by Mark Vance
“Okay, Ed. Whatever you say. I’ll check with our contact and see what he knows.” Watson stammered, shaking badly as he re-stowed the camping equipment and tried to resume his duties. It wasn’t easy with Hickey’s .38 caliber revolver aimed squarely at his head.
“Nobody is leaving here until we know for sure.” Hickey warned again, slowly un-cocking the weapon and returning it to his holster.
Two and a half hours later …
“I talked to our man in operations again, Ed. You aren’t going to like it …” Watson warned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hickey growled.
“Well, for someone that was so sure a couple hours ago, he’s certainly lost for words now.” Watson maintained.
“What do you mean lost for words?” Hickey snapped again.
“Well, now he says aircraft 5095 has been accounted for and so has James Tyree.”
“Good God!” Hickey gasped. “Who … who was killed then?”
“Beats me. He said they have twelve men missing right now, not counting ours … a whole crew and some passengers. Paul saw Curt go into the bomb-bay of the airplane that exploded about three and a half minutes before the blast.” Watson relayed.
“God Almighty!” Hickey screamed again, pounding his fist against the side of the truck. “What … what do they know?” he demanded.
“Just that there was an explosion and fire. Right now they think it was a refueling accident.” Watson replied.
“Jesus!” Hickey snarled, still trying to collect himself. “What about the telegrams?”
“They went out to all the families at 11:50 this morning when everyone was certain it was James Tyree and the others.” Watson said somberly.
“God Almighty!” Hickey screamed again, slamming his fist repeatedly into the side of the truck. “Now, we’ve had them declared dead twice and they’re still up and walking around. “God Almighty!” he screamed over and over again, on the brink of losing all control.
“Take it easy, Ed. You’ve got to get hold of yourself.” Watson urged.
“Yeah, sure! I’ll get hold of myself! God Almighty!” Hickey exclaimed again frantically, pounding his fist against the side of the truck until it was covered with blood.
Thirty awkward minutes later, when he finally managed to regain a portion of his self control, Hickey approached Nate Watson again and declared menacingly, “It’s up to us now, Nate … us. There’s still time left if we use it right. There’s no turning back now anyway. We’ve got to see this thing through.”
“Okay, Ed, whatever you say. But do you think we can still get close enough after what’s happened?” Watson asked curiously, leery of Hickey’s .38 caliber revolver and trying not to provoke him again.
“What choice do we have? We’ve already had them declared dead twice. If they show up back home now people are going to start asking questions and the answers lead right back to us.” Hickey fumed. “We’ve got to do it right this time and there can be no trace of them left! We need them all lost at sea!”
June 13, 1945, 13:20 Hrs., Weather Briefing Office, Base Air Depot 2, U.S. Army Air Corps., Lancashire, England.
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“Good morning, sir.” James Tyree replied, shaking hands firmly.
“You must be feeling pretty lucky after yesterday.” the weather briefing officer said with a smile.
“Sir?” Tyree replied.
“A lot of people thought that was your crew yesterday in that refueling explosion.” he said candidly.
“Really? No one said anything. I knew it was lucky we weren’t being refueled, but I didn’t know anyone thought it was us.” Tyree said in surprise.
“Well, after that explosion we were only able to get a handful of flights off yesterday, some B-17’s.” the weather briefing officer said soberly.
“B-17’s? That explains it! A friend of mine was supposed to fly a B-17 out of here yesterday and I haven’t seen him since. Do you know if A.J. Williams left in that group of B-17’s?” Tyree asked curiously.
“Hang on a minute … Williams … Williams … Williams. Yeah, here it is. He left about forty minutes after the explosion.” the weather briefing officer stated.
“Oh, Jeez.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, we were going to try and go together. I hope he doesn’t think that was me yesterday in that explosion. He may try and contact my wife!” Tyree exclaimed.
“Oh, I’m sure by now that part of it has been straightened out. They still haven’t positively identified the men killed though. Shall we get started?” he urged as Cole Johnson and Stephen Coronado entered the weather briefing room.
13:30 Hrs.
“So, you can see this weak cold front lying along your route of flight between BAD-2 and the Northwestern coast of Scotland is the primary weather maker. You can expect instrument flying conditions for about the first hour or two of your flight and then things should improve considerably. You’ll probably encounter light icing in the clouds above 4,000 feet for the first two hours or so, and then it should dissipate.” the weather officer continued.
“Uh-huh. What about pilot reports? Has anyone reported more than light icing or moderate turbulence?” Tyree asked.
“No. The only report I had was from a B-17 about an hour ago and it just said light chop all the way until Northwest of R.A.F. Stornoway.”
“What about the winds?” Coronado interjected.
“According to the forecast for your route, there will be moderate headwinds most of the way, but your fuel supply should more than compensate for them.” he replied. “It’s all laid out in your weather packet, everything, including a time and distance calculation to each checkpoint.”
