USAAF bombed during the day, RAF bombed at night.
This is why we were better than the Brits.
OT: War Stories
- Thread starter Roy_Faulker
- Start date
USAAF bombed during the day, RAF bombed at night.
This is why we were better than the Brits.
Well, there you go...don't quote me but there may have been a scene in Patton and that was when Dad brought it up. I may be wrong though but absolutly remember him telling us it was like nighttime in the middle of the day
Some of that was the sheer number of B-17s. A lot of it was the black clouds from the German flack shells exploding in the middle of all those planes.
As a pilot, I can't even begin to imagine how horrifying that must have been, day after day... You have no idea whether one is going to hit you. And most of those planes suffered some kind of shrapnel damage on every mission.
to be fair.. the Brits fended off the Nazis for years before we joined. It cost us dearly to do daylight bombings.. but in the grand scheme of things it was probably fair.
By '42 the Brits couldn't "afford" the losses the US was willing to accept.
Correct. They had no appetite for things like daylight bombing campaigns because they were severely resource-depleted.
So many puzzling air combat decisions during WWII, in hindsight. The brits, for example, ordered up a shitload of GR.III aircraft from the US. Built by Martin, known as the Baltimore and designated the A-30 by the USAAF, it was a light attack bomber of great capability. The RAF marveled at how much better it was than the Bristol Blenheim, for example. So what did they do with it? Mostly training. Limited combat duty in Africa and Italy.
I would have ordered a shitload more and put them into service attacking German supply lines and fixed weaponry - particularly AA gun emplacements. But back then there was limited enthusiasm for targeting the enemies air defenses as a precursor to strategic bombing.
The British bomber defensive armament was inadequate - 30 caliber machine guns.
The A-20 Boston/Havoc was better than the Baltimore.
(Thanks to @DJ Spanky for linking this thread in the Pearl Harbor thread.)
My father was with the 2nd Armored Division - nicknamed Hell on Wheels. The triangular patch on his left upper-arm in the photo below is a 2nd Armored Division patch. He drove a tank on Omaha Beach not on D-Day, but three days later, often referred to as D-Day plus 3.
My father (who passed away in 1996) was among the many veterans who rarely spoke about the war. I never asked him about it because I knew it would make him uncomfortable. He had a photo album (which I still have) with hundreds of WW2 pictures in it. I never saw him look at the album. I do wonder if he did when nobody was around. I have no idea where the photos were taken. A few of them are a bit disturbing, but not graphic in any way.
One of the few war experiences he did mention was when he landed at Normandy. He said when his tank hit the beach, his orders were to go full speed ahead. He had instructions to reach a certain spot ASAP. He wasn't to be concerned with bodies on the ground. Just go. As a tank driver, you would NEVER run over another human being... to respect the dead. He said that day the rules were different. I still get shivers thinking about it.
Digressing, my father did his basic training at Fort Riley, KS, where Joe Louis trained. I can remember my dad telling my brother and I how friendly he was and he got to watch him spar.
There's so much info online about the "Hell on Wheels" division, remarkable stuff.
https://www.armydivs.com/2nd-armore...BGr9qkIyQnn1YjXzP-y-rHC3WTGT96bxBgOCvCY8rs5HA
https://unwritten-record.blogs.arch...tKbXg91uYHe0wzS0LWzFRcshZL-31tPcT36-Ozj66-mWk
Great thread. All the combat stories are interesting and sometimes sad.
I would like to speak up for the average guy. The ones that just did their jobs and didn't win any medals.
My father served in the Navy in the Pacific in WWII and Korea. He was a clerk on aircraft carrier escorts (small aircraft carriers). I don't know much else about his service, but I know he was discharged after WWII and reenlisted for Korea.
I would like to speak up for the average guy. The ones that just did their jobs and didn't win any medals.
My father served in the Navy in the Pacific in WWII and Korea. He was a clerk on aircraft carrier escorts (small aircraft carriers). I don't know much else about his service, but I know he was discharged after WWII and reenlisted for Korea.
