Spring 2015 final draft15thaf.org/304th_BW/455th_BG/Newsletter/PDFs/Spring 2015.pdf · CERIGNOLA CONNECTION 455th Bomb Group Association Newsletter Spring, 2015 Editor: Craig Ward,

C E R I G N O L ACO N N E C T I O N455th Bomb Group Association Newsletter

Spring, 2015 Editor: Craig Ward, 813 Peterstow Drive, Euless, Texas 76039phone: (817) 540-1068 email: [email protected] website: www.awardphp.com

Message from the President

ByNorman Crum

I'm happy to once againoffer a few words for this editionof Cerignola Connection. Many

thanks to those who havecontributed to, and skillfullyedited, this unique publication.

In previous articles, I'vetried to help us imagine what itwas like to fly on a combatmission in a B-24. I've alsomade some observations aboutthe B-24 aircraft itself and havereviewed the 15th Air Force'sstrategic role in the ETO.

Albert Speer, Hitler'sMinister for Armaments, oncedeclared: "I could see omens ofthe war's end almost every dayin the blue southern sky when,flying provocatively low, thebombers of the American

Fifteenth Air Force crossed theAlps from their Italian bases toattack German industrialtargets."

In reading this quote, Ifound myself wondering whatthat "blue southern sky" overCerignola was like. As thesebrave crews took-off or landedfrom their deadly missions, whatsort of weather and air-traffic didthey run into? What was thesurrounding countryside like?How long had San Giovanniairfield been around and whatwas it like?

I discovered throughsome quick Google searchesthat the Foggia region's climateis remarkably similar to that ofStockton, California, where I sitwriting this article. Thesummertime highs are in thelow-90s with winter highs in thehigh-50s. Overnighttemperatures are in the low-70sin the summer and high-30s inwinter. Annual rainfall is a dry18" and falls mostly betweenNovember and February. Thereare never more than nine rainydays in any month and it is clearand sunny approximately 81%of the time. In short: greatflying weather.

The province of Foggia isgenerally flat, agricultural

In This Edition

Pages 1 & 2 ... Message fromthe President

Page 3 ... Generous Contributors

Pages 4 thru 9 ...Joint Reunion of the

451st and 455th BombGroups, Septermber, 2015,Kansas City , MO.

Pages 10 & 11 ...Email List

Page 11 ... Final Flights

Pages 12 thru 20 ...Solo Sortie,

by Winton S. Reynolds (742)

Page 20 ... Final Flights

Pages 20 thru 22 ...Dear Editor

Page 22 ... Final Flights

Page 23 ... Final Flights, & Can You Help?

Back Page ...Message from the Executive Director

lowland with its most importantcrop being durum wheat.Because so much wheat isgrown in this area, it is alsocommonly known as the“grainery of Italy”. This wouldhave made it relatively efficientto build the landing strips andtaxiways needed to handlebombers and fighters, and tobuild their associated supportfacilities.

Before World War II, theItalian Royal Air Forceconstructed some airfields in theFoggia area. They consisted ofpermanent, hard-surfacedrunways and taxiways, concreteparking areas, and buildings forthe support units and barracks.

After the armisticebetween Italy and Allied armedforces in September, 1943,these airfields were seized bythe German Luftwaffe. Whileunder Axis control, theseairfields were heavily bombedby the United States Army AirForce and Royal Air Force in1943, before being seized bythe British Eighth Army inOctober, 1943, during the ItalianCampaign.

After the area wascaptured, these facilities wererepaired by the Army Corps ofEngineers to make them usablefor heavy bomber operations bythe new Fifteenth Air Force.Weather in southern Italy wasmuch better than in England,where the Eighth Air Force washeadquartered. Using theFoggia Airfield Complex forstrategic bombing missionswould allow Allied heavybombers to attack targets inFrance, Germany, Austria and

the Balkans, which wereinaccessible from England.

In addition to therelatively few establishedairfields, additional temporaryand "semi-permanent" airfields(such as San Giovanni) wereconstructed for operations byUSAAF units. These airfieldsconsisted of grass or piercedsteel planking runways withsupport structures quicklyconstructed out of wood orcanvas, along with a temporarysteel control tower.

Six-man tents were usedfor billeting, lined up in rows withthe orderly room and the messhall at one end. There was onedim light bulb at the center ofeach tent. The tent floor wasusually dirt. Eventually plywoodwas scavenged for flooring,wooden cots were used forbeds, and ubiquitous 55-gallondrums were converted into astove.

Since many of theseairfields were captured from theenemy, wrecked aircraft were acommon sight, with metal fromfuselages and wings, glass andother useful parts finding theirway into the support areas.

By mid-1944, about twodozen airfields were in operationin the Foggia area, supportingstrategic bombing missions,escort missions, tactical fighteroperations, reconnaissance andair defense missions.

With the end of the war inMay, 1945, the non-permanentairfields were abandoned andthe land was returned toprevious owners or the Italiangovernment. Today, thesebases have long-since returned

to agriculture. Little or noevidence remains of their use aswartime airfields.

San Giovanni Airfield,home of the 454th and 455thBomb Groups, was one of thesesemi-permanent bases and wasabandoned soon after the war.It was located approximately9km west of Cerignola. Built inlate 1943, and opened January1944, it had pierced steelplanking runways with extensivetaxiway and parking areas and asteel control tower.

At the time, it wasconsidered to be a relativelylarge facility with capacity forapproximately 150 heavybombers. It remained inoperation until the end of thewar, closing in October 1945.Faint scarring of land is stillvisible, but there is little or nophysical evidence of theairfield's existence.

In this edition of theCerignola Connection, we

continue to tell the story of thepeople who flew, fought andserviced the 455th bombersover southern Europe. Theywere brave, intelligent youngmen, and we continue to beblessed that they did their duty,and preserved our freedom.

