Chapter 6 - SHOT DOWN

The morning of April 2, 1944 did not start out well for the 340^th Bomb Squadron crew of B-17F #42-30429. The target briefed for the day in the 97^th Bomb Group farmer’s barn was the ball bearing works at Steyr, Austria. 

The crew was: 

Pilot, 2d.Lt. Lowell H. Braum, 0-748337
Co-pilot, 2d.Lt. John (NMI) Niemeyer, 0-689336
Navigator, 2d.Lt. Wallace (NMI) Cooke, 0-683814

Bombardier, 2d.Lt. Dallas E. Kauffman Jr., 0-752682
Engineer, S/Sgt. Joseph J. Metz Jr., 12164090
Radio Operator, S/Sgt. Joseph O. Hamel, 11103412 

Right waist gunner, Sgt. Pat H. Varnado, 34473455 

Ball turret gunner, Sgt. Bruce P. Hall Jr., 39558927

Tail gunner Sgt. Chester (NMI) Szymanski, 32516827

and me, Left waist gunner, Sgt. Donald K. McClure, 36578805. 

This was my sixteenth mission. 

[Picturs of ball bearing factory in Steyer and of WWII bomb shelter from Christian Arzberger added 2018]

Ball Bearing Factory WWII bomb shelter 2012

The briefing completed, we walked up the ramp normally used by the livestock. At the top of the ramp was a poster someone had placed in a last-minute feeble attempt at building morale. It was a GI mechanic leaning against an engine nacelle with a wrench in his hand. The text said: “Let’s go gang!” I always thought the S.O.B. who drew that stupid attempt at building morale was probably at home, sound asleep between clean white sheets. For sure, he wasn’t about to stick his neck out as we were about to do. We climbed aboard our Army GMC 6x6 truck for the ride to our aircraft parked on the airfield across the road.
 

When we jumped off the truck at the airplane, Wally Cooke was missing his oxygen mask. The 340^th Bomb Squadron Sergeant who always made the rounds of the crews to get last minute items of equipment returned shortly with a mask. “Red” Hall’s ball turret had one or two teeth missing from the elevation gear which might have caused the turret to jam in elevation and perhaps prevent him from getting out of the turret in an emergency. Otherwise routine pre-flight preparations continued. We gunners field stripped our .50 caliber Browning machine guns for inspection and to wipe off the oil as much as possible. This was to prevent the guns from freezing at altitude. At the scheduled time, the green flare went up, engines were started, and the taxi and take-off were routine. The tail gunner, the two waist gunners and the ball turret gunner do not have seats or seat belts so we customarily sat on the floor of the radio compartment facing the rear in bob-sled fashion with legs locked around each other until the take-off was safely completed.

The climb to altitude in formation was routine, heading northeast across the Adriatic Sea toward the Dalmatian coast of Yugoslavia. While climbing we asked Lt. Braum for permission to test fire our guns. At Braum’s command, we checked and reported our satisfactory oxygen system function. We crossed the coast still climbing. A four round burst of 88mm flak blossomed a mile or so away. In a few seconds, the expected second four round burst cut the distance in half as the enemy gunners corrected their range. In a few seconds, a four round burst in the formation. No damage done and the formation continued out of range of the flak battery. The routes to the targets were planned to avoid the concentration of flak guns around cities and military targets. It was amazing how much flak we could fly through and come out unscathed most of the time.

By the time we were over northern Yugoslavia, I saw our P-47 escort approaching from 8 o’clock high. They were several miles distant when suddenly, one of them flamed and fell straight down. I saw no enemy fighters around but the rest of the P-47s dropped their tanks and promptly engaged in a dogfight. The Luftwaffe must have approached them from the rear so that I was not able to see them. Now over the Alps in Austria, and a few miles south of the target and still on our northerly heading I saw for the first time, a burst of thick, oily black smoke with a deep red flash at 7 o’clock. This was either a heavy caliber anti-aircraft gun or more likely, a rocket fired from an unseen aircraft. 88mm bursts were mushroomed in shape with no flash and the smoke was dark quickly fading go a light gray.

