These "war stories" were originally from the jbdavis site, "54 Years and Remembering."
New stories from readers are added at the top of Vol. 1
From: bettyjm <bettyjm@earthlink.net>
To: ernieh@ols.net
Date: Wednesday, August 29, 2001 5:43
PM
Subject: Stories for Submission
Dear Ernie,
I would like to submit for publication the below is a story written
by my brother-in-law. Below this story is a short piece I wrote about
my remembrances of WWII at home as a child.
Betty Naff Mitchell
Reminiscences of World War II
By Forrest J. Mitchell, III
United States Air Force, ca. 1945
Here, in his own words, are the remembrances of that time as
given by Forrest J. Mitchell, III,
of Richmond, Virginia.
On Sunday Dec. 7, 1941, Papa and I were going to listen to a professional football game on the radio from New York when they announced the Jap attack on Pearl Harbor. I remember he said I'd have to go soon. I was a senior at John Marshall High School and the next day Miss Engleburg brought in a radio so we could hear Roosevelt address Congress and declare war on Japan. It was a very solemn but inspiring moment and I wish the country today could feel the unity and spirit of that time.
I graduated in June '42 and was classified 1-A, was called in December and was inducted on January 12, 1943. We were sent to Fort Lee, Virginia, classified and I was assigned to the Army Air Corps and sent to Atlantic City, New Jersey for basic training. They found out I have a color perception problem and couldn't be a Radio Operator/Gunner on aircraft. After the basic training I was sent to the Signal Corps School at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey. We copied Morse code from A.M. to Noon and then did drill and exercise the other half day. When the training was complete I was classified "Radio Operator Fixed Station" and sent to a Replacement Depot at Bear Field, Fort Wayne, Indiana.. They didn't seem to know what to do with me and I ended up with the 877th Airborne Engineers, a Glider Battalion at Grenada AAB, Grenada, Mississippi. The mission of this outfit was to land by glider and construct a "hasty" airfield to bring in supplies and carry out wounded from a battlefield. All the equipment was designed to fit into a glider. We had jeeps, Case tractors, graders, dump trailers, etc. The radio gear was mounted in a Jeep. We also had field telephone equipment.
The Batallion practiced this construction work in the back-woods and cotton fields of Mississippi. When the work was done a plane would always have to come from the base and land to prove it was usable.
In December 1943 we were alerted for overseas shipment. We went to Camp Shanks, New York, and sailed on the Mauritania on February 28,1944 and landed in Liverpool March 5th. Our tent camps in England were at Cokethorpe Park near Witney and at Bruern Abbey near Chipping Norton.
Next let me try to describe the enormousness of the Aviation Engineering tasks that had to be completed. Some Battalions had been in England since 1942 building runways and bases for the 8th Air Force to bomb Germany. They had to build heavy concrete runways to handle the weight of loaded B 17's.
They had to build complete installations. The British had their own work to do. We did a few small jobs but didn't contribute much to this.
We knew the invasion of Europe was coming soon and we expected to take part. For the invasion of Europe a new Air Force was formed, the IX Tactical Air Force. This was made up of fighter groups, fighter bombers, troop carriers, transport groups etc. The people who would support the ground forces, fly air cover, bring in supplies and fly out wounded.
To build runways or bases the IX Engineering command was formed. It consisted of 5 Regiments made up of 25 Heavy Equipment Battalions, 3 Airborne Battalions, plus Headquarters, Medical, Supply, Ordnance, Military Police etc.
The 834th Engineers landed in Normandy on D-Day, June 6,1944 and built E-1, the first emergency air strip. By July 16 nearly 151,000 wounded had been evacuated from this strip saving many lives.
We went over by ship and built a runway at Maupertus near Cherbourg France. This runway was over 5,000 feet of "pierced steel plank" and was laid in 48 hours.
From the invasion until the end of the War 250 airfields were constructed, re-conditioned or repaired. These were built right behind the front lines and as the front moved forward new ones were built and old ones abandoned. It was the American Fighter/bombers (P47's, P51's) that gave the German armor and transport such hell day after day flying from these close fields. Often re-arming and re-fueling and flying several sorties from these close fields and returning to home field at night.
After Normandy they salvaged all the usable glider parts, made whole ones, added some new ones and we did quite a bit of flying. We got 50% extra base pay for this which helped.
My Battalion, the 877th Airborne, was never used in an Airborne mission. We came close once. In September we were air-lifted back to England to go on "Narket Garden" the airborne invasion of Holland. We didn't go. The American part in this came out ok but the British had a fiasco at Arnhem. This all was covered in the book or movie, "A Bridge Too Far." We returned to France by air and at the end of the War the Battalion had done some work on 66 airfields across Europe. We ended up at Lippstadt in northern Germany.
