Flying Backwards in '44

Ron McInnis was born in San Francisco, California, on January 15, 1925 to a working class family. He was one of seven children and graduated from St. Ignatius High School in 1943. Immediately following graduation he joined the armed forces and served in one of the most dangerous positions in aviation -- tail gunner in the B-17.
After the war he served in the San Francisco Fire Department for 30 years and rose to the rank of Battalion Chief. He died on December 30, 1999. He is survived by his wife Evelyn, four sons, and two daughters.
This is Mr. McInnis’ personal account of his adventures during WWII. We are indebted to men like him for their sacrifice, heroism, and sense of duty. Thanks to the McInnis family for allowing us to share his insights. The following is the first of four chapters.

Flying Backwards in ’44

By Ron Mclnnis

It is my intention to write a sort of memoir of my flying days in the European Theatre of Operations as a tail gunner. This would be presented not as a tale of derring-do, but more as an historical diary from the technical perspective. To my knowledge, no one has yet presented passages which would outline the sequential duties of a tail gunner from briefing on through the whole of the flight and ending with debriefing.

Chapter 1
Our aircrew was assembled at the 222nd Combat Crew training unit at Ardmore Army Air Base in Oklahoma. The meeting was essentially a kind of lottery. None of us had met previously. We were told that we were the members of Crew #343. The pilots had lined up and their new crews fell in behind them. We introduced ourselves and that was it! Most of our new crew was from the middle west, with the exception of Roland Tanguay, Engineer, from Berlin, New Hampshire, Hank Brier, Montgomery, Alabama and myself (San Francisco). The Pilot Jerry Steil was from Omaha, Co-Pilot Mort Feingold from Chicago, Navigator John Joseph from St. Louis, Bombardier Don Collins from Hamilton, Ohio, Don Abens, Radio Operator, Joliet, III. Al Boltz, Ball Gunner, Fort Wayne, Indiana. Ralph Vollmer, Armorer-waist gunner, Jasper, Indiana.
Well, here we were for better or for worse. No psychological profile matching or scientific gobbledegook. This is how American units have been formed since our military beginnings, and it seems to have worked so far. So why change it? In retrospect, I thank the Lord that these were my crewmates. Each turned out to be very reliable, cool under stress, and very competent in his duties. I would not want to change a thing! And, we all got along well together.
Ardmore was in southern Oklahoma. The base itself was about ten miles north of town near a whistle stop on the Santa Fe called Gene Autry, after the “singing cowboy” of the Saturday afternoon movies. Ardmore was an O.T.U. or Operational Training Unit or later known as a Replacement Training Unit. Its main function was to train B-17 combat crews for overseas service. The schedule was a busy one. Four hours of classroom work and at least four hours of flying every day. The B-17s got a good workout! One section would fly in the morning while the other section was in class, then switch in the afternoon so that each got its classroom/flying, or flying/classroom time in every day. Night navigational or cross-country flights even kept the B-17s going into late evening. They never seemed to rest.
Bombing and gunnery was emphasized early on. Our bombardier, Don Collins was excellent with the Norden bombsight. His M.P.I. Mean Point of Impact average was right up there among the Bombardiers. Whenever we were on the bomb range, the gunners would be watching the target below to see if he would get a “shack” with the blue (100 pound) practice bombs. He never disappointed. Most people don’t know that during the bomb run, the Bombardier, not the pilot is flying the airplane. The Norden bombsight is fitted with controls which allow the Bombardier, through the AFCE Automatic Flight Control Equipment, (More familiarly, the “auto pilot”), to delicately fly the airplane and make the fine adjustments if necessary for the accurate bombing. Don was a product of theBombardier School at Carlsbad, New Mexico, Class 44-A... He knew his stuff! Aerial Gunnery training at Ardmore was a constant honing of a sharp edge. All aircrew, except the pilots, had been to Gunnery School and were qualified gunners, including the Bombardier and Navigator. We had gone through the basics already. At Gunnery School, we had training in turrets, sights, the adjustments and repair of the caliber .50 M2 machine guns (We had to disassemble completely then reassemble the gun blindfolded, making all adjustments for efficient firing.) We shot skeet constantly. This was fun. At first we fired on a regulation skeet range. Then we moved to a range that tossed the birds at you from odd angles from a “high” house, and finally shot skeet from the back of a pic-up truck moving around a sort of race track. This was a challenge because both the target and the gunner were in motion while firing. It was excellent training in the art of “leading” a target. At the end of the day all students had badly bruised shoulders from shotgun recoils.
