H-Ref-FFort-EJ

Flying Fortresses by E J______

When the Japanese warlords agreed that war with the United States and Great Britain was inevitable, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto promised Premier Fumimaro Konoye that with the tactics he had in mind he would "run wild" and bring Japan "an uninterrupted succession of victories..."

And he did. Despite a feeling of resentment toward the United States, Yamamoto did not welcome the idea of a war with a great industrial nation. He realize at a long war would give the United States time to bring its tremendous potential for manufacturing war materials to bear and then despite the early victories Japan would have to face forces of unimaginable impact. The younger warriors, inspired by what would be the initial triumphs of stealth and surprise, might soon come to believe the myth of their own invincibility. Few were willing to listen to Yamamoto's cautionary statement in which he said, "should the war be prolonged for two or three years, I have no confidence in our ultimate victory."

But, immediately following the Pacific attacks, even the prudently shrewd Yamamoto must have experienced a secret hope that, despite his reservations, perhaps the ultimate was not beyond his grasp. The U. S. Pacific fleet lay smoldering in Pearl Harbor, the Hawaiian Air Force was a shattered remnant and, after the "Little Pearl Harbors at CIark Field, the only striking force remaining in the entire Pacific area was half of the 19th Bombardment Group and a few obsolescent pursuit planes.

Japanese assault forces moved in rapidly to exploit their stunning blows; their troops began to invade Malaya and Thailand. Three days after Pearl Harbor their once-despised air fleets proceeded to sink the newly arrived British battle ship Prince of Wales and the cruiser Repulse which had been dispatched from Singapore in search of the Japanese fleet. The way was now clear for a drive toward Singapore.

To protect their lines of communication into the East Indies, with their rich oil and mineral deposits, the Japanese had to cripple or wipe out the U.S. forces in the Philippines. After all but erasing Clark and Iba Fields from the battle maps, the Japanese attacked the naval base at Cavite and drove the American Asiatic fleet out of the Philippines. MacArthur was left on Luzon with practically no air cover and no naval support. The Japanese were ready to launch amphibious assaults on northern Luzon.

At Clark Field desperate and ingenious salvage work put three or four of the riddled B-17s into operational condition. To these were added the Fortresses which had been at Del Monte, six hundred miles to the south and still out of the range of the Zeros from Formosa and still undetected. By December 9 reconnaissance missions were being undertaken by the 19th Group; limited loads of bombs were carried just in case. For safety's sake the planes were kept off the field until after dark.

On December to a large Japanese convoy was spotted in the vicinity of Vigan. Five B-17s were bombed-up with twenty 100-pounders and dispatched on the first American bombardment mission of World War II. Led by Major Cecil E. Combs ( the other pilots were Lieutenants Elliot Vandevanter, Waiter R. Ford, Morris H. Shedd, and Sig R. Young), the flight attacked from 12,000 feet. All dropped their bombs except Vandevanter, who had to bring his ship down to a dangerous level at 7000 feet before his bombardier could get the bomb rack to operate. Some hits were thought to have been made and it was believed that a transport was sinking when the Fortresses headed back for Clark. There had been no fighter opposition, but antiaircraft fire had put a hole through the wing of Vandevanter's plane.

In the meantime, several B-17s from Major Emmett O'Donnell's 14th Squadron had come up from Del Monte. O'Donnell had come in to Clark early in the morning and was followed later by the others. Of the six planes that appeared over the field, only three were permitted to land because of an air raid alert. The three B-17s that landed were piloted by Lieutenants G. R. Montgomery and George E. Schaetzel, and Captain Colin P. Kelly.

O'Donnell was the first who was ready so took off for Vigan north of Clark Field. Bomb-rack trouble forced him to make five runs over the targets, a cruiser and destroyer, before he could drop the eight 600-pound bombs he carried. No hits were observed and O'Donnell returned to Clark to refuel. Captain E. L. Parsel, who had taken off shortly after O'Donnell, came in over Vigan and dropped several bombs; one at least hit a transport.

While he was still out a red alert interrupted the loading of the three remaining B-17s. They were ordered into the air immediately; Montgomery carried a single 600-pound bomb, Kelly three and Schaetzel a full load of eight. As Montgomery headed for Vigan, Schaetzel and Kelly set out for Aparri, where Japanese landing parties and shipping were located.

Montgomery released his one bomb on the transports off Vigan, but to no effect and returned to CIark to take on another bomb load. Armed with twenty 100-pound bombs, he took off again to follow Schaetzel and Kelly to Aparri He saw neither of their Fortresses and proceeded to bomb the beach and left, certain that one ship was afire in the bay. Back over Clark, Montgomery was ordered to continue on to Del Monte. Night was falling by this time and the B-17 ran into rough weather. Before long it was obvious that they had missed Del Monte and that their fuel supply was low. Montgomery ditched the plane in a heavy downpour four miles offshore; though the Fortress sank all crew members safely got to shore.

Schaetzel had come in over Aparri at 25,000 feet and bombed through the clouds. The B-17 was attacked by Zeros which Schaetzel shook off by diving the plane back into the clouds. In the fight, however, all the ammunition had been expended and the B-17 badly shot up. One engine was out, an oil leak streaked the nacelle and the tail section was in tatters. Miraculously no one aboard the plane was hit. Schaetzel managed to bring the crippled plane into San Marcelino, a field which lay between Clark and Del Monte.

Kelly had proceeded northward after taking off from Clark and from 20,000 feet he and the crew observed to their left the landing operations under way at Vigan. They continued on to Aparri in search of an aircraft carrier which had been reported there. In the landing area below them they could see six small vessels, probably cruisers, moving about and about five miles out from Aparri a great ship, a battleship they thought, firing at the proposed landing area on the beach. Still flying north they continued out to sea in search of the carrier. Finding no sign of it, they turned back toward the Aparri beach head; there was no doubt as to their "target of opportunity"-the big battleship off the tip of Luzon.

Coming over Aparri at 22,000 feet, they were spotted by the cruisers which began evasively twisting and turning and to toss up flak. The battleship, however, remained obviously on course moving parallel to the beach line.

Kelly turned the Fortress into a bomb run and control of the plane was in the hands of bombardier Sergeant Bleyer Levin. One after the other, the three 600-pound bombs lurched out of the bomb bay and Levin shouted, "Bombs away!" It was a signal for Kelly to take control again and he pointed the bomber inland, banking so that the crew could watch the bombs hurtling toward the sea. One fell short of the big ship, a second landed in the water almost adjacent, and the third struck the aft turret. A tremendous explosion convulsed the great vessel and it was quickly enveloped in thick black smoke. The men were certain they could see an oil slick on the water's surface, but because of the smoke, could not determine the actual damage to the ship.

Suddenly Japanese fighters converged on the B-17, made a few tentative passes and flew off. Kelly turned the plane toward Clark. Then flying his Zero at 18,000 feat was Saburo Sakai, who with his group had left the vicinity of Clark Field where no suitable targets had been found and were returning to the Aparri area to cover the landings. Peering down he was startled to see the rings form around the big ship below, indicating that it was under bombardment. Four thousand feet above him he saw a lone B-17 speeding toward Clark Field.

