WAR STORIES:
THE FATE OF B-17 HEAVENLY BODY II
Lloyd Burns Crew
Rear Left to Right
S/Sgt Louis W. Schulte, Tail Gunner, S/Sgt Leroy J.
Monk, Radio Operator/Gunner, Sgt Richard W. Andrews,
Right Waist Gunner, Sgt Richard L. Billings, Left Waist
Gunner, Sgt William H. Farmer, Ball Turret Gunner,
S/Sgt Leonard F. Gibbs, Engineer/Top Turret Gunner.
Front-Left to Right
F/O Edward N. Sadler, Navigator, 2nd Lt Fred
S. Kauffman, Co-Pilot, 2nd Lt Jack L.Gray,
Bombardier, 2nd Lt Lloyd Burns, Pilot.
It is
1820 hours on 19 June, 1944. The sun is shining brightly
in a clear blue sky. From the ground can be heard the
throbbing of airplane engines approaching. Glancing up,
one can see a formation of Flying Fortresses coming in
to land at Kimbolton, home of the 379th Bomb Group. At
this stage in the war, this is not an uncommon sight.
The allied bomber forces were being used to hammer the
German defenses which were holding up the allied forces
in Normandy.
Taking off at 1440 hours that day, the Group had
attacked German V-1 flying bomb-sites at Zudauasques/Enquine,
France.
As
the aircraft crossed the Thames a number of eyewitness's
observed one aircraft in trouble. Aircraft 44-6133 flown
by Lt. A.J. Ramacilli was reported making loud whining
noise. Lt. Lloyd Burns, pilot of 42-97942, christened
“Heavenly Body II", takes up the story.
"As
we let down over the Thames Estuary, we encountered a
layer of clouds. Losing sight of the horizon, but able
to see aircraft immediately adjacent. By the time I
realized that Lt. Kaufman was having trouble with this,
he was already having to overcorrect somewhat having
overshot our position on the lead plane."
Burns
had swapped seats with his copilot Kaufman to give him a
chance at flying in the left-hand seat. Lt. Fred Kaufman
was expecting to get his own crew soon and eagerly
accepted the offer. He continues:
"I
remember reaching over above Lt. Kaufman trying to push
back the curtain to locate our left wingman, Ramacitti…then
the crash…right into Fred… the tremendous grinding of
metal, the roaring of the wind and the engines. I looked
over at Sergeant Gibbs who was standing behind us. He
was as pale as death, but OK. I jerked my thumb at him
indicating get out. No one needed to be told that, of
course, and Gibbs disappeared. I shook Kaufman with no
response.
I
reached under my seat for the chest pack, it was gone.
Apparently the collision had dislodged it. I unbuckled
my seat belt and climbed down toward the hatch under the
pilot's seat. The plane was going down, making progress
difficult. I was looking for my parachute without
success. Suddenly someone, I don't know who, maybe an
angel, shoved one into my arms. My chute harness was
completely unbuckled. So I buckled one leg and one
buckle of the chute to one buckle of my chest harness."
As
the men inside struggled to abandon the aircraft,
observers from the ground watched spellbound.
Eyewitness, C. T. Ellison, recalls the collision:
"One
of them broke up with the wings and fuselage dropping
into the water. The crew bailed out. The other plane
seemed to be OK, except that one engine was on fire."
Mr.
D. Ball who was sixteen at the time was cycling along
Marine Parade when the aircraft approached from Kent. He
had heard the whining from one of the aircrafts engines
and suddenly one B-17 flew straight into the other. Both
airplanes locked together for an instant and then broke
apart, one falling near Canvey. Mr. Ball saw at least
one parachutist.
Mrs.
C. L. Evans was on Leigh Cliffs and saw the formation
approach towards Leigh Station. Suddenly, one ship
veered sideways and collided with the other ship. One
dived away while the other flew around before seeming to
attempt a landing on the mudflats, finally plunging in
with a splash.
As
the aircraft circled the first parachutes appeared.
Lloyd Burns takes up his story:
"At
this point, I saw that several of the crew were trying
to get the hatch door open and could not. Not being
completely buckled, I was not prepared to exit yet, but
threw my weight against the door trying to break it
loose. Apparently it gave way because the next thing I
knew, I was floating down dangling half out of my
harness.
