Payback

Plexiglas separates my bent frame from the receding coastline below as we head north into the Babuyan Channel toward the Luzon Straits.

I hope we find some Japs!

Scanning the horizon ahead takes my mind off the reason for this mission, but not for long.

Payback!

My eyes dart from west to east, searching for ships heading south toward the Philippines. For all eight of us, payback can’t be pushed out of our heads by any activity, especially one as mundane as searching the horizon.

Despite having the best view in the plane, I can’t see beyond the cloud cover on this overcast December day.

Payback for the attack going on at Clark Field right now that forced us to scramble into the sky only partially loaded, Payback for Pearl Harbor, payback for starting this damn war!

“Smoke at 11 o’clock,” Bean yells on the communication system.

Damn, I wanted to be the one to spot it! How’d I miss the smoke?

I swing my head back toward the west again, seeing a small dark plume rising from the water.

“Adjusting our heading to target it,” Captain Kelly informs the crew.

We’re out for blood!

Theirs, and probably ours, as we’re also out here alone: A solo mission to bomb any target of opportunity we happen to find.

Just two days after the surprise at Clark Field caught most of our bombers and fighters on the ground, we’re on a bombing mission to slow down the expected Japanese invasion of the Philippines.

“That’s a big one!” hollers Robbins, the co-pilot.

Eying the smoke stack, I can discern an outline of a large ship steaming south as part of a group of vessels.

They can only be Japs. We don’t have anything that big out here!

“Targeting the big one, got that Levin?” Cap informs me.

YES!

“Roger Captain, targeting the big one,” I reply.

Our distance should be about seven miles, give or take.

I’ve had the Norden bombsight’s gyros running since shortly after takeoff. The computer is all warmed up. Clutching in the stabilizer, my right hand grips both the turn and drift knobs, rotating them to change the heading of the plane toward the ship.

“Adjusting heading, Levin. Take it easy on that computer!” Cap calls out.

What does he expect? This is our first combat mission, and he wants me to take it easy!

“Yes, Cap,” I reply.

Engaging the telescope motor clutch, I lower my right eye to the bombsights eyepiece, using my right hand to adjust the angle so the ship shows up in the cross-hairs of the scope.

Steady.

Too much angle and I overshoot the ship.

Must rotate the stabilizers back.

Clutching the vertical stabilizers, I uncage the gyros, allowing the site to track the ship.

Drifting left, away from the target.

Correcting for the drift, I double grip the turn and drift knobs again, gently nudging them forward.

Yes, on target now, but coming in fast. Oh wait, the bomb-bay doors.

With my right hand, I flip the bay doors switch, exposing our three 600-pound bombs to the world below.

Slowly turning the rate motor switch, I reduce the rate at which the plane is approaching the target.

Alright, the cross-hairs are steady on the target.

I level up by turning the leveling knob with my left hand so the scope is aligned and both bubbles are centered.

My reference is vertical, yes!

Eye back to the eyepiece, the target has drifted away from the cross-hairs. Right hand on the vertical stabilizers, I correct with the drift knobs one more time, flipping the automatic release lever.

No more corrections now, let’s see what this computer can do!

“Computer’s got the target, Cap!” I report.

“Going steady then,” Cap Kelly retorts.

The moments tick by as our aircraft approaches the sky above the large ship. At 22,000 feet, I can’t make out much on the ship itself, but it’s a big one, that’s for sure!

Staring down at it, I wonder:

Do they even know we’re up here?

After a pause between thoughts, the plane rises with the wind to the east, catching more air because of reduced weight.

“Bombs Away!” I call out, excitedly.

“Turning off auto-pilot,” I follow, in a less enthusiastic manner.

I kinda miss controlling the plane.

My eyes stay on the large ship below. Small bursts of fire erupt from guns on its deck.

They’ve spotted us and are firing back.

A large explosion erupts at the stern of the ship sending a plume of flame skyward.

“YES! A HIT!” I scream into the coms.

“Great job Levin, but hold off on the hollering will ya!” Robbins, the co-pilot, requests.

“Let’s get this bird home,” Cap suggests.

“Splash one Jap Battleship!” Halkyard bellows from the waist-guns.

“One less battlewagon for you Japs! Ha!” Money calls out.

Captain Kelly turns our B-17 so we’re heading back toward Luzon and Clark Field.

