Taken from the 390th Bombardment Group's Anthology
After completing gunnery training at Las Vegas, Nevada, I was assigned to MacDill AFB. near Tampa, Florida. Our plane was the medium Martin bomber B-26 Marauder, nicknamed the "Flying Coffin". Crew members euphemistically called it the "Flying prostitute" because it had no physical means of support. Because of the enormous number of accidents with this "hot" plane, a saying "one a day in Tampa Bay" seemed quite appropriate. Needless to say, I was quite relieved to be transferred to a B-17 outfit in Dalhart, Texas. I was assigned to Lt. Bob Cleesattle's crew and remained with him for most of my combat military experiences, although other crew members changed frequently.

Eventually, we ended up in North Africa. In October 1943, we were assigned to the 2nd Bombardment Group. Soon afterwards, we transferred to Manfredonia, near Foggia in Italy. We were located in a grove of olive trees and lived in 16 by 16 pyramid tents. Life was rather simple. It was cold, so we devised a "burner pot" fueled by 100-octane gas run through hydraulic lines cannibalized from crashed airplanes. This served rather well to keep us warm, but quite a few fellows walked around with blue ointment on their faces, a testimony to their carelessness in lighting fires. 

The briefings before missions were held in a large underground cave referred to as the catacombs. This cave also doubled as our theater, where movies were shown once or twice a week. Since we were in an occupied country and some native Italians were still hostile, it was difficult to get a pass to leave camp. One thing stands out in my mind after all these years, and that is the extreme poverty of the people there. The very young and the old would stand in line at the mess tent garbage cans and ask for scraps. 

The 390th in England had its Bournmouthe for the "flak happy" and the 2nd in Italy had the beautiful Isle of Capri.

While assigned to the 2nd Bombardment Group, I flew twenty-one missions, mostly as a ball turret gunner. A real "milk run" was the much-publicized bombing of the monastery at Monte Casino. One of the most gratifying missions was when we helped our infantry at Anzio by bombing the "krauts" with fragmentation bombs from an altitude of 12,000 feet. The flak at that altitude obviously was very accurate and devastating.

My most memorable mission was when we hit Padua, in the Udine area of northern Italy. Our fighter escort left us as soon as we hit the Adriatic. Immediately, we were jumped by eighteen FW-190s. It was easy to count them because they were all in groups of six. They dropped their wing tanks (the only time I ever saw wing tanks on German fighters) and attacked. After the initial attack, they queued up and attacked again. This was repeated several times. These attacks were well-coordinated and made from the tail, which seemed rather strange since we did not yet have B17Gs with the chin turret. If memory serves me correctly, we lost three bombers and the enemy lost six fighters. Eighteen may not sound like many fighters to members of the 390th, but remember, all eighteen were concentrating on all thirty-six of the heavies. We flew in much smaller numbers from Italy than did the combatants in England.

One of the planes shot down on this mission was Captain Bob "Hooker" Kolstad's, a friend from my home town of Eau Claire, Wisconsin. He was flying his 49th mission, his next to last. We found out later that he managed to bail out over the mountains of Yugoslavia, landed safely, and was hidden from the Germans by Tito and his partisans. He spent several months with Tito and the partisans and served as chief liaison officer between Tito and the Allies. Eventually, he was flown back to the American lines by the Russians.

In March of 1944, our crew was sent to England and reassigned to the 390th Bomb Group at Framlingham (Click to see pictures of Framlingham Castle, England). We were exchanged for another crew who went to Italy. The purpose we were told was to make a comparison between the different theaters of operations. We were also told by some that we were going from the minor leagues to the big leagues. I thought at the time that, if this meant it would be rougher in the 8th Air Force, I would most certainly never finish my tour of duty. When we got to England, we found out that they had just raised the number of missions from twenty-five to thirty. In Italy, the required magic number of missions was fifty. I had flown twenty-one missions (other members of my crew had flown seventeen) with the 15th Air Force, and we were told that we would receive credit in England for ten.

I soon learned that things were strikingly different than they were in Africa and Italy. The large number of planes involved required a much longer time to assemble. In Italy, crew members took combat positions as soon as possible after being air-borne, because it was common practice for German fighters to attack close to our airfields. We also attempted to assemble while headed toward the target. Test firing the guns was done over land or not at all, while in England it was always done over the English Channel. When flying from England, we did not become seriously alert until we neared the French coast. The missions from England were generally longer in duration and we usually saw more enemy fighters, but one must remember  there were also many more B-17s involved. Our living quarters at  Framlingham were more civilized. We had Quonset huts equipped with bunks and mattresses made of "biscuits" (three flat, pillows). The gasoline-fueled pots in Italy were replaced by coal-burning stoves that proved both safer and steadier. No more "blue ointment." The bicycles (wheels) were in abundance, and the people were friendly. (How many of you remember the Harvey family located near the base?) We were always welcomed in the local pubs. How could one forget the warm dark and light beer? Passes were occasionally available, allowing us to visit London and Piccadilly Circus. Buzz bombs were plentiful and, on occasion, a German plane showed up. The buzz bombs were non-existent in Italy, but the German planes were seen frequently.

Softball, horseshoes, and volleyball were played in England, while dozing on an army cot was the favorite pastime in the Mediterranean theater. In Italy, there was no prior indication as to whether we would fly the following day or not. In the 570th Squadron, they had a unique way of telling us of the status of the next day's operations. A red, white or blue flag was flown. The blue flag meant we were definitely flying the next day, the white flag meant we were not flying the next day, and the red flag meant alert for a possible mission the next day. The last thing we did before going to bed at night was to see which flag was flying.

Like most members of a bomber crew, I vividly remember my last mission-- my forty-first. The date was June 5, 1944, one day before D-Day. As our plane flew home across the English Channel, hundreds of ships were visible below. They appeared to be about half way across the channel and seemed to be of every shape and size. What a beautiful sight! It was obvious the long-awaited invasion was imminent. I couldn't help, at that moment, to reflect that I was finished with my part in fighting the war, but the men below were just now beginning, and that perhaps the success of this invasion would mean the end of "Hitler's Hotshots." I had a number of friends, my brother Don and future brother-in-law, Bud Sippel, on those ships.

After forty years, it is difficult to remember all of the things that took place, but I do remember most of the targets bombed by our crew. These included most of the capitals. We hit Sofia, Bulgaria; Bucharest, Rumania; Budapest, Hungary; Vienna, Austria; airfields in Rome, Italy; Paris, France; and Berlin, Germany on five different occasions. I found out, after the war, that I had bombed relatives of my grandparents in Graz, Austria. Not so easy to remember are the names of the planes we flew in. We were never assigned our own plane. In Italy, I remember flying in Rigor Mortis, the plane that almost got cut in two by a German Messerschmitt and was repaired. While with the 390th, we flew in Clay Pigeon, Mister Completely, G.I. Wonder, and several others.

In reminiscing further, I wonder how many of you recall
    1.  Glen Miller playing in the hanger?
    2.  The British Flying Circus putting on an exhibition with captured Fw190s, Me109s,
         and Ju88s?
    3.  The poppy fields near the base?
    4.  The "Lucky Bastard" diplomas given at completion of one's mission?
    5.  "Shorty" Gordon's stories about escape from German prison camps?
         (Shorty survived because he was wearing his parachute in the ball turret when his
         plane blew up over Germany. He was the first American to escape from a
         German prison camp in the war. They later used some of his stories in the movie
         Stalag 17.)