CJ28N.DOC
PREFACE
This is a story by John Cox, Army Air Corps B-17 Navigator; and Robert “Bob” Barnard, B-17 Tail Gunner.
John tells of:
· crossing the Pacific to Clark Field in the Philippines with B-17s of the 19th BG.
· being at Clark Field when the Japanese Imperial Army and Navy invaded at the beginning of WW II in 1941.
· his squadron being ready to drop bombs on the Japanese -- though held up by the Commanding Officer who knew Pearl Harbor had been bombed and of the many American casualties and fatalities.
· how John’s love of bridge led to his being located to join the last B-25 crew to leave the Philippines in World War II.
Bob tells of:
· Flying into the Pearl Harbor attack in one of the 12 airplanes that left the States the night before.
· flying Reconnaisance and bombing missions from Australia over the Owen Stanley Mts on New Guinea.
Included is a history of the Bataan Death March, of the many cruelties inflicted on the Philippine allies and Americans after they were captured by the Japanese.
John: At the start of spring quarter of my junior year at the 'University of Washington Hitler's legions had smashed Poland's under-manned and out-gunned armies. France was occupied and England was suffering the Blitz. It was April, 1940. An Army Air Corps Recruiting and Selection Board came to our R.0.T.C. facility. Passing the Board I dropped out of classes to await orders. They arrived on May 1, 1940. I reported to McChord Army Air Field to enlist as a flying cadet. After enlistment we boarded the big steam train and huffed and puffed to the Cadet Detachment at Ryan School of Aeronautics, Lindbergh Field, San Diego, California.
Hazing and mockery were an expected part of my life at the school. The derision and banter stopped as half the term passed. Among the lessons were air frames, engines, pilotage, dead reckoning, weather, and above all navigation to get us safely home or to the target. At that time I was assigned a flight instructor. Seven hours of flight instruction passed, and an order came for me to report for check ride. Two check rides provided the inquirer with the information wanted. Later the board decided I had one of three options: stay as a cadet and be assigned further training for air crew and eventual commissioning; revert to enlisted status in the Air Corps; or be discharged to civilian status and subjected to the draft which was being enacted. I opted for the first: I chose the important niche of navigating the airplane.
With memories of San Diego profoundly imprinted in my mind, along with classmates I chugged on to San Antonio, Texas, relaxing and playing bridge and with little time to visit the Alamo. I continued on by bus to Maxwell Field at Montgomery, Alabama, with more bridge and relaxation. There I met wide-eyed and excited guys eager to learn the many branches of navigation. We didn't wait long. Within a week orders came to report to Pan American School of Navigation's Cadet Detachment, Coral Gables, Florida, at the University of Miami. Our head instructor was a tough-appearing, but learned, leader. Charlie Land and his wise and discreet staff proved (beyond their first stone-like attitudes) that they were excellent instructors. We learned about all the different facets of navigation, such as: from point A to point B and return; what to take into consideration, such as compass deviation; wind direction with resulting drift; ways to determine wind direction and velocity (which was very beneficial later); effect of altitude on vision; use of sun, moon, and stars for help in locating position on chart; how to use the E6B computer; how to use the various celestial fixes, speed, and/or course lines; how to use various bubble octants to take readings to be converted to lines of position as a path to a destination.
Graduation came around November first. We were all a happy bunch. My psyche was further spurred when word came down that the top third of the class of 44 was given a choice of assignments. I was among the top third, so my choice was March Field near Riverside, California. I was assigned to the 19th Bombardment Group. They flew heavy bombers and needed navigators to pinpoint all the different skills I had just acquired by graduation. It was a great day!
As graduation day arrived the Navy was represented by a representative of the Chief of Naval Operations. It was a good omen; we had one-upped the Navy. there he stood, hands on hips. A wry smile curled his lips. He searched the group, lamenting his next words. The room became very quiet as he spoke. "I never thought I'd see the day that the Army got one up on the Navy ." We were his enigma who had graduated as navigation specialists for air crews, whereas the Navy had only pilots as navigators.
All of the tests were passed in the classrooms. Mistakes that were made there could be erased. Actual application of our trade was soon to be realized as we traveled across country toward our destination, March held, California. The four of us visited on the scope and direction of our lives in a real Air Force Group.
After arriving and reporting to Lt. Col. Eugene Eubank, the C.O. of the 19th, we received our first disappointment. Our tenure as cadets so far had enlightened us in our jobs learning discipline, study, patience, and meeting people. The jobs we had chosen rated an officer's commission, yet no bars had been issued nor had we been sworn in. Directives, guide, lines, and orders were non-existent. So what should be done about graduated cadets with navigational expertise that we were capable of performing?
We were a long way from our first days at Ryan School of Aeronautics where we expected hazing and got plenty of it. We were wrong if we thought it was over. Enlisted men had their own way of getting to us. Our uniforms are to be officers' uniforms with insignia, except for rank, and the flight cap with winged propeller. We were to rate a salute by enlisted men.
The enlisted men's chicanery by their own hand was unique. Going to lunch in the B.O.Q./Officers' Mess our paths crossed: theirs going to the barracks and mess hall. When they saw us coming they formed a long single file, each individual saluting. We had to return every one! Later, the ink hardly dry on our commission papers, more subtle cunning. It tickled me, but some of my classmates boiled with anger. They thought as legitimate officers they deserved a salute. The men would bunch up, cross the street, and look the other way, ignoring us new young officers. We were split up into the 32nd squadron, the 30th squadron, and some to the 93rd squadron, while others went to the 38th Reconnaissance Squadron.
One day we were alerted and soon found that navigating a real plane with the crew depending on us to get them to the right destination was somewhat different than being in the classroom, albeit a flying classroom. It was a great day! We had made the adjustment to the real live Air Force Group, accepted as crewmen and part of the unit.
I soon learned that not all pilots in the Air Force were first pilots. To be a first pilot he had to know how to navigate. It was a prerequisite before our mass flight of B-17s to Hawaii. Preparations were made for the flight. They were long and laborious, diagonally across the United States, to see how far the B-17 would actually fly before we had to land and refuel. On these flights we flew back and forth to March Field, then to an alternate landing field. Many times just cupfuls of gas remained in the tanks, the gas gauges showing empty. These tests showed our arrival was assured. We must have been pretty close to our pre-plotted route as we were eighth to take off from Hamilton Field Air Base and fifth to land at Hickam Field near Honolulu. We had flown many many missions to sharpen our skills and they paid off.
We left our planes with a squadron at Hickam Field and returned by boat. We moved from March Field to a new air base at Albuquerque, New Mexico. Almost at once we started receiving the sleek new B-17D models. We checked these new airplanes by giving them the same vigorous unforgiving tests we gave those left at Hickam. Long cross-country flights were on all agendas. We got to know our airplanes and practiced lessons learned months ago. We were all excited but cautious when the announcement came at a secret meeting that we were being transferred to the Philippine Islands. All the squadrons would be going except the 32nd. A large number of us were temporarily assigned to the 30th squadron for the flight over the Pacific. On arrival we would be assigned to the 28th squadron already at Clark Field.
Bob: At this time other units were doing their thing too. Fifteen of the latest B-17 Es went through their shakedown flights. They had twin 50's in the tail. There was a power turret behind the pilot. It looked 360 degrees, as did the belly gun which was a remote control but was replaced with a ball turret as time went on. The side windows slid easily toward the back, revealing a mounted 50 caliber, hand held. They were easily manned and had a great view of the sky. The guns in the radio room were twins, pointing back and up, with a good view of the sky.
