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U.S.
Army Air Force
World War II When the first numbered
Air Forces (the 1st, 2d, 3d and 4th)
were established in April 1941, the U.S. Army Air Force numbered
fewer than a quarter million officers and enlisted men, including
reservists. These initial four numbered U.S. Army Air Forces remained based in the
United States throughout the war for the purposes of training,
logistics and support, and homeland defense. Following the December
7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor, and subsequent declarations of war
against Japan in the Pacific and Germany and Italy in Europe,
additional COMBAT Air Forces were quickly established to implement a
war plan (A.W.P.D. 1) that had been written earlier in the year. The
first of the numbered U.S. COMBAT Air Forces was the Mighty
Eighth, created as VIII Bomber Command on January 28, 1942, and
deployed to England to begin combat operations in July. (Not until
February 22, 1944, was it actually designated the Eighth Air Force.)
On February 4, 1942, the 10th Air Force was established to begin
combat operations in the India-Burma theater. The following day the
Far East Air Force in the South Pacific, the Hawaiian Air Force at Oahu,
and the Alaskan Air Force became the 5th Air Force, 7th Air Force,
and 11th Air Force respectively. In the Panama Canal Zone the
Caribbean Air Force became the 6th Air Force, tasked with protection
of that vital waterway as well as to patrol the Gulf. With
British and Australian forces fighting desperately in North
Africa to defend the Suez Canal, the 9th Air Force was
established in April and based out of Egypt to support Allied Forces
in that region. When an immediate cross-(English)-channel crossing was
scrapped early in 1942 in favor of a November invasion of North
Africa, the Twelfth Air Force was established under General Jimmy
Doolittle in August. The Twelfth Air Force deployed to England for
training and then
flew to Algeria to join the Ninth Air Force in support of Operation
Torch. (In September 1942 the numerical titles [5th, 7th, 9th,
etc.] became alpha-numeric: Fifth, Seventh, Ninth, etc.) In December
1942 the Thirteenth Air Force joined the General George Kenney's Fifth
Air Force in the South Pacific.
Within a year of the attack on Pearl Harbor the United States had
fielded more than a million and a half airmen, distributed among
four logistic and nine Combat Air Forces, to conduct combat operations over five
continents. Early the following year the Fourteenth Air Force was
established under the command of Major General Claire Chennault and,
bearing the insignia of the Chennault's earlier A.V.G. (Flying
Tigers), returned to the skies over China. By
the summer of 1943 the geographical lines of the competing forces in
Europe had changed dramatically. Although no Allied ground force had yet made
the anticipated cross-channel attack to invade Hitler's Fortress
Europe, from its bases in England the Mighty Eighth Air Force
was
joining the R.A.F. in the fight for aerial supremacy that would make
that invasion possible. On the Eastern Front, Russian forces
held out at Stalingrad and then turned what had appeared to be
imminent defeat in 1942 into a stunning victory. During the battle
of Kursk in July 1943, Russian forces turned the tables on Hitler's
forces. From that point on in the Eastern Front the Nazi's were in full retreat, and by
the end of the year the Russians had recovered nearly all of their
previously captured territory. By
the summer of 1943 North Africa had been liberated from all Axis
threat
and Allied forces crossed the Mediterranean to attack and capture
Sicily. German forces abandoned Sicily in mid-August and by
September Allied soldiers landed in Italy. There they began slugging their
way north in the Naples-Foggia Campaign. Though the Italian
government surrendered on September 8, nearly two years of bitter
fighting were necessary to defeat the Nazi forces that defended
positions in Rome and northward into the Po Valley, an area
well-protected by Field Marshal Albert Kesselring's formidable
Gustav Line.. In
the summer and fall of 1943 the Ninth and Twelfth Air Forces flew in support of ground
operations in southern Italy. The changing dynamics of the
Allied Offensives in both the Mediterranean and (Russian) Eastern Fronts,
coupled with preparations for the cross-channel invasion (Overlord)
firmly
planned for the following May, forced a major shuffling of air
assets in the Fall of 1943. In October the Ninth Air Force was
transferred to England to support the Mighty Eighth and to
subsequently play a major role in the ground campaign for
Northern France in the anticipated D-Day invasion. Their departure spurred the birth of the Fifteenth
Air Force.
Fifteenth Air Force The
Fifteenth Air Force was a relative late-comer as a numbered Air
Force in World War II. (Only the 20th Air Force, activated April
4, 1944, and assigned to duty in the Pacific to execute bombardment
of the Japanese home islands, followed formation of the Fifteenth.)
This new command, approved on October 22, 1943, was established to meet a growing
strategic demand in an expanding air force that had burgeoned in the
first two years of the war from 21,125 officers and enlisted men in
December 1938 to 2,373,882 officers and men in December 1943. In fact,
the birth of the Fifteenth Air Force was
more of a fission, something akin the amoeba dividing to create a replica of
itself. Six veteran, heavy bomber groups of the Twelfth Air Force,
based at Tunis, Tunisia, became the nucleus of the Army's newest
combat air force. What remained of the Twelfth Air Force was to
serve as a TACTICAL air
force in support of the northward ground advances in Italy and later
to support the planned invasion of Southern France. The Fifteenth,
was to be a STRATEGIC air force, projected to grow to 21 heavy
bombardment groups and 7 fighter groups within six months. Their
mission was to begin immediate bombing raids against targets in
southern Germany that were beyond the range of Allied bombers based
in England. The four B-17 groups that
formed the nucleus of the Fifteenth Air Force were all combat
tested. The 2d Bombardment Group flew anti-submarine patrols on the home front
before deploying to the Twelfth Air Force in April 1943. The 97th
Bombardment Group was arguably the most combat-seasoned group in
Europe. Deployed to the Mighty Eighth based in England in May
1942, on August 17, 1942, Colonel Frank K. Armstrong led a dozen Flying
Fortresses of the 97th Bomb Group to strike enemy targets from
23,000 feet over Rouen, in occupied France. It was, save for a
little-known air mission over Ploesti, Rumania, the first American
bombing attack in the European theater. The 97th BG transferred to
the Twelfth Air Force in November 1942 to support the Torch
invasion and continued service in North Africa, Sicily and Italy
until their transfer to the new Fifteenth Air Force. The 99th
Bombardment Group arrived in North Africa to serve with the Twelfth
Air Force in February 1943, remaining in action until its transfer
to the Fifteenth in November. The 301st Bombardment Group, like the
97th, had served first with the Mighty Eighth, and then the
Twelfth Air Force, until it was absorbed by the Fifteenth in
November 1943. Two B-24 Liberator
groups joined these Flying Fortresses when the Fifteenth Air
Force was established on November 1. As part of the 9th Air Force,
both groups had participated in the infamous August 1, 1943,
low-level raid over Ploesti, Rumania. The 98th Bombardment Group,
which called itself the Pyramidiers, fielded 47 bombers for
that mission. Only eighteen returned. The group commander Colonel
John Kane was awarded the Medal of Honor for that mission. The
376th Bombardment Group, which called itself Liberandos, was
descendant of the First Provisional Bombardment Group, the first
heavy bombardment group to operate in the Middle East Theater. Their
roots were in the early Halpro Group which had bombed Ploesti from
high-altitude on July 11, 1942, the little-known mission that was in
fact, the first American bombing mission in Europe. In the low-level
return to Ploesti the following year, the Liberandos had
suffered the fewest losses of the five participating B-25 Bomb
Groups. Two of the Liberandos' 25 bombers failed to return.
Command of the new but veteran Fifteenth Air
Force was given to Major General Jimmy Doolittle, who departed the
Twelfth Air Force he had built a year earlier for the Torch
invasion, and which he had led through bombing missions in North
Africa, then to Sicily, and at last over Italy. He recalled, "My
assignment as commander of the Fifteenth was spelled out as having
four main objectives:
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To destroy the German air force in the
air and on the ground, wherever it might be located within range
of our aircraft.
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To participate in Operation Pointblank,
the combined bomber offensive against aircraft plants,
ball-bearing manufacturing sites, oil refineries, munitions
factories, submarine pens, and airports.
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To support the ground battle and attack
communications facilities on the Italian mainland, along the
route through the Brenner Pass, and in Austria.
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To weaken the German position in the
Balkans.
"In addition to these goals, we were
to choose targets that would pave the way for the invasion of
southern France."
The Fifteenth Air Force was established on
November 1, 1943, and began flying combat that very day while still
based in Tunisia. But Doolittle's orders were to move his air force
to Foggia, Italy, on December 1, where the overlapping range of the
England-based Eighth and the Italy-based Fifteenth would squeeze
Germany and Axis-controlled countries from all sides.
The day-old Fifteenth Air Force continued
combat operations on November 2 in a combined B-17/B24 raid on the
Messerschmitt factory at Wiener-Neustadt in Northern Austria. From
Tunis it was a 1,600-mile mission against a facility that had been
turning out more than 200 enemy fighters every month. Doolittle's heavy
bombers flew through 150 enemy fighters that attacked them amid, and
in spite of, their
own heavy flak. Six Flying Fortresses and
five Liberators went down, but Doolittle's gunners and
fighters claimed 56 enemy fighters destroyed, 27 probably destroyed,
and 8 damaged. The accuracy of the American bombardment, despite
flak and fighters, exacted a heavy toll on German aircraft production. Production dropped from 218 fighters manufactured
in October to 80 in November and to 30 in December.
The
Fifteenth Air Force flew missions on 23 days during the month of
November, attacking rail lines, submarine pens, bridges, and other
targets in Italy, Austria, and Yugoslavia. On December 1 General
Doolittle and his staff moved to Foggia, Italy, and by mid-month his
fighter and bomber groups moved from Tunisia to airfields nearby.
Hastily constructed runways of PSP (perforated metal sheets) sprang
up around Foggia at Amendola, Tortorella, Regina, Cerignola, Toretta,
and elsewhere. Laid together in an interlocking pattern over the
ground, the PSP provided a rudimentary runway that was prone to
become a mud-hole in the slightest rain storm. For the most part,
however, the weather was at least livable in November.
Worsening weather plagued the Fifteenth Air Force in December. Only
18 missions were mounted, many of them by B-26s in support of the
ground war in Italy. Repeatedly the entire Fifteenth was grounded
because of the weather, and on marginal days dispatched bombers
found targets obscured by overcast and returned home after salvoing
their bombs in the sea. It was a frustrating month, not only for
General Doolittle, but also for the CBO. At the time the Fifteenth
was authorized in October, Hap Arnold and his war planners assumed
that weather in the Mediterranean would be more suitable to
sustaining air attacks on the Axis by bombers based in Italy than those based in England. In
the winter of 1943-1944 the reverse was true. Though England and
northern Europe experienced days of impossible weather, the Mighty
Eighth managed to mount a far more effective air campaign than
the Fifteenth.