Payback feels good!

*****

December 10, 1941 a lone U.S. Army Air Corps B-17 bomber out of Clark Field in the Philippines successfully targeted a large Japanese ship north of Luzon, initially believed to be the battleship Haruna. The ship burst into flames while the crew of the bomber turned to head back to its base. Captain Kelly reported a major sinking. This news was a huge boost of sorely needed good news just days after the attack on Pearl Harbor and the destruction of most Air Corps planes in the Philippines the next morning. For the sake of truth, there were no battleships in the area that day, and the plane slightly damaged the Japanese cruiser Natori when the ship was hit with a single 600-pound bomb.

Time Life Books The Rising Sun, 1977, page 91.

http://img834.imageshack.us/img834/9351/boeingb17cflyingfortres.jpg - graphic of early model B-17 (likely in Philippines)

http://www.stelzriede.com/ms/photos/b17d.jpg - great pic of early model B-17

Kelly

The Legend of Colin Kelly by Robert Taylor

Let’s get out of here!

Banking the giant B-17 170 degrees starboard, I put us on a new heading (south by south-east) so we’re in line with Clark Field.

Just as I finish the turn, Money in the top turret calls out, “Fighters 5 o’clock high!”

“Altman, before you get in the bathtub, let Clark know we splashed a battleship!” I order to our radio operator.

“Yes, Cap” he replies.

From multiple points behind the cockpit, the staccato cracks of machine guns clatter as hammers strike the rear end of belted shells, propelling each explosive projectile toward the incoming Jap Zeroes.

Robbins turns his head to look out over his right shoulder toward the incoming flight of Japs, “A whole swarm of ‘em! This is going to get ugly.”

We hit that ship on a mission that might never have happened, so we’re already ahead.

Despite the on-rushing enemy machine gun and cannon shells tearing through the thin skin of my lumbering giant bird, my glove-covered hands steady the vibrations, keeping trim and level flight.

Now we’ll see how much of a flying fortress this bird really is.

Shearing metal, human screams, staccato shell impacts, whizzing streaks of near-missed rounds, and blood-curdling shrieks of plane fragments torn away from the man-made contraption holding me aloft combine to crescendo into a cacophony of impulse overload silence.

Keep the plane flying, just fly the damn plane.

“Delehanty’s down, he’s bleeding,” someone yells into the coms in a voice too excited to be identified.

“You get Delehanty, I’ll cover your gun,” Bean offers over the coms.

He must be talking to the new guy, waist gunner Altman.

“Take out the one with the yellow stripe” Sergeant Altman, now in the bathtub turret, orders in a confident voice, perfectly calm, as if he is walking along a beach rather than fighting for his life and that of our plane.

Two Robert Altmans on my crew, what were the odds?

Keep it steady and fly the plane.

“Where’s the stripe?” Money asks.

“7, he’s at 7 High,” Halkyard, the other waist gunner, replies.

“Got ‘em. Take care of 4 Level,” Money calls out.

“He’s going too fast for me,” Halkyard grudgingly concedes.

“I got 3 low,” Altman offers from the tub.

“Whoa, did you see him go by?” Money asks no one in particular.

“Shut it, only use coms to call them out.” Robbins pipes in, attempting to keep the coms clear for the gunners.

“Engine 2’s hit, CATCHING FIRE!” Money shrieks into the coms.

Shit, a fire in 2. We can still make it back if the fuel doesn’t catch.

“I’m shutting down the fuel to 2 and feathering the props,” Robbins tells me, not looking in my direction.

“They’re breaking off,” Levin calls out from the nose.

“How’s Delehanty?” I ask, hoping new Altman’s got him covered.

Silence.

“Atman, how’s Delehanty?” Money chimes in.

“Money, get down there and check on Delehanty and Altman,” Robbins orders.

After a few moments of silence, Money comes back on the coms, “Delehanty’s dead, Altman’s bleeding Cap.”

Tub Altman comes on the coms, “Engine 4’s leaking, Cap. A dark stream streaking out.”

Engine 4 is leaking fuel. If the fire in 2 touches the fuel from 4, we’re done for.

“Shutting down the fuel feed to 4 and feathering the props,” Robbins informs me.

This bird has a good chance of exploding.

“Japs are coming back,” tub Altman reports on coms.

Summoning an air of gravitas despite my sense of dread, I order, “EVERYONE OUT, NOW!”