The Zeros climbed for the attack and about fifty miles away from Clark they overtook the plane. Because of altitude they could not thrust and parry but had to line up to come in at the bomber singly. ( The Zero did not handle well in higher altitudes and tended to skid out of control.) The giantism of the Fortress-their first-and its speed at first threw the attackers off, but they soon learned that an attack from its vulnerable rear was the best method of approach.

The Zero pilots marveled at the great amount of punishment the Fortress could absorb, although during the initial attacks a good deal of damage had been done. The instrument panel splintered and disintegrated before Kelly's eyes, Pie. Robert Airman was wounded, an explosive bullet decapitated waist gunner Technical Sergeant William J. Delehanty and another caused the oxygen tanks in the radio compartment to blow up. Kelly's plane, a B-17C, was not equipped with self-sealing wing tanks and soon the left wing was smoking; an other burst of fire set the bomb bay aflame. A spurt from yet another Zero's guns cut the cables which controlled the elevators.

In the smoke-filled cockpit, Kelly and his co-pilot struggled to keep the plane in level flight. Kelly ordered the crew to bail out. As observers watched from Clark Field they counted the parachutes blossoming under the stricken plane now rapidly losing altitude. From the rear compartment plummeted Staff Sergeant James E. Hokyard, Pfc. Willard L. Money, and the wounded Airman, whose scalp was bleeding. In the forward section navigator Joe M. Bean and Meyer Levin had some trouble opening the emergency hatch, but in a moment Levin had dropped through and, as he fell, Bean could see co-pilot Lieutenant Donald D. Robins preparing to leave by the top escape hatch. Kelly continued to hold the plane in more or less level flight making it possible for them to clear the plane safely.

At Clark the count had reached six parachutes which meant only two men remained. A second later the plane blew up. When the wreckage of Kelly's B- 17 was found strewn along a dirt road to the west of Mount Arayat, Kelly's body was found nearby. His chute had not opened.

When the surviving crew was questioned later, word was flashed out that they had accounted for no less than the battleship Haruna. To a nation starved for triumph amidst an unrelenting series of humiliating disasters, the news was electrifying. Colin Kelly was hailed as the first great hero of World War II and the sinking of the Haruna a magnificent victory, the first step on the long road back. The stateside press took up the story and splashed it across the front pages.

The fact is that the ship which was attacked was neither the Haruna (no ship of its class took part in the Aparri invasion; it was probably the heavy cruiser Ashigari), nor was it sunk. That the ultimate military achievement of Kelly and his crew was exaggerated by no means detracts from his personal heroism. The fact of his death was not amplified. To save the lives of his crew, Kelly had chosen to remain with the Fortress beyond that point at which he could also save himself. His was the first B-17 lost in combat.

Missions like Kelly's, Schaetzel's, and Montgomery's were typical of the disorganized and seemingly unplanned early attempts at. striking back at the Japanese. Planes were patched together and the men were fatigued and overworked. As for theories of strategic bombardment, all were disregarded in the desperation of just being able to strike back. If one or two or three B-17s could be dispatched with a small load of bombs it was regarded as a worthy effort; a formation of six was a major striking force. There was no fighter cover, for the pursuits were also in disrepair, the pilots weary and both were outmatched by the Japanese. Still, they went out and were shot down, most of them, and even succeeded in shooting down the Zeros. But it was a hopeless battle.

Four days after the Kelly exploit word came through that the Japanese were establishing a bridgehead at Legaspi on southern Luzon. With their landings at Aparri and Vigan practically secure it was clear that with another at Legaspi, the Japanese would be able to close in on MacArthur from north and south, pushing him onto the Bataan peninsula.

To harass the Legaspi landings, six B-17s were readied for a mission from Del Monte on December 14; the war was now one week old. Del Monte was now the main heavy bomber base in the Philippines-in the entire Pacific. Leading the mission of six bombers, Lieutenant James T. Connally began his take-off -a tire blew and his B-17 would not be able to get off the ground for hours. Taking over, Lieutenant Lee B. Coats led the rest of the B-17s north toward Legaspi. He was forced to turn back when the plane developed engine trouble; afflicted likewise was the plane piloted by Lieutenant Waiter Ford. Both returned to Del Monte.

And then there were three. The still-functioning B-17s were flown by Lieutenants Jack Adams, Elliot Vandevanter, and Hewitt T. Wheless. About halfway to the target they ran into murky weather where Wheless separated from the other planes in the overcast and because an engine stopped functioning. He brought the ship down to 10,000 feet and the motor kicked in again.

Adams and Vandevanter continued on to Legaspi. From 20,000 feet they saw a beach swarming with troops and a bay blackened with transports and other shipping. Adams released his bombs first and almost instantly was attacked by a flight of Zeros. He pushed the B-17 into a cloud hank 10,000 feet below, but the six little fighters followed. Two men were wounded in the first sweep, one, radio operator Pfc. Anthony E. Jumia, Jr., seriously, and two engines were knocked out. Though they believed they had shot down three of the attackers the other three continued darting in and around the B-17 with guns blazing. Losing altitude, Adams knew he would have to set the plane down. Hoping to make a landing on the beach on the island of Masbate, just south of Luzon, he brought the wheezing plane down through the clouds. Unfortunately, there was no smooth beach at that point, but Adams did see a rice paddy beyond the beach line and headed for that. Skillfully he brought the Fortress in on its belly. The Zeros buzzed in angrily and strafed Adams and the crew, assisting the wounded, as they ran from the plane. The plane would not burn ( later Adams burned it to keep it from falling into Japanese hands), so the Zeros pulled away. With the help of Filipino guerrillas Adams and the rest of the crew were able to reach a small nearby settlement where they left Jumia in a hospital. The rest eventually made their way back to Del Monte, but not before serving in the field artillery and infantry in the last ditch defense of the Philippines.

Vandevanter, on the same mission to Legaspi, made three runs over the target, dropped his bombs and returned to Del Monte without incident.

When Wheless appeared over Legaspi, following the attacks of Adams and Vandevanter, the sky was a swarm with enraged Zeros just as he brought the B-17 out of the clouds to begin a bomb run on six transports eighteen Zeros bounced down upon the Fortress. Four fighters began firing at the bomber, two took positions on either side of the Fortress and the other two attacked from the rear. Waist gunners Sergeant Russell Brown and Corporal W. W. Williams flamed the two side Zeros, but during the attack radio operator Pfc. W. G. Killin was fatally wounded.

Once the eight 600-pound bombs left the ship Wheless was able to kick rudder to take evasive action and also to give the side gunners a crack at the Zeros on the B-17's tail. One burst into flame and careened off.

Both Brown and Williams were hurt badly enough to be unable to man their guns; Sergeant John Gootee, whose right hand was mangled, took over the waist positions and continued firing with his left hand. Navigator Lieutenant W. F. Meenaugh and bombardier Sergeant R. W. Schlotte left the nose of the plane to give a hand in the waist. Killin's gun had been put out of commission by the same burst that killed him and the two waist guns were jammed. The radio had been destroyed and the oxygen system was out; the main wheels were flat and the tail wheel was completely shot away.

