The FReeper Foxhole Revisits The Ploesti Raid - (Aug. 1, 1943) - May 15th, 2004

see educational sources

[snippy_about_it]

Lord,

Keep our Troops forever in Your care

Give them victory over the enemy...

Grant them a safe and swift return...

Bless those who mourn the lost.
.

FReepers from the Foxhole join in prayer
for all those serving their country at this time.


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The FReeper Foxhole Revisits

Into the Mouth of Hell

Losses on the first large-scale Ploesti raid were staggering, heroism unsurpassed.

Tradition rests on a foundation of great deeds done together in the past. A keystone of Air Force tradition is the Aug. 1, 1943, bombing attack on oil refineries at Ploesti, about 30 miles north of Bucharest, Romania. That mission stands as a monument not only to the skill and courage of Air Force crews but also to the ability of our combat leaders to pull together strands of a broken plan and salvage limited success from the apparent certainty of disaster.

The Ploesti raid was unique in several respects. It was the first large-scale, low-level strike by heavy bombers against a well-defended target and the longest--1,350 miles from base to bombs-away--of World War II up to that time. For extraordinary heroism that day, five men were awarded the Medal of Honor, a record that may hold for all time.

Why did Ploesti merit that unprecedented effort? In mid-1943, seven refineries in and near the city were producing an estimated 35 percent of Germany's oil and an equal proportion of her aviation gasoline. Some Allied planners thought that destruction of the refineries might even force the Nazis out of the war.

The task force put together for Ploesti was composed of two Ninth Air Force B-24 groups--the 376th and 98th--based in North Africa and three B-24 groups from Eighth Air Force--the 93d, 44th, and the recently arrived 389th--that were moved from their UK bases to fields in North Africa near Benghazi, Libya. The attack was set for Sunday, Aug. 1, in order to minimize casualties among impressed workers at the refineries. It was meticulously planned and thoroughly rehearsed, including two full-scale practice missions against a simulation of the Ploesti targets, laid out in a remote area of the desert.

Surprise and Precision

In concept, if not in execution, the plan of attack was simple, its essence: surprise and precision. The bomber stream would be led by the 376th Group under Col. Keith K. Compton, followed by the 93d, 98th, 44th, and 389th in that order. Specific buildings within the five refineries in Ploesti; the refinery at Campina, 18 miles northwest of the city; and one at Brazi, five miles to the south, were assigned to elements of the five groups.



The task force, totaling 177 B-24s with Brig. Gen. Uzal Ent as mission commander flying in Compton's aircraft, would take off between 4 and 5 a.m., fly north in a tight column of groups to Corfu (off the coast of Greece), then climb over the mountains of Albania and Yugoslavia to the Danubian plain, where they would descend below enemy radar coverage. At Pitesti, the first Initial Point (IP), the 389th would break off to the left and proceed to the refinery at Campina.

The four leading groups would drop to 500 feet and continue to the final IP at Floresti, where they would begin a 13-mile bomb run on five refineries in the city and the one at Brazi, descending to treetop level for bomb release. All six refineries would be hit almost simultaneously by a single wave of bombers, flying line-abreast, that would saturate the defenses. That was the plan. Winston Churchill is credited with observing that "in war, nothing ever goes according to plan except occasionally, and then by accident." Ploesti was no exception.



In the long flight over the Mediterranean, the column lost some of its cohesion, with the 376th and 93d Groups slightly ahead of the other three. Then, near Corfu, the lead aircraft with the route navigator went out of control and crashed. (Ent and Compton were not in the lead bomber, but in a position to assume the lead when a final turn to the bomb run was made.) A second 376th aircraft bearing the deputy route navigator followed down to look for survivors. Unable to climb back in time to rejoin the group, it returned to Benghazi.

Now ahead of the formation towering cumulus clouds rose above the mountains. The two lead groups threaded their way through or under the clouds, while the 98th, 44th, and 389th penetrated the cloud line at varying altitudes. By the time those three had reformed a column and resumed a heading for Pitesti, the first two groups were 29 minutes ahead of them.

