W45AUTH\PV28P-VP.DOC

Flight Crew #22 at M12 City of Chicago as of Mar 1945; Crew Chief M/Sgt R. Corbett

Photo	Duty	Rank	Rank	Name	ASN	MOS	From
		07-31	02-28
S-8	AC	Maj	Capt	Van R. Parker	0-366963	1093
S-7	P	1st Lt	2nd Lt	Calvin D. Hawkins	0-778795	1092
S-5	N	1st Lt	2nd Lt	William J. Buffo	0-2060469	1038
S-6	B	1st Lt	2nd Lt	Kenneth E. Wilber	0-694990	1035
S-9	RO	1st Lt	2nd Lt	Byrle Lerner	0-2065738	0142
S-2	FE	F/O	T/Sgt	Pedro M. Maese	18014591	737
K-1	R	S/Sgt	Cpl	George W. Phillips	11093399	2756
S-3	CFC	T/Sgt	Cpl	Cormack J. Quinlivan	35054608	580
S-1	RG	S/Sgt	Cpl	Cassell Biggs	13143281	611
K-2	LG	S/Sgt	Cpl	John McSherry Jr	33793787	611
S-4	TG	Sgt	Cpl	Roger R. Tetrault	31350844	611

This Flight Crew consists primarily of extracts from Van Parker's book Dear Folks. It is highly recomended reading for those interested in the 20th AF operations. The book was published by Global Press 2990 Watson Rd Memphis, TE, 38118 or can be obtained by writing Van Parker 4766 Dovercourt Circle, Carmichael CA, 95608.

M-12 City of Chicago crew members: Capt Van Parker(AC), 2nd Lt William J Buffo(N), 2nd Lt Calvin D. Hawkins(P), 2nd Lt Kenneth E. Wilber(B), 2nd Lt Byrle Lerner(RO)

Van Parker, Primary Flying School, 1942

The following are Mission related Extracts from DEAR FOLKS by Van Parker. I have added a partial header from material contained in Resume of 20th AF Missions so you can index with mission commentaries by other Flight Crews in filename MC28.DOC. Such entries are enclosed in brackets. DL

[F006=M039;03-04-45;Wing 73-313-314; Night; GP; 25-28K Altitude; Tokyo; Nakajima AC or Musashino "Enkindle #5"]

Hancock#abt [VParker] "...John [Hancock] was scheduled to fly his first combat mission on 4 March. Inasmuch as my crew was not scheduled, I had asked and received permission to go along with him. (Perhaps not bright of me, but he was my roommate and we were close friends.) Anyhow, we never came close to getting to the target area. Ten minutes after takeoff number 4 engine failed and we had to jettison our bombs and return home - our first mission, an abort. I told John, 'Better luck next time, and if my crew isn't in the line-up I'll go with you again.' "

[F008=RSPM#3;03-06-45;Wing 314; Airborne=1; Night; GP; 5KAltitude; Kobe (Radar Scope Photo Mission)]

VParker#1 [VParker] "On the day following [03-05-45], our headquarters sought out a volunteer crew to fly an upcoming mission which was considered to be of more than normal risk. Now there's an old saying in the army, "Never volunteer for anything - it can only lead to trouble." But John, silly boy, paying small heed to that advice, up and said, "My crew will go;" and with my promise to accompany him on his next mission, I, too, had placed myself in the position of being a volunteer.

So, that's how it came about that I was again flying with Hancock on 6 March -a combat mission we would complete, and a first for the both of us. John would leave his copilot at home; I would perform copilot duties occupying the right seat of his plane which he had named "Sound and Fury".

Our mission, as briefed, was to fly our lone aircraft over the city of Kobe for the purpose of taking radar scope photography - intelligence which could later be used by crews flying future bombing missions against targets in the area. We were instructed to commence our run from an initial point (IP), an island in the harbor, from there to fly over the center of the city to its far outskirts, then to make a wide U turn exiting to the sea over another portion of town, and all the while to take pictures of the radar scope every couple of seconds.

Kobe, a city of a million people about 275 miles southwest of Tokyo on Osaka Bay, was Japan's largest port and one of its largest industrial centers. It was sure to be heavily defended. What had I talked myself into?

Takeoff was late evening on the 6th. Don't recall my exact feelings as we made our way to the north, but there is little doubt that my stomach must have been doing some churning.

I remember passing well to the left of Iwo Jima and, looking to the east, seeing the horizon literally ablaze with the bursting shells of our naval warships as they continued their relentless bombardment of the island, an attack which had commenced in mid-February; and I thought of those poor bastards down there on the ground slugging it out with an unprincipled and savage enemy. Lucky was I to be upstairs and not on the ground.

Iwo Jima was a little volcanic island about halfway between Japan and the Marianas. It would provide a halfway haven for distressed B-29s on the way to and from Japan. The island was finally declared secure on 17 March, but at a tremendous cost in human life. There are some who would question the sacrifice in lives of so many of our men for such a miserable piece of real estate. I can only report that Iwo saved hundreds of B-29 crews from a watery grave - my crew among them. Without Iwo Jima this book, Dear Folks, would never have been written.

It was about two or three o'clock in the morning. Far, far in the distance we could see the glow of Kobe's lights. We were listening to some all-night radio station which was playing that tinny, gong-sounding music so peculiar to Japan. Wouldn't be long now. As if on cue, the lights on the horizon were extinguished and the radio station went off the air. They knew we were coming.

We donned our flak suits, made some last minute checks and pressed on to our IP. Now over the IP and taking pictures a `mile a minute' we proceeded on our photo run over the city, made our U turn, and headed back to the harbor area. All was calm; it was a cloudless night, stars were shining, and with the exception of there being no ground lights, it was as if we were flying a training mission over the flat-lands of Kansas. So this was combat?

After exiting out to sea John got carried away with himself. He said, "That was no sweat. Why don't we make one more round? Headquarters would be pleased to have another set of pictures." So we commenced another run.

About 15 minutes into our next pass, one of John's crew members said, "See down there. Looks like somebody sending Morse code." No sooner said than blam, blam, blam -- shells bursting all around us -- and every search light in the harbor began lighting up the sky. Morse code, hell! What the guy had seen were the muzzle flashes of guns which had opened up on us. That, we immediately recognized.

John, never short on brains, said, "Enough of this iron sleet; I think we've got enough pictures." He then promptly wheeled our trusty Superfort around, executing the famous 180 degree maneuver, and set course for home base -- an action roundly applauded by all on board. When we got back to Guam John said to me, "I appreciated your company on this mission. I'll reciprocate and fly with your crew sometime."

Hancock#1 [the following is as written by John Hancock for Van Parkers book "Dear Folks"]

[JHancock] "Let's start on Guam at the time when one Gen. Curtis "Cigar" LeMay arrived to take command of the 20th Air Force -- or was it the XXI Bomber Command? Anyway, you may remember that B-29 Groups there to fore had been operating at their design altitudes of 30,000 feet or so and achieving a pretty meager return for much effort on the part of many people.

Enter LeMay. And enter Roberts, Blakeley, Parker, and Hancock, with orders to fly over Tokyo and Kobe, respectively, not at 30,000 feet, but at 5,000, in the middle of the night. P and H's orders, specifically, were to make a simulated bomb run from an IP (initial point) on an island in the harbor to the Kobe railroad station, taking radar scope pictures along the route. And then to go around and do it again. And then to go around and do it a third time if that seemed feasible.

The stated purpose of the exercise was to furnish guidance to crews looking at their radar scopes on a theoretical future bombing mission. Baloney. The real purpose, we concluded, was to see what kind of reception we'd get, how long it would take the Japanese to get their defenses working, and how effective they were. We soon found out.

The first indication that our visit -- it was about three o'clock in the morning -- would not come as a complete surprise came when our IFF (indicator of friend or foe) lit up about 100 miles from Kobe and soon afterward the all-night radio station we'd been homing in on went off the air. But we proceeded blithely onward, identified the IP on the radar screen, and proceeded on our run to the railroad station, dutifully taking scope pictures every couple of seconds. So far, so good. All was serene.

As ordered, we then made a big circle and started on run number 2 - and suddenly all hell broke loose. Every damned searchlight in the harbor came on at once. They were so bright that they even woke my bombardier, which was no mean feat. Little black puffs began to appear, accompanied by a sort of "blamming" noise. Since we were the only people there, it seemed apparent that we were the object of their attentions.

Well, despite these indications that we were unwelcome, we did complete run #2 and took a second set of scope pictures. We then conferred, very briefly, concluded that the quality of our photography was undoubtedly such that a third set of pictures would be de trop, and took our leave, executing those lumbering maneuvers laughingly referred to as "evasive action"; and headed homeward, unscathed, but possibly several pounds lighter.

And now we come to Captain Parker's part in this performance. Why was he there in the first place? My memory on this point is a little fuzzy, but I do recall that several of my crew members contended that his crew snored too loud in our shared Quonset and maybe it was in retribution for this. Anyway, there he was.

So we left the coast of Honshu and headed for Guam and everybody began to realize that they were pretty hungry -- for, after all, it had been quite a few hours since we had last eaten. We eagerly opened the box which our ever-indulgent group mess had provided for it's famished heroes. We found therein two loaves of stale bread and a can of grapefruit juice. A couple of our stronger crew members managed to penetrate the crusts and distribute hunks of bread; but the juice can defied all attempts to open it, and frustration had the whole crew in thrall -- when up stepped our passenger -- the resourceful Captain Van R. Parker, former Big Ten football star.

With complete disregard for his safety, he plunged his trench knife into the recalcitrant can, punctured it, and caused a fountain of the heavenly contents to cascade all over the auto pilot console. A throaty cheer went up from the parched crew men. We toasted each other in grapefruit juice to the triumphant strains of the Illinois "FIGHT SONG". Granted, the auto pilot smelled of grapefruit for some time afterward, but it was a small price to pay for this act of selfless heroism. And the postscript to this episode is that, as you may know, the whole damned 20th Air Force went in over Tokyo at 5,000 feet a couple of days later.

[F012=M040;03-09-45;Wing 73-313-314; Night; Incind; 5-9KAltitude; Tokyo Urban area "Meetinghouse #2"]

JHancock#2 [VParker] "In March General LeMay was to make a momentous decision; he would send his B-29s over Japan at low-level. Maybe that would produce the results he was looking for. He had not been satisfied with the outcome of the high altitude bombing attacks. Planes had been going over their targets at twenty-five, thirty, and up to thirty-five thousand feet, and at these altitudes had been encountering unforseen jet streams, air currents sometimes at two hundred mph. With winds of such velocity bombardiers were experiencing big problems in making proper runs on their targets. Additionally, high altitude operations were putting a tremendous strain on the engines, causing overheating and break-down.

When word reached the air crews that they were to strike Japan in a fire bombing raid - first target Tokyo - at altitudes ranging from 5,000 to 8,000 feet they were stunned to disbelief by what they had heard. Surely, it would be a slaughter.

History, however, was to prove that LeMay was right in making this extraordinary decision. His command decision has been labeled by some military historians as one of the seven most important decisions made by commanders in the field -- both Allied and Axis -- that had a profound influence on the outcome of World War II; and we now know that the first Tokyo fire raid of March 9, 1945 has been ranked as the most devastating bombing attack in history, including atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Lives were lost, but the loss was considered an acceptable price to pay for the damage done.

Switching from daylight-precision, high-explosive to low altitude night-incendiary bombing, primary targets of LeMay's new campaign were the cities of Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka and Kobe. His plan was to burn all of them down in the shortest span of time, which meant that each mission was to be flown as close as humanly possible on the heels of the previous assault. Every fly able aircraft would participate, some three-hundred plus B-29s, each carrying around six tons of incendiary bombs.

Dates of the takeoffs of the strikes against these major Japanese cities were: 9 March -- Tokyo; 11 March -- Nagoya; 13 March -- Osaka; 16 March -- Kobe; 18 March -- Nagoya. (Nagoya was re-visited because bombs of the original strike had been spaced too widely apart; consequently, the fires didn't merge into one general conflagration as desired. However, the first Nagoya strike could hardly be classified as a failure; two square miles of the city had been destroyed.)

Then came a halt to our low-level fire raids. Twenty-first Bomber Command had run out of incendiary bombs.

These low-level missions which began on 9 March 1945 had in only ten days destroyed four of Japan's largest cities. B-29s had flown 1,595 sorties, dropped 9,373 tons of bombs (most of them incendiaries) and had devastated 33 square miles of industrial and urban area.

Although my crew would fly on four of these first low-level fire bombing raids, we weren't scheduled for number one -- Tokyo. At the time I thought that I should be thankful, for, like many of my comrades, I was of the opinion that the losses on the mission would be exorbitant. Only thing I could do was sweat it out on the ground for my buddies in the air.

At dusk on March 9th I was on the flight line to watch the Tokyo bound takeoff of our 314th Wing B-29s, plane after plane at one-minute intervals. To save gas they would fly the route individually, not in formation; they would join up with aircraft departing from Saipan and Tinian, times staggered so that there would be one gigantic bomber stream -- a stream that would be condensed when Tokyo was reached, enabling all to get their bombs down in a minimum period of time. Crews of the 19th Bomb Group had been briefed that the bombing altitude for their planes was to be 5,000 feet -- the low altitude of the 5,000 to 8,000 foot bombing block. Boy, oh boy! It was going to be a rough night for our men.

I was again on the flight line when our planes returned home, a good many with holes in them. All didn't make it back, but the raid didn't turn out to be the massacre some of us thought it would be. Nonetheless, our 19th Group came out on the 'short end of the stick' with the loss of several of our combat crews, among them crews commanded by Captain Gordon Muster and Captain Sam Carr, my good friends and my flight-mates at Alamogordo where we trained in B-29s. Also, lost with the crews were the commander and operations officer of the 93rd Squadron. The reality and horrors of war had been brought into sharp focus. Roommate John Hancock who was on the mission told me it was a nightmare experience.

[F013=M041;03-11-45;Wing 73-313-314; Night; Incind; 5-8KAltitude; Nagoya Urban area "Microscope #2"]

VParker#2 [VParker] "My crew was to get its fast taste of combat on the next scheduled low-level bombing raid, the mission flown against Nagoya, departing Guam on the evening of 11 March.

Bombers would attack individually and crews were briefed to release on an area which had been defined by fires resulting from bombs laid down by pathfinders -- early arriving aircraft manned by lead crews. The main force would make radar approaches to the target area, using visual corrections, if possible, for the actual drop.