The battalion was disbanded and a point system decided each man's fate. With 85 points you got immediate return home. With 50 or less you got sent to an outfit going against Japan. I had 61 points which got me in the Occupation Army of Germany. I went to the 850th Engineers and was the S/Sgt. [Staff Sergeant] in charge of the communications section. We were stationed at Furth near Nuremburg.
After about 6 months my turn came to come home and I was transferred to the 825th Engineers and we left from Munich by railroad box cars for Marseille in southern France. (this trip is a story in itself).
We landed in New York after a 13 day rough voyage on Christmas Day
1945. On December 30th I was discharged at Fort George Meade, Maryland.
Forrest
J. Mitchell, III S/Sgt.
33522204
Somewhere in Germany
This story is written by myself
THE TRUTONE AND THE TAPS
Mama was gone. I remember Nanie holding me on her lap in the big rocker. We were listening to the news on the old Trutone Radio. Nanie was crying. I think she was trying to find out if anyone had been in an accident or anything. I'm not sure. I just think that's why we were listening to the radio. Everyone listened to the radio a lot in World War II. I was afraid Mama was hurt but Nanie held me tight as she rocked and patted and told me everything would be all right, that she would take care of me. And I knew she would. She loved me.
I looked down and saw the funny feather patterns in the pink and green linoleum. I wondered when Mama was coming home. I wondered if she would. I didn't know where daddy was, but I didn't think she was with him. They didn't get along and Mama had a new boyfriend. Daddy and Mama's new boyfriend were both in the Army.
It was important to be in the Army and all the people loved the soldiers. They seemed so proud in their new uniforms. I knew they had to be brave because there was a Memorial cemetery near our house and every few days we could hear the bugle play a song called "Taps." Everyone stopped what they were doing until the song was over. Mama always cried. When I asked why, they told me a soldier was being buried. I wondered how far away the war really was.
By Betty N Mitchell
As Told Through the Eyes of a Child
From: Joe B. Sousa Jr. <sousafish@efortress.com>
To: ERNIE HERR
Date: Sunday, November 15, 1998 6:23 PM
Hi Ernie:
I live in Bristol Rhode Island which is about 11 miles from Newport. during World War II, Newport was home base for much of the Atlantic Fleet. There were many jokes which floated about regarding all the white hats in Newport. It was infested with Navy and Marines. I'll write about our experiences there from time to time.
Today, I'd like to focus on Bristol where the Hereshoff Boat Yard built most of the PT's and Mine Sweepers used by the Navy. My father was a yard Foremen and I would take his lunch to him every day. I would watch the PT's on their shakedown cruises right in Narragansett Bay. That was a thrill. They would disconnect their mufflers which would give them about another 8 knots but it would make those Packard engines very noisy. It appeared that they would make a torpedo run at full speed then, turn on a dime. By the way, the torpedoes used by the Navy were made right here in Newport at the Naval Torpedo Station. Many people from Bristol worked there too. That's another story.
Newport is now the home base for the carriers Saratoga and the Forestall. Recently, they sent the battleship Iowa to us also. In Fall River Massachusetts, about 8 miles from here, we have the destroyer Joseph P. Kennedy, and the battleship Massachusetts. I thought you'd be interested in this. Let me know if you did not get the message in which I write about my home town and Newport R.I. and what they were noted for during the war.
I get kind of excited when I write about this area because there was so much going on during the war. Not far from here is Otis Air Base which, during the war, was called Camp Edwards. We also have several coast artillery sites which were major defense points against attack from the sea.
Best Regards
Joe Sousa
Subject: War Story
From: patrick patrick@clem-162.dorms.tamu.edu
I owe my very existance to the Second World War.
My grandfather enlisted in the US Army in 1939 at the age of 19. He became a sergeant and was assigned to an army transport ship, the Royalty Frank (Royal T. Frank?). On the night of December 6, 1941, the Frank docked at Pearl, and the men were given quarters at Hickam Air Field and some shore leave. Well, Grandfather and some of his buddies went over to Honolulu that night and drank up a storm, arrived back at Hickam the early the next morning.
Well, around 8:00 you can imagine how the men were awakened. As bombs
crashed down, my grandfather reached over and put down the rest of a bottle
of whiskey left over from the night before, then put on his pants and ran
outside to see what he could do. Well, he took one look around at what was
happening and decided that the best course of action was to
dive underneath a truck. A Lieutenant spied this ran over and told
him "Sergeant, get the hell out from under that truck!" My grandfather obeyed
the order, so the Lt. dove under the truck.