At this time the Taiyo Maru was docked at Pier 8 in Honolulu and was being inspected by customs men and secret service operators. Immigration authorities are worried the Japanese Secret Service would leave an agent to spy on our great Pearl Harbor Naval Base and other military installations. This ship was the last ship to dock at a United States port for a long time and naturally the same standard would be for all Japanese harbors too.
About four thousand miles west of Pearl Harbor many ships of the Japanese Navy were rehearsing for the big adventure of December 7th, 1941. There were mock-ups of the harbor where the attack could be practiced and many sorties by their crew men who worked long hours, making sure no mistakes were made. They even perfected a new weapon, a torpedo that dipped only a few feet into the water as it was launched. The depth of Pearl Harbor was only a few feet. Conventional torpedoes would sink many feet at launch but found their prescribed depth as they sped toward their target. They would be useless in Pearl Harbor. It was only a day or so before the deadline set that this weapon was perfected and approved by the Nippon Navy. It would take a long time to get to the Hawaiian Islands and there was still a lot to do to prepare the great Armada for its momentous task.
John: After a good rest and several hot bridge contests I plotted our course to the Philippines. All the navigators counseled each other with suggestions and answers. Our training was paying off. The long hours of study, along with the practical experience, would be tested in the long flight we were about to take. Flying individual flights among the islands. from Darwin to Clark Field with all airplanes to rendezvous off southern Luzon was a test of anyone's imaginative conception. Yet it was a success and the chills crawled around my back as the sleek B-17Ds droned over Manila Bay in sight of Corregidor, breaking formation and taking their places in the final approach to Clark Field.
Life in the tropics was a great deal different than in the U.S. We were using two khaki uniforms a day because of the humidity. A 1st Lieutenant could have one house boy; two 2nd lieutenants were entitled to share one. As 6 of us had been assigned a house at Fort Stotsenburg and we were 2nd lieutenants and 1st lieutenants, we conferred and decided to hire one houseboy and let him hire the necessary staff. It didn't seem like a normal situation, but we weren't disappointed. We found the right person. His relatives arrived each day and we were served with great precision and dedication. Our meals were always good and at noon we also had clean uniforms to put on for the afternoon, with all the proper insignia.
Our house was across the street from one occupied by the indispensable army nurses. The girls would get all prettied up to go to the Officers' Club at evening mess and as they left the house a bird would give an excellent imitation of a wolf whistle, after which a little lizard would make a clicking sound of an elderly disapproving woman. When eventually they built quarters nearer the field we hired one houseboy from the staff as ours. The quarters were called Nipa Shacks. Then we took our meals in the mess hall because we had reverted to just one boy.
Bob: On December 6th, 1941, in the eerie California dusk, less than fourteen hours before the attack on Pearl Harbor, twelve of the fifteen B-17E bombers fresh from the rugged shake down flights and special modifications at Sacramento stood on the tarmac at Hamilton Field, California. A three-star staff car stopped among the ungainly war birds. Tense military protocol showed as they walked among the crews tending to the aircraft. It was General Hap Arnold. There was an air of pride and appreciation that didn't hide the fatigue that showed in his eyes as he talked to the crews. It was a taut situation and we all realized it. Our destination was fourteen hours away, Pearl Harbor, the Pearl of the Pacific. It was one of the most formidable military bases in the world. We are stunned and knew what he meant when he said, "Good hunting! You are going to get plenty of it."
Daylight caught us as we neared the Islands. The ocean was blue in the early morning as the swells rose, large and formidable Diamond Head stood pretentious and supreme as the breakers crashed against its white beaches. The thought of scrambled eggs and bacon to fill our hungry stomachs we had talked about earlier was foremost in my mind. Then the cry came over the intercom and through the bomb bay: "The Japs have hit Pearl Harbor!" I sneaked a look through the radio room window and saw the sky speckled with anti-aircraft fire. Honolulu was on our right and huge clouds of black smoke rose out of Pearl Harbor straight ahead. The straight lines of the runways of Hickam Field lay with scattered debris. Jeeps scooted across them and were gone. We didn't know it at the time but the battleship Arizona lay on its side with a huge shroud of black smoke rolling off the back of the ship. Many others added to the conflagration of the smoke as they too lay dying in the harbor mud.
The turbulence over land bounced the airplane around and we were light-headed and airsick. Just above us we saw a 'V' formation of airplanes with red dots on their wings. It confirmed the fact that Pearl Harbor was being attacked by Japan. The third time over the harbor the pilot turned to the engineer and said, "I sure don't like this." The quote from the engineer was "Let's get the hell out of here then!" with a gesture of hopelessness the pilot said, "Down there it's impossible." The engineer pointed northwest and said, "I was stationed here 6 years ago and served at a small airstrip, Halewa Beach. It's a dirt strip, but we can make it."
We flew across the harbor again, three times in all, and headed for Halewa, landed down wind and were safely on the ground. A gas truck backed up to our airplane, planning to fill our tanks with precious fuel. We dribbled in a few gallons, but he was nearly out too. We realized that big airplane would be a sitting duck for a Nippon Zero, so we all went to a small ditch about one hundred yards away from the plane and waited. Not long, because shortly we heard the roar of a Jap Navy Val as it headed for a pass at some U.S. Air Force P-36s parked along the runway. He ended his pass in a tight turn and headed out to sea. We had forty-five colt pistols on our hips which gave us little security. We acquired a belt of 30-caliber ammo from a squad of infantry men patrolling the beach nearby. We had guns in the airplane but ammunition was left out to conserve fuel for the long flight to Hawaii. I was ordered, along with another crewman, to take the gun out of the nose of the airplane. We brought it back to the ditch, along with a flight jacket, planning to wrap it around the barrel of the gun -- a man on each side to hold it while a third man would fire. We had no tripod to mount it on. Three of us were going to give the next Jap a different welcome.
When we landed at Hickam we were greeted by a stout, white-haired Lt. Colonel with tired blue eyes, his face ghostly white. A faint smile creased his lips as he saw we were all safe and none were injured. The drama of the raid was over and we were safe.
Several of the others didn't fare as well as we did. One landed on a golf course. Another ground-looped during the landing on Hickam, and one was shot up and exploded. Some of the crewmen were killed. We were all a dejected bunch of airmen and wanted to get the tanks filled with gas and bombs in the rack and go out and kill some Japs. Several of the group got permission from the CO's and had bombs in their racks. Some even started to take off and are told to shut down because at that time they didn't know exactly where the Japanese Armada was. The U.S. had lost enough men and airplanes for one day, but we stayed close to our airplanes so we could scramble if they came back to deliver more bombs and destruction.
John: On December 8th, 1941, at Clark Field in the Philippines our usual morning routine was broken by being awakened much earlier than usual and told to get breakfast and report to the squadron. There were rumors that the Japs had hit Pearl Harbor. Our greatest fears were soon confirmed -- Nippon had bombed our naval base and destroyed ships, airplanes, hangers, and killed hundreds of Americans. We were at war with Japan.
