Yesterday, at their regular monthly meeting in the El Paso Club in downtown El Paso, Texas, the local Daedalian Flight learned about the city’s unique pioneering District Court Veteran’s Treatment Court Program, led by Judge Angie Juarez Barill and Silvia Serna, the program’s Director.  All the Daedalians present, yesterday, are long time members of the FASF.

The mission of the El Paso Veterans Court Program is to divert justice-involved veterans and active service members from the traditional criminal justice system by providing them treatment and judicial monitoring to afford them the tools needed to lead a productive and law-abiding life.

The program was initiated because of some seemingly incorrigible veterans, many suffering from PTSD or an inability to ease effectively back into civilian society after experiencing the traumatic effects of wartime combat.  It was discovered that, with proper counseling and special handling, these troubled veterans could usually recover well enough to fit back into their civilian lives in a productive way.  Judge Barill’s program is one of the few pioneering courts in the nation to take this rehabilitative approach to Veterans who have unfortunately come into contact with the Judicial System.

L to R: Col. Bob Pitt, Patrick Barill, Judge Angie Juarez Barill, and Daedalian Flight Captain, Roger Nichols, chatting before the luncheon meeting began. Both Col. Pitt and Captain Nichols are long time FASF members.

• The Veterans Court Team meets for each docket on Wednesday prior to each court hearing. The meeting is held at the 346th District Court offices located at 500 E. San Antonio, Suite 701, El Paso, TX 79901.  To contact the program, call: 915-546-2119 
• Veterans Court Team Staffing provides an open forum in which everyone involved in a case can gather to share information, discuss issues, and reach consensus on actions for participants to successfully complete the program. The goal of maintaining a therapeutic court is forefront in all decisions.
• The Goals of the Veterans Court Program are as follows:
• – Provide early identification of eligible program participants.
• –  Introduce participants to an on going process of recovery designed to help them become stable, employed and substance abuse-free while continuing mental health care through community/peer counseling groups or the VA
• – Engage in community education and partnership efforts to develop shared understanding and foster a spirit of commitment and collaboration with the Veterans Administration, Treatment Providers, Volunteer Mentors, the Criminal Justice System and other organizations.
• – Reduce participant contacts with the criminal justice system; and
• – Reduce costs associated with criminal case processing and re arrest.

“Leave no Veteran Behind and Honor their Service”

Captain Nichols, at the podium, introducing the Veteran’s Court Program’s leader, Judge Barill.

Seal of the EP Veterans’ Court

This program is supported by a grant from the Texas Veterans Commission Fund for Veterans’ Assistance. The Fund for Veterans’ Assistance provides grants to organizations serving veterans and their families.

Ms. Serna operated and extensively informative Power Point summary of the entire Veteran’s Program, explaining how it began and how it operates today.

Judge Barill explaining her program to the assembled Daedalians.  The Daedalian Seal on the podium, translated from Latin means: “We Flew – We Fly” – – – the slogan of the Society, which was formed by former WWI military pilots soon after the war ended.

L to R above: Silvia Serna, Veteran’s Program Director, and Judge Barill.  All members of the Daedalians are former U.S. Military aviators – – – and also veterans, themselves, so they were extremely interested in how the Judge’s unique Court Program functions.

After the meeting:  L to R above: Captain Roger Nichols, Silvia Serna, Judge Barill and Colonel Bob Pitt.

Judge Barill received her undergraduate degree from the University of Texas-El Paso and her J.D. from Texas Southern University.  She has worked as an assistant city prosecutor with the municipal court and a sole practitioner dealing with civil, criminal, juvenile and family cases. She then served as a municipal court judge. In addition, Barill founded the Veterans Court in El Paso County.  She has been a District Court Judge since 2004.

on the aircraft carrier USS HORNET, headed over the stormy Western Pacific Ocean towards the island nation of Japan.  This event took place a bare five months after the infamous raid on Pearl Harbor by the air forces of Imperial Japan, and the United States was still in a state of shock and chaos, with their troops reeling from the Japanese onslaught on the Philippines and against other remote Pacific islands.  In short, things did not look at all good for the heavily damaged United States.  Would this seemingly hyper secret suicide mission have the desired psychological effect on our enemy?  The answer was only hours away after the third photo below was taken from a nearby convoy ship.

