CaveCreekRay
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On This Day in 1945, Japan Released Me from a POW Camp. Then US Pilots Saved My Life
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Daren Todd
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Lil Foot
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torch
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Our rural water district had a contractor dig into a water line yesterday. The water has been muddy and will be for a few more hours until the line gets flushed.
I have a neighbor who "cry babies" about everything and always blames someone else and wants a handout. He was texting me and my wife complaining and declaring what should be done, and what should have been done, even call the state complaining. He use to work for the county doing the perk test for them and thinks he knows all the laws and procedures.
So I sent him a link to this post. Said, "If you think a day with muddy water is bad read this!"
I have a neighbor who "cry babies" about everything and always blames someone else and wants a handout. He was texting me and my wife complaining and declaring what should be done, and what should have been done, even call the state complaining. He use to work for the county doing the perk test for them and thinks he knows all the laws and procedures.
So I sent him a link to this post. Said, "If you think a day with muddy water is bad read this!"
CaveCreekRay
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I had the distinct honor to work with 5 former POWs from the Vietnam War who flew at Southwest Airlines. I had the fortune to have dinner one evening with Mike Penn, who spent 8 months in the Hanoi Hilton. What an incredibly nice and gracious human being, considering all he had faced. Having gone through the AF Survival School at Fairchild AFB, WA, I only had a teensy-tiny clue what these brave guys endured.
After spending a week hiking through the rain in the Pondereille National Forest in Idaho, about two hours east of Spokane, they brought us home for a "special class" on being a Prisoner of War. About two hours into the class, the instructor had a problem with the projector and went out of the room for a minute to "fix" it. Seconds after he walked out, we heard an explosion in the back of the room and saw the flash of a flash grenade. Four guys ran in shooting automatic weapons (blanks) and firing pistols (more blanks) screaming at us that we are to do exactly what we are told -or we will die. Potato sacks are thrown at us and we are told to put them on and to not take them off for any reason. Then, we are told to link up with the people left and right of us and we are led outside, single file, and thrown into pick-up truck beds for an ass-hauling on dirt roads. I know this because I have a hole in my potato sack that I can see out of. In the late September twilight, we are rocketing into the middle of nowhere...
The trucks skid to a halt and we hear more screaming. "OUT OF THE VEHICLES CRIMINALS!" We are led into an underground building and kicked into cells and ordered to take all our clothes off. A booming voice comes over the PA system telling us that our tap out code is the phrase, "FLIGHT SURGEON." At any time we feel overwhelmed that phrase will get us extricated with the knowledge we will be rolled back into a later class if we do not pass this phase satisfactorily. The PA clicks off and that is the last nice voice we will hear.
We pile our clothes in the corner and are then ordered to stand in the middle of our cell, barefoot and freezing, on cold concrete, in 50 degree air, where we spend the next 24 hours, alone except for tactical interrogations or time in the "box." You are given two minutes notice to get dressed and then you are led to a room where somebody smacks you around and then explains that this will be far worse in real prison interrogations. They trick you six ways from Sunday in trying to get you to give them actionable intelligence. If you do, the berate the hell out of you and call you the most hilariously demeaning names you can imagine. But no one dares laugh. The beatings will worsen. I had bruises a week later.
The "box sessions are truly evil. They are tiny wooden boxes with adjustable sides. They size you up and quickly adjust a box for you then get you to crawl in before a boot smashes your back all the way in, and the door is slammed tight against your back. I am guessing the box I was in was maybe 24" high by 36" long by 18" wide. My legs instantly lost feeling. I found out later that they have a stop watch on every box and cannot go one second past 15 minutes for fear of nerve damage due to interrupted blood flow. Everyone gets one time in the box. I hear a few tap out. Claustrophobia is an all-consuming feeling you really have to compartmentalize to survive. Some lucky people get two trips in the box. I lucked out and got three trips in the box because the second time, I was so exhausted, I fell asleep. That made the instructors angry. I fell asleep a third time as well so, they gave up on me. Walking after the box was tough with both legs asleep. They walk with someone on both sides of you for fear you will collapse and bang your head. They just spent a million dollars teaching you how to fly the Air Force way so they want you to get out reasonably intact.