Our First thoughts were, "Now we can do our thing." We had the tools to do massive damage to their great base at Formosa. The bombers were bombed up and sitting waiting to turn up the heat on the enemy and really show him how it's done. General MacArthur had to give the order and he wouldn't until the Philippines were hit. An attack had to be made on us before we could make one on Japan. We were told Col. Eubank, our C.O., and General Brereton, the C.O. of all U.S. Air Corps Forces in the Philippine Islands, went to MacArthur in the early morning hours between 4:00 A.M. and 5:30 A.M. to get the OK to send too waves of bombers to Formosa. Instead, we were told to get the planes ready for immediate take-off. We were to fly in the general area and give the gunners practice tracking the clouds. We did this, flying 3 hours; then we were called in for lunch. We divided the crew into two units; one stayed at the airplanes and the other went to lunch. My pilot, our C.O., and half the enlisted men and I went to lunch. The Co-pilot, Bombardier, and the remaining enlisted men stayed with the plane.
After lunch I returned to our hangar to await the rest of the crew so we could replace those at the plane. I was standing in front of the hangar with Lt. Clyde Box when I spotted two V's of planes approaching from the West. I made the comment that it looked like the Navy had a carrier in Manila Bay and the planes were coming to salute the bases. Lt. Box had focused his eyes better on the planes and noticed black spots appearing in the bellies of the planes. He yelled, "Navy, HELL! It's the JAPS! -- AIR RAID!" As we turned to run through the hangar we heard the air raid siren. Our hangar took a direct hit in the corner where the bombsight storage was. We ran alongside the supply hangar behind our hangar, crossed the road, and jumped into a partially-dug manhole in the new drainage and sewer system being installed in the area.
Beyond us was an open storage area of 55 gallon drums of gasoline. Bombs fell dangerously close to us. One stick hit our hangar a direct hit, another hit the supply hangar, and one stick went through the gasoline dump. It was hot and noisy. We had been straddled by two sticks of bombs. The gas dump was roaring and I'll always remember the sight of the drums of gas as they exploded. The tops of the drums were blown off and tall black columns followed them skyward with a huge white blossom and a WOOF! The drums would blow in ones, twos, and threes at a time.
After the bombers left, Lt. Box and I got out of the hole and separated, each to do what he felt was important. I got 8 or 10 enlisted men together and we took cover in a long drainage ditch as the dive bombers appeared. Some said fighters, but I saw dive bombers who were bombing and strafing our parked planes. We lay near the top of the ditch on the side toward the direction from which the dive bombers were coming. Two of the men of my small group recovered an old WW I 30-caliber machine gun with the flat round drum on top for ammunition. They mounted it on some sort of tripod and as the dive bombers flew at ground level, leaving the target (my plane) these two would rake the underside of the planes with 30 caliber fire. To the west of us was a small rise and here one of the dive bombers bellied in. I was told the pilot was blond and German. Later they found he had died from both 30 and 50 caliber slugs which could have caused his engine to stop or blow up. I have near been able to find out who these brave men were. They deserved a medal for their actions.
After the dive bombers and/or fighters left, we went to our separate organizations. Our squadron and others in the group had mattresses hauled to the target pits of the rifle range. We stopped at our quarters to get a musette bag with a change of clothes and other necessary items. It was here in the pits that I came down with my first bout with dengue fever. After 3 or 4 days I was back on duty. Dengue fever is carried by mosquitoes affects you with high fever, chills, and makes you feel rotten. You become dehydrated. You can get over one bout of it and come right down with it again. Its symptoms are fierce headache and fever.
The Japs came over a couple of times a day; we never knew when to expect them. As we moved about we always tried to be near a deep hole or slit trench. One of our officers got caught in the open with only a deep hole nearby. He reached the hole only to have bombs hit on each side of him. He was shocked silly for a couple days.
Bob: The crews of the twelve B-17Es that landed during the raid on Pearl Harbor were busy flying the patrol that should have been in operation long before the raid if they had been given the equipment. The patrol encompassed 900 miles out of Hickam with a 100-mile leg and back to Hickam. They were lone tedious 12 and 14-hour flights, a test of man and machine, looking for Japanese shipping, and possible invasion fleets headed for the islands.
John: A few days before Christmas we were moved out in busses and trucks headed for Bataan but were held up to wait for further orders. In the mean time we were issued rifles that dated from World War I. We were given ammunition too and instructed how to use the weapon.
On Christmas morning our group chaplain, Father LeFleur, said mass under the trees. That was the last mass for me until I got to Australia. A couple of days later we were told to get ready to move out. We loaded into buses and trucks to go to Mariveles near the west end of Bataan and not far from Corregidor. There we boarded an inter-island steamer. Corregidor was the key to Manila Bay. The Japs had the bottle, but the Americans had the Stopper. Our squadron was assigned the top deck. We were protected from possible showers and the hot sun during the day. We traveled many miles south during the night, escaping the eyes of the enemy, and pulled into a channel between Mindoro and another island, unnamed, just offshore.
About midmorning the air raid bell clanged, alerting us to an air raid. It was a Jap flying boat patrolling for possible inter-island traffic. We lay quietly on the deck as she circled us. He went toward our stern and turned for a stern to bow run. There were 5 of these runs. All bombs fell, one long and the other wide but close enough to blow a hole above the water line. Our Filipino crew vented steam and smoke out the hole and some of the officers and enlisted men panicked and jumped over board. It fooled the Japs into thinking we were all abandoning ship and they left.
As soon as the enemy left we took to small boats and rafts and went ashore on the small island to take cover in the trees in case our Jap friend returned. At dusk we went back aboard and sailed on south. The second morning found us slipping into a narrow bay on the west side of Cebu Island. The south tip of the island touches the Sea of Mindanao. As we slowly groped uncertainly toward shore the wreckage of the ship that was 24 hours ahead of us came floating out to meet us. When we disembarked to hide in the trees we were met by two Master Sergeants who had been traveling with our ammunition on the ship that had been sunk. The crew started overland, heading for Cebu City. The two Master Sergeants told us that nine Jap flying boats jumped their ship in the bay and eight stayed to bomb them while the ninth continued on and found us. The eight Japanese planes could not sink the ship but did set it on fire and our ammunition burned out the bottom, sinking in the bay. With the crew all ashore they strafed the shore and front line trees to get the crew. Tokyo Rose had a field day as she reported both ships sunk.
The next morning we sailed into Bugo Harbor on the north shore of Mindanao. We loaded and locked all weapons because we didn't know whether or not the Japs had gotten there first. We were welcomed by U.S. forces, so we disembarked and moved on into the hills near Bugo and Del Monte. Later in the afternoon we were loaded into buses for the ride into the interior to Carmen. We passed Malaybalay where there was a concealed airstrip. Then we proceeded on to Carmen on the Cotobato River. Carmen was originally Carmen Ferry as that was where travelers ferried across the river. Now there was a bridge. Our orders were to defend the bridge and the ferry, which some people still used. We are further instructed that if the front lines ahead of us to the south broke we were to let our troops pass and then put the ferry on the north shore and scuttle it and blow up the bridge. We would then infiltrate back through the front lines and take positions behind them. The only problem was that we would have a mile of elephant grass 6 to 8 feet tall to go through. We would. have been sitting ducks for planes overhead. The only casual planes in the area at any time were those of the Japs.
