The 330th Bomb Group 330th Bomb Group



 

330th Personnel Accounts

pAGE 3


K-51: 2LT Guy W. Shine (P)

Guy's account of getting B-29's.

Hobbs Army Air Field, Hobbs, NM The B-17 was a fun plane to fly and to my surprise, you could fly it by the seat of your pants, that is, feel it fly and you feel your body is a part of the airplane. I finished transition with a total of 108 hours ad 55 minutes, which included night and day instruments, formation, high altitude and a cross- country trip to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, over a weekend to Mitchell field. On this trip there was an instructor and four students. Two of us navigated up and the other two navigated back. I now had a grand total of 369 hours and 15 minutes and graduated with all A's and designated as an airplane commander.

Upon finishing flying on August 14, 1944, I was told to stand by for orders sending me to O. T.U. (Overseas Training Unit) at Greenville, South Carolina. There, I was told I'd get a copilot assigned along with the rest of my crew for the final training before going to combat. I was assigned a MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) of 1091. Four Engine Airplane Commander.

While awaiting orders I checked in at Operations like I did every day. The date was August 16, 1944. The operations officer came over to the bulletin board and tacked up a notice, which read, "Wanted-20 pilots with MOS of 1091 to volunteer for assignment to B-29 copilot training." I couldn't believe my eyes because we had heard more about the B-29s and what an honor it was to be in the 20th Air Force. Since it was the latest thing going as far as technology was concerned, it didn't take me long to make up my mind to apply. In fact, I was the first one to sign up.

Eva was sad that I was soon to be leaving, so I couldn't wait to get home and break the good news. Also, it meant that I would be going to transition, then OTU in the B-29 and would probably mean I would be in the states for another six months instead of three. It did mean that I would have to start in B-29s as a copilot instead of an airplane commander, but I thought it was worth it. The next day, August 17, 1944, I was handed my orders sending me to Army Air Base, Lincoln, Nebraska. All copilots reporting date was August 31, 1944. This gave me 14 days; time enough to go home for another leave. I rather hated to leave the B-17, as I feel that was the last of the truly great flying machines. It wasn't fast, but the feel of flying was a terrific experience. Even as heavy as it was, you could come in on the final approach at 98 to 100 miles per hour with full flaps and landing gear down and stall it at the last moment into a three point landing. It handled equally well with leaving on flying power and "greasing" it in on the main gear, then cutting power and gently letting the tail wheel down. It also had great rudder control and would spoil pilots. For instance, a crosswind on the final approach to landing would cause the plane to drift off of the line of the runway. A little rudder corrected that. Fortunately, I was to fly the B-17 on several occasions in the future.

That leave was more pleasant even than the first one, as we had longer to be at home. After visiting every one, we loaded up the Ford and started for Lincoln, Nebraska, about August 29, 1944, since it was only about 450 miles from home. We made it there and got a room at the Cornhusker Hotel, and I reported to Lincoln Anny Air Field on time. I was soon to learn that there would be no flying or training at Lincoln. It was more or less a pooling place for pilots waiting to be reassigned. I had no duties there and reported to the base each morning, and finally, on September 8, 1944, I received orders to report to Alamogordo, New Mexico, which was 150 miles west of Hobbs.

On September 8, 1944, we arrived at Alamogordo after seeing some pretty scenery in the mountains. On one occasion I coasted 18 miles from the top of the mountain range to the bottom. I figured I had saved a gallon of gas, as that is what the Ford got per gallon. I had to report to the air base the following day. It was a huge base just like all the others and was a B-29 transition base like Hobbs. I was among a group of 19 from Lincoln. I was assigned to the 231st. AAFBU (CCTS VH), which meant Any Air Force Base Unit-Training Squadron-Very Heavy. Very Heavy meant B-29-type aircraft.

I was given a schedule and told to start attending classes and that there would be no flying for the time being due to the availability of flyable airplanes. That didn't sound too good to me and there did not appear to be that many B-29s on the flight line. I got my first glimpse of them from a distance but couldn't go out on the line yet. The first class I went to that afternoon was on engines and systems. The instructor passed out papers to the class, and I could see right away it was an exam. I went up and told him this was my first day and didn't know anything about the B-29. He said to take the test anyway. Of the 50 questions on the test, I knew the answers to two of them, so when class was over, I quietly dropped mine in the nearest wastebasket as I left. I then found that my class was just finishing up transition ground school, so I didn't go to any more classes. Each of us was assigned a box number which we were required to check daily; so for the next week, I just checked my box and went to the Officer's Club and loafed, then went home. There were lots of others loafing around just waiting for something to happen. I fully expected to be assigned to the next incoming class and finally get going. Finally about September 15, 1944, I found a notice in my box to report to one of the outlying areas of the base that night. When I reported, I was told that this meeting was to form crews for O. T. U .I told him I hadn't had transition yet, and the officer in charge said he had nothing to do with that and to check for my name on a crew list. The board said I was crew "F" and the Airplane Commander (A/C) was CAP John E. Parr. There were hundreds of people milling around, but at least, I knew I was looking for some dude with captain's bars on his collar. I must have asked a dozen captains if they were Parr before I found him. He was looking for me too, but there were lieutenants all over the place, and he said he figured I'd find him. We greeted each other, and I liked him instantly. He was a tall, good -looking man about my size and had one arm in a cast and sling. I remarked that this place was organized confusion, and he said it had been that way for some time. After getting acquainted, I told him I had only been there a week and had no transition in the B-29 and that he might want to get another copilot. He said he understood that, and since I had been a B-17 Pilot, it was okay with him. Anyway the 330th Bomb Group was forming, and they were short of trained personnel. John was grounded because of his broken arm but had finished transition. He had been a B-17 instructor for the last couple of years and had gotten tired of that so had asked to go into the new B-29 airplane. John was 26 years old. He asked me to meet him the following morning, and he would brief me on the B-29.

We spent the morning down on the flight line. That plane was some sight. I couldn't believe my eyes when I got up to it. It had dual 56" tires on the main gear and dual nose wheels. The four engines developed 2200 h.p. each and swung 16' four-bladed propellers. The plane was also made by Boeing and weighed 75,000 pounds empty. The tail stuck up in the air about 30' and the wingspan was 141'. I said to John, "Does this thing really fly?" He laughed and assured me it was going to be a very fine airplane when they got all the bugs ironed out of it. There was lots of secret stuff on that plane like LORAN (long range navigation); remote computerized controlled gun sights, radar and the secret Nordon bombsight. Several B-29s had crashed, and they were having lots of trouble with them. The ones there were all early models though. We just fooled around until finally on September 30, 1944, we were given orders to report to the 330th Bomb Group, Walker, Kansas, for duty on October 4, 1944. We also got part of our crew assigned and met them. They were CPLS George Poldoros, Frank Halas, John Harnage, Harry Hardy and Marvin Harper. All were gunners except Polydoros (RO).

