Don Christensen's Fourth Mission

On March 1, 1945, ten days after their Belgian adventure  where Don had brought a severely crippled B-17 down safely , the Christensen crew flew their fourth mission. It was also the first day for the Don to fly B-17 44-6573, N7-K. This plane had been assigned to the 398th as a replacement aircraft on November 6, 1944, and had seen a lot of action. On January 10, it had been abandoned on the continent due to damage and mechanical failure, then repaired and only recently reassigned to the 398th on February 17. Still they were ready to fly again and get some more missions under their belt.

In early 1945, Allied ground forces were still recovering from the German Ardennes assault known as the Battle of the Bulge, and were not immediately ready to continue their march to the Rhine. Eighth Air Force and RAF planners therefore decided their best course in further weakening Germany was to bomb enemy positions along the Eastern Front in support of the Russian ground offensive since it seemed to have the best chance of ending the war by spring. Selected bombing targets included Berlin, Leipzig, Chemnitz, Dresden, and Bohlen, all major rail centers close to the Eastern Front. Attacks on all of these cities,were made with the full understanding that they were filled with refugees from the east and that the bombings would cause great dislocation, clogged roads and railways, and high human casualties as well.

8th Air Force Commander General Jimmie Doolittle protested. He felt that bombing a population into submission had little chance of success and that it violated “the basic American principle of precision bombing of targets of strictly military significance for which our tactics were designed and our crews trained and indoctrinated.” [Donald L. Miller, Masters Of The Air, p. 419] He was overruled by General Ira Eaker and the attacks proceeded.

General Jimmie Doolittle

Even FDR agreed with this decision. “It is of the utmost importance that every person in Germany should realize that this time Germany is a defeated nation. [That fact] collectively and individually, must be so impressed upon them that they will hesitate to start any new war. Too many people here and in England hold to the view that the German people as a whole are not responsible for what has taken place—that only a few Nazi leaders are responsible. That unfortunately is not based on fact. The German people as a whole must have it driven home to them that the whole nation has been engaged in a lawless conspiracy against the decencies of modern civilization.” [ibid. p.416]

So with clearing skies at the end of February, Allied Command and the Eighth Air Force launched Operation Clarion, an all out assault on German communication and transportation, and began putting up over 1000 bombers a day attacking petroleum facilities, aircraft plants, armament works, railroad yards, bridges and canals, and anti-aircraft installations all across Germany.  So, by March 1, the 398th BG, including Don and his crew, became part of this strategy. 

Opposition and losses were light throughout the rest of the month and there were even signs that anti-aircraft fire was being restricted. With a 10-1 Allied superiority in fighters, the Luftwaffe had resorted to hiding their remaining planes from US and RAF fighters which relentlessly sought them out. The Luftwaffe high command had ordered fighter units to take off only with prospects of success, and according to German pilot Willi Reschke, “At the time, however, such occasions were very rare indeed.”

 By February American P-51 escort fighters had become so dominant that bombers had little reason to fear attacks by German fighters. Americans were now capable of attacking the enemy on his own airfields, and fighter sweeps often flew well ahead of bomber formations to catch German planes on the ground or as they were taking off.

Mission Map For March 1.

The 398th's target that March 1st was a tank factory and the marshalling yards at Neckarsulm, several miles north of Stuttgart. The 398th encountered no fighters and only light flak, but the mission was unusual as the bombers circled or “went around” their target three times on orders from a tag-along general. 

Sgt. John Veenschoten, Radio Operator/Gunner on Howard Rehme’s 603rd crew, wrote, “We had a General in the lead ship that wanted a perfect bombing pattern so he made three runs over the target. I guess he didn’t know it was my last mission…I had a scare on one of the runs over target. Just as we were approaching the target a squadron of planes swung over us and hung there with their bomb bay doors open. I could look straight up and see the bombs hanging in their racks. We landed about 7:40 pm, nine hours 40 minutes in the air and about six hours on oxygen.” [398th.org]

Sgt. George Forsythe, Flight Engineer for Al Petska’s 602nd crew, wrote, “We got only a few bursts of flak at the lines. We went over the target three times. The whole town was on fire when we left. On oxygen four hours.” And copilot Robert Weidig, noted, “10 hours. Little flak, almost a direct burst in the nose. Nicked number four propeller. No fighters.” [398th.org]

No one liked doing a 360-degree, or even a 180-degree turn over a target area, especially when it came suddenly and unexpectedly. It meant a group or squadron formation leader had decided to abandon the run to the target, return the formation back to the original IP (Initial Point) or to the secondary IP, and do it again. 

