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Mission No. 3

Date- May 24, 1944

Our target today was the same as our first mission, Berlin. Up to the time we hit the enemy coast everything was like our first one except our route in and out. This time we departed the English coast up near the Wash [a large bay on the English coast above East Anglia] and crossed the North Sea hitting the enemy coast at the mouth of the Elbe River. We followed the Elbe River on down between Bremen and Hamburg.

Somewhere along the line the wing leader got us in the wrong position in the division. We were supposed to be well back in the line but by some mistake we were leading the division. Everything went well enough however until after we turned off the I.P [Initial Point]. The first thing that caught our attention after the turn was the dog fight taking place off to our right. Our escort was keeping Jerry so busy he didn't have time to take a crack at us. We could see several fighters going down but we couldn't identify them; still, we hadn't hit any flak. This wasn't at all like our last trip here – the last time we were under fire from the I.P. on. We were coming up the bomb run and no one was shooting at us. This seemed almost too good to be true.

This was too good to be true, as we soon found out. All the time we were coming up on our bomb run we were flying straight and level and every gun in that quiet and peaceful Berlin was tracking us and waiting for the order to fire. The sky was perfectly clear; not one flak burst had marred it. We came on in up to the point of bomb release and the bombs went away to make a good strike. At almost the same instant of our bomb release, One Eyed Schmidt got his order to fire, and fire he did. Every gun in Berlin let go at us at the same time and after track-ing us for so far, he knew where to shoot. The sky suddenly turned black with flak bursts and exploding airplanes. Instead of this mission being over with bombs away, it was just beginning for us.

Things were sure happening now. Flak was bursting so thick we were almost on instruments and ships were going down all around us. Major Gray received a direct hit in the No. 4 engine and spun down in flames to crash in the heart of the city. No one was seen to bail out. Lt. Ingram right behind us was badly hit and he went down. At this same time we received several hits, knocking out #3 and 4 superchargers and both oxygen systems in the nose, making it impossible for us to stay at altitude with the formation. It wasn’t through careful thought that I went into a diving turn out of the flak area; it was more by instinct. My oxygen line to my regulator alongside me was cut so I wasn’t thinking very clearly. It doesn’t take long at that altitude to get punchy. When I again began to think clearly we were still diving, but we were out of the flak. But suddenly those ships with the black crosses that were diving on us from the rear and disappearing in the clouds below seemed to have a very sinister significance. Taking a tip from them, I dove on down into the clouds to discourage any others from taking a pass at us; we were in enough trouble already.

Not knowing just how bad we were hit, I took up a heading for Sweden while we checked the ship. We were full of holes but none of the crew had been hit and apparently the ship was in pretty good condition. The only engine damaged was No. 1; it was throwing oil and smoke and running pretty rough but it still put out some power. The gas tanks didn’t seem to be leaking, so with three good engines and enough gas I turned and headed for the North Sea and back home. We were out of the clouds now but there was an undercast below us making it impossible to know our exact position. This was bad because we flew directly over Kiel and other heavy concentrations of flak. It wasn't long before I was again in doubt if we could get back. We had been hit again and again flying into those flak areas at 10,000'.

Things looked pretty bad so I again headed for Sweden. No. 1 engine was getting awfully rough, and 3 and 4 wouldn't put out much power because the superchargers were shot out. The bomb bay doors were hanging open because they were so badly damaged there was no way to close them. All this gave us a maximum air speed of 135 mph. I did a lot of debating trying to decide once and for all if I should continue on to Sweden or to turn and try for England. In spite of the damage the ship looked like it was good for quite some time yet if the gas held out and, in spite of the many holes through the wings, there was no sign of any bad gas leaks. While trying to figure this out we kept hitting flak; it seemed like the Germans were determined to get us this time.