This post is once again thanks to our indefatigable Aviation News Scout, Virg Hemphill.

Orders in hand, Navy Capt. Marc Mitscher, skipper of the USS Hornet, poses with LTC. James Doolittle and his men.

Captain Mitscher (foreground in cap) and men of the Hornet watch from Bridge as B-25’s quickly take off from ship.

Bomb laden Mitchell B-25 Bomber takes off from USS Hornet in West Pacific – with destination China, via Tokyo, Japan

Below is a short (4:53) video of the Doolittle Raiders Mission from the USS Hornet (CV-8) Carrier.

Make sure your sound is turned on – This newsreel audio is not very loud.

Photo of Captain Edgar “Mac” McElroy, Flight Commander of B-25B number 13 of Doolittle Raiders, author of this story.

This is a really excellent firsthand account by the pilot of aircraft #13, Captain “Mac” McElroy, at left, on the Doolittle Raid off the Hornet in April of 1942. Enjoy a bit of history, a mission world famous for its success, yet one from which not one plane returned home intact.
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My name is Edgar McElroy. My friends call me “Mac”. I was born and raised in Ennis, the youngest of five children, son of Harry and Jennie McElroy. Folks say that I was the quiet one.

We lived at 609 North Dallas Street and attended the Presbyterian Church. My dad had an auto mechanic’s shop downtown close to the main fire station. My family was a hard working bunch, and I was expected to work at dad’s garage after school and on Saturdays, so I grew up in an atmosphere of machinery, oil and grease. Occasionally I would hear a lone plane fly over, and would run out in the street and strain my eyes against the sun to watch it. Someday, that would be me up there! I really like cars, and I was always busy on some project, and it wasn’t long before I decided to build my very own Model-T out of spare parts.

I got an engine from over here, a frame from over t here, and wheels from someplace else, using only the good parts from old cars that were otherwise shot. It wasn’t very pretty, but it was all mine. I enjoyed driving on the dirt roads around town and the feeling of freedom and speed. That car of mine could really go fast. 40 miles per hour!

In high school I played football and tennis, and was good enough at football to receive an athletic scholarship from Trinity University in Waxahachie. I have to admit that sometimes I daydreamed in class, and often times I thought about flying my very own airplane and being up there in the clouds. That is when I even decided to take a correspondence course in aircraft engines.

Whenever I got the chance, I would take my girl on a date up to Love Field in Dallas. We would watch the airplanes and listen to those mighty piston engines roar. I just loved it and if she didn’t, well that was just too bad.

After my schooling, I operated a filling station with my brother, then drove a bus, and later had a job as a machinist in Longview, but I never lost my love of airplanes and my dream of flying. With what was going on in Europe and in Asia, I figured that our country would be drawn into war someday, so I decided to join the Army Air Corps in November of 1940. This way I could finally follow my dream.

I reported for primary training in California. The training was rigorous and frustrating at times. We trained at airfields all over California. It was tough going, and many of the guys washed out. When I finally saw that I was going to make it, I wrote to my girl back in Longview, Texas. Her name is Agnes Gill. I asked her to come out to California for my graduation and oh yeah, also to marry me.

I graduated on July 11, 1941. I was now a real, honest-to-goodness Army Air Corps pilot.  Two days later, I married “Aggie” in Reno, Nevada. We were starting a new life together and were very happy. I received my orders to report to Pendleton, Oregon and join the 17th Bomb Group. Neither of us had traveled much before, and the drive north through the Cascade Range of the Sierra Nevada’s was interesting and beautiful. It was an exciting time for us.

My unit was the first to receive the new B-25 medium bomber. We were transferred to another airfield in Washington State, where we spent a lot a time flying practice missions and attacking imaginary targets. Then, there were other assignments in Mississippi and Georgia, for more maneuvers and more practice.

