Gilze Rijen, August 19, 1943
TWO DAYS AFTER First Schweinfurt, Hullar’s crew was on the mission roster again for an attack against an airdrome in Holland. The briefing began at 1330, and this time Bud Klint believed “everyone was happy when the S-2 officer uncovered the map and disclosed our target for the day.”
Lt. McSween described it as “just a short haul before supper,” and Elmer Brown identified the target as “Gilze Rijen, Holland—24 100-pound demolition bombs for an airfield.”
As Klint recalls, “From all indications, this one was going to be a ‘milk run.’ We were to be over enemy territory only 30 minutes and we were to be covered by friendly fighters all the time.”
After the raid, Klint had a different opinion: “It turned out to be not quite so easy—mainly because things didn’t go off according to plan.”
Lt. McSween called it “a ‘milk run’ that turned into one of the shakiest of all ‘shaky dos.’”
The 359th Squadron led the Group under Major William R. Calhoun, Jr., the Squadron CO. He was flying with Captain Glynn F. Shumake’s crew. The 358th was the low squadron, led by Lt. J.S. Nix, a 24-mission veteran who was with Lt. D.A. Shebeck’s new crew in B-17F 42-3192.
The 360th Squadron was high, and there were only two 427th crews assigned to fill in extra formation positions, Hullar’s and Lt. L.H. Quillen’s. The Hullar crew’s mount for the raid was a 359th Squadron ship called Wallaroo, B-17F 42-3029; Lt. Quillen’s aircraft was Stric Nine, B-17F 42-5392, from the 427th’s own stable of ships.
The single green Very pistol flare that signaled “Start Engines” went at 1550, and 10 minutes later Bob Hullar began to taxi Wallaroo to her place in the takeoff line. “We we’re in the low group, high squadron, No. 7 position,” wrote Brown, which meant Wallaroo was the 13th of 20 Group B-17s to take off. Four ships behind as second element lead of the low squadron was Lt. Gamble’s crew in their favorite ship, Sky Wolf, B-17F 41-24562. Following them in the No. 5 position was the 358th Sqdn. crew of Lt. Louis M. Benepe, whose radioman was a baby-faced 19 year old from the Pittsburgh area, Sgt. Richard C. Grimm. Benepe’s crew was on their sixth raid in Yankee Doodle Dandy, B-17F 42-5264. Last in line as “tail-end Charlie” in the low squadron was Lt. Jack Hendry’s crew in Black Diamond Express, B-17F 41-24416.
303rd Bomb Group Mission Route(s): Gilze-Rijen, August 19, 1943. (Map courtesy Waters Design Associates, Inc.)
The Group took off on time at 1610 but from there on out nothing went right on this “easy” raid. The combat wing did make its rendezvous with the P-47 escort, but once over enemy territory Elmer Brown observed that “it was very hazy and there was some undercast—the bombs were not dropped the first run.”
Bud Klint believed this was because “the lead bombardier couldn’t synchronize on the target on the first bomb run and decided to make another run,” but the Group’s records offer another explanation: “moderate and accurate flak coming from the center of the target.”
Lt. Bill McSween wrote that “everything was OK to the IP—Haze pretty bad—and I had to look close for checkpoints. But we had a good run to target. I could see aiming point plainly. The lead navigator was hit and the lead bombardier did not drop the bombs.” He added that “Major Calhoun made a circle and came over a second time.”
This time Lt. Don Gamble noted that the Group was headed into the sun and the “lead plane doesn’t bomb. Ships drop bombs erratically—none hit target.” According to Klint, “This put us over enemy territory for an hour, and by the time we began our second run, the other groups were already out of sight on their return to England, and the fighter escort had gone with them.” And that, Elmer Brown wrote, “made us a good target for the enemy fighter. We had a fight all the way back until we got halfway across the Channel.”