Our planes would carry twenty-four 500 pound clusters of M69 incendiary bombs. Each little bomb, weighing about seven pounds, was clustered in the 500 pound package with metal bands to which timers were attached. The timers were set to activate at a predetermined altitude above ground, breaking the bands and scattering the small bombs over a large expanse of ground. One plane-load of bombs would disperse its cargo of destruction over an area one and a half-mile long and one-half mile wide.

After the 6X6 truck had deposited us at the hardstand where our plane was awaiting -- after we had stowed our personal gear, chutes and manuals, flak suits and dinghies and life vests on board -- and after Pete Maese, flight engineer, and I had completed a walk-around inspection, I gathered my crew members at the nose of the B-29 for a pre-takeoff briefing. I knew my men were young; but as I looked into their faces, it suddenly struck me how really young they were -- so very, very young, a few with adolescent pimples -- faces which mirrored apprehension and anxiety about the mission we were to fly.

I resolved then and there that I would never, by words, actions or appearance, convey to them any semblance of fear when flying a combat mission, nor would I ever voice any concern about the possibility of never making it back. I gave a little pep talk which I ended by telling them in no uncertain words, "We will survive." Then, before boarding our plane, I walked to the back of the hardstand to take a nervous last minute pee and to help quell all those butterflies doing double-time in my stomach.

Our takeoff time had positioned us in about the middle of the strike force, and as we approached the coastline of Japan, in the distance we could see the orange glow of Nagoya afire from bombs delivered by preceding aircraft. We were keeping a sharp lookout for other B-29s in the area. Although the mission was planned to provide adequate spacing between bombers, there were so many planes in the air that midair collisions were a distinct possibility -- some thought a sure thing.

Now, on the bomb run enroute, to our drop zone, the sight before us was like something out of Dante's Inferno. Powerful searchlights were crisscrossing the sky, continually and frantically searching for the invading aircraft. We could see one or two B-29s already trapped in the lights, flak busting all around them, as they continued their onward charge. Also ahead, we could see the bomb drops of preceding planes, as if some giant hand was wielding a colossal brush, painting the earth with broad strokes of living fire. Flames and debris were climbing several thousand feet in the air. The whole area was lighted up almost like broad daylight. All in all, it was an eerie and unforgettable scene.

Suddenly, directly in front of us, appearing from nowhere and angling slightly away, diagonal to our direction of flight was a Jap fighter plane. Plainly visible on the fuselage was the red ball, Japan's rising sun insignia; and the aircraft was so close I could make out the pilot's head -- helmet, goggles, the works. Bombardier Ken Wilber, manning the upper forward turret, asked, "Shall I shoot?" to which I immediately replied, "Hell yes." So, without hesitation he fired, at pointblank range. Simultaneously with the noise and felt recoil of those four .50 caliber guns located overhead, that fighter simply disintegrated in one gigantic explosion -- the poor pilot never knowing what hit him. I remember thinking it was just like one of the scenes I had seen in the movies. Flying through the scattered remains of the destroyed fighter, we deemed ourselves lucky that our B-29 received no damage. (This fighter kill was the first of six fighter kills to be credited to our crew during the course of our combat tour.)

There was no time to bask in the glow of excitement surrounding the downing of an enemy fighter. We were still about five minutes away from bomb drop. Observing his radar scope, Byrle Lerner had guided us to the target area; conditions were such that Wilber could bomb visually, and with our plane on automatic pilot, Ken had taken control, was making minor corrections in course, and was commencing his countdown to bombs away. "Ten seconds - five, four, three .." The countdown was abruptly interrupted with a loud and barely intelligible scream from our CFC gunner, "Overhead! - Overhead!" Looking upward I was horrified to see another B29 scarcely twenty feet above us, bomb doors yawning open revealing a bay full of incendiaries. Immediately disconnecting the auto pilot, I kicked rudder to slew our aircraft hard right in a flat skid, knowing that if I made a normal bank my left wing tip would undoubtedly have connected with the underside of the B-29 above. It worked. No sooner had the maneuver been completed than our overhead plane discharged its load of bombs -- some of them, I swear, bracketed our left wing. At the same time our own bombs were released, to accompany those of the other bomber on their downward path and destructive assignment. That was a close call.

Returning home after this mission, I took an inventory of the performance of my crew members. My observations: Pete Maese showed me a lot of talent as flight engineer. William Buffo was a good navigator. Lerner could read a radar scope without difficulty. Wilber could handle the bomb sight, and he proved to be a hell of lot better marksman with those .50-cal. guns than with his .45 pistol. Copilot Dale Hawkins performed well. Nothing wrong with the performance of radio operator Phillips. CFC Quinlivan was excitable -- we would work on that -- but he deserved credit for saving our lives, no matter that from his perch, affording him an upstairs 360 degree commanding view, he could have been regarded late in alerting us to the presence of the overhead B-29 which almost did us in. The other gunners handled their jobs as well as could be expected. Considering this to be our first combat mission, I couldn't be too critical, but one thing was certain -- we were a far cry from being a well coordinated and polished crew. There were many rough spots to be worked out. However, I harbored no doubts about the future; together we would develop into a close knit fighting unit -- a top lead crew. That would be our goal."

[F015=M042;03-13-45;W73-313-314; 298 Airborne; N; IN; 5-9KA; Osaka Urban area "Peachblow #1"]

VParker#3 [VParker] "We flew on a couple more of those first low-level fire bombing raids, each one a big thrill for us, all the while gaining more experience; and each seemed to be a mirror image of the preceding one -- always an awesome conflagration, accompanied by the acrid and sickening smell of smoke mingled with burning flesh. Some of our planes were lost, but always fewer than expected. Many of the participating bombers returned home with battle damage, but our luck was holding out -- four missions flown and we had yet to suffer a single hole in our plane. However, on the return trip from one of the missions we did experience an engine failure and had to limp home on the three remaining good engines, which wasn't that much of a deal.

I guess we could consider ourselves fortunate that we were never positioned to the rear of the bomber stream. Stories came back about smoke clouds rising to twenty thousand foot altitudes and that when penetrated by the late arrivals, their planes encountered such severe turbulence from the thermal up-currents that crew members were injured -- even heard rumored that one man had suffered a broken back. In any event, there were many stories about temporary loss of aircraft control, with planes sometimes being tossed upside down.

If I remember correctly, it was after the third of our low-level raids, the attack on Osaka, that John Miller came over to my Quonset hut to converse with me. You may recall that he was one of the five of our Alamogordo flight members, previously mentioned. John was extremely depressed -- really down in the dumps. The loss of Muster and Carr had gotten to him. He needed some cheering up and I did everything I could to change his mood, without success. We talked a long time. Mostly, I talked about the pleasant things in life; but John kept harking back to the war we were fighting, a subject he wouldn't turn loose. He said, "I've got it all figured our outfit has now lost X number of crews; with this percentage of loss, you and I cannot survive beyond a total of ten missions." I tried to explain to him how faulty his reasoning was, but didn't make any headway.

He departed, shoulders hunched over, carrying with him his sad and dejected thoughts. With an attitude like that, I just knew he was a goner. John Miller went down on his very next mission. Of our original Alamogordo five, this left only Emery Cook and myself to survive World War II.

About the death of comrades. It was a tough matter to swallow, but I learned early that you couldn't dwell on the sadness of their departure. You had to harden yourself to the reality of war -- here today and gone tomorrow -- hoist a toast to their memories -- and then get on with the business at hand. Cruel, you might say, but if you brooded over their deaths, it could very well diminish the way you carried out your own responsibilities, making it more likely that you would join them. Also, if you spent much time lamenting over fallen comrades, you'd go completely bananas.

Air crews sweated out their combat mission takeoffs almost as much they did time of flight over their assigned targets. Our B-29s were loaded way beyond Boeing's gross weight design of 120,000 pounds -- up to 140,000 pounds, and as the war progressed, to weights several thousand pounds above that figure. With weights of this magnitude, there was simply no margin of safety; engines had to perform to their full capacity, else you'd never make it off the ground.

At North Field on Guam our runway was oriented for takeoffs to the north east. It was a two-mile runway -- dip in the middle, downhill the first half and uphill the second -- with a coral strip overrun, beyond which was a cliff dropping 600 feet to the sea. Over the cliff, you generally had it made; there was precious altitude which could be put to good use, should an engine falter. Here you could nose down and pick up sufficient airspeed to accommodate most emergencies. Many a bomb load was jettisoned off that cliff to lighten the load and bring an aircraft under control following engine loss.

It was an entirely different proposition if you encountered trouble before reaching the cliff. The overrun of our runway was littered with aluminum bits, pieces, and aircraft debris -- mute and sad testimony to the fate of B-29s whose engines coughed, sputtered, or gave out at the critical time of liftoff.

Dear Folks, 3-21-45

You have asked me a lot of questions - among them what I was doing on Sunday, March 11, the date of your last letter.

On that date I was preparing for a low-level incendiary attack on Nagoya - my crew along with some 300 other crews of the Twentieth Air Force. I first attended church service at 9:30 A.M. after which crews were briefed on their mission of destruction. Church and war briefings make for quite a contrast in atmospheres, but something to be expected and necessary during this terrible period of fighting and turmoil.

I will not go into detail concerning the mission we flew except to state that our ship dropped its bombs squarely on the target and returned safely home. I wrote Ellen a few of the particulars; perhaps she will send the letter on to you for you to read. I can assure you that there is a queer sensation in the pit of your stomach before you reach the target. You feel scared; it's comparable to the way I user to feel prior to a big football game -- only more so. However, after the action starts, you are too busy doing your job to be scared or excited -- well, maybe a little. If you have had occasion to read the work of famed war correspondent, Ernie Pyle, you'll get the idea; he aptly describes your feelings under fire. ..... Love, Van"

[F018=M044;03-18-45;W73-313-314; Night; Incind; 5-9KAltitude; Nagoya Urban area "Microscope #3"]

VParker#4 [VParker] "In the briefings we received, there was naturally great stress placed upon the necessity to get our bombs down on the assigned target; and cameras were aboard all aircraft for the purpose of recording each plane's bombing results. But it was recognized that there might be occasions when a plane, for some reason or another (shot-up, weather, etc.), couldn't make it to the primary target. Under such situations, crews were advised to drop their loads on any location they believed bombs would do the most damage -- known in the trade as `targets of opportunity'.

However, from our first briefings on, crews were continually warned against dropping bombs on certain locations.

One of these locations was the Imperial Palace in central Tokyo -- home of Emperor Hirohito. We were forewarned that bombing Hirohito's domain would be considered a court-martial offense. HANDS OFF. Our air crews did an admirable job in avoiding the emperor's territory; postwar photos revealed nary a bomb crater in the spacious grounds of the Imperial Palace, while all surrounding structures had been totally destroyed.

Another location that I specifically remember we were prohibited from bombing was the city of Hiroshima. Only later did this restriction take on a meaning. It seems an untouched target -- not a burned-up town -- was to be needed to measure effectiveness of THE BOMB; couldn't be accomplished against a landscape of ashes.

The New Testament, given to me by my folks prior to my departure from the states, was one of a special kind which had been made for purchase by World War II servicemen. It was a vest-pocket sized leather bound book, but underlying the front leather cover was a metal plate. Theory behind this was that the book would be carried in a pocket over the left breast, and that the metal plate would serve as protection to the heart by deflecting any projectile headed in that vicinity. I doubt that the metal covering would have deflected a .22-caliber bullet, but it was the thought that counted, and that New Testament always gave me comfort.

After returning from missions, crews were subject to complete and thorough debriefings; at these sessions, it was customary that each airman be rewarded with a dollop of whiskey, damn near half a glassful. The flight surgeon, carrying his bottle of hooch, wandered around the debriefing tables to do the honors. I think the name on that whiskey bottle was Methuselah; never heard of it before, or since. I tried it once and only once - wildest and strongest tasting stuff that I ever gulped down. Maybe, it was because I was so fatigued or that my stomach was empty, or both, but that booze simply made me sick.

Couldn't say that my crew members suffered likewise; those youngsters would drink anything. I always shared my portion of Methuselah in turn with each, after which the recipient of the day, sloshed to the gills, would stumble away enroute to bed."

VParker#5

[F023=M050;03-31-45;W73-314; Day; GP; 14-18KAltitude; Kyushu, Tachiari Mach Works & Omura AF "Fearless #2"]

VParker#6

[F027=M055;04-03-45;W314; Night; GP; 7-9KAltitude; Shizuoka; Shizuoka AC "Upcast #1"]

VParker#7 [VParker] "We were making a lot of headway on our road to becoming a first-rate crew. Wilber was turning out to be a crackerjack bomb-aimer. There wasn't a better flight engineer around than Pete Maese, and my gunners could handle those .50 caliber's with the best of them. Crew coordination had improved immeasurably, and I had developed a good rapport with my crew members. Although still a disciplinarian in their eyes, I felt I had gained their respect; certainly, I was less an ogre than they initially thought me to be. And along the way, I picked up the nickname of "Gear"; I guess it was short for `top gear'. Anyhow, that's how I was most generally addressed by my officers; O.K. by me -- made me feel accepted.

Parker's crew was about there. Then, there was a foul-up of monumental proportions. Happened on the 7th mission - evening takeoff on 3 April -- target, Shizuoka Aircraft Plant. Our crew was one of 49 crews from the 314th Wing scheduled to make the strike -- a nighttime low-level attack, bombing individually. Some of the aircraft carried flares which they would release to light up the target area so that other planes carrying 500 lb. GP bombs (general purpose - TNT) could bomb visually without resorting to radar means. We carried the TNT bombs.

Arriving on time, the target clearly visible by the light of the overhead flares, we commenced our bomb run. Opposition was meager -- no fighters, but just enough guns shooting at us to make it interesting. Wilber was bent over his bomb-sight, counting down to bombs away. Came the announcement, "Bombs away!", but there was no lift of our plane, which always accompanied the release of bombs as the aircraft was relieved of its burden. The damn bomb bay doors had remained closed.

Now, about the bomb system on the B-29. Bay doors were electrically or pneumatically operated. When planes were on the ground, for safety reasons bomb bay controls located in the bomb bay section were positioned so that the bomb doors would be rendered inoperative. Prior to flight, it was the responsibility of the bombardier to insure that the controls were re-positioned so that the doors were operational -- an important check list item which Wilber had overlooked, a major mistake. I was extremely upset.

I told the crew that we were turning back to the IP and would make another run -- a declaration which didn't garner any cheers. In the meantime, I directed Wilber to go back in the bomb bay section to straighten things out. So we made another run, tracer bullets nipping at our coattails. Bombs away! Son-of-a-gun, only bombs from the forward bay were released; we still retained bombs in our rear bay. Don't know that I previously mentioned that the B-29 had two bomb bays.

