Richard
Final Approach
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Ack...city life
This rare courage I can not fathom. Imagine low level flying unarmed into an enemy held war zone. Imagine circling for multiple approaches staring at the enemy leaning against their 88s.
Time is late April 1945. This was written by Charles Alling, a B-17 pilot with the 34th Bomb Grp., 8th Air Force.
At the time, word was coming by underground wireless from Holland that Dutch civilians were starving to death at the rate of a thousand a day in the German-occupied areas. Germany had held the major cities and had confiscated the food. The Dutch had to resort to eating their cats and dogs. They begged the Germans for grain to no avail and resorted to eating tulip bulbs for nourishment. The winter had been terribly cold, and without blankets and coal they had wrapped themselves in rugs at night to keep warm. Help was desperately needed and the Dutch could not possibly wait for hostilities to end. Until now, the Allies had avoided civilian areas occupied by German troops, because of the intense concentration of artillery and antiaircraft guns. By the end of April, however, the Allies and Germans had entered into negotiations to set up food drops for the Dutch. These negotiations were documented by Dutch historian Walter Maass and they progressed as follows:
For several weeks, the International Red Cross had worked to broker a deal with the Germans, British, and Americans. The relief negotiations were held at a school at Achterveld [a village just within the Allied front line near Amersfoort]. General Eisenhower was represented by General Bedell-Smith, Montgomery by General De Guingaud. Also present were Prince Bernhard and a Russian officer. The German negotiators arrived by car, were stopped at some distance from the meeting place, and proceeded on foot under a white flag. Both parties had brought their experts for organizing the relief work. [Nazi commisioner for the Netherlands] Seyss-Inquart was accompaned by the Dutch Food Commissioner, Louwes...
Discussions started, with the participants facing each other at a large table. Again, Seyss-Inquart rejected unconditional surrender, because such a step would hurt him in the final judgement of history. An arguement began between him and Bedell-Smith and the latter impatiently exclaimed: "Come on, speak up! You know you'll be shot anyway!"
Seyss-Inquart replied, "That leaves me cold."
Whereupon the American scoffed, "It certainly will!"
At the close of the negotiations, six food drops were scheduled to take place in early May. The parties agreed to a five-hour truce during which the Eighth Air Force was allowed to fly over Holland without being shot at by the Germans. The American planes would carry a full crew, without ammunition, fly on a predetermined route, and drop cartons of food at designated drop zones. It was agreed that if a bomber strayed out of the safe corridor, the Germans would shoot blanks as a warning.
May 1, 1945 We were briefed for the first mercy mission, known by some as a "chow haul", to Rotterdam, Holland. We were told the Dutch were starving to death; every dog, cat, and vermin had been eaten. The Dutch had even stripped and burned the wood inside their homes to stay warm. The underground radio reported that relief planes would be coming but the message was met with doubt. Who had ever heard of planes dropping food parcels in a territory occupied by the enemy? No one imagined the Germans would permit it.
John K. Gerhart, commanding general of the 93rd Bomb Wing (which included four bomb groups), was to fly with Capt Delmar Dunham. Dunham led four hundred planes of the Eighth Air Force. We were assigned to fly deputy lead, with Colonel Creer as our command pilot.
We were to fly into Rotterdam at three to four hundred feet and drop "ten-in-one" rations of canned meat, butter, bread, jam, and sacks of flour wrapped in heavy burlap secured by thin steel straps. The drop zones were marked by large red crosses in open fields, parks, race tracks, and an airfield.
The Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces (SHAEF) had given the go-ahead to begin the food drops, and we did not know that the final agreement for the delivery of food was not signed until May 2. That meant the first mercy mission began a day before the agreement was official. If we had known, we would have been far more concerned flying into Rotterdam without ammunition, even though we understood the Germans were not to fire at us.
We assembled at one thousand feet and left England, passing over Felixstowe on the way, and a hundred miles from the coast of Britain we reached Holland. We descended to four hundred feet as we approached Rotterdam. We were in a tight formation off the general's right wing, and there were hundreds of planes behind us. In those moments, I captured a glimpse of the unfolding drama that will rest in my mind forever.
As we approached the drop zone, I realized there were thousands of people lining the streets, leaning out of their windows, and watching from the roof tops. I saw a sea of white; everything was white except for the occasional splash of color. The Dutch were waving anything white they could get their hands on--sheets, handkerchiefs, scarves, towels, and some waved the American flag. Men, women, and children were full of excitement and joy, cheering, clapping, and dancing while the German gunners leaned against the barrels of their 88mm cannons. If a German had dared to shoot, I believe he would have been trampled to death by the Dutch.