At Ardmore we did both air-to air and air-to-ground firing. All air/air firing was done down over the Gulf. A B-26 would tow a rectangular cloth target parallel to our formation’s course and we would fire cases of Ca. 50s at the target. There was one GREAT problem with this set-up. The ammunition was old stuff from World War I. We would have misfires about every sixth round because of so many “duds”. We would hand charge twice and start over. We had a gunnery instructor with us. He said he had definite orders NOT to bring any of this WWI stuff back to base. Consequently, hundreds of rounds of belted Cal .50 ammunition were seen floating down to a watery grave in the Gulf of Mexico. We felt that the quicker we got rid of this crap the sooner we might get good ammo to fire. We NEVER had any trouble with ammunition once we were overseas.
This brings to mind a near tragedy with this old WWI ammunition. We were doing air-to-ground firing on the range at Ardmore. We would make passes over the range at about 500 feet and aim at selected targets on the ground. I had fired all of my rounds from the tail, and crawled up to the waist area where the waist guns were still hammering away. Don Abens, the radio operator, had not yet fired, and was called back to the left waist gun to fire his quota of this lousy ammunition. With the gunnery instructor and Abe in the waist, I decided to give them some room to fire and went forward to the radio room. The guns were hot from the heavy firing. Abens commenced firing but very shortly encountered a stoppage. He hand charged the gun twice which was the standard way of clearing it, so that firing could begin again, after a few more rounds another stoppage. He hand-charges again. This time there is a loud BOOM from the waist. There is cordite smoke all over the waist area. I ran back into the waist. Don Abens is holding onto the spade grips of the gun. The sides of the receiver are bowed out from the explosion. The top cover is twisted. Abe quietly says, “I’m shot, I’m shot.” We take him into the radio room and lay him on the floor. He has brass from the cartridge casing sticking into his stomach. He is bleeding heavily from a hole in this thigh. We cut away his clothes. We call the pilot and inform him of the situation, advise return to base and have an ambulance ready on the runway. Abe is conscious. The thigh wound goes all the way through and exits the back of the thigh. This is a pretty serious wound. After checking out his stomach we find that none of the brass shards have penetrated.
When we roll to a stop on the runway the ambulance is there and takes Abe to the base hospital. In trying to recreate what happened we climb into the plane and survey the waist section. On the opposite side I see a bloody object near the floor. It is the back of 3/8 of an inch of a Cal .50 cartridge. The dimensions are 3/4 inch by 3/8 inch. This is what made the 3/4 inch hole in Aben’s right thigh. The explosion took place when this WWI cartridge exploded in the open receiver of the gun. It blew out the sides and top of the gun. The back of the cartridge was still retained by the bolt but was slammed down into a deflector plate and vectored through the flesh part of Abe’s thigh. No bones were involved. I scooped up this souvenir and gave it to Abe later.. He carried it on his key ring for years. Talk about irony- the guy hasn’t left the States yet and he’s already got a war wound and the projectile that caused it. Abe was in the hospital for about two weeks but Jerry Steil talked like hell to the medics and we kept him on the crew. Don Abens is too good a man to lose.
One of the things stressed at Ardmore was tight formation flying. As was said before, the heart of any bomber defense is tight formations, This concentrates defensive firepower. Along about the middle of our training, we started to fly mock formation bombing missions against different Midwestern cities. We would “bomb” Wichita, Topeka, Kansas City, and even St. Louis--with cameras, of course. We did everything but drop real bombs! We would even have “fighter attacks” from P-47s station at Winfield, Kansas. The fighter would come in on a pursuit curve and we would dry-run fire on them. One word about formation flying for long periods. Pilots tell me it’s very tiring. Its a constant fight with throttles and controls. It demands FULL concentration of the pilots. It can be very hard physical work, and threat of mid-air collision is ever present. These “missions” were valuable training for all of us. The one thing lacking was the terrible weather in northern Europe. This is not to say that Midwestern weather is ideal. It can be very, very tricky, but the stuff that comes in off the North Sea and the Atlantic, is much worse, in my opinion.
