In midsummer 1942, Hap called me in and told me about the invasion of North Africa and the basic plans for Torch. It was originally planned to be a small, all-American effort, but it grew into a joint British-American operation, using ground, naval, and air forces. A separate air unit, to be designated the 12th Air Force, was to be formed for the invasion and subsequent air actions against the Italians and Germans until they were driven out of North Africa. Hap said, “General George Patton will be in charge as the ground commander. They’re looking for an air commander. Would you like to do it?”
I said I would.
“Then go and talk with Patton.”
Patton and I had a good talk and hit it off very well from the moment we met. He had the responsibility for preparing one of the first American ground units to go into offensive action against the Germans, and he had established himself as a potential war leader of unusual dimensions. As a cavalryman in the twenties, he had been known as “Horse George” because of his antics in polo and riding. In 1941, he had been given the challenge of changing ordinary, peaceful civilians into disciplined, aggressive fighting men. He insisted that the training conditions of the men should simulate the conditions of actual combat. To prepare them for fighting in the African desert, he took them to a tract of scorched and lifeless desert near Indio, California, where the daytime summer temperature averaged 120 degrees. Inside the tanks it averaged 145 degrees.
Patton drove his men hard and they grumbled. At the end of a day’s training, when everyone was hot, tired, and hungry, he made the officers run a mile while he would run a mile and a quarter. No matter how hard the men were driven, Patton drove himself harder—and he made sure the men knew it.
His reputation had preceded him. After we talked at length, we reported to General Arnold that we’d like to work together. He took us to General Marshall, who had no objection.
“Now you’ve got to go over to London and see Major General Dwight Eisenhower,” Hap said. “He’ll be in charge of the invasion of North Africa. He has to approve your assignments.”
“Georgie,” as Patton liked us to call him, returned to his unit in the desert to get them ready for transfer overseas. I learned later that he called his men together to talk to them. His talk was typical of many he would give later on the battlefield:
Well, they’ve given us a job to do. A tough job, a mansize job. We can go down on our bended knees, every one of us, and thank God the chance has been given to us to serve our country. I can’t tell you where we’re going, but it will be where we can do the most good. And where we can do the most good is where we can fight those damn Germans or the yellow-bellied Eyetalians. And when we do, by God, we’re going to go right in and kill the dirty bastards. We won’t just shoot the sonsabitches. We’re going to cut out their living guts—and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We’re going to murder those lousy Hun bastards by the bushel.
Patton talked in a high-pitched, almost feminine-sounding voice that penetrated his listeners’ psyches and demanded their undivided attention. His enthusiasm for combat was contagious. He was a born showman who could turn his act on or off as he chose; obscenities and his two ivory-handled revolvers were his trademarks. He was a unique individual. We saw eye-to-eye. I knew we could work together in whatever lay ahead.
Georgie and I left for London on August 5. Two days later, we, along with Tooey Spaatz and Colonel Haywood “Possum” Hansell, met with General Dwight “Ike” Eisenhower. From the first moment I sensed that Ike had taken an immediate dislike to me. Once again, I had the uncomfortable feeling of being an illegitimate offspring at a family reunion. Ike knew of my reputation as a racing pilot through the press and had probably translated that to mean that I would be too reckless to command an airforce. He knew from my military record that I had never commanded a unit larger than the Tokyo raid gang. He probably also knew that MacArthur had turned me down.
With a minimum of formality we sat down and immediately began discussing Torch. George led off with a briefing on his intentions and his plans “to drive the bastards into the sea.” Ike seemed satisfied with that and turned to me. He said, “Our first job will be to acquire airfields in North Africa. As soon as they’re acquired, we’ve got to be able to operate.”
He was right, of course. However, instead of saying, “Yes, sir, that’s exactly what we’ll do,” I very stupidly said, “General Eisenhower, the fields will be of no value to us until the ground troops have cleared and occupied the air bases, have brought in fuel, supplies, ammunition, bombs, food, and spare parts. Then we’ll be able to operate.”
I saw his face change, and I knew that I had blown it. It was a dumb thing to tell a general with as much logistics experience and military service as Eisenhower. Here was a one-star reserve officer implying that a two-star general who had spent his entire adult life in the service didn’t know what he was talking about.
