Dennis "Casey" Jones, a World War II veteran of the 13th Air Force, was shot down in the Pacific Theater in his B-24J Liberator. Jones was later rescued in the Philippines after spending more than a month walking through one of the islands.
Posted on 11/11/2004 12:15:25 PM PST by SandRat
SIERRA VISTA - Sixty years ago today, Dennis C. Jones was relaxing.
He had taken a shower, shaved and eaten.
It was Armistice Day - as today's Veterans Day is called.
But for Jones - Casey to his friends - Nov. 11, 1944, was far from idyllic.
There was no armistice the day Jones took a break on Panay Island in the Philippines.
The area was still under Japanese control as he and a few other airmen made their way up the island - a 35-day trip - to where they would board a submarine to be taken to Australia.
It was on his 18th bombing mission, aboard a B-24J Liberator named Li'l Jo Toddy, on Nov. 1, when his luck and that of the nine other crew members ran out.
"It was supposed to be a milk run," said Jones, then a staff sergeant with the 23rd Squadron, 5th Bombardment Group, of the 13th Air Force.
In Army Air Force jargon a milk run is a simple mission - not much enemy action expected.
But those aboard Li'l Jo Toddy, an aircraft that as part of its nose art has a girl in a swim suit, found out the bombing mission would consist of sour milk.
Taking off from Morotai Island, in then Dutch New Guinea, Li'l Jo joined other B-24s on a mission to hit Alicante air base on Negroes Island to support the invasion of Leyte Island in the Philippines.
After the mission the crew was supposed to go to Australia for some R&R, military for rest and recuperation, or as some call it, ranting and raving.
An armorer and nose turret gunner, Jones was the old man of the flight crew.
He was 24, and was drafted in 1943 in Seattle, Wash.
The bombers on the mission lined up in two "V" echelons. The ill-fated Li'l Jo was part of the second "V," that fateful day, Jones said.
The first echelon made a successful run over the target but clouds developed, hiding the airdrome and causing the second group to have to fly lower to see the Japanese base.
"We did not expect enemy aircraft," the 84-year-old Jones said.
But, like mad hornets out of a disturbed nest, they were all over the bombers, he said, adding the enemy planes had time to mount an attack because of the delay in the second group to drop bombs.
Although over the years the length of the engagement has clouded in his memory, Jones said the action had to be fast and furious.
In no time he had fired all 1,450 rounds of 50-caliber machine gun bullets from his two turret weapons and, looking out, saw three of the four engines were burning.
Later, Jones was to find out that someone else reported that the plane was burned and exploded "and no one got out."
The B-24 was burning and quickly falling out of the sky.
Some of the crew had bailed out. Only he and the bombardier Lt. John Wylder were in the plane,with both men getting out as soon as possible.
"The airspeed indicator is close to 300 knots and the altimeter is unwinding like a second hand on a clock," Jones said.
He did not have his parachute on because of the close fit in the nose turret and while putting on his gear the lieutenant was firing with a 30-caliber machine gun, to no avail, he said.
Finally Wylder jumped followed by Jones.
While he and Wylder went into the drink, the bomber continued until it crashed on a nearby island.
A good swimmer, Jones was able to get to Wylder and the two of them got into a life raft made for one.
Japanese planes began to strafe the bright yellow raft, until Jones pushed the bombardier out and turned the raft over them.
The bottom of the raft was painted blue, providing some camouflage, he said.
After the Japanese planes left the two got back into the raft and began to paddle.
Eventually some Filipinos showed up in boats and rescued them, Jones said.
That began the more than month-long movement, first on Guimeras Island and a couple of days later being taken to the larger Panay.
The rescued American fliers were passed along from one Filipino guerrilla group to another, always making sure to stay away from the Japanese.
As part of the movement, Jones said he was given a credit card.
Actually, it was a written statement saying he and others were to be treated well by the Filipino people and provided all items for their comfort, without paying.
At one village, Filipinos came out, each with an egg and the end result was the biggest omelet he ever saw.
Jones was to see some captive enemies, and since there was no love lost between the Japanese and the Filipinos the life expectancy of the enemy was short, Jones said.
Also, the Filipinos were no kinder to one of their own, including a guerrilla captain who had surrendered his men and arms to the Japanese.
How the Filipino got back into guerrilla control is unknown.
The only thing Jones knows is what he was told; "they are going to give him a fair trial and then they are going to shoot him."
During his trip to safety, Jones kept a short diary, which he expanded on in later years, finally writing down his memories in 1998, 30 years after he retired from the Air Force as a master sergeant.
It was on Dec. 5 when he arrived in Libertad, a town controlled by the Filipinos.
Two days later he boarded the U.S.S Hake, with 28 other "refugees" for the 13-day trip to the western coast of Australia and Perth's port town of Freemantle.
Other refugees on the Hake were four of his bomber crew members - Wylder, Tech. Sgt. Don Perri, Staff Sgt. Harold Douglas and Staff Sgt. Nicholas Mascetta.
The other five crew members of Li'l Jo were killed. They were Harry Elgee, Al Kline and Marty Roth, all lieutenants, Tech Sgt. Don Kabisch and Staff Sgt. Brad Galbraith.
During the sea voyage to Australia the submarine was depth charged by a Japanese ship shortly after departing Libertad.
One huge explosion violently rocked the sub and Jones said to himself, "Oh great. Did I survive all this just to get blown up in this metal coffin."
After the short attack the sub's commander told the crew to check for leaks, which he said he thought was a great idea.
Talking to one to the Hake's crew later, Jones said the man could see how shaken he was and trying to comfort him told Jones, "Don't worry. If they had had our depth right that first can wouldn't have bounced off. It would have blow up when it hit us."
Although the sailor was trying to comfort Jones, the B-24 crew member was less than assured.
Jones' arrival in Australia was not what he had envisioned on that first day of November in 1944.
After a short respite in Australia he headed back to Hollandia, where an Army Air Force headquarters was located, on Christmas Eve, arriving on Christmas.
A couple of days before New Years 1945, Jones found himself on a troop ship making what he called "a 33-day string bean course" back to the United States.
Looking back six decades ago, Jones said he just realized that his 18th bombing mission was a success.
"We dropped our bombs on the target, then we got shot down," he said.
BTTT
SandRat, you found a Great One here. MSgt. Jones is an Airman I will hold on a high level. I was an Airman long after him and I hope I carried on in a manner he would have been proud of.
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