Even at the time, the idea was kind of crazy. Untold numbers of heavy bombers, flying in massive formations without any kind of fighter escort, would fly to heavily-defended targets inside Nazi Germany to drop a 6,000-pound bomb load and come home – all during broad daylight.
If that sounds like an incredibly dangerous mission to you, you're correct. "Masters of the Air," a new limited series from Executive Producers Tom Hanks and Steven Speilberg, will debut on January 26, 2024, on Apple TV+ and will show viewers just how devastating air combat over Nazi Germany really was.
Masters of the Air — Official Teaser | Apple TV+
A B-17 Flying Fortress crew had a 50-50 chance of coming home alive during a bombing mission. The average age of a bomber crew was just 25 years old, and they were expected to fly over a target 25 times before they could go home.
Needless to say, there were a lot of airmen (and aircraft) that never made it to 25 missions. The chances of surviving 25 missions was just 25%. The United States built 12,731 B-17 bombers before and during World War II, and 4,735 of them were lost to accidents and the enemy before all was said and done, a loss rate of more than 37%.
"Masters of the Air" is an Air Force companion to the acclaimed HBO series "Band of Brothers" and its Marine Corps counterpart, "The Pacific." The only reason it will premiere on Apple TV+ instead of HBO is the cost of bringing the reality of the air war over Europe to life on the small screen.
Just like "Band of Brothers" and "The Pacific," "Masters of the Air" is also drawn from real-world historical documentation. Historian Donald L. Miller's book "Masters of the Air: America's Bomber Boys Who Fought the Air War Against Nazi Germany" was originally published in 2007 but is still among the top-rated and most purchased World War II history books. Its painstaking research and treatment of characters made it the perfect choice for an adaptation to television.
The show, like the book, focuses on the 100th Bombardment Group (Heavy), a B-17 Bomber unit flying out of its home airfield at RAF Thorpe Abbotts in rural England. The 100th suffered an astonishingly high casualty rate, high even among World War II bombers, that earned it the nickname "The Bloody Hundredth."
In the 22 months the 100th Bomb Group spent fighting Hitler's Luftwaffe and striking Nazi-occupied Europe, the unit would lose 732 airmen and 177 aircraft, leaving only four of its original 38 pilots to complete their 25-mission tours – a 10% survival rate. When all was said and done, the 8th Air Force would suffer 26,000 killed in action, more than the entire U.S. Marine Corps during World War II.
Learn more about the 100th Bomb Group in the book "Masters of the Air" before catching the new show. The first two episodes of "Masters of the Air" will debut on January 26, 2024, on Apple TV+. New episodes will appear every Friday through March 15.
In December 1944, the German Wehrmacht launched what would be its last offensive of World War II, a last-ditch, all-out effort to throw the Western Allies back from Germany's borders. It would take the Allies almost six weeks to blunt the effort and force the German Army back, but for a time, it looked like the Nazi offensive might actually succeed in splintering the Allied invasion of Europe.
Germany threw everything it could into the effort, including an estimated 410,000 men, 1,500 armored vehicles, a thousand combat aircraft, and thousands of artillery guns. The response to such an assault would turn the Battle of the Bulge into the largest and one of the deadliest battles in U.S. military history.
Only in January 1945 did it become apparent the offensive had failed and that Germans would spend the rest of World War II in retreat.
On the morning of Dec. 16, 1944, the German Army achieved total surprise against an Allied force that was fatigued and stalled in a bitter winter cold. Some 30 German divisions attacked the American forces through 85 miles of the dense Ardennes Forest, pushing the American lines back through Belgium and France and creating a large bulge in the battle lines on their maps.
The surprise, speed, and success of the offensive brought back memories of 1940 when the Germans easily routed the Allied forces and pushed the British Expeditionary Force into the sea at Dunkirk. For the Germans, it was their last chance to repel the Western invasion so the Nazis could focus on the fight against the Red Army in the east. Would the Americans crumble as their European Allies had at the beginning of World War II? How would the United States forces react? All of Europe held its breath to see if history was about to repeat itself.
The timing was perfect for the Nazi onslaught. The weather interrupted Allied air support. The movement toward Germany was stalled by supply problems. German Führer Adolf Hitler believed the German Army could split the Allies in two, cut off the port of Antwerp from supplying both forces, and allow the Nazis to systematically destroy all four of the Allied armies in turn. For a while, it looked like they could be successful.
German advances needed to be swift, but the Americans weren't so quick to give up (or even fall back) as the Allies had been in 1940. At places like Elsenborn Ridge in the north and Bastogne in the south, American soldiers considerably delayed the Nazi advance, forcing the Germans to concentrate their forces or to change their plans entirely. In the center, the Germans gained considerable ground, but by Dec. 23, it was too late; the weather was clearing.
Allied air power began hitting German armor in the middle of the roads, creating bottlenecks along the line of advance. Even more devastating for this last-gasp effort, Allied fighters and bombers began to wreak havoc on German supply lines, creating shortages the Wehrmacht could not overcome. The Axis forces stalled short of the Meuse River, and Nazi commanders began to recommend they fall back to German borders, a recommendation Hitler quickly discarded. Gen. George S. Patton was ordered to head toward then-surrounded Bastogne with his Third Army – a force of 230,000 men.