We were on our way back to California on December 7th when we got word of a Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. We listened with mixed emotions to the announcements on the radio, and the next day to the declaration of war. What the President said, it just rang over and over in my head, “With confidence in our armed forces, with the un-bounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph. So help us God.” By gosh, I felt as though he was talking straight to me! I didn’t know what would happen to us, but we all knew that we would be going somewhere now.

We flew patrols over the coasts of Oregon and Washington from dawn until dusk. In early February, we were ordered to report to Columbus, South Carolina. Man, this Air Corps sure moves a fellow around a lot! Little did I know what was coming next!

After we got settled in Columbus, my squadron commander called us all together. He told us that an awfully hazardous mission was being planned, and then he asked for volunteers. There were some of the guys that did not step forward, but I was one of the ones that did.

We that volunteered were transferred to Eglin Field near Valparaiso, Florida in late February. When we all got together, there were about 140 of us volunteers, and we were told that we were now part of the “Special B-25 Project.” We set about our training, but none of us knew what it was all about. We were ordered not to talk about it, not even to our wives.

In early March, we were all called in for a briefing, and gathered together in a big building there on the base. Somebody said that the fellow who’s head of this thing is coming to talk to us, and in walks Lieutenant Colonel Jimmy Doolittle. He was already an aviation legend, and there he stood right in front of us. I was truly amazed just to meet him.

Colonel Doolittle explained that this mission would be extremely dangerous, and that only volunteers could take part. He said that he could not tell us where we were going, but he could say that some of us would not be coming back. There was a silent pause; you could have heard a pin drop. Then Doolittle said that anyone of us could withdraw now, and that no one would criticize us for this decision.

No one backed out! From the outset, all volunteers worked from the early morning hours until well after sunset. All excess weight was stripped from the planes and extra gas tanks were added. The lower gun turret was removed, the heavy liaison radio was removed, and then the tail guns were taken out and more gas tanks were put aboard. We extended the range of that plane from 1000 miles out to 2500 miles.

After an intensive training period, my crew and I received orders to fly to McClellan Air Base in Sacramento, California at the lowest possible level. So here we went on our way west, scraping the tree tops at 160 miles per hour, and skimming along just 50 feet above plowed fields. We crossed North Texas and then the panhandle, scaring the dickens out of livestock, buzzing farm houses and a many a barn along the way. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Mojave Desert dodging thunderstorms, we enjoyed the flight immensely and although tempted, I didn’t do too much dare-devil stuff.

We didn’t know it at the time, but it was good practice for what lay ahead of us. It proved to be our last fling. Once we arrived in Sacramento, the mechanics went over our plane with a fine-toothed comb. Of the twenty-two planes that made it, only those whose pilots reported no mechanical problems were allowed to go on. The others were shunted aside.

After having our plane serviced, we flew on to Alameda Naval Air Station in Oakland. As I came in for final approach, we saw it! I excitedly called the rest of the crew to take a look. There below us was a huge aircraft carrier. It was the USS Hornet, and it looked so gigantic!  Man, I had never even seen a carrier until this moment. There were already two B-25s parked on the flight deck. Now we knew! My heart was racing, and I thought about how puny my plane would look on board this mighty ship.

There were sixteen B-25s tied down on the flight deck, and I was flying number 13. All the carrier’s fighter planes were stored away helplessly in the hangar deck. They couldn’t move until we were gone. Our Army mechanics were all on board, as well as our munitions loaders and several back up crews, in case any of us got sick or backed out. We settled into a daily routine of checking our planes. The aircraft were grouped so closely together on deck that it wouldn’t take much for them to get damaged. Knowing that my life depended on this plane, I kept a close eye on her.

Day after day, we met with the intelligence officer and studied our mission plan. Our targets were assigned, and maps and objective folders were furnished for study. We went over approach routes and our escape route towards China. I never studied this hard back at Trinity. Every day at dawn and at dusk the ship was called to general quarters and we practiced finding the quickest way to our planes. If at any point along the way, we were discovered by the enemy fleet, we were to launch our bombers immediately so the Hornet could bring up its fighter planes. We would then be on our own, and try to make it to the nearest land, either Hawaii or Midway Island.

