"Requiem for a Heavyweight: A Combat/Test Profile of a Consolidated B-24 Liberator"

by Lin Hendrix

Editors Note: Perhaps one of the most unjustly maligned warplanes ever built, the B-24 Liberator, has had more than its share of detractors. In the February 1972 issue of "Wings" we tried to square accounts somewhat by running an article on the bomber they named the "Agony Wagon", but at that time, we just did not have the firsthand source information, which author Lin Hendrix brings to this presentation. In addition to flying all too many combat missions in the B-24, he flew fighters and then went on to become a testpilot at Republic, flying the F-84 series, the Rainbow, and the 105, among a number of others. His expert evaluation of the B-24, particularly the later models, has been long overdue.

On December 29, 1939, nearly two years before the Japanese struck Pearl Harbor, an ungainly appearing, four engine, twin-tailed aircraft took off from Lindbergh Field at San Diego, with test pilot, William Wheatley at the controls. Snub nosed, slab sided, it bright aluminum flashed brilliantly in the sun, but beyond the dazzle of light, a close look at the aircraft revealed only one pleasing aspect and that one would give contemporary aeronautical engineers reason to frown. The elegant, esthetically pleasing wing was thin and long, with a narrow chord (the distance from its leading to its trailing edge) and to those accustomed to the thick NACA standard wing forms of the day, the major lifting device of this XB-24, progenitor of over 17,000 Liberators, looked too fragile, too thin, and appeared to have too high an aspect ratio. (The relationship of chord to span.) But more about this wing later.

The XB-24 came about as a result of a meeting on February 21, 1939, and a contract for that single prototype and a mock-up was signed on March 30 of the same year. Nine months later, the first XB-24 took to the air, a rather remarkable achievement, and a hint of the crash programs which would follow on other aircraft designs in the next few years. Credit or blame for the appearance of the less than beautiful XB-24 (serial 39-680) must be given to four persons, all deceased. General Hap Arnold had already recognized the need for a four engine bomber fleet for the U.S. Army Air Corps. The thirteen B-17s then currently in the Air Corp inventory, the XB-15, and the up-coming B-19 had also been duly noted by Reuben H. Fleet, President of Consolidated Aircraft, where the Liberator was born. Issac M. Laddon, chief engineer at Consolidated, was primarily responsible for putting together the design, incorporating the remarkable Davis Airfoil, which had been patented by the talented designer, David L. Davis, as early as May 25, 1931, and had been used with success on the Consolidated P4Y-1 Flying Boat designed for the Navy.

The "Liberator", as it became known, was conceived in haste and it showed it. That statement, however, in no way detracts from the remarkable job that Laddono and his crew of engineers did, given the deadline they labored under. Nevertheless, when Davis bitterly remarked later that with wing such as his, "leaving the main landing gear half exposed when retracted was almost sacrilegious," he had a point. Furthermore, the bomb bay doors which rolled up the sides of the fuselage, while easily facilitating bomb loading on the ground, were far from air tight when closed, and when aloft, the draft in the rear end of the aircraft was fierce. The various systems in the airplane also left a lot of room for improvement. Fuel gages looked like something from a basement furnace boiler; the fuel transfer system seemed to have been designed by Rube Goldberg. If you can imagine an engineer abroad the B-24 crawling down that narrow catwalk between the bomb bays to affix a "U" hose to an electrical pump to transfer fuel, you begin to get an idea.

The three best features of the B-24 were its wing, the reliable Pratt & Whitney engines (R-1830s of 1200 hp) and its tricycle landing gear. The latter made the B-24 easy to land and since the wing was through flying once the aircraft touched down there was no tendency to bounce once the aircraft touched down. The rival B-17, on the other hand, with its so-called conventional gear and thick wing, would float if the airspeed on landing was the slightest bit too high, and most pilots "wheeled it in" - that is landed on the main gear and then lowered the tail wheel, in order not to bounce back into the air. Properly handled, though, the B-17 could make a very nice three point landing, and it was a forgiving aircraft.

Perhaps at this point I should say that I flew both airplanes and preferred the Liberator. The B-24 was faster than the B-17, but it could not reach the altitudes that the Fortress could. (A fact that the Lib pilots envied.) The B-24 was heavier on the controls than the B-17, but its response was crisp and instant when properly rigged (although not many were.) Unlike the later B-29, which I also flew, the lateral control response on the B-24 was instant, and it was a highly maneuverable aircraft. I surprised many a P-38 pilot when, with a lightly loaded Lib, I could drop half flaps and turn inside of the Lightning.

Heavily loaded in its combat configuration, such as we in the 8th Air Force flew it, The Liberator felt heavy and control response was a little more sluggish than in the lightly loaded training configuration. Our normal load in the 2nd Bomb Division in Europe during WW II was 8,000 lbs. of bombs and 2700 gallons of fuel, which resulted in a takeoff weight of around 72,000 lbs. At this 36-ton weight the aircraft could fly at altitudes of only 25,000 feet and still maintain decent formation. Above that height, variation among aircraft would produce loose boxes and machines wandering all over the sky. While the B-17 could fly three or four thousand feet higher in its fully loaded configuration, it could carry only 4,000 lbs. of bombs and, with a similar load of fuel, we in our B-24s were indicating 10-15 mph more than they could.

