“On December 17, 1944, we were going to destroy the last little bit of oil the Germans had—the Odertal refinery in Upper Silesia. It was the longest mission ever flown by the 461st Bomb Group. I led the group, and two other B-24 groups joined us, flying at lower altitudes, the 484th and the 451st. Ninety-three heavy bombers. Intelligence briefed us, ‘Don’t worry. You are the high group. You will be flying at twenty-six thousand feet. No one will bother you up there. Keep your ball turrets up. You got plenty of fighter cover.’ Twenty-six thousand feet was the maximum formation altitude for the B-24. Keeping our ball turrets up in the belly of the aircraft rather than extending them downward meant increased range on this long mission and better formation flying, though once the decision was made, it was not easy to reverse if it proved to have been the wrong choice. The ball turret gunner had to remove his chute to crawl into the turret. After entering, the gunner would then lower the ball electrically. The procedure took a fair amount of time.
“Well, we got up into Germany and didn’t see our fighter escort. At that altitude it was difficult to keep the formation together. We were heavy, flying through the brilliantly blue December sky, working hard to keep the formation together. The plane was unpressurized, and the crew was on oxygen all the time, wearing bulky, heated flying gear. Finally, we saw a large group of fighters approaching. Our escort, we thought. Wrong. They were German Me-109s, seventy-five of them. And we had our ball turrets up. The 109s jumped on my group first.
“Planes were exploding and going down everywhere. Seventy more German FW-190s pounced on my group. In fifteen minutes eight of my bombers were shot down, five more damaged. Only fifteen of an original thirty-one in my group made it to the target. Losses were lighter in the lower groups. On the return leg, as I was passing Vienna, a German calls me on the radio. He used our correct call sign, and in perfect, German-accented English he said, ‘Where is the rest of your formation?’ Then he laughed and signed off. It had been a beautiful day when we took off that morning in Italy. The Luftwaffe hadn’t been bothering us for weeks. We got complacent. Put our ball turrets up. That was a mistake. That ball turret was a killer, and we didn’t have those guns to defend ourselves. We paid dearly for that mistake. Our escort never showed up, and I still don’t know why to this day.
“I flew about thirty-five combat missions. Some missions counted double, giving me a total of fifty. Every week or so we would go up to Ploesti. Ploesti was always bad—they had a lot of flak there. Munich was bad, as was anything around Vienna. The Germans often put up a spotter plane to give their antiaircraft guns our altitude. The flak was always heavy in our target areas. That was World War II for me.
“After the war ended, I stayed in Italy for another year. It was one of the best years of my life. I was sitting in the replacement depot ready to go home when I got a call to work for General W. L. Lee, my former boss and group commander who headed the Air Force Subcommission in Rome, which was part of the Allied Commission for Italy, headed by Ellery Stone, a two-star admiral. After the telephone call—I’m pretty elated about this time—I chatted with a major, who was heading for home, and in the course of our conversation told him that I had only minutes ago received an assignment to Rome. I had a case of bourbon whiskey with me. He said to me, ‘You’re going to need all that whiskey?’ I said, ‘Yeah, I think I am.’
“ ‘I tell you what,’ the major said, ‘I got a deal for you. I have a C-47 over at Marcianise, near Naples. I commanded a service squadron. During the year I picked the wing off of one plane, a wing off another, and I made me an airplane—my airplane. If you give me six of those bourbon bottles, I’ll check you out in that plane and you can have it.’ That sounded good to me, so we went over to Marcianise. It was raining lightly when we got there. We made two little runs around the field, and the major declared me checked out in his C-47, took my six bottles of bourbon, and disappeared. I then flew the airplane up to Rome. Days later I learned that at the Pomigliano depot near Naples sat thirty-nine brand new C-47s which the Russians were going to get. They were sold to them for twenty thousand dollars apiece, three for fifty thousand dollars. The third C-47 was intended for spare parts. The planes had only ferry time on them. At the first opportunity, I jumped into my piece of flying junk and flew it over to Pomigliano, where the brand-spanking-new C-47s sat. The American captain in charge of the planes was friendly and easygoing. Giving him the biggest smile I could muster, I said to him, ‘Favano, I want to take this piece of junk I flew in with and put it at the end of that line and get me one of those new ones.’ He laughed and agreed. We changed the serial numbers around, parked the old C-47 next to the others bound for Russia, and I flew off in my own brand-new C-47. I flew that airplane for a year. When the time came for me to go home, there was no one to turn the C-47 in to, because the airplane didn’t exist. By that time Admiral Stone had gotten word about my plane and quickly solved my problem by giving it to the Italian air force.