With Bastogne relieved, the Allies launched a two-pronged assault to not only blunt the Bulge but maybe even create a pocket of surrounded German troops. On Jan. 1, 1945, Patton's Third Army attacked north from Bastogne. Two days later, British Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery would lead his Army south two days later, with the goal of joining at Houffalize, Belgium and trapping the enemy in their own advance.
But the Germans weren't so easily beaten back. The forces in the Bulge managed to prevent being cut off by the Allied pincer and forced the Americans and British to pay dearly for the recaptured ground. Progress was slow, and the Battle of the Bulge didn't fully end until Jan. 25, 1945. An estimated 19,000 Allied troops were killed, with another 47,500 wounded and 23,000 missing. The Germans suffered more than 100,000 killed, wounded, or missing.
Though costly, the Battle of the Bulge likely hastened the war's end in Europe. Germany would spend the rest of the war in retreat, unable to mount effective resistance to the Soviet Union's advance on the Eastern Front. After it was won, the British Prime Minister said of the battle:
"This is undoubtedly the greatest American battle of the war and will, I believe, be regarded as an ever-famous American victory."
After undergoing three major brain surgeries and surviving. I had a long road to recovery. Especially lost memories. TWS has helped me in my rehabilitation by allowing me to find old friends and interact with other TBI survivors, and I feel at home and at ease. All I can say to TWS, and the members here is, Thank You. I appreciate you so much and the help this site has provided me; well, I can not put it into words. God bless all here.
SFC Donald Dietz, US Army (Ret)
Served 1973-1995
For 444 days between 1979 and 1981, 52 American citizens and diplomats who once worked at the U.S. Embassy in Tehran were held hostage by Iranian college students loyal to Iran's revolutionary Islamic cleric, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini. Though no hostages died, the incident severed U.S.-Iranian relations that have never been restored. It is the date the hostages were finally released that leads many to believe it was more than negotiations that caused their release.
All 52 hostages were released the day Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as the 40th President of the United States. Legend has it that the Gipper's rhetoric and forcefulness struck such fear into the hearts of the Ayatollah's revolutionary government that they were immediately compelled to send the hostages home. It's true that the hostages were released on January 20, 1981, the same day Reagan was inaugurated as President, but it had nothing to do with fear of Ronald Reagan.
Iranian students stormed the U.S. embassy in Tehran not long after Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, whose regime had just been overthrown in Iran, was admitted to the United States for cancer treatment. Iranians wanted to put him on trial for the crimes of his dictatorial regime. Iranians also believed the United States might reinstate the Shah, an act they had been complicit in during a similar crisis in 1953.
For the rest of his Presidency, Jimmy Carter and his administration would have to negotiate with an erratic, unpredictable, and unaccountable revolutionary government. Still, they did so, working with Algeria as a mediator. Carter became consumed by the negotiations and by getting the hostages home. The result was the Algiers Accords, an agreement signed by the two parties the day before Reagan's inauguration.
But the timing of the agreement wasn't entirely coincidental. The Iranian government needed to get a deal done before Reagan came into office because Reagan claimed he would never negotiate. And Tehran did have a lot of spite toward Jimmy Carter. He was the face of the United States during the final years of the Shah's regime, and it didn't matter that the extent of Carter's relationship with the Shah was just two years in a span of decades.
According to journalist M
Mark Bowden's book "Guests of the Ayatollah," the Iranian government wanted to deny Carter the chance to address the American public and tell them the hostages were coming home. They wanted Reagan to get credit for their safe return, and the move worked. Carter was soundly defeated in his bid for reelection, and the myth that Ronald Reagan struck fear into the hearts of Iranian revolutionaries persists to this day, still painting Carter as relatively weak.
None of that mattered to President Carter, however. Though his refusal to bomb Tehran or be more militarily aggressive toward Iran was met with derision from the American people and from many in his own White House, Carter maintained that not one of the hostages were lost, and they certainly would have been killed in the event of a military strike.
He did authorize one military rescue mission: the failed Operation Eagle Claw. It was an overly complex special operations mission that was ultimately aborted after it cost the lives of eight U.S. service members. Rather than cause the deaths of thousands more Iranian civilians and American troops, the President reasoned, it was better to continue negotiating their release.
When the hostages arrived in the U.S. Air Force hospital in Wiesbaden, West Germany, former President Jimmy Carter was waiting there to greet them. At least one of the hostages snubbed the President, while most agreed that not getting them killed was the right thing to do, even though it cost him the White House.
As a leader in Military Social Networks, TWS has allowed me to maintain contact with service brethren
and find those believed to be long-lost. The various Forums serve as a great place to find out what's
going on and what others think and possibly engage in some hard conversations.
MGySgt Ron Soens US Marine Corps (Ret)
Served 1978-2008
Two thousand pounds of fuel may sound like a lot, but it won't get your F-4 Phantom II from Hanoi to Laos when its fuel tank has been torn open by anti-aircraft fire. That was the situation in which Air Force pilot Capt. John R. "Bob" Pardo and his wingman Capt. Earl Aman found themselves over the unfriendly skies of North Vietnam in March 1967.
What Pardo did to aid his in-flight battle buddy became the stuff of legend. "Pardo's Push" would soon be one of the most famous maneuvers in the history of aerial warfare and its perpetrator, Bob Pardo, a hero among mortals. Pardo, who survived the war and went on to become a career airman and later a civilian pilot, died in December 2023 at age 89.
