Repost: Raided!

First published on this blog in September 2014, we thought it was time to bring the story of a Japanese raid on the 22nd Bomb Group back to the front page.

 

Official message from Gen. MacArthur’s headquarters: “On the morning of August 17th, twenty-four Japanese bombers attacked the aerodrome at Port Moresby, which resulted in slight damage to installations and a few casualties.”

For three days, the 22nd Bomb Group had been in standby mode at Seven Mile Drome as they waited for their next big mission. Each B-26 was loaded with six 500-pound bombs, fueled and parked in the open, as revetments had not yet been built. The ten crews were camped out next to their planes, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

During the last couple of months, the Japanese had been keeping an eye on the situation in New Guinea and decided it was about time to improve their prospects there. They decided to move troops and artillery from Rabaul to Buna, and would need a distraction for a successful move. This distraction would come in the form of an air raid on Seven Mile on August 17, 1942.

That morning, Capt. Gammon heard that a Japanese raid was imminent. He ran to his plane, calling to Bauman to start the engines and get ready for an immediate take off. Three bursts from an antiaircraft gun were heard, signaling a red alert. Their early warning system failed and caught everyone completely off guard. As the men scattered, 24 “Betty” bombers in perfect formation approached the airfield at 20,000 feet. Puffs from antiaircraft fire dotted the sky, but were too low to hit the incoming Japanese.

Gammon climbed aboard his plane and headed for the runway with a small crew. As he took off, bombs fell all around his plane, exploding violently, and sending shrapnel into the aircraft. Some of the pieces landed on the bombs in the bomb bay. Quickly, Bauman released the bombs in order to keep the aircraft in one piece. Gammon kept close to the hills to avoid drawing any attention from the Japanese, then circled the runway until the debris was cleared and it was safe to land. He eventually landed with 200 holes in his plane and a shot-up right tire.

When the red alert sounded, Capt. Gerald Crosson was taxiing to the runway with a full crew. He was about halfway down the runway when the bombs began falling and one exploded about 20 feet in front of his B-26’s left wing. As flames from the explosion engulfed the plane and crept towards the bomb bay, the crew abandoned the aircraft as quickly as they could before the bombs exploded. The co-pilot, RAAF Sgt.-PIlot Logan, had been incapacitated by the explosion, so Crosson stayed back to pull him from the bomber. Just as Crosson and Logan took shelter in a crater from one of the bombs, the bombs in the plane blew up. The two men were helplessly caught in flames and a shockwave from the blast. Once the raid ended, Logan and Crosson were loaded into an ambulance. Logan did not survive the journey to the hospital.

Black Smoke

Black smoke and flames rise from Seven Mile Drome following an enemy raid by Betty bombers. This photo was taken on either July 5th or on August 17th, when a similar attack took place and caught Marauders on the ground. (William P. Sparks Collection)

After the raid was over, the 22nd tallied their losses. The message from MacArthur’s office about the raid minimized the results of the surprise attack. One report listed four of their planes as destroyed, as well as three from other groups, and 25 damaged. Pieces of planes, clothes, guns and much more littered the airfield. One thousand barrels of gas and oil burned at one end of the runway, sending plumes of smoke 1500 feet in the air. The Group lost its tower and Operations shack in the raid. The spot where Gammon’s plane had been parked was turned into a giant crater five feet deep and 15 feet wide. For the next 24 hours during the cleanup, delayed action bombs would explode every four or five minutes.

 

This story can be found in our book Revenge of the Red Raiders.

Advertisements

Oral History: Doolittle Raiders

Not long after the daring Royce Raid occurred, the Allies would surprise the Japanese with another raid that wound up on the front page of newspapers across the U.S. With the anniversary of the Doolittle Raid next week, we wanted to share a couple of stories from The National WWII Museum’s interviews of two men who were there.