However, while they enjoyed the benefit of this speed advantage, the B-17 crews regarded them as excellent flak bait on missions in which both type of aircraft participated. Since the Fortresses could fly considerably higher than they could, and a German flak battery's accuracy dropped off rapidly with an increase in altitude, on missions where both B-17s and B-24s hit the same target, the B-17s enjoyed relatively flak-free trips, while those in the B-24s at the lower altitude became the prime targets for the anti-aircraft guns below. The Germans were not unaware that the Liberators carried heavier loads than the B-17s and would be flying at lower altitudes. Consequently they adjusted their flak patterns accordingly.

They faced an additional hazard on those missions where the two types of bombers participated, and that was from the B-17s. Despite accurate planning as to time over the target, the Libs and the Forts frequently arrived over the bomb release point at the same time, and with our altitude disadvantage, the bombs dropped by the 17s would fall through B-24 formations. More than one Lib succumbed to a direct hit from higher-flying B-17s. But after the bombs were away they, once again, streaked ahead of the Forts and enjoyed their mission whiskey long before they did. They needed it.

Earlier B-24s, before they had the power turrets installed in the nose, were even faster than the later models. The power turret as used by the Army Air Force on the B-24 was either of the Consolidated hydraulically operated type, or the Emerson, which was run by electricity. Neither turret could be labeled gems of low drag. When armament experts decreed that a powered ball turret be installed in the B-24J model, the 1500 pounds that the turret added brought up another critical fact on the Liberator - that of weight and balance. The Liberator was more critical than the B-17 in proper distribution of weight. This was due to the Davis wing installation, which was virtually the pivotal point of the B-24. It was extremely sensitive to balance, while the broad winged Fortresses flew like a four engine glider. The addition of the ball turret to the B-24J, of which more Liberators were built - 6678 - than any other version, made it somewhat tail heavy, even when loaded. Thus each flight engineer and pilot of a Liberator were issued B-24 Weights and Balance Slide Rule to insure proper loading.

An improperly loaded B-24, particularly with tail heavy loading, would burn more fuel than normal and experience great difficulty in "getting on the step," which was vital to maintain minimum fuel consumption at cruise altitude.

"Getting on the step" is precisely what the term implies:

You climb about 500 feet above your intended cruise altitude, level off, achieve your desired cruise airspeed, usually 165-170 mph indicated airspeed in a B-24, then descend to your assigned altitude at reduced cruise power and maintain your airspeed. Boat operators will recognize this technique immediately. While Lin had flown other aircraft in which this type of ritual cruise approach was used, none was as critical as in the Liberator.

If you didn't do it by the book and climbed only to your altitude, then reduced power to cruise, the Lib would sit slightly nose high - producing more drag and a consequent use of more fuel - to maintain formation. The B-24 pilot who didn't get his bird "on the step" found that he used several hundred more gallons than the wiser heads that did, with disastrous results. There will be more to say on this matter later in the section on combat flying.

History of the B-24 Design

General "Hap" Arnold, having already been impressed with the performance of the four- engine B-17 and keenly observing events in Europe, recognized the urgent need for a four engine fleet of bombers in the small U.S. Army Air Corps. He felt that a new bomber capable of more range, higher speeds, and a heavier payload than the B-17 was vitally needed if the U.S. should enter the war - a virtual certainty to the well informed observer. Accordingly, when he heard that the San Diego firm of Consolidated, under Reuben Fleet and Isaac M. Laddon, had already made some preliminary studies of such a plane, he ordered a meeting to take place at Wright Field, on February 21, 1939, where Consolidated engineers and Army Air Corps planners hashed out the specifications for the XB-24. Nine days later a contract was signed for a mock-up and one prototype. Under what can only be described as extreme pressure, the Consolidated personnel rushed back to San Diego and in the virtuoso performance designed and built the XB-24 in just under nine months, after constructing a preliminary mock-up from essentially verbal criteria in less than one month.

Even as work on the single XB-24 was proceeding, Consolidated was building seven YB- 24s to be used as service test vehicles. Oddly enough, these had been ordered three days before the prototype contract had been signed. Only one of these YB-24s was delivered to the Army Air Corps, the other six going to the British as LB-30As. These aircraft were extensively modified in Canada and equipped with passenger seats to serve in the trans- Atlantic Ferry Service. They, thus, predate the C-87 transport variant later built for the Army Air Corps. After the six LB-30As, the lone YB-24 was delivered to the Army in May, 1941, and was in turn followed by eight B-24As, most of which were assigned transport duties. Next came 139 Liberator IIs for the British, one of which crashed, killing Consolidated test pilot, William Wheatley. This aircraft was replaced by another to fulfill the British aircraft. Meanwhile, the Air Corps received nine B-24Cs, which were built simultaneously with the Liberator IIs. These were assigned a variety of roles in the United States but were not yet the really bonafide bombers they would become in the D version, which incorporated a tail turret and top turret. It was the B-24D that became the first true combat Liberator to enter Air Corps inventory. With a Consolidated built power turret incorporating twin fifty caliber guns in the tail, a Martin upper turret also with twin fifties, two flexible waist guns, one on each side, and a trio of socket-mounted fifties in the nose, and, finally, a tunnel gun, the B-24 began to assume the aspects of a formidable bomber.

