The Bomber Boys Read online

  Sitting at his little navigator’s desk in the nose compartment minutes before takeoff, Tony tried to peer through the thick fog but he could see nothing. When the aircraft bounced roughly, it reminded him that only thirty seconds or so ahead of them was another bomb-laden B-17, and her engines’ “prop wash” was going to make it a bumpy ascent for the rookie crew.

  Earlier in the war, newer crews sometimes had drawn milk runs to France as their first mission. It was a term that veteran airmen used for an easy mission. A non-German city with little flak and no enemy fighters translated into a milk run. Tony now realized what an inside joke that was. Here they were flying blind through a foggy dark sky. Somewhere ahead, above and maybe below them, were as many as thirty-five other B-17s whose pilots were flying just as blind. On top of that, other bomb groups from nearby bases were in the same area attempting to join the 305th in a massive formation for the attack on Giessen, Germany.

  Most of the American bases had their own stories of B-17s that had collided while trying to get into formation. As long as formation flying was a part of the equation, there would be no such thing as a milk run for the Eighth Air Force airman.

  Tony could see more light outside, and he knew that the sunrise was right on time, but still the foggy cloud cover was present and visibility extended only a few feet in front of his airplane. He tried to concentrate on his navigation calculations but could not. In the cockpit, Jerry Chart watched the pilot and took mental notes that he hoped he would remember when his turn came to lead his crew on a mission. Both of the pilot’s hands were squeezing the controls while he tried to hold the B-17 steady as the bomber was hit by prop wash and wind pockets.

  Finally, a full twenty minutes after takeoff, the airplane ascended out of the clouds and into a beautiful blue sky. Another B-17 from the 366th was just yards off the right wing. Ahead and above them, for miles, the rookie crew could see dozens of other Fortresses. It was an amazing, almost indescribable sight that Anthony Teta would never forget.

  The dream a nine-year-old boy first had at a little air show in Hamden, Connecticut, had now become a reality of incredible proportions. The 366th’s rookie crew got a taste of real combat that day also. When they returned to base hours later, they found their bomber had been slightly damaged by German antiaircraft fire.

  Chart’s gunners had been anxious for something to shoot at, but no German fighters had approached the squadron. The crew did witness a dogfight between American P-51 Mustangs and enemy fighters, but it was distant.

  B-17 number 037 came back safely with a crew that was a little less green for having flown a real combat mission. After peeling off their helmets, flak jackets, heavy boots, electric gloves and other combat gear, Chart’s men got their first interrogation (debriefing). Someone placed a double shot of scotch in front of Tony. He took a sip, found that he liked the brand and drank the rest in one quick swallow. When he put the empty glass on the table, the interrogation officer asked him, “What was the flak like today?”

  “Too close,” Tony replied with a grin.

  There were lots more questions. Visibility? Bombing results? Enemy fighters? Later, while he was having a beer with the rest of the crew at a local pub, Tony found that what he remembered most about the mission was that it was cold. Very cold! And the flak had made an impression. Bill Goetz called it “meager flak.” Still at least one shell had exploded close enough to damage the aircraft. The gunners confessed they really did not mind that no enemy fighters had challenged them. Everyone laughed and they ordered another round.

  Three days after Christmas came the crew’s mission number two and Jerry Chart’s first mission as pilot and aircraft commander. The airplane was B-17 number 571, and this time the 305th Bomb Group struck the railroad yards at Siegberg, Germany. At twenty-seven thousand five hundred feet, it was even colder than the first mission. Flak was light again, but still the enemy ground gunners managed to hit Jerry Chart’s bomber. Tony had a front-row seat for the incident.

  A flak burst sent a piece of shrapnel through the B-17’s nose, and the fragment hit the toggler, John Stiles. The force of it knocked him backward, and as Stiles slammed into Tony, both men toppled onto the floor.

  At first look, Tony thought his friend was dead. Stiles was not moving. His eyes were closed and his body was limp. When Tony could not find any trace of blood on Stiles’ flight suit clothing, he realized what had happened. The shrapnel had hit Stiles in the chest, and the toggler’s flak vest had saved his life. Soon he regained consciousness, badly bruised but okay.

