![[Graphic] Snapshots from the 464th Bombardment Group.](../images/flagd.jpg)
Our War Stories
|
Brown's Crew and the Redtails" - page 3
by George Gilliard Barnett (777)
Page 3
|
After an eternity of time, the Adriatic Sea came into view on the horizon.
We were almost sure we could make it. Finally, the Adriatic was under us and we still had some
altitude left.
Now came a discussion between Murl, the Pilot, and Stan, the
Navigator, on the intercom as to whether we should bailout over Yugoslavia or try to cross the
Adriatic Sea to Italy. We didn't know where the German line was in Italy, so even if we made it
across the Sea, we might still be in German territory. After a few minutes of discussion, the Pilot
made the decision - we would try to cross.
Murl gave the order to "Lighten the airplane".
Throw everything out that could be moved or chopped from its fastening. 50 calibre machine guns
and thousands of rounds of ammunition were thrown into the sea by Fred Crosby, the Waist Gunner;
Frank Connolly, the Ball Turret Gunner, and Vic DeWolf, the Tail Gunner. Johnny Moore, the
Radio Operator, pulled the bulky radio receiver/transmitters from their rack behind the Co-Pilot
and threw them out - all except one - to give us a chance to send out a "May Day."
All flak vests were taken off and thrown out.
The Co-pilot sent out a "May Day distress".
"This is Race Card Yellow Oboe." Race Card was the code word of that day for the
464th Bomb Group. Oboe is radio jargon for the letter "110". Our airplane was
identified by a big yellow "110" painted on both sides.
The western shore of the Adriatic (Italy) came into view in the
distance. Would we make it before we ran out of altitude? If we decided to bailout into the sea,
we would have to do it before we got down to 500 feet so that parachutes would have a chance
to open. Or, should we use our last 500 feet and attempt to make shore and land on the beach?
The Pilot and Navigator decided to try for the beach. We reached
the shore and still had 200 feet of altitude. Mike Preputnik, our Nose Gunner, still in his turret,
came on the intercom to Murl. His voice had some excitement in it! "There's an airstrip
just a couple hundred yards inland, straight ahead!"
Murl hadn't noticed it because he was surveying the beach. Murl
decided to attempt a landing on the air strip. It would have to be a perfect first attempt landing
because we did not have the luxury of engines!
Murl was a good Pilot, he touched the big clumsy B-24 down in
good location and rolled to a stop at the end of the strip. It was impossible to taxi with both
operating engines on the same side. So, engines were shut down and the crew clamored out
and kissed the ground!
Four jeeps drove up and we were surrounded by men in American
uniforms. We breathed easy because these soldiers were black, all of them. We were damned
sure the German super white race did not have any black soldiers, and besides, these soldiers
spoke English! They welcomed us to Italy!
These soldiers suggested we get into the jeeps and they took
us to their mess hall where we were given a dinner fit for "royalty" - steak (real steak)
and eggs (real fresh eggs)! We hadn't seen anything like that since we left the United States.
They were giving us their choice food.
After we had savored their food, one of their officers said, "We
have plenty of empty beds; I'll get each one of you a place to sleep." Murl (our Pilot) leaned
toward the Co-Pilot's ear and made rude comments to the effect that he was not going to
sleep in one of their beds. The jeeps took us down several rows of tents, dropping off a
few here and some there.
Murl, our Pilot, was the only one of the crew from the deep south.
He was born and reared in Tuscaloosa, Alabama (home of the University of Alabama). Murl grew
up in the 20's and 30's - a time when black people were a source of cheap labor, and nothing more.
He was a product of his time.
The entire black camp knew we were there. You can hardly sneak
something as big and as noisy as a B-24 onto their airstrip without everybody seeing it.
The Co-pilot introduced himself to a couple of men in the tent
and shook hands with them. He sat down on the cot offered to him. It sure felt good to be back
on earth and in friendly territory.
George Fleissner, our Flight Engineer, went back out to "Yellow
Oboe" and checked the fuel in the wing tanks. They were empty. We could not possibly
have stayed airborne for another minute! There were several guardian angels flying with us that
day!
There was the sound of airplane engines. P-51's began landing
on the airstrip, carefully avoiding the big B-24 sitting on the end of the strip. Gad! They all had
red spinners and redtails! They were the "Redtails" returning from a staffing mission
at the front lines! Our stricken B-24 had stumbled into the Redtails' nest! What a surprise!
We were at our favorite escort's base! All the Pilots climbing
down from the P-51's were black. Everybody on the entire base was black. Ten B-24 crewmen
were the only white folks on this entire base!
Now, it dawned on us to ask where we were - we were guests of
the 302nd Squadron of the 332nd Fighter Group, at Ramitelli in northern Italy.
Larry asked if the base had a doctor - "Sure".
"May I see him?" - "Sure." A jeep took Larry to the base hospital. Larry
had frozen toes on the foot that had lost the flying boot. Larry spent the entire time of our stay
with the 332nd in the base hospital, treated for frozen toes and a frost bitten foot.
There was one unforgettable character in the 332nd. He was a
Pilot, a Captain Fred Hutchins. His friends called him "Sacktime Freddy". He had
been shot down several times and managed to walk back to "Friendlies". He was still
flying. He was a great story teller. Freddy expected to be rotated back to the United States shortly
- and he expected a promotion to Major with it.
He said, as a Major, he would have the privilege of carrying a
"swagger stick". Said he was going to use the "swagger stick" to beat
off the girls when he got back to Birmingham! But, he would beat only the ugly ones off!
Our stay with the 332nd lasted 6 days, maybe 10. After a half
century, it's hard to remember exactly. But, they were pleasant days -good food, good company.
Met Murl the second day there. Asked him if he was sleeping in one of the beds -he said,
"yes". He had taken one, it was too damn cold to stay outside!
A truck from the 464th Bomb Group arrived to take us back to
southern Italy. It was an all day trip from break of dawn to well after dark. We were de-briefed by
a group of Intelligence Officers. We were only one day away from having been reported missing
in action!
There was no rest, next day, 31 January, our mission was to
Moosebierbaum, Germany.
Our Pilot refused to recommend Larry for any commendation for
his heroic efforts in the belly of our wounded B-24 over Austria. Not even the purple heart for the
frozen toes!
Murl was a product of his southern upbringing. Larry is Jewish -
from New York City.
< < Back Back to Our War Stories.
Published with the permission of George Gilliard Barnett (464th, 777).
|
|
If you have any questions, comments or suggestions, please
contact our webmaster
via email at 464th@zplace2b.com.
All photographic images contained herein are the property of their respective
owners and have been used here with written permission. All of the clipart
images are original works by Little Creek Graphics
unless otherwise stated.
This website was designed and is maintained by Little Creek Web Design.
Copyright © 2004 Little Creek.
All rights reserved.
|
|
|
|