When the Allies finally cracked the Gustav Line, they drove to within a mile of the city of Cassino, the main obstacle between them and Rome. It was at Cassino that the Americans engaged the enemy in hand-to-hand combat. 

Above Cassino, was the abbey of Mt. Cassino, a Fourteenth-Century Benedictine monastery that the Allies felt was being used by the Germans to protect themselves (fourteen foot thick walls) and for observation purposes.

It was winter and it was cold. The mountainous terrain and the ever-present mud made it impossible for any vehicles to advance. The supplies to the front had to be moved either by mule or by hand. The importance of this battle may be indicated by the German High Command's order to its troops, "Stand or die." Many of them stood, and many of them died. 

Earlier, on January 22, 1944, the Allies tried to skirt the Gustav Line by making a landing 30 miles south of Rome at the resort towns of Anzio and Netturno. Hopefully, it would take some of the pressure off the fighting at Cassino. 

Initially, as the troops landed at Anzio, they met no enemy resistance. However, the Germans soon counter-attacked and, from that time until May 25, 1944, some of the most vicious and deadliest fighting of the war took place there. It was so desperate and so critical that the Allied commanders ordered the heavy bombers to bomb the enemy with fragmentation bombs at an altitude of 12,000 feet. This was almost unheard of, because the heavies were not made to fly and bomb safely from this altitude. It was felt that, by flying that low, it was less likely that our own troops would accidentally be hit. The situation was so critical that the commanders thought it was worth the risk. Obviously, they knew that the German ack ack guns would be deadly accurate at that low altitude. The Second Bomb Group lost one of their commanding officers on that mission. 

This whole episode emphasized, to me, how desperate and how terrible it must have been for the men fighting on the ground. The fighting lasted for over five months, until our men finally broke through the German resistance and resumed their march to Rome. 

I was a member of the Second Bomb Group, and we were located near Manfredonia, about 30 miles south of Cassino. We could hear the thump, thump, thumps of the big guns all day long. I was very happy that I was not on the receiving end of those guns. 

It was at Cassino that the Japanese-Americans of the Fifth Army distinguished themselves with their valor and fighting against great odds. Their battalion consisted of Hawaiians and Chinese and their aim was only to smash the Germans and return home. 

It was at Isola Bella, near Anzio, that Eric Gunnison Gibson, a company cook, from Rice Lake, Wisconsin performed the heroic actions that won him the nation's highest award, the Congressional Medal of Honor. He led some recruits against the attacking Germans and, proceeding in front of his recruits, he killed five Germans and captured two. They were all firing at him from their machine gun nest. By his actions, he was able to secure the left flank of his company; he was killed soon afterward, still firing at the Germans. Gibson was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for conspicuous gallantry. He is buried in the Rice Lake Cemetery. 

When I joined the Second Bomb Group, I found two Eau Claire men already there. Bob Kolstad, a pilot, and John Egan, a gunner, were already seasoned veterans. We ended up flying together, as members of the same squadron, although not in the same aircraft. Egan and I flew together on the same aircraft on the monastery raid--he as the radio operator and I was the ball turret gunner.

I think it somewhat unusual to have three men from the same small hometown in the same squadron and in the same group. 

Duane Young, another Eau Claire youth, also ended up in our squadron, but that was later, and after we were gone. He subsequently flew some missions, was shot down, and taken prisoner of war. He survived the war and returned home.

Bob Kolstad was also shot down, bailed out safely, landed in the mountains of Yugoslavia, and was hidden by Tito's partisans, until the Russians entered the Balkans and rescued him. He was flown back to Africa and sent home. He was flying his 49th mission, his next to last, when this occurred.

Someone located a cave that had been used by the Italians for wine storage in more peaceful times. They constructed a stage in the cave, arranged benches, and made it into a movie theater, where movies were shown about once a week. The cave was also used as our pre-mission briefing facility. Later, the cave was converted into a non-commissioned officers club. We dubbed it the "catacombs. In one of the talent shows, a GI private sang Danny Boy and dedicated it to his young brother back home. He had a warm, rich, and wonderful voice. I found it to be very emotional. For sure, the soldier had talent. 

