What happened on this day in History?
Click Here "Don't Drink & Drive" - Warning, this is very graphic
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What happened on this day in History? Click Here "Don't Drink & Drive" - Warning, this is very graphic |
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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Crapped Out Dr. Vic Durrance Part I
Our bombing mission to Nagoya on May 14, 1945 began routinely enough. Sleepy-eyed crews stumbled into the briefing hut on Guam, stomachs vigorously protesting the morning injection of New Zealand mutton, dried eggs and dried potatoes. The briefing officers began with the usual information about possible anti-aircraft defenses, weather, and defensive fighter strength. Our specific target, more than 1,500-miles away, was the Mitsubishi aircraft engine factory that was responsible for about half the aircraft engine production in Japan. The assigned bombing altitude was 7,000 feet, effective but still low enough to frighten aircrews almost witless. In March, two months earlier, General Curtis LeMay had ordered all bombing of Japan by B-29s to be done at low levels. These levels produced spectacular results, but we considered them to be suicide. Low levels also helped us avoid the jet stream. At high altitudes the head wind from the jet stream was so strong that it caused very high fuel consumption and the tail wind from the jet stream made our bombers so fast that our Norden bombsights could not compensate for the speed. After our radio operator and navigator received specialized briefings, our pilot called for a truck. As we boarded it for a bone-shaking ride to North Field, I noticed that our radar operator was missing. I was then told that he was in the hospital having a cyst removed from his tailbone. The squadron radar operator took his place. There were two strangers in the truck with us, a captain who was the pilot of a newly arrived crew and his flight engineer. It was squadron policy that a new crew would send the pilot and his flight engineer along with an experienced crew to observe combat procedures and fuel conservation over the long flight to Japan and back. As soon as we reached our aircraft, we began the usual pre-flight checks. The bombardier installed the bombsight, the radio operator checked his radio, the gunners, including myself the tail-gunner, checked and rechecked the guns and ammunition belts. Then we got into our positions and the pilot and copilot began engine-starting procedures. Will all four engines running smoothly, we rolled out to the runway and made an uneventful take off. Then we all settled in for the long flight. Our aircraft bore serial number 44-69773. Sporting members of the crew immediately invoked the name "Two Passes and a Crap," which was painted on the nose as two passes and a pair of dice showing a two and a one. This became our informal name. Officially we were "Black Jack 21." In addition this image, we also had a picture of a wild-eyed cowboy with a six-shooter in each hand and a big Stetson on his head. This was a true designation of our pilot, Captain Senger, who was from North Dakota and was, indeed, a "wild cowboy." He had joined the RAF early in the war and had flown numerous missions over Germany, collecting a chest full of medals in the process. Senger was a superb pilot and did things with a B-29 that, when I recall them, still get my adrenaline running. Our 39th Bomb Group formed up off the coast of Japan and wheeled in over Nagoya. All of our aircraft bombed the Mitsubishi engine factor. As we learned later, we scored well. Heading back out to sea, I looked forward and down to see Japanese soldiers running and then jumping into a pit in which was some sort of anti-aircraft cannon. The muzzle swung rapidly around and a burst of flak appeared close to our left wing tip, followed almost immediately by a second burst that was even closer. The third blast ripped into number one engine. From the tail I could see its propeller slow and then stop. The loss of an engine, while troubling, was not especially serious, for we had flown back to Guam from two other missions on three engines. We flew much slower, of course, but we returned without difficulty. The navigator came on the intercom and asked Captain Senger if he wanted a course for Iwo Jima. Our orders had been to fly to Iwo if we had suffered any battle damage over Japan. Senger said no and instead asked for a course back to Guam, no doubt confident that we could reach it. The hours passed. At one point the radio operator reported that he was picking up dance music from California, which he then plugged into the intercom for all of us to enjoy. The good music ended when the "One Meatball" song came through our headsets. About half way through the lyrics, the copilot told Senger that he was transferring fuel from the dead engine’s tank to the tank of number 2. We resumed listening to "One Meatball," when suddenly the copilot shouted to Senger that the fuel pump had burned out. Our routine flight back to Guam came to an abrupt end. Senger immediately ordered all of us to lighten the aircraft as much as possible. In the rear compartments we began to throw guns, ammunition, chairs, and radar equipment overboard. We jettisoned everything that was loose. As we threw out some of the radar equipment, I noticed that the radar officer was sitting motionless in his chair and staring straight ahead, oblivious to everything. I asked for his help twice, but received no response. Then I shook his shoulder, still no response. Finally, I kneeled in front of him, shook him again, and slapped him on each side of the face. He just sat very still staring straight ahead. Despite our efforts to lighten the plane, we continued to lose altitude. Senger came on the intercom to tell us to get into our positions because we were going down. I scurried back to the tail. The last I saw of the radar operator he was still sitting motionless and staring at the side of the plane. As we came down low over the water, we made a last effort to lighten the aircraft by trying to drop a 640-gallon auxiliary fuel tank that was carried in one of the bomb bays. But the drag from the open bomb bay doors was too great. We stopped flying and began to glide about 30 or 40 feet above the water. A few seconds later, we slammed into the ocean and stopped dead, instead of plowing along for a while under normal ditching conditions. The rapid deceleration gave the most terrible blow to my back that I have ever received. I was sitting backwards in the tail, so I was slammed with incredible force into a sheet of armor plate that served as my backrest when I was in position. The force was so great that the imprint of the fabric from my flight suit stayed on my back for several days. I did not know it at the time, but one of my vertebra was partly crushed. The plunge into the sea had ripped out the belly of the aircraft and broke off the tail at the bulkhead just aft of the side blisters. My escape hatch was a very small window. While I was struggling to get through, the tail began to sink. I kicked like a suddenly spurred horse as light began to fade above me in the water. I also inflated my Mae West and the sudden inflation pulled me free of the tail and I popped to the surface. I immediately inflated my one-man life raft and climbed in. The only sound I could hear was the splash of waves against the plane and the creaking of floating wreckage. I thought that all of my crewmembers had been killed and I was the only survivor. The plane slowly moved to a nose down position because of the weight of the engines and the buoyancy of the empty gas tanks. Suddenly the radio operator came flying like a cork from a popgun from the broken end of the tunnel that connected the front and back compartments of the aircraft. He made a beautiful dive into the middle of the floating wreckage. I was sure that he would be badly cut, but he escaped without a scratch. About the same time, the left gunner surfaced next to my raft. He was not a pretty sight. A patch of skin and hair about the size of a man’s hand was missing from over his right eye. His bare skull glistened in the afternoon sun. He gasped, "Help me, junior!" I fleetingly thought he might swamp my raft and I was prepared to "repel boarders" with my paddles, but instead grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into my lap.
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