Tehran Conference
On
the day Jimmy Doolittle moved his Fifteenth Air Force Headquarters
to Italy, a conference concluded in Teheran that would once again
shuffle American air assets. One week earlier, from November 22 to
26, President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister
Winston Churchill met with Generalissimo Chaing Kai-Shek in Cairo to
plan the final strategy for defeat of Japan in China the Pacific.
Two days later on November 28 Roosevelt and Churchill opened a
three-day conference in Tehran with Soviet Premier Joseph Stalin to
plan the final strategy for defeat of the Axis in Europe. (It was
the first time in the war that the Soviet leader had met personally
with his Allied counterparts.)
Roosevelt renewed his 1942 promise to Stalin to open a Western Front
in order to divide Hitler's ground forces and take pressure off the embattled
Russian front. War planners from the three nations discussed how
best to launch a May 1st invasion across the English Channel (Operation
Overlord), as well as invading Southern France (Operation
Dragoon). (Originally the two operations had been code-named Hammer
and Anvil, descriptively noting the pressure to be applied
from the North and South in occupied France.) Out of those discussions
developed a leadership plan including the naming of General Dwight
D. Eisenhower to be Supreme Allied Commander for the D-Day Invasion. In a concession to the
British, a unified Allied Mediterranean Command was established
under General Sir Henry Maitland Wilson.
These
moves coincided with a major shuffling of leadership in the American
Air Forces as well; the realignment directed to commence immediately
after Eisenhower assumed his new position on January 1, 1944.
General Ira Eaker, the popular commander who had built the Mighty
Eighth Air Force and lead it through nearly two years of combat,
was to
be sent south to become Commander in Chief of the Mediterranean
Allied Air Forces. Though presented as something of a promotion,
Eaker was reluctant to leave the Air Force he had built from
scratch, and subsequently led in becoming perhaps the most famous
Air Force of the war. General Arnold however, was looking at the
much larger picture of establishing a unified STRATEGIC air force in
Europe. General Tooey Spaatz was named commander of this unified
command which consisted of the Eighth Air Force in England and the
Fifteenth in Italy. On January 3, 1944, General Doolittle flew to
England to become Commander of the Mighty Eighth, and General
Nathan F. Twining assumed command of the Fifteenth.
Though
the plan had been for these two strategic Air Forces to
simultaneously strike Germany with heavy bombers from two
directions, two factors arose in the new year that greatly hampered
Fifteenth Air Force operations in fulfillment of the Pointblank
Directive. First, poor weather continued to restrict air operations
out of Italy, and on days when bombers could take to the air, it was
usually to find targets too overcast to bomb. Secondly, on January
22 American forces landed virtually unopposed at Anzio, Italy. While
the Germans were unprepared for the Anzio landing, on February 4
Field Marshal Kesselring launched a massive assault along the Gustav
Line that halted virtually all Allied offensives, and left the
American forces at Anzio essentially bottled up. This ground
war placed heavy demands on the Twelfth Air Force, which had moved
from Tunis to Italy in mid-December. To assist, B-26s from the
Fifteenth Air Force began regular air missions in support of the
ground war in Italy.
Not
until the last week of February did weather clear enough over
England and Italy simultaneously for General Spaatz' two air forces
to at last prove the validity of their design. Big Week was a
six-day Allied blitzkrieg
deep into Germany where the Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces
(and British R.A.F.) combined for a sustained,
around-the-clock series of raids. From Sunday, February 20,
until the following Friday, more than 3,300 bombers of the
Eighth Air Force and more than 500 bombers of the new
Fifteenth Air Force dropped 8,231 tons of bombs--nearly as
many as the Mighty Eighth had unloaded in its entire
first YEAR of operation. Nearly two-dozen targets deep
inside Germany were struck in that six-day period, and
American fighters planes of the Eighth, Ninth, and Fifteenth
Air Forces flew 3,673 sorties. It was the week in which the
Allied Air Forces began to at last wrest aerial
superiority over Europe from the Luftwaffe. It was also a
foreshadowing of much more to come in the spring as new
bombers and aircrews arrived in theater.
In
Italy Big
Week was followed by six consecutive days of weather so poor
that not a single mission could be mounted by the Fifteenth Air
Force. Meanwhile the ground war in and around Anzio continued to be a bitter
stalemate as fresh troops and tons of supplies steamed in from
Germany to reinforce the Gustav Line. To break that stalemate the
Mediterranean Allied Air Forces (MAAF) commander, General Ira Eaker,
launched Operation Strangle on March 19. The plan called for
both strategic (Fifteenth) and tactical (Twelfth) aircraft to begin
interdicting Axis reinforcement and re-supply of the Gustav Line.
Almost immediately American and R.A.F. fighters and medium bombers
began attacking marshaling yards, rail lines, bridges, and tunnels
from Florence to Rome. Heavy bombers of the Fifteenth Air Force
meanwhile unloaded tons of bombs on transportation and industrial
centers at Verona, Turin, Milan, and Bologna, in northern Italy.
In
the first month alone medium bombers flew 176 missions, destroying
or damaging nineteen bridges. By March 24 every major supply line to
the German front in Italy had been cut, and the marshaling yards in the north
lay in ruins. As a tactical
interdiction campaign, Operation Strangle was unprecedented in size, scope and
duration. On May 11, two months after Strangle was
implemented, American forces broke out at
Anzio and began their drive north. Allied Forces entered and liberated Rome the following
month on June 5, the day before the Normandy invasion.
Meanwhile
at Foggia,
on the last day of March the 463d Bomb Group (B-17) became
operational, bringing the Fifteenth Air Force to fifteen heavy
bomber groups. Improving weather late in the month gave rise to
increased frequency of missions; heavy bombers flew on five days in
the last week alone. On April 2 the 461st Bomb Group (B-24) became
operational, giving General Twining sixteen heavy bomber groups and
enabling him to mount a 530-bomber mission against the ball bearing
plant and aircraft factory at Steyr in northern Austria. It was the
Fifteenth Air Force's largest formation to date.
Hundreds
of enemy fighters met the massive formation on April 2 and, despite
more than 150 sorties by American fighters in support of the
mission, nineteen bombers--nearly two hundred young American
airmen--were lost. The following day 24 heavy bombers went
down out of 450 dispatched to bomb targets at Budapest. When 300
B-24s and B-17s returned to Budapest the next day, 13 bombers fell to
flak and enemy fighters. In fact, with improving weather the
Fifteenth Air Force fielded nearly 2,500 heavy bombers on six
consecutive daily raids from April 2 to April 7. The blitz resulted
in the loss of 95 American bombers, nearly 1,000 men killed or
captured in less
than a week. Fortunately, in addition to the recently arrived bomb
groups brought in to help the Fifteenth achieve its planned strength
of 21 heavy bomber groups by May 10, replacement crews were also
arriving to fill the gaps in squadrons decimated by the recent heavy
losses.
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Lieutenant Edwin Andy
Anderson's Crew
Air
Force Pilot Second Lieutenant
Edwin O. Andy Anderson was a strapping young
man from Minneapolis, Minnesota. In
the fall of 1943, nine young men were assigned to
his leadership to crew a B-17 Flying Fortress. In
Florida these ten airmen began the process of
working and training together that would enable them
to complete future missions, and hopefully survive
to return home together. Anderson's
crew included: |
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Co-Pilot -
First Lieutenant George L. Voss of Chicago,
Illinois
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Navigator -
Second Lieutenant Robert L. Newson of West
Chicago, Illinois
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Bombardier -
Second Lieutenant David R. Kingsley of
Portland, Oregon
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Flight
Engineer/Top Turret Gunner - Technical
Sergeant John D. Meyer, Jr. of Queens, New
York
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Radio
Operator - Don McGillivray of Des Moines, Iowa
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Left Waist
Gunner - Staff Sergeant Martin Hettinga of
Anchorage, Alaska
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Right Waist
Gunner - Staff Sergeant Harold D. James of
Chicago, Illinois
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Ball Turret
Gunner - Staff Sergeant Stanley J. Kmiec of
Hamtramck, Michigan
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Tail gunner
- Staff Sergeant Michael J. Sullivan of Villa
Park, Illinois
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The crew's bombardier hailed from
Oregon, one of two westerners in the team. He was a
young man who had already endured much and proven himself
strong and dedicated. Since the age of 10 his eight brothers
and sisters had relied on that strength to keep the family
together. Despite failing health, his mother had always
reminded her children, "Love each other, take care
of each other." It was a lesson that young man was
to remember now as he become part of a new family of ten.
Tail gunner Mike Sullivan recalled he was "A
friendly, calm, hardworking part of the crew (who) never
pulled rank on the noncoms. He had a quiet sense of humor
that put everyone at ease."
In the sky over Europe that 25-year-old
bombardier would again demonstrate his love and concern for
others,
becoming one of World War II's greatest heroes.
Lt. David R.
Kingsley
by Phyllis Kingsley Rolison
Long
before Dave was a hero to so many people, he was a
hero to our little family. We grew up in Portland,
Oregon, at 24 SW Montgomery Street. There were nine of
us; five boys and four girls. Dave was next to the
oldest; I was next to the youngest. My little sister,
Sister Margaret Mary Kingsley, is the youngest. Our
father was a special investigator for the Portland
Police Department. Before he worked for the police
department, he had 8 children and he didn't have a
job. One day he was coming out of church and a man
stopped him and said, "I understand you need a
job." He had never seen the man before. He said
to go right down to the police department and there
will be a job for you. The man at the police
department said, "How did you know we had an
opening? It just opened up."
When
I was 2 and Dave was 10, our father died in an
automobile accident. At this time, my mother had eight
children and was five months pregnant with her ninth
child. She made a decision right then not to give any
of us up. This is when Dave first stepped in to help.
He was 10 years old at the time. He and Grandma helped
mom get through an almost impossible time. Somehow her
strong faith helped her to survive the next few years.
My first memory is when I was about 7 years old. We
did not have much money, but I remember a life full of
love and lots and lots of laughter. Dave kept the boys
in line and Grandma took care of the girls. We had a
very happy life during those years.
The
boys went to St. Michael's school on SW Montgomery
Street, and the girls went to St. Mary's Academy and
then Marylhurst. Every morning we would go to Mass and
all of us would sit on the front row of St. Michael's
Church. I was told that my dad wired that
church.