I realized I had made a horrible mistake, but it was too late to recover from it. His face froze and I fumbled for words. I never got to tell him much about our plans for the 12th.
I was mighty discouraged about my performance after that meeting and Ike’s apparent opposition to my presence. After we left, I learned he immediately wired Hap Arnold saying that he was pleased with Patton as his ground commander but “for an airman I would like to have Spaatz [Major General Walter H.], Frank or Eaker, in that order.”
Marshall and Arnold replied jointly that he could have anyone he wanted for his airman, “but we still recommend Doolittle.”
He might have ignored Hap’s opinion, but with that reply also coming from Marshall, Ike accepted me reluctantly. When I was notified I was staying, I realized I was in a bad spot. In subsequent briefings in London, Ike was always stiff and formal with me, and I was very sensitive to his antagonistic, hostile attitude. He had to accept me, but he didn’t have to like me. If he had refused me, and whoever he chose for the job hadn’t performed, he knew he would then be asked why he hadn’t accepted Doolittle.
It wasn’t a comfortable way to start off in a difficult assignment. I returned to the States resolved that someday he would change his mind, that I would work overtime and do anything and everything to prove him wrong.
After getting the wheels in motion in Washington with the units that would eventually serve under me in North Africa, I told Joe I was leaving again and didn’t intend to come home voluntarily until the job was done. We didn’t realize it then, but we wouldn’t see each other for three very long years.
From the moment that the invasion of North Africa was firmly decided, it was clear that a special air force would be required as part of the invading force. That force was designated the 12th Air Force and was activated on August 20, 1942, at Bolling Field.
The date of the invasion was set originally for early October 1942, but was changed later to early November, still not much time to put together a combined land, sea, and air force. Meanwhile, I returned to England in September with a small planning staff. We were known locally as “8th Air Force Junior,” or simply “Junior.” We were concerned not only with planning the air part of the African invasion, but also with the transfer of units from the 8th Air Force into the 12th, and the training of those units for the task ahead.
As soon as I sat down for our first planning meeting I realized that we were going to have to fight both the Germans and our own people who were fighting the Japanese in the Pacific. General MacArthur and Admiral Nimitz in the Pacific were demanding more of everything. If they got everything they asked for, the forces in the European theater would never be able to carry out their mission against Germany. I had to protect the interests of the command I was about to be given. One of those whose support I needed was George Patton; I hoped his loud, strident voice would have some effect in Washington with the big decision makers. My plea was for an understanding of the role of air power versus the traditional ground-bound thinking of wars past. I felt sure Georgie was someone who would be listened to, so I wrote him a letter explaining my problem and asked for his support:
Unless we want our task forces overwhelmed by superior German forces, we must make our requirements known, and continue to urge them in the most emphatic terms by official messages to the War Department.
I know, after having talked to you, that you have a great appreciation of the vital role that air forces must play in the forthcoming operation. But many others do not have that appreciation, nor do they understand that the requirements as submitted by you and General Eisenhower are minimum ones and reflect your knowledge of our overall shortages.
Another point … is the fact that the operations for North Africa, the Middle East, and the bombing offensive against Germany from the United Kingdom are inseparable and are therefore basically complementary. It is not generally realized that the best insurance for our particular operation is an intensive bombing offensive against the backs of forces operating against us. The fact that the backs are at the same time the heart of the enemy’s strength makes it doubly vital that the effort be in such force as to pay dividends. That force in the United Kingdom can be no more than a token unless these diversions are stopped. Token forces do not impress the Germans.
Let me impress upon you, that all these facts are preached here by our air officers, but without the expression of beliefs and demands by responsible field commanders like yourself to confirm them, it is almost a “voice in the wilderness”….
It would help greatly if you and General Eisenhower, individually and together, would clarify the points I have raised, and that by frequent reference you do not allow these points to be forgotten. Otherwise we are in danger of having our ultimate requirements pushed aside because of more vocal and oft-repeated demands.
Please consider this as a matter of urgency. Steps are already being taken to divert a heavy group prior to September 10, 1942.