I met a Morn Hadji who was in our camp area along the river off and on. He had a band of about 120 men. These men were all armed with swords, kris, and speare. (Kris-Dagger, pronounced creese) A Moro Hadji is a Philippine Moslem. Moslem missionaries converted the Morns in the 1300 and 1400's. The Hadji and I would get into friendly arguments. He always spoke through an interpreter and my comments went to him by the same method. Once my argument stung his premise and he answered me directly in English. I was stunned but didn't show it as much as the horrified expression that crossed his face. He smiled, shrugged, and said, "Allah wills." After that we talked directly to one another, unless any of my friends of the squadron were present. He would smile at me and bring in the interpreter.
I asked him where he went when he left our area. He told us they went downstream where some Japs were building a bridge. They would hid and watch all day and at dusk, after the Japs returned to their camp, they would cross the river and in a very short time have the whole day's work floating downriver. Just before I left to go north he told me they got bored doing this and crossed over earlier in the evening and set an ambush on their trail to their camp from the bridge site. He told me they killed every Jap. He said the leader of the Jap squad slipped behind the same bush he was positioned by. Ten of his men were always very near him. The Jap watched his men try to work out of the ambush. I asked him what happened to the leader of those Japs who had joined him behind the bush. His reply was, "Ten Kris hit him simultaneously."
History: All through February and the first weeks in March the battle for Bataan had shrunk to small patrols and artillery. The American and Filipino forces held the Japs. Consequently the Japs increased their garrisons. The half-rations the Allies were on were again cut in half. Many of the troops had malaria, dysentery, beriberi, and dengue fever. Malnutrition was common and confirmed when some men were too weak to get out of their foxholes. The hospitals were crowded with patients. Some supplies arrived for the fighting men but not enough to change the ultimate outcome.
At this time MacArthur was ordered to escape to Australia and take command of the entire South Pacific. In the eerie darkness of March 11 his family boarded the battle-scarred PT Boat 41 at Corregidor. Three other PT Boats followed in their wake and beat the blockade by hugging the island coasts and resting during the day. They zig-zagged among the islands at night, sneaking by the Jap Navy. The ocean pasted them with fifteen-foot waves, testing men and machines as they headed for Mindanao on March 13. In the next 3 days MacArthur's company was roaring toward Australia in three B-17 airplanes, manned by the same crews that landed at Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7th. It was a long flight to Darwin and on to Melbourne where he got the sad news of the strength of Allied Forces in the South Pacific. Two weeks later Quezon was rescued and spent the war years in exile.
By April third the Japs had been reinforced on Bataan. Eager for battle they pounded the Allies on part of the front. The pounding continued through the 8th of April when the Allies surrendered unconditionally.
To the Allies surrender meant food and medicine. It wasn't to be that way. Seventy-six thousand men surrendered. There were twelve thousand Americans and sixty-four thousand Filipinos who laid down their weapons. This conflicted with enemy estimates of about thirty thousand in all on Bataan, including civilian and armed forces. Of these most were diseased and starved. Twenty-six thousand civilians were congregated at the tip of Bataan and had to be taken care of.
The Japanese plan for the prisoners was for them to walk to Balanga, a small town on Bataan. After walking the nineteen miles, the Japanese brass thought that more than two hundred trucks would haul them to Camp O'Donnell. Nineteen miles is an easy march for healthy troops but not for starved, sick, and wounded men. The Japanese officers also misjudged how their troops would behave as guards. Bodies of 300 straggled off in the 100+ degree heat, dust swirling up from the road. Some of the groups saw guards and others went on unsupervised. Field hospitals were manned by American doctors and nurses; some were guarded by Japanese infantry men. Others had no guards. At hospital number two they brutalized the patients by routing them out into the line of march. Desperately wounded patients staggered out onto the road, forced out of poor conditions and shoved into even worse. In a short time the ditches were full of dead and dying. It became a sport for the Japanese soldiers not to let the men drink. They prodded them with long sticks, beating them and keeping them away from the nearby steams. Bayonets are used or they shot the men on the spot. It became clear that treatment was getting worse. As rear echelon troops took over cruelty increased.
At one of the towns, Balanga, they thought conditions would get better with maybe food and water. Instead conditions were terrible. Some prisoner groups were given a handful of rice and a little salt. Most got none. The 200 trucks expected were not there. After a brief rest there was more pushing and killing.
On North the guards were worse. Exhaustion and thirst and disease caused many to fall along the roadsides. Those not able to continue were beaten, bayoneted, and beheaded. Some were already half naked and made to stand at attention, naked, for hours at a time. (Scalpel-sharp Samurai swords served the soldiers well for the ugly job of beheading the helpless prisoners.) Starved, wounded, and delirious, Filipino or American prisoners were buried alive, ordered by guards at gun point. Streams and drainage ditches flowed past their line of march. Crazed from lack of water, men stumbled toward them and were nearly always shot or bayoneted.
They stumbled through small villages. Gambling their lives, inhabitants would grab a man out of the line. An elderly woman with a long skirt would stand over him until the guard passed. They would hide him and nurse him back to health.
Bob: The twelve airplanes and crews that came in on December 7th flying patrol out of the Hawaiian Islands Territory were ordered to Australia. In reality the mission was to stop the Japanese expansion, but it seemed like a goodwill tour.
We stopped at islands that were but dots in a beautiful mass of blue ocean. Christmas Islands population granted us anything they had that we could use. It was a pristine archipelago of reefs and beaches, home to thousands of sea birds. It was first populated by Portugal. Next were the atolls of Canton and Palmyra. Horseshoe in shape, dusty coral covered each island. On Canton we had lunch and it was good, even from a griping, groaning mess sergeant who claimed we didn't notify him we were coming. A message was sent that we would be there for a mid-morning lunch, but he never received it.
The Fiji Islands were our next stop. We left Canton Island at noon, flying quite low over the sparkling blue water. As we left the tiny atoll a cloud of coral dust followed us as we groaned over the restless breakers that pounded the shores of the tiny atoll.
Late in the afternoon a call came from the navigator giving us all the word that Fiji was straight ahead. We were flying very low, seeing reefs extending out of the water where sea birds roosted or were feeding off the rocky spires that extended out of the water.
At first we saw the white spuming shores, then the radiant green of the tree-covered hills wreathed in the sea-blue panorama of the sparkling blue South Pacific. Closer in we saw the valleys were neatly farmed with straight rows of Dole pineapple.
The Fiji Islands lie just west of the International Date Line. They were a Crown Colony of Great Britain. They belong to the Melanesian race and over half the residents come from India.
We were welcomed by the British and native soldiers as our big birds rolled to a stop. We were in Fiji for several days and flew several reconnaissance flights. Then we were ordered to Australia by way of New Caledonia, a French overseas territory.
It was hot and dust billowed around us as we taxied along the partially completed runway. The runway and taxi strips were being built by native Melanesians, along with some Javanese who had left Java to get away from the Japanese invaders. We saw families working together, carrying dirt in buckets, pouring it on the ground, and tamping it with bare feet. Several hundred people worked from daylight around the clock. They passed our big birds in small family groups, hesitating and staring, awed, knowing why we were there. The enemy was invading their country, wreaking havoc as they trampled and killed many of their population.
The United States Sea Bees were there directing this operation, but their equipment was still on a boat out on the sea, expected any day. Consequently the primitive way of hauling dirt to fill the runway was used.