The target that day was the Thai Nguyen steel mill some 53 miles north of the North Vietnamese capital of Hanoi. But the U.S. Air Force didn't enjoy total immunity in the skies above North Vietnam, and any mission was likely to be highly contested. This one was no different; a thousand anti-aircraft guns were protecting the mill and by the end of their bombing run, Pardo and his wingman were both flying damaged aircraft.
But where Pardo could make it to friendly territory, Aman and his Weapons Systems Officer (WSO), 1st Lt. Robert Houghton. knew their fuel tank had been hit and there was no chance of making it to an in-flight refuel over Laos. They would soon have to bail out, into the rice paddies of North Vietnam, enemy territory with no cover or concealment and an unfriendly populace. Pardo would have none of that.
As they made their way out of enemy territory, they climbed to 30,000 feet where Pardo first attempted to literally push his wingman's Phantom along, similar to a maneuver performed by James Robinson Risner during the Korean War. It might have worked for Risner, but turbulence prevented it from working for Pardo. But Pardo and his WSO, 1st Lt. Steve Wayne, weren't going to give up that easily. They had Aman cut his engines and lower his plane's tailhook.
The McDonnell-Douglas F-4 Phantom II was originally designed as a plane for naval aviators, and needed to be able to land on aircraft carriers, which meant it came equipped with a heavy duty tailhook for the occasion. With the tailhook down, Pardo was able to push Aman's jet along by pressing it up against his windscreen. He had to readjust its position every 15-30 seconds, and it was cracking his plane's canopy, but the tailhook push was working. It just wouldn't work very long. Pardo's engines were failing and his own fuel was dropping.
Luckily, the two planes were soon over Laos. After pushing both jets some 88 miles to friendlier territory, Pardo's plane was also done for. He used the last of his available efforts to slow their rate of descent before all four men bailed out over Laos. They evaded the Viet Cong patrols sent out to capture them and were all rescued within two hours of going down.
What happened next says a lot about how the Air Force has evolved since the Vietnam War. The commander of the 7th Air Force wanted to court-martial Pardo for losing his F-4 Phantom. Instead, Pardo's commander, the legendary Col. Robin Olds, intervened and kept the situation from escalating. Pardo survived the war, receiving the Air Medal, a Purple Heart and two Distinguished Flying Crosses.
While the incident did not fly with the Air Force leadership during the Vietnam War, it continued to live in fame among the airmen of the United States for decades afterward. Paintings were made, stories were shared and Pardo became a USAF folk hero. In 1989, the U.S. Senate got wind of the story and Pardo and Wayne were finally awarded Silver Stars for their risky maneuver. Aman and Houghton also received Silver Stars a few years later.
"My dad taught me that when your friend needs help, you help. I couldn't have come home and told him I didn't even try anything," Pardo told the San Antonio Express News. "It doesn't give me any extra privileges but makes me feel better about who I am."
Pardo died of lung cancer at his home in College Station, Texas on Dec. 5, 2023.
Six million Veterans receive benefits from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). As I described in a previous column, these are earned benefits for military service and not entitlements.
For Veterans, it is essential to explain to your family members what these benefits are, how they are administered, and how they would be affected if you should pass. Based on an all too common real-world situation, this example summarizes why taking the time to speak to your family about your benefits is critical.
Scenario One – Veteran does not share benefit information with family
Consider a married male Veteran who has not shared his benefit information with his spouse. He qualified for disability compensation for a service-related injury and receives a tax-free payment of $2,500 every month. These funds are incorporated into the family budget, which he and his wife use to pay for living expenses.
The Veteran dies, and his wife begins grieving. During this challenging period, she notices the $2,500 monthly payment he received from the VA has stopped. This results in a shortfall in their budget, causing additional stress.
Ultimately, she realizes she must connect with the VA to learn more. As she works her way through the bureaucracy, she struggles to understand benefits in general while finding out what her husband was receiving. Finally, she encounters information and forms for survivor benefits. This can be overwhelming during the best of times, but during this period of personal loss, it can add more stress.
Widows facing this situation are often approached by agents who offer to help them with VA benefits in return for a payment. Facing what seems like an insurmountable situation, some agree, even though no-cost support is available.
Scenario One Bottom Line – lack of understanding can cause additional stress during a difficult period and can provide an opening for unnecessarily paying for services.
Scenario Two - Veteran carefully explains his benefit information with family.
Much like the Veteran in the first scenario, this married Veteran receives $2,500 per month for disability compensation, which is used in their monthly budget for living expenses.
Unlike the other Veteran, this Veteran explains the benefits he is receiving from the VA. He has carefully stored all the documentation related to his service, the application for benefits, and the decision letters describing his service connection. He shares that information with his wife.
They discuss the financial implications of his passing. The $2,500 monthly payment will stop, and a smaller survivor benefit payment may be initiated. This will result in a shortfall in their budget. To address the need for additional income when the Veteran passes, they purchase sufficient life insurance to cover the reduction from decreased benefit payments.
Finally, the Veteran introduces his wife to the Veteran Service Officer (VSO) who helped him with his disability compensation claim, pointing out that he will be able to assist her at no cost should something happen to him. The VSO explains survivor benefits to the wife, identifying needed information and timing.
The Veteran passes, and the wife grieves. When the payment from the VA stops, her monthly budget is not reduced as the payment from life insurance purchased earlier now makes up the difference.