Ordered to stand in our cells or risk being douched with a bucket of ice water, we eventually lost track of time. Everyone slowly collapsed on the cold concrete, hoping you'd hear somebody else getting hit with water first so you could jump to your feet. Your only means of telling time was the coffee can you were filling up with pee, or the cup of oatmeal you got to eat on two occasions. Then the PA clicked back on. "CRIMINALS, GET DRESSED AND PREPARE TO DEPART YOUR CELLS. GRAB YOUR WASTE CANS." We are escorted single file by a trough where we pour out our cans and then head out a door. For the first time, we are outside, just in time to see another twilight. My heart is just starting to soar at the thought of being free again when we are marched into an outdoor Stalag-styled prisoner camp where we are going for another crazy ride. My heart sinks.
I get dragged over to a giant kettle with a pile of fresh wood underneath it. This thing is enormous, maybe 30-40 gallons. Three women prisoner "CONCUBINES" are given to me to prepare a meal for the camp. The prison guard is berating one of my "harlot sluts" who is holding the boat oar we'll use to stir this pot, I realize she is just about to hit him with it. Before I can reach for it, in a calm voice he says, "Academic Situation: We grow all the vegetables for this stew just over the fence. Get the water going and get the potatoes in right away, with the other vegetables soon after. Save the zucchini until last or you'll over cook it. Any questions?" I am stunned. This terrible ogre just instructed us on how to make a meal we all are really looking forward to and then he snaps right back into his role telling the female lieutenant in my detail, "You'll be spending the night with ME HARLOT!" I can see her clench her teeth. For some reason I am thinking this crew of instructor/actors must have really fun Christmas parties.
Whilst cooking this huge kettle of food, I am hauled away and interrogated again. They accuse me of being the mastermind of the escape they have discovered. After more mild abuse, I am back making vegetable soup in the cold 40 degree fall air. The moon has moved halfway across the sky and the meal is finally ready. We announce it so, and the prisoners all line up with cups. Just as the last few prisoners await their meal, the female prisoner ladling in the soup says quietly, "We are not going to have enough..." Three prisoners go hungry. Then, we are called to attention.
The camp Kommandant gets up on the little stage and starts disparaging our country. He tells us that we have been forgotten by a country that only cares about the powerful and the rich. He talks about the military of the Communist State and how only under Communism can men truly live free. Many prisoners grumble under their breath and a few are kicked to the ground by guards for being disrespectful to the Kommandant. After living on oatmeal and catnaps for the first 24 hours and then being kept working through the night on a cup of vegetable soup, we are weary and wondering when this nightmare will end. Then, the lights go out...
We stand in darkened silence for what must have been five minutes. Then we hear a PA click on. Expecting more verbal abuse we hear the first few bars of the National Anthem. A light dimly illuminates a flagpole with a beautiful American flag on it. It had been there, standing tall among us in the dark, the entire evening. As the light illuminating the flag grows brighter, we prisoners begin to sing along with the anthem. By the end, there is not a dry eye in the Stalag. Even our guards are singing along. As the anthem ends. the Kommandant keys the PA and says, "Like that flag, the American military and American people will never leave you, no matter where you are or what you are enduring. Prisoners, YOU ARE DISMISSED!"
This was the training flight crews went through in the early 80's. We kept our experiences to ourselves to make it more real to those who came afterwards. In time, things changed. When I heard about the hazing going on in Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, I and my contemporaries thought, "That is nothing compared to what they did to us!" They were POWs too. Some of our guys got waterboarded in training. That is war.
Having gone through the experience, I really appreciate stories experienced by real POWs and think how incredibly tested these guys were. Those who made it home were incredibly lucky. I vowed I never wanted to be caught and made a POW. I'd rather die trying to avoid capture. Luckily, I never had to go there...