A flustered Wilber had left undone a few things he should have done while back in the bowels of our Superfortress. I said, "Ken, get your ass back there again and, this time for God's sake, get it right; we're going to make one more bomb run." Having said that, you should have heard the remonstrance's and howls of protest from my crew -- almost mutinous. They were frightened, and so was I, but I was determined to get all our bombs on the target; and I said, "We'll stay up here all night if necessary to do our job. We didn't travel sixteen hundred miles just to drop bombs over the open sea."

We made our third run, a lone plane -- other planes having long since departed the area -- aiming on the fires generated by the bombs of preceding aircraft, and without flares to aid us in target identification. This time we rid ourselves of the remnants of our bomb load. It was scary; on the run we sustained a couple of holes in our ship, our first damage from enemy gunfire.

Recalling this mission, there is no doubt in my mind that the experience proved to be the real making of my crew. Repentant as he was, everybody knew that Wilber had screwed up, and because of it, lives had been endangered. It suddenly became clear to each and everyone how important it was that each man perform his job responsibility to perfection, that failure to do so would impact directly and adversely upon the safety of his fellow crew members. From here on, it was check, check, and double check -- looking over each man's shoulder to provide help and assistance whenever needed -- to insure that nothing of mission importance was left to chance. From here on, it was one for all and all for one.

After doing some computations, about an hour or two after we had departed Shizuoka enroute home, Maese said, "Sir, we don't have enough fuel to make it back to Guam." "Are you positive, .......?" "Yes sir, I'm positive, and no, I don't have any hidden gas reserve. It's the truth, we'll never make it home with the gas we have on board. Must have a fuel leak somewhere." "O.K. navigator, set course for Iwo Jima."

In the early morning hours on the 4th of April we landed at Iwo Jima. Holy Toledo! What a desolate and forbidding island. Although the island had been announced secure two weeks earlier, I guess that simply meant that the marines had the upper hand. In the distance we could hear the staccato sounds of gunfire, as mopping up operations continued.

Inspection of our plane revealed three or four holes in one of our wings, relatively insignificant, except for one made by a bullet which had punctured a fuel line. This accounted for our loss of fuel. Maese and some of Iwo's maintenance personnel immediately set about to repair the line. Wouldn't take more than a couple of hours, and after refueling we would be on our way.

As work was started on the repairs, I was to observe the arrival of other bomb wing B-29s as they hobbled in from a mission they had flown over the Tokyo area -- a mission far more dangerous than the one in which our 314th Wing had participated. Planes were really banged up -- some with gaping holes, some on three engines, some on two engines, many with wounded on board. Occasionally, an aircraft would prang on the runway, gear up. If that happened, a bulldozer located nearby would quickly move into position and shove the disabled plane off the runway surface, so that, aircraft about to land would not be delayed. It was a nightmarish scene; I marvel to this day at the skill and professionalism displayed by the Iwo Jima control tower operators in establishing order out of chaos. Those fellows had to make some cold, hard-hearted decisions.

After the last of the crippled B-29s had landed, I, along with others of my crew, took a short excursion -- not going too far from the runway vicinity, in accordance with warnings we had received at the time we first touched down. (Japs still around.) The sight that brought tears to my eyes were the hundreds and hundreds of crosses I saw blanketing the volcanic landscape, crosses which marked the freshly dug graves of the many men who had given their lives in the conquest of Iwo Jima.

I should mention that Iwo fairly reeked with death, stench of death everywhere; botflies were all over the place, big flies that fed on the corpses of those fallen -- corpse flies, the marines called them.

In our wanderings, Buffo spied a Japanese soldiers boot. "Oh boy," he said, as he rushed over to pick it up, "I've found me a souvenir " However, he quickly discarded it; inside was a human foot.

That afternoon we took off for our home on Guam, avoiding flying over a portion of Iwo we had been cautioned about, said to be still inhabited by die-hard Japs. I hoped I would never have to set foot on that hell hole of an island again.

Dear Folks, 4-9-45

Enclosed you will find 10 yen of Jap invasion money which, by the way, is worth something over two dollars of American money and is the monthly pay of the Jap soldier.

In a previous letter you said that I had provided you with only meager details concerning my experience in combat. Writing you, I purposely avoided relating the particulars, thinking that it might be a little tough for you to handle. But if you want to know how it is -- here goes.

You could have no idea, in all your wildest imagination, the truly chaotic inferno of destruction which our low-level B-29 raids on the Jap cities have left. These raids have been at night. Miles before reaching the target you can see the damage being wrought by preceding planes. As we come closer to the larger area, it looks so much like a giant 4th of July celebration; however, each Roman candle is a tracer bullet and each flash burst aloft is an anti-aircraft missile, commonly known as flak -- and they're all deadly. Hundreds of searchlights scan the sky attempting to pick up our intruding aircraft. The bombs bursting, the tracers, the searchlights, and the flash of guns below are a display one can never forget.

Before starting your run into this gauntlet of fire you have the feeling that no one can enter and live. Yes, you put your life in the hands of God, as does every airman who faces the danger ahead. Stomach doing flip flops, you nose into the fray. And you make it through, almost unable to believe your good fortune. Then you say a prayer of thanks and think about the job of getting back to your home field, a matter of some eight hours away.

Every combat crew will find his first few missions the hardest. Now, I'm fairly acclimated to combat, although I'm frank to admit that I'll never become fully accustomed to being a clay pigeon to a Jap shooting gallery. To describe, in comprehensive detail, my feelings about combat and the thoughts that come to mind while under fire would fill a good-sized book.

Suffice to say, I'm making out all right and that I have all the confidence in the world I'll get back home safe and sound.

About my feelings with regard to our bombing operation -- a bomber pilot can't think about the damage he is doing, except in a military sense. To me, our bombings mean a quicker road home to my family. All war is inhumane. If the killing of thousands of Japs will hasten the day of victory by a matter of a few hours, I'm for it. Especially does every pilot feel that way who has searched the skies for the late return of a ship bearing his fellow airmen -- the return which never materializes and ultimately results in the terse announcement, "One of our aircraft is missing."

I have seen the Jap homeland by daylight, by the light of the moon, and by the glow from our destructive fires -- from high altitude and from low altitude. Always, it has appeared dark, eerie, and as evil as the minds of those who dwell there. May the day soon come when I shall no longer be required to look down on such morbid country, with its rocky hills and barren valleys.

No, I'm not homesick. I desire that this job be done up good -- once and for all -- and then I will return home to the life all of us are looking forward to. Until that day, don't worry about me. I'm taking the best of care of myself and my crew. We'll make out O.K. -- I promise. Love, Van "

[F028=M059;04-07-45;Wing 313-314; Day; GP; 16-25KAltitude; Nagoya; Mitsubishi Engine Plant "Eradicate #7"]

VParker#7

[F030=M067;04-13-45;Wing 73-313-314; Night; Incind; 7-9KAltitude; Tokyo Arsenal "Perdition #1"]

VParker#8 [VParker] "Word reached us early on the morning of Friday, 13 April, that President Franklin Delano Roosevelt had passed away, a tremendous shock to all of us. (According to time in the United States Roosevelt died on Thursday, 12 April; however, on Guam, lying across the international date line, the date of his death was 13 April.) When we received the tragic news about the President we were preparing for a maximum effort night raid on Tokyo. Incendiary bombs were back in the inventory, so this would be a fire bombing attack - and it would be rough. I wasn't superstitious, but couldn't help thinking a little bit about it being Friday, and the 13th, and that our beloved President was dead, and that the Tokyo area defenses were the most deadly of all in the Japanese empire. But the war had to go on and I was a part of it. Keep a stiff upper lip.

We were scheduled to be over the target shortly after midnight - bombing altitude, 8000 feet; we were on time and, as usual, well before reaching the target area, we could see Tokyo burning. Approaching our IP we encountered numerous Jap fighters, many of whom made passes at us; but our gunners held them off. At least, none of their bullets struck our plane. Not so with other B-29s; several were observed to go down, presumably from the fighter attacks.

Now came the most dangerous part of our mission, the bomb run. Here, I resorted to a tactic derived from experience attained on previous low-level raids. I would get behind some bomber which was trapped in the searchlights and follow the poor fellow in; if, or when, he was shot down, I would maneuver my plane behind another who was coned in the lights, and so on. In effect, I used the bomber ahead to run interference. With the area type bombing we were doing there was allowable latitude on either side of our planned course that could be utilized without adversely affecting bombing results.

There were two types of searchlights employed by the enemy; there were white lights and there were bluish tinted lights. Those bluish lights presented the biggest threat; they were said to be radar controlled and, in some manner, tied into the firing mechanism of anti-aircraft guns. If you were picked up by the `blues', it was generally, "Katie bar the door."

It was spookily fascinating to see those many, many searchlights combing the night sky. Suddenly one light would stop its sweep, a bomber illuminated in its rays; then other searchlights in the near area would halt their scan, quickly converging on the unfortunate bomber, and the tracers and flak would start flying.

We had progressed almost to the point of bomb release - perhaps 30 seconds away - no problems yet. Occasionally, a searchlight swept across our nose, but missed picking us up. Looked like we had it made.

Then, Bingo! We were encased in a mesh of blinding light; those blues had found us. With Wilber on the bombsight, nothing we could do now but fly straight and level - no evasive action and with shot and shell busting all around us, some were finding their mark. It was now our aircraft leading interference. After what seemed an eternity, it was `Bombs away'. We were now on our own, and it was best we do something damn soon or else we weren't long for this world. I commenced violent maneuvers, steering our plane hard to the right and then to the left - jinking, in airmen language. It was to no avail; we remained trapped in the lights and taking punishment from the guns firing at us.

As a last resort, and figuring `God helps those who help themselves', I wheeled our B-29 over in a 90 degree bank and nosed her straight down toward the ground.

I now quote verbatim from the B-29 performance manual. "The B-29 is limited in its allowable diving speed by both strength limitations and control characteristics. Again, remember that this is a big, heavy airplane. As the speed increases, the loads carried by nearly every part of the airplane increase rapidly. This is especially true of the horizontal tail surfaces.

It is redlined at 305 MPH indicated." (Redlined, as mentioned, is a restriction - shouldn't be exceeded for safety reasons - and if exceeded, it could result in aircraft loss.)

As we descended our airspeed started building up at a rapid clip - 280, 300, 320 - copilot Dale Hawkins yelled, "You're exceeding the redline." "340, 350", copilot was now screaming. We pulled out of that descent, almost at house-top level, at an indicated airspeed reading of 370 MPH. But our aircraft hadn't come apart; equally important, we had escaped the deadly grasp of the searchlights, and not a single bit of enemy hardware had struck us in a vital area.

I give thanks to Boeing for building such a sturdy aircraft, a plane with a built-in safety margin. And in retrospect, I've always believed that some of our aircraft were lost simply because the pilots flew, and abided, by the book - never daring to stress their plane or take chances."

[F031=M068;04-15-45;Wing 313-314; Night; Incind; 6-10KAltitude; Kawasaki Urban area "Brisket #1"]

VParker#9 [VParker] "After this raid [04-13-45], aircraft were prepared as quickly as possible for another full-scale fire bombing effort - some of the force destined to make a return trip to Tokyo, but others, the majority of B-29s, scheduled to strike Kawasaki, a major city adjoining Tokyo to the south, and a part of the gigantic Tokyo area complex. Only 48 hours were to separate the two major attacks. On 15 April our crew was again part of a huge armada of B-29s heading north to bomb the Jap homeland; this time our target was Kawasaki.

The Kawasaki mission was a repeat performance of the Tokyo mission flown two days earlier, but in the case of our crew, we eluded all searchlights, and our plane suffered nary a scratch of battle damage. We were fortunate - saw many B-29s going down in flames over the target area. The missions flown on 13 April and 15 April were really rough; we lost as many planes on these two outings as was the total lost on all the five of our first low-level raids. However, the destruction wrought by the two mid April strikes was of horrendous magnitude.

Dear Folks, Night 4-15-45

I am writing this letter by the light in the cockpit of my plane while on the return trip from another mission over Japan. This makes mission number nine for me. I'll not provide you with details of the raid, because newspaper releases will not reach the U.S. for several hours. I will say, though, that it was a big show.

This morning before the briefing for this mission l attended church. The chaplain called upon all present to offer a few minutes of silent prayer in honor of the memory of Franklin D. Roosevelt. It was Saturday back in the States when your services were being held for the late President. Here, it was Sunday. Ours was a most reverent, emotional, and inspiring ceremony.

Concerning the death of Mr. Roosevelt, all of us feel a deep sense of loss. I believe that he will be recorded in history as one of our greatest presidents, along with men such as Washington and Lincoln. Let us hope and pray that his successor will prove to be an able administrator; his is a tremendous job.

I've become somewhat of a souvenir collector. Recently, l purchased a beautiful but wicked looking samurai sword from some marine who was in the Iwo Jima fracas. Paid too much for it, but it should make a suitable ornament for the wall of my den, after the war. Another souvenir in my collection is any ugly looking piece of flak which struck our ship on our last mission (preceeding this one) which was flown over Tokyo. Our ground crew fished it out of our left wing. I might add that I'm not too interested in collecting souvenirs of this type.

Speaking of our ground crew - they are the best bunch of boys we could possibly have to take care of our plane. They work long and hard hours in a relentless struggle to repair and keep our bird in top flying condition. Their painstaking and mission minded efforts never cease to gain my respect, thanks, and total admiration. I also know that they `sweat out' our missions every bit us much us do those of us who fly them.

My combat crew has developed into a humdinger of a crew. I'm proud of each and every member. I now have as much confidence in my current crew as that I had in my former crew. I'll go a step further and say that I wouldn't trade any of my boys for any one else in the whole `cotton-pick'n' Twentieth Air Force. This is all for now. I'll mail this letter when I land, and before I hit the good old sack. Love, Van

Headquarters had taken cognizance of the performance of our crew. Navigator, Bombardier, Radar Operator, plus all crew members were working with good coordination, which was reflected in the results of our mission efforts. On time takeoffs, on time over targets, and the payoff - bombs dropped squarely on aiming points - and all missions flown without a single abort. All of this was noted by the upstairs echelon. After the Kawasaki raid, we were selected to be a lead crew.