On Sunday, April 14, we met up with Admiral Bull Halsey’s task force just out of Hawaii and joined into one big force. The carrier Enterprise was now with us, another two heavy cruisers, four more destroyers and another oiler. We were designated as Task Force 16. It was quite an impressive sight to see, and represented the bulk of what was left of the U.S. Navy after the devastation of Pearl Harbor. There were over 10,000 Navy personnel sailing into harm’s way, just to deliver us sixteen Army planes to the Japs, orders of the President.

Colonel Doolittle attaches a Japanese Medal to one of the bombs . . .

Colonel Doolittle called us together on the flight deck. We all gathered round, as well as many Navy personnel. He pulled out some medals and told us how these friendship medals from the Japanese government had been given to some of our Navy officers several years back. And now the Secretary of the Navy had requested for us to return them. Doolittle wired them to a bomb while we all posed for pictures. Something to cheer up the folks back home!

Colonel Doolittle let each crew pick our own target. We chose the Yokosuka Naval Base about twenty miles from Tokyo. We loaded 1450 rounds of ammo and four 500-pound bombs. A little payback, direct from Ellis County, Texas!  We checked and re-checked our plane several times. Everything was now ready. I felt relaxed, yet tensed up at the same time. Day after tomorrow, we will launch when we are 400 miles out. I lay in my cot that night, and rehearsed the mission over and over in my head. It was hard to sleep as I listened to sounds of the ship.

Early the next morning, I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast, expecting another full day on board, and I noticed that the ship was pitching and rolling quite a bit this morning, more than normal. I was reading through the April 18th day plan of the Hornet, and there was a message in it which said, “From the Hornet to the Army – Good luck, good hunting, and God bless you.” I still had a large lump in my throat from reading this, when all of a sudden, the intercom blared, “General Quarters, General Quarters, All hands man your battle stations! Army pilots, man your planes!!!“

There was instant reaction from everyone in the room and food trays went crashing to the floor. I ran down to my room jumping through the hatches along the way, grabbed my bag, and ran as fast as I could go to the flight deck. I met with my crew at the plane, my heart was pounding. Someone said, “What’s going on?” The word was that the Enterprise had spotted an enemy trawler. It had been sunk, but it had transmitted radio messages. We had been found out!

The weather was crummy, the seas were running heavy, and the ship was pitching up and down like I had never seen before. Great waves were crashing against the bow and washing over the front of the deck. This wasn’t going to be easy! Last minute instructions were given. We were reminded to avoid non-military targets, especially the Emperor’s Palace. Do not fly to Russia, but fly as far west as possible, land on the water and launch our rubber raft. This was going to be a one-way trip! We were still much too far out and we all knew that our chances of making land were somewhere between slim and none. Then at the last minute, each plane loaded an extra ten 5-gallon gas cans to give us a fighting chance of reaching China.

The ship headed into the wind and picked up speed. There was now a near gale force wind and water spray coming straight over the deck. I looked down at my instruments as my engines revved up. My mind was racing. I went over my mental checklist, and said a prayer? God please, help us! Past the twelve planes in front of us, I strained to see the flight deck officer as he leaned into the wind and signaled with his arms for Colonel Doolittle to come to full power.

One by one, the planes in front of us took off. The deck pitched wildly, 60 feet or more, it looked like. One plane seemed to drop down into the drink and disappeared for a moment, then pulled back up into sight. There was sense of relief with each one that made it.

“Here We Go!” I released the brakes and we started rolling forward, and as I looked down the flight-deck you could see straight down into the angry churning water. As we slowly gained speed, the deck gradually began to pitch back up. I pulled up and our plane slowly strained up and away from the ship. There was a big cheer and whoops from the crew, but I just felt relieved and muttered to myself, “Boy, that was short!“

We made a wide circle above our fleet to check our compass headings and get our bearings. I looked down as we passed low over one of our cruisers and could see the men on deck waving to us. Now we settled in for the five hour flight. Tokyo, here we come!