It was about noon. During the bomb run, at about 20,000 feet, with all of the formation bomb bay doors open, I happened to look straight up and found myself looking into a B-17 open bomb bay directly above us. The bombs were clearly visible. Why he was there I do not know. Perhaps that was when we began to drift out of formation. Shortly we began a counter clockwise turn in the target area. Over the intercom came the announcement that we had to circle for another run because there was already another bomb group on the target. As we completed our turn and were once again on a northerly heading, I saw a single aircraft approaching from three or four miles at 9 o’clock level. I began a series of short bursts even though the airplane was clearly out of my maximum effective range of 600 yards for hand held guns. As the aircraft continued its approach, I saw it was an American B-24! What was he doing there all by himself? Thankfully, he passed below us apparently unscathed by my long range bursts.ⁱ
 

I have never been able to describe what follows in the precise order the events occurred. I could not do so immediately afterward or at any time in the years that followed, accurately describe the exact sequence of these events. The life-threatening fear was so intense that all actions were intuitive acts of survival. The scenes are like a series of disconnected film clips with no particular sequential relationship to each other. By logic, I believe I have reconstructed the events in some reasonable order. The first event that struck with stunning suddenness was the appearance of four Me-109s at 9 o’clock level at approximately 500 yards. My immediate reactions was what guts for four enemy fighters to be in this formation! I looked around. What formation? We were all alone! I began firing at the 109s. My tracers were either going slightly over them or else into them. At any distance, it is impossible to tell. They quickly flipped out of sight. When was our number one engine nacelle hit? A piece of aluminum about two feet long was protruding up from the nacelle behind the engine cowling. I didn’t see that happen. I saw a dozen pencil size holes in the waist section above the ball turret. Where did they come from? Where were those loud bangs hitting our aircraft? Where were they coming from? That peculiar odor of burning gun powder was not from our .50s. It must be from the enemy 20mm cannon shells hitting us. There are more holes in our waist section. When did that happen? When was the tip of our left stabilizer on my side hit? I didn’t see that happen. Suddenly from nowhere there was a twin-engine Me-110 with those sinister black crosses sitting close at eight o’clock level. How did he get there so close so fast? What nerve! I began firing at him. My lead angle was too much. His left wing was taking my hits. White unburned fuel vapor began to pour out of his left wing. Pieces of his wing began to fly off. I quickly reduced the lead angle. My bullets were moving down his wing toward his left engine. His wing was beginning to disintegrate. Any second that Me-110 will explode! WHAM! My left hand was blown off! The pain was explosively sudden and intense. My hand was chopped off with a meat cleaver and a red hot soldering iron. I looked with surprise and found my hand was still there! I looked at Pat. He took most of the 20mm in his chest. He was slumped down, covered with blood from head to toe, his left shoulder leaning against the armor plate below his window. His blood was a bright pink color. I was surprised at the color of blood in the cold of high altitude. He didn’t move or make a sound. I continued to fire at any fighters I could see. In the heat of battle I was holding the trigger down for very long bursts. Finally, the tracers began to float all over the sky like a spray of water from a garden hose. I knew the lands and grooves of the barrel were burned out. The gun was useless. “Red” Hall came out of his ball turret. I looked out the left waist window and could see our landing gear was down. How long had our gear been down, the signal of surrender? No wonder those German fighters came in to look at us. No wonder they got so mad at our shooting at them when they were just looking us over. “Red” said it was time to bail out. I agreed. There was no one visible in the radio compartment. When was the interphone was shot out? The waist section was full of holes. External damage to our airplane was visible everywhere. We didn’t know if there was anyone in front flying the plane. I bent down and looked past the tail wheel. I couldn’t see the tail gunner. Why was he not firing at what was obviously some fighters directly behind us and out of my sight? I reached down and put on my chest pack parachute. “Red” was bending over Pat, trying to help him. We debated throwing him out with a static line attached to his parachute “D” ring which would have opened his parachute. It was obvious there was no use in doing that for Pat. I went to the main hatch on the right side to pull the emergency release. It wouldn’t budge. I returned to the open left waist window to bail out but decided I might break my legs on the horizontal stabilizer. From the window to the main hatch can’t be more than four or six feet. I knew I would be dead before I got to the main hatch. I believed I had only seconds to live before the next 20mm blasted me into oblivion. I looked at “Red” Hall. He was getting his chest pack chute on. We believed we were the only crew alive on the airplane at that moment.

To open a main hatch against a 150 MPH slip stream takes a lot of strength. When the emergency release wouldn’t budge for the second time, I opened that hatch with my wounded left wrist as easily as if it were a screen door on a summer cottage. I don’t remember any slip stream resistance. I looked down at the snow-covered Alps and said to my self if I go I’ll be a prisoner of war. Something else said if you don’t go, you won’t be anything. Out I went, head first. For a split second, I saw the shadowed form of our B-17 float away from me. It looked as if it were upside down as I floated away.