The next leg of our mission was on to Brisbane, Australia. We needed gas to get us there, but the fuel was 25 miles away in barrels at Noumea. The 50-gallon drums were on the ground, hidden among the hills close to the town. Strong, muscular natives good-naturedly lifted them onto our trucks, rode back to the airstrip in the hot sun over dusty roads and pumped the precious gas into our tanks. There was lots of gas to pump and the night passed slowly. Everybody in the crew took his turn pumping and then our friends took over again. Hordes of ravenous mosquitoes found the exposed parts of our bodies and even bit through blankets. They nosed through the only known type of repellent, citronella, that we splashed over our faces and arms. At times endless swarms crossed the face of the full moon like swirls of smoke from a campfire.
As the dawn stained a deep red in the east, showing a pretense of flame, we were told to get ready to leave. We were all happy for that call. The sunrise was a conflagration of reds and orange-reds, with yellows bordering the mountains of clouds close to the horizon. Sleepy tired pilots and crews grumbled and groaned as the big birds took us on to Brisbane.
All of us landed safely at Archer Field, but not without incident. A Dutch Royal Air Force plane came too close to the wing of our plane and crumpled it. Our plane was not flyable. Tough duty looked at us straight away. While we stayed in Brisbane waiting for the wing to be repaired, the rest of the flight went to Townsville and flew a mission over Rabaul Harbor, a Jap stronghold.
The Japanese Navy had recently destroyed the city of Darwin and with it some B-17s. Fortunately one wing tip survived the bombing. A C-47 transport left Brisbane, flying steadily, except for stops for gas and repairs. It took 2 days to get to Darwin -- one day to weld the wing tip to the under side of the plane and 2 days back to Brisbane. It took another day or so to get the wing attached and the B-17 flyable.
Our permanent base was going to be Townsville, but there was an alert out and we were ordered to Cloncurry, a sleepy little town in the interior of Australia. There was a small airstrip, serviceable and long enough for us to get in on. It was rumored that a flotilla of Japanese ships, carriers, and cruisers were headed toward Townsville.
Cloncurry was in the outback. It was a community of sheep stations, hard-working lovely people, wanting to give us everything and to do things for us.
Accommodations were adequate and clean. We climbed an open stair way onto a mezzanine onto which the rooms opened. Below the mezzanine was the dining room with tables covered with red-checkered tablecloths set for four and napkins held with traditional rings. The executive bar was off the dining room and another bar was reached from the street. From the street you walked through bat-winged doors and into a noisy brass bar. It was horseshoe in shape and tightly packed with GI's and local people.
John: As my first love was the B-17, I listened to all the reports on their actions. I was told that when the first B-17E arrived it was sent on a raid to Rabaul with three B-17 D's. In a four-plane formation the E was Tail-end Charlie. After dropping their bombs and leaving the target area nine Jap Zeros were spotted at about 4 o'clock at the same altitude. The three Ds headed for the "deck" where they had better fire power and protection. The E stayed at altitude, feathered one engine, wind-milled the opposite one, and altered the mixture controls so the other two engines had a smoky exhaust. The leader of the Zeros thought he had a cripple, so he made a solo attack. His plan was to get behind the B-17 and from the protection of the tail shoot out the engines. The B-17E gave him a surprise as it had the twin 50's in the tail. The tail gunner just cleared his guns with a short burst, shooting down the Zap. This was done seven more times. The ninth Zero went home alone to report the fact that the B-17s now had a lethal weapon in the tails that destroyed his flight leader and seven others of the flight in the same manner.
Bob: On March 9th, 1942, my whole being was numbed by the realization I was headed for my first bombing mission. The Japs had started landing men and supplies at two small towns in northwest New Guinea. We had managed to get 5 or 6 airplanes flyable. We were headed for Port Moresby, a seaport in eastern New Guinea at the foot of the Owen Stanley Range. It was the staging area for raids on the enemy. Heavy tropical rains had soaked the runway before we got there and part of it was not safe for our planes, loaded like they were. We all had 4 one thousand pound bombs in the bomb bays and that made us grossly overweight for that kind of runway. During the landing some of us were ordered into the cockpit so the pilot could control the airplane better. At the end of the runway (and we used it all) he pulled far to one side, letting the plane coast through the soft boggy area, racing the engines slightly to boost us back onto firmer ground. We were then guided to the parking area by some Australian ground personnel. The skies were cloudy and ominous. In the tropics it rained often -- sometimes a lot and other times just sprinkles. We were on Seven-mile Air Field where tents had been raised for us, but there was no mess hall and we were worried about the evening meal. The Australians had agreed to feed and house us for this raid because the American maintenance forces hadn't arrived yet. Later we would take over when the Sea Bees improved the air strip and enlarged some of the other facilities too.
Later we were ordered to several special tents, each having tables set with real table service and napkins folded neatly by each plate. Red checkered tablecloths draped leisurely above the damp ground. Jungle noises echoed as the Aussie Commanding Officer said a touching prayer for all the Aussie soldiers fighting in North Africa. We Yanks were mentioned too. I was an enlisted person, but that night everybody was equal. I sat at the head table at the right of this Australian officer. Usually the American officers and Australian officers alike were very strict about mixing, but this night we were all one. The C.O. held up his hand. He apologized profusely because the only kind of fruit he had in the tropics was canned peaches. We left our tables with full stomachs.
Before taps we took some of the Aussie officers through the planes. They were awed at the size as they called them bloody kites, quietly shaking their heads. They had few airplanes but with grim determination had flown against the enemy with what they had and won some battles too with their out-gunned aircraft. We had seen some of the out-dated aircraft as we landed.
The eery darkness of dawn caught us as we inspected our airplanes. Quiet talk of the pilot and navigator discussing headings and weather over the target echoed in the close quarters of the cockpit. The tanks had been topped off before we got to the airplane. The gas man had signed the Form One to confirm it. Some of the other airplanes were warming their engines as the clouds, red from the firey sun, spread and let the light sparkle on the early dew. "All Aboard," said the pilot. Each crew man took his prearranged position in the airplane for take-off. My legs felt weak and my heart raced. As I stood in the radio room staring blankly at the darkness someone flashed a light and the silhouettes of the big bombs hung gruesome. They were long solid tubes with small propellers that would spin themselves off, heading for destruction of ships and men, hopefully. It was a good feeling; now; we had a chance to hit back.
As we rolled through the soft boggy area the vibration crawled up my back. The pilot pulled all there was in the big engines and they responded, setting us all back against the bulkheads and partitions. The sea was calm as we climbed into the soft golden mists of the early dawn.
New Guinea is a land of high mountains, thick jungles, grassy plains, and mosquito-infested swamps. Some of these were visible as the Owen Stanley Range disappeared in the cloudy mists, and we headed for Lea and Salamaua at the northwest corner of New Guinea.
It was cold and the frost showed at the corners of the square bullet-proof Window at my tail position. At 27,000 feet the temperatures sometimes reach 70 degrees below zero. It crawls into every opening in your clothing and stings like someone placed a red hot coal on your skin. Fingers become numb very quickly, even with gloves on.
Chatter on the intercom between the pilot and bombardier discussing headings and visibility at the target stopped when someone yelled over the intercom, "There's the Navy given' 'em hell."
It was a turkey shoot for the Navy. One Jap ship trailed smoke while another lay dead in the water. Our bombardier carried on his duty, keeping the airplane in formation with the other planes, dropping on the lead plane, but the whole pattern was a near miss. Back in the tail at about every 5 counts a large black glob would burst on our level about one quarter mile back. Each burst was closer. The airplane rocked as the explosions got closer. Other black globs appeared under and above us. Every burst got closer. As we left the target area the anti-aircraft fire quit. Smoke rose from the burning ships as others attended them and the landing went on unchallenged -- and no more anti-aircraft fire. The United States Navy went back to their carrier and we headed for Townsville. We later learned from pictures taken at the target area that we had several near misses and possible damage to same of the enemy ships.
