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Copyright Aerothentic Publications & Grafix 2009. Please contact the author below for further information
about the U.S Fifth Air Force:

Michael John Claringbould

Box 5136, Kingston
ACT 2604
AUSTRALIA
email : info@aerothentic.com

The legal and moral right of the author has been asserted to be identified as the original and sole creator of
this work. All rights reserved. This book or any part thereof must not be reproduced in any form (including
electronic storage, electronic transmission or duplication) without permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloguing in data:

Claringbould, Michael John

Includes bibliographic references and appendices
Forty of the Fifth – Biographies and accounts of forty Fifth Air Force aircraft

Bibliography p.cm
1. World War, 1939 45 Aerial Operations, American.
2. USAAC, Air Force 5th History.
3. World War 1939 45 campaigns Australia New Guinea Hollandia Philippines Japan

D.790.M23 1995
ISBN 940542695

PDF-printed in A4 size. 62,948 words, assembled and laid out using Adobe Indesign CS4
Printed in Times New Roman 12, published by Aerothentic Publications and Grafix TM, Australia 2009.
Original text and captions written whilst in Australia, Fiji, Solomon Islands, New Caledonia, New Zea-
land and Vanuatu 1995-99. This ebook edition proofed at Breakas Resort, Port Vila, August 2009.
Aerothentic Grafix (TM) uses Photoshop PS4 as their tool of choice.

CREDITS
Chief Proofreader: Errol J. Flemming of Albury, NSW
Documentary and bibliographic assistance: John Cushing of the U.S State Department
Field researcher (Papua New Guinea): John Douglas and J. Richard Leahy
Field researcher (USA): Justin Taylan of www.pacificwrecks.com
Field researcher (Solomon Islands): Edielon Gii
Consultants: Wiley O. Woods, Ted Roberts, Larry Hickey, Bruce Hoy, Kelly Ryun & Ira Adams
Inspiration: the writings of Steve Birdsall
MIA consultant: Major Howard Lim of CILHI, US Military, Hawaii
Color Historys by Aerothentic Grafix TM
Consultant editor: Rob Fox
Adobe (TM) Software for their superlative products, this book being created in InDesign CS4
 2

FOREWORD

My intention in this book has been to capture the quintessential Fifth Air Force. It has not been easy, for
it is one of those areas of history where to learn more is to more fully appreciate the sheer vastness of their
operations and history. After three decades of obsession, gaps in my knowledge are still wide.

I had wanted to write this book for many years, and most of this work’s foundations were laid during
the course of my 1995-98 Pacific travels. There were fascinating insights in the process. Although he does not
know it, it was a facsimile I received in 1998 from Ted Roberts of Banning, California which was the final
push I needed to assemble this work. I was living in Suva, Fiji, at the time and Ted told me he was still search-
ing for his younger brother, Tommy, who went MIA in New Guinea in 1944 (History 35). I had encountered a
similar case a few years prior with a daughter who was still trying to find her father (History 25). My records
on the Fifth Air Force are extensive, and I was initially confident in both cases that I would hold historical
data which would throw light on both losses. Alas, I could not, and the more material Ted Roberts sent me,
the more curious I became. On this basis I became determined to assemble a work which would link man and
machine, for without that nexus, none of this history would have occurred, nor would it have been worthwhile.

Behind every wartime machine there is a history, complete with all its human endeavors, failings and
successes. There are gaps in these biographies, for indeed a book could be written on almost every Fifth Air
Force aircraft. However, with or without committing the details to paper, each of these aircraft wrote an indel-
ible record in the conquest of Japan.

Ten years after I first put pen to paper, I decided to release the book in electronic format. This enhances
the presentation of color graphics, and in some cases more detailed photos, which so assist the portrayal of the
Fifth Air Force. The new format also incorporates numerically more photos, benefitting from a further decade
of collection against this fine air force. In some cases I was also able to add more information to the histories,
and make minor corrections as required, although thankfully these were few.

As I collected the histories and photos of individual aircraft in the 1990s I recall fondly that I was so
ably assisted by people across the globe. Indeed, one the work’s more arduous tasks was compiling the list of
primary sources, for there were countless. I’m sure I’ve left some out – to those people I extent my apologies.
There are many who have deep and ongoing interest in my modest publications. To those who have supported
my past works, and continue to support my ongoing research, I extend my gratitude. However, in the end of
course it is those who served in the Fifth Air Force to whom thanks must go.

………………………………………….
Michael John Claringbould
Canberra, ACT, Australia 2009, December 2009
 3

FORTY OF THE FIFTH

CONTENTS
History One. “A Wonderful Lesson Can be Learned” Page 6
MORTIMER, NORTH AMERICAN B-25C-1 MITCHELL #41-12443

History Two. Airacobra Versus the Imperial Fliers Page 9

(UNNAMED) BELL P-39F AIRACOBRA #41-7170

History Three. An Extraordinary Twelve Minutes Page 15

SNOOKS 5TH, NORTH AMERICAN F-6D MUSTANG #44-14841,

History Four. Australia’s only American MIA Page 20

(UNNAMED), BOEING B-17E FLYING FORTRESS #41-2650

History Five. Avoiding Japanese and Communists Page 22

(UNNAMED), NORTH AMERICAN B-25J-20-NA #44-29306

History Six. Bump in the Night Page 24

(UNNAMED) BOEING B-17E FORTRESS #42-2460

History Seven. Cloud Covered Oblivion Page 26

(UNNAMED) CURTISS C-46D COMMANDO #44-78490

History Eight. Commander with Character Page 27

SPOOK, DOUGLAS A-20A-DO #40-109

History None. Confused Surrender Page 30

(UNNAMED) DOUGLAS C-54E-1-DO SKYMASTER #44-9045

History Ten. Demise Sudden and Unexpected Page 33

BABY DOLL, DOUGLAS A-20G-25-DO HAVOC #43-9113

History 11. Desperate Days – the Retreat to Broome Page 35

YARD BIRD, LB-30 LIBERATOR II BRITISH SERIAL AL515

History 12. Endurance Beyond Words Page 42

FLYING DUTCHMAN, DOUGLAS C-47A #41-18564

History 13. Engine Number Four, then Number Three Page 46

PATCHED UP PIECE, CONSOLIDATED F-7A # 42-64047
 4

History 14. Enter the Widow Page 50

SKIPPY/NOCTURNAL NEMESIS P-61A BLACK WIDOW #42-5502

History 15. Famous Fortress Page 51

THE SWOOSE, BOEING B-17D FLYING FORTRESS #40-3097

History 16. Final Aerial Combat of the War Page 55

(UNNAMED) CONSOLIDATED B 32-35-CF #42-108578

History 17. “From Hindsight it was a Jinx” Page 58

TAXPAYER’S PRIDE, BOEING B-17F FLYING FORTRESS #41-24448

History 18. Half-Century Phoenix Page 60

BIG NIG, DOUGLAS A-20G-25-DO HAVOC #43-9436

History 19. Life and Times of Iverson’s Baby Page 64

BIG EMMA, CONSOLIDATED B-24D-1-CO LIBERATOR #41-23751

History 20. Low-Level and the Moresby Wreck Page 69

CHATTERBOX, NORTH AMERICAN B-25D-5-NA MITCHELL #41-30088

History 21. Mitchell with Two Lives Page 74

TONDELAYO/ CHOW HOUND, NORTH AMERICAN B-25D-20 #41-30669

History 22. Most Famous Wreckoneer Page 79

STINKY JO, NORTH AMERICAN B-25D-25 MITCHELL #42-87292

History 23. Old Reliable Page 81

‘OLD S’, DOUGLAS A-20G-30-DO HAVOC #43-9468

History 24. One of the Disappeared Page 84

CHIEF SEATTLE, BOEING B-17E FLYING FORTRESS #41-2656

History 25. Paternal Pilgrimage Page 85

(UNNAMED) NO 91, REPUBLIC P-47D-11-RA #42-22896

History 26. “Pretty Unhappy” Page 89

(UNNAMED) CURTISS P-40N-5-CU WARHAWK #42-105909

History 27. Rescue or supplies, anyone ? Page 91

SWAMP ANGEL, STINSON L-5A # 42-98702

History 28. Rim Shot Page 94

(UNNAMED) CONSOLIDATED B-24M-20-CO #44-42240
 5
History 29. Shark-toothed Whale Page 97
MOBY DICK, CONSOLIDATED B-24D-15-CO LIBERATOR #41-24047

History 30. Shower Under the Wing Page 100

MAN-O-WAR, DOUGLAS C-47 #41-18602

History 31. Slugfest of the Mediums Page 105

MITCH THE WITCH, NORTH AMERICAN B-25D-25 MITCHELL #42-87293

History 32. Sole Survivor Page 106

(UNNAMED) CONSOLIDATED B-24J-135-CO #42-110121

History 33. Still There Page 108

UNNAMED DOUGLAS A-20G-15-DO HAVOC #42-54157

History 34. Sword to Ploughshare Page 110

LITTLE HELLION, DOUGLAS A-20A #40-166

History 35. The Hunter in Tommy Roberts Page 114

(UNNAMED) BELL P-39Q-6-BE AIRACOBRA #42-19949

History 36. “The New Attack Bomber” Page 118

(UNNAMED) DOUGLAS A-26B # 44-34332

History 37. Two theatre Lightning Page 119

(SKULL WITH TOPHAT) LOCKHEED P-38F-5-LO #42-12623

History 38. “What No Enemy Had Been Able to Achieve” Page 124
DIXIE, MARTIN B-26 MARAUDER # 40-1496

History 39. Where is Bong’s Lightning ? Page 129

MARGE, LOCKHEED P-38J-15-LO LIGHTNING #42-103993

History 40. Wire Handles Page 130

RAVIN RACHAEL, DOUGLAS A-20G-25-DO HAVOC #43-9126
 6

History One: “A Wonderful Lesson Can be Learned”

Mortimer, North American B-25C-1 Mitchell #41-12443
90th Bombardment Squadron/ 3rd Bombardment Group
Disappeared over Coral Sea 1st July 1943

Mortimer was named after Edgar Bergen’s comic character ‘Mortimer Snerd’ by one of its original crew-
members, some of whom it outlived. This C model Mitchell was assigned into the 90th Bombardment Squad-
ron of the 3rd Attack Group on 31st March 1942, and as such was one of the first of the type to be deployed
in the SWPA theatre. Originally placed under the command of 1/Lt Arden M. Rulison, who took Mortimer on
the first Mitchell combat mission in the theatre, the raid consisted of six Mitchells led by Group Commander
Colonel ‘Big Jim’ Ian Davies. After having staged through 7-mile airfield at Port Moresby from Charters
Towers, Davies executed an audacious low-level strafing run over the recently-constructed Japanese airfield
at Gasmata on 6th April 1942. The returning pilots were jubilant. Mortimer and friends had deposited their
bombs into an assortment of enemy aircraft lodged in square-shaped revetments. The returned crews claimed
nine fighters and two bombers destroyed on the ground, but one Mitchell was written off at 7 Mile from flak
damage after its safe return to Moresby. The following day the remaining five returned to their Charters Tow-
ers base via Cooktown.

Mortimer sports the first version of her

art work, seen parked at Cairns, Aus-
tralia in 1942. Note the addition of the
strafer machine-gun pack under the
cockpit, added as a field modification in
Townsville.

Only three days later Mortimer participated in a unique mission, joining nine other Mitchells and three
Fortresses on a clear day above Northern Australia and headed for Mindanao. This Philippines’ airfield was
more than two thousand mile distant, and there the assortment of thirteen aircraft refueled from hidden caches
of gasoline drums. The formation, led by Brigadier General Ralph Royce and ‘Big Jim’ Davies, then com-
 7
menced a series of four hit-and-run raids which constituted the longest bombing expeditions in the history
of aerial warfare to date. For two days the bombers used Mindanao as a base from which to deliver surprise
blows to the Japanese, who at this early stage of the war were concentrating their military efforts against Lt
General Jonathan Wainwright’s forces on the Bataan Peninsula. On one of this series of Philippines’ raids,
Mortimer was lead ship of an element which bombed Cebu Harbor and claimed two transports sunk, and a
third damaged. After this series of ‘Royce’ missions Mortimer returned to duty at Charters Towers and 7-Mile,
Port Moresby, where it was alternately assigned to different pilots. During the Battle of the Coral Sea, 1/Lt J.
R. Smith conducted good work from Mortimer when he shadowed the Japanese aircraft carrier task force. For
their contributions to this vital battle, all of Mortimer's crew were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

On a strafing mission to Lae and Salamaua on 25th May 1942 in another Mitchell, Mortimer’s original
former pilot Arden Rulison was shot down by A6M2 fighters of the Tainan Kokutai, and reported missing
in action. Prestige lay in store for Mortimer the following month when it damaged a Japanese submarine,
discovered trailing an Allied convoy between Australia and New Guinea. Around this time, Jack Fox, North
American's field service civilian representative to the Army Air Corps in the region, conducted an interim
review study of Mortimer’s first sixty-two combat missions. His report disclosed that twenty of the missions
had been bombing raids, and the other forty-two armed reconnaissance patrols. Bombs had been unloaded on
Japanese targets during more than half the missions.

In 1943 Mortimer sports the

second version of her art
work. The name appears in
flowing script, along with am-
bitious claims of Japanese
fighters shot down.

On 27th May 1942 Major Evanoff was flying Mortimer when both engines faltered badly at 8,000 feet
whilst approaching Salamaua, near Lae, for a bomb run. Whilst the problem was doubtless attributable to
faulty fuel transfer, the Mitchell nevertheless descended to 3,000 feet before both engines thankfully surged
(Evanoff stated later that he had been ready to give the order to bail out just as they came back to life). Among
others who were assigned Mortimer was Major Thomas Gerrity of Chicago. Gerrity flew the bomber for at
least fifteen missions, but on 3rd March 1943 it was 2/Lt Gordon McCoun who took Mortimer across Japa-
nese troop ships, guns chugging, during the opening low level gambit of the Battle of the Bismark Sea. On
this historic day the strafer was in good company with its other 90th Bombardment Squadron contemporaries.

For the next few days Mortimer and others carried on the bloody task of strafing the survivors in the
water in what constituted exhausting, and at times demoralizing, work. Around this time of the bomber’s ca-
reer Fox submitted another report to his headquarters, referring specifically to the Battle of the Bismark Sea,
“Participating in the latest Jap attempted convoy landing at Lae, Mortimer and crew, in low-level flying and
attack bombing, acquitted themselves damned well, scoring several direct hits and one possible transport,
without injury to ship or crew. Mortimer has more notches in its belt than any of the gun toting desperadoes of
fanciful Western history. Its record includes nine Zeros shot down, five by the upper turret gunners, two by the
lower turret gunners, and two by the bombardiers. One crew also sank a transport in Lae Harbor and scored
 8
damaging hits on another, which, added to the ships sunk or damaged and previously mentioned, gives this
airplane an outstanding record. This ship, although relatively old and in need of overhaul, still goes on and is
doing as well as any of the latest arrivals. Old Mortimer is always going strong, and it is earnestly hoped that
it will be with us as long as there is someone around in this bombardment group to fly it”.

Feather Merchant was one of

Mortimer’s squadron contempo-
raries, also seen here at Cairns.

th
Crews & Aircraft - Strafing attack by 90 Bombardment Squadron
rd
Battle of Bismarck Sea, 1000 hours 3 March 1943

Henebry, John 41-12962 Sbisa, John 41-12946 Margaret

Howe, Charles 41-12980 Here’s Howe Smallwood, John 41-12970
McCoun, Gordon 41-12443 Mortimer Chatt, Robert 41-30088 Chatterbox
McKee, Keith 41-12981 McNutt, Don 41-12482
Moore, Roy 41-12442 Feather Merchant Larner, Edward 41-12969 Spook II
Reed, Robert 41-12487 Miss Snafu Reid, Harlan 41-12793

With a touch typical of Fox and his expressive language, he concluded that T/Sgt Simmons, Mortimer's
regular crew chief, was much deserving of credit for the plane's reliable record, "It is his baby. A wonderful
lesson can he learned by many in just watching Sergeant Simmons going over his airplane so diligently and
minutely." Fox noted that at this stage of its combat career, the aircraft had accumulated approximately five
hundred and seventy hours total flying time, of which approximately three hundred were actual combat. Like
so many other Fifth Air force aircraft with distinguished combat careers, Mortimer’s demise was undramatic.
On 1st July 1943 it went missing over the Coral Sea during a reconnaissance patrol, and no trace of it or its
crew has ever surfaced.

Jack Fox, civilian representative for North American Air-

craft Corporation, poses with Lil’ Fox, the first B-25 he
converted to carry a 75mm canon (credit Jack Heyn).
 9

History Two: Airacobra Versus the Imperial Fliers

(Unnamed) Bell P-39F Airacobra #41-7170
35th Fighter Squadron, 8th Fighter Group
Final disposition unknown

A profile of the P-39F Wagner flew on the mission. The serial number on the tail was a peculiar
font applied in the Bell factory. The ‘Cobra in the clouds’ motif of the 39th Fighter Squadron ap-
pears on the door, a legacy from when the fighter previously served with this unit.

This Airacobra led the 8th Fighter Group on its very first combat mission, and was assigned to Lt Colo-
nel Boyd D. ‘Buzz’ Wagner, former Commander of the 17th Pursuit Squadron in the Philippines. The squad-
ron had flown first combat against the Japanese just after Pearl Harbor, and within its first two weeks of
operations, Wagner had become the Army Air Corp’s first ace, and at age twenty-six, the youngest Air Corps
colonel in military service. After the squadron’s retreat from the Philippines, Wagner was placed in charge
of all Air Corps fighter operations in Australia. It was on this basis that he decided to lead the 8th Fighter
Group’s first ever combat mission.

On 26th April 1942 twenty-six P-39s arrived at Garbutt Field, Townsville, from the nearby satellite fields
of Woodstock and Antil Plains. They over nighted at Cairns the following evening before flying to Horn Island
next day. From the island they conducted a patrol and set off for Port Moresby the following morning. Japa-
nese air-raids on Port Moresby were frequent however. Furthermore, Japanese fighters based at Lae had all but
destroyed RAAF No. 75 Squadron, by now reduced down to a handful of weary P-40Es. Wagner timed their
Port Moresby arrival to occur after noon because any expected air raids should have finished by then. Aware
also that aerial reconnaissance would warn the Japanese of an impending fighter strike, because of the sudden
increase of Airacobras on the Field, Wagner ordered the strike occur that afternoon.

2/Lt Don McGee had experienced a propeller oil leak for most of the journey from Townsville. It was
examined and supposedly fixed at Cairns, but just before landing at 7 Mile the seal started leaking again. The
landing strip was narrow and McGee’s windscreen quickly clogged with dusty oil. When taxiing in, his Aira-
cobra hit the wing of 36th Squadron Operations officer, ‘Izzy’ Toubman. The damage to McGee’s aircraft was
slight, but it kept him off the highly anticipated mission. Shortly afterwards the Airacobras, six of them still
with warm engines from the delivery flight, were refueled and armed, including Wagner’s #170. The attack
force was planned for fourteen Airacobras with Captain George Greene as Wagner’s deputy. Wagner con-
ducted the briefing in a tent not far from the flight line. The pilots were eager but serious, and they proceeded
immediately to their fighters after the briefing. Takeoff was set for 1300 hours, and the plan was to climb to
20,000 feet to traverse the towering Owen Stanley Ranges. The flight would then descend to one hundred feet
before approaching Lae from the sea. Then Bell’s finest would strafe the airfield and anything else they could
find. Depending on the Japanese reaction, the flyers would then bank left to Salamaua and repeat the process.
 10

A just-assembled P-39F in the early days in Australia, in this case one parked
outside a Mareeba hangar in mid-1942. In 2009 this hangar was still there.

A mechanical problem prevented Bennett’s Airacobra from reaching the runway however, then shortly after
launch Casey and Featherstone turned back with engine troubles. Thus eleven fighters instead of the planned
fourteen let down over the mountains, and they commenced their attack at exactly 1437 hours. Navy G4M1
and G3M bombers and A6M2 fighters were caught napping on Lae’s muddy runway, and in one hasty pass
the Airacobras claimed five bombers destroyed. The Americans banked sharp left at low level, then riddled
three floatplanes anchored near Lae’s shore before heading directly for Salamaua’s jutting isthmus in the dis-
tance. In less than seven minutes the Airacobras were dealing with forewarned and alert Japanese gunners at
Salamaua. A shed blew up in flames in the same moment that a fuel dump exploded into an orange blossom
of fire. Under camouflage nets were hidden supplies into which the Airacobras unloaded their chugging guns.
Meanwhile fully alerted Zeros of the Tainan Kokutai at Lae scrambled through the smoke, and headed for
Salamaua too, where they descended towards the fleeing American fighters. Greene saw one A6M2 on the tail
of another P-39 and dived down to help. When the Zero entered a stall turn Greene fired two bursts into it at
the top of the turn. He thought the Zero fell into the water, but could not be sure.

Campbell loosed shots at another Mitsubishi, and Erickson got a passing burst at another before he turned his
Airacobra’s nose for home. The remaining Airacobras soon climbed for home too, carefully watching their
tails. The pace had been sudden, the battle over almost as soon as it had begun. Wagner led the Airacobras
back to 7-Mile, but during the return flight it appeared that several were missing. The landing pilots were nev-
ertheless ecstatic when every indication showed that the mission had been successful. Various aerial victories
against the Japanese Zeros were made, including by Wagner who claimed three. Matters soon became more
serious however. As several hours passed neither Andres, Bevlock nor Durand had re-appeared.
 11

Major overhaul and assembly of aircraft was carried out at Townsville, Queens-
land. This P-39F sports the ‘Skull in the Tophat’ insignia which appeared on
several 39th Fighter Squadron Airacobras, and later on their P-38 Lightnings.

Wagner gathered the returning pilots around him and re-lived the battle with a mixture of both the significant
and humorous. The most solemn issue was analyzing how the Airacobras had fared against the Zero. Some
Americans had tried to turn with the enemy, and were quick to note that the enemy “didn't lose a beat” in get-
ting on their tails. It was agreed however that the Airacobra was generally as fast as the Zero, and in a pinch
could dive away from it. All too often however, Bell’s creation cruised helplessly below Japanese formations
which could climb to altitude much more quickly, thus giving the tactical advantage of height. The wrap up
drew firm conclusions.

More early days in Australia. A P-40E and P-39F await overhaul at Mareeba, Queensland.

What had happened to the missing pilots was gradually pieced together. Meng told Wagner that he had led
Bevlock into a right hand diving turn when several Zeros tried to break up his flight. The two Airacobras had
thus evaded the Japanese, but were heading north, away from home and thus endangering their fuel. Meng
 12
turned them left turn into cloud for the return climb over the Owen Stanleys. However, the same Zeros caught
up and once again the two became embroiled in a retreating fight, using the clouds for cover and alternating
their concerns between their high fuel consumption and avoiding the Japanese. It was shortly after this that
Meng lost sight of Bevlock, and Meng barely made 7 Mile. When he landed his Airacobra it had nothing left
in the tanks.

That evening the squadron retired pondering the fate of their three missing comrades, but there was
nothing which could be done. It turned out that Bevlock and Brown had stuck together after getting lost on
the return. Bevlock had landed on a beach on New Guinea’s southern coastline near Hood Point about eighty
miles east of Port Moresby after becoming lost and low on fuel, whilst Brown had put down in a grassy area
about ten miles inland from Bevlock. Both flyers, with the assistance of natives, eventually returned to Seven-
Mile. Bevlock reported to Wagner two days later, but Brown’s return several days after this astonished even
the squadron’s old guard. He returned triumphantly on the back of a truck with a trussed Japanese pilot in tow.

It turned out that Australian soldiers had captured Petty Officer Yoshimitsu Maeda who, after sustaining
damage to Zero tail marking V-110 over Port Moresby, had forced-landed to the east of Otomata Plantation.4
Andres reported to Wagner about a week later. It turned out that his Airacobra, its coolant system damaged by
anti-aircraft fire, had force-landed some eighteen miles south of Buna. It took Andres nearly a week to get
back. Durand was another matter. Several pilots reported last seeing his Airacobra streaming smoke about
twenty miles south of Salamaua. Weeks later word came back which angered the entire squadron. Natives
loyal to Allied forces reported that Durand had been captured then executed by the Japanese.

A P-39F is assembled at Amberley, Queensland, in

April 1942. It will be flight-tested and placed within
operational service within a week. This ‘cobra is
definitely an F model, despite the 12 exhaust stacks
common to the P-400, a quirk on engine placements
in the early Fs.

2/Lt Louis Meng escaped back to Port Moresby af-

ter a running fight with Zeros over the Owen Stanley
mountains. He landed with nothing left in his tanks.
 13

Wagner's drew up a report for the day, historical in both language and content (Wagner kept the number
of Airacobras as thirteen as he did not wish to inform his superiors of the aborts) :

SUBJECT:Report on first action against Japanese by P-39 type airplane.

TO:Commanding General, USAFIA, Melbourne, (thru channels).

On Friday April 30th, thirteen P-39D's took off from Port Mo-
resby on a ground strafing mission against Lae Airdrome, 180 miles north.
Approach was made on Lae from fifty miles out to sea at about 100 feet
to avoid detection. When about twenty miles out, four planes were sent
ahead to engage Japanese security patrol over Lae Drome and no resist-
ance by air was encountered during the strafing. Inaccurate ground M.G.
and ack-ack fire was observed. A line of 13 to 15 bombers was strafed
from a sea approach in 3-3 plane element. The planes in each element were
disposed in echelon right. Our strafing planes were then attacked from
above by several Zero fighters. Belly tanks were dropped immediately and
throttles opened. Our formation began to pull away from Zeros when last
four P-39s in formation engaged in combat with the Zeros. In the mean-
time, more Zeros appeared and it is estimated that there were twelve to
thirteen altogether. The four P-39s were hopelessly outnumbered so the
entire formation was turned back and a terrific dogfight ensued between 13
P-39s and about an equal number of Zeros. This fight continued down the
coast for about 30 miles and back again. The Zero outperformed the P-39s
very markedly in maneuverability and climb. The P-39, however, with no
belly tank could pull away from the Zero.

CONCLUSIONS:

1. Lack of rear armor plate protection for the engine and the re-
sultant high vulnerability are the greatest disadvantages of the P-39
type airplane. All P-39s shot down were hit in the engine and the cool-
ant system.

2. P-39F Hydraulic propellers throw oil making visibility forward

very poor due to oily windshield. Attempts have been made to stop this
oil leakage by installation of new type gaskets, but complete success
has not resulted.

3. Armament (A) All guns should have hydraulic gun chargers. Charg-
ing forces are too great except for .50 caliber fuselage guns for aver-
age pilot. (B) 50 caliber gun solenoids are too weak and frequently fail
indicating either inferior equipment or faulty installation design.

4. Main landing gear tires are too small causing the plane to bog
down very easily in soft ground or spongy runway. P-40 size tires have
proved quite satisfactory.

5. Nose gear is too delicate to withstand normal operations on the

type landing strips now in use. Many have been broken even while taxiing.

6. Radio installation is out of date. A single transmitter and re-

ceiver has been found to be insufficient in close up operations where our
frequencies are frequently and easily jammed. Radio installation in the
Curtis P-40E-1 is the more desirable. This installation provides for two
transmitters and three receivers.

7. Only one belly tank is provided for each P-39 airplane. For mis-
 14
sions over 100 miles from home airdrome, belly tank should be used, to
be dropped in case of combat. It is estimated that at least five belly
tanks should be provided with each airplane.

8. P-39 gives very poor performance above 18,000 feet The hand wobble
pump or emergency electric fuel pump must be used to maintain sufficient
fuel pressure for good engine operation.

Generally speaking, the P-39 is an excellent anti-bombardment fighter

at altitudes up to 18,000 feet. Above 18,000 feet performance is sluggish
and rate of climb very low. The 37mm cannon is an extremely desirable
weapon but "bugs" are still being eliminated. Stoppages in the air are
frequent and it is difficult to reload and recharge during combat because
of the high loading and charging forces. Comparatively speaking in per-
formance the P-39 airplane is believed to be about ten percent better in
every respect than the P-40 airplane, except in maneuverability in which
case the P-40 is slightly better. Above statements are the consensus of
opinion of pilots participating in the above described combat missions.

B.D. WAGNER Lt Col., Air Corps.

Led by Wagner, the pilots assigned for the 30th April 1942 mission were:

35th Squadron 36th Squadron

Capt. George Greene (deputy leader) Charles Schwimmer
Arthur Andres (force-landed near Buna) Harley Brown (forced-landed)
Edward D. Durand (MIA) James Bevlock (forced-landed)
Donald Campbell Elmer Ghram
Irving Erickson Bill Bennett*
John Casey* Louis Meng
Fred Featherstone*

*(Those with asterisks did not make the mission due to mechanical problems)

This is the A6M2 which Petty Officer Yoshimitsu Maeda force-landed east of Port Moresby. Maeda
got caught when he chased some U.S Mitchells all the way from Lae, getting hit by return fire in the
process. The Zero was brought back to Port Moreby for technical evaluation, hence we are privy to
its precise markings. Maeda was interned at the Australian Prisoner-of-War camp at Cowra in New
South Wales. He returned to Japan after the war, where he lived under alias.
 15
Wagner returned to the United States in mid-1942 where was appointed test pilot to the Curtiss Aircraft
Corporation in New York State. The aircraft lived out its life with the 8th Fighter Group and was probably
scrapped after the unit transferred to P-38s, although its final disposition is unclear. Wagner was not as for-
tunate, and considering his fame and wartime deeds, met an unmemorable death. One evening on a routine
delivery flight he departed Eglin Field, Florida, bound for Maxwell Field Alabama. He never arrived and an
extensive search turned up nothing. The remains of this enigmatic American would not be discovered for an-
other five weeks, in a field by a farmer searching for his stray cattle. An account of this mission would be in-
complete without a postscript of the remarkable recovery of the two Airacobras forced landed and abandoned
by Bevlock and Brown in the Hood Point area from this historic mission. Due of the continuing shortage of
aircraft in the early stages of the war, particularly fighters, it was deemed worthwhile to attempt recovery of
both. However, not only was there a shortage of aircraft at Port Moresby, there was likewise for seaworthy
vessels.

Thus it was not until early October 1942 that an intrepid US recovery team set off in a small cabin cruiser
to return to Hood Point. The cruiser made its passage outside the main reef, and the sea was rough. For a finale
it foundered onto the reef guarding Hood Bay, and in order to save the boat, all heavy cargo was jettisoned, and
quickly. The wastage included petrol drums, an A-4 type recovery hoist, and an assortment of larger Airacobra
parts. Shortly afterwards the vessel half-capsized however, spilling many essential handtools overboard. Al-
though some of these were later recovered by native divers from Hula village, a Tiger Moth was summonsed
from Port Moresby with a replacement set of tools. When the team arrived at Bevlock’s P-39F on the beach
they found that it had a bent propeller, broken oil and prestone coolers, bent flaps and flap links, a damaged
bottom cowling, as likewise were the booster pump and associated C-2 assembly. Since the metal A frame
had been lost overboard during the reef adventure, another was improvised under coconut trees. Bevlock’s
Airacobra was thus raised, but insufficiently high to lower the undercarriage. To do this holes were dug under
the main wheels, and “with the assistance of about 100 natives the ship was towed to a spot where it could be
worked on”. A runway was cleared and marked on the beach at low tide and despite its time on the beach the
Airacobra was subsequently flown back to Port Moresby on 15th October 1942 with flaps and gear inoperative
(speculation as to whether the pilot was awarded a medal for this flight is perhaps justified). With Bevlock’s
aircraft out of the way, the salvage crew next used a native canoe to go inland to get to Brown’s. The US team
completely dismantled the aircraft and brought it back to the coast piece by piece, with native assistance. It
was then shipped back to Port Moresby on a larger vessel.6 Meanwhile, Bevlock had been killed the month
before, on 10th September 1942, whilst joyflighting a Tiger Moth over Magnetic Island near Townsville. The
biplane suffered structural failure and fell from the sky, taking Bevlock with it.

History Three: An Extraordinary Twelve Minutes

Snooks 5th, North American F-6D Mustang #44-14841
82nd Tactical Reconn Squadron/ 71st Reconn Group
Seven kills in one mission 11th January 1945

The F-6D Shomo flew on the mission. After this legendary sortie, Shomo’s crew chief painted on
seven kill missions and a yellow fin tip. The name ‘Snooks 5th’ appeared in small flowing script just
under the fuselage serial stencil.
 16
Snooks 5th was the fighter responsible for the most extraordinary combat in Fifth Air Force history. The
one sided battle which unfolded in Philippines’ skies lasted only twelve minutes. It ultimately involved the de-
struction of seven airborne enemy aircraft. Captain William A. Shomo, aged twenty-seven, had been an under-
taker in Jeannette, Pennsylvania, before the war and had named his F-6D Mustang Snooks 5th. Shomo’s 82nd
Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron Mustang was not an ordinary one – in addition to its guns the F-6 was also
a reconnaissance model equipped with a sideways camera pack slung under the fuselage belly just forward of
the tail. At low altitudes, with cameras pointed directly left and right, the photographic detail could be superb.

The morning of 11th January 1945 dawned fine over Lingayen, and Shomo and 1/Lt Paul Lipscomb were
assigned a patrol to cover three major Japanese airfields in northern Luzon; Tuguegarao, in the middle of the
Cagayan Valley, Aparri Airdrome at the island’s Northern tip, and Laoag on the Northwest coast. These air-
fields were all major Japanese air bases apart from Clark Field near Manila. Shomo and Lipscomb were to be
escorted by six 3rd Commando Group Mustangs. They had no sooner launched when Lingayen tower recalled
the six escorts. Shomo asked whether the tower had any instructions for ‘Bulldog Leader’, the codename for
his two man flight. They had none, so the two Mustangs continued.

Both the 82nd and 110th TRS flew the F-6D,

the armed reconnaissance version of the P-
51D Mustang. This particular F-6D was as-
signed to Major Archlileta, CO of the 110th.

Shomo takes up the story in his own unique language, “I said to Lippy, "Hell, we weren't used to that
luxury of having cover anyway - let's go”. We had five hundred miles to get to Tuguegarao, and we were right
on schedule when we approached. The river came draped around the bottom tip of Tuguegarao airbase and
across the river was the touchdown of the runway. We were right at the river exactly two hours from take off,
right on time. I was just checking the time to verify it and I looked up and there were a bunch of clouds. We
were right on the deck, just off the trees, which was our normal method of operation. I looked up and saw
through the breaks in the clouds, at about 3,500 feet above us, three airplanes going in the opposite direction,
just above the clouds. Just a momentary glimpse of them and they were gone. We'd been briefed that there
was a bunch of Navy Corsairs off aircraft carriers that would be operating in the area, and we expected to
see them. I said, "Did you see that, Lippy?" "Yeah", he said, "those sons-of-bitches are Corsairs”. I said, "I'm
not so damned sure about that, let's go up and take a look”. So we did an Immelmann off the deck, right off
the beginning of the runway of that airport. We came up and rolled out at a little over 3,500 feet, headed in
the opposite direction. Now we were above the clouds and looking down on a complete formation. What we'd
seen through that break in the clouds were the last three airplanes on the left side of the formation. The rest of
them were all forward.

There was a Betty bomber sitting down there, and on the right and left wings there were two, two, two
and two. What we'd seen were the last element and wingman of the tail end on the left side. They were stacked
down in a big V, stacked fairly tight, flying south in the opposite direction. Twelve airplanes were escorting this
one bomber, eleven Tonys similar to our Mustangs with in-line engines, and one Tojo. The Tojo was tail-end
Charlie on the right side. When we made our Immelmann up off the deck and rolled out, we were going the
 17
same way they were. We were behind this formation, looking down on it, and I remember Lippy saying, "For
Christ sake, did you ever see so many meatballs?" There was no doubt what they were, so I said, "Lippy, we'll
make one pass down through the formation to reverse course back on the deck to Tuguegarao. Don't drop your
damn belly tank or wing tanks unless you're shot at - we need that fuel”. I don't know whether he answered
me or what the hell he did. Plahn says that he thought when I got back to base I said that I had told Lippy to
go down the right side and I'd go down the left. But, as it turned out, we were sitting closer to the left side, so
I poured the coal and started down through the left side.

I hit the tail-end Charlie and he blew up. I hit the element leader, and about that time, the wingman of the
next second or third element down threw open his canopy. He looked back and I pinned him right to the damn
cockpit, the dashboard, and he burst into a big ball of orange flame. At this particular point, Lippy came whis-
tling by me. To preserve our flight integrity, I tried to latch on to Lippy's wing and stay with him because he
was now ahead. As he passed me, he nailed the element leader of that second element. Then he started down
for the element on the left wing of the bomber, and he nailed the wingman of the leader on the left wing. So, he
had two at this point and I was trying to catch up with him. Then the first break up of the flight occurred. These
two over here, in the middle element on the right side broke off and came swinging across in a ninety degree
pass and tried to nail Lippy, but he had already gone by them. I couldn't get enough lead on the leader when he
came by, so, as he went whistling by, I nailed the wingman coming across with him. I was still coming straight
down, weaving down in a straight line, down through this formation and this guy comes whistling right by me
and I nailed him. So that was four.

Both the P-51D and F-6D were able to carry

long-range fuel tanks, attached to wing py-
lons as illustrated here (Aerothentic Grafix)

Lippy had two by this time and he was off to the side of the bomber and slightly above. He went down in
a big, dishing, sliding, skidding pass and he had his trigger down on his guns firing all the way. Looked like
he took a water hose and was spraying. You could see every one of those tracers fanning out past the bomber.
He didn't hit him because he was in this horrendous skid and half dive. He came out underneath the bomber
just to the right of it, and the nose gunner was looking right into his cockpit. Lippy had enough sense to realize
he had to get out of there because he was a sitting duck, so he did the logical thing and went straight up. By
this time I was coming down behind him, and I saw him make his skidding pass and pull up towards the nose
of the bomber. I popped my nose down because that tail gunner was sitting there and I could see that machine
gun. I could see those flashes coming out of it, blinking right at me. So I just squashed the nose down and then
horsed back on the stick and came up under the bomber at point blank range and started raking it across. I
fired one burst right out across the wing root, and followed Lippy straight up, once again trying to maintain
flight integrity. Just as I hit the wing root and started out, it burst into a big ball of flame.

At this point Lippy was going straight up and I was starting up after him. I lost sight of him going up
through those damn clouds and I started twisting, trying to pick him up. Then I realized Lippy had leveled out
on top and was now going in the opposite direction. I saw this other airplane, the element leader of the last
element, coming across at Lippy head on. I was looking up, coming up in a spiral, watching it and here they
were coming head-on firing at each other. They were firing continuously. You could see the damn tracers and
both lines looked like they were going into the prop hub of the other. The Jap started smoking from the right
side of the engine. A big black ball of smoke started rolling out.
 18
I had taught Lippy and all the other damn pilots that the first guy to break in a head-on pass is the dead
one. If you break upwards, your belly's a sitting duck, if you break down your cockpit is. Lippy was smart
enough to hang in there, right down, and he kept firing. Just about the time it looked like they were gonna
absolutely collide prop hub to prop hub, he popped the stick down and went underneath him. There were two
inches on the top of his tail bent in, apparently from the belly cowling of that airplane when he ducked under-
neath him like that. When he ducked under the Jap airplane like that, I thought he'd been hit. But he wasn't
hit. The Jap airplane rolled over this way and started down. He came whistling right down past me, trailing
this black smoke. I turned around, still climbing in a spiral and I looked back to see where the Jap was going,
to see whether it actually hit the ground. At that point I could see the bomber, which was still blazing like a
roman candle. He had leveled out down over a big grain field colored yellow which you could see waving in
the wind. The bomber tried to belly land in this field, blazing on the right wing, but still flying. Just as it was
touching down, two fighters which had stayed with it locked on the right wing. It just looked like they were
going to belly in too. They let out two puffs of black smoke, one out of each engine, when they poured the coal
to it. Just at that point, the bomber touched down and, boom, turned into a ball of flame. It just disintegrated,
pieces going everywhere, and these two Jap fighters kept right on going straight ahead, right off the grass,
away from it. In the meantime, I realized that the Tojo had come across and followed me through the twisting
spiral I had made. Every time I looked back he was firing, and he kept his finger on that trigger. As he would
start to pull in and get enough lead to nail me, I would kick the top rudder and tighten up. He never could get
quite enough lead. It wasn't very difficult to do because I could see him coming, so I was able to stay inside his
tracers. We made about three turns after that, going up, and I knew he would stall because I had more power
than he did. We were still vertical and he was still trying to get enough lead, when he stalled out and whipped
over, so I dropped down behind him.

Shomo’s first fighter was

this P-39Q Airacobra, seen
with Shomo posing on the
wing at Finschhafen, New
Guinea, in early 1944. All of
Shomo’s five fighters were
named Snooks.

Just as I was about to nail him, he entered cloud. So, he disappeared. At that point, I turned saw Lippy
way off to one side, and I said to Lippy, "We're gonna make one more pass down after those two going across
the field down there”. I was closer than Lippy so I just made a diving pass and came in. That's one place I
made a real tactical error. These two were still in formation, right on the grass - the top of this grain or what-
ever it was. I pulled up alongside the wingman, intending to hit the leader first. I should’ve hit the wingman
first and then the leader, but for some reason I pulled up right in position to nail the leader. I was sitting wing
tip to wing tip with this Jap wingman. I looked across and he looked at me; he was hunched down. When he
looked at me he just turned that airplane up on its wing and made a very tight turn - pulled streamers - and the
grain parted and everything else. He dragged his wing through the grass, leveled out and took off at a ninety
degree direction to the mountains. He wanted no part of this. Well, he'd have had me dead to rights at that
point, because I was still overtaking him. All he had to do was chop his throttle and pull in behind me and he
had me cold. But he didn't, he whipped off to the right. So I just fired a short burst into the leader and he went
 19
tumbling end over end and burst into flames. I made another ninety degree turn, following this other guy, and
I nailed him about a hundred and fifty yards out across the grain and he blew up. Lippy caught up with me
about that time. He'd come out of a diving turn, but he was further back.

So I said, "Lippy let's reverse course here now and we'll take pictures of these wrecks burning on the
ground”. Everywhere you looked it seemed like there was a burning wreck. The grass, or grain, was also burn-
ing. So, we took pictures of that. We got back to Tuguegarao and I looked at my watch and said, "Lippy, it's just
twelve minutes now", because from time when we arrived there till the time back was a total of twelve minutes.
This included taking pictures of the wrecks on the ground. It all happened much faster than you can tell it. So
the pictures we took going back validated our kills. Without those pictures - we didn't have gun cameras - we
would not have been able to validate the kills. When we got back to Tuguegarao, I looked around and Lippy
was floating around back of me, and I said, "Let's go ahead and get our packs out as we still haven't dropped
our wing tanks. Lets get going”. Just before we got back to base I said, "Lippy, you gonna go in and make your
victory rolls?" He answered, "Yep". So we came in, made two, came around, made two more, came around,
made two more and then spun around and made the seventh one”.

Another warm morning at Lingayen. A 348th Fighter Group P-51D is serviced not far from where
the 82nd TRS was based on the same strip. Note the pyramid tents which dot the area, universal
accommodation for the Fifth Air Force which appeared from Australia to Japan 1942/ 45.

Shortly after the mission Japanese radio announced the loss of a senior Japanese Army Air Force Com-
mander on the 11th January 1945. He had been a passenger in the Army bomber Shomo shot down. Shomo
had spectacularly broken all Fifth Air Force records with seven confirmed kills on one mission, and he was
told he would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. However, there was much propaganda value in
Shomo, and the Air Corps wanted him to return to the United States to specially receive the medal at either
the Pentagon or White house. Shomo was lukewarm about the idea, so they tried to lure him with the offer of
a six month bond selling tour. Shomo, "Boy, that really did it. Two years in the jungle, and I was not about
to go back and live out of a suitcase and hotels selling bonds, forget it. So the President delegated General
MacArthur to award me the medal in Manila. This was just about to happen, when a few days short of the
time, I got a call from General Kenney, saying that MacArthur and he would not be able to make Manila, as
they had to visit Australia. Kenney wanted to know if I had any objections to delaying the presentation, or as
an alternative have someone else present it. I replied that if no one minded, I'd like to have it awarded in Lin-
gayen where the squadron is. In fact, it was the only place it should be presented, right where the rest of the
 20
guys in the outfit can take part in the ceremony. Kenney asked if I would have any objection to General Ennis
Whitehead coming up to present it. I loved that old buzzard, mean and wiry as he was, he was a great guy to
me, like a father, so I said, "No sir, I'd be happy to see him present it”.

So it was that Whitehead came up to Lingayen and awarded Shomo the Congressional Medal of Honor
and Paul Lipscomb the Distinguished Service Cross. That evening at the officer’s club Shomo was called upon
to say a few words. The thin ace stood up and drawled, “Gentleman, I can think of no better speech to make
at this moment than – the drinks are on me”.

History Four: Australia’s only American MIA

(Unnamed), Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress #41-2650
93rd Bombardment Squadron/ 19th Bombardment Group
Abandoned over Australia 18th September 1942

Approximately twenty-five miles Northwest of the outback town of Weipa in Australia’s tropical north
lies the scattered metal fragments of the wreckage of a USAAC Flying Fortress. Behind the wreck lies the
chronicle of the only American Missing-In-Action on Australian soil. At this stage of the war the proximity of
enemy troops to Port Moresby concerned everyone. On 14 September 1942,and with fighting on the Kokoda
Trail at a turing point, the commander of SOPAC requested help for his predicament on Guadalcanal. Vice
Admiral Robert L. Ghormley wanted the Fifth Air Force to “beat down the Jap air strength at Rabaul” so that
he could land a convoy of reinforcements and supplies. MacArthur conferred with Kenney, who in turn called
Ken Walker and told him to send his B-17s. Kenney knew the last-minute change of plans was disruptive, but
according to MacArthur the Marines on Guadalcanal were in “real trouble.”