Same with my grandfather. Never said a word about it to his kids or grandkids, and everyone knew better than to ask. He had some minor permanent disfigurement to one of his feet that was attributed to the war; don’t know how it happened, and as far as I know he never explained it—even to his kids. My uncle on that side fought in Vietnam, he didn’t talk much about fighting itself, but shared stories about the extracurricular stuff, and passed along photos and letters from his time there.
I went to a relatives wedding back in the 90s.
I was by myself and ended-up seated at the singles table.
I had a old, old lady to one side of me, and figured I would have to yell to be heard.
It turned out she heard fine and was sharp as heck
She told me about her husband being dead.
The couple owned a plant where they made pots and pans.
The government came and told them they had to make nose cones for fighter planes.
They would make a few and rush them out in a taxi.
The husband was working 14-16 hour days/nights.
After a few years of that he dropped dead.
Reminded me of McCain's Admiral father who died at home just 4 days after being at Missouri surrender.
A lot of people - even at home - were very tired from 4 years of grinding.
That was another good reason for atomic cessation
I was by myself and ended-up seated at the singles table.
I had a old, old lady to one side of me, and figured I would have to yell to be heard.
It turned out she heard fine and was sharp as heck
She told me about her husband being dead.
The couple owned a plant where they made pots and pans.
The government came and told them they had to make nose cones for fighter planes.
They would make a few and rush them out in a taxi.
The husband was working 14-16 hour days/nights.
After a few years of that he dropped dead.
Reminded me of McCain's Admiral father who died at home just 4 days after being at Missouri surrender.
A lot of people - even at home - were very tired from 4 years of grinding.
That was another good reason for atomic cessation
I have ancestors who fought on both sides of the Civil War. We have a ton of material from my great grandfather, who was a surgeon in the 22nd Mississippi Black Hawk Infantry regiment. Lots of great stories from the letters he wrote home. But maybe the one that is the most entertaining is a diary entry from when he was in medical school at the University of New Orleans:
"24 hours straight of surgery yesterday, after which I went into town for some 'horizontal refreshment.'"
"24 hours straight of surgery yesterday, after which I went into town for some 'horizontal refreshment.'"
I had the good fortune to be friends with Roscoe Brown. We served on committees together for the Department of Education in New Jersey, and I was his son's masters advisor. I had known him for years before I knew he was a Tuskegee Airman. I went up to him at our next meeting and had this conversation with him:
Me: Roscoe, you were a Tuskegee Airman? You never told me.
Roscoe: I did have that honor in the war, Jeff.
Me: That is so amazing. I'm just dumbfounded.
Roscoe (laughing): I'm sure you have done wonderful things that I don't know about.
Me: Yeah, I was a good football player and got to go to Princeton, but I was never A TUSKEGEE AIRMAN!
Roscoe: Let's get some coffee and Danish before the meeting starts.
He was a great guy. And not just a Tuskegee Airman, but a squadron commander who once shot down a Messerschmitt jet fighter in his prop plane! From wikipedia:
He graduated from the Tuskegee Flight School on March 12, 1944, as member of class 44-C-SE[1] and served in the U.S. Army Air Forces in Europe during World War II. During this period, on March 24, 1945, mission to Berlin Captain Brown shot down a German Me 262 jet fighter and several days later, on March 31, a Fw 190 fighter (he is credited as the first 15th Air Force pilot to shoot down a jet).[2][3] He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.[4]
Me: Roscoe, you were a Tuskegee Airman? You never told me.
Roscoe: I did have that honor in the war, Jeff.
Me: That is so amazing. I'm just dumbfounded.
Roscoe (laughing): I'm sure you have done wonderful things that I don't know about.
Me: Yeah, I was a good football player and got to go to Princeton, but I was never A TUSKEGEE AIRMAN!
Roscoe: Let's get some coffee and Danish before the meeting starts.
