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The Mission Of August 1, 1943

The Mission Of August 1, 1943 click image to enlarge As planned by Col. (later General) Jacob E. Smart, four groups would turn at Floresti to attack Ploesti targets line-abreast, with one group going to Campina. click image to enlarge Weather, navigation errors, and necessary improvisation resulted in this attack pattern. Maps are adapted from The AAF in World War II (Vol. II), Univ. of Chicago Press, 1949.

A day or two before the mission, we were brought into the briefing room, and the great secret was unveiled. The presentation was quite elaborate, and included movies of models of each of the several refineries we were to attack. The movies simulated the view of the target as a pilot would see it approaching at very low altitude. Everything would depend on surprise and exact timing. It was explained that the defenses were relatively light, and we would not have to concern ourselves too much about Romanian antiaircraft because Sunday was a day of rest for Romanians - even in time of war.

Some of the edge was removed from this optimism by Maj. Gen. Lewis E. Brereton, who addressed us all at an open-air meeting in the African sunshine, where he stressed the importance of our target by saying that our success would justify the loss of every aircraft! He did not mean, of course, that such losses were expected, but it gave us something to think about.

The day finally arrived - August 1, 1943. There were to be fifteen bombers in our particular formation - first, a three-plane element led by Col. Leon Johnson, our group CO, with Bill Brandon as his pilot, flying the venerable B-24 named Suzy-Q. Next would come six bombers trailing to the right, which we were leading in the Buzzin' Bear. Off to our left would be the remaining six aircraft, led by Dexter Hodge. Trailing behind would be a spare aircraft, piloted by Bob Felber. It was arranged that we would move into the lead should Suzy-Q falter for mechanical reasons en route to Ploesti. As it turned out, only one of the thirty-six aircraft of our 44th failed to reach the target area, a tribute to our maintenance men. I think it was also due in some measure to our dedication to Leon Johnson.

After approximately a minute at the end of our dirt runway, we followed three giant clouds of dust left by the lead element and climbed into the pink-gray morning skies over Bengasi. I was confident about the condition of the Bear. As we headed out now to join the lead element climbing just ahead of us, those engines never sounded better.

As we circled to take our place in formation, a large column of black smoke and orange flame blossomed up from an airfield just below us. We knew someone had not made the takeoff. It was a tragic end for one crew, and it did nothing to relieve our tensions.

Shortly afterward, we settled down and began the long, silent ride across the Mediterranean, barely visible in the hazy skies below and around us. Ahead of us were the 376th, 93d, and 98th Bomb Groups, in that order. Behind us flew the 389th Bomb Group, only recently arrived in England and almost immediately sent off to Africa to join us.

The intercom cut into my concentration. Jim DeVinney, our bombardier, called attention to a column of smoke rising from the sparkling sea below us. Although we hadn't seen it, the lead aircraft of the 376th had suddenly gone down, and with it the lead navigator. That crash has never been explained, to my knowledge.

Had I known at the time that the alternate leader had followed the leader down to look for survivors, I would have been even more concerned. At the time, however, I did not realize that we had lost the two crews that had been especially briefed and trained to lead the entire formation to Ploesti. What a moment that must have been for Brig. Gen. Uzal G. Ent and Col. Keith K. Compton - flying in the third and remaining aircraft of that lead element - to suddenly find that command of this vital mission had been so unexpectedly thrust on them.

We were still puzzling over the smoke rising from the sea below when a bomber well in front of us swung out of formation and turned back toward us. As he passed under our flight, we could see that he had two engines feathered on the port side. All in all, these beginning omens were not good, but in general the mission appeared to be going very much as planned.

In order to clear the mountains of Albania and Yugoslavia, we had to make a long slow climb to 15,000 feet. At that point, I felt a foreboding of trouble for the first time. As far as the eye could see across our flight path, but still well ahead of us, there appeared to be a solid wall of towering cumulus clouds - beginning about where we judged the coastline to be.

The skies were clearer now, less hazy, and we could see the aircraft of the 98th Group very clearly, and beyond, numerous specks that would be the B-24s of the 93d, and perhaps the 376th as well. At any rate, the latter two groups were some distance ahead, not quite the way we had flown it in practice.

As we approached the clouds, they grew more menacing. It was vital that one group follow the other into the target area. Our success and our salvation depended not only on surprise, but also on a simultaneous sweep across our various targets. We must arrive together, attack together, and depart together. How would this be possible, we began to ask ourselves, if we were now to be separated penetrating the clouds? Would the mission now be abandoned? Would radio silence be broken to announce our recall?

Then one of the leading groups disappeared in the clouds, and we had our answer. The only question now was could we find that same hole and follow through it? As the 98th, leading us, came closer to that solid wall, we searched for the opening until it became obvious we couldn't find it. The formation veered off to look for another opening and, at that moment, I knew that it was to be a new ball game.