Instead of struggling through the VA system, the wife contacts the VSO, who assists her in completing forms for the appropriate survivor benefits and answering her questions. When approached by those who offer to help her with a payment, she simply says, "No, thank you."
Scenario Two Bottom Line – by taking the time to explain and plan, additional stress is minimized, and the opportunity to pay for unneeded services is avoided.
For various reasons, end-of-life planning is put off by many. As you can see from these simple examples, taking the time to explain your VA benefits to family members can reduce stress during a difficult period. Consider this as you complete your New Year's resolution list.
Paul R. Lawrence, Ph.D., served as Under Secretary of Benefits at the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs from May 2018 to January 2021. He is the author of "Veterans Benefits for You: Get what You Deserve," available from Amazon.
Dedicated to the American Soldier
War is indescribable hell. It gnaws; it violently wrenches the souls of many. Despite the horror, the sometimes utter confusion, and paralyzing fear during WWII, our soldiers did their jobs - whether they enlisted voluntarily or were drafted to service. There are so many stories about the men and women from – as Tom Brokaw aptly describes: "The Greatest Generation." These heroes grew up at a time when the world was in crisis. They freed not only Europe from the tyranny of a madman but also possibly halted what could have been the demise of democracy.
Of all those daring stories I’ve read and heard about, three poor farm boys stay foremost in my mind, my personal heroes: one who operated radio equipment and performed as a waist gunner in the bombing runs over Europe; another who para-glided from planes while facing mortar fire and ground conflict, in Belgium; and a third who survived not only the various horrors of Pacific theatre action in New Guinea during WWII, but later also in Korea and Vietnam. These are my heroes. I might be just a tad bit prejudiced about them.
Leburn ("Lee") finished his work in the yard in rural Missouri. When he reached the house, his Mother stood just inside the torn screen door, an envelope in hand. Her stoic glance said it all as he recognized the insignia on the letter in her outstretched hand. It was the expected military notice. A duet-sigh resonated through the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Clarence ("Eddie" to most in those days) was enlisting in the army in Kansas (April 8, 1943). When he last kissed his girlfriend back in Atwood, she wouldn’t learn until later that he was leaving for service in the Glider Infantry Regiment of the Army. For three years, letters would be these lovebirds’ only communication.
Virgil, hating farm work back in Oklahoma and after an unfortunate row with his father, left home to escape the farm. After his draft, he flirted with the idea that he might make a career with Uncle Sam. Little did he know he’d deal with a lot worse than plowing – but instead, the hells of three wars while struggling to raise his family.
Lee Townley was our Dad. Our handsome, fun-loving, ornery Dad. He began training for his ‘vacation’ in Europe at the Army Air Forces Technical School in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. According to my Dad’s graduation ‘yearbook,’ producing thousands of highly-trained radio technicians was a tremendous job requiring a vast plant, hundreds of competent teachers, modern training equipment, and a carefully coordinated schedule. I bet my father was surprised to see many female instructors! For three hours every day, he took code in a large classroom. International Morse – "How slowly it went at first." But appealing to their competitive spirit, they raced against the code, "beating it at eight, ten, twelve, eighteen and higher. Code became their tongue, brass-pounding their profession."
Our father’s gung-ho nature earned him a spot in the bombers … two months earlier than average! Oh, what a reward! I never realized that these words were written primarily for the Army Air Corps during World War II, but they definitely speak to the souls of those young men preparing for that action: "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder; climbing high, into the sun; here they come, zooming to meet our thunder; at ‘em boys, give ‘er the gun! Down we dive, spouting our flame from under; off with one … hell-uv-a roar! We live in fame … or go down … in flame. Nothing’ll stop the Army Air Corps!"
WAR JOURNAL – October 2, 1943. (Private John Haggarty of the 533rd Bombardment Squadron, 381st Bombing Group, located in Ridgewell, England): "Six new combat crewmen assigned: T/Sgt Edward J. Senk, Melvin A. Soderstrom, S/Sgts Frank P. Mitchley, John F. Skrapits, Leburn W. Townley, John E. Miskin."
Dad’s first mission as a radio operator, after arriving in England in October 1943, must have scared the wits out of this young Missourian. The crew included his frequent and apparently skilled pilot: George Hansen, co-pilot Bill McElhare, Navigator Staff Sgt. Stan Wright, bombardier Bill Johnson, top turret operator Basil Johnson, and left-wing John Johnson. Also, right-wing Frank Mitchley, ball (belly) turret Joe Panisti, and tail gunner Bill Abbott -- these three men would become his close friends.
[Photos are from my Dad’s personal effects]
Dad’s assigned plane: the B-17 ‘Flying Fortress.’ It served in every World War II combat zone but is best known for daylight strategic bombing of German industrial targets.
Boeing produced the bombers in small numbers in the late thirties and subcontracted with Lockheed-Vega factories to produce later models of the B-17 during the height of the conflict. They supplied over 3,400 of the "F" model and over 8,600 of the "G" model. Some models were equipped with lifeboats for sea rescues, but the primary use of the planes was the raids on European targets. One of the most famous of these planes, The Memphis Bell, completed twenty-five bombing missions over European territory.
