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deal in which the 100th Group fought its way to the
target through erce and prolonged enemy ghter
attacks and accurately bombed a vital target.
2. Mission Summary
When the 100th Group crossed the coast of Holland
south of the Hague at 1008 hours at our base alti-
tude of 17, 000 feet, I was well situated to watch the
proceedings, being co-pilot in the lead ship of the
last element if the high squadron. The Group had
all of its 21 B-17’s tucked in tightly and was within
handy supporting distance of the 95th Group, ahead
of us at 18, 000 feet. We were the last and lowest of
the seven groups of the 4th Air Division that were
visible ahead on a south-east course, forming a long,
loose-linked chain in the bright sunlight – too long,
it seemed. Wide gaps separated the three combat
wings. As I sat there in the tail-end element of that
many miles long procession, gauging the distance to
the lead group, I had the lonesome foreboding that
might come to the last man to run a gauntlet lined
with spiked clubs. The premonition was well-found-
ed.
At 1017 hours, near Woensdrecht, I saw the rst
ak blossom out in our vicinity, light and inaccurate.
A few minutes later, approximately 1025 hours, two
FW-190’s appeared at 1 o’clock level and whizzed
through the formation ahead of us in frontal attack,
nicking two B-17’s of the 95th Group in the wings
and breaking away beneath us in half-rolls. Smoke
immediately trailed from both B-17s, but they held
their stations. As the ghters passed us at a high rate
of closure, the guns of the group went into action.
The pungent smell of burnt powder lled out cock-
pit, and the B-17 trembled to the recoil of nose and
ball-turret guns. I saw pieces y off the wing of one
of the ghters before they passed from view.
Here was early action, the members of the crew
sensed trouble. There was something desperate
about the way those two ghters came in fast, right
out of their climb without any preliminaries. For
a second the interphone was busy with admo-
nitions: “Lead ‘em more”... “short bursts”... “don’t
throw rounds away”... There’ll be more along in
a minute.“…
Three minutes later. the gunners reported ghters
climbing up from all around the clock, singly and in
pairs, both FW-190’s and ME_109’s. This was only
my fourth raid, but from what I could see on my side,
it looked like too many ghters for sound health.
A coordinated attack followed, with the head-on
ghters coming in from slightly above, the 9 and
3 o’clock attackers approaching from about level,
and the rear attackers from slightly below. Every
gun from every B-17 in out group and the 95th was
ring, criss-crossing our patch of sky with tracers to
match the time-fuse cannon shell puffs that squirted
from the wings of the Jerry single-seaters. I would
estimate that 75% of our re was inaccurate, falling
astern of the target–particularly the re from hand
held guns. Nevertheless, both sides got hurt in this
clash, with two B-17s from our low squadron and
one from the 95th Group falling out of formation
on re with crews bailing out, and several ghters
heading for the deck in ames or with their pilots
lingering behind under dirty yellow parachutes.
Our group leader, Major John Kidd, pulled us up
nearer the 95th Group for mutual support.
I knew that we were already in a lively ght. What
I didn’t know was the real ght, the anschluss of
20 MM cannon shells, hadn’t really begun. A few
minutes later we absorbed the rst wave of a hail-
storm of individual ghter attacks that were to
engulf us clear to the target. The ensuing action
was so rapid and varied that I cannot give a chrono-
logical account of it. Instead, I will attempt a frag-
mentary report of salient details that even now give
me a dry mouth and an unpleasant sensation in the
stomach to recall. The sight was fantastic and sur-
passed ction.
It was at 1041 hours, over Eupen, that I looked out
my copilot’s window after a short lull and saw two
squadrons, 12 ME-109s and 11 FW-190s climbing
parallel to us. The rst squadron had reached our
level and was pulling ahead to turn into us and
second was not far behind. Several thousand feet
below us were many more ghters, with their nos-
es cocked at maximum climb. Over the interphone
came reports of equal number of enemy aircraft de-
ploying on the other side. For the rst time I noticed
a ME-110 sitting out of range on our right. He was
to stay with us all the way to the target, apparently
to report our position to fresh squadrons waiting
for us down the road. At the sight of all these ght-
ers, I had the distinct feeling of being trapped–that
the Hun was tipped off, or at least had guessed our
destination and was waiting for us. No P-47s were
visible. The life expectancy of the 100th Group sud-
denly seemed very short, since it already appeared
that the ghters were passing up the proceeding
groups, with the exception of the 95th, in order to
take a cut at us.
Swinging their yellow noses around in a wide
U-turn, the 12 ship squadron of ME-109s came in
from 12 o’clock in pairs and in fours and the main
event was on.
A shining silver object sailed past over our right
wing. I recognized it as a main exit door. Seconds
later, a dark object came hurtling down through
the formation, barely missing several props. It was
a man, clasping his knees to his head, revolving like
HISTORY
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August 2024