Once again the 19th Bomb Group undertook to strike Rabaul. Port Moresby was still being bombed on
a regular basis, which meant the routine of safeguarding the B-17s had not changed. The crews once again
staged from Mareeba to Seven Mile airdrome, where refuled before conducting the thousand-mile round trip
to Rabaul. On late afternoon of 17th September 1942, 2/Lt Claude N. Burcky launched from Seven-Mile as
one of eight Fortresses to bomb Rabaul. An early-morning Rabaul mission the previous day, which had been
planned at 30,000 feet, had turned back because of poor weather. General Walker accompanied the next mis-
sion, led by Major Hardison of the 93rd Bomb Squadron. This time fourFortresses departed Port Moresby at
2300 hours on 17 September 1942 to attack Rabaul before dawn. During the flight, Walker carried a portable
oxygen bottle so that he could move freely about the aircraft and observe all of the crewmen, from the tail
gunner to the bombardier. “Wandering all over the place like that isn’t healthy,” quoting his aide, “but the
general figures he can’t tell the boys how to go out and to get shot at unless he’s willing to get shot at, too.” On
this occasion Walker was unhappy with the effort, the mission hampered by only four participating bombers.

On this particular mission, the bomber’s late afternoon departure would place them over the Japanese
fighter strip at Lakunai about three hours after take-off. Cloudy weather which had dogged the previous day’s
mission was still around, and visibility worsened as they neared the target. No command was given to turn
back however, and the Fortresses soon had trouble keeping each other in sight. The formation started to break
up, so Burcky released his bombs into the dark gloom below and turned back for Port Moresby. Navigator 2/Lt
William F. Meenaugh had trouble locating Port Moresby as since their departure the area had become cloud-
covered, so he directed Burcky towards the Cape York area where the airfield at Horn Island would hopefully
offer sanctuary. Unable to locate this airfield either, the Fortress was soon low on fuel and at 0240 hours early
next morning Port Moresby heard Burcky’s radio call stating that he was ordering his crew to bail out.
 21

An early E model Fortress recently assigned to the 19th Bomb Group

cruises over New Guinea in fine weather in late 1942. Note the light
color of the rudder, caused by early fading of the fabric in tropical con-
ditions. The elevators and ailerons have suffered the same fate.

First to go was navigator Meenaugh. The bail-out had been successful, or so it seemed, and once on the
ground the crew regrouped in the dark. RAAF Catalina A24-2 carried out a search for the missing Fortress
from 19 to 20 September 1942. They finally located the wrekcage at the Coen River on the Gulf of Carpen-
taria, where the Catalina landed and picked up four survivors. It appeared that the other crew members had
wandered into the bush, so the Catalina flew the first four survivors back to Cairns. The next day A24-2 flew
to Weipa Mission to check if the other four might have arrived at the Mission. They were not there, so nine
aboriginal trackers were taken by the Catalina to the crash site. The missing four were spotted on a nearby
mud flat, and the Catalina landed to collect them. By the time they had recovered the survivors, the tide had
gone out leaving the catalina high and dry. Once the tide came back in they took off for Cairns with the final
four survivors. Despite further search attempts there was no sign of Meenaugh. The Fortress crashed near the
Mapoon Aboriginal Mission, under the charge of Police Superintendent L. A. Cane who subsequently organ-
ized a large-scale search for Meenaugh. He has never been found, and remains the only American MIA on
Australian soil. Following the search, Cane later wrote to Burcky (whose name and identity he did not know),
in a hand written letter dated 27th October 1942:

Dear Lieutenant,
The whole of the plane burnt and there is not one particle left whole . . . also the whole sur-
rounding was burnt, but of course you know that from the fire. The report of the searchers that the
other chute was found must be taken for a mistake as I had all the available men and boys out search-
ing for two weeks and I think we must have covered a radius of fifty miles from the crash and could
not find any trace of the missing man, not even tracks. Of course, this would be hard to find after the
fire had passed over the ground, anyway you may rest assured that we did all that was possible, and
the best that we can hope for is that his death was not a lingering one but swift and painless. You only
asked for the rip-cord but finding the glove I thought you might like it for a souvenir. Kind regards
to self and others that I met,
Yours Very Sincerely,
L A Cane
PS Excuse the address but I’m not sure of your address or name
 22

History Five: Avoiding Japanese and Communists

(Unnamed), North American B-25J-20-NA #44-29306
71st Bombardment Squadron/ 38th Bombardment Group
Crash-landed mainland China 29th March 1945

The B-25J-22 had eight forward-firing .50 caliber machine guns in the nose, plus four-
side-mounted guns beneath the pilot’s window which left cordite stains on the fuselage.
The late J model Mitchells were the most powerful strafers in the Fifth Air Force inventory
(Aerothentic Grafix 2009).

This aircraft had a short combat career, and an unusual demise, being one of the few Fifth Air Force
aircraft to crash-land in mainland China. This J model Mitchell was assigned into the 71st Squadron of the
38th Bombardment Group in January 1945 when the Group was stationed at Lingayen, Luzon, in the Philip-
pines. From January through most of March 1945 the Group used these J models mainly to strike at Japanese
troops and supplies in the Philippines, plus shipping in the South China Sea. Longer-range missions were oc-
casionally flown against Formosa however, and it is on one of these missions that #306 was lost. The Group
was ordered to conduct a low-level mission on 29th March 1945 against the alcohol refinery at Byoritsu, on
the island of Formosa. During the commencement of the run over target #306 was hit by anti-aircraft fire and
collided with the lead Mitchell. Piloted by 2/Lt W.G. Nash and 2/Lt J.W. Luddeke, #306 veered down and to
the left under the lead aircraft. The collision sheared about a foot from the top of #306’s left stabilizer, and
bent the other over sideways. The lead plane, with bomb bay doors open, pulled up sharply to avoid a major
collision. Its co-pilot, 2/Lt Toivo Johnson, had instinctively grabbed the controls and raised the nose to avoid
catastrophe. Even so, the lead Mitchell also sustained damage, mainly to its right wing and tail. Nash and Lud-
deke struggled to maintain control over #306, and headed for the South China Sea westward through a deep
valley. Throughout, anti-aircraft fire came from both sides.

As they passed over Formosa’s Northwestern coastline almost at wave height, Nash ordered the crew to
prepare to ditch. The sea was too rough however, and the danger of capture and execution by the Japanese was
high. In addition to tail damage, matters were compounded when one of the engines started faltering, making
return to Lingayen out of the question. Navigator 2/Lt Floyd King gave the pilots a heading for southeastern
China where they could hopefully find an emergency landing field in unoccupied territory which had been
described to them in briefing. Somehow the pilots coaxed the bomber to nearly 8,000 feet on one engine.
However, as #306 circled above mountainous Chinese territory, the emergency landing strip at Hsunkou about
which they had been briefed could not be located, and the aircraft was running low on fuel. They passed over
several Japanese military truck convoys and headed away from the main roads. With no place to land nor-
mally, and with only one engine operational, #306 was put down, wheels up. It skimmed along the side of
a mountain, continued across a rice paddy, worked through the narrow shallow Futun Chi River, and finally
nosed into a river bank near the village of Qin Tian in (now) Fujian Province.

Everyone was shaken but no-one was seriously hurt. Fortunately, the bomber had put down in an area
not yet occupied by either Japanese or Communist Chinese who had also been known to take Allied airmen
prisoner. Each crew member carried small American and Nationalist Chinese flags with requests in Chinese
 23
language to guide the bearer to friendly authorities. The crew were initially approached by Chinese Security
Forces who appeared very young, and whose rifles seemed almost as long as they were tall. Shortly thereafter,
the crew were greeted cautiously by local villagers who escorted them to a farm building where they fed upon
sweetened hard-boiled eggs. After presentation of several American and Nationalist Chinese flags they were
carrying, the youths contacted Chinese government officials in Shao Wu, informing them of the situation.
Within an hour Yuan Guo Qin, Mayor of Shao Wu, had introduced the crew to Cao Cheng Zhou, an English
Language interpreter, and Yun Hong and Lin Jing Run, President of the Fukien Christian University (also
known as the American University). Yuan Guo Qin also brought Security Forces to guard the downed bomber.

The crew was taken first to a Catholic Church compound which comprised the church, the priests' resi-
dence therein and an attached medical clinic. Two missionaries from New York city greeted the crew and
accompanied them to the home of the university president. As the men were washing themselves there was
loud banging at the entrance accompanied by shouts of "Open up!" A well-armed contingent of U.S. Navy and
Marine personnel hustled the men into waiting jeeps. Haste was important as it was felt that local informants
would reveal the whereabouts of the crew to the Japanese. The rescue party consisted of Navy and Marine vol-
unteers led by Navy Lieutenant George Morgan, accompanied by Navy Lieutenant Shortlage. They were from
the Sino American Cooperative Organization (SACO), part of the US China Naval Group. SACO worked
closely with Nationalist Chinese Intelligence, training guerillas, and spotting and directing the destruction of
Japanese coastal installations and naval forces. They also provided weather data, and worked closely with the
Air Ground Aid Service (AGAS) to return downed Allied airmen to safety. This organization was known col-
loquially as the ‘Underground Railway’ throughout southern China. The SACO rescue party drove the crew in
a jeep to their headquarters at Chien Yang, located within a Catholic Church compound. There they arrived at
dusk where they were provided with fur-lined jackets as the evenings were decidedly cool.

Back at Fourteenth Air Force Headquarters, the Officers of the

downed Mitchell were interrogated about the incident, with a view
to gathering survival intelligence for future missions over China.
From Kunming the officers of the crew were then flown by Liberator
to Tacloban, Leyte where the pilot and copilot were again
interrogated. Afterwards, they were returned to combat duty at
Lingayen (the rest of the crew were eventually returned to
Tacloban thence Lingayen by more circuitous route). After this
escape from China, the entire 38th BG re-emphasized Escape and
Evasion tactics through special and detailed briefings for aircrews.
From April 1945 onwards Fifth and Thirteenth Air Force crews
would carry the opposite message in Chinese which they could
give to non-English-speaking Chinese. The card exhorts the
receiver to return the holder to safety, being a friend of the Chinese
people (credit MacArthur Archives).

The crew spent two nights in the priests' residence, and on 30th March 1945 they languished the entire
day in Kien Yang awaiting transfer to the AGAS. The crew were eventually taken to Chang Ting where they
boarded a C-47 for Chi Kiang. After over-nighting there they departed 3rd April 1945 for Kunming, arriving
there at 1715 hours that afternoon. During one section of the road journey made in a weapons carrier the Chi-
nese driver had to replace the fuel pump diaphragm periodically because of the pine-gas used in the vehicle
which smelt like turpentine and corroded rubber. The pine gas was carried in a 55 gallon drum in the rear of
the weapons carrier along with a smaller can of petrol used to start the engine. The dirt roads encountered were
narrow, sometimes built along cliffs with no guard rails. The driver, in his haste to stay ahead of the Japanese,
scattered many village domestic animals while racing through the small villages. During the Southwesterly
road journey, Japanese bombers flew directly across their path from right to left, but slightly ahead. At one
of the stops for food and shelter along the way, the crew were told that the Japanese were following them.
Urgency was thus emphasized during the journey. Fortunately the AGAS had established a series of places
where rescued airmen could eat and rest, relatively safe from detection. Chang Ting was situated between
Japanese occupied areas to the east and to the west, and was the only Allied airfield in Southeastern China
not yet occupied by the Japanese. Accordingly the flight from Chang Ting west to Chi Kiang was made over
Japanese held territory. It was sure good to be back. Back at Fourteenth Air Force Headquarters, the Officers
 24
of the downed Mitchell were interrogated about the incident, with a view to gathering survival intelligence for
future missions over China. From Kunming the officers of the crew were then flown by Liberator to Tacloban,
Leyte where the pilot and copilot were again interrogated. Afterwards, they were returned to combat duty
at Lingayen (the rest of the crew were eventually returned to Tacloban thence Lingayen by more circuitous
route). After this escape from China, the entire 38th BG re emphasized Escape and Evasion tactics through
special and detailed briefings for aircrews. From April 1945 onwards Fifth and Thirteenth Air Force crews
would carry the opposite message in Chinese which they could give to non English speaking Chinese. The
card exhorts the receiver to return the holder to safety, being a friend of the Chinese people.

History Six: Bump in the Night

(Unnamed) Boeing B-17E Fortresses #42-2460 and Tojo’s Physic
30th Bombardment Squadron/ 19th Bombardment Group
Ground Collision at Horn Island, Northern Australia, 27th July 1942

It was 27th July 1942, and things had not gone well that month for Fortresses of the 19th Bombardment
Group, based at Cloncurry in outback Queensland. The Group had been regularly transiting Horn Island on
the northern tip of Australia from where they could bomb the enemy airfield at Lae. Already this month they
had lost three E model Fortresses to accidents on the island. Although it had an adequate airfield, take offs
were being conducted in the dark, and the runway was poorly lit, whilst the taxiways carried no lighting at
all. The real nemesis however were violent and unpredictable ground—bursts which occurred during tropi-
cal thunderstorms. For some reason, the island seemed to attract them more than it should. The month’s three
accidents to date had been serious, resulting in deaths. On 13th July 1942 two Fortresses had crashed shortly
after take off at 0230 and 0234 hours respectively, aiming to arrive over Lae at daybreak. The three Fortresses
which had preceded them carried on, but downbursts had put one into the water and the other into a mud bank
whilst they were climbing out on full power. The worst accident that month however took place six days later
when a Fortress had attempted a go round at low level. Its wing had dug into the ground and the bomber had
cart wheeled into the scrub, killing all fifteen aboard.

See caption on next page

It was very early on the morning of 27th July 1942 and completely dark for another mission to Lae.
Groundcrews helped the 30th Bombardment Squadron prepare and start up six B-17Es for the flight. One of
the participants was 1/Lt Carey L. O’Bryan flying B-17E #42-2640, named Tojo’s Physic. Another was un-
named #41 2460 which had arrived in Australia on 15th January 1942 via the African delivery route flown by
2/Lt C. H. Millhouse. Both aircraft had conducted operations in the Philippines before being evacuated back
to Australia and being transferred from the 7th to the 19th Bombardment Group. Part of the Air Corps pre-
takeoff check list for the B-17 was to clear the bombardier’s area of all personnel before take off. This was
standard operating procedure, as in any take off crash the nose of the bomber was most exposed. O’Bryan was
almost prepared to taxi when to his complete surprise he was lifted from his seat as the bomber’s nose was torn
 25
off with a violent screeching sound of torn metal. O’Bryan shut down the engines and shouted for everyone to
abandon the aircraft. Just off to their left could be seen the silhouette of another B-17E which had lurched to
a stop at right angles.

These two rare photos

show the completely
torn-off nose of O’Bryan’s
B-17. To the right can be
seen the damaged left
wing of #460, including a
bent propeller blade on
engine #1. Among those
walking around are
several Australians who
guarded Horn island and
manned the control tower.
Not surprisingly,
O’Bryan’s Fortress would
never fly again (credit both
photos Vanessa Crowdey of
Horn Island).

It was only when dawn brought the morning light that a clear picture of what had occurred became ap-
parent. On the unlit taxiway B-17E # 41-2460 had taxied straight past O’Bryan, but far too close. Its left wing
had simply torn off the aircraft’s nose, turning it at right angles before coming to a halt. There were minor
injuries in both crews, but thanks to the policy of vacating the nose, no fatalities. There was a serious short-
age of serviceable aircraft in the Fifth Air Force inventory at this stage of the war, and there would be many
questions asked about the incident. Tojo’s Physic was declared a write off immediately, but they managed to
patch up and return #460 to the US repair facility at Mareeba, just West of Cairns, a few days later. There the
decision was taken that #460 should never fly combat again, as the structural damage to its airframe was too
extensive. It was left on the side of Mareeba’s runway where it became a ready source of spares.

Tojo’s Physic at Mareeba shortly after her

evacuation from the Philippines, and just be-
fore her accident. The name was painted in red
outlined by white
 26

History Seven: Cloud Covered Oblivion

(Unnamed) Curtiss C-46D Commando #44-78490
6th Troop Carrier Squadron/ 374th Troop Carrier Group
Crashed in mountains behind Nadzab 5th October 1945

At this late stage of the war the 374th’s C-46s were using the letter ‘W’ on the tail to identify the Group.
A curious practice developed in late 1945 whereby the first two digits of the serial were painted in red.

The massive Commando carried five and a half tons of freight. The C-47 was a hard act to follow, but
when it came to moving sheer volume, nothing could come near the Commando. The type entered service with
the Fifth Air Force relatively late in November 1944, and would eventually serve with four transport Groups,
the 2nd Combat Cargo Group, and the 374th, 375th and 433rd Troop Carrier Groups.

Unnamed #490 entered service with the 374th Troop Carrier Group in early 1945 and served throughout
the theatre until war’s end from Australia to Japan. After cessation of hostilities Fifth Air Force transports con-
tinued to fly throughout the region for logistical purposes, and Nadzab Strip #1 remained open under RAAF
control for aircraft en route to the Philippines from Australia. The war had been ended for nearly two months
when #490 disappeared after departing Biak on 5th October 1945 bound for Finschhafen. The flight had origi-
nated at Tacloban and was under the command of Flying Officer John L. Zagata. On board also were co-pilot
Scott and three crew.

A C-46 being loaded in the Philli-

pines. The earlier D models had
a wavy grey camouflage as op-
posed to the straight one seen
here and on the profile above.

In 1948 the US Army conducted an extensive search of New Guinea to try and recover the remains of
those lost in aircraft crashes. At the village of Boana behind Nadzab natives there told them of a large aircraft
wreckage a long walk away, in the top of the Finesterre Mountains. On 25th October 1948 T/Sgt Robert J.
Smith of the US Army Grave Registration Service recovered the remains of all five crew.
 27

Commando #490 today lies where

it came to rest, nearly 11,000 feet
high in the Finesterres about
twelve miles from Boana village.
This is part of the instrument panel
as photographed in 1979, with the
radio callsign W-9490 still visible
on the top left corner. The site is
usually cloud-covered, and a
combination of high altitude and
isolation means that most of the
wreck is still there. The aircraft has
a rare history, being one of the
very few US aircraft lost in New
Guinea after the cessation of
hostilities (credit J. Richard Leahy).

History Eight: Commander with Character

Spook, Douglas A-20A-DO #40-109
89th Bombardment Squadron/ 3rd Attack Group
Destroyed in take-off accident 26th January 1943

This early model A-20A was assigned to Major Edward Lawrence Larner, a born leader with an extrovert
boyish personality. Larner named the aircraft after his childhood sweetheart Elaine, a shy girl with reddish
blonde hair and freckles, whose nickname was ‘Spook’. Larner had married Elaine at Barksdale Field Chapel
on 29th June 1940. The wedding was a stylish one at which the entire bridal party including the groom and
groomsmen had worn white.

On 25th February 1942, after twenty-five days at sea, the Army Air Corps 89th Bombardment Squadron,
3rd Bombardment Group arrived in Brisbane, and immediately established camp at Ascot near Brisbane’s
racecourse. The first three Douglas A 2OAs with which the squadron would be equipped arrived less than a
month later by sea. These were followed in the months ahead by thirty-nine more, as part of a shipment which
had been earmarked for the Netherlands Air force to serve in the Dutch East Indies in late 1941. Instead the
shipment was diverted to Australia, and the aircraft, including Larner’s, were modified at Amberley RAAF
Base in Queensland under the guidance of ‘Pappy’ Gunn and 8th BS Commander, Bob Ruegg. Considerable
difficulty was encountered by the squadron in getting the A-20s into operation, their two main weaknesses be-
ing inadequate range and insufficient forward firing power. In May 1942, these inadequacies were eliminated
by installing two additionaL-450-gallon fuel tanks in the bomb bay, and fitting four .50 caliber guns to the
nose, supplementing the existing .30 caliber guns. This work was conducted at a modification centre estab-
lished at RAAF Amberley base, where Sgt Dale Kruger was directly involved in the conversion. He reported,
 28
“guns in each side of the nose section were not proving sufficiently effective. After some experimentation by the
Engineering Sections, T/Sgt Victor J Mitchell was instructed to draw up a plan for the installation of four .50
cal machine guns in the nose section on 1st May 1942 . . . he presented his drawings and an A-20 was given
him . . . by working day and night he overcame the many obstacles . . . his installation proved very satisfac-
tory”.

Bomb-blast damage to a 3rd Attack A-20A. Pilot Charles

Mayo was wounded in this plane on 3 December 1942.

Through the months of June to August 1943 the 89th Bomb Squadron based at Charters Towers, prepared
to enter combat, losing several A-20s to training and operational accidents. The squadron also worked closely
with RAAF No 30 Squadron and their Beaufighters in combined operations in the Townsville area. After run-
ning three practice missions with the Beaufighters, the A-20s departed for Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea
on 29th August 1942. The squadron was thus the first to deploy the A-20 in combat in the SWPA and flew
first combat in New Guinea in early September 1942. By November 1942 Spook was flying combat missions
against targets in the Buna area based from Kila Drome near Port Moresby, also known as Three-mile. On 7th
November 1942 Larner took Spook on a low level mission to Soputa to strafe Japanese artillery and infantry
positions in the jungle. A flak burst tipped the A-20A through the treetops during a strafing run and Larner
nursed Spook back to Kila Drome. There his crew chief had to replace the wings and propellers and patch a
badly scraped fuselage. Larner’s official report of the incident states, “I was only able to make two more straf-
ing runs before the plane became so unmanageable that I thought it best to return to base”.

In December 1942 the squadron moved temporarily to Dobodura where they started hitting targets in the
Lae/Salamaua region. It was during this month that Larner’s intrepid approach to combat paid its first price.
Larner, by now known to his comrades as ‘Wild Bill’, interpreted low-level missions as being just that, and
on 14th December 1942 for the mission he borrowed A-20A, Pride of the Yanks (since Spook was still being
repaired at Kila following its low-level mishap of 7th November 1942). One of Larner’s bombs exploded pre-
maturely, puncturing the aircraft’s hydraulic lines, and Larner was forced to belly in at Dobodura. Pride of the
Yanks never flew again. By this time Larner’s leadership qualities had been well recognized not only by his
fellow flyers, but also by the Fifth’s leadership. In early January 1943 he was given command of his own 3rd
Attack squadron - the 90th - equipped with B-25s – and ordered to train them to be low level and aggressive.
Larner named his assigned B-25 Spook II, leaving the original Spook with his old Squadron. On 26th January
1943 1/Lt Turner Williamson flew Spook for a mission from Kila Drome. The diary of 89th BS crew chief,
Adrian Bottge, summarizes the incident, “First Squadron death in an A-20 on combat duty clocked up today.
Blew a tire on take-off, hit ditch and turned over on back. Gunner stumbled out and escaped but pilot hope-
 29
lessly trapped and burned to death. Saw it from Tech Supply. Terrible sight. Burned a long time with .30 and
.50 cal cartridges exploding and tracers and incendiaries flying in all directions. One whipped right over my
head”. The wreckage burned fiercely and the aircraft was totally destroyed.

Pilot Charlie Mayo (left) and

his two gunners pose with
MAID IN JAPAN at Kila Drome,
Port Moresby. This A-20A was
not Mayos, rather it was used
as a back-drop for crew pho-
tos in late 1942. Remarkably it
appears that Larner did not ap-
pear in this photo series which
was meant to incorporate all
crews. It is possible he was
absent at the time.

As much as Larner liked the A-20, he soon discovered that his Mitchell offered more forward fire-power.
He honed the 90th in the art of using North American’s bomber for low level attack, by taking the squadron
on daily mock runs against the former British vessel S.S Pruth described in History #20. Ironically Larner’s
closest brush with injury during this time occurred on Valentine’s Day 1943 when he and fellow pilots Hene-
bry, Wertz and McCoun overturned their jeep returning to the Squadron campsite in darkening rain (no one
was injured and natives soon had the jeep back on its wheels). Following the Battle for the Bismarck Sea in
March 1943, Larner was easily persuaded to make a propaganda film with several RAAF officers, the object
of which was to convince audiences of the close cooperation between Australian and American fliers during
the battle. Larner hammed it up when he was meant to enthusiastically ad-lib about the virtues of co-operating
with RAAF pilots – from his actions it is evident that he is reading from a carefully prepared script concealed
in the palm of his hand.

An obvious publicity, but nonethless

rare, wartime color shot of an A-20A
taken at the Santa Monica Douglas Air-
craft Corporation plant in California in
1942. This particular A-20A is painted
in British camouflage (Signal Corps).
 30

Larner poses in his B-25D, named after the nickname

for his wife, Elaine. On 1st May 1943 Larner arrived
overhead Dobodura in the company of four other 90th
Bomb Squadron B-25s. Larner’s broke away to an ech-
elon right, buzzed the fighter strip, pulled up to break
away, and then fell on his left wing from 200 feet. It
hit the ground, caught fire and was completely demol-
ished. Later examination of the accident revealed that
the left engine had cut out which caused the aircraft
to crash. The failure occurred at a height from where
recovery was impossible.

Larner completed his last combat mission on 29th April 1943 against Japanese troop positions at Nadzab.
The following day at 0700 hours Larner took Spook II from Dobodura for another mission. Apart from the
normal crew also aboard the Mitchell was Australian Army Intelligence officer, Captain Ray Hewitt. Larner
had often conducted ‘beat-ups’ of the field after returning from missions, and today would be no exception.
After the mission Larner led the Mitchells back over the field, with the other B-25s strung out echelon to the
right. He banked steeply left and up to pull out, but the aircraft faltered and fell left wing first. The Mitchell
crumpled into trees at the end of Dobodura, and there were no survivors. Another diary entry by crew chief
Bottge, summarizes feelings at the time, “Well I never thought it would happen – but it did. Major “Wild Bill”
Larner was killed in a crackup. He really could fly those B-25s . . . “ Larner’s death moved his friend Gordon
McCoun to write into his scrapbook that evening, “The time shall come when the memory of the skies of the
Bismarck Sea and New Guinea shall be dimmed by the darkness of revolving years”. As to the fate of all the
old but proven 89th Squadron A model A-20s, they were all replaced by G models in late 1943, and ousted
in one move. When the day came, the Squadron only had eight remaining in service, being Baby Dumpling,
She's Right, Bloody Bucket, Maid in Japan, Cracker Jack, Salome, Kentucky Red, (unnamed) #40-3159 and
Ace's Up. All of them were then placed in service with the RAAF.

History Nine: Confused Surrender

(Unnamed) Douglas C-54E-1-DO Skymaster #44-9045
Air Transport Command
Continued military service into the 1960s

Although not assigned to the Fifth Air Force per se, this aircraft is historic to the Fifth’s cause, and oper-
ated throughout the SWPA from mid 1944 onwards. For two days it was the focus of the Japanese surrender.
Rather than being a latecomer to the war, a common impression about the C-54, the type actually entered
production as early as February 1942. This particular E model was built in 1944 at the Douglas Aircraft Corpo-
ration plant in Santa Monica, California, shortly after which it entered service with Air Transport Command,
mainly flying between the SWPA and the US. The focus of why and how #045 came to take delivery of such
unusual passengers is intriguing. Following Emperor Hirohito’s surrender address to the nation on 15th Au-
gust 1945, General Douglas MacArthur requested that Japan send emissaries to Manila via Ie Shima (an island
off Okinawa) to arrange the Japan’s formal surrender and occupation. To obviate the continuation of Japanese
resistance, the delegation were instructed to bring Japan’s defence plans to show to MacArthur. Refusing to
be humiliated, Army Chief of Staff, General Yoshijiro Umezu, refused to go on the mission however. Instead,
he ordered his deputy, General Torashiro Kawabe to do so. Not surprisingly, Kawabe had great difficulty in
convincing others to accompany him, but he eventually recruited a staff of fifteen. The plan was simple – the
 31
Japanese delegation would fly to Ie Shima in two Japanese aircraft, and be transported to Manila from there
in US ones. In commemoration of those lost on the Bataan Peninsula at the hands of the Japanese in 1942,
MacArthur insisted that the two Japanese aircraft be allocated the radio callsigns ‘Bataan One’ and ‘Bataan
Two’.

The Americans asked that the Japanese use a pair of ‘Tabby’ transports – essentially a copy of the
C-47 - but instead two Mitsubishi G4M2s left Kisarazu Air Base (near Tokyo Bay) at 0718 hours, land-
ing at Ie Shima near Okinawa at 1244 hours. The log book of Lightning pilot Robert A. Ward of the
36th Fighter Squadron shows that he was airborne exactly four and a quarter hours escorting the
bombers. At least the Japanese complied with the request to paint both aircraft overall white and place
crosses on the fuselage and wings, even though they were more black than green as ordered. One of
the G4M2 bombers from the Kisazaru Kokutai taxis in Ie Shima’s sun just after arrival (credit Fred Hill).

Problems started with the original communiqué from MacArthur’s Headquarters addressed to the Japa-
nese Emperor, The Imperial government, and Imperial Army Headquarters, requesting that:

THE PARTY WILL EMPLOY AN UNARMED AIRPLANE, TYPE ZERO MODEL, TWENTY TWO, LOVE
TWO, DOG THREE.

This translates as Type O, Model 22, L2D3, but the type number conflicts with the model number. Japa-
nese General Headquarters were naturally confused and replied,

WE FAIL TO UNDERSTAND THE TYPE OF AIRPLANE DESCRIBED IN THE COMMUNICATION

RECEIVED FROM GENERAL MACARTHUR. WE REQUEST, THEREFORE, THAT THE MESSAGE BE RE-
PEATED BEARING UPON TYPE FULLY AND CLEARLY.

A response indicated that the Japanese could use two aircraft, but they must be Tabbys. In the end, the
Japanese sent Bettys. 2/Lt Robert A. Ward was one of the fighter pilots which would intercept the Japanese,
then escort them to Ie Shima. That day he was flying Obscene Corrine, his assigned Lightning,
 32

The noseart on 2/Lt Robert A. Ward’s Ob-

scene Corrine, his assigned Lightning,

“It was the 18th of August 1945. Our Eighth Fighter Group was called to a special meeting on Ie Shima.
We were to be told of the mission to be flown on August 19th. The 36th Fighter Squadron was to fly to Kyushu,
meet the two Betty bombers and escort them to Ie Shima. The 35th Squadron was to take off forty five minutes
after us and rendezvous halfway to Japan. The 80th would take off half an hour after them again. There were
sixteen P-38s in each Squadron. On August 19th the pilots of the three Squadrons were awakened by the CO.
We didn’t get much sleep that night, if any. We were all aware of the importance of this mission. It was then the
most important mission of the war. The 36th took off about 0600 hours for Japan. We were to maintain radio
silence as in all missions. There was cloud cover one to two hundred feet thick. We went up to 8,000 feet and
maintained that altitude until the rendezvous over Kyushu. They were not in sight. Then through a foggy hole
in the cloud I saw something white pass under us. We had set our altimeters when we took off at Ie Shima.
There may have been a barometric pressure discrepancy which accounted for the two hundred feet difference
in altitude. I called our CO Harold B. Graham and told him they had just passed under us heading south. We
rolled over in a left bank and down through the cloud cover. When we cleared we could see the Betty bomb-
ers ahead of us. We increased our speed to catch them. I checked my gun camera switch making sure it was
on camera only. I took pictures all the way back and while they were landing. Halfway back we picked up the
35th and about fifty miles from Ie Shima we picked up the 80th. I was shaken the next day when I found that my
film had been sent to 5th Fighter Command for processing, instead of processing it locally. I hadn’t intended
for anyone to know that I took those films. If I had had an electrical short in the system we would have had
World War Three”.

The Japanese delegation boards #045 for the long flight to Manila. Their dignity was not assisted by the
fact that they had to use an ordinary workman's ladder to board the aircraft, as it was discovered that Ie
Shima lacked any passenger steps at the field (credit Fifth Bomber Command via USAF)
 33
Mitchells from the 345th Bombardment Group picked up the G4M2s and, using a mixture of radio calls
and wing movements, guided them back into Ie Shima’s landing pattern. The delegation had soon boarded
#045 and were on their way to Manila, returning the next afternoon to Ie Shima whence they reboarded their
G4M2 bombers to return to Japan. Unnamed C-54E #045 had experienced a moment of history, soon forgotten
in world glad to be at peace. It continued to serve the USAAF (later the USAF) as a transport throughout the
1950s. Its ultimate fate is unclear.

History Ten: Demise Sudden and Unexpected

Baby Doll II/ Sweet Milk, Douglas A-20G-25-DO serial #43-9113
386th Bombardment Squadron/ 312th Bombardment Group
Shot down over Wewak by Japanese Anti-aircraft fire 15th May 1944

In May 1944 one of the chief targets for the Fifth’s strafers was Wewak. For the 312th Bombardment
Group flying A-20Gs, this meant a journey of about one and a half hour’s flying time to get there from Gusap.
After an early morning breakfast on the morning of the 15th of this month crews from the Groups 386th and
387th Bombardment Squadrons kitted up and took off at around 0800 hours. They came in over Wewak at
low-level and hit trouble immediately. In the 387th Squadron formation, the first over the target, Nicholas N.
Davenport’s strafer took hits to its right engine. Next to strike trouble was Baby Doll, crewed by l/Lt Stanley
M. Keeton and S/Sgt John S. Turek. At 0925 hours, according to the official report, it suddenly nosed down
and crashed in flames into the jungle surrounding Wewak’s main runway. The wreckage kept burning, as evi-
denced by a rising plume of black smoke, and it was presumed that both men were killed instantly.

It toook more than six decades before the fate of the two crew came to light through a veteran Papua New
Guinean who was an eye-witness to their fate. That their demise was not resolved at the time of their loss is
not surprising; however the fact that it took another three decades to collect all their remains is. Lying in a
sago swamp, the wreck today consists of the smashed tail section of the aircraft, separated from the fuselage.
The club marking of the 386th Bombardment Squadron is still visible on both sides of the lower rear fuselage,
as well as the faded yellow serial number on the lower fin. Nearby are both wings and engines. The wing outer
panels are in remarkable shape, still with drab green coating. Remains of the cockpit and nose complement
the site. The aircraft was assigned into the US Army Air Corps Fifth Air Force bomber pool in December
1943. The Squadron had been trained on, and was flying P-40Ns up until then, however it commenced A-20G
transition training at Port Moresby’s Durand and Ward’s airfields in February 1944. The 386th was the first
of the 312th Bombardment Group’s four squadrons to commence training, the others being the 387th, 388th
and 398th Squadrons. It was at this time that #43-9113 was transferred to the 386th Bombardment Squadron.

Transition training from single to twin-engine aircraft presented a unique challenge for the Group. Back
in the U.S, such transition was conducted with dual-control tandem trainers, however none was available in
New Guinea. Furthermore, the A-20G was a single-pilot aircraft. The Group’s pilots would have to convert
to twin-engine flying using whatever twin-engine aircraft were available, and Group Commander Bob Strauss
drew up a training program which primarily duplicated the Operational Training Unit (OTU) system used at
Hunter Field back in the U.S. By modern standards, training was necessarily brief, and Strauss personally
conducted final check-flights lying prone in the A-20G’s raft storage area, a flat and cramped raised platform
behind the pilot. This was no easy feat, especially for a tall man like Strauss.
 34
Until their own A-20Gs were delivered, the Group’s pilots were temporarily assigned A-20As, to fly
for familiarization purposes. These were combat-weary attack bombers from the 89th Bombardment Squad-
ron with an open rear gunner’s hatch, unlike the later model A-20Gs they would soon be assigned, equipped
with Martin turret. The A-20A’s open rear gun mounted on a scarf ring caused the occasional heart-stop. One
386th Squadron pilot was assigned a new gunner to make a training strafing run on Idihi Island, offshore Port
Moresby, “as I made my pass, I momentarily heard the twin rear guns. Through carelessness however, the
gunner had failed to tighten the gun carriage properly, and a burst went through the tail. When we returned
to the field the tower advised me there was a hole in it. It was lucky that the gunner had not shot us down. I
subsequently discreetly found a gunner in whom I had more confidence.”

During theory classes the pilots were informed of the A-20’s most unforgiving characteristic – an inabil-
ity for the pilot to bail out without physical risk. The problem was the exit hatch, directly in line with the high
vertical stabilizer, almost guaranteeing that any exiting pilot would impact into the tail’s leading edge (many
pilots decided there and then that they would jettison the hatch and turn upside down before bailing out). Fol-
lowing successful transition training, pilots 1/Lt Stanley Keeton and 1/Lt Frank Hogan were jointly assigned
#43-9113 as their new aerial mount. Keeton named the port side of the bomber ‘Sweetmilk’, whilst Hogan
painted ‘Baby Doll II’ on the other.

Photos of Baby Doll are rare, as the

aircraft was in combat service for
only three months. This one, with
unidentified member of groundcrew,
was taken at Gusap shortly after the
nose-art was applied, circa February
1944. The name on the starboard
engine cowl is Esther. On the other
side of the fuselage appeared the
name Sweetmilk, whilst the aircraft’s
tail letter was F. Small pieces of the
aircraft still lie in a native village
garden behind Wewak township,
although most of it was sold for scrap
in the 1970s (credit Frank C Hogan).

In March 1944 the Group entered combat with its A-20Gs, losing one to bad weather during the series
of delivery flights made from Port Moresby to their forward base at Gusap, in New Guinea’s expansive Ramu
Valley. Their targets were Japanese infantry, airfields, and coastal positions, mainly from Madang to Wewak.
The enemy airfield of Dagua near Wewak was about one and a half hour’s flying time from Gusap. On 15th
May 1944, after an early morning breakfast, 386th and 387th Squadron crews geared up and launched from
Gusap at 0800 hours to strafe and bomb Dagua. A Captain in the 386th Squadron, and flight leader, Hank
Eales, wrote in 2004, “On that day I was nursing a sprained wrist and on doctor’s advice, I was told not to
fly. Stan Keeton had wanted to lead my ‘A’ flight, and so he was assigned to take my place. I wondered for
many years why him and not me, normally I would have been leading that flight that day. Call it fate I guess.
From reports that I had at the time from his wingmen, his plane was hit on his strafing and skip bombing run.
I was told that he tried to get out and it was reported that it appeared that he had pulled the rip cord of his
parachute. It looked like the chute was trailing the plane down and into the trees. However, it could have been
trailing smoke . . . it was tough putting his effects together for shipment home.”

During the pass over Dagua’s main runway, ‘Sweetmilk’ crewed by Keeton and turret gunner S/Sgt John
Turek was shot out of the sky by Dagua’s anti-aircraft gunners. Fellow pilots saw Keeton suddenly nose down
and crash into the surrounding jungle. The wreckage started burning immediately, and it was presumed that
both men were killed instantly. During the same strafing run, a 387th Squadron aircraft flown by 1/Lt Nicholas
Daviscourt was hit in its starboard engine. The engine maintained power all the way back to Gusap, but as
soon as Daviscourt touched down at Gusap, the rattling engine erupted into flames. Both crew evacuated the
burning aircraft, but by the time alert groundcrew extinguished the flames, the entire rear engine nacelle had
 35
burned away. At least the aircraft’s regular gunner had a sense of humor. Under the rear turret was painted
‘Hell’s Kitchen’ in elaborate gothic letters.

Keeton’s contemporaries had considered him an innocent Texan whose crew-cut made him look like
“the local paper-boy.” He had acquired the nickname ‘Sweetmilk’ from his comrades, due to his usual order
for such in restaurants back in the U.S. The only time they had seen him partake in alcohol was the night prior
to the Group’s departure from Salinas, California, when he had drunk hard liquor. To the amusement of fellow
drinkers, he had subsequently been unable to get out of the bunk in which he was sitting. At Gusap the 386th
Squadron’s Commanding Officer, Major Carroll, had decided to assign his junior officers different tasks to
broaden their military experience. Keeton had been assigned the role of Mess Officer, a responsibility which
he took seriously. In his new capacity, he had one day posted a notice in the mess ordering diners to “refrain
from second helpings.” Fellow officers had thereafter composed a ditty about it. One evening, as Keeton en-
tered the mess, they stood up and loudly sang the ditty to the tune of ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’. Such was
Keeton’s nature, that he was more embarrassed than angry.

When Justin Taylan of pacificwrecks.com visited the wreck in 2004, he was told by elderly locals that the
crew had actually survived the crash, only to be executed by the Japanese. This supports Eale’s comment that
at least one chute had been seen trailing the burning aircraft. They confirmed that the aircraft had burned. An
older man showed Taylan a ring he found near the wreckage shortly after the crew was executed. He stated
that it had belonged to the pilot, and Keeton’s engraved initials would seem to bear this out. The elder told
Taylan he wanted to return it to the pilot’s relatives in the United States; however the elder sold the ring to a
German tourist before this could eventuate. Whilst Keeton’s and Turek’s remains were allegedly recovered at
the end of the war, more remains were retrieved from the wreck in 1972 by the Australian Assistant District
Commissioner for East Sepik Province. Both crew are today buried in the U.S military cemetery in Manila,
the Philippines. Did the pilot of the ring really survive the crash, only to be executed? We will never know for
sure. Its yet another piece of unsolved history, claimed by the vast Pacific.

History Eleven: Desperate Days – the Retreat to Broome

Yard Bird Consolidated LB-30 Liberator II British Serial AL515
7th and 19th Bombardment Groups
Destroyed at Milne Bay 27th August 1942

Immediately following the attack on Pearl harbor, the US took possession of about half the Liberators
which they had built for the RAF as Liberator IIs (British serial numbers AL503 to AL641). These were never
assigned Army Air Corps serial numbers and retained the AL markings throughout their combat careers. The
subject of this biography, AL515, is a story of remarkable survival alongside several exceptional episodes. It
was the last Liberator to evacuate the Philippines, and hand written notes made by one of the Japanese pilots
which destroyed the aircraft complete its history. Following the crisis of Pearl Harbor, in late December 1941
E model Fortresses from the 7th Bombardment Group then stationed at Hawaii were ordered to reinforce the
19th Bombardment Group at Clark Field (some of these very Fortresses were the ones which had arrived over
Hickam Army Air Base on the morning of the attack with neither ammunition nor fuel reserves). To comple-
ment these Fortresses, more from the 11th BS in the US were also ordered to proceed to the Philippines poste
haste via the more hazardous South Atlantic route (the Pacific route west of Hawaii was temporarily con-
 36
sidered unviable due to the Japanese presence). Factory fresh LB-30s would complement the Fortresses, so
fifteen crews were sent to Davis Monthan Army Air Base, Tucson, Arizona, to take their delivery. The pilots
would be checked out on the LB 30s by Consolidated company pilots.

Thus fifteen LB-30s and sixty-five B-17Es spearheaded the US aerial reinforcement of the Philippines,
their destination PLUM, codename for Manila. Ferry Command, which bore responsibility for the operation,
dispatched 1/Lt Louis T. Reichers to advise on preparing and loading the LB 30s for the long haul. To his
dismay he found the Liberators badly overloaded, and from each removed on average three thousand pounds
cargo. In doing so, he noted that the crews, in addition to being inexperienced, were nervous about the forth-
coming flights. His subsequent report was uncomplimentary, for in his opinion it was clear that additional
training was required to avoid accidents en route. Thus it was in haste, and within two weeks of Pearl Harbor,
that the first of eighty reinforcement bombers soon proceeded westwards. The Pentagon, using its developed
sense of intrigue, allocated the mission the codename ‘Project X’.

The distance involved in flying the ‘Africa Route’ circumnavigated two-thirds of the planet, but with
pressing needs in the Philippines, compromise was necessary. After those involved in ‘Project X’ had de-
parted, it was decided to declare the ‘Pacific Route’ viable in late January 1942. More LB-30s were assigned
to this route including AL515. They were diverted from MacDill to Hamilton Field, California, thence to
Hickam Field and Southwest through Palmyra and Canton Islands. At this stage these tiny atolls were no more
than coral strips recently completed for this pioneer route. Neither island had navigation aids, and foolishly
the first LB 30s to fly there were launched from Hawaii so as to arrive over Palmyra in mid afternoon. This
meant that visual landfall was the only navigation option, celestial navigation not being an option. As things
turned out, AL515 missed Palmyra on its first attempt, and its crew sensibly elected to return to Hawaii, their
fuel being marginal at best. Furious with his superiors, AL515’s pilot timed his next Palmyra arrival for dawn.
AL515 then successfully continued onwards via Nausori (ten miles to the East of Suva, Fiji), Garbutt Field,
Townsville, and thence Northwest to Darwin and finally Malang on Java.

The mass movement of so many new military bombers at such short notice over such vast distances at
the time was remarkable. Balanced against a background of limited aviation achievement in this vast theatre,
the successful delivery of such a number of large bombers ranks as a pioneering exercise by any standards
of the day. In addition, the majority of aircraft commanders had been trained only in single or twin-engine
aircraft. Because of the inadequate number of four engined aircraft available in the US for training, crews had
at best some fifteen to twenty hours of multi engine flying time. Largely because of such inexperience levels,
unique problems of low morale and discipline unfolded. Control Officers stationed at short notice along the
route were themselves inexperienced in their logistical duties, and accordingly lacked a presence of authority
usually afforded to such vital positions. Equally serious was a shortage of fuel and oil, and neither was the
situation assisted by the primitive refueling and maintenance facilities available en route, complemented by
somewhat haphazard weather and communications facilities.

