Archive
HEADS UP HEROES
A B-17 BOMBING RAID OVER GERMANY
By Alfred 'Andy' Anderson, Chief Master Sgt. USAF Retired
Schweinfurt's ghosts must ride with those of the Light Brigade at Balaklava - Brave soldiers, forever charging to their deaths in Gallant absurdity'
Written by Schweinfurt survivor Elmer Bendiner in his book 'The Fall of the Fortresses'.
Sgt. Anderson served with the 94th Bomb Group, 410 Squadron flying out of Rougham AFB at Bury St. Edmonds, England. He served as a gunner on a B-17, with a majority of his time in the ball turret, and flew 26 combat missions from June 1944 until December 1944. Sgt. Anderson served in the military during WWII, the Korean War and served one tour of duty in Viet Nam. He retired as a chief master sergeant after serving 28 years of active duty.
Al Anderson is bottom right, laid down
I have been asked to recall experiences during my tour of duty as an aerial gunner with the 8th AF, flying out of England during WWII. Please appreciate these are recollections of fifty-seven years ago and in the interim I have never put pen to paper regarding these experiences.
We did not fly every day. We were left pretty much alone to our own resources for days on end, except for the occasional lecture on one subject or another. It took me approximately seven months to complete twenty-six missions. Some of our crew took even longer because we lost our pilot. It seems he developed migraine headaches resulting in temporary blindness leading to his being grounded. This left the rest of us to become spares, which meant we were replacements for individuals who became ill, often after the target for the day was identified. This probably was not typical, although it seemed that way to us at the time. Initially the tour was twenty-five missions, then thirty and then thirty-five. These increases were attributed to the advent of long-range fighter escort. Statistically, I am sure it made a big difference for I did not fire my guns in anger, or fear, more than maybe four or five times, although in one instance I did expend every round I had in and around Berlin. This was another story and not typical. During my time it was flak (that is, antiaircraft fire) that was more deadly to us. Some targets had as many as two thousand guns firing on us. This brought about what was referred to as the puckered syndrome. Why then did we volunteer for this duty? My older brother cautioned me saying; 'Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut. Do not, repeat do not, volunteer for anything, just do your duty as posted.' I didn't listen. The idea of becoming a sergeant after only six months service plus the leather jacket, helmet, goggles, sun-glasses and white scarf was just too much. I had to go for it. Ego is a powerful force when you're eighteen. At that age we were full of pee and vinegar. A guy wanted to know if we had the courage to do it and that had to be determined later on. I knew that in the not too distant future I was going to pay for those stripes, leather jacket and all. Trust me, I did - in spades.
I graduated from gunnery school in August of 1943 and turned nineteen. That was the same month the 8th AF lost sixty bombers. That represented six hundred men. The target was Scheinfurt, a big target for ball bearings. Did that scare me? You bet it did, but there was no turning back.
A typical mission day began with the Nissen hut door opening with a crash at some un-Godly hour such as 1:00 a.m. and the CQ shouting 'Heads up heroes. Breakfast at 2, briefing at 3. Must be a hot one. I hear you're going to get fresh eggs.' Yeah, sure we are, more likely powdered eggs and more of that damned marmalade jam. It was alleged that we should only have foods that produced little gas, probably because we were flying at high altitudes and therefore low pressure. I don't remember anyone who did not have a bicycle, however it always seemed more prudent to ride in the trucks provided, as a bicycle ride of more than a mile to the mess hall invariably in a mist and rain could be hazardous. Chow over; we head to the flight line and briefing. Officers, including pilots, co-pilots, navigators, bombardiers and radio operators, get the briefing then go on to a specialty briefings. Remaining members of the ten-man crew, the gunners, check out our equipment, which included heated suits, heated boots, chutes, harness and Mae West. Each of us had our own oxygen mask, heavy (in weight) flying suit and boots and of course shoulder holster for our 45 calibre hand gun. Flak jackets were already aboard the bird. We stole all the flack jackets we could get our hands on. We then headed for the armament shack to draw ten fifty-calibre machine guns and finally out to the revetment to install guns and thence to pre-flight inspection. The rest of the crew shows up and they pre-flight our pre-flight-check. It is at this time we learn the location of our target and our alternate target. The ground crew stands off from us, not being privy to target information. We lounge around for sometime waiting for a flare signal to mount up. Conversation is very animated, or mostly quiet. We discuss the mission. Sometimes a chaplain comes by asking if anyone wants to pray. Nobody does. Pilot reminds us not to carry our wallets, train tickets or theatre stubs. We discuss possibilities of the mission being scrubbed. We all hope if they are going to scrub the mission, it is before take-off, not after, because we sweat out assembly. Assembly is especially difficult with low ceilings, or thick cloud cover. Climbing through this cloud cover and assembling can be hairy. Also, having to land a heavy, fully loaded B-17 is very dangerous. Finally, flares signal it is time for us to mount up and await order to start engines.