B-29 crewmen had few illusions about the treatment they would receive if ever they bailed out over Japan and were captured. Word was that crew members falling into the hands of civilians were generally beaten to death or pulled apart limb by limb by irate citizens; and if picked up by soldiers, it would more often than not result in the immediate loss of your head. (Maybe I would have reacted in the same way if I ever got hold of someone who had burned my home and loved ones to cinders.)

In her broadcasts, Tokyo Rose, American-born, English-speaking radio voice and propagandist for Japan, was constantly reminding her listeners that any captured B-29 crewman would be treated as a war criminal and could expect no mercy. Tokyo Rose frequently mentioned the 19th Bomb Group, an outfit whose captured members, she said, would receive especially harsh treatment in retaliation for the 19th's villainous acts committed in the early months of the war. There was no doubt that the Japs had it in for the 19th Bomb Group; we had their attention.

With the knowledge of my expected fate should I ever be captured by the Japanese, coupled with having witnessed first hand the inferno caused by our low level fire raids, and knowing that if I bailed out over the target area on one of these missions I would most certainly be consumed by the flames, early in my combat tour I made a personal, unorthodox decision. I vowed that I would never again wear a parachute over the Japanese homeland. I was not about to bail out over Japan. Although I never again wore a parachute, I did enclose myself in a lot of flak suit -- especially under my ass!

During my time of combat over Japan I was to observe many parachutes blossoming from disabled B-29s crew members floating earthward to a destiny that God only knew. Among them were parachutes of 19th Group crew, 1st Lt. Marion C. Floyd, Jr., the fellow who liked Guckenheimer whiskey. To my knowledge, there was only one member of the 19th Bomb Group who survived bail out over Japan; he was a tail gunner.

By mid-April the B-29 force had grown impressively. New planes and crews were arriving from the States in ever growing numbers. It was on 11 April, following our elevation to lead crew status, that our crew was assigned one of the newly delivered planes, fresh from the factory; to have an aircraft we could call our very own was an important event for us.

First thing on the agenda was to come up with a name for our ship; we batted this around for awhile, settling on the name "Parker's Van". We had in mind getting one of the flight line artists to paint on the nose of our plane a caricature of a moving van with heads, appropriately identified, sprouting from the van in various places representative of our B-29 crew positions. This idea didn't get beyond the planning stages. Soon thereafter General Power, 314th Wing Commander, decreed that all planes in the wing were to be named after major cities in the United States. Off came original names, girlie paintings and associated graffiti, in exchange for the names of cities chosen by the air crews. Some of the fellows bitched a little bit about Power's decision, but nobody could deny its PR value.

In short order all aircraft were re-named and an artistic job it was. On either side of each B-29 nose was painted a multi-colored insignia. It consisted of a map of the United States superimposed upon a depiction of the globe; rising from the map at the location of the named city was a staff or flagpole from which was flown a large pennant bearing the city's name.

We named our new plane "City of Chicago" mainly because William Buffo (Cicero, Illinois) and I were the only two of our crew who could claim residency in the same state and, of course, Chicago met the criteria of being a major city.

For identification purposes aircraft of all wings had separate and distinctive tail markings. The 314th Wing B-29s could be recognized by their large black squares upon which block letters were painted in bright yellow -- different letters to further identify the four bomb groups -- M for the 19th, 0 for the 29th, P for the 39th, and K for the 330th.

The call sign for our 19th Bomb Group B-29s was Kingbird and each plane was identified by a number which was painted on the fuselage just forward of the tail. Our "City of Chicago" bore number 12 [M12 44-94003]. We were "Kingbird 12", and Kingbird 12 was the only aircraft I would fly in combat from here on out... except on those occasions when she was under repair for combat damage, and a substitute aircraft was scheduled."

[F033=M081;04-18-45;Wing 314; __; __; 18KAltitude; Nittagahara AF "Bushing #2"]

VParker#10 [VParker] "During the period from mid-April through early May 1945 the Superfortresses were shifted to a tactical role to support the invasion and subsequent fighting to capture Okinawa. Instead of strategic bombing their job was to hammer tactical military objectives, mostly fighter fields on Kyushu Island upon which were based enemy aircraft engaged in kamikaze strikes against the invasion forces. Kamikaze (meaning divine wind) was the name the Japanese gave their suicide pilots; their planes, loaded to capacity with high explosives, were piloted in suicidal crash attacks. Altitudes of our B-29 strikes varied from 14,000 feet upward to 18,000 feet; demolition bombs were carried.

In May, the Superfortresses resumed their task of pounding Japan in strategic operations, flying both low-altitude fire raids and high-altitude precision attacks."

[F035=M090;04-21-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 15-16KAltitude; Kyushu; Nittagahara AF "Bushing #3"]

VParker#11 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 4-23-45

Food on this island poses a problem. I've eaten enough SPAM since I've been here to last me a lifetime. Occasionally, we are served fresh meat, but not as often as we would like. Whenever good food is to be had, combat crews are always given first choice; after a particularly dangerous mission we are most generally served eggs (not powdered) and fresh ham -- a big treat for us. We do miss fresh milk. Not one of us has had any milk, other than the powdered variety, since leaving Hawaii. So when we return home we'll have a lot of milk drinking to catch upon. As a general rule the food is wholesome; I guess we shouldn't complain too much about what we are being fed.

I have now completed 11 missions. We've been flying often and most of us are tired. It isn't the danger at the target area we worry so much about now, but the extreme fatigue which all of us are fighting -- fatigue due to the long flights, many of which are made through the worst weather conditions imaginable. There are rumors we may soon be taken out of this combat area for a rest maybe to Hawaii. At any rate I'm holding up well under the pressure and really wouldn't mind continuing combat until all missions we are required to fly are completed.

About a week ago our crew was rewarded with the receipt of a brand-spanking new ship. Formerly, we were sharing planes with other crews, mostly the plane named "Sound and Fury" manned by Capt. John Hancock, my roommate and bosom buddy. Due to a recent directive all aircraft within our wing were required to be named after cities in the United States, so all old names were changed.

Our crew named our new airplane "City of Chicago", which has been painted on the plane's fuselage; on the nose wheel door we have painted "Parker's Van". A news release from this theater has been dispatched to twelve Chicago papers informing them about our choice of name.

Incidentally, we are now a lead crew, one of a select few in the group, entrusted to leading squadron formations on bomb runs over the target. Each member of our crew has been saddled with increased responsibility, but we can and will handle the job alright. Only drawback is that lead crews are generally kept in reserve to lead the rougher combat missions -- very few milk runs for them.

Yesterday afternoon Bob Annin paid me a visit. He said that he had been worried about me because he had heard that the heaviest of our losses were suffered on the recent Tokyo area raids, and he knew that I had flown on the missions. In fact, he was on the flight line to see my takeoff on one of the raids. I told him not to worry -- that no harm would ever come to me.

Iwo Jima, 1945. The price paid, Mount Suribachi in the distance.

I don't know whether or not I mentioned it before, but returning from one of our strikes flown early this month we had to land at Iwo Jima -- low on gas and could never have made it back to home base without a refuel. What a bleak and forsaken spot. To think that over 4,000 marines lost their lives to secure that island; we saw row upon row of crosses marking the marine dead. It way a terrible price to pay, but Iwo is a life saver for the B-29s. We owe those marines; their ultimate sacrifice has made possible the continued life of many, many of us bomber boys. Love, Van"

[F038=M104;04-26-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 20-27KAltitude; Kanoya AF "Checkbook #6"]

VParker#12

[F042=M127;04-30-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 17KAltitude; Kyushu; Kanoya AF "Checkbook #10"]

VParker#13 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 5-1 45

Yesterday I completed mission number 13. No doubt you'll agree this is a fair amount of missions to have completed considering the length of time I've been here. My flying time averages well over 100 hours per month.

On our target run yesterday we were given a royal reception by some 20 or 30 enemy fighters who seemed none too friendly with our plans to drop a few bombs on their airfield. Made out O.K. with the probability of a couple of fighter kills. However, we didn't see the Jap fighters crash which is necessary to validate a sure claim. We were busier than the proverbial one-armed paper hanger and had no time to look around or to closely observe the results of our work.

Our left wing was shot-up and is now being replaced. But most importantly, our crew is without a scratch as always it will be; we want no Purple Hearts.

Upon our return to home field we were greeted by Bob Annin. He often comes around to "sweat it out" with our ground crew. When we taxied up to the hardstand there was our ground crew plus Bob with smiles on their faces as broad as can be, displaying a relief as visible as the shining sun. What a feeling to know how much the men on the ground back home care for your safety and well-being. it's a togetherness of spirit and a bond which cannot be aptly described. Enough to bring tears to your eyes.

As yet I do not know the quota of missions I have to fulfill. Rumors are 25 or 30.

You asked how many crews have been lost in the 19th Bomb Group. To date we have lost eight crews of our original 45 crews sent overseas. This figure does not include the goodly, but lesser, number of replacement crews who have been lost. As a mater of fact, and perhaps interest, our 19th losses have been lighter than those of our neighboring bomb groups, for which we can be thankful.

My old (original) crew taken over by Capt. Jack O'Neill is now on their way back to the States. They, along with a few other combat experienced crews from XXIst Bomber Command, have been chosen to help set up a lead crew school state side for the purpose of training follow-on replacement crews. General LeMay's idea. Big feather in their caps. Guess their combat days are over. I sent my samurai sword home with them. And wish them well. I'm in tiptop shape -- sunburned and healthy -- maybe, a wee bit tired, but nothing a good sleep won't cure. Love, Van"

[F050=M165;05-10-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 15-20KAltitude; Otake Oil Refinery & Kure Urban area]

VParker#14 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 5-8-45

I think of you often and greatly appreciate receiving all those good and frequent letters from home.

Today we were officially informed that combat crews would be expected to fly 35 missions before being rotated back to the States. Seems a large number for a combat tour; most of us were expecting 25 missions. However, word from headquarters is that retention of the maximum number of crews is necessary in order to press home the attack on Japan while awaiting the arrival of air crews who have returned from the European theater and are now in the B-29 training process. Though not too appreciative of the mission quota, at least we now know the goal and an end is in sight, no matter how far down the pike.

Of course, the big news of the day is that the war with Germany is over. There was no V-E celebration here; the war with Japan keeps us busy. Only when Jap victory day dawns will we have our celebration -- not until then. Ellen sent me an article she had clipped from the front page of one of Chicago's newspapers, the Chicago Tribune --- a big write-up about our crew and our airplane "City of Chicago". It was a flattering piece; however, publicity doesn't mean much to me. My main interest and desire is to get this mess we are in settled over with and done. That will be the day.

Our crew also received a letter from Mayor Kelly of Chicago in which he stated his appreciation, on behalf of the citizens of Chicago, for mission accomplishments of the plane representing the city. He spoke of the 'gallant crew' flying "City of Chicago" and expressed his personal regards and wishes for our continued success and future safety. Love, Van

When our crew first started flying combat we flew by ourselves -- no passengers, no headquarters types aboard leading us into the fray -- just us and us alone. This situation changed shortly after we were designated a lead crew. Thereafter, we were subject to being accompanied by various senior command and staff personnel; not only because of our lead crew status but also, of equal importance, because we were now thought of as being a veteran combat crew and considered survivors. And those guys didn't relish flying with some tenderfoot crew.

We didn't mind having an extra man on board as long as he could contribute something to the mission, but a few of the yokels were simply a pain in the tail, flying only for the publicity. There was one such "full-bull" colonel from 314th Wing Headquarters who was nothing more than a glory seeker, and who was to fly with us on several missions -- not the rough ones but those he knew to be of lesser risk.

The colonel was from Chicago, Illinois, and he played up to the Chicago papers, making certain that the news media was on hand upon return from each of the missions he flew with us. After stepping down from our plane he would have his picture taken standing at the nose of "City of Chicago", offer a few comments about his leadership and participation on a "rough one", and then, basking in his own importance, climb into an awaiting jeep and head for his quarters. Our crew didn't much cotton to him.

Whenever missions were flown, the combat crew work day was a long one about 24 hours, considering pre-mission briefings, the mission itself, and mission debriefings. It was an extended period of time to go without sleep. Mindful of this, the flight surgeons provided crew members with a copious supply of `bennies'. Bennies were Benzedrine capsules, an amphetamine employed to keep the user awake. Today, Benzedrine is a controlled substance capsules or tablets referred to by street name as `uppers' or `crank'. But back then, there was damn little control over the product and its use. Crews always carried plenty of bennies on their combat missions. I've consistently had an aversion to taking pills or drugs of any kind, so I never consumed any of the bennies. Not so, with the majority members of my crew, and I could generally tell when one of them was `under the influence' --cheery voices and rosier dispositions were dead giveaways.

It was about my twelfth or thirteenth mission before I ever attempted to get some sleep on one of our combat missions. Taking turns, others of my crew often managed to get a little shut eye, especially on our return trip home following the excitement of our run over the target. But I had not yet succumbed to the arms of Morpheus. I was always too wound up in the responsibility of my position, daring not to close my eyes. Except once.

On this particular mission and homeward bound, I was exceptionally tired. I asked copilot Hawkins how he felt, knowing that he did his fair share of sleeping. "How you doing Dale? Do you think you can stay awake long enough for me to get some rest?"

"Sure `Gear'. No problem at all, have at it."

Closing my eyes I was immediately asleep. For how long, I don't know. But I was jolted from my sleep by some sense of misgiving. Looking over at Dale I observed him to be sound asleep. So was the flight engineer, navigator, radio operator, and all men in the back. No need to inquire about bombardier Wilber sacked out in the tunnel which connected the forward portion of our ship to the rear compartment; he was always asleep, except on the bomb run.

So "City of Chicago" was ghosting along on auto pilot without a single watchful eye on her performance. Could have been disastrous. (Neither bennies nor black coffee had been of assistance.) That was the first time I ever slept on a B-29 during my combat tour; it was also the last."

Dear Folks, 5-12-45

A couple of days ago I received a cherished gift from Ellen. It was a pocket-sized New Testament. What makes it so extra special is that mounted on the flyleaf is a precious picture of Ellen with Jimmie in her arms, upon which was written her prayer that God keep me safe from harm. I am so proud of my little family. I'm now carrying Ellen's gift; it was in my pocket on mission number 14, my last mission flown.

The Testament you gave me was carried on my first thirteen missions. I'm saving it to present to you upon my return home. The metal plate is rusted, the gilt-edged leaves are faded, and the book is in general bad condition all caused by good honest sweat generated while flying combat.

You chastised me for not writing to sister Martha more often. I plan to write her a letter soon. Guess I should be ashamed of myself for neglecting her in my correspondence. But you can't imagine how busy I am at times; and when I do have free time, I generally spend it in the "sack". I like that horizontal position- helps prevent combat fatigue, whatever that is, - also, because I'm so lazy.

