Heroic Tale of a Tail Gunner

[Seaspriter]

I thought I'd better write this story before it slips into lost and forgotten stories of WWII heroics......

Twenty five years ago (1989) my wife and I owned and operated the Saxtons River Inn in Vermont, which was built at the turn of the century. We had an old Victorian style bar. Every afternoon about 4 pm the locals would wander in and tell colorful stories, mostly mundane, many idiosyncratic (we had some very unique old Yankees in town), and sometimes a truly memorable story would be told. This is the one I remember most vividly:

Dick Abbott lived several miles away, toward Grafton. At the time he was in his mid-sixties (and has subsequently passed away). He was a very mechanical guy; we often traded stories about cars. his son and he had raced stock cars. Dick was also very mechanical, and could fix just about anything. Not a man to tell tall-tales, Dick was generally a reserved but likeable old Yankee who always had a twinkle in his eye and a friendly smile.

One afternoon we were trading war stories (I had served in Vietnam), and he told me of his experience in WWII.

Dick was only sixteen when he signed up for the USAAF. (I don't recall if he got his parent's permission or lied about his age.) He was trained as a tail gunner for B-17s, becoming adroit in the firing of its Browning M-2 50 caliber machine gun.

The stories of B-17 missions from England (8th Bomber Command) into the heartland of Germany are legendary. The airplanes got shot up quite badly, and many were lost, suffering heavy casualties. For example, one of the Bombardment Groups lost 35 of its original 36 aircraft after only the sixth mission.

Dick was flying one of those dangerous missions in the "stinger" position in the tail when his plane got attacked by a squadron of Messerschmitt Me-109s. The B-17 was riddled with bullets. Dick, in his isolated location fired relentlessly at the attackers, trying to protect the plane and its crew.

After warding off the attack, Dick called via the comm system to the rest of the crew. No response from the waist gunner, nor the radioman, nor the navigator, nor the bombardier, nor the pilot, nor the co-pilot.

Dick crawled out of his wedge-fit battle position and was shocked.

Everywhere the Flying Fortress -- a airborne battleship -- was riddled, the wind whistling through the bullet holes. But worse: blood and bodies were littered inside the plane, draped over their guns and equipment still at battle stations.

Shocked to see all his buddies dead, having suffered agonizing deaths, Dick scrambled forward to the cockpit. Same thing -- pilot and co-pilot slumped over, dead, blood and bullet holes everywhere. But the plane was flying on automatic pilot, engines still running, headed straight into Nazi Germany!

Still just a boy, and scared stiff, Dick knew doom was destined, unless he took action right way.

Dick pulled the limp pilot out of his seat, took his position as self-appointed commander, and sat stunned while he gathered his senses. Dick had no time to feel sorry for himself or his dead buddies. He needed to save himself, and maybe the plane. But Dick had never flown a plane before; he was just a "car guy."

He donned the head phones and was able to call in the clear for help. Quickly two P-51 Mustangs bracketed him, one on each wing. The pilots told him how to use the rudders, ailerons, and how to throttle the engines as Dick managed to get the lumbering Flying Fortress turned around, heading back to friendly territory. The Mustang wing-men protected him from any more Messerschmitts. They told him to dump any remaining bombs scattershot over enemy territory -- if Dick brought the plane in for a crash landing the extra bombs were dangerous cargo.

But the journey was far from over. He still had to cross the channel, and then the next real excitement was to happen -- landing the big bomber. (Anyone who has ever piloted a plane knows that landing safely is the most difficult part of flying.)

As Dick approached the English Channel a new voice came over the headphones -- he described it as the "Voice of an Angel." Flight control knew that Dick was just a teenager and rather than having a gruff battle pilot "talk him down," the gentle voice of an English woman would be far more soothing. Immediately comforted by her tender words, like a mother nurturing her son, she guided him down, instructing him on the complex maneuver of landing one of the biggest planes ever built: air speed, lining up with the runway, altitude and attitude, flaps down, airspeed, and making a 3-point landing.

As he approached the airfield (I don't recall if he told me the specific airbase), the Mustang pilots reassured him. And the Angelic Voice told him everything would be fine. He believed them, which eased his mind. He wondered if the Angel that was guiding him was a premonition of a future wife.

Dick's heart raced as he saw the approaching airfield, deeply concerned that he would have to master the most difficult part of any airplane experience, without a seasoned co-pilot.
Despite never having flown a plane, Dick brought the airship in for a perfect, if not bouncy, 3-point landing. He and the plane were both safe.