See Map, Next Page

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455TH BOMB GROUPASSOCIATION, INC.P.O. BOX 93095AUSTIN, TX. 78709-3095

PRESIDENTNorman CrumEXECUTIVE DIRECTOR /TREASURER Gregory E. Riggs Col. USAF (Ret.)P.O. Box 93095Austin, TX. 78709-3095SECRETARYTed TronoffPAST PRESIDENTRoderick W. ClarkeCol. USAF (Ret.)DIRECTORSJohn F. DavisCol. USAF (Ret.)Ormond H. BuffingtonT/Sgt. USAAFCarl Loiocano T/Sgt. USAAFCraig WardSon, Lt. J. T. WardEditor, Cerignola ConnectionREGISTERED AGENTJohn F. DavisCol. USAF (Ret.)ASSOCIATION HISTORIANJohn Rohrer

The 455th Bomb Group Association, Inc. would like to thank the following Association members for their generous monetary contributions (cumulative listing):

Taxi ($25-$99)Loraine McGinnis, in memory of Joseph McGinnis

Gerald W. AdamsJohn Kay McBainVictor E. MurrayLloyd C. Kestner

W. Scott Lawing in memory of MSgt (Ret) Robert L. Denton (743)Joseph A. Abbondondelo

William E. Fredrickson in memory of Elwood (Freddie) Fredrickson

Takeoff ($100-$199)L. Harvey Hewitt

Charles V. VandorenFrancis G. Hosimer

Charles H. RosenbergElmo J. Henske

AnonymousRichard C. Skagenberg

Helen A. Worster, in memory of Lt. Col John R. WorsterDorothy Wood Cloud, in memory of T/Sgt Robert D. Cloud

Henry C. ParisWesley Fellowship Class in memory of MSgt (Ret) Robert L. Denton (743)

Bombs away ($200-$499)Francis G. Hosimer

Karen R. Schoene, in honor of Lt Col Horst R. SchoeneVirginia Corsello, in memory of 1 Lt Anthony (Tony) Corsello

Catherine Spewock, in honor of S/Sgt Andrew SpewockRobert W. Rohler, in honor of 1Lt Charles William (Bill) Rohler

Thomas E. BoydL. Harvey Hewitt

Mission complete ($500 or more)Mary E. Jureka, in honor of Col John F. JurekaNorman Crum, in memory of George W. Crum

Robert O. Foernsler, in memory of Capt Ed Soderstrom & crew

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455th BG E-mail Roster

Harry W. Anderson (740)San Antonio,[email protected]

Dave Bathie (assoc. 740) [email protected]

Joel BeauvaisSon, Raymond Beauvais (741)[email protected]

1st. Lt. Thomas A. 'Tom' Bell840 Kimberly Ct.Lander, WY [email protected]

Jack Blum (741) [email protected]

Thomas [email protected]

Ormond Buffington (741)[email protected]

Mario Capocefalo (Italy)[email protected]

Rod Clarke (743)Alexandria, [email protected]

Howard Cooper (740)[email protected]

Robert D. (Bob) Collette (740)South Pasadena, Fl 33707dotybob@verizon .net

Bill & Joyce [email protected] <or>[email protected]

Albert E. Cratch (741)[email protected]

Janet & Russell [email protected]

Norman CrumPresident, 455th BG Assoc.Son of Cpt. George Crum (742)[email protected]

John Davis (741)[email protected]

Jack Dekker (743) [email protected]

Theodore Deppe (741)[email protected]

Louise Defenbaugh YearoutGeorge Defenbaugh’s [email protected]

John Devito (assoc.)[email protected]

Curtis (Curt) Diles, Jr. (740) [email protected]

Paul H. Ditchett (742) [email protected]

William M. Doyle (742)[email protected]

Robert Emick (741)[email protected]

William E. FredricksonSon, Elwood Fredrickson (743)1521 Woodgate WayTallahassee, FL [email protected]

Marc GaynesSon of Seymour Gaynes (743)[email protected]

Vervin “Gil” Gilson (741)[email protected]

Ann GengeDaughter of Allen Durkee (743)[email protected]

Lt. Col. R. J. Haney (743)[email protected]

Tech Sgt. Fred Hamilton (740)[email protected]

L. Harvey Hewit (743) Haverford, [email protected]

Robert [email protected]

Frank Hosimer (741)[email protected]

Joe Kiernan (741)280 Middle Holland Rd, #719Holland PA 18966(215) [email protected]

Erling Kindem (742)[email protected]

Viliam [email protected]

George L. Liddle (742) [email protected]

E.J. Ledbetter, Jr. (743)[email protected]

John L. Larma (740) [email protected]

Dan [email protected]

Mark L. MasonSon of Robert G. Mason (742)[email protected]

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Email addresses (cont.)

Frank [email protected]

Dave Matheson (742) [email protected]

Mike McFadden (Assoc. 743)Son-in-Law of Austin [email protected]

Jim MerrittSon of Lt. Jim Merritt (741)[email protected]

Vic Murray (743) [email protected]

Peter Payant (743) [email protected]

Roland J [email protected]

Wesley Powell (740) [email protected]

Brenda RaymanDaughter, E.J. Ledbetter (743)[email protected]

John RohrerSon of Carl Rohrer (740)[email protected]

Charles H. Rosenberg (741)[email protected].

Irving (Irv) Rubin (743)321-514-3445

Sid Schoengold (740) [email protected]

Dr. Gary R. Schoene, son, Lt Col Horst R. Schoene (743)[email protected] R. “Gus” Seefluth (742)

[email protected]

Sgt. John E. [email protected]

Michael SpewockSon of Andrew Spewock (743)[email protected]

Charles E. Stark (740) [email protected]

Ted StinerSon of Lt.Theodore Stiner (741)[email protected]

Carl A. Stracka (Pilot, 743)1121 E. Moorpark Ave.Appleton, WI. 54911

Angelo Synodis (741)[email protected]

Julie SummerfieldDaughter of WalterSummerfield (743)[email protected]

Ted Tronoff (742)[email protected]

Dr. Stanley Vogelfang (741) [email protected]

John R. Worster (742). [email protected]

Craig Ward Editor, Cerignola ConnectionSon of Lt. J. T. Ward (740) [email protected]

Leland L. Young (743)[email protected]

Paul A. Young (741)[email protected]

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FINAL FLIGHTS

Mr. Walter P. LeeMarch 2, 1921- Dec. 7, 2013

He enlisted in the U.S.Army in 1942, and served as apilot in World War II in the ArmyAir Corp., 455th Bomb group,15th Air Force; flying B-24's forover 50 missions, returninghome with his 11 man crewintact.

His service medalsincluded the European AfricanMiddle Eastern Service Medal,the Air Medal with 3 Oak LeafClusters, and the DistinguishedFlying Cross, and later theGreek Service Medal.

Roy Madsen1925 - 2011

Roy Madsen, age 86, died Sept.4, 2011 at his home surroundedby family and loved ones.

Roy was a decoratedveteran who served as a tailgunner in the Air Force duringWorld War II. After being shotdown the second time, hecredits his life being saved bythe Czechoslovakian partisanswho helped him flee from thepursuing German army.

After the fall of the ironcurtain, he was able to travelback to his belovedCzechoslovakia several timeswhere he was instrumental inhonoring the American servicemen and women who had losttheir lives during World War II.

Many of Roy's personaleffects from the Air Force arecurrently on display in themuseum honoring the SlovakNational Uprising in BanskaBystrica, Slovakia.