Up ahead I could see the drop zone in a field, and as we approached there was a surging mass of people. We had to drop our food quickly and expeditiously to avoid any accidental casualities. There were brave, elderly citizens trying to hold back an exhultant crowd.
"Bombs away!" called Bill, and Miss Prudy bounced up as cartons of food were released. We gradually gained altitude and slowly banked to the left, heading toward the English Channel as I flew off Dunham's right wing in close formation. As we left Rotterdam, other groups in the fleet of B-17s were still making their way in, each a part of a mercy mission.
Not far from the coast of England, I was conscious that I was tiring. My left wrist was numb--I had been flying in tight formation for hours without relief. Suddenly, Dunham's plane swerved to the right unexpectedly. Colonel Creer, alert and nimble, grabbed the wheel, turning away just in time to avoid a mid-air collision. Dunham straightened out and we quickly returned to our formation. "Thank you, Colonel Creer, my hands are numb. I can't feel the steering wheel--I can't grip it anymore."
"Alling, why don't you let me fly the plane to the base? I'm sorry I didn't spell you sooner. I got so carried away with the sight below us that I forgot to share the load with you."
May 3, 1945 We were briefed for our second mercy mission, the third launched by the Eighth Air Force in that first week of May. This flight would take us over Amsterdam. We were the lead plane of the Eighth Air Force with Lieutenant Colonel Ed Freeman, 18th Squadron commander, as our command pilot. We received instructions to fly single file over the city to ensure the accuracy of the food drop on the designated red cross zones.
As we approached the continent, the weather turned sour and it began to rain. I knew the poor visibility would make the accuracy of this drop challenging. As we were the first to approach Amsterdam, I flew in at three hundred feet off the ground with the 34th Bomb Group behind me. Over the city I dipped my wings to alert the Germans not to shoot. I wondered if every German soldier would heed this armistice; if one fired, we would be the first to go. For a few moments it was tense, but once I believed the Germans would keep their commitment, we searched for the drop zone. Without a break in the clouds and continued poor visibility, we had to circle the city and make another pass. As we approached, Bill called in, "Chuck, I can't see the target!"
"Okay, we're going to do a 360," I replied.
As Colonel Freeman informed the rest of the command pilots, I knew he was becoming anxious. This assignment was turning out to be more difficult than expected with poor visibility, limited time, limited gas supply, and hundreds more planes of the Eighth Air Force coming up behind us. With each and every minute that we were unable to drop the food, this mission became increasingly complex.
Eight minutes later, we approached the city for another pass. Bill called, "Bomb bay doors open! Flaps down!" I felt a sense of relief knowing the food drop would take place any moment. With the flaps down, it gave Miss Prudy the lift she needed as our true ground speed was 140 miles per hour, we couldn't go any slower or we'd stall out. We were now three hundred feet off the ground. Just moments before the drop, Bill called on the intercom, "Chuck, I still can't see anything!"
Now we were in real trouble. "All right", I said, "Let's circle and we'll try again." I gave Freeman the signal. Thirty-eight planes followed us around the city once more. I took a deep breath. As we circled Amsterdam, Bill said, "Chuck, we've got to try this one more time, and this time we have to fly as low as we possibly can without stalling out!" Bill was agitated.
"How much lower do you think we can go?" I asked, wondering if this food drop was possible.
"Drop to two hundred feet", Bill called, "But for God's sake don't go any lower!"
This would have to be our final attempt, and I certainly could not fly any lower unless we wanted to wrap ourselves around a tree or a windmill. I was exasperated and worried. As we flew back over Amsterdam, I thought of all the Dutch who were starving and desperate for relief. If we could not find the drop zone, there would be chaos in the streets.
"There it is!", Bill yelled, unleashing all his pent-up tension. "I can see the cross! Bombs away!" Bill pulled the switched and cartons of food fell to the earth.
For those watching from below, I can only imagine the sight of hundreds of B-17s flying into the city at a dangerously low level. The noise of the engines must have been deafening as five hundred bombers flew over Amsterdam, one after the next, every thirty seconds, for three and a half hours, dropping thousands of cartons of food.