Before World War II, American bombers like those of most air arms, had always been woefully lacking in defensive firepower, but the D model could, and later did, defend itself against determined fighter attack. Only the collection of three flexible guns in the nose was inefficient, causing problems when in actual use since the guns and gunners cramped in a relatively small space, interfered with each other. In addition, the tunnel gun, a hold over from the dustbin installations of 30s, would also be replaced. By the time the B-24D appeared on the scene, the Army had made the decision to go all out on production of this somewhat less than graceful bomber, for its range, load carrying ability and speed, made it more attractive to the planners than its older, more publicized rival, the B-17. In fact, during the peak war years, no less than five factories were turning out B-24s and Navy PB4Ys. Consolidated built them from at its San Diego plant and Fort Worth factory; Ford built them at Willow Run, North American at Dallas, and Douglas at Tulsa. The five plants built an awesome 19,256 versions of the Liberator, more than any other bomber, and more than many fighter, including among others, the P38 Lightning and P-47 Thunderbolt.

While all Liberators were essentially the same design, the aircraft bore a variety of designations: B-24, Lib I and II, AT-22, PB4Y, RY-3. The San Diego plant built 6,726 B-24 types and another 740 PB4Y-2s and 34 RY-3s for the Navy. Consolidated Fort Worth put out 2,743 B-24 types, while producing another 286 C-87s, transport versions of the B-24 and 5 AT-22s, trainer versions. Ford's Willow Run plant turned out 6,792 B- 24s, starting with the B-24E and ending with the N. Douglas assembled 964 B-24s at its Tulsa plant, and North American turned out 966 B-24H and J types at its Dallas plant. When one considers how many of these aircraft were built, it is somewhat surprising to realize that so few survive, another reason the B-24 has been given short shrift by aviation writers.

INTRODUCTION TO THE B-24

Lin Hendrix graduated in Class 43-F at Yuma Army Air Base and had been in a special class slated to be assigned to the P-70, night fighter version of the A-20. It was with some shock, then, when on a 10 day leave, he received new orders directing him to report to Davis-Monthan Army Air Field at Tucson, Arizona. To his knowledge there were no P- 70s there, and on reporting to the 39th Bomb Group, he found that he was unfortunately correct. Row upon row of the squat, ungainly-looking B-24s sat on the ramp almost defying anyone to fly them. His heart sank. After months of intensive training he had been looking forward to flying the fast, sleek P-70. Now it was obvious that he would be truck driving a slab-sided clunk called the Liberator.

He reported in, and after receiving his flight gear, he was soon introduced to the airplane in which he would eventually fly a combat tour and grow to view with affection rather than misgivings.

On his first flight, he approached the B-24D in company with Capt. Dickson, his instructor pilot. His first impression was that the aircraft was huge and didn't appear to have enough wing to support its massive fuselage, which more closely resembled a building than an aircraft. It was painted a faded olive drab and had obviously seen much use. Bare metal showed in some spots where the paint had flaked away. There were dents in the fuselage and even a few in the leading edge of the wing. Undaunted, Captain Dickson led him through a walk around and seemed confident that the aircraft would fly. Sitting as low to the ground as the B-24 did, the pilot was forced to bend down and climb up through the bomb bay to the flight deck. And a flight deck it was - plenty of room, row upon row of instruments, switches, handles and controls. He strapped into the right seat while Dickson did the same in the left seat. After a cockpit check he started number three first, since the aircraft's hydraulic pump was located on that engine. The crew chief had already started the internal APU (auxiliary power unit) which provided electrical and hydraulic power until the engines were running, unlike the B-17, which had to be prepped by external units. The crew chief, or as he was quickly corrected, the flight engineer, opened a hatch aft of the pilots and stuck his head out to assure the pilot of wing clearance while taxiing the 110-foot span B-24. At the end of the runway, he checked the magnetos, ran the props through, and advanced the Pratt & Whitney R-1830-43 1200 hp. engines to full throttle. It was then that he began to have fewer doubts about this bird's ability to fly. The throb of those engines made the Liberator strain against the brakes.

They lined up on the runway, advanced the throttle to 45 inches of mercury (manifold pressure), and the props to 2500 rpm. With brake release the lightly loaded B-24D started rolling rapidly and at 115 mph they were airborne. The Captain called for gear up and he placed the gear handle in the "up" position, the big main gear slowly retracting into the wells while the nose gear tucked away into its slot. As they gained speed, he retracted the Fowler flaps and started climbing at 150 mph. We leveled off at 10,000 feet after climbing to 10,500 and then reducing to a cruise power of 30 inches and 1950 rpm and descend to 10,000. Captain Dickson explained this was "getting on the step" - a necessary procedure on the B-24 to prevent using excess fuel, for if you leveled off at your altitude, it took much longer at higher power settings to obtain cruise speed, which, in turn, would permit reduction of power. The B-24D cruised at a respectable indicated airspeed of 170 mph, and after Dickson let him fly he began to develop a grudging respect for it. It felt heavy, and the control forces were considerably heavier than the AT-9s and the AT-6s he had flown in advanced flying school, but the response was instant, and the big aircraft was really quite maneuverable. Stalls were preceded by adequate warning, but the aircraft did have a tendency to fall off on one wing during a stall - not necessarily the same wing every time.

