Fifty one years ago I trained in what was to become my weapon to fight World War II in the European theater.  That weapon was the B-24 heavy bomber called the Liberator.  My crew was sent by liberty ship to join one of the groups of the 15th Air Force in Italy.  On the way there the Germans tried to stop us before we got there by hitting our convoy of ships.  The submarines succeeded in sinking two of the ships, but our ship was not one of them.  It was frightening because we never did see the enemy, but we knew he was watching.

We arrived in Italy and we were sent to the 745th bomb squadron of the 456th bomb group.  I flew 25 missions in many different B-24s and some of the older models had difficulty in keeping up with the newer models, so I would have to jettison two 500 pound bombs into the Adriatic Sea to lighten our load so we could keep up.  We were finally assigned our own plane, but a replacement crew used it before we did and they left it splattered over Rumania.

Some of the bombers I flew in had their particular problems and one of them had electrical problems, but they only occurred in the cold and less dense air above 20,000 feet.  The plane caused problems for me on two occasions when I initiated the switch to drop the bomb load and they stayed on board.  A quick check of the bomb status board showed the error and I moved the salvo lever in one quick motion to drop mechanically.

The bomber took us to the targets, but didn't always bring us back to our airfield.  We left one on Vis Island and I guess that was used for parts.  The bomber had the Davis wing and it worked great, but when they added turret gun positions and other necessary changes which increased its gross weight it changed its operating capabilities.  We had to settle for a ceiling of around 26,000 feet and when one engine was out the pilot had to work to keep us at altitude and when the second one went, it was a time to get down or get out.

I flew in the Liberator for about two years and then I left the service.  I returned to the states in one and that was my last flight in it.  I never did get an attachment to it and my memories of those times were not happy ones.  I guess I should show some respect for the plane because it brought me through the war safely, but maybe my number wasn't up.

The B-24 was built for one purpose and that was to drop bombs on the enemy.  It had a Spartan interior and lacked the creature comforts which we associate with planes today.  If you were the pilot, copilot, or radio operator you had a seat and the only ones with seat belts were the pilot and copilot.  The gunners sat in their turrets while in battle position and if the radio operator was at his waist gun, the navigator had a chance to sit down.  The plane had a smell all its own.  It was a combination of oil, gas, and stale urine.  The oxygen mask solved that problem.  At bombing altitude you could freeze solid when the temperature ranged from minus 40 to minus 60 degrees if your heated suit and gloves failed.  There were no steps into the plane.  You had to pull yourself up through one of the hatches in the bottom of the plane.  You usually placed your equipment bag in the opening before you pulled yourself up.  There were no onboard toilets so if you had to do #2 you usually found an empty ammo box and did your thing.  That was unceremoniously dropped on the enemy somewhere along the way.  There were several relief tubes if you had to do #1 and they were rubber cylinders attached to a hose which extended from the plane.  Since we had no female crew members their use was no problem.  I guess that aspect will have to be redesigned to accommodate the female organ for today's mixed crews.  And last but not least, we couldn't walk upright in all sections of the plane.  To get to the nose (navigator, bombardier, and gunner positions) we had to get down on hands and knees and crawl there.  Most of the time the navigator stayed on the flight deck because there wasn't much room there when the bombardier occupied his duty position.

It is now fifty years later and the other day I was offered a ride in one of the last flying B-24 bombers called the "All American".  The flight would take me from Hazleton, Pa to the Queen City Airport at Allentown.  I declined and that surprised some people.  I guess with age comes wisdom and the thought of getting into one of those bombers again didn't appeal to me.  There was nothing to gain, but I had a lot to lose.  I flew a plane solo when I was 16 or 17.  I was in WW II and the Korean Conflict and as a result my youthful spark of adventure was neutralized.  As time went on my CIC and parachute training completed my adventure portfolio, so it is time to sit back and enjoy my hard earned bounty and to relive those times, for others, through my writings.  "There is no fool like an old fool," isn't true this time.
Rev 1                                   -RWR- 2 Oct 1995

Click on the above image for a large, detailed cutaway view of the B-24.

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