Having survived the attack on Pearl, the Frank soon shipped out. One morning, Grandfather was at breakfast, getting himself some coffee when a Japanese torpedo struck the ship. Grandfather said that he didn't remember anything after that until he realized that he was floating around the Pacific Ocean butt-naked with his shipmates while the ship sank.
After that, he was assigned to Pearl, supervising some docks where
they loaded and unloaded ships. A crane broke loose on day and a fair bit
of heavy stuff landed on his knees. He spent some time recooperating, but
couldn't pass his physical to get his commission, so he was tranferred stateside
to an Army hospital in Huntsville, Tx where he met my grandmother who was
attending Sam Houston College at the time. That was my grandfather's service
during the War.
Subject: Pacific Voyage
From: Bruce Kellum 74721.117@CompuServe.COM
My grand Uncle, Jimmy Kellum related this story to me in the late
70's. This is it as I remember it. He was on an LST supporting an invasion.
Unfortunatly I do not recall which one, but I think that it was one of the
Marianas. While his ship was unloading, it was attacked by a dive bomber.
The main bomb was a near miss, which buckled the hull for twenty feet. One
of the smaller bombs struck the ship, piercing several decks before
piercing a fuel tank and coming to rest there, a dud.
Being a cripple, the ship was left alone by the fleet to try to make its way back to Pearl Harbor. As the wounded ship struggled on alone, it was attacked by three dive bombers. He said that the gunners concentrated all their fire onthe center plane. It seemed to have their name on it. The bombs of the flanking planes went wide. The lead plane dove on absorbing hits. It finally dropped its bombs, and went down in flames. The two smaller bombs went wid, but the main one was coming straight for my uncle Jimmy. He turned around away from it and grabbed the railing. He saw and heard the bomb whizz past his head and go into the water. There was a huge guiser and he was completly immeresed as he held a death grip to the rail.
The water did not let up, and he was sure that he was going down with the sinking ship. He knew that ships often pause a moment before taking the final plunge to Davey Jones' locker and decided that he would wait for that pause and begin to swim away from the ship as fast as possible so as to avoid being sucked down with it in the giant vacume.
He waited and waited. Still the waters swirrled around him. There was no let up. When he figured that he must already be a hundred feet below, he decided that this ship wasn't going to pause, and he had better get going. He let go the rail and swam off to the left. Immediatly there was sky and air! There was an antiaircraft gun tub above him, and it had been filled with water, which was pouring out of a large hole that they had cut in it to let out the rin water. Jimmy had been standing right under the stream!
My uncle had bits of copper wire in his face for a beard from the bomb. The others on deck where knocked out by the concussion, but aside from a broken leg, there were no injuries.
The crew crew had to weld scrap iron to the seams of the ship to keep her afloat, but managed to bring her back to Pearl. My uncle added that he did not receive a purlpe heart. Another note was the preparation for the Siapan invassion. Many munitions and troop ships were tied up side by side and it is thought that some folks thought that it would be a neat idea instead of hauling ammo crates below decks to rig a canvas slide. Pop goes the weasel. I do not recall how many troop ships were blown up, it may have been as many as ten. My uncle said that there were as many as two thousand casualties from the Saipan invasion right in Peal Harbor. Military secret at the time.
When the action began, he was on Ford island. He and some some others jumped onto a launch to get to the burning ships and come to the rescue. As they were heading to on of the troop ships, it vanished in a tremendous explosion. Jimmy was knocked flat and felt a tremendous burning in his back.
He was sure he had been hit and felt back and felt liquid down his back. I do not recall now whether he said it was from a canteen, or spray, but my uncle Jimmy led a charmed life in the war as that heat was from a large chunk of shrapnel that got imbedded in the back of his life preserver, without touching Jimmy Kellum.
Subject: my Uncle Georgie
From: RUnger7989@aol.com
This is in memory of my favorite uncle, Uncle Georgie. He passed away a year ago from brain cancer which I can truthfully say was tied to the mental anguish he carried with him from WWII. He never had any children. You could say I became the "daughter" he never had. He made me feel precious, and for that he will always hold a special place in my heart. I live far away now. I am told they fond his war medals thrown in a drawer. That makes me cry.