I looked down for a few seconds. There were thousands of people running in the streets with their white handerkerchiefs, white cloth, white flags, anything white. And then I focused on something I will never forget. There was a gray-haired gentleman with a wooded pegleg, swinging a cane, and hobbling in the direction of the food. A little girl with long blonde hair, who must have been his granddaughter, was restraining him with all her might. She leaned back, her heels dug into the soil, pulling his coattails to keep him from moving forward into the falling cartons of food.
Ray saw people standing behind glass doors waving, a cow tumble and fall as it was hit by a carton of food, and a funeral cortege of horses that pulled a caisson with the casket on it, the mourners walking behind clutching flowers. Sometimes it's the oddest things that remain fixed in our memory.
During the first three days in May alone, eight hundred tons of food were dropped over Holland, enough to provide 1,080,000 meals. The mercy missions were a massive undertaking and unprecedented in wartime history.
Time is late April 1945. This was written by Charles Alling, a B-17 pilot with the 34th Bomb Grp., 8th Air Force.
At the time, word was coming by underground wireless from Holland that Dutch civilians were starving to death at the rate of a thousand a day in the German-occupied areas. Germany had held the major cities and had confiscated the food. The Dutch had to resort to eating their cats and dogs. They begged the Germans for grain to no avail and resorted to eating tulip bulbs for nourishment. The winter had been terribly cold, and without blankets and coal they had wrapped themselves in rugs at night to keep warm. Help was desperately needed and the Dutch could not possibly wait for hostilities to end. Until now, the Allies had avoided civilian areas occupied by German troops, because of the intense concentration of artillery and antiaircraft guns. By the end of April, however, the Allies and Germans had entered into negotiations to set up food drops for the Dutch. These negotiations were documented by Dutch historian Walter Maass and they progressed as follows:
For several weeks, the International Red Cross had worked to broker a deal with the Germans, British, and Americans. The relief negotiations were held at a school at Achterveld [a village just within the Allied front line near Amersfoort]. General Eisenhower was represented by General Bedell-Smith, Montgomery by General De Guingaud. Also present were Prince Bernhard and a Russian officer. The German negotiators arrived by car, were stopped at some distance from the meeting place, and proceeded on foot under a white flag. Both parties had brought their experts for organizing the relief work. [Nazi commisioner for the Netherlands] Seyss-Inquart was accompaned by the Dutch Food Commissioner, Louwes...
Discussions started, with the participants facing each other at a large table. Again, Seyss-Inquart rejected unconditional surrender, because such a step would hurt him in the final judgement of history. An arguement began between him and Bedell-Smith and the latter impatiently exclaimed: "Come on, speak up! You know you'll be shot anyway!"
Seyss-Inquart replied, "That leaves me cold."
Whereupon the American scoffed, "It certainly will!"
At the close of the negotiations, six food drops were scheduled to take place in early May. The parties agreed to a five-hour truce during which the Eighth Air Force was allowed to fly over Holland without being shot at by the Germans. The American planes would carry a full crew, without ammunition, fly on a predetermined route, and drop cartons of food at designated drop zones. It was agreed that if a bomber strayed out of the safe corridor, the Germans would shoot blanks as a warning.
May 1, 1945 We were briefed for the first mercy mission, known by some as a "chow haul", to Rotterdam, Holland. We were told the Dutch were starving to death; every dog, cat, and vermin had been eaten. The Dutch had even stripped and burned the wood inside their homes to stay warm. The underground radio reported that relief planes would be coming but the message was met with doubt. Who had ever heard of planes dropping food parcels in a territory occupied by the enemy? No one imagined the Germans would permit it.
John K. Gerhart, commanding general of the 93rd Bomb Wing (which included four bomb groups), was to fly with Capt Delmar Dunham. Dunham led four hundred planes of the Eighth Air Force. We were assigned to fly deputy lead, with Colonel Creer as our command pilot.
We were to fly into Rotterdam at three to four hundred feet and drop "ten-in-one" rations of canned meat, butter, bread, jam, and sacks of flour wrapped in heavy burlap secured by thin steel straps. The drop zones were marked by large red crosses in open fields, parks, race tracks, and an airfield.
The Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces (SHAEF) had given the go-ahead to begin the food drops, and we did not know that the final agreement for the delivery of food was not signed until May 2. That meant the first mercy mission began a day before the agreement was official. If we had known, we would have been far more concerned flying into Rotterdam without ammunition, even though we understood the Germans were not to fire at us.