When
I was 10 and Dave was 18, my mother was diagnosed with
cancer. A short time later, she was confined to her
bed. She could not turn herself from side to side.
When he had to be turned, Dave and one of the boys
would pick her up and turn her over. Again, she said
she would not give any of us up. She had a plan. Now
Dave had a bigger job to do. Grandma had died, so it
was his job alone. Now at 18, Dave took over the care
of all of his brothers and sisters. (Tom, the oldest
brother, joined the Navy in order to provide some
income to the family.) He was not only our brother now
but had the duties of a father. He talked to us, he
listened to us, he made us do our chores and, of
course, I'm sure he saw that we said our prayers.
My
mother was remarkable. I don't remember her ever
raising her voice in anger to us. She had a punishment
for everything we would do wrong. She was a very
gentle person. Without a word we knew what would
happen if we didn't obey. A few things come to mind.
If we didn't make our bed before we went to school,
all the bedding would be off the bed and we couldn't
go out to play until it was made. It was a hard job
for little girls. No one had to say a word. If we
girls had an argument, we would have to wash the back
door, which was a full window. One on one side, one on
the other, until we would begin to laugh and the anger
was over.
My
brothers were all about 6 feet tall, so she had to
somehow let them be boys. She had a boxing ring built
out in the back yard. Not a fancy boxing ring, just a
plain ring. If the boys fought, she had them get the
boxing gloves. they would have to go into her bedroom,
put the boxing gloves on, then she would lace them up.
After that, they could go out and fight it out. The
one that won had to carry the other one in and take
care of him until he was okay. That was her way of
letting big boys be boys. My brother, Dan, was an
amateur boxer and Dave was an amateur wrestler.
While
mom was in that bed and couldn't even move, she taught
us many valuable lessons. When we came home from
school, mom would want us to come sit on her bed and
she would talk to each of us about what happened at
school, about life, love and our strong faith. She
taught us to love each other, take care of each other,
and take care of anyone in need.
All
during this period, Dave was taking on the small and
big jobs of a dad. One time, two of my brothers
decided to go down to the railroad yard, hop on a
railroad car, and ride it as far as it would go. What
they planned to do at the other end, we don't know.
they got in, closed the door, and later fell asleep.
The next thing they knew there was a banging on the
door. When they opened it, there stood Dave. He told
them to get home where they belonged. What they didn't
know was the railroad car wasn't going anywhere. It
was parked on the side track. Now, my oldest sister
was very beautiful. She had boys over all the time.
The boys had to pass inspection by Dave. I remember
one boy he took aside. What he said and did we never
knew, but we never saw that boy again. These were some
of a father's duties that Dave took over at the age of
18.
Mom
died when I was 13 and Dave was 21 (1939). They put
each of us in places where we would be taken care of.
I remember Dave coming so very often in his old jalopy
to take us for rides, to talk to us, and to see if we
needed anything. He was still trying to take care of
us.
He
was our hero.
While young David
Kingsley continued to give his best efforts to keep
the communications open among his seven siblings, he went
to work as a Portland fire fighter to further support
the family. On December 7, 1941, his older brother Tom was serving as a
Pharmacist's Mate aboard the U.S.S. Phoenix at Pearl
Harbor. At anchor near the hospital ship U.S.S.
Solace when the attack began, the light cruiser
returned fire throughout the engagement, escaping
damage or casualties.
The following
April David left the fire department to join the Army
Air Force. His brother Donald joined the Merchant
Marines, becoming something of a hero himself. At sea
near South America, Donald Kingsley saw a man fall
overboard near the bow of the ship and promptly threw
a rope ladder over the rail. He then grabbed the
ladder and jumped overboard, only to find that the
ladder was too short. Instead of hitting the water
the rope jerked taught, breaking both of Donald's
arms. Despite this painful injury, Donald yelled for
help, then grabbed the drowning sailor and managed to cling to
him until assistance materialized. But for Donald's
courageous actions, the other sailor would have
floated to the back of the ship where he would have
been churned to death by the propeller.
Bob, the
youngest of the Kingsley brothers, later joined the
Navy and served during the war as a Naval
Pharmacist's Mate. Eugene Kingsley went to work for Douglas
Aircraft, building the airplanes that took the war to
the enemy.
While
in the Army aviation cadet program David attempted to
become a pilot but failed the training. He went on to pass
the preliminary bombardier-navigator course at Santa
Anna, California in April 1943. In July he received
his commission as a Second Lieutenant at Kirtland Field in Albuquerque, New
Mexico, along with his Bombardier
Wings .
Brother Tom, who had survived the Pearl Harbor attack,
flew in for the ceremony. While admiring his older
brother's colorful array of ribbons David remarked, "If
there's going to be a hero in this family, you'll be
the one."

Lieutenant David Kingsley was
subsequently dual-qualified as a navigator, and then
in September 1943 was assigned to Lieutenant Anderson's air crew
in Florida for combat
training in a B-17 Flying Fortress.
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David Kingsley and his
nine new brothers trained for six months to develop confidence in each other, and to
learn how to apply their own specialized training to
fulfillment of their missions. Generally, Army Air Force
policy was to assign ten men to a crew, then to keep that
crew together from the training phase to deployment. Save for
losses due to combat or other circumstances, an air crew
would complete their subsequent combat missions together and then return home
as a group. For most airmen, assignment to a crew became a
familial adoption process that would become a life-time
relationship.
During the fall and
winter as Andy Anderson and Lieutenant Voss flew
practice missions with their new crew, the individual
members developed a strong sense of trust in the captains of
their ship. A mutual bond, a special form of brotherhood,
also developed among the team. The dedication that each man
had to the other and to the crew as a whole could not help
but remind Lieutenant Kingsley of his mother's oft-repeated
mantra to her children, "Love each other, take care
of each other, and take care of anyone in need."
Kingsley had never
forgotten his own initial desire to be a pilot and
frequently asked Anderson to teach him how to fly the
aircraft. It is unclear how many opportunities Kingsley, or
other interested members of the crew were afforded in the
cockpit, though it was not uncommon for a pilot to thus
broaden the experiences of his crew during the long period
of training.
Throughout the fall and
winter, crews in training back in the United States followed
news on the war front with great interest. Everyone knew of
the early August raid on Ploesti, Rumania, a mission that
had decimated five B-24 groups of the 9th Air Force and made
that previously un-heard-of city infamous. In October
"Ploesti" was replaced with name name
"Schweinfurt". Sixty Eighth Air Force bombers had
been lost in an August 17 raid, then on Black Thursday
(October 17, 1943) in a return to Schweinfurt, 65 bombers
were lost and 17 destroyed beyond repair. The news slowed
through the months of November and December, and well into
January and February 1944 as poor weather over Europe caused
many bombing missions to be cancelled.
Meanwhile in Florida,
Lieutenant Anderson's crew had finished their training. In
March 1944 the crew was dispatched to Savannah, Georgia, where they boarded a
brand new B-17 Flying Fortress. For a week the
factory-fresh bomber was put through trial runs and then
flown to Palm Beach. From there the ten airmen flew south to
Trinidad, on to Brazil, continuing across the South Atlantic to West Africa,
and finally to Tunis, Tunisia. Lieutenant Anderson and crew
were subsequently assigned to the Fifteenth Air Force's 341st Bomb
Squadron, 97th Bomb Group (Heavy) based at Amendola,
Italy. The crew's flight across the Mediterranean was the
last they saw of their new Flying Fortress. Shortly
after landing in Italy their B-17 was absorbed into the inventory of
other squadrons, while Anderson's air crew went through a
few weeks of in-theater training.
As quickly as that
training was complete Andy Anderson and his air crew
began flying combat. It was a busy time for the Fifteenth
Air Force, and every bomber and crew was a vital part of
accomplishing its mission. From April to mid-June the ten
men under Lieutenant Anderson were kept busy. Over a period
of sixty days they flew twenty combat missions.

From April 2 to
mid-June more than 25,000 Fifteenth Air Force B-17s and B24s
flew missions on nearly sixty days. On May 11 the Fifteenth
reached its projected strength of 21 heavy bomb groups and
mounted a 730-bomber mission the following morning. It was
the largest formation thus far fielded. Targets varied; in
mid-May the break out from Anzio required heavy bombardment
throughout northern Italy. During this period however,
the Fifteenth also returned again and again to the Weiner-Neustadt
aircraft production facilities in Hungary, as well as
industrial targets at Budapest, Hungary and Belgrade,
Yugoslavia. Harbor installations and ports throughout the
area were struck again and again, heavy bombers hitting as
far west as Toulon in Southern France.
Fifteenth Air Force
support was critical to the success Operation Strangle
attained in support of the ground war in Italy.
Simultaneously, German aircraft production suffered
dramatically and more than 1,000 enemy fighters were shot
down by aerial gunners in U.S. heavy bombers and by
escorting P-38 and P-51 fighter pilots from April to
mid-June. Therein were accomplished on a daily basis, two of
the basic missions previously outlined for the Fifteenth.
Additionally General Doolittle, and subsequently General
Twining, had been instructed to attack Axis petroleum
supplies and to do all that they could to weaken German
control in the Balkans. By the end of April 1944 Russian
Forces had pushed the Eastern Front steadily backwards into
Poland in the North and to the northeast border of Rumania
in the south. During this same ten-week period more than a
dozen missions were flown against petroleum production at
Bucharest, Giurgiu, and the now infamous city of
Ploesti.
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PLOESTI
The
Widow Maker
Ploesti, Rumania, was
historic decades before World War II made the city of 100,000 at
the foot of the Transylvanian Alps infamous. As early as 1857
refineries in the oil-rich region became the first in the world to
refine petroleum. The evolving world-wide need for Ploesti's liquid
gold elevated that product to become fully 40% of Rumania's
exports, and gave the citizens of the hard-working city a
comfortable lifestyle.
During World War I Rumania
aligned itself with the Allies. For the first time in history
warfare had become truly mechanical with the advent of cars,
trucks, tanks and aircraft. This new need for fuel, further
escalated by the transition of ships from coal to diesel, prompted
Germany to invade Rumania in 1916. To prevent Rumanian oil from
falling into enemy hands, British engineers already working in
Ploesti promptly dynamited the refineries. The damage was so
severe it was several years after the end of the First World War
before the city returned to its pre-war levels of production.
Two decades later when Hitler
began his blitzkrieg in Europe the nation of Romania found itself precariously
perched between German advances in Poland and Hungary, and Soviet
advances from the Ukraine. The small country, not even as
large as the state of Oregon, found itself besieged on two fronts
despite attempts at neutrality.
