The next day the Fortresses went to Berlin.
TARGET BERLIN
By March 1945 the Eighth Air Force had been attacking Berlin for a full year; they hit the German capital twice that month. The Fifteenth had not had that privilege, and a look at the map shows why. The city lies 570 miles from London but nearly eight hundred miles from Foggia. Nevertheless, grand strategy called for a diversionary strike against Berlin by the Fifteenth as part of Operation Plunder, the Allied crossing of the Rhine, three hundred miles to the west, on March 23–24. Twining sent his six B-17 groups, while fifteen B-24 groups attacked jet bases in Neuberg and Munich, as well as other targets in Czechoslovakia.
Though Berlin had been bombed about 350 times since 1940, high priority targets remained. One of them was the Daimler-Benz tank factory, whose defenses were proportionate to its importance. Briefers noted nearly four hundred heavy flak guns in the area with AA batteries spread along the ingress route. Some 250 piston-powered fighters were thought to be based within range of the factory, with perhaps forty Me 262s available.16
In March the Luftwaffe scrambled a mere 220 fighters against Fifteenth Air Force missions—one-sixth of the number launched the previous August. But everyone knew that the Jagdflieger would oppose a major strike at the Nazi capital.17
Brigadier General Charles W. Lawrence’s wing put up 169 Fortresses, but eleven “boomeranged,” returning to base with mechanical problems. The rest of the task force cruised north in good weather—good for bombing and good for the Luftwaffe to locate the heavies. From the Alps onward the sky was unusually clear.
The escort plan called on all four Mustang units and a Lightning group—thirteen squadrons in all—leaving two P-38 outfits to cover the B-24 missions. More than 250 fighters departed Italy with 241 “effectives” reaching the target area.
Three penetration escort groups rendezvoused with the bombers at 11:45, variously remaining with the “big friends” from 12:25 to 1:20. The 325th and Thirty-first came early and stayed late, providing penetration, target, and withdrawal support for the three leading and three trailing bomb groups, respectively. The Fifty-second Group provided target and withdrawal support. Two Lightning squadrons of the Eighty-second drew penetration support, while one squadron escorted the heavies on withdrawal. The Red Tails were assigned penetration support, preceding the bombers and remaining “to prudent limit of endurance.”18
The 325th was intended to help the bombers to the target but did not rendezvous until fifteen minutes after three other groups. Other than the satisfaction of entering Berlin airspace, the mission was disappointing for the Checkertails, who saw four jets but were unable to engage. After a six-hour mission, all pilots returned with their gun muzzles still taped over.
For Berlin, the Forts flew with full ten-man crews. Both waist gunners were needed on a trip to “Big B,” which was certain to draw fighter reaction. But as usual, flak remained the greater threat. Four B-17s fell to the batteries at Brux, Czechoslovakia, about 130 miles south of Berlin. Seventy miles further on, more flak erupted as the wing motored over Ruhland, “coming up in blobs.” The B-17s eased into their evasive action, trying to confuse the gunners with a seemingly random choreography that actually was well choreographed, an arabesque in three dimensions.19
Jagdgeschwader 7 spooled up thirty-three jets in two relays, striking the Boeing armada at Dessau on the ingress and on the southern perimeter of Berlin itself. The home team included some all-stars: Heinrich Ehrler (204 victories), Franz Schall (126), and Hermann Buchner (50).
At top speed the jets had a good 350 mph edge on the lumbering Forts. The Messerschmitts had to slow down, however, for adequate time to track a target. Mostly they attacked from behind to reduce the closure rate, affording more time for accuracy.
Five bomb groups saw enemy aircraft, only the Ninety-seventh escaping attention. Often the Luftwaffe pilots ignored the growing flak menace to close nearly to pistol distance on the Forts. Several 262s launched a dual-axis attack, some speeding in head on, while others used the bombers’ contrails as concealment from astern. Ten Boeings were shot down en route or were unable to join formation, leaving 147 over the target. The Fortresses turned onto their bomb runs making 150-mph-indicated airspeed, varying from four to eight minutes from initial point to release.
The defenders concentrated on the 463rd Group, which lost six Forts—two to Turbos and another jointly to flak and fighters. Jets inflicted the 483rd’s sole loss, while the Second Group lost one to flak and one combined. The 459th and 483rd also took casualties.