Flying in a four-engine B-17 was anything but comfy. The cabin was unheated and un-pressurized, so crews needed oxygen, wool undergarments, and electric flying suits to keep warm and breathe. The bare-bones plane had little room to spare. I have to admit, unfortunately, not from my recollections of conversations with Dad, but from research, I found interesting details: it was equipped with six defensive gun locations. Its primary weapon was the 500-pound bomb. The plane could carry twelve bombs in its rack. Its range is 1300 miles with a full bomb load and 200 miles per hour cruising speed. The top speed was about 325 miles per hour. On its release of 6000 pounds of ordinance, the plane would lunge higher in the air, which required an adept pilot. They had multiple .50-caliber guns and flew in tight formations so the guns of multiple planes could focus on an enemy plane. I learned that the phrase: "whole nine yards" is derived from nine yards of linked ammunition fed through Browning machine guns.
I learned years later that Dad’s ‘ride’ was the lead plane in the first daylight bombing run over Germany. It was a very scary day for him. (And me, still today.)
Meanwhile, on a tropical excursion in New Guinea after a ‘luxurious cruise’ on a crowded liner from the States, Virgil (who later became my beloved stepdad) languished in the bright sunshine. Uh … let’s try that again: he tromped through … mud. Mud, mud, and more MUD. "New Guinea, thy name is mud!" The guys he served with later wrote: "Any picture not showing the abundant supply of that material … wasn’t authentic." The rain came only once a year, but it stayed 365 days, which made living pretty miserable! Clothes wouldn’t dry; mosquitoes ate them alive.
[Above pictures reproduced from: "STRIKE, The Story of The Fighting 17th", my Uncle Duke Walters’ military book. He served in New Guinea at the same time as Virgil, my Stepdad.]
The military posted billboards reminding them to take their drugs for malaria and other sundry ills. And … despite the travel brochures they’d read, depicting: ‘an island paradise with obliging and stunning native women,’ these boys were in for quite a surprise upon arrival. Virgil, being the gentleman he was, wouldn’t even comment on the sight of the ‘beautiful’ native women he’d heard about. Albeit to say … he and all his buddies only dreamed of the sweet-looking, sweet-smelling American girls back home.
He later told me that when he arrived in New Guinea from the ship, they ran fifteen to twenty smaller boats of troops for three days to unload men and supplies. He could view Australia across the bay. When they first arrived, it was quiet for a while. The troops walked about a mile through knee-deep mud and another half mile to the camp, where he viewed about a hundred tents. When he looked west, he said he saw the top of a mountain with a beautiful building – General McArthur’s headquarters. But he never knew whether the General was there.
He and his seven-man crew walked from one side of the island to the other, to the peninsula, and set up positions. They once unknowingly passed under a lone Japanese soldier spying in coconut trees. Virgil believed "that Jap in the tree could have killed him a dozen times; he’d watched me set up all day and never once fired – amazing!" When he was finally discovered, they "just told the Japanese soldier to come on down" and kept him as a prisoner.
The Japanese had installed booby traps everywhere, with strings attached to hand grenades. Walking gingerly, Virgil set up his 50-caliber machine gun, dug a foxhole, and began surveillance out at the sea from his position. The troops routinely used anti-aircraft fire to down Japanese planes. At times, they also fought off an unexpected boatload of arriving enemy. One time, while practicing "landings," they walked through a field full of Japanese bodies. He said he inadvertently stepped on a dead soldier, rotting and smelling, the body fluids splashing up on him. Though he tried washing off his clothes and putting them back on, he said he smelled a month.
Virgil spent a year at this location as a "Machine Gun Sergeant, or Buck Sergeant," before moving north to Luzon and then to Manilla Bay in the Philippines. He described looking north out of Manila; on top of a mountain was a big, dark cross. Said it was "a monstrous size – could see it for a mile." I wonder if he stared a lot at that cross; it must have been a comfort. A young man named Lackernick from Hackensack, New Jersey, became a close friend. They had a big, tough captain from Texas as a commander and went around on small LSTs (landing ship tanks), checking the beach. Their captain pumped them up for action yet lightened things with a weekly five-gallon kiln of homemade booze. Each guy had a canteen cup, and the captain would pour them a drink at dinner. They all played jokes on each other, but at night, it was "all quiet, no lights."
Virgil drew me a descriptive image about a Japanese pilot they called "Washing Machine Charlie," who buzzed them often in a small, noisy plane. He threw out personnel bombs, a foot long, by hand, "like he was scattering apples." Throughout the night, all they could see was the plane’s lights, his psychological warfare keeping them awake and rattled.
These details gave me some thought-provoking images, redefining my definition of "incoming!" Virgil said the shelling was "loud and scary, but you were just too busy to worry at the time." But, if they weren’t worried about defending against the enemy, I would imagine the isolation was a major contributor to their angst. Virgil remained in the Philippines until the end of the war. He made First Sergeant Rank within three years. Seven in his battalion were killed.
At least Lee, flying in and out of Ridgewell, had occasional leave. And … enough for this rakish rogue to form a sparky acquaintance with a pretty lass named Jean in rural England. He would later tell my brothers and me stories about necking (kissing) with Miss Jean while riding separate bicycles down country roads. That must have commanded a bit of navigational skill! Lovely Jean was quite a gal. She worked sixty hours a week at the Ridgewell base doing, among other things, shoveling asphalt from the back of a truck onto the new runways being built. What a trooper!