Only then did he look out the bullet-ridden windshield to see the fire-trucks and ambulances lining the runway. Everyone was prepared for the worst that didn't happen. Dick only thought of his crew mates -- they would never see another day. Dick was blessed, but why was he selected to live, while his buddies and officers died?

At once he was shuttled back to Flight Control, where he yearned to hug the Angel who guided him to safety. Of course he had imagined a Marlene Dietrich or Diana Dors as the "Angel." Instead she was just a matronly captain in the woman's auxiliary airforce, but she was still his savior and guiding light. He took her out to dinner that night in gratitude.

After a little R&R, Dick returned to the air for more combat missions. At the end of the war, now a man, Dick returned to America to live the simple country life in Vermont. -30-

If anyone knows any more of this story, please chime in. Please pass this along to those who would appreciate the true story of a boy who became a hero.

Robert

Information

Warning: This is a relatively older thread This discussion is older than 360 days. Some information contained in it may no longer be current.

[Seaspriter]

Apparently there were three bases from Kent to Yorkshire in England devoted specifically to aiding crippled aircraft returning from combat. Here's what I found:

"Each had three unusually long and wide landing strips enabling damaged aircraft to recover safely when their chances of reaching a conventional runway were marginal at best. The single 9,000 ft strips were built at RAF Manston in Kent, RAF Woodbridge in Suffolk and RAF Carnaby in Yorkshire. At 750 ft wide, they were more than five times the width of conventional wartime runways. Divided into three lanes, the northern and central lanes dealt with aircraft returning under flying control, while the southern lane was reserved for more serious emergencies" (read: crash landings).

It's more than likely that Dick Abbott landed at one of these three fields.
Robert

[Vincent]

Don’t know any more about the story, but there is a Sargent Richard Abbott listed as a B17 gunner. He was awarded two Purple Hearts and an Air medal. I can’t find his total number of missions, at least 18. He’s also listed as having been wounded.

[Seaspriter]

Don’t know any more about the story, but there is a Sargent Richard Abbott listed as a B17 gunner. He was awarded two Purple Hearts and an Air medal. I can’t find his total number of missions, at least 18. He’s also listed as having been wounded.

Thanks so much. Every little bit helps in reconstructing the story. You have proven again why this website is so valuable. My thanks to all the Milsurps "league of experts" who help enrich my knowledge.

Dick Abbott was a very quiet man. He became an engineer after the war. But like many WWII vets (like my father), they really didn't talk too much about their war experience. I understand.

Now, forty years after Vietnam I am starting to be more open about the war. But it's a lot easier for me to tell about war through the experience of the WWII vets. Maybe that's why I only have historic guns WWII and older, and no Vietnam era weapons.

Robert

[Brit plumber]

My Great Anti was Sqn Ldr Nurse with the PMRAFNS at Manston and she used to tell me of the times she had to go in the Ambulance to pick up the casualties from the crashed Aircraft. I have some buttons she was given by one pilot she rescued (Or more likely she cut them off his tattered uniform as a souvenir)

[Seaspriter]

PMRAFNS

Thanks Brit Plumber. Could you translate for this Yank for what the "PMRAFNS" stands for? Also, any of your Great Aunt's stories you remember might create some more colour for the story I'm writing. I'm sure a lot of pilots and crew were deeply touched by her caring soul. Are their any letters to her from rescued airmen? Do you have any idea how these bases were staffed or how many nurses were assigned, etc.? Anything you might know helps add to pieces of the puzzle.
Thanks, Robert

[TDH]

I can't say how it was staffed in the 40's But I was stationed at RAF Bentwaters/Woodbridge in 1971. At that time we had sister bases or two close bases working in tandem Though my primary base was Bentwaters Wood bridge was less than 10 miles away. I only worked at Woodbridge twice I do remember the strip was very long and wide. Our bases had F4's and security was very tight on the reventments. My job at that time before transferring back to the motor pool was taking starting units and generators out to the aircraft. The closest large town near us was Ipswitch. Another piece of history for that area was the Viking burial longship that was found in a cave along the estuary.
One last note. While waiting in my transfer back to the motor pool I was placed on a team whose job was to dig up and locate the cockpit of a P-51 that had crashed in 1944. When it went in it had buried itself in the soft mud next to a river and they never dug the pilot out. We (read that I) found the cockpit and the pilots remains before replacing the skull where it was. We also located the 6 M2's, 3 of which still had rounds in them. After our bases EOD team which was the closest to the area (with us volunteer workers) were finished making sure all ordinance was recovered and the cockpit located left the Army came in to reclaim the body to ship home.