Blood
streamed down my face from a cut above my right eye. I
must have struck something as I fell out of the plane,
knocking me unconscious. I don't recall pulling the
ripcord. I was hanging half way out of the partially
buckled harness, so I tried to secure myself into it
better, which resulted in a very frightening sway. So I
just stopped trying and held on. I looked up and saw
that one main shroud line was hooked to my harness.
I
then looked down and began to worry about where I was
going to land. I saw that I would be far from shore and
I was not wearing my Mae West. The stupidity of
youth…chute harness unbuckled, Mae West off, for
comfort, of course. After all, the mission was over!
I hit
the water hard and had trouble freeing myself from the
chute harness. The wind dragged me for quite a distance,
but finally the chute collapsed and I freed myself after
sinking pretty deep trying to get out of my heavy
sheepskin jacket, pants and boots. I began treading
water in my underwear."
The
Flying Fortress was well known as a stable aircraft and
fortunately for the crew of the Heavenly Body II, it
descended in a flat circle. Many crews were trapped in
their crashing aircraft as they spun earthwards. Some of
the witnesses on the ground felt that the aircraft was
being controlled during this descent, but this appears
not to be the case…
Dick
Andrews, waist gunner, had swapped positions with Louis
Schulte and was flying tail gunner. As he recalls:
“The
plane flying left wing seemed to be having difficulty in
maintaining good position in flight and we all sort of
had an eye out for the unusual flight attitude.
Recalling a bit of humor just prior to the crash…Lloyd’s
home state of Georgia is known as the Peach State and
New Jersey, in my opinion, probably raises the best
peaches. We were debating this issue at the moment of
collision. We were hit on the top which rendered out
controls useless, as the control cables all pass right
down the top center of the fuselage.
There
was no alarm sounded to bail out, we just knew the
moment had come to get out. I attempted to jettison the
escape hatch, but could not pull the pins free. I turned
the latch knob and pushed the door open against the
slipstream as I pulled myself through the narrow
opening. Knowing our position, I chose to open my chute
immediately after clearing other planes in formation.
I
can remember vividly falling through the air on my back
and looking up at the formation heading home and seeing
two open slots where we should have been. My chute was a
Pioneer back pack which had a long ripcord and required
a hard pull to open. I didn’t know how difficult it was
to open until I tried. The opening of the chute was a
severe shock which I felt for some time. As high in the
air as I was, I had time to look around and to thank
God. I was able to look down and count the other chutes
well below me and wonder whether the seven I counted
belonged to my crew or the other plane.
I saw
one of the Forts circling in apparently stable flight
(well trimmed). The plane hit the ground heading
roughly easterly and narrowly missing an oil storage
tank before blowing up. I believe that I was the only
person to actually land on the ground; the others fell
into the water some distance away. I don’t know if the
exact spot would be visible today. There was a high
stone seawall built with large rocks which protected the
shoreline. Where I landed was in three feet of slimy,
black stinky mud. My chute did not collapse immediately
but dragged me along for some distance before snagging
and spilling the air. In the meantime, my flight suit
scooped up the mud and filled it full. I smoothed my
hair back, which ultimately dried into a hard shell. I
climbed the seawall and could see a small village off in
the distance, I presume, about two or three kilometers.
I
hiked off to find help. The people who met me were very
friendly and warm knowing what had just happened. One
woman invited me into her home and said she wished she
could offer me a bath but they had no bath tub. Several
other women brought me food, which was in short supply,
but they were very generous. I asked for help in getting
information about the rest of my crew. Someone summoned
a local Bobby who offered to help. He took me to his
home where his wife gave me some fresh cherries while he
was arranging transportation to an RAF Mosquito Bomber
base somewhere to the south of the Thames River.
On
arriving there, I went to the tower for information
about the accident. They hadn’t received word of any
rescue at that time. I was given quarters in a lovely,
large, stone home that was being used by the RAF
Officers. There I was able to bath and had a good meal
with the pilots. Later that evening, I heard that most
of my crew had been picked by "Air Sea Rescue" and were
in the hospital for the night. They did not have the
names of those rescued, so I still had to wonder.