With one and even two engines out on the same side, the airplane could be flown without "standing on the rudder," as was heard so often stated, particularly when lightly loaded. And landing the airplane was almost ridiculously easy, providing you kept your airspeed at about 130 mph on final, until shortly before flare-out. Touchdown was about 100 mph, and the nose came down rapidly. You had to work at it to bounce the B-24 on landing. Brakes were good and didn't squeal like those on the B-17. From that first flight on Lin flew training mission after training mission in the B-24D and the Ford built B-24E. It was in the latter type that he found the B-24 would recover from a spin. The Ford B-24E that I was flying had an A-5 autopilot installed. We were flying a round robin (cross country with one landing back at home base) one night, and after several hours in the air, they reached their turnback point over El Paso, Texas. the crew was half asleep, the co- pilot was nodding, an the aircraft was on auto pilot. The cockpit was lit only with the greenish glow from the instruments. He reached casually for the the turn control to initiate a bank and all hell broke loose! The Liberator's nose came up, full rudders were applied by the autopilot, the airplane stalled and fell off into a spin - all in about the time it takes to read this. He frantically hit the autopilot disconnect button, fully retarded the throttles, pushed the wheel forward and applied full rudder against the spin. The old B- 24E observed all of the aerodynamic rules that he had been taught in flight school and recovered from the spin in about two turns. From that point on it was just a normal recovery from a dive that was uncomfortably steep for a four engine aircraft, but recover it did, and they returned to Tucson, although the crew was somewhat shaken up.

Since Davis Monthan was a combat crew training base, as well as a B-24 pilot transition school, Lin was assigned a crew after he had checked out as first pilot. Assignments were made as the individual crew members became qualified in their various fields, and he certainly lucked out in the members assigned to crew 111, which they were designated. The B-24, or any other bomber, or aircraft, for that matter was only as good as the crew that manned it. But the B-24, because of some unfortunate habits and characteristics it had, required somewhat more crew training than most multi-place planes. With its archaic fuel system the B-24 was subject to fuel leaks, and it was a wise "Lib" pilot who flew with this bomb bay door cracked partially open to dissipate the potentially explosive fumes that collected throughout the the airplane.

Lin never permitted smoking on his B-24 even though he was a smoker himself. The radio and various electrical motors throughout the bird were potential spark starters, and the pilot of a B-24 was prudent to shut off everything electrical that was possible during fuel transfer operations.

They were drilled in ditching operations and grimly informed that chances of full crew survival in a B-24 ditching were quite low. The weakest part of a B-24 was right in the area which made it the most attractive to Army Air Corps planners - the bomb bay. When a Lib hit the water, no matter how smooth, the B-24 tended to break its back in the bomb bay area, the aircraft sinking within 30 seconds. The B-17, on the other hand had been known to float for some time. Because of this unhappy trait, ditching station drills and rapid exit drills were a must, if a crew was to survive the emergency water landing. Bailing out of a B-24 was also not the simplest of exercises. While the pilot and co-pilot wore back packs, the remainder of the crew wore snap-on chest packs, and in most cases the only exit was down through the bomb bay, which was divided in half by a narrow six inch catwalk. In actual combat, it was a rare thing for all ten members of a B-24 crew to bail out successfully.

After their initial training in Tucson, they were transferred as provisional crews to the garden spot of California - Blythe. They quickly renamed it "Blight", for stuck in the dusty southeast corner of California, with thousands of tank troops busily engaged in cutting up the desert surrounding the drab airfield, it was anything but a place to inspire pleasure. Over the entrance to the field hung a sign which read: "Blythe Army Airfield 365 Flying Days a Year." This was true, for with the exception of occasional sand and dust storms, Blythe was always clear - and hot. The Field was laid out in British fashion with a perimeter road, isolated squadron areas and living quarters miles from the flight operations areas. But it was here that our provisional crews met the latest model of the B-24 - the J. Still no beauty queen, but a much more business like looking bomber than the D and the disliked Ford built Es, the B24J, with its Consolidated nose turret and retractable ball turret looked somehow cleaner and more modern.

At Blythe they flew a mixture of B-24 models, the Ds, the Ford Es, and the newer Js. The D was lighter and faster and easier to fly; the Ford Es still were generally disliked, since no two of them flew alike due to poor factory rigging, and there were few pilots that preferred the Ford A-5 autopilot over the Minneapolis Honeywell C-1, which was installed in the J. The C-1 was more complex and not quite as crisp as the A-5, but it was much more reliable. The A-5 was unpredictable, erratic, and generally unsatisfactory. It is doubtful if it would have ever been procured in peacetime, but the exigencies of war produced some borderline, and often unsatisfactory equipment. Hastily produced gear often resulted in uncalled for accidents, as many small contractors struggled to keep pace with the urgent demands for more production. And those pilots that who had experience with names in engines and equipment which they had learned to trust were naturally suspicious of a flight indicator with a Jack & Heintz label or an engine which looked like a Pratt & Whitney R-1830, but bore a Chevrolet name tag.

