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390th Bomb Group

The roots of the 390th go back to the 40th Bomb Group in Puerto Rico and Guatemala and the 6th Bomb Group in Panama before World War II. At that time these bomb groups were engaged in training of combat crews while flying B-18s and B-18As.

In January of 1942 the B-18s were phased out with the receipt of B-17Es. Six planes from Ecuador and six from Guatemala were dispatched daily on parallel tracks to the Galapagos Islands to protect the Panama Canal. Crews flew 200 hours per month and accumulated a total of 1,500 to 2,000 hours of flying time as well as being cross-trained in all phases of a strategic bombing mission.

In October of 1942 at Geiger Field, Spokane, Washington the 34th Bomb Group became the parent group of the 390th. Personnel from the 40th, the 6th, and other organizations formed the cadre force of the 391st Bomb Squadron. Weather conditions prevented the achievement of minimal training requirements. Therefore, operations were moved to Ephrata, Washington on 25 November 1942. However, similar conditions were encountered there and on 8 December 1942 the squadron was moved to Blythe, California

In February of 1943 the 390th Bomb Group (H) had its inception at Blythe Army Air Base in California, with an original complement of 40 officers and 83 enlisted men; most of them had been attached to the 34th Bomb Group which operated B-17 aircraft at Blythe and at Geiger Field in Spokane, Washington. The cadre was promptly sent to the School of Applied Tactics in Orlando, Florida, for thirty days of special training. Thereafter air crews and ground personnel were assembled and trained at bases in Montana.

In July of 1943 the air echelon of the Group was assigned to the 8th Air Force and dispatched to Station 153 located at Parham in Suffolk, England. The ground echelon with support equipment arrived later in July after an Atlantic crossing by ship. The Group's first mission to the continent was flown on August 12, 1943 and its last mission in May of 1945. In a ferocious air battle during mission #22 to Munster on October 10, 1943, eighteen 390th Bomb Group B-17s shot down 62 German fighter aircraft for a record in the 8th Air Force. This was the highest kill rate in a single day for any bomber or fighter group in the European Theater of Operations.

The 390th Bombardment Group (H) flew 301 combat missions out of England, dropping over 19,000 tons of bombs, during World War II. 179 of its aircraft were lost, with 147 missing in action and 32 due to other causes. In all the group was credited with destroying 378 enemy aircraft destroyed, 78 probably destroyed, and 97 damaged. During its combat history the Group's bombing accuracy was reported as the best in the 8th Air Force and its aircraft losses were the lowest per mission flown/bombs dropped. The 390th attacked enemy targets throughout Europe. Also, the 390th was selected to take part in every shuttle mission flown by the 8th Air Force, including attacks on targets on the Eastern Front, in the Balkans, in Southern France, and at the Normandy Beachhead.

Morning Mission

As I begin these observations, it is evening in Barracks T-37, the home of thirty aerial gunners. T-37 is a barracks consisting of a wooden frame covered with sheet metal on a concrete foundation. It's interior has two stoves for warmth, blue blackout curtains and the multiple possessions of the men living here. Perhaps I should say boys, for their average age is approximately twenty-two. We have all come back from supper with the exception of a few fellows at the American Red Cross Club or the movies. The stoves are glowing and there are groups sitting around them just as they would in a country store.

Several of the boys are working on bicycles, for here in England the bike constitutes the main form of transportation on all bases. Indeed it is routine to see even captains or majors regardless of age, pedaling around the field on them. The disbursement of the planes over a wide area of the base makes their use a necessity rather than a luxury. We see old American ingenuity as two of the fellows construct a bike from old discarded parts.

Al, the radioman and the Cassonova of our crew, is hanging up a pin-up picture of Olivia DeHavilland on the wall of our barracks which is already a harem of Varga girls, movie queens, wives and sweethearts. There is a heated discussion as a tail gunner is trying to convince a ball turret gunner of the merits of the tail versus the ball turret. In the midst of this humdrum, one of the boys is trying to get Harry James via short wave. The air is suddenly filled with a conglomeration of Portuguese news reports, Spanish tangos and the futile attempt of a screaming German propagandist to convince anyone of the "certain Axis victory."