  The toggler had done his job before getting hit, releasing eighteen two-hundred-pound bombs over the target. The flak damage to the B-17s nose was only slight, but the sound of wind whistling through the hole on the return trip reminded Teta and Stiles that they were in a dangerous business.

  Seven and a half hours after they had taken off, Jerry Chart’s crew was back on the ground at Chelveston. After interrogation, Tony tried to get a nap but found it difficult to sleep. The scene with Stiles kept going through his mind. Flak! It was the wild card in this game. Unpredictable, like the single bullet in a game of Russian roulette.

  There must be some precaution a guy can take to lengthen the odds a little.

  Tony tossed beneath his blanket and considered the problem for a while without any revelations. Finally, one of the guys suggested they head into town and find a pub. Tony gave up trying to sleep and went along. By the time he returned to the barracks late that evening his mood was considerably better, and sleep came quickly. It was a short sleep.

  Early the next morning, Chart’s crew was up and off aboard B-17 number 555 on a mission to Bullay, Germany. The target was a nine-hundred-sixty-foot bridge over the Mosel River. It was the only bridge between Cologne and Frankfurt, and it was extremely important to the Germans in getting supplies to the western front. Tony expected it would be strongly defended but was pleasantly surprised when the group encountered no flak or enemy fighters. During interrogation, Tony heard tail gunner John Cuffman describe it as “an extremely easy mission.” Since it was the first time in three missions they had not suffered some kind of flak damage, Tony had to agree.

  Still, Chart’s crew had been in the air for almost eight hours on the second of back-to-back missions, and they were exhausted. They all hoped for a little downtime. They got their wish and more. After the mission to Bullay, they would not fly again for six days.

  New Year’s Day of 1945 began with Tony and the other members of Jerome Chart’s crew starting to feel more a part of the 366th Bomb Squadron. With the completion of three missions over Germany, the rookies were beginning to be accepted by the more seasoned members of the squadron. In fact, many of the new guys were becoming fast friends with the veterans, so it was shocking when tragedy struck the 305th on the very first day of the year.

  While Tony and the other members of the crew slept in after a late night of New Year’s celebrating, twelve other crews of the 305th were up early to join a mission to Magdeburg. Flying without fighter escort, the American bomber formation ran into a large group of German Focke-Wulf Fw 190 fighters. In a desperate air battle, the B-17 gunners managed to shoot down seven of the enemy airplanes, but six Fortresses were also lost. Four of the destroyed B-17s were from the 305th (two aircraft from the 366th Squadron, one from the 364th and one from the 422nd). Twenty airmen from the 366th—twenty new friends—were gone in the blink of an eye. A total of forty airmen from the 305th were missing in action. Eighteen of these airmen would eventually be listed as “killed in action.”

  At the time, most of the men were presumed dead, since one of the 305th bombers had exploded in midair. Tail gunner John Cuffman wrote of the lost friends in his war journal:

  “Lost Dilts, Dezelick, Moore, Martison, Kinder and Prehn over Magdeburg. All but Prehn are believed dead . . . Prehn bailed out. Other ship blew up. Lost twenty men in squadron and six in our barracks alone. They’ve had it, and a good bunch of boys went to Northampton last
night with Prehn and Kinder before they got it. Also Bray(?), a boy from Bristol, Tenn. got it.” (Of the men Cuffman mentions: Kenneth L. Dilts, Gerald J. Kinder and Robert J. Prehn were later listed as KIA as a result of the January 1 mission to Magdeburg. The others listed in Cuffman’s journal entry—Robert S. Dezelick, Eugene M. Martison and Mark Bray Jr.—survived the mission, most likely being captured and sent to German POW camps.)

  A heavy gloom fell over Chelveston air base, but operations against Germany continued on schedule. On January 5, Jerry Chart drew his fourth aircraft in as many missions. This B-17 was very different, unique in fact. The aircraft (number 501) was named Old Miss Destry, and she had been a very lucky bird for all of her previous crews. Old Miss Destry had been to Berlin nine times, and in total, the airship had flown 107 successful missions over Germany. In the Eighth Air Force’s short history, Old Miss Destry was a legend.