Turning a bomber formation around is a little like turning an oil tanker around in the middle of the ocean; it was a long, awkward process. And it left a formation over a target area for an extended period, vulnerable to flak and enemy fighters. Sometimes it was obvious to that the leader’s decision to circle around was necessary due to weather, interference, or other factors. Other times it came as a surprise, and if other pilots thought it was a bad decision they were often vocal in their displeasure.

Waist gunner Jim Wilson, speaking of an earlier mission, says, “The group started the bomb run and for some reason had to turn off. The leaders decided to make a 360-degree turn and make a second run. You don’t do things like that with the Germans.” [Astor, p. 384] 

And Frank Aldrich explains the dire consequences of such maneuvers against heavier opposition. “Had the bombs gotten away on schedule we would have all gone home, having chalked up another one. The second go-around was another matter entirely. We all moved into it with a great deal of apprehension. We expected hell and caught it…Air craft were dropping out of formation all over the place, and when the bombs failed to tumble out of the lead aircraft for the second time, we wheeled around for a third run. We all knew we were in deep trouble.” [ibid. p. 443]

Luckily for Don Christensen and the rest of 398th, their three-times-around stunt on March 1, met with only light flak and no enemy fighters. Their luck would change the following day when they were ordered once again to “go around,” this time against surprising fighter opposition.

398th Bomb Group Commemorative Window

St. George's Church, Anstey

In 2000, a stained glass window was installed at St. George's Church in the village on Anstey, Hertfordshire, and dedicated to the memory of the 292 men from the 398th Bomb Group who lost their lives during WWII.

The left panel represents B-17s  and butterflies ascending. 

The center panel depicts more butterflies ascending along with the 398th's logo "Hell From Heaven" at the bottom. The names of those killed are etched on the butterflies' wings.

The right panel shows B-17s crashing to earth.

 My father's name, Donald R. Christensen,  can be seen on the upper left wing of the butterfly below. It is found near the top of the right panel.

The village of Anstey is located about two miles south of the main runway at Station 131, home of the 398th.  In an earlier post I mentioned that on April 15, 1944, a B-17 piloted by William Meyran crashed on take off into the old castle mound moat and the whole village was evacuated until the full load of fuel was burned off.  Luckily the full bomb load was submerged in the moat and did not explode.

I learned recently that a wedding was scheduled in the church for the next day but had to be postponed due to damage to the west side of the church from the fire.

On a beautiful English morning in 2010, before I'd heard the wedding story,  my son Jeff, brother Steve, and I walked about a mile to visit the church to see the window. As we approached we saw an elderly man kneeling next to a grave placing flowers on it, so we hung back to not disturb him. When he was finished we passed him as he was coming out and said "good morning." He took about two steps, then turned around and said, "Yanks are ya?" Then he proceeded to tell us a tale of the airplane crash and how he was supposed to be married in the next day.  He had just been visiting his deceased wife's grave, something he said he did regularly.  

We said our goodbyes and went into the church.  If I had known the postponed wedding story the I certainly would have talked to him more and asked his name.  But life is filled with ironies.

My brother Steve on the right, and me at the Anstey church.

Bomber Mission Mornings

This is rather a long post but it's something I've been working on and wanted to get it written down and see how it looks in print.

Because I know so little about my father's personal experience in the WWII -- no diary or photos have survived -- I have had to rely on my research and the writings and experiences of others to help tell this tale of what a typical bomber mission morning was like.

Anticipation of any bombing mission was nerve-wracking.  One airman remembers, “On a night before a mission you reviewed the facts. You tried to get some sleep. The army is very good at keeping you awake forever before you have a long mission. Sleep wouldn’t come to you. You get to thinking by this time tomorrow you may have burned to death.” [Studs Terkel, The Good War, p.200] 

Besides nervousness and anxiety, the incessant all-night noise on an East Anglian airfield made it difficult to sleep. Navigator Jon Schueler noted, “All night long the bombs were being loaded and the ground crew was working on the planes. We could hear the engines being revved up.” [Gerald Astor, The Mighty Eighth, p.93]

By 1945 most bombing missions went deep into Germany; flights of eight to ten hours, so crews were usually awakened at 2:00 or 3:00 am and given one hour to shower, shave, and eat before the briefing for that day’s mission. Flyers cursed and stumbled their way to the common latrine hut for morning ablutions. Shaving was particularly important so the oxygen mask could seal on their faces. Then they returned to their huts to dress and walk across the field with flashlights to either the officer’s or enlisted men’s mess hall.