He was a great guy. And not just a Tuskegee Airman, but a squadron commander who once shot down a Messerschmitt jet fighter in his prop plane! From wikipedia:
He graduated from the Tuskegee Flight School on March 12, 1944, as member of class 44-C-SE[1] and served in the U.S. Army Air Forces in Europe during World War II. During this period, on March 24, 1945, mission to Berlin Captain Brown shot down a German Me 262 jet fighter and several days later, on March 31, a Fw 190 fighter (he is credited as the first 15th Air Force pilot to shoot down a jet).[2][3] He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.[4]
I've told this story before but many years ago I was at a Memorial Day ceremony and a member of the 101 Airborne and Battle of the Bulge veteran was present. After the ceremony I went up to him and thanked him for his service. He looked at me and his reponse was:
"Someone had to do it."
A different breed of men.
"Someone had to do it."
A different breed of men.
I have no stories to tell about actual action. My father and m uncle both must have lived right. My father entered the army at the conclusion on ww2, spent his entire service time in occupied Japan and was discharged just before the Korean War. My uncle was drafted into the army. He was on a boat sailing to Europe when Germany surrender. Boat turned around and came back to NY.
I had the great privilege to be in Washington DC several years ago when an Honor Flight was scheduled. We stood with our American Flags at the WWII Memorial to greet them. Very moving ceremony.
Amazing.
Honor flight triggered a memory for me. We went to the commissioning of the WW2 memorial in early 2000s.
Went with my wife’s grandfather (same one as the first post). He was a coal country guy so very blue collar and old fashioned.
We were in the hotel and families had shirts made up to honor their veteran family member. Some amazing shirts - D-Day survivor with a Higgins Boat on the back of his shirt and the caption “Just Another Day on the Beach” among others.
Grandfather sees a man in a Tuskegee red tails shirt and he makes a b-line to him. Stops him dead in his tracks and shoves out his hand. Thanks him profusely for bringing him home when flying over Italy. Introduced his family. Still gets me choked up.
Honor flight triggered a memory for me. We went to the commissioning of the WW2 memorial in early 2000s.
Went with my wife’s grandfather (same one as the first post). He was a coal country guy so very blue collar and old fashioned.
We were in the hotel and families had shirts made up to honor their veteran family member. Some amazing shirts - D-Day survivor with a Higgins Boat on the back of his shirt and the caption “Just Another Day on the Beach” among others.
Grandfather sees a man in a Tuskegee red tails shirt and he makes a b-line to him. Stops him dead in his tracks and shoves out his hand. Thanks him profusely for bringing him home when flying over Italy. Introduced his family. Still gets me choked up.
If you remember we discussed that my ancestor, under Sherman for a time, may have faced off against your ancestors regiment on his way thru the south. I know he was in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Wild to think about.
Hope all is well wayyyyyy down under prof.
I went to the WWII Memorial when it was 1 week old. It was June 6th, I believe it was the 60th anniversary of D-Day. Moving day.
Here is a link to the WWII MEMORIAL Registry, you can look for your family members there:
https://wwiiregistry.abmc.gov/
Reading the War Stories thread motivated me to finally write down my father’s story and I thought that today, D-day plus 80 would be an appropriate time to bump the thread. Although it involves an enemy combatant, I do not believe that matters and it does provide a unique perspective. I think you will find it an interesting addition to this list. I apologize for its length. I am honored by all who read it.
This is a synopsis of my father’s war story compiled from oral vignettes that he recounted over the years. I have also included some family history for context. There are more details that I could fill in and many that I cannot. He was candid but there were things about which he would not talk. It always seemed to me that he told these stories as a cautionary tale. One of my regrets is that I never sat with him to fill in the gaps and make a cohesive accounting of them before he passed away.
My father was the youngest of seven. The eldest brother was born in a mountain village in Sicily. My grandparents were poor subsistence farmers. My grandfather, seeking a better life, left his young family and traveled to America to find work as a coal miner in Pennsylvania. Eventually he was able to bring his wife and son over. They had four more sons. When the youngest was eight, my grandfather, fed up with the life of a miner, returned to the village in Sicily with his wife and youngest son. The four remaining brothers resettled to New Brunswick, NJ. Back in Sicily, two more children were born, the first female and my father.