Wheless had more immediate problems. A number of control cables were shot out, making control difficult, No. 1 engine was dead and they had come down to three thousand feet. A stream of gasoline sprayed out of the right wing fuel tank which had been punctured; this not only increased the fire hazard but also very rapidly depleted their supply of fuel. They would never make it back to Del Monte and, as it grew dark and rain began falling, Wheless began looking for a place to land.

He pointed the ship toward a small landing field he knew about at Cagayan, just about twenty miles northwest of Del Monte. The heaving, struggling Fortress had already begun its descent on the strip before Wheless saw that the Cagayan field was covered with barricades.

There was no choice. Wheless lowered the gear, flat tires and all and continued in. After plowing through the barricades and rolling for two hundred yards, after which the brakes locked, the Fortress stood on its nose for a moment, teetered and then fell back on its tail. The shaken crew crawled out of the plane. Later they counted well over a thousand bullet holes in the Fortress. They never knew what, if anything, their mission to Legaspi had accomplished.

Of the original thirty-five B-17s that had been in the Philippines when war came, only fourteen remained at Del Monte, six hundred miles south of Clark Field. With the Japanese pouring onto Luzon and with rumors that they would soon be coming to Mindanao, it was obvious that if these few Fortresses were to be preserved for future combat they would have to be based beyond the range of Japanese aircraft. Once the Japanese were on Luzon, Del Monte would no longer be safe.

It was decided then that the Far East Air Force should be evacuated to Australia. Beginning on December 17 the first B-17s began moving to Batchelor Field near Darwin-a flight of 1500 miles. On December 19 Del Monte was vigorously attacked from the air for the first time. The B-17s, luckily well camouflaged, escaped damage. By Christmas Eve all of the B-17s were in Australia where they would be safe, for a time at least, from Japanese air attacks and where they could receive sorely needed maintenance. From Australia, and later Java, these few Flying Fortresses were practically the only offensive weapons against the Japanese. The great distances they had to cover in order to reach their targets necessitated staging fields in between, such as Del Monte, for servicing and fuel. The hope was, however trifling the effects of their missions against overwhelming Japanese forces, just to hold the line until much needed and promised-replacements arrived.

The first mission out of Australia took place on December 22 for which all of nine R-17s were in condition to make the long trip to Davao to bomb Japanese shipping. Led by Captain Cecil Combs ( the other pilots were Lee B. Coats, James T. Connally, Waiter Ford, Henry Godman, D. M. Keiser, Elmer Parsel, Earl Tash, and Edward C. Teats), the flight took off for Mindanao. They made the long flight without interception and appeared over Davao just as the sky was darkening with approaching evening and a storm. Though the area was overcast they bombed through whatever openings they could find, hitting the dock areas and sinking a tanker.

Speeding away from Davao the nine planes turned toward Del Monte, hoping that when they arrived they would be greeted by Americans. Del Monte was still in American hands they found and by morning six of the nine planes were ready for another mission ( facilities were so limited at the base that these were all that could be handled ). Combs had been ordered on another mission to Lingayen Gulf where eighty Japanese transports were reported to be. As soon as six planes were ready Combs decided they would take off, but his engines began to act up and he had to withdraw; the other five B-17s took off. Then Coats' engines developed trouble and he was forced to turn back. Knowing the limited capacities at Del Monte, he elected to continue on back to Batchelor. The four remaining planes ( Keiser, Parsel, Tash, and Teats ) continued up to Lingayen. In the dark Teats discovered that a Japanese plane had hitched on to his tail and, though it did not attempt to fire on them, it did follow. The B-17 was loaded with gas and bombs so Teats was unable to maneuver it into a firing position; instead he climbed above the intruder and turned toward the ocean so that the direction of their flight would not be revealed. Finally the Japanese plane gave up the chase.

Despite getting off course, Teats' plane arrived over the target first and saw that Lingayen Gulf was dotted with Japanese transports, cruisers, destroyers, and landing craft. Heavy fire rained down on the Americans inland, who were able to return only a feeble fraction of what was being thrown at them. It was an impressive and discouraging sight. Teats dropped his bombs and headed for home. The other three B-17s came over later and did the same. There was no antiaircraft fire and though Zeros darted up at them they were not hit. After landing at a Dutch airfield in the Moluccas, the three crews returned to Batchelor on Christmas Eve after flying almost 5000 miles to drop their light bomb loads.

On Christmas Day Lieutenants George E. Schaetzel and Alvin Mueller brought their Fortresses over Davao from Batchelor in order to bomb a Japanese airdrome. Antiaircraft hit both ships, knocking out an engine in Schaetzel's B-17 and killing a gunner, Sergeant J. L. Cannon. They were then attacked by Zeros and Messerschmitts. Mueller, in remaining behind to help protect Schaetzel's now slower plane, was subjected to repeated attacks so that his plane literally became a sieve. The gunners on both B-17s returned the fire and managed to beat off the attackers.

Schaetzel and Mueller still had over a thousand miles to go before they could land at Batchelor Field. But they made it and after they landed in the afternoon of Christmas Day and had sent their wounded to the hospital and Combs began to arrange for Cannon's burial, the status report made up that day read: "3 B-17s in commission here; 1 at Del Monte, status unknown; 7 out of commission here."

New planes-B-17Es which the 7th Bombardment Group, Pearl Harbor refugees had-began to trickle in. But long flights at maximum performance and limited maintenance took its toll.

Of the original Clark Field B-17s, only one would survive, and that single ship was a patchwork from a half dozen others. It became one of the most celebrated planes of the war as Alexander, the Swoose, a name bestowed upon it by one of its first pilots Weldon H. Smith. Basically a B-17D, The Swoose, according to the popular song of the time was "half swan and half gooses because of its salvage background. The Swoose, and its various other parts while still on their original B-17s, was used in the frantic bombing missions out of Batchelor Field and later on until the Japanese overran that island also. When some newer and tougher Model Es arrived to replace the battle worn Ds, The Swoose was eventually requisitioned by Lieutenant General George H. Brett (the same Brett who had tossed Boeing's James Murray out of his office a few years before ). Brett was then in command of the U. S. Army Forces in Australia and had lost his command plane when the Japanese ravaged the airfield at Broome, Australia.

As a command plane, The Swoose remained in service long after it might have been scrapped. Even so, the sturdy ship continued to log an average of 150 hours a month in the air. In his official capacity Brett was required to travel around a good deal, particularly between New Guinea and Australia. Getting around Australia, with its great barren stretches and vast distances, was in itself a problem. Brett's pilot was Captain Frank Kurtz, one-time Olympic champion, whose original Fortress was destroyed on the ground at Clark Field on December 8.

The Swoose, consequently, ferried some Very Important People. On one flight from Darwin to Cloncurry, a distance of about 800 miles south and east into the Australian interior, the plane was loaded with high brass. Besides Brett there were Brigadier General Ralph Royce, Brigadier General William F. Marquat, Brigadier General Edwin S. Pemn, Lieutenant Colonel Samuel E. Anderson and, as described by one of the crew, "a big lanky guy from Texas," Congressman Lyndon B. Johnson, then on active duty as a Navy lieutenant commander. In all, about sixteen passengers were crowded into The Swoose, including also Australian officers and newspapermen.