Out on the hardstands the ground crews had been working most of the night making sure that the planes were ready; testing engines, brakes, tires, flaps, and oxygen, hydraulic and electrical systems. Ordinance men were been busy hauling bombs to the planes, inserting fuses and attaching cotter pins to prevent detonation until the plane was in the air and the bombardier was ready to arm the bombs. Armorers were loading boxes of .50 caliber shells and placing them at each gunner’s position. The ground crew had to manually rotate propeller blades to be sure oil was circulated to each engine before starting.

Ground Crew Chiefs

After breakfast Don's crew and the other airmen headed for morning briefing where they gathered nervously as the Commander or the Group Briefing Officer uncovered a large map of Europe marked with lines showing the target and the route in and back out. Milk runs were greeted with whistles and shouts, tough missions with groans. They were told their target, time of takeoff, their place in formation, time and place of rendezvous with other groups, and the Initial Point (IP) for the start of the bomb run. 

Bombing Mission Map

They also learned of the expected fighter resistance, and anticipated location and number of flak guns, particularly from the IP to the target since that was when they were most vulnerable. The weather officer described the clouds and wind they were likely to encounter. The operations officer explained the nature and importance of the target, then everyone “hacked,” or synchronized their watches and separated into additional briefings for pilots and copilots, navigators, bombardiers, and radio operators. 

Morning Briefing

Pilots like Don received their individual plane assignment by number and location within the squadron, the group, and the wing. Navigators received their maps, charts, possibly some additional information on radio codes, etc. Many of these instructions were printed on rice paper so that crewmen could swallow them if they had to bail out and were in danger of capture. Gunners headed for the planes about an hour before takeoff to mount and secure their guns and to wipe down the heavy oil in which they were stored.

When Don and the other flying officers and the radio operator arrived from their briefings,  Copilot William Love handed out emergency and escape kits to the crew and Don did a final visual inspection of the plane with the ground crew chief. The escape kit included silk maps of Europe, local European money, and a personal picture of each airman in civilian clothing in case they had to bail out and try to elude the enemy

At the plane, both flying and ground crews were busy with last minute tasks. Bomb loading might still be going on, guns being loaded with ammunition belts, and engines checked one more time. Microphones, instruments, and oxygen equipment were verified. Navigator and radio operator confirmed radio code and details of the route to Group assembly with the pilot. Flak helmets and jackets were distributed to everyone and all parachutes accounted for. Every man on a B-17 was cramped and loaded down with flight gear.

Then came what Philip Ardery calls, “the usual sickening hour before takeoff. The hour of getting into heavy, smelly clothes; fitting oxygen masks; checking the ships; checking the bomb loading, fusing, gas loading, oxygen, guns, ammunition; and the million other things.” [Ardery, Bomber Pilot, p. 169]

As other ground preparations continued, Navigator Jon Schueler remembers, “As long as the momentum of activity was going, everything would be OK. We would start the engines revving and I would lay out my charts and have everything ready, oxygen mask, parachute…We could feel the plane being readied, we could feel the vibrations of the readiness of men moving back and forth at their dials, controls and guns. Everything was OK. We were a team and we knew each other and loved each other. The men were truly noble. The planes themselves were noble.” [Astor, p. 93-94] Once in position they could not move around much, yet had to remain on full alert for up to ten hours and at temperatures that could be 40 or 50 below zero.

When all tasks were completed and each person was at his flying station--except for the gunners who usually waited in the radio room during take-off-- Don called out his window “All clear on the left” and started the engines beginning with number one on the outside left. When all engines were warmed up a ground crewman signaled him forward.

Then it was time to taxi into takeoff position in what some have dubbed the “elephant parade.” Pilot Earl Pate describes those moments. “It was always eerie quiet just before engine start with everyone in position and waiting. Then one or two engines started; then the whole roar of all 144 engines of thirty-six aircraft soon to depart. You watched the tower for the flare (green) signal to taxi. Red flare shut down and wait—white—mission scrubbed.”