Wallaroo and her loyal ground crew. These unsung, and unnamed, heroes show obvious pride in their B-17. Wallaroo, B-17F 42-3029, BN
N belonged to the 359th Squadron. Hullar’s crew flew her on their third mission, the August 19, 1943 attack on the Gilze-Rijen airdrome in Holland. (Photo courtesy The Mighty Eighth Air Force Heritage Museum.)
Lt. Bill McSween described the attack graphically: “Out of the mist and haze FW-190s struck like devils from hell. From eleven o’clock to one o’clock diving at 45 degrees they really made us know it…G-192 went down and blew up. Don saved us by a violent pull-up. No. 4 was hit, caught fire and went out when Don slipped the plane—
of the rudder was shot away. A 20mm burst right in the nose and knocked Coburn into my lap.” That night Coburn wrote: “Almost got it. 20mm cannon shell knocked me ass over teakettle when it hit the nose and exploded in my face. By the Grace of God.”
Lt. Gamble described the action this way: “Then fighters come in—mostly head-on attacks. G-192, leading our squadron, gets hit and fire starts in No. 3 engine, spreading to No. 4. We fall back and he goes down to the right. Wally [Walter Kyse, the copilot] sees the plane explode and wing come off. We try to take over squadron, but other ships are low so we fly just behind and to the left of lead ships. The enemy fighters are eager today and we see 20mms explode all around. No. 4 engine hit and catches fire but goes out. We feather the prop. A 20mm explodes outside nose and knocks Ralph [Coburn] out. A 20mm knocks a piece out of the rudder.”
To Gamble’s right Lt. Benepe’s crew was having similar, but far more serious problems. Richard Grimm describes the damage to Yankee Doodle Dandy and the injuries to her crew in an action that won the Silver Star for the crew’s tail gunner, Sgt. George Buske.
“Everybody has a different recollection, but this is what I know happened and also what I saw. We had six wounded in our crew. A 20mm shell went through the Plexiglas nose and our bombardier, Richard Sager, got a chestful of Plexiglas shards. He never flew again. The same shell severed the oxygen mask hose of the navigator, Ray Cassidy, just as he was leaning back to fire one of the cheek guns. The shell went on to hit just below the pilots’ instrument panel. It exploded and injured the pilot and copilot wounding them in the legs and knees. Our pilot, Lt. Benepe, was hospitalized for this. Our top turret gunner, Stan Backiel, wasn’t hurt and I don’t believe the ball turret gunner, Frank Matthews, was either, but 20mm shells came through the waist and injured Ed Cassidy, our left waist gunner, and Francis Stender, our right waist gunner. Both were punctured by multiple pieces of shrapnel, and Stender had a large piece of shrapnel sticking out the toe of his boot. The waist of the ship had so many holes it looked like a salt shaker.
“Our tail gunner, George Buske, got hit. He was firing at a 190 that was coming in, and a 20mm from it hit the left machine gun at the handle and rendered it inoperative. Buske got a lot of shrapnel wounds, but the armor plate in front of the guns took a lot of force from the explosion. Buske got the 190 that wounded him.”
The kill was confirmed by Sgt. Matthews, the ball turret gunner, who reported that an “FW-190 came in level at 5 o’clock—T.G. opened up at 1000 yards and fired about 300 rounds. E/A came into about 200 yards, caught fire, flipped over, and went down. Pilot bailed out. Same E/A that hit this A/C in tail.”
Grimm continues: “I believe Buske was unconscious for a short time from his wounds because I didn’t see any firing from the tail for a while, and then the one good tail gun started firing again. You won’t find what I’m about to say in the records—we had six wounded and I didn’t feel like reporting it, and who would believe a radioman anyway—but I got a 190 during this time. He was coming in at 5 o’clock high, and he saw that there was no firing from the tail. I know because he dropped his flaps and took a long slow pursuit curve at us. He was taking his time and was going to come right in and get us. I gave him two short bursts at practically zero deflection and hit him with both of them. I could see things fly off, but he kept coming. I kept the trigger down, and he blew all to hell, like dust in the air. I wondered, did I hit his fuel and 20mm shells?