  Of course, there was also the theory among some airmen that a bomber with that many trips on her résumé was overdue for some bad luck. Tony figured the old girl had at least one more round-trip in her. She did. Without encountering any enemy fighters and by avoiding any flak damage, Old Miss Destry completed her 108th mission. Her luck would never leave her—Old Miss Destry would finish the war with 138 combat missions to her credit.

  With four missions under his belt, Tony Teta was gaining more experience and more confidence in his ability to navigate his crew to various German targets and then back to base in England. One more mission and Chart’s airmen would receive their air medals. A coveted badge of honor for any Army Air Force airman, the air medal indicated its wearer was an experienced air combat veteran and a member of a very select club.

  Mission number five would make them earn their air medals and give them all a good scare in the process. At the briefing on the morning of January 6, a groan rolled across the room when the target was announced: Cologne.

  Located on the Rhine River, about fifty miles into Germany, Cologne had a deserved reputation as being well protected by antiaircraft installations. Flying their fifth aircraft, the men of Chart’s crew joked nervously about their new bomber’s name. She was Fancy Pantz, B-17 number 300. How she got her name, Tony could not imagine, but he and the rest of the crew liked the artwork on the bomber’s nose—a scantily clad young lovely who could star in any airman’s dream. As the young navigator worked over his charts in the cramped nose section, the sound of Fancy Pantz’s four powerful engines was smooth and reassuring.

  The 366th Squadron arrived at the Initial Point unhindered by enemy fighters, but it soon became apparent that Cologne was all they had heard she was. The flak over the city was heavy from the very beginning of the bomb run. Tony watched the deadly black puffs multiplying at an alarming rate. In front of him, the toggler was watching the lead bomber flying ahead in the distance. The lead aircraft was equipped with smoke flares that would be fired when the lead bombardier found the target in his bombsight. Once the flares were spotted, all the other American bombers would release their bombs at once.

  Fancy Pantz bounced roughly while flying through the flak-filled sky, and Tony’s gaze became fixed on the lead ship. In the cockpit, Jerry Chart and copilot George Wisniewski also anxiously awaited the signal. Cologne was visible twenty-four thousand feet below, but still no flares appeared. Then as the formation began to fly past Cologne, every man on board Fancy Pantz began to guess what had happened. Each of them hoped and prayed they were wrong in their thinking.

  Skipper Jerry Chart’s voice over the interphone confirmed their fears:

  “Okay, boys . . . it looks like we’re going around again.”

  Tony bit his lower lip to keep from cursing and made the sign of the cross over his chest instead.

  Either the primary target was covered by low clouds or another bomber group had clogged up the bomb run area. Whatever the reason, the pilot of the lead Fortress had made the tough decision to circle around 360 degrees and make a second bomb run on Cologne.

  Now the American B-17s would be aiming for the marshaling rail yards, which were not only vitally important to the Germans but also extremely visible for attack. Tony estimated that a second bomb run over a heavily protected German city not only meant their odds of getting hit were doubled—it was like flying two missions and, if you survived, only getting credit for one.

  Facing the flak again was not the only problem. A bomber formation tended to get loose or sometimes even sloppy on an unplanned second run. It was not difficult for a bomber to get separated from the group.

  Chart put Fancy Pantz into a wide turn and followed the lead aircraft as it made a complete circle back to the I.P. The flak was just as intense on the second bomb run, but Chart took his B-17 through without a scratch. Once the bombs were released, he began evasive action, but it became obvious that his airplane was not handling properly. Sergeant Carl Robinson was sent to find the source of the problem and he soon reported back.

  The flight engineer gave Chart the bad news: “The bomb bay doors won’t close!”

  When Tony heard his friend Robinson’s statement over the interphone, he quickly got busy with his navigation tools. Fancy Pantz was undamaged by combat and her engines were still running strong, but if the crew could not get the bomb bay doors closed, the wind-drag would make it impossible for the airplane to keep up with the rest of the group.