Love, Van

[F057=M174;05-14-45;Wing 58-73-313-314; Day; Incind; 16-20KAltitude; North Nagoya Urban area "Microscope #4"]

VParker#15

What I never, never told my parents was how I spent the majority of my "free time" on Guam, which was playing poker. They would have had a conniption fit, and would have thought for sure that their son was heading straight to hell in a hand basket. But play poker I did, and it proved to be a lucrative pastime.

The poker games we played were no nickel and dime affairs; they represented big money, a lot of dough involved. You could lose your shirt if you didn't know what you were doing. And truthfully, some of the fellows didn't possess the moxie, should never have attempted to play the game and were consistent losers. These guys would show up the first of the month after payday, promptly lose their money, and then wait till next payday when they would again join the table for a repeat performance. During the balance of the month, we regulars would engage in a battle for our share of the spoils, and most generally, I was not short changed.

Poker players have a saying about people who are reticent or afraid of betting or calling a bet, although holding what might well be a winning hand Such persons are said to be "playing with scared money", and very few times do they ever walk away winners from the poker table. It always remained an enigma to me that we had fellows like that at our table on Guam. These were men who were risking their very lives on a daily basis, and yet, couldn't bring themselves to risk their money. Like I said, they shouldn't have been playing poker.

I think that the fact my life was routinely on the line helped make me a better poker player; money was secondary, and I played those dollar bills as if they were nothing more than toothpicks, making them work for me as best they could, according to the cards I held against my opposition.

While on Guam I regularly sent money from my poker winnings home, some to Ellen and some to my parents. But my parents were never to know the source of the money they received. And when I returned to the States after V-J day, I carried with me the approximate sum of ten thousand dollars -- all money I had acquired at the poker table."

[F061=M178;05-19-45;Wing 58-73-313-314; Day; GP; 13-27KAltitude; Tachikawa Air Arsenal & AC, Jamamatsu City]

VParker#16 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 5-22-45

Yesterday was a red letter day for me. Received four letters -- one from you, two from Ellen and one from sister Martha.

A couple of nights ago I was interviewed on the radio by Mutual's Jack Mahon. He asked me questions about the two most recent raids on Nagoya in which our crew participated. This interview was broadcast back to San Francisco from where it was to have been relayed to all parts of the U.S. Perhaps you heard it.

Martha mentioned in her letter about the celebration of V-E day back in the States. No celebration here. To most of us the war in Europe seemed far, far away. We've got a lot off fighting ahead of us before the Japs are defeated -- maybe now we can get some help.

Yesterday, for the first time in the past few days, we had some local excitement. A large jungle rat, which had been living in our hut and had eluded our every effort to destroy him, was sighted. Armed with broomsticks, clubs of assorted sizes, shoes, etc. we went after him. After a fifteen minute chase, enemy rat was dispatched and on his way to rat heaven, or wherever dead rats go. We were glad for the diversion. Love, Van

I mentioned that the navy boys seemed to be better fed than those of us in the Army Air Forces. Initially, they were also supplied with booze versus none for us, except that medicinal Methuselah stuff which was portioned out at our de-briefing sessions. Those salt- sprayed characters were rationed to a bottle of whiskey a week and two cans of beer a day. This one-sided arrangement was totally unfair, and the B-29 troops howled their protest; somebody upstairs paid attention to the gripes and took appropriate action, procuring like rations for air force personnel -- some time in April, I think it was.

As I recall, we paid a buck for the whiskey, a dime for the beer, and a nickel for a pack of cigarettes (not rationed). Whiskey was more than something to drink. It was a valuable commodity of exchange, many fellows offering from fifty up to a hundred dollars for a bottle, generally the marines.

And the Seabees would do almost anything for a bottle of hootch; that's what we paid those good men to have a volleyball court constructed between our Quonset hut and the hut of our neighbors. They came in with some heavy equipment, bulldozed the area, laid down macadam, rolled it out, and we were in business. It was a small price to pay for such a professional job, but everybody was happy all around. During our stay on Guam that volleyball court got a lot of play, and I'm proud to report that our crew was seldom defeated. Ken Wilber and Dale Hawkins were real whizzes at the game."

[F062=M181;05-23-45;Wing 58-73-313-314; Night; Incind; 13KAltitude; Tokyo Urban area]

VParker#17 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 5-26-45

You asked what is an Oak Leaf Cluster award. This is a decoration given to a holder of a military medal in recognition of acts entitling him to a second decoration with the same medal. For example, an airman who has been honored with an initial award of the Air Medal may later receive other Air Medal awards, but the follow-on decorations are referred to as Oak Leaf Clusters, and for each additional award, a tiny oak leaf is given for wear on the ribbon of the recipient's original medal. Saves a lot of space on the wearer's uniformed chest also, saves Uncle Sam money on duplication of medal hardware.

Perhaps of interest to you are the medals relative your son. I have been decorated with the Air Medal and two Oak Leaf Clusters, a Distinguished Flying Cross is on its way, and members of the 19th Bomb Group are soon to receive a Presidential Citation award.

Our crew participated in the May 24 Tokyo fire raid. Once again the city was left a blazing inferno. On this mission we were selected as a pathfinder crew, which meant that we were one of the crews who go in first (at low-level) to lay bombs on the target area, lighting it up for following planes of the main attacking force. This job is slightly more dangerous, but being selected for the task speaks well for our crew. Only lead crews with veteran combat experience are chosen as pathfinders. On this mission we shot down in flames an enemy fighter whose pilot was bent on giving us a hard time. Credit for this fighter kill goes to my plucky tail gunner, Sgt. Roger Tetrault, who hails from Holyoke, Massachusetts. He is plenty handy with his twin fifties.

We are always grateful to have a Tokyo visit safely tucked under our belts; the Japs play rougher there. However, after a few assaults such as our last I'm sure that much of their fighting spirit will have taken leave. Our B-29 force here in the Pacific is growing and growing. One can sense, and see, this expansion with each passing day. We're making rapid and gigantic strides in the right direction.

You asked me to elaborate on the duties of a lead crew. A lead crew, as the name implies, is the crew which heads or leads a formation over the target. In daylight bombing missions all planes fly in wing tip to wing tip (tight) formation on the leader, the lead crew. The lead crew is responsible for the bomb run, sighting the target and bomb release. All other ships in the formation observe when the lead crew's bombs commence to drop, then release their own bombs: therefore, bombs of the entire formation impact as a cluster in the target area. Much burden and trust rests upon the shoulders of the lead crew -- the crew must, of course, be accurate in bombing, and must mother the formation through flak and enemy fighters. This requires skills of a variety too technical to expound upon in this letter. Here is a plan view of a B-29 formation.

Leader

With regard to your Oakland storm you mentioned. I, too, feel that a storm can be more pronounced in the wide open mid-west countryside and I share your sentiments and appreciation of its fury. However, I'll go a stepfurther and say that the forces of Mother Nature are always more appreciated by the fliers than by the average layman; a flier's very life depends upon the weather. How lonely, impotent, and insigniflcant we feel when being tossed about in our man-made craft by the awful fury and power of stormy skies. As the boys say, "It makes a BELIEVER of you." Often at night, when flying through a rough and turbulent sky on the way to Japan on our mission of destruction, I think of how weak, how really weak, and minuscule we are. The famous B-29 wiIh all its lethal power is manned by eleven mortal men -- eleven men who realize their shortcomings, who know they are equipped with the best war machine ever constructed, and yet, who know this is not enough to guarantee them power over the elements. Love, Van

Talk about irony! On June 1, less than one week after writing my parents the above thoughts concerning weather and the forces of nature, a flight of P-51 fighters which had escorted our B-29s to the target (Osaka) got caught in a violent storm during their return to their home base of Iwo Jima. Twenty-seven of the Mustangs were lost.

[F070=M186;05-29-45;Wing 58-73-313-314; Day; Incind; 17-21KAltitude; Yokohama area]

VParker#18

[F081=M188;06-05-45;Wing 58-73-313-314; Day; Incind; 14-19KAltitude; Kobe Urban area]

VParker#19 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 6-9-45

I've now completed 19 combat missions. My last mission was flown against Kobe. We met accurate flak over the target and were intercepted by some 30 or more enemy fighters. Our plane suffered battle damage, but there were no injuries to any crew member. Radar operator, Lt. Byrle Lerner, had the closest call. A large chunk of flak, entering the bottom and exiting the top of our plane, came within inches of striking him, and had it done so, the results would undoubtedly have been fatal.

On this Kobe raid we picked up about 20 big holes in our aircraft, most of them caused by flak and not fighters. B-29 firepower keeps the Jap fighter pilots at bay; they think twice before making a close-in attack through the curtain of lead which a B-29 can put up. In fact, on this Kobe mission bombardier Wilber gunned down an enemy fighter and was officially credited with a kill. We can now paint the third Jap flag on our plane's fuselage denoting three fighter kills by "City of Chicago".

There is no question about it. Our B-29s are leaving the homeland of Japan in a chaotic condition. Our 500 plane raids now drop more tons of bombs than any of the biggest raids flown by U.S. bombers in the war in Europe. It's incredible that our B-29 population has grown as it has. When I first arrived here in the Marianas the number of planes we could get in the air fell far, far short of present figures.

Along these lines, the 19th Bomb Group has vastly increased in size because of the addition of many new crews. I find it difficult to believe I'm in the same organization because of all the new faces. We old-timers have now been given a lot more responsibility.

For our crew's participation in the recent Yokahama strike, flown on May 29, we are being decorated with an additional Distinguished Flying Cross. This was a mission on which we led the entire 19th Bomb Group over the target, and one on which our plane received the most battle damage yet encountered, 73 holes by precise count; and we lost close friends. It was a rough one for us. Love, Van

[F091=M199;06-10-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 21-23KAltitude; Ogikubu; Nkajima AC ]

VParker#20 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 6-11-45

Yesterday I completed my 20th mission, leading one of the formations of a relatively small force of 314th Bomb Wing planes in a daylight attack on a target in the Tokyo area. There was plenty of flak, but most of it was inaccurate because of a complete cloud cover over the target; clouds which forced us to bomb by radar. However, we had our hands full with the enemy fighters which were quite aggressive.

My crew was officially credited with downing two of the Jap planes, bringing our total to five confirmed fighter kills as of this date. l swear that if I'd had a hammer in my hand I could have polished off a couple more because they came in so close. We acquired nothing more than a few holes in our bomb bay section. Other planes weren't as lucky as we. One B-29 was shot down over the target.

The mission of yesterday was flown on Sunday. It seems that most of my missions are flown on this day. Before each takeoff the chaplain always says a prayer at our briefing, praying for our safe return. He said that those on us who fly on this day need not be concerned because we are not attending devine services, that our job is doing as we are asked -- to effectively bomb our enemy in order to bring this horrible war to a quick and victorious end, that God would answer our prayers, be it in church or enroute via air on our mission to bomb the Japs.

The chaplain's few words before each mission do wonders for the fighting men -- acclimating minds for the work ahead and helping quell fear in pits of stomachs.

Per your request, you have my permission to allow the News Gazette to publish excerpts from my letters home. That's O.K. by me, but my job here is much too serious to be concerned with such tripe.

Perhaps of interest to you will be the knowledge that your son is now a major in the Army Air Forces. This came to me as a surprise a couple days ago. Well - maybe not- 'cause I was half way expecting the promotion.

Love, Van"

By now, June 1945, our crew was an old-timer and had gained a solid and creditable reputation within the 19th Bomb Group -- on time takeoffs, no aborts, and bombs on target. I was proud of my boys, each and everyone. They had matured into a first-class fighting machine.

Ken Wilber remained somewhat of a hell raiser, occasionally requiring that he be dealt with a heavy hand, but when it came to bombing expertise, he took a back seat to no-one. (One time Ken even attempted do smuggle one of his drinking buddies, another bombardier named Vern Etchison, on board for a ride on one of our combat missions.)

I had provided copilot Dale Hawkins with a lot of B-29 stick time, and he could handle the Superfort with competency. He was now aircraft commander material, and I had no qualms about his ability to see our crew safely home from a combat mission, should I be incapacitated.

Especially endeared to me was our flight engineer Peter Maese. That fellow knew more ways of husbanding precious gas than was imaginable.

And Bill Buffo could navigate and Byrle Lerner had developed into a whiz bang of a radar operator and so it was with the rest of our crew; all were professionals.

When not engaged in flying combat, aside from flying test hops, we were often called upon to assist in the training of the new crews constantly arriving from the States. Also, there was a time when we were selected as a primary crew to pioneer and test an entirely new bombing procedure which was the brain child of some wheel at Headquarters, XXI Bomber Command. To have been chosen for this task was an indication of our being recognized as one of the top combat crews; it was a big honor for us.

The bombing procedure consisted of flying the B-29 in downhill flight, constantly changing altitude, so as to befuddle the anti-aircraft artillery. It was a maneuver which required extremely precise flying and highly skilled bombing proficiency, but we managed to get some pretty good bombing results. However, nothing ever came of it, because it was such a complicated procedure and few bombardiers were as gifted (or lucky) as was Ken Wilber. Nonetheless, at the time, our crew received a fair share of publicity for our work; and the Navy sat up and took notice, evidencing an interest in this new bombing technique. I wrote of this to my parents.

Dear Folks, 6-14-45

I should tell you about an interesting experience of recent days. Background for this experience was that our crew has been testing (at Headquarters direction) a new and different bombing procedure, one as yet untried in combat. This procedure is classified and I can' t provide you details, except to say that it is designed to confuse the flak batteries.

About ten days ago the Navy got wind of this new bombing technique being tested by the B-29s and the big boss himself expressed a desire to observe the bombing tactics as an on board passenger. The big Navy boss is, of course, Admiral Chester Nimitz.

The top 20th Air Force brass selected yours truly and crew to do the honors and Admiral Nimitz's B-29 ride was scheduled for June 8. It developed at the last minute that the Admiral could not "make the boat". In his stead was his aide-de-camp, Commander LaMar. Also, along for the ride were Col. Rex Smith, 20th Air Force correspondent, Major Chesely, aide to Lt. Gen. Barney Giles (Commander of the Army Air Forces, Pacific Ocean Area), and a couple of photographers. We gave them a good flight.

In fact, Commander LaMar was so impressed and pleased with the flight that he reciprocated by giving our crew an outing on Admiral Nimitz's personal yacht. This was the day before yesterday, June 12, I945.