In June 1941 Rumania
abandoned neutrality and joined the Axis, primarily in hopes of
regaining areas ceded under pressure to Hungaria and Russia in
1940. Under the protection of Nazi troops, by 1942 Ploesti was
producing nearly a million tons of oil a month, including
90-octane aviation fuel, the bulk of it to fuel the Axis war
effort. Nearly a third of the fuel needed to field Hitler's tanks,
battleships, and aircraft, came from the refineries at
Ploesti.
Ploesti's location in Rumania
made it an unlikely target for Allied bombardment in 1942, but Brigadier
General Alfred Gerstenberg, Commanding General and Commander of
the Luftwaffe in Rumania, knew that sooner or later Ploesti's
refineries would be attacked. Toward that end he began erecting
defenses in February 1942.
In fact, the first attack on
Ploesti came far earlier than either the Germans or the Allies
could have anticipated. In May 1942 a group of twenty-three B-24
bombers under the command of Colonel Halvor "Hurry-up
Harry" Halvorson was dispatched via the South Atlantic to
stations in China. The mission to the Far East was disrupted when
the proposed bases were taken by the Japanese, and the Halpro
Group found itself stuck in the Middle-East with no further
orders, and no place to go.
Unlike later, highly-planned
bombing missions over Ploesti, the refineries were more of a target
of opportunity for the Halpro mission. Not until June 5, 1942,
did the United States expand its six-month-old declaration of war
to include Hungary, Bulgaria, and Rumania. Sharing the
runway at the Royal Air Force airfield in Fayid, Egypt, Colonel
Halvorson's B-24s at last had a viable target.
At ten thirty on the night of
June 11, 1942, thirteen of Halvorson's heavy bombers took off and
headed north. As a night flight, destined to put the bombers
over Ploesti with the first rays of dawn, it was impossible to
maintain a flight formation. Each pilot was on his own,
navigating through the dark skies over the Mediterranean, while
hoping to find his comrades when the morning sun rose over the
Black Sea.
One of the bombers was forced
to turn back to Egypt when frozen fuel transfer lines cut power to
three engines. The remaining twelve continued on towards
Ploesti where they dropped their bombs from 30,000 feet on what
was believed to be the large Astra Romana refinery. The
first raid on Ploesti was unremarkable and inflicted only minimal
damage to the Rumanian refineries and German oil supply. Of
the twelve Liberators that reached Ploesti, six landed safely in
Iraq (the designated recovery point for the mission) and two
landed in Syria. Four bombers were forced to land in Turkey
where the aircraft were seized and the crews interned. The
only injuries were minor, and not a single man was lost or killed
in action.
The 2,600-mile (round-trip)
Halpro mission to Ploesti demonstrated a previously unanticipated
range for American heavy bombers. It was a "note on a
brick through the window" to General Gerstenberg that
Ploesti was vulnerable to attack, and that the refineries were
marked by a big Bull's Eye on the maps of the Army Air
Force. Gerstenberg immediately implemented major upgrades to the
Ploesti defenses under his command, fully aware that the American
Army Air Force would be coming back soon.
The November 1942 Operation
Torch put American bombers in North Africa as the Allies
quickly gained control of the region. By the summer American
bombers based at Benghazi, Libya, were 200 miles closer to Ploesti than had
been the original 13 Halpro bombers that had attacked from Egypt.
By now as many as 200 Axis fighters
were in the vicinity of Ploesti, including four wings (52 planes)
of ME-109s at Mizel, twenty miles
east of the city. More than 200 big anti-aircraft guns ringed the
city limits to protect the refineries, including 88-mm flak guns
and 37-mm and 20-mm rapid-fire cannon. Barrage balloons on
explosive-laden cables were raised every night, then lowered
during the day. They could be quickly elevated again in the event
of a daylight attack. Gerstenberg had every reason to believe he
was ready for anything. What he got was an air mission he could
never have imagined.
TIDAL WAVE
The Return to Ploesti in 1943 was the most delicately
planned and most specifically rehearsed bombing mission in
history. It called for nearly 200 B-24 Liberators to make
an early morning departure from air fields in Libya, cross the
Mediterranean, climb over the Albanian mountains, and attack SEVEN
of Ploesti's major refineries. To add a stunning surprise, the
mission was to be a low-level, roof-top attack.
After months of preparations
including practice raids on mock-ups of Ploesti in the Libyan
desert, Tidal Wave launched on August 1, 1943. The mission
fielded 178 Liberators, 163 of which reached Ploesti to fly
into a hell previously unseen by any American airman. Approaching
the city so low that some of the bombers picked up grass in their
bellies, the inbound formation was stunned when innocent-looking
haystacks suddenly fell apart to reveal hidden enemy gunners.
Colonel Leon Johnson's Liberators of the 44th Bombardment
Group flew into Ploesti from the north, following a railroad track
at tree-top level towards their assigned target. Opposite the
track and running parallel with Johnson's formation was the 98th
Bombardment Group's formation led by Colonel John Kane. The
innocent-looking train that also traveled south between the two
formations was an example of General Gerstenberg's
extreme innovation to protect Hitler's black gold. In an
instant the walls fell away from the box cars to reveal flat-beds
containing multiple and deadly Nazi anti-aircraft and machine
guns. These took deadly tolls on the two bomb groups and,
ultimately, both Johnson and Kane would be awarded Medals of Honor
for their bravery as they fought their way into Ploesti.
Tidal
Wave was destined to be the ONLY low-level bombing
mission launched against Ploesti. The intrepid airmen in
their B-24s on that fateful day flew into a maelstrom, dropping
bombs from altitudes so low that enemy roof-top guns had to be
pointed DOWN to engage the American attackers. Five of the seven
targeted refineries were hit: one was permanently destroyed, two
were shut down for several months, and two were able to remain in
service but at a greatly reduced rate of production. In less than
half-an-hour, five daring heavy bomb groups on what was a
near-suicide mission, cut Ploesti's oil production by 35%, from
400,000 metric tons to 262,000 metric tons, for several months.
The cost of the mission to
the Americans was stunning. Of the 163 Liberators that
bombed Ploesti only 89 returned to Benghazi, Libya. Of those that
returned 58 were damaged beyond repair. Of the 1,173 American
airmen who flew the mission more than 300 were killed, 200 others
were captured and interned as Prisoners of War, and 440 of those
who made it home were wounded. Five veterans of the raid were
awarded Medals of Honor, more than any other air mission in
history, and 56 airmen were awarded Distinguished Service Crosses.
More than 800 Distinguished Flying Crosses and Silver Stars were
also awarded.
Return to Ploesti
By the Spring of 1944 production at Ploesti had increased to
370,000 metric tons of petroleum products, a commodity critical
especially on the Eastern Front. Nazi forces were falling back
daily under the Soviet advance, and the disruption of the fuel
supply demanded by Axis tanks and aircraft could only inure to a
swift Allied victory in the Balkans.
The Fifteenth Air Force's
move to Foggia, Italy, had placed American heavy bombers well
within range of Ploesti. Following the devastating August 1 Tidal
Wave mission however, it would take the U.S. Army Air Force
eight months to mount a return. In that interim General Gerstenberg
worked around the clock to prepare for the subsequent attacks he
knew must come.
Ploesti
itself was a city which covered an area of approximately 19 square
miles. Twelve major refineries encircled the city, connected by a
looping rail system. A rail line south of the city connected
Ploesti to the Rumanian capitol of Bucharest, 35 miles southward,
the site of a major marshaling yard. Pipelines funneled fuel south
as well, making its way beyond Bucharest to the port of Giurgiu on
the Danube where petroleum was shipped out and needed supplies
came in. In the Spring of 1944 all three cities were targeted for
attack by heavy bombers of the Fifteenth Air Force.
In the months after Tidal
Wave General Gerstenberg had taken dramatic steps to protect
Ploesti. It was frequently said that Ploesti was the third-most
defended city in the world--behind Berlin and Vienna. Gerstenberg
had emplaced nearly 1,000 anti-aircraft guns in a circle around
Ploesti measuring 12 miles in diameter. There was no aerial route
into the city that was not protected by deadly flak, and any
bombers that might make it inside the circle to drop their bombs
would then have to fight their way back OUT through more deadly
flak. A Confidential 1944 Air Objective Folder prepared by the
Army Air Force described Ploesti's defenses:
Air
Objective Folder
No. 69.1 Rumania
Defenses
and Vulnerability: The defenses of the Ploesti area
are quite strong and active. Local defenses exist for the
various groups of refineries and possibly for certain of
the vital transportation points. The Germans have
carefully protected the vital parts of the refineries by
the construction of protective walls around them. The
storage tanks have been camouflaged with pain or by wooden
sheds built over them.
A nightly
barrage of forty to one hundred balloons is maintained
over the city. It has been reported they are lowered at
day and that at night they are raised from 6 to 10,000
feet. Included in the various protective defenses has been
the construction of "dummy towns" to deceive
attacking bombers. A dummy Ploesti was erected on the site
of an encampment at Albesti about 7 miles east of Ploesti
in June 1941 and during the Russian attack this
"dummy town" was purposely set on fire. It is
also reported that a "dummy town" has been
constructed about 8 miles northwest of Ploesti. The
blackout of the town is said to be very good and the only
light likely to be seen is a glow from some of the
refinery plants that have not been stopped.
The fighter
aircraft defenses of Ploesti were taken over by the German
Air force during the Balkan invasion in the spring of 1941
and since that time they have been shared equally with the
Rumanians. There are three principal airdromes in the area
supplemented by two alternative bases. Attacking bombers
may also receive opposition from the enemy airbases in the
Bucharest area to the south of Ploesti.
The outer
anti-aircraft defenses of Ploesti form the perimeter of an
oval extending to the north with the north-south axis
about 30 miles in length and the east-west axis about 20
miles long. The inner defenses of the city are very strong
and in October, 1941, extended for five miles in a belt
around the town, with the guns increasing in calibre
towards the edge of the belt. In most cases the guns have
been camouflaged by nets or "roofs" over them. |
The Air Objective Folder made
no estimates as to the number of fighters or guns that protected
Ploesti, but everyone knew they were significant in number.
Furthermore, General Gerstenberg emplaced more than 1,000 smoke
pots around the refineries to spew clouds of blinding fog over the
city upon initial radar reports of inbound American bombers.
On April 5, 1944, the U.S.