  In such a situation, the navigator had to know the exact position of his aircraft and he had to keep the pilot constantly informed, because as Fancy Pantz began to fall farther and farther behind the scattered 305th Bomb Group, simply following the other bombers back to England would not be an option. Indeed, the men on board Fancy Pantz were soon all alone in a German sky.

  John Cuffman, in his tail gunner’s position, patrolled every inch of sky within his field of vision. His hands clenched the handles of his twin .50 caliber machine guns tighter than ever before. In fact, every gunner on board the lone B-17 was feeling the pressure to stay alert for enemy fighters.

  In the nose, the toggler manned the chin turret, while behind him Tony double-checked his headings. Eventually, Carl Robinson was able to crank up the bomb bay doors manually, and Tony’s calculations were right on the money. Chart sat Fancy Pantz down safely on the Chelveston runway, successfully completing the Cologne mission.

  Each member of the crew who had completed all five missions received his air medal. Tony pinned his air medal ribbon above the left shirt pocket of his dress uniform and then headed over to the officers’ club for a cold ale. He knew he still had thirty missions to fly, if he could survive that many, but he did not want to think about that just then.

  Fancy Pantz was all right in Tony’s book. Jerry Clark agreed. Silly name and all, Fancy Pantz had taken them over the target at Cologne twice, and then brought them back home. Her four officers drank a toast to the gallant B-17 and hoped they would fly her again.

  On January 7, just a day after the Cologne raid, Chart’s crew took off on a mission bound for Koblenz, Germany, but only twenty-five minutes into the flight the number two engine blew an oil line. Engine number three was also running rough, so the Skipper had no choice but to return to base.

  An aborted mission was always depressing for an aircrew. A man had to get ready for each mission, both physically and mentally. The physical part was waking up before dawn, then attending the briefings, followed by getting into the heavy combat gear. This physical routine also gave the crewman time to mentally prepare. Sometimes a preflight religious service helped.

  Takeoff in a B-17, loaded with high explosives, was never a sure thing, and of course there was the dangerous job of getting the aircraft into formation. Once a man went through all of that, he wanted to complete the mission and have it credited toward his “required thirty-five.” That meant dropping bombs on a target.

  Three days later, the 305th Bomb Group went back to Cologne. For mission number six, Lieutenant Chart was assigned an airplane he had flown before, number 571. Bill Goetz would lat
er write that the second strike at Cologne was “our toughest mission so far.”

  John Cuffman would note in his combat journal, “Boy, this one was the roughest I ever saw. That flak was intense and accurate.”

  It was also cold—the coldest January on record in more than fifty years. Flying at twenty-six thousand feet, the airmen’s hands and feet suffered despite their electric gloves and socks. The thermometer on Chart’s cockpit console read: “minus 55 degrees.”

  To make matters even worse, somehow the 305th Fortresses got split up, resulting in Chart’s bomber and the rest of the “high” squadron (366th) flying over the target alone. John Cuffman’s journal described the horrific scene: “Lost Jordan’s crew over Big C. Got hit in (illegible). Saw one B-17 burning as she went down.” (Flying as part of the 365th Bomber Squadron, Lieutenant R.J. Jordan’s bomber was hit by enemy fire and crashed on January 10, 1945. Jordan and eight of his crew survived, but ball turret gunner, B.F. Evans, was killed.)

  Despite the heavy flak over Cologne, Chart got his bomber back home, suffering only two flak holes in Ken Hall’s radio room. Everyone on board counted themselves lucky, but for the 305th, it had been a rough day. One B-17 had crashed on takeoff, its crew escaping with no serious injuries. Jordan’s crew had been shot down, and another 365th Squadron bomber had been destroyed by flak—this airplane was piloted by Arthur F. Leuthesser. (This is most likely the bomber John Cuffman saw “burning as she went down.”) Leuthesser would survive the crash along with two other crew members. Six of his crew—William S. Butcher, Claude R. McLaughlin, Irwin Levy, Virgil H. Biggs, Marshall J. Villani and Jimmie D. Shambarger—would all eventually be listed as KIA. Three other missing bombers would be accounted for in the next few days, having been diverted to other airfields.