Solo Sortieby Lt. Winton S. Reynolds (742)

Have you ever wonderedwhat it would be like to fly in aheavy B-24 Liberator bomber

deep into Germany - alone?Much has been written

about the formations, numberingwell into the thousands, thatsweep the skies over axis heldEurope; when the weatherpermits, but little has beenwritten about the 15th Army AirForce secret briefings that areheld for crews that have beentrained to fly - alone.

When the weather is"socked" in solid from fivethousand up and the strength ofthe Air Force is forced to standdown, "the weather crews" arealerted to fly.

At an early hour, whencamps are asleep, a fewespecially trained crews crawlout of their "sacks", dress andhurry off to the mess hall for abreakfast of hot cereal andcoffee. In a truck they arecarried to a war room. Therebehind locked doors they arebriefed on the target selected forthe day's operations.

It is an entirely differentsensation to be briefed for aflight without the company of theentire Air Force, without fighterescort, and through the greatestof all hazards to all pilots -weather! It requires all of theskill and courage of an entirecrew. Complete co-operationand eagle-eyed alertness.

The crews listenedcarefully as they were giveninformation pertinent to theflight. Pencils were busy

copying down secret call signsand signals into pocket sizednotebooks as the Major read theorders.

"You are carrying delayedaction bombs today, men. Youmust drop them. You will becarrying two pamphlet bombs,also," he pointed out.

There were strainedexpressions on the faces of thecrew members as they looked atthe course line stretching acrossa large portion of a sprawlingmap of Europe. They knew thedangers involved in a flightwhere cloud formations offeredthe only protection againstenemy fighters. They knew thedanger of ice that forms sorapidly on the wings and tailassembly of an aircraft, that tobreak it loose with the aids ofde-icer boots is a relativeimpossibility.

They were fully aware theconcentrations of heavy 88 mmflak and aerial rocket barragesthat were not confined to thetarget alone. If the navigation befaulty and the airplane offcourse, in some instances but afew miles, they would besubjecting themselves to arather rude awakening of itspresence. Perfect navigation inthe "soup" is a rather ticklishbusiness. It requires a greatdeal of energy and skill of themen who direct the flight of alarge bomber.

Weather flying, from thepilot's standpoint, is of coursehazardous work. Intricateinstruments, gauges and dialsare the nerve endings of anenormous piece of flyingmachinery. Simply because

there are numerous planes, andmen to fly them, does not alterthe size or importance of onespecific airplane and the pilotwho is its brain.

His judgment andpsychomotor reaction to a givensituation, regardless how hemight feel physically or mentally,must be the right one or all maybe lost.

The instrument pilot has,of course, been trained todisregard all sensations that hemay experience that mayprompt his thinking in a split-second analysis of a sensationas to his relative position andattitude in the air. Sensationsthat contradict the instrumentsbefore him are known to all whofly in the "soup" as vertigo.

Overpowering thesesensations can be, in time, veryfatiguing. The sensation of"stalling out" while in a climb, orbanking to the right or left whilethe aircraft remains in level flightare extremely confusing to thepilot. There is but one and onlyone remedy to this almostnauseating sensation, whichmay attack without provocation.Fly on instruments! Not by the"seat of your pants."

At length the crews weredismissed and they filed out ofthe briefing room into a wet, colddrizzle. The dawn was a faintpallor which filtered through theheavy overcast. The pilotpaused for a moment, before heclimbed upon the truck, andscanned the skies.

"Through that muck andinto Germany - alone. Well," hethought to himself, "I hope Imake it."

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With pseudo-zest heswung aboard and the truck,with the grating of gears,skidded off down the road filledwith thick, sluggish mud.

At the "parachute room"on the "line" the men dressed fortheir assent into the overcastand into the sub-zerotemperatures; where little bylittle, and in spite of everyprotection available (heatedsuits, boots, and gloves), thecold gnaws at one until you feelyou can no longer stand it.

The crew chief and hisassistants had checked andrechecked the plane prior to thecrew's arrival at the "hardstand". Engines had been pre-flighted and were perfect. Thearmorers were busy fusingdelayed action bombs withspecial "booby trap"attachments. The engineer andassistant engineer were busysafetying the gas tank caps. Theoil had been checked and thecaps safetied.

The pilots were occupiedinspecting the plane. Checkingher de-icer boots for rips andtears. Her antennas were intact.The turbo-buckets had properclearance and were in excellentcondition. Gunners workedquietly and efficiently over theirfifty calibers and deadly belts ofammunition. They handled themlike babies. A solo mission canbe a do-or-die affair, and anunprotected tail could spelldeath for eleven men. Cartonsof chaff were loaded into thewaist section. The oxygen waschecked at all stations. Theinterphone, VHF, and commandtransmitters were quickly

checked by the radio operator. The airplane was in

order.The pilots were in their

cockpit and crew members attheir appointed station fortakeoff. Minutes passed. Thepilot glanced at the clocksnuggly set into the instrumentpanel.

"It's time to start," hethought.

From that momentforward the crew had to functionnot as eleven individuals, but aseleven crew members who hadspecific jobs to do.

"Let's start 'em up," hecalled out. "Main line andbattery. Put-put."

The copilot snapped thebattery switches and main linebar on. The assistant engineerstarted the put-put.

"Clear left!" came thewarning from the pilot.

The copilot called out,"Clear right."

Routine checks weremade. Inverters and instrumentswere cautiously checked forpossible failure. Number threeengine was accelerated, primedand meshed. The big Pratt &Whitney engines kicked over.The pilot pulled the mixture intoauto-rich, and the engine beganto run smoothly. Number four -number two - and then one. Theartificial horizon erected itself asthe gyro instruments came intooperation.

The pilots, after allowingthe "power plants" to warm up,checked the mags and ran upthe engines. Contact was madewith the tower. Taxi and takeoffinstructions were succinctly

given. The big Liberator bomber

responded to the slowadvancement of the throttles bythe pilot, and began to move.Onto the taxi strip, which wouldits way across the area anddown to the end of the runway.

"Controls unlocked," wasthe pilot's terse command. "HighRPM! Auto-rich! Booster pumpson! Half flaps! Okay in thewaist?" The pilot called over theinterphone.

There was a quick reply,"Roger!"

On cue from the towerthe big lumbering bomber,loaded to the brim of her bombbays, with death and destructionplus leaflets which were to bedropped along with the bombsto give the people of Germany aclue as to why they were beingbombed. The unwieldy bomberpulled out on the runway. Poisedand ready for takeoff, the pilotadvanced the throttles and thebomber went thundering downthe runway. With her nose wheeloff the ground the plane washeld in the proper angle ofattack.

Gaining momentum withevery second that ticked withthe beating of the hearts of themen who flew her, she lifted herheavy and splashed body fromthe runway, and flew into thequiet gray shroud of mist abouther.

