K-3:
MAJ Jackson
S. Wallace (A/C) and 2LT Norman E. Graham (Rad Ob)
It
was January of 1945 and unflyable winter weather had forced us out
of our overseas training unit base at Hays, Kansas. We had evacuated
the entire 330th Bomb Group
from Kansas to Batista Field just outside of Havana, Cuba, to continue
our B-29 training.
At
Batista, our crew had been given orders for a navigational training
mission to a small island east of the Panama Canal Zone and. By
gosh, we found it, attesting to the professionalism and competence
of our navigator, John P. Nolan. He had explained to me that he
was using a 'landfall' procedure whereby he offset us from our destination
about 10 miles and when the ETA expired, we would make a 90 degree
turn to the island. Well, it worked like a charm and we hit the
island on the nose. We then made a standard one-needle width turn
to head back to Batista Field at about 20,000 feet. Sometime later,
The Isle of Pines hove into view and about the same time, number
2 gave up the ghost with its oil pressure dropping to zero. Before
it reached bottom, however, our wonderful flight engineer John Stanko,
spotted the beginning of the drop, called it t to my attention,
and recommended feathering it immediately. Carefully selecting the
correct engine, John followed the procedure for feathering the propeller
and shut the engine down. The airplane was light, having no armament
on board and not a great deal of fuel so it handled just fine on
three engines. I recall that in training at Alamogordo, New Mexico,
we flew early models of B-29s which were characterized by heating
problems and I quickly became adept at feathering propellers. I
trimmed the airplane so it flew straight and level without much
attention to the controls; set the autopilot and headed home.
Proceeding
on course and maintaining altitude, another 10 minutes went by when
a fire started in number 3 so we quickly executed our engine fire
procedure and the extinguisher doused the fire. John again expertly
preprared the engine to be feathered and I pulled the red button.
I told one of the gunners to start the APU so we would have hydraulic
pressure in the absence of the inboard engines. While I wouldn't
propose a trans-atlantic trip on two engines, still the big bird
handled just fine on the two engines remaining although to maintain
our airspeed, I dropped the nose slightly and began a gentle descent
to the landing pattern at Batista. I re-trimmed the airplane now
that we were back in a symmetrical condition.
We
were at about 3,000 feet when we spotted the airfield and commenced
a long final approach. I called the tower and declared an emergency
and told the tower to notify maintenance that numbers 2 and 3 were
feathered. I was holding a bit more altitude than was really needed,
planning to drain it off when we had the landing made as I didn't
want to have to go around on two engines, as you might imagine.
Holy smokes, number 1 started backfiring when we were about 2,000
feet. Engines were in short supply at Batista although most of us
carried spare engines to Cuba in our bomb bays. Nevertheless, we
wanted to save that engine and not take a chance of ruining it by
keeping it running in that condition. So, all of us on the flight
deck quickly talked it over and since my opinion was that we had
the landing made, we decided to feather that engine, too. John quickly
ran through the procedure and we were descending into Batista with
only number 4 running. I briefed Roger Vannelli, the co-pilot, on
what my plans were should anything go wrong and told him to give
me help on the right rudder if it became necessary to add power
to number 4 engine. I told the bombardier, Chester J. Kalinowski
to strap in tightly. He said, "Not to worry, Boss, you've got this
thing made."
If
I do say so, the touchdown was smooth as molasses on the barn floor
and as I let the airplane run out the landing roll both Vannelli
and Kalinowski yelled at me: "Great landing." Then, a terrible thought
occurred to me. We had to exit to a taxi-way on our right and I
could not make a turn to the right. It is simply impossible to turn
a B-29 into the only running outboard engine. Add power to that
engine and you will turn to the left. Apply right brake to turn
and you're fighting the engine with a brake application which is
nullified by the thrust of number 4.n.
Embarassed,
I called the Tower and advised that I would have to shut down the
airplane on the runway and to get a tow-truck out to me without
delay. The guy in the tower was shocked and said he had other airplanes
in the pattern and directed me to clear the runway. I told him that
it was impossible for me to get off the runway and to expedite the
tow-truck.
Later,
I expected to at least be questioned about shutting down the third
engine, but I never heard a word about it. So, maybe I got away
with one. I still wasn't sure whether we feathered number 1 to save
the engine or just so I could make a single engine landing. Was
it the first time a B-29 had been landed on a single engine? I didn't
know but if it was a record, it was a record that I hoped I would
never have to break.
Before launching out of Mather Field in early 1945 for Guam, we
were briefed that there is a cloud over every island but that there
is not an island under every cloud. We found that to be true, as
enroute to Guam, we were searching for Johnson Island and saw a
lot more clouds than islands. We needed Johnson to get more fuel
for our B-29, K-3.
It was a beautiful day, fair
weather cumulus in every direction. We had spent the night before
at Hickam Field in Hawaii. Two more legs and we would arrive at
Guam where we would land on North Field. Part of our Bomb Group
was already there. Arriving at Guam, I entered the pattern for North
Field, hit a nasty wind shear just a I was flaring for the landing
but recovered okay and trailed after a "follow me" jeep to a hardstand.