When AL515 finally arrived in theatre, Malang had become 7th BG Headquarters, and thus home base
for the 11th and 9th Bombardment Squadrons. The Japanese advance continued unchecked however, and by
3rd February 1942 it was recognized that Japanese bombers, escorted by A6M2 Zeros with enhanced range,
were reaching most targets in Java. This put the newly-arrived LB 30s and Fortresses at risk, and an almost far-
cical situation ensued. In order to avoid surprise destruction, those bombers not on combat assignments were
forced to waste valuable fuel by cruising Java’s southern coastline, a good hundred miles west of Malang. The
Liberators were on standby at all times and would sometimes hide either in cloud or fly at low level to avoid
detection. An unorthodox technique was developed from these hasty departures - if an LB 30 was forced to
scramble with bomb load, its pilot could toggle all ten of its Dutch 300 Kg bombs whilst taxiing. The bombs
of course became a taxi hazard and had to be judiciously avoided upon return. This ability to jettison bombs
on the ground remained unique to the LB-30 during the campaign (Fortresses were unable to do this as their
tailwheels would have struck the discarded bombs. Those discarded by the LB 30s could not detonate as the
fuses failed to activate in such a short fall).
 37

This is the very Ferry Command Liberator which was shot into the
sea off Broome, Australia, on 3rd March 1942 by 3rd Kokutai Zeros.
Whilst the identity of all Americans aboard was established there
was no manifest for the passengers aboard which included
wounded Dutch and Australian citizens. There were only two
survivors and it is accepted that there were more about seventy
passengers aboard. This photo of #74 was taken at Bolling Field,
Washington, in October 1941 prior to the aircraft’s deployment to
the Philippines (credit Arvon Staats)

News of the Japanese landings on Bali reached Java headquarters within hours, and four bombing mis-
sions were immediately launched, the third unfolding at 0645 hours. This latter mission deployed the only
three LB-30s remaining in combat condition, including AL515. However, the twelve sorties launched from
Java that day met with limited success. On the first for example, they were attacked by nine Zeros at 3,000 feet.
Liberator crews claimed two shot down and somehow shook off the rest, but the LB 30s absorbed punishment.
The mission thus abandoned, they landed two hours later at Jogjakarta.

Bombing against the Japanese recently established on Bali continued whilst US planning commenced
for evacuating those US air elements remaining in Java. On 20th February 1942 a force of three LB 30s, in-
cluding AL515 led by 1/Lt Wade, escorted seven A-24 dive bombers with sixteen P-40Es flying top cover.
They set course for Bali, but an estimated thirty Zeros intercepted, although the Warhawks proved an effective
deterrent. All three LB 30s returned safely and left a Japanese cruiser burning, but the price had been high.
Two A-24s had gone down over the target, and four P-40s had expended themselves in defending the Libera-
tors. The Bali landing spelled the end of the air defence of Java for Allied Air Command, and at Bandoeng
Headquarters evacuation plans were speedily activated. Senior brass, including General Brett who had left for
Melbourne on the morning of 23rd February 1942, decided it was time for full measures. Complete evacuation
of the Philippines was thus ordered. As the numbers of pilots and groundcrews dwindled, Malang airfield was
destroyed in a series of twelve air raids, and 19th BG headquarters was moved a long way away, to Broome,
Western Australia. Those LB-30s left behind flew but few missions after this landmark decision, and thence
became conscripted into mass evacuations to Darwin and Broome, sometimes proceeding as far South and
West as Melbourne and Perth.

At 0030 hours in the early dark morning of 2nd March 1942, 2/Lt Kelsay staggered AL515 into the air. It
was badly overloaded, with a total of thirty-eight aboard (it nearly clipped the trees at the end of the field, took
its place in history as one of the last remnants of the 7th Bombardment Group to evacuate the Philippines). Be-
hind the fading engines of the Liberator, Dutch engineers detonated mines which had been laid near the field
in case of invasion. AL515 was in fact the last Liberator to leave Java. Following a seven hour flight, it landed
at Broome, arriving there at 0715 hours that morning, joining a gaggle of Australian and American aircraft.
AL515’s crew refueled their Liberator, snatched a bite of breakfast with their passengers, then launched for a
four and a half hour flight to Pierce RAAF Base near Perth. Passenger Victor Poncik recalls, “there was noth-
ing at Broome of interest to us and we were just darn glad to get as far away from Java as we could to a place
 38
where we could get a good bath, real meal and a good night's sleep, so we needed no spurring to get us on our
way”. That afternoon, while AL515 droned its way towards Pierce, a Japanese Navy Kawanishi H6K4 flying
boat made a leisurely observation of Broome from approximately 12,000 ft. Knowing there were no Allied
fighters in the area, its observations were both thorough and leisurely, but smart money said that its appear-
ance probably heralded a prelude to aerial attack. Sure enough, at 0920 hours next morning, nine A6M2 Zeros
attended by one C5M2 reconnaissance aircraft all from the 3rd Kokutai swept Broome airfield at low level.

An LB-30 refuels in the Phillipines just after commencement of hostilities in December

1941. A civilian fuel truck is put to good use in the process.

The result was mass destruction. Twenty-one aircraft of the hodgepodge Allied flotilla were destroyed,
including two 7th BG Fortresses, fifteen Dutch and Australian flying boats, and two Ferry Command B-24As.
It was one of these latter losses which marked genuine tragedy. Named Arabian Nights and commanded by 1/
Lt Edson Kester, it was loaded with more than thirty wounded personnel from Java, including civilians. Ara-
bian Nights had just become airborne when Osamu Kudo shot it into the sea about seven miles off Broome’s
Cable Beach. The B-24A broke in half, and despite the better efforts of surgeon Captain Charles Stafford to
rescue others, the aircraft sank quickly. US Sgts William O. Doncho and William A. Beatty were thrown clear,
and incredibly they survived hours in the water to struggle ashore the following morning. Beatty died of ex-
haustion in hospital, and apart from Doncho and Stafford, there were no other survivors.

The raid had a more dramatic moment when Dutch pilot Flt Lt Gus Winckel was credited with bringing
down Kudo's Zero. As the 3rd Kokutai made short work of the airfield, he ducked behind a tree stump and fired
a machine gun at them which he had quickly removed from a nearby Dutch East Indies Air Forces Lodestar.
Winckel sustained severe burns to his left forearm from the hot barrel. Meanwhile, safely at Perth, AL515 was
taken over by a fresh crew which returned it to Broome next afternoon to evacuate survivors from the carnage
including Dutch women and children caught in the strafing. It landed in company with a Fortress, another LB
30 and an antiquated Douglas B-18 Bolero. Then, on 6th March 1942, AL515 flew from Pearce to Laverton,
(near Melbourne, Victoria) in eight hours and twenty minutes. It was heavy at take off, for it carried thirty-five
aboard. Guiding it across Australia that day was its original Java crew, under the command of 1/Lt A. ‘Bud’
Fletcher and 2/Lt Patrick. By now seven of the original twelve LB-30s which had been delivered along the
Pacific route had been destroyed in Java. Another two would shortly be depleted. AL521 had been destroyed
in the first Japanese bombing raid on Darwin on 19th February 1942, and a few days later AL608 was flown
to Ceylon to evacuate General Wavell and his staff members of the British High Command. This now left a
grand total of three LB-30s for military service in Australia, being AL508, AL515, and AL570. After the
evacuation of Java, followed by the wholesale destruction at Broome, the scattered and demoralized remnants
of the 7th and 19th BGs re assembled at Camp Royal Park in Melbourne. Here they were reorganized into one
Bombardment Group - the 19th - under the command of Colonel Hobson. All remaining personnel were as-
 39
signed to four squadrons: the 28th (Major Elbert Helton), the 30th (Major Schwanbeck), the 93rd (Major Felix
Hardison) and the 435th (Major Bill Lewis). The 7th BG would subsequently be reformed in India under Gen-
eral Brereton. On 26th March 1942 the 435th Squadron took up quarters at Garbutt Field outside Townsville.
Accommodation comprised tents in a nearby wooded area, whilst Garbutt’s makeshift luxuries of the time
included under tree parking for aircraft replete with tent mess halls. Complementing these appointments was
a small wooden shack which served as both operations and headquarters. The squadron was equipped with E
model photo reconnaissance Fortresses, configured to operate at high altitude. It was into this basic establish-
ment that the surviving and re assigned three LB-30s arrived.

This is how Yard Bird came to

rest on 20th August 1942 before
she was towed from Milne
bay’s PSP runway and stripped
for parts, especially guns. She
was strafed by Zeros a week
later. The weather the day she
put down was wet, with poor
visibility. Pilot Fred Eaton was a
survivor however – back in
February 1942 he had survived
many days in a New Guinea
swamp when he put a B-17E
down into a northern coastal
swamp (credit Bob Livingston via
Merv Bell).

The first mission flown to Rabaul by any US Army Air Corps unit unfolded on 23rd February 1942,
and included AL515. The Liberator had by now acquired a name – Yard Bird – and was additionally now
equipped with ASV radar. The three LB 30s were used for armed reconnaissance missions in conjunction with
the Fortresses, and conducted strikes as far afield as Tulagi near Guadalcanal, and supply drop missions in
the Celebes. Though their extra eight hundred miles range compared to the Fortress was useful, LB 30 crews
would always be unhappy with the fact that the Consolidated bomber lacked superchargers, thus limiting its
ceiling to a paltry 12,000 feet at the best of times. Squadron records show that AL515 was flight tested on 20th
June 1942 and then flew a reconnaissance mission over Japanese-held Truk Island four days later. On 29th
June 1942 it reconnoitered a then unknown island called Guadalcanal, one of the first reconnaissances of that
campaign, well before US troops would land there. The squadron even began night flying the LB-30s which
were put to further use July/August 1942, including more photo reconnaissance of Guadalcanal.

On 10th July 1942, AL515 and AL573 reconnoitered Tulagi before bombing it. During the run they were
intercepted by a pair of Nakajima A6M2-N floatplanes. In the attack AL573’s number three engine was put
out of commission and although one of the Rufes broke off, apparently with one wing smoking, its destruction
was not confirmed. The mission obtained interesting intelligence however. Whilst pilot 1/Lt Wallace C. Fields
nursed AL573 back to Port Moresby on three good engines, the Liberator’s camera operator rested smug in the
knowledge that he had snapped both attackers. His self righteous smugness was justified, for when developed,
the photos presented Allied intelligence with first confirmation of the ‘Zero floatplane’ in action. During the re-
turn Fields’ crew tried to jettison the empty bombay fuel tank to reduce weight, but the ‘Rube Goldberg salvo
system’ crudely failed; the tank only partially dropped and then jammed securely into place against the bomb
bay sides. The return to Port Moresby continued with it protruding from the bombay, slowing the already lum-
bering bomber on its vital return. To add a lighter moment to the noise and inconvenience, the flight engineer’s
shoe was sucked downwards into the slipstream in his attempts to dislodge the tank by kicking it violently.
 40

Two Mitsubishi A6M2-N Rufe floatplanes from the Yokohama Kokutai rose to intercept AL515 and AL573.
This Japanese unit had taken up station at Tulagi only several days prior. Signals intelligence intercepts of
this day reveal that a dozen Yokohama Rufes lurked in the Guadalcanal area, rotating on various shifts
between 0600 to 1800 hours. The 25th Flotilla War diary notes that the floatplanes expended 800 rounds of
7.7mm and 100 rounds of 20mm ammunition during the encounter. One of these actual aircraft (mistakenly)
claimed AL573 as an aerial victory. Most of the Kokutai’s other records were unfortunately destroyed when
Tulagi was invaded on 7th August 1942, forcing the squadron’s personnel to disperse throughout the Florida
Islands. With the assistance of Solomon Island natives, over the next few days the remnants of the entire unit
were all ruthlessly hunted down and killed (credit Wallace Fields via John Fields).

AL515’s next mission was a supply drop to Dutch guerillas in the Celebes on 15th July 1942, and
then another, three days later. On 25th July 1942, AL515 reconnoitered Hollandia and Geelvink Bay staging
through Horn Island, but from afar there was fresh and more urgent intelligence; the Japanese were preparing
another major assault, this time at Milne Bay. The Australians wisely planned to fortify troops and supplies
there, so on 18th August 1942 Captain Fred Eaton (just promoted) flew Yard Bird from Townsville to Milne
Bay. His mission was to deliver an Australian Bofors gun with crew, but on the final leg into Milne Bay an
electrical fire broke out near the upper turret. Merv Bell dashed from the flight deck and put to good use an
extinguisher, a flight jacket and two canteens of water.

Two days later Eaton was briefed to repeat the mission with another Bofors crew. Merv Bell recalls, “we
departed at 1150 hours with two extra RAAF officers with the American gun crew of seven, making fourteen in
all with our skeleton crew. We made an incident free flight and were in the circuit area over Milne Bay at 1430
hours. We prepared for the landing having decided to make a low approach with plenty of power because of
our big load. We selected wheels down but nothing happened. After four attempts and no joy, we called the en-
gineer to make a check. After ten minutes he called up on the intercom to confirm a total hydraulic breakdown.
We then decided to attempt a manual release, so we flew down the bay away from the hills and commenced to
circle at 1,500 feet just under the cloud. After an hour with the cloud and rain forcing us down to 600 feet we
had the port wheel down and locked and the nose wheel down but not locked. Fred and I took half-hour turns
to assist the engineer. Flying conditions were filthy and we were on instruments most of the time. We spent
another half-hour on the starboard wheel but it would not release. We decided to make a crash landing and so
prepared the loading, most of which was well tied down before take-off. The Bofors gun ammo was our main
worry as there was over 20001b of it. Fred and I and the engineer decided to dump it. We got the manual gear
on the bomb bay door to operate and when they were open I stood on the eight inch wide catwalk and two of
the crew handed the ammo containers to me. I then dropped it into the water. The engineer relieved me after
fifteen minutes and I went back to the flight deck and took over while Fred went back for a final check. All
the members of the Bofors crew with their bedding were moved to the floor of the mid compartment, and the
other four of our crew packed on the floor of the radio compartment. Fred returned to the flight deck and we
ran through our crash landing drill. By now visibility over the bay was about half a mile, the ceiling 400 feet
 41
with rain. We were also fast running out of daylight with the time approaching 1645 hours. We made two low
passes over the landing strip every army and air Force bod from the area lining the strip. We made a long low
approach and touched down on one wheel on the muddy strip beside the steel runway. As we lost speed we
went down on our nose and the starboard wing tip and two props touched. A 90 mph we made a belly skid to
the right, finishing up the way we had approached”.

After the wing tip contacted the ground, the machine gracefully ground looped and Eaton’s crew made
a hasty and undignified exit. Next morning Bell and Eaton returned to the crippled Yard Bird where they re-
moved all bombs and gunsights. RAAF groundcrews stripped the aircraft of its guns and other useful fittings,
and allocated the ammunition to the Australian Kittyhawks, also equipped with American Brownings. After
their removal, Yard Bird’s Brownings were mounted on welded tripods and would later be used as anti-aircraft
defence. For various reasons, mostly attributable to poor weather, it was not until 25th August 1942 that Eaton
et al were able to leave Milne Bay. This was achieved despite the continuous rain, and in the QANTAS Empire
flying boat Coriolanus which alighted in the bay at 0830 hours. The slow flying boat soon delivered its pas-
sengers to Townsville where they would repose.

For all intents and purposes Yard Bird was now considered a write off, and pushed to one side of Milne
Bay’s strip #1. On the morning of 27th August 1942, with its crew safely back in Townsville, seven A6M2s
from the Tainan Kokutai from Rabaul led by Lieutenant Yoji Yamashita swept across the strip as a post script
to half hearted attacks by several Val dive bombers which the Zeros had escorted. The crippled Liberator drew
the strafing Zeros like bees to honey, and Yard Bird was quickly set ablaze. It was 0820 hours as the Japanese
pilots pressed their low attacks between a narrow corridor of coconut trees. As they raced back and forth prac-
tically every Australian soldier who could lay his hands on a weapon used it. In the fray even a cameraman
was able to prop himself against a tree and film the occasion. To the Australian troops it was like a shooting
gallery with the Zeros as ducks.

Coincidentally a squadron of 22nd Bombardment Group B-26s returning from a shipping patrol, drew
some of the A6M2s away. During one of the strafing passes, Petty Officer 2nd Class Enji Kakimoto took hits
and ditched in the nearby bay after losing oil pressure. In his flight jacket the 22 year old carried a group pho-
tograph of his fellow Tainan Kokutai pilots taken at Rabaul only days before. Convinced that he would soon
be rescued by Japanese soldiers, Kakimoto wrote an account of his mission on the back of the photo after he
had swum ashore.

It is through this spontaneous action that we are privy to Kakimoto’s perspective of his demise (the
young pilot would be captured by surprise two days later during which he would unsuccessfully try to de-
stroy the photo). Kakimoto wrote, “Milne Bay 0720 hours [Tokyo time], arrived and commenced action. On
account of poor weather the dive bombers attacked in scattered formation and when their last three planes
departed our fighter unit commenced machine gun attacks on the ground. Lt Yamashita’s aircraft was hit and
fuel spurted out. Following him I was also hit three times. Yamashita signaled ‘I’m done for’, and saluting put
in a burst from above and behind into a B-26 and shot it down. After his second attack he dived and crashed.
I withdrew and was about to rejoin the others when my oil pressure failed. Looked for a target to crash into
but found none so I force-landed in the area. Yamashita and Ninomiya were continuing aggressive action at
high altitudes but at the time when I made my forced landing and waded ashore they were attacked and hit by
a P-39 Airacobra”. Kakimoto was interrogated by his Australian captors who concluded,

“Under interrogation out latest POW professed to be a none too bright farmer, but in fact was an expe-
rienced and skilful pilot”. Kakimoto had participated in raids against Port Moresby, Horn Island and earlier
in the month, on August 7, had flown a long distance Guadalcanal mission as wingman to Navy ace Saburo
Sakai. Kakimoto later committed suicide whilst in captivity in Australia in 1943. The four Japanese pilots
killed at Milne Bay on this day were Yoji Yamashita, Sadao Yamashita, Takeo Matsuda and Kihachi Ninomiya.
 42

History Twelve: Endurance Beyond Words

Flying Dutchman, Douglas C-47A #41-18564 (Australian Registration VH-CCU)
33rd Troop Carrier Squadron, 374th Troop Carrier Group
Crashed into Mt Obree 10th November 1942

Of all the accounts of tragedy in the annals of the Fifth Air Force, that of C-47 Flying Dutchman counts
among the more remarkable. Through promise of reward it was New Guinea natives who finally found the
relatively intact wreckage of the elusive American transport high on a mountainside. It was a pathetic site.
Among scattered and decaying bodies there was still one man alive, although barely. He was blind from mal-
nutrition and so light that he “felt like a baby" when the natives moved Captain Barron, an Army Chaplain,
from his squatting position. A bare semi-circle outside the aircraft's bent cargo door indicated he had been
tearing up mountain moss for sustenance and moisture. The natives cooked banana and tried to feed the padre
but after more than sixty days of exposure he died in their arms. They left his body beside the others but re-
trieved a Holy Bible, into which he had scribbled his last days. The Bible served as proof of their discovery,
and shook heads of disbelief when it found its way back into American hands. The tragedy of Flying Dutch-
man breaks into separate accounts of seven injured Americans stranded at nine thousand feet in the wreckage
of their transport, two parties of four which set out for help, and finally a saga of several Australians who tried
to locate the wreckage and rescue those left behind.

The fateful flight started from Wards Strip outside Port Moresby at 1300 hours on 10th November 1942,
with its destination as Pongani, on New Guinea’s northern coast on the other side of the Owen Stanley Ranges,
to ferry troops into the Gona/Buna fight. Flying Dutchman had been one of the original thirteen 33rd Troop
Carrier Squadron transports which departed Hamilton Field, California, for the SWPA in October 1942. Its
assigned crew were 2/Lt George W. Vandervort (pilot), S/Sgt John J, Gerrity (co-pilot), Cpl Kirshner (radio
operator) and T/Sgt Steven J. Pitch (crew chief). That morning Gerrity had come down with fever and dysen-
tery however, so Vandervort prepared to fly the day without a co pilot. Most of the 33rd Squadron was flying
to and from Pongani that week. Vandervort had named the transport to highlight his Dutch ancestry. The re-
duced crew of three would today be flying an Army Chaplain and his assistant, and eighteen other US soldiers
intending to join the Allied attack advance on Buna.

S/Sgt Edward Holleman, who would later walk to safety, would recount, "We had been flying for almost
half an hour when suddenly the plane was caught in a downdraft and fell. Someone who was looking out of
a window said “boy, that was close”! We clipped the tops of some trees. The next moment we crashed. I re-
 43
member spinning out of my seat, a fire was burning fiercely and ammunition was exploding all over the place.
Seventeen of us got clear through the door, walked and slid down a steep slope to a more level spot. It was
raining and all immediately began to shiver from the cold. Several hours later when the flames died down, we
were able to return to the plane. It was lying on the Mountainside but was being held fairly level by the stumps
of the trees cut down as it crashed. The front was destroyed back to the wings and only a third of the rear was
still intact. The next morning we found all the supplies had perished in the fire but in the back compartment
were three rifles, six K rations, 1 and a ½ gallons of tomato juice, a first aid kit, two balloons, a box kite and
some flares. At night if a plane was heard, I would climb up on top of the fuselage and strike a flare. It seemed
to light up the sky so much that we felt they couldn't help but see it, but so far as I know no-one ever did.
During the day we kept the entire fuselage, which was a camouflage colour, covered with maps found in the
aircraft. It was hoped in this way we would be spotted easier. The first attempt to launch a balloon above the
tree tops was unsuccessful. However a second one was a little luckier. It started rising in the sky drawing with
it the aerial which could be used as an anchor. It had just cleared the tree tops when a plane exactly like ours
appeared out of the mists as if by magic, flew directly over us only to be swallowed up a moment later in the
low clouds. Our last hope of attracting attention had disappeared when the balloon sank back into the jungle.
While searching around the wreckage one day we ventured further in front of it than usual when suddenly we
came upon the body of the engineer Sgt Steven J. Pitch, who had been catapulted there in the accident. Beside
him was the instrument panel with an unbroken compass."

A 374th TCG C-47 flies over the lower reaches of New Guinea’s Owen Stanley Ranges. This
particular ship is C-47A serial #41-38676 which was named Swamp Rat II.

The survivors then buried Pitch and unscrewed the compass from the panel. Holleman would later credit
this compass with saving his life and three others’ when they eventually trekked to safety. Two separate par-
ties of four decided to set out for assistance. Eight injured would remain behind (one had since died), with the
fittest of the injured, Private Patton, tending them and carrying water. Back at Wards word quickly spread that
Flying Dutchman had gone down. The transports searched on every trip over the ranges but saw nothing. The
first party of survivors departed two days after the crash and headed for the base of the mountain, generally in
an Easterly direction. On the fifth day of their journey they came to a narrow gorge of the Moni River scattered
with boulders. The sides of this ravine were too steep to traverse, so each man secured a log and attempted to
 44
ride the fast flowing rapids. According to Privates Thomas and Butler, the other two quickly disappeared out
of sight downstream and presumably drowned where a waterfall dropped approximately eight feet. Thomas
and Butler searched for them along the riverbank for two days without success, then proceeded towards Safia,
being guided from village to village by natives. They ate rations from an emergency foodstore near the small
airfield at Safia, before being escorted to Abau on the south coast. This party of men had taken thirty-two days
to get to the coast after the crash, where they were interviewed by ANGAU (Australia New Guinea Adminis-
trative Unit) officer, Warrant Officer David Marsh.

Thomas and Butler were then flown to Port Moresby by liaison aircraft where they were both hospi-
talized on 14th December 1942 for burns and exposure. Incredibly and unbeknown to them, badly injured
survivors back at the Flying Dutchman lingered on. The second party had meanwhile departed the wreck
site on 16th November 1942. This group consisted of Sergeants Kershner and Holleman, as well as Privates
August and Mobley. For the first ten days they scarcely saw the sun, except on the second day out when they
traversed a silent, eerie field covered with moss. Direction was maintained by Holleman with the retrieved
aircraft compass. They remembered the plane's approximate heading and applied the track as best they could,
being south-westerly. On the tenth day the four struck a defined trail where they met up with friendly villagers.
Eventually, after a month in the jungle, they arrived at Kokobagu Plantation near Rigo. Here they were met by
Australians, Warrant Officer Ed Hicks and Medical Orderly Ron Davies. The survivors were fed, showered,
given fresh clothes and had their injuries treated.

Chattanooga Choo Choo was another 374th TCG transport, photographed here at
Bena Bena. It disappeared in the vicinity of Myola Lakes on 12 May 1943 piloted
by S/Sgt Pilot Lorenzo Gower. The aircraft departed Dobodura for Port Moresby
with a cargo of freight, last seen going under a cloud bank. Today the wreckage
lies near Kokoda in New Guinea, still waiting U.S military recovery.

Meanwhile an attempt to locate the wreck, and hopefully any survivors, quickly got underway with
David Marsh, Lt Ethell (ANGAU) and an American, Private Scheer, who was flown into Safia from Port Mo-
resby. By Christmas day 1943 this rescue team was well upstream, sleeping in shallow caves where possible,
and rationed to half a tin of meat and four ounces of rice daily. Ethell had brought with him a radio and antenna
which could be carried aloft with an inflatable balloon. The equipment was tested once, but unsuccessfully
(had it functioned, air supply drops would have made life more comfortable). On 28th December 1942 Marsh
celebrated his 21st birthday. By the next day the rescue party's movements were noticeably drained by the
high altitude. Where steep gullies could not be traversed because of strong streams, a stout stick attached in the
center by rope, was thrown across until it caught between boulders. Then it was a case of individually crossing
each stream, hand over hand.
 45

On the afternoon of 31st December 1942 they stumbled across a tell tale discovery. There, perched on top
of a boulder was a pair of US Army leggings. On New Years day 1943 the rescue party turned left and headed
south-west towards the crest of Mt Obree which peaks at 10,200 feet. They assessed that from the top they
would have an overall view, but also (mistakenly) thought that the wreck lay in that same direction (on the way
they had encountered the same eerie moss forest which the Holleman party struck). None had brought coats
or wet weather gear, and each carried only half a blanket to ward off the evening’s chill. Evening meals con-
sisted of hard biscuits, ground and mixed with milk powder. Not surprisingly, everybody including the native
carriers, began to suffer intensely. Ice was found in the water bucket next morning, and within a few hours of
bitter disappointment, they made the decision to withdraw before they too became casualties. At this stage the
would be rescuers were not to know that if they had turned right at the ‘leggings’ discovery they undoubtedly
would have found the elusive Flying Dutchman. After their return to the coast, ANGAU proclaimed a reward
for the discovery of the wreck. It was shortly thereafter that the natives discovered Barron as described at the
beginning of this passage, tried to revive him, then had to abandon him at the site. ANGAU officers remained
keen to retrieve the remains however. Two months later the Flying Dutchman was sighted from the air on a
small ridge near the headwaters of the Awara River, and another ANGAU team led by Warrant Officer White
made the wreck. All human remains and personal effects were recovered and returned to the United States the
same year.

Left behind however was an artifact which would bear testament to the pathetic chronology of those
left behind. Ironically, it would take another aircraft loss for this artifact to be recovered. On 8th March 1961
Australian civilian pilot Geoff Wallace departed Popondetta in Piaggio registration VH-PAU, a twin engine
passenger aircraft. It belonged to the recently established airline PATAIR, a young company on the rise to suc-
cess. Wallace was returning to Port Moresby on a routine flight and at 1010 hours that morning he reported
to flight service at Port Moresby on HF frequency that he was at 13,500 feet over the Kokoda Gap. This was
his last transmission, and despite one of the biggest peace time aerial searches in that country, the Piaggio has
never been found. However during the search Flying Dutchman was relocated, as indeed were other Fifth Air
Force wrecks. It was unclear from records held by the Papua New Guinea administration whether the trans-
port had been discovered before, so Cadet Patrol Officer J. Absolom directed a patrol into the site. The Flying
Dutchman was located only with considerable difficulty , the last three days requiring a path to be cut. During
the visit the legible diary written in charcoal on the aircraft's rear cargo door was noticed.

The diary door was subsequently retrieved on a second trip there by Absolom, and brought back to Port
Moresby where it was exhibited at the Cultural Museum. The writing on the door, which now resides in the
USAF Museum, is here tabled in its entirety:

Crashed 1.30 pm Tues. 10 Nov 1942

Tue 10 – 17 men alive
Wed 11 – 16 men alive
Thur 12 – 4 men started for help
Sat 14 – tried to put up balloon
Sun 15 – cracker and cheese
Mon 16 – 4 men started for help due south – leaves 8 men left
Tue 17 –small piece of cheese
Wed 18 –chocolate bar
Thur 19 –found one chocolate bar
Fri 20 –1/3 can tomato juice
Sat 21 – 1/3 can tomato juice
Sun 22 – drank last 1/3 can of tomato juice
Mon 23 – last cigarette – even butts
Tue 24 – first day – no rain
Wed 25 – 2nd day – no rain
Thanksgiving Thur 26 – rain today also clear in morning
Fri 27 – buckets full water this morn still got our chin up
 46
Sat 28 – clearest day we have had
Sun 29 – nice clear day. Boy we’re getting weak still have our hope
Mon 30 – still going strong on imaginary meals
December Tue 1 – My My ! Summer is here – went to Spring today
Wed 2 – just slid by but Boy it rained
Thur 3 – kinda cold and cloudy today – still plenty hungry. Boy a cig would
do good.
Fri 4 – Boy nothing happened just waiting
Sun 6 – Had service today. Still lots of hope.
Mon 7 – year ago today the war started. Boy, we didn’t think of this then
Wed 9 – Cloudy. God is looking out for our water supply
Thur 10 – Just thirty days ago. We can take it but it would be nice of some-
one came
Fri 11 – Cold rainy day today. We would like to start out before Christmas
Sat 12 – Fairly nice day – still plenty of water
Sun 13 – beautiful morning everyone has high hopes
Mon 14 – Waiting
Tue 15 – waiting
Wed 16 – new water place today
Thu 17 – running out of imaginary meals. Boys shouldn’t be long in coming
now, 6 more shoping [sic] days
Fri 18 – Nice and warm this morning. Rained this afternoon.
Sat 19 – pretty cold last night. Cold this morning too. Water pretty low, five
moe [sic] days to Xmas.
Mon 21 – Plenty of water
Tue 22 – Rained all three days
Wed 23 – thinking about home and Christmas. Still hoping.
Thur 24 – Tonite is Christmas eve. God make them happy at home.
Fri 25 – Christmas Day
Mon 28 – rain every day
Wed 30 – Johnnie died today
Fri 1 – new year’s eve
Pat, Mart, Ted

History 13. “Engine Number Four, then Number Three . . . “

Patched Up Piece, Consolidated F-7A # 42-64047
20th Combat Mapping Squadron, 6th Photo Group, (Reconnaissance)
First 20th Combat Mapping Squadron aircraft to depart the U.S. for the Pacific
and first aircraft to land at Middleburg

Poor quality, but telling photos of the Middleburg arrival.

This aircraft began life as the first B-24J-1-CF manufactured at Fort Worth, and made its inaugural flight
from the Texas factory on 14th September 1943. The entry of proper aerial Reconnaissance units into the Fifth
Air Force produced a policy problem. When reconnaissance F-5 Lightnings were delivered to the theatre they
 47
were painted overall sky blue for camouflage purposes. The Japanese soon ascertained that these blue Light-
nings never entered combat, and deduced correctly that their role was that of reconnaissance. Thus however,
they could also be attacked from any quarter without fear of reprisal. From the pilot's perspective, the blue
paint reduced the F-5's airspeed by ten miles per hour. The distinctive colour of these aircraft also provided
obvious evidence of areas in which Allied forces had strategic interest. Units which flew these aircraft soon
argued that it was better to paint-strip the Lightning's blue colour schemes. However, there were others who
argued that the twin-engined photo-ships should keep the paint-job, and that the scheme was effective.

The 20th Combat Mapping Squadron, equipped with converted F-7 Liberators, was deployed to New
Guinea in early 1944, arriving in the middle of the 'blue or no blue' argument. They entered the theatre as the
first multi-engined reconnaissance unit assigned to the Fifth. Their large aircraft had been factory-converted
from ordinary B-24s in Minnesota by removing the bomb racks and adding two fuel tanks in the forward bomb
bay. The aft bomb bay was converted to a photographic compartment with mounts and windows for two verti-
cal reconnaissance cameras (usually 9"x18" format K-18 cameras with f/6.0 lenses of 24" focal length). Three
mapping cameras (9"x9" format K-17 cameras with f/6.3 Metrogon lenses oF-6" focal length), in a trimetro-
gon array, were mounted in the nose to provide horizon-to-horizon photographic coverage.

A J model Liberator being converted to an F-7 in Minnesota. The 20th Combat Map-
ping Squadron came to call themselves ‘The Flying Dumbos’ (after Disney’s cartoon
character), because they flew the largest reconnaissance aircraft in the theatre. The
squadron’s highest-time F-7 was Cherokee Strip, an F-7B, which flew 106 missions.

Patched Up Piece was one of the Squadron's original aircraft to open operations at Nadzab, and flew
in the Squadron's first combat mission on 5th April 1944. The aircraft's nose-art was applied by Al Mer-
kling, born and raised in Philadelphia, and who later worked his way through art school by doing sketchings
for tourists on Atlantic City's boardwalks. Larry Thibault was co-pilot on #047 for its delivery flight from
the United States and would recall, "We ran into some rough air between Christmas Island and Australia,
buckling a bulkhead to the rear of the trap door. We called on the radio and reported the aircraft unsafe for
combat until it was fixed, so they vectored us to the depot at New Caledonia for repairs before continuing to
New Guinea. A few days later we got to Nadzab. I suggested the name since the aircraft was already patched
up and John Wooten agreed". Merkling was approached to do the art-work and would recall, "Lt Wooten's
crew approached me and any reluctance I may have had was quickly dispelled when the spokesman said that
 48
each crew member would chip in an Australian Pound note. I started painting in my own time, but was soon
relieved from my photo-lab duties, which I found boring, and spent full time painting the planes. When people
saw what I was doing, that first job got me a lot of orders". The converted Liberator continued her work with
an unblemished record, and finished the war with thirty-two missions, but it was a particular mission to Mo-
rotai which would be long-remembered by its crew. The pilot was 1/Lt David W. Ecoff, and the date was 14th
August 1944. Patched Up Piece was about to commence its first photo-run across the island when the oil pres-
sure gauge on Number Four engine dropped rapidly. It was promptly shut down and Ecoff informed his flight
leader that he would abort the mission because he could not hold 20,000 feet altitude on three engines. Despite
their disability, it would be a routine return flight to Biak, and Ecoff decided that no escort would be needed.
He commenced a smooth descent, trimming the aircraft for three-engined operation. The crew of Patched Up
Piece relaxed into the extended and noisy journey required to make home. Things looked good; the weather
remained clear, everything else appeared normal, and controlling the aircraft became easier as they descended
into the more dense air at lower altitude.

In this photo we see Patched Up Piece as

she appeared at Nadzab Airfield #1 shortly
after her arrival in the SWPA theatre in April
1944. At Nadzab she was stripped of her blue
paint, causing problems for the retention of
the noseart. The photo on bottom of next
page shows how the repaired noseart finally
appeared a few weeks later - note that the
name has been re-written in a different loca-
tion (credit David Ecoff and Jay Robbins).

However, after leveling off at 10,000 feet, Number Three engine began faltering oil pressure as well.
Ecoff elected not to shut it down, but rather to reduce its RPM to idle. He would then hopefully have its power
available for landing as required. With both engines out on the starboard wing, and even with full trim and rud-
der control, it was difficult to maintain the aircraft's altitude and directional control. Ecoff cautioned his crew
to prepare for a possible ditching. He asked navigator Riopelle for a heading to Middleburg Island, recently-
captured by US forces, and ordered the radio operator to contact Air/Sea Rescue. At the pre-mission briefing,
the crew had been briefed about the recent Allied landings at Middleburg and Sansapor. They were told that
Middleburg could be used for emergency purposes only. Ecoff now had one such emergency on his hands.

Matters had not improved as Middleburg materialized in the windscreen, and a red flare fired from
Patched Up Piece ensured that construction equipment crowding the island was quickly removed from the
unfinished airstrip. Ecoff's judgment was good - touchdown was made right on the edge of the runway - and
the lumbering aircraft safely rolled to a halt well within seven hundred yards or so. The crew, bent on under-
standing what had gone wrong, soon discovered to their alarm that all four engines were dangerously low on
oil. There was a waiting game of several days before Middleburg's runway was made long enough for a safe
departure.
 49

Patched Up Piece was a unique Liberator in several respects, apart from being the first
B-24J manufactured in Texas. First, her markings did not comply with the Geneva Convention
on Warfare insofar she did not carry the national insignia on the side of the fuselage (those who
decided to remove it to complement her high-altitude camouflage doubtless placed the legal
ramifications, such as they were in the theatre, as secondary). This was more than made up for
by her nose-art, another Al Merkling masterpiece which was applied at Nadzab.

A humorous diversion occurred when just prior to departure, movie cameramen asked Ecoff if he could
conduct another approach with one engine shut down for the camera The cameramen were on Middleburg at
the invitation of Fighter Group Commander General Barnes who requested that his fighters be filmed as being
the first to land on the new airstrip. Barnes arrived shortly thereafter and asked Ecoff to get Patched Up Piece
out of sight as soon as possible. Barnes (on far right) poses with the crew just before departure (L to R) 2/Lt
Dave Ecoff (pilot), F/O Jack K. McDonough (co-pilot), and 2/Lt Warren J. Riopelle (navigator) (credit David
Ecoff).
 50

History Fourteen. Enter the Widow

SKIPPY/NOCTURNAL NEMESIS Northrop P-61A Black Widow #42-5502
421st Night Fighter Squadron
Scrapped at end of War

The P-61 eventually appeared in every Pacific theatre, and served with the Fifth, Seventh
and Thirteenth Army Air Forces. Painting the spinners was commonplace decoration, the
color usually being aligned with the Squadron’s.

It was the Fifth Air Force which scored the very first kill in Northrop’s powerful Black Widow night
fighter. It was scored by a P-61A assigned to the 421st NFS in the early hours of 7th July 1944, then based at
Owi Island. Skippy, named Nocturnal Nemesis on the other side, was among this batch of early Black Wid-
ows, and was one of the first in the squadron to carry nose art. The incident was a textbook case of coordi-
nating radar and visual contact which culminated in the destruction of a twin engined Japanese bomber, type
unidentified. Later that month the first B model P-61s were delivered to the squadron. This improved model
featured four underwing pylons for drop tanks or bombs, plus a nose extension of eight inches to accommo-
date improved radar equipment. Incredibly, the later B models had a maximum all up weight of almost five
tons more than the As.

The squadron lost its first Black Widow on the evening of 18th October 1944 when P-61A #42-5515
disappeared in the Vogelkopf area of Dutch New Guinea. It has never been located. The 418th Night Fighter
Squadron also converted from Lightnings to P-61s, losing three on operations before war’s end. Relatively
little known is the fact that just after the war the 8th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron converted to the pho-
tographic version of the Black Widow, the F-15 Reporter. After the war Northrop’s famous night fighter con-
tinued on in civilian use as a fire fighter well into the mid 1960s. The only combat example of a P-61 known
to survive is Midnight Queen, a Thirteenth Air Force B model salvaged from the side of Mt Cyclops in Irian
Jaya in the early 1990s.
 51

Assembling a P-61. The first P-61s

to serve with the Fifth Air Force were
shipped to Townsville where they
were assembled at the 4th Air Depot
at Garbutt, then flown to Nadzab via
Port Moresby.

History Fifteen. Famous Fortress

The Swoose, Boeing B-17D Flying Fortress #40-3097
Various units including 19th Bombardment Group
Retired from service - in storage with the Smithsonian

This D model Flying Fortress truly has a diverse and varied history. Delivered to the Army Air Corps on
28th April 1941, the following month it was one of twenty-one which departed March Field on the morning
of 31st May 1941 for Hamilton Field near San Francisco, thence to depart singly for the tedious and lengthy
over water flight to Hickam Field, Hawaii. This delivery flight was historic in itself, marking the first mass
flight of stateside aircraft to reinforce an overseas base. In Hawaii #097 was temporarily assigned to the 11th
Bombardment Group, and four months later reassigned to the 14th Provisional Bombardment Squadron. The
Air Corps’ practice of stenciling serial numbers on tails was not yet instituted, and instead squadron number
21 appeared on #097’s tail. In early September 1941 nine of the original twenty-one Fortresses comprising
the entire 14th Bombardment Squadron departed Hickam, bound for the Philippines. The squadron launched
from Wake Island at midnight on 6th September 1941 and commenced the most hazardous leg of their journey
to Port Moresby, New Guinea.

Maintaining radio silence, the bombers flew high overhead the Japanese Mandated Carolines Islands in
the dark with no running lights to avoid detection. They all landed safely on the civilian dirt runway at Port
Moresby’s new 7-Mile Drome Drome at noon, 8th September 1941. This segment took thirteen hours. The
bomber’s arrival attracted much local attention, appearing as they did in overall natural polished aluminum.
Two days later the nine new bombers departed for Batchelor Field, the Royal Australian Air Force Base south
of Darwin, in Australia’s Northern Territory. Finally, on 12th September 1941, 2/Lt Henry Godman landed
#097 as the last of the nine put down at Clark Field. The Fortresses had just completed the longest mass flight
of stateside based aircraft to be delivered to an overseas theatre. From Clark, #097 commenced both training
and reconnaissance missions as part of the recently arrived 19th Bombardment Group. On the night of 5th
 52
December 1941, Fortresses from the 14th and 93rd Squadrons including #097 were flown six hundred miles
to the partially complete airfield at the Del Monte pineapple plantation on the island of Mindanao. It was here
that ‘Ole Betsy’, as her crew had come to call her, was given its first camouflage paint, with squadron number
67 being painted on the lower section of the tail.

The first pre-war deliveries of B-17s to the Philippines took place in September 1941. The most hazard-
ous leg was from Wake to Port Moresby, New Guinea, due to the long distance involved without naviga-
tion aids. Maintaining radio silence, the bombers flew high overhead Japanese Mandated territories at
night. They landed safely on the dirt runway at Port Moresby’s new 7-Mile Drome Drome at noon, 8th
September 1941. This photo (and overleaf) were both taken shortly at Port Moresby thereafter.

Pearl Harbor was attacked on 8th December 1941 (Philippines’ time), and immediately after notification
of the Japanese attack, #097 and one other B-17 were ordered to reconnoiter Mindanao, thus creating U.S.
history - this mission is recognized as the first U.S. bomber mission of World War Two. On 18th December
1941, #097 was one of four Fortresses which left Del Monte at 0200 hours for a nine-hour flight to Darwin.
Shortly after arrival at Darwin’s RAAF base, #097’s crew attempted to further protect the aircraft’s blind spot,
the tail. To achieve this they mounted a .30-caliber gun in the tail, fired from the waist gunner’s position by
means of a wood-and-wire bucket handle attached to a cable. This same crew flew two missions from Darwin
against Philippines’ targets in ‘Ole Betsy’ which they had flown since their arrival in Hawaii. On 23rd Decem-
ber 1941 it was one of four Fortresses which was readied to bomb Lingayen Gulf. From there they planned
to fly to San Marcelino then return to Australia, however shortly after take-off #097 developed engine trouble
and Godman elected to drop out of formation and head for the alternate target of Davao instead of aborting
the mission. Godman’s bomber arrived over Davao Bay in the dark, and by referring to moving lights in the
harbor below as their aiming point, bombs were released. Thus #097 had just achieved another first - the first
US night bombing attack of World War Two.

Major Cecil Combs flew several combat missions in #097 until 11th January 1942, when over Borneo’s
east coast, he was attacked by three enemy fighters. Although his crew claimed two, this eventful combat mis-
sion marked ‘Ole Betsy’s’ last - Following its return to Malang two days later it remained on the ground until
27th January 1942 when it flown down to the overhaul base at Laverton, an Royal Australian Air Force base
West of Melbourne, for major repairs. During its stay at Laverton the aircraft’s tail, which had been damaged
on its mission over Borneo, was completely removed and replaced with another. Late in February 1942 Cap-
tain Weldon Smith traveled to nearby Melbourne, where he purchased a bottle of French champagne to chris-
ten the aircraft The Swoose and “to celebrate the completion of the assembly job that would once more put this
crew in the air”. Smith would later reveal that he chose the word ‘Swoose’ from the popular 1941 song which
was often played by Kay Kaiser on his radio program ‘The Kollege of Musical Knowledge’. This man also
harbored artistic as well as aeronautical talents, and personally painted the name and logo. The Swoose was
first put to use as a navigation guide aircraft along with LB 30s for P-40s being delivered to Northern Austral-
ia, as first attempts to deliver them through central Australia solely by their own pilots had proven disastrous.
 53
On 17th March 1942 Captain Arthur A. Fletcher delivered The Swoose back to Laverton because its
engines were under-performing with low compression. While at Laverton awaiting further disposition, The
Swoose was selected by Captain Frank Kurtz to be the personal mount for Commander of U.S. Army Forces
in Australia, Lieutenant General George H. Brett. Kurtz viewed The Swoose as particularly appropriate in the
VIP transport role as it retained all its armament. Regardless, it was certainly in better condition than the other
rather sorry Fortresses at Laverton waiting to be cannibalized.

