Aircrew: The Story of the Men Who Flew the Bombers

by Bruce Lewis

  We had left the flak behind us and were heading out to sea – with the Focke-Wulf 190s trailing right along. About half an hour after we had left the enemy coast I was watching the tracers from a Jerry fighter come puffing by our tail when suddenly there was a terrific explosion, ‘Whoomph’, just like that. Boy, it was a pip. My interphone and electrical controls on my turret went out, so I decided that the best thing to do was to get up into the waist section and see what was going on.

  I hand-cranked myself up and crawled out of my turret into the ship. The first thing I saw was a sheet of flames coming out of the radio room and another fire by the tail-wheel section. Suddenly the radio operator came staggering out of the flames, made a bee-line for the gun hatch and dived out. I glanced out and watched him hit the horizontal stabilizer, bounce off and open his chute. The poor guy didn’t even have a Mae West – it was burned off. He was a veteran of 22 missions.

  By this time the right waist gunner had bailed out over his gun and the left waist gunner was trying to jump, but was stuck half in and half out of his gun hatch. I pulled him back into the ship and jokingly asked if the heat was too much for him. All he did was stare at me and say, ‘I’m getting out of here.’ I helped him open the escape hatch and watched him go. His chute opened OK.

  The smoke and gas were really thick. I wrapped a sweater around my face so I could breath, grabbed a fire extinguisher and attacked the fire in the radio room. Glancing over my shoulder at the tail fire I thought I saw something moving and ran back. It was the tail gunner painfully crawling back, obviously wounded. He had blood all over him. Looking him over I saw that he had been hit in the back and that it had probably gone through his left lung. I laid him down on his left side so that the wound would not drain into his right lung, gave him a shot of morphine and made him as comfortable as possible before going back to the fires.

  I just got started on this when the FW 190 came diving in again. I jumped for the waist gun and fired at him, and as he swept under us I turned to the other waist gun and let him have it from the other side. He left us for a while so I went back to the radio room fire again. I got into the room this time and began throwing out burning débris. The fire had burned holes so large in the side of the ship that I just tossed stuff out that way. Gas from a burning extinguisher was choking me, so I went back to the tail fire. I took off mv chute so I could move easier. I’m glad I didn’t take it off sooner because afterwards I found it had stopped a.30 calibre bullet.

  Another quick burst with the guns and back to the radio fire. Then back again to the wounded gunner to comfort him when on asking, ‘Are we almost home yet?’ I lied and told him we were. All during this time that damn FW kept coming in and I had to drop whatever I was doing and hop to the guns to keep him off. You have to show these babies that you mean business or they are supposed to finish you off real quick.

  By now it was so hot that the ammunition was exploding all over the place and making a terrific racket. I didn’t dare to throw all of it out because I had to keep some for the visits of the FW.

  Back to the radio room with the last of the extinguisher fluid. When that ran out I found a water bottle and emptied that on it. After that was gone I was so mad that I pissed on the fire and finally beat on it with my hands and feet until my clothing began to smoulder. Again that Focke-Wulf came in and again I answered him. This time he left us for good.

  The fire was slowly dying out and the room was beginning to clear. Only then could I see the damage. The room was absolutely gutted. The radio operator’s seat was simply burned away and his gun just a melted mess. Most of the ceiling was gone and where the side walls should be were gaping holes.

  I want back to the tail and put out the fire there. Talked to the wounded gunner and saw that we were approaching the coast of England. With the ship in the condition it was, I was sweating out three things. It might explode, or break in half, or I might be killed by exploding ammunition. It was lucky I paid particular attention to the control cables so the pilot could bring us home.

  I could tell that the ship was acting tail-heavy so I tossed overboard everything I could. Guns, ammunition, clothes, everything. I really had a time with the ammunition cans, they weight 98 pounds and I weigh 130, [9 stone 3 pounds], but I managed to get them out. The tail-wheel gear was gone and I was afraid the shock of landing would break the ship in half. Our pilot brought the ship in OK and by the time she stopped rolling I had the fires completely out.

  All I know is that it was a miracle that the ship didn’t break in two in the air, and I wish I could shake hands personally with the people that built her. They sure did a wonderful job and we owe our lives to them.