Elephant Parade

Jon Schueler adds, “The B-17s would slowly move, brakes screeching…One after another, lumbering out on to the track, then all of them, single file on each side of the field, two files moving, lumbering slowly toward the takeoff point at the end of the runway. All of them, engines growling and propellers twirling. The nose of the B-17 in the air, the body sloping down to the rear tail wheel, already in an attitude of urgency, of wanting to rise into the gray morning sky.” [Astor, p. 398]

On a radio signal and green signal flare from the tower Don and the other pilots taxied into their position and lifted off, one right behind the other at thirty second or one minute intervals. As they gained speed down the runway, Flight Engineer Robert Dudley stood behind and between Don and Copilot William Love calling off ground speed until they reached ninety miles an hour or more so that Don would know when to make his final lift-off. At that point they frequently hit a blast of prop wash turbulence from the previous plane and had to deal with a little wing wiggling and dipping.

Once airborne they headed for their “bunching up” points and rendezvous assignments with other groups. “Bunching up” involved gaining altitude while circling a radio beacon known as a buncher, until the whole bomb group was formed up and prepared to join into larger formations with other groups. Each Group had to reach their rendezvous point within plus or minus one minute to take their designated position in the long stream of bomber groups.

398th gunner Geronimo Terres Jr. remembers, “Every step was timed. Start engines at 6:05AM; taxi at 6:15AM; start takeoffs at 6:30AM. Get all the planes in the air; get the twelve planes of the squadron in formation; form the group (one squadron in the lead, one low and the other high); finally, insert the group in its proper place in the order of attack. How they did it I do not know. Imagine, anywhere from 500 to 1000 bombers flying around the skies of southern England, going through and around clouds looking for each other, and in the end finding the right squadron, the right group and finally the right place in line.” [398th.org]



After  joining the other groups near the English coast, the formations headed east across the English Channel or North Sea. Once past the coast, the Don, like all pilots, checked in with everyone over the intercom, the tail and ball turret gunners got into their positions, all guns were test fired, oxygen systems tested, and the bombardier armed the bombs.

Early in the war, when Germany had airfields in France, American bombers were usually contested soon after crossing the continental coast. But by 1945, Mustangs, Thunderbolts, and Spitfires had gained superiority over the Luftwaffe in the skies, and enemy defenses had been pushed back into Germany, so bomber crews endured long hours of boredom in cramped positions in the freezing cold before reaching the target, and at the same time staying alert and scanning the skies for enemy fighters and hoping they didn't encounter flak.

Flak was every airman’s nightmare; something you couldn't fight back against. German 88mm cannons sent up large charges that exploded into pieces of ugly, jagged shrapnel in front of or among bomber formations, and in most cases flak was heaviest over the target area where the planes were in tight formations and could not take evasive measures. Once reaching the IP, about twenty miles from the target, the formation had to fly straight and level with bomb bay doors open, taking no evasive action. This was cold sweat time, with high pucker factor. 

Flak  Bursts

Navigator Arthur Prager describes those moments. “From the I.P. to target, about thirty miles at 126-130 miles per hour, was the worst part of the mission, because there was no possibility of a change of route or evasive action. For important targets, the Germans had figured out long before the bomb run where we were going and brought in extra flak on trucks and railway flatcars. They laid a huge carpet of exploding shells at our altitude, over the target, hoping for random kills rather than aiming at the planes…The worst was when we didn’t complete the drop because of some bombsight or bomb-release malfunction. We then had to make a 360-degree turn and do the whole bomb run a second time…That gave the German gunners ample time to correct the sighting or altitude errors made during the first run." [Astor, p. 384] It also gave German fighter pilots additional time to scramble and intercept the slow moving bombers. 

Many fighter pilots tipped their hats to the bravery of the bomber crews. Punchy Powell was one of them. “I have great admiration for the bombers and their crews. It’s hard to imagine the balls those guys had sitting in those B-17s and B-24s, tooling along at 150 mph on a straight-in bomb run—no variations allowed—as the flak pounded the hell out of them, and if they survived that, taking the beating they did from German fighters on the way in and out, particularly those that were battle damaged.” 