Experience soon proved them right, for the second source vendors abetted by inexperienced inspectors produced equipment which met specs for peacetime operation but often failed under vigorous combat conditions. A prime example was the rebuilt spark plugs which were sent to them in combat by the boatload. These would operate according to spec when the engine was kept within its normal rated power, but when an engine was shot out, and the pilot demanded more from those sturdy R-1830s than even Pratt & Whitney ever dreamed they would deliver, the rebuilt spark plugs broke down, and now the pilot faced a real emergency, swiftly bordering on catastrophe. Small wonder that they turned down such equipment and rejected it by the truckload until we got the names and type of equipment which they could trust. There is no question in my mind that much of the rejected equipment was perfectly sound, but who wants to spend eight or ten hours over enemy territory using equipment in which he has a dubious confidence. But to return to the B-24J. They flew endless practice missions at Blythe, perfecting formation techniques, dropping the blue M38A2 100 pound practice bombs, firing at ground and aerial targets, training as a crew in the tortuous Celestial Navigation Trainer, flying the Link until they were nearly dizzy from disorientation and fatigue. Nevertheless, they were all to be very grateful for the scope of the training they received. Many replacement crews who later followed them received much less training and paid the bottom line price their lives - for that lack.

It was at Blythe that Lin Hendrix found the Liberator would fly on two engines on takeoff. During one mission, Lin's regular co-pilot, James Marcio, was unable to fly a scheduled mission, so he was assigned a new co-pilot, who had virtually no time in the B-24. They took off in a normal manner, but just as the gear was coming up, the number four engine's propeller "ran away," that is went to full high pitch, the tachometer reading going nearly off the dial at 3,000 rpm. When this happens, of course, the engine is useless, and, in fact, becomes pure drag. Lin shouted to the co-pilot: "Feather four." With a hand that seemed to have more than the usual number of fingers the green co-pilot feathered number 3! Now Lin had his hands full, as the B-24 with one dead engine on the right side and the other on the same side running crazily off the tachometer dial, refused to climb. If anything, it was settling! Fortunately, the ground sloped away from the runway at about the same rate we were settling. He slapped the co-pilot's hand away from the feathering buttons, slammed full military power to the two left engines, reached for number three feather button to unfeather the the perfectly good - but silent - engine, and watched with relief as the three blades started slowly turning. Then the engine burst into life. He feathered number four, reduced power on the two left engines, as he advanced power on the number three, and the Lib started to climb. The airspeed built up to 135, and he pulled up the flaps and entered a normal three engine climb. Needless to say, after a salvo of abuse, the novice co-pilot was given an intensive cockpit orientation check, after they landed.

The second phase of their training completed, during which they began to operate as a crew, they were assigned to Pueblo, Colorado, to become members of the newly formed 491st Bomb Group. The key officers were already in place, having arrived from assignment n sub-patrol in B-25s on the East Coast. In most cases, the new crews, primarily led by by second lieutenants had more B-24 time than the Commanding officers and Operations officers. His crew, number 111, was assigned to the 852nd Squadron and shortly after their assignment they were given their own aircraft a brand new B-24J-140C0, serial 42-110167, one of the highest serial numbered aircraft ever bought by the U.S. Army Air Corps. The highest, serial 42-110188, another B-24J-140C0 was also detailed to the 491st. The group received a mixture of B-24Js, some still wearing their olive drab and gray paint while others were in bright natural aluminum. Lin's was olive drab, which provided a splendid background for the white-circled "Firebird" insignia we chose, or rather he chose, and the crew approved. Paint brushes flew, and by the time the Group left for overseas enarly every B-24 was named and adorned with varying degrees of nose art.

The most important aspect of their B-24 flying at Pueblo was the training as a Group; the crews had pretty well become closely knit units. Now the units had to become part of the larger unit, the Group. They flew formation over Colorado, Arizona, Wyoming, Texas, and New Mexico, and with each flight and each flight hour the formations got tighter. Bombs came closer to the targets, more bullets penetrated their objectives. The navigation got sharper and a skillful Consolidated Tech Rep saw to it that each of the B-24s' control systems were rigged with the proper tension - the key to a crisp flying Liberator and good formation. Finally, they were ready to go to their staging field in preparation for their final overseas assignment. In their case, Herrington, Kansas, was to be the stage, where they would get their last shots, their .45s and the rest of their personal equipment. The Liberators all had 100 hour inspections pulled and were ready to go.

It is doubtful if Pueblo, Colorado will ever forget the departure of the 491st for Herrington, for with the exception of the B-24s flown by commanding officers, he think virtually all of the Libs (and there were 72 of them) made a final low pass over downtown Pueblo. Some years later he returned to Pueblo, and the natives were still talking about the racket of those 24s flying down the streets, brushing buildings and the echoes of the four Pratt & Whitney R-1830s on each aircraft ricocheting around the city.

From Herrington, they flew to Morrison Field, Florida, where they received their final briefings and sealed orders as to their destination. One hour out of Morrison Lin opened his orders and announced to the crew that they were heading for England and the 8th Air Force. They stopped at Puerto Rico, British Guiana, Brazil, and then mad the big hop to Dakar, Africa. Using the cruise control techniques as taught by Colonel Charles Lindbergh, he operated those sturdy P&Ws at 33 inches of manifold pressure and about 1750 rpm. This gave them a fuel consumption average of about 45 gallons per hour per engine, so that as they circled Dakar, they had over two hour of fuel still aboard. It was just as well, for when Marcio, the co-pilot put the gear handle in the "Down" position, the two main wheels lowered and locked but the nose wheel stubbornly remained in it well. The emergency procedure of cutting the cable to the nose gear and pushing it by foot was accomplished by Fitzgerald, their engineer, after several unsuccessful attempts were made using normal procedures. They landed uneventfully on the pierced plank runway, if you can call a cacophony which sounded like twenty drop-hammers and another twenty pneumatic drills operating at the same time, uneventful. After repairs to the system and successfully preventing the looting of the several footlockers of Puerto Rican Rum stashed aboard, they flew on to Marrakesh, Morocco, and from there to England. They had their first indication that there was a war going on when their radio compass went haywire just off France's Brest Peninsula in Brittany.

