The Cost of Freedom: A True Story, Part Two

My father continues his story: "After I finished Basic Flight Training in Santa Ana, our group went by bus to the Primary Flight Training in the high desert at 29 Palms, California.  

The primary training aircraft was the Boeing Stearman Kaydet Trainer—a 225 HP two-seater biplane, with a top speed of about 124 mph, and ceiling of 11,200 feet.  After 8 hours of flight time with an instructor, I soloed.  We learned rolls, loops, spins, and radio jargon. 

My friend “Busty” Kearns washed out—he got mixed up and tried to land crossways of the field! Four guys (2 instructors and 2 cadets) had a mid-air collision and died.  Another guy got into a spin and did not pull out.  On Saturdays we had PT, running a desert course that ended in a climb up a rocky mountain with sand dunes.  We had to be careful to avoid resting poisonous toads or rattlesnakes. For relaxation I tooted my clarinet whenever I got the opportunity.

Towards the end of training I had a bad acrobatic ride and I thought I would “wash out.” I recall sitting alone at the end of the flight line, dejected and worrying: “Am I going to make it?” I think I wrote to my girlfriend Libby of my worries. But somehow I successfully completed Basic Flight Training, with 45 hours or so of pilot time, and was ordered to more advanced training.  

At that time my Grandfather Frank Horning died and I was given a few days to go on the “Burlington Zephyr” back to Milwaukee for his funeral.  I saw my parents there, and Douglas Horning (my cousin) who was a Navy Flight Instructor.  Doug was married and had a son.  Unfortunately, he was a big smoker, and died of lung cancer while still in the service. I returned to Santa Ana with a severe cold, and was “held over” until the next class at Merced.  

Merced, California was the home of the famous “Vultee Vibrator,” the BT-13 Vultee Valiant. The plane was a low-winged monoplane with a sliding canopy over the two-man cockpit that vibrated: hence the name. It had a powerful 450 HP radial piston engine and retractable landing gear.  Its top speed was about 180 mph, with a ceiling of 21,650 feet, and a range of 725 miles.  It was a big change from the 225 HP biplane crop dusters!  

I flew about 45 hours in the Vultee.  We learned radio procedures and had training using flaps.  There was acrobatic training, including how to recover from stalls and various spins and loops.  I never enjoyed inverted flights, but of course I did all the required maneuvers. I had to learn to follow maps, practice landings, and so on.  Solo night flying was kind of eerie.  We used the radio a lot.  I guess I passed—and I still had my clarinet, but had not had too much time to play it.

I had one bad day at Merced.  Told to practice snap rolls, I got in the plane and taxied over to the landing strip. It was a gusty day.  I made a right hand turn to leave the taxi strip and went a little fast.  I saw another plane coming in for a landing ahead of me.  I hit the brake to stop, still out of the landing strip, but my nose went down.  I pulled back on the stick, to hold down the rear, but a gust of wind caught my tail up!  The propeller hit the ground and the engine stalled: I was stuck!  I shut off the engine and waited for help with my tail in the air!  After that I had several check flights and feared wash-out, but they decided it was an unusual wind gust, and I was pardoned.

Next I went by train and bus to Marfa, Texas  (not too far northeast of Biggs Field in El Paso) for Advanced Flight Training.  We flew twin engine planes we called “Flying Mix Masters” (probably the Beechcraft Army Air Force AT-11, pictured above), which had two 225 HP engines and a fabric-covered cabin. These were like commercial planes, had low wings and were painted orange. There was more training in retractable landing gear, and in twin engine controls, more radio procedures, and so on.  I recall night flying on moonless nights, seeing bonfires far below, looking just like stars above: I had to rely on instruments, and “feel,” to stay level.  

We learned “GUMP,” which meant Gas Undercarriage, Mixture and Propeller-- things to be Aware of at All Times.  More “PT” and classes.  The “Flying Mix Masters” were good little machines. After 45 hours or so I was finished. I do not recall any fatal accident during my time there.  Off duty we had field trips to Alamagordo and to Carlsbad Caverns, and I sometimes took “Elmer” out to quiet places to play.

I finally graduated as a Second Lieutenant, and was happy to have my parents there to see me march.  My folks had taken the “Katy” (Kansas-Texas) train from Milwaukee to see me, and Mother and Dad had to stand on the train all the way.  After graduation I had a few days off, and found myself going back with my folks to Wisconsin.  Mother, Dad, and I stopped at San Antonio on the way and saw the Alamo and other sights. 

After graduation I went back to duty as a flight instructor at Biggs Field for one month. Then my name came up as a member of a B-17 crew (like that one above). I took a train to Lincoln, Nebraska, to meet the rest of the crew.  Maylan Skoglund was the Pilot, I was Co-Pilot, Roy Krug was Bombardier, John Samos was Navigator, and Jay Lossely was Flight Engineer. My “Boss” Maylan Skoglund had flown for some time in B-24’s, but he was a good first pilot in the B-17’s.  He had little time to adjust.  He had a wife and kids in Texas, but followed a nurse or two, and got divorced before I met him. 

Roy Krug and I hit it off quite well.  We went together on the train to Lincoln.  He had a clarinet also, and we both played “Little Brown Jug” sheltered in a compartment on the train—annoying some other troops through a locked door. Later we ate dinner in Lincoln.  I made a fool of myself, drinking too much ale. On a bus I vomited on a lady passenger: I have left ale alone since then!

Finally together as a crew on a B-17, we had time to learn the controls and get familiar with our positions. 

We fired the machine guns from all crew positions and flew practice missions, one of which was over the Grand Canyon!  We were finally sent to New Jersey and issued tropical outfits, which we thought indicated the climate we could expect to be ordered to—perhaps the South Pacific. However, we soon found ourselves embarking on the ship “Isle Du France”—to Europe!  The uniform disbursement was a ruse to keep the enemy from learning our true destination. 

It took eight days to get from New Jersey to Scotland, zig-zagging to avoid enemy submarines.  During the cruise I was issued a 45 caliber Colt automatic, which I carefully finished and customized, using my fingernail file to smooth down the sharp machined edges. But before taking off on my first mission, they made us toss them all into a pile!  The command figured that it would be safer if we didn’t have them if we were shot down.  Finally in Scotland, we took a train and bus down to a small airfield in a tiny town in England named “Stone” that was northeast of London. 

To begin with, we were given practice missions in B-17’s for familiarization with the machines and flying conditions.  One day, early in our practice time, I got assigned to go to London by train to buy winter underwear for our crew.  I spent a day or two in London, and ordered a custom flight jacket that was the rage at the time.  I was impressed with the rides on the British trains —smooth starts and smooth stops. Passenger cars had “compartments” rather than American style seating.  I still admire the British nerve: keeping the train schedule despite the bombs."  

Next Episode: My father relates the V-2 attacks on London, and his bombing missions begin.

G.M. Horning