“What kind of weather is Meeks Field reporting?” Tyree asked curiously.
“Not too bad, broken clouds, but some fairly strong winds. The last report showed that they were right down the runway though.” the weather briefing officer replied as the session continued.
13:47 Hrs.
“Well, that should just about do it then. Are there any questions?” he asked as Tyree, Johnson, and Coronado shook their heads no. “Remember what I said about that instrument approach to Meeks Field. It’s the most important thing in all of this.” he repeated, shaking hands firmly with each one of them. “Good luck, gentlemen! Have a great trip home!” he said enthusiastically.
“Thank you, sir. This is the one we’ve been waiting for!” Tyree said with a big grin.
“I can imagine. Best of luck to all of you!” he replied.
Following them to the door, the weather briefing officer anchored himself in the doorway and waved goodbye as they exited the briefing room and walked across the ramp. With their ride home waiting in the distance, he thought for a moment how lucky they all were. They had just won a World War and were going home as heroes. How he envied them!”
“I can’t believe we’re finally going home after all this!” Tyree exclaimed, as they walked briskly across the Air Transport Command ramp toward their waiting bomber. “I can’t wait to see Jennie!”
“I can’t wait to see any American girl!” Cole Johnson joked.
“Amen!” Coronado echoed as they ambled along together.
When the three officers cleared the long stretch of concrete and reached the waiting bomber, they found their six passengers waiting outside as Eldon Wilson and the rest of the Tyree crew ran through their preflight checks inside. “Good afternoon, everybody!” Tyree offered, shaking hands all around.
“Good afternoon, sir. Home sweet home, finally, huh?” passenger John Hansen prompted.
“Yeah, finally.” Tyree echoed.
“How long is the ride this afternoon, sir?” Hansen asked curiously.
“Oh, about six hours.”
“Iceland?”
“You guessed it. Meeks Field, Iceland. I hope everyone has their cold weather gear ready.” he prompted.
“Yes, sir, all set!” each passenger
replied in turn.
“Okay, then, let’s get the party started!” Tyree urged, walking over to the bomb-bay and tossing his bags inside as he climbed up on the narrow catwalk and inside the heavy bomber.
13:54 Hrs.
“Okay, let’s have the before start checklist! I won’t get to say that many more times!” Tyree mused aloud, a bit despondent that the final leg of their journey would be the last time he and his crew would ever fly a B-24 together. They had all shared the horrors of war and survived when so many others around them had not, an experience that formed a bond that time would never take away. As badly as he wanted to be in Jennie’s arms right now, he knew he would miss these men when it was all finally over. The camaraderie and sense of purpose they had shared was something he knew he would always cherish in the years ahead.
14:14 Hrs.
“‘Army 5095, you’re cleared for takeoff! Have a great trip home!” the BAD-2 control tower announced, as radio-operator Jacob Stewart acknowledged the clearance and quickly relayed it to Tyree.
“Got it, Jimmy. Standby for full power!” Tyree ordered.
He then lined the bomber up with the runway, eased the throttles forward and released the brakes, feeling the acceleration push him back in his seat. Gaining airspeed slowly, the big bomber thundered down the long runway for several thousand feet until it eventually staggered into the air and began a slow climb. When their airspeed margin was adequate, Tyree rolled 5095 into a turn toward the Northwest, and the nearby Scottish border as the bomber immediately entered the low lying stratus clouds.
Watching them disappear into the solid overcast from his adjacent hilltop, Ed Hickey scanned his watch and began anticipating the effect of the first timed explosive charge inside the right wheel well. It would all happen in less than an hour. They were late, but everything was still going according to plan.
“Climb power!” Tyree ordered, as they entered the clouds. “Not much to look at!” he remarked, scanning the flight instruments in front of him as he rolled out on course. “Jacob, advise Air Transport Command we’re airborne and climbing to 6500 feet.” he ordered as he made several corrections in heading and pitch.
“Will do.” Stewart replied, adjusting the frequency on his radio transmitter.
“Pilot to crew … keep an eye out for ice!” Tyree reminded as they continued climbing.
“Navigator to pilot, your initial course is 329 degrees. The heading for wind is 318 degrees. I’ll call your turn to the North in 113 miles.” Coronado reported.
“Okay, heading 318, thanks, Stephen.” Tyree replied.
14:28 Hrs.
“How’s it going back here?” Eldon Wilson asked, as he squeezed into the crowded waist compartment and peered outside through one of the bomber’s viewing ports.
“Is something wrong?” one of the passengers asked right away, eyeing him curiously.
“No, just checking for ice. There’s a cold front pushing through here and we might have to use the boots to clear the ice. Lieutenant Tyree wanted a report, that’s all.” Wilson said matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” the man grunted, resuming his reclined position against the bulkhead and pulling a sleeping bag up over his head.
