Marauders in the Mist: A Story of the “Big War”

By J.K. Havener

This account of one man’s experience flying the much-maligned medium bomber of WW II, the Martin B-26 Marauder, embraces about half the total time span of the war but only a fraction of the area involved - the American and European Theaters of Operation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665530651

J.K. Havener

J.K. Havener completed 65 missions as a pilot of a B-26 Martin Marauder during World War 2. He was a member of the 344th Bomb Group, 497th Bomb Squadron,and was stationed in England and France. This book is about his memoirs as a WW2 pilot, from training to the end of his tour. His other books include “The Martin B-26 Marauder” and “Army Air Force Lyrics”. He has also had several articles published in different Aviation magazines, and is also credited with over 200 color photos of his time spent in the 344th Bomb Group.

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© 2021 J.K. Havener. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  06/30/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3064-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3063-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3065-1 (e)

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expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Foreword

Dedication

Introduction

Acknowledgements

A Word About The Marauder

BOOK I       TRAINING

Chapter 1     The Infantry

Chapter 2     Classification Center

Chapter 3     Pre-Flight Training

Chapter 4     Primary Flight Training

Chapter 5     Basic Flight Training

Chapter 6     Advanced Flight Training

Chapter 7     Operational Training Unit

Chapter 8     Overseas Staging

BOOK II      COMBAT

Chapter 1     The Flight Across

Chapter 2     Air Offensive Europe

Chapter 3     D-Day

Chapter 4     The Battle Of Normandy

Chapter 5     Breakout From Normandy

Chapter 6     The Move To France

Chapter 7     The Battle Of Northern France

Chapter 8     Battle Of The Bulge

Chapter 9     Stalemated

BOOK III    RETURN TO THE ZI

Chapter 1     The Waiting Period

Chapter 2     The Voyage Home

Chapter 3     Rest, Rehabilitation And Re-Assignment

Chapter 4     The Battle Of Del Rio

Chapter 5     Separation From Service

Epilogue

Glossary

ETO Terms And Names

Bibliography

To many of those who participated in it World War II will always be remembered as the Big War and with just cause. Up to that point in history it involved more of the countries of the world than any other conflict previously, more land area was involved, ravaged, traversed and occupied than ever before and more lives (both civilian and military) were lost than in any other war before or since.

This account of one man’s experience flying the much-maligned medium bomber of WW II, the Martin B-26 Marauder, embraces about half the total time span of the war but only a fraction of the area involved - the American and European Theaters of Operation.

FOREWORD

In life one may meet tens of thousands of individuals, but, in the end, only a handful will become true and trusted friends. Of those that do become friends, the number that fully share in common understandings, ethics and more is even less.

Many years ago, by way of the B-26 Marauder Historical Society and with a common focus on the history of the Martin B-26 Marauder, I met a fellow author. His name was Jack K. Havener.

Almost immediately there was a bond between the two of us – a bond that continued strong and unshakable during some of the most trying years of both our lives – and a bond that remains firm as we both head toward ninety years.

Jack and I were authors, critical and complimentary of each other’s work. Of the two of us, Jack was the more prolific and better writer -- turning out articles, books and more that exceeded in volume what some individuals could read. Jack’s work was authentic, balanced and straight-forward.

For years Jack served the Marauder community in many roles, but the most important of all his undertakings was the focus on history. A bit of an historical pack rat, Jack collected more of life’s accumulation than most. As result, his historical accounts contained a personal touch seldom found in other works.

I am proud to be the owner of many of Jack’s historical portrayals. Now he has come forth with a new one – an account based on letters home.

Those who may now wonder what it was like over a half century ago will find Jack’s account most illuminating and informative. I wish I could write as well.

Major General John O. Moench

USAF (Ret)

Moench.jpg

Major General John O. Moench was born in Chicago, Il, in 1921 and is a 1939 graduate of Valpariso High School, Valpariso, IN. He has a bachelor of science degree in military science and a master’s degree in political science from the University of Maryland. He began his military career in May 1942, entered pilot training the following October, and received his pilot wings and commission as a second lieutenant in August 1943.

He then was assigned to the 479th Bombardment Squadron at Avon Park, FL. Subsequent assignments were to MacDill Army Air Field, FL, and Lake Charles Army Air Field, LA. In May 1944 he was assigned to the 323rd Bombardment Group, Ninth Air Force, and served in the European Theater of Operations as a pilot and later assistant group operations officer, flying 64 combat missions in the Martin B-26 Marauder.

He returned to the United States in August 1945 to become Head of Depot Operations at Air Materiel Command Headquarters at Wright Field, OH. This was followed by a three-year tour of duty at U.S. Air Force Headquarters where he held several positions including assistant for materiel in the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Materiel, and staff plans officer in the Office of the Assistant for Programming, Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations.

From March 1951 to December 1953 he was assigned to Headquarters U.S. Air Forces in Europe, as programs officer, Requirements Division, and later to U.S. European Command as plans officer, Assistant Chief of Staff for Plans. Following a six-month course at the Air and Command and Staff School, Maxwell Air Force Base, AL, he returned to Headquarters U. S. Air Force in Washington, DC, as chief International Standardization Branch, Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff, Development. In August 1958 he was selected to attend the Air War College at Maxwell Air Force Base.

In July 1959 he began his third overseas tour of duty when he went to the Pacific area. He served in Korea as commander, 6175th Air Base Group, Kunsan Air Base, and later as director, Plans and Programs, 314th Air Division, Osan Air Base. In June 1960 he transferred to Pacific Air Forces headquarters at Hickam Air Force Base, Hawaii, serving successively as director of policy in the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Plans, and assistant to the deputy chief of staff for plans and operations.

