Early in May we were flown to Hunter Field outside of Savannah, where we picked up shiny new B-24 J’s, specially equipped with Azon transmitters.  Two test flights later, we were back in south Florida being briefed to fly off on a 120 degree heading, with sealed orders to open 40 minutes after take-off.  The 10 crews flew separately, taking off about six minutes apart.  Pilot Pat McCormick, leader of our crew, opened the orders on time.  We all learned that Karachi, India was our ordered destination, via Trinidad, Belem, Natal, Ascension Island, Accra Khartoum, etc.  As navigator, I was asked to supply a heading from where we were to over fly Puerto Rico, then to turn south for Trinidad.  This all worked out.  Our second night out we were at a little airfield at Belem, South America, where I ran into a former Sunday school teacher from my home back in Sharon, PA.  He was stationed there in Base Ops.  The day after that we went on to Natal, staying there 36 hours before the hop to Ascension Island.  The 36 hours was more than enough to get most of us a very short crew cut and a heck of a sunburn at the Natal beach.

A day after leaving Natal, we were on the runway awaiting take-off eastbound from Ascension Island, when the pilot was notified by the tower to return to Base Ops for a new briefing.  There we learned that Gen. Doolittle exercised rank over Gen. Twining(?) in India, and ordered the Azon crews to the 8th Air Force, 2nd Bomb Division.  We flew on to Liberia, Dakar, Marrakech, and over Portugal to our first airfields in England, Newquay on the Cornish coast.  We flew the planes the next day to a field near Cookstown, Northern Ireland.  We were there nearly two weeks getting planes fitted with ETO armor plate.  It turned out to be a blessing!

We still didn’t know that most all 2nd Air Division missions were flown above 20,000!  We did learn that quickly when we found ourselves with the 753rd Squadron at the 458th Bomb Group at Horsham Field, Norwich.  Each plane had an Azon technician (Les Gruver was ours) assigned to it, as well as a crew chief.  He did not go on missions, but kept the transmitters in top shape and supervised the bomb fins, receivers, and bomb loading.  James Rand, one of the developers of the Azon bomb from Remington Rand Co., was with us in Florida, and at Horsham too, for three months.  Our crew chief, Hal Bradshaw, was a superb mechanic.  Several frosty mornings in late ’44 he fell off the wing while de-icing it, climbed up, de-iced more and fell off again!  He was one hell-of-a fine man.

This bomb control technique with Azon (AZimuth ONly) was broadened by early 1945 to Razon, which enabled the control to be extended to “farther or shorter”.  An obvious shortcoming was the need for visual control, a real hazard at altitudes under 25,000 feet and limited by weather.  After a couple months trial in the ETO, the Azon crews were absorbed by the regular 458th organization.  So much for the first of the “smart bombs”.  Rumor had it they moved to India.

After a week or 10 days of relearning formation flying and picking up on group procedures, we were as ready (to see combat) as we were going to be.  D-Day itself was a big surprise in that secrecy was so totally effective where we were.  We were not on alert the night of June 5, slept in the next morning, and it was almost noon before we heard on Armed Forces Radio of the Normandy invasion landings.

Back to our mission #2 and the bridge of Peronne target.  Our hearts pounded like bass drums and we sucked in our breath, turning on the IP at 16,000 feet altitude.  Visibility was good and pilotage navigation (backed by D.R.) was not difficult.  We were on the bomb run only two or three minutes until accurate flak seemed to go off all around us.  In addition to explosions, air impact vibrations, black puffs, and white flashes, we heard the sounds of shrapnel (like handfuls of gravel) hitting the aluminum skin of the big B-24.  We heard the pilot call, “Feather two, it’s hit.”  Then he checked with Joe Schelzi the bombardier, to see if he had bombsight control of the plane, which he did.  Joe controlled the flight until the target met the cross hairs.

Just before Joe released the bombs, we were whacked again by flak and everything seemed to go wrong.  Pat yelled, “Feather four, it’s gone too!”

I looked out of my bubble windows, and on each side I could see a slowly wind milling prop.  Bombs away and still getting knocked about by flak (in blue sky and sunshine), the third engine stopped.  Word came over the intercom that the hydraulics weren’t working! Assistant Engineer Frank Limbert was directed to see what happened to the hydraulic system.  Turret gunners were told to get out of the turrets since they had no hydraulic controls. I was asked for a heading NOW to home.  I called back, “Take 310 degrees until I get you something better,” as we abandoned the flight plan with only one engine going, and altitude falling slow but sure.  Frank called in that there were flak hole fuel leaks in the wing tanks over the bomb bay, one bomb hung up (armed), bomb bay doors jammed open, and the air ripping through the bomb bay blowing the leaking gasoline into a real steam room appearance!  I established a location and gave a new heading for Dover.  Ray Tomlinson, the nose turret gunner, got out of the useless turret as directed, with Joe’s help, and stood in the cramped space, with Joe staying seated on the floor.  I told him to sit down with Joe so I had room to navigate.  There was one more close burst of flak, and then I thought Joe had sat on my feet.  I hollered, “Get off my feet, Joe!”  He pulled on my arm and said, “It’s Tommy.  He must be hit.”  I pushed up the table top and Tommy was laying on my feet, dead.

Very quickly we discovered that a piece of flak (maybe the size of a peach pit) had entered the back of his neck in the small space below the steel helmet, and just above the top edge of the flak suit he had on. The flak had gone on up into his head and did not come back out.  He died instantly and silently.  We had only met him three weeks earlier, as he was a replacement for one of the gunners sent to India.  A fine young fellow, 18 or 19, from Southern California.

In the meantime, Limbert dislodged the hung up bomb and with help from the waist gunners, hand cranked the bomb bay doors nearly shut.  He also got the dozen flak-hole fuel tank leaks pretty well sealed with some material he came up with. There was a discussion on the flight deck about some of us bailing out.  Pat decided he had nothing to lose in trying to start one of the three feathered engines, and lo and behold, at 7,000 feet one kicked back in!  Apparently, one engine had been feathered in error, but it was a happy event for a change and no one complained.  By this time we could see the channel ahead.  Gas gauges indicated almost no fuel.  Pat asked if there was a field to land at just across the channel.  I checked my map and said, “Yeah, several” which my map indicated, although I had no runway length information on my maps.