After spending a week hiking through the rain in the Pondereille National Forest in Idaho, about two hours east of Spokane, they brought us home for a "special class" on being a Prisoner of War. About two hours into the class, the instructor had a problem with the projector and went out of the room for a minute to "fix" it. Seconds after he walked out, we heard an explosion in the back of the room and saw the flash of a flash grenade. Four guys ran in shooting automatic weapons (blanks) and firing pistols (more blanks) screaming at us that we are to do exactly what we are told -or we will die. Potato sacks are thrown at us and we are told to put them on and to not take them off for any reason. Then, we are told to link up with the people left and right of us and we are led outside, single file, and thrown into pick-up truck beds for an ass-hauling on dirt roads. I know this because I have a hole in my potato sack that I can see out of. In the late September twilight, we are rocketing into the middle of nowhere...
The trucks skid to a halt and we hear more screaming. "OUT OF THE VEHICLES CRIMINALS!" We are led into an underground building and kicked into cells and ordered to take all our clothes off. A booming voice comes over the PA system telling us that our tap out code is the phrase, "FLIGHT SURGEON." At any time we feel overwhelmed that phrase will get us extricated with the knowledge we will be rolled back into a later class if we do not pass this phase satisfactorily. The PA clicks off and that is the last nice voice we will hear.
We pile our clothes in the corner and are then ordered to stand in the middle of our cell, barefoot and freezing, on cold concrete, in 50 degree air, where we spend the next 24 hours, alone except for tactical interrogations or time in the "box." You are given two minutes notice to get dressed and then you are led to a room where somebody smacks you around and then explains that this will be far worse in real prison interrogations. They trick you six ways from Sunday in trying to get you to give them actionable intelligence. If you do, the berate the hell out of you and call you the most hilariously demeaning names you can imagine. But no one dares laugh. The beatings will worsen. I had bruises a week later.
The "box sessions are truly evil. They are tiny wooden boxes with adjustable sides. They size you up and quickly adjust a box for you then get you to crawl in before a boot smashes your back all the way in, and the door is slammed tight against your back. I am guessing the box I was in was maybe 24" high by 36" long by 18" wide. My legs instantly lost feeling. I found out later that they have a stop watch on every box and cannot go one second past 15 minutes for fear of nerve damage due to interrupted blood flow. Everyone gets one time in the box. I hear a few tap out. Claustrophobia is an all-consuming feeling you really have to compartmentalize to survive. Some lucky people get two trips in the box. I lucked out and got three trips in the box because the second time, I was so exhausted, I fell asleep. That made the instructors angry. I fell asleep a third time as well so, they gave up on me. Walking after the box was tough with both legs asleep. They walk with someone on both sides of you for fear you will collapse and bang your head. They just spent a million dollars teaching you how to fly the Air Force way so they want you to get out reasonably intact.
Ordered to stand in our cells or risk being douched with a bucket of ice water, we eventually lost track of time. Everyone slowly collapsed on the cold concrete, hoping you'd hear somebody else getting hit with water first so you could jump to your feet. Your only means of telling time was the coffee can you were filling up with pee, or the cup of oatmeal you got to eat on two occasions. Then the PA clicked back on. "CRIMINALS, GET DRESSED AND PREPARE TO DEPART YOUR CELLS. GRAB YOUR WASTE CANS." We are escorted single file by a trough where we pour out our cans and then head out a door. For the first time, we are outside, just in time to see another twilight. My heart is just starting to soar at the thought of being free again when we are marched into an outdoor Stalag-styled prisoner camp where we are going for another crazy ride. My heart sinks.