In June 1963 he again returned to the Pentagon for assignment to the Office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as assistant to the deputy chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff Special Studies Group. In June 1964 he was assigned to the Strategic Plans and Policy Division, Joint Staff.

In April 1966 he returned for a second Pacific assignment, to serve on the staff of the staff of the commander in chief, U.S. Pacific Command, Camp Smith, Hawaii, as chief, Plans and Policy Branch. In August 1968 he assumed the position of deputy chief of staff for plans, at Headquarters Pacific Air Forces, at Hickam Air Force Base, Hawaii.

In January 1971 General Moench began his fourth assignment in Washington, DC, this time in the Office of the Secretary of Defense, as the director, Plans, Policy and Program Formulation, in the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense (International Security Affairs) responsible for the foreign military assistance plans and policy of the Department of Defense.

He is a command pilot and his military decorations and awards include the Distinguished Service Medal, Legion of Merit, Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with 11 oak leaf clusters, Joint Service Commendation Medal, Air Force Commendation Medal, Army Commendation Medal, and the Distinguished Unit Citation Emblem. He was promoted to the grade of major general effective 1 Aug. 1970, with date of rank 1 Feb. 1966.

He retired on 1 March 1974 and was very active in the Martin B-26 Marauder Historical Society from 1998 through 2004. He served many years as the Society Historian and one term as President. General Moench took his Final Flight on April 3, 2013. His wife, Mary Coppa Moench joined him on September 14, 2018. Both had resided in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida.

DEDICATION

TO MARY ALYCE - 1920-1971

                  The sparkling laughter has left this world,

                  The color-splashed leaves have fallen;

                  The dancing flame has flickered and gone out,

                  Left behind are cherished and beautiful memories;

                  Many years of love and true devotion.

                  Faithful wife, loving mother, beloved sister,

                  God has reserved a place of honor for you!

INTRODUCTION

For the most part, the contents of this book were taken from daily letters written to my wife during the period I was in the military service. The original manuscript of these letters totals 452 single-spaced typewritten pages and is in the archives of the Special Collection Department of the University of Memphis Library, Memphis, TN 38152 and is available for researcher’s scrutiny.

While the text of this book is in a narrative form, I have included excerpts from some of the letters to give the reader a feeling for changing moods, situations or circumstances. In the interest of brevity and to avoid repetition, most all endearments and items of a personal nature have been omitted.

In order to save writing time and space on stationery I used shortened phonetic versions of many words when writing the letters to my wife, some examples are enuf for enough, flite for flight, nite for night, tho for though, etc. so don’t be shocked at my supposed faulty spelling.

These quotes from the letters are always preceded by a date and, in some instances, the letters have become the narrative.

Although all facts and anecdotes in this book have been made as accurate as my records, repeated research, and memory would allow, I must assume the responsibility for any unintentional discrepancies that may still be lurking in the rhetoric.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I shall always be indebted to my wife, Doris, for her devotion, understanding, patience and critiquing during the many months involved in compiling this book, beginning in 1979.

Sincere gratitude is extended to my many service-connected buddies, friends, associates and families whose names are mentioned; some of whom loaned me photos or memorabilia as an aid in my research.

The only intentional fictitious names used are those about whom the narrative might have cause to embarrass those involved or their families. These are identified with an asterisk following the fictitious name when it first appears in the text.

A special thank you to Dr. Robin Higham, Editor, Aerospace Historian, for his advice and guidance during the preparation of this work.

Appreciation is extended to Christopher Horn for his tireless effort in editing these pages for grammatical and punctuation errors.

A WORD ABOUT THE MARAUDER

The Army Air Corps was so anxious to add a three hundred mile an hour twin-engined medium bomber to its inventory and had such faith in the design and proposal for Martin Aircraft Company’s Model 179 that it ordered the first 201 aircraft right off the drawing board!

This was in September 1939 and on 25 November 1940 the first B-26 off the production line became the first one to fly. An unprecedented first in the aircraft industry - no prototype!

Because of her aerodynamically perfect fuselage and short wings, her first nickname was The Flying Torpedo. This complimentary moniker was soon to change to a derogatory one - The Submarine With Wings, when the Army began loading the straight and A Models with additional features, equipment and armament.

As a result of this overloading, training accidents rose to a point where the Truman Congressional Committee recommended that future production be cancelled in 1942. All manner of derogatory nicknames had emerged as a result of these accidents and the Marauder was dubbed The Flying Prostitute, or The Baltimore Whore, (no visible means of support) because of her short 65 foot wing with a wing loading of just under 50 pounds per square foot - more than any other combat aircraft of the period. Other nicknames were: Martin Murderer, The Widowmaker, Flying Coffin, Coffin Without Handles, and B-Dash Crash.

She was being flown in combat in the Southwest Pacific by veteran pilots at sometimes up to 10,000 pounds over her designed weight at this time but, at the hands of inexperienced pilots and mechanics in the states, she was living up to her infamous reputation.

At the request of Chief of Staff, General H. H. Arnold, B/G James H. Doolittle made an on the site investigation of the B-26 problems in early September 1942 and a subsequent Air Safety Board finding countersunk his analysis and recommendations for solving them. In a concerted team effort, the Martin Co. and the Air Force sent veteran pilots and mechanics to the training bases to instruct all concerned in the proper flying and maintenance procedures. In the rush to get B-26 units into combat, these procedures had been slighted and tragedies had resulted.

One of the key factors in re-instilling the lost confidence in the B-26 was the flight demonstrations performed by Doolittle’s technical adviser, Captain Vincent W. Squeek Burnett. A famous stunt pilot prior to the war, Squeek had just recently been transferred to Doolittle’s command from the Ferry Command where he had been Chief Test Pilot and had flown practically every aircraft in the Air Force inventory.