Part of our training involved night cross-country navigational flights. We would leave Armore and fly southeast into Alabama and Georgia,, then turn north into the Carolinas and come back west through Tennessee and Arkansas. Some of these flights covered a thousand miles and more, and were flown at the cooler altitudes around 6,000 ft. and were a treat after a hot day on the ground. The object was to give the Navigator experience in various skills, from piloting and dead reckoning to celestial navigation. John Joseph, came out of Navigation School at Hondo, Texas. Joe was exceptional. He was very precise in speech and manner. His voice was deep and he was tall. He could have played a very respectable Abe Lincoln in a college play. I used to love to hear the guy talk. His vocabulary was extensive, his phrasing meticulous. He would have made a great lawyer. Yet, there was not an ounce of falsity in the man. What you saw was what you got, a gentleman, through and through.
Joe was a conscientious Navigator. He constantly practiced “star shots” to enhance his celestial navigation. He never sloughed off on anything. Every new challenge was gladly met and always conquered. This quality is borne out by his being offered a chance to become Group Navigator of the 385th.
Now to the Pilots. Jerry Steil was an ideal son of the Midwest; he was outgoing, but not the wordy type. When Jerry spoke, everyone listened, because every word had importance. He had the perfect pilot’s demeanor. Tall, blond, he looked like a pilot was supposed to look. As Airplane Commander, he was “no nonsense” in the air. He didn’t have to chew anyone out, because a straight look in the eye carried the message. Jerry came out of Aviation Cadets through Primary Flying School at Eagle Field, Dos Palos, California; Basic Flying School, Minter Field, California; and twin engine Advanced Flying School at Douglas, Arizona. He went into B-17 first pilot school at Hobbs, New Mexico, and came out as an airplane commander. We can all remember an incident overseas where another first pilot, who was a Captain, outranking Jerry, was flying as our co-pilot when a procedural dispute arose. It because quite heated. Jerry, rather firmly, reminded this “two tracker” that HE was the Airplane Commander, and that HIS decision, in the air, was final. End of argument!
Perhaps my characterization of Jerry as a strong commander leaves the wrong impression of the man. He was not a military martinet in any sense. On the ground he was as pleasant a man man as you would care to meet. He had a good sense of humor and wore a smile not a frown. He liked his men and took care of them, and they liked him. He was always fair and considerate to all his crew. He was an easy guy to talk with. He was a good listener. His manner on the ground was never harsh with anyone. In a nutshell, he was a kind and gentle person who took his responsibility seriously. He knew that we were in a dangerous business, and had the belief that the way to complete a combat tour and have the whole crew survive, was to insist that every man know his job well, and perform it to the best of his ability. We all reacted positively. We all wanted to get through the war!
Mort Feingold was our co-pilot. Mort was an excellent pilot. The Chicago native had also gone through Advanced Twin-Engine School, but wanted to be in fighters, specifically p-38s. Instead he wound up as a co-pilot on our B-17. I had a feeling that Mort wasn’t totally please when he first came to Ardmore, and that he would have preferred the more free-spirited life in the fighters, to the more restricted four-engine life. The enlisted men thought him rather terse and abrupt at first. He came around though. He was smart enough to recognize quality in Steil, Joe, and Don Collins, officer cohorts in the front of the plane with him. Mort and Don became inseparable buddies.
One day flying over Texas, Jerry decided to give all the gunners a shot at flying the “Big Bird”. Mort was in the left seat and we were called up one at a time for our “four-engine time”. As an aspiring Cadet I had picked up 10 hours of “piper cub” time at Washington State College. When my turn came Mort said, “O.K. give it a whirl,” I grabbed the throttles and the wheel and, after checking clearances, heeled her over into a steep ninety degree turn to the right then another to the left back to the original course. I smugly thought ‘Not too bad’. Then Mort said, “O.K. let’s try instruments”. After a few minutes, the wind was completely out of my sails. Back to Reality!