When they arrived over Cloncurry, navigator Harry Schreiber was surprised to find that it wasn't there. A highly skilled navigator, Schreiber found that the octant he had used was not functioning properly. In a word, they-and all those important men-were lost.

Schreiber informed Kurtz of their predicament and while radio operator Sergeant Aubrey Fox tried fruitlessly to get a fix on any radio station that might lead them to a city, Kurtz began flying in a box-search pattern, hoping that they might find Cloncurry. Behind him he carried a heavy load of worried officers, one of whom naturally took to pacing up and down. From time to time he would poke his head into the cockpit to ask about their position and the fuel supply. This was distraction enough for Kurtz and co-pilot Marvin McAdams, now engaged in trying to find a place to land, but the movement of the general through the plane threw off the balance and they would have to adjust the trim tabs to keep in level flight.

As their fuel indicators hovered dangerously near the empty mark, Kurtz picked out a couple of buildings below them. If they piled up at least there would be people around to help them. He chose what appeared to be the softest spot in the rough terrain and pointed The Swoose down.

The pacing general continued with his exercise until he was collared by Sergeant Harold Vamer (who was known as "The Hostess") and lectured him on the danger of the pacing. Rank aside, the sergeant informed the general that Kurtz had enough to think about besides twirling the trimming wheel. "Now," Vamer growled, "get back there and sit down!" He guided the general into the rear of the plane and sat him down on the toilet near the tail wheel well.

Shortly after, Kurtz set the plane down with a jolt on the rocky ground-it was a perfect three-point landing. As their landing run continued, Kurtz could sense that the wheels were sinking into the soft earth. By applying throttles he eased it along until they reached firmer ground. With a sigh of relief he glanced at McAdams and both were able to relax as the engines sputtered to a stop.

Australian sheep ranchers began to gather around The Swoose as the passengers began to jump out. Lieutenant Commander Johnson promptly began making friends with the Australians, shook hands and, as Vamer put it, "pretty soon he knows all their first names and they're telling him why there ought to be a high tariff on wool, and there's no question he swung that county for Johnson before we left."

When Brett was relieved of his command in the Pacific (because of his inability to get along with MacArthur and especially MacArthur's chief of staff, Sutherland), he took The Swoose with him to his Caribbean Defense Command. In the summer of 1942, with Kurtz at the controls, The Swoose made the flight from Australia to Washington, D.C. in the record time of thirty-six hours. (This last surviving aircraft from Emmett O'Donnell's 14th Squadron, 19th Bombardment Group ( H ), now rests in the Smithsonian Institution's National Air Museum. )

Another Celebrity" from the 19th Group was the Suzy-Q, one of the newer B-17Es. It had been flown to the Pacific by Captain Felix Hardison over the South American-African-Indian ferry route to the Pacific and landed at the Singosari air base in ova in February 1942. The Suzy-Q (Hardison's wife Priscilla was nicknamed "Suzy") acquired a reputation as "the fightingest Fortress of the war" in almost a year's battle service. It was also believed to be a charmed ship, for no crew member suffered so much as an injury while flying in the Suzy-Q. "Air Force men in the Southwest Pacific," Yank correspondent Howard Maier reported, "are inclined to think that the Suzy-Q has sunk more ships and killed more Japs than any other plane of ours in the entire war... The Suzy-Q has been hit a countless number of times, engines have been knocked out and replaced; she has slugged it out with Zero fighters in superior numbers and made forced landings. But always she comes up off the ground to fight back again and again... she has become something of a legend."

A new B-17E was a most welcome addition to the depleted 19th Bomb Group's forces and the Suzy-Q had barely landed when it was scheduled to take off with five other B-17s to bomb shipping in the Macassar Straits. With its formidable tail-stinger the Suzy-Q presented quite a problem to the Zeros. On the other hand, it soon became obvious that the remote-control ventral turret would not do. It was operated by a man in the plane via a complicated system of mirrors which confused the gunner. No one is known to have hit an enemy plane with this system, replaced by the Sperry ball-turret, which enabled the gunner to curl up inside the gun position and see what he shot at. The remote control turret was removed from the Suzy-Q, which upped its speed a little, but also made the plane a bit more vulnerable to attack from below. In time, the Suzy-Q was used mainly on night missions when fighter opposition was negligible or nonexistent.

Hardison and his crew arrived in Java just in time for the bitterly demoralizing last ditch stand. The Japanese were "running wild" through the Netherlands East Indies in a massive, seemingly inexorable amphibious blitzkrieg. By January 2, 1942, when the Suzy-Q took off from the runway at Boeing Field in Seattle on its flight to the Pacific, Manila was occupied by the Japanese; Hong Kong had surrendered on Christmas Day. The seas and harbors within bombing range of the 19th Group were filled with targets, only there were never really enough planes to cover them with real patterns. The Suzy-Q went out time after time to attack transports and other ships, but never to any decisive purpose beyond that of the doubtful pleasure of killing. Even this did not stop the Japanese, who were now beginning to strike at Australia. On February 19 about a hundred planes ( the number is uncertain ), bombers and Zeros, appeared over Darwin and all but wiped it off the face of the earth in a raid that the Australians came to refer to as the Coventry of Australia.

Allied fighters were outnumbered and outperformed by the Zeros. In Java, for example, the Dutch used obsolete Brewster "Buffalos" which were no match for the Japanese aircraft. American squadrons were equipped with Curtiss P-40s, which could contend better with the Zero, but were not as maneuverable. They were, in addition, too few in number and poorly serviced because of the shortage of parts.

When it became necessary to leave Java evacuation began in earnest by February 27. On this day the Langley, on which the B-17 had been conceived, was speeding toward Java with a deck load of thirty-two P-40s and was sunk. The still flyable B-17s were pressed into service to evacuate American personnel from ova to the city of Broome on the northwest coast of Australia. The Suzy-Q flew on a last futile mission to drop bombs on a Japanese convoy before returning to the Dutch base to pick up as many Americans as possible before taking off for Broome.

As they pulled away from the airdrome the place blew up under them as the Dutch detonated the mines which had been placed under the runways, ready for the inevitable day when the enemy would arrive. Great fires filled the air over Java with black, oily smoke as the Suzy-Q raced for Broome.

The small frontier town was choked with refugees, Dutch civilians, women and children from ova as well as military personnel. Most of these were American for the Dutch remained in Java to continue fighting-as did some American field artillery men. Broome was an undefended town facing the ocean, its outer boundaries limited by the vast arid Australian desert. Its tiny airfield could barely cope with the number of planes that came and went and with others that were parked on the field. There were B-17s, B-24s, LB-30s (the export version of the B-24 ) and several other planes. In the harbor there were ships as well as Navy PBYs, the large Consolidated flying boats. And throughout the town there was desperation, fear, and confusion.