There was somethinggraceful about that bomber as ittook off for Germany. In spite ofits awkwardness on the ground,there was a certain dignity in theway it flew. The way its gearalmost automatically folded upinto her wings. The drone of her

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four engines in perfectsynchronization.

The "tri-bladed props"thrust their way into the overcastwith every bite and the "solo"ship disappeared into theclouds.

This radar ship, known asa Mickey, is different than most

B-24's. It's equipped withnavigational aids too secret tomention. Painted blue-grey toblend with the clouds she fliesthrough.

There is no identificationinsignia smartly exhibiting herwing, group and squadron onher tail assembly. She fliesalone and unnamed.

With almost rehearsedprecision the plane and crewfunction as one. At fourteenthousand feet they were wellacross the Adriatic Sea and stillin a steady climb. Requests forhalf-degree corrections from thenavigators were quicklycomplied with by the pilot.Equipped with the latestadvancements in navigationalaids the course and positionwere frequently plotted. With theaid of the "G-box", thenavigators were capable of pin-pointing their position within athousands feet of their actualposition in the air.

With completeconfidence the crew flew onthrough the never endingwhiteness. The Mickeynavigator continuously turnedknobs and dials and reportedwith monotonous regularity tothe dead-reckoning navigatortheir position over interphone.

"We are right on course,lads - nothing to worry about.

How's our ETA coming out onDR?"

The DR navigator, after afew moments of calculation,responded with an encouragingreply. "On the ball."

Climbing steadily the freeair temperature gauge fell. Ateighteen thousand it haddropped to thirty-three belowzero. Each time a man exhaledthrough the rubber vents of hisoxygen mask the moistureimmediately condensed into fog.Ice had begun to form on the silkscarves and the fur collars of thetightly zipped up jackets. Therewere frequent oxygen checksmad and all stations reported in.

Every one was okay.Suddenly, it began to

snow, and the world they flewthrough was a swirling mass ofwhite. The flakes came directlyat the windshield and then justbefore they splashed, just likerain, they quickly altered theircrazy course, and blew by,never touching the windshield.The snow was forming andfalling so fast the outboardengines were no longer visible.All sense of time, speed, anddirection would have been lost ifit had not been for theinstruments that told thenavigators and pilots they wereonly one and a half hours fromthe target.

Slowly the cylinder headtemperatures began to creep upas the engines pulled the heavyload up the long grade. Cowlflap was opened on number fourengine.

"Not too much," the pilotcautioned. They could not affordto increase their drag.

A turning point was reached andthe plane was promptly turnedto a new heading. Nothing newon scenery - only the swirlingsnow.

The second hand on theclock went round and round andfinally the larger hand decided tomove. Minutes seemed likehours.

At twenty-two thousand itsuddenly stopped snowing. Itwas lighter and the outboardengines came into view. Theengines droned in the rarifiedatmosphere. Steadily thetemperature dropped, andnumber four engine began torun dangerously hot forconsistent operation. More cowlflap was opened and more dragwas induced.

Deep into enemyterritory, and only a short timefrom the target, the enginebegan to lose manifoldpressure. Slowly it dropped. Thepossibility of carburetor-ice wasextremely illogical with thecylinder head temperature sohot. All other instruments readnormal. The amplifiers werechecked and still it dropped. Ifthe target was to be reached theother three engines mustassume the load. The RPM andthe manifold on the other threeengines "stepped-up".

At twenty-four thousandtwo hundred feet, the weathership, after having flown for hourson instruments, managed toclimb above the clouds.

As lonely as a ship in themiddle of the sea they came out"on top", barely skimming thehigh cirrus deck which stretchedas far as the eye could see.

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The sun was bright andthe clouds were dazzlinglywhite. The tail gunner calledover the interphone that theywere leaving a vapor trail. A longpencil-slim cloud that streamedfrom the engines like whitesmoke.

They were a dead giveaway for gregarious enemyfighters. The clouds immediatelybelow, however, werecomfortingly close to duck into.

It occurred to the pilot aswell and the DR navigator that atthe present power setting, dueto the unexplainable reduction inmanifold pressure on thenumber four engine, a greatdeal more gas was beingconsumed than they hadplanned on. It was apparent thatthe engine was still good.Possibly something in theinduction system. Allinstruments checked normal.

Excessive manifoldpressure had not been used,and there had been no suddenreductions. This made thepossibility of a faulty couplingdoubtful.

Precautionary measureswere taken, and the gasconsumption problem wasquickly worked out on cruisecontrol charts and on an E 6-Bcomputer. After a shortcontroversy over the question, itwas decided that a high priorityalternate target, producing oiland high test gasoline, would betheir target.

The bombardier quicklyconsulted his "flimsy" and planswere immediately altered. Theradar navigator informed thedead reckoning navigator and

pilots that they were but a shortdistance from the IP for thealternate target.

The crew members andgunners quickly donned flaksuits and helmets, of meshediron, and readied themselves forthe bomb run. The pilot clearedthe interphone of all superfluousconservation. Carefully the pilotwheeled the plane to the leftfrom the IP, as directed by theradar navigator. Starting downthe bomb run the bombardiercalled for the bomb bay doors tobe opened.

The engineer quicklycomplied with the order. A rushof air was heard as the slidingdoors were retracted into theopen position. The bombardierquickly took off the heatedbombsight cover and began tosynchronize for rate.

"Coming up on - seventy.Coming up on - sixty," was theweird monologue from the radarman.

"Roger," replied thebombardier.

Nimble fingers, numbedwith cold, made last minutecorrections.

"Mickey to pilot - give me

a couple degrees to the left.That's good ... hold it."

The crazy chantcontinued, "coming up on - fifty."There was a pause. Theinterphone rang in the highaltitude. "Coming up on - forty.Pilot, give me a couple to theright - quick!"

Drift was killed. Thebomb run, which was beingmade on PFF, was a long oneand chaff was dispensed at agiven signal. The tension

increased as flak was reportedby the pilot over the target

"Flak at twelve - intense -and accurate as hell," was hisreport in "almost" conversationaltones. As if by magic, black curlsof smoke began to appear aboutthem. "The Jerry has got ourcourse okay, but he hasn't quitegot our altitude," the pilot saidencouragingly to his crew.

"Pilot from Mickey - I can

hold the target within my scopeif you want to take evasiveaction."

"Roger, Mickey, can you

hold the target in view if I skidthe plane?"

"Yeah - sure. Not toomuch though."

Flak was beginning toburst about the plane.

"Hold tight every one, wewill be through in a minute," thepilot said.

"It's coming up to us now.It's popping off our tail," the tailgunner broke in.

"Okay," was the pilot'squick reply, "I'll skid her over alittle bit."

After a short dialoguebetween the bombardier and theradar man, the radar man said,"it's all yours."

"Steady, hold her - that'sit. Bombs away," was thebombardier's triumphant cryover the interphone.