We spotted Tokyo Bay, turned west and put our nose down diving toward the water. Once over the bay, I could see our target, Yokosuka Naval Base. Off to the right there was already smoke visible over Tokyo. Coming in low over the water, I increased speed to 200 mph and told everyone, “Get Ready!“

When we were close enough, I pulled up to 1300 feet and opened the bomb doors. There were furious black bursts of anti-aircraft fire all around us, but I flew straight on through them, spotting our target, the torpedo works and the dry-docks. I saw a big ship in the dry-dock just as we flew over it. Those flak bursts were really getting close and bouncing us around, when I heard “Bombs Away!“

I couldn’t see it, but heard one of the crew shout jubilantly, “We got an aircraft carrier! The whole dock is burning!“

I started turning to the south and strained my neck to look back and at that moment saw a large crane blow up and start falling over! Take that! There was loud yelling and clapping each other on the back. We were all just ecstatic, and still alive! But there wasn’t much time to celebrate. We had to get out of here and fast!

When we were some thirty miles out to sea, we took one last look back at our target, and could still see huge billows of black smoke. Up until now, we had been flying for Uncle Sam, but now we were flying for ourselves.

We flew south over open ocean, parallel to the Japanese coast all afternoon. We saw a large submarine apparently at rest, and then in another fifteen miles, we spotted three large enemy cruisers headed for Japan. There were no more bombs, so we just let them be and kept on going.

Up until now we had not had time to think much about our gasoline supply, but the math did not look good. We just didn’t have enough fuel to make it. Just when it really looked hopeless of reaching land, we suddenly picked up a strong tailwind. It was an answer to a prayer. Maybe just maybe, we can make it!

In total darkness at 2100 hours, we figured that we must be crossing the coastline, so I began a slow, slow climb to be sure of not hitting any high ground or anything. I conserved as much fuel as I could, getting real low on gas now. The guys were still cranking on the radio, but after five hours of hand cranking with aching hands and backs, there was utter silence. No radio beacon!

Then the red light started blinking, indicating twenty minutes of fuel left. We started getting ready to bail out. I turned the controls over to the co-pilot and crawled to the back of the plane, past the now collapsed rubber gas tank. I dumped everything out of my bag and repacked just what I really needed, my .45 pistol, ammunition, flashlight, compass, medical kit, fishing tackle, chocolate bars, peanut butter and crackers.

At 2230 we were up to sixty-five hundred feet. We were over land but still above the Japanese Army in China. We couldn’t see the stars and couldn’t get a good fix on our position. We were flying on fumes now and I didn’t want to run out of gas before we were ready to go. Each man filled his canteen, put on his Mae West life jacket and parachute, and filled his bag with rations, those “C” rations from the Presidio. I put her on auto-pilot and we all gathered in the navigator’s compartment around the hatch in the floor. We checked each other’s parachute harness. Everyone was scared, without a doubt. None of us had ever done this before!

We kicked open the hatch and gathered around the hole looking down into the blackness. It did not look very inviting! Then I looked up at the crew and gave the order, “JUMP!!!“

Within seconds they were all gone. I turned and reached back for the auto-pilot, but could not reach it, so I pulled the throttles back, then turned and jumped. Counting quickly, thousand one, thousand two, thousand three, I pulled my rip-cord and jerked back up with a terrific shock. At first I thought that I was hung on the plane, but after a few agonizing seconds that seemed like hours, realized that I was free and drifting down. Being in the total dark, I was disoriented at first but figured my feet must be pointed toward the ground. I looked down through the black mist to see what was coming up. I was in a thick mist or fog, and the silence was so eerie after nearly thirteen hours inside that noisy plane. I could only hear the whoosh, whoosh sound of the wind blowing through my shroud lines, and then I heard a loud crash and explosion. My plane!

Looking for my flashlight, I groped through my bag with my right hand, finally pulled it out and shined it down toward the ground, which I still could not see. Finally I picked up a glimmer of water and thought I was landing in a lake. We’re too far inland for this to be ocean. I hope! I relaxed my legs a little, thinking I was about to splash into water and would have to swim out, and then bang. I jolted suddenly and crashed over onto my side. Lying there in just a few inches of water, I raised my head and put my hands down into thick mud. It was rice paddy! There was a burning pain, as if someone had stuck a knife in my stomach. I must have torn a muscle or broke something.