It was back on the road again and worry about housing at Walker. I had looked on the map, and it was a town of less than 1,000, so I knew there would be a housing problem. On the way, I stopped and shopped for a trailer. I found one for $850 and had a hitch put on the Ford and headed north again. It was about 500 miles to Walker, and with the usual tire problems, we rolled into Walker the night of September 29, 1944. There was only one trailer park at Walker, run by an old German man. We parked and set up, but at least we had a place to sleep. It was fall in the plains and rainy, and the next morning everything looked pretty drab and muddy. I reported in at the 330dI Headquarters, was assigned quarters, and met the group commander, COL E.D. Reynolds and deputy group commander, LTCOL D.C. Polhamus, John and I were assigned to the 459th squadron commanded by LTCOL Robert W. Ryder. We met him and the other officers and given schedules. I was happy that I was to get some classes on systems and was issued a TO (technical order) on the B-29. This was a large book covering the systems. John said to study that well. I was supposed to have had all that stuff in transition, which I had missed.

As yet, I hadn't been up in a B-29, but John was back on flying status and needed to be checked out again. He only had 100 hours in the B-29 himself but had over 400 hours of four-engine time, so I was confident of his ability. Finally, on October 17, 1944, a check pilot took John and I, an engineer, and two scanners, to sit in the side rear blisters, gunners' positions to the flight line. I soon learned that this bird took several people to operate it. The engines had twin rows of cylinders in a circle (radial). After setting idle, oil would drain into the cylinders on the bottom. Aircraft engines were designed to use oil, in order to get adequate lubrication. If the engines were started, and there was an excess amount of oil in the lower cylinders, you could blow the cylinder heads right off. To avoid this, the engines had to be turned by hand through 12 blades; to be sure the cylinders were free of oil. It took two men to pull the propeller through, so we would get in pairs and keep going as each blade came down. The A/C and pilot had the usual flight instruments and automatic pilot, and the engineer had his own station and all the engine gauges, fuel transfer controls, and even a set of throttles. He also started the engines. That first flight was in an early model and they let me sit in the bombardier's seat, which was just between the pilots at floor level. I got to close the bomb bay doors! They were left open until the last moment, because of fumes. Boeing was having severe problems with cylinder head temperatures and engine fire. In order to keep the temperatures down, you had to open those large cowl flaps wide enough to impede the flying speed, so it became standard practice to take off with the cowl flaps open and then ease them shut as you gained speed -then open again as needed. I soon learned the pilot's duties but only got in two real flights as pilot in October, 5 hours and 55 minutes on the 17th, and 2 hours and 30 minutes on the 20th. Planes were just not available, in flying condition. The hangars were all designed for planes the size of B-17s, so the B-29s wouldn't fit in the hangar, as about 30 feet of the tail stuck out the door. I started the usual link trainer work and got in 13 hours starting September 11. On October 30, 1944, the colonel asked for volunteers to make a flight to St. Louis on some VIP business. Both pilots had to be B-17 pilots though, as we were to use an old B-17. John and I agreed to go. About this time, more men had arrived, and they started filling out the crew. For some reason, they took all of our enlisted men except Halas and Hardy.

Our crew now consisted of CAP John Parr (A/C) from San Antonio, TX; 2LT Guy Shine (P) from Brookston, IN; 1LT Edward Charlson (N) from Kenyon, MINN; 1LT Harold Cowley (FE) from Freer, TX; John Schafer (B) from Pittsburgh, PA; CPL Norman Perren (RO) from Barberton, OH; CAP Owen McGreevey (Rad Obs) from Chicago, IL; SSGT Carl Normann (CFC) from Superior, Wis; SGT Frank Halas (LG) from Ford City, PA; SGT Harry W. Hardy, Jasper, AL; and a young Corporal named Smith, tail gunner. There was a lot of rank on our crew, and the organization was that the AC was in overall charge and the pilot was, in effect, the executive officer. All the enlisted men answered directly to the pilot and to some extent, all the officers did, except John, because the pilot was second in command. As it turned out, all the officers on the crew outranked me. On top of that, we were designated as a "flight leader crew." I was in sort of an unusual position-just being fresh out of B-17 Transition and commissioned only four months. The tail gunner, Smith, went to sleep every time he sat down and didn't measure up to flight leader status in ability, so John told me I had better get rid of him. I told Sqdn. C.O. Ryder. In the meantime, another crew was having trouble with their tail gunner, CPL Norman J. Fosler, Jr.

During the short time we had been together everyone seemed compatible, so I asked the men about Fosler and if they could get along with him. Halas said he knew him, and he was just spoiled and couldn't take kidding. Someone had hung the name "Fearless" on him because he got overly excited about an engine fire on the plane he was in once. Our guys said it would be okay with them, so I traded Smith for Fosler, and we kept him the rest of the way. Fosler was an excellent gunner and later on proved his ability by spotting a suicide plane heading towards us and alerting John and me in time to take evasive action.

(I asked Mr. Shine to compare the B-17 and the B-29. My father loved the B-17 above all others.) The B-29 was indeed quieter than the B-17. The pilots could carry on a normal conversaation without innercom in the B-29. The B-17 wasn't all that bad, though. As you probably know, the B-29 was pressurized whereas the B-17 wasn't. This made the B-29 more comfortable at altitude and it was roomier too. I did love the B-17 as you could actually fly it by the seat of your pants and you had a better feel of the plane. Someone once said the B-29 was like setting on your front porch and flying the house. That is pretty much true as the pilots did set right up in the nose and with the rounded nose, there wasn't the good reference to whether your wings were level or not. You didn't, for instance, feel the drift in a cross wind in the B-29 as much as in the B-17. In the B-29 it seemed the runway moved sideways and you had to take action with the ailerons as well as rudder to correct, whereas in the B-17 kick in a little rudder and moe her over. I guess you could say the B-17 handled a little better by virtue of the fact it was lighter, Neither plane had boosted controls so the B-29 was harder to manhandle. The B-29 was a super plane and I for one, am proud to have flown her.

(What were some of your most harrowing experiences) There were several that come to mind. On one of our daylight missions, we came off of the target and was headed out still in formation. We were a flight leader crew and were leading when a Jap fighter peeled off in front of us and made a head on attack, firing as he came. I'm sure it was a suicide attack. Our Bombardier, took him out with the front six 50 cal. machine guns. The Jap sunk in below us and went straight into a hill side. Our Bombardier (1LT John H. Schafer) got the kill.