The pilot peeled off into asharp bank to the right and outof the flak. Clear of the flak therewas a quick exchange ofenthusiastic chatter over theinterphone.

"Hot damn, we did it! Wedid it!"

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"I hope we blew hell outof 'em down there," cameanother voice.

"Okay every one - we dida nice job. Let's go home." Thepilot was quick to squelchsuperfluous interphone chatter.Granted they had made theirrun, dropped their bombselectrically, and they had notbeen touched by the hundredsof bearable flak guns.

There was now theremaining problem of reachingtheir base. Hours of flyingahead. Back through theendless "white" and one enginewhich was pulling but a third ofits power. Not a dangeroussituation under normalconditions, but there was theextremely long route back - thepossibility of severe storms andsevere icing. The pilot noticedjust before they ducked backinto the clouds, on course forhome, his own vapor trailleading from the IP and acrossthe target, where the puffs ofsmoke from the bursts of flakstill hung in the air, and then thesharp turn to the right and out ofthe area they had just flownthrough. The long white rope ofthe clouds cast a shadow on theflat, smooth deck of cirrus athousand feet below. One of themost interesting of all cloudformations that airmen see - thevapor trail.

It was late afternoon andeven in the dense fog they wereaware that the sun had crossedthe zenith and was well acrossthe sky. It was darker in theclouds than it had been whileenroute to the target.

As the pilot began a "let-

down" into the lower stratus theairplane began to pitch inturbulent air. Again, they were ina violent snow storm.

As the air became moreturbulent, it occurred to the pilotthat there was a possibility ofrunning into the core of anextremely dangerous cumulo-nimbus. The radar man turnedhis scope to the immediatecourse ahead.

Carefully he analyzed theweird blips of light on hisoscilloscope. He searched forcheck points. None could beseen. Only the reflections ofmountainous terrain appeared inhis scope. At seventeenthousand feet the pilot noticedrime ice forming on the leadingedges of the wing and tailassembly. He leveled off.

"Mustn't go any lower,"the pilot confided with the co-pilot, "we might run into clear icebelow."

Things were not goingany too well. Check points whichshould have been visible by nowwere not. Time came for achange in heading, but adeviation from the flight planwas thought to be a wiser move.Then, as if by some telepathicwarning, it occurred to thenavigators that they hadencountered a serious shift inthe winds.

What was supposed tohave been a tailwind on thereciprocal heading was not atailwind, but a headwind ofpossibly a hundred knots. Thischanged the complexion of thesituation considerably.

The remainder of theflight was now a matter of time,

distance, and remaining fuel. Agas check was made.

"Well, we are not doingso hot, sir," was the rather feeblereply from the engineer.

"Well, how much?" Thepilot's tone of voice obviated hisconcern in the matter.

There was a pause. Thenin a high voice the engineerreplied, "I guess about twohundred in number one…"

There was an interruptionon the interphone as the Mickeyman broke in wildly, "I knowwhere we are. I know where weare now." The instrumentnavigator relieved the tensionconsiderably with his outburst.

"Well where the hell arewe?" the pilot demanded.

What the radar navigatorsaid in reply stunned the crew.After having flown for hours theywere still hundreds of miles fromtheir home base in Italy. It wasconcluded after a carefulobservation of the gas availablethat it might be possible, ifunnecessary corrections forcourse were avoided and theRPM and manifold pressurereduced to a still lower setting,to reach the base.

The radar navigator, inconjunction with the deadreckoning navigator, tookfrequent pinpoint fixes, thusavoiding numerous flak areas tothe right and left of the course.All of the fuel had beentransferred from the auxiliarytanks to the main fuel cells.

All that could be donehad been done. The remainingproblem was the weather. Arather serious problemconfronted the pilot.

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The leading edge of theairfoil and vertical and horizontalstabilizers were sugarcoatedwith rime ice. As it built up, thede-icer boots were inflated, andthe ice cracked off. The dangerof letting down any lower washazardous because of themountains over Yugoslavia. Theaircraft was being weighteddown by the ice which wascollecting in front of the turrets,aerials, and windshield.

The defrosters wereemployed and managed to keepthe windshield sufficiently warmto prevent the ice from cakingover. It was growing dark, deepin the core of the mass ofweather. The crew was numbwith cold, and a constant checkhad to be made to prevent icefrom forming at the connectionof their oxygen masks.

The crew was tired, andthe strain of flying "blind" for somany hours had begun to takeeffect. There were anxiousquestions over the interphone.The pilot intervened and askedthe crew to relax. They still hadengines and in spite of the gas,which he admitted to them wasdangerously low, they hadsufficient fuel to reach the base.Although in the minds of thosewho knew - there was doubt.

Their progress was slowand the air was turbulent overrough Yugoslavian terrain. Theicing was persistent andbecame slightly more adhesive.

At last the instrumentman revealed to the crew thathe could plainly see, through hisradar scope, the coastlineahead. There was relief amongthe weary airmen who had sat in

cramped positions for hours onend. Soon they would be able totake off their itching oxygenmasks and stretch their tiredlimbs.

Contact was made by theradioman with Big Fence.

Bearings were taken and foundto coincide with the course andposition of the aircraft. "Air SeaRescue" was alerted of theirposition, altitude and heading,and of their intention to reachtheir base. Big Fence and "Air

Sea Rescue" cooperativelystood by while the airplanebegan its descent. Fromseventeen thousand feet, theyquickly descended to fifteenthousand, then to thirteen.

The pilot pressed themike button and said, "you cancome off oxygen now. Allstations come off oxygen. Weare below thirteen thousand andwe will be down in a fewminutes."

Everyone promptly toreoff their masks and exercisedthe tired muscles of their faces.

From the waist came acall over the interphone, "okayto smoke now?"

"Yeah, okay to smoke,"was the reply from the flightdeck.

"How soon can we clearthe turrets?"

"Any time, now is safeenough. We are at the coast andI doubt if the Jerry is withinhundreds of miles, and even ifhe were, I doubt if he could findus in this stuff"

As the gunners clearedtheir turrets the pilots becamegenuinely alarmed..

"Good Lord, look at the

ice forming on the wings!" Theco-pilot's tone of voice wasconvincing.

The pilot looked out hisside window. "Break it off, forPete's sake! Turn on the de-icerboots. We are picking up pilesof the stuff. Pilot to crew," hisvoice was sharp and he spokequickly, "we are in heavyweather and picking up clear icevery fast. I don't know if it can bebroken off or not. Better getready for an emergency in anyevent. Check the spare raft andGibson Girls. Hey Mickey,

how's our course, can you seethe island?"

