned the finer points of tracking and framing by reviewing film from a gun camera that was bore-sighted with the gun sight.

In December of 1951 a bunch of us were sent to Camp Stoneman for overseas shipment. Our crew was held there until, at McClellan Field near Sacramento, California, we picked up a newly refurbished, just out of mothballs B-29. We spent New Years eve in Hawaii and then island -hopped our way across the Pacific to Kadena AFB on Okinawa. There we joined the 93rd Bomb Squadron, 19th Bomb Group, 20th Air Force.

In the B-29 there were four full and one part-time (the bombardier) gunners. Each controlled a different set of 50-caliber guns. The bombardier controlled the forward guns and the tail gunner the tail guns. I was CFC and controlled the upper aft guns, and there were two side gunners. Each of us controlled our special (primary) sets of 50-caliber guns but there were secondary options under which any one gunner could take over the guns of as many as two other gunnery positions, in case of battle damage and/or casualties.

In CFC you sat in a swivel chair, called the barber chair, just aft of the center of the aircraft in a plexiglass "bubble" or "blister" sticking up above the top of the fuselage. I had a full, unobstructed view of the top of the aircraft, the wings and the engines, and all the sky above them. The two side gunners sat in the same pressurized compartment but below me to the right and left, looking through side "blisters". The side gunners also served as "scanners" in flight, keeping a steady eye on the engines.

In operation I sat in the "barber chair" and snuggled my face up into a gun sight. The sight was mounted on a pedestal attached to the chair and could pivot up and down, while the chair swiveled right and left. With one hand I moved the gun sight and operated a trigger while with the other I cranked a range finder knob. The gun sight image that I looked through consisted of a central red dot or pipper surrounded by a ring of red dots. I tracked by keeping the pipper centered on the target (no lead) and estimated range by twisting the range knob until the red dots in the outer circle just framed the target. Information on the position and rate at which I aimed the sight and the chair, and moved them up and down and right and left, and on the position of the range knob, was fed into the aircraft fire control electronics and the remote turret guns then automatically tracked the target, with the proper lead.

The B-29 had three main pressurized areas, the forward compartment, which housed the pilots, flight engineer, bombardier / navigator and the radio operator. The central compartment (mine) was a cylindrical room about eight feet in diameter and about 12 feet long. It housed the three gunners and the radar operator. The tail gunner was alone out in the tail compartment. These compartments were well heated and ventilated. The two forward compartments were connected by a small pressurized tunnel.

Most of us, myself included, wore rather light flight suits, sometimes with a leather flying jacket over, and standard military shoes. This despite the 50-degree-below-zero temperature and atmospheric pressure only one-third that at sea level just outside the thin skin of the aircraft. Heavier clothes and oxygen masks were kept handy on combat missions in case battle damage opened a hole in that protective skin.

During most long flights the other two gunners, the radar operator and I could sit around in relative comfort in our compartment, in casual conversation. We usually brought along box lunches obtained from the mess hall. I remember K-rations and cans of purple plums. Cigarettes were 10 cents a pack but you could get only Pall Malls. There was a "honey bucket" in every compartment but almost without exception it was never used. For the more frequent and liquid relief the cap on a drain tube could be taken off. With our compartment pressurized, the air rushing through that tube took everything with it

On some long flights the pilots would carefully trim up the aircraft, turn on the auto-pilot and, together with the flight engineer and the bombardier, they would then play bridge. (Nobody was "looking out the window".) Once in a while we in the aft compartment (culprit shall remain unnamed) would manually crank open a large camera hatch. The added drag on that side would be more than the auto-pilot could handle and it would kick out. One of the pilots would have to jump up (just as he was about to trump an ace) and re-trim the aircraft (after we had re-closed the hatch, of course) and re-set the auto-pilot. He was heard to tell the flight engineer to make a note to have maintenance fix the auto-pilot when we got back. No one ever confessed to anyone the real auto-pilot non-problem.

There were nine B-29s in our Squadronand three squadrons in our Group. On our first combat strike into North Korea we flew nine planes in formation at 10,000 feet, to bomb targets up near the Yalu river. The radar-controlled flak was so accurate at that altitude that we lost three of our nine planes, on that one mission. "Oh man," I thought, "is the whole tour going to be this way? No chance I will survive." However, immediately thereafter we went to night bombing only, and at 30,000 feet. In addition, we "strung out" over the target, bombing at about one minute intervals. Under those conditions flak was not a threat. While a few Migs were sighted by some squadrons, we saw none. I never fired my guns in anger. And we lost no more planes from our squadron in my remaining 24 combat missions.