As Brett’s personal transport, the aircraft worked hard. Flown continuously up and down Eastern Aus-
tralia and into the combat zone via Port Moresby, in May 1942 with Kurtz at the controls, and boosted by
tailwhinds, it broke the speed record from Sydney, Australia, to Wellington, New Zealand, logging five hours
ten minutes. In New Zealand all its armament was removed and another speed record was then broken on a
flight to Honolulu, with a stop at Canton Island (both these flights were made to expedite the return to England
of Air Chief Marshall Sir Charles Burnett of the Royal Air Force). The armed transport carried Lieutenant
Commander Lyndon B. Johnson, future President of the United States, on a fact-finding trip around Australia
in mid-1942. Johnson was delivered to Port Moresby – late - from Townsville on the morning of 9th June
1942 to participate in a combat mission with 22nd Bombardment Group Marauders. However, on the return
trip The Swoose suffered near disaster when it became lost and put down on the sheep station ‘Carisbrooke’
not far from Winton, North Queensland. The Swoose finally farewelled the Pacific combat zone on 4th August
1942, becoming the first combat bomber to return to the United States. On this flight, carrying General Brett,
it again broke another speed record - from Brisbane to Honolulu, before ending the journey at Hamilton Field.

The aircraft made two more round trip transcontinental flights across the U.S. before being flown to
its new station at Albrook Field in the Panama Canal Zone on 9th November 1942 where General Brett, at
MacArthur’s whim, had been removed as Commander of the Fifth Air Force, and re assigned as Commanding
General of Caribbean Defense Command. In this role The Swoose was flown to many South American coun-
tries and the Caribbean, mainly showing VIPs Canal Zone fortifications. It also flew diplomatic missions and,
when necessary, missions of mercy. On 28th September 1943 Captain Jack J. Crane was selected by General
Brett as his new personal pilot. Fortunately for The Swoose, Crane was also an aeronautical engineer. Early
in February 1944 the veteran Fortress was removed from service for a periodic inspection at Albrook Field.
Numerous small cracks were found in both mainspars between the landing gear attachments and the fuselage.
Although the cracks were judged insufficiently serious to ground the machine, severe corrosion had taken hold
elsewhere in the wings. Corrosion was also found in the horizontal and vertical stabilizers, and on the under-
 54
side of the rear fuselage. Based on these conditions, the Boeing was deemed unrepairable. Knowing Brett’s
fondness for the old aircraft, Crane vigorously researched options to render it airworthy. He concluded that
the biggest problem was replacement of the inboard wing panels, as all other corroded parts could be easily
repaired. Touring the old abandoned depot at France Field, Crane found a pair of new inboard wing panels,
earmarked for B-l7Bs formerly assigned to the Canal Zone. Based on this fortunate find, it was decided to
repair The Swoose, and at the same time bring it up to E model standards wherever practical. Changes were
also made to the electrical system, including the installation of two inverters on the pilot’s side of the cockpit
which permitted upgraded instrumentation (this enabled the radio operator to be moved forward to use special-
ized HF equipment for weather reports and airways clearances).

In brand new silver livery, one of Boeing’s

finest just after shut down on 10 Septem-
ber 1941 at Batchelor Field, the Royal Aus-
tralian Air Force Base south of Darwin, in
Australia’s Northern Territory.

The automatic flight control equipment was removed, thus opening up a spacious area in the nose, sub-
sequently converted into a roomy semi-circular seating area so that dignitaries could enjoy an unobstructed
forward view. Other changes included removal of the cockpit plastic dome, and carpeting the floor in the pas-
senger compartment. Finally, draw curtains were installed, and the lavatory was remodeled. The old D model
wheels, brakes, and tires were replaced with E model ones, and a floor was also built into the right side of the
bomb bay where an electric grill and icebox were installed. The work took three months, but on 30th May
1944, and back in polished natural aluminum finish, the reborn Boeing was flight-tested. After more steadfast
service, in December 1945 The Swoose and General Brett returned to the U.S. After a number of short trips
around the United States it was flown to Kingman, Arizona where it was decommissioned. Learning that The
Swoose was at the scrap yard, Frank Kurtz arranged to have it purchased for $350 by the city of Los Angeles
as a war memorial. Temporary repairs were made at Kingman before he flew it to March Field, where the
aircraft was repainted. In April 1946 Kurtz flew it back to Kingman, and on 6th April 1946 with Kurtz and
the Mayor of Los Angeles at the controls, it was flown to Mines Field, then Los Angeles’ municipal airport.
Following acceptance ceremonies, The Swoose was towed to a hangar where it would remain until 22nd Janu-
ary 1949 when it was again flown to March Field for yet another inspection and repair. Finally it was flown
Eastwards to the Smithsonian’s National Air Museum’s temporary storage facility at Douglas Field outside
Chicago, Illinois. Since the plan to have the aircraft displayed as a war memorial was not developed, and
in view of an ever growing shortage of space at Mines Field, another home for the aircraft had to be found.
Kurtz, still on active duty with the Air Force, arranged for the Smithsonian to accept the neglected aircraft.
Paul Garber inspected it in May 1948 and subsequently arranged Kurtz to fly The Swoose from Los Angeles
to the former Douglas Aircraft assembly plant at Park Ridge, Illinois. It was supposed to remain there until a
display area could be found at the newly planned Museum, to be constructed on the Mall in Washington, DC.
Two months later, following appropriate inspection and repair, Kurtz flew the veteran bomber in its fresh paint
to Mines Field. Following a public ceremony there on 26th March 1949, the city’s Mayor formally handed
the aircraft over to Kurtz for the flight to back to Park Ridge. The merry-go-round continued. The Smithso-
nian was forced to evacuate the storage hangar at Park Ridge because of the Korean War, so on 18th January
1952 The Swoose was flown to Pyote, Texas, where for the next two years it was stored outdoors next to the
 55
Hiroshima aircraft, B-29 Enola Gay. On 3rd December 1953, piloted by Major Richard T. Saxe, the aircraft
began its last trip north to Andrews Air Force Base. The final segment of this flight was not without incident.
At dusk on 5th December 1953, without navigation lights and two engines out, it was on its descent over the
Potomac River when the third engine failed shortly before touchdown at Andrews Air Force Base. Thus ended
the remarkable and diverse flying career of this famous aircraft. The Swoose was subsequently stored outdoors
at Andrews where it was unfortunately vandalized. Finally in April 1961 it was disassembled and trucked to
the National Air and Space Museum’s Paul E. Garber Preservation, Restoration, and Storage Facility at Silver
Hill, Maryland, where it rests at time of publication.

History Sixteen. Final Aerial Combat of the War

(Unnamed) Consolidated B-32-35-CF #42-108578
386th Bombardment Squadron/ 312th Bombardment Group
Attacked by fighters 18th August 1945

Based at Okinawa, the 386th Bombardment Squadron was the only unit in the entire Army
Air Corps to ever operate the Dominator. Consolidated had designed the B-32 to replace
the Liberator, and the squadron converted to the four-engined giant from A-20Gs.

The surprise news of the atomic bombs aroused curiosity all over the world, especially on Okinawa, one
of the closer Allied outposts to Japan. Since the bombing of Nagasaki on 9th August 1945 and the Emperor’s
surrender announcement to his own people six days later, hostilities had officially ceased. At Okinawa the
386th Bombardment Squadron sat tight with their giant B 32 Dominator bombers. They were the only unit
in the entire Army Air Corps to operate the type, a bomber which Consolidated had designed to replace the
Liberator. A few days after the cease-fire two Dominators flew over Korea to observe enemy air activity.
Shortly afterwards Far Eastern Air Force (FEAF) Headquarters directed the squadron to conduct a series of
photo-reconnaissance missions to monitor Japanese compliance with cease fire terms. The first of these was
flown on 16th August 1945 by Hobo Queen II without enemy opposition. The following day four Dominators
led by Hobo Queen II returned to Tokyo, but this time were tracked by Japanese radar as they approached
the city. Flak batteries tore holes in one, and it would spend the rest of its days being cannibalized for spare
parts beside an Okinawa taxiway. Apart from the flak, an estimated ten enemy ‘Raiden’ fighters intercepted
the bombers. Clearly, Japan still harbored those who were holding out against their government’s wishes. A
follow up reconnaissance mission was ordered for the next day, 18th August 1945, and because of the events
two days previous, the crews were under no illusions as to the potential danger it posed.
 56

The bombay area of Dominator #484 is show-cased in mid August 1945. All Dominators were
scrapped after the war at Kingman Air Force base in Arizona. They were not without their prob-
lems, and in particular the large double bank Wright R-3350 radial engines kept the flight engi-
neers busy at all times (credit Stuart Fudge).

This reconnaissance mission over Tokyo would involve two Dominators and one 20th Combat Mapping
Squadron F-7B. Particularly wary of fighters lurking over Hiroshima, the crews were briefed to stay well away
from the area. Since the F-7B cruised more slowly than the Dominators, it departed first. The Dominators nev-
ertheless arrived over Tokyo ahead of it, the first being Hobo Queen II under the command of Captain James
L. Klein. The second Dominator was flown by l/Lt John R. Anderson. Both made several passes over Tokyo in
tight formation at 22,000 feet. Klein was intending two more passes when Anderson called in saying that his
camera shutters were frozen, so he was descending to warmer air. Klein noticed that as Anderson’s Dominator
nosed down, it appeared to head directly for Hiroshima. At the conclusion of Klein's next photographic run,
fighters were seen taking off from an airfield which US intelligence termed ‘Tokyo North Three’. Klein or-
dered Anderson to rejoin formation, but there was no reply, then one of Hobo Queen II's gunners called in that
Anderson's bomber was climbing back towards them. Klein completed his final pass before sighting Anderson
approximately 11,000 feet below them, but also below could be discerned the outlines of fourteen Raiden
fighters. The 'never-exceed' speed of the Dominator was listed in the manual as 357 mph. Klein pushed Hobo
Queen II into a shallow dive to gather speed, and at one stage the Airspeed Indicator needle hovered around the
430 mph mark while all those aboard anxiously hoped Hobo Queen II would hold together. Klein soon joined
Anderson, but so had the Raidens which now lined up in trail attack formation behind the two Dominators and
pressed a systematic attack.
 57

In the final days of the war a Dominator sits on Yontan’s runway on Okinawa. Whilst the Ameri-
cans on the island enthusiastically acclaimed and celebrated the surrender, Imperial fliers at the
Japanese Navy base at Atsugi, home of the dreaded Mitsubishi Raiden fighters, formed a rebel-
lion. Dozens of Navy pilots refused to obey their superior’s instructions to lay down their arms and
thus continued to fly the Raidens against surveiling Dominators, F-7Bs and B-29s. Their aggres-
sion continued for several days after the Emperor’s surrender, and order was only restored at At-
sugi when substantial Japanese Navy marines moved in to arrest the offenders (credit Stuart Fudge).

Anderson’s Dominator took a series of sharp and sudden hits. Photographer T/Sgt Anthony J. Marchione
was hit by a burst, and died almost immediately – he thus became the last Army Air Corps airman killed in
action in the War. A member of the 20th Combat Mapping Squadron on loan to the 386th BS, Marchione was
only nineteen years of age and from Pottstown, Pennsylvania. Sgt James T. Smart was also hit. He became
unconscious through a head wound. Sgt Lacharite, another 20th CMS photographer on board the Dominator,
was pierced in the legs. The fighters had also damaged the number three engine, causing a sudden drop in oil
pressure. Anderson was forced to feather its propeller.
A profile of a 302nd Kokutai Raiden fighter based at the Japanese
Navy base at Atsugi. No Japanese records survive of the combat,
as the missions were unofficial.

Shortly afterwards the tail gunner, Sgt John T. Houston, claimed one of the fighters, then another gunner
claimed one more (Japanese records show that no fighters were lost). While the two Dominators were being
harassed, the F-7B continued to penetrate the Japanese homeland some sixty miles inland. Their mission was
unsuccessful in obtaining the required photos however, and the aircraft was hit several times by flak. Hobo
Queen II arrived back at Okinawa first, followed by Anderson’s Dominator then the F-7B, which arrived in
the circuit area together. Anderson landed first so that standby ambulances could retrieve his casualties. This
incident marked the final aerial combat of the War.
 58

History Seventeen: “From Hindsight it was a Jinx”

Taxpayer’s Pride, Boeing B-17F Flying Fortress #41-24448
64th Bombardment Squadron/ 43rd Bombardment Group
Shot down by Japanese J1N1 night-fighter 26th June 1943

Taxpayer’s Pride as she appeared

at Seven-Mile Strip, Port Mores-
by. The scattered and overgrown
wreckage of the aircraft still lies in
the jungle today. The remains of the
crew were recovered after the war
and laid to rest at Jefferson Bar-
racks National Cemetery, St Louis.

The above words quote the diary of flight engineer Frank Hohmann, his entry being made halfway across
the Pacific aboard a new Fortress called Taxpayer’s Pride. Hohmann was flight engineer of a crew which had
been together since their earlier days with 74th Squadron out of Guatemala City. From here they had mainly
conducted search and patrol missions to the Galapagos Islands region, but now they were bound for a theatre
equally remote – New Guinea and the Fifth Air Force. In July 42 the crew was returned to the US to collect
a new Fortress to deliver to Australia. On 26th July 1942 Hohmann reported to Sacramento Air Depot office
where he was given the serial number of the aircraft. He set off the find it, but walked around the corner of
the giant Depot hangar at the precise moment a female employee walked into the spinning propeller of #448’s
Number Two engine. From this moment on, and with the trauma of having witnessed such a gruesome ac-
cident, Hohmann considered the aircraft a jinx. The following day the rest of the crew arrived, booked into
Hotel Travelers, then took #448 for a ‘shake-down’ flight. The pilots quickly discovered that the aileron trim
cable had been connected the wrong way around, but Hohmann soon had this rewired. 1/Lt Jay P. Rousek was
aircraft commander of the crew. His patriotic sentiment had been spurred by a bond rally at the Sacramento Air
Depot, during which the civilian workers at the Depot pledged the cost of the bomber. Thus Rousek chose the
name Taxpayer’s Pride for the aircraft, and it was applied to the aircraft’s starboard side at the Depot.

On 8th August 1942 Taxpayer’s Pride departed Hamilton Field, California, for the first leg of the flight
to Hawaii, but shortly after take-off, side gunner Alexander Kaczmarczyk became so ill that Rousek turned
around and called an ambulance immediately the engines were shut down. Three days later, with Kaczmarczyk
recovered and back aboard, Taxpayer’s Pride tried again, making Canton Island successfully on 13th August
1942. The next day Taxpayer’s Pride departed for Nadi, Fiji Islands. It was on this segment that an incident
occurred which confirmed Hohmann’s doubts about the aircraft’s jinx. With uncanny timing, the propeller
on number two engine, the one which had killed the female worker back in Sacramento, refused to respond
to pitch control. Rather than the nature of the mechanical failure, it was the location of the incident which
concerned Hohmann more – just five minutes short of the exact halfway point, or point of no return, between
Canton Island and Nadi. Rousek made a snap command decision and turned back for Canton Island where
they landed safely. Hohmann ordered a replacement control from Hawaii, but when it arrived a few days later
it turned out to be the wrong model number, with the oil feed line connection on the front of the unit instead
of the rear. Hohmann ordered another, and the crew tried to kill time on the island, desolate by any standards.
During this period Hohmann encountered some English engineers who were based on the island to service
RAF aircraft. They offered Hohmann a box of fittings to connect an oil pipe to the incorrect propeller unit.
Hohmann made the adjustments then started the engine to test-run it. Whilst doing so Rousek ran up and asked
him what was going on, so Hohmann gave him a practical demonstration of his field-modified system at work.
 59
Rousek and Hohmann took the Fortress for a test flight by themselves, then returned to take a vote with the
crew as to whether they should proceed across the vast Pacific or not. The vote was yes. The bomber made it
without further incident to Amberley Field outside Brisbane, where it was tied down and left for several days.
On 25th August 1942 Rousek’s crew delivered Taxpayer’s Pride to its assigned station – Mareeba – where it
would serve with the 28th Bombardment Squadron of the 19th Bombardment Group. However, Rousek’s crew
chose never to fly Taxpayer’s Pride again.

Crew of Taxpayer’s Pride killed in action Gazelle

Peninsula 26th June 1943 were Captain John
W. Scott, T/Sgt John J. Barry, Captain Donald D.
McEachran, Sgt Ralph H. Thomas, 1/Lt Mortimer
K. Smith & Cpl Homer G. Harper.

When the 19th Bombardment Group was returned to the US at the end of 1942, Taxpayer’s Pride was
transferred to the 43rd Bombardment Group. Despite Hohmann’s misgivings about the aircraft it had thus far
served in combat faithfully. The 43rd took up its war with the 19th’ s old Fortresses, but a major development
was unfolding in the enemy stronghold of Rabaul which would affect the Group. The 251st Reconnaissance
Kokutai had been deployed from Japan to Lakunai airfield near Rabaul in May 1943. Equipped with J1N1
Irving night-fighters, their crews soon took up tropical training in the Rabaul area at night. By the end of the
month the unit had two combat-ready Irvings and one crew judged combat-efficient. The unit’s first night com-
bat patrol took place on 21st May 1943, in an Irving under the command of Shigetoshi Kudo. Upon landing
Kudo was jubilant – he had just shot down the first Fortress to be downed over Rabaul by a nightfighter. Kudo
continued his deadly patrols, but US intelligence remained unaware that a spate of bomber losses at night were
due to two night fighters.

The deadly J1N1-S Irving night-fighter. Had the 251st Kokutai been supplied these aircraft in sub-
stantial quantities then the Fifth would have been badly deterred from night bombing attacks against
Rabaul. Irving’s most deadly weapon was a pair of 20mm cannon which fired obliquely upwards, seen
just behind the cockpit. The aircraft possessed an extraordinary climb rate; 12,000 feet in six minutes.

At around 0100 hours in early morning of 26th June 1943 Taxpayer’s Pride along with five other 64th
Bombardment Squadron Fortresses including Naughty But Nice bombed Rabaul. Shigetoshi Kudo was again
commanding his Irving with Michtaro Ichikawa as his observer. Both Fortresses were attacked in succession
from below, destroying both of the bombers with upwards-firing cannon. There was only one survivor from
each aircraft – 1/Lt Jose L Holquin navigator of Naughty But Nice was thrown clear of the spinning wreckage
 60
and parachuted into the jungle. He evaded capture for three weeks but was then turned over to the Japanese.
Holguin survived more than two years in Rabaul as a POW. The sole survivor of Taxpayer’s Pride was Cpl
Joel W. Griffin who also managed to parachute to safety and was incarcerated along with Holguin.

The wreckage of Taxpayer’s Pride fell into jungle near Viveren Plantation, directly south of Vunakanau
Plantation. The area was worked by Tolai natives, one of them being a young man named Stanis Toliman.
Early next morning he and others from the plantation tried to get to the scene of the crash but were turned
away by Japanese soldiers. Taxpayer’s Pride badly fragmented in mid-air before impact, as evidenced by the
wreckage there today. One of its engines thudded to earth in the middle of a nearby village, where the villag-
ers have planted flowers around it in honor of the dead. No-one has yet determined whether it is the wreckage
of engine #2.

History Eighteen: Half-Century Phoenix

Big Nig, Douglas A-20G-25-DO Havoc #43-9436
89th Bombardment Squadron/ 3rd Bombardment Group
Forced-landed in a New Guinea swamp 3rd May 1944

“I attempt to recall events of 50 years past about a plane that I always thought would be ravaged by time
and sunk out of sight if the New Guinea natives hadn’t stripped it first. I have vivid memories of a time in my
life that is hard to believe ever happened. I doubt I’ll ever forget the days that Burke and I spent in that swamp
and jungle of New Guinea and our attempts to get out“

(Big Nig’s pilot Thomas Reading, in a letter to the RAAF dated 29th May 1995).

The account of Big Nig spans more than half a century. It is the chronicle of an aircraft which was forced-
landed in a New Guinea swamp, then abandoned and forgotten forever – or so it seemed. In 1994 – exactly
fifty years after it was put down – the aircraft was salvaged, raised to the surface by air bags, then carried out
by a giant Mi-26 Helicopter. The recovery team was delighted with their find. The aircraft was virtually intact,
saved from souvenir hunters by its extreme isolation, due to an errant piece of Japanese flak . . .

After having been assembled in the Commonwealth Aircraft Corporation factory outside Melbourne,
Australia, and flown up to New Guinea, Big Nig was assigned as a new aircraft into the 89th Bombardment
Squadron in February 1944. The squadron had been the first Fifth Air Force squadron to commence operating
the A-20 in the SWPA, which it did in September 1942 using early A models. The aircraft participated in a
strafing attack on the Japanese stronghold of Wewak on 3rd May 1944 as part of the Fifth Air Force's ongoing
mopping up operations against the Japanese subsequent to Operation Reckless – the invasion of Hollandia.
The aircraft was assigned to 1/Lt James L. Folse and fell under the mechanical eye of crew chief S/Sgt R.
J. Campbell. Folse was rostered off for the mission however, and instead 2/Lt Tom Reading took Big Nig to
Wewak, with S/Sgt Burke L. Cook, from Brownsville, Pennsylvania as his gunner. From Illinois, Reading
was twenty five and had attended De Pauw University at Greencastle from 1939, then enlisted in April 1942
and was commissioned just over a year later. Reading arrived in Port Moresby in February 1944 and for the
first few weeks ferried new A-20Gs from Port Moresby to Nadzab. Afterwards he flew orientation and low
 61
level combat training missions until his first combat mission on 14th March 1944 against Japanese troops and
supplies at Brandi Plantation. This fateful combat mission of 3rd May 1944 was Reading’s tenth, and unlike
previous ones, this one would be at a medium altitude of 5,000 feet. The A-20s would be led over the target
by a Mitchell from which they would drop their bombs on queue. The standard Nadzab-Wewak return combat
run for the Group took three hours and forty minutes, winds depending, but today Reading would be airborne
only three hours. Nine 89th Squadron A-20Gs would fly the mission, the other eight having equally eccentric
nose art and named Big Butch, Educated Edmund, Hot Horse Herbie, Izzy Cheese Cake, Little Isadore, Paddy
the Link, Slugsy Sachs and Spanish John. The entire 3rd Attack Group would participate, including its other
8th, 13th and 90th Squadrons, each with nine A-20Gs.

Nearly fifty years after having been

forced-landed in a New Guinea
swamp, Big Nig’s nose-art appeared
relatively fresh. Taken at the resto-
ration facility at Amberley Base in
Queensland in 1996, the RAAF com-
mensurately recovered the goggles
which Reading left on the seat. The
fittings in the A-20Gs fuselage were
complete, rendering valuable parts
for two other A-20 restorations com-
pleted by the RAAF in September
1996 (author’s collection).

After the four squadrons departed Nadzab they assembled over the Markham Valley and headed for
Wewak. Reading recalls, “All went well, some ack ack and small arms fire. We cleared the target and out
over the sea we made our turn to head for home base. A few miles south of the target and over the Sepik River
Valley my right engine blew and I could not feather the prop. I adjusted for single engine operation but the
windmilling prop was causing tremendous vibrations to the plane and I had to reduce power on my left engine
to reduce the problem. My gunner was also concerned about our chances and would bail out if I made the
decision, but we both hoped for a safe landing somewhere. I told my gunner I would attempt to keep power on
and try to stabilize the plane and hold some altitude. I had cut back on power and had lost altitude, but tried
to maintain 1,000 feet. Two planes stayed with me to help direct and guide me to flat land or a swamp. The
swamp around the Sepik looked good, and my two escorts said they would stay with us until we were down
and hopefully safe”.

Taken during recovery by the RAAF

- note the intact condition of the tur-
ret guns(author’s collection).
 62
With reduced power on one engine, and a dragging propeller on the other, Big Nig could not maintain
altitude. After jettisoning his canopy hatch Reading touched down with gear retracted and slid some three
hundred yards before lurching left and coming to rest. Reading had successfully put the aircraft down at
1125 hours with almost no damage. The forced landing bruised both men however, and cut Cook’s right hand
deeply in two separate gashes. Reading’s biggest injury was a bad bruise to his forehead which had impacted
against the armor plate when the aircraft first touched down. Reading recalled, “We crawled out of the ship,
and much to our surprise, found that what I thought was a field turned out to be nice deep swamp on which
our ship was resting on the bottom with the wings level with the surface of the water. We knew we had to get
out of the swamp before dark because the bugs and mosquitoes were very disagreeable. We patched each other
up, took what supplies we thought we would need and one of the other squadron ships spotted us and dropped
medicine and more food. By this time we were ready to head for high ground, so I stepped off the wing and
sank up to my neck. That way was no good so we then climbed back to the tail and stepped off on to the grass
the ship had crushed down and that was only hip deep. I checked my compass and we started through the seven
foot grass and three foot water to land approximately 3/4 mile away. The trip wasn’t very eventful except that
we lost quite a few of our supplies and for five and a half hours we pushed through. It was very tiring indeed !
At sunset we reached land and spent a very uneventful night under small bush in the rain with plenty of bugs
for company”.

The 89th Bombardment Squadron named their G model A-20s after caricatures of the pilots who
flew them, using names such as ANGIE THE OX, BIG BUTCH, BIG NIG III, THE BRAIN, EDUCATED EDMUND,
GATOR BAIT, GOOD TIME CHARLIE, HOT HORSE HERBIE, IZZY CHEESE CAKE, JEW LOUIE, JEW LOUIE II, JO
JO, JOE THE JOKER, JUDGE GOLDFOBBER, LITTLE ISADORE, LIVER LIPS, MILK EAR WILLIE, PADDY THE LINK,
REGRET, RELUCTANT WAGON, SLUGSY SACHS, SORROWFUL, SPANISH JOHN, TOBIAS THE TERRIBLE, and
WALDO WINCHESTER III.

The next morning the men persevered onwards to a small clearing where they started to build a hut. At
mid morning a B-25 appeared and searched for nearly half an hour before spotting the men. It dropped instruc-
tions for them to stay in the area at all costs. The note also suggested they move to some nearby substantive
native huts. The B-25 also dropped supplies nearby, but they were lost forever in long kunai grass. The men
did soon reach the huts however, where they dried their clothes and spent the next two days waiting. Two L-5s
appeared on the third day and dropped five parachutes of supplies, of which they retrieved three. Reading
recalled, “they contained everything we needed and two big boxes of food. Things were very bright for us !”
The next eight days were spent in various scouting trips, bathing and eating.
 63

The demise of 89th Bombardment Squadron HAR-

RY THE HORSE remains shrouded in mystery. This
A -20G was serial #43-9118, transferred in early
1944 to the 90th Bombardment Squadron, and
lost on 26th March 1944. As pilot Glen Richardson
strafed barges near Yakamul village not far from
Wewak, a bomb blast from another aircraft forced
him to ditch about a quarter of a mile offshore.
Circling pilots saw one survivor clamber into a
raft, but he was never rescued. The survivor was
probably captured, but this was never confirmed
by post-war investigations. HARRY THE HORSE is
seen here with assigned pilot Rix Rutland before
transferred to the 90th BS (credit Jack Heyn).

On the tenth day the men found trails through the jungle to a larger clearing where they started to build
a strip. Over the next two days they cleared an estimated two hundred feet, but on the third day Malaria over-
came both. They spent the next five days succumbed to fever, and on 19th May 1944, P-40s and P-39s strafed
and burned off a larger field about a mile and a half away. Notes in New Guinea pidgin were dropped for the
men to read to the natives to ask for their assistance and explain how the strip should be constructed. However
most of the natives were unfortunately scared away when the American fighters enthusiastically strafed the
strip. After making their way to and inspecting the burned-off strip, their ground signals were wrongly inter-
preted that the strip was satisfactory to land on, and thus later that day a Cub dropped a scribbled note, “Dear
Tom, Cub will land on burned area. You be at the area then. Cub will land. Will help you make strip to take
off, George and Andy”.

A profile of the L-4 Cub used to recover the two crew.

Accordingly, a Cub was dispatched by higher authorities to collect them next morning. On board it car-
ried a ten gallon fuel drum strapped into the back seat. Such was its payload that it had to land at the site to
refuel regardless. When it arrived overhead, its pilot discovered to his horror that the cleared strip (which he
describes in his official account as a "small burnt spot") was clearly insufficient in length. The two men on the
ground signaled for the Cub not to land, but the pilot had no choice as he was hurting for fuel. The Cub, flown
by S/Sgt William Adair, nosed over on landing and broke the propeller. After their elongated stay in the area,
 64
Reading and Cook were near exhaustion from lack of food and the heat. They nevertheless rallied to assist
the Cub pilot to try and clear more of the strip, and fill potholes which dogged the clearing. They signaled an
A-20 later that day that they required a new prop. One was air dropped the next day, and on 22nd May 1944
the Cub attempted to depart with Cook occupying the rear seat. It overran the long kunai grass at the end of the
strip however, breaking the replacement propeller. Yet another was air dropped the following day, and for the
next three days the three men worked at lengthening the strip yet again. The heat meant they could only work
mornings and evenings, and Cook’s wounded hand was painful and slowed him considerably.

Originally from Forest Park, Illinois, 2/Lt Thomas J. Reading poses with an
89th Bombardment Squadron A-20G at Nadzab circa April 1944. Although
Reading flew Big Nig on 3rd May 1944, it was actually assigned to 1/Lt
James L. Folse and placed in the mechanical care of crew chief S/Sgt R.
J. Campbell. The 3rd Attack, like all the Fifth’s other A-20 groups, identified
its aircraft with white alphabetical letters on the rudder. Big Nig carried the
large letter V, whilst the nickname was complemented on the port side with
an imposing Damon Runyon red indian character. Like all other squadron
aircraft, the noseart was applied by Captain Edward Suor. When the air-
craft was recovered in 1994, Reading was retired in Florida (credit Thomas J
Reading).

On 27th May 1944 heavy rain prevented another attempted departure, but at 0830 hours next morning
the Cub lifted off successfully again with Cook, the lighter of the two downed airmen, as its passenger. It
gingerly avoided trees at the end of the strip, and initially refused to climb, so Adair circled the nearby flat
kunai grass to gain altitude through a fifty foot overcast. Cook was delivered to Faita, and the Cub returned to
collect Reading. Adair recorded, "I was worried because he [Reading] weighed 75 pounds more than the gun-
ner". The extract was successful however, Adair employing the same departure technique as previously. Apart
from a battle with heavy rain back to Faita, the return was uneventful. After later checking in at Nadzab, both
rescued men were placed in hospital for observation for several days. They had each lost about fifteen pounds
weight, and after convalescence were each given two weeks leave in Sydney before returning to combat duty.
At time of publication the aircraft was about to be exhanged to England in return for a pair of Spitfires.

History Nineteen: Life and Times of Iverson’s Baby

Big Emma Consolidated B-24D-1-CO Liberator #41-23751
320th Squadron/ 90th Bombardment Group
Crashed near Gaile village, East of Port Moresby 8th August 1943

Big Emma was one of the first combat Liberators to appear in the theatre, assigned to the 90th Bombard-
ment Group, the Jolly Rogers. The bomber entered service with the Army Air Corps in July 1942 and was first
assigned to a 90th Bombardment Group crew headed by 2/Lt Leroy C. Iverson at Sacramento on 12th Sep-
tember 1942. The crew then flew the new Consolidated bomber to Hamilton Field, where they prepared for a
challenging Pacific crossing to Australia. Three days later they departed, the below table shows the times and
legs of the crossing: When Iverson’s crew jointly decided to call their Liberator Big Emma it was Cantrell who
used his artistic talents to apply the name and nose-art, although exactly when the name was applied is unclear
 65

Big Emma’s Delivery Flight Across the Pacific

th
15 September 1942 Hamilton to Hickam Field 13 hrs
th
29 September 1942 Hickam Field to Christmas Island (not recorded)
th
30 September 1942 Christmas Island to Samoa 8 hrs 15 mins
st
1 November 1942 Samoa to Nandi, Fiji 5 hrs 30 mins
nd
2 November 1942 Nandi to Plaine des Giacs, New Caledonia 5 hours 5 mins
nd
2 November 1942 Plaine des Giacs to Amberley, Queensland 5 hours 30 minutes
th
13 November 1942 Amberley to Mareeba, Queensland 5 hours 20 mins
th
14 November 1942 Mareeba to Iron Range, Queensland 3 hours
After months of training and preparation there was much excitement for their first real mission, sched-
uled for departure on the late evening of 15th November 1942, and consisting of an enemy convoy near Bou-
gainville. Instead of reward there was disaster however, as recorded in the diary of Big Emma’s radio operator,
Nello F. Palumbo, “The night of our scheduled first mission. We were supposed to be second to take off. We
didn’t take off on scheduled [sic] due to left bomb bay door that wouldn’t close due to bomb bay tanks. The
worst disaster I’ve ever seen. During take off of a 400th Squadron ship knocked off our right pitot tube and
astrodome, crashed into nose of next two B-24s parked on side, runs into trees catches on fire and two bombs
exploded completely damaging a B-17. Captain R.S Holt miraculously escaped from the 400th ship. 11 men
killed”. In the confusion of a night time departure with poor lighting from a dusty Australian outback field, the
culprit 400th Squadron ship, Bombs to Nippon, had collided with three others including Big Emma, Connell’s
Special and unnamed #41 23812. Despite the collision the rest had continued on, and Ray W. Smeltzer was
aboard one, “I vividly recall my first mission, it was the mission on November 15, 1942. I do not recall being
scared, although I was probably somewhat apprehensive . . . to say the least. One of my jobs was to insure
that the bomb bay doors did not slip towards the closed position during bombing runs. To do this, I would sit
directly below the flight deck area and just forward of the bays and push on the manual lever to keep the doors
from creeping toward the closed position. If they did inch forward, the bombs might not release, and thus nul-
lify the run. As I sat there, I could hear the guns firing, and looking through the now open bays could see far
below the convoy with the wakes churning behind them trying to zigzag to avoid our bombs. Just at that mo-
ment, I caught a flash just to the side, and looked there only to see a small plane with red circles on the wings
go right across our path. Well, suddenly I realized that here I was with not even a rock to throw, while this little
fighter was going to shoot projectiles at me. It worried me to the extent that I immediately crossed my legs . .
. I was determined that if somebody was going to shoot off my private parts that he’d have to go through both
legs . . . silly. Well maybe, but I don’t believe that I was ever that scared again. I could laugh about it later, but
at that moment fear was uppermost in my mind”.

(left) Pilot Leroy C. Iverson pos-

es in front of the art work which
appeared on Big Emma’s port
side, and (right) navigator Ha-
rold Arones holds a pineapple
over the head of Iverson at Ki-
papa Gulch, Hawaii, during Big
Emma’s stopover there in Sep-
tember 1942 en route to Austral-
ia. The pose is remarkably close
to the art work which appeared
on Big Emma’s port side (both
photos credit Harold Arones)
 66
Those who returned were in for a rude surprise. Several Liberators were missing. The Condor had forced-
landed on a beach near Iron Range and despite robust effort, could not be salvaged. It was learned the next
morning that Lady Beverley had ditched near Bia Bara Island off Bougainville, but the worst news was still to
come. Punjab had disappeared with all crew, captained by the Group’s Commanding Officer Art Meehan. For
the next few days the Group did little but fly search missions and console themselves. It was an unfortunate
and brutal introduction to the theatre, and a clear indicator that the remote war ahead would be arduous. The
damage to Big Emma was not substantial however and she was soon repaired locally at Iron Range and back
in service. Her first combat mission took place on 28th November 1942 but she accidentally bombed the Gona
wreck which the crew mistook as an enemy submarine. Her first real blow to the enemy took place on 1st De-
cember 1942 when she bombed four destroyers headed for Lae, and as Palumbo recorded, “plenty of fireworks.
We bombed at dusk”. On 8th December 1942 Big Emma staged through Port Moresby to bomb Gasmata air-
field on New Britain. This was another night mission, a long one of eight and three quarter hours duration. Big
Emma’s’ first contact with enemy fighters unfolded on 13th December 1942 during an armed reconnaissance
of the Admiralty Islands. The skirmish lasted fifty five minutes although Iverson’s crew claimed none of five
fighters the other Liberators claimed to have downed.

In late December 1942 Big Emma was withdrawn from service for two weeks for unspecified repairs
whilst Iverson’s crew continued to fly further missions in other B-24s . All of Big Emma’s missions thus far
had been flown by Iverson, but on 3rd January 1943 Lt Hesse flew Big Emma from Iron Range on a submarine
reconnaissance whilst Iverson was down with illness. Four days later Iverson was back in the pilot’s seat. Big
Emma flew to Port Moresby in the morning and took off in late afternoon with the intention of shadowing a
convoy near Lae. However Iverson became ill again and the crew decided to turn around. It was an uncomfort-
able return as radio operator Nello F. Palumbo could not raise Port Moresby due to weather-induced static. In
mid February 1943 Big Emma was again removed from service, this time for more substantial repairs which
took about a month. On 17th March 1943 she flew a practice bombing mission with seven other Squadron
Liberators over the Moresby wreck – SS Pruth. On 21st March 1943 Big Emma turned back from a wall of
weather over the Owen Stanley Ranges although Iverson’s crew were credited with five and a quarter hours
combat for the attempt.

Big Emma refuels at Ward’s Drome near Port Moresby during one her early missions.
The photo was probably taken on her first visit to New Guinea on 8th December 1942
when she staged through Port Moresby to bomb Gasmata (credit Kelly Ryun).

On 1st April 1943 Iverson’s crew received a fright. They departed Port Moresby with seven other Lib-
erators led by Squadron Commanding Officer, Colonel Arthur H. Rogers, to bomb targets on New Britain.
Iverson pulled Big Emma from formation approaching New Britain due to electrical trouble. He decided to
return to Port Moresby via Milne Bay where they could refuel. After the stopover Big Emma ran into a storm
which shook the bomber and crew badly. Six hours of flying time had achieved little except give the crew
even more respect for New Guinea weather. On 3rd April 1943 the crew decided upon a light hearted diver-
 67
sion. After flying a practice mission Big Emma put down at 30 Mile field (known later as Rogers field) where
they “went to native village. Bought bananas, native skirt and beads. Good time had by all”. On 12th April
1943 Big Emma was officially credited with two Japanese fighters whilst bombing a convoy north of Hansa
Bay in formation with five others. The convoy consisted of one light cruiser, two destroyers, six transports and
numerous barges. Sixteen fighters defended the convoy and the formation received bad AA hits from below.
Every crewmember of Big Emma received the Air Medal for the mission, and in their letters of commenda-
tion from General George C. Kenney, he refers to the mission as being “textbook perfect”. Two days after this
landmark mission, Iverson et al said farewell to their favourite charge when Big Emma was flown to Towns-
ville and handed over to an incoming crew. Next day back at Wards’ Drome the 90th Bombardment Group
celebrated the anniversary of their foundation with a dinner. A band played and speeches were made by Group
CO Colonel Ralph Koon and even General George Kenney who told the assembled Group in his characteristic
language that they were a “good show”. It was a befitting occasion and several days later Iverson’s crew took
delivery of a brand new Liberator.

In addition to her name and art work, Big Emma carried small personal markings all over – under the
navigator’s window was painted Arone’s surname; on the nose near the bombardier’s area was Herrmann’s;
under the co pilot’s window appeared ‘Shorty’, nickname for 2/Lt Arthur J. Middleton, whilst on co pilot’s
side near the nose gunner position appeared ‘Jock’, nickname for S/Sgt Harry Ryun who had been a jockey
prior to enlistment. The unit’s skull and crossbones insignia appeared on the very rear of the rear turret under
which appeared the name ‘Tex’, nickname for tail gunner Jack R. Cantrell, who hailed from Tulia, Texas.
‘Willie’ appeared under the port gunner’s side window for William Moczan, and on the other side ‘Smitty’
showed that it was Evan B. Smith who manned the Brownings there.

(LH) Side-gunner S/Sgt Evan B. Smith

poses alongside his position. The name
‘SMITTY’ appears in white paint be-
neath the position, and (right) Big Em-
ma’s other waist gunner William ‘Willie’
Moczan, who has painted his name un-
der the position (credit Kelly Ryun).

Big Emma met a quick and dramatic end however. She had flown two missions to Salamaua in the
past week, and the morning of 8th August 1943 saw Big Emma return there in what constituted an unevent-
ful mission. The Squadron had returned by mid afternoon after which Big Emma was refueled for a patrol
with two others along New Guinea’s northern coastline. One Liberator found a six ship convoy, attempted to
bomb it, but failed to score hits. The other experienced radio trouble and returned early to Wards still with
bombs aboard. The third was Big Emma flown by 2/Lt John T. Moller, who successfully completed his patrol,
but encountered terrible weather on the return. By now it was late afternoon which quickly descended into
darkness and Moller radioed the tower that he could not even find one of Port Moresby’s searchlights. After
one and one-half hours of hopelessly searching in dark cloud, Moller radioed Wards that he would order his
crew to bail out rather than continue the risky search. Just after he relayed this intent, radio contact was lost.
Throughout this time a bomber could be heard circling Port Moresby’s Fairfax harbor. Whether it was Big
Emma remains open to speculation. Later that night Paul E. Johnson, CO of the 321st Squadron, was radioed
by an Australian patrol that a big aircraft had crashed about twenty miles Southeast down the coast.
 68

Here is Iverson’s assigned crew taken

near the rear of Big Emma at Port Moresby
on 18th March 1943; (top row L to R) Sgt
Mark H. Briggs (filling in for Jack Cantrell
who was hospitalized at the time), co-pi-
lot 1/Lt Arthur J. Middleton, radio opera-
tor Nello F. Palumbo, waist gunner S/Sgt
Evan B. Smith, bombardier 2/Lt Charles T.
Herrmann; (bottom row L to R) nose gun-
ner S/Sgt Harry Ryun, waist gunner S/
Sgt William S. Moczan, top turret gunner
T/Sgt Leo Humphreys, pilot 1/Lt Leroy C.
Iverson, and navigator 2/Lt Harold Arones
(credit Harold Arones).

The next day Johnson grabbed a detachment of three jeeps and drove through heavy rain. They finally
located Big Emma’s crash site with the Australians’ assistance, in a mangrove swamp about a quarter of a mile
inland. Struggling through the swamp and finding no bodies, the rescue party assumed that all had bailed out.
Returning in the driving rain and after becoming lost, they only reached Wards the next morning at daybreak.
All crews departing on missions that morning were instructed to look for tell tale evidence of parachutes along
the coast East of Port Moresby, but no sighting reports were turned it. Johnson next dispatched a squadron
work detail to return to the wreck site, which they searched in daylight. They found some bodies in the waist
section on this first day, and by the second they had cut the wings apart and folded them back to get into the
cockpit. There they found Moller and co pilot, but it took another day of cutting metal to recover the remain-
ing bodies.

Not one crew member had bailed out. It was assumed that Moller had become disorientated in the dark
cloud and Big Emma had simply plunged to a rapid demise. Flying with the crew on his first mission was the
navigator from Frederick Berry's crew, 2/Lt Leonard H. Weiler (the flight was Weiler’s orientation ride before
he was to fly his first mission with his regular crew). Others on board in addition to Moller and Weiler were 1/
Lt Stanley D. Whitney Jr, 1/Lt. Robert Thompson, 2/Lt Olyn H. Hill, T/Sgt Harold E. Hampsmire, T/Sgt Mor-
ris E. Acuff, S/Sgt Harris E. Horder, S/Sgt Kosta Giannaras, S/Sgt Edward D. Rogers, S/Sgt William Saltzman
and S/Sgt. Joseph G. Barry. The latter was not a regular crewmember, but a photographer.

Big Emma’s original pilot Leroy Iverson passed away in the United States on 1st February 1992. The
wreckage of Big Emma can still be seen today near the Papuan village of Gaile, in the salty mangrove swamp
where it ended its days so violently. Visibly, it is an unusual wreck however. The high levels of salt in the
swamp have oxidized the aluminum so that the wreckage appears bleached. It is a macabre location, and ham-
pered by mosquitoes and slime, exceedingly difficult to get to. The wreck is a sobering sight, a place where
twelve men suddenly met oblivion.
 69

The replacement incoming crew headed by

1/Lt Wiltse. The name Big Emma appears
clearly on the starboard side.

History Twenty: Low-Level and the Moresby Wreck

Chatterbox North American B-25D-5-NA Mitchell #41-30088
13th & 90th Bombardment Squadrons, 3rd Bombardment Group
Forced-landed in a swamp West of Port Moresby 16th April 1943

Chatterbox arrived in Australia in January 1943 after a long Pacific delivery, where it was originally
assigned to the 13th Bombardment Squadron at Charters Towers, Queensland. In February 1943 it was re as-
signed to the 90th Squadron and pilot Robert Chatt. When the Fifth Air Force decided to move to low level
strafing it was decided to use a shipwreck off Port Moresby’s outer reef for practice target runs. The 13th and
90th Squadrons were the first Fifth Air Force units to use the wreck to hone the art of low level attack and
commenced practice runs against the old British cargo vessel in early February 1943. A regular participant was
Chatterbox, and many of the squadron’s other Mitchells also had colorful names: Dirty Girty, Draft Dodger,
Feather Merchant, Fertil Myrtle, Mortimer, Miss Snafu, Notre Dame de Victoire, Runt’s Roost, Seabiscuit,
Snuffy, Spook II, and finally (with lack of decorum) UYA representing ‘Up Your Ass’. The other 13th Squad-
ron Mitchell contemporaries enjoyed imaginative names such as 8 Ball Esquire, Deemie’s Demon, El Diablo,
Fair Dinkum, General Custerbab Geronimo, Hep Cat, Hellzapopin’, Hot Horse, Nip’s Nitemare, P.I. Joe,
Pegasus, Red Headed Gal, Stripped for Action, and Texas Tornado. Shortly after the Mitchells commenced
bombing the wreck, a friendly yet resolute argument developed between General George Kenney and his dep-
uty General Kenneth Walker. The latter had often flown with ‘Pappy’ Gunn over the wreck whilst ‘Pappy’ tried
out his forward firing guns and bombs on its rusting structure. From first hand observations, Walker concluded
that delayed fuses would be more effective on vessels, whereas Kenney supported the use of instantaneous
 70
ones. So it was that in November 1942 both decided to study at first hand exactly the type of damage that the
strafers were doing. They rowed from an attending motor boat to have a look, getting as close as they dared
in a moderate swell which accompanied the edge of the outer reef. They quickly determined that even near
misses were cutting holes two to four square feet in area. Walker had just lost his bet, and for his mistake he
had to row Kenney back to the motor boat.