Upon the arrival of Ernie, a waist gunner, we learn that there is a blue flag alert which means that there is a mission scheduled for the morning. At once the barracks is in an uproar. Everyone voices their opinion as to whether or not we will go. Once engineer claims that he is certain the show will be called off for it will rain within the next two hours. He swears that his corns never lie, but the reply to this is the old standby, "Remember that you are in England." This is very true for the weather here is more changeable in a short period of time than anyplace I've ever seen.

Contrary to popular opinion touted by scenario writers, the knowledge of a raid does not bring an abrupt end to whatever gaiety is going on nor the grim silence of men checking their last will and testament. Although flying over Germany offers much danger, it is not necessarily suicidal. I can explain our beliefs more clearly by quoting our own Command General Henry Arnold: "Let us know gloss over the fact that combat flying is a grim and dangerous business. The Air Force has taught the men at home the maneuvers they should execute in combat abroad. In these maneuvers a few are bound to be injured or killed, but the overwhelming proportion are better prepared to defeat the enemy."

With the realization that sleep is needed we soon extinguish the lights. Our barracks has quite a few Northerners and I am the only Virginian. Before turning in, I decide that once again I shall give my rather worn-out speech. In the voice and manner of our Honorable Carter Glass addressing the Senate I begin. "Men, once again I remind you that there are three Virginians running this field, our Commanding Officer Col. Edgar M. Wittan of Newport News, our Air Executive Lt. Col. Thomas S. Jeffrey of Arlington and a ball turret gunner from Norfolk, whose name from sheer modesty I will not mention." Warding off the flying shoes and ignoring the raspberries and Bronx cheers, I climb into bed with a chuckle.

Soon the barracks is dark and silent except for the occasional squeak of bed springs and the ever present snoring from a large group of soldiers. After what seems like only half-an-hour, it is 0330 hours and the Charge-of-Quarters arouses us with the usual, "Breakfast at 4, briefing at 5." It is a cold and clammy British morning, but we force ourselves out of our warm beds, into our clothes and trudge thru the dark to the awaiting trucks, which carry us to the mess hall. Breakfast consists of fruit juice, fresh eggs, bacon, oatmeal and coffee. The talk centers around the target for today, how cold it will be at 29,000 feet and the number of missions it will make for each man. All too soon we scramble out to the waiting trucks and go to the briefing hall. Upon arrival we go to our lockers and put on our flying gear which consists of long woolen underwear, heavy socks and our Easter Bunny suits, the nickname for the electrically heated suites and shoes, plus a final covering of flying coveralls. By this time it is 0500 hours and we go into the large briefing hall.

Here, all foolishness and horseplay stops for the briefing of the day's operations which are vitally important if we are to be successful. Except for a few jokes made by the Operations Officer, there is no laughing for we are all deeply concentrating on the briefing. When this is over, we go out to the hardstands where are planes are parked, clean our guns and check the million details, while getting into each other's way. As always, we finish in time and sit around smoking before take-off.

Slim, one of the ground mechanics, owns an accordion and we call for a song. Following a bit of persuasion, he consents and we listen in pretended rapture of true music lovers, as he plays "East Side, West Side." I can't help but notice that we all become a little quiet, each thinking of home. It is almost time for take-off and after a final selection of "Pistol Packing Mama" to give us that old fighting spirit, we climb into the plane. Tom, Paul and Tex, Pilot, Co-Pilot and Engineer, go up into the cockpit; Walt and Lee, Bombardier and Navigator, go into the nose; Al, the Radio Operator goes into the radio room; Red, Pete and myself go into the waist and Buster into the tail.

The engines roar and we are soon airborne. The trip officially begins when Tex salutes Al as he comes through the radio room to check the rising of the tail wheel. This is an old tradition our crew began when we started flying together back in the states. Soon the sky around us is thick with hundreds of other bombers, each with ten fellows like myself. Regardless whether the target is Brunswick, Schweinfurt or Berlin, in the back of our minds we are thinking of that little spot called home, which for some may be a farm in Iowa, a ranch in Texas, or in my case, the corner of Colley and Shirley Avenue watching the girls... oops, the Fords go by!

Joseph M. Collector, Ball Turret Gunner, 570th Squadron. Mission In The Morning.