Tommy Hayes mused, “I wonder how I would have stood up in 1944. From the I.P. to the bomb release, straight and level without wavering and flak going off all around, seeing your buddies hit.” Joe Bennett adds, “Fighter pilots got a lot of attention. But my hat is off to the bomber crews. It takes grit and guts to crawl in a bomber day after day after you saw the hits they took.” [Astor 494-501]

B-17s were famous for absorbing tremendous punishment and still flying. Thousands of them returned to bases in England or on the continent with two or three engines out, hydraulic, mechanical, or oxygen systems shot, with wounded and dead crewmen aboard. On Don's third mission he had landed his flak damaged plane safely in Belgium with only one functioning engine.

But for all of their resilience and the bravery of their crews, B-17s and B-24s went down in large numbers, each taking nine or ten airmen with them. Besides encounters with the enemy, there were any numbers of other ways to die in a bomber. There were crashes on takeoff and landing, midair collisions, friendly fire accidents, bombs dropped from a squadron above on one below, and mechanical or electrical failure. During the war the Eighth Air Force lost 6,357 B-17s and B-24s, and 3,337 fighters. But the more important losses were the 26,000 men killed and 21,000 captured who became prisoners of war.

By far, the most dangerous job among American servicemen in World War II was that of airman in the Eighth Air Force. From a total of 350,000 who served, 26,000, or 7.42% were killed. More Eighth airmen lost their lives than the entire Marine Corps, who had an additional 250,000 men, and whose loss amounted to 3.29 percent. By further comparison, U.S. Army losses were 2.25%, and the U.S. Navy lost 0.41%.

398th Bomb Group Research

Anstey Castle Mound And Moat,  St. George's Church, 

Yesterday I mentioned the tragedy of the crash of Command PFF plane 42-97746 in the village of Anstey, just a few miles south of the main runway. Fortunately the large bomber missed all houses and crashed into the moat surrounding the old Anstey castle mound behind St. George’s church. All ten crewmen were killed including pilot William Meyran and Command pilot Charles Khourie.

This tragic event would later become the impetus for serious research into the 398th Bomb Group. In the fall of 1972, three local Englishmen, Vic Jenkins, Malcolm “Ozzie” Osborne, and John Knight explored the crash site. Ozzie explains it best: “One October day in 1972 we climbed Anstey Castle mound, together with a colleague of mine from work. All we knew was Vic’s information that a B17G Flying Fortress had crashed into the mound shortly after taking off from Nuthampstead, with the loss of all onboard. Up on the mound this grey October day, my colleague, John Knight, suddenly called out “look what I have found”. It was the case of a wrist watch, no glass, hands or strap. John wet his finger and rubbed the back of the case and we saw the name ‘William L Meyran’ engraved on the back. That made the hairs go up on the back of my neck, suddenly this all became extremely emotional, it truly brought home the fact that 10 young American Airmen had perished on this spot. Who were they? What were their names? Where were they headed for that day? Why did they crash? There were so many questions, but nowhere or nobody to turn to for answers.”

“I decided then and there that I would not rest until I found out all I could about Nuthampstead, the Bomb Group known as the 398th, its four Squadrons and those young men who gave their lives on that Medieval Castle Mound. So I came up with the name ‘Nuthampstead Airfield Research Society’ (NARS) – how original. A society with only two members, well why not? So in 1972 we began our research quest.”

My Son Jeff And Me, Joyce and Malcolm Osborn, And My Brother Steve At Cambridge American Cemetery

From this humble beginning has grown a great deal of serious research, and has led to the formation of the 398th Bomb Group Memorial Association, the quarterly publication Flak News, the erection of an impressive memorial at the Woodman Inn adjacent to the old Nuthampstead base, the creation of a beautiful stained-glass memorial window at St. George’s church in Anstey, and more.

Perhaps because the 398th was a late arrival to the air war and only saw one year of combat, they have received little attention from 8th Air Force historians. But their contribution to Allied victory was noble and significant. Malcolm Osborne’s forty years of research is invaluable in telling their story, as are the efforts of Allen Ostrom, Cliff and Stan Bishop, and others.

 

Several books on the history of the group are invaluable aids. The first is Allen Ostrom’s 398th Remembrances, now available in re-publication. Another is Cliff Bishop’s fine Fortresses Over Nuthampstead, filled with valuable information including mission and aircraft histories, lists of KIAs, MIAs POWs, and much more. 

And Malcom Osborn has just finished a new book, A Photographic Journey With The 398th Bombardment Group. The 398th's quarterly publication, Flak News, edited for decades by Allen Ostrom, is a font of information and stories. And the website, 398th.org, is also filled with valuable information and personal histories, as well as Flak News articles.