I get dragged over to a giant kettle with a pile of fresh wood underneath it. This thing is enormous, maybe 30-40 gallons. Three women prisoner "CONCUBINES" are given to me to prepare a meal for the camp. The prison guard is berating one of my "harlot sluts" who is holding the boat oar we'll use to stir this pot, I realize she is just about to hit him with it. Before I can reach for it, in a calm voice he says, "Academic Situation: We grow all the vegetables for this stew just over the fence. Get the water going and get the potatoes in right away, with the other vegetables soon after. Save the zucchini until last or you'll over cook it. Any questions?" I am stunned. This terrible ogre just instructed us on how to make a meal we all are really looking forward to and then he snaps right back into his role telling the female lieutenant in my detail, "You'll be spending the night with ME HARLOT!" I can see her clench her teeth. For some reason I am thinking this crew of instructor/actors must have really fun Christmas parties.
Whilst cooking this huge kettle of food, I am hauled away and interrogated again. They accuse me of being the mastermind of the escape they have discovered. After more mild abuse, I am back making vegetable soup in the cold 40 degree fall air. The moon has moved halfway across the sky and the meal is finally ready. We announce it so, and the prisoners all line up with cups. Just as the last few prisoners await their meal, the female prisoner ladling in the soup says quietly, "We are not going to have enough..." Three prisoners go hungry. Then, we are called to attention.
The camp Kommandant gets up on the little stage and starts disparaging our country. He tells us that we have been forgotten by a country that only cares about the powerful and the rich. He talks about the military of the Communist State and how only under Communism can men truly live free. Many prisoners grumble under their breath and a few are kicked to the ground by guards for being disrespectful to the Kommandant. After living on oatmeal and catnaps for the first 24 hours and then being kept working through the night on a cup of vegetable soup, we are weary and wondering when this nightmare will end. Then, the lights go out...
We stand in darkened silence for what must have been five minutes. Then we hear a PA click on. Expecting more verbal abuse we hear the first few bars of the National Anthem. A light dimly illuminates a flagpole with a beautiful American flag on it. It had been there, standing tall among us in the dark, the entire evening. As the light illuminating the flag grows brighter, we prisoners begin to sing along with the anthem. By the end, there is not a dry eye in the Stalag. Even our guards are singing along. As the anthem ends. the Kommandant keys the PA and says, "Like that flag, the American military and American people will never leave you, no matter where you are or what you are enduring. Prisoners, YOU ARE DISMISSED!"
This was the training flight crews went through in the early 80's. We kept our experiences to ourselves to make it more real to those who came afterwards. In time, things changed. When I heard about the hazing going on in Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, I and my contemporaries thought, "That is nothing compared to what they did to us!" They were POWs too. Some of our guys got waterboarded in training. That is war.
Having gone through the experience, I really appreciate stories experienced by real POWs and think how incredibly tested these guys were. Those who made it home were incredibly lucky. I vowed I never wanted to be caught and made a POW. I'd rather die trying to avoid capture. Luckily, I never had to go there...
CaveCreekRay
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Lil Foot
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We owe so much to so many and yet today we see no respect for them or this country by so many. it is a shame and really scares me for my grandchildren.
My father was the radio man/rear seat gunner (WWII) in a Dauntless dive bomber (SBD). They were a two person plane…..pilot and the rear facing gunner. Like many WWII vets he would say almost nothing about his time spent during the war, save for some pleasant or funny remembrances. Mostly he would say that the patrols, especially at dusk and dawn over the west Pacific islands, were absolutely beautiful.
After he passed, I found his flight logbook and by chance was able to locate one of his pilots only a day’s drive from home. I contacted him and arranged a meeting at his place. A “gentleman’s gentleman”
seems an inadequate description of this fine person! He vaguely remembered my father as he wasn’t his regular crew pilot, but on occasion, circumstances had the crews rearranged. It was a privilege and an honor to meet this person.