I laid there dazed for a few minutes, and after a while struggled up to my feet. I dug a hole and buried my parachute in the mud. Then started trying to walk, holding my stomach, but every direction I moved the water got deeper. Then, I saw some lights off in the distance. I fished around for my flashlight and signaled one time. Sensing something wrong, I got out my compass and to my horror saw that those lights were off to my west. That must be a Jap patrol! How dumb could I be! The rest of the crew had to be back to my east, so I sat still and quiet and did not move.

It was a cold dark lonely night. At 0100 hours I saw a single light off to the east. I flashed my light in that direction, one time. It had to be my co-pilot! I waited a while, and then called out softly, “Knobby?” And a voice replied “Mac, is that you?“

Thank goodness, what a relief! Separated by a wide stream, we sat on opposite banks of the water communicating in low voices. After daybreak Knobby found a small rowboat and came across to get me. We started walking east toward the rest of the crew and away from that Japanese patrol. Knobby had cut his hip when he went through the hatch, but it wasn’t too awful bad.

We walked together toward a small village and several Chinese came out to meet us, they seemed friendly enough. I said, “Luchu hoo megwa fugi! Luchu hoo megwa fugi!” meaning, “I am an American! I am an American!“

Later that morning we found the others. Williams had wrenched his knee when he landed in a tree, but he was limping along just fine. There were hugs all around. I have never been so happy to see four guys in all my life!

Well, the five of us eventually made it out of China with the help of the local Chinese people and the Catholic missions along the way. They were all very good to us, and later they were made to pay terribly for it, so we found out afterwords. For a couple of weeks we traveled across country. Strafed a couple of times by enemy planes, we kept on moving, by foot, by pony, by car, by train, and by airplane. But we finally made it to India.

I did not make it home for the baby’s birth. I stayed on there flying a DC-3 “Gooney Bird” in the China-Burma-India Theater for the next several months. I flew supplies over the Himalaya Mountains, or as we called it, over “The Hump” into China. When B-25s finally arrived in India, I flew combat missions over Burma, and then later in the war, flew a B-29 out of the Marianna Islands to bomb Japan again and again.

After the war, I remained in the Air Force until 1962, when I retired from the service as a Lt. Colonel, and then came back to Texas, my beautiful Texas. First moving to Abilene and then we settled in Lubbock, where Aggie taught school at MacKenzie Junior High. I worked at the S & R Auto Supply, once again in an atmosphere of machinery, oil and grease.

I lived a good life and raised two wonderful sons that I am very proud of. I feel blessed in many ways. We have a great country, better than most folks know. It is worth fighting for. Some people call me a hero, but I have never thought of myself that way, no. But I did serve in the company of heroes. What we did, will never leave me. It will always be there in my fondest memories. I will always think of the fine and brave men that I was privileged to serve with.

Remember us, for we were soldiers once and young. With the loss of all 16 aircraft, Doolittle believed that the raid had been a failure, and that he would be court-martialed upon returning to the states. Quite to the contrary, the raid proved to be a tremendous boost to American morale, which had plunged following the Pearl Harbor attack. It also caused serious doubts in the minds of Japanese war planners. They in turn recalled many seasoned fighter plane units back to defend the home islands, which resulted in Japan ‘s weakened air capabilities at the upcoming Battle of Midway and other South Pacific campaigns.

Edgar “Mac” Mc Elroy, Lt. Col., U.S.A.F. (Ret.) passed away at his residence in Lubbock, Texas early on the morning of Friday, April 4, 2003.

Thanks again to FASF Aviation News Scout, Virg Hemphill, for this full story. But, a word of caution to our less aviation trained or experienced visitors:  The first story is one that has been widely circulated on the WWW for some time, but, although the photos are genuine, the overly imaginative hand of a fiction writer has heavily embellished the already wild enough true story of this plane’s miraculous survival.

The first clue as to the web story’s improprieties would be seen in the photos taken of the seriously damaged bomber on the ground.  Can  you tell why those photos would have exposed the fiction of this first story? 