  The following was the condition of the ‘ship’ after it had landed:

  Radio room gutted. Tail wheel section gutted. Control cables shot up. Oxygen system gone. Intercommunication system gone. One prop hit. No 4 engine nacelle gone. Tail-wheel gear damaged. Ball turret out of commission. 20mm hit on flaps. Electrical system out from ball turret to tail. One gun in top turret out. Both waist guns out. Radio gun burned out. Radio system burned out. Sides of radio room burned out. Fuel tank in left wing burned out. Nose hit heavily by flak – the nose gunner and bombardier had been wounded. Nine holes from 20mm shells in waist section. Entire ship peppered by .30 calibre holes.

  For his outstanding bravery on that first day of May, 1943, ‘Snuffy’ Smith was presented with the Congressional Medal of Honor, the American Nation’s highest award for courage.

  ELEVEN

  Pilot v Pilot

  On 20 February, 1944, the 8th AAF mounted four major raids. Three were into the heart of Germany, and the fourth was an exceptionally long trip to attack the Focke-Wulf assembly plant at Poznan in German-occupied Poland.

  Second-Lieutenant Orlin H. Markussen of the 100th Heavy Bombardment group was stationed at Thorpe Abbott, south of Norwich. The ‘Bloody 100th’ they were called, because of their unenviable reputation for losing more bombers than any other unit. They retained this record for the whole twenty-two months in which they operated. Orlin was a 21-year-old co-pilot about to embark on his twentieth mission. After that, only five more raids to go and he would be posted back to the States. No one before him had made it – not from the 100th. In the less than two years the 100th was in action in Europe the unit lost 229 Fortresses; 177 listed as ‘missing in action’, and fifty-two from ‘other operational losses’.

  The 1st Fortress Division and 2nd Liberator Division were to take care of the German targets, both with heavy fighter escort, while the 3rd Division consisting of 300 ‘Forts’ was assigned to the Polish trip. This latter venture, of which the 100th was to be a part, would not have any fighter protection. It was felt that all German fighters would be too fully occupied with the first two American groups to have anything left to attack the more northerly raiders. As so often happens in war, this turned out to be a tragic miscalculation.

  ‘I had a premonition about that mission, one I never had before or after,’said Markussen. ‘General Doolittle had just taken command of the 8th Air Force, and 20 February was the first day of massive air attacks against German aircraft production plants and facilities. I may have been apprehensive because of the length of the mission – 13½ hours. I just don’t know. Something’s going to happen today, I kept telling myself.

  ‘After the early morning briefing, I went back to my room and, for the first time ever, wrote a “To whom it may concern” letter about what to do with my belongings. I also wrote to my wife. I had won some money playing cards and asked my crew chief to make sure my wife got it. I had always worn low-quarter shoes before on missions. This time I wore combat boots. I even attended church service, although I’m not a religious man.’

  A Luftwaffe fighter group had moved the previous day from Husum to Oldenburg on the North German coast, German radio monitors having concluded that the entire American ‘birdcage’ would be opened for multi-pronged assaults on key industries. 24-year-old Luftwaffe fight
er pilot, Leutnant Heinz Hanke, was also trying to suppress a sense of foreboding on that 20 February. He had survived two years of war in the air. In his first battle he had fought off twelve RAF Spitfires and landed with a ‘frozen engine’ and a standing propeller. Since then he had downed four Allied aircraft. This day was to bring him his fifth victory. It would be Hanke’s 1,089th flight.

  ‘Funny, on this day I expected something bad to happen,’ he said. ‘Never before had I entered my cockpit with “dull thoughts”.’ He had even told his squadron commander that a ‘big dog’ [bad time] would come today. Yet their fighter base at Oldenburg was covered in a dense ground fog, and this natural blanket, under normal circumstances, should have been enough to exclude any thoughts of taking-off.

  But even as the breakfast eggs arrived for the Luftwaffe pilots the airfield’s alarm siren howled through the late morning cover and Hanke heard rockets in the distance. The massed force of American bombers was already nearing the German coast.

  In spite of what they had been told to the contrary during briefing back in England, Orlin and his companions had been pounded practically all the way on the target.