Another frightening mission: On a night mission we came off of the target and were headed for the coast and home. (It was a fire raid and the planes went over the target according to a set time, therefore, we were alone) The tail gunner came over the intercom and said he saw an enemy plane in the reflection of the fires drop something and fire was shooting out of the tail and headed our way. It could only be one thing, a Baka Bomb, manned by a pilot and rocket powered on a suicide attack. The radar operator confirmed that it was on track toward us and gaining fast. Our only chance was to outrun it and that is just what we did. Nose down, full power from 12,000 feet to 500 feet. The thing blew up just below us. The flash was very apparent. The B-29 cruised at 225 mile per hour and in our dive, we probably hit 350 miles per hour or better.

(Were there any "milk-run" missions?)Toward the end of the war, my squadron was assigned to hit air fields a number of times. On these missions, we usually didn't face much opposition. We classified these few missions as "milk runs". I remember a couple where we didn't have any opposition at all for which we were most grateful. We learned later that the Japs were holding hundreds of planes in reserve, as well as fuel, awaiting our invasion which everyone, including us knew was coming. But the dropping of the atomic bombs made that unnecessary.

(How long did it take to prepare a B-29 for a mission?) This was done by the ground crews while we were briefing for the mission. So as aircrew members, we didn't take part in that operation. I do know for a fact that it took hours and hours to load 12,000 to 14,000 pounds of bombs and pump in 4,000 or so gallons of gas. Our hats were off to those guys who many times worked around the clock without much if any sleep, just to be sure our plane was in tip top shape ready to go. All the systems had to be checked for leaks and engines checked for proper operation. I can't say enough praise for those men. Many times engines had to be changed which was a major operation in itself and they stuck with it until it was done. Then we had to take the plane up to slow time the new engine, that is, to break it in, for four hours. Sometimes they didn't have all that much time between missions to accomplish all of this.

(What happened just prior to a mission?) While they were getting the planes ready, the aircrews were briefing for the mission itself. This usually went something like this: The mission was posted a day ahead of time. So, say it was a daylight mission over the target, we would have an afternoon briefing which would take an hour or so for everyone. Then the crews would break up into separate groups according to their specialty. As I recall, for another hour or so. We would then be free to take a nap and get things ready to go. After evening chow, a final weather briefing and last minute changes as to route, target etc. that may have been made. If it were, say a morning strike, then our take off time could be as late as 2:00 o'clock in the morning. Seven to nine hours to the target, then seven to nine hours back home. Needless to say, there wasn't much sleep before we took off and sleeping in a B-29 wasn't all that comfortable. The ones who had to stay awake the most were the Pilots, Navigator and Engineer. The rest could curl up and sleep some. As for my crew, we pilots took turns of one hour each to stay awake and watch our course, altitude etc. Sometimes to while away the hours, we read, played gin rummy but always attending to business. It did get boring, especially if there was no bad weather or other distractions. If it was a daylight strike, then we would always go in formation which would take place well before getting to the empire, for protection against fighters. After hitting the target, we would stay in formation until clear, then break up for the trip home. We always had a food warmer with trays of food. I always ate mine before we got to the target. I felt if I got shot down, at least I wouldn't be hungry. Most of the others on my crew waited until we were headed home before eating. After debriefing back at base, it was a shower, food and to bed regardless of the time of day or night and sleep the clock around and then eat a bite and maybe go back to bed again. It's a good thing we were young at the time.

Mission Stories

Our 17th mission was scheduled for June 26 and was to be a 314th Wing Operation against an aluminum plant in Nagoya. Twenty-nine planes were to hit it with 150 tons of general-purpose 500-pound bombs. K-51 was to carry 11,000 pounds that day. It was a day mission, and John and I had the honor of leading again. When we reached the assembly area north of Iwo, I noticed a destroyer taking evasive action down below. We thought it was American, but wondered why it was zigzagging. We had little time to be concerned about that and started our circle with nose wheel down and shooting out flares. Soon we had run out of time and took off for Japan with 29 B-29s. Thirty-three had been scheduled to hit Nagoya. We found out later that the destroyer was Japanese, and evidently everyone else had also thought it was ours. The Japs caught on and hadn't fired on any B-29s until the last one showed up. One crew from my squadron was one of them. I believe it was Capt. Tibbs' plane, and the destroyer opened fire with a barrage and badly damaged the plane. They salvoed their bomb load and headed back for Iwo. They made it, but it was a close call.

We continued on to the target and made a successful run. The flak was heavy but we went in over 20,000 feet, so it wasn't too accurate. We were pressurized as usual, and while still heading for the coast, there was the loudest explosion I had ever heard. My eardrums felt like they had been hit hard. In combat, you kept the oxygen mask attached to one side of your helmet, hanging loose. All you have to do is attach the mask to your face by snapping it on the other side of your helmet. You then turn the oxygen knob and attach the microphone cord to the radio. All this takes about four seconds, and you are able to talk on the radio and be taking pure oxygen.

All of my instruments were functioning, so I asked Cowley if he had any trouble. He said, except for being depressurized, all systems were operating normally. About this time, the guys in the rear section came on and said there was a big hole in the top of the plane, but no one seemed to be hit. Fosler, in the tail section, said he was okay. No one had seen anything, so we kept on going and everyone stayed at their positions, looking for enemy fighters. When we hit the coast and were in the clear, Kermit Wheeler got on the intercom and said he had been hit but was okay. He said he wasn't bleeding and didn't need first aid. When we got down to where we didn't need oxygen, he came up through the tunnel. He still looked like he had seen a ghost. When that shell hit our plane, it didn't explode. It was either a 20 or 37mm cannon shell from a fighter and had come in through the top of the plane, angling down toward the rear. It had clipped the throat mike cord into two pieces, three inches from Kermit's Adam's apple, nipped his left arm, tearing his flying suit, proceeded on through the rear bulkhead into the putt-putt area, where it went through a can of gasoline and on out the bottom of the plane. What kept the gas from exploding or at least catching fire, no one will ever know. The puncture made by the shell caused the sudden depressurization, which sounded like an explosion. The pressure inside the cabin had gone from the equivalent of8,500 feet to over 20,000 feet in a matter of two or three seconds. The shell had made a red welt on Kermit's arm. After going through a scare like that, the poor guy didn't even get the Purple Heart. If there had ever been a doubt about there being a God, it was dispelled that day. Also, I knew right then, that there was absolutely no doubt whether or not I'd come out of the war alive, for I felt I would. Kermit Wheeler was a jovial guy, about 5' 10" tall and probably weighed 200 pounds, so it was a good thing he was good-natured. Like most of us Kermit had a nickname and it was "Bert," after the old movie actor, Bert Wheeler. Bert had replaced Owen McGreevey, K-51's Radar Observer who was a Captain and had been promoted to the Squadron Radar position and taken off flying status after our 8th or 9th mission. I had become very good friends with Kermit, and we kept in touch after the war at Christmas time. I didn't receive a letter or card in 1959 and knew something was wrong. The following Christmas I got a letter and card from Anna Mae, his wife. She said he had died just before Christmas the year before.

