The Bomber Boys (33 page)

With no fuel to heat their homes, the Dutch used what they could. Once beautiful trees lining streets were cut bare. Fences disappeared and bombed-out homes were dismantled. Thin children spent hours scouring railroad beds for tiny bits of coal. Across Holland money was worthless. There was nothing to buy anyway. Stores were long closed for lack of stock. Warehouses were empty.

By the time spring arrived, people were starving to death. Word of the dire situation in the Netherlands made its way to England. General Dwight D. Eisenhower was informed of the tragedy but could do nothing to address it until active combat campaigning stopped. By that time, an estimated one thousand Dutch men, women and children were dying every day.

In late April, Eisenhower’s representatives approached the German commanders in Holland with a unique proposal. The Allied plan was to deliver food to the Netherlands using the very American and British bombers that had brought destruction to much of Germany. The mercy mission would require a truce between the two opposing forces, which were officially still at war
.
The Germans were assured the Allied airplanes would carry no bombs. The German antiaircraft batteries, which had shot down many Allied bombers on their way to the fatherland, would be required to stand down. While the Allies sought the German commander’s cooperation, they also made it clear that the food flights would happen one way or another.

The Germans’ reply was prompt. They agreed with the plan, in principle. Operational details were soon worked out, including drop zones where the bombers would be allowed to fly at
extremely low altitude without the threat of fire from enemy antiaircraft guns.

The mercy missions to save the people of Holland would be a massive undertaking, involving a large force of RAF bombers and ten American bomb groups. The British dubbed the project Manna. The Americans called it Chowhound. The Eighth Air Force bomb groups assigned to Chowhound were: the 34th, 95th, 96th, 100th, 385th, 388th, 390th, 452nd, 490th and 493rd. As part of the 385th, Bob Valliere and the airmen of
The Stork Club
would be flying over enemy-occupied Holland at an altitude of just over four hundred feet and hoping that the truce would hold.

 

 

 

After
The Stork Club
completed combat mission number twelve and landed at Great Ashfield airfield, Mike Swana’s crew was informed it would be their last bombing raid. Bob experienced the same feelings his crewmates were experiencing—relief, joy and satisfaction. Nobody would miss taking the risks that came with each mission. Euphoria swept over them—they were going to live, and they would soon be going home to the country they had helped protect. They had arrived late in the war, but they had made a difference by helping drive the last nails in the Nazis’ coffin.

That evening they celebrated the way Eighth Air Force airmen across England were celebrating: with laughter, reminiscences and large amounts of alcohol. A few days later, rumors of a mercy mission to the Netherlands began to circulate. There was some concern about whether the Germans in Holland could be trusted, but mostly Bob and his pals looked forward to the food flights. It was a chance to help save people, a welcome change from their previous occupations.

The RAF flew the first Manna mission on April 29, dropping tons of packaged raw food at racetracks and airfields near Dutch population centers. The German antiaircraft batteries in Holland were manned but remained silent. Every British aircraft returned unharmed. On the first day of May, it was the Americans’ turn.

Once on board
The Stork Club,
Bob checked out the new payload in the bomb bay. He marveled at how quickly the bomber ground crews had adapted the Fortresses to drop boxes and sacks stuffed with meat, cheese, flour, coffee, sugar, powdered milk and eggs, and even chocolate. Everyone on the crew was in a jovial mood. Their war was over and they were looking forward to heading back to the United States, but in the meantime they had been given an opportunity to be part of a great humanitarian effort.

Bob made his way to the nose section. It seemed odd not to have his friend Marvin Hydecker along on this mission. Bombardiers had been exempted from the mercy missions. The bombers would be flying over Holland at four hundred feet, so there would be no need to use the sophisticated Norden bombsights. It would be the responsibility of the navigator to release the food payload as the aircraft passed over the authorized drop zone.

Since the RAF mission had gone off without a hitch, Bob had little concern about the Germans, but as
The Stork Club
left the North Sea and crossed over the coast of the Netherlands, a tingling little chill ran up the navigator’s spine. Bob knew it was a conditioned response, left over from his combat missions.