Read the whole page to the end and you will see if your eyes were sharp enough to determine the truth – or lack thereof – of the email web version that appears immediately below.  First, let’s see the famous photo (below), which most of you will recognize as one you have likely seen many times before.  It was taken of the “All American” on February 1, 1943 over North Africa on the way back to its home base.

Stricken B-17 “All American” miraculously flying after collision with a German fighter, photographed by the crew of another bomber in her formation.  Notice that the entire remnants of the bomber’s tail are barely connected to the bomber’s main fuselage.

The actual letter written back to the states by one of the “All American’s” sister ships.  As you likely know, letters written by members of the U.S. Armed Forces from combat sites around the globe, were all passed through censors, in order to assure that no classified information helpful to the enemy might get back home and into the wrong hands.  If something censurable were found, it would be heavily redacted or boldly crossed out with a broad marker pen, or in some cases actually cut out of the letter!

NOW FOR THE REAL AMAZING STORY, TRULY AMAZING ENOUGH TO STAND ON ITS OWN.  The following is thanks to the good investigative reporting of WAR BIRD NEWS

Well it is an amazing story, that much is certain. Though in reading it, the damage pictured didn’t seem to align with the damage described, a bombing mission to Tunis in northern Africa, dispatched from England is an impossibility (not to mention having to overfly the entirety of Axis-occupied Europe to do it), and the plane appears to be on the ground in a desert, which to the best of our knowledge, England is most decidedly not. There are several other problems within the story both large and small, but to completely dissect it would take forever and it would time away from the REAL story of the “All American.”

The “All American” was actually based near Biskra, Algeria, a much more reasonable +/- 300 miles from Tunis. On the fateful day in question, the All American was part of a formation of bombers attacking the German-controlled seaport. Braving heavy flak and German fighters on the way in, the “All American” and her crew managed to drop their bombs and were on their way back to base when the German fighter planes began attacking again, pursuing them to the fighters’ maximum return range, when the attacks ended. However, two more Messerschmitts appeared and came in for the attack.

One of the fighters went straight for the nose of the lead bomber of the formation and the other came for the nose of “All American.” The crew of “All American” fired at the plane coming for them from their nose turret while firing at the fighter heading for the lead bomber from the right side nose gun. Between the fire of “All American” and the lead bomber, the fighter going after that plane was disabled and sent down, smoke pouring from it as it descended. The fighter that was attacking the “All American,” head-on and guns blazing, began a roll to pull away, but halfway through the maneuver, gunfire from either “All American” or the lead bomber must have killed or incapacitated the fighter pilot and the plane never completed the collision-avoiding maneuver.

The fighter passed over ‘All American,” to say with inches to spare would be inaccurate as the plane tore a significant hole in the rear of the fuselage and removed the left horizontal stabilizer. The remaining parts of the tail section, the vertical and right stabilizer seemed like they could shake loose at any moment. Miraculously, none of the B-17’s crew were injured and the men all donned their parachutes, ready to abandon the plane should the tail break off.

The other crews in the formation, seeing that the B-17 was crippled, but remaining aloft, slowed to a speed the injured bird could maintain and formed a formation around her until they were out from enemy territory. Once the formation was outside of the maximum range for the German fighter planes, the rest of the formation went on ahead and “All American” limped on alone. The Flying Fortress landed safely, though without her tail wheel which unsurprisingly was inoperative.

As one would imagine making it safely to the ground was an emotional experience for both the flight and ground crews, a testament to the bravery of her crew, her compatriots and the legendary robustness of the Boeing B-17, that stands quite well all on its own without the additional fantastical embellishments.

There is an excellent article with an interview with Ralph Burbridge, the bombardier on “All American” in which you can read his first person account of this mission, as well as his other wartime experiences, though the article incorrectly introduces a bit of misinformation of its own.* Sadly, Burbridge passed away earlier this year at the age of 93.