Because of radio silence, Ent and Compton could not contact the trailing groups. Not knowing whether or not those groups had turned back, they decided to follow the operations order even though they might have to go it alone. Thus, the five groups actually proceeded toward Pitesti as two widely separated forces. A surprise attack on the refineries in Ploesti by a single wave of some 140 bombers, that dominant key to success at an acceptable cost, was beyond redemption.

The Wrong Turn



The chain of circumstance was not yet complete. The 376th and 93d Groups made their turn at Pitesti and headed for the final IP at Floresti. Halfway between the two IPs lay the town of Targoviste, which closely resembled Floresti. Flying at very low altitude, the 376th mistook Targoviste for the IP and turned southeast on the briefed bomb-run heading, which took the two groups to the west of Ploesti--an error that wasn't discovered until they were on the outskirts of Bucharest. At that point, Ent broke radio silence, ordering the two groups to turn north and attack targets of opportunity in the complex of refineries.

The 93d Group, led by Lt. Col. Addison E. Baker, a National Guard officer who had been called to active duty in 1940, caught a glimpse of refineries off to the left. He and his pilot, Maj. John Jerstad, who had completed his combat tour but volunteered for the mission, bored in on an unidentified refinery, which turned out to be Columbia Aquila, a 44th Group target. Enemy defenses, much heavier than anticipated, were thoroughly aroused. More than 230 antiaircraft guns, supported by many barrage balloons and smoke pots, surrounded the refineries, with perhaps 400 fighters in the area.



Into a maelstrom of ground fire, Baker led the group. Short of the refinery, his B-24 was hit and burst into flames. Baker and Jerstad could have bellied in on open fields or pulled up to bailout altitude and probably saved themselves and their crew. But this was a mission on which some thought the outcome of the war might hinge. Without wavering, they led the bombers straight on to the refinery before crashing into the ground. Both Baker and Jerstad were awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously.

Off to the right of their funeral pyre, a second element of the 93d bombed two refineries assigned to the 98th Group. Meanwhile, five B-24s of the 376th Group led by Maj. Norman C. Appold hit the Concordia Vega refinery, originally assigned to the 93d, and "emerged covered with soot" as other 376th bombers unloaded on various segments of the Ploesti complex.



While the 376th and 93d were making the best of a bad situation, the other three, led by veteran pilot Col. John R. "Killer" Kane, commander of the 98th, turned at Pitesti as planned. The tail-end 389th under Col. Jack Wood broke off to the northeast, bombing the refinery at Campina to complete destruction. Four aircraft were lost to flak, one of them piloted by 21-year-old 2d Lt. Lloyd H. Hughes, who was on his fifth combat mission. His B-24, hit by ground fire, leaked streams of gasoline from wing and bomb-bay tanks.

Below lay wheat fields, where Hughes could have landed, but instead he drove on through the smoke and flame created by the bombers ahead of him, struck his target, and came out with his left wing sheathed in flame. His desperate attempt to save the crew by crash-landing on a lake bed failed when one wing of the blazing B-24 hit a river bank and the plane exploded. The mission's third posthumous Medal of Honor was awarded to Hughes.

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FReeper Foxhole Armed Services Links

[Soaring Feather]

All I can come up with to say is awwwwwwwww.

Thanks so much.

[snippy_about_it]

Samwolf you know it was you. You should have seen your eyes light up. LOL.

[snippy_about_it]

Hiya Darksheare. How's your evening going?

[snippy_about_it]

Cool uniform

[Darksheare]

Wandering!
*chuckle*
Had hail here earlier, some of it tennis ball sized reportedly.
Not that this will make teh evening news, but it was interesting.
And then the sun came back out.
So teh places that didn't get rain got baked, while the places that got the hail got temporary fog..
*snort!*

[SAMWolf]

You should have seen your eyes light up.

ME?????

[SAMWolf]

I can't get over that adorable smile in the first picture. I wouldn't be able to tear myself away.

[SAMWolf]

That's the one.

[snippy_about_it]

Me???

