- Joined
- Dec 15, 2022
The Pink Bomber - Cockpit Memories
- Thread starter WolfeTone
- Start date
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2020
Fatality rates for the bombers were pretty bad. Remember that these guys were stuck in their tin cans getting constantly fired at from below and from others in the sky. I'm not sure how paratrooper casualties compare but the bomb crews were no lucky ducks.
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2020
Guess who among us "green horn" pilots was the first assigned to lead an entire 24 ship formation? Joe Corwin, of course. He was the first in our little group to become "top dog". Corwin had earned his assignment on merit. He was creamy smooth as he led a ballet of bombers performing evasive action. Every pilot recognized that things were silky when he was leading. Bomb patterns were uniform, and accuracy improved. Joe had the touch.
While my classmate established himself, I still had several rungs to climb on the ladder. Finally, I got to lead a box, then, a red-letter day, I was assigned to lead the Group! It was a thrill to feel recognized. Such an assignment called for at least a Captain, and of course, I was still a First Looie. It felt wonderful. I had been moved up to the Front Office.
I discovered that the job had carried one severe drawback: fear! Our target for this particular mission was a key cross-roads behind the Nazis' "Gustav Line", south of Rome. I had been briefed to climb to 11,000 feet near the target, and to drop the payload at about 10,000 feet. When we arrived at the target area, we found a special menace: the cloud ceiling was at 9,000 feet. Flying directly under an overcast was especially unhealthy, for the enemy probably had the ceiling measured by balloons, and the usually accurate flak gunners could track us against the cloud cover. Not surprisingly, the target area proved to be heavily defended by flak.
I led the Group further inland, as though we were heading north; this was intended to confuse Nazi batteries. However, there was another reason: we always made our bomb runs toward our home bases. This was done, so that if a bomber was damaged by flak, it would not have to fly deeper into enemy territory before flying home. Continuing action to confuse the enemy, I headed the Group toward the Tyrrhenian Sea, due west. When I arrived almost directly north of the target, I began evasive action and headed toward them.
"Gerry", our complimentary name for the Germans, was watching, and he wasn't fooled. One of his favorite tactics was to set up a box barrage to discourage attacking planes. This involved putting a "box" of flak shells into the air directly over the obvious target, while the American or British bombers were still about a mile from it. The reliable and accurate 88 millimeter artillery would throw up shells set to explode at different altitudes. The black blobs of exploding flak became more frequent, so that the sky was soon pock-marked with flak bursts, churning with exploding steel.
Before I was advanced to leader, I was so busy keeping up with the evasive actions of whoever was leading that only occasionally did I notice the black bursts, sometimes between my plane and another, but I never saw the full picture of a box barrage. Now that I was sitting in the "Front Office", I had an unobstructed view of the target, and also a front row seat for the box barrage in living color. Actually, it was mostly black and white. This was my very first day in the "Front Office", and I was facing a full-scale box barrage for the first time. My thoughts ran wild.
"There is no way on God's green earth we'll get through that black mess with half our bombers! We're on our way to losing our collective ass." Every bone in my body began to scream, "For God's sake, turn this formation around! You fool, get the hell out of here!"
While my classmate established himself, I still had several rungs to climb on the ladder. Finally, I got to lead a box, then, a red-letter day, I was assigned to lead the Group! It was a thrill to feel recognized. Such an assignment called for at least a Captain, and of course, I was still a First Looie. It felt wonderful. I had been moved up to the Front Office.
I discovered that the job had carried one severe drawback: fear! Our target for this particular mission was a key cross-roads behind the Nazis' "Gustav Line", south of Rome. I had been briefed to climb to 11,000 feet near the target, and to drop the payload at about 10,000 feet. When we arrived at the target area, we found a special menace: the cloud ceiling was at 9,000 feet. Flying directly under an overcast was especially unhealthy, for the enemy probably had the ceiling measured by balloons, and the usually accurate flak gunners could track us against the cloud cover. Not surprisingly, the target area proved to be heavily defended by flak.
I led the Group further inland, as though we were heading north; this was intended to confuse Nazi batteries. However, there was another reason: we always made our bomb runs toward our home bases. This was done, so that if a bomber was damaged by flak, it would not have to fly deeper into enemy territory before flying home. Continuing action to confuse the enemy, I headed the Group toward the Tyrrhenian Sea, due west. When I arrived almost directly north of the target, I began evasive action and headed toward them.