The
next day, a young woman pilot flew me to a Spitfire base
I thought was Gravesend. There I met the other survivors
from my crew and the bombardier from the other plane…the
only survivor from that crew. We were picked up by a
Fort from our home field at Kimbolton. Two days later,
we started flying the balance of our missions. I flew
my thirty missions between April and July, 1944."
Jack
Gray, our bombardier had officially completed his tour
of operations on a sortie earlier that day. He was still
ordered to go on the afternoon mission by the Group
Operations Officer. Jack recalls:
"After we made our bomb run, it was like a cake walk
because there was no flak or fighters as we headed back
across the channel. The group leader, instead of
beginning our letdown as we left the French Coast,
maintained altitude until we were over the English
coast. As we started letting down through a thick high
level of clouds, I was relaxing with my feet propped up
on the bombsight. At approximately 19,000 feet we were
hit by our left wingman on their first combat sortie.
Possibly he lost sight of us in the clouds and he came
down on top of us in his blind spot. The Plexiglas nose
cone was knocked off at impact and I found myself more
out of the plane than in it. Miraculously, I stopped my
fall and fought to pull myself back into the plane. My
first problem was to get back inside the aircraft to get
my parachute. I wasn't having much success until the
plane started its nose dive and the slipstream helped
push me back inside.
I put
on my chute and gave a questioning thumbs up to my
navigator. He signaled back that he was OK. At impact,
our intercom system was rendered inoperative so we could
only communicate by hand signals. We looked back toward
the escape hatch only to find the pilot and Sgt. Gibbs
were already crowded into the narrow space meant to
accommodate only one man. The pilot was trying to push
and shove Gibbs through the hatch. To have proceeded to
the hatch would have only added to the chaos and maybe
no one would have gotten out. I sat on an ammo can while
the navigator kept watch for our escape route to clear.
Finally Eddy, our navigator, gave the all clear sign, we
exchanged silent OK's and I motioned for him to get out
He was still adjusting his chute and emphatically
signaled to me to go. That was the last time I saw Eddy
alive.
Now
comes problem number two, I found the escape hatch still
in place. It wasn't supposed to be. I guessed that the
emergency release must have malfunctioned. Moving feet
first in the direction of the tail of the ship, I put
all of my weight against the hatch. Suddenly, my
progress was stopped because my chute harness had become
caught on the hatch handle. My adrenaline really started
to flow then because I had no idea of our altitude or
how much time was left for me to get out of the plane.
It was now or never. I grasped the hatchway frame and
literally levered myself out of the plane.
Heavenly Body ll's gradual descent was what allowed so
many of us to survive. The other airplane, 44-6133,
dived into the Thames taking all but one man with it.
Finally with smoke pouring from the starboard engine,
aircraft, 42-97942, took a descent angle of 45 degrees
and plunged nose first into the mud, burning fiercely
and creating a deep hole. Mr. Payne of Canvey recalled
that when he arrived on the scene, ammunition was still
exploding in the fire and one of the engines had been
thrown forward and was laying in a gully on the marshes.
He and Mr. R. Layman, Payne's father-in-law to be,
helped carry the body of one crew member across the
marsh to the sea wall. This was Flight Officer Sadler.
Tail gunner Sgt. Louis Schulte who had swapped positions
with Sgt. Dick Andrews was recovered dead in the Thames.
Both received the Distinguished Flying Cross
posthumously on 29 June, 1944."
Radio
operator Leroy Monk of the Burns' crew had this
recollection of that fateful day:
"I
remember we received a big bump and crashing sound on
the top of the plane. I looked through the top window of
the radio room and could see part of another B-17. My
escape route was the bomb bay but my door forward was
bent by the impact so that I could not get it open. I
made my way back to the waist where the ball turret
gunner was trying to release the rear door which was
also stuck. I sat on the floor and began kicking on the
door until it gave way. I remember the tail gunner and
the waist gunner were standing behind me waiting to
jump. Since I was already sitting in the doorway, I
decided to jump. I tipped forward but my rear end
parachute straps held me back. When I tumbled forward
with the help of the planes spin, I went too fast and
hit the tail of the plane, my chute opened and tore away
three panels. Very, very lucky. Once I was floating
down, I could see the bombardier and waist gunner
descending and no one else. Also, I could see the other
plane in a slow spin and saw it hit an island and ours
coming apart piece by piece.