Snafu: B-17 Style

It was another mission that began on a dark morning for the 390th Bombardment Group, 8th Air Force at Framlingham. Colonel Wittan, the Group Operations Officer, and LCoI. Torn Jeffrey, the Air Executive, stood on the control tower awaiting the signal to start the mission. When the green flare fired, B-17s would begin taxiing from their hardstands toward the runway. They would proceed in order of takeoff to the end where the first six aircraft would take staggered positions on the runway, with the rest strung out on the perimeter road to facilitate a 30-second takeoff spacing.

At this moment the engineering officer reported that the lead ship was still at its hardstand with a flat tailwheel tire. Col. Wittan immediately ordered that the No. 2 aircraft lead the takeoff and climb out to the assembly point at 18,000 feet; however, with radio silence in force, he turned to LCol. Jeffrey: "Take my staff car ... to the end of the runway and tell the pilot of No. 2 to lead the group up to assembly altitude."

Jeffrey sped away and pulled the car off the runway to the right rear of the aircraft, so he could enter it through the rear door without crossing in front of the propellers. (B-24s did not have a rear door.) Leaving the car's engine running and lights on, he bolted for the bomber, opened the door and jumped in. Just as he scrambled on board, the pilot gunned the engines and released the brakes. Jeffrey yelled, but nobody heard him over the roar of the engines. Wearing his summer flight suit, he moved easily through the confines of the bomber; however, by the time he reached the cockpit it was too late to abort the takeoff. When the lauding gear was up and the aircraft was under control, he reached over and tapped the pilot's shoulder. "What the hell are you doing here?" the surprised pilot asked. "It's a long story," Jeffrey replied, "but let's keep going until we're organized."

As they climbed and circled, getting the formation pulled together, Jeffrey started to get cold in his summer flying suit. He had no jacket, parachute, or oxygen mask either, and the aircraft was scheduled to fly to Germany. Short of completing the round trip, there were only two ways to get him back on the ground - the aircraft could abort, or he could bail out.

Neither option was attractive. Aborting a mission was serious enough without depriving the group of both lead aircraft. The bailout idea ended when he discovereci there was no extra parachute on board. As the Fortress continued to circle around the assembly point at 18,000 feet, a shivering LCol. Jeffrey gulped oxygen from a walk-around bottle. Soon the group lead arrived, and the No. 2 assumed station on his wing.

Now what? Would Jeffrey go to Germany and freeze half to death enroute? What if they were hit? How would he get out? Should he order the pilot to abort? Fortunately, fate intervened. Radio silence was broken by a recall order - stormy weather over the target would interfere with accurate bombing. The 390th airmen gave silent cheers, but none more fervently than Jeffrey. Still, they carried a full load of fuel and bombs, so they had to circle for four hours before enough fuel had burned off to enable the aircraft to land safely with the bombs on board.

When the aircraft reached its hardstand, a chastened LCol. Jeffrey returned to the quarters that he shared with Colonel Wittan. Having awakened at 2 a.m. to plan the briefing, the colonel was just waking up from a nap when his air exec entered. "Jeff, will you please tell me where the hell you've been? And why did you Ieave my car at the end of the runway with the engine running and the lights on?” Looking at the colonel, Jeffrey replied: "Well, Colonel, I'll tell you, it was like this ..."

Reprinted From Yankee Wings. Snafu - B-17 Style. The Journal 2nd Air Division. Volume 42 Number 4, Winter 2003/2004.

In May of 1944 General LeMay, then commander of the Third Division of Eighth Air Force Bombardment Groups, contacted Lt. Col. Jeffrey, offering him a choice of serving as Group Commander of the 95th Group or with the 100th. Jeffrey asked for a day to think over which command he preferred. The 95th was highly regarded, with a solid combat record. The 100th had had a series of tragic missions, with significant losses in crews and command personnel. Jeffrey saw an opportunity to make over the 100th into a better combat unit that would be beneficial to the Wing and war effort. If successful he would get more credit for a job-well-done than if he merely maintained the momentum of the 95th. He called General LeMay and indicated his preference to command the 100th. The General is reported to have replied: "I thought that is what you would say."

Decorations, Medals, Ribbons, Badges and Insignia Army Air Force and U.S. Air Force: The most comprehensive, lavishly illustrated work on the medals and decorations of the first 50 years of the United States Air Force and of the Army Air Force in World War II.

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