“But as I say, I didn’t report it. I was more concerned about our crew. We had six wounded. That was the end of our crew as I knew it.”*
Lt. Jack Hendry’s crew was just as hotly engaged in the “tail-end Charlie” slot, and John Doherty paints a remarkably vivid and similar picture of the action in his ship: “That was really a fierce fight. Those FW-190 ‘yellow noses’ were there and anytime you met those fellows you were dealing with Goering’s elite crew. Them people lived to fight.** They came right through the middle of the formation, trying to peel us out, one or two of them, and the others would be circling to pick out someone who didn’t get right back into formation real quick; I was in the waist and they came in so close I could actually see the faces of German pilots, right outside the wingtip going through. You could see them with their goggles on. They had their tops back and their scarves were flying, right in your face. It was lots of shooting, lots of shooting.”
It was also a day Hendry’s tail gunner, Sgt. Howard Abney, will never forget: “The fighters were coming in from all directions, front side and everywhere else, but there was one FW-190 that was coming in from behind the formation straight for us in the tail-end-Charlie position. I started firing when I figured he was in range, but we were flying a replacement ship called the Black Diamond Express and the tail guns weren’t boresighted to my specifications. The tracers were going off to the left and I had to mentally compensate for it, which made things more difficult. I got a hit in a vital spot because he was smoking profusely from the cowling. But he came on, and a 20mm shell he fired came right up by the left horizontal stabilizer and exploded right next to my compartment on my right side.”
“I was knocked out for a few seconds. I remember raising myself up from the left side of the compartment and I heard a hissing sound and I saw where the shell had cut the oxygen line in the airplane. I was going to notify the rest of the crew that the oxygen on that side of the plane was out, so I reached for my mike, which was mounted on the bulkhead near my right shoulder, and my arm didn’t respond. So I started pulling my right arm up with my left, and I saw the German fighter start coming around to make another pass. I knew I was out of action, that I couldn’t handle the twin fifties in my condition, so I broke my oxygen hose connection to the plane, and started to get up.
“But I couldn’t get up, so I knew then that I was also hit in the hip. I pulled with my right hand and my left leg to get out of the tail, and I got Doherty’s attention to go back and take over the guns.”
John Doherty picks up the action from here.
“Our tail gunner, Howard Abney, got shot up. When he came out of the tail he was bleeding profusely, and had blood all over him. He really looked terrible. He came to me holding his hands out and I pointed him to go to Jim Brown, our radioman, for Brown to take care of him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help him. But I immediately knew there was nobody in the tail and I knew that I had to get back there right away to get to the tail guns. The tail on a B-17 was a blind spot. That blind spot had to be covered or they’d get in there right up close and ram it right up your kazoo.”
John Doherty has something to add about firing from the waist guns: “The fighters had much more speed than we did, and you had to try to follow the plane, and between the speed and the evasive action and the rolling of the airplane and everything it was awfully hard to get what you’d call a decent shot”.
Even so, it was in the midst of this fierce fight that Chuck Marson scored from Wallaroo’s right waist window. It happened at 1820, when a fighter described as an Me-109F in the combat form “came in under right stabilizer from about 0430. Right waist gunner fired about 25 rounds into enemy aircraft. The E/A [enemy aircraft] exploded, wings coming off and entire ship went down in flames. The E/A was about 350 yards when it exploded.”
Merlin Miller remembers what happened next: “As the 109 went down I heard Chuck mutter something on the intercom about ‘ashes to ashes and dust to dust.’ He could have a strange sense of humor at times.”
The fight went on to the Dutch coast, where Lt. Gamble recorded the loss of another B-17: “We see a plane go down to the left and several chutes come out. An E/A attacks the ship once.” The loss hit Hullar’s crew hard, for this B-17 was Stric Nine, flown by Lt. Quillen’s crew.