It was our orders to return to the Marianas by way of Iwo, no matter if we had to fly out of our way to get there. That was so the air/sea rescue submarines wouldn't have such a large area to patrol.

On our 18th mission we were scheduled to go to Shimonoseki in western Japan. This was to be a 3,450-mile trip, and K-51 was to carry 13,400 pounds of firebombs. It was to be another night mission on July 2. It had been sometime since Shimonoseki had been hit, so 127 B-29s from the 314th Wing were to hit, then 28 B-29s from the 313th Wing were to hit it with a one-two punch. The mission went off pretty much as expected. Twenty- four had to land at Iwo, mostly because they were low on gas. It was a long trip for that much of a bomb-load, so it was going to be pretty close. On the way back to the coast, Charlie (N) suggested we cut across and head straight for Guam instead of flying east to Iwo, then south. John agreed, so Charlie charted a course for home. We knew this would save gas, and since we were at 20,00 feet, decided to lean out the gas mixture and stay at this altitude for about five hours. Cowley (FE) moved some men around and transferred some gas around to get old K-51 on the step and settled down. What we were doing was contrary to the rules and probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. It would mean that we would have 1,700 miles of open sea with no rescue submarines, in case of trouble.

When we were about two hours out, it was my turn to take a nap. By this time, everyone was getting pretty tired, including me. I had no trouble going to sleep. About one hour and a half later, I woke up on my own and looked over at John, who was sound asleep. Schafer (B) was asleep, so I looked back and Charlie, Cowley, and Perren (RO) were all asleep. I knew all the guys in the back were asleep, because there was no reason to be awake. I checked our course and altitude, both of which had drifted off slightly, because gyros do that, and made the corrections. I then looked out my window and got the shock of my life. There, not over 50 feet away, looking in my window was a navy pilot in a F4U Corsair Fighter. He was parked just outside the radius of our number four propellers. I grinned at him and gave him a wave. He waved back and pointed to his earphone. I couldn't figure what he meant, because I knew he was on radio silence, that close to the Japanese coast. Also, I couldn't figure out why he was up there, since we were transmitting our IFF (identification friend or foe) signal, so I checked the IFF switch and sure enough, we had forgotten to switch it back on. I flipped the switch on, pronto. In the meantime, I woke John up and noticed another F4U sitting on our left wing. I yelled in the intercom at the guys in the back to wake up (everyone kept headsets on). Normann (CFC) said there was another one up there, so those guys had us surrounded. When I switched the IFF back on, both F4Us slid out past our wingtips and split "s" straight down. They didn't report us, though, because no one ever mentioned this episode to us, and we didn't bring it up either. The IFF is a code that is transmitted on a certain frequency and is changed on a regular basis, I think about weekly, in combat. Before you get to the target area, you turn it off, and then as you leave the coast, you turn it back on. The reason you have to turn it off over the target is so enemy can't track in on the signal and tell what our altitude is. With the knowledge of our speed and altitude, it is pretty easy to score hits with anti-aircraft guns. One wonders how many B-29s were lost because some tired pilot forgot to turn off his IFF.

More to come from Mr. Shine!


K-32(2) : 1LT Jack Rodin (N)

When we heard the Japs were going to surrender (premature announcement) we invited all our crew to our Quonset. Then took out every bottle of booze and proceeded to get drunk. I mean D R U N K. When we woke up we started to search for the site of the stench which we finally found . Bill Dolan (B) had upchucked into his parachute bag, then zipped it shut. Jim Baskins (LG), was not to be found and finally we had to ask the Marines to look for him, thinking he might have staggered into the jungle. Jim actually slept UNDER THE QUONSET. A few days later, August 14th.we flew our last combat mission. I believe wewere all sober by then .


K-12 SN: 42-94024 "City of CLAYTON, MO" aka "Our Baby" : 1LT Livingston Crowell (P)

He lived in a quanset hut in the officers area. There were 5 beds on each side with one crew on each side. The K-2 crew was with them. Part way through their time there, Donohue was promoted to Warrant Officer and he moved into there hut. Guess they had to bring in another cot. There was a door at each end and what looked like dormer windows along the side. Would have to look at a picture to see how many windows. When they arrived there were 10 cots and a frame around each for the mosquito netting, which he said they never used. They were issued sprays for mosquitos which they used when they went to bed and that seemed to do the trick. Livy sent home for a pillow and had 2 sent to him. They went down to the navy base at the end of the island. They couldn't go in but gave money to a sailor and he went in and bought mattresses, such as they were. Blankets were issued to them. It was quite hot during the day but always cooled down at night. Clouds came over quite a few time during the day and they would have a shower. No typhoons or bad storms on Guam while Livy was there. If they could find pieces of lumber they made items. Livy made a desk, such as it was. He also made a little closet with a door for clothing. He kept a lamp on inside the closet to keep the clothing from getting mildewed. One day he burnt his shirt tail. All the buildings were quite near his quanset hut so there was no problem with transportation. They could walk to them easily. To this day he has no idea where the enlisted men were housed. Were they in huts or tents? When they first arrived they had to do their own laundry. Livy put a barrel under the eaves and collected water. They took the water out and put it in a smaller barrel that was over a fire. Then they shaved bar soap into it. Then they washed the clothes. Some pictures show the clothing hung on the lines by the hut. The water was so soft it was difficult to get the soap out. They always had to watch for those clouds that came over often. One day he looked in the barrel where he collected water and found all little 'squiggly' things. Mosquito eggs. He dumped the barrel over. Later they had a laundry where they took their clothes. When his clothes were washed they were all hung on one nail until they were dry. The item that was on the nail always had a rust spot on it. He brought home a lot of clothing with rust spots on the neck. Livy never saw any rodents. Food was O.K. They had a lot of spam - round, square! They had a lot of creamed corn. No milk! That he really missed. If they had jam or jelly they had no butter. Never had the two at the same time. Lots of orange marmalade. They ate in the mess hall. They had a BX and he would buy a box of chocolate bars every week. They were made of something so they would not melt as a Hershey bar would. Entertainment - Livy was on a baseball team and they went to another island once to play a game. They went to the beach, constructed a basketball court, getting man with a load of asphalt to drop some off. I think they gave him some bottles of booze. They went out in the jungle and got some small palm trees and planted them along the path to their hut. They played cards at the officer's club, went to the movies and of course wrote letters. Livy had taken a radio with him so he was able to listen to baseball games. Then, of course, he listened to Tokyo Rose. If they were going on a 2 a.m. mission they would go to the briefing room at 11 p.m. After the briefing they would go for a meal. AT this time they were given the food that they could eat on the mission. They always had sandwiches and usually there was a gallon can of peaches - one for the front and one for the back of the plane. Someone would take the lid off the can and the only way they could get them out was to stab them with their knife. Quite a bit before 2 a.m. big trucks, the kind with the canvas over the top, would come around to pick up everyone who was going on a mission. If you were lucky to sit at the opening, you could see where you had been. Guess that is why he has no idea where his K-12 was located. They would get dropped off at their plane and proceed to ready it for the mission. A short time before take-off the fuel truck would come around and tip off the tanks because sometimes some of the planes had been warming up for quite a while. A half hour of fuel gone in this way could be a problem in getting back to Guam. On their return from the mission the truck would pick them up and return them to the briefing room for de-briefing. It was here that they always got a shot of booze.