We were within 150 miles of Sweden and safety when I once more measured the gas and checked my engines. Against my better judgement I decided to gamble: England or bust. Bust in this case meant being shot down over Holland or perishing in the North Sea. It was a hard decision to make when it concerned nine lives besides my own. Having decided, I took up a heading that would bring us across Holland and out into the North Sea. Many times more we were hit by flak. My arms were getting awfully tired turning, diving and climbing to make us hard to hit. But in spite of all the effort, we were hit time and time again. It’s uncanny how Old One Eyed Schmidt can plaster you with that stuff. Finally, after being shot at and hit till the limit of human and mechanical endurance was reached and passed, we saw the Holland coast line through a hole in the clouds and it was behind us.

Now that we were over the North Sea we had no more flak to worry about. All we had now was 300 miles of open sea to sweat out. To ditch would mean almost certain death because the bomb bay doors were hanging wide open. Since leaving the target area, we hadn’t been attacked by fighters, although we had seen several. We were still in enemy territory so it would be a good idea to look out for Jerry. The first look around verified the truth in that, for high at seven o’clock was a Me 110 pulling up on us.

As the fighter was called out to the crew, I looked over at Hal and he had a look on his face that fit my feelings – one of complete despair and resignation. After all we had gone through, it looked like they were going to get us yet. For a few bitter moments, I cursed myself for not continuing on to Sweden. There shouldn’t have been any doubt in the Jerry’s mind but that he was going to have a big shiny B-17 to his credit; there was little doubt in my mind. We were crippled, the top turret was out, and the right waist gun ammunition box had been torn up by flak.

After a brief pause, Jerry dropped his nose and came in firing. As I turned to the left to keep his bullets behind us, I could see him out of my side window. He was coming in closer and closer until he looked like he was going to fly right through us; his wing and nose were lit up by his guns and cannon. All the time, I kept turning and I could see the red incendiaries passing just behind us but getting closer as he closed in. Then, I felt the ship vibrate and shudder and for a second, I thought he had us. But to my relief I realized that it was our waist and tail guns that were making us shake. A second later fire and smoke burst from his right engine, and I could see pieces of cowling fly off as the 50 calibers bored into him. He went into a diving turn and disappeared into the clouds below. That was the last trouble we had with him. Hoffman and Wilson sure did a good job; thanks to them, we got back. They were officially credited with a "damage."

The rest of the trip home was spent in looking for more fighters – which never showed up – and sweating out the gas and the engines. After what seemed like hours, the coast of England came in sight, and we crossed at almost the same place we departed from many hours before. Charlie did one swell job of navigating.

From the Wash, we came straight home and called the tower for landing instructions about an hour and a half late, after we had already been given up for lost and were listed as missing in action. I landed as short and slow as possible and ground looped into the soft dirt about two- thirds of the way down the runway, because the brakes were out and that was the only way to stop. The whole crew was out of the ship and clear before we had hardly come to a stop. We were afraid of fire if any of the tanks were spilling gas.

This was the first really disastrous mission the group has had, and we were the first really shot up ship to come home, so it was quite an event. The whole field was out to meet us. They were glad to see us back, but not nearly as glad as we were to be back.

The ship was a pathetic looking thing as it sat bogged down in the dirt. It was riddled with holes. Whole flak shells had passed through the wings in several places before they had exploded. The bomb bay doors were hanging open and red hydraulic fluid was smeared all over everything and running out on the ground like blood. The ship in general had a tired and beaten look about it. It appeared to sag all over.

Talking the mission over after we had something to eat and several good stiff shots of whiskey, it seems that everyone had a lot of close ones. The nose was full of holes. Charlie had his oxygen regulator shot away right in front of his face. The piece of flak that knocked it out stopped in the instrument panel right in front of me. Baxter had flak whizzing all around him, but none of it hit him. Ray had the nose cut off of his mask while he was wearing it. Joe was hit in the head by a piece but all it did was knock his helmet off. Hal had a piece stop in the bottom of his seat, and other pieces go by so close he could have been shaved by them. I had my oxygen line cut about three inches from my side. Every part of the ship was criss-crossed with flak, but no one was hit.

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Note: In an October 24, 1985 letter, H.O. Stallings, Alan Arlin's co-pilot provided the following information in regard to the Arlin diary. "On May 24, on the wandering return, we didn’t reach the North Sea flying over Holland - we flew over Denmark and between the islands of Sylt and Amrum on the west coast."