by Jon Erwin
PRAISE FOR BEYOND VALOR
“Beyond Valor is an inspiring true story of heroism aboard a B-29 Superfortress in the skies over Japan during World War II. In a swift moment of instinctive reaction, Red Erwin selflessly saved the lives of many, and for his courage and sacrifice he was awarded the congressional Medal of Honor, inspiring generations to come. Red’s grandson Jon Erwin, along with William Doyle, recaptures this amazing story with the depth and care that a hero deserves. This is a thrilling and poignant story of patriotism that all Americans can be stirred, moved, and encouraged by.”
—Gary Sinise, actor, veterans advocate, founder of the Gary Sinise Foundation, and author of Grateful American
“The human heart is moved by great stories. Each of us yearns for our lives to be connected to a larger purpose. That’s why stories inspire us. We see reflections of our own lives in the stories of others. My friend Jon Erwin is a master storyteller who has inspired millions with his movies. Beyond Valor is a story of heroism, love, and devotion that will inspire you to believe there is a grand purpose for your own life, larger than you can see, greater than you can imagine.”
—Greg Laurie, senior pastor of Harvest Christian Fellowship and author of Johnny Cash: The Redemption of an American Icon
Beyond Valor
© 2020 Kingdom Studios, LLC
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Erwin, Jon, 1982- author.
Title: Beyond valor : a World War II story of extraordinary heroism, sacrificial love, and a race against time / Jon Erwin and William Doyle.
Description: Nashville : Thomas Nelson, 2020. | Includes bibliographical references. | Summary: “A miraculous true story of a soldier’s unspeakable heroism, a teenage woman’s unfailing love, and the faith that secured them all”--Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020001894 | ISBN 9781400216833 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781400216840 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Erwin, Henry Eugene, 1921-2002. | United States. Army Air Forces. Bombardment Squadron, 29th--Biography. | Flight radio operators--United States--Biography. | City of Los Angeles (Bomber) | World War, 1939-1945--Pacific Area--Aerial operations, American. | World War, 1939-1945--Regimental histories--United States. | Veterans Administration Hospital (Birmingham, Ala.)--Employees--Biography. | Disabled veterans--United States--Biography. | Burns and scalds--Patients--United States--Biography. | Aircraft accidents--United States--History--20th century. | Birmingham (Ala.)--Biography.
Classification: LCC D790.263 29th .E79 2020 | DDC 940.54/4973092 [B]--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020001894
Epub Edition June 2020 9781400216840
Printed in the United States of America
2021222324LSC10987654321
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Please note that the endnotes in this ebook may contain hyperlinks to external websites as part of bibliographic citations. These hyperlinks have not been activated by the publisher, who cannot verify the accuracy of these links beyond the date of publication
To the men and women who have given the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom, and to those who dedicate their lives to our country knowing they may give the same sacrifice.
“I am not a hero. The real heroes are those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for this country, those who have given their lives. They’re the ones who deserve the medals. I am only a survivor. I don’t wear the Medal of Honor for what I did, I wear it for everyone who served.”
—Red Erwin
I sought the LORD, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.
—PSALM 34:4 KJV
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
—JOHN 15:13 KJV
We have a lot of problems in this country, but we should never forget how fortunate we really are. I thank God I was born an American. We have been blessed in so many ways. It reminds me of that passage in the Bible: “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.”
—RED ERWIN
Henry Eugene “Red” Erwin, 1944 (Erwin Family Collection)
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Introduction
Chapter 1: The Making of a Man
Chapter 2: To End This Business of War
Chapter 3: Journey to the Apocalypse
Chapter 4: Day of Destiny
Chapter 5: Race Against Time
Chapter 6: The Gates of Eternity
Chapter 7: Homecoming
Chapter 8: Guardian Angel
Chapter 9: Legacy in the Clouds
Afterword: In His Own Words
Acknowledgments
Appendix: Seven Prayers
Author Note
Notes
Bibliography
About the Authors
PROLOGUE
SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 2002. FREEZING RAIN beating down on me.
This is what I remember as I stepped out of a limousine filled with relatives and set foot on the wet grass of Elmwood Cemetery in Birmingham, Alabama. Occasional gusts of wind blew the water beneath my umbrella and soaked my suit. To this day I still remember the bone-chilling feeling of cold—and sadness.
We had come to bury my grandfather, with full military honors. The funeral procession extended for a half mile, and law-enforcement agencies throughout Birmingham sealed off roads and highways for the caravan. Police cars and motorcycles with flashing lights guided the hearse in front of us. I was nineteen years old.