These flight demonstrations, at B-26 training bases around the country, covered every phase of flight but the most spectacular of all the maneuvers was Squeek’s low-level passes across the field on one engine and turning into the dead engine in the process! These flights, more than anything else, probably were the biggest factor in saving the Marauder from extinction.

In the meantime, the Army realized the Marauder was grossly overloaded and increased the engine horsepower from 1850 to 2000, increased the wing span to 71 feet, installed a higher vertical tail plane, and new and improved ailerons, which all improved the take-off, flight and landing performances. In addition, the hydraulic and electrical systems were greatly improved which simplified maintenance. These changes were progressively installed in the B and C Models coming off the production lines at Martin’s Baltimore and Omaha factories.

But then the Army capitalized on the improved performance and added even more weight which brought the wing loading up to an incredible 56 pounds per square foot! Even so, the improvements and corrective measures taken at training bases more than compensated for the added weight and the problems began to disappear in the States.

In combat they were running into a different kind of problem. Even though the B-26 had been designed as a medium bomber (medium size and medium operational bombing altitudes) it was being used as a low-level bomber - torpedoing, skip-bombing and tree-top level bombing. This all started in the Pacific and Alaskan Theaters and carried over into the Mediterranean Theater when the first units were deployed there in late 1942. As a result, combat losses were heavy and cancellation was again threatened.

Even the first missions in the European Theater in May of 1943 were flown at low-level with disastrous results. On one mission none of the ships came back!

Doolittle pioneered medium altitude bombardment in the MTO with his 12th Air Force Marauders and combat losses dropped steadily. With the introduction of the Norden bombsight the bombing accuracy of the three MTO groups was also improved.

The Marauder really came into its own in the European Theater when the eight groups assigned to B/G Samuel E. Anderson’s 9th Air Force Bomber Command began bombing at medium altitudes exclusively. The tight formations proved an excellent defense against enemy fighter attacks and bombing accuracy was phenomenal. Even more amazing was the final combat loss figure - less than one half of one percent! Lower than any other combat bomber!

Over 5100 Marauders were built in Martin’s two plants and 521 of these had gone to the British and Free French Air Forces. The U. S. Navy even used a stripped-down version as a tow target ship, as did the AAF. It distinguished itself in every WWII Theater of War with the exception of the CBI and woe be unto anyone who spoke of it in a demeaning manner when a true Marauder Man was within hearing distance!

The Marauder (along with the 9th Air Force’s A-20s and fighter aircraft) played the major role in grinding the Luftwaffe into submission and disrupting Wermacht operations in the ETO, especially after D-Day.

We had heard, while performing our tours of duty, that the Marauder had become the most feared of the Allied bombers by the Luftwaffe and Wermacht personnel on the ground, as had the 9th Air Force P-47s. We were told that the terror showing on their faces, as they cried: "Achtung! Marauder! and ran for cover as our formations approached became standard procedure for them. Naturally, we took pride in this and hoped that it was true in fact.

This fact was substantiated by the author some years after the war when he learned that his International Harvester Co. contemporary at the company’s Neuss, West Germany factory had been a member of a Luftwaffe anti-aircraft gun crew in France during the 1943-45 period. Joe Muller, the Neuss Materials Controller, confirmed that the Marauder was the most feared during a visit to the States by IH overseas Materials Controllers in 1968. Just as we had taken pride in our bombing results, Joe had taken pride in the fact that his gun crew was right up among the leaders in the number of Marauders they had either damaged severely or shot down. I kidded him that he didn’t hit me once!

Joe’s statement was countersunk some years later by retired Luftwaffe General Gunter Rall who is the third ranking ace in the world with 275 aerial victories to his credit while a WWII fighter pilot in Spain, the Balkans and the Russian and western fronts of the German campaign. The former Luftwaffe Chief of Staff was at the Air University, Maxwell AFB, Alabama in the fall of 1985 to lecture a class of professional military students on his WWII experiences and the author met and talked with him in the Fairchild Library archives while doing research for his book on the Marauder which was published in the fall of 1988. Ironically General Rall, who had been shot down numerous times, was searching the records to try and find out the name of the P-47 pilot who had shot him down for the last time.

BOOK I

TRAINING

CHAPTER 1

THE INFANTRY

(What ‘n Hell Are We Walkin’ For)

RE-CLASSIFICATION BLUES

Please don’t put me in the Army,

Please don’t take me away;

I couldn’t stand it in the Army,

I’d have to shave every day!

Please don’t put me in the service,

Please don’t classify me 1-A;

The doctor says my blood’s like ice,

And my nerves are ready to fray.

Please don’t ship me to camp,

Please don’t make a yardbird of me;

My legs would buckle on a ten mile tramp,

And my head would buzz like a bee.

Please don’t draft me for duty,

Please don’t take me away from my wife;

I wouldn’t know a Jap from a cootie,

Nor a bugle from a fife.

Please don’t tell me I’m drafted,

Please don’t make me go;

My bad teeth can’t be extracted,

And my wife couldn’t live on her dough.

Puh-leeze don’t take me in the army,

Puh-leeze don’t send me to the fray;

I couldn’t stay alive in the army,

Besides, I bet I’ll be rejected today!

It’s May 1942 and my draft classification has just been changed from that of a married man with no children to 1-A. A married co-worker in the office of the International Harvester Company plant at Rock Falls, Illinois was also due to appear before the draft board for examination, leading to his possible reclassification as 1-A. He was in a finger nail-chewing state of mind and openly admitted that he wanted no part of the service. This unpatriotic attitude incensed me and I composed the above poem and presented it to him on the morning of his appointment with the board.