A typical day in preparedness for a Night Mission

From an anonymous B-29 Crewmember

Briefing 1500 Hours. They ride a GI truck to the briefing, which is held in a large auditorium belonging to the wing. The course to and from the target is laid out on a large board with reflective tape. I remember separate breakouts showing heavy flak areas around the target, navigation features and the egress course out. All of this was overlaid on a map of Japan, and on a magnified map of the target area, so when the lights were turned down. Quite impressive. The presentation included the location of the circling Dumbo B-29, and the Navy speaker gave the location of their rescue Destroyer and submarines. All of the presenters use pointers with reflective tips. The headings and altitudes of all courses to the target and return are shown, and have previously been given to the Navs. Bombing altitude is 16,000 ft. Weather for the entire mission is presented by the Group Meteorologist with the room lights now back on. Before we leave, the Squadron Flight Engineer (FE) gives out a copy of the flight plan to each FE. This a statistical summary table organized like the FE's log, predicting times, temperatures, power settings, fuel remaining and gross weights for the entire mission, A very handy tool that I helped prepare. This mission will last in excess of 14 hours.

Mess 1700 hrs All crews go to mess at this time, and while there they pick up a brown paper bag of mess hall prepared sandwiches and K-rations for breakfast. Some may defer on the sandwiches. But one of the Gunners will fill a gallon thermos jug of hot coffee to be taken to the airplane later. Personal Equipment Check out Each crew member checks out his own fitted oxygen mask, sustenance vest, 45-cal side arm, with shoulder harness and birdshot ammo, his own parachute and one-man raft attached, a Mae West life preserver, a flak jacket, helmet, throat mike, head set, flashlight and E/E (escape & evasion) kit, which is attached to the same pistol belt that carries his water canteen. He has also been issued previously with a tan flight suit and a hack type wristwatch. The FE has his own tool kit -an E6-B calculator and a fuel tank measuring stick. All Crew Members wear GI issue socks and shoes. Transportation from the Squadron Area is by weapons carrier.

Pre-flight 1800 hrs The FE has gone down to the line earlier in the day while the Crew Chief was preparing the aircraft for the mission. He probably looked into the engines accessory sections, checking the fuel and oil connections if work stands were available. In general, he will have had an unhurried look around following a checklist, and will have spoken to the Crew Chief about work being done. The fuel tanks were not yet topped off, so the caps had to be checked at the regular pre-flight. The TG also installed his ammo at this earlier time. The FE could gain access to the top of the aircraft using an upper hatch aft of the APU (auxiliary power unit), but a nearby work stand that will provide access to the top of the wing is available so that he can check that each fuel tank is full and tank caps and access covers are secured, including those for the oil tanks. The APU fuel tank is also checked for service and tank cap on at this time. The FE calculates weight and balance. A slide rule "load adjuster" which comes with the aircraft is used to determine per cent MAC (mean aerodynamic chord), which is usually 24 per cent. The aircraft is loaded with 6,785 gallons of fuel (100/130) grade, and 85 US gallons of 60 wt oil in each engine oil tank. Earlier in the day the Ordnance Personnel were busy tucking away 40 500-lb composition B bombs, 20 in each bomb-bay, that actually weigh 550 lbs each. The remaining crew are trucked to the hardstand and climb out to assemble next to their waiting aircraft. The take-off gross weight is approximately 133,000 lbs. This weight is reported to the A/C.

Starting Up The crew pulls the props through. To insure there are no liquid locks in lower engine cylinders, the propellers on each engine must be manually pulled through the equivalent of two engine revolutions. Personal Equipment Inspection The A/C looks closely at each crew member for proper personal equipment while they are lined up along side the airplane. Boarding 1915 Hrs The crew boards the airplane and buttons her up. The TG starts the APU, and after it warms up he puts the generator on line. Then he proceeds to his position to go through his checklist. The remaining crew also begin their lengthy checklists as well. Once they are completed.., they wait. The A/C receives notice from the tower to start engines. Once a fire guard is standing by the No 1 engine, the A/C signals to start it up. The FE will start No 1, and then watch rear and nose oil pressures. If they are normal he will report, "Oil pressures OK". The same procedure is used to start all engines, except the pilot takes over on the right engines. After the engines warm up, the FE will do engine run up. Both Pilots will observe their tachometers as each engines magnetos are checked. The FE will callout, "Left -both, then right", allowing enough time to see the full RPM drop on each magneto. The engines are run at 2,200 rpm for this check. Electrical system generator output is checked at 1,500 rpm. The full power check will be made on the first third of the take-off run. The Pilots and FE refer to the pre-takeoff check list and notify the crew to prepare for take-off. The Pilots do their job now and at their assigned time and spacing they taxi out of the hardstand, give a nod to the Crew Chief and take their place in the long line of heavy metal to begin their wake-up call to a slumbering target. Abort note -if any problem develops affecting safety or the ability of the aircraft to continue the mission, an abort crew is standing by off to the side of the active runway, and the pilot with trouble must expedite his taxi to the end of the runway, turn off and proceed to the abort area. The engines must not be stopped and the crew must not leave the aircraft while the OIC (Officer In Charge) checks out the problem with his experts. He is strictly in charge, and if the problem can be fixed it will be done so. Then the crew goes back and tries again.