When
I landed in the channel, I found my chute tangled around
my legs. I couldn't get loose and the chute was filling
with water and pulling me under. My life preserver would
pull me up again. The water was cold and I was getting
tired.
I
then saw what I think was a fishing boat coming toward
me, but I guess because of the whitecaps they didn't see
me until the last second. Consequently, they broad sided
me and went on. Can't say how long it was before another
boat came along and they threw me about a one inch rope
which I catch, but couldn't hold on to because of the
slickness of the brine and my exhausted state. They also
went on and I figured that I would drown and being so
exhausted I really didn't care. Sometime later…have no
idea how long, I felt myself choking and found that
another boat was there and was pulling me out of the
water with a boat hook fastened on the collar of my
jacket. They pulled me aboard, pumped me out, and rolled
me in a blanket. To my surprise, my engineer was sitting
close by leaning against the cabin of the ship.
I
must have fainted then because the next thing I remember
was my engineer and I in an English hospital where I
must have slept for at least two days. We were flown
back to Kimbolton and there discovered we had lost our
copilot, navigator, and tail gunner. I was told that
only the bombardier survived from the other crew. After
a three day pass, we finished our missions and were
shipped home.”
Ball
turret gunner Bill Farmer tells his story as follows:
"This was our second mission that day. Our crew had
already flown 26 missions and we found ourselves mixed
in with another crew. We went back to France without
incident and as we were leaving the coast, I rolled my
gun turret so that the guns pointed down and I opened
the hatch and climbed out into the waist compartment. My
guess is that we were about 20,000 feet when the plane
off our left wing slid over us and made contact. I later
learned it was the crew we had divided up with on the
morning mission. Our plane started to shake and went
into a dive. I grabbed my chest pack parachute and
snapped it on to the front and looked around for the
others. Doc remained in place by his waist gun but was
obviously hurt by the impact with the other plane. Leroy
Monk, the radio operator, was sifting in the rear
doorway with his feet hanging out as though transfixed.
I motioned for him to jump, the vibrations and the wind
noises were to loud we could not be heard. He was
hanging on tightly and blocking the doorway; I screamed
at him to grab his parachute ring and then gave him a
mighty shove. I watched as his chute hit the horizontal
stabilizer and burst open. Several days later when I met
up with Monk, the first thing he did was come up to me
and thanked me for pushing him out of the plane. I then
went back to Doc who was not moving so I crawled up to
the doorway and positioned myself to jump. Out I went
and, after counting to ten, I pulled the ripcord. Just
then, there was an explosion so close that I could feel
the heat and the force pushing me sideways.
I
floated down thinking that everything was OK. The ring
was still in my hand and I thought of keeping it as a
souvenir. The snap of the opening chute caused my flight
boots and heated shoes to fall off, but this was not a
concern because I was headed down into the water below.
My training told me to unhook the chest buckle on my
chute and then the leg buckles about ten or twenty feet
above the water, so that I could let myself drop clear
of the parachute before it could come down on top of me
and tangle me up so I could not swim away.
On
looking down, I could see no boats and the shoreline
seemed several miles away. Looking down to decide when
and how to judge the distance to the water was not
helpful as I soon found myself in cold water with eight
to ten feet swells and being pulled like a sailboat by
my inflated parachute and one leg strap. After changing
from holding on to my arm strap and then my leg strap a
few times, looking back I noticed a fishing boat coming
to one side at about 90 degrees from the direction I was
being blown. I assumed he would slow down and my
parachute would be blown into the side of the boat and I
would be pulled on board. No such luck, as the boat was
crossing the path of where the chute and I were
traveling, the wind came out of the parachute and it
started to collapse. As the boat passed by the wind
picked up and started pulling me again. It was close to
the boat, but not close enough so one of the men on
board jumped off to grab the parachute but missed and
away I went. I watched as the boat started to turn to go
back and pick up their crew member. So much for rescue
at sea. With my speed slowing down and my chute
collapsing, I felt the muddy bottom under my feet. My
first thought was now that I’ve done all of this, some
large fish was after me. I released my harness and
looking back to sea I saw a rowboat with four men
heading my way and motioning me to come to the boat. By
now, I was extremely cold and I didn't have a clue
whether I was in England or France. After twenty minutes
in the water, I was totally numb and had to be dragged
into the boat which then was rowed back to the fishing
boat nearby. My whole body was shaking and shivering. On
deck, they gave me a mug of very hot tea that was great
just to hold in my cold hands, but when I tried to drink
the tea it was so hot that it blistered the roof of my
mouth.