Winter in Alabama is wet and gray, and this day was no exception. The grass was anything but green, and the occasional oak tree had lost all color. Elmwood is a vast cemetery, the largest in the city of Birmingham, my hometown. Crypts and gravestones stretch into the distance, farther than the eyes can see. It’s the final resting place of many renowned people, among them the legendary football coach Paul “Bear” Bryant and several congressmen and governors.
We made the long walk from the cars to a couple of tents in the distance that covered an opening in the ground on a family plot containing several other Erwin graves. As we followed the flag-covered casket, carried by a detachment of air force enlisted personnel, I realized this was no ordin
ary day and no ordinary funeral. Not many civilians made it to the outdoor burial service because it was raining so hard, but the US military showed up. And in strength. To my surprise, there was a small army of generals, officers, and enlisted men and women in dress uniforms to pay their respects and honor our family.
I watched in awe as the flag covering the casket was folded with solemn reverence and machinelike precision. Then the air force officer in charge, dripping wet, knelt down next to my grandmother, Betty, and then my father, Henry Erwin Jr., and repeated the same words: “On behalf of the president of the United States and a grateful nation, I present this flag as a token of appreciation for your father’s faithful service.” He stood and saluted my father, my grandmother, and then the casket of my grandfather.
Other military personnel followed suit, saluting and standing perfectly still. They held that salute for the longest time while they were pounded with sheets of rain. After a twenty-one-gun salute, as the coffin was being lowered into the ground, a squadron of aircraft from my grandfather’s old outfit, the Twentieth Air Force, joined a squadron of C-130s from the 314th Air Wing out of Arkansas, and flew low, beneath the clouds, and tipped their wings to a brother airman. One by one, as they emerged from the low clouds, the hum and power of their engines shook me to my core. The sound was deafening. The message was clear.
Finally, two buglers played “Taps,” standing a hundred feet apart and on either side of the proceeding, as if they were guardian angels. For the longest time they had been standing perfectly still and without rain gear, looking like frozen statues in the rainstorm. Now their time had come. They echoed each other, creating a beautiful and melancholy sound, which resonated even more in the vastness of the cemetery.
When the ceremony concluded and the downpour tapered off, I went over to the rain-drenched buglers and offered an apology. “We’re so sorry you had to stand out here in the cold rain to do this for our family.”
One of them replied directly and emphatically, “No, sir, your grandfather was one of our nation’s heroes. It is our honor to be here.”
With those simple words, a deep question suddenly lodged in my brain: Who was my grandfather?
I walked toward his grave amid the other Erwin family members, aware of the fact I was treading on my legacy. I looked at Red’s simple gravestone, no bigger than a yard sign, sitting horizontally in the ground. It simply read “Henry E. Erwin Sr., Medal of Honor.” I stared at it and wondered, Who was this man I took for granted? What had he accomplished that merited such awe-inspiring recognition? I wished I could turn back the clock and have another day with him so I could ask him all the questions that were unanswerable now.
The intermittent rain was accompanied by feelings of guilt, and a powerful realization washed over me. I did not know Red Erwin as a hero, only as a grandfather. I stared down at his gravestone and at the words Medal of Honor, and memories of him began to flood my mind.
I remembered when I was no older than seven or eight, sitting in the basement of his house in Bessemer, Alabama, eating my grandmother’s fresh-baked cookies.
Downstairs was an office and a den with a comfortable couch, lots of books, flags set in wooden mounts, plaques, awards, certificates, and clippings. I didn’t register this at the time, but they were all about my grandfather, about ceremonies and buildings that were named in his honor. On this day, Red ducked into the closet of his office and reappeared with a mahogany box in his hand. He sat me down at his desk and opened the box. Inside was a light blue silk neck ribbon attached to a beautiful gold medal. It was the Medal of Honor awarded to him in April 1945, when he was on what everyone assumed was his deathbed.
I had no idea I was holding America’s highest military honor, reserved only for extraordinary acts “above and beyond the call of duty.” I looked it over curiously, clueless to the significance of its every detail. On top, just beneath the blue ribbon, was an American eagle clutching an olive branch in its right wing, a symbol of mercy, and arrows in its left, a symbol of strength. The eagle sat atop the word Valor, which was connected to an inverted five-point star, surrounded by an open, circular wreath, representing victory. Inside the star was a circle bearing the inscription “United States of America” and an etched profile of Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom and war.
But to my eyes as a child, it was a simple gold medal with a blue ribbon. I had no idea what I held in my hands. Slowly my grandfather leaned over my shoulders and said, “Freedom isn’t free.” I didn’t understand the words then, but they reverberated in my mind now as I stared down at his gravestone, looking at an engraving of the same symbol above his name. I closed my eyes, remembering his face, remembering the moments we shared together.