He was re-classified all right - to 4-F! There were many questionable 4-Fs (physically unfit for duty) running around at the time and we kidded him about having a pull with the draft board as his wife’s boss was a member. His case was legitimate, however. A near-fatal automobile accident some months earlier had crushed his pelvis and he was hospitalized for weeks thereafter. As a result of complications that lingered afterward, the draft board gave him the 4-F classification and, in spite of my slanderous poetry, we became the closest of friends throughout our future years with the company. He has since passed away so I shan’t reveal his identity.

THE DRAFT BOARD

(If They’re Warm We’ll Take ‘Em!)

Sterling, IL, October 1942 - Drafted! The mere sound of the word brought the bile up in my throat! After all the many trips to the Aviation Cadet Examining Board at Camp Grant, Rockford, IL, to enlist in the Army Aviation Cadets, now I was to be drafted!

By June the drafting of married men was increasing and, realizing that my draft registration number would be coming up soon, I decided to enlist in the Aviation Cadet program. I had always wanted to fly and this was the number one reason for enlisting. Number two was that, in those days of national patriotism, I couldn’t visualize trying to take advantage of my married status. The stigma of being labeled a draft-dodger was not for me. Mary Alyce and I had become engaged to be married on 17 August 1940 (her birthday) and by January of 1941 we had set the date for Christmas Eve of that year. Pearl Harbor had stimulated some serious consideration on our part but we decided to be married as planned anyway. We knew in our hearts that we weren’t marrying just to avoid the draft, in spite of what others might think.

So, the many trips from Sterling, Ill. to Rockford began. Physical exams, written tests, interviews. More physical exams. The examining physician was very lenient. My pulse rate was always too high to pass and he attributed it to the fact that I drove too fast on the sixty-mile trip each time. The exams were always scheduled during a week day and I felt guilty about taking so much time off my job, so exceeded the speed limits to and from Rockford on each trip. Those were the days when the maximum speed limit on U.S. 2 was 70 mph.

After the third check he told me not to drive over 50 the next time. That I did but it was still too high, so he let me lie down for an hour and then took it. Low enough, and he passed me! I never felt any qualms about that but it did bother me that I’d falsified the fact that I had hay fever and realized that if I had to continue taking drugs for the affliction in the fall months of the year that I would be taken off flying status, but I was willing to take the chance of being grounded just to be able to enlist in the program. As it turned out, the areas where I was stationed during the war were devoid of ragweed, precluding the need for medication, and so my secret was never revealed.

By the end of July I had passed all the qualifying exams for Cadets and was told that when the next class quota came up I would be sworn into the Army Air Force Reserve and would probably have from a one to six month’s wait until being called up for the next class entering training. This was standard procedure at the time so I gave the shipping clerk’s job my all, knowing that sooner or later I’d be flying.

In August, while riding a neighbor kid’s bike and showing him how to get a fast start by stand-up pumping, I hit some loose gravel and pitched over the handle bars, fracturing my left collar bone. No word from the Cadet Board yet about swearing me in so I wasn’t about to tell them about the accident!

I was just out of the collar bone fracture brace in late September when the local draft board called me up for a physical. My personal physician was on the board and told them I wasn’t in any shape to be drafted yet, but they passed me anyway. Evidently they figured that by the time my number was pulled, I would be in good enough shape to go. They were right. My pleas for a six month’s deferment, in view of my being accepted by the Cadets, fell upon deaf ears and the bastards wouldn’t give me one!

Following this, I rushed up to the Cadet Board, telling them that I was about to be drafted and asked if they couldn’t swear me into the Reserve right then. The answer was that my group of candidates wasn’t to be sworn in until December and they couldn’t bend the rules. The officer in charge told me not to worry as the Air Force had priority and, even if I was drafted, they would find me and transfer me to the Cadets when the time came. Even though he seemed sincere, I believed this would never happen and resigned myself to foot-slogging the rest of the war. And all because the Scrooges at the draft board wouldn’t give me a three month deferment when six months ones were being handed out all the time!

THE RECEPTION CENTER

You’re In the Army Now!

What do you remember from the hazy past? A bus load of inductees leaving the little home town for the Army Induction Center in Chicago. Thirty-eight bewildered men (some just boys) in all, five of them wearing glasses, one with a glass eye, ages from 18 to 40, many with wives and some with children. Things were getting tough already on manpower selection and we hadn’t been officially at war a full year yet! Farmers, clerks, laborers, the unemployed, college students, small business partners, budding business executives, athletes, even some conscientious objectors - the usual cross section of men from small-town USA. And me wearing saddle shoes in the group picture taken on the steps of the municipal building before we boarded the bus on that 6th of November 1942. I had turned twenty-two in September.

The usual herding around in the Induction Center, filling out the multitude of paperwork attendant to entering the service, and then another physical exam. We’re all nude, carrying our clothes in a bundle, and slowly moving along a line of Army doctors for each phase of the exam. Close to the end of the line was seated a weary, haggard-looking doctor at whose station we would learn was to be performed the first of many more to come short-arm inspections. Just ahead of me was a tall, handsome Greek lad from Chicago’s south side and when the doctor wearily said: All right, son, skin it back and let’s have a look, the Greek leaned over and, in a pronounced wrist-flicking tone, exclaimed: Fairrry! The doctor, welcoming a break in the drudgery of his routine, laughed and then said: That’s a good one, son, but it’s a good thing you haven’t been sworn in yet or I’d put you on K.P. for a month! Move on!