Dad also had the opportunity to do a bit of sightseeing, but his description of those "castles" wasn’t impressed with the "titled." Said most of them were actually very small. Taking a quote from Shakespeare seemed like "much ado about nothing" to him. When his tour was over, I’m sure it was harder to leave fair Jean than the castles of England. I’m so grateful he’d acquired a sweet friend to pleasantly occupy his thoughts, giving him occasional respite during this terrible time in his life. After returning home to Oklahoma, he was rewarded by marrying a fiery Irish-American redhead named Betty Jo – our beautiful Mother.
"Alright, buddy, get ready. We’re gonna send you on out, and you’ll be released soon." No, that wasn’t the coveted discharge orders from military duty; it was an officer’s instructions right before Clarence (Eddie), my Dad-in-law, was pulled down into Belgium in a glider. He just prayed he’d not encounter any krauts down below with guns already fixed on them … Sorry, Eddie, no such luck.
Eddie served in the 17th Airborne Division from 1944 to 1945. Their shoulder patch had a circle with a black background upon which was an outstretched eagle’s talon in gold. The colors suggested seizing the golden opportunity by the surprise with which airborne operations were carried out. Their motto: "Thunder from Heaven."
With the onset of the Battle of the Bulge, the Division was rushed to Europe by air and sea, entering combat on December 25, 1944. To give some perspective on Eddie’s state of mind and what he experienced, in the 17th’s short but violent combat history, these men incurred almost double the casualties per day of other airborne divisions (which were in combat for longer periods). I can’t begin to imagine, but gliding down out of the sky with German soldiers shooting at them must have been a terrifying sensation. Many were dead before their gliders hit the ground. Eddie’s group included four Congressional Medal of Honor winners, more than any other airborne division in World War II. Unfortunately, we didn’t talk about this, so I don’t know many details, but these facts in themselves tell a vivid story of how frantic the action must have been! Sadly, all four were awarded posthumously.
This was Lee’s view, from his radio tech seat, looking through the bomb galley to the cockpit:
A tight fit! It was a good thing he was slender, as he’d have to squeeze through the opening to relay Morse code messages to the pilot. However, having to move a few times from his main position saved his life on more than one occasion.
Dad would later (reluctantly) tell me stories of seeing men killed by enemy fire right in front of him. Nearly every trip resulted in their B-17 returning, riddled in lacy designs by German bullets. Aluminum and plexiglass presented little barrier to bullets or flak shrapnel. Dad agonizingly described once witnessing a crew member catch a startling chainsaw-like spray of bullets through the plane, slicing off the top portion of that man’s head. The soldier wasn’t a member of their regular crew; he was a one-time fill-in for a tail gunner. Seems so very sad -- like the luck of a bad draw. This is the reality of war.
Dad related how once the top piece on their plane came loose, and a crew member had hold of it, trying to secure it back down, but the man was sucked out the opening. There were several occasions, after moving forward a bit, to relay information to his pilot. Dad backed into his seat, noticing the fresh bullet holes right at the position his head would have been. He would have experienced the same fate as his crew member if he hadn't moved at that particular moment. Fate brought my father home. Lucky for me. That same fate brought me into this world; otherwise, I surely wouldn’t be writing this now. Many of his friends were not so lucky.
WAR JOURNAL: Dec’43: "Nine ships from this squadron were part of the formation; the pilots participating were Lts Gleichauf, Butler, Chason, Crozier, Parsons, Nason, Fridgen, Klein, and Stewart Hanson. Radio operator S/Sgt Curtis E. Hickman died of anoxia on the return trip. His body was taken to the 121st Station Hospital at Braintree, a few miles away."
Our Dad served from August 5, 1942, until October 22, 1945, in the U.S. Army Air Corp, Eighth Air Force, surviving twenty-eight flying missions over Berlin and other targets in B-17 bombers. His last rank was Tech Sergeant. His awarded Decorations and Citations included the European-African-Middle Eastern Service Medal with Two Bronze Battle Stars, the Air Medal with Three Bronze Clusters, and … the Distinguished Flying Cross.
A statistic I found compelling: more U.S. servicemen died in the Air Corps than in the Marine Corps. While completing the required thirty missions in bomber planes, the chance of being killed was seventy-one percent.
The last time Dad climbed aboard a military plane was to return to his base in Oklahoma. Upon ‘landing,’ the small plane flipped over, sliding down the runway, eventually stopping upside-down. Fortunately, the crew all walked away from it. I believe he felt he’d tempted fate enough – he never stepped foot in an airplane again. He passed away over twenty-five years ago and my brothers and I miss ‘His Orneryness’ still.
Our Stepdad, Virgil, not only successfully completed his Pacific tour during WWII but also directed other men in the Korean War and Vietnam conflict. He retired in 1973 after nearly three decades of service. Due to his military experiences, he was very organized and disciplined. Amazingly, after witnessing the horrors of three wars -- the indescribable sounds and smells of death, my stepdad was also a very compassionate, kind, and giving man. Most of what I’ve compiled here, he related to me before he experienced some memory losses. I wish that if he forgot anything about his military career, it was the violent, unhappy memories, not his brave buddies and their camaraderie. We lost this dear man a few hours before his 90th birthday.