George was on my side and pushed the air-power message as fervently as I hoped he would. He was a very vocal asset, even though he had not yet been tested in battle with air support.
It was a time of confusion. The 12th had two headquarters—one in England and one in the States. In England we dealt with operational training; the other headquarters had to get the subordinate units—the 12th Fighter Command, 12th Air Force Service Command, 12th Air Support Command, and 12th Bomber Command—activated and ready to move from the States to the North African theater. The fighter unit was activated at Drew Field and the service unit at MacDill Air Force Base, both in Florida. The support command was activated at Birmingham, Alabama. The bomber command was created in England at High Wycombe on September 2, and personnel were transferred to it from the 8th. The 4th Bomb Wing was organized at Bolling Field for shipment to England, but was under the control of the 8th.
I assumed command of the 12th Air Force officially on September 23 and assembled the staff, with Colonel (later General and Air Force chief of staff) Hoyt S. Vandenberg as my chief of staff, and Colonel (later General) Lauris Norstad as deputy for operations. Both were superior individuals. My old friend Jack Allard had been recalled to active duty as a lieutenant colonel, and I put him in charge of personnel. Lieutenant Colonel John F. Turner was our intelligence officer, and Colonel Robert T. Lane was our supply officer.
On July 29, Hap Arnold wrote a letter to General Marshall in which the air-power message came through loud and clear. His main concern was that planes and personnel were being dispersed too widely. He stated that the principle of employment under which he wanted all the air units in the European theater to operate was to exert direct pressure against Germany, because that would be our only hope for a second front for many months.
“Successful air operations depend upon the continuous application of massed air power against critical objectives,” Hap wrote. “Germany remains our primary objective and I feel strongly that the Air Force operating directly against her, which is permitted only from bases in the United Kingdom, must be maintained at sufficient strength to permit strict adherence to this principle.”
In August, Hap again voiced his unhappiness to General Marshall about the dilution and dispersion of the air forces and the comparatively small number of planes assigned for the North African operations. Hap pointed out that the Germans could provide overwhelming air superiority to the tune of 1,500 to 2,000 planes in the North African invasion, while we would have only about 900 planes available during the landing phase.
During the convoy and seizure of airfields phase, Hap said, there would be only 166 carrier-borne aircraft of all types available, which would clearly be inadequate:
The entire operation will surely fail unless the task forces are given effective fighter protection against superior German capabilities prior to the seizure of local airfields.
… Unless air force units are withdrawn from other theaters, the U.S. Army strength can only be secured by taking all available planes out of England and using the trained units as fast as we can get them from O.T.U.’s [operational training units] in the United States.
Against our forces, Hap said, the Germans could employ 494 bombers during the move to the landing points, 623 bombers after the first day’s operations, and considerable fighter and reconnaissance strength in addition to the bombers. “Any of the above can be accomplished without weakening their operations in Russia or Egypt and after taking only 50 percent of those available in other theaters.…”
Since this was our first major effort in the war, Hap insisted it was of the utmost importance that everything possible be done to ensure its success and said the present plan to disperse our forces should be overhauled:
Our policy at the present time contemplates building up aerial superiority in Alaska, Hawaii, Southwest Pacific, Australia, India, Near East, and in the future in North Africa. At the same time we plan to maintain a fairly large force in the Caribbean. In carrying out such a policy, we achieve overwhelming superiority in no theater, while we vainly endeavor to secure a decided superiority in all theaters, in none of which even successful action would be decisive.
… I urge that, since many considerations have led to the acceptance of the great risk involved in the North African operation, it be accepted as an offensive operation in fact, and that it be undertaken with the full power available to us. This must include the assignment of maximum offensive forces to the combined North African–European theaters, both to ensure tactical success and to permit decisive strategic operations.1
Tooey Spaatz wrote a personal note to Hap in which he expressed his concern about spreading out the worldwide air effort too thinly:
I hope the idea can be put across that the war must be won against Germany or it is lost. The defeat of Japan, as soul-satisfying as it may be, leaves us no better off than we were on December 7.