Oh and Bent/Woody as we called it is also famous for it's UFO sightings in the late 70's

[CINDERS]

Try this one to long to type out with my gumby fingers Google - Piggyback Hero By Ralph Kenney Bennett a real WT* moment in aviation in WWII, there was a story of a rear Lanc gunner being blown 1.5 miles from his crashing aircraft still in his turret when the bomb load went up he thought he was in Germany and evaded a farmer until concussed he was found no other members survived. The other case of a rear gunner in a Lanc jumping out from 21,000 feet with no chute is well known his case proven by the lift web stitching still intact on his harness, being inspected at the Stalag. Rather die free falling than being burned alive (A night fighter shot them up.)

Post script ~ When you think of the whole lot all were young throughout all the allies faced in any conflict through the ages and when you think of an 18 y/o piloting a Lanc, P-51 or wielding an AR-15 yes they were all young and deserve the utmost respect and reverence from those that bathe in the freedom.

[CINDERS]

There are documented cases of orange balls following the allied bombers on day missions which was never explained and to which they coined the name "Foo Fighters" and that is not the band either.
There is one story on the P-38 that was hours over due from a mission ~ pilot posted as MIA
then when the tanks were known to be bone dry it appears over the field and P-38 breaks up in mid air no fire as the fuel tanks are dry.
The chute opens and the pilot descends to the ground, crews rush to the scene but he is long dead a single round bullet hole through the forehead......it happened a most strange event
Source ~ Fork Tailed Devil: The P-38 Martin Caidin Pages 368-369

[AZPhil]

My Uncle Joe. The tailgunner!
My Uncle joe was attached to the 8thAF 384th Bomb Group 545th Bomb Squadron he was stationed in Grafton Underwood in the UK. This story was told to me by the Phil Chaperon left waist gunner of the B17 "Mrs Geezil". He is alive an well and still sharp as a tack at 94. "My Uncle and Phil the left waist gunner are sent to a flak house when the command found out that they had over 20 missions . So off they go to the local duchess summer estate for some R&R. After a couple of days,the people running the place tell them that they have a new crew coming in and would they mind if they went to London to finsih the week off. So Phil and Joe head off to London. Phil mentions at this time that "He is as pure as the driven snow" No drinking , No smoking or any of that stuff. Now my uncle Joe was a drinking, smoking, gambling type of guy. While in London Phil says that he is bored and talks my Uncle into returning to base early. So they head back to base on April12th 1944. Well the next morning they are told that they are on the loading list for that days mission. April 13th 1944 mission to Schweinfurt. This is my Uncle's 25th mission. On there way to schweinfurt some german fighter draw off the escorts fighters and as soon as the escort takes off to chase them. The main fighter group come in out of the sun. 15 FW190 (20mm heavy's) and attacks the 545th .Between 13:54 and 13:57 6 out of the 7 B17's from the 545th are shot down. My Uncles B17 "Mrs Geezil" is on fire and the copilot.top turret,radioman and ballturret gunners are killed during the attack. Phil says I heard your uncle say it was time to go. I looked at him at the tailescape hatch, looked forward and saw the radioman down on the floor. I turned around and helped the right waist gunner put on his chute.Your uncle was sitting on the edge of the open hatch when I tried to open the latch of the rear door. Phil could not lift his right arm due to the schrapnel from the 20mm that hit the ball turret. So just as his left hand touched the latch the B17 exploded. All thre are blown out of the B17. Phil said he woke up to air rushing by his head and past out. when he woke up again his chute was deployed. He said that his guardian angle was with him that day. The other crew landed in a field outside of the town of Scheilerback. Phil hit the roof of a barn and broke his jaw and ankle. So they are all caught by some German soldiers that are on R&R in the area. They are taken to a train and then to Frankfurt Germany where they are taken to the Dulag Luft Oberussel.(Interrigation center for all airmen) Phil said that they were the lucky ones because when the got to Frankfurt there were airmen hung on the street lights. From there they are sent to Stalag 17B for the duration of the war. Phil add's "Man could your uncle ever hold a grudge" I know that this was to be his last mission, But he didn't talk to me the whole time we were in Stalag 17B. I might have been my fault that we returned early but Man your uncle just ignored me the whole time." I laughed but Phil said I not kidding around. Not a word to me..........
That was a long type.
Semper Fi
Phil
The list below was given to me by the Pilot of the only B17 from the 54th to make it back to base that day. His Name was Dewayne "Ben" Bennett. He told me the one thing that he wanted was that the names of the men that died that day will always be remembered. I promised him I would do that. Been passed away in March of 2010 and every April 13th I post this list and thier story. I'm keeping my promise.