The island the pilot madereference to lies off the easterncoast of the Adriatic and is theonly place an emergencylanding can be attempted. It is avery small island and ratherhard to find in among the islets ifthe rugged coastline. It hasproven to be, during the 15thArmy Air Forces activity overmany countries to the north andeast, a pilot's haven.

A "last chance" stopbefore crossing the cold AdriaticSea.

The radar plane's tankswere leveled by the busyengineer and in spite of thesteps taken, they readalarmingly low.

"Yes! I can see the island," yelled the Mickey man, who

sat immediately back of thepilot. After a few momentshesitation, while he peered intohis scope, he exclaimed, "it'sdead ahead. You will pass rightover it."

"Are you sure?" inquiredthe pilot.

17

"Positive," the radar maninsisted.

"Good, keep it in view.Unless we can break off the icewe may have to head for it. Andbesides," he yelled, "we sure ashell haven't got much gas left.We should have ample to reachthe Italian coast, however; butdamn it all, I can't trust thesegas gauges."

"Roger," the Mickey man

yelled. "How's the ice coming?

Can you get it off?""Hell no, I can't get it off,"

replied the co-pilot dryly. "Theboots won't budge it. It's crackedbut it's piling up faster than theboots can break it off. What willwe do?"

The pilot parried ananswer. "Beats the hell out ofme, let 'er pile up I guess. Wewill be down low enough in afew minutes for it to melt off."

Both the pilot and the co-pilot had their fingers crossed asthe airplane continued its glidetoward the sea.

"When do you think wewill break out of this stuff?"

"Your guess is as goodas mine," was the pilot'sunsatisfactory comeback.

"Above the watersomeplace I hope. We are'unwinding' pretty fast - we areat eight thousand now."

"Think we ought to whack'er back some more, maybeback to 1900 rpm."

"Oh - I don't know - I don'tthink so. Fifty rpm one way orthe other won't make a hell of alot of difference. Let 'er go.Roger?

Pilot to waist - sit tight

every one, we are doing okay -be home…" The pilot's voicetrailed off. The pilot released themike button on the wheel."What's wrong?"

His eyes snapped to theinstrument panel. The numberone fuel pressure gauge fell tozero! "Pilot to crew," his voicewas hesitant, "we are runningout of fuel! Stand by to bail out!"

In a split second, the co-pilot yelled for the engineer totransfer fuel. "Number one cutout!"

Near panic gripped thecrew. The pilot yelled at theradar man, as the co-pilotflipped the fuel booster pumpsback on. "We will do a 'oneeighty'. - Head for 'Yugo' - betterstill - the island. Can you pick itup?"

"Yeah - hell, yes, we areonly about ten mile from it now."

The airplane began to falllike a rock. Power was added inan effort to keep the airplane, soheavily loaded with ice, fromstalling out and falling into aspin. The pilot subconsciouslycranked in trim to counteract forthe yaw created by the"windmilling" prop.

The co-pilot presses the"D" button on his VHF set andimmediately began a frantic callin the open. "Mayday! Mayday!This is St. Nick V-for-Victorygoing down. Out of fuel - Will tryto reach the coast! Will try toreach the coast!"

Number one sputtered.The fuel pressure came up - andthen went down. Then numberthree fuel pressure gauge fell tozero and the engine cut out.

"Now, we are in for it," the

co-pilot yelled. "Let's leave thiscrate."

"And fall into that icy sea?No thanks."

The co-pilot flipped offnumber one and number threefuel pumps and left two and fouron.

"Pilot to crew - open thehatches and stand by. We arerunning out of fuel. If we breakout of the clouds near the islandwe will bail out over it. We havetwo engines."

"We are down to fivethousand, let's get the hell out ofhere," was the co-pilot'sdesperate plea.

"Hold on - we arebreaking out of this stuff. Thereis the island. See! Right belowus. See it? There's the island!Hey, Mickey man, you were right

- there it is!" the pilot criedexultantly.

The pilot pressed hismike button with his thumbencased in a heavy leatherglove. "I can see the island,lads. There is a landing strip onthe island and I'll try to make it."

The icy sea below waschurning and white caps made afroth on the surface of the water.To attempt survival in that angrysea would be a horrible ordealfor anyone.

"Clear the nose quickly.Clear the nose," came the pilot'ssharp command.

The ice began to meltfrom the antennae and smashedagainst the windshield. The iceon the props hit the side of thefuselage and sounded like spentflak fragments.

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The pilot and co-pilotwere thinking fast now. Theyhad a plan. Fly straight out andturn around. Then, head backfor the southern side of theisland. A fifty-to-one shot offinding a narrow landing stripwhich they had never seen.They still had altitude and therewas time to make an approachto the landing strip.

The radio operatorcontinued to tap out "Save OurSouls" until the pilot told him toget ready for a rough landing.He then screwed the key downand took his position.

"I see the strip. It's over toyour right. See it ?!" the co-pilotyelled excitedly. "It's right overthat ridge."

The pilot searched therugged bush-covered island forthe "strip" the co-pilot claimed tosee. Yes, there it was. He couldsee it now. A landing strip -indeed! The wet metal runwaylocated like a silver ribbon lyingin the valley between twomountain ridges. The "pilots' lastchance" stop. There it wasbefore them glistening in thewaning light.

The pilot approaching theisland began to makecorrections to line up with therunway. The power on the tworemaining engines wasincreased and a quick routinecheck was made for a landing.

"What's that on runway?It's another airplane. It's crackedup on the runway!" The pilotswere frozen with the starkrealization that they could notland on the "strip".

"Insult was added toinjury" when number four engine

cut out without even so much asa sputter. One engine hung inthe balance between elevenmen and death, which seemedimminent. The horror flashedacross the pilot's mind. Rather arough grave for eleven airmen -on the side of a sea-eaten cliffon the island.

The air speed indicatorfell in air speed. Almostmechanically, the pilot nosed thebig "bird" down. He headed it forthe lowest part of the island. A"gun-sight" which was formed atthe vertex of the two ridges;barely wide enough to flythrough.

In the sequence ofevents that followed, which tookplace in a matter of seconds,little was said. The time for trickswas over. There was nothing leftto do but crash.

"Prepare for a crashlanding," was the last call madeover the interphone.

The heavy bomberseemed doomed to crash on thecrag. So close and yet so farfrom a runway that they couldn'tget on, even if they had had thepower to reach it. The angle ofglide was extremely steep. Theywere completely powerless toalter their situation. The airplaneglided with the weak assistanceof one remaining engine, whichscreamed - alone.

As they slipped down, thefew remaining seconds left littletime for maneuvering - onlygestures to survive. As theypassed over the crag the waveswere clearly visible, out of thecorner of the pilot's eye -dashing against the pinnacle ofrock below.

The pilot yelled, "watchthe wings. Will they clear thewalls of that canyon?"

"Yes - yes, we're clear, "the co-pilot replied with a sob inhis voice.