Eddie (my Dad-in-law) returned and married his girlfriend, Fera, in Kansas -- another beautiful redhead. He always seemed to have handled his war experiences fairly well; I suppose that was due to being quite pragmatic about it. I believe he felt that it does no good to dwell in guilt. He and his buddies simply did their job and came home. Though he has also passed on and is missed by his family, his military legacy continued in his Marine sons and Navy grandson.
It’s amazing to me how so many young men (and women) can go off on missions such as these, witness the atrocities that routinely come with the war effort, perform a valiant job, and then wearily return home. They’re then expected to re-ingratiate themselves into normal lives, into a public that has no base, absolutely no comprehension of what they experienced. I remember seeing old news clips and pictures showing the excitement at reports of the end of the war: the jubilation and partying – sailors grabbing girls and kissing them enthusiastically. And the gals (whether they knew them or not), seemingly responding in-kind. What wonderful news for a weary nation! But though we’ve seen many romantic images of the war’s end, I don’t believe it really ended so quickly for the weary participants.
Once returning, none of these three men talked much of the war. I’ve heard lots of other family members say the same thing about their soldiers. They had their memories and their nightmares, but many kept those to themselves. Regretfully, I often wish I had asked my Dads more about their experiences, especially since I am now endeavoring to write them down. But, on the other hand, perhaps some of the memories would have been too painful for them to revisit very thoroughly. Of necessity, they made fast friends, but those they lost were a sad reminder. Even though they were all heroes in my eyes, I wonder whether they and many of their comrades felt unworthy to have survived when so many of their buddies did not.
Four-hundred and forty Medals of Honor were awarded during WWII. Sorrowfully, two-hundred fifty of those were awarded posthumously. I’m sure other medals should have been presented; not all valiant actions could be reported. We’re losing these valiant heroes at a rapidly increasing pace. Therefore, we can’t praise these Americans enough – for the sacrifices they made to ensure the continuance of our country’s democracy and the freedom we enjoy. And not only those from World War II, but we must honor all soldiers, sailors, air force, and marines (both men and women) from every war this country has engaged in.
Like his grandfathers in World War II and his Father in Vietnam, our younger son has experienced numerous Seabee deployments in hostile confrontations. Each time, I anguished until he returned to his children, and I always wished him ‘Godspeed, dear son.’ He recently retired as a Navy Seabee after twenty-three years of service.
Throughout the entire history of our country and continuing today, our military heroes sacrificed irreplaceable time with their families, some their fortunes, and many -- their lives. May those who have passed on gain their deserved crown of peace. They deserve our utmost respect. I pray that God will continue to bless our nation and protect each of our troops as they protect us.
I have been a member of TogetherWeServed for quite some time and would regularly receive emails telling me I needed to complete the Reflections of My Service. Still, I would always keep putting it off because I was just too busy. But for some reason, this past Veterans Day made me realize that it was too important for me to wait any longer if I was going to leave a legacy for my grandkids about my military service, now was the time. I just recently turned 70 years old (I went skydiving to celebrate this milestone), and my memory is not getting any better; it's not great now, so while I am able, I wanted to write down in my own words just what serving in the Air Force had meant to me. Why I joined, the experiences, the people I met, and the things I accomplished are part of who I am and will always be an important part of my life. I am very grateful that TogetherWeServed has given me and other Veterans a platform to do just that so that, hopefully, we can pass on to the next generation the importance of having a strong military to defend our nation. God Bless the USA!
Sgt Thomas Hewell US Air Force Veteran
Served 1972-1976
There's a good chance that anyone in the Navy could fill a book of short stories with their own personal sea stories, no matter what their rating was. That's pretty much the greatest thing about joining the Navy: you get multiple lifetimes of experiences crammed into such a short amount of time.
Of course, slots on aircraft carriers and submarines are limited, and sailors couldn't talk much about those experiences anyway. Author Luis Sung was stationed aboard the Amphibious Transport Dock USS Trenton (LPD 14) between 1980 and 1984. He chronicles his adventures of being deployed with his shipmates and their U.S. Marine Corps passengers and the challenges of being at sea.
Sung spent some of his early life in Florida but says his childhood really started when his family relocated to Honolulu, Hawaii, in the 1970s. It wouldn't last. The family eventually moved back to Florida, where Sung spent most of his life – when he wasn't in the Navy, of course.
He joined the U.S. Navy after graduating from high school, serving for the next 20 years. He retired in 2003, but the stories from his time in service (especially aboard the Trenton) stayed with him. He ventured into the civilian corporate world after leaving the Navy, but in 2018, he finally answered the voice in the back of his head to write down the experiences he gathered as a young sailor.
Those experiences make up the short stories in his book, "Tales from My Sea Bag," a 300-page work of art that Sung curated by carrying around a notebook and writing down whatever memories came to him. With contributions from his shipmates, "Tales From My Sea Bag" offers a rare look into the lives of everyday sailors aboard a U.S. Naval vessel. As Sung himself says, "You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll walk alongside the author on the decks of the USS Trenton."
"Tales from My Sea Bag" is available in paperback through Luis Sung's own website, NavyWriter680.com, for just $16.99.
If that sounds like an incredibly dangerous mission to you, you're correct. "Masters of the Air," a new limited series from Executive Producers Tom Hanks and Steven Speilberg, will debut on January 26, 2024, on Apple TV+ and will show viewers just how devastating air combat over Nazi Germany really was.