Tired but excited, we boarded a truck to our quarters - a Quonset
hut near the edge of the jungle which surrounded the airfield. I
made up a bed, fell in it and I was gone until the next morning
when, I had been advised, I had to attend a briefing of Aircraft
Commanders. Roger B.Vannelli, my Co-Pilot, went with me. He was
young, eager, and anxious to get on with this war. Roger asked "What's
this meeting about?" I guessed "Probably an orientation briefing
but I don't know for sure."
Entering
the room, we saw the familiar faces of some of the Bomb Group crews
that we had trained with at Hays, Kansas, and we exchanged greetings
with them. I saw John Matthews who was K-2,
Doug Neill, who was K-1,
Dick O'Neill, K-10,
Ralph Erwin, K-6,
and several others. I was also happy to see Lawrence T. Keohane.
K-54,
my best friend. The briefing began with a few words of welcome from
our Group Commander, Colonel E.D. Reynolds whose nick-name was "Fish"
because he had once fallen in the fish pond at Randolph AFB. He
was a wonderful guy that we all loved. He turned the meeting over
to the Group Operations Officer who told us we would fly our first
mission the next day. Our excitement rose to a fever pitch. We were
going to COMBAT. We were going to fly over JAPAN, get shot at. Someone
said that the Japanese were beheading captured B-29 guys. Swell.
To put us over the target during hours of darkness, we took off
about 10:00 the next night. One bomb bay was loaded with incendiaries
and the other bomb bay held three 640 gallon fuel tanks. We were
grossing out at 142,000 pounds, 2000 more than the B-29 was supposed
to carry. At that weight, if one engine even hiccuped on take off,
we were probably done for.
We
had 10,000 feet of runway and it sagged in the middle So, going
downhill a bit, we picked up 100 miles an hour easily but then we
started up the incline and the next 40 miles an hour came slowly
indeed. Beyond the runway, there was a 2000 foot strip of coral,
unpaved but very usable and I believe every airplane used the coral
overrun to get off the ground. I know we did. Then came another
blessing. The end of the runway was at the edge of a cliff 600 feet
above the ocean so we could gain needed airspeed by letting the
big bird sink toward the water. Black as black could be, I couldn't
afford to let it sink too far and when I pulled the nose up to start
the climb, there was a chorus of sighs on the interphone. Night
missions were not flown in formation. We flew in a stream, protected
from each other only by holding the exact briefed altitude and airspeed.
Norman Graham (Rad/Ob), called on the interphone to tell me that
he had lost the APQ-13 Radar and he could do nothing about it. I
told him he was fired. So, we continued the mission without radar.
K-3 was running beautifully,
the engines droning away, the propellers synchronized, and our fuel
consumption was on the mark. Our wonderful flight engineer, John
C. Stanko, was keeping a close watch on the engine instruments.
I can see him now - tapping on the glass of a a dial to insure the
needle wasn't stuck.
It
was roughly 3000 miles to Japan and back. In about three hours or
so, we passed abeam of Iwo Jima. The fight for Iwo had just been
concluded and any day now we would have a runway on Iwo to set down
on in an emergency. In about three more hours, we should have been
approaching the coast of Japan. However, no lights appeared anywhere,
it was totally dark and overcast so there was not even starlight
to help us ascertain our location. John Nolan (N), relying on his
only navigational aid, dead reckoning, stated that we had to be
over the coast and so we made a turn to the target heading. All
eleven of us were a bit nervous since we did not know our position
with any degree of accuracy and some of the jokes the guys were
passing around on the interphone sounded a bit strained. After all,
it was our first mission. As we progressed on our target heading,
we began to see a glow in the sky ahead of us. I checked our airspeed
and altitude to be sure we were where we should have been to the
best of our capability. Soon, a black cloud appeared which blocked
the glow straight in front of us and we knew it had to be the smoke
cloud that we were briefed would be over the burning city. Norm
called to say that his radar could not be repaired. The first indication
that it was not a smoke cloud came from Richard Davidson (LG), who
exclaimed: "My God, I can see snow down there" and, a bit later,
"Pull up the left wing, we are going to hit, pull it up, pull it
up." Panicked, I rolled to the right when John DeGroot (RG), yelled:
"Pull it up, pull it up, we are going to hit." I had already fire-walled
the engines, dropped a few degrees of flaps, and pulled the nose
up as far as I could without stalling. We were hanging on the props.
Salvation came when Chester Kalinowski (Kal), our bombardier, who
sat in the very front of the airplane and who had the best visibility
forward of anyone, yelled that he could see fires burning ahead.
And, so we had cleared Mount Fujiyama which we had mistaken for
a smoke cloud and were now safely on the bomb run. Kal always joked
that if we cracked up, he would be the first on the scene. Francis
Bradley (TG), called and said; "Gentlemen, could someone kindly
tell me what is going on?" Brad occupied a small enclave in the
tail section where he manned the tail guns. Still a teenager, he
was the youngest guy on the crew and he had volunteered to take
the tail position, the most dangerous position in the airplae. Someone
on the crew told him it was none of his business.