Like an enormous gullthe blue-grey "bird" glidedbetween the walls of thecanyon, and there below,nestled behind the ridge, but ashort distance from the runway,was a small vineyard. Neat rowsof vines suddenly loomed up.

There wasn't time to thinkas the pilot yelled, "gear down."The action of the pilot and theco-pilot was almostspontaneous as they nosed thehelpless bomber down into thevineyard.

"Watch out for the fence."There was a quick tug on theelevators as the bomber, with itsgear locked down, "highjumped" the fence. Just abovethe ground the ship rounded-out. Two wheels touched theground. The co-pilot cut themain line and battery as the pilotapplied brakes. Immediatelyahead, a stone revetment camerushing up.

The plane's terrific weightsettled in the soft, spongy earth.The nose gear snapped as if ithad never been there. The bigbomber's stubby nose shoveledinto the rain soaked soil. Therate of deceleration wasextremely rapid - but gentle.

When the bomber finallycame to rest, a blade of thenumber one propeller was benton the stone revetment. Therudder pedals were resting inthe mud. The cockpit was filledwith mud and shredded grape

19

vines, which had been scoopedin through the completelydemolished nose compartment.

The crew left the planelike mad men escaping from anasylum. They ran in alldirections. When the lastpropeller finally stopped turning,the scattered crew was stunnedby the sudden silence on therain drenched island. A bark of adog and the sound of a gentlerain was all that was heard. Thecrew members felt limp. Almosttoo weak to stand.

Some laughed a little andcalled to one another as theycollected near the plane. "Guesswe're pretty lucky." Some hadtears in their eyes and broadgrins on their haggard faces asthey clasped hands.

Others said nothing.They just sat quietly on the wetground. Shocked, tired, hungryand quietly thanking God thatthey were alive.

Dear Editor,I seek information on

James A. Fedewa of 455thBG,743rd Squadron.

My father was a B-17Command Pilot with the 100thBG (8th AF) out of England, anda POW at Stalag Luft I. I serveon Board of 100th BGFoundation, and oftenencounter people looking forinformation on family members.

I have enough contactswithin 8th AF and POWnetworks that I can help locatecrew information, but 15th AF isless familiar to me. I got yourcontact information off the455thBG website, and hope thatyou can help.

Fred Fedewa, the son ofJames A Fedewa, served in theUSAF, graduated from USAFAcademy, but never got hisfather to open up about HISexperiences in the 455th BG.Belatedly (the father isdeceased), the son is trying topiece together his father'sUSAAF service.

Your website lists James,but I did not see a listing todetermine what crew he flew on,what position he held in the crewor what missions he flew. Hisrank was S/Sgt, Army serial#15328018, flew 35 missions -the last one on April 6, 1945,according to an official record.

Any specific informationyou could provide would beappreciated. And if there areany surviving crew members,that would be best of all.

Thank you. Nancy Putnam100th Bomb Group [email protected]

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FINAL FLIGHTS

Thomas J. Macaulay (743)died March 22, 2012.

During WWII, he flew 35missions with the 743rd BombSquadron and attained the rankof Captain. He was awarded theDistinguished Flying Cross andthe Air Medal with 3 clusters.

Don Coin Walrod (740)June 6, 1919 - March 31, 2008

Arthur Mattson (743)was called to his heavenly homeon September 29, 2012. Art wasan Army Air Corps veteran ofWW II, and a member of theVFW.

"It is true we have won allour wars, but we have paid forthem. We don't want victoriesanymore."

Golda MeirFormer Prime Minister, Israel

Dear Editor,I'm the Historian for the

485th BG Association (and theson of a deceased tail gunnerfrom that group).

I've been trying to trackdown some information foryears, and have beenunsuccessful. I'll explain:

On December 29, 1944,one 455th BG B-24 landed atRamitelli, Italy (home of thesegregated 332nd FG, the RedTails) in bad weather, returning

from a mission. Seventeen B-24's were also there from the485th for the same reason. Theplanes and men stayed severaldays until the weather improved.From all accounts, the men gotalong extremely well.

I told the story in one ofmy books (I'm Off to War,Mother, But I'll Be Back), and

also made a documentary aboutit (New Year's at Ramitelli).

I've interviewed a bunchof the 485th guys who werethere, and I also interviewedseveral of the Red Tails (for

Lucasfilm) concerning the story. One book published

many years ago told a differentstory, of a bunch of racist thingsthat occurred. None of the485th guys or Red Tails who

were there had any knowledgeof any of this. I don't doubt thatthis sort of thing happened, but Ibelieve the incidents happenedat other times. I know at leastone of the incidents describedhappened on 1/20/45.

Memories fade and Ithink several incidents thatoccurred over several monthswere "blamed" on this visit. Theproblem with this is that it puts

the 17 crews from the 485th andthe one 455th crew in a badlight. If it happened then, so beit. We need to tell historyaccurately. If it didn't happenthen, it's not fair to the guys whowere there.

Supposedly there was agunner, a married sergeant, bythe name of Schwartz, who waswriting a bunch of racistcomments to his wife while hewas at Ramitelli. A Red Tail pilot

censored the letter andconfronted Schwartz. Myrecords indicate this man wasn'tin the 485th. I also don't believehe was in the 455th.

I've been unable to locateany information identifying the455th crew who landed there on12/29/44. Do you have a way ofidentifying this crew?

I'm not trying to makeanyone look bad on this, andcertainly wouldn't want to createany embarrassment for anygroup.

I do get concerned aboutsome of the more recent,inaccurate stories that we hear.A recent book about the RedTails contained this same,

inaccurate information. Lastly, I'm almost certain

that the Red Tails left a letter in

the cockpit of the 455th planethat was there. A copy of theletter that was left in the 455thplane is below. Thank you.

Sincerely,Jerry [email protected]

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Dear Editor, I have a follow-on to a

question that was asked in theSpring, 2013 newsletter.

Here’s the background:Patty, and her brother Dave,were able to recognize their dad(Edward L. Wood) in one of myAFHRA photos. The aircraft isIrish Lassie (B-24J 44-40517).

I’ve never found a viewwith the nose art, but the namewas confirmed from a couple ofgood sources. The aircraft flewwith both the 741st BS and743rd BS.

The photo belowshowsthe Herbert Cahill crew (743).Sgt. Wood is fifth from the left.

The caption for the photoonly identifies it as Lt. Herbert F.Cahill’s crew, with none of thecrew individually identified.

According to the groupmicrofilm, the Herbert Cahillcrew arrived at the 743rd BS on27 January, 1945. Dave andPatty have their dad’s notes,which mention Herbert Cahilland the 743rd BS, so I think wehave a good match.