After the proper signal, the engines are started. Again we hope not to have a balky or flooded engine, as we have to taxi in a particular sequence and there will be thirty-six birds taxing to takeoff. As I recall, takeoffs were in 30-second intervals. Our plane, the Million-Dollar Baby, taxies into position; the pilot stands on the brakes and winds her up. He releases the brakes and lets her go and sees if she wants to fly. We have a full tank of gas, a crew of ten and 6,000 lbs. of bombs. That's a lot of weight to get into the air. If she won't fly, you better find someplace to go because you're causing a backup. We get off the ground and are airborne. We expect some turbulence, after which we are in the soup (clouds). You love it when you break out into the sunshine. We begin our assembly circle and it is a very nervous period and takes possibly up to one hour to complete. We must cross the coast at a particular point and at a particular time. There are thirty-six planes in our group. No easy task.
It is at this time that I descend into the ball turret. Some people referred to the belly position as the lower testicle. Now comes another decision. You already have the chute harness on. Do you hook up the chute? Do you safety wire it to the column the turret revolves on, or do you wear it in the turret with you? I did both. Sometimes I wore it, sometimes I did not. Sometimes I switched en-route. I think now that I more often wore it in the turret, but it sure made a tight fit. I recently heard of the ball turret described as a plastic cylinder. Gratefully it was not. It was made of a pre-cast metal called Duralumin with one main window between your legs, very strong and alleged to be bullet proof, and several smaller windows, I suppose for light. More often than not the co-pilot would tell me when to enter the ball. Our co-pilot was crew manager as the pilot would be very busy jockeying the aircraft and would be on the VHF listening to the flight leader. There is not much room in a ball turret and I do not like to enter until assembly is most complete. Mid-air collisions are not common, but if they occur I want at least a prayer of a chance of getting out. Once in the ball turret, your chance of getting out is slim. At approximately 10,000 feet, we get orders to get on oxygen and to test fire our guns, being careful not to hit another aircraft. Still climbing, we cross the coast of Europe. We generally expect a few bursts of flack. Flack is our worst enemy. There is very little conversation except for periodic crew checks by the co-pilot. 'Oxygen, OK, right waist gunner OK, left waist gunners OK, radio, OK, top turret OK, ball turret OK, tail gunner OK and lastly navigator and bombardier OK'. 'Report of bogies ahead, be alert.' Like we needed to be told. Occasionally we see the little brothers. They stay well clear of us for fear we will fire on them. Very wise!
Most of the time we fly high-squadron-deputy-lead. This is directly behind and to the right of the lead plane. I liked that position, as there is more air to our right. Still we are in close proximity with the lead plane and it makes me very tense. One gets an interesting view from underneath the plane. The lead squadron is below and a bit ahead of us. The low squadron is below and somewhat arrears of the lead. We are a bit stacked for defence against fighters and will flatten out once we turn on our I.P. Fighters will not generally attack once we are in flak over our target. I might tell you it is 40 to 50 to 60 degrees below zero. I love those electric suits we wear under our clothes and I love the cumbersome fleece lined outer garments with boots.
Two items should be mentioned here of some interest in regards to our 45 caliber handgun. If you have to bail out, do you keep your weapon? If you do, you will be considered an invader, subject to being shot. The choice is yours. You could be floating into a city you recently bombed and those folks are not going to be happy with you. You are in deep trouble and chances are good they might hurt you. A weapon might make the difference. Maybe you could hold off until some authority arrives. The Germans do respect authority. I always figured I would keep my 45. If it looks like you are going to land in the country it's a different story. I still think I'll keep my weapon, at least for a while. Some choice, huh!
At last comes the word we're approaching the IP. Maybe ten minutes. Ready for right turn for bomb run. Get ready for flak. We turn and flatten out. Pilot turns control of the aircraft over to the bombardier and the Norden Bombsight. We all get more tense and gird ourselves for the impending barrage of flak and they don't disappoint us. Total fear! A little bit about flak, which is antiaircraft fire. We were not constantly under fire, though it could appear anytime. Generally, it occurred after turning on the IP (Initial Point) when you headed for the target. It was at that point Jerry knew to which complex you were headed and simply put up a barrage of fire, which we had to fly through without deviations. He knew it and you knew it. It was said that you would probably not see the burst that got you. That might have been true, but you sure as hell felt the concussion and your aircraft being hit by the pieces of bursting shells. Compound this with your leader, wingman, or other aircraft in the group streaming smoke, or fire, or blowing up, or going out of control for no apparent reason. Perhaps a call comes over the intercom that says, 'I've been hit, help me'.