A few years back when my daughter asked him what he was doing when Pearl Harbor was hit (for a classroom assignment), he became silent and refused to answer. He carried his memories with him and was not able to share them with those who loved him best. I only know he was with the troops who first marched into Paris. He told my dad-- a most rare occasion-- that he was told to go back. The Allies were not supposed to be in Paris yet. He actually walked in on some German soldiers still occupying the Paris vicinity-- so, he was really one of the first to enter Paris. These American soldiers were not influential enough to be the first so they were told to go back and wait for the Allies' triumphant entry with the "big brass". Does anyone know my Uncle Georgie? I don't know what battalion or anything he was with. I only know he had such painful memories that there was little he could share.
In my book, he's a hero. And a hero's story should be told and recorded for prosterity. He gave me so much. I want to give him this much. I recall rumors I heard as a child of American soldiers' parachuts being caught in trees and church tower belfries and the horror of seeing them shot down. Please, does anyone out there know George Visosky? He was about 5' 11", brown curly hair, slender, a thin face, of Lithuanian heritage and could speak and read Lithuanian. What were the medals for? If only they could peak. I'm a writer and historian. I've recorded others' history. His should be recorded as well.
Thank you and God Bless.
Kathy Mihalik Unger
Subject: The Reason I Joined the Navy
From: Rick Morell rmorell2@ix.netcom.com
Dad was quite a man in my eyes. He enlisted in the US Army as soon as he could convince the medical folks that his feet really were not flat, (they were as flat as a flitter). Enlisting in the cavalry he was eventually recommended and earned a commission. He spent World War II fighting Island to Island in the Pacific.
Stories of the fighting were astounding to say the least. One story that stayed with me as a youth was when he told of being pinned down in a fox hole. They were held in a position for quite a while by the Japanese and were forced to dig in. Water filled the bottom of their temporary home so his feet were always wet and sore. Of course they bailed out as much as they could but were never dry.
He claimed each time forward progress was attempted the sniper fire would keep their heads down and heavy fire was also taken. It was almost impossible to leave the hole except when it was very dark. Needless to say going to relieve yourself became a problem. So crapping and urinating in your helmet liner became SOP. It was simple, just do it and throw it over the side, wash it out with the water in the bottom of the hole and "your good to go" (pun intended). Well this was not so bad except, at night, the army liked to feed at least one hot meal.
When it was dark enough, a cook would crawl along and drag a pot of hot chow. When he reached my dad's fox hole he would laddle the chow over the side of the hole...you guessed it...into the helmet liner. Needless to say they overcame the situation and the rest is history. He went on the a distinguished career and retired as a Lt Colonel many years later.
Well, after hearing this story a few times when I was growing up and watching many episodes of Victory at Sea, and I thought my draft notice was in the mail, I joined the Navy. I just had a feeling things had to be better in the fleet. As I write this I am finishing up a 30 year career in the Navy and Dad if your reading this from up there, thanks for the story, things worked out fine.
Your loving son
Rick
Subject: WWII War Stories
From: Charles Blaney CHUCK-B@worldnet.att.net
A Window in Time
by Chuck Blaney
Radio Operator/Top Turret Gunner
Mighty Eight Air Force
20th Bomb Wing
448th Bomb Group
713th Bomb Squadron Crew 7178
The date was the 25th of March 1945 and the target the underground oil facilities at Buchen, Germany (about 6 miles east of Hamburg). The 448th could have easily stood down this day. Yesterday's brutal mission took a toll of eight B--24's that were lost to ground fire when we dropped supplies to 40,000 British paratroopers that had just crossed the Rhine River at Wesel, Germany. That was a specially designed mission that took us over the battlefield at 100 feet for a parachute drop of medical, food, ammunition and a Howitzer that was stowed in the cavity where the ball-turret had been removed. Admittedly, this was not a great mission for the high flying B-24. So much for the paradrop.
This, our 23rd mission, should have been a milk run, if there ever
was such a thing. We encountered the usual flak at the Dutch coast and then
again over the target. Take-off was at 0600 and with planned climb and assembly
maneuvers, we made it over the target precisely on time. It was a milk run
so far, although we did hear from formations ahead that enemy fighters were
hitting every other squadron (we were in line to be skipped).
The escorting P-51 Mustangs had left our group and moved up the formation ahead. It was bombs away at 1133-- this was the last entry in the navigator's log for what was to be our 23rd and final mission.
ME--262's, the world's first jet aircraft, attacked suddenly and unexpectedly. Coming out of the sun, they had elected not to skip our squadron. Lt. Stallard's B-24, and our lead aircraft with the radar- bombing equipment, blew up in mid--air. Only the Radio Operator, who was blown clear of the aircraft, managed to survive the explosion and sat the rest of the war as a POW. Lt. Todd's plane was mortally hit and turned and headed north.