“Anything you guys need?” Wilson asked, as he surveyed the right wing through the opposite viewing portal.
“No, thanks, we’re doing okay.” a second passenger replied over the engine noise, as 5095 swayed in the turbulence.
“Okay, just let me know …” Wilson prompted.
14:45 Hrs.
“Navigator to pilot, your course is now 360 degrees.” Coronado announced, as Tyree immediately began turning in that direction. “The wind correction angle is 15 degrees left. Make your heading 345 degrees for wind.” Coronado stated, as Tyree immediately steadied the bomber on the new heading.
“It’s just a trace of ice right now, sir. I’d cycle the boots every ten minutes, though.” Eldon Wilson suggested, as he entered the cockpit.
“Okay, ten it is!” Tyree replied, nodding at Cole Johnson, who immediately turned on the anti-icing switches and adjusted the timer.
“Radio to pilot, sir, I’m having a problem with the radio equipment back here. My receiver seems to be losing power steadily and I’m having trouble hearing anybody, even R.A.F. bases a few miles ahead.” Jacob Stewart interjected.
“What do you think is causing it, Jacob?” Tyree asked, well aware that the radio would be essential over the open ocean.
“I can’t tell. It seems like it’s just getting steadily weaker, Lieutenant.” Stewart answered.
“Okay, hang on. I’m sending Eldon back.” Tyree replied, turning and nodding to Eldon Wilson, who began moving aft.
“Look at the range indicators!” Johnson exclaimed moments later, gesturing at the wildly oscillating needles. “What the hell do you make of that?”
“It must be an electrical problem, probably the same one that’s fouling up the radio.” Tyree reasoned, pausing a moment before keying his throat mike. “Pilot to engineer, have you found anything back there, Eldon?” he asked.
“Ah, no sir. The radio seems to be getting power. The problem must be in the wiring itself.” Wilson replied.
“Well, we’re having a problem with the radio direction finders now too. Is there a chance everything’s on the same electrical circuit?” he asked hopefully.
“Which D.F. is it, sir?” Wilson replied.
“Both of them. They’re dancing all over the place.”
“It can’t be a power source problem then. They’re on separate power sources.” Wilson replied.
“Well, when you get finished back there, we could sure use your help up here.” Tyree urged.
“On my way!” Wilson exclaimed, eyeing Jacob Stewart again and suggesting, “try checking the tubes. It’s worth a shot. I’ll be back in a minute.” as he turned to exit the radio compartment.
14:50 Hrs.
“Stephen, can you keep up with things over the water without the D.F. as a backup?” Tyree asked candidly.
“Sure, if we keep the turns to a minimum and the wind forecast was accurate.” Coronado replied without hesitation.
“Okay, we’re steady on 345 degrees.” Tyree stated. “Pilot to radio, how’s your equipment looking now, Jacob?”
“Oh, it’s still getting worse, sir. The signal is so faint I can barely make out anything at all. I can’t tell if it’s just the receiver or the transmitter, too.” Stewart replied.
“Have we passed an R.A.F. base recently, navigator?” Tyree asked point-blank.
“I don’t think so, James, but it’s hard to tell without the D.F.” Coronado replied.
“Okay, listen, I’m going to circle for awhile until we get this thing figured out. I don’t want to commit ourselves to the open ocean until we know what kind of a navigation and communication situation we’re dealing with. Let’s try to get a handle on these anomalies before we go any further.” Tyree ordered as he rolled 5095 into a tight left turn. “We should be okay with other traffic at this altitude.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Johnson replied, nodding in agreement.
“Hell of a situation. No radio navigation and no communication. Lost and silent is no way to fly across the Atlantic ocean.” Tyree groaned.
14:57 Hrs.
“We can’t keep this up forever!” Tyree barked, keying his throat mike again. “Engineer, what have you got?” he demanded as they orbited above the English countryside inside heavy clouds. From well behind him in the bomber’s radio room, Flight Engineer Eldon Wilson replied, “well, Lieutenant, it looks like somebody fooled around with the wiring back here or didn’t rack things properly. Either way, most of it is shorted out pretty bad.”
“Any chance of getting the D.F. back?” Tyree asked immediately.
“No, sir, I can probably keep it from getting worse, but the D.F. wires shorted out before I got here.” Wilson replied.
“What about communications?” Tyree asked hopefully.
�
�The same. The only lines not affected seem to be the intercom.” Wilson declared.
“Okay, get back up here. It looks like we’ll have to turn back. I’m not flying to Iceland, deaf and blind! Dammit!” Tyree exclaimed, as he shallowed his bank angle and returned the bomber to straight and level flight. He was just about to ask Navigator Stephen Coronado for a return heading to the BAD-2 airfield when the big bomber was suddenly jolted by a savage explosion on the right side and the simultaneous ringing of the fire warning bell on engine number three.