One story he related during our visit shows what these men were made of and willing to sacrifice for us:
He and his regular gunner (not my father) were called into a secret meeting and asked if they would volunteer for a solo mission. He said he had never seen so much “Brass” in one small room at any time during the war. They would not be told the mission until after they had volunteered. He said both his gunner’s and his answer were, “When do we fly?” They were to fly a metal tube/canister out to a rendezvous point far out to sea and air drop the canister to a ship that would be waiting there for them. But if they were spotted and attacked along the way, he and his gunner were to make absolutely certain that cannister did not fall into enemy hands by personally escorting the canister to the depths of the Pacific, plane and everything aboard. At the appointed hour they took off with their mystery cannister, found the recipient far out to sea, and dropped the cannister right onto that ship. Mission accomplished. It was many years later that he and his gunner found out that their precious payload that day was the detailed plans for the upcoming invasion of the Japanese homeland! In the end, it wasn’t needed after the two bombs were dropped ending the war.
This humble man is a yet another perfect example of one of “The Greatest Generation”.
david
After he passed, I found his flight logbook and by chance was able to locate one of his pilots only a day’s drive from home. I contacted him and arranged a meeting at his place. A “gentleman’s gentleman”
seems an inadequate description of this fine person! He vaguely remembered my father as he wasn’t his regular crew pilot, but on occasion, circumstances had the crews rearranged. It was a privilege and an honor to meet this person.
One story he related during our visit shows what these men were made of and willing to sacrifice for us:
He and his regular gunner (not my father) were called into a secret meeting and asked if they would volunteer for a solo mission. He said he had never seen so much “Brass” in one small room at any time during the war. They would not be told the mission until after they had volunteered. He said both his gunner’s and his answer were, “When do we fly?” They were to fly a metal tube/canister out to a rendezvous point far out to sea and air drop the canister to a ship that would be waiting there for them. But if they were spotted and attacked along the way, he and his gunner were to make absolutely certain that cannister did not fall into enemy hands by personally escorting the canister to the depths of the Pacific, plane and everything aboard. At the appointed hour they took off with their mystery cannister, found the recipient far out to sea, and dropped the cannister right onto that ship. Mission accomplished. It was many years later that he and his gunner found out that their precious payload that day was the detailed plans for the upcoming invasion of the Japanese homeland! In the end, it wasn’t needed after the two bombs were dropped ending the war.
This humble man is a yet another perfect example of one of “The Greatest Generation”.
david
Bmyers
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Great story. It is important to never forget our history and the stories that go with it.
Lil Foot
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This thread put me in mind of another great thread by Ray:
www.orangetractortalks.com
WWII History
The Americans were readying an invasion force unseen in history to invade the mainland of Japan. Had the nuclear bombs not ended the war, all these men would have been involved in the bloodiest and most costly invasion battle in history. Fortunately, the bombs did the trick, saving millions of...
www.orangetractortalks.com
As a young guy I worked with an old boiler maker who was too old to serve active duty.. He did serve in the merchant marine.. The only thing he ever said was he was torpedoed into both the Atlantic and later the Pacific.. He said the Pacific ocean was very much warmer...
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I used to know a fellow who's specialty was tuning B-29's.
He was on the Enola Gay Mission.
He said he had a color polaroid camera at the time, and took a picture of Tibbetts, crew, and Enola Gay the day of the mission.
From his own mouth, I heard him say he drove that photo to the Smithsonian. I would never doubt George....
https://www.classiccarmuseum.org/staley-story/
He was such a neat guy, and benefactor of the museum I've been part of for 20 years.
He was from my neck of the woods. Graduated from High school with my great-uncle. He was a home-town boy made good.
One time, I was walking through the museum and George was trying to put a magneto on one of his huge aircraft engines. He couldn't get the bolts to thread-in. He was well into his 80's then.
I stopped and offered to help.
What I heard in the next 20 minutes was priceless....heard everything about that engine, its uses, faults, etc.
I did get the magneto on for him....
Like so many others, he exemplified the Great Generation.
I’m so glad to have known him, and proud to be able to call him a friend.
He was on the Enola Gay Mission.
He said he had a color polaroid camera at the time, and took a picture of Tibbetts, crew, and Enola Gay the day of the mission.