Elmer Brown wrote that “it was the first raid for Quillen’s crew and they went down in Holland just before we hit the coast. Ten parachutes came out. His No. 3 engine and right wing were on fire.”
Bud Klint adds that “Quillen’s crew was trained in Walla Walla and came over to England in the same group with us. The fighters sent Quillen’s ship down in flames just as we crossed the coast.”
At this point, it seemed to George Hoyt that the action was over. “The Germans evidently ran low on fuel because they turned back to Holland. The group formation descended over the English Channel as we headed home, and our gunners came out of their positions to ride up in the radio room. Merlin was out of the tail gun position, Norman came up out of the ball turret, Pete and Chuck had stowed their waist guns, and I had racked up my radio room gun. Then someone up forward called on the intercom, ‘Here come some Spitfires to escort us home, ‘and a split second later Mac shouted ‘Look out! Bandits twelve o’clock! Those are Me-109s!’ A German flipped by overhead and there was a mad rush with everyone trying to unstow their guns and commence firing. They had caught us flat-footed. Instead of going home, they skirted wide out ahead of us to come head-on like friendly Spitfires from England. After the head-on pass, they swung around to make one final tail attack and then disappeared.”
The rest of the mission passed without incident. Lt. Hendry landed at Framhingham, where there was an RAF station, to get medical care for his wounded tail gunner. Sgt. Abney would not be returning to the crew, and from here on out Sgt. John Doherty would be the man guarding Hendry’s blind spot in the tail*. Sgt. Buske, in contrast, was able to return to duty and will be encountered elsewhere in these pages, on another crew.
Hullar’s crew landed Wallaroo back at Molesworth at 1956, and Lt. Gamble’s ship was the last one down at 2002. The Group lost 21 men from the two missing ships, plus six more wounded. Fourteen bombers were damaged in exchange for claims of 12 fighters destroyed, ten probables, and six damaged.
More significant were the lessons learned. To Lt. Bill McSween, the mission’s moral was “one run over the target is plenty, especially if the second is by your lonesome.” For Hullar’s crew there was an even more vital lesson—they had made a cardinal error by stowing their guns halfway home, and were saved by the rest of the formation’s firepower. It paid to fly with a well-seasoned group.
Another mission was scheduled for August 20th but was scrubbed because of heavy overcast and strong winds. No missions were slated for the following two days so, after four raids in five days for Elmer Brown and three for the others, the men of Hullar’s crew finally had some time to rest and unwind.
On Sunday, August 22nd, Brown wrote that “Klint, Hullar, and I went to London. We had fun drinking beer (mild and bitters) and singing. Saw a musical, ‘Strike a New Note.’ There was a good song in it, ‘When the lights go on again.’ Hired a taxi that took us on a sightseeing trip. Saw all the famous churches, bridges, and buildings, the Tower of London (an old castle and fort) and many heavily bombed sections of London.”
The enlisted men also visited London to, in George Hoyt’s words, “take a Cook’s tour of the City and keep the British brewers working 24 hours a day.”
The one member of the crew who spent most of his free time on the base was Mac McCormick. Even at this early point in the crew’s tour he was embarked on a course of study and practice that would eventually make him first Squadron and then Group Bombardier. Elmer Brown remembers that “Mac spent a great deal of time at a building on the base where there were large photo maps of targets with a movable bombsight rigged overhead, so that you could practice bomb runs. He spent hours there on weekends. He was tremendously dedicated to his job.”
Hullar’s crew stood down on the Group’s next mission—an air-sea rescue sortie on August 23rd, which turned up an empty liferaft and a German Do-24 flying boat that was caught on the water and set afire by the Group’s gunners. They also missed an uneventful diversionary mission on August 24th, and sat out the next two days with the rest of the Group in the drizzle and rain.
On August 27th, however, they were slated to take part on a mission against an ultra-secret target in France.