Chatterbox in its camouflaged revetment at Durand Drome, just prior to its loss.

Prior to the arrival of the Fifth Air Force in New Guinea an air of mystery had surrounded the shipwreck.
Popular rumor had it that she was a First World War German raider which ran aground, however S.S Pruth was
previously both British owned and British built. She became more famous in death than life, especially to the
early Fifth Air Force crews. Constructed by J. L. Thompson & Sons Ltd at Sunderland, England in 1916 for
the Hain Steamship Company, she was listed as a “steel screw schooner" weighing 2,945 tons and licensed
to carry 1,753 tons of cargo. With a manifest detailing galvanized iron, barbed wire, automobiles and oil, she
began her final journey from San Francisco in November 1923. At Samarai on New Guinea’s Eastern tip she
stopped to collect copra then steamed for Port Moresby where she planned to load more. The evening of 30th
December 1923 was gusty and carried Southeast squalls as the ship approached Basilisk Passage. Captain
Hudson constantly consulted his charts and peered into the poor visibility looking for the gap through the reef
which clearly marks the passage entrance to the harbor. A strong gust caught the vessel’s port side however,
and attempts in the wheelhouse failed to prevent S.S Pruth from going aground on Nateara reef.

The situation did not initially appear too serious, and the crew entertained the hope that the grounding
would only be a temporary embarrassment. However, the heavy swell strained the hull that evening, push-
ing the ship even more aground. Anchors were run out to check drift and the next morning Hudson ordered
the cargo offloaded. Lloyds of London received wireless messages on both 1st and 2nd January 1924 from
Port Moresby, the latter of which read, "BRITISH STEAMER PRUTH STILL AGROUND. ANTICIPATE
REFLOATING HIGH TIDE (JAN 4), PROVIDING WEATHER FAVOURABLE”. The Harbor Board at Port
Moresby offered assistance, but Hudson assessed he could move off under his own power at an appropriate
high tide. A refloat attempt of 4th January 1924 was unsuccessful, and due to the ongoing swell the Port Mo-
resby Harbormaster considered it too risky for a large steamer to approach and assist. Hudson now requested
an alternative, and ten days later the tug Coringa arrived from Brisbane with diver and salvage gear. By 19th
January 1924 due to further poor weather, Hudson in desperation began jettisoning cargo and fuel coal over-
board. By now both Numbers One and Five holds were leaking, and bilge pumps were whining full time to
 71
stem water intake. Soon the ship was ‘hogged’, meaning it was supported in the center but sagging at each
end. Four days later S.S Pruth's fate was sealed when worsening weather drove her yet further onto the reef. In
1940 the wreck was nearly sold to the Japanese for scrap iron, but Australian Prime Minister Robert Menzies
personally intervened to prevent the sale after having been informed of the proposal by the Administrator. S.S
Pruth’s steel propeller was salvaged and sent to Australia in 1941 along with two hundred other tons of scrap
cut from her superstructure.

Commanding Officer the 3rd Attack in Australia was ‘Big Jim’ Davies
(circled). This photo was taken at Charters Towers in May 1942.

Enter the Fifth Air Force, and a total of four aircraft would be lost strafing the wreck. The first was RAAF
Beaufighter A19-73 which ditched just beyond the wreck after inadvertently striking it. Two of the crew es-
caped, but on 5th February 1942, with 2/Lt Frederick W. Schierloh at the controls of a 90th BS Mitchell, the
aircraft’s tail hit the vessel’s mast then staggered forward before nose diving into deep water beyond Nateara
Reef. Given the nickname ‘Count Oleg’ by his fellow pilots, Schierloh and all aboard were lost. This included
co pilot 2/Lt Bud Ridout who had just arrived in theatre, and two members of a service Squadron, aboard for
a low level joyride. There was a modest funeral for the crew which the squadron diarist recorded thus,

“it was held in a small cemetery on a small mountain several miles NE of Port Moresby. This cemetery
will soon be a national cemetery . Six men were pall bearers for Sgt McMahon and six for Lt Schierloh. It was
a simple ceremony and we stood there while the bugler sounded Taps. We all thought of our friends whom we
had seen alive but two days ago. They were being buried 7000 miles from home. There will be no pomp and
ceremony. A volley from the honor guard blasted over the valley . . .”
 72

Chatterbox was the first B-25 in the

90th Bombardment Squadron to have
shark-teeth markings, seen here in a
Squadron photo at Durand Drome,
Port Moresby. The markings were the
idea of S/Sgt Andrew J. Swain who
found an artist to do the job. Shortly
afterwards nearly every squadron
Mitchell followed suit, although each
bomber had its own distinctive style
of teeth (credit Andrew J. Swain III).

The third loss occurred when 2/Lt Gordon McCoun took Draft Dodger too close to the superstructure
with predictable results, although this time there were no fatalities. The vessel claimed its final aircraft on 27th
July 1943 when the 71st Squadron lost 2/Lt E. Ducci and all crew in his Mitchell under similar circumstances.
The early model B-25s suffered high attrition rates. By the time the 3rd Attack Group converted to A-20s,
but a handful of the originals remained. Port Moresby suffered one hundred and thirteen Japanese air raids
throughout 1942 to 1943. The last took place on 20th September 1943 and in one of war’s ironies, one of the
Japanese G4M1 bombers set up its bomb run against the worthless S.S Pruth. All of them missed. Parts of the
wreck may still be seen at low tide on Nateara Reef today.

Chatterbox was flown extensively during the Battle of the Bismark Sea, and by Robert Chatt on the first
decisive day of the battle, 3rd March 1943. However, the demise of this strafer came unexpectedly and not
through combat. At 0900 hours on the morning of 16th April 1943 ‘Chuck’ Howe took off from Durand to test
out one of the aircraft’s engines which had just undergone major repairs. By mid morning they had not returned
but command decided against ordering an immediate search as there was the probability of a Japanese air raid
that morning. At 1230 hours four Mitchells got away for a search however, flown by Captain ‘Jock’ Henebry,
Lts Bridges, Gordon McCoun and Robert Reed. They searched eastwards to Hood Point and westwards all the
way inland to Kerema, but with no success. At around 1500 hours that afternoon the radio crackled with the
news from an Australian outpost that the crew were safe at a native village near 30-Mile field.

It transpired that Howe had chosen to test the engine by feathering it at low altitude. Things had gone
wrong however when the engine played up, and Chatterbox had hit a tree. Howe turned the bomber into the
dead engine to maintain altitude, but a hill loomed ahead and Howe was cornered. There was a swamp at its
base, and Howe made a snap decision to put down. The landing was almost perfect and there was no damage to
Chatterbox or its crew, as verified in the unit’s records, “the sad catch is that 088 is in good shape but the task
of getting to this isolated swamp and bringing the plane out would not pay”. The crew were more concerned
with getting back to terra firma, which was going to be a problem. The swamp they were in had crocodiles
and presumably snakes, and the men nervously waded out in chest high slime whilst Howe covered them from
behind with a ‘Tommy Gun’ stored in the ship. After a demanding safari all made 30 Mile Field safely where
Squadron Commanding Officer Ed Larner picked them up in a Mitchell the next day and returned them to Du-
rand. When they got back to Durand there was heated discussion between the officers of the crew with Howe
as to why he had put into such a remote swamp instead of choosing to ditch close to shore. Matters were not
improved when a salvage crew was ordered to return to the wreck the next day to remove all of Chatterbox’s
guns, ammunition and gunsite. It was dirty and tiring work going back into the swamp. Chatterbox’s demise
was substantiated in a tape interview conducted with Andrew J. Swain II in July 1999. The colorful interview
with a minimum of editing is paraphrased here,
 73

Early days for the 3rd Attack in Aus-

tralia. The terraced house in the
background gives away the loca-
tion as Charters Towers. ‘General
Custer’ was B-25D serial #41-29727
which later served with the 38th BG
as ‘Twenty or Nothing’.

“My [regular] pilot Chatt was sick [that day]. He came down with malaria, couldn’t fly that day. Chuck
Howe took the intelligence officer and others and came over and took the airplane to fly it up the coast of New
Guinea and different places. Course I had to go with it, naturally, I was the gunner, and I took me a student
with me, a student who wanted to be a gunner, so he could find out what it was all about. We were flying along
nice, everything is going well, low level. I was sitting there looking around, watching and I heard ‘em talking
up front. I looked up. I saw them approach this native village, and we were down below the palm trees and
not that high off the water. I looked up and said “Oh shit”. I knew if he didn’t pull this thing up right quick we
were going to hit that palm tree. and he pulled it up – but when he pulled it up that airplane had a nasty habit
of nose coming up and all that, but going straight ahead the same direction before it finally mushes. It mushed
right through the top of a palm tree. It was an awful jolt. It’s a wonder to me it didn’t rip the wing right off that
airplane. Took that prop and bent it backwards and stopped that engine cold. [In an] ordinary airplane I think
it would have ripped the wing off. It stopped the starboard engine, number two. No way [the pilot] could keep
it, no way. Right over that village, scared them natives to death. We came plowing right through the top of the
tree, must have rained coconuts all over the place. and the pilot said “there’s no way I can keep this flying”. I
knew what he was talking about it he couldn’t keep it airborne.

So we were going to have to land, and I could tell it wouldn’t be long before we were going to, so I looked
up ahead and I could see a clear spot and Howe was heading for it. So I jumped down quickly and I got the
ammo cans off my guns, and I threw them in the back of the airplane and I closed the armorplate doors on
the other side of it. Then I took a parachute and laid it up over the other guys head. He was sitting there, he
hadn’t moved, and I got up against him. I stayed up in the turret so I could see what’s happening, and I saw the
airplane level off and headed right for the spot, we right on the deck practically. and I came out of that turret
and leaned up against him and I hung on. I wanted to get a hold of something, and it was a . . . rip-snorting
noise, crazy, twirling mess, for, you know, it seemed like forever. and then everything was quiet, it stopped. I
got mad, I came out of that damn airplane, I ripped off my headset. I had already pulled the hatch off, and I
went through the hatch; it was water everywhere. I climbed up on top of the airplane. I walked up on top and
I went up front to see what they were doing. They weren’t getting out. and I was standing there looking down
and I reached down and helped pull the top off the escape hatch. They were just stirring too, that’s how fast
I came up out of that thing. The pilot and copilot were just sitting there, probably wondering what happened
to ‘em. So, I went back to see my man, he was still sitting there, frozen, staring straight ahead. I kept holler-
ing at him, “c’mon, get out of there”. I had to go back into the airplane and shake him and hit him, clear the
safety belt and force him out of the airplane. He was stunned, scared to death, shocked. He was going to be a
gunner, but he never did - that was the end of it, he never flew again. That took care of his flying days. Getting
 74
out of that place, that was another thing. We had to plow through kunai grass, everywhere it was tall grass
and water under your feet. Every time you put your foot down you didn’t know if you’d step on an alligator
or a crocodile. We walked to some dry land nearby where we came upon two guys with a donkey with a radio
tied on the back. They were Australians, coast watchers. They found out who we were, so we soon got that
straightened out. They radioed their headquarters who radioed our headquarters where we were. Meantime,
they are overhead looking for us. We’re shooting flares, shooting everything – they couldn’t see us. Trees all
over our heads, a regular mat overhead. See one airplane right overhead – go right on by. They finally got us
to a native village, and we had to get in dugout canoes. These natives, one in the front, one in the back, and
we’d stand up in the middle. They had these little outriggers on ‘em. You didn’t dare move, afraid it would tip
over - crocodiles in the water. These guys poled us across the river where an old beat up GI truck met us, and
they got us to one of those villages where they put all the women, all the old men, old ladies & young women.
All the young fellows are off helping the GI’s. It was getting dark, and here came a B25, landed right there,
taxied right up, got turned around, and headed back. and we had to run out and get in that thing, its dark now,
and we ran out and got in that thing, and closed the hatch. I thought if we get out of this one, we’ve done it
good for the day. and he got us in the air and he got us home and that was it”.

From crash to rescue had taken only one day. The rescue was the shortest for any downed crew in Fifth
Air Force history. At time of publication Chatterbox was still in the swamp, near the Veimauri River, but al-
most completely submerged. It lies there intact, and with almost no corrosion, protected from ultra violet light
and other corrosive factors by fresh water. It is the most combat original early model Mitchell in the world,
and certainly worth recovering.

History 21. Mitchell with Two Lives

Tondelayo/ Chow Hound, North American B-25D-20 #41-30669
500th Bombardment Squadron/ 345th Bombardment Group
Forced-landed 30th March 1945

A rare color photo of ‘Chowhound’. The shape of the background hills

confirm the location as 7-Mile Drome, Port Moresby, and the timeframe is
probably December 1944 (credit Arthur Bell).

Tondelayo became the most famous of all machines to serve with the 345th Bombardment Group who
called themselves the ‘Air Apaches’. The aircraft was a Mitchell strafer, assigned into the 500th Bombard-
ment Squadron on 23rd August 1943. S/Sgt Allen R. Puckett became the aircraft’s crew chief, and 1/Lt Ralph
G. Wallace its assigned pilot. The noseart, which appeared on both sides of the nose, was inspired by Hedy
Lamar’s svelte feline character who featured in the popular film of the times, White Cargo. Tondelayo’s fame
became Group folklore following a marathon return from a Rabaul raid which unfolded on 18th October 1943.
The plan of attack was complex, involving as it did another Mitchell Group, two other Liberator Groups, and
one Group of Lightnings for fighter escort. Among the divvy of targets, the Air Apaches were assigned Rap-
 75
opo, the eastern-most satellite of Rabaul’s numerous airfields. The day before the raid all four of the Group’s
squadrons were ordered to Dobodura from Port Moresby, as the former was closer to Rabaul. A weather
forecast was in the hands of the planners the previous evening. It did not look good, but all units nevertheless
launched from Dobodura according to plan, except the Liberators which departed Port Moresby. Half an hour
out from Dobodura a 500th squadron Mitchell turned back with a mechanical problem. Impulsively, his two
wingmen made the return with him. That left only six aircraft in the 500th BS formation. Another hour further
along, the entire Group encountered a weather front. Above, the Liberators which had preceded them turned
back to drop their bombs on alternative targets on their way back home. Then the escorting Lightnings turned
back as well. The Air Apaches were now on their own, hugging the wave tops towards darkening weather, and
the nemesis called Rabaul . . .

As visibility lessened the Air Apaches drew more tightly together. A radio message was received from
Dobodura to abort the mission, heard by several operators aboard the speeding Mitchells. Group leader, Colo-
nel Clinton True, was leading from Red Wrath. Many who had heard the radio instruction held to the belief
that True deliberately ignored the instruction to abort. Red Wrath kept steadfast for Rabaul, occasionally
weaving the formation between the thicker squalls. When they broke through the weather there was not one
friendly fighter in view. The strafers encountered flak as they approached Rabaul, but so far so good, as it ap-
peared that the Japanese had been caught mostly by surprise.

Tondelayo at Nadzab. Her success-

ful return from Rabaul whilst fighting
Zero fighters as a rearguard action is
truly one of the great Fifth Air Force
survival stories.

While the other three Air Apache squadrons hit Rapopo airfield, the 500th Squadron as planned proceed-
ed to work Rapopo’s coastal area where supplies lay camouflaged under coconut palms. Tondelayo’s problems
started when its right engine lost power to ground fire just as it lined up on target. Wallace feathered the engine
and kept straight ahead in formation, his best option. The surrounding Mitchells offered protection with their
guns. Meanwhile, dozens of Japanese A6M3 Zero fighters from the 201st and 204th Imperial Navy Kokutais
were patrolling above at 5,000 feet, fully expecting that Lightnings would soon arrive. The Japanese at this
stage were loathe to sacrifice the advantage of altitude, so left the strafers below alone, at least for now. The
attack over, the Mitchells fell back to sea level and headed South for home. The Zeros, having been cheated of
aerial opposition, fell upon them.

Coming off target a mile west of the other squadrons, the six 500th BS strafers were most open to at-
tack of any unit. Alongside Tondelayo, Captain ‘Rip’ Anacker throttled back SNAFU’s engines, then pulled
across and forward to guard another adjacent strafer which had also lost an engine, Sorry Satchul. It too eased
closer to Tondelayo for mutual protection. Japanese pilots were eagerly drawn to crippled aircraft, and thus
now concentrated their attacks against these two stragglers. From Tondelayo’s cockpit, Wallace was watching
Sorry Satchul during a fighter pass when that plane's left hand engine flared into yellow flames. Its left hand
undercarriage dropped through the nacelle, then its engine and wing caught fire too. Sorry Satchul fell behind
and then lurched into the ocean with a patterned spray of foam. Several in the fleeing Mitchells watched with
disgust as several Zeros strafed the crew as they emerged from the floating aircraft.
 76

Tondelayo’s crew knew they were fighting for their lives. Whilst Wallace wrestled the damaged aircraft
airborne, his co-pilot sought something useful to do. The repeated fighter attacks were frustrating co-pilot 2/
Lt Edward J. Hicko, so he slid open his side window and jammed his .45 pistol tightly in place by closing it
again. Hicko then proceeded to fire at every Japanese fighter which slid past. Such accomplishment was more
symbolic than practical, but as Hicko would later relate, he felt much better for it. The top turret gunner mean-
while trained his Brownings back and forth, placing bursts into or near the fighters as they approached from
behind and either side. He was soon calling on the interphone for more ammunition. Belts from the navigator's
compartment were quickly passed back through the bombay and handed upwards to replenish the busy gun-
ner's supply. The two waist gunners kept calling the positions of incoming fighters.

Low-level by any standards, in this case Fifth Air Force Mitchells attacking a Philippines target in
early 1945. The worst day for low-level Mitchells over Rabaul was 2nd November 1943. Both the
3rd and 38th Bombardment Groups hit the harbor hard and low. From the 3rd Attack, Hot Horse
and another were destroyed when they flopped into Dobodura, whilst Notre Dame de Victoire was
ditched off Kiriwina. Tugboat Annie and another two were missing in combat. The 38th BG lost Nip
Clipper and two more over the target. AA and fighters claimed nine Fifth Air Force Mitchells in a day
long remembered by the crews.

A fighter drew towards Tondelayo's tail with guns sparkling. One of its shells blasted through the tur-
ret Plexiglass canopy, narrowly missing the gunner. It continued through the fuselage and pierced a fuel line.
From the same burst, another shell shaved the co-pilots’ armor plating behind the seat, and passed through
Hicko's back at the same time Hicko was reloading his .45 in between fighter passes. The projectile passed
through his stomach and smashed the grip of the pistol. Hicko, stunned and unable to grasp what had hap-
pened, went into shock and semi conscious, puzzled as to why his hands were blood-covered. In addition, he
saw that his Mae West was holed, so he removed it. Much to his surprise, he now saw that he had a wound in
his stomach. The fighters kept coming as Hicko held his wound, conscious but still in shock, and still with no
idea that a projectile had passed cleanly through his back. In the next pass bullets smashed into Tondelayo’s
instrument panel. One singed Wallace’s pants, numbing his calf. For several minutes Wallace put the pain out
of his mind, fearful of what he might find if he looked too closely. While Hicko continued to puzzle over his
 77
wound, fumes from the damaged fuel line saturated the aircraft. Reacting quickly, a crew member wrapped
a rag around the splayed line, and clenched it with his hands. Thus Tondelayo continued onwards, playing a
survival game with dimished odds.

The day’s most extraordinary incident was about to take place. One of the fighters pulled into forma-
tion between two strafers, and kept formation with about a hundred yards between them. The enemy pilot
was clearly visible from Tondelayo’s upper turret as the Zero pilot kept looking back and forth to ensure his
fighter was positioned so that neither Mitchell gunner could hit him without risking hitting each other. The
gunners kept firing at other fighters, whilst both turret gunners in their respective Mitchells kept eyes on the
intrepid Zero. It finally pulled upwards, and both turret gunners swung to bear and fired. The fighter fell be-
hind, completed a loop and flew straight into the ocean. No one could be sure of whether the Zero had taken
hits or its pilot had simply misjudged the pull-out. The fighters became more aggressive and now commenced
head-on attacks. To counter these, Wallace would turn into them, raise Tondelayo’s nose, and fire. Turning
back and descending into the dead engine, the Mitchell would then quickly descend to the water’s surface.
In three separate incidents, which amazed Tondelayo’s tiring crew, Japanese fighters misjudged these attacks
which they pressed too low, and cartwheeled into the ocean. After what seemed like a long time, there was
only one fighter left. In one of the Pacific war’s rare acts of symbolic gallantry, it waggled its wings in salute
before heading back to Rabaul. Incredibly all of Tondelayo’s hydraulic systems were working fine when Wal-
lace put it down on the emergency strip at Kiriwina in the Trobriand Islands. From a maintenance perspective,
Tondelayo would require a new left wing, two new engines and a new propeller before it would fly again. The
repairs would take six months.

When the heavies turned back from

the frontal weather, one of the victims
was 400th Bombardment Squadron B-
24D Liberator #42-40389, named Mis-
sion Belle. Pilot ‘Doc’ Smeltzer ordered
his crew to bail out over New Guinea’s
northern coast. It took a long while to
get back, and only after they were rec-
ognized from the air by the Jolly Rog-
ers’ insignia they had made on the
ground (credit Norman J. Lawler collection via
Bob Tupa).

As to the Liberators, despite their decision to turn back to safety because of the weather, the day cost
them dearly. Smeltzer’s crew from the 90th BG’s Mission Belle bailed out and were eventually rescued. The
43rd BG lost three Liberators to the weather however. Carl Nelson forced-landed his in the Cape Ward Hunt
area, Taylor’s crew bailed out, four of whom were never seen again, whilst Ganz ditched his in Bootless Inlet
on the Westwards approach to Port Moresby’s Seven-mile strip. It was not a good day for the Fifth’s Libera-
tors, but neither was it good for the Air Apaches. It turned out that both Sorry Satchul and SNAFU had ditched
into waters off New Britain whilst trying to flee, their crews strafed and killed by the angry Zeros.

Upon his return to Dobodura, Colonel Clinton True faced stern questioning about the alleged recall. He
told superiors that his radio operator never received such a message. Staff Officer Colonel Frederic Smith of
1st Air Task Force Headquarters didn't believe True’s protestations of innocence and sought to have him court-
martialled for directly disobeying an order. Smith viewed the situation as sufficiently serious that he referred
the disciplinary decision to the very Commander of the Fifth Air Force, General George C. Kenney. Thus it
was that three days after the mission, True boarded a C-47 bound for Brisbane to explain himself personally
 78
to Kenney. In his office at Brisbane’s Lennon’s Hotel the unsympathetic Commander listened as True repeated
his story. Like Smith (and the pilots who had steadfastly followed True to Rabaul unescorted), Kenney was
also unconvinced, and told him so. Political and publicity developments had overtaken them both however.
On his way to Kenney’s office, True had seen the front page of the local Brisbane newspaper, The Courier
Mail, whose headlines proclaimed, “MACARTHUR USING DARING NEW TACTICS SENDS B-25s TO
RABAUL UNESCORTED”. A court-martial never took place. Kenney awarded True the Distinguished Service
Cross instead.

After having been under repair since the Rabaul mission, Tondelayo was placed back in service with the
500th BS in May 1944. It continued to fly combat with the Air Apaches until November 1944 when the Group
received replacement J model Mitchells. Then the aging strafer was stripped of all combat equipment and fit-
tings, and turned into a transport, mainly to run fresh food and supplies up from Australia. As such it received
a new name, Chow Hound, and it accompanied the Group to the Philippines theatre.

Another Mitchell crack-up in New Guinea. More airframe damage was usually done
through belly landings than might be supposed, resulting in the aircraft being sent to
the boneyard where they were used as a source for spare parts.

Since its remarkable Rabaul mission the prestige of the aircraft had spread throughout the Fifth Air
Force, and there had been considerable discussion about sending it back to the US for a War Bond Tour, but
this was not to be. Chow Hound departed Biak the Friday morning of 30th March 1945 bound for San Marce-
lino on a routine passenger run. Two hours past take-off, it encountered a tropical frontal system and the navi-
gator became lost. To compound matters, radio reception was poor at best, and the direction finder gave a fix
for Leyte which the pilot, I /Lt. Robert K. Cavins, regarded as both dubious and inaccurate. By mid-afternoon,
Chow Hound had reached a little island which Cavins began circling because his fuel was now perilously low.
However the fuel ran out before Cavins had time to select a spot to put down, so he glided it into the water just
offshore. It skidded across the beach and up an incline. After it came to rest things were not looking good. Of
the eight aboard, most had injuries of some kind. It took hours of sweat with a fire axe to free three passengers,
trapped inside the twisted fuselage. From curious Filipinos who had surrounded the aircraft they learned they
were on Catanduanes Island, just off the east coast of Luzon. Fortunately the island was mostly controlled by
pro-American guerillas who took the men to the nearby town of Tilod where they were fed and had their inju-
ries treated. The six with only minor injuries were paraded like heroes in the nearby town. After being wined
and dined at a function held in their honor, they left for Leyte on the morning of 2nd April 1945 escorted by
fourteen armed guerillas in an outrigger sailboat. At 0100 hours next morning a US destroyer picked them up
 79
and radioed for a PBY flying boat to fetch the remaining two. The PBY reached Tilod too late for a pickup, but
returned 4th April 1945 to collect both men. Unfortunately the PBY suffered a landing accident at San Marce-
lino when the nose wheel failed to extend, but no one was hurt. On Catanduanes Island, the badly damaged
Mitchell remained abandoned where it was stripped by villagers who used its aluminum to make household
utensils. Within a few years, with the exception of its engines, it had all but disappeared.

History 22. Most Famous Wreckoneer

Stinky Jo, North American B-25D-25 Mitchell #42-87292
17th Reconnaissance Squadron/ 71st Tactical Reconnaissance Group
Retired from service April 1945

The history of this aircraft is that of dependability. This strafer Mitchell departed the United States in
November 1943, and was the first aircraft in the ‘Wreckoneers’ Squadron to depart Laurel, Mississippi, for
overseas duty. Flown and assigned to Captain Curtis O. Hancock, Stinky Jo was christened and named by
Hancock’s crew in Hawaii during their stop-over there en route to New Guinea via Australia. Its first crew
chief when it arrived at Dobodura in January 1944 was T/Sgt John W. McCutcheon of West Baden Springs,
Indiana. This particular strafer’s reputation for dependability was well established by the time it had flown 680
hours combat. At this juncture its first double engine change was ordered only by insistence of the squadron
commanding officer, at a time when accepted wisdom on the squadron line was to change engines between
three to four hundred hours.

In a squadron which had suffered badly wounded crews, only two men were ever hurt in Stinky Jo,
both with minor injuries. The aircraft is seen here at Lingayen just prior to retirement. The squadron
motif of a cartoon character riding a bomb can be clearly seen on the tail. The old strafer had staged
missions from New Britain to Formosa (credit Fred Hill photography).
 80

Whilst Stinky Jo kept building more reliable credentials, its first assigned pilot was not faring as well.
Hancock was to lead a combat career which was both unorthodox and unlucky. His first serious mishap took
place when he was brought down in another ‘Wreckoneer’ Mitchell by friendly fire behind Saidor on 15th
June 1944 (ironically Hancock was dropping surrender leaflets to retreating Japanese troops on this mission).
On 28th May 1944 six ‘Wreckoneers’ departed their new base at Wakde Island to cover the beachhead at Biak
before receiving specific targets from a ground controller. Stinky Jo was undergoing service at the time, so
Hancock was again flying another Mitchell. The controller assigned Hancock a naval gun and bivouac area
on the coast, then followed up with instructions to drop propaganda leaflets after these targets. Hancock and
one other B-25 remained behind to drop the leaflets after the rest of the squadron had left. After identification
procedures were established at 1740 hours, Hancock went in first. A few minutes later ground control called
the other Mitchell advising that Hancock’s aircraft had been shot down. He quickly added that all Hancock’s
clearance procedures had been correctly carried out and that “it was not his [Hancock’s] fault”. The wing-man
was surprised when he was further instructed to “leave the area immediately – they are crazy down here”.
All of Hancock’s crew were killed in the crash, and 1/Lt Fred E. Rimmer was reassigned Stinky Jo after Han-
cock’s loss. When Rimmer finished his tour of duty towards the end of 1944 the aircraft was reassigned to 1/
Lt Ernest W. Perkins. On 6th March 1945 it delivered its crew back to safety on one engine after attacking the
Pescadores Islands near Formosa, a return journey to Lingayen of three and a half hours over white-capped
water. When Stinky Jo entered the circuit with a feathered engine few believed the fault could be mechanical.
It wasn’t – a violent blast from an anti-aircraft shell fired from a flak tower guarding one of the target areas
had rendered it useless.

By April 1945, Stinky Jo had accumulated one hundred & eighty two combat missions, totaling
over eleven hundred hours combat flying time, but it was time to retire the strafer. After its last mis-
sion, the yellow victory stencils beneath the cockpit displayed one cruiser, one heavy transport,
one freighter, and seven transport ships. Just under the name was painted a skunk. The color
insert shows the tail heraldry of the 17th Reconnaissance Squadron (credit Fred Hill photography and
Aerothentic Grafix).

Stinky Jo quickly attained a reputation as by far the most reliable aircraft in the Squadron. She never
turned back once from a mission launch due to mechanical failure. She had flown low and medium level mis-
sions against Japanese shipping and ground targets throughout New Britain, New Guinea, Dutch West Indies,
the Philippines, the China coast and Formosa . . . and had always come back.
 81
History 23. Old Reliable
‘Old S’, Douglas A-20G-30-DO Havoc #43-9468
386th Bombardment Squadron/ 312th Bombardment Group
Destroyed by bomb explosion 10th June 1945

‘Old S’ heads out from Hollandia circa October 1944. The bomb stencils on the nose
indicate ninety-seven missions. The Club insignia denotes that the aircraft is assigned to
the 386th BS, whilst the target which Ben Suddeth painted on at Gusap is still clearly part
of the nose-art. The nose carries the white skull & crossbones marking which started to
appear on the 312th BG’s A-20Gs from April 1944 onwards (credit Leo Mandabach).

This A-20G strafer/ attack bomber was delivered from the Douglas Aircraft Corporation at Santa Mon-
ica, California to the Army Air Corps on 26th November 1943. It was then shipped to Australia, and became
the first dash 30 model A-20G to be assigned into the 312th Bombardment Group which had converted to A-
20s from P-40s in December 1943/ January 1944. After being assembled at the 4th Air Depot at Townsville,
it was flown to Gusap via Cairns, Horn Island and Port Moresby. At Gusap the aircraft was assigned to Group
Commanding Officer, Colonel Robert H. Strauss, a West Point graduate.

Old S was delivered to Gusap in squadron formation from Port Moresby on 23rd February 1944 by 386th
Squadron Commander Major Carroll. At Port Moresby he asked the squadron’s senior gunner, Sgt Leo W.
Mandabach, whether he would like to ride to Gusap behind him in the aircraft’s life raft compartment. Man-
dabach recalls, "laying on the deck behind the pilot sounded thrilling so in I jumped. I felt it was a mistake
when we arrived at Gusap however. The gear 'down and locked' indicator swung like a pendulum. I could see
the sweat popping out from Carroll's neck, and visualized myself sliding over his head, or one of the prop tips
carving me up during a belly landing”. Carroll eventually lowered the gear satisfactorily however, and Old S
was ready for service. The next evening Strauss briefed the crews for the Group’s first A-20 mission, against
AA positions near the Japanese airfield of Alexishafen. On this and the next few missions 386th Squadron
aircrews would wear helmets, but they found them cumbersome and the practice soon ceased. Early next
morning Strauss' brand new A-20 led four flights of three aircraft down the Ramu Valley. Thick cloud hung
onto both sides of the mountain ranges surrounding the Valley, and a visual approach to the target initially
seemed doubtful. Strauss negotiated a pass between two mountains however, and commenced a tight left turn
to lose altitude, a maneuver which tested the skills of those behind to keep formation. The turn completed, the
A-20s descended and fanned out towards the target in abreast-formation at minimum altitude. The attack went
smoothly, and all participants returned to Gusap safely. Upon their return Strauss found several curious staff
personnel waiting to see how the inaugural mission had fared. As they walked around to greet him, one found
a small bullet hole in his aircraft's right cowling. A few days later Strauss would receive another surprise. His
regular gunner, Sgt Leo Mandabach, was rostered off, and after a mission Strauss watched with “amazement”
as a Dalmatian dog was carried out of the top hatch behind the rear turret. The gunner told Strauss that he
always took the dog with him as a mascot on combat missions.
 82

‘Old S’ ground crew pose for the camera at Hollandia. For maintenance the responsibility
for servicing Strauss’ A-20G was given to the 386th BS, although Strauss was for admin-
istrative purposes assigned to Headquarters’ section. Although Cpl Ben Suddeth held the
lowest rank of any crew chief within this squadron, he was assigned the aircraft, as his
mechanical abilities were held in the highest regard (credit Bob Strauss).

The aircraft’s first crew chief, Cpl Ben Suddeth got into trouble after accompanying Old S to the 4th Air
Depot at Townsville for its first major inspection and overhaul. There he paid an Australian artist to paint a
name and picture on the nose of the aircraft. The overhaul was finished earlier than anticipated, and the aircraft
returned to Gusap with a fresh new name, ‘Miss McCock’, supported by the stenciled outline of an incomplete
but obvious and curvaceous beauty. At Gusap, Strauss was among those to see his aircraft taxi back into the
flight line. Shortly afterwards Strauss ordered Suddeth to paint over the risqué name with black paint. This
done, Suddeth then painted the word ‘Censored’ over the covering black patch, and suggested to Strauss that
the aircraft still needed an identity. Strauss suggested a bull's eye, and so one was duly painted underneath
the cockpit, making Strauss’ regular gunner Leo Mandabach "a little nervous." Although no name was ever
painted on the aircraft it soon acquired the fond name Old S, because of the large white identifier S painted
on its tail. At Gusap, Suddeth had somehow procured a large Harley-Davidson motorcycle which he regularly
rode. While preparing for the Group’s move to Hollandia in June 1944, Strauss ordered that the motorcycle
must remain behind. A few days after their arrival at Hollandia, Suddeth had mysteriously acquired another
Harley Davidson. He later confided to trusted peers however that he had disassembled and wired the original
motorcycle into Old S’ bomb bay for the flight over.
 83

About all that is recognizable from the explosion of Old S at Floridablanca were its two engines.
Loyal groundcrew recovered its control column however, and posted it to their former Command-
ing officer, by then back on duty in the U.S. Bob Strauss arrived at the base post office where the
column awaited, wrapped in brown cardboard. Years later Strauss recalled wondering “what the
hell it was” (credit Ralph Trout).

Following the Group’s move to Hollandia, a strafing mission was flown on 9th July 1944 at low level
over Babo, the Japanese airfield at the top of the vogelkopf in the Dutch West Indies. During this mission
an unexploded 25mm anti-aircraft projectile, fused for low level, became lodged just above Old S’ fuselage
neoprene fuel tank. During this raid damage was also sustained to the electrical system and airspeed indicator.

Sgt Richard E. Harris became Old S’ crew chief in late October 1944, and Strauss kept flying the aircraft
until his last mission with the Group which he led on 16th February 1945 against Corregidor. After Strauss’
departure, the aircraft was assigned to 386th pilot Joseph Waetzman. In May 1945 the Group headed out on
a short mission to Baguio, summer capital of the Philippines, which was high in the mountains and occupied
by the Japanese. About halfway there Waetzman, flying Old S, dropped out of formation and appeared to be
having difficulty controlling the aircraft. Don Livengood slowed and pulled out of formation to accompany
him back to Lingayen. It turned out that an exhaust stack from a preceding aircraft had come loose and hit
Old S, damaging a control surface. From the way Old S was flying, Livengood sensed that Waetzman would
have to belly land so Livengood called the tower and asked them to remind Waetzman that Old S was carry-
ing Composition X bombs which should be dropped before landing. Waetzman diverted a short distance and
dropped his bombs into the sea, before bringing Old S in for a belly landing. Livengood followed Old S all
the way back to Lingayen, and because Baguio was not that far way Livengood returned to the target after the
others had left. For a while Livengood and his gunner Jimmy Dolan strafed Baguio by themselves. After this
incident Old S was repaired then transferred to the 388th Bombardment Squadron as the 386th had reassigned
its A-20s in preparation to receive the Consolidated B-32 Dominator. Old S nevertheless retained the letter S
on its rudder with its new squadron, and was made the mechanical responsibility of crew chief Sgt William A.
Hannon. In March 1945 experimental rocket launchers were installed on the aircraft and tested on several mis-
sions. The rocket concept was abandoned however, mainly due to an official lack of requirement, combined
 84
with their inaccuracy.

Colonel Bob Strauss poses for the camera on the nose of ‘Old S’ at Gusap in the
Ramu Valley. The photo was taken in mid-June 1944, just before the Group temporarily
moved to Nadzab (credit Bob Strauss).

At Floridablanca on morning of 10th June 45, pilot Ralph Trout could not start Old S due to a flat bat-
tery, and Hannon clambered into the bombay and set to work. A short circuit flash ignited petrol fumes there
however, and two minutes after Trout and Hannon had run for their lives, the fully-fuelled and armed Old S
exploded into hundreds of fragments, damaging several other nearby A-20s. The explosion had another effect
– it ended plans which were underway to fly the aircraft around the US for a warbond drive.

History 24. One of the Disappeared

Chief Seattle, Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress #41-2656
435th Bombardment Squadron/ 19th Bombardment Group
Missing from Port Moresby 14th August 1942

Chief Seattle as she appeared following

her presentation ceremony. The Squadron
to which it was assigned, the 435th, be-
came known as the ‘Kangaroo’ Squadron
because of its long distance hopping. This
unit reconnoitred Guadalcanal from Port
Moresby prior to the U.S invasion on 7th
August 1942, using not B-17s, but LB-30
Liberators (credit Aerothentic Grafix)

From December 1941 onwards the citizens of Seattle, as in many other American towns and cities,
showed their patriotism through the purchase of US Government Defense Bonds. The city of Seattle’s par-
ticular project was to save enough to purchase a complete Flying Fortress, and within a few months they had
raised enough to do this, naming it Chief Seattle. The aircraft remained stateside until July 1942 when it was
delivered across the vast Pacific via Hawaii, reaching Amberley Field in Queensland as its first Australian
destination. It was assigned to and commenced service with the 435th Bombardment Squadron on 9th August
1942 when it conducted a lone reconnaissance to Rabaul. The mission was uneventful, but marked its success-
ful entry into the SWPA combat theatre. Two days later Chief Seattle turned back to Port Moresby over the
Owen Stanley Ranges when poor weather and a troublesome engine deterred its crew from reaching Madang.
 85
It made Madang the following day, 12th August 1942, in another successful lone reconnaissance, and photo-
graphed two unidentified vessels in the harbor. Its last completed mission took place the following day, and
that evening Chief Seattle was tucked away in the safety of one of the earth horseshoe-shaped revetments at
Port Moresby’s Seven-Mile Airfield. Just after first light on 14th August 1942 it departed for a solo reconnais-
sance of Japanese troop positions at Buna, after which it planned to reconnoiter Rabaul and Kavieng.

There was not even a radio call after take-off – the Boeing simply disappeared and its fate remains elu-
sive to this day. Chief Seattle was flown into oblivion by 1/Lt Wilson L. Cook, an Oklahoman who had arrived
overhead Hickam Field as a co-pilot in the middle of the infamous Pearl Harbor attack. Evading the Japanese,
and low on fuel after a long flight from the US mainland, Cook and his co pilot had landed their B-17E on the
majestic Kuhuka Golf Course. On the morning of its last flight, Cook had forty five missions under his belt
and command of his own Fortress. For the mission he had an unusual co-pilot. To his right sat an Australian,
twenty seven year old RAAF Sergeant George Andrews from Brisbane. Andrews was one of six Australians
then assigned to the ‘Kangaroo’ squadron for training purposes. Chief Seattle’s bombardier that morning was
2/Lt Joseph Cunningham from Traveller’s Rest, South Carolina. The navigator, 2/Lt Hubert S. Mobley from
Florida, like the pilot, had also been introduced unexpectedly to World War Two at Pearl Harbor. Five months
prior Mobley had been part of the Fortress crew which had evacuated President Quezon from the Philippines.
The rest of the crew in positions behind them manning guns and radios had either witnessed the Japanese at-
tack on Pearl, or had participated in the evacuation of the Philippines.

Despite the fact that each year in New Guinea previously undiscovered aircraft wreckage is found, Chief
Seattle has not been one of them. At time of publication there were still hundreds of such missing aircraft in
New Guinea alone.

History 25: Paternal Pilgrimage

(Unnamed) No 91, Republic P-47D-11-RA #42-22896
41st Fighter Squadron/ 35th Fighter Group
Missing between Saidor and Gusap 11th March 1944

The markings of the P 47D in which Gaffney was lost. The leading edge of the cowl is yellow, the
41st FS squadron color, whilst the fin has been painted overall white, masking the serial number to
leave it intact (copyright Aerothentic Grafix).

On Thursday 10th June 1999 a fifty-five year quest ended. Patricia Gaffney-Ansel had first written to the
author in 1993 when he was working in Melbourne, Australia. She told of how she had grown up with little
memory of her father, save a shabby leather briefcase of his which had sat in her attic. It had contained faded
newspaper clippings and letters from a life that ended three months before she was born. The suitcase had a
musty allure, and it was always there.

On 11th March 1944 the 40th, 41st and 9th Fighter Squadrons furnished P-47D Thunderbolt fighters as
fighter cover for Liberators from the 90th Bombardment Group whilst they bombed the Hansa Bay and Wewak
 86
areas. Sixteen of the Thunderbolts which took off were from the 41st Fighter Squadron. They launched from
Gusap at 1135 hours, flown by Barnes, Brooker, Keith S. Brown, Colley, Dorothy, Gaffney, Hoyt, Johnson,
Lishka, Niznik, Noen, Parsons, Rowell, Schatzman, Scott and Walcott. Schatzman returned half and hour
later suffering a loss of power. Niznik landed about another half hour later as, being one of the last to depart,
he could not find his fellow Thunderbolts. Brown returned at 1320 hours with a vibrating engine. It turned
out that his engine mounts were loose. The squadron, which would later complain of “stupid and unneces-
sary” radio chatter by the 40th Squadron, thus proceeded to target with only thirteen fighters. They would also
complain that the 9th Fighter Thunderbolts failed to carry out top cover, choosing instead to fly “below and
sometimes level with the bombers”.

A 35th Fighter Group P -47D

seen at Gusap against cloud-
shrouded foothills of the Ramu
Valley. On 11th March 1944, in
Blue Flight the other members
of Gaffney’s flight comprised
94 (Dorothy), 95 (Schatzman)
and 92 (Niznik). A this stage
of the war the Group was
camped near the 312th Bom-
bardment Group, equipped
with A-20Gs. Dozens of Fifth
Air Force aircraft are still miss-
ing in mountains such as these
(credit Thomas Carroll).

One of the Liberators was lost, not to fighters, but to flak which opened up as they returned from the
target. After engaging enemy fighters the Thunderbolts were low on fuel. 2/Lt George Gaffney was especially
low, so he put down at Saidor on the return journey to refuel, where he "appeared rather nervous," officers
there reported. Gaffney told them he had shot down a Japanese plane and said his aircraft may have been hit.
A walk around found no damage however, so he took off for Gusap shortly thereafter, at ten minutes to three
in the afternoon. Gusap was only fifty miles away, but his track took him directly over the spine of the Fines-
terre Mountains, a formidable, jungle-covered range with razor edges which rise above 12,000 feet, and whose
peaks are often shrouded with clouds, and inaccurately marked.

Gaffney never made it. Those who later reported the pilot as being nervous were the last to see him alive.
The squadron searched for three days but, not surprisingly, found no sign of aircraft wreckage. Squadron
mates wrote kind letters to Gaffney's family, expressing hope that because his plane went down in friendly
territory, he might soon show up. Back in Wisconsin, the telegram reporting that he was missing was met with
disbelief by his family, bolstered by the fact that there was a baby due. "Dear God, please bring our Georgie
back, don't let this child grow up not knowing her father”, Gaffney’s aunt would write nearly every day in her
diary for almost five years. George P. Gaffney had barely begun his life with Ruth Christensen when he went
off to war. Born and raised in Madison, Wisconsin, Gaffney had met Ruth at the local high school dance. He
had just enlisted in the Army Air Corps when he proposed, and they were married in August 1943, after he
finished pilot training. They spent a few hectic months together before Gaffney left his pregnant wife behind to
join the Fifth Air Force somewhere in the Pacific. He arrived in Port Moresby, New Guinea, on Christmas Eve
1943. Gaffney joined the 41st Fighter Squadron in February 1944 at Gusap. From there, Gaffney wrote regular
letters home describing the war and always seeking news from home. On 10th March 1944, the day before he
disappeared, he wrote his last letter home. In it he describes a soft sound made by the breeze blowing through
the tall kunai grass surrounding Gusap’s airfield. "Did not fly today," he concluded, "due tomorrow, however."
 87
Thus Patricia Gaffney grew up without a father. She married at nineteen, raised two children, went to col-
lege on the GI bill and got divorced. She then worked as a teacher and curriculum developer for New Haven
public schools, Connecticut. Patricia led most of her life with the knowledge that there would probably never
be an answer about her father’s demise. Going through her father's tattered suitcase one day in 1986, Patricia
found herself growing unexpectedly upset, "I became angry that I was never going to have my father”. One
day in September 1993 everything changed when she saw a television program describe how World War II
crash sites were still being discovered in New Guinea because dry weather was revealing jungle wrecks. "It
was a life-changing moment, and I knew it," Patricia said, "my heart was pounding so hard. This was a crack
in the door, and I had to reach into it."