The lead groups continued on course to Ploesti, while we lost time searching for a route through the clouds. It would not be a coordinated attack, and from that time on we would be alone with the pink-colored airplanes of the 98th. Adding to our concern was flight engineer Sergeant Gibby's announcement that a fighter was approaching our formation. A fighter? Had we been spotted so soon? We were miles from the target. "Hey, look!" someone yelled. "It's a biplane."

Strangely enough, that's what it was, and I agreed with copilot Bill Dabney's opinion that the pilot was a lot more startled to see us than we had been to see him! Nevertheless, we had been spotted. Some minutes later we were clearing the clouds with only the aircraft of the 98th in sight ahead of us. Our own 44th was coming along in good shape. Even with this combined force of some seventy bombers, it felt very lonely.

Frank Maruszewski, our tail gunner, looked in vain for the 389th behind us. Nothing. I think we must have all felt threatened now, and the formation began to tighten up. We began our slow descent that would eventually take us below the treetops in the vicinity of a city named Ploesti.

We had now descended the Balkan east slope. It was almost peaceful as we droned on a straight course, mile after mile. Because of the relatively few bombers we could see, the skies seemed strangely empty, and nothing appeared to be moving on the green hills below.

Tom Clifford, our navigator, said we were fairly well on course, but I didn't know how our timing was, and it couldn't matter much now since we were obviously separated from the two groups in the lead. The 98th formation was still stretched out in front of us, and the 389th now appeared behind us and very high.

We were down to about 3,000 feet as we crossed the Danube and had a very clear view of the Romanian countryside. Ploesti was still more than 160 miles away. Pitesti, the first of three checkpoints before we began the turn on our bomb run, was now less than 100 miles ahead. We didn't know it then, but the two lead groups were some sixty miles ahead of us. They had reached the first checkpoint on time, but turned on the second checkpoint, and streaked on a correct course for Bucharest. It was a correct course, but for the wrong target!

It was obvious that the groups were very widely separated. As far as I knew, the 98th and the 44th were alone, although the 389th was actually nearby and behind us. The 376th and 93d Bomb Groups were some twenty minutes ahead of us. After mistakenly turning east at the town of Targoviste, which closely resembled the correct checkpoint at the town of Floresti, the two lead groups realized their error and turned back to the north. As a result, the 93d laid their bombs on the Astra Romana, Phoenix Orion, and Columbia Aguila refineries, which were the intended targets of the 98th and the 44th Bomb Groups.

The 376th had continued eastward somewhat further and then turned northward behind the attacking 93d. Observing the heavy losses suffered by the 93d as it attacked targets intended for the other groups, the 376th swung wide and abandoned the attempt to strike its targets. Considering that a successful attack against such a small target required precise navigation on the bomb run, this was not surprising.

It was obvious that the vital elements of surprise and precise timing had by now been lost. All I can say., in hindsight, is that I am glad we didn't know what had happened. We were keenly aware of the smoke and the flame that was now becoming visible in the target area. We could begin to guess what was happening, but we did not know that those huge fires came from the very targets we had been assigned to attack at near ground level!

With the aircraft of the 98th stretched out before us, we had passed Pitesti and Targoviste and were nearing the turning point at Floresti. As Floresti came in view, with our altitude approximately 1,500 feet, things began to get very busy. By now, it was clear that our target had already been bombed and was in flames. What followed was probably the most action- packed thirty minutes of my life.

The long gaggle of pink-colored 98th B-24s began a wide descending turn to the right, and there we were, turning on the bomb run to the target labeled "White Five," the Columbia Aguila refinery. Colonel Johnson and Bill Brandon in the Suzy-Q turned their three-ship element inside the 98th, and all together some fifty bombers began to drop rapidly to their assigned bombing altitudes, flying parallel to a railroad on our right, which led directly toward our target.

As we made the turn, we pulled our six-ship flight into position directly behind Suzy-Q, and the remaining seven bombers fell in line behind us - sixteen 44th bombers in all. The last element numbered four Liberators instead of three, because Bob Felber, in the spare B-24, refused to go home and stayed with us all the way.

The remaining twenty-one bombers from our group, led by Col. Jim Posey, split off at this point to attack the Brazi refinery, "Blue" target, five miles to the south of Ploesti. In the meantime, the 389th had proceeded on alone from the first checkpoint, Pitesti, to attack the relatively isolated Steaua Romana refinery at Campina, eighteen miles northwest of Ploesti. It was called "Red" target.

Later reconnaissance showed that they did an outstanding job of precise bombing - equaling the performance of Jim Posey's formation against the Brazi refinery far to the south. Although the most destruction was inflicted on the White Five target by our formation, together with the earlier bombs left there by the 93d, the most precise work was done by the two groups assigned to the "outside" targets.

The 389th Group and Jim Posey's formation were the only two units with clear shots at their objectives, flying on their briefed routes. The 93d did have a clear shot, but attacked the wrong target on a course some ninety degrees off the assigned axis of attack.