  ‘They hit us over Denmark, the Baltic Sea, over North Eastern Germany, over Poland, and all the way back toward England,’said Orlin. ‘It was just one tremendous air battle that lasted for hours, with many aircraft from both sides going in. I had never seen so many FW-190s, ME-109s, Ju-88s, ME-110s, and He-111s. Flying at 12,000 feet didn’t help either. This was the perfect altitude for the fighters.

  ‘We Americans had always respected the German pilots, and were impressed by the courage they displayed. It seemed to us, though, that it was almost suicide for them to press head-on attacks against the colossal firepower generated by our massed bombers.’

  Heavy cloud cover had obscured the target in Poland, and because the Americans were not permitted to bomb occupied territory unless the sky was clear, the formation had turned towards its secondary target at Stettin, in Germany. The 300 Torts’ of the 3rd Division, under the command of Brigadier General Curtis Le May, and led by radar-equipped pathfinder aircraft, climbed to 20,000 feet, the lowest Orlin had ever bombed a major German city.

  As he and his crew began their bomb run, their aircraft, ‘Miss Behavin’, was blasted by flak which ripped into No 2 [left inboard] engine.

  ‘I tried to feather the engine,’ he said. ‘It was my job but I couldn’t. It was like having a big brake – like a speed brake on a jet – windmilling out there.’

  Reginald Smith, ‘Miss Behavin’s’ commander, called up the squadron leader for help. Normally a formation would slow down to keep ‘cripples’ under protection. But the squadron leader panicked, according to Orlin, and directed ‘Miss Behavin’to fall out of formation and head for the overcast clouds below. Sweden was some seventy miles away.

  ‘As we were diving, the enemy was coming up.’ Orlin said. ‘I saw them straight away.’ Leutnant Heinz Hanke in his Focke-Wulf 190, the ‘Mule’, and his pickup flight of German fighters were on to Markussen’s B-17 in an instant.

  Tracers blinked everywhere. ‘I was calling out fighter attacks when there was this huge explosion.’said Orlin. ‘They had shot off the whole of the top turret. When I turned to look over my shoulder there was just a big hole in the roof.

  ‘I got up, took off my flak vest, and went to see about the gunner, Tom Egan. I was sure he must be in shreds. The concussion had thrown him back, but he wasn’t even in shock. He didn’t have a scratch!’

  The Luftwaffe pilots were now slashing away at the derelict B-17 almost dead in the sky, but the German fighters were not without problems of their own. Of the 140 interceptors that had taken off from Oldenburg to meet the American assault force as it returned across the Baltic from Stettin, only seven remained in flight. The others had either been shot down or were on the ground being refuelled and rearmed.

  Hanke said: ‘About 45 minutes after take-off we lost ground visibility, and a short time later lost ground radio contact as well. I thought the six other fighters were squadron leaders and began the attack.’

  As the young German made his first approach towards ‘Miss Behavin’, a warning light flicked on, indicating he had eight minutes flying time left at reduced power. He decided to press home his attack, hoping that as a last resort he might be able to crash-land on one of the beaches by the Baltic Sea. It would be a hairy experience without radio contact, navigation homers, visibility or fuel.

  On his own now after a head-on open formation attack, Hanke roared in at high speed from the rear, splintering the B-17 with his four 20mm cannons and two heavy machine guns. Dodging pieces of the aircraft, he rolled in under the tail toward the left wing.

  Too late he realized he was coming too fast and too close. Left waist gunner Ed Britko had him.

  Hanke flipped his ‘Mule’ over on its back and tried to dive to safety. As he started down, Britko raked his plane with bullets. The cabin filled with oily smoke and aluminum dust and the engine screamed like a circular saw.

  With his throttle linkage shot away and a foot-long piece of his left wing gone, Hanke’s only thought was to get out. Another round of fire pierced the armoured ring above the oil cooler.

  ‘That was the end of it.’ Hanke said. ‘I couldn’t see out of the cabin. It was now blacked out with dark brown oil.’

  Releasing the canopy and protected now only by the windscreen, the Jagflieger tried three times to work himself out of his fighter. He could barely see for the oil that had smothered his face. At last he managed to struggle free, and his shoulder and ankle brushed against the rudder as he tumbled away from his whining Focke-Wulf.