From his own mouth, I heard him say he drove that photo to the Smithsonian. I would never doubt George....
https://www.classiccarmuseum.org/staley-story/
He was such a neat guy, and benefactor of the museum I've been part of for 20 years.
He was from my neck of the woods. Graduated from High school with my great-uncle. He was a home-town boy made good.
One time, I was walking through the museum and George was trying to put a magneto on one of his huge aircraft engines. He couldn't get the bolts to thread-in. He was well into his 80's then.
I stopped and offered to help.
What I heard in the next 20 minutes was priceless....heard everything about that engine, its uses, faults, etc.
I did get the magneto on for him....
Like so many others, he exemplified the Great Generation.
I’m so glad to have known him, and proud to be able to call him a friend.
Last edited:
Lil Foot
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My father was too young for WWII, but served in Korea. He volunteered at 17, and was assigned to the Second Armored Division. He went to Korea as a corporal driving an M4 Sherman. He never spoke of his service there, and I have tried to trace his unit(s) throughout the war, and found it to be nearly impossible. I have been told that this is common in Korea, because besides being a disorganized, ad hoc defense at first, many American units were so badly decimated that they essentially ceased to exist, and any survivors were simply rolled into other units. He ended his time there as a Senior Staff Sergeant, in command of four M4 Shermans. I can only assume there were some battlefield promotions involved.
What little I know of his service was mostly provided by my uncle, my dad's oldest brother, who also served in Korea, in the infantry.
When I was about 14, I was allowed to sit in with "the men" at a family reunion. Present were my father and his (4) brothers, and my grandfather, (2) of my elder cousins, and me. They were all very quiet & articulate, discussing US politics, the economy, hunting, and the like. After a lull, my dad's oldest brother (who also served in Korea) asked my dad to "Tell the story".
This was such a special moment for me, I have strived to remember it word for word.
My dad started slowly, explaining that his four tanks were deployed one one side of a river, with orders not to cross the river under any circumstances.
Allow me to digress for a moment, and explain that virtually all tank commanders want to go one-on-one with an enemy tank. It is said Patton and Rommel both separately made the statement that they would love to fight each other in single tank combat, to decide the outcome of the war.
Back to the "incident".
They had been there for days with nothing to do, and had serviced all their equipment twice, and it was very boring duty. They had seen no action for weeks. It was also very hot, and everyone was so bored that they were all sleeping or dozing.
Dad was sitting inside the tank, dozing, while resting his forehead against the padded main gun sight. He doesn't know why he woke up, but when he did, the saw that he crosshairs were centered on a Chinese T-34 just creeping up over the hill on the other side of the river. Not believing his luck, he he stomped the firing button to kill the T-34, but nothing happened. Realizing the gun wasn't loaded, he kicked the loader in the head and screamed "AP, Load!". The loader, confused, waking from a dead sleep, grabbed a round, slammed it in the chamber, and closed the breach. The gun fired, and my dad made a textbook hit just below the gun mantlet of the T-34.... with a smoke round!
Again he yelled "AP, Load!" and stomped the firing button. Again, nothing happened! Again, he kicked the loader in the head and screamed "AP, Load!". He stomped the button again, and the gun fired, but by now the T-34 was backing away as fast as it could. Dad got on the radio, and all four tanks began shelling the back slope of the hill.
What my dad hadn't realized in the heat & excitement of the moment, is that the loader who loaded the smoke round by mistake, was in great pain. You see, because my dad had already stomped the "fire" button, the gun fired as soon as the breach closed. An interesting feature of the M4E5 is that the gun recoils back within 3/4" of the radio face at the back of the turret, smashing the guy's hand into the radio face. While he was nursing that injured hand, (instead of loading the next shell) dad stomped the button again, so when he loaded the next shell, (you guessed it) the gun fired as soon as the breach closed, and he got his hand smashed a second time. By now, the assistant driver has seen the loader's distress, and took over for him. He didn't want his hand smashed, so he threw the breaker for the gun power, loaded, and threw the breaker again. Then the firing went on as it should.