Bombing Clark Field

After a successful day of bombing Clark Field on December 22, 1944, the 22nd Bomb Group returned to the area on December 24th. There, they were going to target Japanese aircraft located in revetments and parking areas. Several miles outside of Clark Field, the B-24s and their P-47 fighter cover were jumped by 20-40 Japanese fighters. Two Zeros dropped air-to-air bombs, which did not damage any of the B-24s, and neither did the phosphorus bombs that were dropped by the Japanese fighters. Above the 22nd flew a lone Betty bomber, which was most likely radioing airspeed and altitude information to the antiaircraft batteries at Clark Field. This proved to be a problem for the B-24s, as they were greeted with heavy, accurate antiaircraft fire from the Japanese.

Right after 1/Lt. Cameron B. Benson released his bombs over the airfield, his B-24 was rocked by an explosion in the rear fuselage that also damaged the tail section and the hydraulic lines. The explosion nearly broke the aircraft apart, instantly killing the radio operator, T/Sgt. Paul Deis, who had been manning the right waist gun. At the left waist gun, T/Sgt. Vernon J. Farup, an assistant engineer, sustained injuries to his legs from shell fragments. Ammunition aboard the plane began going off and members of the crew rushed to toss the boxes of ammo out the windows.

B-24 flak damage

On December 24, 1944, this 2nd Squadron, 22nd Bomb Group B-24 was damaged over Clark Field after an exploding 75mm antiaircraft shell blew out the side of the plane, killing T/Sgt. Paul Deis, the radio operator, and badly injuring T/Sgt. Vernon J. Farup, the assistant engineer. Both men were manning the waist guns. Despite the instability caused by the damage, 1/Lt. Cameron B. Benson, the pilot, brought the plane in for a successful emergency landing at Tacloban Strip on Leyte Island. (Robert W. Hulme Collection)

None of the 2nd Squadron’s six aircraft escaped Clark Field unscathed. Lieutenant Scott’s aircraft was hit multiple times by flak, one of which damaged the gears for the bomb bay doors. Once Scott made it back to base, he had to land with the bomb bay doors open. Lieutenant Barron left Clark Field with a hole in the right wing between the two engines that punctured the fuel tanks and leaked 600-700 gallons. Both Benson and Barron were able to land safely at Tacloban.

Back at Clark Field, the 19th Squadron was attacked by about two dozen Japanese fighters before they began their bombing run. They were able to fend off the attackers and make their runs. Only two out of the five B-24s from the 19th made it through unscathed. Captain Hume and his crew managed to escape serious injury and aircraft damage when a shell went through their plane, then exploded above it. Two of the 33rd Squadron’s B-24s were damaged, though none of it was severe. Gunners managed to pick off three attacking Zeros with a fourth probable. Three of the 408th Squadron’s aircraft were holed, but also without any serious damage.

In spite of the heavy opposition from the Japanese, the 22nd left Clark Field knowing that their attack was a success. Many of the Japanese planes on the ground were damaged and at least 15 were destroyed. A total of four Japanese fighters were shot down, with a few more probables. The 22nd refueled at Tacloban, with Benson’s, Barron’s and a third crew distributing themselves among the rest of the B-24s that were capable of flying back to Angaur. Farup stayed behind in the hospital at Tacloban. That night and the next day, the 22nd rested and celebrated Christmas. They would return to Clark Field the following day.

 

This story can be found in our book Revenge of the Red Raiders.

Working With the Low Altitude Bombsight

About halfway through 1943, the United States developed new radar technology that allowed heavy bombers to attack shipping targets at night. Shortly thereafter, the 1st Sea Search Attack Group was formed at Langley Field, Virginia. Most of these crews were brand new, and as they learned flight basics, they were also trained on how to use the Low Altitude Bombsight (LAB). Two of the three squadrons were sent to the Pacific Theater for night bombing missions. One, the 868th Squadron, operated independently. The other was integrated into the 63rd Squadron, 43rd Bomb Group. One member of the 63rd Squadron wrote about the way the LAB was used on a mission.

