Only Fifteen Minutes More by S/Sgt Jack Hope, Tail Gunner with the 36th Bomb Squadron
You know the old ‘Murphy's Law’ thing – ‘If anything can go wrong, it will’? I might add, ‘But sometimes it works out OK in the end, however sometimes it does not.’
I flew as the Tail Gunner on a B-24 Liberator with the 36th Bomb Squadron. We flew out of England over the North Sea and much of Western Europe. We were not actually a ‘bomb’ Squadron since we did not carry bombs. We were a Radar Countermeasures activity that flew several different types of electronic warfare ‘jamming’ missions that were designed to counter the German's radar capabilities and confuse their operations against the British Isles and all Allied Forces during World War II.
The ‘powers that be’ were uncertain about what they should do to define the combat tour duty limits of our Squadron. At that time, the regular bombardment groups were flying thirty-five missions to complete a tour. Our missions were so diverse that they could not be compared logically to those of the regular bomb groups.
Under the direction of the British Royal Air Force (RAF) 100 Group, our first operational missions were in support of the RAF night operations against German targets. The darkness offered protection from visual detection by the German defence systems, and the radar countermeasures efforts offered added defence against German electronic detection and destroy measures.
After we started daylight operations in support of the 8th and 9th US Air Forces, at times our mission consisted of establishing radar screens over the North Sea to screen our bombers from detection by German radar and fighter aircraft. Other times we would lead the bomber force into Germany. Also, we flew missions to disrupt communications among ground operations of the German Army.
My longest mission was flown on December 31, 1944. The total mission was eleven hours, with over seven hours orbiting the Battle of the Bulge interrupting German tank communications.
Considering these, and many other factors, someone came up with the idea that we should fly three hundred ‘operational’ hours to complete a tour of duty.
However, the center piece of this tale is that I and our Nose Gunner, Jack Long (seen right), flew three hundred and five operational hours. We flew five hours over the required three hundred hours. This happened because at the completion of our fifty-fourth mission we were fifteen minutes short of our three hundred hour goal. Therefore we were required to fly one more mission. This was accomplished on February 8, 1945 and it lasted five hours and fifteen minutes.
On completion of our mission on February 6, 1945, all our crew thought we had only one more to fly to accumulate our required 300 hours. We were not always sure of how many total hours we had flown. It was only after the completion of the following mission on February 7, 1945, that we received the news that we needed fifteen more minutes, so it would be necessary to fly one more mission. We were scheduled to fly the next day with another crew.
This happened because crew flying time was not always the same because of sickness or some other valid reason. In the case where only one or two members may not be available to fly, substitute crew members were found and the mission went forward. Jack Long and my problem occurred because we were grounded for a day by the medics because we received a shot for something and the doctor thought it best that we miss a day's flying. So we did not have as much operational time as the rest of our crew.
I digress to explain another aspect of this story:
In another account I wrote of the loss of the air crew of 1st Lt. Harold T. Boehm on December 22, 1944. Only he, and his Co- Pilot, 2nd Lt. Donald W. Burch survived (seen below).
This meant a further difficulty for the survivors. They were there, with no crew, and it was necessary for them to complete their tour of duty. So, their progress in completion was slowed considerably because as ‘extras’, they could only fly when an active crew needed their skills. Actually, Lt Boehm, Jack Long and I were extra that day. Lt. Burch did not fly with us as co-pilot.
So, on this last mission day, Jack and I were very pleased to find out that we were to fly with Lt. Boehm who was substituting for another pilot. I had great respect for him, both as a person, and his reputation as a good pilot.
All seemed to be going well in our preparations to get airborne. I thought that I may well make the best of the situation and try to enjoy the flight with the glow of expectation that it would be my last. Little did I know that not too far off from my precious fifteen minute goal, it came very close to being not only our last mission, but our last everything else!
I completed the pre-flight check of my turret, donned my high altitude flying gear, strapped on my parachute harness and stood by for take-off. On take-off, it was my habit to stand at a waist window, lean on the sill and watch the world go streaming by as the airplane picked up speed and lifted into the air. This time, I was on the starboard (that’s sailor talk for ‘right’) side of the airplane.
I was especially thrilled with this moment of rush as at first the identifiable blades of grass along the runway transformed into an unidentifiable streak. As the fully loaded B-24 reached the 110 miles per hour it needed the pilot to start the rotation that would soon take us into ‘The Wild Blue Yonder,’ as the song has it.
Soon the trees at the end of the runway began to slide under us. The first bumps of turbulent air began to reveal themselves. I had experienced this many times and it always worked out OK. However, within moments the turbulence increased until we began a rough bounce through the air. Experienced or not, I did not like it.
