From The First 300 - Hell's Angels. January, 1945.

  NOVEMBER 17, 1942: 57 Years Ago Today

The 303rd Bomb Group first went into action on November 17, 1942. Following a feverish night of activity during which all traffic to and from the base was halted, the few bombers on hand took off with a load of bombs for St. Nazaire. The excited crowds of ground men that lined the perimeter waited for breathless hours for the return of the formation, halfway expecting never to see them again.

In the afternoon when the first hum of engines reached their ears they raced out to the runway, eager for news of the mission. What they heard was not especially encouraging. Unable to find the target due to bad weather, the Forts had returned with their bombs without seeing any action. It was a terrific letdown for everybody.

The next morning when the planes again zoomed off the field, led by Colonel James H. Wallace, the group commander, pilots and crews were grim in their determination to make up for the previous day's abortive effort. The target was La Pallice, but again weather and inexperience played a hand, and when the planes returned they learned they had hit the submarine pens at St. Nazaire.

This one hadn't been as easy as the day before. The Germans were tired of letting these newly arrived Yanks fly about their territory at will, and showed their resentment by sending up a fierce flak barrage over the target. Then about 30 of the Luftwaffe's best fighters - the Goering Yellow Nose outfit - piled into the formation. The 303rd had their first taste of combat - and they won the first round of the long battle to come. Gunners tallied one fighter destroyed, four probables and three damaged. All of our planes returned.

The 303rd was new to the business, but the men learned fast. Their classroom was the sky over Lorient, St. Nazaire, Brest and La Pallice, and their teachers were ace German pilots and the pick of German flak gunners. Fighter escort consisted of a pitifully small number of short-range R.A.F. Spitfires, designed for the defence of England, which buzzed out to the middle of the Channel to support the Forts as they fought their way back to England. More than one straggler, given up for lost, gained new strength and courage when the fast little Spits zipped in to drive off the murderous ME109s and FW190s.

Here, in the early days of the aerial war, was born the esprit de corps of the 303rd - the spirit among men without which no outfit can rise above the mediocre. This spirit was such chat pilots and crews defied all rules, regulations, and faced the almost certainty of death, to leave the formation and add their fire power to that of a crippled, floundering bomber struggling to make the English coast while angry Nazi fighters queued up to try to shoot it down.

Thus died, among others, Lt. Larry Dunnica, 358th pilot, who when last seen was matching his skill in a four-engine bomber with that of several German fighter pilots in a lop-sided dogfight. Here was the spirit that spread to the rest of the Eighth Air Force - "No matter what is the opposition, no matter what are the odds, we shall never turn back until the target is bombed."

In the fall of 1942, it was a question of men, mud and machines. The group needed more men and machines - and less mud. No one was sweating out the end of the war because, for the 303rd and the Eighth Air Force, it was only beginning. Allied forces were still on the defensive, although R.A.F. heavies were in the process of stepping up their nightly attacks on the larger German industrial cities.

Our men and machines were going to have to prove to the world that daylight, high-altitude, precision bombing would be what it takes to destroy the Nazis. The odds were definitely against a bright outlook. Both the Krauts and the English had tried it and had taken a beating. The Germans alone lost more than 2,000 aircraft over England in the Battle of Britain.

Things didn't look too good, especially when two Fortress groups were sent from England to Africa to activate a new air force. The remaining force of four Fortress and two Liberator groups were going to have a monumental task to perform. The fact that two necessary items - men and machines for reinforcement - were not forthcoming, made that task seem almost hopeless.

However discouraging the outlook, these pioneering young Americans went to work on the problem with an enthusiasm that embarrassed the most optimistic. The plight of the 303rd was aptly summed up by one ground crew.

With a touch of subtle American humor they named their Fortress "AOG - Not in Stock" because it was "Always on the ground, parts not in stock." But somehow the ground crews made their planes airworthy, and in spite of the odds the 303rd and the other groups continued to pound the German naval bases in the West in a desperate effort to save Allied shipping from unbearable losses.

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358th BS. 11 Jan. 1943

It was during this period that new combat formations were devised to protect the planes in the air from fighter attacks and to produce a more concentrated bomb pattern on the target. The new B-I7G with its nose turret and other improvements was the direct result of the hard-won experience of the group's original flyers who found much room for improvement in the old planes and didn't hesitate to say so. Men of the 303rd were among the first to install two caliber .50 machine guns in the tip of the nose as a surprise to the Jerry fighters who thought they had found a soft spot in the Fortress armor.

This pioneering and experimental spirit that kept men busy was about all that kept the morale of the officers and men from taking a nose dive. The 303rd was paying a heavy price in the battles over France. At the base, combat men were trying to ignore the growing number of empty bunks in the Nissen huts. Airplanes were wearing tin-can patches over ragged holes and flying on parts that made crew chiefs prematurely gray.

"Moonlight requisitioning" of parts from shot-up planes by ground crews was, naturally, frowned upon, but nevertheless it did happen frequently. Some Pilots would not allow their planes to be brought to the hangar for repairs because they were sure they would be stripped for parts. They had good grounds for argument, too. A badly shot-up Fort might sit in the hangar for weeks while less badly damaged planes flew on its parts. The 303rd was at low ebb.

Then in January, 1943, Lt. Colonel Charles E. Marion, the deputy group commander, flew General Eaker to the Casablanca conference where it was decided to increase the strength of the Eigth Air Force. Immediately there was a noticeable change. New combat men began to arrive to fill the empty bunks. New planes fresh from the factory in their drab camouflage landed in groups of seven and eight. The number of "not-in-stocks" at supply diminished. And oldtimers craned their necks in awe as the size of the formations over the field increased daily. In everybody's mind was the thought, "Now, by God, we've got an Air Force and we'll really give it to them !"

January 27, 1943, was a day of excitement on the base. In spite of close security, word leaked around that today's target was in Germany itself! For the first time the 303rd, with Colonel Marion leading, roared over Germany, bound for the shipbuilding yards at Wilhelmshaven. When the crews piled out of their planes that night they were jubilant. They had bombed the shipyards, shot down several German fighters and come home unscathed. In the first battle of the Reich they had the Germans hanging on the ropes.

All of the invasions of the Reich were not so bloodless. Rare indeed was the day when our formations could penetrate the German border and report no losses. The Luftwaffe bitterly contested the occupation of the sky over their homeland, and in these savage battles men of the 303rd proved that they were made of the stuff of heroes. Some returned to wear their medals - some didn't.

Such a man was First Lieutenant Jack Mathis, 359th bombardier who flew in the squadron lead plane "The Duchess". As the formation neared Vegasack, Germany,on March 15, 1943, Mathis was bent over his bombsight, making the minute, careful corrections that meant success or failure for his squadron. Around and through the formation zipped vicious Nazi fighters, determined to break up the close formation before they could loose their deadly loads.

Mathis paid no attention to these or to the ugly black puffs of flak that blasted the air around him. He saw only the cross hairs of his bombsight creeping slowly toward the shipyards. Seconds to go. And then there was a terrific blast. The plexiglass nose of the bomber splintered. Mathis flew to the rear of the compartment, dazed, bleeding, badly wounded. With superhuman effort he crawled back to his bombsight, made last minute corrections and released his bombs. Then Jack Mathis died. For the 303rd and the Eighth Air Force it meant the best bombing job so far in the war. For Mathis it meant the Congressional Medal of Honor - posthumously.

Go to Part II: Spring, 1943