We didn't stop the invasion of New Guinea nor sink all the ships and barges, but we mounted some root resistance against the Japanese conquest of the South Pacific. We raised our morale and gave ourselves the confidence we needed to go on and fight this terrible war.
John: On or about the tenth of April, 1942, I was ordered to return to Del Monte. Jimmy Doolittle had the 16 B-25s on the deck of the U.S.S. Hornet. They were ready to bomb Tokyo and give the Japanese homeland a taste of what we had been receiving from them. The purpose of my going to Del Monte was to put me in line to be evacuated south to Australia. Within a day or two General Royce arrived at Del Monte with three B-17s and ten B-25s. One B-17 came in on 3 engines. The B-25s were operating out of Malaybalay and the B-17s out of Del Monte Field. In the few days they were in the islands they struck at targets from Davao in the south to various targets on Luzon to the north. On the second day these planes were operating, a lone Japanese float plane strafed a village near Del Monte hitting the bomb bay tanks of one of the B-25s.
On the same flight the Jap also found the crippled B-17 and proceeded to bomb and strafe it until it was destroyed. Some of us who had been scheduled to be evacuated by the B-17 were bumped and the crew was squeezed into the other planes. On April 14 two B-17 and nine B-25s left to return to Australia. On the 15th I was playing bridge with three other officers when the O.D. (Officer of the Day) came in and started fussing that someone was missing and was going to miss a flight out to the tenth B-25. He looked at the hand I had just been dealt and then looked at my partner's hand. As he looked at me, smiling, he suddenly exclaimed, "THERE he is!" Then he told me to get my gear and a car would be coming to take me to Malaybalay to go out with Captain Gunn and his B-25. (The news broke up the bridge game, so we laid our cards down face up and saw that my partner and I had a grand slam in spades!) In the dark with blackout headlights a Filipino driver followed crooked hilly roads and delivered me to Captain Gunn. I was very thankful we got there safely.
We took off for Australia shortly after I arrived at the strip. Captain Gunn (also known as Pappy) was afraid we didn't have enough gas to get to Australia. His co-pilot was a graduate engineer and assured us and Captain Gunn that we had more gas on board than if we'd had our regular bomb bay tanks. Captain Qunn turned to me and said, "You're a navigator and a weather officer. Find me a tail wind!"
In the dim light of dawn I could not tell what the winds aloft were. I used the plane's driftmeter and observed the scud on the water below, noting the direction it was blowing. I told Captain Gunn that it looked like a quartering tail wind on the surface. "Surface" to me meant anything from water up 1,000 feet. -- Not to "Pappy"! We left a prop wash wake all the way to Australia!
We had to pull up to go over Melville Island as we approached the mainland of Australia. The men at the Aussie field were scattering all over be place as we roared across the island. We landed at Darwin, but the Aussies wouldn't let us stay. They were expecting an air raid and didn't want us in the way as they scrambled their planes so as not to be caught on the ground. We took off and headed downriver to go to the U.S. base at Batchelor. On the way, while still over the river, our top turret gunner fired a short burst. "Pappy" wanted to know what was going on. The gunner replied that some "durn fool" had stood his plane on its nose above us so he cleared his guns at him. When asked the location, his only comment was, "He disappeared."
When we landed at Bachelor it didn't look like an active airbase at all. They came out and showed us where to park. We told them to refuel the plane while we were taken to lunch, enlisted men to the mess tent and officers to officers mess. After eating and resting we went back to the plane. What a difference it was with planes and trucks all over. It looked like a working airbase. On inquiry as to the difference they replied, "Didn't you know you landed during a yellow alert?" We didn't and asked what went on. They told us a P-40 and a Jap zero had a fight over the horizon. As to the outcome they couldn't say, except that one plane crashed and the P-40 came in and landed.
We took off from Batchalor and headed east across northern Australia. After dark we found a town (Mt. Isa) and started circling it. Cars began going out to the edge of town and with lights on formed an elongated U. We flew a landing pattern and came over the closed end of the U and touched down. We were guided to a parking place, disembarked, and were taken to the hotel in town. This was a real treat! --The first real bed to sleep in, the first shower with hot or cold water, and the first mirror to look in since December 8th, 1941. I had had so many scares and near misses that I was sure I could be white-headed, so you can imagine my relief looking in a mirror and seeing dark hair over my head!
After a good night's sleep and breakfast Pappy hurried us out to the plane before it got too hot so the air would be heavy enough to give us the lift we needed for take-off. Our next stop was Cloncurry where a B-17 outfit was located. It was the 30th Squadron. The C.O., a Major whom I'd last seen as a 1st Lt., gave me a big box of mail to sort through and pick out mine. With various letters was one marked "deceased," but the C.O. had tried to erase that word and had put a note on the envelope that I was alive and well in the Philippines but had rerouted to Australia and my last known squadron.
After leaving Cloncurry we flew to Charters Tours, which was home base for our B-25's, and I was given quarters. When I asked for information on how to get to the 19th Bomb Group and the 28th Squadron, I was told it would not be necessary as I belonged to the Third Bomb Group, which had brought me out of the Philippines. Orders eventually came through, first attaching me to the 3rd Bomb Group and then assigning me to the 3rd Bomb Group.
As a member of the 13th Squadron of the 3rd Group, I was assigned extra duty as a Mess Officer. I was ordered to one bombing raid, but we were forced to abort because of engine trouble. I was assigned to a long range reconnaissance flight and a number of anti-submarine patrols. We often found subs on the surface and when they started to dive we had no alternative but to open fire with our 50-caliber guns with armor-piercing shells.
One day I was called to Group Headquarters and given orders to report to an Air Base Support Squadron at Eagle Farm in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. On reporting in to the squadron C.O. I was told he didn't want me; he needed a pilot, not a navigator. He asked me if I'd been out of the Combat Theater since the war started. I replied that I had not. The Major went to talk to the General in command of the sector and I was then attached to the 81st Air Depot Group. One of the divisions of the Air Depot was a repair facility located at Archer Field. After a short period of training around Group Headquarters, I was assigned to the military detachment overseeing the civilian work and was made Supply Officer. I had an Australian civilian as an assistant and two Australian girls as secretaries and clerks. Another officer shared office space with me and was in charge of engine repairs. My section had to see that all repair groups had the correct sheet metal and parts to repair the planes returned from combat. In early 1943 we took a war-weary B-17 and converted it into a command plane for General Kenney, C.O. of the new 5th Air Force.
After his initial flight around the theater of operations, General Kenney's plane was brought back, the installed seat moved back, and a second seat installed with a swivel. Our automatic question was 'Why?" We were told he wanted to take "The Old Man" with him on some of the trips and wanted to be able to turn his seat around to keep "The Old Man" from getting airsick.
Pappy Gunn came to our facility to have a "French 75" mounted in the nose of a B-25. This meant removal of the bombsight and 50-caliber guns. Structural strengthening was also needed to handle the recoil of the weapon. In addition, Pappy also wanted two 50-caliber machine guns mounted on each side of the nose of the plane. When done, the clearance for propeller tips was minimal. We later heard that using the B-25s armed this was very successful against Jap convoys. We were modifying B-25s for a time. In fact, the Depot in Hawaii designed and fabricated kits and sent them to us to speed up the modification. Soon new 25s started arriving with the modifications from the factory.