They would never let them cross the river, so he never found out if he got the chinese tank or not.
The loader's injuries turned out to be painful, but not serious. Dad thought the guy wold hate him, but it turned out to be an injury sustained in battle, so he was strangely happy about it, because he got a Purple Heart.
After Korea, we asked dad what he did here in the states to finish his enlistment. All he would say was "weapons testing." We all assumed tank testing, because tanks were his life. We now believe he was one of those troops they sent to Nevada, dropped in a trench, and cranked a nuke off in front of them. He never admitted it. If my dad had signed a secrecy agreement, God himself couldn't make him break it. He developed a thyroid tumor in his mid 30s, and then died of leukemia 3 days after his 41st birthday.
Edit:
I forgot mention that a shot just below the gun mantlet of a T-34 with a 76mm High Velocity AP round head-on at anything less that 1000yds in a virtual guaranteed kill. The T-34s main advantage was it's sloped armor. (revolutionary for it's time) This caused a lot of hits to just glance off. Just below the mantlet there is no place for the round to go, except into the crew compartment. With internal shell stowage....
What little I know of his service was mostly provided by my uncle, my dad's oldest brother, who also served in Korea, in the infantry.
When I was about 14, I was allowed to sit in with "the men" at a family reunion. Present were my father and his (4) brothers, and my grandfather, (2) of my elder cousins, and me. They were all very quiet & articulate, discussing US politics, the economy, hunting, and the like. After a lull, my dad's oldest brother (who also served in Korea) asked my dad to "Tell the story".
This was such a special moment for me, I have strived to remember it word for word.
My dad started slowly, explaining that his four tanks were deployed one one side of a river, with orders not to cross the river under any circumstances.
Allow me to digress for a moment, and explain that virtually all tank commanders want to go one-on-one with an enemy tank. It is said Patton and Rommel both separately made the statement that they would love to fight each other in single tank combat, to decide the outcome of the war.
Back to the "incident".
They had been there for days with nothing to do, and had serviced all their equipment twice, and it was very boring duty. They had seen no action for weeks. It was also very hot, and everyone was so bored that they were all sleeping or dozing.
Dad was sitting inside the tank, dozing, while resting his forehead against the padded main gun sight. He doesn't know why he woke up, but when he did, the saw that he crosshairs were centered on a Chinese T-34 just creeping up over the hill on the other side of the river. Not believing his luck, he he stomped the firing button to kill the T-34, but nothing happened. Realizing the gun wasn't loaded, he kicked the loader in the head and screamed "AP, Load!". The loader, confused, waking from a dead sleep, grabbed a round, slammed it in the chamber, and closed the breach. The gun fired, and my dad made a textbook hit just below the gun mantlet of the T-34.... with a smoke round!
Again he yelled "AP, Load!" and stomped the firing button. Again, nothing happened! Again, he kicked the loader in the head and screamed "AP, Load!". He stomped the button again, and the gun fired, but by now the T-34 was backing away as fast as it could. Dad got on the radio, and all four tanks began shelling the back slope of the hill.
What my dad hadn't realized in the heat & excitement of the moment, is that the loader who loaded the smoke round by mistake, was in great pain. You see, because my dad had already stomped the "fire" button, the gun fired as soon as the breach closed. An interesting feature of the M4E5 is that the gun recoils back within 3/4" of the radio face at the back of the turret, smashing the guy's hand into the radio face. While he was nursing that injured hand, (instead of loading the next shell) dad stomped the button again, so when he loaded the next shell, (you guessed it) the gun fired as soon as the breach closed, and he got his hand smashed a second time. By now, the assistant driver has seen the loader's distress, and took over for him. He didn't want his hand smashed, so he threw the breaker for the gun power, loaded, and threw the breaker again. Then the firing went on as it should.
They would never let them cross the river, so he never found out if he got the chinese tank or not.