Later, we boarded a bus again and headed for the Army Reception Center at Camp Grant. By now we were sworn in and there was no turning back. On the hour’s ride out I thought how ironic it was that I would be entering the Army at the very spot where I’d passed all my exams for the Aviation Cadets and yet they couldn’t touch me. The Army had me in its vise-like grip and I was doomed to death in hand-to-hand combat!

A young three-stripe sergeant strides back and forth on a warehouse loading dock at Camp Grant, welcoming us into the Army. By now other bus loads from Chicago had swelled our group of recruits to over two hundred standing in front of the dock receiving instructions. The sergeant was in splendid form and conversed with the various ethnic groups in Italian, German, Polish and even a little Yiddish and was adept at pinpointing from which area of Chicago many were from by this exchange of pleasantries. His jokes and off-the-cuff remarks relieved our apprehensions a little but finally he got down to serious business and began barking out the orders.

By this time it was approaching five in the afternoon, and since the Reception Center was still on an eight to five routine at that time, we were finally marched off to evening mess and then to the barracks for our first night away from home.

Up at six the next morning and then to mess, after which we were issued uniforms which consisted of one set of Class A woolens. Approximate sizes were the order of the day and we were informed that we could exchange for correct fits at our first duty station as there wouldn’t be time for exchange or alteration while at the Reception Center. Some of us looked like a squad of Keystone Cops in the too long or too short uniforms. The rest of the day was spent in attending orientation lectures and movies and filling out more paper work. All that our enemies need do to conquer us is to sabotage all the paper mills in the country. The services would then come to a grinding halt! Back at the barracks we started interchanging clothing among ourselves and I at least got a blouse that fit pretty well.

While awaiting the call to evening mess I jotted down the first of many daily letters to my wife and instructed her to send a copy of our marriage certificate to the War Department so that an allotment from my monthly pay could be sent to her. Just as I was giving her my newly assigned serial number (36619128), a whistle blew for the mess formation and I cut the letter short. As it turned out, the formation was to inform us that anyone living within a 100 mile radius could have an overnight pass. The Army wasn’t so bad after all!

All thoughts of evening mess disappeared and the scramble for available phone booths began. I finally reached my wife and she arranged for a girl friend, Leona Regan, to accompany her on the drive up to Rockford to pick me up. Too impatient to wait in camp, I started walking down the highway toward Sterling and, after about an hour’s walk spotted the blue convertible heading my way. The letter never did get mailed as I carried it with me.

Our last night together and then back to Camp Grant by eight the next morning for the rest of our processing. This continued all the way through the day of the eighth and into the morning of the ninth and consisted mainly of various classification tests and additional briefings. At 12:30 p.m. that afternoon, I wrote Mary Alyce a post card:

9 Nov. - We are being shipped out now. Where, I don’t know but will let you know as soon as I arrive. Most of the bunch from Sterling goes along. As long as we are going I hope it will either be real close or far away.

THE TROOP TRAIN

(Shake, Rattle, and Roll)

We left Camp Grant by troop train that afternoon at 2:45 p.m. and at 8:30 p.m. the next day were only passing through Tennessee.

10 Nov. - "Passed through Memphis this afternoon and it surely looks different from the railroad yards than what we saw when we drove through there in July a year ago. A group of negro kids were shooting crap along the tracks. Our cars are Pullmans and we sleep two to the lower and one in the upper. I’m sharing a lower with a Chinese kid from Chicago named Toy. He was in his first year of college when drafted.

We switched back and forth in Memphis for about an hour and then finally crossed the Mississippi into Arkansas so I hope we end up in California. Our destination has not been revealed so there is plenty of speculation.

It’s now 6:00 P.M. and we’re stopped in Little Rock for an hour so I’ll mail this here as we are allowed to debark and stretch our legs in the station. The M.P.’s are keeping a close watch in case anyone has any thoughts of going A.W.O.L."

At 9:20 A.M. on the 11th we had just finished breakfast and were standing in the Fort Worth, Texas yards taking on water and ice. All meals were prepared in a G.I. portable field kitchen on board and served cafeteria style. As I remember, they weren’t bad at all but the only problem was having to wait to be fed because of the multitude of troops on board. Since it was handled the Army way - by the numbers - confusion was held to a minimum. It was my first exposure to the old Army cliché: Hurry up and wait. Our car would be called out and we’d wind our way through four other cars to the diner and then stand in the aisle for half an hour or so, waiting for the previous group to finish and for the K.P.s to replenish the condiments on the tables and wipe them off. The K.P.s were made up of guys who’d already fouled up in some way or another and were being disciplined. What screw-ups could occur on a troop train was unimaginable to me but they had done it.

Seven hours later we arrived at our final destination after forty-nine plus hours on the troop train. We were at Camp Berkeley, Texas (close to Abilene) and I found out that my assignment was as a clerk in the Headquarters Company of the 90th Motorized Infantry Division. At least that Motorized part sounded good.

11 Nov. - This is one hell of a way to celebrate Armistice Day! We finally arrived at our destination and you can now call me a ‘Tough Ombre.’ That’s the nickname of our Infantry Division.

INFANTRY BASIC TRAINING

(Tough Hombres)

The 90th Division’s shoulder patch was a red T with a red O lying on its side across the bottom of the T. It stood for Texas and Oklahoma and looked like an old west cattle brand. Between WWI and WWII most of the personnel probably were from these two states but, with the increase in mobilization after Pearl Harbor, they became the training cadre for recruits pouring in from the other forty-six. In our little plywood hut alone were men from New York, Ohio, Massachusetts, Wisconsin, Missouri and Illinois. Besides the 90th’s four or five regiments, a medical and signal battalion and an MP battalion, the post hosted an Officer Candidate School and a small airfield for the training of Army Liaison pilots in J-3 Piper Cubs.