Tokyo
on fire was a sight to behold. Terrifying in its aspect and unspeakable
in its result, the fire spread perhaps 20 miles north to south and
maybe eight miles east to west. It was a raging inferno; nothing
could live in its fiery grip. It robbed entire square miles of life-
supporting oxygen. The loss of life was terrible to even think of.
We were about 20 miles from the spectacle and could see the length
and breadth of the fire. The result surely equalled the havoc caused
by the atomic bombs dropped at Hiroshima and Nagasaki Safely on
the bomb run? Well, maybe not too safely because as we approached
the target, we became caught in search lights - an event which seemed
very threatening. The lights illuminated the cockpit as bright as
daylight and little or nothing could be seen outside of the airplane.
Once again, I had to resort to instrument flying as there was no
horizon. Fortunately, I always felt comfortable with flying on instruments
since I had been an instructor pilot and had taught many cadets
to fly on needle, ball, and airspeed. Further, and just as formidable,
we were able to glimpse B-29s very close to the left, to the right,
just above and just below us - we were surrounded by B-29s but fortunately
they were all going the same direction and speed as we were. Kal
called and said he had the target zeroed in his Norden bomb sight,
took control of the airplane, and in a few minutes called bombs
away. He didn't need to tell me that as the airplane always pitched
up a bit when the bombs released. Looking to escape the searchlights,
which made me feel highly exposed, I noted the actual smoke cloud
which was on our left side and turned into it.
The
first few moments were smooth as glass and then all hell broke loose.
While I had been in many thunderstorms, none of them compared with
the turbulence created by the massive conflagration. The super-heated
air rose at a huge rate, tossing the B-29 around like a toy. The
artificial horizon tilted to about 90 degrees and I couldn't remember
when it would tumble. With hands wet with sweat. I fought for stability
with ailerons and rudder, twisting the wheel, pushing the rudders.
The altitude increased so that the rate of climb instrument was
pegged. The forces overcame the autopilot and I had to ask Roger
for help in controlling the airplane. The effect on the airplane
was erratic - one moment almost turning us over, the next smoothing
out until it would bounce us the other way. Together, we kept it
right side up but later Roger told me that at one point he thought
we were slightly on our backs. I managed to turn the airplane back
toward where we had come from. Searchlights had become desirable
in comparison to the smoke cloud.
When
we did break out, I was happy to see that the search lights were
not in evidence. Bradley called from his cramped position in the
tail and said, "I don't know what we are doing but I suggest that
we get the hell out of here." I replied, "Good thinking, Brad."
He drew some jeers from the other guys. I saw that we had gained
about three thousand feet in the smoke cloud and decided to use
it to our advantage so I dropped the nose and got the hell out of
Japan at red-line speed. At the de-briefing, the favorite question
heard was: "Hey, did you get into that 'gd' smoke cloud?" And so,
that mission was our introduction to combat flying. As it turned
out, we survived 23 more of them and we went home all in the same
piece and in the same airplane, K-3.
But, the irony of that first mission was that our crew received
the Distinguished Flying Cross for "valiantly refusing to salvo
the bomb load to save themselves during the critical period of crossing
over Mount Fuji Yama." What they didn't know was, I would have salvoed
those bombs in an instant if I had thought about it. But, what the
heck, I've never been a quick thinker. I loved the Army Air Corps.
*A
side note about MSGT John G. Stanko who perished on September 15,
1949 in a B-36 crash into Lake Worth in Texas. We feel that John
Stanko deserves a medal for his heroism in the crash. In the accident
report Wallace read that Stanko tried to rescue one of the crewmembers
and in doing so lost his life. We have no information on any surviving
relatives and if you have any information on him it might assist
us in locating some relatives. Many thanks in advance for your assistance
in this matter.
K-12:
2LT Morris Borene (Rad Ob)
We
flew a total of 23 missions over Japan. Nine were daylight missions,
both demolition and fire raids, while the remaining fourteen missions
were all night fire raids.