Notable Incidents In 398th Bomb Group History

A few notable incidents of Group history deserve mention. One non-combat highlight for everyone at Station 131, as well as local residents and invited guests (mostly young women of course), was the visit by the Glenn Miller Band on October 2, 1944. Miller was a very successful band leader and the best-selling recording artist of 1939-43, but in 1942 he put his career on hold to enlist in the Army and was assigned to lead the Army Air Force Band in morale-boosting performances for the troops. His band flew from base to base in England and played mainly in large steel hangars for homesick and music-hungry airmen. Those who remember still talk of the day his band came to Nuthampstead. One airman remembers, “That sound was something in that hangar. I thought the roof might come off. I mean, people went nuts.” Alton Glenn Miller disappeared December 15, 1944, on a flight to Paris and is memorialized today on the Wall of the Missing at nearby Cambridge American Military Cemetery. 

Glenn Miller Band With The Modernaires

Less than two weeks after the Miller Band’s visit, the 398th suffered its first fatal take off crash early Sunday morning, October 15, 1944. Three aircraft had already taken off for a second consecutive mission to heavily-defended Cologne, when something went wrong on the fourth ship. Shortly after lifting off, Command PFF plane 42-97746, crashed in the village of Anstey, just a few miles south of the main runway. Fortunately the large bomber missed all houses and crashed into the moat surrounding the old Anstey castle mound behind St. George’s church. All ten crewmen were killed including pilot William Meyran and Command pilot Charles Khourie. Fully loaded with high-octane fuel and with a full bomb load, the wreckage burned furiously and villagers were evacuated. Luckily the twelve unexploded bombs were submerged in the moat and did not explode. They were later removed by the bomb dispersal team from the base once the moat was drained, and villagers were allowed to return home after two days. 

Anstey Church and Moat

Another event from that same October 15th mission to Cologne, along with one famous photo, has become an iconic symbol of the durability of the B-17 and the courage and resilience of men who flew her. Flying through intense flak over Cologne, a 601st squadron plane, 43-38172 “Lovely Julie”, piloted by Lawrence DeLancy and Phil Stahlman, took a direct burst from an 88 mm shell in the nose section, blowing it apart, instantly killing togglier George Abbott and momentarily knocking navigator Raymond LeDoux unconscious. Although stunned and bleeding, LeDoux made his way to the cockpit to assist the two pilots who were struggling to control the seemingly un-flyable plane. The blast had blown away most of the nose, covering the windshield with debris and making it difficult to see. 

The instrument panel was torn loose and all flight instruments were inoperative. Radio and intercom were gone, oxygen lines ruptured, and a sub-zero wind was howling through the cockpit at 27,000 feet. DeLancy and Stahlman, knowing they needed oxygen and could not keep up with the rest of the formation, turned left and descended rapidly, hoping they were heading west toward England, or perhaps occupied Belgium. Without maps or other navigational aids they dropped to 2,000 feet where they picked up a pair of P-51’s who escorted them across Belgium, but with an inoperative radio they were unable to communicate with the Mustangs. 

“We might have tried for one of the airfields in France,” DeLancy said, “but having no maps this also was questionable. Besides the controls and engines seemed to be OK, so I made the decision to try for home.” Once over England, navigator LeDoux began to pick up landmarks and give course corrections that brought them right to Nuthampstead. “It was a great bit of navigation. Ray just stood there on the flight deck and gave us the headings from memory. The landing was strictly by guess and feel. Without instruments, I suspect I came in a little hot. Also, I had to lean to the left to see straight ahead. The landing was satisfactory and I had sufficient braking to slow the plane down some.”

Men waiting on the ground at Nuthampstead could hear the wounded plane long before they could see it. Instead of the characteristic deep roar of four Wright-Cyclone engines they heard a howl “like a banshee screaming.” When it came into view they understood. “Look at that nose!” someone shouted. No need for red flares or an up-wind landing this time. They watched as the once-beautiful B-17 glided in for a hot landing, taking up the entire runway with failing brakes until it came to a stop in the mud at the end of the concrete. As ambulances, medical staff and fire trucks arrived, many of the crew stumbled from the waist door, strangely silent; men in shock. Flight surgeon Dr. Robert Sweet had to pry pilot DeLancy’s hands from the wheel and help him from the plane. As Colonel Hunter approached, Dr. Sweet told him, “Colonel, that young man doesn’t want to talk to you now. When he is ready you can talk to him, but for now leave him alone.”