Words can hardly describe the wonderful time we had. It had been planned that we do some deep sea fishing, but we were so goggle-eyed with the splendor of the yacht and its furnishings that we did little fishing. Instead, we sat on the deck drinking ice cold Coca Colas (a rare drink here) and eating delicious sandwiches which had been prepared for us.

Going through the harbor all ships anchored there recognized the yacht to be that of Admiral Nimitz; sailors on the ships lined the decks at rigid attention, saluting as we passed by. What a big show.'

Following our excursion on the yacht, the Commander took us to the Admiral's quarters. Unbelievable. His house is situated on the highest hill on the island, and from the porch you have a fabulous view overbooking the harbor out to sea. We were so overwhelmed with the whole set up and our good fortune to be guests in such surroundings that we were rendered practically speechless. Since I left the States I've had many interesting experiences. This is one that will long live in my memory.

Today we had some more excitement. General "Hap" Arnold, Commander of the Army Air Forces passed through on an inspection trip of the area. He talked to all pilots in the 314th Wing. I was happy to have had the opportunity to meet him personally. He looked older than I had anticipated, but his job is a big one and undoubtedly responsible for his aged appearance. Love, Van

What I didn't tell my parents about our visit to Nimitz's quarters after the yacht outing was that we were given hard drinks, prepared by the good Admiral's staff of white-jacketed Filipino servants. I had an opportunity to take a gander at the Nimitz booze locker. It was something to behold, and the first and only time I was ever to see bourbon bottled in gallon jugs; I remember Old Grand-dad and Old Taylor, specifically.

"Dear Folks, ,6-18-45

This is to let you know that I'm safe and sound. In a previous letter I wrote that combat crews would be required to fly thirty-five missions before rotations back to the States. Now, it's being rumored that a combat tour will consist of thirty missions flown. What to believe.?

No matter. Because of my increase in rank with added lead crew responsibilities, our crew does not fly combat as often as do other crews. With twenty missions completed, this means that it will probably take at least three more months for us to finish our combat tour, whether it be thirty or thirty-five missions.

You can be assured that someday I'll be home in class A1 shape. Love, Van

F116=M212;06-19-45;Wing 314; Night: Incind; 8-12KAltitude; Shizuoka Urban area

VParker#21

[F132=M231;06-26-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 15-17KAltitude; Kagamigahara; Kawasaki AC]

VParker#22 [VParker] "I mentioned before that I can remember the details of some of the missions we flew more than others. One such mission was that flown on June 26, 1945 -- a daylight medium-altitude attack on the Kawasaki Aircraft Company in Kagamigahara, a city located about 15 or 20 miles north of Nagoya. Planes of the 19th Group (all carrying 500# G.P. bombs) were selected to make the strike, with "City of Chicago" flying lead ship in the 28th Squadron formation which had been chosen as lead for the group formation.

Arriving at our rendezvous point off Japan's coast we ran into problems getting our formation together; clouds limited visibility.

Things were further complicated by Jap fighters in the vicinity --- fighters which managed to shoot down one of the B-29s from another squadron. Fortunately, crew members of the downed ship were able to bail out. Lt. Hans Gammel, flying my right wing as deputy lead, was directed to abort the mission and assist in whatever way he could in a rescue effort. (Help rescue those boys he did --- dropping life rafts. food, water, emergency radio equipment, etc. --- and calling up one of our friendly subs standing close by shore which surfaced and came at top speed to pluck the airmen from the briny. Lifeguards, we called those rescue submarines.)

Finally, we managed to gather more than enough ships to make up a formation and head for the target; in addition to 28th squadron planes, we had been joined by Superforts from other squadrons which had been unable to assemble with their respective leaders. Now flying on my right wing, in place of Gammel, was Captain Benjamin G. Kordus, an aircraft commander who had seen combat with the 8th Air Force in the skies over Europe, and had volunteered for a second combat tour in B-29s. A good man.

Over the shoreline of Japan the clouds began breaking up and lateral visibility was vastly improved. Then enemy fighters reappeared to harass us -- not many, but enough to keep us busy. There was one lone Jap fighter well in the distance that commenced a frontal attack -- 12 o'clock level. He would bear watching. On he came, closer and closer. Every gun in our formation that could be brought to bear on this intruder was firing away -- firing continuously. Our ship was vibrating with the noise and recoil of our .50-caliber guns. Still the Jap kept coming. Why didn't he blow up, disintegrating like so many others I'd seen, after encountering our curtain of lead? But no, he kept boring in, straight for the nose of our plane. I thought to myself, "So this is it. This is how it's going to end;" and I braced for the impact that would snuff out my life and the lives of my crew members.

Miracle of miracles; that fighter whizzed by without striking our ship. But the split second of relief I felt was punctured by the voice of CFC gunner Quinlivan who yelled out, "My God! He got Kordus." The Jap fighter had passed over our right wing smashing into Kordus' left wing, which had been tucked in as he flew tight formation, sending him spiraling to earth. There were no survivors. My right gunner was alert enough to get a picture of the stricken B-29 going down shortly after the ramming. (Always will remain unknown whether the Jap was dead at the controls or was one of Japan's fanatical kamikaze pilots.)

Approaching the target area we ran into more clouds, making it questionable that we would be able to bomb visually; so Lt. Lerner was busy directing us via radar. But radar could hardly be considered a precision bombing instrument back in those World War II days, and we had a factory as our target; there was no room for error. If we were to have a successful mission, we needed an unobstructed eyeball view of the target, or be dog gone lucky; maybe lucky, even if we could see the target visually. However, I had the greatest confidence in the world that Wilber could drop our bombs precisely on the aiming point, given his turn at the bombsight -- and he had it. Less than ten miles from the target we were in the clear (except for the smoke from the bursts of flak --mostly inaccurate); then Ken took over -- made a few corrections, and it was "bombs away".

"How does it look to you?", I asked.

"I think we hit the target, Gear", was his reply.

Ken was always modest and never prone to exaggeration when it came to his bombing prowess. When he said, "I think ..", I knew he had placed the bombs in the 'pickle barrel'; and our strike photos were to prove it.

Back at home base on Guam, Col. Roberts was ecstatic with the results of our mission; seems that day we were one of a few of the many formations bombing various targets in the Nagoya vicinity to have had a successful effort -- something to cheer about, EXCEPT for the loss of Kordus' crew.

As for Ben Kordus, I will always carry with me a poignant memory of the words I once heard him speak, "Combat out here in the Pacific isn't so rough. You should have been with us flying those bombers over Europe. Now that was really rough."

[F145=M243;07-01-45;Wing 314; Night: Incind; 8-19KAltitude; Shimonoseki Urban area]

VParker#23 [VParker] "Dear Folks, (in the air) 7-2-45

I have just finished writing a letter to Ellen telling her I'm alive and kicking, and that I' m flying home to Guam after completing my 23rd mission last night -- a night incendiary attack on a city called Shimonoseh located on the island of Kyushu.

A few minutes ago we took off from Iwo Jima on the last lap of our mission. We had to land at Iwo returning from our strike because of some engine trouble; however, we didn't stay long. This makes my second stop at this island, and I might add that Iwo Jima is a godsend and a handy refuge in an emergency. I sure as heck don't like long swims.

You asked if I still see Bob Annin. Yes -- I see him about every other week. We have enjoyable visits, and I occasionally take him up for B-29 rides when scheduled for flights in the local area. Love, Van

Iwo Jima always reminded me of death and destruction, even while serving as a sanctuary and asylum for the living. Loss of life was commonplace around there.

On this second stop at Iwo we witnessed a particularly sad and tragic event, which occurred mid-afternoon as we were preparing to board "City of Chicago" for our final leg home. A flight of P-51s, returning from strikes over Japan, passed overhead, and one by one, we observed them peeling off for landing. One chap, evidently exuberant over an enemy fighter kill, decided to execute a victory roll on his break for final; he didn't make it. Instead, he 'augured-in' at the approach end of the runway -- a needless waste.

Speaking of those gallant lads who flew P-51s from Iwo Jima's desolate landscape in support of our B-29 operation, I'm reminded of another episode of lamentable and heartbreaking consequence. On one of the daylight combat missions, our B-29 formation shot down a P-51. Why he did it we'll never know, but the pilot of that Mustang headed nose on toward us -- against all rules of common sense. Thinking the plane to be an enemy fighter, we opened fire, and our bullets were striking home. Then, the P-51 pilot banked his plane sharply away, and to our horror we saw the U.S. insignia and recognized that he was one of ours, just before the ship blew apart. There was no parachute. All of us were deeply saddened.

About P-51s and on a happier note, there is the story of the Mustang pilot who joined us on a bomb run against one of the targets in the Tokyo area. We had arrived over our IP, Mt. Fuji, and commenced our long run to the target, when we heart a plaintive voice, "Big Brother, you with the M on your tail, this is Little Brother, off to the left of your formation. Do you read me?" (Big Brothers were B-29s -- Little Brothers were P-51s.)

Looking to the left, I could see a lone P-51 several miles out flying parallel to our track.

"Roger, Little Brother. You're loud and clear. What's on your mind?"

It developed that the P-51 had become separated from his flight and was requesting to tag along with us so that we could navigate him back to Iwo Jima.

"O.K. Little Brother. Welcome to join us. Watch where you point your nose."

"Roger, on my way." And that P-51 came sidling in to fly formation with us, but not on our wing tip. He nestled up to the nose of "City of Chicago", practically sticking his wing in my lap, obviously relieved to have a navigational escort to see him home.

Shortly thereafter a Jap fighter appeared to the fore of our formation. Can't remember Little Brother's exact words, but something to the effect, "Excuse me, I've got some work to do." And he tore out after the enemy plane. A few bursts from the Mustang's guns and the Jap went down in flames; only a couple of minutes had elapsed. We had a front row seat to observe all the action.

Our Mustang friend came back to rejoin us, gave us a thumbs up sign, and I swear I could see a big grin, despite the cover of his oxygen mask.

By now, we were well into our bomb run and starting to encounter a little flak. Little Brother didn't like that worth a damn. "Don't mind if I leave you for awhile, do you?", he said, and within seconds, he was thousands of feet overhead, only a speck in the sky.

After our bomb drop and out to sea, comrade P-51 once again joined us and we saw him safely home to Iwo Jima. Back at Guam we told the story and made certain that he was officially credited for his enemy fighter kill.

[F149=M250;07-04-45;Wing 314; Night; Incind; 10-17KAltitude; Tokushima Urban area]

VParker#24 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 7-8-45

I have completed my 24th mission -- a visit to the small city of Tokushima. It was a night incendiary attack, bombs dropped on the fourth of July. I remain in good health.

Just returned from Sunday morning church services. This is one of the few Sundays since I've been here that we have not been scheduled for a combat mission.

So son James is not a baby any more. How I crave the opportunity of seeing him and Ellen again.

You asked whether we had mosquitoes on the island. Yes, but because the Army uses a newly developed spray, they are kept fairly well under control. Airplanes are utilized to dispense the spray and the whole island is given coverage.

Colonel John Roberts, Commander of our 19th Bomb Group, has informed us that our combat tour of duty will consist of 35 missions -- that this is the final and official word; he further advised that following completion, all officers of major rank will be required to remain on duty here in staff positions.

After completing my combat tour I will probably receive a 30 day leave of absence for a visit back to the States; so I'm hoping to see you this fall. We can see some football games together. Love, Van

Although I told my parents that mosquitoes were kept under control, that sure didn't mean they were of no bother. There were enough of them around to warrant the continued use of mosquito netting over our beds -- IF we were to get a sound sleep, especially for a guy like me, who, if bitten by one of those rascals, suffered a torture of the damned. Swelling, itching, scratching -- just plain misery.

Mosquito netting was suspended from T bars located at either end of our beds, and the ritual before turning in for a night's sleep was to tuck the netting in around your cot leaving an opening for entry, then climb in with flashlight in hand for a search and destroy mission. Having done that, you would button up for your snooze. I can't begin to count the times I failed to account for all those troublesome pests; there was always a remaining 'lone ranger'. Used to drive me nuts.

[F177=M266;07-13-45;Wing 314; Night; Incind; 10-16KAltitude; Uwajima Urban]

VParker#25 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 7-14-45

I wrote Ellen today telling her that I hoped to see her and Jimmie, maybe as soon as October; and to be ready to attend a football game or two. I won't be permitted to remain in the States because my experience index within the Air Corps is high. After a 30 day leave I'll have to return to Guam; however, I'll not be required to fly more combat, unless as a volunteer.

You asked me the meaning of state side. That means the United States. If a new man arrives here dressed as usual in clean and neatly pressed clothes we might say his appearance is strictly stateside, or if heading for home he is going stateside.

My good friend Bob Murphy has only one more mission to fly and then he will be on his way back to the United States. You will remember that it is his wife Lupey, whom Ellen befriended and took to her parents home to stay when we left for overseas. Love, Van

Captain Louis W. Nelson was our 28th Squadron staff bombardier, a likable fellow who hailed from Minnesota, and whom I recall had served with the 8th Air Force in Europe. We called him Horatio or Lord Nelson, nicknames he acquired referring to the famed British admiral, Viscount Horatio Nelson, head of the Battle of Trafalgar of the Napoleonic Wars.

Nelson was a real party guy; blessed with a great voice, he always led us in song whenever there was a get-together. Don't know, but he must have been a Yale man because his favorite was the "Whiffenpoof Song." Today, whenever I hear, "We are poor little lambs etc." I am reminded of our `Lord Nelson'.

My memory is fuzzy on this, but I think it was in July that Captain Nelson was scheduled to fly with our crew on a night mission, a relatively risk free mission, if ever combat could be so described. Anyhow, he was on board our plane, and I was about to crank up our engines, when a jeep came roaring up braking to a screeching halt. Out jumped a passenger, that pompous colonel from 314th Wing Headquarters, who scrambled up the ladder to our cockpit.

In his usual officious tone of voice, the colonel announced, "I'm flying with you Major Parker."

Turning to Nelson I said, "Sorry about this Horatio. Looks like you'll have to hitch a ride with someone else."

"No sweat. I'll go with the guy next door," was his reply, and he disappeared down the hatchway enroute to the neighboring plane.

That was the last time I saw Capt. Louis Nelson. The next door Superfort never returned from the mission -- the only loss of our total strike force that night.

There is a sequel to the story of that puffed-up, vain and overbearing colonel from wing headquarters. He was later to get his comeuppance.