Nobody on board
The Stork Club
was prepared for the reception they would receive in Holland that day. As they passed over the rooftops of a Dutch village, Bob saw crowds of people in the streets waving to the American airmen. Had it not been for the noisy B-17 engines, the airmen would have also heard
the wild cheers of the Hollanders. Up ahead, Bob spotted something written in large white letters on a rooftop. The message was simple but inspiring: “THANKS, YANKS!”

It was the same all the way to the drop zone—thousands of grateful Dutch filling the streets to greet their Eighth Air Force angels. Pots of Holland’s famous tulips had been arranged to spell out THANK YOU. It was a tribute that the airmen of Operation Chowhound would never forget.

The Stork Club
made its run over the drop zone. Bob released the bomber’s precious cargo. The boxes and sacks fell within the boundaries the Germans had designated. Mike Swana pulled his aircraft into a slow turn to head back to Great Ashfield. Below, Bob and his crewmates could see hungry Dutch citizens surrounding the field, waiting for the signal that it was safe to retrieve the food. The airmen could also see the German antiaircraft guns tracking their bomber and the other Fortresses of the 550th Bomb Squadron. It was not a comfortable feeling to be in the enemy’s crosshairs at an altitude of only four hundred feet, but the real threat to
The Stork Club
was a sack of food that had become entangled in the bomb bay.

Flight engineer Al Hareda discovered the maverick sack on a visual inspection of the bay. It was too far down to reach. Swana tried closing the bomb bay doors, hoping the bag would simply tear away, but the doors would not close. Someone was going to have to climb down and get rid of the sack. Copilot Wallace MacCafferty volunteered.

The bomb bay housing was much too confining to allow MacCafferty to wear a parachute. He climbed down to the bottom of the bomber to loosen the errant sack of food. One slip of his foot would send him tumbling to his death. Swana’s hands tightened on the controls of
The Stork Club
as he held the aircraft as steady as possible. MacCafferty’s uniform flapped wildly
in the wind. The copilot cut the bag loose and its contents fell away, enriching the dinner table of some poor Dutch family and ending the threat to the bomber crew.

When
The Stork Club
arrived back at Great Ashfield, her crew members not only had a new admiration for the bravery of their copilot but also a new appreciation for the importance of the Chowhound missions. The Eighth Air Force bombers had delivered nearly eight hundred tons of food to the starving people of Holland. Bob and the rest of Swana’s crew were looking forward to the next day’s food mission to Hilversum. It would be a mission that would endanger all of them and earn the 550th Bomb Squadron and more specifically,
The Stork Club,
a unique place in Eighth Air Force history.

 

 

 

On May 2, most of the citizens of Hilversum, the Netherlands, went to the racetrack. The track’s grassy infield had been designated as a drop zone for the Eighth Air Force food mission that day. The malnourished people watched the western horizon with joyful anticipation. They heard the Fortress engines well before the bombers came into view.

Tears ran down hollow smiling faces when the B-17s began to swoop down even lower to begin their runs over the racetrack. Dutch fathers, mothers and children vowed never to forget these American airmen. As the first boxes of food fell to the infield, a cheer that no horse race had ever inspired rose from the crowd at the Hilversum track.

On board
The Stork Club,
Lieutenant Michael Swana spotted the racetrack ahead and began to bring his bomber down as the aircraft of the 550th Squadron prepared for their runs. Bob had a good view of the entire operation. Down there was the racetrack with its grassy target in the center, the enthusiastic Dutch waving their welcome and thanks. One thing went unnoticed
by the navigator. On the outskirts of the racetrack, a German antiaircraft gunner was tracking the American bomber with the painting of a stork on its nose.

In the cockpit, Swana was focused on the job at hand. “Let it go, Bob,” he ordered his navigator. Bob hit the switch and confirmed the release of the food. The antiaircraft gunner watched the B-17 drop its lifesaving cargo and then begin a slow banking climb to head for home. Then, for a reason known only to himself, the German squeezed the trigger.