Thunderbolts of the 35th Fighter Group patrol near Gusap (credit Kevin Ginnane)

She immediately contacted the programme researcher, Janice Olson, who put her in touch with people
and groups who could assist, such as the American World War II Orphans Network. Next she obtained war
records from the US military. Her mother put her in touch with men who had served in his squadron, so she
attended their reunions and listened to their anecdotes. In May 1995 she jumped at the chance to join Olson on
an expedition to Papua New Guinea. Once there, pilot Richard Leahy flew her to Gusap, the now-abandoned
airfield where her father had been based. The journey to fill the void in her life took her to the mountains and
jungles where her father disappeared, and along the way, many picked up and supported her cause. There were
pilots and other World War II orphans who helped with her search; villagers in remote parts of New Guinea
who knew of aircraft wrecks deep in the mountains; and a Philadelphia businessman searching for his great-
uncle's plane. She had brought along a metal box, containing letters she, her children and her mother had
written to George Gaffney, along with other personal treasures. Walking out into the kunai grass at Gusap her
father had described, she buried the box and stood listening to the sound of the breeze through the grass her
father had described in a letter nearly half a century before.
 88
Leahy then flew her on her father's route over the Finesterre Ranges, which evoked an unusual feeling, "I
felt like I was meeting the enemy -- the mountains that took him". The trip and New Guinea’s hostile vastness
made her realize more than ever how unlikely it was that she would ever find her father. Her quest next came to
the attention of Fred Hagen, the Philadelphia businessman who was conducting a search in Papua New Guinea
for the wreck of the plane flown by his great-uncle. During a visit to New Guinea in November 1997, Hagen
and Leahy found the wreck of a Mitchell bomber and the remains of nine men. Villagers told them of another
wreck a four-day walk away in the mountains. Hagen returned with a team the following June and, traveling
by helicopter, located the crash site at 8,000 feet, in a labyrinth of jungle draped with huge ferns and orchids.

The wreckage was shattered and covered with mud, but the four bladed propeller gave away that it was
once a P-47. Amid the wreckage were a pocket watch, a .45-caliber handgun and skeletal remains. Subsequent
US investigators confirmed that the plane was Gaffney's by cross-checking the serial numbers on the machine
guns. Patricia had something the Army could use to check the identity of the remains: her father's dental
records which had been kept in the old suitcase. A few months later the Army confirmed that the remains were
indeed Gaffney's, "When I got the news, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I actually did a little of both."
Patricia Gaffney-Ansel flew to Hawaii to escort her father's remains home to Wisconsin, where a funeral Mass
was held in Madison the Saturday before the Thursday 10th June 1999 burial at Arlington, "I feel victorious,
really, I feel I've been able to bring my father out of the past and into the present. I've been able to develop a
daughter's love for her father."

Behind this 58th Fighter Group Thunderbolt, taken at Nadzab in early 1944, can be seen the foot-
hills of the Finesterre Ranges. Wartime maps of these were inaccurate, the extent of which would
not be realized until the early 1980s. As one example, wartime charts surveyed by the USAAF 8th
Photo Reconnaissance Group show the highest peak in these ranges as 8,000 feet. In actual fact,
several exceed 13,000 feet, whilst others are over 11,000 feet (credit Roy Seher).

She escorted her father's horse-drawn remains as he was buried with honors at Arlington National Cem-
etery. After the ceremony, she stood with her mother, aunt and two children in front of her father's casket.
Clutching the folded flag which draped his remains, she kissed her hand and placed it on the casket, "It was
hard to leave him," she said afterwards, "It's bittersweet, really. My time with him was very short”. As a finale,
four US Air Force A-10 Thunderbolts flew over Arlington in a missing-man formation to salute her father. Pa-
tricia Gaffney-Ansel looked at the sky and watched them, thus ending an extraordinary six-year quest. There
are remaining quests however, for there are many US airmen who remain unclaimed in the labyrinth of Pacific
jungle, and there is also a salient consideration worthy of disclosure. The wreckage of Gaffney’s Thunderbolt
as a matter of fact was positively identified back in 1989 by Bruce Hoy, former Curator of the Papua New
Guinea Museum. He promptly notified CILHI, the relevant US military authority, about the wreck and three
others all of which carried human remains. U.S military wheels took a complete decade to retrieve this par-
ticular son of the United States.
 89

History 26. “Pretty Unhappy”

(Unnamed) Curtiss P-40N-5-CU Warhawk #42-105909
388th Bombardment Squadron/ 312th Bombardment Group
Shot down by Ki-43s near Gusap 15th January 1944

This unnamed P-40 was received as a brand new aircraft at Archerfield near Brisbane in November 1943
where it was assigned to Operations Officer for the 388th Bombardment Squadron, 1/Lt Glenn H. Cathcart.
It has an unusual and sudden history, being the only P-40 lost in combat by the 312th Bombardment Group.
Shortly after its loss this Group transitioned to flying Douglas A-20s.

After some local and familiarization flying around Brisbane, the Squadron flew twelve new P-40s to their
first combat base of Gusap via Rockhampton, Horn Island, then Port Moresby. After settling into their first
wartime base, Squadron Commander Major Bill Kemble led the Squadron for their first ever combat sortie.
The mission was a routine patrol of the Ramu Valley and was scheduled for 15th January 1944. The purpose
of the mission was essentially so that the Squadron pilots, new to the theatre, could acquire experience of fly-
ing the local area. Kemble led the second of two flights, Cathcart the first. Kemble would recall, "climbing
through 16,000 feet directly over Gusap, with myself leading the second flight to protect the first, a Japanese
fighter jumped us but no-one saw it at the time. Everyone was scattered by the attack, and the next thing I felt
was a terrible vibrating roar. I looked out on my wing, and saw a cluster of holes. One bullet had drilled a
hole cleanly through my airspeed indicator. I'll never know how fast I went when I turned my P-40 on its back
and wildly descended. It was probably close to 500 mph though, because when I pulled out the slipstream tore
fabric off the rudder. I then had to stand on one rudder pedal just to keep it straight and level. In addition, one
undercarriage was shot up, forcing me to land on one main wheel. During the attack we didn't even have time
to flip gun switches on, and aborted the mission almost immediately. There were a lot of other things I should
have done, including jettisoning my belly tank. My right-hand main gear collapsed on landing, and I cut my
hand getting out of the cockpit. The coincidental thing about the incident was that the previous day I had been
flying a fighter sweep. As I took off from Gusap's dirt runway with its numerous furrows damaged one of my
P-40's main gear legs. I landed on one wheel that day, so had already gained experience with such landings”.

The Japanese fighters which had attacked were Ki-43 Oscars of the 59th Sentai, and later that afternoon
Australian signals intelligence would intercept a message from Wewak claiming that the unit had "destroyed
four P-40s near Marawasa”. The first victim of the sudden attack had been Cathcart, an obvious target since
he was the lead aircraft, and claimed by 59th Sentai Commanding Officer, Captain Shigeo Nango. Cathcart
had been either knocked unconscious in his cockpit or killed immediately in the attack. Ground observers
watched #909 descend in wide circles over Gusap until it crashed into the foothills to the Southwest of the
field. The next day Australian soldiers from the 7th Infantry Division located the wreckage of #909 with
Cathcart's body still in it. There was little left of the aircraft, and the body was removed for temporary burial
at Gusap. Of slight build, Cathcart had been regarded as a particularly business-like and efficient operations
Officer for the Squadron.

Commander of the Group, Colonel Bob Strauss, drove by in his jeep shortly afterwards to find out what
had happened. He was annoyed that his pilots had been trounced on their first mission, and after hearing the
accounts his mood did not change. He found Kemble alongside Gusap’s muddy strip, looking at his broken
machine and still counting himself lucky to be alive. The unsympathetic Strauss was cool with Kemble and
suggested that next time he pay more heed to “where he was going”. Strauss would observe many years later
that the incident had been of considerable embarrassment to him as Commanding Officer, making him "pretty
unhappy".
 90

Major Bill Kemble’s P-40N lies somewhat forlorn at Gusap after its right undercarriage col-
lapsed on landing. This was Kemble’s second landing mishap in as many days. Just to the
right of the P-40’s tail can be seen a B-25D. This is a 345th BG Mitchell which had bellied
in that morning after combat induced hydraulic failure. The 312th Bombardment Group was
the only bomber unit in the entire Fifth Air Force to commence combat operations in fighters
(Bill Kemble collection).

News of Cathcart’s loss soon spread around the base like wildfire, along with Strauss’ displeasure with
matters. There was more embarrassing evidence on the runway as well – apart from Kemble’s forlorn machine
two more Squadron P-40s had been damaged by the Oscars and had been forced to belly land. Both were writ-
ten off as a result; 2/Lt Billy Hollingshead couldn't brake his due to a leg wound, and it badly ground looped.
The other, landed by 2/Lt John W. Reisbig, was scrapped due to the damage inflicted by Japanese 7.7mm bul-
lets. Kemble and Hollingshead were each awarded Purple Hearts for injuries sustained in the attack, and that
evening the shaken survivors dined together at the officers mess to share experiences. Of that evening Kemble
recalls vividly that Hollingshead turned to him with, “I used to do a lot of hunting, but I don’t think I’ll ever
shoot at another bird – I know now how they must feel”.

Bill Kemble (left) with his first A-20G, taken about a month after the incident. At right is a color depic-
tion of Nango’s ‘Oscar’ fighter. The markings on his 59th Sentai Ki-43-II were unorthodox, with a com-
bination of red and blue markings instead of all blue. We know this from Hitoshi Kawamura who was
an officer in the 59th Sentai’s maintenance section, which he joined as maintenance leader in Ban-
doeng, Java in February 1942. In March 1943, Kawamura was assigned to Sentai HQ. He stayed in
this capacity throughout the 59th Sentai’s New Guinea operations, and constantly came into contact
with Nango and his aircraft. Identification stripes were also painted on top of the tailplane, a common
marking for most 59th Sentai Hayabusas (Aerothentic Grafix 2009).
 91

History 27: Rescue or supplies, anyone ?

Swamp Angel Stinson L-5A # 42-98702
25th Liaison Squadron
Survived war

Swamp Angel is photographed among the trees at Dobodura circa March 1944. Its contem-
poraries bore names such as Termite, Gayle Anne, Drip III and ½ Connecticut Yankee. The
type’s biggest service problem in New Guinea was caused by that country’s hot and humid
atmosphere. This caused the wooden propeller to go soft and chip easily (author’s collection).

The career of this liaison aircraft is representative of those L-5s which flew with the 25th Liaison Squadron
which quickly came to call themselves ‘Guinea Short Lines’. The bulk of the Squadron sailed to Brisbane
via Wellington, New Zealand, on 25th November 1943. There they changed ships from SS Nieu Amsterdam
to the Liberty ship USS Robert Stuart which took them to New Guinea. By February 1944 they were well
established at Nadzab, although their first L-4 Cubs and L-5s had become operational the month before. They
moved along with MacArthur’s advances, via bases such as Saidor, Hollandia, Biak, Tacloban, and Mindoro.

The Squadron was also known as ‘The Flying Sergeants’ as it pilots were among the few non-commis-
sioned pilots in the Fifth Air Force. Whilst the squadron was officially a liaison squadron, it became a jack of
all trades, and countless of the Fifth’s downed crews gave thanks for being rescued by the small but depend-
able ‘Guinea Short Lines’ L-5s. The Squadron lost their first L-5 on 13th January 1944 when S/Sgt William
S. Adair crashed in poor weather near the small village of Kissanga, highlands New Guinea, whilst trying to
deliver a message to Australian soldiers. It took five days of aerial searches by other L-5s to locate him, and
when they did Adair signaled that his leg was infected and he would require medical evacuation. Another L-5
was flown in to rescue Adair. The pilot who conducted the rescue would report, “S/Sgt Adair was brought to
the plane on a stretcher. S/Sgt Adair was willing to make the take off. We taxied to the top of the hill. On the
takeoff we hit flaps and made a mushy take off on account of dead air. After clearing 1,000 feet of trees we were
in clear, went on to Nadzab and landed”. Thus the squadron’s first rescue was of one of their own.
 92

The 25th Liaison nerve centre at Nadzab in early 1944. Note that two L-5s have painted white
tails, a theatre marking of the time designed to enable quick identification between friend and
foe (Kevin Ginnane collection).

Their next L-5 loss occurred on 7th April 1944 when T/Sgt George B. Barnes got caught in heavy rain
trying to make Port Moresby from Dobodura. He would later report, “the rain was the hardest I’ve ever seen
and the storm was so violent that I could hardly keep the ship right side up”. When the engine cut out Barnes
hoped he was over water, although he was not really sure where he was. It was nearly midday when he bailed
out at eight hundred feet in thick overcast. After hitting water, the storm’s wind pulled him along its surface
for some way before he was able to collapse his ‘chute. He was rescued by a native canoe and taken to nearby
Australian soldiers based at Rigo, East of Port Moresby.

Thus far the squadron’s entry to the theatre had not been spectacular but from hereon its record would
pick up. Once they had become more used to the terrain and flying conditions, the squadron’s L-5s and their
pilots started doing sterling work. They first rescued several stranded crews in the Ramu Valley and from
New Guinea’s northern coastline areas. An L-5 created history when it was the first Allied aircraft to land at
Madang after the area was captured by Australian soldiers. The event took place at 1015 hours on 27th April
1944, the L-5 in question eased into Madang by S/Sgt Gilbert C. Pease. The airstrip had been badly cratered by
US bombs, but Pease’s Stinson found sufficient room between the mud, debris and craters to put down safely.
Pease’s report is curious reading:

INVESTIGATION OF JAPANESE MEDICAL DEPOT

Report dated 8 May 1944, submitted to Office of the Surgeon, San Francisco.

By means of a small liaison plane I was able to land at Madang shortly after
the Japs had been driven to the hills. There were several dispensaries and large
quantities of medical supplies left behind – also quantities of food. The place
had a death-like silence and odour – when a coconut fell or a bird called one
would jump expecting a Jap sniper to rise out of the underbush. Most medical sup-
plies were packed in excelsior or partitioned paper cartons inside wooden packing
cases. One noticed a predominance of glass containers – glass bottles and vari-
ous size vials(some 10cc others 500cc). There were packing cases full of 500cc
vials of intravenous saline and Reingers solution. These vials had sealed glass
tips on each end - no other intravenous equipment was found. X-ray plates, cans
of plaster, Petri dishes, large and small test tubes, crucibles, antiseptic with
 93
both Japanese and English names and directions on the boxes, but made in Japan .
. . several large porcelain urinals and 2-3 gallon clay jars colored a dull pink
were found. Quantities of Atabrine and insect repellent and rubber condoms were
there. Although we thought the Japs in this area were in starving condition, nev-
ertheless we found stacks of burlap sacks full of rice and other cereal – also
tins of biscuits and some canned fish. In one dispensary I found a coarse loose
leaf book with what appeared to be daily entries – possible a sick book. There
were many pairs of new knee-length suntan pants, fatigue hats and suits, rubber
galoshes, boxes of rubber heels and leather shoes.

Another L-5 gets loaded

with supplies, this time
seen at Faita strip in the
Ramu Valley (Kevin Gin-
nane collection).

Shortly after US Marines landed at Talasea on New Britain it was an L-5 which was put to unique use.
The officer in charge of the landing, General Rupurtus, got T/Sgt Lowell C. Schrepfer to fly him over the area
for observation purposes. Schrepfer was surprised when his passenger pulled out a bag of grenades which
he lobbed into isolated pockets of Japanese whenever they found them. Whilst Rupurtus’ action certainly
introduced a unique form of aerial warfare into the squadron, its official history simply notes that, “results
are unknown”. On 7th June 1944, T/Sgt L. E. Gleason achieved another first for the squadron when his L-5
acted as a guide for a B-17F assigned to the 69th troop Carrier Squadron which was to drop supplies to Indian
POWs, originally brought to New Guinea from Singapore as prisoner laborers and abandoned by the Japanese
at Awar, Northwest of Madang.

A pose shot taken at Morotai in late

1944. For the Fifth Air Force, the L-5
proved the right aircraft in the right
place at the right time. (Kevin Ginnane
collection).
 94
By the time the squadron moved to the Philippines in November 1944 its pilots had become seasoned
tropical fliers. They continued their work in the new environment, and added more accomplishments to the
list. Among their achievements, they continued rescue work, liaised with Filipino guerillas, delivered Japa-
nese prisoners, conducted staff flights, delivered supplies, modified the L-5s to give them an extra one and
a half hour’s endurance, dropped messages to forward combat zones, carried soldiers, medical officers and
medicines, and dropped spare propellers. In February 1945 the Squadron was transferred to the Thirteenth
Air Force for administrative purposes. Their work continued unabated, and by July 1945 they were solely
equipped with L-5s and L-5Bs, with a total charge of twenty eight aircraft. Even though it was the end of the
war, their losses that month are instructive. One was shot down near Libby on Mindanao, one crashed at Siri-
noa Island near Palawan, and two were lost on operational missions over Mindanao; one at Cabanglasan and
the other at Del Monte. For a squadron whose work was never properly defined, they conducted the largest
variety of missions in the Fifth Air Force. Technical records are insufficient to define Swamp Angel’s exact
movements, but it is known that this particular L-5 was not lost in operations or combat.

History 28. Rim Shot

(Unnamed) Consolidated B-24M-20-CO #44-42240
2nd Bombardment Squadron/ 22nd Bombardment Group
Destroyed in crash-landing 25th June 1945

From early to mid-1945 the Fifth’s Liberators struck everywhere except Japan, which they could
not reach. In some cases they hit the same targets which they had bombed two years previous
– such as Balikpapan. This is Mabel’s Labels, a colorful 43rd BG ship (credit Fred Hill).

It was late in the war, and the talk was of invading Japan. The Fifth’s Liberators, without the range to get
there, continued hitting the Japanese in pocketed areas, many of which had already been overtaken. On 25th
June 1945 the 22nd Bombardment Group was scheduled to hit Mandai on the Dutch East Indies (now Indone-
sia) island of Celebes. 2/Lt Edward S. King, a navigator with the 2nd Bombardment Squadron, usually flew in
the lead bomber. Crew lists were always posted on the squadron notice board at 1700 hours the day before as
King recalls, “there was always some guy who knew it was going to be milk run, always another who knew it
was not, so take your pick. The target was never disclosed until briefing”. After briefing however the driver of
 95
a jeep came by as he was boarding Commanding Officer Jim Sweeney’s Liberator. The driver instructed him
to join a different crew at short notice. The Liberator which King would navigate was to be flown by ‘Pappy’,
so nicknamed because he was all of twenty seven. The pilots real name was 1/Lt Robert F. Faires, and soon
after launch the squadron encountered a weather front, so the bombers spread out to go through the weather
individually. On board each bomber navigators checked positions using Type A-10 sextants as their primary
navigation instrument. There was a long over water distance to cover, and in order to rendezvous at the agreed
location just east of Celebes, the aircraft circled to re-group. Faires conducted an extra circle when he saw that
the Group leader had arrived behind him, but this maneuver put their ship well behind the others. Then anti-
aircraft fire appeared ahead, making the crew nervous as their Liberator headed for the target alone. There was
discussion over the interphone about aborting, but Faires nevertheless pressed ahead. King, who was sitting
just behind the flight deck, stood up at this stage and stooped forward into the cockpit to see what was going
on. Just as he did so Faires put the bomber into a tight turn just as the bombs released. The G force restrained
King from plugging his headset jack into the side console.

Another 43rd BG Liberator heads to a target across the vast Pacific. The long rides to and from
targets were boring and arduous, particularly so due to the vibration and noise. Liberator pilot
Jack Shelton recalls, “I can still picture in my mind returning to base from one of those 12-14
hour missions and finding that the path home was blocked by one of those ‘wrong color blue’ (as
we used to call them, weather fronts. The capricious instability of tropical weather made every
mission, a supposed milk run or not, a potential hot potato” (credit Bob Tupa)

Then ‘Pappy’ yelled “fighters” as he pulled the Liberator upwards and towards a nearby cloudbank.
King knew from his charts that the weather build-up was due to nearby high mountains. Still without a func-
tioning headset, he pulled Faires’ headset aside, shouted into his ear and thrust a chart in front of him (The
co-pilot later told King that he had been concerned at that moment that King had “lost it”). Meanwhile three
Japanese Ki-43-III Oscar fighters came in from directly behind. One dived under the Liberator and then hung
on his propeller, trying to get in an upwards deflection shot. The gunners claimed him, but the Oscar‘s guns
hit the bomber, shaking the entire airframe. Throughout the incident the bombardier’s cool voice offered the
sweating gunners a five cent cigar for every fighter shot down. As King watched the event unfold he watched
flashes from Oscar’s guns and considered them impressive. Then another Oscar closed in from the right, guns
flashing. He came in close, so much so that King told Faires that he thought it was going to try to ram them.
Faires asked him to warn him if a collision looked imminent. The Oscar was sufficiently close that King
 96
could see a grin on its pilot’s face. The face suddenly moved, indicating to King that the enemy had shoved
his control stick forward. King yelled to Faires who simultaneously pulled up. As the Liberator’s guns hit the
Oscar, a piece of the fighter’s cowl flew off and it burst into flames. King saw the enemy pilot’s grin disappear
as the Japanese fighter passed close over the top. The bomber’s top turret gunner jumped out of his gunner’s
seat onto the floor as the burning fighter swept downwards. He then broke away but no-one saw him bail out.
Finally the third fighter broke off.

Two shots of Liberators over Philippines targets late in the war. Whilst enemy
fighters had mostly been swept from enemy skies by 1945, the weather and
flak took the lions share of losses (authors collection)

The Liberator was clearly damaged with leaking fuel and oil. There was little discussion on the return
journey, and no one had much to talk about. They descended into Morotai and Faires selected gear down
which lowered the gear as usual, but there was a surprise in store. The left-hand wheel had no tire and its rim
was badly shot up. Faires told the crew that bailing out over the field was the best option, but one of the gun-
ners, afraid of heights, locked himself in the tail turret by swiveling it so that no-one could get him out. Most
already had their chest pack parachutes on, and King asked the crew chief whether they had sufficient fuel to
go-around again to which he replied yes. King told Faires that he could shoot out the right hand tire to even
matters up, then the Liberator could pancake in. The crew unanimously agreed to ride out the crash, so King
shot out the good tire with the right hand .50 caliber waist gun. Then they threw out everything on board and
assumed crash-positions in the bomber’s rear fuselage. Because there were no windows to see through, Faires
called out their altitude as they descended, “three hundred, two hundred, one hundred - going in”. It was a
good landing under circumstances. When the Liberator ground to a halt King scrambled through the bomb bay
to check that everyone had evacuated, then he clambered through the top escape hatch to get out. All the crew
were safely outside however, and they yelled at him to jump off and get away.

As he did, King slipped on an oil slick, lost control of his fall, and broke his ankle when he hit the ground.
He was taken straight to hospital where he soon recovered. So did the Liberator. After removing A-20mm shell
which had failed to detonate, the bomber was repaired and placed back in service with the squadron. King
soon discovered that his usual crew, with 1/Lt Lawrence J. Berry in command, was missing from the mis-
sion. It had gone down in enemy territory and there was little hope held for the survivors. In early 1946 King
received a letter from the mother of the navigator who went down with Berry’s crew, 2/Lt Benjamin R. Wirz.
She said that she still held hopes that her son was alive and living on an island somewhere. King got out a map
of the Celebes and drafted his best estimate of where Berry’s Liberator had gone in. The wreck was located in
jungle by a US military recovery team just three months later, ten miles North-east of Mandai, close to King’s
estimates.
 97

Both of these formula graphics are extracted from Edward King’s navigator’s log. The log was
a detailed document which had to be continually updated during each mission. The logs were
treated as confidential, and therefore not to be kept. At war’s end however, many records were
discreetly distributed to their originators as mementos (credit Edward S. King).

Their investigations concluded that B-24M #44-42431 had been shot down by flak or fighters. The re-
mains of seven of the crew were recovered from the wreckage. Further investigations with villagers revealed
that the four wounded survivors had been taken prisoner by the Japanese, paraded through several nearby
towns in the Celebes, then executed. King was saddened when he could not attend the funeral for Ben Wirz
as he could not make it all the way to Texas, just having started a new job. The service was held at St Paul’s
Lutheran Church, Seymour, Texas, at 1430 hours on 14th July 1946, officiated by the Reverend Melton W.
Bulgerin.

History 29: Shark-toothed Whale

Moby Dick, Consolidated B-24D-15-CO Liberator #41-24047
320th Bombardment Squadron/ 90th Bombardment Group
Returned to the United States October 1943

This D model Liberator was assigned into the 320th Bombardment Squadron in the United States in
October 1942. It was therefore a Group ‘original’ aircraft, and flown out to Australia via Hawaii from the
US by Captain Paul W. Gottke, who had graduated from Kelly Field Class 41-I four days after Pearl Harbor.
Subsequent to graduation he was transferred to P-40s, then later attended four engined transition school at
Albuquerque. He had married his college sweetheart Marian Kardatzke prior to his departure for overseas.
 98
The aircraft arrived at Iron Range in Australia’s north on 14th November 1942, and operated for several
weeks before it was named Moby Dick. Gottke was in his tent one day when he was told that the enlisted
men on his crew were painting the aircraft. It transpired that the man responsible was familiar with Herman
Melville’s novel ‘Moby Dick’, and had relayed to the others how the white whale had killed Captain Ahab and
his entire crew save one. Because the aircraft had been responsible for sinking several Japanese ships to date,
the name seemed like a good one. Gottke did not object. The bomber flew operations from Iron Range under
adverse conditions. Each Liberator was assigned around nine ground crew to keep them airworthy, however
the burden of maintaining the relatively new and complicated bombers was hampered *through lack of spare
parts, particularly aluminum replacement skin and rivets. A Douglas A-24 dive-bomber, formerly of the 27th
BG, was used by the Group as a ‘hack’ to commute to Townsville to collect spares. However, even this aircraft
was often grounded through mechanical problems and lack of parts.

Meant to portray a whale, the design on

Moby Dick was more of a shark mouth,
and was both unmistakable and special
in terms of Pacific Liberator markings. A
unique imitation appeared on the nose
of a small L-4 Cub used by the 320th
BS for liaison purposes whilst they were
stationed at Ward’s Strip in Port Mores-
by. Identical shark teeth markings were
applied to the Cub along with an imper-
sonation name – Moby Dick Jr (credit Bob
Tupa).

On 22nd December 1942 Moby Dick was borrowed by the Iverson crew whilst Big Emma was out of
service, and was flown from Iron Range to Port Moresby. From Port Moresby the Group was to stage missions
throughout New Guinea for the week. Moby Dick’s particular missions were: 23rd December 1942 reconnais-
sance to Milne Bay; 24th December 1942 return to Port Moresby; 26th December 1942 bombed Malahang
Airfield near Lae, 27th December 1942 armed reconnaissance to Finschhafen; 28th December 1942 armed
reconnaissance to Gasmata, and 29th December 1942 return to Iron Range. The group had not returned to
their former base for long when in early January 1943 they were informed that they would be moving base
to Ward’s Drome, Port Moresby, with the exception of the 319th BS, which would temporarily operate from
the Darwin area. Gottke used Moby Dick to bomb an enemy convoy near Lae on 8th January 1943, but two
days later it was delivered back to Iron Range for extensive repairs due to flak damage from this mission. It
was returned to Port Moresby a few weeks later, from where it flew combat continuously (it had not missed
much - for a week and a half in mid January 1943, nearly all Fifth Air Force operations out of Port Moresby
were cancelled due to rain. Ward’s was the only strip which remained remotely serviceable during this period).
There was a scare for Moby Dick and three fellow Liberators on 24th February 1943 when they spotted a
lugger near New Britain’s northern coast, a long way from home, and decided to sink it. As they lined up for
the bomb run they came under sudden attack by Japanese fighters. The run was quickly abandoned as all four
jettisoned bombs to enable more maneuverability with which to engage the attackers. In the event all made it
back to Wards, but they radioed ahead to have an ambulance ready. A top turret had been blown clean off one
of the Liberators and two men were wounded.

In October 1943 Moby Dick and Eager Beaver, by now two Squadron old timers, were flown back to the
US together for a war bond tour. For its return home, the dedicated Liberator was flown by Captain Wayne R.
Smith assisted by the aircraft’s regular navigator, 1/Lt Frederick C. Herzog. After parting with Moby Dick,
 99
Gottke replaced Major Charles P. Whitlock as Commanding Officer of the 320th BS in Port Moresby on 6th
December 1943. On 25th February 1944 Gottke flew one of his more interesting missions when he took a new
Liberator on a solo reconnaissance mission well into Japanese territory, five hundred miles Northwest of Truk.
To get there he had to fly for two hours on instruments at 1,200 feet until daybreak. His navigator carried the
only chart available of Truk at this stage of the war – a Russian Admiralty chart dated 1828. Gottke finished his
tour as a Major with the 90th BG in March 1944, after which he returned to the US. Gottke had logged a total
of fifty-seven combat missions with the unit, most of them in Moby Dick. After Moby Dick’s departure its
legacy would live on in several ways, including a new squadron insignia. The task was allocated to Sgt Stanley
J. Sajdak who patterned the insignia on Moby Dick’s unmistakable markings, and henceforth the squadron
would become known colloquially as the ‘Moby Dick Squadron’. In June 1944, the Group started receiving
new J model Liberators and many of the original D models were declared obsolete and ‘salvaged’ for parts at
either Nadzab or Port Moresby. It was on several of these J models of the 320th Squadron that similar Moby
Dick shark teeth markings were applied, and soon most squadron aircraft were thus adorned.

Moby Dick heads out from Ward’s Drome towards a northern New Guinea target circa April 1943.
New Guinea weather was not often as benign as this (credit: Norman J. Lawler collection via Bob Tupa).

When Gottke left the military after the war he joined the Central Intelligence Agency at Langley DC,
a career from which he retired in 1974. He passed away on 30th March 1985 after having been active in the
Group’s post war reunions. In the 1980s Group historian Wiley O. Woods received a phone call from Alywyn
T. Lloyd, then working for Monogram Models. The company was seeking a colorful yet authentic scheme on
which to base a 1/48th scale B-24D model. They chose Moby Dick after consulting both Gottke and Woods,
and Lloyd presented Gottke a finished model of his bomber at the following year’s reunion in Seattle. As to
Moby Dick itself, after completion of its War Bond tour it was assinged to the Reconstruction Finance Cor-
poration, a Federal government agency, which disposed of it in October 1945. Thus it had served the United
States in both combat and propaganda roles for a total of thirty seven months. Thanks to the initiative of
Monogram Models, the simile of this well known bomber rests in thousands of homes and museums world-
wide today.
 100

History 30: Shower Under the Wing

Man-O-War, Douglas C-47 #41-18602
33rd Troop Carrier Squadron/ 374th Troop Carrier Group
Survived War

In early 1942 the 21st and 22nd Troop Carrier Squadrons were the only US transport units in the entire
SWPA. Pilots from Class 41-H had only been a week at sea en route to the Philippines from Pearl Harbor
when they heard of the attack. The graduates from the Class had no multi engine time, yet within the next few
months they would be flying Lockheed C 56 Lodestars, DC 2s, DC 3s, and DC-5s as part of these two squad-
rons. Such were the beginnings of the backbone of the Fifth Air Force, the Directorate of Air Transport (DAT).
The 22nd Transport Squadron was formed at Essendon Airport near Melbourne, and soon these recently ar-
rived Americans from Class 41 H were learning how vast Australia was. They navigated a continent as large
as mainland United States, and often went as far afield as Darwin, Charleville, Brisbane, Sydney and even
Perth. After four hundred hours they were deemed ready to become pilots in command. In March 1942 many
C-53 flights were made to Port Moresby, the principal cargo being .30 caliber ammunition for RAAF No 75
Squadron's Kittyhawks. These trips were timed to arrive in Port Moresby at dusk and to depart before dawn to
avoid being strafed by Tainan Kokutai A6M2 Zeros based at Lae.

Early days for the 33rd TCS at Port Moresby. Five of the squadron’s brand new C-47s are
seen parked at the western end of 7-Mile Drome (author’s collection)

The first few months of DAT's existence were hectic. During early February 1942, 49th Fighter Group
mechanics and equipment for their P-40Es were flown to Malang and Bandoeng bases on Java. However,
the process was reversed late the same month and well into the next when, just prior the advance of Japanese
forces, DAT aircraft assisted the evacuation of military and civilian personnel from the Dutch East Indies.
While this evacuation was in process, their transports were also flying supplies and personnel to strategic
points within Australia. For example, it was DAT C-53s which delivered the U.S. Army 102nd Coast Artillery
(Anti-Aircraft) Battalion to Darwin in twelve days. On the return journey to Australia’s eastern states the C-
53s brought back wounded and other personnel, many of whom had evacuated the Philippines and Java. The
heavy strain imposed on pilots, new to the area, and flying in tropical weather with inadequate charts invari-
ably resulted in mishaps. On 4th February 1942 C-53 #41 20051 found Darwin closed due to tropical thunder-
storms. It diverted to an emergency field on Bathurst Island, some sixty miles north, but in strong crosswinds,
the aircraft's left wing tip and aileron hit the runway and were damaged. The next morning, before repairs
could be effected, Japanese A6M2 Zeros strafed and destroyed the aircraft.30 Then C-53 #41-20066 became
 101
lost on a flight from Perth to Broome on 26th February 1942. It ran out of fuel and safely crash landed near
Wyndham. Crew and passengers were all rescued two days later by flying boat.

During DAT’s beginnings, aircraft which had escaped the Dutch East Indies and belonged to the airline
KLM were chartered on a contract basis, until negotiations for their purchase could be concluded. The aircraft,
two DC 2s, two DC 3s, three DC-5s, and three Lockheed L 14s remained under KLM management. The DC-
2s and Lockheed L 14s were chartered out to DAT at thirty five pounds per hour, DC 3s and DC-5s at forty.
DAT accepted full responsibility for loss or damage, but repairs, fuel and maintenance costs would be borne
by KLM. The charter contract was finalized on 28th March 1942, and two months later all were purchased
for a total of US $493,683.31. Flying the DC-5s at first proved problematic, as their instruments had been
calibrated in metric for the European airline, so the American pilots made their own conversion charts and
placards. Cabin areas, once generously appointed with luxurious Pullman style interiors, were stripped bare
for the carriage of supplies and wounded. A further eleven C 56 Lockheed Lodestars and a solitary Martin B
10 were also purchased from the Dutch Government. These C 56s were all one year old and had served with
the Dutch East Indies Army Air Force (these would be later replaced by more powerful Lockheed C-60s, the
first arriving in Australia on 22nd September 1942).

C-53 serial #41-20051 was sent to Australia aboard the first convoy for the Philippines, but diverted
when the Japanese invaded the Philippines. On 22 Dec 1941 the aircraft was unloaded at Brisbane
without wings, and re-assembled the following day. On 14 February 1942 it force-landed at Bathurst
Island, Northern Territory, whilst returning to Darwin from Java. Landing in a crosswind, the plane
damaged its left wing tip and aileron. It was later destroyed by the strafing/bombing attack by Japa-
nese carrier aircraft in first air-raid against Darwin. Notice the Air Transport Services (ATS) pre-war
insignia. The pre-war tail designation shows that this aircraft served as transport # 51 with the 62nd
Troop Carrier Group in the U.S before being shipped to Australia (Aerothentic Grafix)

Until May 1942, DAT had confined its operations as far as Port Moresby, but aircraft flown by pilots from
the 21st Troop Carrier Squadron now pressed further into New Guinea’s interior on vital re supply missions to
Australian forces at Wau. Despite the threat of Japanese fighters and bad weather, DAT aircraft continued to fly
missions with meagre fighter cover, usually from P-39s. The 21st Troop Carrier Squadron dropped in excess
of a million pounds of supplies along the Kokoda Trail during October 1942, a large percentage of which was
never retrieved due to impenetrable jungle. On the final drive on Buna, air transport played a prominent role in
the final victory. Commencing 14th October 1942, DAT aircraft were responsible for the transfer of American
and Australian troops from Port Moresby and Milne Bay to Wanigela.

Reinforcements of American aircraft were on the way however, one of them being the 33rd Troop Carrier
Squadron. At this stage the squadron’s ground echelon was at Bowman, Kentucky, whereas the flying echelon
was at Florence, South Carolina with the 315th TCG. The Squadron was ordered to SUMAC in the latter part
of September 1942 where it was assigned thirteen new C-47As to replace their older models. Right up until
being ordered to SUMAC (no one at Florence had any idea where SUMAC was), new personnel were being
assigned into the outfit.
 102

When 33rd TCS Pilot S/Sgt Claude W. Patterson, or simply ‘Pat’ as his crew all called him, received a
new C-47 he decided to call it Man-O-War. He and co pilot Ira Adams had just returned from a flight up to
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, one night near end of September, when they were told they would receive a new
aircraft. When it arrived, they were to depart for overseas immediately, destination SUMAC. Thus all thirteen
crews left Florence that night or early the following morning. Man-O-War flew first to Mobile, Alabama, to
acquire a set of Jeep loading ramps, thence on to San Antonio, Texas, where they joined the other twelve trans-
ports for a journey into the unknown. From San Antonio the Squadron flew to Phoenix, Arizona, to receive
orders rating several Sargeants as pilots. The S/Sgts had recently graduated from Luke Advanced flight train-
ing, but without personnel orders. At this point matters became slightly confused. Instead of going overseas
as ordered, they were diverted to Hammer Army Airfield at Fresno, California, for further training. Adams
recollects that at this stage he had a total of six hundred hours flying time, an experience level common to most
pilots in the squadron.

Air Transport Command had assigned a Major to see that the new crews were ready. The Major’s way
of preparing the crews for combat was to fly them night and day. The Squadron Commander took exception
to this ‘no rest’ policy, and so objected. Next morning a full inspection of all thirteen aircraft was conducted,
after which Patterson and Adams noticed that the port engine vibrated too much during the flight to Hamilton,
the Squadron’s port of embarkation. There, a long range eight hundred gallon fuel tank was installed in the
cabin for the long flight across the Pacific, and the transport was ground checked and found OK. The follow-
ing morning Man-O-War launched for Hawaii with a calculated gross weight of 32,500 lbs. Immediately upon
reaching cruising level the crew throttled back and set RPM for long range, Adams recalls,

“number one engine immediately started severe dancing. By experimentation we discovered if we set
RPM to normal, we could stand the vibration. The decision was made to continue with the Squadron. We had
picked up 2/Lt Fred J. Lorenz as Navigator at Hamilton so we now had a five man crew. All agreed to set-
tle in for the long haul. The forecast of scattered to broken clouds turned into nine hours of solid instrument
flying with scattered to broken over Hawaii sixteen hours and thirty five minutes later. We again wrote up ‘
Vibration of port engine’. This time we put it as too severe to continue. The next morning we had were told the
engine had been ground checked and found OK. On run-up, I again detected difficulty from the port engine.
The maintenance man on board said the only thing wrong with the engine was the temperature of the pilot’s
feet. With that, we got under way with the Squadron. Two hours and ten minutes ahead of us, and with Pat in
the rear playing poker with our passengers. Then the port engine oil pressure light came on, the gauge started
a jerking descent toward Zero. I hit the feathering button and the emergency bell, then started trimming for
one engine operation. I also started a 180 degree turn. By the time all this had been accomplished we were
headed back to Pearl. Pat ricocheted his way forward and took the controls, whereupon I informed Hawaii of
our difficulties. We arrived over the field two hours and ten minutes later with 1900' altitude pulling maximum
continuous power on the right engine. The pilot’s ‘cold feet’ turned out to be the spare rocker box cover nut in
number six cylinder intake (#6 is on the bottom of the engine). The rest of the trip was made with two engines
purring like they did before Sacramento. From Christmas we went to Canton Island from there we searched
for Eddie Rickenbacker, then on to the Fiji Islands. Upon landing at Nandi, we were arrested as being enlisted
men stealing a C-47 and trying to go to Australia. Next morning, an R-4D from Tontouta came in and the Com-
manding Officer at Nandi put us into the custody of the Marine R-4D crew for confinement in the Marine brig
on New Caledonia. The marine Pilot (who was a S/Sgt), requested we follow him to Tontouta. He set course for
Tontouta, and we set course for Plain des Giacs. The entire north end of New Caledonia was socked in solid
and everybody was on orders to maintain radio silence. Our pleas for assistance were ignored, answered by
the phrase "get off the air, we have nothing for you". Tuning into the tower frequency on the radio compass,
we tracked our way to the field, landing in a sea of red mud. The subsequent six and a half hour trip on to
Brisbane was relatively uneventful”.
 103

Yet another C-47 prepares to depart 7-Mile circa late 1942, this time ferrying supplies. This par-
ticular transport is Second Hand Genevieve. Despite the impression which survives to this day that
Fifth Air Force C-47s were rarely lost on operations, this is not the case. On Australian soil alone
the Fifth’s Carrier Groups lost no less than fifteen at diverse locations all over Australia’s wide ge-
ography in places such as Alice Springs, Archerfield, Batchelor, Bathurst Island, Cessnock, Cook-
town, Drysdale Station, Mackay, Magnetic Island, Newcastle, Rockhampton, Springsure (West of
Rockhampton), and Turtle Head Island (North Queensland). Operational and combat losses in New
Guinea for the type were well over a hundred, many still missing to this day (credit Kevin Ginnane).

After the Navy determined that ‘the flying Sergeants’ had the authority to fly after all, it was in New
Caledonia that the US Navy, pressured by serious developments and the logistics requirements of the situation
at Guadalcanal, decided to temporarily requisition the squadron for their own use. After holding the entire
squadron at Plaine-des-Giacs in non flying weather for two days, and after arguments between Navy and Army
brass, Commanding Officer Captain Jackson led seven of the transports to Brisbane, leaving six that the Navy
Admirals had secured to fly supplies into Henderson field on Guadalcanal. The Squadron's first combat loss
took place in the contingent left behind. S/Sgt Hensman and crew were shot down into the ocean on take off
at Henderson within the week. 2/Lt Robert Carlson crashed Full House on take off at Espirito Santo bound for
Guadalcanal’s Henderson Field on 9th November 1942 with a load of hand grenades, although Carlson and
crew managed to either crawl or run from the burning wreck. The squadron’s third combat loss was Flying
Dutchman (described in Chapter Twelve of this book).

Whilst the Guadalcanal contingent delivered goods to that dangerous island, those at Brisbane practised
loading and unloading systems which had been instituted within Australia in prior months. These systems
would be put to good use in the time to come. The Squadron commenced operations in New Guinea a few
days later. Man-O-War's original crew flew about three hundred airdrop and forward landing missions in No-
vember/December 1942. Their first drop was to Australian Troops at the Southeast end of the Kokoda Valley.
Their first combat landing was at ‘Able’ Strip in the mountains near Kokoda with a fifteen hundred foot strip
and hump in its centre.
 104
Back in the Guadalcanal theatre two transports had been lost, and now it was New Guinea’s turn. On 17th
October 1942 Shady Lady was shot out of the sky by A6M2s in the Buna area, then on Thanksgiving Day, 26th
November 1942, while the squadron was delivering Anti-Aircraft gun crews from Wanigela to Dobodura, S/
Sgt Melvin Brandt and crew were shot down on take off from Dobodura. Just as enemy fighters started strafing
the field, Man-O-War was landing to offload their gun crew and weapon. The artillery squad leader on board
leaped out onto the runway while we were still rolling, raised up onto his knees with water cooled .50 caliber
machine gun and started firing at the Japanese fighters as they approached again for another strafing run.
Thanksgiving breakfast, lunch and dinner that day consisted of two Australian army biscuits and one quarter
of a tin of bully beef for each crew member.

Man-O-War’s left hand horizontal stabilizer was hit many times by cargo bundles being pushed out of the
door. Its original crew of two S/Sgts, one Corporal and one Private First Class, led a frugal life, as described
by Adams, “just us four and one mechanic’s tool box living and working in one C-47. We got our fuel out of
metal drums stashed in the open so you can figure the condition of the aircraft. We got our food where we could
find it. If one of us got sick, one crewman stayed on the ground to take care of him and the other two flew the
missions. I flew with the radio operator as co pilot and S/Sgt Patterson flew with the crew chief as his co pilot.
The most dependable thing was we could count on a shower under the wing almost every night. Luckily, both
S/Sgt Patterson and I were both aircraft mechanics before going to flight training”.

DAT had Man-O-War’s crew so busy during the Buna/Gona campaign that they lost track of them for
about a week and reported them missing in action. During that period, they flew better than twenty supply mis-
sions. Patterson bet Adams two shillings that he would bounce on landings and from then on it was ‘Two Bob
a Bounce’ for each of them (neither made any money, as the landings cancelled out). At the end of December
1942, the Squadron Commanding Officer and ground contingent arrived in Port Moresby with Maintenance,
Mess, Orderly Room, Medical and transportation facilities - a complete Squadron - no more showers under
the wing for the crew of Man-O-War. The transport was transferred to the 41st Troop Carrier Squadron of the
317th Troop Carrier Group in Townsville in January 1943. There it was re named Wabash Cannonball and also
given the Australian registration VH-CCT. The transport survived the war, although records do not indicate
its final disposal.