DeLancy's plane on return to Nuthampstead

The crew was given “flak leave” to shake off the stress, but were expected back in two weeks, just in time for one of the dreaded missions to Meresberg. For their parts in that October 15th drama, DeLancy was awarded the Silver Star for his “miraculous feat of flying skill,” Stahlman was awarded an Oak Leaf Cluster for his Distinguished Flying Cross, and LeDoux received the Distinguished Flying Cross for “extraordinary navigation skill.” 

It was DeLancy’s eighth mission and, ironically, it was Stahlman’s 35th and final mission. His crew had already completed their tour but he had been grounded with sinus problems and needed this one last sortie to finish up. One hell of a final mission! Years later Stahlman still had nothing but praise for Larry DeLancy: “Well, it was pretty traumatic, and of course he was the pilot in command and he had the whole responsibility and I have to say he did a great job.” The other crew members included Ben Ruckel, engineer-turret gunner; Wendell Reed, radio operator; Al Abro, ball turret gunner; Russell Lachman, waist gunner; and Herbert Guild, tailgunner. There were giants in those days.

On January 23, 1945,  just one week before Lt. Don Christensen arrived in Nuthampstead, the 398th’s commander Colonel Frank Hunter was killed while leading a mission to Neuss, on the outskirts of Dusseldorf. The plane took a direct flak burst in a wing and went into a steep dive and flat spin which created a centrifugal force from which there was almost no chance of escape or survival. Perhaps mercifully, such tremendous G-forces would cause most airmen to blackout. There were only a few who survived such spinning, diving crashes, and their experiences testify to the difficulties of escaping these wounded aircraft.  

Writing about that crash, pilot and sole survivor Lt. Federico Gonzalez recalled, “We received a direct flak hit on our left wing tip and it broke away flush with the outboard engine. We struggled trying to control the spin to give the men time to bail out. Nobody made it, probably because of the tremendous centrifugal force. The plane did not explode but went into a flat inverted spin. I couldn’t do anything to get it out of the spin. . . As I unbuckled and reached for my chute I was immediately thrown against the windscreen, unable to move. . . .I remember only about five turns and then nothing until I came to on the ground. Col. Hunter was dead.” [letter to Col. Berryhill] Reports from the ground also indicate that the Gonzalez/Hunter aircraft  came down in a flatspin with wings revolving around the fuselage, like a falling leaf, landed flat and broke apart.

A Video Tribute

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, my father flew his third mission on February 19, 1945, when his plane was hit by flak and he made an emergency landing in Belgium.  After he and his crew were flown back to England they were given flak leave and did not fly again until March 1st and 2nd.  I'll be busy on those dates this year telling the story of those missions and the aftermath.  With ten day's to go before his final mission, this might be a good time to show my pictorial tribute to him, with a little help from Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller.  Many thanks to my step-son Joah McGee for his tech support.

Tribute to my Father from Don Christensen on Vimeo.

Don Christensen's Third Mission

 The Christensen crew flew their third mission on February 19. 1945. This time they were assigned a 603rd plane, 43-38086, N7-C, dubbed “Bad Penny” (as in “A bad penny always comes back”). Several other bomb groups had planes with that same name, some with nose art, some without, but it is unclear whether the name was ever painted on the 398th plane.

Bad Penny

It had been assigned as a replacement aircraft on August 11, 1944, and had already flown many missions included thirty-two with the John Ryan crew. Ryan’s copilot and my friend Roy Test, who recently passed away, told me they flew those missions during the summer and fall of 1944 without an injury or scratch to anyone on their crew. Few were that lucky.

Roy Test and me

John Ryan Crew

The primary target on February 19 was the oil refineries at Dortmund, Germany, but once again a 10/10 cloud cover moved the attack to the secondary target, the railroad marshalling yards at Munster. According to official reports, this was a fairly routine mission with excellent friendly support and no mention of enemy fighters but they did encounter heavy flak. One B-17 in the group ahead was hit by flak and blew up. The Christensen plane was also hit hard. It was one of those anomalies of war, that one or two planes out a squadron or bomb group would be hit seemingly at random. A veteran B-24 pilot I know tells the story of seeing both of his wingmen hit at the same time while he sailed through unscathed.