Just like "Band of Brothers" and "The Pacific," "Masters of the Air" is also drawn from real-world historical documentation. Historian Donald L. Miller's book "Masters of the Air: America's Bomber Boys Who Fought the Air War Against Nazi Germany" was originally published in 2007 but is still among the top-rated and most purchased World War II history books. Its painstaking research and treatment of characters made it the perfect choice for an adaptation to television. 
Germany threw everything it could into the effort, including an estimated 410,000 men, 1,500 armored vehicles, a thousand combat aircraft, and thousands of artillery guns. The response to such an assault would turn the Battle of the Bulge into the largest and one of the deadliest battles in U.S. military history. 
German advances needed to be swift, but the Americans weren't so quick to give up (or even fall back) as the Allies had been in 1940. At places like Elsenborn Ridge in the north and Bastogne in the south, American soldiers considerably delayed the Nazi advance, forcing the Germans to concentrate their forces or to change their plans entirely. In the center, the Germans gained considerable ground, but by Dec. 23, it was too late; the weather was clearing. 
But the Germans weren't so easily beaten back. The forces in the Bulge managed to prevent being cut off by the Allied pincer and forced the Americans and British to pay dearly for the recaptured ground. Progress was slow, and the Battle of the Bulge didn't fully end until Jan. 25, 1945. An estimated 19,000 Allied troops were killed, with another 47,500 wounded and 23,000 missing. The Germans suffered more than 100,000 killed, wounded, or missing. 
All 52 hostages were released the day Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as the 40th President of the United States. Legend has it that the Gipper's rhetoric and forcefulness struck such fear into the hearts of the Ayatollah's revolutionary government that they were immediately compelled to send the hostages home. It's true that the hostages were released on January 20, 1981, the same day Reagan was inaugurated as President, but it had nothing to do with fear of Ronald Reagan. 
What Pardo did to aid his in-flight battle buddy became the stuff of legend. "Pardo's Push" would soon be one of the most famous maneuvers in the history of aerial warfare and its perpetrator, Bob Pardo, a hero among mortals. Pardo, who survived the war and went on to become a career airman and later a civilian pilot, died in December 2023 at age 89. 
Luckily, the two planes were soon over Laos. After pushing both jets some 88 miles to friendlier territory, Pardo's plane was also done for. He used the last of his available efforts to slow their rate of descent before all four men bailed out over Laos. They evaded the Viet Cong patrols sent out to capture them and were all rescued within two hours of going down. 
Scenario One – Veteran does not share benefit information with family
Scenario Two - Veteran carefully explains his benefit information with family.
Lee Townley was our Dad. Our handsome, fun-loving, ornery Dad. He began training for his ‘vacation’ in Europe at the Army Air Forces Technical School in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. According to my Dad’s graduation ‘yearbook,’ producing thousands of highly-trained radio technicians was a tremendous job requiring a vast plant, hundreds of competent teachers, modern training equipment, and a carefully coordinated schedule. I bet my father was surprised to see many female instructors! For three hours every day, he took code in a large classroom. International Morse – "How slowly it went at first." But appealing to their competitive spirit, they raced against the code, "beating it at eight, ten, twelve, eighteen and higher. Code became their tongue, brass-pounding their profession." 
Dad’s first missi
Meanwhile, on a tropical excursion in New Guinea after a ‘luxurious cruise’ on a crowded liner from the States, Virgil (who later became my beloved stepdad) languished in the bright sunshine. Uh … let’s try that again: he tromped through … mud. Mud, mud, and more MUD. "New Guinea, thy name is mud!" The guys he served with later wrote: "Any picture not showing the abundant supply of that material … wasn’t authentic." The rain came only once a year, but it stayed 365 days, which made living pretty miserable! Clothes wouldn’t dry; mosquitoes ate them alive. 
Virgil spent a year at this location as a "Machine Gun Sergeant, or Buck Sergeant," before moving north to Luzon and then to Manilla Bay in the Philippines. He described looking north out of Manila; on top of a mountain was a big, dark cross. Said it was "a monstrous size – could see it for a mile." I wonder if he stared a lot at that cross; it must have been a comfort. A young man named Lackernick from Hackensack, New Jersey, became a close friend. They had a big, tough captain from Texas as a commander and went around on small LSTs (landing ship tanks), checking the beach. Their captain pumped them up for action yet lightened things with a weekly five-gallon kiln of homemade booze. Each guy had a canteen cup, and the captain would pour them a drink at dinner. They all played jokes on each other, but at night, it was "all quiet, no lights." 
Eddie served in the 17th Airborne Division from 1944 to 1945. Their shoulder patch had a circle with a black background upon which was an outstretched eagle’s talon in gold. The colors suggested seizing the golden opportunity by the surprise with which airborne operations were carried out. Their motto: "Thunder from Heaven." 
Eddie (my Dad-in-law) returned and married his girlfriend, Fera, in Kansas -- another beautiful redhead. He always seemed to have handled his war experiences fairly well; I suppose that was due to being quite pragmatic about it. I believe he felt that it does no good to dwell in guilt. He and his buddies simply did their job and came home. Though he has also passed on and is missed by his family, his military legacy continued in his Marine sons and Navy grandson. 
There's a good chance that anyone in the Navy could fill a book of short stories with their own personal sea stories, no matter what their rating was. That's pretty much the greatest thing about joining the Navy: you get multiple lifetimes of experiences crammed into such a short amount of time.