Take-off 1940 hrs On signal from the tower, and 30 seconds behind the aircraft screaming down the runway in front of him, the pilot moves the aircraft out onto the runway and still rolling, applies full power. The FE closely watches all of the engine instruments on his panel, and starts to close the cowl flaps as the aircraft speeds up. He asks the Gunners in the back, "Do you see anything abnormal?" "No", is the answer. There is no backfiring or overheating and the instruments are normal, so he reports, "Full power OK all engines". Of course the Pilot knows he has four good ones working, but he must use all of the runway. The FE will continue closing the cowl flaps on all engines, while noting that the engines cylinder head temperature are still in the green. As the fully loaded aircraft clears the runway overrun, the pilot calls, "Gear up", then, "Climb power!" The Gunners report, "Gear coming up". The Pilot sees an indication on his aisle stand panel confirming that the landing gear is up and locked. He then asks for, "Flaps". The Gunners report flaps are slowly retracting. The FE notes in his log that take-off power was on for two minutes. He asks the TG to turn off the APU. Then referring to his flight plan, he estimates climb time to cruise altitude and calculates new gross weight to determine first cruise power. During the climb, and while the aircraft is not pressurized, the Bombardier must remove the fuse pins from the bomb fuses. He will ask the LG to do the aft bomb-bay while he does the forward. When finished, the Gunner will bring up his pins through the tunnel to the Bombardier, who must turn in all pins after the mission. Since the first cruise altitude is 10,000 ft, the FE pressurizes the aircraft. The Nav must confirm winds with a drift meter, but tells the Pilot to initially use the briefed course. The Pilots set up the Auto-Pilot. Celestial navigation will be used during the entire mission by the Nav. Cruise Control The FE keeps a running log of power settings, fuel flow, fuel remaining, gross weight, outside air temperature, altitude and miles per gallon (usually about 0.6). Log entries are made every hour, or at every power change. Cruise control requires that the aircraft be operated at long-range airspeeds, which becomes slower as the aircraft lightens due to fuel burn or bombs dropped. The lighter the aircraft becomes, the less power is required. The FE must also start transferring fuel from the centre wing tank to wing tanks behind each engine no later than two hours after take-off, and be completed before the climb to bombing altitude. This ensures that all fuel had been transferred before combat, and reduces I wing bending load from the fuselage. No smoking is allowed during fuel transfer. Other crew members functions: RO -he must monitor certain frequencies during the entire mission. And after bombs away, he sends a coded strike message to base. His secondary job is the Crew Medic, and he has had considerable first aid training. He also has a medical kit. Both L/R Gunners and the TG -they are the eyes and ears of the back of the airplane. The TG is the only person on board who has an unrestricted view behind us. He gets to try his guns on every mission, but so far he has had no targets. We have enemy spotter airplanes over Japan way off our wingtip, but out of range. The Gunners each have a small window to observe the landing gear, flaps and engines on their sides, and an Aldis lamp to help at night. They report to the flight deck on the operation of the landing gear and wing flaps. The Gunners can also help the FE operate the flaps and/or landing gear in an emergency using the actuator mounted in the aft bomb-bay or the manual crank. The RG also turns on and off our IFF, "rooster" transmitter. It is turned on prior to take-off and confirmed to be working. In this regard, on our last mission we were somewhere north of Iwo Jima and suddenly the pilot, monitoring the required VHF frequency, heard "This is Admiral so-and-so, Task Force so-and-so. All US planes receiving this message execute a l8O-degree turn now". He repeated the order, adding, "We are having some IFF trouble". We turned around. In a minute or so he came on a again. "Resume course, Thank you". That is a small incident that shows the extent of the Navy presence in the waters around Japan at this time.

Into Battle: As we approach the Japanese Empire, the Nav tells the A/C, "Climb point in three minutes". The FE will note in his log the time they set up climb power, and notify the Pilot that fuel transfer has been completed. After we reach bombing altitude, the A/C orders the FE to depressurize the aircraft and for all crew members to put on oxygen masks and goggles, and get ready for the bombing run. I peek around to look forward and the world looks on fire. There are searchlights and what look like orange and green flak bursts. Someone says, "Phosphorus". The Pilots and Bombardier have identified the aircraft in front of us as a B-29. The TG reports we also have one behind us. The airplane commander asks for more power to close in behind the airplane in front of us so as to form a single file bomber stream as we approach the initial point (IP) The LG reports an unwelcome visitor way off to the left and then we have more searchlights. We were told in our indoctrination that three searchlights are bad, but four are deadly. So the A/C asks the TG to turn on the chaff dispenser. As it starts working the lights seem to just be moving around. Our aircraft are all painted black on the underside, but with so much ambient light from the fire its not much help. Chaff is a certain length aluminum foil, which is helping to disrupt their radar-controlled lights. We will use it again on the bomb run. At the IP the A/C turns the aircraft over to the Rad Obv and the Bombardier. The Rad Ob steers the aircraft with a remote knob of the Auto-Pilot toward the aiming point. The Pilot handles the throttles to maintain a constant speed. The Bombardier follows the Rad Obv through on his bombsight. The FE has a side window to look out, and the light from the great fire below seems brighter. All he can do is sit there riding backward, watching his instruments and be ready to perform any emergency procedure that he knows. Then the Bombardier does his real job. First there is a light thud as the pneumatically operated bomb-bay doors open, then "click-click-click" over the interphone as the bombs leave and suddenly the aircraft increasingly rises as more and more bombs fall away, then another thud as the bomb-bay doors close. The A/C quickly disengages the auto-pilot, grabs the controls and puts the B-29 into a steep banking turn away from the target, asking for full rated power -all simultaneously it seems. Now the TG has a view he will never forget of the raging inferno. The A/C directs the RO to send his coded strike message to base. As we exit the target area we are aware that an ECM (electronic counter measure) aircraft from our wing may have been circling the target area, jamming the anti-aircraft control radar, and were thankful, but the Pilot says he thought some of the flak was still pretty accurate. The 330th has an ECM aircraft in their Squadron, but it is not yet been fully converted. The Nav gives the Pilot the next course change and the FE sets up the descent power setting. The cruise altitude back to base is usually set at 8000 ft.