The
fishermen were part of a Norwegian fleet and spoke in
broken English and said that they had seenthe
accident and came over to help. They took me to the
captain's quarters and told me to get out of my wet
clothes and into his bunk. Even with four or five
blankets, I couldn't stop shaking. The captain came in
and said he could stop the shivering and handed me a
bottle of scotch to nurse on until he could get me to
the pier at the RAF Air Sea Rescue station. He outfitted
me with dry clothes consisting of a pair of pants, a
jacket and a pair rubber boots. The pants came up to my
armpits and the swallow tail jacket touched the deck and
the huge pair of rubber boots came up above my knees. I
couldn't help but notice that the captain whose clothes
I was wearing was almost seven feet tall.
Probably half plastered with the captain holding one
arm and another seaman holding the other, I was lead out
on deck to go ashore. I thanked them all, especially the
seaman who jumped in the water to grab my parachute as
it passed.
I
became aware that we were tied up to another boat and
not the pier. I was greeted by a lot of other seamen as
we, two seamen and a half bombed Yank in formal attire,
navigated toward the pier across boats that did not know
how to go up and down with the boat next to it! I really
suspect that I was entertainment for all the people
watching the seamen trying to get the Yank on shore.
At
the RAF station, I was able to take a hot shower and put
on some better fitting clothes. They gave me some under
shorts and a hand knitted turtle neck sweater which I
still have today. Then they took me into a large room
to look at two bodies which I was not able to identify
because of their injuries. No one would tell me how many
survivors there were from the two airplanes.
After several hours with the RAF, I was taken to an R&R
place for observation. It was a large house that had
been converted into a semi-hospital. I was not given any
information or any agenda for my return to the 379th at
Kimbolton. Three days later, with good-byes to my new
friends, I was driven by an AAF driver back to the base.
There I was brought up to date on the collision and what
had happened to our crew members and the others
involved.
After two more missions on a lead crew, I completed my
thirty missions. The last flight was on the 4th of July
1944. I returned soon after to the U.S. to become a
Cadet in the class 45-H to become a pilot in the AAF.
****
The
wreckage of the aircraft remained on Canvey Point.
Occasionally more items came to the surface with the
action of the tides. Pieces were removed by souvenir
hunters when recovery became popular in the late sixties
and seventies. This site was easily accessible and
was
popular with a number of aircraft recovery groups. The Southend Historic Aircraft Society salvaged and
recovered numerous artifacts from the plane that were
displayed at a museum maintained by the Society until it
was finally closed. There are still some members of the
community there who remember how these young men died in
their common cause giving up their tomorrows so that we
may have our today.
This
account of "The Fate of Flying Fortress Heavenly Body
Two" was compiled by a young Englishman, who became very
interested in what happened on that fateful day, 19
June, 1944. He became obsessed with finding the
surviving men. Checking through official records, he was
able to find the home addresses of the men. Many of the
addresses had changed, but eventually all of the crew
was located. Mr. Jasper then contacted each one and gave
them the other’s addresses. My wife and I made a trip
around the country visiting each of them. We are now all
in touch with each other and have made several of the
379th reunions together. If it hadn't been for Mr.
Jasper, we probably would have never seen each other
again. In fact, Lloyd Burns, the pilot, and Jack Gray,
the bombardier, lived only a few blocks apart, in
Sacramento, CA, and never met until after hearing from
Mr. Jasper. Mr. Jasper has come to America and visited
with me, in New Jersey, and with Bill Farmer in
California, while on business trips.
-Dick Andrews, Waist Gunner/Engineer
