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Stories of American Heroes - Brought to you from the "Home of Heroes" - Pueblo, Colorado |
The sound of breaking glass shattered the pre-dawn stillness at U.S. Army Headquarters in Honolulu, Hawaii. Nervously glancing about for MPs or other officials, shaky hands grasp the golden star and its attached blue ribbon from the display case. It was the Medal of Honor, the only one available in the Pacific Theater of Operations. An airman stuffed the Medal quickly in his pocket and ran for the airfield with the prize. Back at Guam another airman lay dying, unaware of the extremes to which his fellow fliers would go to insure that he received his Medal of Honor before he drew his last breath. |
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General Curtis LeMay had been awakened at 5 AM to sign the Medal of Honor citation. Then a special plane had been dispatched to obtain the only Medal in the Pacific from its display case in Honolulu. When no one could be found during the predawn hours to unlock the display, the determined fliers broke the glass and absconded with the Medal. In the history of our Nation's highest award the actions were unprecedented. But so too, was the heroism of a dying young B-29 radioman: |
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Captain Anthony Simeral set his jaw and pushed the nose of his B-29 bomber City of Los Angeles towards the target. He couldn't completely ignore the exploding flak around his aircraft, or forget the enemy fighters that dodged in and out of his formation to shower the aircraft with machine-gun bullets. But Captain Simeral had been flying long enough to know that the best way to deal with these occupational hazards was to "grit your teeth" and fly through it, reach your target and drop your bombs, then head for home.
It was April 12, 1945 and the City of Los Angeles was the lead B-29 in the 52d Bombardment Squadron's attack on Koriyama, Japan. Next to the pilot in the cockpit was Lt. Roy Stables. In the rear of the aircraft ten men went about preparing to finish their mission. On this day there was extra work. As the lead aircraft, the City of Los Angeles would mark the target for the other bombers. "Ready?" Captain Simeral inquired into the intercom. In the belly of the bomber Sergeant Henry "Red" Erwin was ready. At the appointed time he would drop the marker, a 20-pound white phosphorus canister with a six second fuse, through a tube near the bomb bay. The handsome 24-year old radio man from Alabama knew his job. This was his tenth combat mission. "Now, Sergeant", he heard the Captain speak into his headphones. Quickly Erwin positioned the canister in its narrow chute, pulled the pin, and let it drop into the skies over Japan. Only IT DIDN'T!
In a blinding explosion of heat and light Red Erwin felt his nose literally melt from his face. Something had gone wrong. Whether the flare was faulty or due to a bump in air currents, no one would ever know why, but the flare failed to clear the chute. Within six seconds it exploded into flames, propelling itself directly into Erwin's face and falling back into the belly of the City of Los Angeles.....scant feet from three tons of incinderary bombs. Nine crewmen stood in stunned horror, facing the knowledge that death for all of them was only seconds away. The billowing white smoke that made the white phosphorus such an ideal marker, now filled the entire aircraft. In the cockpit, choking on smoke and unable to see, the Captain could no longer control his aircraft. The City of Los Angeles lurched over and began a rapid dive towards the ground. The only question was whether the crew would die in a fiery crash or spectacular explosion.
Then, in the midst of the billowing smoke, an apparition began to arise. Unable to see after catching the full force of the white phosphorus in the face, Red Erwin found the burning canister by touch. Burning at thousands of degrees Fahrenheit, it was not hard to locate. Clutching the white hot canister to his body and holding it in place with his arm, Red Erwin struggled to ignore the pain and crawl towards the cockpit. His entire upper body was aflame, his hair completely burned away, his clothing vaporized and his face burned beyond recognition. For the crew it was no ray of hope...no man could endure the trek required to eject the lethal canister from the only available opening, a cockpit window. Added to that, the path was blocked by the navigator's table.
Somehow Red Erwin managed to struggle on, clutching the flaming incinderary to himself. With unbelievable strength he tucked the canister under his arm, unlocked the obstructing table, and moved it aside. Almost ten seconds of indescribable agony had already passed and Red Erwin was only half-way to his goal. "Open the window, open the window", Sergeant Erwin shouted to Lt. Stables. Somehow the co-pilot overcame his shock at seeing the flaming soldier doing what no human being should be capable of accomplishing, and managed to open the window. "Excuse me sir," Red Erwin said through his pain, and then launched the flaming canister to the wind before collapsing to the floor in flames. Only 300 feet from the ground, Captain Simeral pulled the City of Los Angeles out of its dive to head for Iwo Jima, the nearest landing site affording medical aid. The crew turned fire extinguishers on the prostrate, burning body of Red Erwin and Lt. Stables administered morphine to dull the pain. Through it all, the trip back and days of surgery following, Red Erwin remained conscious.
The doctors gave it their best shot....whole blood transfusions, internal surgery, antibiotics to fight infection. For hours they labored to remove embedded white phosphorus from his eyes. The chemical spontaneously combusts when exposed to oxygen, and as each fleck of incinderary was removed it would burst into flames, torturing the airman once again. Through it all Erwin has said, there was an angel by his side saying "Go, go, go. You can make it." Everyone expected Red Erwin to succumb to the pain if not the wounds. That night the officers of Erwin's unit prepared his Medal of Honor citation. At 5 A.M. the following morning they awakened General Curtis LeMay at his headquarters in Guam. LeMay took a personal interest in Erwin, sending his recommendation to Washington, DC and also arranging to fly Red's brother who was with a Marine Corps unit in the Pacific, to his "death bed".
Meanwhile Red Erwin was flown
from Iwo to Guam where he could receive more complete medical attention. It was
there on April 19, 1945...just one week after his moment of heroism and sacrifice, that
General LeMay told him: Through his bandages Red Erwin simply replied, "Thank you, sir." Then General LeMay pinned the Medal of Honor taken from a display case in Honolulu to the bandaged body of Henry "Red" Erwin. |
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