It was fairly common knowledge that the colonel occasionally had an all night female bed mate, a nurse from the nearby army hospital. How he managed such a liaison was one of the big mysteries of (wartime) life on Guam, and spoke well of his ingenuity. The army hospital was closely guarded with a high chain link fence surrounding the compound; nurses traveled under escort, were chaperoned, and strict curfew rules were in effect. All this for their protection against Jap marauders, but I suspect also, to protect them from the sex starved American boys who out-numbered them by a thousand to one.

So our wing colonel staff officer deserved some credit for beating the system, but that made him even less endeared to the troops, and the subject of a prank that grabbed island-wide attention. One dark and lonely night (maybe, not so lonely, because the two paramours were bedded together -- lights out) somebody pulled the plug on a smoke bomb and tossed it under Colonel Pomposity's hut, immediately thereafter enshrouding the dwelling with the densest of smoke imaginable.

Results were predictable; two scantily clad ghostly figures promptly evacuated the premises, emerging from the smoke coughing and sputtering. I'm told it was a sight to behold.

Well, the stuff really hit the fan after that episode. There was a full-scale investigation, and no stone was left unturned in an attempt to ferret out the person or persons responsible for that dastardly deed. Although the whole encampment knew about it, the investigators could not unearth a single clue to help in their search for the guilty party; and the culprit accountable for that lowdown, dirty rotten trick was never apprehended.

"Dear Folks, 7-17-45

There is little to write about from this end. This morning our crew was decorated with another medal, but that isn't news; medals are given to most combat crews with regularity. All you have to do to get them is keep on living, and that is my intent.

Bless her heart. Ellen, all distressed, wrote me about a minor auto accident she had experienced. Only damage suffered was a scratched fender. I had a hearty laugh over that. Those things seem so serious to people back home, but they pale to insignificance in comparison with some of the problems we encounter out here in our way of life -- fighting the war.

How about that? Jimmie growing up. I'd better get home in a hurry, else he'll be too tough for me to handle. Love, Van

In the latter part of July General LeMay took another chance, and what at the time appeared to be an extremely daring and bold move. He had a leaflet printed in Japanese, warning that some of the ten or so cities listed, but not yet attacked, would soon be hit in a bombing raid, and urging the residents to evacuate those cities for their own safety. These leaflets were then dropped on the listed cities.

In his book Mission With LeMay, Gen. LeMay reports that the words on the leaflets read as follows:

"These leaflets are being dropped to notify you that your city has been listed for destruction by our powerful air force. The bombing will begin within 12 hours.

"This advance notice will give your military authorities ample time to take necessary defensive measures to protect you from our inevitable attack. Watch and see how powerless the military is to protect you.

"We give the military clique this notification of our plans because we know there is nothing they can do to stop our overwhelming power and our iron determination. We want you to see how powerless the military is to protect you.

"Systematic destruction of city after city will continue as long as you blindly follow your military leaders whose blunders have placed you on the very brink of oblivion. It is your responsibility to overthrow the military government now and save what is left of your beautiful country.

"In the meanwhile, we urge all civilians to evacuate at once." '

LeMay went on to state, "At first they thought we were bluffing, apparently. There wasn't any mass exodus until we knocked the hell out of the first three towns on the list. Then the rest were practically depopulated in nothing flat."

Despite the advance warning, enemy opposition to the B-29 incendiary attacks on the secondary cities was weak. LeMay's psychological gamble had paid off. In fact, the fire raids against the smaller cities were every bit as successful as those against the major cities; town after town crumbled into ashes.

[F194=M280;07-20-45;Wing 314; Night; Incind; 13-16KAltitude; Okazaki Urban area]

VParker#26 [VParker] "Dear Folks, (in the air) 7-20-45

This letter is to let you know that I remain safe and sound, and am homeward bound from my 26th combat mission -- a night time strike. We dropped our fire bombs on a small city by the name of Okazah, a town located near Nagoya.

Only nine more missions to complete before I can head stateside for a 30 day leave of absence. I've been informed that I will be required to return to this Pacific isle following my leave. Headquarters has decided that I would make a good staff man, especially considering that few staff officers at present have had much B-29 combat experience. Needless to say, I would far rather be settled down back home in the United States; I guess I'm getting a trifle homesick. Even the knowledge that I may make Lt. Colonel out of the deal does little to appease my burning desire to be with my family and to lead a normal home life. But this war can't last forever. Goodbye for now. Love, Van

There are memories of combat in World War II that can never be erased from my mind; some, I will forever treasure as symbolic of courage, strength, and honor -- others stick in my gut like a rusty sword and sicken me, memories I wish to forget, but can't. Of the latter, no memory is more galling or distressing than the acts of cowardice that were occasionally witnessed - nameless bomber crews who chickened out in the face of the enemy. Ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredths percent of our B-29 combat crew force found the mettle to carry on, no matter how scared they were. However, a minute portion showed themselves to be cowards, but were never to be identified because they chose the cover of darkness to mask their wrong doing.

Flying night incendiary missions when targets were attacked singly left the door open for the yellow-bellies to commit their cowardly acts with little fear of detection. Several times, while off Japan's coastline prior to penetrating the homeland for our bombing attack, my crew was to observe a nearby splash of fire on the ocean's surface -- a load of fire bombs released at sea and not on the target. At our debriefings such observations were routinely reported, not only by us but others, but no crew ever stepped forward to admit to a problem which would have been an excuse for the premature bomb drop. So, those bombs dropped at sea had to be premeditated, and the gutless crews, claiming a camera malfunction (SOP required that "bombs away" be camera recorded), received credit for a combat mission they never carried out.

Speaking of the wrong doers, it was always incomprehensible to me that all eleven men on a B-29 combat crew chose either willingly or knowingly to participate in a gigantic lie -- all accomplices in a betrayal of honor and duty in the service of their country, and all sharing their dark secret of conspiracy.

Although those who were guilty of the transgressions were never officially identified, the individuals must forever after live with their own conscience, living out the remainder of their days on earth, each with the knowledge that he failed in measuring up as a U.S. fighting man. What a tremendous and fearful burden to bear! Punishment enough.

Of course the man most responsible had to be the aircraft commander who set the stage, directed, and endorsed what could almost be termed a traitorous act - in charge of a B-29 whose bomb load, destined to be unleashed upon the enemy, was carried 1500 miles only to be dropped on the open sea. While repulsed by such dishonorable behavior, I, at the same time, take pity upon the poor soul. Today, what stories does he tell his grandchildren about his World War II exploits without remembering and reflecting upon how he faltered in the line of duty? For sure, he was no hero, but quite the contrary. He doesn't deserve to be in a class with the likes of Muster, Carr, Miller, FIoyd, O'Leary, and the many others of my acquaintance who gave their lives for the cause of freedom. They were, and are, real heroes, and I will always cherish my memory of these good and gallant men, joining with my fellow countrymen in an ever grateful appreciation of their supreme sacrifice."

Dear Folks, 7-22-45

Today is Sunday. This morning I attended church services for the first time in several weeks. Always it seems that I am flying missions on Sundays or have some type of detail to perform.

Although I have completed 26 combat missions and the end of my tour is in sight, it still looks like a long way of. Murphy has finished up and is now enroute home -- lucky boy. Being a lead crew does not permit us to fly missions with the regularity afforded others. Generally, we are saved for the tougher and more complicated type missions; so, it will take us a longer time to satisfy combat requirements. In this respect the lead crew is penalized. No milk runs for us -- but we won't complain. We are proud to have been selected as a lead crew and we will make out. Love, Van

[F???=M289;07-24-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 12-18KAltitude; Nagoya; Mitsubishi AC, Fuji Textile, Toyowa Hvy Industry ]

VParker#27 [VParker] "On 24 July aircraft of the 314th Bomb Wing, about 80 in number, were scheduled for daylight attacks against various targets in and around the Nagoya area - Mitsubishi Aircraft Factory, Fuji Textile Plant, Toyowa Heavy Industries, and City of Tsu, a Nagoya suburban town.

Except for Tsu all targets were to be bombed by B-29s flying formation and carrying 500 pound G.P. demolition bombs. The strike against Tsu was to be an experiment of sorts, an attack by a single plane whose bomb load consisted of a couple of monstrous bombs -- 4000 pounders; headquarters desired to get an evaluation of the destructive power of these bombs, which, if I recall correctly, was the first time such colossal explosives were to be employed by our B-29 force. "City of Chicago" was selected to carry the giant bombs and would make the attack on Tsu.

Who should show up at the briefing but John Hancock. John, full of the devil as always, said something to the effect, "I'm flying with you on this one. We guys at wing headquarters gotta keep close tabs on what's going on; and of course, if you screw up or have any problems flying your plane, remember you can count on me, the world's greatest aviator, to bail you out of your difficulty."

I retorted, "It took a long enough time for you to decide to fly with me, but glad to have you with us. Don't know how the hell I ever survived all my missions without your help."

In the early morning hours of 24 July one of the 6X6 trucks ferried my crew and John to the hardstand where awaited "City of Chicago", call sign Kingbird 12. After loading our gear, after a short pre-takeoff briefing, and after some last minute ogling of the two mammoth bombs crowding the bomb bay of our ship, we climbed aboard. With me in the pilot's seat and John in the copilot's seat we cranked up the engines, moved out to take our place in the taxing bomber stream, and were soon airborne enroute to target Tsu, over seven hours away, with a scheduled bomb release time of 1140 hours.

About two hours out from the Japanese homeland, as was my usual custom prior to donning my flak suit and preparing for combat, I extracted from the pocket over my heart the treasured New Testament which wife Ellen had given me and commenced reading some of the passages. John, looking over at me, said, "Whacha got there?" I replied, "It's a New Testament, but this would be of little interest to you, considering your views on religion."

I should mention at this point that my close friend John Hancock was an agnostic. Many were the times and long hours we spent together discussing and rehashing our opinions on religion. I was, and am, a believer; John's position was that he neither believed nor disbelieved -- if there is a God, prove it to me. Always, he would stress that he was not an atheist. In our powwows I exercised every argument I could bring to bear in support of my religious beliefs, but to no avail in persuading my friend to alter his thinking regarding the Almighty. To be truthful I don't think I ever won out in any debate with him; never met a man with a keener mind.

So, when John went on to say, "When you're finished reading, I'd appreciate it if you'd pass the book over to me", I was very much surprised, and I didn't miss the opportunity for a needle.

"Come on John, what is it with you? I thought you questioned the existence of God. Why the sudden interest in my New Testament."

With a wry smile on his face, he replied with words I'll never forget, "I just don't want to leave any stone unturned."

I guess there is a lot of truth in that World War II adage attributed to Carlos Romulo, Filipino statesman and author, "There are no atheists in foxholes."

Arriving over Japan' s shoreline and commencing our penetration at our bombing altitude of 20,000 feet we found the whole sector to be socked in -- a solid blanket of clouds lay below us obscuring the target area ahead. This was good news in one sense; enemy opposition would be weakened. On the minus side of the ledger was the fact that we would now be required to make a radar bomb run, not the most accurate means of bombing way back in those World War II days.

It was now radar operator Lerner's ball game and we set about the business of squaring away for our bomb drop. Already, there were black puffs of smoke in and around our vicinity, sporadic fire from the antiaircraft guns which took exception to our intrusion; but the flak, besides being sparse, was inaccurate. Well away, we sighted three or four enemy fighters, but they were content to keep their distance and made no attacks. We could count our blessings. On with the bomb run.

At `bombs away', as our plane lurched upward with the sudden relief of weight, Lt. Wilber, visually observing their drop from his Plexiglass bird cage in the ship's nose, commenced a running commentary on their travel until the big babies disappeared in the underlying clouds. Nothing to it -- piece of cake, and then, WHAMMO -- "City of Chicago" was severely jolted by the percussion of those bombs when they detonated. This was a surprise and totally unexpected; never before at 20,000 foot altitudes had we felt the explosive force of detonating bombs. We could now vouch that 4000 pound bombs make for a big bang, and this bang was about the most exciting event of an otherwise dull and humdrum mission.

Homeward bound, I remarked to John that our Tsu mission was far less hair raising than the one I flew with his crew over Kobe, the first combat mission for the both of us. His reply, "This mission today is the way I like 'em." Me too.

I guess the results of the attack on Tsu didn't prove favorable for the continued use of 4000 pound bombs. Don't believe that those monsters were ever employed again, and my review of the official RESUME - 20th AIR FORCE MISSIONS serves to support this belief.

John Hancock has had his fun with me ever since that 24 July 1945 day. Thereafter, for all these many years he has referred to me as "the scourge of Tsu" and has called me "scourge". Even today, in our exchange of letters he never addresses me "Dear Van"; it's always "Dear Scourge".

[F205=M295;07-27-45;Wing 314; Night; Incind; 13-16KAltitude; Omuta Urban area]

VParker#28 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 7-30-45

On 26/27 July I flew my 28th combat mission, a night incendiary attack on Omuta which is a city located on the Jap island of Kyushu. Our mission was marred by the loss of one B-29 from our squadron, believed to have been shot down by enemy night fighters when we were in the target area.

It is my hope to complete my 35th mission by mid-September, and then I'll be heading for the good old U.S.A. as fast as I can. When that day comes I'll be one happy character. Be sure to have plenty of milk in the ice box. Also, I'11 be expecting come of those delicious Parker House rolls -- and anything else other than Spam and cold Cuts. Love, Van

One evening, the tail end of July, Ken Wilber came stumbling into our Quonset hut after one of his drinking sessions with his buddies down the line. Approaching me, "Gear", he said in a confidential manner and with slurred speech, "I've just heard about some bomb they have up at Tinian that's unbelievable -- only the size of a football, but it has the explosive power of all the bombs which a squadron of B-29s can carry. Whadda think of that?"

"What I think is that you've had too much to drink and are full of baloney", was my reply.

A week later we were to find out there was a super-bomb similar to that which Wilber had talked about. Ken was on the right track, but his description of the bomb wasn't exactly accurate. He had grossly erred in his report of its explosive power, having undersized it many times over; and, to be sure, it was larger than a football.

[F230=M309;08-01-45;Wing 314; Night; Incind; 12-15KAltitude; Mito Urban area]

VParker#29 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 8-3-45

My 29th mission was completed on the night of August 1 when we bombed the Jap city of Mito which lies a few miles north of Tokyo -- now have six more to go.

Glad that you received the pictures I sent you. You said that the letter containing the pics had been censored. Don' t worry about it. Letters we write home, especially those which contain photos, are frequently censored; our censors want to make certain that letters or photos contain no military information of a confidential nature.