*The Harold Adamson and Jimmy McHugh song “Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer” was not written about “All American.” The hit song, released in 1943, recounted the amazing survival of another 97th Bomb Group B-17, “Thunderbird.” The plane had been given up as lost on a January 12, 1943 mission to Tripoli but her pilot, Lieutenant John Cronkhite managed to get her back to Biskra though thoroughly shot up, with both starboard engines out and fuel tanks nearly dry. He landed with no brakes and ground-looped the plane when he ran out of runway, but that’s a story for another day.

And, here (below) are some higher resolution photos of the All American for your edification.

Some of crew standing proudly by their injured ship.

Ground crew members and other amazed troops surrounding the All American at her desert home base.

FASF Trustee, Colonel Jimmy Lee, discovered this interesting summary of the US Air Service in a back issue of the Army Times newspaper from last summer.  Because the pages of the ARMY TIMES are so large, Jimmy had to scan only parts of them at a time, but if you bear with us, you will see the whole fascinating history of the Air Force in the short sequence of the eight (8) images that follow.  So, here for your edification is what Colonel Lee discovered under the TIMES’ section entitled: “BY THE NUMBERS:”

To be able to more easily see the text in images that follow, click on them to get full size.

The whole page of Air Force History – Image 001

Image 002

Image 003 showing Army’s New Airship No. 1

Image No. 004 – Depicting the five airplanes in the inventory in 1911 – – – Also shows the service’s budget at the time.

Image No. 005 – Shows the date of the formation of the new Aeronautical Division of the Signal Corps in 1907

Image No. 006 – Depicts with photo the small Aeronautical Division’s total personnel – only three (3) men!

Image No. 007 – This shows the year, forty years later, in which the completely separate USAF became a reality.

Image No. 008 – Shows the year in which the Aeronautical Division was renamed and organized into the Army Air Service, and then, later in 1926, we see that its name was again changed, this time to the Army Air Corps.  The service’s Logo is also shown.  The red circle in the center of this logo was removed during the early part of WWII because, in the mayhem of a dogfight, when planes and insignias go flashing by in but mile-seconds, the red ball could too easily be mistaken for that of the Japanese Empire’s planes, which bore the sole red ball, to represent their logo of Japan’s “Rising Sun.”

Colonel Lee is presently the Commanding Officer of the University of Texas El Paso’s Army ROTC Unit.  The Unit is known as the “Fighting Miner’s Battalion.”

Thank you, Jimmy, for finding – and sending this interesting short history of the USAF to your Website!

Less than two weeks ago (12 days), Jerry Yellin, Army Air Force Fighter Pilot (February 15, 1924 – December 21, 2017), the man who flew the last combat mission of WWII, passed away.

Jerry had taken off from the small Pacific Atoll of Iwo Jima on August 15, 1945 in his P-51 Mustang.  He attacked airfields near Nagoya, Japan, before heading back to base.  Unfortunately, his wing man, Phillip Schlamberg, did not return and was presumed lost in that action.  An action, as it turned out, that became recorded as the last Air Force combat mission of WWII.

Here, below, is a short, then two longer video-taped interviews with this long-lived American WWII Fighter Pilot, interviews which helps fill in those last days of the great war, a world conflict whose still living combatants are rapidly disappearing into our history books, with few still remaining alive to describe their first-hand experiences.

Two years ago we did an Aviation News story about this fascinating gentleman, which featured a short interview. Here is a link to that previous post about Jerry,  which can be seen by simply clicking on this sentence.

The above clip of July 31, 2017, is only 3:48 in length, but a good introduction to this fascinating WWII Pilot.

This above video is longer (30:05), but provides more insight into this famous Fighter Pilot of WWII.  His interviewer in this clip is Don Brown, the co-author of the book about Jerry entitled “The Last Fighter Pilot.”

For the most comprehensive insight into Jerry, his experiences in WWII and in life, see this link’s portrayal of him on C-Span, when he was interviewed and spoke at length (42:33) during a ceremony in Yorba Linda, California’s Nixon Presidential Library.  The footage was made less than 7 weeks ago, the last known presentation by Captain Yellin, before he, in the parlance of aviators, “Has Gone West.”

This story was suggested to us by one of our FASF supporters and Aviation News Scouts in Northern California, Cordelia Clark.