Later, that plane ditched in the Baltic Sea, but three crew members managed to survive and were picked up and interned in Sweden. A second pass of ME--262 fighters took out Lt. Steffan's B-24 by strafing it from wing to wing aross the flight deck and killing the pilot, co-pilot, flight engineer and radio operator.
Their plane eventually crashed into a shoe factory in the town of Schneverdingen. It was only the navigator, Lt. Gottlieb, who managed to bail out and survive. He too was taken prisoner. Our B-24, Du Bunny, piloted by Lt. Paul Jones, was also shredded by the second ME--262 pass. The ME-262's opened up with their 20 mm cannons and we responded with all four twin turrets of 50 caliber.. machine guns, but they knocked out our #1 engine. The ME-262's wiped out our # 3 and #4 engines on their next pass. 2 & 3 went on the next pass. We lost count of the number of passes as it seemed that 20 mm shells were hitting us and passing through every section of the aircraft on a continual basis.
Time seemed to stand still. The flight engineer was knocked out of his top turret and he dropped to the flight deck. The Plexiglas in the rear turret shattered in the tail-gunner's face. Fuel and hydraulic fluid from pierced pipe lines were pouring and swirling out of the still open bomb bay which we were never able to close. The complete electrical system was shot out, even the intercom. Our B--24, DU Bunny, looked like a sieve from the inside.
Lt. Jones ordered everyone to prepare for bail out, but with no intercom it was obvious that the word did not get out. Also, we were reluctant to jump because intelligence reports suggested that a crew's chances were amplified if capture as a group were at all possible. Single crewmen in the hands of angry German civilians were a poor risk in these times.
Our navigator, Lt. Herman Engel, could see the heavy clouds of smoke caused by our heavy bombing in the Hamburg area. He was able to set a coarse towards Wesel on the Rhine where the paratroopers had landed just the day before. I guess that we never really expected to make the Rhine, even as we threw everything out of the plane that was not nailed down. Our co-pilot. Lt. Jim Mucha, kept his eyes peeled for a safe place to set Du Bunny in fora soft landing.. With our minimum power and controllability, our candidate landing sites were always dead ahead.
At 1143 hours we were at 2000 feet altitude and sinking fast. One
sputtering engine does not provide much power to a B-24 even at minimum
loading. Our pilot ordered us to ditching stations and for the inevitable
crash landing. The pilots had selected a perfect field to put Du Bunny down.
It was right at the edge of the town of Soltau. We came in wheels-up and
all went smooth
until one wing dipped and the plane broke up. It was now 1148 hours
and we had covered all of 36 of the 180 miles needed to reach the front lines
and freedom. The pilot. co--pilot,waist/tail/and ball gunners were able
to get out of the aircraft and were immediately greeted by angry townfolks
with pitch-forks. An SS Officer appeared on the scene and arranged to have
those crew members already outside the aircraft run into the town square,
about 500 yards away. There they were all pinned to a wall across the street
from the Mehr Hotel. I was trapped in the wreckage along with the navigator,
flight engineer, and nose gunner. We had been pinned there by the top turret
that broke away from the aircraft frame from the frame and lodged in the flight
deck well. The navigator and engineer were unharmed and finally got
out after German soldiers axed their way into the wreckage.
The nose gunner and I were not so lucky. We were trapped by the top turret and each of us suffered a broken leg. The Soltau Chief of Police joined the German soldiers from the nearby riding academy and after much hard prying and much hack-sawing we were freed from the wreckage. They put us on a horse drawn cart and took us to the town hospital where our legs were set and put in soft casts--we then rejoined the other crew members that were now locked up at the riding academy.
A young 12 year old German boy, who was a member of the Hitler Youth Corps a boy of 12, watched our crash landing. Gerhard Bracke was that boy's name. Today Gerhard Bracke is a universty professor and a W.W.II aircraft historian. It was during this past year that he made it his goal to find out what happened to the crew in the bomber that he watched as it crash landed..
Many of the details, that we never knew from the German viewpoint, were revealed by Bracke's research. He was instrumental in locating the survivors of that crash still living today, and brought us together for a 50th anniversary reunion in Dayton, Ohio during the fall of 1995. Gerhard Bracke flew in from Germany to join us for the celebration.