"Gerry", our complimentary name for the Germans, was watching, and he wasn't fooled. One of his favorite tactics was to set up a box barrage to discourage attacking planes. This involved putting a "box" of flak shells into the air directly over the obvious target, while the American or British bombers were still about a mile from it. The reliable and accurate 88 millimeter artillery would throw up shells set to explode at different altitudes. The black blobs of exploding flak became more frequent, so that the sky was soon pock-marked with flak bursts, churning with exploding steel.
Before I was advanced to leader, I was so busy keeping up with the evasive actions of whoever was leading that only occasionally did I notice the black bursts, sometimes between my plane and another, but I never saw the full picture of a box barrage. Now that I was sitting in the "Front Office", I had an unobstructed view of the target, and also a front row seat for the box barrage in living color. Actually, it was mostly black and white. This was my very first day in the "Front Office", and I was facing a full-scale box barrage for the first time. My thoughts ran wild.
"There is no way on God's green earth we'll get through that black mess with half our bombers! We're on our way to losing our collective ass." Every bone in my body began to scream, "For God's sake, turn this formation around! You fool, get the hell out of here!"
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2020
At moments like these, those hours on the drill field, and "practice, practice, practice" payed dividends. Discipline, instilled and drummed into the human psyche by the military, pays off in such situations. It's what drove the Marines at Iwo Jima, and the Army at Omaha Beach, to charge in the face of withering enemy fire. The behavior defies logic and self-interest. Some call it "Bravery under fire". Many who have faced the situation call it "controlled terror"!
The bombardier, Ray Johnson, perched a bit ahead of and below me in the bombardier's greenhouse, had an even more dramatic view of things. His training payed off, too. "Okay, straighten her out for a run... Bomb bay doors open... Kick her over about 10 degrees right. Looking good. Cross road in plain sight. Give me left a bit--- a bit more. OKAY. Hold it right there. H-o-o-o-ld it! BOMBS AWAY!!" Flak was bursting on all sides. We had to remain straight and level so the ships in the rear would release at our altitude and heading.
I heard it, then I felt it, even before the loud "PING" registered inside the cockpit. My right calf went numb, and I knew immediately I'd been hit. I had wondered and worried, about when I'd be wounded, but I never wondered about which part of my body would suffer. I'd talked with many wounded airmen, and they all said the same thing.
"It doesn't hurt at first, you feel numb. The pain comes later."
I wondered whether I still had my right leg, or whether it was a bloody stump. Right then is when I "lost it" for a few seconds. Of course I didn't realize it, but I was exerting backwards pressure on the control column, while I reacted to my leg wound. This pressure had put the plane into a climb. As we had been drilled, the front elements of the formation followed, and we climbed into the cloud ceiling. It would have been a novel way to escape the flak-if the pilots in the formation could still see one another.
"Stew" Stewart, my co-pilot, sensed that I was "not with it", and called, "You okay?" Then, sensing an emergency, took a chance. He rolled the trim tab slightly forward, to bring the nose of the B-25 downward out of the clouds. The formation followed. He "took a chance" because only one person, the pilot, flies the ship unless there's an emergency. I felt the downward pressure, but I hadn't seen him touch the trim tab (which balances the aircraft, making it nose or tail heavy). I immediately concluded, from the downward pull, that there had been some damage to our controls resulting from the same flak that had hit my leg. So, to counter the plane's "nose down" attitude, I rolled the trim back upward into the cloud cover. Again, I corrected, immediately rolled the trim forward, and we were back in the clear. In effect, I was leading a formation of Mitchells, porpoising in and out of the overcast. The peculiar form of evasive action may have puzzled the Kraut flak gunners below. It certainly confused the other pilots.
The bombardier, Ray Johnson, perched a bit ahead of and below me in the bombardier's greenhouse, had an even more dramatic view of things. His training payed off, too. "Okay, straighten her out for a run... Bomb bay doors open... Kick her over about 10 degrees right. Looking good. Cross road in plain sight. Give me left a bit--- a bit more. OKAY. Hold it right there. H-o-o-o-ld it! BOMBS AWAY!!" Flak was bursting on all sides. We had to remain straight and level so the ships in the rear would release at our altitude and heading.
I heard it, then I felt it, even before the loud "PING" registered inside the cockpit. My right calf went numb, and I knew immediately I'd been hit. I had wondered and worried, about when I'd be wounded, but I never wondered about which part of my body would suffer. I'd talked with many wounded airmen, and they all said the same thing.