“I MEAN IT, JUMP NOW!”

Turning right so my vision is in line with Robbins, I order, “YOU TOO!”

“Someone break me out of here,” tub Altman orders more than requests.

I can’t imagine being stuck in the ball turret, dependent upon someone else in the plane to open the door for me.

Keep her steady.

Robbins starts to get up from his co-pilot seat, pauses for a moment while looking at me, puts his hand on my shoulder, and says, “Level it off and get out too.”

“I will.”

He folds himself in half, disappearing through the bulkhead.

My hands tremble in rhythm with the jittering plane.

Hold it together girl, we’ll get you home.

A Jap Zero streaks past so close I can see the pilots face.

Keep it steady.

The plane, despite its now violent vibrations, is staying level and steady, offering a perfect jumping platform for my crew.

I flip the switch to engage the autopilot, but when I let go of the steering column the wings bank slightly to port. 

If the autopilot doesn’t work, I can’t get to an exit fast enough before this bird flips over and starts spinning.

One engine on each side, with two feathered, if I put them in sync, even though they are not parallel, they could keep the bird stable.

I reduce the power to Engine 3, so that 1 is dominant.

Ok, that should do it.

Engaging the auto-pilot again, I pause for a moment to observe the plane.

Steady and stable, great!

Lifting myself from the Captain’s seat, my eye catches an incoming fighter at 3 O’clock, fiery bursts streaming from behind his prop.

Get out!

*****

Returning from what they believed to be a successful bombing run against a Japanese battleship, the crew of Captain Colin Kelly’s B-17(c) was jumped by a squadron of Japanese Zero fighters commanded by one of Japan’s most vaunted aces of the war, Saburo Sakai. Captain Kelly held the plane steady long enough for his six surviving crew members to escape before (and sources differ here) it either blew up or crashed. The Japanese fighter pilots could not definitively report which occurred, so a probable kill was split between several members of the squadron. This B-17 was the first American bomber lost in actual combat in World War II. Captain Kelly, a graduate of West Point, died in the loss.

The Legend of Colin Kelly by Robert Taylor

The crew that day were:

Pilot Captain Colin Purdie Kelly, Jr. (KIA, BR) Madison, FL

Co-Pilot 2nd Lt. Donald Robbins (survived)

Navigator 2nd Lt. Joe M. Bean (survived)

Bombardier Cpl Meyer Levin, 6975479 (survived) NY

Engineer SSgt William J. Delehanty (KIA, BR) NY

Radio/Bathtub Gunner Pfc Robert E. Altman (survived)

Assistant Radio/Gunner Willard Money (survived)

Gunner Pvt Robert Altman (WIA)

Waist Gunner SSgt James Halkyard (survived)

In the haste to share a small victory with a depressed military and civilian populace still reeling from the attack on Pearl Harbor and the surprise destruction of the U.S. air units at Clark Field the next day, the details of Kelly's sacrifice were confused and exaggerated. Reports of him crashing the bomber into a Japanese battleship, together with other equally false claims, encouraged many Americans to believe he was the first American suicide pilot of the war and deserved to be awarded The Medal of Honor. Kelly was a hero for saving his crew on America’s first bombing mission of World War II. He received the Distinguished Service Cross, the nation’s second highest award for heroism, both for the assumed damage or destruction of the Japanese battleship Haruna but, especially, for the persona sacrifice which saved his crew.

Captain Kelly is considered the first American hero of World War II. Several streets, schools, post offices, and monuments around the country bear his name. His remains are buried in Madison, Florida (his hometown), and a statue in his honor resides in Four Freedoms Park. Kelly was survived by a small child, Colin B. “Corky “ Kelley III. A nation-wide effort, spearheaded by a Tampa newspaper, raised thousands of dollars for a Corky fund to help care for the child. President Roosevelt penned a request to the President of the United States in 1956. In the letter, F.D.R. asked that the airman's infant son get a West Point appointment. Colin Kelly III did attend and graduate from West Point, eventually becoming a priest and serving as an Assistant Chaplain at West Point.

http://airartnw.com/colinkellylegend.htm - To learn more about this mission, and those who were on both sides of it.

http://img834.imageshack.us/img834/9351/boeingb17cflyingfortres.jpg - graphic of early model B-17 (likely in the Philippines)