German Lt. Joachim Gruenhorst was in charge of the Soltau Riding Academy. He watched our B-24 pass directly over the academy and thought it would explode any minute. But there was no explosion nor any sound of any crash so he assembled several soldiers and took off to find where the bomber had gone down. In locating the wreckage, he directed all his attention to freeing the trapped crewmen inside. He then went into the town square where the others were herded. An SS Officer was inciting the angry German civilians and Lt. Gruenhorst initiated an argument with the SS Office and it was probably only because Gruenhorst had several soldiers with him under his command that he was able to take those crew members back to the Soltau Riding Academy stables. The nose gunner and I were taken from the hospital to join our other crew members there.
The next day, troops from the German Luftwaffe arrived from an nearby ME--262 air base took over. Lt. Gruenhorst was relieved because he had been worried about the SS Officer and his confrontation with him the day before. We stayed at the air base one night and were then transported to Penneberg, an interrogation center for captured airmen. After four days in single solitary cells (the kind of stuff you see in movies) we were taken to Hamburg and shipped in railway boxcars, with other recently captured airmen, to Stalag Luft I Prison Camp in Barth, Germany. To this day, my co--pilot, Jim Mucha complains about having to carry me on his back through amburg. through but I counter by reminding him that I took all of the rocks thrown as we were paraded through the streets.
In late May 1945, the Russians liberated our prison camp. The day before the German guards had fled during the night and left us to our own devices. Colonels Zemke and Gabreski, our senior camp officers, went out to meet the Russians to make sure that they didn't mistake our camp for a German area and shoot up everything in sight, because these Russian troops were the advanced units with a search and destroy mission. Our senior officers made arrangements with the Russians to contact the Eight Air Force and advise them of our situation. It was then just a matter of time before the 8th Air Force flew into the airfield in Barth to get us the hell out of there. All 9,800 American airmen from Stalag Luft I were flown to tent cities in France to join 120,000 other liberated Americans to await transport back home.. Some prisoners had been incarcerated for nearly four years during the US Army Air Corps 1,000 day War over Germany.
The reunion in Dayton was a huge success. Gerhard Bracke arrival from Germany was an complete surprise. Of the nine original crewmen, there are still five alive. Four of us made it to the reunion: Paul Jones, the pilot: Jim Mucha, the co-pilot; Herman Engel, the navigator; and me-- the radio operator. Gerhard Bracke brought additional information he had gathered on our crew, such as the official missing crew reports from other bombers that had seen the four bombers of the 713th Squadron go down on 25 March 1945. Bracke also had the biography of the German pilot, Lt. Rudolf Rademacher, who shot us down.
Rademacher had 118 victories in the ME-109 and 8 more in Luftwaffe's
hottest jet, the ME-262 ( At least we were not shot down by an amateur).
Lt. Rademacher survived the war only to die in a glider crash in 1953 about
10 miles from where we crash landed. Bracke also brought a personal letter
from Lt.Gruenhorst who still lives in Soltau and a letter from the Mayor
of oltau inviting our crew to a City Of Soltau Reunion in 1996. A highlight
of Bracke's research was his uncovering of five photos of our crashed bomber
that laid in the archives of the Soltau newspaper. What a treasure after 52
years. So, that is my story. Four planes shot out of the sky in minutes and
only our crew survived intact. With hundreds of holes in our B-24, no one
was seriously wounded or killed. Why didn't the plane burn or explode in
flight or upon crash landing. Was it just luck or was God the "tenth man"
man in our crew that day. I would like to think that he was.
Subject: War Stories
From: John Gardner jayvee@nccn.net
On 7DEC41 Midway Island 1300 Mi. NW of Pearl harbor was defended by fewer than 500 U. S. Marines of the 6th Defense Battalion, supported by PBY Squadron VP-21. No obvious Naval forces in the area. I was a member of "C" Battery 5" artillery, Sand Island. My job was wire and telephone duties. I was 19 years of age.
About 0745 on 7DEC41 word from Pearl Harbor advised that they were under attack by the Japanese. Within minutes the alarm was sounded and all hands went to battle stations and from that day until wars ends battle stations had gun crews on hand at all times. Our duties was to continue to improve our positions, and continue to train for what was sure to occur. At 2130 on 7DEC we were attacked by two Japanese destroyers, the Ushio and Okebono. They attacked from the NW firing upon Sand Island, and walking their 5" shells up the island where they hit the PBY hangar setting it afire and destroying one PBY and considerable materials.
A devestating 5"round went through an airport in the steel re-enforced
power house and killed two, and wounding two. This was the command post
of our 50 caliber machine guns and was commanded by Lt. George Cannon. Lt.
Cannon though seriously wounded continued to command for several minutes
before he died. Lt Cannon was awarded the Congressional
Medal of Honor posthmously. The first for a Marine in WW-II.