“Incidentally, all those B-25 and B-17 bombers in Italy at the end of the war were destroyed. None were sent home. For a while I flew a brand-new B-25. German prisoners took the armor out of it, stripped the paint, and polished the airplane to a high gloss. Although I had orders to turn the plane in to be destroyed like all the other bombers, I kept stalling for about two months. Finally I got a message that if I didn’t turn in the plane I was going to be court-martialed. So I flew it down to the Pomigliano depot; my buddy came down in a C-47 to take me back. By the time we finished filing our clearance for our return trip, they had drained the gas out of that beautiful B-25, cut the engines off, cut holes in the crankcase and into the propeller blades. That airplane was completely smashed in about an hour.
“Late in 1946 I returned home to Charleston and was discharged from the Army Air Force with the rank of lieutenant colonel. At twenty-eight I tried to reenter the Mixson family wholesale seed business. I was used to staying at the Plaza Athenai in Athens, the best hotels in Paris, Rome, and Cairo. I found myself traveling through South Carolina and Georgia, staying in hotel rooms with one lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. In 1948 I got a message from the air force offering me a regular commission, giving me twenty-four hours to accept or decline. Naturally, I accepted. I was assigned to the 343d Squadron of the 55th Group at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa. They were flying B-17s, C-45s, and C-47s equipped for aerial photography—a mapping outfit. Within weeks, we transferred to Topeka, Kansas, and then, in October 1949, the 55th Group was disbanded. I was transferred to the 91st Reconnaissance Group at Barksdale AFB in Louisiana. I stayed there from October 1949 until June 1950, when I went to the Air Command and Staff College in Alabama. That month the Korean War started and I was promoted to lieutenant colonel. When I reported back to Barksdale in December, the group had transitioned to the RB-45C four-engine jet. I was given command of the 323d Squadron.”
With the impetus of the Korean War, British Prime Minister Clement Attlee and U.S. President Harry S. Truman agreed to a combined aerial reconnaissance program for flights over the western Soviet Union. At the time, the only aircraft able to implement such a program was the RB-45C Tornado. RAF Sculthorpe, hidden away among the hedgerows of rural and remote East Anglia, was home to B-45A Tornado bombers of the 47th Bombardment Wing. The reconnaissance version of the B-45 was assigned to SAC. Although there were organizational differences between the bomber and reconnaissance units, having the same aircraft type at one air base simplified maintenance and support functions. In all other respects, the three squadrons of B-45A bombers and the one rotational squadron of RB-45C reconnaissance aircraft remained separate.
“Soon after I checked out in the RB-45 at Barksdale, I was sent in May 1951 to RAF Sculthorpe. Our presence at Sculthorpe consisted of the twelve aircraft of the 323d SRS, which I commanded. By the time I arrived at Sculthorpe, RAF air crews had already joined the squadron and flown one or two joint missions. By the end of July, I returned to the United States, accompanied by three RAF air crews to continue their
training at Barksdale AFB. We landed at Barksdale in a KB-29 about nine o’clock in the evening. The Brits wore their heavy RAF winter uniforms. When we left England early that morning it was chilly. When we landed at Barksdale at nine o’clock in the evening it was ninety degrees, the humidity was 99 percent, and a thunderstorm and a tornado had just come across the end of the field. The RAF flyers soon got used to their new Louisiana environment and quickly made friends and acquaintances among the American air crews.
“The three RAF crews and a couple of extras were led by Squadron Leader John Crampton. Crampton was a tall, lean man with extensive World War II experience. The lead radar navigator, Flight Lieutenant Rex Sanders, had similar combat experience over Germany. Only those two were privy to the real purpose of their training at Barksdale. For the others, and anyone else asking questions, the story was that the Royal Air Force was considering acquiring a number of RB-45Cs on loan and wanted to conduct air-refueling trials. B-29s had been provided to the RAF under a previous agreement, so this seemed a reasonable explanation. Each RAF crew consisted of a pilot, a radar navigator, and a flight engineer. The flight engineer sat in the seat normally occupied by an American copilot. None of our aircraft carried defensive armament, so there were no gunners on the crews.