I don’t have anything elseon Sgt. Wood, and he’s not inmy group roster. Do anyreaders of the CerignolaConnection have anything else

on him?Best Regards,

Dave [email protected]

Information regarding therequest for information aboutEdward L. Wood and crew(<<<<<<<<< left column):

Corporal Edward LWood, s/n 35148996, wasidentified in a set of Air Medalorders issued 19 April, 1945.His hometown was listed asBloomington, Indiana, and hismissions were from 19 Marchthrough 7 April, 1945.

Two other possiblemembers of his crew were alsolisted in those orders:

Corporal Samuel B Siler,Jr (of Clearwater, Florida) andCorporal Andrew H Norford (ofWashington, DC).

At this point that’s all Ihave on this airman.

Regards,John RohrerHistorian, 455th BG [email protected]

Editor’s Note:Over the last 12 years, as

newsletter editor, I have hadreaders occasionally ask questionsabout my personal life, careerbackground, family, hobbies, etc.

In editing the CerignolaConnection, I have tried to makesure the content is about theveterans of the 455th BG, and not

22

Dear Editor,I want to thank you for

including my information aboutmy wife's uncle, Sgt. CharlesBeverly Bingham (page 5) andmy contact with DavidBridgman, the brother of HaroldT. Bridgman, Jr (pages 11, 12,and 13) in your Fall, 2014edition of the CerignolaConnection newsletter.

Since my wife's uncle,Charles B. Bingham, wasincluded in a photo with hisfellow crewmen in an earliernewsletter photo with theiraircraft, Glammer Gal, and

having that connection, I wasfascinated by another article inthe same Fall 2014 newsletter(P. 10) by Larry O'Neill,regarding the passing of hisfather, Thomas D. O'Neill.

Apparently from thephotos included with the article,Thomas was also a crewman ofthe Glammer Gal at one time. I

sent Larry an email about theconnection to see if he willrespond.

Your newsletter has beenan amazing tool for me in myresearch.

Best Regards,Donald [email protected]

FINAL FLIGHTCapt. Pedro E. Guerrero (GP)

died in September, 2012.Capt. Guerrero was theexclusive photographer forFrank Lloyd Wright, and hadbeen since before the warbegan! Wright tried to convincehim to refuse to go to WWII andget locked up instead !

Google "Pedro Guerrero"and you'll get all kind ofinteresting articles about himand links to books he wrote.

During his time with the455th BG in Italy, he developedbombing run photos.

Go to the following link: www.guerreromovie.com

It links to a short videothat connects Capt. Guerrero toCerignola.

FINAL FLIGHT

Paul F. Moritz, Sr. (742)1922 - 2010

He enlisted in 1941, andwas part of the 455th BombGroup in Italy. His B-24 wasshot down. He was interned inSwitzerland, escaped, andreturned to his unit.

FINAL FLIGHT

Arthur Noble West (742)age 93, passed away peacefullyof natural causes on January 11,2015.

He served in the Army AirCorps, 15th Air Force, 455thBomb Group, 742nd Squadronas a bomber pilot, flying 16combat missions over Germany,Italy, Austria, Hungary, andFrance, including the last heavybombardment mission overEurope.

He returned home afterthe war, and served in the AirForce Reserve. He received anhonorable discharge from theservice, as Captain. For thenext few years he workedinstructing pilots in Kinston,North Carolina, and thentransferred to Georgia where hetaught jet pilots. During hiscareer, Arthur trained over 200pilots.

Can You Help ? Dear Editor,

I was attempting to findinformation about my father-in-law, Charles Donaldson (Don)Martin who served in the 740thBombardment Squadron, 455thBombardment Group, as agunner on the B-24.

I came across yourwebsite (www.awardphp.com),and the newsletters youproduce. I’m reading those withgreat interest.

He talked many timesabout his service, and the timehe was stationed at Cerignola.He kept in touch with his pilot,Riley and another crew

member, Laffey, but lost contactin the years before his passing.

I’m not sure which namesare first or last names for somecrewmembers. I believe Riley’slast name was Riley. Not surewhat his first name was.

I am attaching a pictureof his crew (see above). I’m notsure when or where the picturewas taken.

Don passed away, at theage of 87, on August 31st of2011. He left a daughter (mywife) Teresa, and four sons, RonMartin, Tommy Martin, RandyMartin and Brian Martin. Hewas preceded in death by hiswife Elsie. His was a life welllived.

I appreciate thetremendous effort you put intopreserving the memory of thatgeneration. I understand thatyour dad served on a B-24, also.

My dad was a gunner ona B-24, stationed in Texas, as aninstructor and because of ahealth problem, he was never incombat.

My one regret is that wenever got Don to a Wings ofFreedom show to see and fly ontheir B-24. I had the pleasure ofclimbing through a B-24J at thePima Museum in Tucson.

I hope to find more as Iread your past newsletters.

Thanks for all you do,Dannie Cutts (researcher)Please respond to:Randy Martin (son, Don Martin)[email protected]

23

FINAL FLIGHT

John E. Merfeld (741)1923 - 2014

His family moved to SanDiego shortly before WWII,where he entered the US ArmyAir Corps and served on a B-24Liberator Bomber.

Flying missions overwestern, central and easternEurope, he was awarded theDistinguished Flying Cross andthree Air Medals.

A Message from the 455th Bomb Group Association’s Executive Director, Greg Riggs

By the time you've gotten to this page, you probably know the next joint bomb group reunionwill be September 24-27, 2015 at Kansas City. Reports from the Tempe, AZ reunion in 2013 were allpositive. The reunion last year in Oklahoma City was also very enjoyable and actually moreinformative for some of us than previous reunions have been.

For the second, third, and fourth generations attending, we are learning more about the fullscope of the strategic bombing effort, including what went on in the background to keep the planesflying. If at all possible, consider joining us.

We've had an interesting development during these last six months. We've actually had WWIIveterans joining the association. It's been refreshing to have people contact us and express aninterest in joining with us. All of that has occurred because of the fine work Craig Ward does with thisnewsletter!

People continue being generous in supporting the Cerignola Connection. We currently have

sufficient funds for three more issues after this one. Had it not been for member support, the previousedition would have been the final one. We all thank those donors listed elsewhere in the newsletter!

There is not much other news. I've been reading several books lately about various B-24 crewsoperating both out of England and out of Italy. What has continued to impress me is how different theexperiences were depending on timing and location: the strength of the Luftwaffe, the lethalconcentration of AA defenses, and the country out of which bomb groups operated.

The one thing common to all those scenarios was that you guys were being shot at! Thank you,again, for the freedoms you preserved for subsequent generations.

I wish you a healthy summer, and I hope you can be part of the reunion in Kansas City.

455th Bomb Group Assoc., Inc.P.O. Box 93095Austin, TX 78709-3095

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