On March 3 nine Zeros swooped down and wreaked havoc. A Liberator taking off with the most seriously wounded just about the time the Zeros attacked, crashed burning into the bay; at least a dozen flying boats, some carrying Dutch women and children, were left burning in the bay also. Another B-24 ( General Brett's command ship before he took over The Swoose ) was destroyed on the ground as were other planes, including two B-17Es. The crowded dock areas were mercilessly strafed; the only return fire was from a hand-held .30-caliber machine gun which was fired by one of the Dutch soldiers until the heated barrel scorched his hands to the bone. Among the dead were over forty Dutch civilians ( mostly women and children ) and twenty American airmen, among them one of the men who had served as a bombardier on the Suzy-Q. The plane itself had left Broome some hours before to get it out of attack range and to prepare the men for reorganization of the 19th Group.

Morale was low. They were tired and their planes were worn and abused beyond limits. "Right then the safety margins of peace in a heavy bomber operation disappeared," Edward Teats later observed. "We found out a lot about those big Fortresses we hadn't known. We discovered we could take off from any field we could land in. We took off and landed no matter what the wind direction was. We operated at maximum most the time. We threw the book away...

The men of the shattered 19th and 7th Groups, dispirited, fatigued and with out hope, could not help but wonder what was in store for them next. Painfully and at great cost and for what appeared to be minimal results, they had heroically made it up as they went along. It was no way to run a war.

With the seemingly unconquerable Japanese forces pouring down through the Southwest Pacific it would only be a matter of time before the sorely besieged Philippines must fall.

The Japanese advances were based primarily on air power. After a build-up of strength at a given base the planes would set out to overcome the consistently inferior Allied air opposition at the next attack point. A heavily screened amphibious assault would be sent out and as soon as the newly taken area was under Japanese control, the airfields would be repaired and forces would be gathered for the next attack. Fanning out, the Japanese invested the strategic bases at Rabaul in Northern New Britain and Bougainville in the Solomon Islands. Practically all of the resistance in the Philippines had been crushed except for MacArthur's depleted troops, now pinched onto the narrow Bataan peninsula of Luzon. Lieutenant General Masaharu Homma's 14th Army was sent in at Lingayen Gulf to decide the issue.

To prevent his capture, and thus enable the Japanese to enjoy more than a military victory, MacArthur was ordered out of the Philippines. He was reluctant and for a time refused but a Presidential order could not be ignored and MacArthur finally prepared to evacuate. Major General Jonathan Wainwright was left behind to fight the losing battle.

MacArthur, his wife and infant son, and members of his staff boarded four PT boats at Corregidor for a dash south to Mindanao. At Del Monte they were to be picked up by four B-17s and taken to Australia. When MacArthur's party arrived at Mindanao they were met by Major General William F. Sharp who informed them that the expected B-17s had not yet arrived. On the following day, however, one lone Flying Fortress fluttered into Del Monte field. MacArthur was visibly shocked.

That the plane had flown at all was only because it had somehow been able to in defiance of all the laws of aerodynamics. Like The Swoose it was a thing of scraps and patches (where aluminum could not be found patches were made from empty tin cans ) and looked anything but shipshape. Worse was to come: down from the cockpit bounced what must have seemed to MacArthur an infant who claimed to be the wreck's pilot. The rest of the raffish crew piled out and MacArthur waited, hoping perhaps that the pilot's father would also emerge and calm his trepidations.

Lieutenant Hart Pease, the B-17's pilot, though barely in his twenties was one of the best of the 19th Group. He reported that all four of the promised B-17s had left Australia, but two had turned back with engine trouble, the third had pancaked into the bay near Buka just a few miles away. His plane, Pease conceded, could be in better condition. The superchargers weren't really functioning, thanks to the overusage and parts shortage, and with the hydraulic system leaking there were no brakes. Both Pease and the plane were veterans of the Philippine and Java campaigns and one, at least, looked it.

MacArthur was livid. He muttered something about the condition of the plane and an "inexperienced boy" and ordered blistering messages to be sent to Brett in Australia and to General George C. Marshall in Washington. "The best three planes in the United States or Hawaii," he told Marshall, "should be made available with completely adequate experienced crews." He made it plain that making such a trip in the plane supplied, not to mention the child who was supposed to fly it, "would amount to consigning the whole party to death...

Thus rejected, Pease and the B-17 loaded up with a number of airmen-who trusted both-and took off for Australia. Luckily they encountered neither bad weather nor Zeros, for the dangerously overburdened plane, unescorted as it was, could not have survived either. Even so, they were critically low on fuel as they approached Batchelor Field. Pease brought the plane in for a good landing and just as he was pulling into a hardstand, the engines quit-they were out of gas.

Brett, now off to a bad start with MacArthur, managed to find four new B-17Es with mature pilots and sent them off to Del Monte. MacArthur, his family and immediate staff, were placed aboard Captain William Monay's B-17 which then refused to start. What with the Japanese closing in and what appeared to be a B-17 fiasco, the atmosphere was charged with tension. The party was transferred to the Fortress piloted by Frank Bostrom ( who had so skillfully set down a B-17 in a golf course at Pearl Harbor). Except for a few trying moments during take-off, when the B-17 dipped a little at the end of the runway, the evacuation was carried out without further incident.

MacArthur, having had his fill of airplanes, wanted to continue his journey by train. His medical adviser, Major Charles Morhouse, advised him that the 800 mile trip from Batchelor to Alice Springs across the desert might prove fatal to MacArthur's son, Arthur. The general turned again to the 19th Group. On the following day, with Zeros approaching Batchelor Field, MacArthur's party again boarded a B-17, this one piloted by Major Richard H. Carmichael (who set his plane down on a tiny fighter runway at Pearl Harbor ), and flew to Alice Springs. There MacArthur made his famous statement: "The President of the United States ordered me to break through the Japanese lines and proceed from Corregidor to Australia for the purpose, as I understand it, of organizing the American offensive against Japan, a primary object of which is the relief of the Philippines. I came through and I shall return."

He was to keep his word, of course, but the road was to be a long and bitter one. As for the "primary object," it would not come in time. The decision had already been made that Germany was the most formidable enemy and all possible resources would be turned toward the European Theater of Operations. A delaying action would be carried on in the Pacific until the Germans were defeated after which all the might of the Allies would be concentrated on Japan.

Reinforcements, supplies, and other necessities for the Pacific came through with irregular paucity for the next few months because of the ETO priority and the long lines of communication. Bataan fell less than a month after MacArthur broke through and Corregidor, the stubborn Rock, held out until May 6, 1942.

The sole bright light in all the gloom of this period was the stirringly courageous, though militarily inconclusive, attack on the Japanese home islands by carrier-launched B-25 "Mitchell" medium bombers led by Lieutenant Colonel James H. Doolittle on April 18. A stimulating morale booster if nothing else ( all the planes were lost though most crews managed to survive ), this remarkable feat was the first in a series of events that were to prove the mettle of the "soft, decadent democracies." The lazy, sleeping giant that had worried Yamamoto was beginning to stir, and the purely defensive phase of the Pacific war was shifting.