A maximum
effort was scheduled May 23, 1945 for southern Tokyo. It was to
be a night incendiary raid. The four active bomb wings in the Marianas
were to participate, including the 58th
and 313th bW's on Tinian, the 73rd
bW on Saipan and the 314th BW
on Guam. Each wing consisted of four bomb groups of three squadrons
each. All four wings used the B-29 Superfortress which was the only
bomber we had in quantity with sufficient range to make the 3000
mile plus round trip to Japan and back. Approximately 520 planes
participated in the raid. We were a replacement crew in the 457th
bS. We had arrived at Guam in mid April, and after several
training flights, we participated in two high altitude daylight
demolition raids, one to a naval air field at Matsuyama on Shikoku
May 5, and the other to the Kawanishi aircraft factory east of Kobe
on Honshu May 12. These raids were in support of the Okinawa invasion
which was in progress. In each of these raids, we were in formation
and dropped our bombs on the leader. Both raids were regarded as
"milk runs" as there was little enemy opposition. At the briefing
for the May 23rd night raid, we were given route, drop zone and
weather information, and told we were to fly alone to the target
area, drop our bombs from our assigned altitude of 12,000 feet,
and return. We were not required to hit the IP at any specific time,
nor cross the target in formation. With over 500 planes converging
on the target it was likely that there would be other B-29s in the
area when we arrived. We were carrying 35-500 lb aimable clusters
of fire bombs which would drop on an approximate 50 foot spacing
and blow apart to scatter the individual bombs in each cluster before
reaching the ground, thereby providing a very broad pattern. We
were cautioned to avoid dropping any bombs in the Emperor's Palace
area which would be north of the target area. Later we were trucked
to Personal Equipment to pick up our parachutes, flak suits, Mae
Wests, head sets, etc., then delivered to the hardstand of our assigned
plane, K-11, which was named 'Je
Reviens' (I shall return).
All 330th
Bomb Group planes carried a large "K"
on the vertical stabilizer. Bob Flischel recalls there were comments
regarding compass problems in K-11's
log and thinks that Johnston and he, with a skeleton crew, performed
a mini compass swing in the afternoon preceding the mission. Everything
looked OK and the decision was made to monitor compass operation
between Guam and Iwo Jima, and turn back at this point if operation
was unsatisfactory. After preflighting our equipment and pulling
12 blades of each prop through we took off after dark with the rest
of the group, one at a time, on each of the two parallel runways,
approximately one minute apart, and headed toward Japan. Our APQ-13
Radar had a maximum range of 100 miles at greater altitudes, and
reduced range at lower altitudes. The radar was used as a navigational
aid as well as for bombing on night missions and also day missions
when the target was obscured. I gave Flischel several fixes until
we were out of range of the Marianas islands along our route, then
turned the radar off. While I had control of the radar, the navigator
had a scope at his position, and therefore the same readout that
I had. Also, we both had the same training, i.e. navigation and
radar school. When we reached the Iwo Jima area, I gave him another
fix, then shut the radar down again. Compass operation had been
satisfactory. Liv Crowell recalls at this point we entered the permanent
weather front that existed between Iwo and Japan. Bob Flischel concurs
by stating that we hit weather and were in the clouds for an extended
period of time. I went forward and laid down for a nap in the aft
end of the insulated tunnel that connects the fore and aft pressurized
compartments of the plane across the two bomb bays. It is approximately
1500 miles north from Guam to Japan and Iwo is midway between. At
our 230 mph ground speed it would be over two hours before we would
again be within radar range of land. Later I was awakened and told
that landfall was about 100 miles ahead. I turned on the radar and
began watching for a land return on the scope.
We had begun
our climb from 2,000 to 12,000 feet, thus increasing the range of
the radar. After waiting a considerable length of time beyond our
ETA for landfall, and with great concern as to where we were, we
finally obtained a return about 80 miles ahead. As we drew closer
we still were unable to pinpoint our location. The only detailed
maps we had were in the vicinity of the Tokyo area, and it was obvious
we werenft near the area. We reasoned that if were east of the
Tokyo area, we would not have made landfall at all, so we turned
east and paralleled the coast. After 20 minutes or so, we were able
to establish our location southwest of the Tokyo area. We had made
landfall south of the Nagoya area, about 100 miles west of where
we should have been. Our fluxgate compass system had malfunctioned.
We headed toward the IP which was Atami and the crew up front could
see the glow from the fires that were raging on the ground ahead.
As we left the IP Johnston and Donohoo increased the engine rpm
and power settings which was normal procedure, and Bender opened
the bomb bay doors. Also search lights picked us up and locked on,
and flak commenced bursting around us. No other B-29s could be seen
in the target area. Because of the additional distance we had flown,
we were approximately an hour late in arriving in the target area
and we were all alone. Since about 500 planes had approached earlier
down the same or similar route, the enemy knew the route we would
be flying. I couldn't see what was going on since the radar is located
in a dark room with no observation port. Besides I am so busy on
the bomb run that I would notbe able to look out anyway. Shortly
after leaving the IP I had to make a 15 degree course correction
to the right, and Johnston said "goddamn" before making the correction.
This is a major correction to be making on a 40 mile bomb run, and
I think it was partially due to our having to use the magnetic compass
in lieu of the fluxgate. Later I suspected that the crew would have
been happier if we had continued on our previous course and missed
a lot of the action that was coming from our right. We still would
have been in the Tokyo area, but west of the designated drop area.
Our course was generally northeast. Liv Crowell recalls seeing a
20,000 foot smoke cloud and intense flak between us and the smoke
cloud. Bob Flischel recalls Allen stating that heavy flak was breaking
behind us and Bill Bender stating "You should see it up in front".
Things began
happening pretty fast. A shell exploded in the accessory section
of our No.1 engine and it caught fire. The fire was extinguished
when Johnston feathered the engine. Another shell penetrated the
bomb bay tunnel close to Welch's CFC position but did not explode.