The war can be lost and very easily if there is a continuation of our dispersion. It can be won and very expeditiously if our air effort is massed here and combines its strength with the RAF.2
Hap’s plea to Marshall for concentration of forces in the European theater was taken to heart, and many important decisions were made in the following weeks. Units began to arrive in England to get ready for the invasion of North Africa while our plans underwent continual revision and refinement. November 8, 1942, was selected as North African D-Day.
The days and nights blended together as I spun from one organizational problem to another and from planning sessions to strategy discussions. It would not have been so time-consuming and complicated if only our forces had been involved, but the operation had now grown in size and effort. All our meetings had to include our British counterparts. Under Torch, British and American units were to land in Algeria to seize the port of Algiers, and British forces would then advance on Tunis. American units would land in western Algeria and Morocco to seize Oran and Casablanca-Port Lyautey. Once that was accomplished, American forces would move eastward and assist the British in Tunisia.
The purpose of all this was to force the Germans and Italians to defend a North African front and thus take troops away from other battle fronts. The Torch forces would advance from the west while British forces would advance from Egypt in the east.
Two commands would be responsible for air support. The British Eastern Air Command would support the ground forces advancing from Egypt toward Algiers and Tunis. The Royal Air Force would then protect the port and convoy routes as those areas were liberated on the march westward. The 12th Air Force would support the landings at Oran and Casablanca and put up fighters to defend the convoy routes and ports on the push eastward.
The one complication was the possibility of resistance by French forces loyal to the Vichy government who were siding with the Germans. No one knew how much fight they had in them. If, after we overcame French resistance, the Spanish entered the conflict from Morocco or German forces moved through Spain to intervene, 12th Air Force B-17 units would operate against them from captured North African fields. Our ground forces would be assisted by naval aircraft, mostly British, operating from carriers.
Tooey Spaatz was relieved from assignment as commander of the 8th Air Force and assumed command of all American air forces in the European theater and thus became my immediate boss. Ira Eaker took Tooey’s place as the 8th’s commander. The overall boss of all American ground and air units in the theater was General Eisenhower. For the North African invasion, he would operate from Gibraltar and move to North Africa afterward.
Day by day, we gathered resources into the 12th from the 8th, much to Eaker’s dismay. We took 14 units of fighters, bombers, and transports, more than half of the 8th’s strength. This continual drawdown of his fighting strength caused a bit of friction between Ira and me, which kept surfacing over the next two years.
Throughout the war, I always tried to write to Joe at least once a week. She kept every one of my letters. I couldn’t keep any of hers. Of course, I couldn’t tell her what I was doing in any detail, but would mention any old friends who passed through. Jack Allard and I and several of our staff were staying at the Claridge Hotel in London, and everyone we ever knew would get in touch. Their brief visits would lighten our day. In one letter to Joe, I wrote: “Haven’t got my flying time in yet this month. This is the first time in almost 25 years of flying where ships [planes] have been around and still wondered about getting my four hours in. Another of the penalties of command.”
A few days later, I wrote: “Flew a Spitfire three hours and some minutes yesterday. Fired the [gunnery] course or as much of it as I had time for. Was busy on both the ground targets and tow target but at that got higher scores than the boys who were with me. As a matter of fact got higher scores both on the ground strafing and sleeve than their combined scores. Not that I was good—they were lousier. Got to keep my hand in. Can’t have some punk shooting down the ‘old master.’ ”
I was concerned about both our sons. Young Jim was flying combat in the South Pacific and couldn’t write much. John was in his plebe year at West Point and the upperclassmen were harassing him no end by making him “bomb Tokyo” by running around the cadet area with his hands outstretched, making noises like an airplane engine and dive-bombing imaginary targets. That was the penalty he had to pay for what I had done a few months before. While the value of demeaning first-year cadets is debatable, I was sure “Peanut” could survive whatever they dreamed up. He did and made his own mark as one of the first plebes to make the West Point boxing team. It is quite possible that he got some revenge against the upperclassmen by bombing them—in the ring.
All during the war, Hap encouraged all of his top generals to write him directly. We all took full advantage of the invitation. My letter to him of October 21, 1942, conveyed what was going on in my area of responsibility, what we had been doing to get ready for the landings in North Africa, and the itineraries of my staff:
I have the best staff, the best commands and the smoothest-running organization in the Air Force. We are short as everyone else is, on experienced secondary personnel, but our key people are really tops.