Two weeks of intensive theater training and endless practice missions followed, before they were finally declared "combat ready." The Group flew its first mission on June 2, 1944, but they weren't on it. Having been declared a Lead Crew, they were theoretically scheduled for every third or fourth mission, but in actual practice it didn't work out that way. They didn't get to fly their first mission until June 4, 1944, and it was a short haul to St. Gabriel, France, with no enemy opposition. They led the slot element in the low squadron, and this position gives the members of that element a real workout in formation flying, unless the lead plane of the Group is piloted by a smooth pilot. Their Group wasn't. It seemed the powers that were in the 2nd Division Headquarters felt that as a new group in the Theater, they should have experienced leaders from other combat indoctrinated groups and crews from other groups were assigned to them for their first few missions. They all felt that if this one was any example they could teach them a few things. Lin's group had more formation experience than most of the groups in the entire 8th Air Force, and they flew better formation, for they had trained as a group, whereas the groups already in combat were composed of some old experienced crews, but the majority were replacement crews with considerably less formation experience than they had had. After a few missions, 2nd Air Division felt that they might possibly be able to handle their own leads and, mercifully the substitute crews returned to their own groups.

Nevertheless, for the first few missions, they got a mission, they got a real workout. The leads provided them from other groups changes speeds without warning, made jerky turns, and in general made life hell for the members of their group, particularly as they got farther back in the formation.

They flew three squadron formations of twelve aircraft each, which were divided into elements of four aircraft in a diamond formation. Without a smooth lead, the elements tended to lag or speed up, much as freeway traffic does when the rush hour is on. And it was during these early missions that they appreciated their Consolidated representative, who so carefully saw to it that all of their control cables were rigged to the proper tension, for without that, the B-24 became a beast to fly in formation. The Lib's control system was heavy as they were - 72,000 pounds was not untypical - when the lead plane slowed too much, the poor guy flying the last 24 sometimes was bordering on the edge of a stall and had to burn fuel at a high rate to maintain formation. In this area, the B-17 had a distinct advantage over the B-24, for with big low aspect ratio wing the B-17 was really a heavy glider and could maintain format at a much lower airspeed than could the Liberator. The Lib wasn't happy under 160mph indicated, whereas the B-17 was still pleasant to fly even as low as 140.

COMBAT FLYING IN THE LIBERATOR

Once they were declared combat ready and allowed to do their own thing, those in the 491st made a pretty good record with the Liberator. Their bombing was good, their formation flying was excellent, and their maintenance was superb, all vital factors to a B-24 in any theater, or, for that matter, to any aircraft in combat. Since the 24 was faster than the B-17, the crews enjoyed the luxury of a little more sleep than the Fort crews, for they had to get off earlier than the B-24 crews in order to maintain position in the bomber stream. The B-24s usually caught them going in and passed them going out. The Lib crews hated to fly in a bomber stream where 17s were involved because they were forced to "ess"(weave periodically) in order to maintain their slower speeds. On medium range missions (six hours or less), if the strike were made up solely of B-24s, the lead would maintain 165 to 170 mph, and on long missions (8 hours or more) they would hold 160 mph. If they were mixes with 17s the Lib lead would have to fly about 150-155, which meant that "tailend Charlies" were often down as low as 140 - to slow for a loaded B-24.

But perhaps the best way to describe the combat characteristics of the B-24 is to describe a typical mission, and for this illustration an actual mission will be selected.

The mission was their eighth, and the target was Achersleben (also called Oschersleben) the site of a Focke-Wulf Aircraft factory. It was only 90 miles southwest of Berlin and represented our longest penetration to that time. The 491st was awakened at 0100 hour by the cheerful cry from the orderly that "briefing would be at 0230 hours." They numbly got out of their beds and stumbled into their flight gear and went to the mess (never was military establishment more aptly named) to poke aimlessly at the unappetizing mess of powdered eggs, stale, greasy bacon, and petrified cold toast. Then they trooped to the briefing room to discover where they might be ending their lives that day.