12 Nov. - This arid country is beautiful in a different way from the Mid-West but it’s still too damn far from home!

I tried calling my wife on the second night but couldn’t get through so wrote the usual daily letter. Still holding out hope for transfer to the Air Corps, I also wrote to Lt. Col. Ade at the Camp Grant Cadet Examining Board, letting him know where I was and that there was an Examining Board in Abilene. Having no idea of how the paper mill of the Air Corps operated, I was leaving no stone unturned and thought that maybe a Cadet Examining Board in the proximity of my location might expedite things.

13 Nov. - Friday the 13th and they’re pouring it to us! No matter what they will use us for, we all have to take the required six weeks basic training.

I’d always grinned in half disbelief when my Dad told about his sergeant tying a string around the left wrist of some of the recruits in WWI so they could remember which was their left foot but it was still happening! During our first drill period, our sergeant had to stop everything and say: Remember that left is the side of your ring finger, and he held up his left hand to show his wedding ring. After a half hour the marching still looked like a Laurel and Hardy routine so he called another halt. Sure enough, some of the bachelors were wearing signet or other type rings on their right hands so he made them all switch them to their left. After about a week they got the hang of it but I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it. Maybe there was a hidden message here as to what progress we’d made in twenty-five years.

14 Nov. - "We are quarantined to the company area for two weeks so there’ll be one hell of a rush for Abilene the first weekend out!

15 Nov. - Since we are in quarantine the chaplains come over to our area for Sunday services in the day room. The group just before our scheduled time ran over a bit, so when our chaplain took over he drawled: We’ve only got about seventeen minutes and after a short message we’ll sing a hymn and say a prayer and call it a day, so hang onto your seats, men, ‘cause here we go! We were all for it!"

The officer in charge of our training was 2/Lt. Mullin, who had washed out of pilot training at Kelly Field, Texas and had subsequently attended Infantry Officer’s Candidate School. Whether or not he’d chosen the infantry, I never did learn but suspected he hadn’t. When he learned that I was waiting for a transfer to the Cadet program he wished me luck but with reservation, because of his experience - as much as to say: I hope you make it but don’t think you will. I could sense that he was bitter.

16 Nov. - Back in Camp Grant I traded blouses with Benny Poci, from Rock Falls, Ill. and he’s now assigned to one of the infantry regiments here. Bud Whitmer is in the M.P. Company and Lloyd Behrens is with me in Hqs. Company. They’re the only ones I know of for sure that came with us from home to Berkeley. What happened to Dean Brooks, Bob Shaw and the others in my inductee group I have no idea.

Many of the washouts who became officers later were bitter and took out their resentments on their men. Not so with Mullin. Although it was evident he was bitter, he was extremely considerate and just with his troops. He was a perfectionist but we didn’t mind giving our all to try and do it right and please him. He was a warm-hearted guy and, like a good officer, worked hard at instilling confidence in his men as he knew that later on when he had to depend on them, it would be a two-way street.

18 Nov. - We hear a different rumor every day as to when and where the outfit will move. Most seem to think April, so hope my transfer comes thru before.

20 Nov. - I’d sure like to have the dough that comes in from the coke machine in our day room alone. It is one of those big automatic units and the truck driver has to fill it up two or three times a day. Every time we have a ten minute break in drill or classes, there’s a rush for the machine.

Immediately following breakfast each day was the calisthenics period. They were strenuous but our sergeant had a heart and, after a session of deep knee bends, jumping in place, push ups or sit ups, he’d give us one of his specialties - holding the arms outstretched to the sides and flexing the fingers by the numbers, slow count at that! Another was the eyeball exercise during which we stood with legs spread, hands on our hips with arms akimbo and on command rolled our eyeballs left, right, up, down and around. All this was done with him calling out commands in the usual loud, by the numbers sequence so that from a distance it all looked legitimate. Of course, if an officer happened by, it was back to the push ups and knee bends.

25 Nov. - Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I guess we still have a great deal to be thankful for, after all. The bulletin board says all married men can have tomorrow off to see their wives. Sure wish I could take advantage of that but, c’est la guerre! We have to put in a full day, regardless but will get a turkey dinner with all the trimmings in the bargain.

Immunization shots, drill, field stripping the MI rifle blindfolded, drill, manual of arms, drill, short arm inspections at three in the morning, drill, hikes with full field pack, drill, guard duty, drill, lectures, drill, bivouacs, drill, digging foxholes and gun emplacements, drill, K.P. duty, drill, driving all vehicles from jeeps to 6x6 trucks, drill, bayonet practice, drill, double-timing between all formations, drill, inspection, drill, map reading and compass work, drill, making a proper bed, drill, studying the infantry field manual, drill, gas mask exercises, drill, grenade throwing, drill, G.I. haircuts, drill, calisthenics, drill, first aid practice, drill, chemical warfare orientation, drill, quizzes, drill, doing our own laundry, drill, firing the M-1 on the range and more drill was to be our way of life for six weeks and only then could we become a full-fledged member of the Tough Hombres T & O Division.

27 Nov. - The coke machine is out of order so we haven’t had a coke all day. That is really a catastrophe around here! We are sort of used to the life by now and things run a little smoother.

On one of the rare occasions when my Father talked about his experiences in WWI he had elaborated on some of the sadistic tendencies among officers and noncoms he’d encountered. Realizing that there is one in every group, I decided to note who it would be in each outfit as my military career progressed. The local draft board headed my list and we weren’t in either the Induction or Reception Center long enough for one to emerge, but at Camp Berkeley it had to be the Warrant Officer who acted at Lt. Mullin’s assistant. He delighted in routing us out of the sack at the first note of reveille, constantly berated us at drill, held us over in classes and just made life miserable for us in general. He was a huge hulk of a man with coal black hair and eyes and the swarthy complexion of a Greek sponge diver. He was in his early twenties but had joined the army when he was 18 and had worked his way up through the ranks so he knew his business and never let us forget it.