The Trip Home: One of the XXI Bomber Command modifications made on all B-29s as they arrive from the States is the replacement of oil dilution switches on the FE's switch panel with propeller double throw control switches. Thus the FE can make the necessary power adjustments for long range cruise control and the A/C is aware of this. We still have over six hours of ocean to cover. The Nav must check the course occasionally and have minor corrections made, but the rest of the crew will do a little napping. Some will even crawl into the tunnel to stretch out. The RO must still monitor required frequencies. And as the power is reduced, some minor trim on the elevator control of the auto-pilot by a pilot will be necessary at times the FE has been known to do this. As we get closer to the Marianas we set the radio compass to the local radio station. Food -most of the crew will eat K-rations and! or candy bars from the PX. Some of us might have some mess hall coffee. It is not the greatest, just hot. Remember back then the eggs were powered, and so was the milk. The TG is the only one eating Spam sandwiches from the Mess. He stays back there in his position most of the time, awake and looking at the ocean or something. He is the only one who can go the trip without using the toilet. Toilet -there are no relief tubes on the B- 29, even for the TG. His position is pressurized by a duct from the aft cabin. He has a valve to depressurize so he can get out, but no relief tube. So there is a bucket with a lid and a removable liner usually located in the aft pressurized compartment. The rules are that the first user has to empty it. Most of us can wait a long time, but not 14 hours. I think it was the same crew member who finally had to go every time-he was an "Old man" of 29 then. For the last two hours of the flight the engines RPM is set at 1,400 RPM. It can go lower and still drive the generators, but we are light. I check the fuel tank gauges, and they show we have about 1,100 gallons total. My log says 1,170. In a 20 degree nose-down attitude the airplane traps about 740 gallons of fuel. If we had less fuel, the FE would transfer more to the outboard tanks since they trap less. But we have never had to hold before landing with three runways at our base, so I won't move any fuel. The Pilot says okay. Using the radio compass set to an invisible intersection called Margo or something like that, the Pilots know exactly where they are when that intersection is crossed, the radio compass does a 180, and they then call Northwest Field Tower for landing. Marianas Control is also contacted. The TG is asked to start the APU, the A/C orders "Prepare to land checklist", and power is set to 2,400 RPM, then landing gear. As the gear comes down, the Gunners are asked if the tires look okay. We really didnt know if we had any damage, but they see no damage when they report theyre down and locked. Pilot reports three green lights on the aisle stand. Then he asks for half flaps, and when we turn on final, full flaps. On touch down, the FE opens the cowl flaps for the runway roll-out. We usually stop somewhere it is clear, taxiing in and making a magneto check on all engines so any excessive drop can be noted on the form I-A But everything seems fine. At the hardstand the engines are cut and landing gear lock pins are handed down to the ground crew. Would the Crew Chief like the putt-putt left on? He says yes, so we have to move the airplane around. The FE must fill out the Form One with all crew member names, and he notes that the time is 0945 hrs. That makes the mission duration 14 hours and 5 minutes. He finishes his log before he exits the airplane with the rest of the crew. Sat back in a weapons carrier, we go directly to debriefing and critique, in a tent. After that, the Red Cross girls are there with donuts and coffee. I take three donuts with coffee, and as we go in the Flight Surgeon orders us to take a shot of bourbon. Then we all walk to our Quanset Huts and try and catch some shut-eye in the morning sun.


K-28: SSGT Everett Lyle Bolinger (Acft & Engine Mech)

I was an Engine Mechanic on the B-29 Bombers in Guam in 1945. We would start our day about 7 AM. But when we had some bombers going out on a mission we would work 24 hours on it. We would rest some & sleep when we had finished until the next mission. Our food was mostly powered eggs,bread & coffee for breakfast. I remembered the Lamb Stew served us so much that I still today hate Lamb. But we had lots of canned spam & beans as well, The first day there they served us lemon-aid & beans and from then on every time someone complained over food, I would remind them its better than lemon-aid & canned beans. The weather wasn't bad, but it did rain on us, but a warm rain, so it was humid. I was used to the humidity being from Effingham Kansas. Sincerly, Everett Lyle Bolinger


K-5 and K-1(2): CAP Robert J. Willman (Acft Commander)

Robert J. Willman of Duluth enlisted in the Army Aviation Cadet program on Sept. 25, 1941. He completed flight training on April 24, 1942, and worked as a flight instructor at Gardner Field in California and at Pecos, Texas. He took B-17 training in 1944 and trained as a commander of B-29 bombers. He was promoted to captain and assigned as a pilot with the 330th Bomb Group in the Pacific and flew missions in the air offensive against Japan in the final months of World War II. He was later recalled to duty during the Korean War. Willman was a pilot with Delta Airlines for more than 30 years and retired in 1976.

In early 1945 he was assigned to Guam as a B-29 pilot. The big bombers were each named for a U.S. city. He describes what happened: "I called my crew together and asked each one to put the name of his hometown on a piece of paper. We'd put all the names in a hat and have one of our mechanics pull one name out. Whatever name was on the paper would become the name of our airplane. I believe there was a conspiracy. Without a doubt, there were 11 pieces of paper in that hat, all with the name Duluth on them." Thus Willman's B-29 became the City of Duluth.

Here is his story of what happened to that plane and crew as they prepared for overseas duty: It was March, 22, 1945 that we had to say goodbye to our wives. It was an emotional experience for we knew not what lay ahead. Upon landing in Guam we were directed to our barracks, Quonset huts made of corrugated steel that could house about 20 men. We slept on metal army cots and there were no partitions. Out in the middle of the barracks area were our outdoor sanitary facilities. There was running water for wash basins and showers, but not for toilets. Since there were no laundries on the island, we improvised by half filling a 55-gallon can with water, building a fire under it, adding soap and clothes and stirring with a mop handle. Our first meals for both officers and enlisted men were at a field kitchen. We were at a brand new facility and construction of mess halls was just beginning. At a field kitchen the cooks work under the shelter of a tent using bottled gas for their stove. The food is plain, but nourishing and filling. A line was formed as in a cafeteria. Each person had his own mess-kit.

At first there were no tables or chairs, but soon the mess officer had some stand-up tables made. Before we had a chance to think about why we were here, we were called out on our first combat mission. It was April 12, 1945, that we were briefed to bomb an oil refinery about 100 miles north of Tokyo. Our B-29s took off at one-minute intervals and flew over the target single file and dropped our high-explosive bombs from 20,000 feet. Our gunners say they spotted fires breaking out at the refinery. We encountered no fighter opposition and only spotty and inaccurate flak. This first mission turned out to be our longest, 18 hours and five minutes. Then our crew was alerted that we were scheduled to go on a mission to Tokyo the next day. We made the seven-hour trip in single file as a fuel-saving measure. Fifty miles off the coast of Japan we formed into three-ship formations as a protective measure against the Japanese fighter planes, which were reluctant to engage B-29s in formation. However, if flak would hit and disable a plane so it could not keep up with the formation, the fighters would attack it, often with success. Flak was heavy over Tokyo. We were at about 20,000 feet and the sky was clear. We dropped our bombs and headed out to sea still in formation with the Japanese fighters escorting us hoping at least one of us might have to drop back, but none did. Meanwhile back on the island, construction was going on rapidly and it wasn't long before we had our own mess hall. Officers and enlisted men used the same building, but sat at different tables. Our tables were picnic style, but we no longer had to use our mess kits. We were now able to have regular dishes and normal tableware. Food was served cafeteria style and I had no complaints about it.