My father was eighteen years old in 1941 and had grown up with poverty and an uneven food supply. With only a sixth-grade education and no prospects for a better life, and despite an ongoing war, he decided to enlist in the Italian Navy to learn a trade, (and to be better fed). He was already employed as a barber. (Shaved his first customer at age eleven.) Although there was a war on, the scuttlebutt was that it was in hand and would soon be over. My father was assigned to the cruiser Trieste to train as an electrician. Over in America, three of his brothers whom he had never met had been drafted or enlisted into the US military.
On April 10, 1943, while the ship was moored in La Maddalena, Sardinia, she was hit by American heavy bombers and sunk. My father, having just come off his watch at 4 am to find someone unwilling to move, sleeping in his bunk deep below deck decided to go back up for a smoke. This decision likely saved his life for that is when the bombs began to fall, exploding all around him. My father, who could not swim, managed to grab a life vest before being swept off the deck. The ship sank in half an hour. Hours later he was plucked out of the water by a rescue boat searching the harbor for survivors.
After surviving the ordeal, the Italian military granted him twenty days leave and passage to anywhere on the mainland. Sicily was off limits because of the constant bombardment around the Strait of Messina. Nonetheless my father was determined to go back to his village to see his family. Unfortunately, timely communication was not possible, and news restricted. My grandparents had become aware that the Trieste had sunk because my uncle had an illegal shortwave radio in the attic that could pick up BBC broadcasts. They had no knowledge of my father’s fate.
My father and a fellow Sicilian travelled as far as they could on the mainland to Reggio di Calabria. Air raid horns were constantly sounding, and a bombardment of Messina was visible. Regardless, there was still a small amount of traffic crossing the strait. My father and fellow traveler hitched a ride on a car ferry that was loaded with gasoline and propane tanks! Once on the other side my father caught one of the sporadically running trains and took it along the coast to the depot closest to his home. It was still over ten mostly uphill miles to the village. Eventually he got there.
After spending time home my father felt duty bound to find his way back to his assigned unit. Much to his surprise, once he got there, he was given the choice to join the Wehrmacht, or interment. (While in transit Mussolini was arrested by order of the King and the military collapsed.) Like most of the Italians he refused to collaborate. As a result, he was disarmed and deported to Germany as a military internee. He spent the next twenty-one months imprisoned at Wietzendorf near Bergan-Belsen under brutal living conditions and forced to perform forced labor. The Italian military internees were not considered POW’s. As such they were not protected by the Geneva Conventions. About 50,000 were either murdered or died.
He was finally liberated by American forces towards the end of the war in 1945. German and much of Europe’s infrastructure was a mess. To repatriate these survivors, and the masses of refugees was a challenge. No matter, after liberation my father’s life improved dramatically. Not just because of the liberation but because the Americans provided medical attention, and regular meals. Trays of steaks. Endless pancakes. My father had never witnessed such abundance, and once the American soldiers became aware of his skill as a barber, he had a steady stream of paying clients. While Europe rebuilt, he was able to rent a room from a friendly German family while waiting for the opportunity to return home.
It took him four months to accomplish this. He had been gone for over two years with no news of his fate. When he finally made it back home to a joyous reunion everyone marveled at how the poor, scrawny kid who left came back with meat on his bones, color in his cheeks, and money in his pocket. “We heard that the war was so terrible.” they all said.
He was twenty-two years old.
The next year, the brothers he had never met, made the trip to Italy to meet their siblings. In 1958 my parents and I emigrated to this wonderful country, also settling in New Brunswick.
My father was a quiet, friendly man. An optimist, he always had a smile on his face. You would have never guessed his history.