Army Air Force at last returned to Ploesti; more than 200
Fifteenth Air Force heavy bombers dropped 587 tons of bombs on the
marshalling yards. Gerstenberg's defenses were ready and 13
bombers were shot down by flak or enemy fighters. Ten days later
more than 400 heavies returned, more than half the force attacking
Ploesti oil production while the remainder simultaneously hit the
important marshaling yards at Bucharest. Nearly 800 tons of bombs
fell over Ploesti from 290 heavy bombers. Eight never returned
home. Nine days later more than 500 heavy bombers repeated the
double-punch, and it was obvious to both friend and foe that the
battle for Hitler's black gold had entered a new phase.
Ploesti was hit three times
in May: on the 5th, 18th, and on the last day of the month. The
mission on May 18 illustrates the difficulties from weather and
the dangers from enemy aircraft and guns that plagued nearly all
missions into that deadly target. More than 400 heavy bombers were
dispatched, including 35 Flying Fortresses from the 463d
Bombardment Group. The citation for a subsequent Presidential Unit
Citation awarded to that group illustrates the difficulties and
dangers well:
"On 18
May 1944, thirty-five B-17 type aircraft, heavily loaded with
maximum tonnage, were airborne, and despite adverse weather conditions
rallied with the wing formation and set course for their
destination (Romano Americano Oil Refinery at Ploesti, Rumania).
Under continued adverse weather conditions encountered en route,
the visibility
became so limited, with dense cloud layers reaching to 30,000
foot elevation, that all other units returned to base. Undaunted
by the seemingly overwhelming odds, the 463d Bombardment Group
continued on alone through the dense cloud coverage, which
rendered compact formation flying extremely hazardous. Despite
intense, heavy, and accurate enemy anti-aircraft fire
encountered over target, the gallant crews, displaying
outstanding courage, professional skill, and determination,
though many of their airplanes were damaged severely, maintained
their tight formation and brought their ships through the enemy
defenses for a highly successful bomb run, inflicting grave
damage to vital enemy installations and supplies. Rallying off
the target after the bombing run and while unprotected by
friendly fighters, the group was savagely attacked by
approximately 100 highly aggressive enemy fighters. In the
ensuing fierce engagement, while battling their way through the
heavy opposition, the group lost 7 bombers; however, in the
gallant defense of the formation, the gunners accounted for 28
enemy aircraft destroyed, 30 probably destroyed, and 2
damaged."
Sandwiched in between Ploesti assignments were other missions like returns to the
deadly Weiner-Neustadt Messerschmitt factories, which cost more than
40 bombers downed in two missions in May alone. Ploesti was the
target again on June 6 when more than 500 heavy bombers attacked
the oil refineries. On June 10 it was the fighters' turn. Normally
the P-38 and P-51 pilots of the Fifteenth's fighter groups flew
escort for the heavy bombers. On this day 1,000 pound bombs were
strapped beneath 46 P-38s and, though eight fighters were forced
to abort, the remaining 36 successfully dropped bombs on Ploesti
oil production facilities. Second Lieutenant Herbert B. Hatch
of the 1st Fighter Group flying a P-38 in support of the mission,
became an ace-in-a-day after shooting down five Rumanian
aircraft.
By mid-June Lieutenant Andy
Anderson and his air crew had become seasoned veterans with
twenty missions towards the requisite 35 that would earn them a
flight home. After flying their first missions in various
inventory pool bombers they had at last been assigned their own--a
B-17, christened Sand Man. From Sand Man's cockpit,
turrets and open bomb bay doors they had toured Weiner-Neustadt,
Genoa Harbor, Lyon, Nice, Marseilles, and other old-world cities
from miles above. Working as a team they had weathered fighter
attacks, exploding flak, and the other dangers inherent to aerial
combat.
After operating as a team now
for more than nine months, they had become uncommonly close,
establishing that unique bond of brotherhood shared by men to have
endured much and survived. After seventeen missions, with some sadness
the crew had bid
farewell to radioman Sergeant Don McGillivray, who was detached
and sent to Naples, Italy, for special training on new radar bombing equipment. McGillivray
was replaced in Sand Man's radio room by Technical Sergeant
Lloyd E. Kaine, who was quickly accepted as a part of the crew.
Five consecutive days of bad
weather grounded the Fifteenth Air Force from June 17 to June 21.
The skies cleared enough on the 22d for a 600-bomber mission
against targets in Northern Italy. That evening the orders for the
next day's mission were issued. It was to be an all-out attack on
Ploesti, the eighth since bombing had resumed on April 5. It was
also to be the largest yet mounted, 761 Flying Fortresses
and Liberators assigned to fly through Gerstenberg's
defenses and destroy Rumanian oil.
The roster of pilots from the
97th Bombardment Group assigned to this mission included the name
of Lieutenant Edwin O. Anderson. When the sun came up the
following morning Andy and his crew would embark on their
twenty-first mission. Sand Man had been pulled out for
repairs, so the crew would be once again flying in a B-17 from the
inventory pool. The crew would also be flying without Lieutenant
Voss in the bomber's right-hand seat. The veteran co-pilot had
recently experienced blackouts, and during the five-day period
weather had halted operations, he had been grounded for medical
evaluation.
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"We were wide awake after the predawn
briefing where we learned our target for the day: Rumania's
Ploesti Oil Field," Andy Anderson and other
members of his crew wrote in a report to the Kingsley family forty
years after their last air mission. "We were confident as
our bomber took off about 7:30 a.m. in clear, sunny skies. We had
just returned from a rest leave at the Isle of Capri and were
ready to get back in action on this, (our) third raid on the
strategic Ploesti site. The first Ploesti raid, aided by radio
countermeasures (CM) that had fooled enemy gunners, was a good
raid with few casualties; prospects were excellent for a repeat.
We did not yet know that Axis technicians had cracked the secrets
of the new CM, and that many of the planes in our squadron would
never return from this raid."
Opissonya
The level of confidence felt
by Anderson's crew as they took to the skies on the morning of
June 23, 1944, didn't come without considerable frustration. After
Lieutenant Anderson attended the 3:30 a.m. briefing, he headed for
the airfield to meet with his crew at their assigned plane. With Sand
Man down for repairs, the temporary replacement assigned to
them was an unknown quantity. Also joining them was Lieutenant
William Symons who had been assigned to replace Voss in the
co-pilot's seat for this mission. It was to be Symons' first
combat mission, and none of the crew had met him prior to his
arrival on the air strip.
As other bombers began lining
up and warming their engines, Lieutenants Anderson and Symons
began their own pre-flight checks. The magnetos on the replacement
bomber didn't check out and Anderson radioed that he would need a
different B-17 while the crew began unloading their gear. At 7:00
a.m. other bombers were beginning to take off while Anderson and
crew awaited arrival of their requested aircraft. By the time it arrived
and they had stowed their gear and begun pre-flight checks, most
of the assigned 97th Bomb Groups Flying Fortresses were
already airborne. Taking off late, "we wound up flying
tail end Charlie--not the best place to be," Harold James
recalled in a recent phone interview. "Do you know what
the name of our replacement plane was?" he continued with
a mischievous giggle. "It was 'Opissonya'!" Then
he laughed again.
The mission this day was to
be one of the Fifteenth Air Force's largest to date with 761 heavy
bombers (B-24s and B-17s), including Flying Fortresses from
all six B-17 groups of the 5th Bomb Wing. Seven groups of fighters
were assigned to escort the massive formation protecting the
bombers to the target and on the return home. By 8:30 a.m. the
aerial armada had formed up over the Adriatic Sea and, flying in a
tight formation to maximize their protective fire power, began the
nearly three-hour flight to and across Yugoslavia to attack
Hitler's petroleum supply. Anderson's squadron was to bomb the
Dacia Oil Refinery.
"This was our second
aircraft of the day and we were flying at the very end of the
formation," Harold James recalled, "Then things
got even worse. While we were still over the Adriatic, we blew an
oil line on the #1 engine. Andy feathered the engine and then came
on the radio to take a vote. Should we turn back or keep on? We usually
got double-credit (towards the 35 combat missions required to
fulfill a tour) for missions to Ploesti and since Andy figured we
could make it on three engines we all voted to continue."

In the cockpit Lieutenant
Anderson alternated between his duties as pilot and the normal
conversation and orientation that would acquaint his new co-pilot
with the job at hand. Lieutenant Symons was well-trained and
capable but he still struggled with the mix of emotions every
young airman endured upon embarking on his first combat
mission. Lieutenant Newson skillfully plotted the course in
the Plexiglas nose of the bomber, while nearby Lieutenant Kingsley
pondered that he would be celebrating his 26th birthday in four
days. Until the bomber reached the IP (Initial Point), the
bombardier had little to occupy him. The IP was the point at which
the bomber lined up to begin the bombing run; and from that point
on the bombardier flew the airplane through a bombsight linked to
the autopilot, keeping it straight and level through both flak and
fighter attacks, to the release point where he unloaded the bombs.
Throughout the bomber's
fuselage the six non-commissioned officers went about their own
tasks. In the armed Plexiglas top turret behind the cockpit,
Flight Engineer Sergeant John Meyer scanned the sky for enemy
aircraft. In the radio room Sergeant Lloyd Kaine performed his own
duties while prepared to do double-duty as a gunner if the ship
were attacked. Sergeants Martin Hettinga and Harold James manned
guns on either side of the bomber's waist. In the clear ball that
hung from the B-17's belly, Sergeant Stanley Kmiec was prepared to
defend against attack from below.
Perhaps the loneliest
position in any bomber was the tail, a cramped compartment reached
only by crawling through a narrow tunnel from the waist to the
rear. Sergeant Michael Sully Sullivan was quite at home in
this position. A quiet man, the long hours of flight afforded
ample opportunity for personal reflection. It was also far better
than standing on the ground dodging flower sacks dropped from
bombers overhead.
As incongruous as it sounds, Sully's
first job for the Army had indeed been one of dodging flower
sacks. In 1941, before the war began, the young recruit from
Chicago was assigned to guard duty at an airfield in Louisiana. It
was there that the Army Air Force conducted training exercises and
war games for new pilots and air crews. On the ground Sully
ran, dodged, and ducked, as planes flew overhead to drop
flower-filled bombs to hone their attack skills. When the war
began he gave up two stripes to enter aerial gunnery school,
eventually earning back his stripes and assignment as a gunner in
Lieutenant Anderson's crew that was training in Florida in the
fall of 1943. Now, at age 24, he was a seasoned veteran with
nearly two dozen combat air missions. Three hours after takeoff,
from his position in the tail of Opissionya, Sully
watched Yugoslavia's Albanian Mountains passing behind and knew
the formation was over Rumania. From that point on there would not
be an idle moment for any member of the crew. Though they had been
flying over enemy territory since leaving the sea, they were now
flying into one of the enemy's most protected lairs.