Typical Sea Search Mission
by Richard M. Salley, 63rd Squadron Radar Mechanic

The Radar was the SCR 717A, 10cm wavelength, and had a 200 mile range at about 3000 ft. altitude. The bomb sight was on RC17 Low Altitude Bomb sight (LAB) and had to be adjusted for a specific altitude and bomb configuration. I would usually set it up for a 400 feet altitude drop and a 500-1000-500 (pounds) bomb configuration. A radio altimeter would maintain the altitude through the auto-pilot with no need for hands-on by the crew.

A search would be made at max range (about 3000 feet altitude), and when a target was sighted, and IFF [Identification Friend or Foe] interrogation revealed an enemy, the run would begin. Gradually dropping in altitude to keep the target at maximum range would prevent enemy radar (which was less sophisticated than ours) from picking us up. After a period, we would be at minimum altitude, with the bombardier in charge of the plane. His job was to keep the target between crosshairs which maintained azimuth [the angle of the aircraft] and allowed the electronics to separate the target and a voltage pip correctly. At the exact start range for the bombs, the voltage pip would come up and intersect the target pip. The increased voltage would trigger the intervalometer and drop the bombs automatically.

 

The following page may have appeared in CROSSHAIRS magazine in the late 1980s or early 1990.

LAB

The Old Man’s Ordeal

The Old Man’s Ordeal a B-17 painting by Jack Fellows

Limited Edition of 200 Giclee prints

Signed and numbered by the artist

Image Size: 25″ x 19.5″

Paper Size: 30″ x 24″

On March 8, 1943, a 65th Bomb Squadron, 43rd Bomb Group B-17 named THE OLD MAN was on a long-range photo-recco mission over Gasmata airstrip on New Britain when it was jumped by three Zeros. The battle was on. One Zero pilot shot several bursts into the nose of the aircraft, wounding pilot Melville “Dutch” Ehlers. Bombardier Thomas Lloyd “Breezy” Boren released four 500-pound bombs and the long-range bomb bay auxiliary fuel tank to lighten the craft as they frantically clawed to gain airspeed. They limped back to the Dobudura airfield complex, on the north side of Papua New Guinea, and the crew (also including co-pilot Joseph “Indian” Cochran, navigator Warren “Doc” Bryant, engineer Willard R. Madison, gunner David J. Eckholt, radioman William A. Boly, ball gunner Michael R. Andrade, tail gunner Joseph Ferriola, and photographer Leonard Williams) was credited with five aircraft destroyed. This artwork is published in our book Ken’s Men Against the Empire Volume I and is available for purchase on our website.

 

23 Days at Sea

After a three-day break from combat missions, the 345th sent six planes each from the 498th and 500th Squadrons on March 10, 1945 to patrol the east coast of French Indochina. It promised to be an eventful patrol when the 500th Squadron encountered two Japanese ships, one of which was the 5239-ton tanker Seishin Maru. This, along with a 10,000-ton freighter, were attacked and strafed. The Seishin Maru was sunk and the freighter was severely damaged.

A little further south, the 498th spotted a 2500-ton tanker anchored near the Qui Nhon shoreline, which was promptly attacked by the B-25 pilots. Second Lieutenant Benjamin F. Chambers skipped a 500-pound bomb into the ship, which, instead of exploding a few seconds after hitting the ship, exploded right as Chambers’ B-25 passed overhead. Bauduy Grier, the radio operator, likened the bomb blast to being hit on the bottom of one’s feet with a baseball bat. After checking over everything, it seemed like the aircraft was just fine, and Chambers began the 700-mile journey back to base. Trouble began about halfway through the trip when the plane started vibrating severely.

When Grier looked out a window, he saw smoke coming out of the back of the left engine. Apparently, a fragment from that bomb holed the oil line and the engine was beginning to overheat. Chambers shut down the engine to buy the crew some time, but the propeller started windmilling and dramatically reduced the aircraft’s speed. Equipment was tossed overboard to lighten the B-25 as much as possible, then the crew braced for impact before the plane hit the water.