By 1943 nose-art had become

ubiqutous on the Fifth’s C-47s.
Clay Pigeon expressed the
way many crews felt when they
lugged supplies over the Owen
Stanley Ranges without fighter
escort. Remarkably however,
very few C-47s were lost to
enemy fighters, the weather
claiming most instead (PNG Mu-
seum of Modern History)

George Johnston, a soldier in New Guinea at the time, published his memoirs after the war entitled ‘The
War in New Guinea’. In it, his paragraph on observing New Guinea C-47s concludes, “Within a month the
fresh faced kids from Maine and Florida, from Oklahoma and Texas, from Nebraska and Michigan, had lines
 105
carved around their eyes, and the set of their jaws had stiffened. Most of them had accumulated between 180
and 200 hours of flying time in combat areas. That was quite a bit different from flying training school. The
fact that their planes were virtually unarmed – what are two Tommy guns and a pilot’s pistol against the can-
non and machine guns of a Zero – added to the fun. We had seen them, day after day, as briefly seen specks
through the gaps in the giant jungle trees. Occasionally when we were in an area cleared out of the jungle for
use as a dropping ground we would see them come banking in with motors throttled back, great wings almost
scraping the trees. As they circled you could see the men in the open doors frantically kicking and hurling out
the boxes. The black specks streamed down”.

History 31. Slugfest of the Mediums

Mitch the Witch, North American B-25D-25 Mitchell #42-87293
17th Reconnaissance Squadron/ 71st Tactical Reconnaissance Group
Retired from service early 1945

Mitch the Witch chalked up

an impressive combat record,
and is seen here in the Philip-
pines shortly before her retire-
ment. Her scoreboard shows
five ships, two fighters and
162 missions. The witch motif
just behind the name has an
interesting broomstick, for it is
equipped with a pair of B-25
‘Wreckoneer’ tailplanes, pre-
sumably to better the broom-
stick’s aerodynamic qualities
(author’s collection).

This B-25D strafer holds its unique place in Fifth Air Force history as being the first strafer to shoot down
an armed Japanese transport. The event unfolded on 25th February 1944 during a routine reconnaissance of the
Bismarck Sea at half past four in the afternoon. On this blue-sky Pacific day the aircraft’s assigned pilot 1/Lt
Bertram A Sill was returning from a shipping patrol during which Mitch the Witch had strafed and destroyed a
beached lugger at the village of Botiangin on New Hanover. Sill was cruising at about a thousand feet when he
spotted a tiger-stripe camouflaged Sally. The aircraft was ahead and below, to their left and obviously heading
towards Rabaul. Pushing the nose downwards, Sill estimated that it only took one minute for Mitch the Witch
to catch up to the camouflaged transport.

Bombardier Jimmy Gunn snapped photos of the Sally

whilst it was under attack, exposed on K-20 film. This
shot was made directly from the contact prints from
Gunn’s negatives through Squadron photographer, Fre-
derick Hill. The Sally’s upper turret can be seen clearly,
taken shortly before it ditched cleanly on the ocean’s
surface and then came to rest (credit Fred Hill).
 106
Four minutes were spent in attacking the aircraft, during which a total of seven passes were made, both
from side to side and from behind and above. During forward passes Sill fired the strafer’s six fixed nose guns
whilst bombardier/navigator 2/Lt James H. Gunn fired the flexible nosegun. When Mitch the Witch passed
directly overhead its quarry, Sill would sideslip the Mitchell so that the waist and turret gunners could get in
clear downward shots. The end for the Sally came when both engines burst into flames and it ditched cleanly
into the ocean. Sill later submitted that, “all occupants of the Japanese plane were believed killed before the
plane crashed into the sea . . . the evasive tactics of the Jap were ineffective. The Sally increased its speed to
an estimated 230 mph by reducing altitude from 500 feet to 300 feet from the water. During the attack the Jap
reduced altitude gradually until his eventual crash into the water. The Sally made slight turns of no more than
fifteen degrees on either side of his course towards Rabaul. An estimated 50 rounds of ammunition was fired
from the Jap turret. No hits were scored on the B-25”. The most telling part of Sill’s report however was his
frank assessment of his own near culpability. Sill’s conclusion was written tongue-in-cheek and in the third
person. This must have raised the attention of S-2 Intelligence Officer Captain Janssen, a stickler for detail, “In
one of the later passes when the Jap was at a very low altitude, the B-25 almost crashed into the water as the
pilot was oblivious of his altitude in his eagerness to give the enemy the final death stroke”.

History 32. Sole Survivor

(Unnamed) Consolidated B-24J-135-CO #42-110121
2nd Bombardment Squadron/ 22nd Bombardment Group
Destroyed landing at Cairns, Australia, 21st August 1944

After converting to Liberators from B-26 Marauders and B-25 Mitchells, the 22nd BG flew prac-
tice formation missions along New Guinea’s coastline east and west of Port Moresby. Unlike the
Fifth’s earlier Liberator units, the 22nd BG was issued solely with J models for combat, using
the occasional handed-down D model for administrative purposes. Seen here are the markings
on the Liberator in which Hellstrom crashed at Cairns. In the early days of conversion the Fifth’s
pilots relied heavily on coastline reefs as navigation markers, particularly those reefs near Port
Moresby (Aerothentic Grafix).

This unnamed J model Liberator was assigned into the 2nd Bombardment Squadron at Port Moresby
in March 1944. The Squadron had converted to Liberators from Marauders there, and, although having had
several Liberators shot up on missions, the unit had not lost one directly to enemy contact. It was August 1944
and the Squadron’s parent Group, the 22nd, had recently moved from Nadzab to Owi Island, just off Biak.
There was a lull in the war whilst the Squadron caught up on logistics, and Captain Carl L. Flogstad was as-
signed to collect spare parts and similar items from the 4th Air Depot at Townsville, Australia. The total crew
would be five, including Flogstad. The evening prior to the flight, Flogstad stopped by 2/Lt John Hellstrom’s
tent and asked him if he would fly as his co pilot to Townsville the following day. Hellstrom readily accepted,
since it would provide a chance for a meal with fresh food instead of the standard dehydrated food. Later that
evening the Squadron Mess Officer gave Hellstrom a double handful of Australian money, requesting that he
bring back fresh meat, milk and indeed any fresh food of that nature. Shortly thereafter the Group Mess Officer
approached Hellstrom with a similar request, imparting to him a generous wad of Dutch Guilders. Hellstrom
buttoned both wads into either side pockets of his shirt to keep them separate. Liberator #121 departed Owi
in fine weather on the morning of 2lst August 1944 and set heading for Dutch New Guinea thence over New
Guinea’s Owen Stanley Mountains. After traversing these ranges it then descended towards Torres Strait,
and proceeded towards the Northern Queensland coastline. It was here that Flogstad’s bomber ran into bad
 107
weather. Hellstrom recalled, “we undoubtedly should have turned around, but in those days, if we aborted
every flight when we ran into bad weather, we would probably have never accomplished anything. In any
event, we tried to fly through the weather and it kept getting worse. We finally made landfall in the vicinity of
Cairns, Australia, and were able to contact the tower at the strip there. We assumed that the weather was bad
all along the Australian coast and made no effort to proceed down the coast to Townsville. I later learned that
the weather at Townsville was not nearly as bad”.

Using the radio compass the navigator homed in on Cairns’ tower and located the strip. By this stage
it was raining heavily. They made several passes at the field and with the assistance of the tower operator
touched down. As co-pilot, Hellstrom immediately commenced his duties: mixture controls rich, wing flaps
lowered, cowl flaps open, propeller pitches fine , and the myriad of smaller associated chores required to land
one of Consolidated’s finest. As a result he had his head in the cockpit and was not fully aware of a sudden
turn for the worse. Hellstrom saw that Flogstad was standing on the brakes hard, when he muttered, "Hell-
strom, this looks like our first crack-up". Hellstrom looked up through the rain splashed windscreen and saw
the runway’s end quickly approaching. The bomber was still doing ninety miles an hour or so, and it was now
obvious that they had touched down in the middle of the strip. At the end of the runway was a wide drainage
ditch. On the cockpit’s right hand side was located a long row of toggle switches which activated the bomber’s
electrical systems. Over it was a pivot bar which Hellstrom immediately depressed, thus killing all electrics.
He then threw his right arm in front of his face to protect himself. There was a jarring impact and Hellstrom
recalled nothing else until he woke up in an ambulance, rain pounding on its roof.

Hellstrom was placed in a hospital bed surrounded by nurses in red and white habits. There were also
doctors in attendance and a priest administering last rights. Hellstrom later learned that the nose wheel of the
B-24 had entered the ditch, causing the bomber’s nose to hurtle into its opposite side, crumpling the fuselage
back past the top turret, killing everyone aboard except him. The crash crew had to chop Hellstrom from the
wreckage. Flogstad had tried to control the aircraft up until the moment of impact. His skull was fractured and
he was killed immediately - the top turret had torn loose and crashed forward and down, killing both the radio
operator and engineer. Hellstrom was shown photographs of the wreckage whilst in hospital. The Liberator
had become mostly a mass of crumpled metal. He was lucky to be alive.

Hellstrom’s injuries consisted of a badly broken right arm, which had absorbed the impact instead of his
head. He also had a broken pelvis, a direct result of having been thrown forward into his harness. Innumer-
able lacerations and bruises covered the rest of his body, and in his dazed state he would specifically recall the
surprise of the nurses when they attempted to remove his clothes. In doing so, they discovered the substantial
sums of money buttoned into his shirt pockets. Hellstrom remained only two days in this hospital, a civilian
one not far from the airstrip. When his condition stabilized he was moved to a nearby naval station hospital,
located in a small compound of Quonset huts. It apparently furnished routine medical care for the crews of
US Navy vessels, mainly appendectomies and an assortment of other illnesses too colorful to be treated at sea.
Hellstrom remained here for approximately six weeks until his pelvis had healed to the extent that he could
limp, then he was moved to an army field hospital outside Townsville, a unit with a dozen doctors and an
equivalent number of nurses and medical corpsmen.

In November 1944 Hellstrom’s arm, which had suffered compound comminuted fracture of the right
ulna, appeared to be healed and he was given one week’s leave in Sydney, then sent back to duty. The doc-
tors soon discovered that the bone had not joined in a proper manner however, and a false union had resulted.
Hellstrom was immediately sent to the 42nd General Hospital in Brisbane where he was thoroughly examined.
It was determined here that an operation and bone graft would be necessary. Since Hellstrom would be inca-
pacitated for a lengthy period, it was determined that he should be sent back to the US. It was in this Brisbane
hospital that Hellstrom’s mail caught up. He then learned that his younger brother, the pilot of a Ninth Air
Force Marauder based in England, had been shot down and killed north of Paris on 10th August 1944.
 108
Hellstrom was sent home on SS Lurline, belonging to the Matson Line, but under contract to the US
Armed Forces as a hospital ship. Approximately two weeks later he debarked in early 1945 at Letterman
General Hospital, San Francisco, and was transported to Winter General Hospital in Topeka, Kansas. Here a
bone graft was performed and his arm repaired. He was still there when the war ended, and he was given a
disability discharge in October 1945. His disability remained minimum however, and the use of his right arm
soon became almost normal. However, it did prevent him from returning to the air force and making it his
career as previously planned.

Instead Hellstrom studied law and lived his professional life as a partner in a law firm started by himself.
As to the wreckage of #121, it was pushed into the bush off the side of Cairns strip where it was forgotten. In
the late 1960s an Australian bush pilot sent Hellstrom a hydraulic cylinder from the wing flap recovered from
the wreck. However the last remains of the Liberator were removed shortly thereafter when Cairns Airport
was upgraded to accommodate international flights. Hellstrom kept the cylinder as a memento on his desk
until his death on 19th August 1992, almost forty-eight years to the day he had survived the crash.

History 33: Still There

Pappy’s Joy Douglas A-20G-15-DO Havoc #42-54157
672nd Bombardment Squadron/ 417th Bombardment Group
Forced landed northern coast of New Guinea - 20th March 1944

The early model A-20G was exemplified by having a rear gunner’s hatch instead of a turret, as
circled. These early models were plagued by limited fuel capacity. Pappy’s Joy served briefly
with the 312th BG before it was collected by Brock, and thus still had the white band tail mark-
ing identifying that unit. The diamond under the tailplane indicated assignment to the 387th BS
(Aerothentic Grafix).

The combat history of this attack bomber is short and relatively undistinguished, but contains intrigue.
The aircraft’s hulk still lies in jungle where it crashed, and at time of publication the wreck still marked the
grave of its pilot. From Dayton, Ohio, Raymond Henry Brock rests in peace under the wreck, unclaimed by the
US military. The aircraft was one of the first G model Havocs sent to the theatre, but these early models were
limited by poor endurance. It was assigned to the 312th Bombardment Group which flew it on several mis-
sions on New Guinea’s northern coast in late February/ early March 1944 before it was reassigned to the 417th
BG, just arrived in the theatre and establishing itself at Dobodura. Several of the Group’s pilots including
Brock were delivered to Gusap by C-47 to bring back A-20Gs in flights of three. On 20th March 1944 Brock
departed at approximately 1530 hours along with two other Havocs led by Group Commanding Officer, Lt Col
Milton W. Johnson. Behind Brock as passengers were 2/Lt Duane G. Hamilton and Cpl Ralph E. Greene, the
aircraft’s crew chief. The flight set direct course from Gusap to Dobodura.

About two miles inland from Cape Ward Hunt, Brock broke away, and Johnson would report, “Brock had
just dropped back about 100 yards and caught up again in formation when I noticed him pull up rather sharply
to an estimated altitude of 700 feet to 800 feet in a climbing turn to the right . . . the next time I saw the ship it
was approximately 300 feet high over Sago swamp, apparently in good control descending in a shallow glide.
I saw the ship go into the treetops . . . “
 109
Johnson could not find the wreckage from the air, but after carefully noting the area of the crash, returned
next morning. Two red flares were fired from the ground, and Johnson soon found the wreck. On the ground
he saw one man waving both arms and moving about. Johnson loitered in the area and thus helped direct a
land party to the scene of the crash. The two survivors were finally rescued four days later, but the terrain into
which the aircraft had crashed was all but impassable. As an official report would note, “it took two healthy
paratroopers four and six hours respectively to cut their way to the wreck from their landing points, 95-100
yards away. The nature of the terrain was such that even the natives at first refused to traverse it.” All searches
for Brock’s body failed. Johnson submitted that he was “thoroughly convinced” that Brock had been killed in
the crash, noting the following:

- no parachutes were observed;

- the aircraft was in perfect control at treetop level indicating that Brock
flew it in;
- the nose section was torn off in such a manner that it appeared that the
aircraft had cart wheeled upon landing.

The war moved on and the mystery and determination of Brock’s status was left to the US military bu-
reaucracy. In April 1945 the Squadron’s flight surgeon was asked to submit a final report on the official status
of Brock’s remains. He wrote a detailed report which in essence entertained four possibilities, quoted directly:

1. He jumped (eliminated as the aircraft was flown in under con-

trol and no parachute was seen);

2. He crawled away from the wreck (eliminated as a thorough

search of the area was made by two paratroopers dropped into the
sight);

3. He was thrown a reasonable distance from the wreck (elimi-

nated as subsequent searches were thorough);

4. He was buried in the mud directly under the nose of the air-
craft (the only reasonable possibility).

The report then concluded that “it would have been a ridiculous and futile gesture to send heavy equip-
ment in to try and drain and clear the swamp in order to search the area.” This was certainly true at the time,
so the war moved on and Brock was forgotten. The final reports on Brock’s demise were made in 1945 and
did not include statements made by the two survivors, only a few days after the crash, included here in their
entirety:

Ralph E Greene, statement submitted 28th March 1944:

“When the plane crashed I was knocked unconscious and when I came to I was lying on the ground,
about 20 yards from the crash. I was carried from the wrecked plane by Duane C. Hamilton. Since I had a
dislocated leg I could not help in the search for Lt Brock’s body. However I am certain that he did not bail out
of the ship because I had fastened his safety belt for him before we took off. It is my sincere belief that Lt Brock
was killed in the crash and that his body is buried in the mud under the nose of the plane as the nose and the
pilot cockpit of the plane was broken off from the fuselage and buried in the mud”.

Statement by Cpl Duane E Greene (crew chief):

“We were flying at tree top level and all of a sudden the RH engine cut off and Lt Brock was able to pull
the ship up 500 feet and then the LH engine went dead. At this point the ship started to glide in for a crash
landing and in doing so the wings of the plane were knocked off by the trees and the plane hit the ground. I was
blacked out for a few seconds and after coming to I crawled out of the ship and in doing so saw Cpl Greene’s
leg hanging out of the side of the ship. I went back into the ship and pulled Cpl Greene out through the top of
the plane. I noticed that Cpl Greene was hurt badly so I took him to safety and tried to make him as comfort-
 110
able as possible. The I went back to the ship to try and find Lt Brock. I noticed that the nose and pilot cockpit
had broken off from the fuselage and was buried in the mud. I looked for Lt Brock’s body but could not find
same so I returned to Cpl Greene to see how he was getting along. On my next trip back to the plane I noticed
some blood on top of the water about ten feet from the plane. I went back there and found that the water and
mud was about six feet deep. I thought it might be a possibility that Lt Brock was thrown through the bottom
of the ship into the mud. However, I could not locate his body. After the searching party reached us another
search was made for the body but same could not be found. It is my sincere belief that Lt Brock was killed in
the crash and that his body is either buried in the mud under the nose of the plane or in the mud about ten feet
from the plane.”

Mr and Mrs Robert & Emma Brock, Brock’s parents, were notified in 1945 and then again in 1950 that
their son’s remains were deemed non recoverable, and that the case was closed. However, if you fly over Cape
Ward Hunt today, there is a small village called Tubi, just east of which, between the Mambare and Gira Riv-
ers, lies #157’s large hulk. In New Guinea’s dry season the sago swamp in which it lies is dry. Certainly during
the 1994 dry season one could walk directly past the wreck on interconnecting village paths. Locating Brock
should be feasible, for he is still there, buried under the nose of the aircraft . . .

History 34: Sword to Ploughshare

Little Hellion, Douglas A-20A #40-166
89th Bombardment Squadron/ 3rd Bombardment Group
Written Off 1st November 1942/ rebuilt as ‘The Steak & Eggs Special’

This is how LITTLE HELLION appeared when it

crash-landed at 7-Mile Drome on 1st November
1942 after its final mission. It carried Squadron
number 13 on the nose, and thirteen mission
markers, hand-painted in white. Note that the
nose Perspex is painted over, a feature of most
of the Fifth’s converted A-20A strafers (Aerothentic
Grafix).

Little Hellion was assembled at the Commonwealth Aircraft Factory near Melbourne and delivered to the
Fifth Air Force on 8th June 1942. It flew from Charters Towers for three months before being flown by 2/Lt
Fred Klatt to Kila Drome, Port Moresby for its debut in the New Guinea theatre on 29th August 1942. In the
aircraft’s rear was 2/Lt John Robinson, squadron engineering officer. Little Hellion would have a remarkable
demise followed by its own re creation, and it is this fact which places its history as unique in Fifth Air Force
history. Two days after arriving at Kila Drome Little Hellion carried out the 89th Bombardment Squadron’s
first combat mission of the war in company with twelve other A-20s, in a coordinated strike with six 22nd BG
Marauders against Lae. At noon, just as the Marauders had completed their bombing run at 6,000 feet, the A-
20As swept in low across the Markham delta, strafing grounded aircraft, vehicles and buildings before break-
ing out over the ocean and breaking right. All returned safely to Kila Drome, thus completing the first A-20
combat mission in the SWPA. Little Hellion’s next mission took place on 2nd September 1942, when 2/Lt
Fred Klatt flew it on another strafing mission with eight other A-20s along the Kokoda Trail between Isurava
and Kokoda villages. The next day the aircraft notched its third mission, strafing and bombing Japanese infan-
 111
try along the Wau/ Salamaua track between Busama and Mubo villages.

Two days later 2/Lt Howard Aufderheide took Little Hellion over the recently-constructed Japanese
airfield at Buna. This was heavily bombed and strafed, as also were several Japanese landing-barges. The
formation of seventeen A-20As was led by Major Donald P. Hall from Cactus Don, and the attackers achieved
complete surprise although several aircraft were holed by groundfire. Little Hellion stayed on the ground for
the 89th’s next four missions due to damage sustained over Buna. On 10th September 1942 it returned to
Charters Towers on administrative assignment, but returned to Kila ten days later in time for another raid as a
part of a nine A-20A formation, their mission to strafe the Buna/ Kokoda trail. Two more missions followed,
on 27th September and 5th October 1942, the former against targets on the Kokoda Trail between Ioribaiwa
and Kagi villages, the latter against supply dumps and moored barges at Sananada village near Buna.

On 1st November 1942 Little Hellion was flown on its last sortie by Captain William D. Ford, to again
strafe Lae’s runway. As the A-20As commenced their low level run, covered by sixteen P-40s of the 8th Fight-
er Squadron, numerous A6M2 Zeros of the Tainan Kokutai intercepted. Two enemy fighters were claimed by
P-40 pilots 2/Lts William C. Day and Richard H. Dennis, and one probable claimed by an A-20A. However
Little Hellion was hit badly, affecting its vital hydraulic lines. Ford nursed the damaged machine back to
Seven-Mile Drome in preference to Kila. There, with a longer runway nominated for ‘crashes’, he and his
gunner walked away from a wheels-up landing. The aircraft was nevertheless considered a write-off, mainly
due to airframe buckle. It was in December 1942 that 89th Squadron Commanding Officer Captain Christian
Petri conceived the idea of rebuilding an A-20 from odd parts from the various aircraft graveyards at Seven
and Three Mile Strips. The squadron could use such an aircraft to run supplies from Australia. While chasing
spare parts in the boneyard, Robinson had often noticed Little Hellion, and although officially written off, he
doubted the damage as serious as stated. Permission was obtained to tow its fuselage to Kila where it was
stood on empty 55 gallon fuel drums. Meanwhile unnamed A-20A #39-724 had recently been damaged on
15th December 1942 when its nose wheel strut collapsed, also buckling its fuselage, and from this airframe
Little Hellion would acquire its wings. S/Sgt Clifton Hawkins was given charge of the rebuild, assisted by S/
Sgt John Dugan, M/Sgt Louis Sevcik and Sgt Joseph Schramm.

The hot midday sun shines on Little Hellion at 7-Mile on 1st November 1942. Captain William
Ford force-landed her here after returning from attacking the Japanese fighter base at Lae.
Little Hellion took hits over target, affecting its vital hydraulics. Ford nursed the damaged ma-
chine back to 7-Mile which had an exclusive runway nominated for crashes. Both he and his
gunner walked away from this wheels-up landing (credit Signal Corps).

The main challenge was aligning and installing the wings. On Christmas Eve 1942, the left hand wing
slipped, injuring Sergeant Dugan. Work continued as nearly two thousand pounds of weight was stripped from
the fuselage, including bomb racks, guns & mounts, and the heavy armor plate. In his subsequent ‘Weight &
Balance’ Report, Robinson advised that “as a general principle, the pilot may presume that the aircraft will
 112
carry all that can be piled into it, for space is the limiting factor. The maximum weight distribution should be,
nose section: 1,000 lb and rear compartment: 2000 lb. In carrying personnel: one in the nose and six in the
rear. In a pinch, three extra men may be placed in the rear section, making a total of nine. Assuming that a
man averages 200 lbs and his baggage averages 60 lbs, the gross load of personnel and baggage including
the pilot would be 2,860 lbs. In other words, ten passengers is the absolute limit”.

Finally came replacement engines which were brand new, a ‘first’ for a squadron which was normally
hard pressed for spares of any description. Captain Petri discreetly expressed concern about the ownership
credentials of the gleaming and glossy light grey Pratt and Whitneys, but was assured that were questions
asked, both could be returned to stock speedily and quietly. It took just over a month to complete the rebuild,
including complete reconstruction of the hydraulic and electrical systems. A coat of foliage green paint was
then applied, leaving the original serial number on both sides of the tail. For the master touch, squadron art-
ist Corporal Tony Benson inscribed the name The Steak and Egg Special on the nose in decorative yellow
letters with black shadowing. The fresh Pratt & Whitneys were run in on 3rd February 1942, and all seemed
fine apart from minor faults with the electrical system, soon remedied. Following further ground tests, on the
afternoon of the 6th February 1943 the aircraft was gingerly rolled out of its revetment. Following a ceremony
during which 2/Lt Charles Brown outlined the story of the rebuild, it was then christened by 2/Lt Ocal P. Jones,
squadron mess officer, who smashed a fresh egg on its nose.

Captain Petri then climbed in, started the engines, and slowly taxied to Kila’s runway before a gathered
crowd of interested spectators. He took off and the flight was smooth. However the cockpit was exceptionally
draughty, caused by a door-less nose wheel nacelle (Petri subsequently reported that the resultant slipstream
had nearly blown him out of the cockpit). Various teething problems delayed The Steak and Egg Special’s first
flight to Australia for another two weeks, during which a nose wheel door was installed.

Captain Petri about to start the new

engines prior to its maiden flight from
Kila Drome on 6th February 1943.
After shutting down, Petri told an
anxious audience that the ship flew
well, but that he had nearly been
blown out of the cockpit . . . an air
gap was soon found and covered
(Adrian Bottge collection)

On 21st February 1943 The Steak and Egg Special left for Australia on its first 'cross-country' flight, car-
rying two passengers on furlough. Also aboard was mess officer 2/Lt Ocal P. Jones, armed with two hundred
Australian Pounds cash with which to purchase fresh commodities to refurbish the squadron’s larder. The
aircraft returned three days later, and pilot 2/Lt H. D. Brown reported a successful trip. For the next few days
squadron personnel scoffed much steak and fresh food, much to the envy of neighboring units. Major Donald
P. Hall took the aircraft back to Australia a week later, thus marking the commencement of regular shuttle
services between New Guinea and Australia. His return flight of 18th March 1942 brought much-awaited
liquor as well as more welcome fresh food (this culminated next evening in one of the best parties since the
squadron’s US departure, much to the detriment of several sore heads the following morning). Over the next
six months, The Steak and Egg Special plied its trade between Kila Drome and Brisbane, Townsville, Cairns
and even as far as Sydney. It was a simple deal – men went on furlough and replenishment was brought back
with returnees. However, operations were not without problems, mainly leaking fuel tanks and oil lines, and
a wobbly front landing gear (essentially the result of the bent front airframe from its forced landing as Little
Hellion). Perhaps the most jury-rigged equipment aboard however was the rear gunner’s hatch which had a
 113
wired release handle (if the hatch had to be released suddenly, a set of pliers wired to the airframe would be re-
quired). Such obstacles aside, the success of the creation of this aircraft did much to bolster the unit’s morale.

The revised lettering has been changed

to simply ‘Steak and Eggs’, as seen here
at Nadzab just prior to the aircraft’s final
demise sometime in mid 1944 (credit Jack
Heyn).

In August of 1943, the aircraft’s paint was removed to give it marginally more speed. Its aluminum was
polished and waxed which, combined with its reduced weight, made the aircraft extremely fast for an A-20.
When it came to having its name re applied, engineering section elected to call it simply Steak and Eggs, for
that was the sobriquet under which the aircraft had become colloquially known to all at Kila. The aircraft was
about to attain new prestige. On a flight from Brisbane to Sydney on 14th November 1943 flown by Captain
H. D. Brown, the weather became marginal approaching Sydney, forcing Brown to descend. Travelling south
towards the sprawling city, Brown found himself lined up with Sydney Harbor Bridge. Following a dare (in-
volving an undisclosed sum) from the passenger in the transparent nose, Brown smoothly guided Steak and
Eggs under the bridge at high speed, thence to land at Mascot Airport. A Marauder which arrived at Mascot
several minutes later was accused by the RAAF of this breach, against Brown’s subsequent pleadings of ig-
norance about the matter. (19th Bombardment Squadron ‘Silver Fleet’ Marauders of the time were the only
twin-engined US combat aircraft to appear in natural metal, and confusion of the types was understandable,
even for RAAF officers). Two days later Brown twisted rules again by taking two young female Australians
on a joyflight along Sydney’s southern coastline.

Connecting the new wings in the open was intricate. Apart from aligning them, the electrical
looms had to be sorted and re-wired, control cables connected and tensioned, and hydraulic
hoses installed (Adrian Bottge collection).
 114
Steak and Eggs continued to faithfully serve the 89th Squadron into 1944 before its final mission, the
exact date lost to history. The pilot who presided over its demise was Rade Vukelic, who beached the aircraft
near Cooktown, Queensland, after being caught between weather fronts, “I set it down in the water when I had
run out of fuel and aqua-planed right up to the beach of a little island with the nose of the plane on the sand
and the rest in the water. I was taking five guys down on sick leave plus the crew chief. Thank God no one was
seriously hurt. A Lt Kennedy from New York injured his shoulder . . . “

Taken the day after Rade

Vukelic beached ‘Steak &
Eggs’ on a Queensland
Beach. She was soon stripped
and existed no more . . .

History 35. The Hunter in Tommy Roberts

(Unnamed) Bell P-39Q-6-BE Airacobra #42-19949
25th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron/ 6th Photo Reconnaissance Group
Missing from Durand, Port Moresby 12th January 1944

Born halfway through the Great War in 1916, Thomas ‘Tommy’ Harbaugh Roberts went missing in an
Airacobra over New Guinea on 12th January 1944. The wreckage was located after the war however and
Tommy was buried by an Australian soldier with whom he had fought alongside the month prior. More than
half a century later his family is still trying to locate his grave and bring him home. The story behind the loss
of Tommy Roberts is as remarkable as it is unanswered. Yet, through a comprehensive array of documents
compiled by his family the pieces of the jigsaw fit together with one major exception – Tommy’s whereabouts.

The 1941 Army Air Corps graduation

photograph of 2/Lt Thomas Harbaugh
Roberts (credit Ted Roberts).

Shortly before the 25th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron was scheduled to departure Petterson Field,
Colorado, for overseas, Tommy, then a fresh Second Lieutenant with a background as a hunter, decided to
treat his comrades to antelope dinner. Taking a jeep, he located an antelope herd in hills just east of the airfield,
bagged one and temporarily left it there, so he would not be seen bringing it back in broad daylight. That night,
Tommy and friend 2/Lt Dick Shipway took the same jeep back to collect the antelope. It would not have done
to drive back through the gate with the antelope protruding from the jeep, so they tossed it over the perimeter
fence at a remote location away from the main guarded gate. After retrieving the game, they proceeded to
 115
the officer’s mess where Tommy talked the sergeant on duty to let him hang it in the refrigerator. However,
he was less successful in convincing the same mess officer into serving the Squadron an antelope dinner that
evening (the officer insisted that the meat wasn't government inspected). Several nights later, the unit’s troop
train was ready to depart. The two pilots made quite a sight as they walked to the train, for Tommy slung the
antelope over his shoulders whilst Shipway cradled a live pet monkey, the Squadron mascot. Upon reaching
Camp Stoneman in California Tommy found a more cooperative mess officer who served the antelope for
dinner. Much to the amusement of fellow pilots, Tommy didn't run the conventional way, rather he scampered
on all fours. He had learned to do this when learning to hunt in Colorado. He had soon learned that he could
penetrate dense wooded areas more easily than if upright on two legs. As he loped around the deck of troop
ship, SS Nieu Amsterdam, he was thus often the center of attention, especially when he jumped obstacles de-
liberately placed in his way. Tommy was also literary. He could quote poet Robert Service at length and recite
from memory ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee’ in its entirety. As such, his hunting and literary background
contrasted with the typical pilot of the era. Whilst on the sea, Tommy shared his thoughts with Shipway, and
both agreed in jest that it wouldn't be all bad if they were forced to bail out and spend the rest of the war on a
beautiful tropical beach.

The Squadron reached New Guinea several weeks ahead of their photo reconnaissance F-5A Lightnings,
so they were at liberty to seek ways to be useful until these arrived. With his hunting background, and time
on his hands, Tommy became driven by a desire to show that he was as good as the Australian soldiers, reput-
edly ranking among the best at that time. Through his good connections with his Commanding Officer, Major
David Hutchinson, with whom he had hunted before the war, Tommy effected a unique secondment to an
Australian infantry unit in combat. Thus he wound up in the thick of heavy fighting, with the 2/16th Infantry
battalion of the Australian Seventh Division and their battle to dislodge the Japanese from Shaggy Ridge.
From this time he left graphic accounts in letters home to his parents, “We started to dig a trench around the
knoll to grenade the pill boxes. At this point I saw a man sliding down the slope 80 yards away. His head was
black and he wore the uniform of the rising sun. I raised my rifle and killed him with four neat shots. Two more
of our men had been shot through the head at the forward pillboxes and the trail was jammed with stretchers
atop the precipitous ridge. That was the first of my Japs. I killed more on the following day of battle. I hope you
will not condemn me for this. I have no remorse whatsoever. These people are not men, but animals, incredibly
filthy and degenerate, who, at times, even eat human flesh. We have proof of this . . . you can take your hat off
to these Aussies”.

For his actions Roberts was made an honorary member of the Australian Army, one of the few non Aus-
tralians to receive such an honor. Prior to his detachment with the Australians, Tommy had badgered his Com-
manding Officer to transfer him to a fighter unit, as described in a 1955 letter from Hutchinson to Tommy’s
brother, “the only trouble with the [photo-reconnaissance] P-38s we were flying during the war, as far as
Tommy was concerned, was that they did not have guns. After several weeks in Port Moresby, I arranged to
have Tommy transferred to a fighter outfit, for which he would be far better qualified. Since survival in the air
depends on two things – ability to fly an airplane and ability to shoot, there is no doubt in my mind that had
Tommy not been killed, he would have been the outstanding ace in the war”.

An Australian Army ‘digger’ takes cover during the

fighting on Shaggy Ridge. Roberts was made an
honorary member of the Australian Army, one of
very few Americans to receive the honor (credit Matt
Anderson).
 116

Due to a fuel problem 2/Lt Dick Shipway never made Horn Island in his Airacobra. He bailed
out over a beach near the northern island however, where he was rescued by Australian sol-
diers. Here we see one of several identical Airacobras which were force-landed on the deliv-
ery route to New Guinea. This one was salvaged in the late 1980s (credit Kevin Ginnane).

His friend Shipway meanwhile signed up to go down to Australia with seven other pilots to ferry fighter
aircraft back up to New Guinea through Horn Island. Before leaving for Australia, Shipway wished Tommy
well on his adventure with the Australian jungle fighters and Tommy in turn wished Shipway well for what
should have been a routine flight. However, Shipway’s flight turned out to be anything but. Due to a fuel sys-
tem problem on the aged P-39 he was assigned to ferry, he had to remain behind the others whilst repairs were
made to the troublesome machine in Townsville. Despite the repairs he was forced to bail out over a beach
near the northern tip of Australia when the engine failed. Realizing that he had the tropical beach all to my-
self, one of Shipway’s early thoughts was ‘wouldn't Tommy envy me now’. Shipway was rescued by a detail
of Australian soldiers, spent some time with them at their base camp in the Cape York area, then eventually
rejoined his Squadron in New Guinea on 12th January 1944.

Upon his return to the Squadron camp, Shipway’s first question was, “Where's Tommy ? I want to hear
about his adventure and tell him about mine”. Shipway was told that shortly before his return Tommy had
departed to get an aerial view of Shaggy Ridge - the hill he had helped the Aussies capture over Christmas.
By that evening Tommy had still not returned. His Squadron friends surmised that evening that he may have
attempted low level passes in the mountainous terrain near the ridge.

US Army Air Corps MACR (Missing Aircrew Report) documentation pertaining to Roberts’ last flight
and his disappearance is specific. It records that he took off from Durand Drome at 1032 hours for a local
flight. It notes that the Airacobra was not fitted with drop tank, thereby limiting its endurance to seventy-two
minutes flying time. Roberts made no radio transmissions after his departure (even for local flights an ‘opera-
tions normal’ call was routine and expected). Roberts’ P-39Q had had all its wing guns removed but remained
equipped with the nose cannon. The weather that morning at Durand was clear with scattered cloud. An ex-
tensive search was conducted over the next few days, as far north as Kokoda, and including Port Moresby’s
coastal areas. A memorandum to the Casualty Section, Personnel Actions Branch from the Chief Investigator
of the Determination Unit dated 29th August 1949 notes that five years had lapsed since Robert’s disappear-
ance. Accordingly it recommends that his legal status be changed from ‘missing’ to ‘deceased’. A sentence in
paragraph eight of the original letter is intriguing however, as it reads in part, “death occurred in line of duty
while in flying pay status and was the result of his own misconduct”. This was later revised, to “and was not
the result of his own misconduct”. The inclusion of the word “not” was added after the original letter was is-
sued, and could be interpreted as an afterthought, rather than a straightforward correction.
 117

A failure of communications between Australian and US military authorities post war is next highlighted
by a startling fact. Roberts’ sister Dorothea Dannison received several letters from Tommy’s former Aus-
tralian comrades in 1947 saying that the wreckage of his aircraft had been located in New Guinea’s “Ansir
Mountains” after the war. One of the letters alleged that a detachment of former Seventh Division soldiers had
subsequently flown from Sydney to New Guinea to bury him. Tommy’s former Commanding Officer had also
heard of his alleged retrieval when he wrote to Tommy’s younger brother, Ted, in 1955, “Some time in 1946,
natives came upon the aircraft and removed the identification. When the news reached the Seventh Division,
they dispatched a squad all the way from Sidney [sic] to Port Moresby. It took days for these troops to cut
through the jungles and reach the scene of the crash. They then buried him in the Seventh Division Cemetery
with others with whom he fought. I consider it a great tribute to a great soldier”.

Hutchinson later returned Tommy’s rifle to Ted, with an accompanying letter, “I forward to you the
Garand rifle used by Tommy in New Guinea. You will note the notches in the stock which represent confirmed
kills. Also of interest is a crude carving of a hand grenade on the stock. This represents one of the most he-
roic feats performed during the war. When Tommy and five Australians volunteered to clean out the Japanese
strong point, called ‘The Pimple’, the action that I am about to describe took place. In addition to the Japa-
nese dug in slit trenches, about fifteen to twenty feet down the face of this sheer cliff was a cave. This cave was
in the form of an ‘L’ shape so that any fire upon the cave was ineffective in killing the Japanese in the cave.
In addition, they had a canvas flap which prevented hand grenades from being thrown into the mouth of the
cave. The occupants of the cave had both mortar and machine gun fire. Tommy and his comrades tried about
every method possible to blast the Japanese out of this cave. They attempted to put hand grenades on poles
and reach down from above. Finally, Tommy volunteered to be lowered down the face of the cliff by rope. By
using this method, he was able to fold back the canvas, throw the grenade in the cave, and kill the occupants.
I don't have to tell you how hazardous a venture this was”. The Garand rifle, still today in Ted’s hands, has
nine notches carved into the stock.

So far in this biography only facts have been presented. In light of these however, there is room for logical
speculation. Tommy’s P-39Q had approximately three hundred miles range without a drop tank. Port Moresby
to Shaggy Ridge or Lae is two hundred, within range but with little margin for error. Tommy’s left his trusted
25th PRS comrades the clear impression that he would be attempting to fly to Shaggy Ridge. Although within
range, he would have had to refuel at either Gusap, Nadzab or Lae after inspecting the ridge. It is possible that
he intended to fly to Lae after inspecting the ridge to visit his Australian comrades, many of whom would now
be based there, before returning to Port Moresby later that afternoon. Regardless of his exact destination, there
was little room for navigation error or diversion due to weather, because of his fighter’s limited fuel capacity.

Despite the letter which purports that Australian soldiers supposedly recovered his body from his aircraft
wreck in the “Ansir” mountains, there are no such ranges in New Guinea. There is however a Mt Anzara which
lies directly on the Port Moresby-Shaggy Ridge navigation line, and this is probably the location referred to,
but no official record of the wreck’s location has surfaced. We know Tommy was allegedly buried “near” his
Seventh Division comrades, and Mt Anzara fits this description, but again no location of the grave survives.
Perhaps after the burial the Australian authorities did not inform their US counterparts, or the message did not
get though the right channels. Or, perhaps Tommy was buried besides his aircraft, and the details about his
recovery became confused. Hutchison's letter says he understood Tommy was recovered in 1946 by the Aus-
tralian 7th Division, but this unit was disbanded immediately after the war. Another separate letter to Tommy’s
family from former Australian soldier John Lyon reports that Tommy was recovered prior to December 1945.

There can be no doubt that Tommy did not have clearance for his flight. Authority for a flight as far
away as Lae by a lone fighter would not have been given unless it was for good reason (visiting friends hardly
qualifies). From a discipline perspective, it could be argued that Tommy’s flight qualified as misconduct. He
had flown the same Airacobra only once before – on 10th January 1944 – for one hour, and he was unfamiliar
with the treachery of New Guinea’s interior terrain and weather. After Tommy went missing his Commanding
Officer had a difficult decision to make. Because of his time with the Australians, Tommy had been recom-
 118
mended for the Silver Star, and misconduct for executing an unauthorized flight would have prevented the
award. There can be little doubt that Hutchinson knew he had attempted to fly to Lae, with no authority. He
was therefore caught between revealing this fact to higher authority (and possibly expanding the search), or
‘firewalling’ the information at his level, thereby preserving Tommy’s award and reputation for the official
record. As has been seen in part, the US archival material which exists today is, in parts, contradictory but
supports this possibility.

So where is Tommy ? The most likely explanation is that he is buried near the wreck of his Airacobra
which probably lies on Mt Anzara, laid to rest by an Australian soldier who was conducting part of the search.
The soldier would have reported the burial, and the report would have been forwarded to U.S War Graves for
follow up. However, without that same soldier to lead them to the actual site, the chances of relocating the
wreck were practically non-existent. The letter from Australian John Lyon reports that Tommy was recovered
prior to December 1945. Hutchison possibly got the idea that the 7th Division sent their people all that way
from Sydney to Port Moresby for other reasons.

Regardless of the true circumstances, Tommy’s family still want Tommy home, and their search contin-
ues. Regardless of whether or not Tommy is retrieved, he has long since been punished for the unauthorized
and distant destination he chose on 12th January 1944, and any ‘misconduct’ he might have incurred in doing
so.

History 36. “The New Attack Bomber”

(Unnamed) Douglas A-26B # 44-34332
90th Bombardment Squadron, 3rd Attack Group
First A 26 mission in SWPA, 23rd June 1944

The A-26 was classified as a ‘Secret’ aircraft and so very few photos of it were taken in thea-
tre, all (supposedly) by official photographers. (RH) #332 warms engines prior to embarking
on the first A-26 combat mission in the SWPA on 23rd June 1944. When this particular Invader
entered service at Hollandia with the 90th Bombardment Squadron it was assigned the tail
letter J. (LH) #116 prepares for a mission from Hollandia in late 1944.

The title quotes the words used in Fifth Bomber Command records to describe the Douglas A-26 when it
was introduced to the theatre. The Fifth Air Force had been flying the Douglas A-20 in combat since Septem-
ber 1942, and since the incorporation of numerous modifications the type had by now become a potent strafer,
particularly since introduction of the later G models, studded with nose mounted .50 caliber Brownings.
Douglas Aircraft Corporation had since improved the concept of the A-20, or so they thought, and sent their
new creation, the A 26 which they termed ‘Invader’, to the Fifth Air Force for trial. The unit chosen to trial
them was the 3rd Attack, and four were delivered to the 8th and 90th Bombardment Squadrons at Hollandia
in early June 1944. The first recorded test flight was made on 15th June 1944 by Captain George R. Greene
of the 8th Bombardment Squadron. Shortly afterwards the A 26 made its operational debut on 23rd June 1944
when three Invaders, including #332, conducted a shipping patrol north and south of Manokwari in the Dutch
 119
East Indies. Upon their return they claimed one barge sunk and between six to eight others badly damaged.
Compared to the A-20, the Invader was undeniably more powerful, carried more armament, and flew with two
pilots instead of one. The A 26s continued to fly trial missions throughout July 1944, after which a consoli-
dated assessment was drafted by Group Headquarters.

The 3rd Attack changed over to the A-26 in Japan

after the war. This example made a wheels-up
landing on the island of Ie Shima in late 1945.

*Surprisingly, pilots who had flown and tested the aircraft were unanimous in their opinion that it was
not as good as the A-20 for low level strafing missions. The official report reads, “the principal drawback is
the extraordinarily [sic] poor lateral visibility caused by the projecting engine nacelles. Visibility to the sides
during a barge search or in an attack is practically nil. The forward vision also is considerably restricted,
compared to the A-20. This feature alone is felt to count the A 26 completely out for low level attack on aver-
age targets in this theater. Another disappointment is the short range – not exceeding that of an A-20; also
the cruising and maximum speeds are considerably under what had been expected. On the advantage side are
the terrific forward firepower, the large bomb load, the comfortable cockpit and ease of flying, combined with
the ability to carry a navigator, crew chief or observer, without crowding”. So, a few months later all were
returned to the United States along with a suitably worded official letter from General George Kenney, in es-
sence saying ‘thanks but no thanks’.