We had a great enlisted crew. One of the real gentlemen was Henry Clay Brier. Hank was from Montgomery, Alabama. Hank’s mother and father were professors at U. of Alabama and had an obvious influence on Hank’s attitudes and intellect. He was a well-spoken man, with a voice that was calmness itself. Never got excited. He was a pleasure in conversation. Hank was one of our waist gunners and everyone’s esteemed friend. The sad thing is that when we were flying overseas, Hank got sick with a case of flu at Grenier Field, New Hampshire, and was hospitalized there. We kept flying the North Atlantic Route, but had every expectation that Hank would catch up with us in England. When we arrived at our Great Ashfield Base, we found that B-17 crews were cut from 10 men to 9. So when Hank did catch up he went into the gunners pool and we lost him as a crew member. It was a sad moment for the crew. But Hank was still quartered with us and qualified as a “togglier” on Montgomery’s crew. Toggliers were enlisted “bombardiers” who didn’t use the bombsight, but toggled the bombs in a unison with the lead ship. Hank was one of the best of these. He later became an R.C.M. operator (Radar Counter Measures). These flying specialists jammed enemy radar flak frequencies by tuning in on them thereby canceling their effectiveness. Hank was wounded as a togglier, not seriously.
The youngest member, Al Boltz, manned the Ball Turret. This position was considered the most dangerous. Conditions in the turret were so cramped that the chest pack parachute could not be taken into the turret with the gunner. If the bailout signal was given, the ball-gunner had to turn the guns down to full 90-degree depression, then pip the doors and come up into the waist to put on his chute. It took guts to ride the Ball! Al had a few oxygen mishaps while we were flying in Europe. It wasn’t inattention, but rather the ice in the exhaust ports of the masks. Ralph Vollmer, waist gunner/armorer, adjusted the Ball Turret so that it had a certain amount of “creep” if the gunners hands came off the controls. Ralph would watch the turret, and if it didn’t change direction in a reasonable time, but kept creeping at this steady rate, Ralph would call Al. If he had no answer, or a slurred answer, he knew something was amiss and would get oxygen to Al right away. I attribute this condition to ice buildup. The turret was so confined that the gunner’s chin was always close to his chest. The exhaust ports in the mask were just under the chin. This allowed the ice to form a sort of stationary damn on his chest. Because the gunner’s views were mostly though the gunsight, there was not much head movement, which would have helped break up the ice. That’s my theory anyway. Take it or leave it.!
Our Top Turret Gunner/ Engineer was Roland “Rocky” Tanguay. He was the third man in the cockpit. His duties were numerous and important. He moved around to make sure that mechanical things that were supposed to happen, did happen. If the bomb bay doors refused to retract after bombing, he had to grab a crank, get out on the narrow bomb bay catwalk, without a parachute, (the chute hampered movements with the crank) and crank about 90 turns manually to bring up the doors. This was done while looking at Germany five miles down, usually while in heavy flak over the target. He had an extra long oxygen hose to allow him to do this! His other routine duties were checking to make sure that the main landing gear was down and LOCKED before landing. He was responsible for seeing that the ball turret was properly stored before landing, although the ball and waist gunner checked this for him. He called off airspeeds when taking off and landing, especially if pilots were on instruments. He also fired recognition flare when necessary. And--oh yes--manned the top turret guns.
Radio Operator/ Gunner, Don Abens, was a real asset. He was probably the best R.O. in the Squadron. He could send and receive 25 words a minute in code. The code was taken in five-letter groups, then decoded. Very secret stuff. The radio room was fairly commodious space in the B-17. On the left, facing forward, was the operator’s desk, with a sending key, of course. Above the desk was the primary radio. On the right side was a rack full of “Tuning Units”. These had two handles and could be extracted and placed into the radio very quickly. It wasn’t my country, so frankly I didn’t know a lot about it. All radios were SCRs (Signal Corps Radio followed by a number). At one time the radio hatch had a .50 MG installed, but its field of fire was limited so they took it out and the R.O. manned one of the waist guns when “Bandits” were about. I believe it was a way to create an extra “pool” of gunners. This led to the crew reduction from 10 to 9.
After his experience at Ardmore, Abe understandably, “fell out of love” with guns. But in spite of this, when the call Bandits in the area” came over the command channel, he would man the right waist gun, and we all knew the right side was more than adequately covered.
Abe was another one of those guys that everyone took to. He had a love of humor and a great laugh. He was always consulted. His opinions always carried weight with the rest of us.
Ralph Vollmer was the Armorer of the crew. He manned the left waist gun. He was from southern Indiana and of German extraction. He was on of those “solid” men that you could always count on. These are the guys that are always there, thank God!He had gone to Armorers School at Lowry Field in Denver, and was expert with guns, bombs, and turrets. The Bombardier always knew that if he needed help pulling the arming-wires from the bombs after take-off, Ralph would always provide expert help. Ralph was soft spoken and easy going. I never saw him really angry. If anyone on the crew could be called steady, it would be Ralph.