Grier, who was knocked unconscious by the crash, woke up to water rushing into his compartment. He and the tail gunner, Sgt. James L. Lane, escaped the sinking plane and yelled the names of their fellow crewmen in hopes of locating them. Unfortunately, no one answered their calls. After grabbing a one-man life raft, Grier swam out and away from the plane with Lane. It took all of 90 seconds from when it first crashed for the B-25 to sink beneath the waves.

B-25 #43-36044

Plane #044 of the 498th Squadron, 345th Bomb Group was damaged by one of its own bombs during an attack on a merchant ship along the French Indochina coast on March 10, 1945. The pilot managed to keep it airborne for about two hours but was finally forced to ditch in the middle of the South China Sea. The radio operator, Sgt. Bauduy R. Grier, survived 23 days in a life raft before he was rescued during a chance encounter with an American submarine. This photo was taken shortly before the aircraft was lost. (Francis R. Breen Collection)

High above them, two B-25s circled for a few minutes before they were forced to head home. Before leaving, they radioed the coordinates of the downed airmen to a ground station. Back in the sea, the main life raft had inflated before the plane sank and began drifting away from Grier and Lane, the latter of whom was holding tightly to an oxygen bottle that popped up to avoid drowning. Grier knew they needed both rafts and told Lane to stick with him while he swam after the raft. Lane refused and Grier swam off, catching the raft after about five minutes.

He then climbed aboard and, calling for Lane, tried to fight the 12-foot waves to get back to his friend. After ten minutes of rowing, Grier realized it was hopeless. He broke down in tears, feeling frustrated and scared, not knowing how long it would be until he was rescued—if he ever was. Unbeknownst to him, the search for his crew had already started and continued into the next day. No sign of life was seen from the air and the 345th assumed all had been lost at sea.

Twenty-three days later, on April 2, 1945, Grier was still alive. He was badly sunburned, dehydrated, lost a third of his weight and had developed several salt water ulcers on his body, but he was alive. At this point, he was napping in the raft when a loud him woke him. Jumping up, he scanned the sky for aircraft, but the sky was empty. On the horizon, Grier saw a submarine heading his way. He found a whistle on the raft and started blowing an S.O.S. call. It was the U.S.S. Sealion, which was on its way to a rendezvous with the U.S.S. Guavina. The watch spotted Grier’s raft, and even though no one saw any signs of life, they decided to check it out anyway.

A rope with a weighted ball was thrown to the raft. The downed airman caught it and the raft was brought in. For the first time in more than three weeks, Grier got out of that raft. He was given a small amount of food and water, pills to help him sleep and some morphine for the pain. Soon after, he was back on dry land and in a hospital for treatment. It wasn’t long before he was out of the hospital and heading home to the United States.

Note: Due to space constraints, this story has been abbreviated from its original form in Warpath Across the Pacific.

Give ‘em hell Peanuts…we’ll see you are left alone

March 3, 1943 was the culmination of the Battle of the Bismarck Sea. With a story each from the 38th and 43rd Bomb Groups already told, we wanted to highlight the participation of the 3rd Bomb Group. The following is taken from the 90th Squadron’s history and a diary entry from Lt. Lee S. Walter, who was a pilot with the 13th Squadron.

March 3d………..As long as there is a 3d Bombardment Group, this day, March the third will go down in everyone’s history as the most decisive day of its history……For on this day, the 90th probably set a record that no squadron has achieved in any single day of this war to date……

The morning broke clear and cool……12 ships were alerted…an early 6 AM breakfast of griddle cakes and coffee was had and then crews assembled at the Intelligence tent on the line……