My plane was named "Max Effort". It had a picture on the nose of an elephant with a mouse riding on his back. Most planes had scantily clad women painted on their noses, some too gross to repeat here. Below is a picture of our plane and crew:

I am in the front row, third from the left.

Generally "Max" flew every third night. On a typical mission the non-commissioned officers of the crew would go down to the plane in the late afternoon to preflight it. Each of the four gunners was assigned one of the four engines. The preflight check list consisted of 11 areas and took about a half-hour to complete. A partial list is shown below:

GUNNERS --
PREFLIGHT AND PRESSURE CHECKING PROCEDURE FOR ENGINES

A. Remove dust covers
B. ...
F. Remove access door
1. Check oil tank for quantity, security of mounting, cap replaced.
(Quantity % way up filler neck).,
2. Check prop feathering tank for quantity, security of mounting, cap replaced, (Quantity 41/2 gallons, level with screen) if separate
system is installed,,
3. Check fire-extinguisher line for general condition and outlets cleat of obstructions.
4. Flexible drives for the cowl flaps for security and safety. Check the motor, wiring, and security of mounting.
5. Check the starter for wiring, security, and hand mesh cable is not taut.
6. Check the generators for security, wiring, leads for insulation.
7. Check vacuum pumps for clamps, security of mounting.
8. Cannon plug safetied on Tach generator.
9. Check sump plugs for safety and leaks.
10. Check the main line strainer for security of mounting and gas leaks.
11. Check all gas and oil lines for condition, tightness of clamps, and leaks.
12. General cleanliness of the accessory section.
13. Check lower sump seal.
G ...

After preflighting the plane we would go back to chow, get into our flight gear and go to the mission briefing. That took place in a dark briefing room and included all crew of the nine planes. We then mounted our steed, taxiied out, took off and went forth to battle.

Flights were normally about 12 hours in duration. Enroute we flew more or less together, but strung out as we approached the target. Right and left gunners kept a watchful eye on the engines, out of their side blisters, looking for any signs of malfunction. B-29 engines were notorious for oil leakage and consumption. About three-quarters of the time a B-29 returned to Okinawa with at least one engine out, out of oil.

One time we ran into severe icing on the way to 30,000 feet. When the flight engineer turned on the deicers only one worked. All the ice cracked off of that wing but remained on the other. The unbalanced weight was too much to be compensated by full aeileron deflection and we started sliding off on the heavy wing. The pilot kept frantically cycling the deicing system and finally they both worked. The ice cracked off the low wing, the plane righted itself and we escaped to fly and fight another day.

Over the target we normally dropped 40-500 pound bombs, although we sometimes dropped incendiaries and even occasionally packaged napalm. On one memorable strike we dropped incendiaries on a bunch of wooden buildings, thought to be an enemy training camp. The resulting fire, consuming the entire camp, was spectacular. Occasionally one of the bombs would hang up in the bomb bay. It was usually up to me to squeeze out into the (unpressurized and ultra-cold) bomb bay with a screw driver, in behind a rack, and free the bomb. It was a long fall through the open bomb bay doors to the ground but I wore a parachute on that duty.

On all but the first mission we ran what I believe was called "SHORAN" missions. We ran in to the target along a radio beam, all the time tracking a second, crossing beam. When we reached the point where the two beams intersected we dropped our load. The method was said to be accurate to within about a mile but I think it was generally worse than that.

At one time the powers-that-be were claiming that if we dropped 100,000 tons of bombs on the Korean supply system that system would be "strangled", and the war would grind to a halt. They even launched what was called "Operation Strangle". It happened that "Max Effort" dropped the 100,000th ton of bombs. Remarkably, the war continued unabated, despite our "max effort".

The flak, even the radar-controlled type, was woefully innaccurate at our altitude, and basically was not a threat. The radar-controlled searchlights, however, were right on the money. Frequently you could read a newspaper in the brilliance of the lights concentrated on us. How could they miss us, impaled up here against the night sky like a collector's butterfly?

Usually if we had to make more than one run at a target we had too little fuel left to make it to Okinawa. In such cases we diverted to Japan and landed wherever we could. One time we landed at the fighter strip at Itazuki. The runways were just barely wide enough to accommodate us. When we made it back to Okinawa, and after we debriefed, we were supplied with as much Guggenheim whiskey as we wanted, but most of us didn't drink.