History 37. Two-theatre Lightning

(Skull with Tophat) Lockheed P-38F-5-LO #42-12623
39th Fighter Squadron/ 35th Fighter Group
Missing in Action over Bismarck Sea 3rd March 1943

Bob Faurot grins for the camera at Port Moresby’s 14

Mile Drome with his mount - #16 of the 39th Fighter
Squadron. Faurot disappeared during combat over
the Bismarck Sea on 3rd March 1943 in this aircraft
whilst trying to ward Japanese fighters from a B-17F
formation. The nose art of a macabre yet gentlemanly
skull with his top hat was unique although the aircraft
never carried a formal name (credit National Archives).
 120
The history of this early model Lightning with its gentlemanly markings is unique and rare. It is one
of the very few Fifth Air Force fighters which flew in two Pacific theatres – the SWPA and Guadalcanal. At
last, enough of Lockheed’s much heralded new twin tail fighter had been produced to allocate a batch to the
SWPA. The squadron chosen to put them to the test in the theatre was Major George W. Prentice’s 39th Fighter
Squadron. Prentice, a 49th Fighter Group veteran36, would eventually receive about thirty of the long awaited
fighters, but their introduction to combat would be problematic. The news of the type’s imminent arrival in
theatre was greeted with enthusiasm, and the squadron distributed their old Airacobras among the 35th Fighter
Group’s other squadrons at Port Moresby. A contingent then moved to Antil Plains, outside of Townsville at
the end of July 1942. From there, several mechanics and crewchiefs traveled further south to Brisbane where
they assembled the F model Lightnings unloaded from ships. By 18th October 1942, the squadron was relo-
cated to 14 Mile airfield near Moresby with their new yet technically complex and demanding machines.

Lunch time at 14 Mile. Ground crews repair a flat tire on Lightning #33. Today the field is
completely abandoned but in 2009 rusting drop tanks, gun pits and even an abandoned
USAAF trailer still scatter the area, which is now dangerous to visit because of PNG’s
‘raskol’ gangs (credit Roy Seher).

After the Airacobras, the Lightnings were a maintenance nightmare. Compared to the single engined
Bell creation, the workload to keep the big Lockheed airborne was about four times as much. Whilst there was
only one more engine to maintain (a reliable V-12 Allison), Lockheed’s complicated fighter boasted the latest
technologies, including control servo boosters. The extra workload was gladly accepted however, since the
squadron quickly realized that this was the machine that would place them squarely ahead in the war. There
was in fact pity for the 39th’s sister squadrons, since they had to put up with the lesser hand me down Airaco-
bras until late 1943.

The most noticeable problem with the new Lightnings was leaking fuel cells, and replacements and re-
pairs to these were commonplace. To do this, an access panel had to be removed from the lower wing to gain
access to the fuel cells. Screws then had to be removed from the filler neck section inside the cell on the wing’s
top surface before the cell could be removed. In theory this sounded simple, but the only way to get sufficient
leverage to remove the screws was to stick head and one shoulder inside the tank itself, then work the screws
with upwards strength and gusto. In short order the petrol fumes were over powering (fortunately the fuel cell
problem was rectified in later model Lightnings). The experience alerted groundcrews to keep a flashlight
handy to conduct regular inspections of the insides of tanks.

Then, just when the Lightnings had arrived in theatre, they were removed. Allied signals intelligence
intercepted substantial supply convoys coming down the slot to reinforce the Japanese on Guadalcanal, and
 121
General MacArthur released the squadron to assist the Navy to deter them. On 29th Oct 42 eight Lightnings
were meant to fly there via Milne Bay, flown by Bob Faurot, Jack Jones, Martin, Stanch, Shipley, Beane, Den-
ton, and Stan Andrews. Two extra pilots, Lts Mangus and Kenneth Sparks, would follow as passengers in a
B-17 along with the Lightnings’ crew chiefs. The Fortress didn't show up at Milne Bay Strip #3 until two days
later however, and after two days of waiting the Lightnings were ordered to return to Laloki. The Generals had
changed their mind, so it seemed, but two weeks later the same orders were cut, and so on 14th Nov 42, eight
Lightnings (not the identical bunch as listed above) left for Guadalcanal. An extra plane and pilot went as far
as Milne Bay in case one of the original eight needed to be replaced, but it returned to Laloki, not required.

The eight Lightnings flew ahead of the Fortress, and as they approached Guadalcanal they saw Navy
and Marine planes coming back from attacking Admiral Tanaka’s convoy. Four merchant ships had beached
themselves on Guadalcanal’s northern shore, and for much of next morning the freshly arrived contingent
strafed them alongside SBD dive bombers. Meanwhile, the eight crew chiefs, one armorer and one radio
operator had boarded their 19th Bombardment Group B-17E at 7 Mile which delivered them to Guadalcanal
after an uneventful five and a quarter hour flight. The Lightning contingent subsequently had a couple of alerts
and scrambles but no contacts. On one poorly planned mission they escorted 70th Bombardment Squadron
Marauders, and later conducted several dawn patrols. However overall the ‘Guadalcanal adventure’ was short-
lived and rather an anti-climax. Seven of the eight Lightnings soon returned to 14 Mile on 22nd November 42.
The exception was Denton, forced to leave his machine behind at Henderson due to a ground mishap.

Captain Curran L. Jones poses with his #20 at Laloki Drome, Port Moresby. The aircraft was
P-38F serial #42-12621, and this particular Lightning has a black border around its white nu-
merals, unusual for a 39th FS ship (Credit Kevin Ginnane).

After their return from Guadalcanal the Lightnings were used briefly as fighter bombers to blow holes in
Lae’s runway, so it wasn't for several months that the squadron got to use their new weapon in force against
the enemy. Soon to be ace Richard Bong was included in the first SWPA Lightning mission to entertain se-
rious combat. The date was 27th December 1942, and the Lightnings entered combat with friendly rivals,
Warhawks from the 49th Fighter Group. This eventful day began when radio intercepts from Dobodura plotted
twenty-seven aircraft heading for Dobodura. At 14 Mile the Lightnings scrambled, and Bong was hastily as-
 122
signed Lightning #15, Thumper, the regular mount of 2/Lt John ‘Shady’ Lane. Crew chief Roy Seher recalls,
“when they taxied out to take off on that mission I distinctly remember Lane’s crew chief grumble, "That little
sumbitch ain't gonna do nuthin.” Near Dobodura they found a Japanese formation of seven Val dive bombers
escorted by twenty Zeros. At 1210 hours, with the radio callsign ‘Outcast’,40 Red, White, Blue and Green
flights totaling twelve P-38Fs, split up and dove in. Nearly half of the Lightnings had decorative names at
this early stage, including The Flying Dutchman, Dottie from Brooklyn, Japanese Sandman, Jolly Roger, L’il
Woman 2nd, Regina I, and Thumper. Detailed combat reports form the subsequent clash leave much detail:
leading one flight, Captain Thomas Lynch, turned into three Zeros on the tail of another Lightning. He cut one
in half, and it was falling in flames when he last saw it. Lynch flew around and through the melee for a while,
snapping off the odd shot until he was able to get a solid burst into another enemy plane which he followed all
the way down to the water. By the time the Japanese disintegrated into foamy spray, Lynch had emptied his
Lightning’s guns. Lynch returned over the Owen Stanley Ranges an ace.

Bong made his first few passes without results then crossed the coast at five hundred feet where he fired
into a Val from an estimated three hundred yards, and it blew up. Thumper’s guns then snapped a short burst
at a Zero as it crossed his path, and the Japanese dived headlong into the sea. Like Lynch, Bong had soon used
up all his ammunition. His last quarry were three more Vals, but with no visible effect. 2/Lt Kenneth Sparks,
leading his flight from The Flying Dutchman, dived downwards into a Val and held down the trigger. Black
smoke billowed from the engine, blanketing the cockpit area, and the dive bomber fell vertically. Sparks fired
at others without results, then glanced back to find several Japanese on his tail. He dived away to gain speed,
but not before one of them had shot up his left engine. He quickly feathered its propeller and headed back to
Dobodura. Then he glimpsed two Vals in formation, and decided he had time to snap in a burst. As he did,
shredded pieces from a Val wing fell back and he judged he had a probable, but the nose wheel on his floun-
dering Lightning would not lower in Dobodura’s circuit. Sparks put down fine, clambered out of The Flying
Dutchman and boarded a C-47 taxiing for Port Moresby. To the amazement of his comrades Sparks got home
just after the rest of them returned their Lightnings to 14 Mile.

While Sparks had been returning to Dobodura on one engine, 2/Lt Stanley Andrews had latched on to
three Zeros which had peeled away in the opposite direction. He followed one which banked further left than
the others, chasing him into the turn. He fired a continuous burst from L’il Woman 2nd and approached as
close as he dared. He watched with awe as the tail of the Mitsubishi was cleanly cut away by concentrated
fire from his Brownings, then it spun lazily into the sea. Just behind Andrews, 2/Lt Lt Hoyt Eason followed
another Zero which broke right, and Eason placed decisive bursts into its cockpit. The Japanese went straight
down as Eason fell behind another Zero which was harassing one of the Warhawks, and L’il Woman 2nd and
the Warhawk soon ganged up on the enemy, adding another Japanese to the score. The American pilots would
claim totals of seven Zeros, two Vals, two Oscars, plus three probables. Crew chief Roy Seher was waiting at
14 Mile, “those that were victorious gave us a low buzz job and pulled up into a victory roll before dropping
their wheels and making the pattern. Thumper was among them and pulled up into a smooth double aileron
roll. Somebody opined that this must be a mistake, and this kid was just playing around. When #15 came in
and parked there were a bunch of us that hovered close by. A pilot drove up in the pick-up jeep and hollered
at Bong, "How'd ya do?" Bong, still in the cockpit writing on the Form 1, looked up, grinned and held up two
fingers. A murmur of surprise and pleasure ran through the knot of ground crewmen”. Thus the only cost to
the Squadron was The Flying Dutchman, which lay tail up back on Dobodura’s dusty transport strip. It would
be repaired and flying back at 14 Mile within days.
 123

The highly respected Tommy Lynch at 14

Mile poses with his brand new unnamed
P-38G-5-LO, serial #42-12859. Lynch
was as surprised as anybody when fellow
pilot Kenneth Sparks returned from the
27th December 1942 mission not in his
fighter – but through the cargo door of a
C-47. After a spectacular combat career
Lynch was lost near Tadji on 8th March
1943. Lynch’s sister attended 39th FS re-
unions for many years after the war (credit
Roy Seher).

General George Kenney, keen to know how his new Lightnings had fared in their first real battle, visited
the squadron later that afternoon to offer congratulations and hear the stories. His memoirs note that he was
bemused to find Sparks the "bubbling over type, and had a report a mile long." This contrasted with Bong who
provided simple dead pan answers as filled in his Air Corps form, "Fired at range of 350 yds at Val
which blew up and crashed into water. Fired short burst at Zeke which passed in
front of me. Zeke crashed into water." As the returned pilots surrounded Kenney in a semi circle
and poured out their stories, he learned that they had done much wrong . . . they had fired from too far away,
and worse, many had tried to dogfight the Zeros. The General records that he did his best to “give them hell”
for it, but Kenney also had a soft spot. At the end of the bull session he stole away to Prentice’s tent where he
left three bottles of scotch and instructions that he would not mind should there be a celebration that evening.
After a few weeks and sporadic skirmishes with a score of about a dozen kills, not one Lightning had been lost,
and morale jumped accordingly. The squadron’s prestige and that of the new Lightnings was assured, for word
spread quickly around Moresby’s airfields that the 39th Squadron was a “hot outfit”. The new found prestige
spread as far as Tokyo - the freshly painted shark teeth markings on the twin tailed machines even attracted the
attention of Tokyo Rose during her radio broadcasts that week.

On 3rd March 1943, in proceedings which would become remembered as the Battle of the Bismarck
Sea, sixteen of the Squadron’s new Lightnings departed 14 Mile at 0850 hours to cover 43rd Bombardment
Group Fortresses which were to attack a Japanese convoy. Joining them were another sixteen Lightnings
from the 9th Fighter Squadron. A flight of four B-17Fs lined up to make an attack run west of the convoy (the
same Fortresses had bombed and hit Kyokusei Maru the previous day). Three Fortresses were in V-formation,
with the fourth much higher and to the rear. Captain Thompson led them from Panama Hattie. 1/Lt Woodrow
Moore in Ka Puhio Wela was to his right, 2/Lt Denault in Lulu Belle to the left, whilst 2/Lt Kirby’s Tuffi fol-
lowed in high echelon rear slot. The fortresses began a smooth descent from 9,000 feet, turned ninety degrees
left, then ninety degrees right, then leveled off at 7,500 feet for a diagonal bomb run. Bombs away was at
1022 hours and the bombs walked their pattern across the convoy, hitting first one small and one larger ship
(probably the Aiyo-Maru and Nojima). Major Prentice was leading the 39th Fighter Squadron and apparently
had decided that the best thing to do was find the largest pack of enemy fighters and head straight into them.
As the Fortresses had lined up, Ka Puhio Wela (with an extra gunner aboard) took hits from a solitary Zero.
As if smelling a wounded animal, ten or more fighters fell on it, whilst Panama Hattie’s gunners fired at them
continuously. Suddenly a Zero, out of sight to the gunners, swerved upwards towards the belly of Ka Puhio
Wela from its ten o'clock position, and fired a decisive burst into the bomber. Concentrated yellow flames ap-
peared mid-fuselage before Ka Puhio Wela fell out of formation. Moore had time to salvo bombs before the
tail bent upwards and spun cleanly away. As the Fortress spun lazily and slowly towards the Bismarck Sea,
seven parachutes were counted, but witnesses saw a crewmember slip his harness, and tumble into obscurity,
limbs flailing. Three more Japanese Zeros – at debriefing the witnesses would describe them as clipped wing
 124
models - dived through the parachutes, guns blazing. As the parachutes splashed down in the center of the
convoy, Faurot and his two wing men 2/Lts Hoyt Eason and Fred Shifflett, dived into these predatory fighters.
The three pilots were making their last flight.

Prentice’s Lightnings had followed the Japanese in a large climbing turn to the right, and in less than one
full turn they were engaged. At debriefing it transpired that there was only one witness to the missing three
Lightning pilots. It was 1/Lt Jack Jones who had run out of ammunition and had conducted a simulated spin-
out to try and leave the combat without harassment. There, on the deck, he saw a Lightning with a smoking
right engine pancake into the sea, bounce a couple of times, then nose in, leaving the booms sticking straight
up. He circled the pilot, whom he thought was Eason, get out on to the wing safely wearing a Mae West. He
pinned the location as about twenty miles north of Cape Ward Hunt, and broke away to tell someone at Dobo-
dura. The survivor, Eason or not, was subsequently sighted by other aircraft during that busy morning whilst
rescue plans were being put in place. No Japanese records mention captured Allied pilots, and the survivor
was never found. Three of the squadron’s best simply went missing in what would be remembered as the
squadron’s worst day of the war.

History 38. “What No Enemy Had Been Able to Achieve”

Dixie, Martin B-26 Marauder # 40-1496
19th Bombardment Squadron, 22nd Bombardment Group
Deliberately destroyed by her original crew 7th August 1942

The noseart on Dixie was hand-painted

and rather basic (credit Aerothentic Grafix).

Many things have been written about the Marauder, both good and bad. In the Pacific however this air-
craft possessed a unique luxury of an untechnical nature. It was the only bomber in the Fifth’s inventory which
had a completely exposed Perspex top canopy. In the tropics, especially en route to distant targets, the sun’s
heat could be blistering. The folks at the Martin Corporation had thought of this problem in advance however.
That is why every Marauder had one refined accoutrement – a fine quality blue velvet curtain which could be
drawn across the canopy. It was one of many refinements which made the Marauder a special machine.

Although the 22nd Bombardment Group was activated shortly after Pearl Harbor, and assigned to the
SWPA, their Marauders lacked the range to fly directly to Hawaii. So it was that on 6th February 1942 un-
named #496 and others were disassembled and loaded into ships, bound for Hawaii. When they were unloaded
and re assembled at Hickam Field a week later they were fitted with extra bomb bay tanks for the long flight
to Australia. They conducted sea patrols around Hawaii to test out the tanks, and it was during this time that
Dixie was named. When they left Hickam Field the flight leaders were given custody of classified maps (with
lead covers to make them sink in case of ditching). The maps detailed their final destination as Java, but due
to recent military developments in the Dutch West Indies, this destination was ruled out as soon as they hit
Australia. The Marauders made the trip across the vast Pacific at low altitude using dead reckoning and drift
meters for navigation. The journey was made in flights of three, and on 22nd March 1942 1/Lt Robert R. Hatch
 125
landed Dixie at Amberley as number three aircraft in one such flight led by 1/Lt Walter Maiersperger. Hatch
was nicknamed 'Junior' largely because of his nineteen years, but also because he had been forbidden to show
the single silver collar bar of First Lieutenant until he turned twenty-one. However, the Fifth Air Force needed
flight leaders, so this requirement was waived shortly after he reached Australia. At nineteen Hatch was the
second youngest pilot with the entire 22nd BG, “Peach Fuzz” O’Donnell of the 408th Squadron taking line
honors.

The wreck of Dixie as photographed in

New Guinea in 2008. Being buried in mud
has saved even the markings, leaving one
wonder what else might be intact within
(credit Aerothentic Grafix).

After a few days at Amberley they flew on to Garbutt Drome near Townsville, landing there on afternoon
of 28th March 1942. In anticipation of conducting the first Marauder mission of the war, on 5th April 1942
Dixie and others departed Garbutt for 7 Mile, Port Moresby, from where they would stage this historic mis-
sion. Since parking for the Marauders at Garbutt was in a field remote from the runway, they had to taxi across
Ingham Road for every departure. This was a public road which led from Townsville to Ingham, and they had
to cross it to get to the main runway. US military police held up the predominantly civilian traffic at the road
whilst the Marauders crossed in trail, one after the other. The departure scene took place on a sunny Sunday
afternoon at 1330 hours. Much of Townsville’s population waved to them as they took off. It was an unusu-
ally intimate scene for the Pacific war. Their arrival at Port Moresby was timed just before dusk to minimize
Japanese detection and air raids, and there the crews ate bully beef and cheese from cans. Whilst the officers
tried to sleep in sparse accommodation, most of the enlisted men slept under the wings of the Marauders or
in their fuselages, using mosquito nets and bedding brought from Townsville. Take off was at 0335 hours in
early morning darkness, with low cloud covering the area. The mission was down to eight Marauders, as 2/Lt
R. W. Robinson had blown a tire when landing the previous evening.

Shortly after departure, 2/Lt M. O. Johnson and 2/Lt P. E. Ray in Martinsmisscarriage turned back when
they lost the main formation in the darkness. This meant that only six Marauders would hit Rabaul, without
fighter escort. Hatch was flying Dixie on the mission, and crew member John Hamilton in another marauder
would recall, “we came in view of Rabaul Harbor after a magnificent sunrise. Everyone looked in utter amaze-
ment at the largest number of ships any one of us had ever seen at one time before”. By 1030 hours five of the
six had returned to Port Moresby. Missing was Hamilton’s Marauder, ditched near the Trobriand Islands on
the homeward journey due to engine failure, possibly because of flak damage. As Hamilton’s crew were being
rescued by RAAF Catalina, the remaining Marauders returned to Garbutt.

Dixie’s regular co pilot was 1/Lt Duncan A. Seffern, twenty-one years old whose nickname was 'Slats',
with 2/Lt John R. Bevan as navigator. Being a first Lieutenant, Seffern soon had his own Marauder, so Hatch
then flew Dixie with a RAAF Sergeant as replacement co-pilot, but Hatch, Robinson, Slater and Shemberger
 126
continued to fly with Dixie as a complete crew on nearly every mission. Thus this crew eventually completed
twelve missions over Rabaul, Lae and Salamaua, being credited with two Japanese A6M2 fighters and a
freighter in Rabaul Harbor.

Even as far south as Townsville the 22nd BG took security seriously and dispersed their
Marauders when they were not flying. Dixie is seen at Garbutt during the unit’s earlier
operations (credit Bruce Gamble)

Dixie did not return from her thirteenth mission however. On 7th August 1942 a flight of three Maraud-
ers led by Hatch from Dixie, launched from Woodstock Strip in Queensland bound for Port Moresby. Each
Marauder carried one thousand pound bomb destined for an enemy convoy. Seffern flew on Hatch’s wing in
Yankee Clipper, whilst 1/Lt Albert Stanwood flew the other. Approaching New Guinea they ran into solid
cloud. Hatch and Seffern decided to go above, whilst Stanwood elected to fly below. Stanwood would recall,
“we ran into bad weather, and after it became obvious to me that Hatch was lost, I left the formation, headed
south to take me out to sea, descended through the cloud, broke clear over water at five hundred feet, then
turned north. I was able to find Moresby by knowing to turn left if I came to the reef, or right if there was none.
I pulled up at the shoreline, spotted the runway and landed just as night was falling”.

Whilst Stanwood put down safely in dusk at Port Moresby’s 7 mile, Seffern’s crew were in serious
trouble. It was getting dark, there were no navigation aids, and Seffern knew that mountain peaks dotted the
area so he stayed at 14,000 feet, the minimum safe altitude. He ordered his crew to bail out, but complicat-
ing matters was the fact that Yankee Clipper also had aboard an American civilian newspaper reporter, Verne
Hughland. When he ordered the bail out, Seffern was not to know that they were over the middle of the Owen
Stanley Ranges, more than a hundred and twenty miles East of their destination of Port Moresby. Yankee Clip-
per fell away into the jungle near Mount Suckling where it was demolished. After jumping out, the bombardier
had trouble opening his chute, and he had to desperately claw it free in mid air, cutting his hands badly in the
process. The radio-operator sustained fractured ribs and a punctured lung when his chute underwent an unusu-
ally violent opening. Most of the rest of the crew became caught up in high trees and hung there all night, not
knowing how far off the ground they were, or even whether they were in enemy territory. Next morning in
dense jungle it was difficult to find each other, so alone, wet and hungry, each man struggled to survive. Fate
helped most stagger into the same friendly village, and from here they were led down to Abau village on the
coast. From here they were guided to Port Moresby with the assistance of Australian soldiers, but 'Sparkey'
Casteel (the navigator who had guided Dixie on her first mission to Rabaul) and co pilot 2/Lt John Michael
were never seen again. To compound the situation, there was no trace of their civilian passenger, reporter
Verne Hughland. Incredibly, he re appeared in Port Moresby several months later, close to exhaustion from
 127
exposure. Not surprisingly, Hughland would write a book of his survival experience.

Whilst Seffern’s crew abandoned Yankee Clipper over the dark and forbidding Owen Stanley’s, Dixie
was also in serious trouble. However, in accordance with his philosophy of always keeping his crew together,
Hatch elected to crash-land Dixie rather than order a bail out. Hatch announced they would have to put down,
so in the mid section of the fuselage the crew speedily disarmed the bulky one thousand pound bomb and re-
leased it into the gloom. With his fuel situation now critical, Hatch found a hole in the cloud and descended.
There, in New Guinea’s tropical fading light he realized with dismay that Dixie was well off course, for just
ahead was New Guinea’s northern coastline. Dixie put into a swamp, a good hundred miles north of their des-
tination. In the darkness of the swamp it may as well have been a million.

Shemberger, the turret gunner who braced himself against the middle bulkhead for the inevitable crash
landing would later write, “Hatch made a marvelous belly landing in what appeared to be an old river bed
grown up with lawyer cane. Slater was shaken up a bit, but otherwise OK. We salvaged parachutes and a rifle.
We all had our side arms (.45 pistols) and Bolo knives. We used the parachutes to form a tent, then spent that
first miserable night on an elevated part of the swamp trying to get a little sleep. That was the worst night I've
ever spent - the eerie noises in the lonesome blackness of the jungle were terrifying. The following morning
the crew did to Dixie what no enemy plane, bullet or bomb had been able to achieve. We drained the fuel tanks
of what little was left into the plane's commode and poured it around. T/Sgt Don May was bombardier on that
flight, and he destroyed the bomb sight. Then we set fire to Dixie, so that the Japs couldn't salvage her”.

After the destruction of their aircraft, the crew’s primary concern was to get out of the jungle and sur-
vive. Proceeding directly back to Port Moresby loomed a far flung possibility from their vantage point of the
swamp, hampered by the formidable mountain barrier which lay between them and their base. Using their
heavy Filipino Bolo knives, the seven fliers nevertheless began hacking their way out of the swamp, Port Mo-
resby their objective. The journey would eventually take twenty-eight arduous days. Shemberger continues,
“We waded through the swamps for four days, each night sleeping on some high ground under the parachute
tent, During those long dark hours we could hear the crocodiles booming in the distance and the curlews mak-
ing their mournful call. After four days without food, save for munching on what appeared to be wild sugar
cane, we crossed a river to find a very recently deserted native village. Smoldering fire-places bore testimony
that the occupants had mistaken us for Japs and gone bush. We killed a game bird and made some broth, but
the meat was tough and unpalatable. Finally the natives returned, and we gave them some coins we had for
one of their pigs, which they roasted for us still alive and kicking. They loaned us two canoes, then pointed up
river “one sleep away were Japanese” - so we went down stream ! That night we camped on a sand bar in the
middle of the river, taking it in turns to stand guard. Sometime during the night the river began rising and we
barely had time to put the parachute tent into the canoe and get ourselves off that sandbar. Apparently a cloud
burst happened up in the mountains. We spent the remainder of that interminable night sitting precariously in
the canoes, fighting the mosquitoes and holding onto tree limbs to prevent the canoes from breaking loose in
the swiftly flowing water. Further down stream both the heavily overloaded canoes capsized in the fast flowing
river. One member of the expedition lost his boots, and had to fashion a makeshift pair from a leather flying
jacket. After three days on the river we reached the coast and made contact with an elderly Anglican mission-
ary, who gave us tea and rice. His mission had been bombed out by the Japs, and he was way back in the jun-
gle for safety. A lone survivor of a B-17 crash was staying with him. We tried to persuade the old missionary
to come with us, but he preferred to remain with his people. After a day's rest there we headed up the coast in
the direction of Salamaua. Sgt Len Ranta was glad to come out with us. Our trip required constant vigilance,
for we knew the Japs could be anywhere. At times we came across camps only recently used by their scouting
parties. Along the way we came upon a grave; on the wooden cross was inscribed 'American Fighter Pilot'.
A short way offshore was the half submerged P-39 in which he had perished. We later learnt that he had been
buried by some Aussie commandos. After trekking some fifty miles or so, we headed back into the jungle, and
a native police boy took us to a commando outpost manned by three Aussies who had a radio, and acted as
plane spotters. Slater and I came down with malaria, and the commandos gave us quinine, which helped our
recovery. They radioed Port Moresby of our arrival, and a B I7 flew over and dropped supplies to us. The Aus-
tralian War Mothers sent along a packet for each of us, Those packets were certainly appreciated, tooth paste,
 128
soap, cigarettes. They also dropped boots to replace our worn out ones. I scored a pair - size 11½ ! Walking
through the jungle with new boots can sure give one blisters. The delivered spam and rice tasted good after
what we had been used to. With the dropped trade tobacco we hired several natives to carry our supplies and
one to cook for us. The commandos directed us along an overland route away from the Japs, and up into the
mountains. There were times as we trudged along that I thought I’d never see home again. Watching dogfights
high over the jungle, I thought “if only the Allied pilots could know we were there and report our exact posi-
tion to Port Moresby, so we could be rescued”. It took us about three days to walk up into the mountains to a
valley. This was rough going, but at least it was cooler than we had experienced along the coast. We were met
on our way by natives bearing bananas and other fruits. They had known of our approach well in advance by
bush telegraph. At night we slept in huts, and usually the natives would put a dance on for us, which was very
interesting to watch, what with their costumes and painted bodies and their chanting went on throughout, They
were never hostile, and obviously favored the Americans over the Japanese, but they were still puzzled over
the war and only had very vague notions about it all. The valley for which we were aiming was about 5,000
ft up in the Owen Stanley Ranges. Here it was cool and refreshing, With the trade tobacco we hired natives to
cut the grass along a level strip we indicated. It took them a couple of days to complete the chore, and then
a native runner was hired to return to the commandos for them to radio Port Moresby that we were ready. A
RAAF Lockheed Hudson flew in to evacuate us. We clambered on board, but it was 'nip and tuck' during take
off as we came awfully close to the trees at the end of the valley, In Moresby we were debriefed and sent back
to Australia on a Sunderland flying boat. Our sergeant co-pilot [Daniels] was transferred back to the RAAF,
and I never saw him again. He was a nice fellow who taught us things Australian. We all liked him. I attempted
to go on a mission about a month later, but while waiting in Port Moresby for the Jap convoy to get within
bombing range, I came down with malaria - fever of 104.6 and I was admitted to a field hospital”.

First Marauder Mission in SWPA – 6th April 1942

Aircraft Nickname Pilot Status
#40-1388 Pistol Packin’ Mama P. E. Ray (turned back)
#40-1394 C. I. Herron flew mission
#40-1406 M. O. Johnson (turned back)
#40-1411 Martinsmisscarriage W. C. Bumgarner flew mission
#40-1428 Joan Anne W. O. Craft flew mission
#40-1442 A. J. Moye (ditched off Trobriands)
#40-1486 R. W. Robinson (tire blowout at Moresby)
#40-1495 E. H. Reed flew mission
#40-1496 Dixie R. R. Hatch flew mission

Remarkably, Hatch and Seffern were both cited and censured by the US Army Air Corps for having ex-
hibited ‘personal failure’ in the loss of their Marauders. Their escapes became legendary within the squadron
however and thus with enhanced prestige, both pilots returned to combat. Yet after these arduous escapes
Hatch and Seffern would be killed in an accident. The 10th of January 1943 found both pilots in command of
a Marauder in which they would deliver eleven passengers to Australia, a total of fifteen on board. Hatch was
pilot in command, with Seffern to his right as co-pilot. He placed five passengers up front and eight in the rear.
The aircraft took off from Twelve mile field near Port Moresby. The mood was jubilant, for several of those
aboard were to return to the US as they had finished their combat tours. One witness to what occurred next was
International News journalist Pat Robinson, who would later report, “Hatch got above the trees, then it was
immediately apparent to those on the ground that something had gone wrong. He seemed to be trying to make
for Laloki airstrip not far distant, but he didn't make it. The plane seemed to hesitate for an instant, and then
it spun into the ground with a sickening crash. All seven boys in the front of the ship were killed, and all of'
those in the rear were severely injured”. Those severely injured, as Robinson had put it, soon died of internal
wounds. T/Sgt Howard W. Clark was one of eight survivors, and for the remainder of his life he refused to
talk about the crash. The seven killed immediately up front were buried at the site, right next to the aircraft’s
wreckage. The mass grave was noted and several days later a burial detail retrieved the remains for re burial
in the temporary US airmen’s graveyard in Port Moresby.
 129

History 39. Where is Bong’s Lightning ?

Marge, Lockheed P-38J-15-LO Lightning #42-103993
5th Fighter Command
Abandoned in flight, 24th March 1944

The Lightning most closely associated with the United State’s highest scoring ace, Richard Bong, was
Marge, named after his fiancée Margaret Vattendahl. Bong scored several kills with the aircraft, but how it
came to be lost has until now remained a mystery. Bong actually served two tours with the Fifth Air Force,
the first ending in November 1943. He returned to the SWPA theatre in February 1944, where he was assigned
this J model Lightning. On 8th March 1944, ace and fellow hunting partner Lt-Col Thomas Lynch was lost
near Tadji whilst strafing luggers on the coast. Prior to this loss, none of Bong’s assigned Lightnings had car-
ried personal markings (Bong had often quipped that he had never had one long enough to decorate as all had
been put out of action with combat damage). Shortly after Lynch’s loss, as a personal morale booster, Bong
discussed decorating his fighter in a unique fashion. He sounded out his ideas with Captain Jim Nichols, an
intelligence officer at Nadzab, who put them into action. Nichols used a nearby photographic laboratory to en-
large a high-school photo of his fiancée into A-20” x 24”glossy print. The print was then glued and varnished
to the nose of the Lightning upon which the name was decoratively painted, and twenty-six kill markings
were added to complete the process. Bong flew weather reconnaissance missions in newly-named Marge on
13th, 14th, 15th, 16th and 17th March 1944 with other pilots from the 421st Night—fighter Squadron. On the
morning of 24th March 1944 Bong was assigned to fly a two ship weather reconnaissance mission to Wewak
with 1/Lt Tom Malone. For whatever reason Bong was pulled off the mission, so Malone flew Bong’s aircraft,
with Flying Officer Forrester as his wing man. The two departed Nadzab at 0645 hours. Malone’s hand-written
diary describes what occurred,

The scoreboard on Bong’s #993 was painted,

unlike the noseart which was a B&W photo
of his high-school sweetheart and fiancée,
measuring a glossy 20” x 24” . The photo had
long been removed by the time the fighter
was lost (credit Aerothentic Grafix).

“Early AM take-off Nadzab – 2 ship flight, initially scheduled to fly with Captain Bong on this mission.
However this was cancelled and I flew with Lt Forrester also of 421st Night Fighter Squadron. Immediately
after take off encountered heavy overcast- very turbulent – headed up the valley [and] climbed to 30 + thou-
sand feet never broke out of overcast. After about 50 minutes started having trouble with automatic oil cooler
shutter left engine. Radio reception and transmission became very poor lost contact with Lt Forrester – base
cancelled mission ordered return to base. Radio failed completely – left engine started cutting out – electri-
cal system failed – left engine quit. Prop would not feather (electric) losing altitude – difficulty maintaining
altitude down to 11,000 – mountains in area above 12,000. Decided to bail out jettisoned canopy pushed up
to exit cockpit - slipstream pushed me back in cockpit – raised my feet got my legs on edge of seat and pushed
up into slipstream – came out like cork out of champagne bottle – tail section passed over my face – pulled D
ring up and chute immediately blossomed – quite a jolt – encountered snow in clouds for a short period then
broke out of overcast – mountains nearby on one side coast on other side some distance away. Landed – buried
my chute – headed downstream of nearby river to coastline. After about 12 hours arrived at infantry outpost
– Regiment 32nd Infantry Division – the river I came down was dividing line between our forces and Nips. I
was transported by barge to Saidor airstrip two days later and was picked up by airplane from my squadron.
I later discussed the mechanical difficulties with the airplane with Captain Bong – he indicated that he had
 130
also encountered some problems with the airplane”.

The wreckage of Marge was found by 32nd Infantry Division soldiers a few days later at Bau Plantation,
not far from Yalau Plantation into which Malone had walked. Malone probably set the aircraft into a stable
gliding attitude by retarding the right engine, in order to bail out. As a result the P-38J, about 11,000 feet high,
descended smoothly and impacted about fourteen miles from where Malone abandoned it. Pieces of the wreck
still lie in an overgrown coconut grove today.

History 40: Wire Handles

Ravin Rachael, Douglas A-20G-25-DO Havoc #43-9126
389th Bombardment Squadron/ 312th Bombardment Group
Mid-air collision 19th May 1945

When 2/Lt Cal B. Slade was assigned this A-20G he promptly named it Ravin Rachael. The name was
jointly chosen by Slade and his crew-chief, Sgt William E. Langston. ‘Rachael’ was a young lady known to
Slade, from Paris, Kentucky, and it was Langston’s idea to add the adjective ‘Ravin’ to complement the name.
Langston chose the tail identifier L (alphabetic letters appeared on the rudders of all the Group’s aircraft) to
represent his surname. The aircraft was assigned into the squadron on 20th March 1944 when the Squadron’s
earlier dash 10 models were handed over to the newly-arrived 417th Bombardment Group. Squadron mainte-
nance sheets show that the aircraft flew its first combat on 25th March 1944 against Wom Point near Wewak,
expending four 500 pound demolition bombs and 2,300 rounds of 50 caliber Ammunition.

Ravin Rachael was damaged two days later over the same target with three bullet holes through the right
wing. It also took minor hits on 3rd April 1944 during the Group's first attack against Hollandia (and its right
wing also hit a tree), and sustained flak damage over Tadji on 13th April 1944. On 27th May 1944, Wewak’s
gunners drilled five holes through the underbelly. By August 1944 crew chief Langston had installed an in-
novative field modification so that the pilot could clear the nose guns if they jammed. As a result, six wire
handles protruded from underneath the instrument panel. On 16th August 1944 pilot 2/Lt Joseph Rutter drew
Ravin Rachael for a strike to Sarmi. During his first pass over the target he held down the trigger for too long,
and soon discovered that five of the six nose guns had jammed. Rutter gleefully reached for the appropriate
wire handles and gave them all a yank. Rutter now proceeded with a second pass, only to discover that “all I
had was five long cables cluttering the cockpit and a single gun firing”. Even field-modifications could some-
times fail, it seemed.

On 13th September 1944 Slade was assigned a sea-patrol to cover part of the Philippines invasion con-
voy, but during the return trip to Hollandia, Ravin Rachael's right engine failed and the aircraft diverted suc-
cessfully to Wakde Island forty five minutes later. Slade flew his last mission in Ravin Rachael to Babo on
23rd October 1944, a medium altitude mission at 9,000 feet. Slade now had sufficient seniority to have a new
model A-20G assigned to him, and henceforth he usually flew his new mount – a dash 40 model serial #43-
21987. Slade later became the 389th’s Operations Officer. He flew his final combat - his 101st - on 8th May
1945.
1/Lt James V. Rutledge took over Ravin Rachael after Slade received his new Douglas. By now the old
stager’s scoreboard showed more than 170 missions, and it was well-known in the squadron for its reliability.
In April 1945 Rutledge redesigned the original artwork, placing the name inside a giant spade -surrounded by
mission markers, and added the painting of a bear with ‘California' painted on the starboard side, highlighting
 131
his home state.

Ravin Rachael's last and dramatic mission unfolded on 19th May 1945 flown by 2/Lt Robert E. Sims.
Squadron contemporary Slightly Dangerous flew into the aircraft during a formation join-up over Floridablan-
ca, and napalm bombs on Ravin Rachael’s wings exploded, and it tumbled and impacted into a rice paddy
almost directly below, Both crew members, including gunner S/Sgt Edwin Darling, were killed instantly. Pilot
of Slightly Dangerous, 2/Lt Omar Potts tried to control his aircraft into a rice paddy, but the aircraft caught
fire and broke up after impact, killing Potts. Incredibly his gunner, S/Sgt Patrick R. Reitmeyer, survived with
relatively minor injuries.

Ravin Rachael at Hollandia circa Oc-

tober 1944; (L to R) pilot Cal Slade,
and crew-chief Bill Langston with his
two assistants. Langston made sev-
eral field modifications to the aircraft,
including wire handles for clearing
blocked breaches in the noseguns.
Slade was the longest serving pilot
in the 389th Squadron, and his log-
book shows that he flew thirty seven
of his one hundred and one missions
in Ravin Rachael (credit Cal Slade)
 132

List of primary source materials consulted:

For this book only primary sources of material were consulted. The reason is that much published to date
on the Fifth Air Force is erroneous or speculative, particularly publications of the 1970s. In some cases, and
these examples are more frequent than they should, Fifth Air Force records themselves are wrong, or simply
don’t exist. Of course there will be mistakes in this work, but the author took gratitude that the corrections
made in this ebook since the first edition are minimnal. The below list of reference primary material used
to craft the text will help readers form their own opinion.. The author welcomes corrections, no matter how
trivial (see address at front of cover). In particular the author acknowledges the following people and institu-
tions. I regret omitting anyone who assisted, alas whose name is not included:

Air Force Museum, Wright-Patterson AFB

Air National Guard History Office
Allied Air Force Intelligence Summaries (AWM)
Allied Translator and Interpreter Section (ATIS) Reports
American Battle Monuments Commission
American Society of Military Insignia Collectors, Oakland, CA
ANGAU Records
Australian Commonwealth Department of Aboriginal Affairs
Author's Private Papers and Historical Collection
AWM 55 Collection - files (numerous)
Bell Aircraft Corporation Historical Records
Cairns Historical Society
Commentary and corrections by Robert Kendall Piper, Former RAAF Historical Officer
Commentary from Bob Tupa, and Access to photos of his grandfather, Norman J. Lawler
Copy of Original Surrender Telegram Held in Author's Collection
Diary Extracts and Photographs of Her Father, from Kelly Ryun and through Maude Palumbo
Diary of Adrian Bottge
Diary of Ed Connor, 3rd Attack
Diary of Jack Fox, Courtesy North American Aircraft Corporation
Disposition Officer, Memorial Affairs Division, Alexandria, VA
Gordon McCoun Scrapbook, Via 'Antique Week', 31st Oct 94 Edition
Historical Material Contributed by Phil Brinson
Horn Island Museum photos via Vanessa Crowdey
Individual Deceased Personnel Files
Jack Heyn Memoirs, 3rd Attack
John Cushing of the US Department of State
MacArthur Archives, MacArthur Memorial, Norfolk, VA
Marine Corps Historical Center, Washington
Memoirs and Photographs of Fred Hill
Memoirs and Records of Jim Powell, 38th Bombardment Group
Records of Bill Chapman, Former Chemist in Port Moresby in the 1960s
Memoirs of Don McGee, Glen D. Benskin, Larry Folmar, Robert A. Ward, Thomas Carroll
Military Reference Branch, National Archives, Washington
National Aeronautics and Space Administration
National Personnel Records Center
Numerous Field Trips by the author To New Guinea and the Pacific, 1966-1998, and then 2003-2009
Pacific Aircraft Historical Society - Wreck Data Sheets
Papua New Guinea Colonial Office - Civil Administration Records
Papua New Guinea Cultural Museum
Personal Records, Bruce Hoy, Former Curator of PNG Cultural Museum
RAAF Museum - Log Book Entries For Townsville Control Tower April 1942
Records of Central Investigation Laboratory, Hawaii, (CILHI)
Records of Japanese 3rd Ku (Translated)
Records of Wallace Fields
Records, Papers and Photographs of J. Richard Leahy
Report of Battle of Bismarck Sea, Ennis Whitehead, dated 6 ApriL-43
Some serial number Verifications by John Stanaway
Signal Corps Records
Tainan Ku - Dispatch Sheets, Japanese Navy Records
Ultra Signals Intercept Material, Military Division, US Archives, Washington
US Army Library, the Pentagon, Room 1A 518, Washington, DC
U.S. Naval Historical Center, Washington
USAAF Historical Study #17 - Air Action in the Papuan Campaign
Recollections of Edward Holleman
Memoirs of Dave Ecoff
Smithsonian Museum
Photos - Stuart Fudge collection
 133
Memories of James Klein
Diary of Frank Hohmann
Memoirs of Al Merkling
Research by Chuck Varney on 20th CMS
Memoirs and Assistance from Andrew J. Swain II and Andrew J. Swain III
Janice Olson Survey of Crash Sites in New Guinea 1995, Olson/ Toliman Interview November 1995
Frank Hohmann Log Book
Declassified Intercepts of 25th Air Flotilla (AWM)
Wiley Woods – Conversation with Paul Gottke in Early 1985
Monogram Models, USA
Contributions by Former RAAF Officer, Tom Kelly
Memoirs and Papers of Thomas J. Reading
Newspaper ‘The Courier Mail’, microfilms held in Brisbane, Australia
Memoirs, Logbook, and Records of Robert H. Strauss
Memoirs of Leo Mandabach
Memoirs of Jim Frison
Memoirs of Ralph Trout
Boeing Aircraft Corporation
Public Relations Section, Northwest Airlines
Correspondence Resting with Patricia Gaffney
Recollections and Records of Roy Seher
Recollections of Bill Kemble
Memoirs and Records of Edward S. King, Clarence Lakin, Claude W. Patterson, John Hellstrom (deceased)
Historical Records of the Matson Line
Memoirs and Records of Edward C. Fowler
with more thanks than most to Ted Roberts, and the hope that he one day finds Tommy
Letters by Dick Shipway
38th Bombardment Group Association
312th Bombardment Group Association through John Happy
Letters by Major David Hutchinson
Harry Gann of Douglas Aircraft Corporation
Memoirs of Charlie King
Letters and Papers in Possession of Dr Rodney Cardell
Papua New Guinea Catholic Mission Association
Letter from Carl Bong, Brother of Richard Bong
Bong Memorial Foundation
A curse on the Busu River villagers who contested access to their land in 1976, and physically threatened myself and James Luk
Memoirs and Records of Cal Slade
Memoirs and Records of Joe Rutter
Records and Field Trips of John Douglas, Papua New Guinea
Field trips with James Luk, from Lae, Papua New Guinea 1976

More Pertinent emails from (among the 900-odd), Noel Garland, Cyril Klimesh (Keep ‘Em Flying), Don Fawn (C-47s in New Guinea),
Gary W. Boyd (3rd Attack), Ian Quinn in Hong Kong, John Innes in Brisbane, Kenneth Wilson (P-47 Expert), Dave Paulley (Aviation
Artist), Phil Brinson (US Army Engineer), Rick ‘Babe’ Young, and Robert Hornbeck.

Microfilms For Following 5th AF Units:

2nd Bombardment Sqn,

3rd Attack Gp,
5th Air Force Establishment,
8th Fighter Gp,
8th Bombardment Sqn,
13th Bombardment Sqn,
20th Combat Mapping Sqn,
22nd Bombardment Gp,
25th Liaison Sqn,
26th Combat Mapping Sqn,
36th Fighter Sqn,
38th Bombardment Gp,
43rd Bombardment Gp,
80th Fighter Sqn,
89th Bombardment Sqn,
90th Bombardment Sqn,
90th Bombardment Gp,
110th Tactical Combat Sqn,
312th Bomb Gp,
319th Bombardment Sqn,
320th Bombardment Sqn,
 134
321st Bombardment Sqn,
345th Bombardment Gp,
387th Bombardment Sqn,
388th Bombardment Sqn,
389th Bombardment Sqn,
408th Bombardment Sqn,
417th Bombardment Gp,
431st Fighter Sqn,
432nd Fighter Sqn,
433rd Fighter Sqn,
475th Fighter Gp,
499th Bombardment Sqn,
500th Bombardment Sqn,
501st Bombardment Sqn,
672nd Bombardment Sqn
673rd Bombardment Sqn
674th Bombardment Sqn
675th Bombardment Sqn.
27th Air Depot
4th Air Depot
135