By 11 a.m. a curtain of flak
began to fill the sky in a deadly ring around the Ploesti
refineries. Fog from General Gerstenberg's smoke pots on the
ground covered the entire city, and one crewman later said the
smoke over Ploesti from both was so thick a man could walk on it.
Minutes later the first bombers in the formation broke through the
flak-ring to begin their bombing runs. More than forty enemy
fighters began to dive on the trailing formations, and from the
waist Sergeants James and Hettinga watched two Flying
Fortresses explode and go down in flames before the enemy
fighters broke off. Then Opissonya entered the
flak-ring and approaching their target.
Suddenly Opissonya was
shaken by a horrible explosion, forcing the gunners to struggle
for something to steady themselves. Enemy anti-aircraft fire hit
the left wing, exploding the Number 1 engine, ripping away a fuel
tank and leaving a 12-inch hole behind the dead engine. Deadly
flak continued to pound the bomber, and a second hit on Opissonya's
tail damaged the vertical stabilizer and knocked out the oxygen
system. Gunners scrambled for back-up oxygen and then returned
quickly to their guns. Losing altitude and falling out of
formation, Lieutenant Anderson somehow managed to steady the
bomber while Lieutenant Kingsley bent intently over his bomb
sight. Despite the damage, the bucking and jostling of the Fortress
as it struggled along on three engines, and despite the
continuing thunder of anti-aircraft fire and patter of jagged
steel against the bomber, Kingsley managed to unload his bombs on
target.
Coming out of the bombing run
and struggling out of the deadly flak ring, Anderson fought the
controls to remain behind the tight formation that was a bomber's
only source of mutual protection. Loosing air speed, in
minutes Opissonya fell more than a vertical mile from
27,000 to 21,000 feet. The crew recalled, "(We) took many
hits, and we fought back, scoring two confirmed fighter kills and
one probable." Luftwaffe
fighter pilots were quick to spot the
vulnerable Flying Fortress trailing the rest of the
squadron and immediately pounced. Just beyond the flak-ring, three
ME-109s struck at once, knocking out the Number 3 engine. The crew
report continued: "The damage was severe; we lagged behind
the protection of the tight formation and became a prime
unprotected target. Soon, two engines were out, one of them on
fire. The vertical stabilizer was shot completely away. Waist
gunner James noted the control cable from the pilots' yokes to the
tail were hanging limp and useless. The plane faltered and began
loosing altitude."
Before American fighters
could intervene and chase off the ME-109s, 20-mm. cannon fire hit
the tail of Opissonya, shattering Plexiglas and ripping
through the protective metal skin. Hot, jagged steel tore into
Mike Sullivan's right arm and shoulder, and additional shrapnel
wounded him in the head. With his intercom out and working against
intense pain, Sergeant Sullivan began a slow crawl through the
tunnel to the waist position, leaving a trail of blood behind. As
Sullivan went into shock, James and Hettinga propped him up and
tried to stop the flow of blood from his shoulder. Unable to stop
the bleeding, they then radioed for the plane's first aid officer,
Lieutenant David Kingsley.
Kingsley pulled Sullivan into
the radio room and ripped off his parachute harness to clear the
area around the wound. While Kingsley continued to treat
Sullivan, in the cockpit Lieutenants Anderson and Newson did their
best to head for home. Bad became WORSE when the number four
engine powered down, and limping along on one-and-a-half engines, Opissonya
dropped to 14,000 feet by the time the Flying Fortress crossed
the border between Rumania and Bulgaria. Under the pilot's
orders the crew set about throwing out anything that added excess
weight in an effort to gain, or at least remain, at
altitude.
After
the attack that had wounded Sullivan and knocked out the number
three engine, two P-51 Mustangs attached themselves as
protective escorts for the stricken Flying Fortress. After
leaving Rumania behind, and despite the fact that the Axis
controlled Bulgaria, it seemed that the worst had passed.
The fighter pilots radioed Anderson that they were low on fuel and
requested permission to head for home. With no other aircraft,
friend or foe, in the area, and with only 500 miles remaining to
reach Foggia, Anderson bid them "thank you and
farewell." The bomber pilot could not have known that when Flying
Fortress neared Plovdiv, Bulgaria, it would be flying directly
over an enemy airfield at nearby Karlovo.
Karlovo was a training field
for Bulgarian pilots which, in recent months had attacked heavy
bombers returning home from missions over Rumania, and
occasionally dueled with escorting American fighters. The base was
under the command of German Major Helmut Kühle, whose Luftwaffe
pilots trained and flew with the Bulgarian 652d Yato
(squadron), 6th Iztrebitelen Polk (fighter regiment). Air
battles against the new P-51 Mustangs had proved deadly,
the squadron loosing 9 aircraft with 7 more damaged in one recent
engagement. When the two American P-51s headed for home leaving Opissonya
alone, Major Kühle immediately
fielded eight ME-109s, four flown by his own Luftwaffe pilots and
four by the Bulgarians.
With the enemy fighters
attacking aggressively out of the sun, Opissonya was suddenly
rocked once again by deadly fire in a running fifteen-minute air
battle. Shrapnel from a 20-mm. cannon wounded Sergeant Kmiec,
forcing him to leave the ball turret. Lieutenant Kingsley was
still working on Sullivan's wounds and reassuring him that, "It
will be okay...we'll get you out of here," when Kmiec
entered the radio room for treatment to his own wounds. Pilot and
co-pilot fought nearly non-existent controls while Newson manned
the nose guns, Meyer fought the top turret, and James and Hettinga
held their posts at the waist. Opissonya shuddered
repeatedly, smoke pouring from both wings as it steadily lost
altitude--and still the enemy fighters kept coming.
With all hope gone Lieutenant
Anderson lowered his landing gear, an aerial act similar to an
infantryman dropping his weapon and raising his hand. The enemy
fighters broke off and held their fire, but continued to shadow
the floundering bomber. When a pilot lowered his landing gear it
was expected that either the crew would bail out or that the
bomber would land. Most Luftwaffe pilots respected these terms
of surrender and, if the crew didn't bail out, escorted the
bomber to the nearest landing field or clearing. On this day there
wasn't any clearing suitable for landing, and serious doubt
remained as to how much longer Opissonya could even remain
airborne. Lieutenant Anderson rang the "bail-out" bell.
The communications system
among the crew had already been knocked out, so the only word any
of the crew had as to their fate was the clamoring sound of the
alarm ordering them to get out quickly. At the waist Radioman
Kaine and gunners James and Hettinga quickly checked each other
out and then jumped out the waist door. Sergeant Meyer left the
top turret and jumped through the open bomb bay, while Lieutenant
Newson went out through the bombardier's escape hatch.
In the radio room Lieutenant
Kingsley grabbed Michael Sullivan's parachute and prepared to
strap it on the wounded tail gunner, they then realized that not only
were the straps damaged but that the chute itself had been
peppered with shrapnel. Without hesitation Kingsley did
something that would haunt Sullivan for the rest of his life.
Remembering the words of his mother, David Kingsley took off his
own parachute and strapped it on his comrade. "David then
took me in his arms and struggled to the bomb bay, where he told
me to keep my hand on the rip cord and said to pull it when I was
clear of the ship," Sullivan later recalled. "Then
he told me to bail out. I watched the ground go by for a few
seconds and then I jumped. I looked at Dave the look he had on
his face was firm and solemn. He must have known what was coming
because there was no fear in his eyes at all. That was the last
time I saw....Dave standing in the bomb bay."
As quickly as Sullivan was
out of the airplane Dave Kingsley stood, just in time to see
Lieutenant Symons heading for the bomb bay doors. "Where's
Andy?," Kingsley shouted above the din. Symons pointed
toward the cockpit and then dropped into the open sky below,
nearly colliding with the pilot who nearly simultaneously
bailed out through the bombardier's escape hatch.
Lieutenant Kingsley, having
given up his parachute to a comrade, now remained ALONE in the
rapidly falling bomber.
|
A Sad Day at
Suhozem
Seventeen year old
Petrov Georgiev watched the air battle from the ground in
Suhozem. The small village, with fewer than 200 residents,
sits quietly in farming country amid vineyards and fields
surrounded by high wooded hills. From the ground Petrov
watched the American bomber take repeated hits, then lower
its landing gear. Moments later he counted nine white
parachutes billowing beneath the smoking ruin of Opissonya.
He had no way of knowing if that was all there was in the
foreign bomber--nine men--or if some remained in the
doomed airplane.
He watched as one of
the Bulgarian fighters made a few passes at the open
parachutes, though none of the Luftwaffe or Bulgarian
pilots fired on the Americans. "He made a pass at
me, and I was afraid he was going to start firing," Harold
James recently recalled. "Instead, I think he was
just trying to collapse our chutes."
Mike Sullivan
remembered in a 1984 interview that indeed the pass did
cause his own parachute to collapse, "Causing me
to go into a free fall that I finally pulled out of. It
was my first, and last, jump. Meanwhile, Lieutenant
Kingsley was sort of looping the ship. He pulled her out
two more times...To me it looked as if he was trying to
crash-land the plane and while all that was going on, the
ME-109s were still making passes at it. He knew the basics
of how to fly, but the way that plane was shot up and with
just one out of four engines under full power and the
direction controls all damaged, it would be nearly
impossible for one man to handle those controls."
Near the top of the
nearby wooded hills that surround Suhozem, Todora
Douraliiska and her family were tending the vineyard that
might well have appeared to be a clearing from the air.
Helping out in the vineyard was Douraliiska's young son
Dimitar and infant daughter Lalka. Four other members of
the family, Chonna, Mina, Nona, and Denko were helping out
when the air battle overhead diverted their attention. The
family watched nine parachutes drop from the bomber before
it passed over them, and then saw it turn back towards the
north heading straight for the vineyard. All started to
run but then stopped when they realized 9-month old Lalka
had been left behind. They were rushing back to rescue the
infant when the worst happened...
Michael Sullivan
recalled, "(Opissonya) went into her last
dive, corkscrewing nose first toward earth."