In the summer of 1952 I completed 25 combat missions and was reassigned to Hunter AFB in Savannah,. Georgia. There, through no fault of my own, I got into an incredible mess. Our group was picked to test how quickly and efficiently we could deploy, in full force, to North Africa. Presumably we could bomb Russia from bases there. We also got grades on how fast we could then get back to Savannah. When we taxied out in North Africa to return to Georgia our plane showed an unacceptable "mag drop" (more than 125 rpm drop when operated on only one magneto). Every aborted takeoff was scored against us, and the Group Commander was pushing for a top record. We called the tower and were returning the flight line when the Group Commander drove up to the plane and announced, "If you think it's unsafe to fly, I'll fly it." For him to come aboard one of our crew had to get off the plane -- and it fell to me. So, I got off the plane, they (successfully) took, and I started a personal odyssey trying to hitch a ride back to Savannah, with all my squadron already gone.

It turned out that an engine on that plane burst into flames taking off from the Azores, crashed, and all in the forward compartment were killed, including the Group Commander. Unfortunately for me a small article appeared in the local newspapers (News-Review?) reporting the crash of my plane in the Azores. My parents saw the article, recognized it as my plane, and tried to get ahold of me. Equally unfortunately I was bumming a ride back to Savannah at the time and no one knew where I was. My parents panicked, contacted the Red Cross and they, in turn, went up the ladder in the Air Force to the Secretary of the Air Force. When I finally stepped off an unscheduled Navy plane at Hunter I was met with a maelstrom of activity, including a 15-day emergency leave to go home, right now!.

Shortly after that I was offered B-52 school but I had only a year to go on my original 4-year enlistment so I declined. The Air Force then decided that it was in the best interests of the service to release me at that time, just a little more than a year from scheduled release. I have long wondered why I made that decision, I really enjoyed my time in the Air Force.

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MAINTAINING THE PLANE

RICHARD PORTER

BRIEF BIO:

Rich Porter was born in Iowa and on October 5, 1942 he enlisted in the Army Air Corps, at Los Angeles, CA. He took Mechanic training in Rosewell, NM, Electronics training at Chanute Field, IL, and Armament training at Lowrey Field in Denver, CO. His major WWII operations were in B-29 maintenance in the 499th Bomb Group, 877 Squadron, November 1944-November 1945, in Saipan Island, in the South Pacific. He was discharged on November 28, 1945 at Los Angeles, CA, with the rank of Corporal.

In Michigan, in June of 1950, he married Ruth. Together they have three children, Martha, Cindy, and Dan.

HIS STORY:

My major tour of duty in World War II was a year on Saipan as part of a B-29 line maintenance crew in the 498th Bomb Group, 477th Squadron. I arrived on Saipan around the middle of November 1944 and departed almost exactly a year later, well after the war was over. Saipan is part of the Marianas Group of islands, of which Guam, 70 miles to the east, is the biggest. Tinian was about 3 miles across the water from us.

We arrived on Saipan not long after it was liberated from the Japanese. There were still a few hiding up in the hills but they almost never came down, and then just to scrounge for food. At first we lived in four-man tents but these were eventually replaced with wooden barracks. The tents all had a table in the middle and the inevitable poker game often stretched far into the night, making sleeping difficult. The climate was moderate, we usually kept the side flaps of our tent open at all times. The food was good and plentiful.

We had 10-15 B-29s in our squadron. The runway was about 300 feet above the water and not all that long. The B-29's at the time were badly under-powered. They would roar all the way down the runway and off the end and then sag down almost to the water before picking up enough speed to start climbing out. The runways and taxiways were made of crushed coral and were eventually blacktopped as well.

I was part of a 5-man line maintenance crew dedicated to one plane. Our plane was parked in a circular hardstand or pad off to the side of the taxiway. Normally our plane would fly at night, departing around sunset and returning near sunrise. As a result we more or less enjoyed a 9-5, eight-hour day, turning our plane around so it could go out again that night. We would get up around 7:00 AM, enjoy a leisurely breakfast, walk down to the hardstand, break at noon for lunch, and usually finish up before dinner time. Then the evening was ours (with little or nothing to do but "kill time"). The "Country Club of the Pacific" we called it. Of course we worked seven-day weeks.