The enemy destroyers did not escape unscathed. Lt. Rodney Handley in command of Baker (B) Battery on Eastern Island fired 9 round of 5" AP and it was almost certain that hits were scored on Okebono. At the same time Lt. Cannon commanding Dog (D) Battery 3" anti aircraft trained down two guns and fired 13 rounds point blank into the attacked vessels. Numerous hits were certain. At the same time 50 caliber machine guns on the NW beach area of Sand Island found themselves in range and raked the decks of the attackers. This was accomplished when an anti aircraft search lite illuminated the attackers, briefly. The Jap knocked the lite out within a minute or less.
The Japanese destroyers broke off contact and head SE of Midway. At the time a report from the Phillipine Clipper returning from Wake Island reported seeing the ships and noted fire and smoke. However, both returned to Japan and the Ushio survived WW-II and is photographed in Tokyo after the war ended.
During the following months our Midway was attacked a number of times by probing Jap submarines. They would surface about dusk, fire and few rounds but were quickly driven down when our very alert gun batteries returned fire. Lt Cannons 3" battery was assigned the job of being ready to fire instantly, when attacked. The Jap subs always crashed dived and departed the area.
By April 1942 we were being re-inforced by added men, and Marine Aircraft. The aircraft were obsolete,but be welcomed them with enthusiasm. We continued to build our defenses and on 4June42 the Jap attacked in force. That is another story.
John Gardner
Nevada City California FAX 916-273 9140
Subject: ww2 belgium
From: Valerie Thome valerie.thome@burnley.ac.uk
My father, Frank Shaw of Heckmondwike, wrote this short story in his later years. he died on Nov 14 last, of motor neurone disease, which was diagnosed the previous February. He died brvely and uncomplainingly, and I hope when it is my turn to join him.
I shall remember his courage and not fail to follow his example.
Valerie Thome,
154 Regent St, Nelson,
Lancashire England BB9 8SG.
The Flying Bomb - a short story by Frank Shaw
1. First Encounter
I'd never heard of the flying bomb until I was sent to a convalescent camp near Orpington in 1944. Going there from hospital, I thought I was in for a rest. This was not, however, to be the case.
I met some right head cases in the Royal Artillery, and there was one in my hut called Reg Ackroyd. As in most army barracks, the hut was a large wooden building, with a small brick-built extension at one end, used as a bomb shelter. However, Reg seem to have bagged this for himself, had taken his bed in, and spent most of his time there. In fact one of us would bring his meals from the dining hall.
He didn't talk about it, but you could tell he had been badly shaken. By what, no one knew.
One morning, assembled on the grass for first parade, our Sergeant began calling the roll. He suddenly stopped, looked up and took a step back. I could now hear what sounded like a motorbike engine without a silencer, getting rapidly nearer. Sergeant Buckburn called the next name on the roll and stepped back again. Only then did I notice the entrance to an underground shelter about fifty yards behind him.
The engine noise was by now ear-shattering, and coming towards us, low in the sky, was a small plane with short, square-ended, stubby wings. It hovered directly overhead as the engine cut out, and there was an appalling eerie silence.
Sarge shouted, It's every man for himself , waving us on as he ran to the shelter, diving down the steps closely followed by a few lads who were quick on the uptake.
I could see the plane dropping from the sky like a stone, and realising I couldn't make it to the shelter on time, I flung myself in a furrow in the ground, squeezing lower and lower into the hollow in my desperation for cover. Then came a terrifying explosion, as the rash detonated a ton of high explosive, and a powerful blast of air nearly pulled my scalp off.
Thankful to be alive, I got to my feet wondering where the thing had hit, and felt shock when I saw a mass of smoking rubble where the Naafi hut should have been. We all rushed over to help, but it was hopeless, there was no trace at all of our two Naa girls.
In the following weeks, hundreds of these horrendous weapons were launched on the south-east, falling further and further to the east as the launching sites were moved back towards the Rhine.Many were intercepted by our fighters and AA batteries. One veared close overhead when we were on guard one morning, and the sentry, my friend Jim Wilson, loosed off two rounds at it, stopping as he realised if he shot it down we would all be blown apart!
Eventually the launching sites were taken back into Germany and the main target became Antwerp, my regiment's next posting.
2 Fliggedy Bummer
On the first evening there, Jim and I were walking through the streets towards the town centre, when familiar roar from the sky sent us running to the nearest doorway for shelter..