At 7:45 the order of attack and general intelligence was given…..the dope….a twelve ship convoy was just off Finschaven on a heading of 200 degrees…obviously heading for Lae or Salamaua…the order of attack was then given to all combat personnel…..to wit: 27 B-17’s would lead the attack from 5-7 thousand feet; followed by a Squadron of B-25’s from the 38th Group; followed by the 13th Squadron of B-25’s; followed by another Squadron of B-25’s of the 38th Group; followed by the 90th Skip Bombing B-25’s; followed by Beaufighters; followed by A-20’s…..and protected overhead by a minimum of 35 P-38’s, and ample coverage of P-40’s and P-39’s…..all in all, 120 planes of various description and sizes were in on this coordinated attack….. The deadline was 8:15 AM…..the engines started turning over…….Cape Ward Hunt was the rendezvous for all planes….at 9:15 all the bombers assembled there at 7000 feet…….the designation for radio purposes, of the Bombers were “Peanuts”, the pursuit was “Pop-Corn”…..Heard over the radio at Cape Ward Hunt…..”Peanuts to Pop corn”, we are here, lets get going to the target….Go Ahead”…..The reply… “Pop-corn to Peanuts…Okay boys, hang on to your pants… we still are minus a few Pop-corn……Okay…Okay…I see them coming…I see them coming…its Okay…its Okay… give ‘em hell Peanuts…we’ll see you are left alone!”

Japanese ships burn on the Bismarck Sea

A ship from the convoy burns after it was hit by Allied forces during the Battle of the Bismarck Sea.

Picking up the story, Walter Lee writes,

“It promised to be a very big show and the mass of airplanes was an exceptional sight by itself. The sky seemed almost black with them. Everywhere I looked I could see at least one flight of some type of airplane…We kept circling in one huge circle until it was certain everyone that was coming was there. Then the B-17’s headed out to meet the convoy and the circle we were in straightened out. Much the same as you would see if you took the loose end of a coil of rope and started pulling. This is undoubtedly the largest Allied air offensive ever put into the air at one time here in the South West Pacific. It must have affected everyone the same as it did me.

“Such mass of air power gives one the feeling of invincibility…As we were coming in the Japs battlewagons started swinging broadside so they could use all their guns on us…The first flight attacked the destroyers and cruisers, each selecting one in the order in which they flew. A destroyer is the most vicious thing to attack because they have so many pom poms and multiple machine guns. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation to see the whole side of one of those things suddenly burst with flame from one end to the other and watch those red tomatoes come out at you. They never did hit any of us though. Their range was slightly short…

“We approached [the target] at about twenty feet strafing and dropping two bombs. As we crossed the boat our left wing tip narrowly missed the mast. After we crossed, we got down on the water again and flew out always looking for our next target. On a turn to our left we observed the results of our bombing. Our first bomb hit the waterline and the second was a near miss, which is almost as disastrous. The ship had burst in flames; the bulk of it a great orange tower seventy-five to one hundred feet high. It was an exhilarating sensation to know that we could sink one with such devastating results…

“Capt Henebry started a fire on the bow in a group of barges and I dropped the last 500-pound bomb with only a near miss. I was somewhat disappointed by I still hope that the near miss cracked open a few plates. At twenty-five feet it should have done something. With our bombs all gone and most of our ammunition gone, we headed back towards land just as fast as we could.”

After all was said and done, General George C. Kenney sent the following message to all the bomb groups: “Congratulations on the stupendous success, air power has written some important history in the past three days. Tell the whole gang that I am so proud of them I am about to blow a fuze.”

The results of the Battle of the Bismarck Sea were devastating for the Japanese and a tremendous show of Allied air power. It was the first time skip-bombing had been put to the test on a large scale and the experimental tactic would be used by B-25s and A-20s for the remainder of the war.

Repost: Cow Wrangling at Charters Towers

We dug into the archives this week and found this lighthearted story, which first appeared on April 1, 2016.

 

To the newly-arrived American airmen, Australia was a completely different world. Sailing across the Pacific on the USAT Ancon, the 3rd Bomb Group went up the Brisbane River in February 1942 and disembarked at Hamilton Wharf. When the men were allowed to explore their new surroundings, they were warmly greeted by the Australians. Still, changes in climate, currency, popular sports, and general culture were a lot to get used to in a short time. Some of the men tried to learn about cricket and rugby but neither sport really caught on with the Group. Twelve days after the 3rd reached Australia, it was ordered to head north to the small town of Charters Towers by March 7th.