The morale of our operating units is excellent and the average experience level acceptable. It varies from the superior heavy bombardment groups to the newly arriving groups who have had no combat experience and will have to complete their training in the theater. We had hoped to be able to operate these new units here for about six weeks prior to taking them into the new theater, but it now appears, due to difficulties and delays experienced in getting them across the northern route, together with equipment shortages and inoperability of hastily made installations there, that these units may actually be somewhat delayed in getting into the theater.
I told Hap that our principal worries were the unhealthy concentration of aircraft at points where they couldn’t be dispersed or adequately protected, and the considerable distances and unfavorable weather through which our other fighters must be flown into the theater. Our problems resulted from the short time allowed to organize, plan, and train; the shortage of experienced personnel; the unavailability of essential equipment, especially communications; the shortage of suitable airports in the theater; the unfortunate necessity of marrying ground and air units that had not had previous training together in the field; and the shortage of transport aircraft. I wrote:
We mention the above problems, not because we are awed by them but merely to indicate that we are aware of them. We plan to overcome them by careful planning, preparing for eventualities, and Yankee ingenuity.
Conditions in air warfare are changing so rapidly that our very inexperience is often an asset—we have little to forget.
We have a job—a hard job—to do. We are looking forward with pleasant anticipation to the altogether successful accomplishment of it. In this we hope to justify your confidence and your policies and even reflect a little on the justifiable pride we intend to enable you to indulge in.
The move to Gibraltar was planned with the utmost secrecy. The success of the invasion depended on the element of surprise, since no one knew what the French would do. There could be no period of softening up the area with lengthy bombardment first.
General Eisenhower was to direct the overall operation; Brigadier General Mark Clark was his deputy. A false press release was put out in London to the effect that General Eisenhower was returning to Washington for consultation. Ike and his staff secretly moved one night from their headquarters in Norfolk House in London to a small cottage in the suburbs.
Meanwhile, six B-17s of the 97th Bomb Group at Hurn Airdrome on England’s south Channel coast were earmarked to take us to “Gib.” Ground crews removed all excess equipment from them, including the waist guns and their ammunition, in order to have seating and baggage room for passengers. Only the nose gun, radio compartment, and top and ball turret guns remained. No gunners would be among the crew.
Early on the morning of November 5, 1942, Ike, Brigadier General Mark Clark, Brigadier General Lyman Lemnitzer (temporary chief of staff for the invasion, and later Army chief of staff), Colonel T. J. Davis (Ike’s adjutant general), and a number of other American and British officers, including me, boarded the six waiting B-17 Flying Fortresses for the 1,200-mile, eight-hour flight. Ike’s plane was piloted by Major Paul W. Tibbets, an excellent officer and bomber pilot, who would later go down in history as the pilot of the Enola Gay when it dropped the first atomic bomb on Japan. He had already flown a number of B-17 missions against enemy targets in France and was one of those officers I mentally earmarked to be a future general.
The rest of us passengers were spread among the B-17s. My plane was piloted by Lieutenant John C. Summers; copilot was Lieutenant Thomas F. Lohr. Also on board were General Lemnitzer; Colonel Davis; Major Joe Phillips, former editor of Newsweek and public relations officer for the Allied Force Headquarters; W. H. B. Mack, of the British Foreign Office and head of political warfare associated with the invasion; and Freeman Matthews, political advisor to Ike.
We were the last of the six to taxi out for takeoff. As Summers tried to swing around beside the others to run up the Fort’s engines, he found he had no brakes. “We’ve lost hydraulic pressure,” he yelled to Lohr. “Hit the wobble pump!”
Lohr began pumping the emergency hydraulic pump furiously to get some fluid into the system as our B-17 slowly coasted toward the B-17s in front of us. If we crashed into them, loaded with gasoline as we were, there would surely be an explosion and fire. Ike and the other top leaders of the invasion effort were innocently sitting in them, unaware of what was happening. The other planes were lined up like birds on a wire, not knowing we were having trouble. Just as it seemed a collision was inevitable, Summers hit the left brake hard and yelled to Lohr to “Pump! Pump!”