That day “Bad Penny” took a flak burst just under the nose that damaged both inboard engines and Don was forced to feather those two propellers and shut down the engines. Feathering a prop was done to shut down a damaged or defective engine to keep it from burning up and to prevent “windmilling” and excessive drag from a dead engine. It required teamwork between pilot and copilot and involved turning the propeller blades approximately 90 degrees into the wind in order to offer little wind resistance. At the same time it required enough oil pressure to operate the feathering mechanism, and then for the pilots shut down power and fuel to the affected engines.

Philip Ardery describes the feathering procedure from a pilot’s perspective. “You have to feather props while there is still oil pressure left or else they won’t feather. It is sometimes bad policy to feather or stop when under fighter attack because it lets the fighters know you are a cripple and they concentrate on you. Of course they might have seen your oil leak, but oil on an engine nacelle is less prominent than a feathered prop. If an engine is dead, however, and an engine is allowed to windmill, it exerts much more drag on the plane than if it is feathered. Also a dead engine with a windmilling prop and no oil is apt to heat up and cause a fire. All these considerations work automatically in a combat pilot’s mind to help him reach a conclusion…I was watching the oil pressure gauge on the engine that had been hit. Pretty soon the oil pressure gauge started a fast descent toward zero. I called to Bob that I was feathering the prop. I pushed the feathering button and at the same moment cut off the gas to the engine and switched the mags off. Nervously, I watched the prop. After a moment I saw the big fan start to slow up until at length it came to standstill, with its blades turned edges into the slipstream. Thank God, there was still enough oil left for the feathering mechanism to work.” [Philip Ardery, Bomber Pilot, pp. 149-150]

With only two engines, the Christensen plane quickly lost speed and altitude and Don was forced to drop out of formation and try to make it back alone. The Group or the bomber stream did not wait for wounded or disabled planes. Luckily they were over western Germany, not far from Allied controlled territory in Belgium. Both Navigator Lawson Ridgeway and Tailgunner Selmer Haakenson both told me how cool my father was in this emergency and how his calmness was infectious on the rest of the crew.

Ridgeway remembers Don’s first order to begin lightening the ship and the crew began to jettison everything of weight; guns and ammo, flak vests, and anything else they could, even the floor planking in the fuselage. Meanwhile, radio operator Elmer Gurba kept trying to reach a friendly signal to guide them to a landing field. As the third engine began run poorly Don gave the preliminary bail-out signal just as they were finally intercepted by a P-51 “little friend” which guided them down to a nearby Belgian field, possibly at B-58, Brussels/Melsbroek. 

P-51 Mustang

As they were on their landing approach the third engine quit, but Don still managed to land safely with only one engine. Once again a severely damaged B-17 brought its crew back.

Lawson Ridgeway recalls the crew climbing out and walking around the plane amazed that no one was injured since the entire nose of the aircraft was riddled with flak holes, too many to count. Don gathered his crew to check and be certain no one was injured. Afterwards he sought out the P-51 pilot to thank him.

The crew was in Belgium for a few days before being flown back to England where they had a few days of “flak leave” in London before returning to Nuthampstead. “Bad Penny” was damaged severely enough to be declared AOC (Abandoned on the Continent). It would eventually be repaired and returned to the 398th on April 2, then used for POW pickup after the war before being consigned to Kingman for scrap.

B-17 Graveyard at Kingman, Arizona

Knowing that his wife Jocile had spent most of her teenage years in Belgium, and often spoke of her love of the country and the people there, Don tried to write to her and other folks at home of where he’d been without alerting the censors.

Censorship of letters home was very strict during the war, particularly pertaining to locations, missions, destinations, etc, but Don was still able to give a few clues about where he’d been. In a letter to his mother he wrote, “I believe I can give you a hint without giving away any secrets. I spent several days on the continent and was able to visit several places that are dear to Jo’s heart. The people treated us like kings and couldn’t do enough for us. We also had a chance to give old London town the once over.”

Jocile later recalled, “In one letter he said they made an unscheduled stop and that he knew why I loved those people. I knew he had been in Belgium. When his navigator came to see me after the war he told me they had made a forced landing in Belgium.”

The Christensen crew were flown back to England and gave "old London town the once over" and were given several day's flak leave. It is unclear just when they returned to Station 131, but they did not fly their next mission until March 1st.

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