On March 8th, the 3rd got on trains and began a slow journey northward. Two days later, the 89th Squadron got off at Townsville to fulfill an assignment of servicing 40th Reconnaissance Squadron B-17s. The rest of the Group rode the remaining 70 miles to Charters Towers. Upon arrival, the men were taken to their campsite, which was nothing more than tall grass and a few trees. They spent their first night in Charters Towers under the stars. The next day, they began to put their camp area together. Not long after the camp was set up, the men pitched in to work on the new airstrips.

Soon, they were given permission to go into the town itself and have a look around. For them, it was like stepping into an old Western film, complete with wooden sidewalks and bars with swinging doors. Charters Towers was certainly small, but it thrived due to its proximity to gold mines. With plans to set up a major air base, though, Charters Towers wouldn’t remain a small town for much longer.

Main Street, Charters Towers

A photograph of the Main Street in Charters Towers during the summer of 1942. Although only a small town, Charters Towers had prospered from a gold mining boom and was well-appointed for a frontier outpost. The town underwent a rapid expansion as it became a major airbase and thoroughfare for the Allied war effort. (Harry Mangan Collection)

By June 1942, the 3rd Bomb Group was well-established in Australia. The men were flying more bombing and gunnery training missions, and their current space at the RAAF bombing range in Townsville was quickly becoming insufficient for their needs. The men searched for a new space that they could use for a range. Harold Chapman, a Charters Towers rancher, gave permission to the Group to use part of his cattle station for their practice. Chapman requested a day’s notice from the men whenever they needed to use the range. In turn, Chapman would round up his cattle so that they wouldn’t get shot.

The Group would always send a few men to help Chapman round up his cattle. Private Charles Valade of the 13th Squadron soon developed a reputation as quite a cowhand. During one unfortunate training mission, “Pappy” Gunn reportedly shot and killed a cow by accident with .50-caliber ammo. He had to paid Chapman five pounds as a reimbursement. For the most part, using Chapman’s range for training proved to be extremely valuable for the combat crews.

The Same Places, 70+ Years Apart—Another Six WWII Bases Then and Now

We’re back with more comparisons of bases then and now. It’s fascinating seeing what has changed in a particular area affected by World War II. For those of you who haven’t seen the previous installments of this series, read here and here. Today, let’s take a look at a few of the lesser known bases in the Pacific Theater.

Kaoe II

Built by the Japanese during World War II, Kaoe consisted of two runways, Kaoe I and Kaoe II. Today, Kaoe II is still in use as an airstrip.

Kaoe Then and Now

 

 

Miti Airfield

This airfield was used by the Japanese during the war. It has since been converted into a road with houses lining the former runway.
Miti Then and Now

 

Guiuan Airfield

A crushed coral runway constructed by the Seabees, this airfield was used heavily by U.S. fighters and bombers. Today, the coral has been replaced by asphalt and the runway is occasionally used.

Guiuan Then and Now

 

Nabire Airport

Also built by the Japanese during World War II when Nabire was part of Dutch New Guinea, this runway is still being used today. Due to the conditions of the land, the runway can’t be extended and there is a bigger airport under construction nearby.

Nabire Then and Now

 

Haroekoe Airdrome

This airfield was built by prisoners of war from the Haroekoe and Tantoei POW Camps. After the war, it was abandoned, leaving hardly any trace of its existence today.

Haroekoe Then and Now

 

Garbutt Field

Located in Townsville, Australia, Garbutt Field was built prior to World War II and owned by the Townsville city council. It became a major airfield during the war that was used by the RAAF, U.S. and Dutch. Now known as Townsville Airport, it is used for civilian flights as well as an RAAF base.