With typical flare for the dramatic that non-flying officers who performed the 8th Air Force Briefings had, a captain stood on the little stage in front of ominously closed curtains and announced: "Today, Gentlemen, your target is - (and then as the briefing officers do, he paused) Achersleben." There was an audible groan throughout the room, as he pulled the curtains and let us see the long strands of yarn pinned to the huge map of Europe that described as a dogleg course to Achersleben. The map seemed to have all too many red blobs along their route. Red blobs indicated heavy flak concentrations, the greatest aircraft killers of the entire war. It seemed that 8th Air Force planners always routed them so that the German anti-aircraft gunners go lots of practice. Once the briefing was over, Lin's crew climbed into their jeep and rolled to the hardstand, where their aircraft, THE FIREBIRD, sat. Flashlights played all about her dark silhouette, as last minute ground checks were made on armament loading, engine ground checks, and radio gear. As they piled out of the jeep, they took over and made their own inspection. Smitty, the bombardier, checked the arming wires on the bombs hanging securely by their shackles in the cavernous bomb bay of the Lib. The gunners again looked over the ammunition they had previously hand-loaded, ran the oiled rags once more over the arming bolts before installing them in the breeches of the ten .50 cal. machine guns. The navigator, "Boots", laid out his maps with the little deviations from the briefed course he employed to keep them on the fringes of the worst red flak blobs. The radio operator, "Grimes", setup his radio log on his little desk, and Marcio, the copilot and Lin strapped into their seats and waited for the signal flare to start engines. They were leading the high squadron, which meant they would be number "thirteen" to take off (actually fourteen for the forming ship. ) The Little Gramper, a veteran of the famous Ploesti raid, would take off first to start firing off hundreds of the Group colored flares to assist in forming-us-up once they had broken through the overcast. Some of their superstitious crewmembers still insisted they were thirteen, since the forming ship wouldn't be going on the mission.

Twin green flares arced off the little two story building that served as a control tower, and down the taxiway they heard the first thunder of Pratt & Whitney R-1830 jolting down the concrete. Pretty soon the earth began to tremble as 148 of the 1200 horsepower engines began turning over. Shortly thereafter the bright yellow Little Gramper taxied by the lead aircraft of the middle squadron. In military precision, the clumsy-looking Libs trundled out to follow in single file the veteran B24D, which had survived the low-level raid on Ploesti. In a matter of minutes, thirty-seven B-24s were lined up from their takeoff position to a point far back along the taxiway. Another green flare went off, and Little Gramper slowly rolled down the runway. It hit the first rise in the runway and almost disappeared from sight as it dropped down the slope. Then at the second rise, it lifted off, and as the ungainly landing gear slowly folded up into the wells, the Lib began its path-finding climb. Even before it had become airborne, the lead Lib was rolling, the entire Group taking off at 15-second intervals. All over East Anglia, a duplicate scene was taking place as 800 heavy bombers began the mission. It was as if the entire island that was England, trembled when this huge force of aircraft left the ground.

When it became Lin's turn to takeoff, they lined up on the runway, having already checked their "mags" and props. Fitzgerald, their flight engineer was a little concerned about a "mag" drop of 40 r.p.m. on number four, but that was well within limits. As the second hand ticked off on Marcio's GI watch and reached 15 seconds from the last roll, Lin advanced the throttles to 58 inches of mercury (He cheated a bit - they were supposed to use 56.), the props ran up to 2500 rpm, and Firebird was rolling. Speed built up rather slowly at first with a four-ton bomb load and a full 2700 gallons of fuel aboard, but they soon reached the first rise in the runway at the indicated 120 m.p.h. The Lib felt a little light as if it wanted to fly, and the struts started to lengthen on the main gear as the Davis wing began to develop lift. But she wasn't quite ready to fly, and like Little Gramper, The Firebird became airborne on the second rise of the runway. As soon as Lin felt the controls take effect, he called for gear up, and at 300 feet partial retraction of flaps. The airspeed indicator climbed to 150, and he called for reduction from military takeoff power to climb power - 2350 rpm and 38 inches of manifold pressure. Their rate of climb showed them to be increasing altitude at a rate of 800 feet per minute. Then they began the long straight racehorse track climb to 20,000 feet where they would join in squadron formation and finally in group formation, at which time Little Gramper would return to base, its job done.

Eventually, their thirty-six B-24s were nicely tucked in formation and their middle squadron lead preceded them to a splasher (radio beacon) where they would join up with their division, whose lead would, in turn, direct them to another splasher, where they would become part of an 800 heavy bomber stream. Then the 8th Air Force wold come alive again, and awesome striking force on its way to bomb Germany.

British Spitfires escorted across the Channel and for a short time into Holland; then they left them, there P-47s and P-51s picked them up. The 8th had long ago learned that the Liberator and the Flying Fortresses were unable to defend themselves without fighter escort. As they crossed the Dutch Border, flak began to erupt in ugly black puffs amid their formation. Occasionally it came close enough to hear, and that was when holes appeared in the airplane. They kept going without being hit, but all the other aircraft did not match their luck. Up ahead they saw the long smoky trail of a bomber going down, and the they saw the German fighters, literally hundreds of them as they smashed into groups both in front and behind them. The sky above was crisscrossed with the contrails of both German and American fighters as they plodded on our way to the target. Miraculously, their Group was still unscarred, but others were paying the price for trespassing. Perhaps the tight formation they flew led the Germans to easier game. An excerpt from Lin's diary on that July 7 follows:

"Shortly after we waded through the most flak we've seen yet, we saw about two hundred Me109s and Fw190s hit a group just off to our right. They shot down twelve B-24s - a whole squadron - in about the time it takes to write this. The unfortunate Group was the 492nd. The sky was polluted with smoke trails from burning airplanes - both our and theirs. We saw one B-17 catch fire and slowly head for the ground. Two crewmembers bailed out, and one of these had the misfortune of having his chute catch fire. The 17 burned more fiercely and, in a flash, exploded, throwing her innards all over the sky. Several 109s came through our formation, but they were sorely pressed by some P-47s on their tail, so that they took no heed of us."