Eight miles away at
the Karlovo Airfield Stefan Marinopolski, a Rumanian pilot
who had watched the air battle and subsequent crash from
his tent on the ground, commandeered a jeep and headed for
the site of the crash. He was the first to arrive. "There
was a big explosion and a lot of smoke," he
remembered. "Through the fire and smoke I could
see Kingsley's body in the cockpit. There was nothing I
could do for him. And lying nearby was a peasant
family--father, mother, and daughter (as well as four
other family members). They were probably
running away to escape the crashing plane, but it went
into them and they all were killed."
|

Prisoners of War
While at the crash site
Stefan Marinopolski learned that three of the men who had
parachuted from Opissonya had been captured and were being
held at the local town hall. There was little more that he could
do on the hill top so he rushed back into the village. There he
found Sergeant Hettinga, Sergeant Meyer, and the wounded Sergeant
Sullivan under guard. Marinopolski put the three men in his jeep
and drove the short trip back to the Karlovo Airfield. After
assembling his prisoners in the Officer's Mess tent, he summoned a
doctor to treat Sullivan's wounds.
Marinopolski, speaking
through an interpreter, told the three prisoners that he had
visited the crash site and found one man dead in the cockpit. He
produced the wallet he had taken from Kingsley's body, showing the
identification of the man who had given his life for his friends.
Already shaken by the traumatic events of the day, confirmation
of David's death only added to their grief, as they wondered about
the fate of the other six members of their crew.
A
short time later the recently captured Lieutenant Anderson and
Sergeant Kmiec were brought into the mess tent to join their
comrades. In a kind gesture to fellow airmen who had already
endured much and who now feared for their own fates, Martinopolski
ordered brandy for all of them. They were also fed a meal of black
bread and beans.
Martinopolski's kindness
aside he was still an officer in the Bulgarian Air Force, who had
flown combat against American Airmen, and had suffered major
damage to his own fighter in the battle that had sent nine of his
comrades down in flames. He now bent to the task of interrogation,
a process he conducted in a conversational manner through an
interpreter. He asked the captured fliers to identify
themselves, and when it came Sergeant Hettinga's turn the young
gunner pulled a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes out of his pocket,
removed the inside wrapper and wrote on it "Martin Hettinga,
Vicksburg, Michigan." Then with a smile he flippantly
conveyed through the interpreter, "Come and see me after
the war."
The Bulgarian officer talked
with the men well into the night, during which militia patrols
captured Lieutenants Newson and Symons and brought them to Karlova
Field. The eight men were then transported to a military camp at
what had once been the American College campus in the nearby
Bulgarian capitol city of Sofia. Four days after the crash the
eight men were sent on to the Prisoner of War camp at Choumen.
Unlike
other theaters of combat in Europe where prisoner of war camps
were so large that officers and enlisted men were sent to separate
camps, all eight captured fliers remained together until they were
moved to Allied Control in Turkey on September 10, preparatory to
their release. During their two-and-a-half months of internment,
despite their own deprivations, they could not forget the valiant
bombardier who had gone down in the cockpit of Opissonya.
They also feared for the fate of the remaining member of the crew,
waist gunner Harold James who had bailed out but disappeared into
oblivion.
 |
|
Eight of the
nine members of the crew of Opissonya during their
captivity in Rumania |
Freedom Fighter
The nine men who parachuted
from Opissonya landed in the heavily wooded hills scattered
miles apart. Sergeant Harold James touched down to find himself
alone, and he knew the local militia would soon be out in force to
locate the American fliers. He quickly hid his chute, explored his
surroundings, and upon finding a cave he hid there throughout the
afternoon. At one point local militia indeed passed by him, but
the sheltering cave concealed him well enough to avoid capture.
The following day Sergeant
James began following a road in his efforts to evade the enemy and
walk until he was out of danger. Before darkness fell however, a
Bulgarian patrol captured him and took him to a nearby village
where he was placed in the local jail. While behind bars he was
informed that a prison truck would arrive the following day to
take him away.
He awoke the next day to the
sound of gunfire nearby. "My God, they've put together a
firing squad for me--I'm a gonner," he thought. Sitting
alone in fear, the sound of gunfire drew nearer, followed by
incredible commotion as the jail was being torn apart. "A
group of rough-looking guys with guns and bandoliers broke into
the jail and opened my cell," he recently recalled. "They
were jabbering at me in Bulgarian, so I didn't have any idea what
they wanted. When they saw I couldn't understand them, they tried
Spanish. When that didn't work, they started speaking to me in
French. Since I was just out of high school, and had studied a
little French, we were able to communicate a little. They informed
me that they were part of the Bulgarian (civilian) resistance, and
that they wanted me to go with them. I figured I might as well go,
rather than wait for the prison truck."
The band of resistance
fighters and their American charge left the village and marched up
into the mountains, engaging in a gun battle with local militia on
the way. James began to wonder at his decision, to ponder if he
had jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Upon at last
reaching the camp he was introduced to the resistance leader who
told him in broken English, "You are going to be with us a
long time." The leader summoned a young woman named
Stefca, a 21-year-old former school teacher and told her, "Stay
with James."
"Over the following
months she was kind of like my nanny," James recalled.
She taught James some of the language, helped him to understand
the resistance movement, and interpreted for him when he needed to
communicate with others. In the weeks that followed the freedom
fighters made several raids into Bulgarian villages, cutting
communications and robbing militia storehouses for supplies.
Sergeant James often accompanied them on these, several of which
involved gun battles. "Gee, I'm gonna get myself knocked
off this way," he said to himself. "So by
September I convinced the resistance leader that I would be more
valuable to him if he could help me get out of there--get to
Allied lines--where I could talk to someone higher up and get
supplies sent back in by parachute."
Before James could be
secreted out however, October came and with it arrived the
advancing Soviet forces. Quickly the Nazi forces drew back, and
Rumania fell to Russian control. "The Russians told me I
had to leave or else--and I had a pretty good idea what 'or else'
meant," James recalls. Two majors flew up from Istanbul
to visit me and in October I went back with them to Turkey.
By September 1944, Turkey had
become the staging point for the return of Allied prisoners of war
held in the Balkans. James' eight crewmates arrived in Turkey on
September 10, and by the end of the month seven had been flown
back to Italy. Only Michael Sullivan remained in Turkey when
Harold James arrived, and when the two met it was an exuberant and
surprising reunion. Sully and the other seven men who had
been held at Choumen had heard no word of James' fate, and worried
for his life.
Together Sully and
James were flown to Cairo, Egypt, in October. "They
de-loused us, checked us out and cleaned us up, and put us up in
the Shepherd Hotel--which was wonderful," James recalls. "Then
the Red Cross took us on a tour to see the pyramids and the Spynx.
We were flown to Fifteenth Air Force Headquarters at Bari, Italy,
and finally caught a flight in in a B-17 from the 341st Bomb Group
back to our squadron. That was the scariest. We had this young,
hot-shot pilot who wanted to fly less than 1,000 feet over the sea
and it scared the hell out of me. He should have known you don't
fly a B-17 that way."
Sullivan and James returned
home together, arriving in the United States in time for Veterans
Day. They were given 21 day furloughs that were extended to 30
days, before returning to service. "We wanted to go back
(into combat)," James says. "But the Air Force
had this policy--if you had been captured or under enemy control,
they kept you stateside."
By Christmas the only member
of the crew of Opissonya who had not returned to the United
States was Lieutenant David Kingsley. After burying their own
seven dead the villagers of Suhozem had removed David's body from
the wreckage of the plane and buried him nearby. The people of
Suhozem knew little of the American airman, only that he had done
something very brave. He would not be quickly forgotten.
From the ground they had
witnessed his sacrifice.
|
|
Medal of Honor
On Friday, May 4, 1945, Lieutenant
David Richard Kingsley was remembered during funeral services at St.
Michael the Archangel Catholic Church in Portland. It was the church
Kingsley had attended with his parents before their deaths, the church
in which David's sister Phyllis had been sitting when she received the
news of her brother's death.
The flag-draped coffin was
symbolic; David Kingsley's body was still buried on a hillside in
Rumania. The empty coffin served however as a reminder that the young
former-firefighter from Portland had paid the ultimate sacrifice in the
service of his country.
The
funeral for David Kingsley included yet another symbol--a symbol of
courage above and beyond the call of duty. Before the flag-draped coffin
Major General Ralph P. Cousins presented Navy Pharmacist's Mate First
Class Thomas Kingsley with his brother's Medal of Honor. It was one of
only two known such presentations ever made in a church. On May 10, the
City of Portland issued a Resolution recognizing Kingsley's heroism and
the lessons of his youth that made him a hero. It noted: "The
act of Lieutenant Kingsley was one of deliberately placing his own
parachute harness about the body of a seriously wounded tail gunner
thereby making it possible for the wounded man to reach safety but
removing all possibility of saving his own life in the impending crash.
His act which showed inherent desire to save the life of another
undoubtedly was attributable to Lieutenant Kingsley's training in the
church and his training while a member of the City of Portland, Bureau
of Fire."
Forty-four years after David
Kingsley's death his youngest sister Margaret, a Holy Names Nun at
Marylhurst, said, "(David) showed no qualities on that plane
he hadn't already shown as a young man. David Kingsley didn't need
death and a medal to become a hero. If love, selflessness, and
devotion to duty are the standard, (David) already was one."
Phyllis Kingsley Rolison, the
only other of David's siblings still alive said, "We are so proud of Dave for
sacrificing his life for his fellow crew members. I must tell you,
though, we were not surprised that he would give his life to save
another. He spent his short life--26 years--helping others. Dave learned
my mom's lesson well:
"Love each other, take care of each
other, and take care of anyone in need."

Anchorage, Alaska
January 1982
Martin Hettinga picked up
the receiver of his telephone when he heard it ring, wondering who
might be calling. In broken English the voice on the other end asked
if he was speaking to Martin Hettinga, a World War II airman who had
been shot down over Bulgaria.
Thirty-eight years had
passed since that fateful day, and the nine members of the crew
having returned home, had tried to get on with their lives and
forget the horrors of war. Some had stayed in touch, but time and
movement had distributed them across the nation, and few among
them knew where to look to find the others. Though the voice on
the other end, due the strange accent, couldn't be one of
Hettinga's crewmates, he at last replied that the caller had found
the right man.
"Do you remember
writing your name and city on a cigarette wrapper and saying
"Come visit me after the war'," the caller
continued? Martin stammered briefly and then acknowledged the
incident. "Well, I'm here and I want to come and visit
you," replied Stefan Marinopolski, the man who had
personally captured Hettinga and two of his comrades after they
bailed out.