The loader's injuries turned out to be painful, but not serious. Dad thought the guy wold hate him, but it turned out to be an injury sustained in battle, so he was strangely happy about it, because he got a Purple Heart.
After Korea, we asked dad what he did here in the states to finish his enlistment. All he would say was "weapons testing." We all assumed tank testing, because tanks were his life. We now believe he was one of those troops they sent to Nevada, dropped in a trench, and cranked a nuke off in front of them. He never admitted it. If my dad had signed a secrecy agreement, God himself couldn't make him break it. He developed a thyroid tumor in his mid 30s, and then died of leukemia 3 days after his 41st birthday.
Edit:
I forgot mention that a shot just below the gun mantlet of a T-34 with a 76mm High Velocity AP round head-on at anything less that 1000yds in a virtual guaranteed kill. The T-34s main advantage was it's sloped armor. (revolutionary for it's time) This caused a lot of hits to just glance off. Just below the mantlet there is no place for the round to go, except into the crew compartment. With internal shell stowage....
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CaveCreekRay
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Burial At Sea
Good friend of mine's dad was a tanker in WWII in the deathtrap Sherman's. He was one of only four or five guys who survived out of his initial unit of tankers. Not surprisingly, he never talked about it after coming home.
My uncle ran the machinery on a heavy cruiser that operated the 14-inch guns. It was located at the very bottom of the ship. Under heavy fire during a naval battle, they moved the wounded below decks near his station in an effort to save them. My uncle felt two huge blasts which were torpedoes and minutes later, the abandon ship call was made. He had a long way to go and very little time as the ship started listing. My mom said he told her some of the wounded were friends of his and cried out for him to take them with him, but he had no time. He carried the weight of that memory to his death. Today, we call it PTSD. Then, we called it "shell shock." Now, we try to treat it. Then, they didn't. No wonder so many of our relatives never spoke of their experiences. It was far too painful to remember.
Good friend of mine's dad was a tanker in WWII in the deathtrap Sherman's. He was one of only four or five guys who survived out of his initial unit of tankers. Not surprisingly, he never talked about it after coming home.
My uncle ran the machinery on a heavy cruiser that operated the 14-inch guns. It was located at the very bottom of the ship. Under heavy fire during a naval battle, they moved the wounded below decks near his station in an effort to save them. My uncle felt two huge blasts which were torpedoes and minutes later, the abandon ship call was made. He had a long way to go and very little time as the ship started listing. My mom said he told her some of the wounded were friends of his and cried out for him to take them with him, but he had no time. He carried the weight of that memory to his death. Today, we call it PTSD. Then, we called it "shell shock." Now, we try to treat it. Then, they didn't. No wonder so many of our relatives never spoke of their experiences. It was far too painful to remember.
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Lil Foot
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I saw this a few days ago.
75 yrs ago today, August 6 1945 the first atomic bomb was dropped on Japan.
The luckiest or unluckiest man of 1945?
29 yr old Tsutomu Yamaguchi was walking down the street in Hiroshima. He saw the plane and dove into a ditch just in time to survive, but with burns so severe his family barely recognized him when he arrived home to Nagasaki.
August 9 1945 as a naval engineer he was in the middle of explaining to his boss what had happened in Hiroshima when a white flash and mushroom cloud consumed Nagasaki and he became the only person in the world to survive both atomic bombings. Yamaguchi passed away 10 yrs ago in January 2010 at the age of 93.
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75 yrs ago today, August 6 1945 the first atomic bomb was dropped on Japan.
The luckiest or unluckiest man of 1945?
29 yr old Tsutomu Yamaguchi was walking down the street in Hiroshima. He saw the plane and dove into a ditch just in time to survive, but with burns so severe his family barely recognized him when he arrived home to Nagasaki.
August 9 1945 as a naval engineer he was in the middle of explaining to his boss what had happened in Hiroshima when a white flash and mushroom cloud consumed Nagasaki and he became the only person in the world to survive both atomic bombings. Yamaguchi passed away 10 yrs ago in January 2010 at the age of 93.
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