At the same time we are near the target and I am calling out sighting
angles to Bender who is cranking the information into the Norden
bomb sight which has previously been loaded with altitude, predicted
ground speed and bomb ballistics information. The bomb sight then
triggers the circuit which releases the bombs when the predetermined
sighting angle is reached. In all the excitement I was not doing
a very good job. I called out only two sighting angles, then could
no longer identify the aiming point, probably due to interference
from the bomb bay doors when I failed to adjust the radar antenna
as we neared the target. Bob Flischel recalls that we lost oil pressure
on another engine, and Johnston told Donohoo to let it go as long
as the engine would run. The engine continued to run. The line to
the pressure gauge had apparently been severed. After bombs away
my job was to throw chaff(rope) out through the camera hatch which
was located several feet outside the rear pressure bulkhead immediately
next to my position. The chaff consisted of a length of aluminum
foil about 1/2 inch wide with a 3" square of pasteboard connected
to one end. The chaff was wound into a roll about 3" wide and 1/2"
thick which opened quickly in the slipstream. The aluminum foil
then unrolled when the pasteboard squares caught the slipstream,
creating a target to deceive ground radar. We were not pressurized
so I was able to step through the rear pressure bulkhead and commence
tossing out chaff. Although my mike and headset cord was long enough
to reach the camera hatch area, it became disconnected in all the
excitement and I no longer could hear any of the crew to know what
was going on. I knew the plane had gone into a dive, but wasn't
sure why. I knew that if the crew was bailing out, some would have
to pass me in order to reach the rear exit, so I continued tossing
out the chaff. The camera was somewhat restricting my effort, and
although I was getting most of the chaff to pass through the camera
hatch, I was decorating the rear unpressurized compartment with
foil like a Christmas tree. I could also see sparks from around
the auxiliary power unit nearby, caused by the foil creating a short
circuit. Looking down through the camera hatch I was staring into
search lights and I felt the enemy below could see my face. I noticed
that each time I tossed a handful of chaff, the search lights would
back off and then come right back onto us. I learned later that
Spilich was also tossing out chaff from the front compartment of
the plane. Also later I learned that Johnston had dived the plane
to increase air speed in order to reach the smoke cloud as soon
as possible and escape the search lights. Liv Crowell recalls that
after bomb release, flak was still between us and the smoke cloud
as the Japs anticipated that we would turn into the cloud for cover.
When that didn't happen they redirected their fire at us. At that
time we made an abrupt turn to the right into the cloud, then a
45 degree turn to the left. When we left the cloud at over 300 mph
we had lost the search lights. Because the path over Tokyo Bay was
too dangerous, we continued over land and within 15 minutes we were
over the Pacific heading for Iwo two hours away. By diving to 2,000
feet and applying full power to the remaining three engines, we
exited the area in a hurry passing over north Tokyo, then heading
east over a peninsula to reach the ocean, then turning south toward
home. Dawn was breaking. We had lost valuable altitude which would
have allowed us to descend slowly along the way, thus saving fuel.
On the other hand we were thankful that none of the crew had been
wounded, and felt rather lucky to have gone over the target alone
and survived. We had been using the magnetic compass since learning
the fluxgate system was malfunctioning, and that and radar would
be our means of finding the way back. Bob Flischel recalls that
we maintained a course east of the briefed course in order to maintain
visual or radar contact with a string of islands that extended from
Japan to Iwo. This would enable us to pinpoint our location with
air-sea rescue in case we had to bail out or ditch. We didn't know
the extent of damage, and were not sure we could reach Iwo.
Having been
in the air an hour or so longer than anticipated, having lost 10,000
feet in the target area, and with the plane using more fuel than
normal because of the unbalanced flying condition, we had no surplus
of fuel and would liked to have landed at Iwo Jima to refuel. However
when nearing Iwo we learned that numerous crews were having difficulties
and were circling, wanting to land, and the decision was made to
continue heading south to Saipan which was approximately 100 miles
closer that Guam. Liv Crowell recalls that we were refused permission
to land at Iwo because of fog cover. He further relates that over
the radio another B-29 called the control tower to advise he was
on the downwind leg and was coming in because he was low on fuel.
He was told to pull up and go around. He then reported that he was
on the base leg, and he was again ordered to pull up and go around.
When he reported in on final approach, another voice came on and
said, "This is Colonel ___. You are to pull up, cross over the runway,
bail out and ditch the plane." It was at that time the decision
was made to head for Saipan. Bob Flischel recalls the following.