“As for my role in this extremely sensitive and highly classified operation, I was in charge of the planned overflights of the Soviet Union as far as SAC was concerned. To a limited degree I was involved in the mission planning and accompanied Crampton and Sanders to bomber command at High Wycombe near London to sit in on their briefings. There the routes were drawn up, and we met with Air Chief Marshal Sir Ralph Cochrane, Vice-Chief of Air Staff, to discuss issues regarding the loan of the aircraft. I don’t think SAC or anybody else on the American side had any real input into where the Brits were going. The RAF did the planning and provided the air crews; the U.S. Air Force provided the aircraft.”
Captain Howard “Sam” Myers, the Berlin Airlift veteran, was assigned to the 322d squadron at Barksdale. Sam had his first flight in the RB-45C in May 1951. By July, Sam recalled meeting RAF air crews both in the officers club and on the flight line. He thought they were there to learn how to fly the RB-45 in case they acquired some for the RAF. He quickly struck up a casual friendship with a couple of the RAF pilots and navigators, but by August, the RAF flyers vanished. “I moved them up to Lockbourne AFB in Ohio, the new location for the 91st SRW,” recalled Hack Mixson, “when my squadron, the 323d, moved there. A major part of their training took place at Lockbourne and was conducted among the three squadrons—the 322d, the 323d, and the 324th. The Brits cracked up one aircraft—didn’t hurt anybody but ruined the airplane. That crew washed out of the program and was replaced by another.”
In September 1951 Sam Myers transferred with the rest of his squadron from Barksdale to Lockbourne and again ran into his RAF friends. In November, Sam was on his way to England as the 322d squadron replaced the 323d. He flew his RB-45C via the usual northern route to RAF Sculthorpe for a three-month TDY assignment. Soon after his arrival at Sculthorpe in December, Sam again encountered his RAF colleagues, who had returned after completing their RB-45 training at Lockbourne. “During my stay at Sculthorpe,” Sam recalled, “I had an RAF copilot and RAF radar navigator on several occasions. They stayed current in the aircraft by flying with us. We flew mostly along the periphery of the Soviet Union, but occasionally we flew over Soviet satellite countries. Cooperation between us and the RAF was excellent. They were great flyers.”
American and British RB-45C air crew and technicians, RAF Sculthorpe, 1952. Sam Myers is front right. H. Myers.
Hack Mixson explained that “we rotated the three 91st Wing squadrons into Sculthorpe. Because of my experience with the RAF crews and as the only one knowledgeable of the real purpose of their being there, I remained behind in England when my squadron rotated home. All in all, I got to do about four three-month TDYs over there.”
Meanwhile, plans were made for the first deep penetration of the Soviet Union. Four RB-45s at Sculthorpe were stripped of their U.S. Air Force markings and repainted with Royal Air Force roundels on the fuselage and RAF colors on the tail fin. Aircraft numbers were omitted. On March 21, 1952, a night mission was flown into East Germany, east of Berlin, to find out how the Soviets would react to such an incursion. Their reaction wasn’t sufficient to dissuade the planners from going ahead with the overflight they had planned for the night of April 17, 1952. In a 1998 letter to the Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Squadron Leader John Crampton recalled, “Even though the story leaked out of the woodwork two or three years ago, I still find it strange to talk and write about it. While it was happening it rivalled the Manhattan Project for secrecy. In fact, I think it outranked the Manhattan Project. While off base we weren’t allowed to THINK about it. It was all well above top secret. It was at Sculthorpe that Hal Connor, the tough little Texan who commanded the squadron, selected four of his airplanes (one was a spare) for our operational use.” Hal Connor was the commander of the 322d squadron, to which Sam Myers was assigned and which pulled a rotational tour of duty at Sculthorpe. Connor, however, was not aware of what the RAF was up to; Hack Mixson and a handful of highly placed military and political officials were the only Americans who knew that.