Our squadron operations officer is in Australia on an inspection trip and I am temporarily filling in for him during his absence. For the next couple of days I'll be sitting at a desk rather than flying missions. I'd prefer flying so that I can complete my tour ASAP. In any event, I'm still hoping to be on my way home sometime in September. Happy thought. Love, Van

When I departed the United States for overseas I took with me a book titled Book of Treasured Poems, a publication which contained the better known works of such literary giants as Poe, Longfellow, Kipling, Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Service, and others of kindred ilk. Don't remember where I obtained that book or just why I happened to take it along; in truth, I'm not overly appreciative of poetry. But it was in my possession, and was to serve a mighty useful purpose in helping pass the time on some of those long combat missions.

It was after the first few of my missions that I decided to carry with me that book of poems -- give me something to peruse on the flight home. I emphasize `flight home' because I was too `fired up' enroute to the target to give thought to anything other than the enemy threat awaiting us. On the way home it was different; the danger behind us, we could relax, counting the seven or eight hours till our wheels touched down at Guam. Nothing much to do then but cool our heels; that is, unless we were shot up, and then it was another story.

On those uneventful homeward bound flights I would haul out the book of poems. At first, I read through them. As time progressed I took to memorizing those poems which most appealed to my fancy; and I set as my goal, to memorize one complete poem on every mission flown, providing "City of Chicago" was reasonably air worthy and didn't require some intensive mothering. By golly, I did a pretty good job carrying out my goal. (My memory in those days was considerably better than what it is today.)

About an hour away from landing at home base, proud of my accomplishment and having awakened those who were sleeping, I would often recite to my crew what I had memorized. Used to bore the hell out of them. So that's how I coped with the monotony of many of those long flights returning from our bomb drops over Japan. It sure beat the bejabbers out of doing nothing.

Although many years have passed, I can today still recite all or goodly portions of those poems or works which were memorized in 1945, such classics as: The Raven, Annabel Lee, The Village Blacksmith, Gunga Din, Danny Deever, The Charge Of The Light Brigade, How Do I Love Thee, The Shooting Of Dan McGrew plus a little of the more famous Shakespeare quotations. That book of poems proved its worth.

[F___=M314;08-05-45;Wing 73-314; Day; Incind; Nishinomia-Mikage Urban area]

VParker#30 [VParker] "Dear Folks, 8-7-45

Chalk me up with one more combat mission, thus bringing my total to thirty. This last mission was an incendiary raid on Nishinomiya (Kobe area) flown on the night of August 5.

Replacement crews are now arriving at a good clip -- some of such caliber they are lead crew material. Addition of these new crews should allow us old time lead crews to be released to fly some of the more routine missions, and we can fly more often.

Then too, while acting in the absence of our squadron operations officer currently in Australia, I'm in the position to schedule myself to fly. So now, if all goes well, I'm counting on completing my combat tour by the end of August.

Love, Van

[F___=M3xx;08-06-45;Wing 313; Day; A-Bomb; Hiroshima, the 1st Atomic Bomb]

[VParker] "At 0245 on 6 August 1945 a B-29 named "Enola Gay" carrying an atomic bomb, piloted by Lt. Col. Paul W. Tibbets and destined for Hiroshima, lifted off the runway at Tinian and flew into history. At 0915:17 Tinian time the bomb was dropped and seconds later Hiroshima was nearly obliterated.

In one mission, one B-29 and one bomb had changed the course of warfare forever and the world would never again be the same."

[F___=M317;08-07-45;Wing 58-73-313-314; Day; Incind; KAltitude=16-23.6; Toyokawa Naval Arsenal]

[VParker] "After the atomic bomb was dropped on August 6 and the reports of its damage to Hiroshima commenced filtering in, scarcely anyone could believe what they were hearing. That such a weapon existed was boggling to the mind. Then, having accepted the fact, all kinds of rumors started flying around, foremost being that our B-29 force would be stood down awaiting developments.

General LeMay squelched that rumor; he kept pouring it on, with missions flown on August 7 and 8.

[F___=M3xy;08-09-45;Wing 313; Day; A-Bomb; Nagasaki, the 2nd Atomic Bomb]

[VParker] " On 9 August a second atomic bomb was released on Nagasaki, resulting in further heavy loss of enemy life.

It took a lot of guts for President Truman to make the decision to employ nuclear weapons, but those bomb drops forced a hurried Jap capitulation, undoubtedly saving the lives of many thousands of American soldiers scheduled for an invasion of the Japanese homeland. For my money, Truman made the right decision.

There are those who recoil with horror at the thought of so many lives lost through employment of atomic bombs, and say that such potent weapons should never have been used. These people should remember that we were at war, and with a fanatical and maniacal enemy. Why were we in this mess? Who was it that bombed Pearl Harbor?

Death is death and there is nothing new about deaths caused militarily. Putting all things in perspective, it should be pointed out that on the night of March 9-10 we burned and boiled and baked to death more people in Tokyo than were vaporized at Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. War is indeed hell.

[F250=M323;08-10-45;Wing 314; Day; GP; 22-26KAltitude; Okiguku, Najajima AC]

VParker#31 [VParker] "When the second atom bomb was released on Nagasaki on the 9th of August this appeared to be icing on the cake; now the rumor was that Japan had surrendered. Not so. On August 10 we were still at it, and my crew was selected and flew the lead ship of our squadron formation in a daylight attack on Tokyo - the Tokyo arsenal, or what was left of it. This was my 31st combat mission and we came through unscathed. Flak, of moderate intensity, was not too accurate, and P-51s in the target area kept the enemy fighters off our back. Not like it used to be by a long shot; yet the war continued.

[F265=M330;08-15-45;Wing 73-314; Night; Incind; 15-18KAltitude; Isesaki Urban area]

VParker-JHancock [VParker] " On August 14, 1945, the day that Japan capitulated, I was aboard a B-29 winging my way to Hawaii with John Hancock's crew. 314th Bomb Wing Headquarters had dispatched John to Honolulu for the pickup and delivery of radio gear needed at Saipan. The trip was to `double in brass' as a mini R & R (rest and recuperation), with a couple of days layover. How I managed to get myself invited on that junket, I don't rightly remember; but I was elated to be included, and was looking forward to a renewed acquaintance with `civilization'.

In the meantime, back in the Marianas, the troops had been briefed and were off and running as the B-29s persisted in their assault on the Japanese homeland. And I knew that "City of Chicago" was flying, this time with lst Lt. Dale Hawkins, former copilot, as aircraft commander. No reason to worry; our crew was in capable hands. Dale had proved himself, and I was glad that he was given the opportunity to fly one combat mission as head honcho. He deserved the privilege.

Those who flew combat on August 14 were to receive word of Japan's surrender on their homeward bound flight -- broadcast by the U.S. Armed Forces radio network.

When we (John's crew and I) heard the good tidings we were flying midway between Kwajalein and Johnston Island. Upon the announcement our whole dang ship rocked and vibrated with our cheers and hurrahs. What exciting and electrifying news! And what celebration and fun we would have in Honolulu upon our arrival there.

Then, no more than a couple of minutes had elapsed when we were quieted by a revolting development. Number four engine started acting up, finally coughing it's last breath, forcing us to feather it. This really dampened our spirits. Hours away from Hawaii and this had to happen. Coming up on Johnston Island, the only smart and intelligent thing to do would be to set down there. But if we did so, we could be marooned on that God forsaken isle for days while waiting for an engine replacement, missing out on all the revelry in Honolulu.

We talked it over. Hadn't we often times flown from Japan to Guam on three engines? But we had to, no other alternative, and that was war. Now the war was over. Wouldn't it be a hell of a note to survive the war, only to bust our fannies in peacetime? Fate had dealt us a rotten hand, seemingly saying, "If you jackasses want your fun in Hawaii, I'm gonna make you sweat it out." And sweat it out we did; the lure of Honolulu was too overpowering. Admittedly, our decision to continue on wasn't in the best interests of safety. Had we lost another engine, particularly on the same side, we would have been in dire straits; but we made it to Hawaii, so that was that.

Should mention that when we reported in at Johnston Island, we gave the tower operators no indication of an engine problem. I've frequently wondered if, on that fateful day, anybody on the ground at Johnston Island saw overhead a B-29, with feathered prop, heading east over the Pacific, and what that somebody might have thought of the I.Q. of those on board.

Late in the evening we landed at John Rodgers Field in Honolulu, following which John and I headed for Hickam Field where we obtained quarters in the BOQ. First thing we did was to make a beeline for the showers. It was our first warm shower in over six months time and we must have spent a full thirty minutes reveling and luxuriating in its comfort. Next, we repaired to the Officers Club for something to eat, and I would guess that I drank more than a gallon of ice cold real honest to goodness milk, another first for me since last departing the States. How I had missed that milk.

Bathed and fed, it was time to go to town and celebrate; but we were fatigued after our long and tiresome flight, coupled with the mental strain of sweating out those many hours flying with only three engines. A good night of sleep was eminently appealing; we could start celebrating on the morrow. So we went to bed, and that's where Hancock and Parker were on the night the war ended.

The next few days were among the most memorable of my life. Honolulu, turned topsy-turvy, was one big carnival as jubilant and exultant celebrants rejoiced in the news of Japan's surrender, and John and I joined in for our share of merriment and hell raising. Mostly, we spent our time in the Waikiki beach area doing a little (?) boozing (in addition to milk drinking on my part) and ogling the sights.

On an afternoon while at Waikiki John excused himself from my company and disappeared into one of those booths along the beach where, for a buck or so, you could make a recording, cutting your own record for whatever purpose. He was in that booth for about 15 or 20 minutes. When he emerged, a huge and mischievous grin on his face, he handed me a plastic disc, and said, "This is for you."

I didn't know what was on that record until I got back to the United States and played it. What was on it was a hilarious parody of some news reporter interviewing two American bomber pilots returning from the war -- one, a Major Parker and the other, referred to as an `unidentified accomplice', alluding to Hancock. It was one of the funniest and zaniest damn productions ever. Knowing that I had attended the University of Illinois, John had ended the record singing (in lousy voice) the `Illinois Loyalty' song," We're loyal to you Illinois. We're orange and blue Illinois etc." Only a person with John Hancock's talent could have produced such a clever piece of work. That record is one of my most treasured possessions.

It was either the 19th or 20th of August that we went downtown for one last fling and a farewell bid to our brief association with an elevated level of civilized life. Our R & R was about over; the following day we would be departing Hawaii, returning to the Marianas and our "home" in the boondocks.

This final visit to Honolulu was as chock-full of fun and frolic as were all others - maybe more so. Anyhow, when it came time to make tracks back to our quarters at Hickam, John and I were in a gay mood; so gay, in fact, that we debated who should drive the weapons carrier -- a conveyance we had scrounged from Hickam's motor pool and had been using for our personal transportation during our stay in Hawaii. As usual, John won the debate and elected to take the wheel; as told before, I never could best him in an argument.

It was a black and moonless night as we made our way through the countryside in search of Hickam Field's main entry gate. Recognizing that we were approaching the vicinity of Hickam, both of us were keeping a weather eye peeled looking for anything familiar. Suddenly John let out a loud whoop, "I see Hickam," were his immortal words. Forthwith, he cranked the steering wheel to the left pointing the radiator of our weapons carrier in a direct heading for the gate. Unfortunately, we were on a divided highway separated by a concrete median, and John had made his turn too soon, missing the Hickam gate intersection by a full twenty or thirty feet. Result was that our vehicle crested the median coming to rest in an embarrassing perch, neither front nor rear wheels touching terra firma -- and we couldn't move it.

Extracting the keys from our marooned `high and dry' weapons carrier we walked across the road to Hicham's gate. To the surprised sentry we said, "See that vehicle over there atop the median strip; it belongs to the Hickam Field motor pool, and here are the keys. How about taking care of it for us?" Then, with the guard's mouth still hanging open, we sauntered off to our barracks. Next day we were gone, flying back to the Marianas. I've never let John Hancock forget his boo-boo. What fun I've had over the years reminding him of that 'I see Hickam' episode.

[F00P=PWSupply Missions]

[VParker] "When I arrived back "home" on Guam following my sojourn in Hawaii I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had been promoted in position to Deputy Squadron Commander of our 28th Bomb Squadron; also, that former copilot Lt. Hawkins had been given my crew, having been elevated to aircraft commander status. Although happy with my promotion, there was a gnawing concern in the back of my mind; I hoped the new job would not adversely affect the priority of my stateside return date. I was getting homesick.

Now, instead of dropping bombs, our B-29s were participating daily in errands of mercy - the air drop delivery of food, clothing and medical supplies to those freed POWs, poor, impoverished, and sickly, who had been held captive in Japan's hellhole prison camps. The B-29 crews who engaged in these tree top low-level mercy missions recounted many a poignant and heartrending story of their observations -- of prisoners dropping to their knees in prayerful thanks, of men too weak to stand but doing so with the aid of their brethren, of the salutes, of fists raised high in exultation, of the V for victory signs, and of the cheers -- not heard but seen and of the scramble for the supplies after their drop from the skies.

Along about this time Colonel Roberts and a couple of other senior officers approached me with the suggestion that I consider making the Army my career. There were a lot of flattering comments - "top-notch officer, good leader, skilled staff man, impressive combat record, all missions flown without a single abort, promising future in the Regular Army, etc."

"Thanks, but nope. Might be making a huge mistake, but I desire to get discharged and return to civilian life as soon as I can." I was tired - the dye was cast."

[F00F=Show of Force;08-30-45 Above Battleship Missouri for official surrender]

VParker#32 [VParker] "The proudest and most unforgettable day of my life was 2 September 1945. On this day I made a final flight with my old crew in "City of Chicago", flying lead aircraft for the 28th Squadron formation on the "show of force" mission over Tokyo Bay while peace treaty signing ceremonies were underway aboard the battleship Missouri. The following day, on 3 September 1945, I wrote of this experience to my folks in the last of my war letters which expressed hope that my combat record would be reason for insuring an early return stateside.

A couple of weeks later I was home.

Flight Crew 22 at M12 City of Chicago photo Mar __ 1945, rank Jul 31 1945

Standing: S/Sgt Cassell Biggs(RG), F/O Pedro M. Maese(FE), T/Sgt Cormack J. Quinlivan(CFC), Sgt Roger R Tetrault (TG), 1st Lt William J. Buffo(N), 1st Lt Kenneth E. Wilber(B), 1st Lt Calvin D. Hawkins(P), Maj Van R. Parker(AC), F/O Byrle Lerner(RO). Keeling: S/Sgt Gerorge M. Phillips(R), S/Sgt John A, McSherry Jr (LG)