By mid-April the Japanese had established bases in the New Guinea-New Britain-Solomon Islands area, which put them in position to strike out at all of Melanesia and Australia itself. The forces available to the Allies, however eager for battle, were hardly adequate for effective defense against major enemy concentrations-and large-scale offensive actions were inconceivable.

Unknown to the Japanese their code had been broken by American intelligence and their moves were known in advance by the Allies. Consequently, when the Japanese launched their Port Moresby invasion force, a fleet of some seventy ships including the aircraft carriers Shokaku, Zuikaku, and Shoho, Rear Admiral Frank J. Fletcher was ready for it in the Coral Sea. If the Japanese could take Port Moresby, they would not only be able to shut down a major Allied air base, an air threat to their bases at Rabaul and Kavieng, but would themselves have a jumping-off place for their proposed Australian campaign.

The Battle of the Coral Sea was the first in history in which two naval forces fought without exchanging a shot. All of the battle was done in the air. B-17s from the 19th Group and B-26s from the 22nd Group (Medium) were alerted for reconnaissance and bombardment. The climax came on May 7-8, 1942, when the air fleets of the opposing forces met.

Navy dive bombers and torpedo planes from the U.S. carriers Yorktown and Lexington sank the Shoho, the first carrier loss for the Japanese. A furious counter attack by Japanese aircraft, however, so badly damaged the Lexington that it was eventually sunk by an American destroyer. The Yorktown was also damaged as were the Japanese carriers Shokaku and Zuikaku. The latter, while not sunk, were so badly mauled that they required a two-month layover for repairs, which would have further repercussions in June.

By May 9 the Battle of the Coral Sea was over. Each side had lost a carrier as well as other smaller ships and planes. In the lesser sense, that is, tactically, the Japanese had won, for the Shoho was not an even trade for the Lexington, a larger more powerful carrier. Strategically, however, it was a victory for the Allies. They had stopped a Japanese invasion armada for the first time since Pearl Harbor. Both sides issued exaggerated claims after the smoke had cleared, neither at the time realizing the greater significance of the encounter. Even Hitler, who fancied himself a military genius, offered an evaluation when he crowed: "After this new defeat the United States warships will hardly dare to face the Japanese fleet again, since any United States warship which accepts action with the Japanese naval forces is as good as lost."

Yamamoto hoped, even believed, that this might be true. Already, in fact before the Port Moresby Invasion Force had been unleashed, an even more spectacular plan was in motion. As long as the American Pacific fleet, particularly its comers, was permitted to exist, Japanese operations in the Pacific would be challenged. It was Yamamoto's idea, therefore, to lure out the American fleet, destroy it and perhaps bring about a negotiation for peace in the Pacific. He planned to do this by staging a double blow, one at the Aleutians, close to the American homeland as a diversionary strike, and the other at Midway, one of the few Pacific bases still in American hands. Certain that this would bring out the remnants of the American naval forces Yamamoto assembled a massive task force to finish off what was left of it. The date was set for some time in June; surprise and large numbers would secure certain victory.

Once again however, the Americans had some idea of Yamamoto's next move. It was learned that the Aleutian operation would get under way first to bring out the American forces. On the following day carrier planes under the command of Nagumo, veteran of Pearl Harbor, would begin the attack on Midway; the invasion force would then follow. Yamamoto would lay in wait with the great main force of the Imperial Japanese Fleet to annihilate the Americans as they came out to counterattack.

Despite the losses sustained in the Coral Sea battle, and the unavailability of the two damaged carriers, Yamamoto was able to launch a great armada of two hundred ships, the carriers of which held seven hundred aircraft. The Americans were outnumbered heavily: the Japanese had six comers, for example, to the Americans' three. no American battleships were available; the Japanese had eleven. All that Admiral Chester W. Nimitz had in his favor was the elimination of the element of surprise, thanks to the breaking of the Japanese code, and the Navy and Marine pilots, especially, who valiantly decided the outcome of the Battle of Midway.

On the morning of June 3, 1942, Japanese forces were sighted several hundred miles southwest of Midway on an easterly course. Late in the afternoon they were attacked by a squadron of B-17s from the 7th Air Force under command of Lieutenant Colonel Walter C. Sweeney. Although claims were made, no actual hits were scored. The next day Japanese aircraft bombed Midway causing much damage but took heavy losses. Army, Navy, and Marine planes based on Midway flew out to attack the Japanese fleet.

At this point, American carriers were in position to take part in the engagement. From the Hornet rose Torpedo Squadron 8, without fighter protection or dive bomber support, to attack a force of four Japanese carriers. All fifteen of their antiquated "Devastators" were shot down and only one pilot, Ensign George H. Gay, Jr., survived. Tragically, despite the sacrifice, no hits were scored.

About an hour later, torpedo squadrons from the Yorktown and Enterprise attacked the Japanese carriers, also suffering heavy losses, but managing to hit two of the comers. The dive bombers from the Enterprise appeared over the Akagi, whose decks were crowded with planes which had returned for fuel. Explosions amidst these planes turned the deck into a roaring mass of flames. Other planes struck the Kaga and Soryu savagely and in a few moments three of the finest of Japan's aircraft carrier force were a molten shambles. They could neither launch nor receive their planes. The Kaga exploded and sank that same day, the burning Soryu was administered the coup de grace by the American submarine Nautilus and the Japanese themselves sank the Akagi. The Hiryu, had, meanwhile, escaped serious damage, but that carrier also was doomed by planes on the way from the Enterprise. But Japanese planes from the Hiryu were to write the finish to the career of the Yorktown first.

The sinking of the Yorktown on June 7 closed the Battle of Midway. Although he knew better Yamamoto sent a message to his by now dispersed forces claiming "The enemy fleet has been practically destroyed and is retiring eastward. American losses were high-over three hundred men were dead, 150 planes were shot down, including two B-17s, the destroyer Hammann was sunk and the Yorktown was lost.

But the Japanese had lost no fewer than four aircraft carriers and with them hundreds of their first-line aircraft and most experienced pilots. The heavy cruiser Mikuma was sunk, several ships were damaged and casualties ran into the thousands. Yamamoto had stopped running wild.

With MacArthur in Australia planning the road back into the Philippines, with the Japanese turned back in the Coral Sea, thus leaving Port Moresby open as an allied air base and Australia safe from invasion and, finally, with the battle of Midway over, there remained one more decision to be made that would complete the command situation on the Southwest Pacific. The ABDA Command (the letters stood for the allies involved: America, Britain, the Dutch, and Australians ) had not worked out for various reasons, among them such problems as the language barrier and nationalism besides the shortage of supplies, machines, and men. General Sir Archibald Wavell, Supreme Allied Commander in the Southwest Pacific, had no other recourse but to close up the ABDA Command and get out of Java; Brereton was shunted off to India with some of the pieces of the 7th Bombardment Group -- one LB-30 and five battle-scarred B-17s. Brett, Wavell's Deputy Commander, remained in Australia and he was quickly at loggerheads with MacArthur and particularly the general's chief of staff, Sutherland.