As they approached Halberstadt, the Group "uncovered", that is, went into squadron trail formation, so that bombing could be accomplished by each Squadron Lead bombardier. Flak became more intense, and the German fighters left so that anti-aircraft could throw more 88 and 128mm shells at them. For some reason, Lin called Pierce, his tail gunner, on the inter com and asked:

"Have you got your flak helmet on?" (He was reluctant to wear it.)

Almost as he asked there was an autopilot for the bomb run, lurched sideways to the right. There was a terrific crash of an exploding 88 shell, so close we could hear it. Lin again got on the intercom and asked:

"Anybody hurt?"

There was a meek voice he recognized as the tail gunner's:

"Lin, you aren't going to believe this, but part of the right tail is gone, and the upper part of my turret is too!"

As he was bending over to pick up his flak helmet, an 88 shell had torn through the area where his head had been seconds before and ripped off a portion of the right vertical tail, severing that control cable. Despite the C-1 autopilot's best efforts, the B-24 was drifting off the course prescribed by the Pilot Directional Indicator which was connected to the Norden bomb sight, so he disconnected the autopilot, cranked in rudder trim and returned to a centered PDI for the bomb run.

Contrary to all rumors, it didn't take both Lin's co-pilot and himself to fly the airplane with part of the tail shot away, and they continued leading the squadron to Aschersleben. At the bombardier's cry "bombs away", they went into a standard 8th Air Force evasive maneuver and descended one thousand feet in a sweeping left turn. The Germans were well aware that this was common practice, and their flak batteries became even more accurate. After they had reformed in Group formation, the crew took stock of the damage. Holes were all over the aft fuselage, and one of the gunner's parachutes (a chest pack) was riddled with shrapnel, several fuel cells in the wings were punctured, a large portion of the right tail was gone, the tail turret had no glass left, and after they returned to base they found that FIREBIRD had 63 holes in her, some of them large enough to put a man's head through, but the four Pratt & Whitney's were unscathed and continued to drone steadily on over the 500 mile return trip to base. Within a few days FIREBIRD was patched up as good as new and continued flying combat until she had piled up 72 missions without an abort. It was German fighters that finally got her long after they traded her in for a newer model J, complete with radar.

The battle damage to their aircraft was negligible compared to other instances of B-24 battle damage. Much has been written and many photos published of the B-17s ability to sustain battle damage and return home. The Liberator need not take a back seat in this department, for there were many B24s that flew home when it didn't seem they could even remain in the air. There was one example in their group where the entire nose of the B-24 was shot away forward of the pilot's instrument panel. The pilot, using all the power he could get from the engines and partial flaps, somehow managed to make the English Channel before his fuel ran out and he ditched just off the Coast. Another remarkable example of the Lib's ability to absorb punishment was demonstrated by Lt. Bernard L. Ball while flying a Consolidated B-24-65 (Fort Worth built) on a mission to Yugoslavia. His aircraft, serial 44-10570, sustained a direct flak hit in the waist gun area. The explosion literally blew that area apart, killing one of the gunners, severing the rudder cables, and removing half of the upper fuselage in that spot. Lt. Bell flew the Lib home using engines and cowl flaps for directional control. By the time Lin had finished his thirty missions in the 8th in the Lib, he had grown to have a deep respect for the bird. He won't say that it was his favorite aircraft, but he will say:

It got us there and it got us back.

Lin's last meeting with the B-24 was a rather eerie one. He was visiting Wheelus Air Force Base in Tripoli, where he was discussing F-105 matters with the Air Force personnel at that base, when he was asked if he would like to see THE LADY BE GOOD. He had hear the story of the B-24D which had been abandoned by its crew when they got lost on their first mission in April 4, 1943. Their story is well known, so it won't be repeated, but the feeling he got when the chopper sat them down next to the aging B-24 under the broiling sun sent shivers down his back. The old bird had landed itself after the crew had bailed out, and had broken its back in doing so, but there is no doubt in his mind that the crew could have survived had they stayed with the airplane. After seventeen years in the dry desert air the airplane was still in remarkable shape. The ammunition in the gun belts still gleamed. Preserved in the Libyan desert, the B-24 suffered no corrosion. The fact that the airplane was virtually intact surprised Lin, for he had seen other crashed aircraft in Libya that were stripped clean within thirty minutes of their going down. The Arabs apparently consider THE LADY BE GOOD to be taboo. And some interesting things happened to those who stripped the B-24 for souvenirs.

The first C-47 that landed alongside the wreck had its radio fail, and the crew removed the radio from THE LADY BE GOOD, and crashed in Germany, killing all thirteen aboard. A helicopter pilot from Wheelus removed one of the Lady's engine plates and mounted it in his aircraft. He crashed and was killed. A newspaper reporter took one of the .50 caliber bullets from the waist gun as a souvenir. He was killed in a car crash in Europe a few weeks later. The base operations office at Wheelus removed one of the propellers from the Lady and mounted it in front of the office. Not too long thereafter the Libyan government took over Wheelus. Perhaps the Arabs knew what they were doing when they avoided THE LADY BE GOOD. She still lies in the Libyan Desert, a silent reminder to the too often overlooked career of an unsung heavyweight with an even heavier punch, a champion that never received the Laurels she so richly merited.

THE END - WINGS, February 1978, Vol. 8. No.1