My grandfather had many distinguishing features, such as honesty, gentleness, kindness, humor, strength of character, a quiet but firm set of religious beliefs, curiosity, and affection for people. He considered pretty much everybody to be his friend.
But if you met my grandfather for the first time, you would probably be startled, if not shocked. He looked very different from other people. Your first reaction upon seeing him might be to think, Oh, my God, what happened to this man? Something terrible happened to him!
Hundreds of times I saw people have this reaction when my grandfather was out in public. He had been severely wounded, especially in the visible areas of the head, eyes, face, arm, and hand. His right arm was fused into one position and largely immobile. His fingers were visibly and severely disfigured, and he only had minor movement of three of his fingers. The right side of his face was incredibly burned. His nose, ears, lips, eyelids, and facial skin had clearly been reconstructed after a terrible mangling.
But to me, the way he looked wasn’t a big deal; it was just the way he looked. I loved him, not as a hero or a historical figure, but as my granddad. The trouble is, I had every opportunity to know him as a hero, but I was never listening as I should have.
INTRODUCTION
ON APRIL 12, 1945, A YOUNG MAN WAS SET ON FIRE.
The conflagration occurred inside a speeding aircraft at an altitude of 1,500 feet over the ocean near the coast of Japan.
The man was Henry Eugene Erwin. He was a staff sergeant in the US Army Air Force, and his buddies called him Red because of his thick red hair.
He was my grandfather.
What happened inside the airplane took about twenty-two seconds, and it resulted in Red Erwin being awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest military award in the United States. It changed his life, and it deeply affected my own.
Red Erwin was twenty-three years old. He had brown eyes, stood five foot ten, and weighed 165 pounds. He was a former Boy Scout, steel-worker, and Methodist church volunteer. He was a passionate history buff and a devoted baseball fan. His crew commander, Tony Simeral, called him “a country boy, quiet, unassuming, religiously devout,” and the best radioman in the squadron.
Red came from a little town near Birmingham, Alabama. He was described by those who knew him as cheerful, humble, reliable, and highly intelligent. He loved his new wife of three months, and he loved his family, his church, and his country.
Erwin was the radio operator on board a B-29 Superfortress, a strategic heavy bomber, nicknamed the City of Los Angeles and manned by a crew of twelve airmen. This was their eleventh combat mission. Their unit was based on the Pacific island of Guam, and it was part of the Fifty-Second Bombardment Squadron, Twenty-Ninth Bombardment Group of the Twenty-First Bomber Command, led by the legendary Maj. Gen. Curtis E. LeMay.
The City of Los Angeles was the lead plane (the pathfinder) in an airborne task force of eighty-five B-29s preparing for a low-level attack on a military chemical production complex north of Tokyo.
Erwin and the thousands of American airmen and support crew personnel in the B-29 force were in the process of trying to end World War II in the Pacific by burning the cities, factories, and military bases of the Japanese Empire to the ground and forcing its government to surrender
unconditionally to the Allies. It was a horrible calculus of fire and death that consumed tens of thousands of Japanese civilians, but it seemed the only way to force a surrender that would potentially save many more multitudes of Japanese and American lives.
At 9:30 a.m., on a signal from the pilot, my grandfather, whom I’ll simply call Red, positioned himself over a small chute near his feet in the deck of the plane and released a series of three smoke bombs to signal the following planes to swarm together in a broad formation to prepare to attack their target.
Then, as a final marker signal, Red placed a cylindrical object the size of a large rolling pin into the chute. It was a 20-pound phosphorus bomb, which resembled a small rocket, and it produced a massive fused explosion of white-yellow fire and smoke in the sky that could be seen from dozens of miles away. It was a maneuver he had performed dozens of times before in training and in combat.
Only this time something went terribly wrong.
Instead of dropping several hundred feet into the sky below, for some reason the bomb jammed, detonated inside the chute, and shot a ball of fire up and onto my grandfather, coating him in phosphorus, which was burning at over 1,400 degrees Fahrenheit, more than six and a half times the temperature of boiling water.
The plane filled with smoke. The pilot could not see the controls. And the gigantic bomber began to plummet toward the ocean. The aircraft would slam into the sea in a matter of seconds.
Red Erwin was blind and on fire. The flames incinerated his head, arms, and upper body. He was a human torch.
His brain and body registered infinite waves of pain, but he also clearly sensed the bomb somewhere nearby, flopping around on the floor and spewing mountains of billowing fire and smoke. It was just a few feet from the bomb bay, which contained 8 tons of incendiary and demolition bombs. If the burning phosphorus fell among the bombs, it would touch off a spectacular explosion that could engulf the other B-29s in the formation.