28 Nov. - Abilene is a pretty nice town after all. It is a very old one from all indications. Jumped the bus back to camp at about 4 p.m., as I’m on guard duty tonite at 6. Fare is 15¢. Time to fall out for guard duty now.

One of the W/O’s duties was to teach us how to field strip the Garand M-1 rifle and learn the intricacies of its care and use. Since many of the recruits had never handled a weapon these training sessions were sometimes hilarious to us but frustrating to him. Right from the start he let us know that the M-1 was not a gun. It was a rifle or a piece! Your gun is the pecker in your pants! This is a rifle, and each has its purpose!

At the start of each session he’d have recruit Shorty Martin stand in front of the class with his rifle held up in his outstretched right hand and his left hand over his crotch. Shorty would then lead us in this little recitation: This is my rifle and this is my gun. This is for fighting and this is for fun! It was the only time I’d ever seen the W/O smile and he thoroughly enjoyed this little ritual. Of course, Shorty (ever the comedian) put his all into it and when he came to the this is for fighting he’d scowl and grit his teeth menacingly. At the this is for fun point he’d caress his balls, roll his eyes upwards and sigh out the words in fornicating bliss.

I can’t remember the W/O’s name so guess he wasn’t so bad after all.

29 Nov. - Do wish I could get a decent drink of water around here. The stuff at camp is so full of chlorine it’s terrible. My clothes smell like clorox for a day after I wash them. The old cliché of saltpeter in the water is rumored also.

I had learned that my earlier hunch had been correct when on the 21st of November I received notice from Rockford that my papers had all been transferred to the Cadet Examining Board in Abilene. There was hope after all!

My wife was now earning more than I was by far. A dollar a day didn’t leave me much for spending money! She had left her doctor’s receptionist job to take an office job at Green River Ordnance Plant near Dixon, Ill. and was in a car pool with three other girls. In fact, she was making more than I had been at International Harvester! She kept wanting to come join me but I convinced her that she should wait until my future was more certain.

There were many interesting characters in our outfit and many long-lasting friendships evolved. An excerpt from one of my letters to Mary Alyce briefly described my hut mates:

The other hut of recruits in Headquarters Company contained some equally interesting characters but there was a Mutt and Jeff pair that kept us in stitches with their antics. Grillo was a tall, husky, handsome Italian from Providence, Rhode Island whom we nicknamed Gorilla, partly because of his last name and partly because of the thick coating of heavy black hair all over his chest, arms, shoulders and back. His buddy was Shorty Martin from Bahstun. Shorty was a stubby, swarthy little guy with pop eyes, large smiling teeth and of Portuguese descent who was a natural comic. His reaction to every new situation could provoke laughs from us just by the expression on his rubber face. Grillo called him Portugee and heckled him unmercifully but they were the best of friends. Their spur of the moment improvisations, with Grillo as the sergeant or W/O and Martin as the raw recruit, were side-splitting. Grillo did a pretty fair job of changing his Long Island type accent into that of a Texan but as Shorty had no need to in the routines, he laid on his cahfee and fahg enunciations.

The Mutt and Jeff Reference was taken from a popular comic strip of that name. I can’t remember which of the characters was Mutt and which was Jeff but one was a short little guy and the other was a skinny 6 plus footer. They continually got into laugh-provoking situations for the reader.

1 Dec. - Last night a new man came in from New York, named Bill Pacelli. Tonight another new one came in and that makes 17 in a hut designed for 14. Don’t know his name yet but he used to sing with a dance band. How’s that for added spice to our hut career list?

The M.P. Company recruits were not too popular with us as some of them coveted what they imagined were the soft jobs we’d have in Headquarters Company and continually taunted us about it on the drill field. The medics were also not too well liked because of all the conscientious objectors and anti-war types among them. I rationalized that we ought to realize that some day we’d be glad to see a medic! As for an M.P., I couldn’t stretch the rationalization that far.

4 Dec. - Just screwed up some envelopes by sticking a Christmas seal where the stamp should go. Haste makes waste. I’ll use them for others and just write Free under the seal. Will still send yours air mail.

Probably the one conscientious objector, who was most famous during the war and consequently drew the most criticism, was the movie star, Lew Ayres. While visiting a buddy in one of the regiments one evening, we came across Lew shooting craps behind a squad tent with the regimental G.I.s. We watched for a while and came to the conclusion that he was one helluva swell guy!

6 Dec. - It is raining, hailing and sleeting all at the same time! Freezing on the trees and roofs and standing in ankle-deep puddles all over the area. I’ve decided that snow in the winter is much better than this stuff. Don’t forget to send in the last quarterly installment for income tax - $7.79, I believe.

On 10 December, just before heading twenty-five miles out into the hills for an overnight bivouac, I received notice that I was to be transferred to the Air Corps. No indication as to when or where but things were looking up and my anticipation started to mount.

I was fortunate and only drew K.P. duty once during the entire time I was in basic training. It was the day after we returned from bivouac.

11 Dec. - Just finished that damned K.P. Started at 7:30 this morning and am sure glad it’s over! Got a kick out of one of the cooks ducking behind the racks in the supply room now and then to sneak a little swig of vanilla extract. Maintains a cheap glow, I guess. Wonder how they cover up for the shortage when the Supply Officer is checking things out? Maybe that’s why our baker bakes so many cakes and pies.

