IN MEMORIUM

On May 5, 1945, we left Tain mid-morning in G/86 headed for a U-Boat patrol in the Skagerrak/Kattegat area. Soon after crossing the coast of Denmark, following an uneventful crossing of the North Sea, Lionel relieved me at the navigator's table and I squirmed my way through the raised undercarriage to the bomb aimer's position. After notifying the skipper (and the rest of the crew), that I was in position, I did the usual checking of the bombsight and switches that controlled the depth charges and then settled down to view the Danish countryside.

 

We felt pretty secure from enemy fighters. We had been assured that they would all be way to our south due to the advance of the Allied armies heading north towards Denmark. Since it also appeared the war was almost over, I felt it would be another uneventful patrol. Shortly after leaving the coast behind and heading approximately east, we sighted three U-boats in "V" formation, two abreast and number 3 trailing heading N or NE. As we turned towards them, I though this was what four years of training was all about and so "don't screw up". After checking the bombsight, I then hit the switches for six depth charges selected.

 

As we lowered to get down to bombing height, I saw another B-24 ahead of us. It was lower and heading approximately NW on a bombing run. As I saw no disturbances in the water, I presumed it was its first run. No sooner had I this thought, than I realized all three U-boats were firing at it.

 

The B-24 was hit. All signs indicated that it was struck in the port engines. The port wing dipped, the B-24 slewed to port - right in front of us - the port wing tip touched the water and the entire port wing tore from the fuselage and the plane struck, head first, into the sea. As we passed over the spot, I saw only a tire and a yellow dinghy floating in the debris.

 

Our front gunner, Jack Lanning, was now firing at the rear U-boat and, to my surprise, (after all, they had shot down one B-24) saw that the two front U-boats were submerging and would be completely gone before we reached their position.

 

We zeroed in on the remaining U-boat. The bomb bay doors were open. While peering through the bombsight, I released the six selected depth charges at what I was sure, was the correct moment. I remember thinking at the time, that the U-boat was a sitting target and a dead duck. To my dismay, the rear gunner, John Hurrell, announced that all six depth charges had, badly, overshot.

 

I remember the skipper coming on the intercom and saying "Nev, if you can't handle it, I'll send Lionel down to do it." Still not knowing what had gone wrong, I selected four more depth charges - leaving two for Lionel in case I missed again. I called Lloyd, our Second Pilot, and asked him what speed we had at the time of attack. He replied "just over 190"...and THAT cleared up my mystery. We were supposed to attack at 150 and the bombsight was set for that speed. As Nic brought the B-24 around for another run in the same direction as the first, I reset the bombsight. At the same time, I noticed the U-boat was no longer firing at us. Guns were either jammed or our front gunner was responsible. I believe the latter, as his firing was very accurate on the first run.

 

As we went into the second run, we again went over the spot where the first B-24 crashed. We noticed that there was a survivor hanging onto the dinghy. As I watched, on his fourth attempt, he hooked his right foot inside the dinghy, pulled himself in, and then waved to us as we passed overhead.

 

One other observation... On the first run, I saw a sailor in a white sweater in front of the conning tower, in a running position. On our second run, he was more than halfway to the bow of the U-boat. I nicknamed him 'Hans' and hoped he was one of the survivors.

 

Then I thought we were going in at a little less height than the first run. My estimate then was 200 ft.). A minute adjustment on the bombsight, and I again released the fused depth charges. I held my breath until the rear gunner yelled that the first depth charge had actually landed on the U-boat and then rolled off into the water before exploding.

 

We returned and circled the sinking U-boat, counting at least 30 survivors, and also checked on our survivor in the dinghy. Close to the scene was a lightship, approximately one mile NW, which launched lifeboats for the survivors. On picking up the survivors of the U-boat, they headed back to the lightship, but we laid smoke floats and flares in a line to our survivor and then machine gunned ahead of the lifeboat until they got our message and went back and picked up our survivor. I saw him get into the lifeboat, stand and wave to us. As they headed back to the lightship, we saw another B-24 arrive and circle the area. We headed home.

***I will interject here, information that I later learned regarding my aforementioned, survivor. Jonathan Wardlow interviewed the crew of the lightship and the ones who were on the rowboat. Two of them stated that our survivor was already dead. They pulled him into the lifeboat and then one of them stood and waved to us and said someone in the nose of the B-24 waved back - That was me, thinking I was waving to our survivor.***

 

Crossing Denmark in a feeling of elation, we flew at about 100 feet, rising for towns and waving to the citizens in the streets. They waved back to us in jubilation as though they knew what we had done; however, it was probably because they knew the war was almost over.

 

I felt as elated as any of the crew, knowing we had accomplished what four years of training had prepared us for. Also elation, because in some way, I had revenged my boyhood friend who died when his ship was torpedoed by a U-boat earlier in the war. Sobered a little because the war was almost over and any deaths at this time left a sour note - reminded me of the book "All Quiet on the Western Front", a story and then a movie about a German who lasted the whole World War I and was killed the last day by a French sniper.

 

But elation prevailed, until over the intercom we heard our flight engineer, Wally Kenney, say "Skipper, have you seen the oil smear under No. 3 engine?" Dead silence as one by one, the crew looked at our inboard starboard engine. At our height, loss of an engine would be fatal. Nic slowly increased our height to give us a better chance. After many checks on No. 3 thoughts of "I don't remember being hit", etc., we landed with no troubles at Tain. We taxied to our station; j cut the engines, and tumbled out of the plane to be greeted by the ground crew who were told, by Nic, to check the oil stain under No. 3 engine. They informed Nic that the stain had been there at least three months and that the engine was really OK. After that anti-climax, we went to debriefing and gave the numbers and letters of the crashed B-24, then to eat and to bed.

 

The next day, we were informed of the identity of the other B-24 and its crew and to realize the coincidences and tragedies of war. The co-pilot of that plane was an Australian and one of the closest friends of our co-pilot, Lloyd Collins.

 

A few days after VE Day, a report came back to us - nothing official or confirmed - that a commission went out to the lightship to check on the survivors, but were told by the Danish crew that the Germans had gone to the mainland after shooting our survivor and pushing him overboard.