The people who lived in the southern part of Italy, where we were located, were very poor. Most of the people were farmers, a few harvested olives, while the young people hawked almond nuts. About the only Italians we came in contact with were the very young or the very old. This was still a hostile country. Except for the almonds, they had very little food. The American soldiers helped them out whenever possible. They particularly liked the coffee grounds that normally we would throw into the garbage cans. They were very appreciative of anything we gave to them. There were no Ugly Americans there. 

We lived in 16 X 16-foot pyramid tents which were located in an olive grove. It was winter, and it was cold. To keep warm, we cannibalized hydraulic lines from crashed airplanes and ran 100-octane gasoline through them into burner pots to keep warm. It served its purpose very well but was somewhat dangerous, especially when lighting the fire. Quite a few soldiers ran around with blue ointment on their faces, a testimony to their carelessness in lighting the fires. 

Hundreds of ducks and geese flew over out tents each morning on their way to some distant feeding grounds. A little later, they would return to swampy marshes of the Adriatic and settle down for the day. On a day when we were not flying, two of my crew members, Bill Tucker and Jimmy Weaver, and I decided we would try to bag a few ducks. Unable to locate any shotguns, we headed for the marshes with the only thing available--the .30 caliber Springfield rifle. We found the ducks plentiful and even managed to bag a few, but they were so shot up there wasn't any part worth salvaging. 

With no ducks in hand, we headed back to camp. When we reached the road leading back to camp, a Captain driving a jeep stopped to give us a lift. We started talking, and he said he was from Eau Claire and was on his way to visit Bob "Hooker" Kolstad, a friend of his. I told him I, too, was from Eau Claire, so we talked about some people we both knew. He was Earl Hammond and was flying with another group south of us. He stated he was almost finished with his tour of duty. 

After I returned home, I found out that he was killed in training while instructing new and younger pilots.

TARGET  BRESLAU, POLAND 
March 4, 1944 
Second Bomb Group, Manfredonia, Italy 

Sometime before sunrise, on March 4, 1944, we were awakened, told we were flying that day, and should report to the pre-mission facilities in one hour. We cleaned up, ate, gathered our flying gear, and headed for the "catacombs" (a cave made into a movie theater and our briefing site). We took our seats, the officers in one section, and the enlisted non-coms in another section. 

After waiting a few minutes, the operations officer stepped forward and said, "Your target for today will be--he pulled back the curtain on the giant wall map--Breslau, Poland. The ribbon on the map, showing the route to the target, ran almost due north to Breslau (Wroclaw), Poland. 

I remember looking at my crew members, and they were all silent. No one said a word. No one moaned, no one cheered, one or two snickered; then there was complete silence again. 

Breslau, Poland? Wow! Surely, he was kidding! This was the deepest penetration ever, and we all knew (or thought we did) that, even if we should survive the flak and fighters, we did not have the fuel capacity to fly that far and still get back. I remembered having read about the debacle of the Ploesti, Rumania raid earlier in the war. I couldn't help but think that this could very well be another such raid. 

Things got pretty serious from that time on. The operations officer continued, "Hitler is going to visit Breslau, and you guys have the enviable task of getting him. No one laughed at his intended humor. How could he make light of such a dangerous mission? For us, this was "Mission Impossible." 

The briefing was completed, and we headed to the hardstand, where our plane was located. Our right waist gunner, Bill Tucker, and I checked the bombs--500 pounders--and the ammunition, a few extra rounds for a mission of that depth. As we prepared for boarding, things became rather quiet, especially among the ground crew, who instinctively sensed every time a tough mission was to take place. 

We ran through the engines and, after everyone was aboard, we taxied out into position, ready for take-off. All aircraft were ready to go, when we received word that the mission would be delayed briefly. We thought it was because of the weather--there was a little haze that made it difficult to see. It would soon burn off. We waited for a short time, with engines running and burning up valuable fuel, and then word came down that the mission was scrubbed. 

Over the years, I have talked to my crew members and to others involved in this aborted sortie, and no one knows any more than what I have written. I talked to Chuck Richards, author of the book, The Second Was First, and the historian for the Second Bomb Group, and he told me that he had heard of the mission, but could find nothing specific in any Second Bomb Group records. He also told me that he had heard that the Eighth Air Force, flying out of England, was coordinating an attack on the same target with us. At our briefing, we were not told of the Eighth Air Force's involvement. 

Months later, after we gained control of the skies, had fighter escorts to and from the target, and had shorter distances to travel, perhaps the mission could have been successful--if, indeed, Hitler had visited there.