There was a blanket of fog over Iwo, and while still north of Iwo,
we could hear over the radio lots of damaged planes requesting permission
to land and the tower refusing to give permission. Johnston asked
me how long to reach Saipan, and I advised four hours. He asked
Donohoo how much gas we had, and Donohoo advised 3.5 hours. Johnston
decided to head for Saipan. At one of our Bomb Group reunions I
asked him why he decided to go on. He said he believed my estimate
would be long and Donohoo's would be short, and the overlap might
cover us. Also, if we circled at Iwo we would not make it, and not
knowing how long Iwo would be closed he took the gamble. With our
fuel supply dwindling, we commenced throwing surplus equipment our
of the plane including flak suits and ammunition. In preparation
for the worst the majority of the crew voted to bail out in lieu
of ditching. ( I voted to ditch.) We lucked out due to the efforts
of Johnston, Crowell, and Donohoo to milk every possible mile out
of our remaining fuel, and landed safely at Isley Field on Saipan,
the home of the 73rd b. With very little
fuel it is difficult to keep fuel supplied to each engine, but Donohoo
was equal to the task. We lost a 2nd engine after landing while
taxing in to the ramp, and Donohoo later estimated that we had about
50 gallons left from the original 6,000 gallons we took off with.
There was not enough gas in any of the tanks to measure with a dip
stick. We had been in the air for 16 1/4 hours, and on three engines
for 8 1/2 hours. We were happy that Je Reviens had lived up to its
name. Bob Flisched recalls that Johnston called the Saipan tower
requesting clearance to land and advising that we had enough gas
for only one pass. He brought the plane in on a very flat approach
not knowing how much gas would be trapped in the tanks, thereby
starving the engines, and chopped the throttles as soon as possible.
While waiting for transportation back to Guam, we noticed a B-32
parked on the ramp, and after convincing the plane's crew that we
would do no harm, we were allowed to look through their plane. That
was the only B-32 that I ever saw. Liv and Bob both recall that
we were flown back to Guam on a B-24. We were picked up later that
day and flown back to our home base, North Field on Guam. When we
were debriefed Johnston was told that under the circumstances we
should have aborted our mission, salvoed our bombs and returned
to Guam. In passing by the squadron bulletin board, we learned that
we were scheduled to fly another night mission the next day to south-central
Tokyo. This time we stayed on course, made the bomb run along side
another plane that was caught in the lights, dropped our bombs and
returned unscathed to our home base in 15 hours. As it turned our
more planes were lost on this raid, than the one two nights before.
Bob Flischel recalls that planes on both sides of us were caught
in the search lights and we waltzed down the middle unscathed. K-11
was repaired and returned to the 330th
to fly additional missions. Our crew flew K-11
again June 10 on a day demolition raid on the Kasumigaura Naval
Base north of Tokyo.
On
June 7 we flew our 6th mission, a day fire raid on Osaka in K-16.
We had to land at Iwo for gas. It was a very slow process, with
many planes circling, waiting to land. It was raining very hard,
and there were inadequate facilities to handle all the planes. As
I recall we were parked at the end of the runway along with others,
and planes taking off came right over us. One mistake or failure
would have destroyed a lot of planes and crews. When it came our
turn to take off, we together with two other planes taxied to the
far end of the runway and took off one at a time. There apparently
was no taxi strip.
On
our 7th mission, a day demolition raid on the Kasumigura Naval Base
north of Tokyo on June 10, we dropped 20 GP bombs and our 700-gallon
bomb bay gas tank. The tank was suspended from bomb shackles, and
some how those shackles were connected to the interval meter along
with the other bomb shackles. Fortunately the gas had been transferred
to the wing tanks beforehand. We made it home without having to
stop at Iwo for gas. On our 9th mission, a night fire raid on Kagishima
on June 17, I screwed up. Kagishima was a coastal city, in a location
with a good land-water radar contrast, and I had arranged with Bender,
our bombardier, to use a stop watch to measure a 10 second interval
before releasing the bombs upon my command. When the moment arrived,
I said "drop-em" instead of "hack", and Bender dropped them. I hadn't
realized that we had goofed until the gunners reported that the
bombs were landing in the water short of the target. I believe all
38-500 lb aimable clusters fell in the water. We may have damaged
some ships but that was all.
On
July 9 we flew our 16th mission, a night fire raid. Gifu in Honshu
was our target, and we were carrying 40-500 lb aimable clusters.
Our plane was K-12,
"Our Baby". Our bombing
altitude was 16,000 ft. We dropped by radar. Everything had gone
well up to this point, but we could not avoid entering the tremendous
smoke cloud in the target area, and then all hell broke loose. The
plane commenced violent up and down movements, much more violent
than in any thunderstorm we had ever encountered. My seat belt wasn't
fastened and I was sitting on my flak suit. My flak suit and I rose
and fell. I used my hands to protect my head from hitting the ceiling,
and finally after several cycles from my seat to the ceiling and
back, I was able to grab hold of my seat after the flak suit fell
to the side. My maps, plotter, calculator, dividers, etc., all fell
to the floor. There was the odor of pine smoke in the plane. Now
the plane's P-can (toilet) is located in the radar room. Fortunately
no one had crapped in the can, but whoever used it last failed to
secure the lid. The large bucket came out of the housing and its
contents were spilled over the floor where my maps and equipment
lay. Since we don't have running water on board, I had to improvise
in the best way possible in cleaning my maps and equipment. I'm
not familiar with the cockpit instrumentation, but do know that
the gyroscopic instruments had tumbled, and we came out of the smoke
in a steep turn and a few thousand feet higher. After that, things
returned to normal and we headed for home.