Garbutt Then and Now

 

Sources:

https://www.pacificwrecks.com/airfields/indonesia/kaoe/index.html

https://www.pacificwrecks.com/airfields/indonesia/miti/index.html

https://www.pacificwrecks.com/airfields/philippines/guiuan/index.html

https://www.pacificwrecks.com/airfields/indonesia/nabire/index.html

https://centreforaviation.com/data/profiles/newairports/new-nabire-airport

https://www.pacificwrecks.com/airfields/indonesia/harakoe/index.html

http://www.ozatwar.com/garbutt.htm

https://www.pacificwrecks.com/airfields/australia/garbutt/index.html

3 Short Stories from the 312th

While our book Rampage of the Roarin’ 20’s doesn’t have as many long stories as some of our other books, there are a lot of great short stories sprinkled throughout the 312th Bomb Group’s history. We picked out three of them to help you get to know the 312th better.

A Bronze Star for a Creative Mind
Theodore R. Tanner, a pilot in the 386th Squadron, flew more than 70 missions during his service in the Pacific Theater. Oddly enough, none of them were the reason behind him being awarded the Bronze Star in 1944. Instead, the award came out of an idea that changed combat photography. There were problems with combat photography on an A-20: it took about half a day to install the combat camera in the tail, which meant crews could only load film during the day (potentially degrading the film’s quality) and the alternate camera location of the engine nacelle was too shaky to allow for decent photography.

Tanner designed a new mount in the lower tunnel hatch of the A-20 that had a bracket which could clear the lower gunner’s door and fold in place during a flight. This mount allowed ground crews to install or remove cameras in five seconds and remove the camera film at night. Once V Bomber Command heard about Tanner’s innovative design, he was awarded his Bronze Star and his new mount became part of the light bomber’s standard equipment.

Obscured Vision
First Lieutenant Larry Folmar was flying a mission at But on April 26, 1944, when he had an unusual close call during a bombing run. The bombs used by the A-20s on this day were 500 pounds each and set with one-second delay fuses. Given the short delay, pilots had to be very careful to maintain their distance from each other so they wouldn’t end up flying into a bomb blast. This time, Folmar got caught by a blast of mud from a bomb dropped by the preceding aircraft. The mud coated Folmar’s windshield, making it impossible for him to see what was ahead of him.

Larry Folmar with his A-20

1/Lt. Larry Folmar of the 386th Squadron (shown here as a captain with his aircraft, CALAMITY JANE), had an unusual experience at But Airdrome on April 26, 1944. Mud from an exploding bomb covered Folmarʼs windshield, obscuring his view. He turned for the coast, hoping that “one of the planes ahead might skip a bomb off into the water, causing a blast of sea water that I might fly through.” That was what happened, clearing the windshield enough for Folmar to return to Gusap. (Mack E. Austin Collection)

While wondering how he was going to land when he returned home, Folmar had an idea. He wrote, “I then remembered that the far end of the landing strip we were hitting was at the coastline. It occurred to me that one of the planes ahead might, just might, skip a bomb off into the water, causing a blast of sea water that I might fly through. As I live and breathe that is what happened.” While the spray wasn’t enough to completely clear his windshield, it was enough to get home and land safely.

The Lighter Side of Missions
Once in a while, members of the ground crews were granted permission to fly with pilots on their missions. One day in June 1944, T/Sgt. George K. Hanks, Jr. rode along with 1/Lt. Robert C. Smith on a mission to a Japanese escape route behind Madang. Hanks decided to bring along his own bomb, a large rock, for Smith to release once they were over the target area. Hanks’ contribution wasn’t the only odd object dropped on the Japanese. Captain Peter J. Horan, an Australian Liaison Officer from the 389th Squadron, took his own “Bring Your Own Bomb” approach by unloading nails, grenades, books and rocks, among other things, on the targets below.

A tongue-in-cheek entry from the 312th’s Group history for June 1944 noted that the repeated missions southeast of Tadji had a strange effect on the A-20s. They “gradually acquired the ability to fly the course to Wewak, sans human control.” One pilot also reported that “his plane automatically buzzed down over Wewak and he couldn’t get control of the craft again until 3 strafing passes had been made.”