Then came that uncanny silence as the engine cut out, only to be shattered instantly by the fearful, crashing explosion. As we left our shelter a cloud of dust and smoke billowed over the street. It was a direct hit on a house - completely flattened. Sending in the rubble was the wire form of an armchair, not a scrap of material on it. The Belgians loved glass in their homes, and there was glass everywhere - from doors, partitions, tableware, ornaments.
In the quiet that followed the explosion, we could hear, very faintly, the sound of someone moaning in the rubble. We searched thoroughly, and uncovering a fallen door, found steps leading down into a cellar.
Negotiating the partly blocked stone stairs we saw a narrow bed alongside a wall, and an old woman's face peering at us out of a heap of blankets and old coats.
Jim looked at me. I'll go and get the medics, he said, climbing back out of th cellar, leaving me with the old lady. Verdamm fliggedy bummer, she kept mumbling, or something like it, pointing at the air grille high on the opposite wall. I eventually made out that she was complaining that the blast had blown down a piece of sacking she had used to keep out the cold Jim was soon back with stretcher-bearers, and we left her in their care, as it was time to report back for duty.
3 Third Time Lucky
Making our way across the city to a high block of flats, we climbed I don't know how many flights of stairs to emerge on the flat roof. This was where we manned an observation post to give warning of the position and flightpath of flying bombs.
The team on duty, Big Bill Metcalfe and Len Anderton, were anxiously waiting for us to relieve them, and after handing over instrument and log book, they rushed off to get their evening meal.It was Jim's turn to be observer, and he had a quick look round the skyline, revolving the monocular on its tripod. That left me sitting in the canvas chair, doing the booking.
There's one! called Jim, looking to the east, bearing twenty-one degrees - twenty-five - thirty - gone! I recorded the time, Jim's readings, and the estimated distance of three thousand yards, and remarked: Well out of town, another near miss!
By now it was getting dusk, of course no lights would be coming on down below, but the V-1 was easier to track in the dark by the long flame from its open exhaust.
Another one, called Jim, I can see the flame, seventeen degrees
- seventeen - seventeen -
I jumped to my feet and grabbed Jim's arm, shouting, The same bearing
three times - that means it's heading straight for us! We could hear the
engine noise now, and, leaving everything, we ran across to the stairs and
flew down three flights about six steps at a time, shouting, Get down! Get
down! to anyone who might be in the building. We heard an almighty crash,
but nothing could stop our downward rush. Right to the basement we
went, unhampered and uninjured, to our amazement. We had felt the shock as
the missile hit the building, and when we got outside and looked up, we could
see had taken a gigantic bite out of the side.
All the time we were in Antwerp that tall building stood, like a
signal to me, saying.
Third time lucky, Frank!
Subject: WWII
From: "NICHOLAS TSIAMES EX.3176" IS_TSIAMES@lars.fordham.edu
Hi,
My Aunt in Greece told me a story about when she was a little girl in Euboia, a region about an hour away from Athens. I am not sure of the year but...She was in the house helping her mother prepare dinner when they heard a loud rumbling from outside. Her mother ran to the window and my aunt ran outside the front door onto the front stoop. As a long stream of German troops and vehicles cruised down the road, my aunt had waived to them, too young to know what was going on. One soldier on a motorcycle with one of those side cars veered off the road toward my aunt. He pulled up to the front porch, got off his cycle, and approached my aunt with something in his hands. He kneeled down beside her. He then told her, with tears in his eyes that she reminded him of his little daughter back in Germany (my aunt had fair skin and blue eyes). He had a box of chocolates in his hand and gave it to her. He went on his way.
Needless to say, her mother gave her the beating of her life and threw the chocolates away. Aunt was to young to understand. Its the only thing she remembers from the war.
I could certainly understand her mother's point. Once, some Greek rebels had killed a German soldier. They didn't find the actual killer but chose 40 people at random and executed them in public. "For every German killed, we will kill 40 Greeks" they said.
My father, born in the U.S. served in the Navy in the Phillipines. He was in the radar room of some battle ship. He has snapshots of Japanese soldiers in prison camps. They didn't look too miserable. In fact, one was smiling. Its a pleasure to be captured y Americans, I guess. My grandmother would mail him a salami from NY. By time he got it he would cut away the mold for some of the best salami ever.
His brother was a Marine and served in Guadalcanal. My father says that Uncle Chris was never the same after that war. His wife left him soon after the war. From what I understand he has pieces of steel in his back from the battle. I love the guy but he is a bit off the wall. He is always yelling!! ....Extremely quick tempered!! They were both enlisted.
Thanks,
Nick T.