We had been dry-firing the Garand M-1 rifle for weeks, had hiked to the range with a light field pack a couple of times to observe the firing and on 15 December we finally got in our practice firing. It was a long, drawn out day as our Company was only allotted two target positions. The regiments were using the other 98. I did well and was convinced I could make Expert. Lt. Mullin had given us some added incentive as he told us: I’ll give a carton of cigarettes to all who make expert, two packs to all who qualify as sharpshooter, one pack to all who make marksman and all who don’t qualify will have to give me a pack.

15 Dec. - Something is wrong with the damned mail services nowadays! Maybe the Xmas rush. This is the third day in a row with no mail at all!

The morning of the 16th I’d fired my preliminary rounds and would fire the balance the next day. I had done well and felt I had expert in the bag. A jeep from headquarters drove up and a sergeant presented me with my orders to report to the Air Force in San Antonio the following day. I had finally made it and was scheduled to leave at 10:30 in the morning!

Lt. Mullin arranged for me to fire all my slow and rapid fire exercises for record during the afternoon period so I could finish up. With all the rush and excitement of the transfer coming through, I blew it and only made sharpshooter. He congratulated me on my transfer and said: Those cadet upperclassmen all think they’re little tin gods so don’t let them get to you. He was still bitter.

16 Dec. - I’ve been trying to call you since 7 and it’s now 9:15 p.m. but there haven’t been any lines open yet. I’ll keep trying anyway and if I don’t get thru tonight, I’ll try tomorrow morning before you’re awake. This news is too good to keep!

As much as I longed to fly, I left the infantry with mixed emotions. I had made many good friends and had learned a lot about the military in a short space of time. I was proud to have started out with The Queen of Battle.

A verse from a marching song illustrates the pride the 90th had in their branch of the service and I feel honored that I qualified as a Tough Ombre at the very last moment:

Flim, flam, wham, bam!

Who in the hell are we?

Zim, zam, God damn,

We’re the infantry!

CHAPTER 2

CLASSIFICATION CENTER

(Psycho-Motor Circus)

The San Antonio Aviation Cadet Center (SAACC) was located atop a hill overlooking Kelly Field and consisted of the Classification Center and the Pre-Flight School for Aviation Cadets.

18 Dec. - We are in another two week quarantine and have short arm inspection every day. What a deal, when we didn’t even get off the bus coming down here but to grab something to eat! They issue coveralls here instead of the two-piece fatigues and they really look a lot snappier because they are practically tailored. Actually they are what is issued to aircraft mechanics but they do look better than G.I. fatigues. It’s just like the reception center in the G.I. army here. The fellows in the Air Corps Cadets call the regular army the G.I. army because this is nothing more than a big military school! To save time and space I’m going to start using the short version of some words like thru and nite" so don’t think I’ve goofed on my spelling.

20 Dec. - The E.P.’s (Eliminated Pilots) say that if we can pass the physical here we’re O.K. I sure hope I can make it! It says in the little booklet given us that it is tougher than the one given at West Point. Also, they say that the biggest step is to get thru Primary.

21 Dec. - We were scheduled to start drill and calisthenics today but it is raining so all we’ve done is sweep and mop up the barracks for the daily 8 o’clock inspection. The beds have to be made and folded under so tight that if a half dollar is dropped on top it will turn over when it bounces back up. I haven’t been able to get mine that tite yet and don’t think anyone else has either, as we’re sleeping on canvas cots temporarily. After an orientation film at the theater this afternoon we got about three different forms to fill out. A personal history form 9 pages long with 86 questions, a clothing shortage form for new issue of cadet clothing and a medical history form. I take the first half of my medical 64 test tomorrow. 64" is the code number for the physical exam for flying personnel.

My twenty-four day stay at the Classification Center was one big series of contradictions. We would have our hopes built up about something and then someone would burst the balloon. Good rumors were soon spiked by someone in the know and dreams of the romantic Air Corps were soon shattered by the realities of just how it was. The name had been officially changed some years back to United States Army Air Force but we still called it The Air Corps. For the most part the rumors consisted of speculation as to how soon we could move over to Pre-Flight School and get on with the business of learning to be pilots.

22 Dec. - Took the first half of my 64 this morning and all it consisted of was a blood test, vaccination (3rd one), urine analysis and X-rays. Tomorrow or the next day we’ll get the works and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to pass and take a crack at flying! This lying around sure is monotonous.

23 Dec. - I did it! Passed my 64 today and it was a toughie! So far I’m classified as pilot. No mail yet – damn it! Signed up for touch football and we practice Xmas afternoon for a game Saturday.

24 Dec. - Here it is 1900 and I’m trying to get a call thru to you. There are about a dozen guys trying to call so it will be a long wait. Hope to hell it gets thru tonite! We took our written group test today and was it a honey! Both morning and afternoon sessions of three hours each, with seven separate tests covering everything imaginable. The first tests at Rockford were snaps compared to these. We have tomorrow off then take our psychomotor tests on Saturday. At 1707 this afternoon I jumped up from my cot and the guys asked what in hell was wrong. I said: I’ve been married exactly one year and one hour!" I guess they thought I’d flipped my lid for a minute. It sure is an odd Xmas down here. This afternoon it was about 80 to 85 in the sun. The skies are blue and filled with planes from Kelly Field and Randolph (we even saw a B-15 go over today) but with no snow, Xmas trees or decorations of any kind, it just doesn’t seem right. If it will get the war over any sooner I’ll take another one this way. It’s getting close to my turn at the phone again. It’s 2030 and I still haven’t been able to get on the hook yet. It will probably be another hour before I can get the phone and 2 or 3 more