Yeah, like that.

[Professional Engineer]

OH, what a cutie! Is this your first girl?

Thank you. Yes, she is. Grandma has been going crazy with the shopping too! Msdrby and I are just please that she's healthy, the rest is a bonus from God.

[Professional Engineer]

I can't get over that adorable smile in the first picture. I wouldn't be able to tear myself away.

LOL. This morning, I had to force myself to put her down so I could retrieve her brother from a birthday party. That was very hard to do.

[Professional Engineer]

Guess which one of us picked out the camo. LOL.

The counter girl at Starbucks must've suggested it.

[Valin]

Is it just me or is she getting bigger?

[Professional Engineer]

Shhh, I'm not ready yet! When she starts dating, I plan to be sitting at the table cleaning a thunder stick, when her date arrives. I haven't had time to decide which one yet.

[Valin]

Something to post on your front door, or as a handout.

Eight Rules for Dating my Daughter
Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend's father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter's chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a hand that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter's suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they'll stay wilted all night.

"So," I'll call out jovially. "I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you're stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?"

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.

Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure as heck not picking anything up.

Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to assure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric staple gun and fasten your trousers securely in place around your waist.

Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I WILL kill you.

Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make YOU cry.

Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process which can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her adam's apple. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay.

My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come downstairs and find me attempting to get her date to recite these eight simple rules from memory. I'd be embarrassed too-there are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I did NOT suggest to one of these cretins that I'd have these rules tattooed on his arm if he couldn't remember them. (I checked into it and the cost is prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing the rules on his arm with a ball point might be inadequate-ink washes off-and that my wood burning set was probably a better alternative.

One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter's would-be suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated rule number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a few dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy. "Don't you remember being that age?" she challenged.

Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight simple rules?

[Professional Engineer]

Every time I read about this mission, I get chills. Astounding.

[Iris7]

"Nothing sounds like a Radial engine."

I like their sound OK, but I just love their amazing parts. One thinks about how one would make the parts one is looking at in utter amazement. Pratt was a production and custom machine tool builder of very precise, huge, and specialized milling machines before they were a radial engine builder, so getting into radial manufacture was a natural step.

Those crankcases must have been a bear to make. Talk about specialized tooling! To do that again today would cost, dunno, couple hundred million? All the tooling is pretty much gone. Once the old parts are used up, that is the end of them. Sigh.

Saw a Pratt mill for sale on ebay recently, figure it is for working on radials. Ten feet high, twelve feet deep, and twenty five feet long. Just to give you an idea.

[Professional Engineer]

1618 Johannes Kepler discovers harmonics law

Those crazy mathematicians. Next thing you know they'll forever link Kepler with orbital mechanics.

[Iris7]

I flew on a Lockheed Super Constellation when I was ten, fall of 1956. I was in the aircraft when the engines were started after a refueling and maintenance stop, about four hours. Engines were pretty cold. The machine had four R-4360 Turbo-Compounded engines, 3,600 hp - ish.

I was watching the engine crank over, a few cylinders would fire one at a time, not enough to get her spinning. With each cylinder explosion the airplane would ring like a bell, shake all over. Clouds of smoke from the single cylinder's exhaust rose hundreds, really, hundreds of feet into the air. Then the engine caught, the prop raced ahead. The whole aircraft twisted, a jump and a twist, and moved feet, not inches. Needed a seat belt to stay in your seat.

The roar is beyond description. The cabin sound pressure level in flight - and the airline bragged about all of the sound proofing installed, and how quiet the machine was to fly in - was, looking back, well over 100dB, maybe 110 dB on the A scale. You had to put your lips about three inches from the other person's ear and shout. Truth. Quite a gadget. A DC-6 is much less dramatic (four R-2800s).

Love radials, the bigger the better.

[Iris7]

Really like "Zulu". Really like the boys singing, very much. "Men of Harlech" gets sung in a very loud bass around here often enough that there is no surprise, usually without the words since I forget them. The movie uses a better version of the words than I have found elsewhere anyway.