The Bomber Boys (6 page)

The flight engineer gave Chart the bad news: “The bomb bay doors won’t close!”

When Tony heard his friend Robinson’s statement over the interphone, he quickly got busy with his navigation tools.
Fancy Pantz
was undamaged by combat and her engines were still running strong, but if the crew could not get the bomb bay doors closed, the wind-drag would make it impossible for the airplane to keep up with the rest of the group.

In such a situation, the navigator had to know the exact position of his aircraft and he had to keep the pilot constantly informed, because as
Fancy Pantz
began to fall farther and farther behind the scattered 305th Bomb Group, simply following the other bombers back to England would not be an option. Indeed, the men on board
Fancy Pantz
were soon all alone in a German sky.

John Cuffman, in his tail gunner’s position, patrolled every inch of sky within his field of vision. His hands clenched the handles of his twin .50 caliber machine guns tighter than ever before. In fact, every gunner on board the lone B-17 was feeling the pressure to stay alert for enemy fighters.

In the nose, the toggler manned the chin turret, while behind him Tony double-checked his headings. Eventually, Carl Robinson was able to crank up the bomb bay doors manually, and Tony’s calculations were right on the money. Chart sat
Fancy Pantz
down safely on the Chelveston runway, successfully completing the Cologne mission.

Each member of the crew who had completed all five missions received his air medal. Tony pinned his air medal ribbon above the left shirt pocket of his dress uniform and then headed over to the officers’ club for a cold ale. He knew he still had thirty missions to fly, if he could survive that many, but he did not want to think about that just then.

Fancy Pantz
was all right in Tony’s book. Jerry Clark agreed. Silly name and all,
Fancy Pantz
had taken them over the target at Cologne twice, and then brought them back home. Her four officers drank a toast to the gallant B-17 and hoped they would fly her again.

 

 

 

On January 7, just a day after the Cologne raid, Chart’s crew took off on a mission bound for Koblenz, Germany, but only twenty-five minutes into the flight the number two engine blew an oil line. Engine number three was also running rough, so the Skipper had no choice but to return to base.

An aborted mission was always depressing for an aircrew. A man had to get ready for each mission, both physically and mentally. The physical part was waking up before dawn, then attending the briefings, followed by getting into the heavy combat
gear. This physical routine also gave the crewman time to mentally prepare. Sometimes a preflight religious service helped.

Takeoff in a B-17, loaded with high explosives, was never a sure thing, and of course there was the dangerous job of getting the aircraft into formation. Once a man went through all of that, he wanted to complete the mission and have it credited toward his “required thirty-five.” That meant dropping bombs on a target.

Three days later, the 305th Bomb Group went back to Cologne. For mission number six, Lieutenant Chart was assigned an airplane he had flown before, number 571. Bill Goetz would later write that the second strike at Cologne was “our toughest mission so far.”

John Cuffman would note in his combat journal, “Boy, this one was the roughest I ever saw. That flak was intense and accurate.”

It was also cold—the coldest January on record in more than fifty years. Flying at twenty-six thousand feet, the airmen’s hands and feet suffered despite their electric gloves and socks. The thermometer on Chart’s cockpit console read: “minus 55 degrees.”

To make matters even worse, somehow the 305th Fortresses got split up, resulting in Chart’s bomber and the rest of the “high” squadron (366th) flying over the target alone. John Cuffman’s journal described the horrific scene: “Lost Jordan’s crew over Big C. Got hit in (illegible). Saw one B-17 burning as she went down.” (Flying as part of the 365th Bomber Squadron, Lieutenant R.J. Jordan’s bomber was hit by enemy fire and crashed on January 10, 1945. Jordan and eight of his crew survived, but ball turret gunner, B.F. Evans, was killed.)