Our next mission was a night fire-bomb raid against Tokyo. We were told by our intelligence officer that much of the civilian population had been evacuated and a cottage industry had been set up to manufacture fighter airplane parts and other war materiel. The powers that be decided a fire bombing would put a stop to that. This was to be a massive B-29 strike against Japan. We took off from Guam about 5 p.m. so as to arrive over Japan just after midnight. Our departure had to be coordinated with the B-29 bases at Tinian and Saipan to assure a smooth flow of traffic over the target. This time the bombing would have to be done by the use of radar in cooperation with the bombardier because heavy smoke obscured the target. As we approached the drop area, the bombardier and radar operator told me they were ready for me to turn the autopilot on. We were now on the bomb run and there could be no deviation. The smoke clouds from the fires below were producing turbulence not unlike that found in a moderate thunderstorm. Next we saw the tracers from the antiaircraft guns. They had found our bomb run and apparently also our altitude for the bright tracers formed a giant inverted "V" with the apex always directly ahead of us. At this time I thought, " how can we possibly make it through this without getting hit". It was a tense several minutes. As soon as I heard the bombardier call out "bombs away" I made a hard right turn to get away from the flak and smoke. Soon we emerged from the dense smoke and I asked our navigator for our first compass heading back to Guam.

I guess we had all started to relax a bit when the tail gunner called out, "Skipper, it looks like we've got a Kamikaze on our tail". I immediately added power and pushed the nose of the plane down to gain speed. We had been warned that the Japs had these suicide pilots flying light planes and would attempt to ram B-29s. Our hearts were pounding until the tail gunner called to say that we were pulling away from him. Two days later we were alerted for a mission to bomb the Kanoya Airfield on Kyushu, the southernmost island of the Japanese chain. This mission was meant to knock out this airfield, from which Japanese fighter aircraft were operating. This was planned as a daylight raid, so we left late at night so as to arrive over Kyushu about daybreak. We carried high-explosive bombs in the front bomb bay and an auxiliary fuel tank in the aft bomb bay. Our takeoff was normal and we were in our climb to our cruising altitude of 10,000 feet. About 20 minutes into our flight the flight engineer said, "Skipper, we're losing oil in our No. 2 engine." I ordered the co-pilot to feather that engine. Ray pressed the feathering button and nothing happened. Then we lost all the oil in it, so now we had a runaway prop. I immediately made a reversal of course to return to our base. Next I had to trim the plane to fly on three engines. The No. 2 prop was spinning fast but not producing any power. I slowed the airplane down to try to slow the spinning of the prop. Then I told Bill to salvo the bomb load and after that to drop the auxiliary fuel tank. It hurt to drop 640 gallons of aviation fuel into the ocean, but at six pounds per gallon, that reduced our landing weight by more than 3,600 pounds. Releasing the bombs and auxiliary fuel cut our landing weight by 12,000 pounds and reduced the risk of fire or explosion upon landing. I called Sweeney to ask how the prop looked. He said that the hub of the prop was red hot. Ray took over the flying while I got out of my seat to see for myself. By this time the hub had turned white hot. All this time we were descending and keeping our speed as slow as possible. We spotted Guam from about 30 miles out. The approach went well and the moment we touched down the prop seized. A later mission was to bomb an airfield near Miyazaki to destroy the operational capability of this airport where Japanese fighter aircraft were based. These fighters had taken a toll on many of our planes that had been damaged by flak. As soon as we approached the target we spotted bursts of flak and fighters circling awaiting the first B-29 to be disabled. The sky was clear at our altitude of 20,000 feet, so Bill, our bombardier, had no trouble lining up the target. As soon as I heard Bill say, "bombs away" our formation made a right turn and headed for home. Two days later our squadron was briefed to bomb the Kanoya Airfield on the southern island of Kyushu. These airfield bombings were not massive strikes. Usually one squadron was enough to complete the job.

Again our squadron flew over the target in formation, since that was our daylight mode of operation. Our night raids were always at staggered altitude single file. Once again we encountered light flak and saw fewer fighters. All our planes returned safely. We had a layoff of about six days before our group was alerted for a raid against the port of Matsuyama on the island of Shikoku. The idea was to destroy the port facilities to interrupt Japan's supply lines. My memory of this mission is hazy so every thing must have gone well. One month after our arrival on Guam, 330th Bomb Group records show 4 B-29s had been lost, major damage had been done to three and minor damage to l7 - with 25 crewmembers killed in action, nine missing in action and one injured. On May 10, 1945, my crew was assigned to a school in California, and we were first allowed to visit our families. Our first mission after our return to Guam was to a fighter base on the small Japanese Island of Shikoku. This was a daylight operation and we noticed the flak was not as heavy as it had been. Between the middle of July and Aug. 15 we were to fly eight more missions. Because the anti-aircraft and fighter defenses of Japan had become less hazardous, possibly due to Gen. Lemay's tactics and our bombing of the fighter bases, things went quite smoothly for us. After Uwa Jima we flew missions to Okazaki, Tsu, Ogaki, Mito, Nishin, Tokyo and Kumagaya. The mission to Tokyo was a daylight mission for precision bombing of the Nakajima Aircraft plant. As in our other daylight missions we flew to within 50 to 100 miles of the Japanese coast in single file, one minute between planes. At this point the Japanese fighters were there to escort us over the target area and back out over the ocean. As I have mentioned before, the fighters were respectful of our guns while we were in formation, but whenever a plane was disabled by flak and became a loner, he was much easier prey for the fighter. We dropped our bombs successfully from 20,000 feet and without a casualty. The flight back to Guam was without concern until we were halfway between Iwo Jima and Guam. It was then that Walker, our flight engineer, told me we were running low on fuel and likely could not make it to Guam. Evidently the longer than normal time we were in formation used up more fuel than we had expected. I told him to lean the fuel flow as much as possible and that we would land at Saipan. He said he would do all he could to conserve fuel but that it would still be close for landing at Saipan. Sweeney, our navigator, told me that we were right on course, and when Hofheins spotted Saipan on radar, I started a slow and gradual descent. I had Ray, our pilot, call Isley Tower to explain our situation. They cleared us for a straight-in approach and landing. I'm sure all of the crew, along with me, were saying to themselves, " now that we're this close, don't let those engines quit now!" We landed and during the rollout the two outboard engines quit and while we were taxiing to the ramp, the other two engines quit. The fuel truck had to come out and meet us. By the time of this flight, an atomic bomb had already been dropped on Hiroshima, but Japanese leaders were slow in agreeing to an unconditional surrender. So on Aug. 8 we were ordered on another mission, which was thankfully routine. When we returned we learned the Japanese had accepted the surrender terms. But it would be months before I was able to return to the United States.

In mid-November 1945 we returnees were given 45 days of recuperation and rehabilitation. My orders said I was to report to Camp McCoy, Wis., for processing of my discharge from the Army on Jan. 8, 1946.


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