“They’re firing at us!” someone screamed over the interphone, but Swana knew it was even worse than that. From the corner of his eye, the pilot saw two red flashes and he felt the immediate effect on his aircraft’s flight controls.
The Stork Club
’s left wing, at first pushed up by the twenty-millimeter flak explosions, quickly dipped drastically. Swana fought to control the bomber as it began to bank sharply to the left. He could see the cause of the problem—two flak holes adorned the left wing between the engines. The larger of the holes, near the front of the wing, was a ragged puncture more than two feet across. The smaller breach was about five feet to the rear. The flak explosions had ripped into the bottom of the wing and exited through the top.

The immediate challenge for Swana was to keep
The Stork Club
flying straight. The ragged holes in the left wing were creating such a drag that the Fortress continued to pull in that direction. To compensate, the pilot banked his airplane to the right, raising the left wing by about thirty degrees. With the left wing elevated at this angle, Swana was able to manhandle the bomber into straight flight. He had found the solution in a matter of seconds, because at an altitude of four hundred feet, seconds was all the time he could afford.

Meanwhile, Charlie DuShane had the offending German flak battery in his tail position gunsight. He checked with his aircraft
commander before returning fire: “Mike, I’ve got that German battery covered. Should I shoot?”

Swana’s decision and his order came instantly. “No, Charlie! Don’t shoot! Everyone hold your fire!” It was a decision that almost certainly saved the lives of his crew and also the lives of numerous airmen aboard other B-17s flying close by—in addition to sparing the lives of many Dutch spectators and German soldiers in Holland. Once fired upon, the flak batteries around Hilversum would have had a field day shooting at American bombers that were flying so low over the racetrack. The Allied retaliation would likely have been swift and severe, with hundreds of P-51 Mustangs sweeping in from England to attack the Germans. But a dangerous incident did not erupt into a bloody battle at Hilversum, because Lieutenant Michael Swana and all the other B-17 pilots kept cool heads. Tempted as they were, the American bomber gunners held their fire.

As Swana managed to gain valuable altitude, he warned his crew, “Keep your eyes open for fuel and oil leaks.” He knew the flak holes were in the vicinity of the left-wing fuel tank. If the tank had been penetrated, fire or even an explosion was a likely possibility. Not retaining enough fuel to reach England was another. Everyone focused on the wounded wing while their pilot began a slow and laborious turn to the west.

No leaking fuel or oil appeared, and Swana began to feel encouraged about their chances of making it back to Great Ashfield. The return flight proved to be a tiring effort for
The Stork Club
’s pilot and copilot. Each of them took turns at the flight controls, struggling to keep the bomber’s left wing elevated enough to sustain a relatively straight flight path.

In the B-17’s nose, Bob watched as little Dutch villages and farms flashed by below. The same countryside that had been so welcoming on the flight to Hilversum now seemed endless. By
the time she reached the North Sea coast,
The Stork Club
had managed to climb to about one thousand feet. Bob could see the rest of the 385th Bomb Group Fortresses far ahead.

The flight from Hilversum to Great Ashfield took more than two hours, but with MacCafferty’s assistance, Swana was not exhausted as he brought
The Stork Club
into a landing approach. He realized his technique of keeping the bomber’s left wing elevated at a thirty-degree angle would not work for the landing. The left and right wheels would need to touch the runway simultaneously. At fifty feet, he brought the left wing down to a level position—the Fortress instantly pulled to the left.

Swana was prepared. He pulled at his controls and felt his aircraft float back to the right. The tricky correction proved to be a little too much. The left wheel made contact with the runway ahead of the right wheel.

The Stork Club
swerved to the right and headed off the runway. Swana’s quick reaction was perfect. He juiced the power to the right wing’s outside engine. The B-17 straightened itself. By nursing first the left brake and then the right brake, Swana was able to complete an awkward but safe landing.

The news of the Germans’ violation of the truce had spread like wildfire. By the time Swan brought his Fortress to a stop, newspaper photographers and reporters were on the scene. Bob and his crewmates laughed and downplayed the danger of their flight. It was easy to do once they were standing safely on the familiar tarmac.