Giants Over Korea
A Sky Too Far
by
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The mission leader concentrated on his instruments as his B-29 worked its way into the thick cloud base that obscured Okinawa. Behind him the four others did the same. One by one, they climbed into the rainy overcast and disappeared in an invisible line that stretched ten miles behind their leader. What was left of his two flights flew; follow the leader fashion in what many would refer to as a bomber stream. During the climb through the overcast the bombers would maintain the same compass heading, power settings, and rate of climb. Their interval sequence when they took off would keep them safely separated as they flew deeper into the clouds.
The weather recon B-29 that took off hours before them provided a constant flow of weather information. Of prime interest to the bombing crews was cloud cover over and near the targets. Crews also were concerned about cloud cover near assembly points. Weather recon had reported the top of the cloud cover over Okinawa as variable with a mean ceiling of 2300 feet several hours ago. Weather observation forecasters reported the front was stable and slow moving and the weather would clear as they neared their target area. Over the dense clouds, a bright three-quarter moon and clear skies waited. Brilliant stars would watch the lumbering giants as they worked their way to the target. In the unending emptiness of night, there is absolute silence. In the clouds, the rain gradually diminished as the B-29s climbed, a sign they were near the top of their blanket of gray. When a heavly defended target was expected the 29s flew on moonless nights. A lightly defended target the moon was okay. They also flew low to advoid leaving contrails in the sky. There was no way to conceal the vapor trails and the MiGs and flack could zero in on the “point” of the discernible mark across the sky. Command went so far as to order gun-muzzle blast suppressors installed on the turret machine guns to help keep the B-29s hidden.
Engine sounds muffled by heavy clouds were the first signs of the B-29s presence. In the isolated seclusion of night, darkness waited as it had for millions of years. The mission leaders’ B-29 slowly and cautiously emerged from the depths of the clouds. It seemed to hesitate, only showing its back as the clouds swirled about, reluctant to release it. Then like a creature rising out of the gloom of a prehistoric swamp, the giant struggled free of the clouds entering the shapeless night.
Ahead, the cockpit crew observed a continuous blanket of rolling gray cloud tops. Leveling off, the lead bomber skimmed the top of the clouds and was trimmed to cruise at 2500 feet and 190 MPH. The strike force would maintain this altitude most of the way to the target.
The mission leader nodded to his co-pilot and turned the controls over to him. Unbuckling his seat harness, he walked a few steps to the navigator's observation dome behind him. Sitting in the navigators’ sling-like seat, with his head in the small clear dome, he gazed behind his craft looking for his strung-out flight. The gale like wake his bomber created by its passage pulled wisps of clouds from the cloud tops and they swirled away and disappeared behind the tail of his aircraft. He ordered the landing lights on his slow moving bomber turned on.
Behind him, one by one, like ducklings popping to the water's surface, B-29s emerged from the cloud cover unseen. Each in-turn as they cleared the clouds, turned on their landing lights. They were scattered, but strung out in the right order. It would take them twenty minutes to catch up. Slowly, they closed and gathered in a single line, some 600 feet separating each bomber in a formation that would save many hours of exhausting stress from standard formations. Landing lights were turned off, then navigation lights. All that remained was the soft glow of formation lights, blue engine exhaust and the deep rumble of engines.
The clattering sound of ice striking the fuselage as it was slung off the inboard props lasted only a few seconds. It was a good sign that the outside temperature was above freezing. The mission leader alerted his two flights and ten pairs of clamshell-shaped bomb bay doors on black bellies swung open. The dry air boiled into the bomb bays, jostling the bombs. Arming wires were whipped into a shaking frenzy as they tried to break loose from their secured ends.
The two flights flew this way for fifteen minutes in an effort to dry out the bomb rack mechanisms. The warm moist air of Okinawa accumulated and seeped inside the racks and shackles. Over Korea, cold air froze the clinging moisture, causing malfunctions in the arming and releasing mechanisms. Many bombs that were dropped hot and armed bounced harmlessly for thousands of yards dragging their arming wires with them. Some thought, however, that the World War II era racks were just wore out.