On the night of April 17, 1952, three RB-45Cs in RAF colors rose into the East Anglia sky and proceeded to their individual air-refueling areas—one over the North Sea; another over Copenhagen, Denmark; and a third south of Frankfurt, Germany. The three aircraft topped off their fuel tanks from U.S. Air Force KB-29 refueling tankers and proceeded on their individual routes, flying at thirty-five thousand feet in total radio silence into the heart of the Soviet Union. One plane photographed targets in the Baltic states of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania; in Poland; and in the former German province of East Prussia. The second aircraft flew across Belorussia as far as Orel. The third plane was piloted by Squadron Leader Crampton, with Sanders as his radar navigator. This craft flew the longest and most southern route, crossing the Ukraine and penetrating as far as Rostov on the Black Sea. Each route had frequent turning points to include a maximum number of potential targets.
A month after the RAF flew its deep-penetration mission into the Soviet Union, Sam Myers prepared to return to the United States. “I went out to the flight line to preflight my aircraft for the return trip. I distinctly remembered a logo painted on the nose of the aircraft—it was gone. And there was the slightest hint of an RAF roundel on the fuselage. It was clearly one of the aircraft used by the RAF for its over-flights, but at the time, I could only guess.”
In October Hack Mixson was alerted for another possible RAF mission planned for late December. “Four aircraft were repainted at RAF Sculthorpe in RAF colors,” Hack recalled, “but at the last minute the mission was canceled. It was December 18, 1952, just before Christmas, and everyone wanted to get home. I called Headquarters Strategic Air Command in Omaha, and they decided to have us fly the airplanes home without first repainting them. While there were four airplanes, the RAF only had three full air crews to fly them. They were short a pilot for the fourth crew. So I flew one of them back with a British engineer in the copilot’s seat and Rex Sanders as my radar navigator. It was a long and tiring ten-hour flight, since the engineer couldn’t help me fly the plane. Snow was blowing at Lockbourne when we arrived. There were some surprised looks by the ground crew when we taxied in, resplendent in the colors of the Royal Air Force. In January 1953 SAC began transferring our RB-45s to the Tactical Air Command, and I left Lockbourne temporarily to get checked out in the new six-jet B-47.
“Between January and March 1953 I checked out in the B-47 at McCoy AFB near Orlando, Florida, along with Hal Austin and many others who once flew the RB-45C. Late in the year, once we got operational in the RB-47, the 91st Wing deployed to Nouasseur Air Base in Morocco, North Africa. While at Nouasseur I got a message to see General LeMay at Offutt—immediately. I caught a ride on a pla
ne and headed back to Nebraska. Once I got to Offutt, LeMay told me to get down to Shaw AFB in South Carolina; pick up four RB-45s; take them to Wright-Patterson AFB in Dayton, Ohio, for modifications to their radars; and then fly them over to Sculthorpe. TAC crews flew the airplanes to Wright-Patterson. The modifications to the radar took about a month. The radar fix was implemented under the supervision of English radar experts, who significantly improved the picture to very crisp and clear. When the aircraft arrived at Sculthorpe in early April 1954, Crampton and his bunch were waiting for the airplanes. They were repainted in RAF colors, and we waited for the launch date on routes nearly identical to those flown in 1952. The date of the mission was April 28, 1954, ten days past the two-year anniversary of the 1952 flight.”
Lieutenant Colonel Mixson and Squadron Leader Crampton, RAF Sculthorpe, December 1952. M. Mixson.
Again Squadron Leader Crampton took the longest, most southern route, extended as far as Volgograd, the former Stalingrad. In his letter Crampton wrote of this mission: “The RB-45C squadrons who were our kind and courteous hosts during that very dicey period from which I have always thought we were very lucky indeed to survive, especially now that we know that the Russkies knew we were to fly the second mission in 1954, and shot at us all ’round our route—and frightened the life out of me over Kiev when they finally got our height right and sent up a highway of predicted flak, a real highway, fantastic it was, but by the grace of God they got our speed wrong and chucked the stuff just ahead of us. Even the hot shards of shrapnel missed us.” Although all three RB-45Cs returned safely, it was a close thing. It was the last flight in the RB-45C for the RAF. Crampton found the operation “a good example of real USAF/RAF get-togetherness. There was never anything quite like it!”
I Always Wanted to Fly Page 19