As we approached the target area, several B-24s were coming in straight for us from our left, but there was no time then to try to figure that one out! It was just one of several unexpected happenings that had to be accepted. Later, we learned that these were Liberators from the 93d and 376th. Some of these aircraft had unfortunately dropped their bombs a few minutes earlier on the very target we were now rapidly approaching.

As we raced toward Columbia Aguila, leveling off at our bombing altitude of 250 feet, my eyes were glued on the Suzy-Q. Her target would be almost exactly in line with the spot where our own bombs were programmed to go. We were expected to place our load into a low profile building some 210 feet wide and 600 feet long. I was conscious of three specific situations.

First, we were edging in toward a train rolling side by side with us along the tracks on our right. It appeared to be exceptionally well equipped with antiaircraft weapons of all calibers. By this time it seemed that almost all our own .50-caliber machine guns were in action, and judging by the excited chatter on our intercom, they were directed toward the train.

Second, the sky was becoming unusually crowded with pink aircraft sliding in on us from our left. Perhaps no moment of the entire episode worried me more than did the chilling knowledge that we were suddenly sandwiched between two bombers, one directly above us and one below!

I could not have lifted either wing during those few seconds without bringing sure destruction to the three of us. Even now, I can visualize the rivets of the bomber above us, which I could see all too clearly. I could occasionally glimpse the bomber below, but could only concern myself with the one above. Miraculously, both of our large neighbors slid away from us. We were now heading toward a point where the railroad disappeared into a great mass of smoke and flame - the Columbia Aguila refinery. By this time, I am quite sure that green and pink B-24s were mixed together as we neared our targets. I will always believe that a few pink bombers crossed through our formation just about the time we penetrated the smoke over the target area!

The third thing I became increasingly aware of was the flame and huge columns of smoke just ahead of us. There were two raging areas of destruction. These were close together with a narrow tunnel of light in between. The wind was from our left, and the smoke from the towering flame on the left stretched high and over toward the fires on the right side, forming a top to the tunnel I have described.

It seemed to me that bombers were converging toward that one small area that was free of flame and explosions. And then the Suzy-Q disappeared in that smoke, and we were right behind. Below me in the nose section I could hear DeVinney and Clifford frantically trying to pinpoint our target. Then we were in the smoke - and then out of it. To this day, Bill Dabney maintains that our outside air temperature gauge reached its most extreme temperature reading as we sailed through the awful heat of those great fires that seemed to surround us!

If you have ever flown in an airplane through a lone, fleecy white cloud, you will remember how suddenly you pop out on the far side. It was just like that, and just as abruptly I pushed hard on the control column and headed for the ground, all in a split second, and I am sure this near spontaneous action saved our lives. Staring up at us were numerous shirtless antiaircraft gunners in gun emplacements with long, black gun barrels pointing directly at us.

We leveled and began a flat turn to the right. By flat I mean that I pushed hard on the right rudder but kept our wings from banking with opposite aileron control. It may be that the skidding turn threw the gunners off, but whatever the reason, we escaped destruction.

Unable to find our building in the smoke (augmented by smoke pots), flame, exploding tanks, and the general confusion of that instant, our bombs were held too long. I can only hope that they fell in an area that contributed to the general destruction in the target complex.

Few if any aircraft came off that target lower than we did - at least at that moment. Every Liberator I saw was above us. The abrupt pitchdown from 250 feet dislodged the gunners in the rear, Sgts. Jerry Grett and Ernie "Mac" McCabe, but they were on their feet again in an instant.

Everything was happening awfully fast now. The Suzy-Q and her two wingmen, Reg Carpenter and Ed Mitchell, were in their turn just ahead. My own two wingmen, Charlie "Punchy" Henderson and Jim Hill, had dropped down with us and were doggedly hanging on in formation as we skidded around that turn.

A B-24 ahead pulled straight up and then fell out of the sky. Two doll-like figures popped out of the waist windows, barely two or three hundred feet above the ground. I learned later that both men survived that fantastic jump. As this was going on, and we were still in our turn, a V-formation of five to seven ME-109s swung headlong into us, going from our left to our right. I didn't know it but both Charlie Henderson and Jim Hill had received damage by this time. I have always assumed that Henderson was hit by those oncoming ME-109s, because the damage was in his nose section where both his navigator and bombardier were wounded. However, more official records give credit to a JU-88.

Jim Hill hit a barrage balloon cable that put a rip in his wing, but otherwise came through okay. We took a hit somewhere along the line, ripping out hydraulic lines and putting our tail turret out of operation. There was a pretty fair-sized hole in the Bear's tail, but no one was hurt. The loss of the tail gun turned out to be a great disadvantage during the next few minutes. In the meantime, there was a rather wild mixture of bombers and fighters, and then we were leveling out and heading on the long road home. But we were not out of it yet.

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Liberators of Ploesti Barely clearing the smokestacks of the oil refineries at Ploesti, Romania, this B-24 Liberator was one of more than 100 that participated in Operation Tidal Wave - the low-level raid of August 1, 1943. Created from an actual photograph of that event, this hand numbered, limited edition print measures 16"x 20".

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