This is a synopsis of my father’s war story compiled from oral vignettes that he recounted over the years. I have also included some family history for context. There are more details that I could fill in and many that I cannot. He was candid but there were things about which he would not talk. It always seemed to me that he told these stories as a cautionary tale. One of my regrets is that I never sat with him to fill in the gaps and make a cohesive accounting of them before he passed away.
My father was the youngest of seven. The eldest brother was born in a mountain village in Sicily. My grandparents were poor subsistence farmers. My grandfather, seeking a better life, left his young family and traveled to America to find work as a coal miner in Pennsylvania. Eventually he was able to bring his wife and son over. They had four more sons. When the youngest was eight, my grandfather, fed up with the life of a miner, returned to the village in Sicily with his wife and youngest son. The four remaining brothers resettled to New Brunswick, NJ. Back in Sicily, two more children were born, the first female and my father.
My father was eighteen years old in 1941 and had grown up with poverty and an uneven food supply. With only a sixth-grade education and no prospects for a better life, and despite an ongoing war, he decided to enlist in the Italian Navy to learn a trade, (and to be better fed). He was already employed as a barber. (Shaved his first customer at age eleven.) Although there was a war on, the scuttlebutt was that it was in hand and would soon be over. My father was assigned to the cruiser Trieste to train as an electrician. Over in America, three of his brothers whom he had never met had been drafted or enlisted into the US military.
On April 10, 1943, while the ship was moored in La Maddalena, Sardinia, she was hit by American heavy bombers and sunk. My father, having just come off his watch at 4 am to find someone unwilling to move, sleeping in his bunk deep below deck decided to go back up for a smoke. This decision likely saved his life for that is when the bombs began to fall, exploding all around him. My father, who could not swim, managed to grab a life vest before being swept off the deck. The ship sank in half an hour. Hours later he was plucked out of the water by a rescue boat searching the harbor for survivors.
After surviving the ordeal, the Italian military granted him twenty days leave and passage to anywhere on the mainland. Sicily was off limits because of the constant bombardment around the Strait of Messina. Nonetheless my father was determined to go back to his village to see his family. Unfortunately, timely communication was not possible, and news restricted. My grandparents had become aware that the Trieste had sunk because my uncle had an illegal shortwave radio in the attic that could pick up BBC broadcasts. They had no knowledge of my father’s fate.
My father and a fellow Sicilian travelled as far as they could on the mainland to Reggio di Calabria. Air raid horns were constantly sounding, and a bombardment of Messina was visible. Regardless, there was still a small amount of traffic crossing the strait. My father and fellow traveler hitched a ride on a car ferry that was loaded with gasoline and propane tanks! Once on the other side my father caught one of the sporadically running trains and took it along the coast to the depot closest to his home. It was still over ten mostly uphill miles to the village. Eventually he got there.
After spending time home my father felt duty bound to find his way back to his assigned unit. Much to his surprise, once he got there, he was given the choice to join the Wehrmacht, or interment. (While in transit Mussolini was arrested by order of the King and the military collapsed.) Like most of the Italians he refused to collaborate. As a result, he was disarmed and deported to Germany as a military internee. He spent the next twenty-one months imprisoned at Wietzendorf near Bergan-Belsen under brutal living conditions and forced to perform forced labor. The Italian military internees were not considered POW’s. As such they were not protected by the Geneva Conventions. About 50,000 were either murdered or died.
He was finally liberated by American forces towards the end of the war in 1945. German and much of Europe’s infrastructure was a mess. To repatriate these survivors, and the masses of refugees was a challenge. No matter, after liberation my father’s life improved dramatically. Not just because of the liberation but because the Americans provided medical attention, and regular meals. Trays of steaks. Endless pancakes. My father had never witnessed such abundance, and once the American soldiers became aware of his skill as a barber, he had a steady stream of paying clients. While Europe rebuilt, he was able to rent a room from a friendly German family while waiting for the opportunity to return home.