"It doesn't hurt at first, you feel numb. The pain comes later."
I wondered whether I still had my right leg, or whether it was a bloody stump. Right then is when I "lost it" for a few seconds. Of course I didn't realize it, but I was exerting backwards pressure on the control column, while I reacted to my leg wound. This pressure had put the plane into a climb. As we had been drilled, the front elements of the formation followed, and we climbed into the cloud ceiling. It would have been a novel way to escape the flak-if the pilots in the formation could still see one another.
"Stew" Stewart, my co-pilot, sensed that I was "not with it", and called, "You okay?" Then, sensing an emergency, took a chance. He rolled the trim tab slightly forward, to bring the nose of the B-25 downward out of the clouds. The formation followed. He "took a chance" because only one person, the pilot, flies the ship unless there's an emergency. I felt the downward pressure, but I hadn't seen him touch the trim tab (which balances the aircraft, making it nose or tail heavy). I immediately concluded, from the downward pull, that there had been some damage to our controls resulting from the same flak that had hit my leg. So, to counter the plane's "nose down" attitude, I rolled the trim back upward into the cloud cover. Again, I corrected, immediately rolled the trim forward, and we were back in the clear. In effect, I was leading a formation of Mitchells, porpoising in and out of the overcast. The peculiar form of evasive action may have puzzled the Kraut flak gunners below. It certainly confused the other pilots.
- Joined
- Feb 5, 2019
so what i'm reading here is your grandfather lost his mind during the one moment when it matters most and almost killed not only himself, but the entire formation?
did i get that right?
did i get that right?
- Joined
- Mar 4, 2019
They all knew him but never would admit it publicly; especially not within earshot of the chaplain. The pressing needs of a young man at war are known and accounted for, but the cold front offers no such gentle warmth. An ace for sure, he wasn't anyone's friend though nearly everyone had held him at least once during those cold nights...
most knew him only by his lurid moniker:
most knew him only by his lurid moniker:
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2017
Grandpa would be so proud to know that his memoir is being self-published on a shitposting website for internet clout.
Seriously Nate: Is it not bad enough to drag your own name through the mud?
Seriously Nate: Is it not bad enough to drag your own name through the mud?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2020
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2017
It'd take a long time to cover everything, but this one's particularly fucked:
Attachments
- Joined
- Feb 5, 2019
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2017
Oh good. So which one of us is he going to blame when some angy aylog leaves funnee comments on Grandpa's book? lol
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2020
I was found innocent of everything on that police report, it's bunk from a crooked cop.
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2020
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2020
Police are allowed to lie without consequences, but the court system found that the evidence didn't support the police report. The person who gave the statement didn't say what ended up being written down. It was a complete miscarriage of justice and my county's lucky I don't have a penchant for suing people cause I'd win that lawsuit.
- Joined
- Feb 5, 2019
except the battery, which you plead down to make everything else go away
it's all public, all someone has to do is go to this page and search for Nathaniel David Mathews
don't forget to change the date range if you want to see more than his most recent battery charge (involving piss)
- Joined
- Oct 16, 2019
I don't know my man, it's just that supposedly your dad's a drug addict who ruined your life, the cops are all crooked and lie about you for no reason, the Wolfehaters are all dumb and make stuff up, you get banned from chat for no reason...
Why do you suspect that the world is so unfair to someone so upstanding and well principled?
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2020
He is clearly the chosen one and the elites found this out through their networks of secrit uber quantum computers. They have been trying to screw him over because he is the one thorn in their side. Think about this, Uber, think!
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2020
Police recently took my side on an issue regarding neighborhood hellions. It just took 1 rookie girl cop to write up a bunch of bullshit that never happened to give grist to the mill of a cancelmob. You believe them if you want, but this cancel mob x infallible police type beat was the main jam of the Soviet Union. Food for thought.
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2017
Yes Nate. The police totally have your back. That's why they arrested you multiple times, and not the guy you threw peepee at. lol
Remind us again how the story is completely bunk, but daddy still had to drive all the way down to the police department so cops could lie about you on his behalf.
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2020
This isn't your debate thread, your supporters thread, your 4 DMS, chat or any of the other places you've spammed for the last 5 months. This is the Art & Literature section, make a Prospering Grounds thread that can be cross examined by the community or fuck off. Null's told me explicitly to stop talking to you, it's his site, make a blog if you disagree.