I hailed from the West Coast. San Francisco to be exact. The scion of a solid woking-class family of seven; four boys, three girls. I went to a Jesuit high school (St Ignatius) graduating in June ’43. Uncle Sam didn’t waste any time. I was in basic training in early August. I had passed the examination for Aviation Cadet and after Basic, was sent to Washington State College as an Aviation Student for a semester. At Santa Ana I came down with Otitis Media, an infection of the inner ear. My eardrum blew, and I was eliminated from the Cadet Program. Later, at Amarillo, I was given another flight physical. The ear drum had healed and I passed the “sixty four”, the flight physical, and was assigned to gunnery school! I was a bit perturbed at having lost the chance for pilot training, and vented my feelings to a few Officers at Amarillo, but life goes on ...... Gunnery School it is!!!
At Ardmore I asked for, and was given the tail gunner’s slot. Never regretted the choice. Saw a lot of sky... a lot of B-17s, some heart-wrenching scenes of 17s going down, enough flak for one lifetime, a winter of the worst flying weather ever, and became a member of the best crew in the Eighth Air Force.
Our training at Ardmore has drawn to a close. After a short furlough home to see the folks, we will be shipping out for overseas. We are being sent to Lincoln Army Airbase, which is an “Air Port of Embarkation”. Here we will pick up a new B-17 to fly overseas via the North Atlantic Route. After general briefings, we take off at 0300 hrs. for Grenier Field, New Hampshire. Here, Hank Brier comes down with the flu and is hospitalized. After a few day we go on to Goose Bay, Labrador then Meeks Field, Iceland and finally, Valley in Wales. Here we give up the B-17G #43-38727 that we flew overseas...A subsequent sad little obituary follows:
B-17G #43-38727 Delivered Lincoln 9-13-44; to Grenier Field, H.H., Goose Bay, Lab; Meeks Field, Iceland; Valley Field, Wales; Assigned to 410 Bomb Squadron, 94th Bomb Group.; Letters GI N at Rougham (Bury St. Edmunds) Suffolk; Missing in Action over Ludwigshaven 11-5-44 with Capt. Haller; Flak hit #2 engine. Crashed at Hameln, Germany. 4 Killed in Action; Ball Gunner chute failed; 5 became POWs (3 died later); Missing Air Crew Report # 10306. Name. THE CHARACTERS....(We were on this mission)
We went to the Replacement Depot at Stone, England. Then shipped out to the 549th Squadron, 385th Bomb Group at Great Ashfield, Suffolk, as replacements. The 549th was caught in a “company front” fighter attack over Berlin on 10-6-1944 and the entire squadron of 11 B-17s went down over Berlin. When we came in on 10-9-44, entire huts were empty, except for a few men who had been on pass in London on the 6th. It was a sobering introduction to life in an Eighth Air Force Bomb Group.
Our Pilots immediately started to fly indoctrination missions. There was a lot to master in a short time. All pilots had to become familiar with British radio and radio navigation systems; landing patterns, night flying procedures. They were flying tighter formations than they thought possible. Flying went on all day, then half the night. Navigators had to master the “Gee Box” which was a British Loran Device. They had to concentrate on entirely new weather problems. Bombardiers had to catch up on H2X radar bombing techniques. Engineers had to be briefed on cold weather’s effect on power and systems. Radio Operators had to attend the “Harwell” radio school to learn British systems and techniques. All crew members had “ditching’ drills” and gunnery refresher courses. Familiarization with new flight equipment was stressed, with emphasis on oxygen equipment and its proper use.
On 10-26-44 Jerry and John Joseph flew their first mission to Hanover with another crew. It was customary for the First Pilot and Navigator to “get one under their belt” before flying with their own crew.
On 10-30-44 we flew our first mission as a crew. We were briefed for the Leuna synthetic oil plant at Merseberg... When our leading Combat Wing reached approximately 7 degrees east longitude, we ran into a solid wall of weather... It was a spectacular sight. From as far north and south as one could see, and from the ground all the way up to over 40,000 feet, this huge rampart of weather blocked us from Germany. To take formations into that maelstrom would have been a disaster. The whole Air Force was recalled. Because we had crossed the “bomb line” we were given credit for the mission, even though we returned to base with the bombs. This give one a lesson in what an important, and frustrating part weather play in air warfare.