Despite the heavy flak over Cologne, Chart got his bomber back home, suffering only two flak holes in Ken Hall’s radio room. Everyone on board counted themselves lucky, but for the 305th, it had been a rough day. One B-17 had crashed on takeoff,
its crew escaping with no serious injuries. Jordan’s crew had been shot down, and another 365th Squadron bomber had been destroyed by flak—this airplane was piloted by Arthur F. Leuthesser. (This is most likely the bomber John Cuffman saw “burning as she went down.”) Leuthesser would survive the crash along with two other crew members. Six of his crew—William S. Butcher, Claude R. McLaughlin, Irwin Levy, Virgil H. Biggs, Marshall J. Villani and Jimmie D. Shambarger—would all eventually be listed as KIA. Three other missing bombers would be accounted for in the next few days, having been diverted to other airfields.

January 13, 1945, found the men of Lieutenant Jerome Chart’s bomber crew twenty-five thousand feet over Germany in B-17 number 033. The target was another bridge on the Rhine. The structure was clearly visible to Tony as Chart started his bomb run. John Cuffman watched the bombs strike the target with “good results.” Compared to Cologne, the flak was light; however, at least one or more bursts were close enough to put four holes in the aircraft, including one in the Tokyo tank. Each wing of the newer B-17Gs housed an extra Tokyo fuel tank to provide the airplane with the long-range capability needed to reach targets deep inside the Third Reich.

With his bomber damaged and possibly leaking fuel, Chart headed for England, but he was not confident they could make it back. The weather back in Britain would resolve the issue for him. Chelveston was reported to be hampered with thick clouds and low visibility—Chart’s aircraft was diverted to Weston Zoyland airfield, in southern England.

The crew was glad to be on the ground anywhere but in Germany, and they soon found their stay at the Royal Air Force base a pleasant experience. The barracks were nicer, the chow was good, and their British hosts could not have shown more hospitality. Ball turret gunner Bill Goetz was the only crew
member who did not enjoy his visit to Weston Zoyland. Eighth Air Force rules required someone must guard the aircraft. Goetz drew the short straw.

The British ground crews worked through the night to have the B-17 repaired by daybreak the following morning. The Americans were in the air by 10:30, and Tony was charting a course for Chelveston. They were back at their home base at one in the afternoon.

After their mission on January 15 was scrubbed, Chart’s crew got a few days of well deserved rest. Some of the boys headed to London to enjoy its sights and delights, but the normally fun-loving little navigator begged off.

“Ah come on, Tony, you aren’t afraid of those V-1s, are ya?” one of his buddies teased, referring to the German rockets the Nazi regime was launching against Londoners.

“You guys go ahead. I’ve got other plans.” Tony’s boyish smile revealed more than he intended.

“Okay, what’s her name, Short Round?” John Cuffman wanted to know.

“See you later, boys!” Tony laughed and walked away in the direction of the base PX.

Her name was Peggy. She was a pretty young English school-teacher whom Tony had met at one of the Chelveston base dances. On this particular day, he had been invited to have dinner with her parents, and he did not intend to arrive empty-handed. Exiting the PX, Tony carried a large bag filled with many of the items local citizens found difficult to obtain—including chocolate and American cigarettes. The latter item was an instant hit with Peggy’s father, who Tony would soon learn was a chain-smoker.

It was the first of many enjoyable visits to his English girlfriend’s home. Her parents liked the polite young American and
if they worried that their daughter’s relationship with Tony was just a wartime romance, they kept it to themselves. After all, it
was
wartime.

Tony was not surprised on the morning of January 20, when Jerry Chart told him they would once again be flying a different B-17 to Reims, Germany. The aircraft’s number was 015, and she brought Chart’s crew safely home from the Ruhr Valley mission. For only the second time, there was no flak over the target, and once again, Tony and his crewmates had seen no enemy fighters. They did see a couple of American fighter planes attacking some German trains.