The final decision was made when Major General George C. Kenney was appointed to command MacArthur's air arm. As outspoken as he was capable, Kenney quickly won over MacArthur if not his staff as he whipped into the reorganization of the tattered Allied Air Forces ( later the 5th Air Force ). One of his first acts was to inform MacArthur's chief of staff, Sutherland, that as the most competent airman in the area he ( Kenney ) would run the Air Forces in the Pacific and would not be told how to run his "air show" ( Kenney's term ) by anyone, whatever their position. Their argument became heated and Sutherland did not rescind an order to which Kenney had objected until the latter insisted that they thrash it out in the presence of MacArthur. This practically put Kenney into the deposed Brett's shoes except that MacArthur took a liking to the belligerent airman. But MacArthur's staff found him too unorthodox, even reckless, and rarely failed to let the opportunity pass by to remind the general, if they could.

Kenney believed that his primary mission, once he had put his forces into shape, was "to take out the Jap air strength until we owned the air over New Guinea. That there was no use talking about playing across the street until we got the Nips off of our front lawn." He quickly antagonized a number of his peers by going to bat for his "kids," the youngsters who flew the planes that fought the battles. He tangled with the Services of Supply when he uncovered a colonel "whose passion for paper work effectually stopped the issuing of supplies" and who firmly believed that "it was about time these combat units learned how to do their paper work properly." Much needed supplies, therefore, were not sent to the combat zones because a requisition form was not made out properly. Kenney decided then and there that the pompous little colonel was obviously suffering from "overwork and fatigue through tropical service" and shipped him home. His successor was informed that he would fill the needs of the kids whatever the state of the forms. Kenney also swooped down upon the rear echelon bases, closed them up and pushed them up farther into northern Australia, closer to the fighting zones where it would not take so long to move supplies to the men who needed them.

His swashbuckling style greatly pleased the patrician Douglas MacArthur, who frequently referred to Kenney as a "buccaneer." The rapport between these two very different men was to produce remarkable results. Kenney did not find it always a simple job, but he did have a fine ally in MacArthur. Each became sensitive to the other's moods, respected and understood each other.

One day Kenney walked into MacArthur's office, obviously in a bad humor. What's the matter, George," MacArthur inquired, "have you run out of coffee?"

"I've got troubles, General," Kenney told him. "Five of them."

What are they?"

"First, there's your goddam staff; second, the SOS [supply]; third, the Navy; fourth, the weather. The Japs are in fifth place."

One of Kenney's first "shows" was a strike on the Vunakanau airdrome near Rabaul, New Britain, and timed to keep the Japanese busy while the Marines began landing on Guadalcanal in the Solomons. Also striking directly against the Solomons from New Hebrides was Colonel LaVeme G. Sounders' 11th Bombardment Group of the 7th Air Force. For this attack Kenney hoped to get twenty B-17s of the 19th Group. After months of pitifully small strikes the promise of so impressive a showing was a morale booster for the group and all were eager to take part.

It was on the mission to Rabaul that a tragic sequel was written to MacArthur's encounter with "the inexperienced boy," Hart Pease.

Now a captain, Pease had flown a reconnaissance mission on the day before the "Big show" was to take place and returned to the 19th's base at Mareeba, Australia, with one engine out. Neither he nor his crew wanted to miss the strike at Vunakanau so they worked through most of the night putting another plane, which was declared unserviceable for combat, into flying condition (unlike their own plane it did have all four engines ). By late evening they had the B-17 functioning and took off for Port Moresby to join the 19th Group; one engine was missing badly but they saw to it that their plane was loaded with bombs. They managed then to get about three hours of sleep before the group took off.

The distance from Port Moresby to the Vunakanau airdrome was only 550 miles, which presented little problem for the long-range craft except that jutting up between was the Owen Stanley mountains of New Guinea, a 12,000 foot barrier. Extra fuel was required to get over the mountains or, if you were in P-38, at mastlevel or tree top level against shipping and enemy installations. Bombs would be bounced into the sides of ships in the manner that a stone can be thrown to skip along the surface of a pond. To facilitate this form of attack, Kenney entrusted Major Paul I. ("Pappy") Gunn with the job of developing a "commerce destroyer." North American B-25 "Mitchells" were fitted out with four .50-caliber machine guns in the nose, two on each side of the fuselage and, with the two in the top turret, could bring ten forward firing guns to bear in any low-level attack.

The Japanese, who suffered terribly from these devices, objected to these methods ( even after the rape of Singapore and the Bataan death march ) and characterized Kenney as a "beast" who employed "new and fiendish methods of warfare"; he was, Tokyo Rose insisted, the leader of "a gang of gangsters from a gangster-ridden country."

The skip-bombing techniques were developed mainly by Kenney's one-time aide, Major William G. Benn, commander of the newly organized 64th Squadron of the 43rd Bombardment Group. Kenney proposed to take some of the burden off the 19th Group, which had taken the brunt of the early fighting in the Philippines and Java. When he first heard of the 43rd, Kenney found that "all they had left was a flag and a couple of guys to hold it up." They had run out of planes and their men had been scattered all over Australia doing everything but flying.

It was then that Kenney reactivated the 43rd Group and ordered the dispersed personnel brought together and fitted out with B-17s. One of the best-known crews of the 43rd was called "The Eager Beavers" because of its willingness to take on all sorts of assignments. The pilot of the Fortress was Captain Jay Zeamer who had a fixed .50-caliber machine gun installed on the fuselage just below his cockpit so that he too might now and then have a shot at the Japanese.

On June 16, 1943, the crew volunteered to photograph the Buka airstrip near Bougainville in the Solomon Islands. When they were about ten miles from Buka, the unescorted B-17 was attacked by twenty Zeros.

They were too close to their objective to abandon the mission so the men in the B-17 prepared to meet the attack. In the nose, Lieutenant Joseph R. Samoski, the bombardier, knocked out the first Zero which was hurtling in head-on; from the top turret, Sergeant John J. Able set another aflame with a short burst.

But the interceptors were scoring hits also. At 28,000 feet their main oxygen line was severed and Zeamer dived the plane down into a more breathable atmosphere. The Zeros tenaciously clung to the plane. As he pulled out, Zeamer pointed the B-17 at a Zero and pulled his gun's trigger and shot it out of the sky. Immediately after, another Zero made a head-on pass. A 2o-mm shell exploded in the bombardier's compartment, flinging Samoski into the passageway beneath the pilots' compartment. Zeamer, in the meantime, had been struck in the legs so that co-pilot John Britton had to control the rudder while Zeamer otherwise piloted the plane.

"I'm all right," Samoski assured them, "don't worry about me." He then crawled back into the smoking bombardier's compartment. He shot off another burst stopping another Zero which began spiraling down. Samoski then collapsed, dead from a stomach wound.

This battle went on for forty minutes during which the Buka airstrip was photographed and five Zeros were shot down. But "The Eager Beavers" were in a tough spot. Samoski was dead; their radio was shot away and radio operator William Vaughan was wounded, the co-pilot was wounded and out, the navigator Ruby Johnston was wounded-and Zeamer himself had fainted from loss of blood. The only men who had escaped injury were tail gunner "Pudge" Pugh and the photographer, William Kendrick. Top turret gunner Able was hurt but still on his feet. But there were no brakes, no flap control, no radio, no compass and no pilots.

