Post by ChefEd on Mar 4, 2024 10:12:26 GMT -8
B-17G Fearless Fosdick B-17G-20BO-42-31474 Squadron: 80th Bomber Squadron, 509th (H) Bombardment Group Squadron Position: Low Aircraft Position: Middle Mission Date: 22 MAR 1944 Mission Number: 16 This Aircraft: 1 Target: Verona, Italy, Airfield Crew
Bomb Run: DNB, Abort Casualties: None Damage: Crash Landed Combat Damage Fuel Transfer Pump Out Radio Compartment Heat Out Left Wing Root 1 Hit Right Landing Gear Out Right Wing Aileron Out Superficial X1 Peckham Points: All Landing: Crash Landed in Yugoslavia Enemy Aircraft:
Claims:
Awards: None Promotions: None AFTER ACTION REPORT Recorded Sunday, 2 APRIL 1944 – Redacted of compromising Partisan information We were flying to Verona in our brand-new G-Model. It was close enough to the F that we all felt we didn’t need much time to acclimate to the bird before our next mission. Wimpy, our last plane, was damaged and force landed at a fighter strip about 50 miles from home. She was totaled, but we were all fine. Skip, Lt Velez, headed to Capt Pierce’s office as soon as we finished debriefing, to get another plane. We were lucky that the Group just had a few delivered. Skip persuaded Capt Pierce to let us have one right away. The ink wasn’t dry on the req when Lt Velez was sending Josia, our crew chief, and his crew to get our new plane to prep her. After a meal and a few hours of sack time, we headed over to our hardstand to take a look around our new plane. Lt Ford, our bombardier, got into the nose and sat there. He was staring at the gun controls he would need to learn. A lot different than swinging a single barrel around. Josia and Finn, T/Sgt Fields, our engineer, started up the auxiliary power, so we could all check our systems. Josia gave Lt Ford a quick lesson on the chin turret controls. Lt Ford seemed to have a pretty god handle on it. After about an hour with our new plane, S/Sgt Mace reminded us we had to name her. It was agreed that since our last plane was Wimpy another cartoon name should bring us luck. Wimpy brought us luck for 15 missions and brought us back alive on her last. Griff, S/Sgt Griffin, tail gunner, suggested Lil Abner or Daisy Mae. We figured too common, Mace suggested Fearless Fosdick. We liked it. So, we christened her as such. Rumors were around that we had another mission tomorrow, the 22nd, so we headed back to the barracks, to draw new gear, eat, and rest. The next day was dry and seeming warmer than it had been for the past few weeks. A good sign. We were woken early for briefing. Breakfast was steak and eggs. There was the usual gallows humor about the meal being for a condemned man. At briefing we were informed we were to head up the Adriatic and attack an airfield near some town called Verona. The S3, Major Stockwell, said something about Romeo and Juliet and Shakespeare. I hadn’t read them, but I heard of them. The S2, Major Beech, mentioned we would probably face German fighters all the way up and back. For the most part he was wrong. We didn’t see any enemy fighters until just south of Venice. That was when all hell broke loose. Our fighter escorts were tight the whole way up the Adriatic. When we needed them most, they were nowhere to be seen. When it was all over, we had faced eight Focke-Wulfs and a single Italian 109 in what seemed forever, but was only a matter of a few minutes. It was enough. First, we faced a pair of 190s and the Italian. One of the 190s broke off early. I heard someone say he saw an escort. No one could confirm it. The remaining 190 came at us from dead ahead. Lt Ford learned the chin turret real fast. He sheared the left wing off of the fighter, for a kill. No one saw a chute. Lt Sheets, firing the left cheek damaged the Italian 109, who missed us. Right on the heels of these first three, three more 190s came at us. Lt Ford, probably beginners’ luck with his kill, completely missed the 190 in his sights. The 190’s rounds hit us in the bomb bay. Time seemed to stand still as we waited for the ‘boom’. It didn’t come. We would learn shortly that the fuel pump had been nixed. Collin, my partner in the waist, damaged his target, stitching up his fuselage. That 190 missed us. The remaining 190 came at us from 1030. Lt Sheets and Finn drove him off. The first 190 came around again. Not satisfied with his earlier work, tried again. Of the three of us who fired at him, only Mace, in the ball, got any hits, but not enough. Coming in at 9 o’clock, he stitched us from wing tip to wing tip. Later it was determined he had taken out the radio room heat, the starboard aileron, and the starboard landing gear. The third and last wave of three more 190s attacked. Still no escorts. Griff, in the tail, tagged his target, who missed us. The second 190 also missed us, even though we got no hits on him. The last 190 came at us from straight ahead. Lt Ford and Finn targeted him. Both hit him real good, for a kill. As quickly as it started, it ended. Lt Velez called for a check-in. Everyone reported in, with no injuries. Finn reported the fuel pump issue and calculated we had about 45 minutes of flying time left. Not enough to get home. Nielson reported his suit heat out. Lt Velez called for the abort. He had Nielson call it in. Lt Velez and Lt Richards decided we should try for Yugoslavia. We had just enough fuel to make the Yugoslavia mainland, a fair distance below the Italian border. No one wanted to try a water landing, and landing this far north in Italy, we would surely all end up in a POW camp. At least Yugoslavia would give us some chance at keeping our freedom, at least for a little while. Lt Velez dropped us down below 10,000 feet and turned southeast toward Yugoslavia, and killed a few fish, when he had Lt Ford drop our load. For the next 30 minutes only water below us as we headed for what we hoped would be survival and possibly safety. We finally crossed the Yugoslavian coast as we maintained our descent. Lt Velez’ and Lt Richards’ plan was to land us close to the coast, but not too close. The land below us was not comforting. It was hilly and rocky. Not the best place to land a large bird with a broken leg. The command crew finally found a suitable place to land. We took crash positions and waited. When the dust settled Fosdick was in a sad state. The second plane in three days to bring us down safely. No one was hurt, beyond a few bumps and bruises. Bumps and bruises on top of the ones from the last mission, which hadn’t healed yet. We started off westward, as a group. As we continued toward the Adriatic we began to hear trucks. Lt Velez had us break up into pairs. Figured if we split up it would be harder to catch any or all of us. Cordell and I paired up, both waist gunners, and took off like rabbits. Collin was older than me, but I grew up in the hills of Arkansas. He was a city boy from New Jersey. He agreed I was best suited to keep us safe. We kept moving in the darkness that soon fell. Sometime during the night, we got separated. It was too risky to call out for each other. I holed up during the next day and took off again after dusk. The next morning found me at gun point. Turned out I was found by some local resistance. Even with the language barrier I was able to convince them I was one of the good guys. Playing hide and seek for the next several days, I finally arrived at the Adriatic. I lost count of the days. Another day or two and I was put on a small fishing boat, and we headed out westward. Late in the day we were stopped by a Brit patrol boat. I was taken aboard, and eventually brought home. It turned out I was rescued by the British on April 1st. So, here it is, April 2nd, and that is my story. Related by, S/Sgt Tripp MacDougal, Gunner B-17G Fearless Fosdick 80th BS, 509th BG (H), 15th AF, USAAF Epilogue
The two officers were sent back to the States to become instructors. The enlisted men were assigned to ground billets in England. All six would eventually be flying again before the end of the wat, but not together. |