  Meanwhile, Orlin hardly had time to notice. By the fourth German pass, ‘Miss Behavin’ was an inferno. The No 2 engine and its 700-gallon fuel tank were ablaze, and the fire roared back into the bomb bay, radio room and the waist gun positions. The left horizontal stabilizer was gone, shot away by Hanke, cutting all manual control cables to the tail section.

  Except for single 50-calibre guns at each waist position and the twin 50-calibre tail guns, ‘Miss Behavin’ was defenceless, her turret guns rendered useless after the first attack. The radio was out of action, but crew members could still communicate with each other via the interphone. While Smith worked the elevator control button on the auto-pilot to keep the plane from spinning in, Orlin manoeuvred the ailerons by hand.

  Somehow the bomber limped through the sky, but not for long. She was about to career away, completely out of control, but not before taking her toll. Another FW-190 blew up in a hail of bullets, a victim of tail gunner Mike Udick’s accuracy. Right waist gunner Bob Dunbar was certain, too, that he destroyed an onrushing attacker, who almost rammed the B-17. The other German flyers were forced to ‘belly in’ on the Danish beaches out of fuel.

  Miraculously not one of the crew of ‘Miss Behavin’ was hit, but the aircraft was completely afire, its left wing melting. One by one the crew bailed out over the Danish island of Fyn.

  Orlin thought as he floated down that after all that noise, ‘It was the most beautiful sound I’ d ever heard – dead silence.’ He landed safely in the standing position and was immediately arrested by German soldiers. Eight other members of the crew were also apprehended, but the radio operator, Ira Evans, managed to evade capture, aided by the Danish underground.

  After initial interrogation at an anti-aircraft site where he was held overnight, Orlin was taken to a German military HQ in Odense, the birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen. Oddly enough, his mother had also been born there.

  Heinz Hanke had also parachuted safely on to the island, landing between a fence and a flagpole, just missing telephone and high tension lines. Once on the ground, he lit a cigarette. Terrible though it tasted, it was surely the best of my life.’

  The Danes who surrounded him were not over-friendly when they realized he was a German, but their attitude was soon to alter. He was taken to a large farm and asked what should be done with his plane,
embedded deeply in the ground some 50 yards behind the house. ‘When I looked into the hole, I knew the ammunition and oxygen bottles would explode at any moment. Frantically I waved the people away and they began to run. Within four or five seconds there was a huge explosion. Luckily no one was hurt. From that moment the people seemed to change their minds about me.’

  Hanke arrived at the Odense HQ and there he met Orlin Mar-kussen. The American and German pilots discussed the merits of various aircraft and Hanke remembers treating Orlin to a Danish beer. When the time came to part, all the pilots shook hands. Orlin’s leather flying jacket was taken away from him and was later acquired by Hanke. It had 18 bombs painted on the back representing the missions he had flown. He had not had time to stencil on the 19th; the 20th, of course, was never completed.

  He was taken by train to Oberursel where he endured about a week in solitary confinement before being moved to Stalag Luft I on the Baltic coast in Pomerania. He spent nearly 15 months as a prisoner of war. Although not mistreated, he lost about 50 pounds over a 3-month period when he subsisted on a daily bowl of dehydrated turnips, ‘boiled to a gooey mess’, and 3 ounces of meat a week. He and his fellow POWs were liberated by the Russians.

  Orlin Markussen left the service in 1946, completed his studies at the University of Minnesota, and returned to the Air Force in time to fly in the Korean War. After that he held various flying and administrative jobs, including ferrying aircraft to NATO countries. He spent a year as an operations officer in Vietnam and retired from the Air Force in 1971 after 28 years service.

  Heinz Hanke returned to combat after being shot down by the crew of ‘Miss Behavin’. Before the war ended he downed four more aircraft confirmed, totalling nine, plus two unconfirmed. After the German surrender, he worked for the Munich Criminal Investigation Department and Radio Free Europe before rejoining the German military. Retiring in 1972 after 18 years service he took up security work for a large company in Munich. Having contacted Malta fever, he ended up 70 percent disabled with hepatitis.