I heard from some 3rd Bomb Group members of the first raid using the modified B-25s. "Pappy" Gunn, who was now a Lt. Col., led the raid on a big Jap convoy. As the formation broke up to attack the convoy Pappy pealed off and started down on the lead destroyer. His wing man peeled off with him so Pappy broke radio silence and told his wing man, "Get your own boat -- this one is mine."
The attack procedure was to dive on target sweeping the deck with 50-caliber fire, dip the nose a little and fire an armor-piercing 75 cal shell to hit just above the water line and then level off and drop a 500 lb. bomb to skip through the hole. The bomb had a delayed action fuse so it would be well inside the vessel when it exploded. This would cause maximum damage and sometimes even cause the vessel to sink.
One day in May, 1943, our executive officer, Lt. Col. Monay, called me in and asked me how I'd like to return to the States. I told the Colonel that we don't kid about that subject. He told me that he wasn't kidding and that my paper work had gone across the street to the General's office a half hour before he called me in. Within a few days I had orders to the Replacement Center. The Replacement Center C.O. knew General Kenney's policy of promoting any Officer who had not been promoted and was returning to the States on points earned and he put in my promotion papers. These were returned "denied" by General White, the deputy for General Kenney. General Kenney was on an inspection trip to the units near the front and General White claimed he needed the promotion slots for active forces. He didn't realize that as soon as I left the theater he had his slot back again!
Bob: The guys that landed on Oahu on Dec. 7th were busy flying reconnaissance from their permanent base of Townsville, Australia. Leaving Townsville we made short flights of 700 miles to Port Moresby, usually late in the day, stayed over and left early the next morning on armed reconnaissance, with bombs, over the islands north of New Guinea. We seldom, if ever, were blessed with escort.
Fundamentally we were a reconnaissance squadron, the 435th, and with it being organized in Australia, the land down under famous for their kangaroos, we decided to call it the "Kangaroo Squadron."
The 435th can wear the four-in-one battle ribbon. This proves the 435th participated in the 4 phases of the war in the South Pacific. We flew individual flights, long hours at high altitude, unescorted, always in enemy territory reporting by radio, taking pictures of enemy installations and naval operations.
It was a quiet foggy morning. Seven-mile airstrip was socked in. The fog rolled across the tracks our jeep followed toward our parked "Naughty but Nice" B-17. General Walker, an infantry officer, was going along as observer of a landing the Japs were making in the Band area which is on the north shore of New Guinea. They were landing against little resistance and General Walker wanted to see what could be done to give them more tumble. We sailed off the runway into the early gray mists and climbed sharply into cold clear air to 12,000 feet. The snow-white vista of clouds stretched up mountain sides and clung to rocky spires that rose from the New Guinea terrain. It was an incredible sight to observe this beauty high above the hate and vicious fighting going on below. It was late morning as we left the clouds and flew several hours looking for shipping and air activity in the area.
We flew back toward land and huge clouds of fog and mists shrouded us as we saw thick clusters of palm trees standing pliantly in the foggy mists. Thick jungle claimed the beaches past the sand and out into the New Guinea terrain. The ceiling was still nearly zero as we went along tree top level. Orders were "Fire only if fired at from the ground."
From my tail position I watched the jungle flow past. It wasn't the usual high altitude flight we were used to. It was a relief not to wear heavy flying jackets and pants. It was warm in my little world in the tail. We saw swamps and hordes of birds swarm out over the jungle as I heard lots of conversation between the pilot and navigator about headings and ETA's. Then we went into solid fog and the pilot pulled up the plane. It seemed a long time before the navigator spoke over the intercom: "We'll have to fly lower or we will miss our objective." It convinced the pilot of what he had to do -- get lower or we would be coming back at another angle in the fog and mountainous terrain. Flying this low there was always the possibility of flying straight into a mountain. He eased the plane down and the intercom was quiet. Then a whoop from the navigator, "There it is!" Lea airstrip was straight ahead. It was like some one had raised the fog and let us slip in unnoticed. There were several airplanes on the ground, but I couldn't tell if they were dummies or the real thing. There was no ground fire and in the few seconds we were over the strip we had gathered all the information needed. No shots fired, we slipped over the wharf area and into the gray foggy mists again.
The navigator called off headings and the plane would tilt, then fly level. The navigator called the New Guinea coast and everybody grabbed his gun, ready to shoot back at any ground fire. We were interested in knowing more about how extensive the Jap landings were. Several hours passed checking the coast line, flying low over the water, then back to the shoreline, checking the possibility of a landing.
General Walker had ridden in the nose of the plane with the bombardier and navigator all day and now wanted to watch the bombardier arm those big 1,000 pound bombs. We had come out to watch the enemy landing at Band and to search for a broader scope of an invasion force. We had found only the one landing at Band, so now we could drop our bombs and go back to Moresby. Before dropping bombs they pulled pins out of the fuses of the bombs and then the small propellers spinning off made them ready to explode when they hit the ground.
As we climbed up to 12,000 feet the western horizons turned a bright yellow and long shadows reached out from the darkening hills, The warships started evasive action below. We passed a few miles out to sea from the flotilla consisting of barges, 2 cruisers and several destroyers. It appeared there was already considerable materiel and manpower lining the shore and stabilizing their position. The pilot and General Walker talked about it as we watched from our spot in the sky. We were flying east and their landing was taking place to the south of us.
The bombardier broke in and said he had everything ready for the bomb run. The bombardier flies the airplane while we are on the bomb run.
"Let me know when you are ready, " the pilot said.
We had turned about 180 decrees and we were headed straight for one of the cruisers.
"I'm ready."
“you got it."
“Bomb bay doors open," called the bombardier. "I'll drop 2 the first time around and then the next time the other two and we’ll go home with the two cruisers to our credit.”
The intercom was quiet. Then somebody said, "anti-aircraft fire to the left and way below us."
"I see," called the pilot. "Watch out for fighters. It's hard to believe they have a landing like this going and no fighters."
We all reported anti-aircraft fire but no fighters. "Bombs away," called the bombardier. "The airplane is all yours."
Immediately, as anti-aircraft fire grew worse and explosions rocked the airplane, we headed down toward the shore, increasing speed. We leveled off at about 9,000 feet and circled once. General Walker wanted to go around again and the bombardier had two 1,000-pounders left. Going in over the Navy at the 12,000-foot level was right in their most accurate area, but making the same run at 9,000 feet was almost suicide. That was in range of pom pom anti-aircraft which is accurate and they can throw a great many rounds at you in a short time. The darkness closed in as a red sun disappeared behind the New Guinea mountains.
The same familiar call, "It's all yours!" came from the pilot.
"Okay! Bomb bay doors open."
It seemed like a long time before the bombardier called again. It was quiet over the intercom for a few seconds.
“Bombs away," called the bombardier again.