When
returning from our 23rd mission on August 15, a night fire raid
on Kumagaya, we heard the tower advise a plane ahead of us that
it was making the first peacetime landing at North Field on Guam.
How's that for good news? On one of our daylight missions, the Japanese
dropped phosphorus bombs set to explode at our altitude ahead of
our formations. It was a beautiful sight, but could disable our
engines if we flew through it. Although we were told that we would
be accompanied by Mustang fighter protection in the target area
on some of our missions, I don't believe we ever saw one. On day
missions we would fly alone to Japan and assemble in formations
off the Japanese coast. Formation leaders would drop their nose
wheels and fire flares. Up to an hour's time was required for crews
to find their squadron and group formations, after which they would
proceed to the target. On one occasion when we were unable to find
our group, Japanese fighters appeared. They were less apt to attack
a formation than a straggler. A formation from another wing was
passing in the opposite direction and Johnston did a steep 180 to
join it. I thought the wings of our plane would break off and the
bombs would tear off their shackles and fly through the bomb bay
doors from the G forces. We went on to the target with our new friends.
On one of our night missions we were chased by a kamikaze. It was
our understanding that he was equipped with three rockets, which
could be fired all at once or individually. He was unable to catch
us. We were pulling full power to escape, and after a few minutes
he had expended his rockets and started down. Our take-off weight
was usually 140,000 lb and we had to attain an indicated air speed
of about 140 mph before we could leave the ground. Our engines were
supercharged and we pulled 56 inches of Hg manifold pressure at
2800 rpm when taking off. We weren't supposed to pull over 52 inches,
but it is doubtful that we could have taken off on our 8,500 ft
runways at the lower manifold pressure. One evening when we were
not scheduled to fly, we positioned ourselves at the end of one
of the runways to watch the others take off. Some went into the
coral past the end of the runway before leaving the ground. When
taking off we would run the engines up to takeoff power and close
the cowl flaps before releasing the brakes and starting our roll.
The plane could not take off with the cowl flaps open and with a
full bomb and fuel load. We leveled off immediately after take off
in order to pick up air speed while raising the landing gear and
opening the cowl flaps. On Guam we had to clear several miles of
jungle, then we reached a 500 foot cliff and could dive to pick
up airspeed and cool the engines.
On
one mission we had to take off in the opposite direction and lost
the benefit of the cliff. When taking off on missions we would be
carrying 18 tons of gas and up to 10 tons of bombs. We would consume
2/3 of our gas going to the target, so we would be much lighter
when returning from the target. In addition we were gradually letting
down from our bombing altitude. Under these conditions, the engine
rpm was reduced to approximately 1600, which enabled us to hold
an approximate 185 mph air speed. With an engine to prop ratio of
20 to 7, you could nearly count the prop revolutions. One time when
we were returning from a mission, we saw a signal flare below and
upon further investigation, we spotted what appeared to be a crew
in several life rafts. We circled them and contacted Air-Sea Rescue.
We were requested to continue circling until a cruiser could get
a fix on us in order to pinpoint the downed crew. It was daylight,
and soon we saw a cruiser appear over the horizon. Soon we were
notified that our location had been established and we could leave
for home. The Navy did a thorough job of searching for and picking
up down airmen. At a briefing we were told that they had cruisers
in the vicinity of Iwo and the Marianas, then destroyers further
north, and finally submarines off the coast of Japan. If we went
down over Japan and could get to the coast and signal, they would
try to pick us up. The Navy also used amphibious planes in their
searches. We frequently penetrated weather fronts in route to and
from the target. These were penetrated with little difficulty. It
takes a huge thunderhead to appreciably bounce the B-29. I often
remarked that Japan was blessed with clouds. On some of the day
missions when we would have liked to bomb visually, we were forced
to use radar because of the cloud coverage. I enjoyed the debriefing
after missions. We were given a shot of rye whiskey. Some of the
crew didn't drink whiskey, so I might get to have a second shot.
Also, two Red Cross ladies were there serving coffee and doughnuts.
After
hostilities ceased we flew three more "missions". On September 2
we flew in formation over the battleship Missouri in Tokyo bay and
could see the sailors standing at attention during the peace-signing
ceremonies. Afterwards we all went our separate ways around Japan
to view damage, and ended up buzzing a carrier in Tokyo bay. Several
Hellcats chased us for a few minutes. Upon return to Guam our group
was reprimanded for our antics and we were forced to fly several
formation practice missions. On September 30 we flew a show-of-force
mission in formation with guns loaded over Korea when our ground
troops moved in to thwart a possible attempt of aggression by Russia.