After the Russians took
Bulgaria in October 1944, Bulgarian officers that had previously
fought with the Nazis were subjected to considerable suspicion,
despite a quick alliance between the Bulgarian government and the
Soviet Union. A post-war, May 25, 1946, incident in which two
Bulgarian pilots defected to Italy to request asylum brought even
more pressure on Marinopolski, who was suspected of complicity in
their defection. Subsequently Marinopolski was arrested and,
without a trial, was sent to a labor camp near Pernik, Bulgaria,
for more than a year. He was released to a life now devoid of the
prestige and respect he had previously enjoyed as a Bulgarian Air
Officer, searching desperately for any kind of work until he was
arrested again in 1950 as "an enemy of the people."
Again without a trial, he was held for two years, after which he
worked in construction while plotting to escape.
In 1957 Marinopolski was
sent to Czechoslovia under a worker exchange program. On December
1, 1957, he escaped to Austria where he spent four months in a
refugee camp. By 1959 the former Bulgarian Squadron Leader was
working for Radio Free Europe. That job eventually netted
him a work permit and clearance to come to the United States,
where he settled into a construction business in Arlington,
Virginia, in 1964.
Never far from
Marinopolski's mind was the air crash of June 23, 1944. Often he
thought of the eight men who had bailed out and been taken prisoner.
His searches of the directory for residents of Vicksburg, Michigan, failed to turn up
the man who had written his name and home town on a cigarette
wrapper, but Marinopolski kept looking. At last he located a
relative of Hegginga's in Kalamazoo, Michigan, who provided
Martin's phone number in Alaska.
In October 1983, Stefan
Marinopolski flew to Alaska where he and Martin met for the first
time in 39 years. It was an emotional reunion, filled with news
and questions. Stefan asked about the other members of the crew,
but Martin had lost touch with them through his moves.
It was one year before
the fortieth anniversary of that fateful mission that had drawn
two former enemy airmen together. With the help of William H.
Fleming, III, a staff member on the U.S. House of Representatives
Subcommittee on Aviation, a search was launched for the remaining
members of the crew, as well as surviving members of David
Kingsley's family.
After much hard work the
surviving members of the crew were located, including Michael
Sullivan, to whom David Kingsley had given his parachute. Sullivan
had spent years trying to put the war behind him. "He
remained a confirmed bachelor until age 36," Gloria
Sullivan recently remembered in a phone conversation about her
late husband. "When we married he never talked about the
war or what he had done. I had a picture of him in uniform, but
that is all I ever knew about what had happened until the reunion.
One thing I do remember is that, despite the fact I didn't know
about the mission, Mike ALWAYS made sure we went to church around
the 23rd of June. Ironically, without ever knowing about the crash
or David Kingsley, both of our daughters married young men named
'David'."
On Easter Weekend 1984 a
tearful reunion that included members of Kingsley's family was
held in Washington, D.C. On April 22 the crew wrote and signed a
report of the events of that fateful day forty years earlier,
noting: "This is our report to you, the family of David
Kingsley, who richly deserved his Medal of Honor. Our friend,
Dave, would have done the same for any of us that day had we been
wounded. We honor his spirit today, and give you this account, 40
years later."
The following day the
reunited airmen traveled to Arlington National Cemetery where
Lieutenant David Kingsley had been re-interred years earlier after
discovery of his grave in Bulgaria. Gloria recalled the emotion of
that difficult day as the survivors remembered a friend and
comrade. "Standing at David's grave, Mike's eyes filled
with tears and then he began to shake all over. Looking at the
grave he shook his head and muttered,
"'It
shouldn't have been you--It should have been ME!'
"Then Mike went
into shock and the guys helped me take him back to the car. It was
hours before he at last began to come back around. When I remember
that day I think to myself, 'If it wouldn't have been for David, I
wouldn't have met the man I was married to for
forty-seven-and-a-half years."
Before the survivors of Andy
Anderson's crew left Washington, eight of them recreated a
photograph that was taken nearly forty years earlier when they had
been prisoners of war.
 |
.... |
 |
|
BACK ROW:
Hettinga, Newson, Kaine, Anderson, Symons - FRONT: Meyer,
Kmiec |
|

In the aftermath of World War II,
life continued as it had for centuries in the quiet Belgian village of
Suhozem. Families tended their flocks and their crops, eking out a
living from the land and doing their best to remain inconspicuous under
the harsh post-war rule of the Soviet Union. Unforgotten were the seven
members of the Douraliiska family, or even the foreign airman who had
for a time been buried on a nearby hill. Villagers had retained souvenirs
from the crash site.
Among those souvenirs was a
six-foot section of Opissonya's wing, recovered by Maria
Douraliiska, a relative of the seven villagers killed when the bomber
crashed. For decades Maria had used the largest remnant of the American
bomber to dry apples, plums, pears and wool. It had served her well as
it was long, flat, and retained heat in the sunshine.
During World War II the Bulgarian
people had allied with Germany out of fear of Russia. Survival depended
on having at least one strong ally. During the war, though Rumanian and
Bulgarian forces fought with the Nazis on the Russian front, there was
little animosity towards the United States. This contributed largely to
the strong partisan freedom fighters' movement, and generally good
treatment of Americans captured. Following the war Bulgaria found itself
under Soviet domination and therefore still at odds with the West.
On November 10, 1989, after decades
under Soviet rule, Todor Zhivkov resigned his positions as head of the
Bulgarian Communist Party (BCP) and head of state of Bulgaria. One year
later Bulgaria had at least some of the primary building blocks for a
democratic state: a freely elected parliament, a coalition cabinet,
independent newspapers, and vigorous, independent trade unions. This
also opened the door for a warming of relations with the West.
In 2001 two American pilots serving
in Bulgaria as part of a multi-national training force became aware of
the crash site at Suhozem. After further research they learned the name
of the American killed in the crash, and were surprised to learn that he
had been posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor and that an air base in
Klamath Falls, Oregon, had been named for him. Shortly thereafter
Retired Oregon Air National Guard Brigadier General William Doctor began
working with Oregon Guardsman David Funk to erect a memorial at the
crash site. During visits to Bulgaria the two men joined forces with
Bulgarian Air Force Major Nickolay Dimov and Vessela Pechava, and
architect in Plovdiv.
In October 2004, Phyllis Rolison
and her husband Joe joined a contingent of officers from Kingsley Field
in Oregon on a flight to Bulgaria. (Not until work had begun on the
memorial was the Kingsley family aware of the civilian casualties of the
crash.) Upon arrival Phyllis met the surviving witnesses to the crash,
and went with Joe to the crash site where she placed flowers while he
searched for and found pieces of the bomber.
On October 23, a delegation of
dignitaries from both countries united in Suhozem for dedication of the
memorial to David Kingsley and the Douraliiska family. Phyllis Kingsley
Rolison was the guest of honor in a group that included eye-witnesses to
the crash, members of the Douraliiska family, and even Ivan Petrov
Apostlov, a Bulgarian pilot who had pursued Opissonya in a German
fighter on that fateful day. When unveiled, the memorial contained the
section of wing preserved by Maria Douraliiska, with a relief view cut
into stone opposite the wing. One engraved portion bore a photo and
tribute to Lieutenant David Kingsley, with another engraved memorial to
the Douraliiska family below.

As to the event itself, The
Oregon Sentinel reported: "Every aspect of the dedication
ceremony involved a mix of American and Bulgarian elements. It opened
with the traditional Bulgarian custom of presenting bread and salt to
guests. A color guard of American and Bulgarian military personnel
placed flags in their stands. Both Bulgarian and American chaplains
delivered invocations. A Bulgarian military band played the national
anthems of both countries. Bulgarian soldiers placed floral wreaths in
front of the memorial. Following speeches by (American Ambassador to
Bulgaria James) Pardew and the local Bulgarian officials, a folded
American flag was presented to (Phyllis) Rolison, and a bouquet of
flowers was presented to Suhozem Mayor Neicho Nedelchev."
David Kingsley nay be little
remembered outside his home state of Oregon and the small Bulgarian
village of Suhozem. Nonetheless, in his valor he gave the gift of life
to a friend, in his death he left a legacy of valor and inspiration, and
out of that great tragedy of June 23, 1944, two nations have found a new
bond of brotherhood.
|
Coming
Next
Donald Dale Pucket

Staying the
Course
The
Story of the Four Chaplains |
|
A
very special thanks to Phyllis Kingsley Rolison and her
husband Joe. David Kingsley's younger sister has made every
effort to insure that his sacrifice is never forgotten. Joe
graciously provided extensive information, clippings, and
photos for preparation of this story. Phyllis kindly, though
tearfully, granted phone interviews to answer questions and
accurately record even small details.
My
thanks also to Gloria Sullivan, whose husband Michael passed
away in 2003. In an emotional but inspiring telephone
interview, she gave unique glimpses into her husband's life
and the impact David Kingsley's sacrifice had on him. Opissonya
crew members Harold James and Stanley Kmiec also provided
wonderful assistance in sorting out dates and the sequence of
events. They, along with Lloyd Kaine, are all that remain from
the crew that flew that final mission as Andy
Anderson's air crew.
|
Sources:
Doolittle, General James and Carroll V. Glines, I Could Never Be So
Lucky Again, Schiffer Publishing Ltd., Atglen, PA, 1991.
Kepple, Todd, "Bulgarian Memorial to Include Kingsley",
Klamath Falls Herald and News, October 18, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "Remembering a Hero...Remembering a Brother",
Klamath Falls Herald and News, October 20, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "One Final Mission", Klamath Falls Herald and
News, October 21, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "Kingsley's Sister Visits Crash Site in
Bulgaria", Klamath Falls Herald and News, October 21, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "The Gift of Life", Klamath Falls Herald and
News, October 22, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "Signs of Change: Oregon Contingent Tours Air
Base", Klamath Falls Herald and News, October 22, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "Life in Suhozem", Klamath Falls Herald and
News, October 24, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "Tribute to the Lost", Klamath Falls Herald
and News, October 24, 2004
Kepple, Todd, "Crash Memorial a Work of Love for Two
Veterans", Klamath Falls Herald and News, October 25, 2004
"One Pilot's Odyssey", http://odin.prohosting.com/~vstoyano/B-17op.htm
The Oregon Sentinel, Official Newsletter of the Oregon National
Guard, Salem, Oregon, November/December 2004
The Oregonian, "Hero's Death Wins Highest U.S. Award",
Portland, Oregon, February 17, 1945
Tillman, Barrett, Above and Beyond, The Aviation Medals of Honor,
Smithsonian Institution Press, Washington, 2002.
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Part II - World War
2
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A Very Special Thanks to Author/Historian Barrett
Tillman for his special assistance and creative support in the
development of this series.
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