All of a sudden, I think my heart stopped. As I looked out the window, I saw the propellers on number three and four engines begin to ‘windmill’, that is, turn from inertia and not the power of the engine. Immediately, I realized there was no engine noise! That meant that all four engines were dead. Furthermore, it meant that without a miracle, we were dead ducks!
Since the size of aircraft gun turrets were pretty snug, and to make it more comfortable to move around the airplane, we were equipped with parachutes rigged so that we wore only the straps and fasteners, we called it the ‘harness’; our parachute was packed
separately so that it could be left outside the turret, or nearby area. In the event of an emergency, we would be able to grab the pack and snap it to the harness and jump when ready.
I estimated that we were at about 1,800 feet above ground when the engines quit. Since a B-24 flew something akin to a rock with dead engines, this meant that if I was to get out in time to have my parachute open before I was introduced to the ground, I had to get out now!
Also, fleetingly, I realized that the erratic air was a factor. I would probably be oscillating to the extent that I was almost certain to end up with broken legs at least. That brought on another calculation, this one said: ‘Go for it Buddy, it’s better to break your leg than your neck!’ I agreed and reached for the escape hatch handle in the floor of the airplane. Jack Long reached for it just a bit faster than I, but he lost his balance in the turbulence, and fell across the escape hatch.
It was too late, so I fell to the deck of the airplane and braced myself for a crash landing. But, Wait! ‘… what was that roar in my ear?’ All four engines were running at full throttle, and the airplane had resumed its climb! I was glad!
How, why, did it happen?
How it happened, we know. Or, at least this is what was told to me. The B-24 airplane had four toggle switches on the instrument panel all neatly in a row. These were the power switches for the four engines. It was explained to me that the Co-Pilot reached over and turned all four of them off simultaneously. If they were in the down position, the engines could not run.
Why it happened, nobody knows. The poor man that did it had no idea why he did. It must have been a sudden and inexplicable impulse. It was an impulse that could have been very costly in lives and equipment.
Fortunately, he faced reality when the engines quit and flipped all the switches back on. Since the engines were still turning over, they started again. But they were not just ‘running’, they were screaming as Lt. Boehm ‘fire walled’ the throttles (opened them to full military power) and we continued our bouncy climb. In my shaken condition, I thought it good to stay right there on the floor, so I did for quite a long time.
I was in sort of a dream state for the rest of the mission. I was not sure what we were doing up there, but I was aware of us heading out over France. I thought, ‘Man, I have seen France too many times already, why again?’
We completed the mission with no further excitement.
I was then ready to go home! However, maybe not yet? You see, that evening, I began to think about Lt. Boehm and his bad turn of circumstances. He was a good and honourable man! He was a good B-24 pilot.
Why was this happening to him? He had lost his crew, and as closely knit as they were, it was a disaster above comprehension. Being stuck in England waiting for makeup crews was no doubt ‘a hard pill to swallow’. Now, having the four engines of his airplane quit all at once must have been impossible for an experienced pilot to digest. So, I can imagine that his morale was at rock bottom that evening. But, what could I do about it? Go over and try to cheer him up? Come on, ‘Hope’, how in the world do you think you could do that? Besides that, he needed more than cheer, he needed stability. I was sure that I would be leaving very soon, so if I was going to try to do something about it, I was going to have to work fast.
The officers were quartered in a different area than enlisted men. The area was generally off limits to us. However, I made bold to go into the area that evening to talk with Lt Boehm. I found his hut and knocked on the door and asked the officer that responded if he would please ask Lt. Boehm to come outside to talk with me. I have often wondered since if Lt. Boehm thought, ‘Oh my goodness, he is coming over here to gripe to me about today’s event!’
When he arrived, I told him that I was concerned about him being stuck there for a long time without a crew. If he was willing I would like to volunteer to stay on as his Tail Gunner. I thought it would help in that it would be necessary to look for one less available crew member.
He was stunned! ‘Do you mean that you would be willing to fly with me with what you know?’ I knew that he felt partly to blame for the loss of his crew, and maybe somehow felt partially at fault in today’s incident. I told him that I knew he was a good pilot and that I would be willing to fly with him any place, any time, under any circumstances. I told him that if he had been a pilot with lesser skills, we would not have lived through this day! That brought tears to his eyes, but he refused to take me up on the offer. He thanked me for it, but he said that I had more than earned my trip home, and he would not interfere.
I have a hunch that if I had shared my plans with Jack to try to help Lt. Boehm complete his missions beforehand; he would have volunteered with me. It seems the two of us had learned to think pretty much along the same track.
I had no further contact with Lt. Boehm. That was February 8, 1945.
On February 10, Jack and I received our orders to start our return to the United States.
Jack Hope
Copyright © 2010
This article is from the Autumn 2012 issue of Confound and Destroy
