Editorials

Flight of the B-17 Bomber March 3, 2008 - No reporter cited

I wish I could pick up the phone and call my father, the late Louis “Swampy” Graves, and ask him questions about World War II and what it was like to be a part of the Pacific Campaign against the Japanese.

Dad was a captain and a navigation officer with the Army Air Corps. From July 1943 until November 1944 he served with the First Bomber Group, Chinese-American Composite Wing. His group flew missions in occupied China and later into Japan. Their bombers were mostly B-25s.

Like most of members of the Greatest Generation, when the war was over, Swampy returned to the United States and went to work with my mom, Wilton, rearing a family and building a home first in Texarkana and later in Nashville, Arkansas.

The Flying Tiger hung up his flight jacket and put away his medals and seldom spoke of the war.

In later years, at family reunions he would share his adventures in Karachi, India, now Pakistan, Kuelin, China, Burma etc. He told us of flying “the Hump” which was a perilous flight over the Himalayas delivering supplies to beleaguered troops fighting the Japanese in Burma.

Like most veterans of World War II my Dad never thought of himself as a hero. He was a civilian and when his country was attacked he answered the call. I believe though there were so many moments of terror in his military career, it had to be the adventure of a lifetime.

Imagine growing up in Texarkana and all of a sudden you are a navigation officer aboard a bomber making runs over Japan. The lives of your fellow crew men are dependent on you, if you are the navigator, to get it right. Lose your directions or bearings, get sloppy, make a mistake, and the ten members of your crew may be forced to bail out over hostile territory.

One Thanksgiving back in the 1980s Dad told me of a Thanksgiving bombing run he made during World War II. Normally the bombers did not have fighter escort due to the smaller range of the fighters, but this time they were closer to the Japanese mainland which permitted the fighter escort. There were eight bombers and five fighters in the group.

The plan was to take off from a base in China and bomb a city in Japan (I don’t remember which one), and instead of returning to the base, they would land at another airfield because they knew they would not have enough fuel to make it back to the original base. Below I paraphrase my conversation with Dad.

“The lead plane had responsibility for navigation and we were to maintain radio silence and follow them. For some reason that day, I was afraid we weren’t going to make it and so instead of taking a bearing (to find out where they were) every 30 minutes, I took one every 15 minutes. After the bombing run we headed out to sea. At some point the lead plane, still maintaining radio silence, wiggled its wings to signal they were lost.”

“By this time we were way out to sea, no land in sight. The captain of my plane came over the intercom and said we were lost. I said, “No, we’re not. I know exactly where we are.”

“Now Lou, are you sure?  The fighters are running out of fuel and if you’re wrong, we’re all going to have to ditch.”

“No, I’m right.” Dad told me he prayed to himself that he was right. His plane assumed the lead and flew directly to the island (probably Iowa Jima). The fighters landed first and then the bombers came in. Everyone was safe and Dad said for about two weeks he couldn’t buy a drink.

On Saturday, I got the opportunity to experience a bit of the feeling he had as a passenger aboard a restored B-17. Three bombers from World War II are also scheduled to be in Texarkana later in the week as part of the Wings of Freedom Tour.

At the end of the day, as the B-17 roared down the runway, I closed my eyes and said a prayer of thanks for all of our precious veterans. I wish I could call Dad today and tell him in person.

↑ Top