| Dale's Account of the mission and ditching on April 29, 1944 |
| On the morning of April 29, 1944, we were briefed for a mission to Berlin as deputy lead for the 466th Group leading the 2nd Combat Wing, our fifth mission as a PFF lead crew with the 564th Squadron, 389th B.G. Not counting the mission of April 18, when we flew over the outskirts of Berlin, it would be my third time over the heart of the city, the first for the rest of the crew (I had filled in for injured members of other crews on the Berlin missions of March 6 and 9 while our officers were taking PFF training). Our target was the Friedrichstrasse rail station in the middle of Berlin, the center of the main rail and underground system networks. On arriving at the hardstand where our plane was parked, I was introduced to Lt. John Bloznelis, who had been added to our crew as dead reckoning navigator. Lt. John Hortenstine, who had been with our crew from the beginning and was an excellent navigator, was the Mickey (radar) navigator. Lt. Harold Reed, who had been added to our crew on our second mission as a PFF lead crew on April 8, would be the instrument navigator. Because we had lost our regular engineer to bronchitis and because Cappy had said he was sick when he was awakened, we had two substitutes: Sgt. Harold Freeman as engineer and Sgt. Richard Wallace as radio operator. Also flying with us was Capt. Ralph Bryant, operations officer for the 786th Squadron of the 466th. This was my eighteenth mission but only the thirteenth mission for the other six members of our original crew, and as we stood around on the hardstand awaiting taxi time, I joked with them about my having to sweat out two "unlucky thirteenth" missions: mine on March 16 and theirs. I should have known better. The mission began ominously, for shortly after we became airborne, our plane developed generator problems. Normally we would have returned to our base; but since the lead plane had aborted because of mechanical, we had no choice but to take over the lead, with Captain Bryant now becoming Command Pilot. After getting the formation assembled, we crossed the North Sea and Holland. Shortly before we entered Germany, our formation was attacked by several FW190s that were quickly driven off by our fighter escort. About twenty minutes later we were again hit by 190s, but again our escort of P51s quickly discouraged them, destroying at least one that I saw go down. As we approached Berlin, Lt. Delclisur reported that not enough power was being generated to operate the bombsight properly and that we would have to bomb by radar, even though there was no undercast to interfere with the more accurate visual bombing. Immediately upon entering our bomb run we ran into intense flak. One shell scored a direct hit but, fortunately, was a dud. Instead of exploding on contact, it took our #3 engine and exited through the top of the wing, leaving a gaping hole. In the few minutes we were over Berlin our plane was hit several times. Not only had we lost an engine, but also it was leaking gasoline. Then, just after Lt. Delclisur released the flare that signaled the other planes to drop their bombs, our generators went completely out, leaving us with no power for gun turrets, radio, interphone, and other electrical equipment. Not long after turning away from the target we were again attacked by a group of FW190s and a few 109s: our #2 engine was hit, and though it continued to run it was not putting out full power. Since we were caught without fighter support, the Germans were free to give us their undivided attention. Frequently they did not break off their attacks until they were on top of us. One flew by so close to me going from front to rear that I thought I might recognize the pilot if we ever met again. The loss of interphone and my limited view from my tail turret kept me ignorant of the engine problems and leaking gas tank; however, I knew we must have problems besides the loss of electrical power when I saw that we had dropped back to the rear of the formation. The loss of power for turrets was a major concern to me. After going through the simple procedure for converting to hand cranks and foot firing pedals, I quickly learned that the emergency system was far from adequate. Using the hand cranks, I could not turn the turret and raise or lower the pair of fifties nearly fast enough to track any German plane that came into my view. The German that had attacked from the front and flown by so close to me had zoomed out of range long before I could do anything. Had my turret been operating normally, I'd have had a good chance of downing him. Fortunately, none of the enemy made a direct attack on our plane from the tail except for one FW190 that started my direction but swerved when I fired. I triggered a burst occasionally, primarily in the hope that the Germans would think my turret was functioning properly and stay clear. The front and top turret gunners were also operating their turrets manually and doing their best to fend off the Germans. I watched Nazi fighters gang up on and down four Liberators that had been hit and were unable to keep up with the formation. That's us if we can not stay with the group, I thought, and kept an eye on the nearest Lib to see if we were dropping behind. A few minutes later I was relieved to note that we had maintained our position. Some time later, however—I know not how long—we began to lag behind the formation, and two German fighters attacked from the front, puncturing a gas tank and knocking out another engine before a few P-47s picked us up and drove the enemy fighters off. According to the mission analysis written on May 2, 1944, at 2nd Air Division Headquarters, a copy of which I obtained in 1989, the attack that began not long after we left Berlin lasted for as much an hour (seemed longer to me!) and cost the Division at least thirteen bombers, plus an additional six lost either to fighters or flak. Six were lost on the way in to the target. When I at last saw the North Sea below us, I began to relax, for we had never been attacked after leaving the continent behind us. We had it made now. A few minutes later, however, I felt a tap on my back. It was Hank. "We're going to ditch," he shouted above the noise of the wind and the engines. "We don't have enough gas to get back." |
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