Flying with the Second Group was bombardier Lieutenant Ariel Weekes. Despite a high draft number, he joined the Air Corps, leading to “a love affair with the B-17.” “The 262s were after us up there,” he recalled. Starting the bomb run, the group’s lead plane was hit and left formation. Consequently, Weekes became lead bombardier. “It went off OK,” he related.20
In clear skies the leading bomb groups had no trouble identifying the target, thanks to a prominent arena just east of the factory. The six groups dropped 356 tons of thousand-pounders from altitudes between 25,000 and 28,300 feet, taking thirteen minutes from start to finish. Despite favorable conditions for visual bombing, the results were poor, partly because heavy smoke obscured much of the target area after the initial strikes. Two groups’ performance was assessed as “not accurate,” one as “half accurate,” and two as “somewhat accurate.” Only the Ninety-niners were rated entirely accurate with “an excellent pattern in the briefed MPI” (desired mean point of impact). The Second’s bomb pattern was assessed as “good.”21
Sergeant Lincoln F. Broyhill, a twenty-year-old gunner from Virginia who had transferred from the Eighth Air Force, got more shooting than ever that day. He was flying with the 463rd in Captain William S. Strapko’s Big Yank. The plane bore a portrait of President Roosevelt; its radio operator, Albert Bishop, was selected to play “Taps” at the Streparone base’s memorial service for FDR two weeks later.
Big Yank drew the vulnerable “tail-end Charlie” position in the formation, affording Strapko’s gunners ample trigger time. As Bishop reported, “Our Red Tail fighter escort took off as soon as the Me 262s’ presence was announced on combat radios. . . . [The jets] dived into us, firing, with flaps down at about 20–30 degrees and noses up attitude, setting up a very good target for our gunners at our slow airspeed.”22
Alerted by copilot Lieutenant Clair Harper, the top turret gunner, Sergeant Howard Wehner, swung on a Turbo that seemed determined to ram. He held his triggers down, hammering half-inch rounds into the Messerschmitt until it pitched up and exploded about fifty yards out. Harper insisted he could see the German’s face.
“Babe” Broyhill recalled,
I saw four jets attacking a lone B-17 from another group. The B-17 knocked down one of the enemy fighters before it flew in a crippled manner towards the Russian lines. The remaining three fighters came at our plane. Two of them came right behind each other at my position. They were about 1,000 yards away when I started cutting loose with my guns. The first made a pass at 200 yards and my tracers were going right into its fuselage. Suddenly it went down in flames. The second came into my sights after the first had dropped. I kept shooting away because he was getting into my hair. Suddenly, it also spiraled down. Upon hitting the ground, it burst into flames. Because I had my guns spitting lead so rapidly, they jammed.23
Big Yank set a record for one crew with three jets downed in a single mission, and Broyhill took the individual title with two. The group claimed six—obviously an error since the actual jet losses included those to fighters, but the numbers demonstrated the intensity of the combat.24
While bombers shot it out with the interceptors, four of the five fighter groups reported jets. The Fifty-second Fighter Group engaged only 109s. Colonel Billy Daniel’s Thirty-first Group claimed five jets, one by the CO himself, earning his ace. Riding his Mustang on the periphery of the bomber herd, Daniel reported, “I saw the two enemy airc
raft turn into the bombers from astern, and I turned in and started to close and fire. However, I observed four more enemy aircraft turning in. I waited for the number six aircraft to turn, then closed in on him from about four-thirty o’clock to 500 yards and fired. No strikes were observed, although the enemy aircraft snap-rolled and went into a spin. I observed a parachute and four blobs of smoke.”25
The 332nd engaged eight jets and submitted claims for three destroyed. First Lieutenant Roscoe Brown lost one in a high-speed dive, then climbed back to altitude and spotted four jets below. “I peeled down on them toward their rear, but almost immediately I saw a lone 262 at 24,000 feet, climbing at 90 degrees to me and 2,500 feet from me.” Using his gyroscopic gun sight to effect, he said, “I pulled up at him in a 15-degree climb and fired three long bursts from 2,000 feet at eight o’clock to him. Almost immediately, the pilot bailed out—from 24,500 feet.”26
Between bomber and fighter claims, the Fifteenth reckoned it had shot down sixteen jets, a massacre. In truth, the Italian-based airmen downed four. On the other side, the jet pilots were credited with ten bombers but got only two for certain. The Turbos also claimed five fighters and likely downed three. Two Red Tails were killed while one survived and another limped to safety in Russian territory.