It took him four months to accomplish this. He had been gone for over two years with no news of his fate. When he finally made it back home to a joyous reunion everyone marveled at how the poor, scrawny kid who left came back with meat on his bones, color in his cheeks, and money in his pocket. “We heard that the war was so terrible.” they all said.
He was twenty-two years old.
The next year, the brothers he had never met, made the trip to Italy to meet their siblings. In 1958 my parents and I emigrated to this wonderful country, also settling in New Brunswick.
My father was a quiet, friendly man. An optimist, he always had a smile on his face. You would have never guessed his history.
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My one Uncle was in the Army prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor. In fact, he was on course to complete his tour which was just a few weeks away, when the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred. My uncle stayed in the Army, states-side, as a master sergeant training and preparing soldiers to deploy overseas.
Another uncle was a MP in the Army. He was stationed in England and later deployed to the European Mainland.
Another uncle served in the Army throughout the Pacific. He was in the battle of Okinawa (Ryukyu Islands), Aleutian Islands, Southern Philippines, and Eastern Mandates. Among his awards he was awarded 2 Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart.
Another uncle served in the Army in the European Theater as part of the 66thInfantry Division, 263rd Infantry Regiment. He, as a 19 year old, was in the 1944 Christmas Eve Convoy of ships crossing the English Channel. Their destination was Bastogne to be part of the Battle of the Bulge. The Convoy was attacked by a German U-Boat. The largest ship, The Leopaldville, was hit by a torpedo and sunk in the channel. My uncle witnessed this horrific event from his ship. They were then sent to France where he was part of several battles. As an Army Medic, he was awarded the Bronze Star Medal and Citation for heroism for aiding a wounded comrade under intense enemy machine gun and small arms fire in Brittany France.
Another uncle, who served in the Army in the 747th tank battalion during WWII. He was part of the tank corps that landed on Normandy, Omaha Beach D-Day +1. The unit received 4 battle stars for engagements in Normandy, Northern France, the Rhineland, and Central Europe. The unit received the Criox de Guerre bravery award, along with a palm from the provisional government of the Republic of France for the defeat of the enemy and the liberation of France.
My Grandfather was a submariner in WWI. He enlisted at around age 15. We don’t have the records to confirm the dates.
My father joined the Navy at 17 and served during WWII on Guam. Pop was training for Operation Downfall, the plan for the invasion of Mainland Japan, as part of the first human wave, until the unconditional surrender that ended the war.
Another uncle was a MP in the Army. He was stationed in England and later deployed to the European Mainland.
Another uncle served in the Army throughout the Pacific. He was in the battle of Okinawa (Ryukyu Islands), Aleutian Islands, Southern Philippines, and Eastern Mandates. Among his awards he was awarded 2 Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart.
Another uncle served in the Army in the European Theater as part of the 66thInfantry Division, 263rd Infantry Regiment. He, as a 19 year old, was in the 1944 Christmas Eve Convoy of ships crossing the English Channel. Their destination was Bastogne to be part of the Battle of the Bulge. The Convoy was attacked by a German U-Boat. The largest ship, The Leopaldville, was hit by a torpedo and sunk in the channel. My uncle witnessed this horrific event from his ship. They were then sent to France where he was part of several battles. As an Army Medic, he was awarded the Bronze Star Medal and Citation for heroism for aiding a wounded comrade under intense enemy machine gun and small arms fire in Brittany France.
Another uncle, who served in the Army in the 747th tank battalion during WWII. He was part of the tank corps that landed on Normandy, Omaha Beach D-Day +1. The unit received 4 battle stars for engagements in Normandy, Northern France, the Rhineland, and Central Europe. The unit received the Criox de Guerre bravery award, along with a palm from the provisional government of the Republic of France for the defeat of the enemy and the liberation of France.
My Grandfather was a submariner in WWI. He enlisted at around age 15. We don’t have the records to confirm the dates.
My father joined the Navy at 17 and served during WWII on Guam. Pop was training for Operation Downfall, the plan for the invasion of Mainland Japan, as part of the first human wave, until the unconditional surrender that ended the war.