The first thing we would do, our crew chief would go into the plane and check the maintenance log for any discrepancies the pilot might have noted. We would then pull the oil plug and check for metal in the oil, an indication of incipient engine component or accessory failure. The B-29 used the Wright 3350 engine and it leaked oil badly. That was more or less typical of Wright engines of the time, much more so than similar-sized Pratt and Whitney engines. Our most important tool with these engines was what we called our "oil wrench" (an oil rag).

We would Remove and Replace (R&R) most major components on the engine but did little actual component repair work. We had special "service groups", with special tools, for most major jobs, such as engine removal, 100-hour inspections, sheet metal combat damage repair, etc. The largest repair we made was for low compression on one cylinder. We pulled the intake and exhaust manifolds and R&R'd the cylinder and piston. That was a fairly complex job out in the open, on a hardstand, with our limited tools and time. Another common complaint was for excessive rpm drop on an engine when tested on just one magneto. That usually required R&R of the spark plugs and distributor.

The 3350 was a relatively new engine and during our stay at Saipan none lasted long enough on one plane to require a 100-hour check. The record in our squadron was just 87 hours. Considering that a round trip to Japan was about 12 hours, that means that no engine made it past seven missions.

By 1945 the war was winding down and the B-29 raids on Japan were becoming relatively routine. There was rarely any significant combat damage. One time our planes were fire-bombing a place in Japan, dropping incendiary bombs tied together in packages in the bomb bay. As those clusters dropped away the outer packaging would split away, allowing the small, individual bombs to separate and spread out over a large area. They were bombing from 20,000-25,000 feet. On this raid the incendiaries dropped by other planes ahead of them had created such a massive fire storm that sheet metal from the burning buildings was carried up into the night sky and wrapped around the leading edge of the wing of our plane. Combat damage, such as this, was repaired by the sheet metal repair crew.

Especially shortly after I arrived on Saipan we were (infrequently) attacked by enemy aircraft. I was of course young and therefore "indestructible" so when the air raid siren sounded I would usually wait around a bit, locate my shoes, and then ease over into the nearest shelter. Near our tents was a small cave in the rock, some 5 feet high and about eight feet deep, where a few of us could duck. On one such raid a B-29 was set afire and the fire set off the bombs. That plane was completely destroyed and those parked nearby were badly damaged. When there was adequate warning a group of heavy anti aircraft guns nearby would open up. The concussion would just split the air.

On another occasion a couple of fighter planes abruptly appeared over the field, at about 150 feet. They flew right over our barracks and mess hall area but not a shot was fired. It was obvious that they were not after personnel, not when such rich targets as our B-29's were lined up and waiting. So we troops could fearlessly stand out in the open and watch the whole show.

I was on Saipan when the Enola Gay took off to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. There were rumors that there was a small group over there doing strange things and not associating with anyone else. Other than that we found out about the atom bombing like everybody else, through the newspapers and radio. There was such a constant stream of wild war news, at all times, that the Hiroshima news hardly caused a stir.

And I was on Saipan when the war ended. Of course we were never under great stress or danger so that news was also received quietly. The massive changes for us, of course, were the "loss of our jobs" and the beginning of the endless days with nothing to do. We immediately launched into the game of "points" -- who had sixty or more so they could go home.

Shortly after the surrender we launched a couple of flights to drop critical supplies to POW camps at a couple of locations in Japan. One of those was in Kyushu. The wooden crates were pushed out of the bomb bay and had parachutes to lower them to the ground. In several cases the parachutes failed to open and the crates shattered against buildings and the ground, spilling their contents widely. I always wondered if anyone on the ground got hurt. Dick Klingenberg, a fellow Southern Oregon Warbird, says he was on one of those flights and the problem was that many of the parachutes were missing, having been stolen before the flight began.

I spent a lot of time trying to refurbish an old Ford Model "B" engine that I had run across. It had no distributor, distributor cap or carburetor, but I got it running (just barely). My M/Sgt bet me a month of his pay against a month of mine that I'd never get it running. When I did he seemed to have forgotten about our bet.

Using GI vehicles we took drives all over the 29 by 3- mile island. We saw the infamous "suicide cliff", where the remainder of the Japanese troops and many of the local citizens were said to have thrown themselves off rather than be captured by the savage Americans. It is a pretty steep hill but not much of a cliff. Even at that late date we saw a body that had not been removed.

The war was over in August and it was November before I could say goodbye to dear old Saipan. Just before Thanksgiving, 1945, I went home and was discharged.

 

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