Anti-aircraft fire bounced us around. We were heading down in what seemed at 45 degree angle. It was dark in my little, lonesome world back in the tail. I watched as the big cruiser still winked at us, and then a bright flash before a tremendous jolt struck the airplane. The huge explosion rang through the tail position. It defend me for a few seconds and I was stunned. One of the large anti-aircraft rounds had almost hit a bulls eye, the tail. We had holes from anti-aircraft fire. Even some of the metal was flapping in the airstream but we were still in the air. General Walker wanted to go around again and see if he could detect any damage that we had inflicted on either of the cruisers. Each of the 2 salvos stopped at the fantail or stern of each ship. Only minor damage could possibly have occurred. General Walker was quite insistent, but Don Tower, our pilot, told him our gas was quite low. We had to climb over the Owen Stanley range dead ahead at around 12,000 feet and getting into the 7-Mile Airstrip at dusk had some risks. We were all elated. Getting through that barrage with no more holes and no casualties was always a happy note to come home on. The mechanics and tin smiths had their work cut out for them, fixing all the holes before we were to take off the next morning.
John: My flight home was interrupted in beautiful Hawaii until space became available to continue on to San Francisco. On arrival in San Francisco I quickly made arrangements to travel to Walla Walla, Washington, to be with my wife. We then drove to Spokane to see Brig. Gen. Eubank and then to get gas stamps to go to treat Falls, Montana to visit my folks. While there I received orders to return to Spokane on temporary assignment from Tampa, Fla., where I had been headed. On arrival in Spokane my temporary assignment was canceled and I was permanently assigned to 2nd Bomber Command, reporting to General Eubank for duty.
In 2nd Bomber Command I studied the new methods of teaching celestial navigation. This was done in silo-like towers with simulated skies and special lights that could be observed with the octant in order that lines of position could be plotted. The dome could be adjusted for latitude and kept rotating so a simulated flight could be flown. On a fixed platform below the dome was a cockpit with flight controls for the pilot and a station for the navigator to fly his mission. What they are actually doing is plotted on a chart in the control booth where the navigator is graded on accuracy. After training in Spokane and getting experience in Casper, Wyoming, I was assigned my own department at Mountain Home Air
Base.
From Mountain Home I was sent to Flight Instruction School in Galveston, Texas. From Galveston I went to Rapid City, South Dakota, and from Rapid City I went to Jackson, Mississippi as flight Instructor. From Jackson I went to Alamogordo, New Mexico. We were in Alamorgordo when they tested the Atomic bomb. After the U.S. used the Atomic bomb and V-J Day came, a list was published putting me on in active status. After going through separation, I went on terminal leave and on October 29, 1945, I was an inactive Reserve Officer starting a civilian career.
Bob: The 19th proudly boasted taking the photographs of Japan's beach head on Guadalcanal the Marines used when they made their first landings. These photographs supplied the knowledge necessary for these landings. On July 17, 1942, two Marine Officers, Lt. Col. Twining and Major McKean, accompanied a 435th crew on one of these flights. While scanning the Japs at work building Guadalcanal airport, Col. Twining remarked, "I hope they build a good one; we're going to use it."
The Japanese Fighters are always a worry for individual reconnaissance flights. One airplane flying alone over what seemed to be a tranquil world can soon change in wartime in the South Pacific.
We lifted off 7-mile airstrip at around 5:30 A.M. into a bright conflagration of yellows, reds, and deep orangey reds. Small clouds above all this were outlined with pointed orchid shags that sprang with a splash of pink delight over the eastern sky. We climbed steeply into the lower clouds as everybody put on flying clothes and adjusted his oxygen. We got set for a long flight and all of it on oxygen. We flew most of the flight around 30,000 feet, checking Japanese shipping among the islands. We zig zagged across the equator 7 times, marking several Japanese ships. We had no bombs. The bomb bay had tanks instead of bombs so we could fly longer.
Rabaul Harbor was the last enemy stronghold we were going to fly over. It seemed serenely placid as we flew adjacent to it, over the jungles and on out to sea. Port Moresby was still several hours away and we were in a descent attitude. There was little chatter on the intercom. Most of it was from the pilot and navigator. I was on the side guns on this flight. It seemed colder than in the tail position. The windows are open, letting little blasts of frigid air into the airplane. The cold soaked us as we all heard the alert buzzer, which meant fighters. It sang a weird pitch.
The first words I heard were: "There are 6 of them; looks like they are getting us boxed in and ready for the kill."
"This is the pilot. When they get in range, fire when you get a good shot. Good luck."
It seemed a long time for them to get ready for their first pass. They had us boxed and slowly moved in closer with menacing gyrations of one on the left of the airplane. I was watching him as he wobbled, challenging me to fire. As I fired someone called "Here comes one for a side frontal attack." Then our pilot kicked right rudder and dropped the left wing a little. Doing that the plane skids and slips but gives the impression of going straight. I quit firing at the guy out on the left, still wobbling. Then a sudden rush of air and a clatter of slugs ricocheted through the fuselage. One of the six Zeros swished beneath us and more slugs hit up between the side guns and the radio room. The guy I was shooting at was way out of range and I had done quite what he wanted me to do. He was a diversion so one of his buddies could get in for a closer shot. He got his shot but missed because of the action taken by the pilot.
'Guns rattled all over the airplane. I glanced back and up; just above the tail a sleek Zero swooped in for a tail attack with guns firing. Immediately I had my gun going. He was standing on his nose pouring 7.7's and 20 mm's at us from above the tail. My buddy on the other side gun pointed at 5 small holes that had appeared just behind us as the slugs rattled against the fuselage.
A big burst of smoke arose from his engine and he was gone. The shooting stopped. We had found a haven of clouds, gray and bumpy but safe. I adjusted my flight cap and to my amazement my hair was wet and I felt perspiration all over. We had come though a desperate situation and thanks to the clouds and super flying by the pilot, we were safe once again.
The sheet metal people back at Moresby were awed at the amount of holes in the fuselage and no casualties. By early morning of the next day the airplane was ready to fly again. We were out on that beautiful blue Pacific looking for the enemy and reporting to the High Command how many ships, direction headed, and size.
This story is not unique. It is the same story hundreds of 19th Bomb Group crewmen could tell. There is the cold that soaks into your mind and numbs your thoughts, bad weather that turns the sea into a raging serpent ready to swallow your airplane and all the crew, a beautiful sun rise to raise the spirits of an over-worked crew that had probably flown through the tops of a typhoon and into 70 degree below zero cold. After landing and rolling to a stop the ground crew open the back door and the first words you hear are, "Everybody all right?" It's all part of the terrible war that engulfed the world.
In late November of 1942 we were assembled around the operations office, requested by the Operations Officer. He appeared with clipboard in hand, his type A conduct showing all over his face. -- So the occasion, so the behavior. He told us to get into a group on one side of the area. With the toe of his shoe he drew a line in the loose dirt. His first words were, anybody wanting to go home step over that line and stay there. Once you've stepped over the line, that's it. You can't change your mind. You're going whether you want to or not. That understood?"
The Air Transport Command carried us to Hawaii with several stops in between for rest and food. At Hickam we were processed along with hundreds of other 19th Group men and hauled to a lonesome-looking Dutch freighter converted into a troop transport. Over 1,000 boys filed hurriedly onto the boat, stepping slowly down the steep stairways into the dark hallways, finding uncomfortable bunks and different smells than we were used to.
Out in the seaway a slow tanker hitched onto our wake for protection. We zig-zagged, circled, and played tag with it for 3 days, trying to get it in friendly waters. We had several 40 mm's for anti-aircraft and submarine protection.
We took a total of 5 days getting to San Francisco. The tanker finally broke a crankshaft and was dead in the water. We waved and they hung their flags for us to go on without them.
It was Christmas at home and then on to Texas as an instructor for the duration.