Though he had never flown a B-17 before, John Able took a position between Zeamer and Britton and calling upon whatever he had learned when he rode up front on previous missions and instinct, he piloted that B-17. He steadied the control column and kept the sun to their back so that the plane was headed in the general direction of their base at Dobodura, New Guinea, 600 miles away.

Whenever Zeamer regained consciousness, he would assist and instruct Able in the flying and navigation. Zeamer had been wounded through the arms and legs; one leg was broken and he could only use one arm. Britton was still out. After almost three hours, familiar landmarks appeared in the water below them. When they arrived over Cape Endiaidere they knew they were only twenty-five miles from the field. Both Zeamer and Britton had revived by this time and felt they could take over to try landing the plane. While Britton applied his feet to the rudder pedals, Zeamer guided the plane down with his one good hand. There was no time for a correct landing pattern as they hurriedly

brought in the B-17 before they might lapse into unconsciousness again.

All they could see was the runway before them as they rushed in. They had not even checked for wind direction and brought the plane in with the wind and used up all of the 7000-foot runway before the plane stopped rolling. The five wounded men were removed from the plane and it was then that Pugh, still dazed by the experience, looked up at the wind cone. It pointed in the same direction as the B-17. That couldn't possibly be right so he stormed into the control tower demanding to know why the wind sock was pointed in the wrong direction.

Gently he was assured it would be fixed, for no one wished to discuss this with the obviously distraught and tense Pugh. He, along with the rest of the crew, was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross. Samoski received, posthumously, the Medal of Honor; Zeamer, who recovered also received the Medal of Honor.

The 43rd Bombardment Group was probably the last in the Pacific to fly B-17s, for the Fortresses were being shipped to the European Theater almost as quickly as they emerged from the factory. But the B-17Es and Fs continued in service with the 5th as well as the 7th, 10th, 11th, and 13th Air Forces in the Pacific even after the arrival of the Consolidated B-24 "Liberators."

Like the old B-17s, the 19th Bomb Group was finally retired and sent home, what was left of it, in the summer of 1942. It would return later in the war as a Very Heavy group equipped with B-29s. Until it converted to B-24s, the 43rd Group fought the Japanese from New Guinea with the B-17.

William H. Schiffer, a crew chief then in the 43rd, recalls some of the confusion of their initial missions. On one they took off to discover later that, instead of .50-caliber ammunition, their ammunition boxes were full of Army manuals. Flying out of Australia had its natural hazards for, as Schiffer watched one day, a kangaroo hopped out onto the runway in front of a B-17 taking off. The bomb-Loaded plane struck the kangaroo, flipped over on its back and exploded killing everyone aboard.

Schiffer found that the "Zero was a good plane, but it burned easily. And the Nakajima 97 float plane-it was a shame to shoot it down. It 'was slow and not very maneuverable-like Lindbergh going past."

Schiffer had the distinction of shooting down three Zeros by accident. During an air battle his top turret guns jammed and in his disgust and anger Schiffer began pounding on the breech. Suddenly the gun began firing on its own-and continued firing until the belt was empty. Just at that moment a Zero plunged in to attack and dived into the fusillade, burst into flame and gracefully rolled over. It collided with another Zero diving in for the Fortress and the resultant explosion enveloped yet another Zero. All three went down blazing.

The 43rd Bombardment Group distinguished itself in the battle of the Bismarck Sea ( March 1943 ) in which practically an entire Japanese convoy was wiped out by Kenney's bombers, fighters, and commerce destroyers. For this the 43rd was awarded the Distinguished Unit Citation. It was Kenney's belief that "little bits of ribbon" as a sign of recognition would bolster morale. For months they had been virtually ignored, it seemed, by all concerned, from their own replacement centers to the home front. Such remarkable exploits as those of Kelly, Pease, or Zeamer were quickly broadcast and fittingly. But without fighter cover, without proper maintenance, the "kids" soon proved that even the unique became typical and commonplace.

The wording of a citation recommending a decoration is a curious mingling of military objectivity and understated pride. Word for word, the following is such a request which arrived at General Kenney's headquarters in June, 1943.

"l. Under the provisions of AR 600-45, War Department, Washington, D.C., dated 8 August, 1932 as amended, it is recommended that Staff Sergeant WILLIAM H. SCHIFFER, 20249494, 64th Bombardment Squadron ( H ), 43rd Bombardment Group ( H ), be awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action over Finschhafen, New Guinea, on 31 May 1943.

"2. Sergeant Schiffer was the side gunner on a B-17 type aircraft, which started on an armed reconnaissance of the north and south side of New Britain on the afternoon of May 31, 1943. When about twenty miles southeast of Finschhafen, New Guinea, at 4000 feet, this aircraft was attacked by 16 Zeros, which came out of cloud cover directly in front of the plane. This aircraft started evasive action immediately by going into a light low haze and dropping the bombs and the bomb bay tank. Approximately five minutes later as the aircraft came out of the haze, enemy aircraft, which went under the haze, attacked from below rendering the lower turret, the radio equipment, oxygen system, hydraulic system and No. 3 engine inoperative and damaging the control surfaces, and the right landing gear, and putting cannon holes thru two cylinders of number two engine causing it to throw oil badly, and severing some gas lines. For the next thirty minutes of this engagement this aircraft was forced to fly at such a low altitude that it was impossible for the Zeros to attack the unprotected belly of the plane. While barely clearing the tops of the foothills near Finschhafen seeking cloud cover, the enemy aircraft made individual and simultaneous at tacks from all possible angles. That altitude during the attack was extremely difficult to hold because of evasive maneuvering and loss of power because of damaged engines. After approximately thirty-five minutes of combat, this aircraft escaped by following scattered cloud cover out at sea. Although three members of the crew were wounded in the first few minutes, thus decreasing the efficiency of the crew, five Zeros were definitely destroyed and were seen to crash, another was last seen going down as the aircraft entered cloud cover, and in several other instances tracers were seen to enter the attacking planes. After interception had been broken off, the pilot and crew elected to bring the damaged plane, if possible, back to its base, although the oil and gas from broken lines was being blown onto the fuselage, and number two engine was smoking badly threatening to envelop the plane in flames. Although wounded, this Sergeant remained at his gun in spite of overwhelming fire power and definitely removed one enemy aircraft from its service against the allied forces of the Southwest Pacific area. And his act of electing to try to bring the aircraft back without regard to personal safety shows gallantry in its highest sense."

It was signed by Lieutenant Henry W. Evans, co-pilot of the plane; the pilot was Captain Ealon S. Hocutt.

Shortly after the Battle of the Bismarck Sea, Kenney left for Washington to "squawk to "Hap" Arnold about getting more airplanes. "He wanted more B-17s, more fighters for cover and more replacement parts. He was told by Arnold that he could have no more B-17s, but Kenney was not easily dissuaded or discouraged and continued to "squawk" until finally President Roosevelt made it clear that no more B-17s were to be shipped to the Pacific.

"Eaker wants them," he was told.