The actual victories over jets that day are nearly impossible to tabulate. The 463rd’s gunners definitely downed one; the 332nd reported a Turbo pilot bailing out and one seen to crash. The Thirty-first saw one jet diving into the ground and reported three Germans in parachutes.
The 463rd and 483rd received their second Distinguished Unit Citations for the Berlin mission, and the 332nd its first. Tangible results of the bombing were uncertain. Postwar investigation revealed that the factory kept delivering engines for Panther tanks through April, a week before V-E Day.27
MORE JETS
Another jet unit entered the lineup in late March as General-leutnant Adolf Galland’s Jagdverband (Fighter Unit) 44 went operational at Munich. Galland, Germany’s youngest general, had run afoul of Hitler and Göring over policy and slander against his aircrews, who often lost one quarter of their number per month. He was sent off to run a bobtailed unit where presumably he would have the good manners to be killed in action as befitted a recipient of the Knight’s Cross with diamonds.
JV 44 was perhaps uniquely low-key in the Prussian-influenced Wehrmacht. Galland told Leutnant Franz Stigler that anyone who could obtain a 262 would be welcome. Stigler wangled himself a Turbo and joined the club, his credentials stamped with a deep crease across his forehead. Years later he deadpanned, “That’s how I learned you don’t attack a B-17 from behind.”28
On April 4 two jets whistled off the airfield at Riem to intercept P-38s approaching Munich at high altitude—a photo escort flight. The controller put the 262s on a head-on approach, and Unteroffizier (Corporal) Eduard Schallmoser centered a Lockheed in his Revi gun sight. He pressed the trigger but nothing happened. He glanced at his armament panel, saw the safety was engaged, and belatedly flipped it off. When he looked up again, he had a windscreen full of Lightning.
The two fighters collided. The American, Lieutenant Bill Randle, felt the impact and lost control. As his P-38 dropped into a graveyard spiral, he jettisoned the canopy and went over the side. Pulling up, Schallmoser saw his opponent’s parachute. The jet, with a dented right wing, got back to base.
Galland’s unit claimed forty to fifty shootdowns during its brief existence—seven by the general himself. But though it had more 262s, the Luftwaffe’s technology could not offset the Allies’ immense numerical advantage. As the war in Europe entered its final month, operations around Foggia continued unabated.
BEING THERE
Air campaigns turn not only on the size of the fleet but also on the planes’ availability. Apart from aircrews, Twining relied on some sixty-two thousand non-flying personnel to maintain the aircraft, handle ordnance, analyze intelligence, feed the men, and drive ground vehicles.
At full strength a typical heavy bomb group comprised sixty aircraft, of which fifty or more (roughly 85 percent) were operational at one time. Each plane made six to nine sorties per month. The number of sorties grew tremendously from 1944 into 1945. During the period when bombers required heavy escorts, 250 fighters might be airborne at one time. After air supremacy was achieved in the spring of 1945, fewer fighters were needed on escort, freeing others for strike missions. Days of four hundred sorties became common, and XV Fighter Command peaked at 586 on April 15, when supporting the advance of the British Eighth and the U.S. Fifth Armies.
The high standard of maintenance in the Fifteenth was never more evident than in the April 15, 1945, missions supporting Allied troops in northern Italy. An amazing 93 percent of the bombers and fighters participated—tribute to the dedication and ability of the “wrench benders” on the flight lines all around Foggia. The Thirty-first Group, for example, provided seventy-three Mustangs on three consecutive days, and none of the 219 sorties was aborted. An official summary noted, “Today’s effort is the largest of World War II by the Fifteenth AF (most fighters and bombers dispatched and attacking, and the largest bomb tonnage dropped) during a 24-hour period; 1,142 heavy bombers bomb targets.”29
JJJ Despite the focus on operations, there was more to life in the Fifteenth than bombing missions. The 460th Bomb Group, for instance, based at Spinazzola, became acquainted with the village of Poggiorsini, a pro-Communist enclave and therefore forbidden to American personnel. Less than a mile’s hike from base, Poggiorsini inevitably attracted unauthorized visitors. As the group’s diarist recorded, “Even though it was off limits, this did not prevent those with an adventurous spirit from going there for a number of reasons.”