The Luftwaffe was down
but not out
in the early months of 1945. The constant combat against the Americans in the daytime and the British Royal Air Force at night had done more than destroy thousands of Germany’s fighter planes. It had destroyed thousands of her irreplaceable pilots. Equipped with drop tanks, the new American P-51 Mustang fighters were able to escort their “big friends” all the way to the target and back. The Mustang was also faster than any fighter in the Luftwaffe’s arsenal, at least until German jets started showing up in the final weeks of the war. On some missions, like the one to Reims, the Mustangs, Thunderbolts and B-17 gunners controlled the air to such an extent that the American fighters could leave the bomber formation to attack targets of opportunity on the ground.

Since the mission to Reims had been the easiest yet for Chart and his crew, some considered B-17 number 015 a lucky airplane. Tony did not dismiss anything that might help their chances and decided he would not mind flying the bomber again. There would be several more opportunities to fly 015, and the final one would test the airplane’s luck and endurance, and leave the lives of her nine airmen hanging in the balance.

“You’re flying again today.” The sergeant’s voice was quiet, but it cut the darkness of the navigators’ barracks like a honed knife. It was the morning after the Reims raid, and Chart and his crew had drawn the second leg of back-to-back missions. The target of the day was Pforzheim, Germany, on board B-17 number 571. Although the mission went well, with the crew watching their bombs burst right in the center of Pforzheim’s marshaling yards, it was still a difficult trip for everyone. First of all, it was extremely cold. Bill Goetz suffered the worst of any of them. There was no heat in the ball turret. In addition to the cold, at nine hours and twenty-five minutes, the run to Pforzheim was the longest mission Chart’s crew had ever flown.

January 28 marked the crew’s tenth mission to Germany and their third raid over dreaded Cologne. Flak over the city was no less severe than the first two times, but flying B-17 number 015 again, Jerry Chart brought them home with only one hole in the radio room. The bomber was patched up and ready to go on a mission to Koblenz the very next day. Tony figured the Fortress was in better shape than most of her crewmen. Luckily, the flak was light, and both 015 and the crew returned unscathed.

That evening Tony lay in his bunk fully clothed, covered with two blankets, and still he could not get warm. To take his mind off the chill in the barracks, he began to review the past couple of months since his arrival at Chelveston. Eleven missions completed and twenty-four to go. After what he had seen in the skies over Germany, twenty-four more missions seemed unattainable. During the first ten missions, the various B-17s his crew had been aboard had been hit by flak on five of the missions. Only the grace of God, pure luck and Jerry Chart had prevented their destruction.

The crew itself was the upside of the situation. They had
come together like brothers in a crisis, looking out for one another whether they were in combat or on liberty. They had made it through eleven missions together, why not twenty-four more? As his exhaustion began to usher him into sleep, Tony thought,
Right now, I’ll settle for making it through one more mission.

 

 

 

In late January of 1945, while the men of the Eighth Air Force in Europe lived from mission to mission, their leaders were busy planning an attack that might bring the staggering German government to its knees. Berlin was not only the capital of Germany, it was also the very core of her military organization. The war could not be ended without the fall of Berlin, and accordingly the American bombers had been striking the city since the first week of March 1944. Britain’s RAF had been pounding the German capital long before that.

Finally the American high command felt it had the resources to hit the center of Berlin with an armada of such enormous size and destructive power, if it did not end the war outright, it would certainly shorten it considerably. On the morning of Saturday, February 3, Tony Teta sat with his friends, Skipper, Snuffy, Baldy, Big Swede, Hermit and the rest, as a briefing officer gave the airmen of the 305th Bomb Group the details of a new mission to Berlin.

Over one thousand Fortresses would take part. The American bombers would be escorted by more than nine hundred P-51 Mustangs and P-47 Thunderbolts. The target was the center of Berlin—more specifically Gestapo headquarters, the Reich Chancellery, the German Air Ministry and any other government or military building. Just as important as targets were thousands of German soldiers, who were being reorganized or were passing through Berlin—so the rail system needed to be knocked out.