It is reasonably safe to assume while in flak no fighter is gong to attack you. This gives you time to engage in a bit of prayer, like 'Sweet Jesus get me out of this place'. Which burst is going to send me into oblivion? Body tense, jaws locked, you want to get out of the turret. You know you can't and you just gird yourself and ride it out.
We take a hit in an engine and smoke is streaming off the wing. I am out of the turret like a shot and hook on my chest chute. I am ready. I am always ready, or try to be. I don't want to be caught like water in the bottom of a bucket being swung around so it won't come out. I've seen too many crews trapped in an out of control B-17 so that they cannot get out. The only crewmember who has it worse than the ball turret gunner is the pilot. They suffered the greatest losses. My principal pilot always said if you hear the bail out bell, you should leave, because he would already be gone. He said it was a joke.
Finally we are over the target. 'Bomb bay doors open. Count them Andy'. We don't want any hung up'. There are twelve 500-lb. high explosive bombs. At the time it seemed like a lot. There is quite a bit of turbulence, which does not make for accurate bombing. Do I care? Hell no! I want to go home. 'Bombs Away!!! Let's get the hell out of here'. You feel the bird jump as the loss of bombs lightens the load. I found this to be a very precarious time, for some planes have sustained engine or control surface damage at this time and cannot maintain formation. If this happens they must drop back. Once separated from the group you are very vulnerable. You are crippled and the only instructions are to repeat after me "'Our Father who art in heaven. . . .' 'Navigator, give me heading for shortest way home.' Is it to be England or Sweden or Switzerland?
Wounded aboard from flak. We have no doctor aboard so we do what we can for him. If possible bind his wound or wounds, throw on some sulpha powder, maybe give a shot of morphine and hope to get to a lower altitude. In the mean time keep his heated suit plugged in and keep him hooked up to oxygen. Review all options. There aren't many. Hope the wounds are not too severe. Just hope he makes it. It does put you in a real frenzy.
Our formation heads home, but not by a direct course. We turn in and out of areas to avoid flak centres. At what seems like an eternity we reach the coast of Europe and begin our decent. Stay alert. Off come the oxygen masks. We smoke, talk a lot, some guys sing (I didn't). Dear God, please let the base be open. It is not unusual for our base to be below or at minimum landing conditions. Just one more thing to sweat out. Red flares, an indication of wounded aboard, and we receive priority to land. Ambulance waiting, fire trucks lined up, ground crews sweating you out, ready to jump on the aircraft to repair damage and count holes. They pull the guns and take them to the armament shop. This bird has to be ready to go again, possibly tomorrow.
The crew returns to de-briefing. A shot or two of scotch helps with interrogation. Questions such as do you think you hit the targets, intensity of flack, enemy fighters, how many, how persistent, did you get any, how sure are you, did you see bombs impact on the ground, did they explode (like we were going to watch to the exception of all other activity while at 28,000 feet-not likely), did you see any of our planes go down, did you count chutes if any and so on?
Flight times varied for each mission with an average of from six to nine hours. You are sick-tired and few of the crew want to eat. All I ever wanted to do was sleep and hope there was no mission tomorrow. Sometimes there is. Occasionally there are three missions in a row, then none for a week or more. In the interim you may fly practice missions, which we all hate because everyone has to go. 'Oh! God Favor's crew didn't make it. Their end of the hut is empty. Don't let those supply vultures touch their stuff for a week at least. Maybe some of the crew will make it back..'
Schweinfurt's ghosts must ride with those of the Light Brigade at Balaklava - Brave soldiers, forever charging to their deaths in Gallant absurdity'
Written by Schweinfurt survivor Elmer Bendiner in his book 'The Fall of the Fortresses'.
Al 'Andy' Anderson
ADDENDUM
The 94th Bomb Group;
Flew 325 missions
Flew 68,153 combat hours
Used 8,500,000 gallons of fuel
Expended 2,661,100 rounds of ammunition
Lost 180 planes though all causes
Had 2,004 personnel killed in action, wounded, prisoners or missing
Dropped 19,151 tons of bombs
ED: - A family member of Al Anderson, Don Wilkinson, sent the above recollection to me (it also appears in the 94th Quarterly). Don plans to visit the Tower with Al in October. We look forward to greeting you.
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