On
October 15 we flew to Okinawa with our bomb bays filled with ten-in-one
rations, and stood by while POW's unloaded the cargo. The need for
the rations was caused by a recent typhoon, which beached and damaged
many ships. I hid two boxes of the rations beneath the floorboards
in the radar room, and we enjoyed the good food after returning
to Guam. It was much better than our regular chow.
All
members of the crew received the Distinguished Flying Cross and
the Air Medal with two Oak Leaf Clusters for our efforts. Our crew
assembled and trained at Pyote Army Air Base, Pyote, Texas in January,
February and March 1945. We were a replacement crew in the 330th
BG, which had trained at Walker Army Air Field near Hays,
Kansas. (In retrospect I wish I had prepared this writeup earlier
while Bobbie Johnston was still living, and before Bill Bender suffered
a stroke affecting his memory. Both were in a position to add important
details to his story, and had attended earlier Bomb Group reunions
while in better health. Jerry Grometstein and Earl Allen were deceased
prior to this writing and before any Bomb Group reunions were held.)
(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.
Broadcast
from "City
of Omaha"
29 July 1945 on mission to Ogaki Japan.
"This is
George Thomas Foster reporting from headquarters on Guam. Seven
task forces of B-29's of the 20th Air Force left the base today
to strike in the early morning darkness on the 29th of July at six
Japanese cities and an oil refinery on the island of Kunashir. War
Correspondent Ray Clark is flying in one of the B-29's, the City
of Omaha. So for an eyewitness account, we take you to Ray Clark
over the target at this moment. " [Ray Clark]"This is Ray Clark
on the flight deck of the Super Fortress City of Omaha almost ready
to head in on the bomb run on the city of Ogaki, Japan. " [Eleanor
Clark, wife of Ray Clark] "His purpose on going out there in the
first place was to find and interview any Heartland people, you
know, to interview them so their folks could hear their voices and,
of course, that -- the parents seemed to like that. I mean, it was
something that helped the morale he felt." [Howard McClellan, City
of Omaha A/C] "I first met Ray after he had found out that there
was a city of Omaha, a B-29, and he wanted to as a war correspondent
tape an interview with us that he could send back to the states
to WOW that he had interviewed the crew that was flying the B-29
"City of
Omaha". After he made this tape recording,
he said he would like to make a flight with us. I thought this was
pushing and I said, Ray, I don't think you really want to go on
a combat mission, but he said no, I really want to go on one and
not only that, I want to make a broadcast right off the flight deck
of an actual bomb run." The 20th Air Force approved Ray's request
for the broadcast and he prepared for the mission. The target was
the industrial city of Ogaki, Japan. [Gene Christmann, City of Omaha
RO] "As I recall the only thing he brought along was a big, what
did you call it, a dynamic microphone. As I recall that's all he
had with him. It had a good long extension cord on it so it could
be plugged into my transmitter, and we went from there." With Ray
aboard the City of
Omaha, the B-29's departed on their long flight to Ogaki.
[Ray Clark reporting] "We go through the darkness. It's about now
2:30 over Japan. You can see ahead the two targets which are already
on fire." From the plane, the signal went to Guam requiring a special
long range antenna. >From there, it was rebroadcast to the states.
[Christmann] "I was told after the broadcast was over but before
I signed off from Guam that the broadcast had been carried live
by three networks here in the states and recorded for rebroadcast
later by two others." [Ray Clark reporting] "We see some of those
flashes coming up. Of course, the bomber did the job regardless
of whether there is any flack or not. Bombs away and there they
go. Light lifts to the planes as we see those bombs leave us. Of
course, now we are now directly above that target. We cannot tell
exactly what's happened from those individual bombs. We can see
from what has happened to the others that the bomb has done destruction.
This is Ray Clark speaking from the flight deck of a B-29 City
of Omaha over the target of
Ogaki. And now we leave the target for home. I return you now to
San Francisco."
At about the time the so called
ground echelon left WAAFB for Guam by boat the flight crews and
some ground crewmen flew to Cuba for the over-water training pf
the fight crews . It is believed that the crew chief and assistant
crew chief was pretty well decided when the plans left Walker for
, Cuba. Albert Popalis as crew chief and I Virgil Rutledge, as assistant
flew to Cuba with A/C Captain Erwin and his flight crew. (This was
a WAAFB B-29 not the K
planes that were picked up later.) Most, I believe, to have
been assigned at the Kearney, NB processing center. As a rule, the
crew chief and assistant crew chief flew to Guam with their respective
planes. In the instance with K-6,
Harold Dillee, 457th
Engineering Officer was also assigned to fly over with this plane.
Shortly after arrival in Guam, Baker was assigned to K6 as the 3rd
man of the ground crew. (Baker had previously arrived with the ground
echelon.) M/Sgt. Popalis, Baker and I served with
K-6
for nine missions when
Poplis was reassigned. S/Sgt Jones was then assigned as crew chief
and we three were together until war's end. K-6
having a total of 28 missions over the empire. It should be noted,
that once our plane was ready for a another mission we would assist
others in getting their plane ready. I'm sure that most ground crew
members had worked on all 457th
squadron planes at one time or another.