The left brake grabbed and the B-17 spun around, narrowly missing the B-17 beside us. It was close; the invasion effort might have been stymied right there in one giant fireball if Summers hadn’t been able to get a little hydraulic pressure in that left brake. We ended up in the mud beside the run-up strip.
The other planes took off in marginal weather, and it was frustrating to see them go. We would follow as soon as possible. We learned that one of the B-17s never reached Gibraltar. One of the passengers was Major General Asa Duncan, who was supposed to play a major logistics role in the upcoming operation. To this day no one knows what happened to the plane.
It took all day for the mechanics to repair and test the hydraulic system. We left the next morning, November 6, and had no trouble getting off.
We headed southwest over the Atlantic well away from land to avoid patrolling German fighters. Unknown to us, four German Junker Ju.88s, stationed at a field near Biarritz, France, took off for an ocean patrol to search for shipping west of the Bay of Biscay. They flew for about five hours and were about to return to base when they sighted us. We were then about midway to our destination.
Summers was the first to see the Germans from our plane. Without the normal complement of guns, we were not helpless but sadly undergunned, especially with no trained gunners on board. The Ju.88s were equipped with 20-mm cannons and 7.9-mm machine guns, enough to knock us down quickly. At first, the four planes just flew formation a respectful distance away, two on each side, to take a look at our defenses. I tried to see them from where I was in the radio bay, but the window was too small. I went to the waist gun position where I could get a better view and wished we had guns poking out of those openings.
Lemnitzer began to fiddle with the gun in the radio compartment and started firing. The Ju.88s were too far away. When they saw his tracers looping at them, they pulled off and lined up to attack. Apparently, they thought we were fully armed and decided not to attack from the rear. Summers dove toward the water, hoping to outrun them and give them no chance to fire from below.
The German pilots were probably sure they would score a kill that day by making off-angled, head-on passes. As they dove, Summers kicked the plane into a skid, which threw off their aim. We got no hits. We were now level over the ocean and Summers had the throttles firewalled.
The Ju.88s lined up for another head-on pass and Summers turned into them until a collision seemed inevitable. It was close and I thought they had missed again. They didn’t. This time a .303 tracer bullet ripped into the cockpit and threw glass all over Summers and Lohr. The number-three propeller began to run away, a possible prelude to its breaking off and slicing into the fuselage like a giant power saw. If it did, it could cut the airplane in half.
Up front, Summers was nearly blinded but kept control of the plane as we roared along only a few feet above the waves. Lohr, however, had been hit in the arm and fell against the control wheel. Blood soaked his clothing. The bullet had struck the instrument panel, bounced around the cockpit, and burned a scarf Lohr had in his lap. Dazed, he got out of his seat and stood by the throttle quadrant.
Summers shouted for me and I came forward as Lohr stumbled toward me. I helped him to a seat; Lemnitzer was still firing the gun, but stopped to help Lohr when he saw how badly he had been hit. I took Lohr’s place in the copilot’s seat and realized we were in real trouble with that number-three prop. Summers wrestled with the controls to keep us out of the water while I tried to feather it. I had never flown a B-17 before and was glad Summers seemed to be all right.
Fortunately, the propeller slowed down somewhat, but held at a high rpm. This meant the governor had not failed completely, but our speed was cut down. Our troubles weren’t over. The Ju.88s were still there making head-on passes, and Lemnitzer returned to firing his gun from the radio compartment. We think he damaged one of them.
Suddenly, the four enemy planes, one of them smoking, broke away from us and headed toward land. After the war we learned that the only reason they broke off the attack was that they were low on gas and almost didn’t make it back to their base.
Four hours after takeoff from Hurn, we landed at Gibraltar. It was my first combat mission as commander of the 12th Air Force. I logged two hours of B-17 copilot combat time in my logbook. Lohr was sent to the hospital and joined his unit a few weeks later at Biskra.
1. Arnold, Henry H., memorandum for the Chief of Staff. Subject: North African Operations. August 19, 1942.
2. Spaatz, Carl, personal letter to General Henry H. Arnold, signed “Tooey,” dated August 27, 1942.