A British antiaircraft unit was situated near the cemetery, and with almost nothing to do, it welcomed Yanks to share biscuits, tea, and a chat. But the airmen could not always ignore the civilian population, generally struggling to survive. An unknown but probably considerable quantity of goods—clothing, food, soap, and sundries—found its way to town. Among the most prized contraband were parachute canopies, and 460th alumni like to think that some postwar brides wore silken gowns labeled “Pioneer Parachute Company.”30
BEHIND THE WIRE
While air operations continued on a growing scale, an almost unknown battle was waged deep in Germany. It involved thousands of Fifteenth airmen in enemy hands. The German word for prisoners of war was Kriegsgefangenen, prompting Americans behind the wire to call themselves “Kriegies.” Nearly five thousand Fifteenth fliers were known to have been captured by the enemy, and three hundred more were interned by neutral powers, mostly in Switzerland.31
The Luftwaffe had its own POW camps, usually divided between officers and noncommissioned personnel. Though abuse of prisoners did occur, the Wehrmacht generally followed the Geneva Convention of 1929, and the survival rate among aircrewmen known captured was over 98 percent.32 By the spring of 1945, however, the Germans themselves were going hungry, and Kriegies inevitably felt the pinch. Conditions in the overcrowded camps deteriorated, leaving POWs increasingly cold, hungry, sick, and weak.
The 455th Group’s Tom Ramey recalled,
Prison camp life was one of cold, drafty buildings, warning wires, guard towers, lengthy roll calls in bitter cold weather, searchlights and guard dogs at night, boredom and loneliness. Escape was the binding thread that held out hope. Tunnels were dug, found by the Germans, filled in and then under the threat of death, new tunnels were dug again. From a handful of nothing but American ingenuity, POWs were able to fashion many articles to meet basic necessities of life. Humor was the thread that made life bearable and the waiting tolerable.33
Humor was where men found it—or where it could be made. In Stalag Luft IV at Gross Tychow, one compound had a disproportionate number of POWs from Texas and New Mexico. Many were conversant in Spanish and used their linguistic skill to foil eavesdropping guards. Sometimes the Southwesterners spoke of nothing in particular just to fr
ustrate the jailers.
Among the fliers at Stalag Luft IV was Sergeant Bill Hess, the teenaged gunner who had bailed out of his Ninety-seventh Group B-17 in September. He bunked with an Eighth Air Force radioman, Sergeant Alton Dryer, who had grown up in the Texas Hill Country, where German was the second language. Dryer understood nearly everything his captors said but didn’t let on.
Red Cross packages arrived erratically, often robbed of coffee but otherwise usually left intact by the guards in some camps. Most packs included three pairs of socks—a valuable commodity. Somebody stole Hess’s socks, leaving him with none.
The one man everybody from Gross Tychow remembered was Captain Leslie Caplan, one of five Allied doctors in Stalag Luft IV. The thirty-seven-year-old flight surgeon had flown missions with the 449th Bomb Group and been shot down near Vienna in October. He described “Luft Four” as “a domain of heroes, but from a medical standpoint it was a kingdom of illness.” Faced with “patients” suffering malnutrition—some ate rats—Caplan worked wonders of medicinal improvisation. To combat diarrhea, he burned wood down to charcoal, pulverized it, and mixed the powder with potable liquids. The brew tasted horrible but those men who could force it down their throats—and keep it down—gained some benefit.34
“THE MARCH”
On February 6, six thousand prisoners, including about 2,500 men in Caplan’s group, left Stalag Luft IV on a forced march of nearly five hundred miles westerly to escape oncoming Russians. The trek lasted eighty-six days. Eating boiled potatoes and beets, the men subsisted on fewer than eight hundred calories per day—one-fourth the American average. Caplan personally knew of seven men who died en route or under German control.
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