There was no sensation of falling. I said to myself, wait...wait...wait and pulled the ripcord. A flash of white in front of my face and a long, long hard pull on every bone of my body. I know I screamed from the force. It was like being pulled apart on a medieval torture rack. It lasted for at least two seconds. Then silence. Absolute total silence. I thought I must be dead it was so quiet. Then I realized I could see. I looked up at my chute. The white canopy was fully open and the little pilot chute was flopping back and forth over the opening at the top of the canopy. I looked down at my feet. The left sheep-lined flying boot was gone. My oxygen mask was hanging useless at the left side of my face, covered with blood. Not needing it any further, I disconnected it and let if fall away. I wondered what my Mother would think if she knew where I was at that moment. The sky was empty. The total silence eerie. No other chutes, no airplanes, no machine gun noise. Nothing. How could this be so fast? Where did everyone go? Then I heard an airplane approaching high from my right. The airplane was making a very high pitched screaming sound as if the engines were over speeding. I could hear shooting. I thought he is trying to kill me. I was so tired. I decided not to give him the satisfaction of looking at him trying to kill me. Then I saw our airplane below me to my right. It was descending then it began to level off and climb up to my left. On it’s tail was an Me-110 pouring 20mm into it. There was still no fire. I could see my useless gun hanging out the left waist window. For a foolish moment, I thought Braum must have come back to see if I was all right. Both aircraft climbed up to my left and out of my sight. I was too tired to turn around and watch. I was all alone again in an empty sky. The sun was shining.
 

Below me I could see the northern foot-hills of the snow-covered Alps. I was getting tired of hanging suspended in the parachute harness with nothing to stand on. The jump seemed to last about fifteen minutes. I began to make a plan where to go when I got on the ground. I started pulling the shroud lines to make the chute drift toward a creek joining with another creek. It was very hard work. Then I realized what the hell difference does it make where I land? The hills and trees were getting closer. I would be down in a few minutes. Closer and closer, I am going to land in those trees, another quick look, no, I am going to land in that clearing. I braced myself, shut my eyes and waited. The impact came. It was no more than running and jumping on a double bed. The snow was waist deep. The chute collapsed at my feet. I was in a clearing on the side of a snow-covered hill. I was down safe! I had survived! I was alone in enemy territory, but where? Nothing but sunshine, quiet tree-covered hills, and snow. There was not a trace in the sky of the deadly aerial combat of a few minutes before. The sky was totally empty.

It was as peaceful as if nothing had ever disturbed its tranquillity.ⁱⁱ

42-30429

[Picture of Dad's airplane crashed on the ground south of Moln near the village of Ramsau. Picture from Christian  Arzberger, Steyer, Austria]

i Years later I met a gunner, Sgt. Montgomery, in Traverse City who claimed to be in a B-24 over Steyr at noon on April 2 and was out of formation. We agreed it was probably his aircraft. The coincidence was extraordinary.

ii An eyewitness statement contained in Missing Crew Report Nos 03582-03504 given by T/Sgt Warren Kempner to a mission debriefer said that our airplane drifted out of sight under attack by German fighters and that no parachutes were seen. His report confirms my recollections. No chutes were seen by our formation as we drifted further away because the war was still on for us in the back of our airplane. When the bailouts occured, we were no longer in sight of the formation. Kempner says in his diary an Me-110 was seen to explode. I hope it was the one I damaged. Maybe I got him after all! The spot where I landed is about seven miles southeast of Molln, Austria and about seventeen miles south of Steyr. It is marked on my map of Austria.

The mission report states the flak was slight, scattered and inaccurate. Enemy aircraft encountered, 30 to 40 Me-110s. Total enemy aircraft encountered, 150. They first attacked from nose in groups of 3s and 4s then singly around the clock. This encounter lasted thirty minutes. One aircraft (B-17) was shot down on the bomb run (ours), no chutes seen. Another B-17 was hit in the tail by two rockets, #3 engine caught fire and after falling back about 1,000 feet it fell apart. No parachutes observed. Still another aircraft was attacked by 6 Me-109s and exploded. No chutes. A B-24 was seen shot down by enemy aircraft. Three B-17s lost to fighters and 13 damaged. Enemy aircraft destroyed, 9 Me-110s, 1 Me-210. Probably destroyed, 1 Me-109 and 1 Me-210.

A German gun camera film shows a tail view of a B-17 being shot up at close range. The ball turret guns are pointed down indicating the gunner has gotten out of his turret. The B-17 is raked from wing tip to wing tip and debris is flying off the airplane. I was an Associate Professor of Air Science when I first saw this film clip in the late '50s. I was privately previewing a film for an Air Force R.O.T.C. class at Michigan State University. I nearly fell out of my chair, bleeding all over again, the shock and impact of the scene was so immediate and real. At first I believed it to be our airplane. However, the number one engine does not show the damaged nacelle of our aircraft.

"A total of 12,731 B-17 Flying Fortresses were produced in the period 1935-45. Of this total, Boeing built 6,981; Douglas Aircraft: 3,000 and Vega (Lockheed): 2,700. Approximately 4,750 B-17s were lost on combat missions." From "Flying Fortress" by Edward Jablonski, Doubleday & Company, page 309.