There was also a dilemma of a different kind. If the bombs release mechanism froze up and failed, and a bomb hung up, a daunting task faced the crew. After bombs away, apprehensive crews peered through the small glass in the compartment hatches that sealed the compartments from the front and rear bomb bays. If there were a bomb still hanging from its rack, sometimes by only one lug, it would have to be released manually. This would be done once the bomber was out to sea. The pilot in command would slow his B-29 to its slowest maneuvering speed and the bomb bay doors would be opened. One crewmember with a screwdriver in hand would venture out onto the wind-blown catwalks of the bomb bay. Slipping the screwdriver into the manual release slot, he would manually activate the release mechanism and cross his fingers. If they were lucky the bomb dropped harmlessly away and, the crewmember stayed on the catwalk.
Many crews, wanting their bombs to count, tied one end of the arming wires to a structural member in the bomb bay. When the bombs dropped they were hot and armed period. Those that fused their bombs this way planned on cutting the arming wires before the bombs were salvoed safe enabling the arming wire to drop with the bomb. Anyway, the bombers were over water ninty-five percent of the time and what harm could there be from bombs dropping hot.
Barely visible in the moonlight, the mission leader's strike force was strung out behind him. They slowly rose and fell individually in rhythmic sequence that repeated itself over and over again. As he watched, the faint shadow of his B-29 danced on the cloud tops. He took stock of what he had and what lie ahead. His ship carried 500-pounders and the Korea intelligence officer was still with them as was one leaflet carrying aircraft. Both of these bombers carried light anti-personnel fragmentation bombs, as did the rest. Two of them were packed with eighty 100-pounders and the other two, with fifty 300-pounders. The weight fell short of the maximum load, but it was all the bombs that could be crammed into the two bomb bays.
Their target tonight was a concentration of some 20,000 North Korean and Chinese troops being massed on a six mile long front. The front and the billeting locations were about two miles deep. The dug-in allies at the top of a low mountain ridge faced the possibility of being overwhelmed
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Book Details
About the Book
The Korean War January 1952---A solitary B-29, flying low, its engines muffled by the night works its way through the bitter cold darkness over the Yellow Sea. Banking to the East, it cautiously approaches the Korean coast and slips unseen into the shadowy blackness over North Korea. Ahead, the sinister unknown lies in wait. So begins the first of two missions in Giants Over Korea. The first told from an enlisted crewmember's point of view.
Left over from World War II, this propeller driven giant, now tired and worn, is pressed into service and lumbers into a jet age air war. From the beginning of the Korea War to its end, it tirelessly flies missions in the hostile skies so outclassed and vulnerable to the deadly MiG that it cannot operate in the daylight but must hide in the darkness of night. From the muted vibrations of the airframe to the stark reality of death, each page contains anecdotes that intrigue and illuminate the experience of the few involved in the war that created the expression “the cold war.”
To the crews of these four engine giants, the Korean War was un-winnable and unforgettable. Although some call it the "Forgotten War", the hostilities that began the conflict fifty years ago still smolder today. Giants Over Korea takes the reader on board a bombing B-29 and a recon sortie in the mist of the conflict with remarkable depth. The bombing raid has a tragic beginning, and is told from the officers’ perspective with frightening detail.
Photographs from the author's own collection and articles from "Stars and Stripes" supplement the narrative, documenting the little-known role played by the big war birds in the "little war." The author collected the photos and clippings a half century ago when was stationed on the island of Okinawa, the origin of the two missions.
About the Author
The author became interested in the air war of World War II in his early teens. During summer vacations, he worked at a small civilian airport for flying lessons and at sixteen, before he learned to drive, he soloed in a light trainer.
In the early stages of the Korean War, he enlisted in the Air Force serving in Europe and the Far East. He describes the experience as a Korean combat veteran and the place where he grew up. Honorably discharged in 1953 he began a career in law enforcement.
Most of his twenty-six years in law enforcement was spent as a Detective Sergeant and he retired as a Deputy Chief. He became a private detective licensed in four states dabbling in investigations to the age of seventy-one. He has written a book about his detective experiences (Probe, Poke, Pry, and Peek: Detecting the Detectable).
He has owned several aircraft from a 175 HP Fairchild (The R46 and Little Louie) up to a 3400 HP twin engine B-25, (Barbie III and Company).
He and his wife have four children and four grandchildren.