We assembled at one thousand feet and left England, passing over Felixstowe on the way, and a hundred miles from the coast of Britain we reached Holland. We descended to four hundred feet as we approached Rotterdam. We were in a tight formation off the general's right wing, and there were hundreds of planes behind us. In those moments, I captured a glimpse of the unfolding drama that will rest in my mind forever.
As we approached the drop zone, I realized there were thousands of people lining the streets, leaning out of their windows, and watching from the roof tops. I saw a sea of white; everything was white except for the occasional splash of color. The Dutch were waving anything white they could get their hands on--sheets, handkerchiefs, scarves, towels, and some waved the American flag. Men, women, and children were full of excitement and joy, cheering, clapping, and dancing while the German gunners leaned against the barrels of their 88mm cannons. If a German had dared to shoot, I believe he would have been trampled to death by the Dutch.
Up ahead I could see the drop zone in a field, and as we approached there was a surging mass of people. We had to drop our food quickly and expeditiously to avoid any accidental casualities. There were brave, elderly citizens trying to hold back an exhultant crowd.
"Bombs away!" called Bill, and Miss Prudy bounced up as cartons of food were released. We gradually gained altitude and slowly banked to the left, heading toward the English Channel as I flew off Dunham's right wing in close formation. As we left Rotterdam, other groups in the fleet of B-17s were still making their way in, each a part of a mercy mission.
Not far from the coast of England, I was conscious that I was tiring. My left wrist was numb--I had been flying in tight formation for hours without relief. Suddenly, Dunham's plane swerved to the right unexpectedly. Colonel Creer, alert and nimble, grabbed the wheel, turning away just in time to avoid a mid-air collision. Dunham straightened out and we quickly returned to our formation. "Thank you, Colonel Creer, my hands are numb. I can't feel the steering wheel--I can't grip it anymore."
"Alling, why don't you let me fly the plane to the base? I'm sorry I didn't spell you sooner. I got so carried away with the sight below us that I forgot to share the load with you."
May 3, 1945 We were briefed for our second mercy mission, the third launched by the Eighth Air Force in that first week of May. This flight would take us over Amsterdam. We were the lead plane of the Eighth Air Force with Lieutenant Colonel Ed Freeman, 18th Squadron commander, as our command pilot. We received instructions to fly single file over the city to ensure the accuracy of the food drop on the designated red cross zones.
As we approached the continent, the weather turned sour and it began to rain. I knew the poor visibility would make the accuracy of this drop challenging. As we were the first to approach Amsterdam, I flew in at three hundred feet off the ground with the 34th Bomb Group behind me. Over the city I dipped my wings to alert the Germans not to shoot. I wondered if every German soldier would heed this armistice; if one fired, we would be the first to go. For a few moments it was tense, but once I believed the Germans would keep their commitment, we searched for the drop zone. Without a break in the clouds and continued poor visibility, we had to circle the city and make another pass. As we approached, Bill called in, "Chuck, I can't see the target!"
"Okay, we're going to do a 360," I replied.
As Colonel Freeman informed the rest of the command pilots, I knew he was becoming anxious. This assignment was turning out to be more difficult than expected with poor visibility, limited time, limited gas supply, and hundreds more planes of the Eighth Air Force coming up behind us. With each and every minute that we were unable to drop the food, this mission became increasingly complex.
Eight minutes later, we approached the city for another pass. Bill called, "Bomb bay doors open! Flaps down!" I felt a sense of relief knowing the food drop would take place any moment. With the flaps down, it gave Miss Prudy the lift she needed as our true ground speed was 140 miles per hour, we couldn't go any slower or we'd stall out. We were now three hundred feet off the ground. Just moments before the drop, Bill called on the intercom, "Chuck, I still can't see anything!"
Now we were in real trouble. "All right", I said, "Let's circle and we'll try again." I gave Freeman the signal. Thirty-eight planes followed us around the city once more. I took a deep breath. As we circled Amsterdam, Bill said, "Chuck, we've got to try this one more time, and this time we have to fly as low as we possibly can without stalling out!" Bill was agitated.
"How much lower do you think we can go?" I asked, wondering if this food drop was possible.
"Drop to two hundred feet", Bill called, "But for God's sake don't go any lower!"
This would have to be our final attempt, and I certainly could not fly any lower unless we wanted to wrap ourselves around a tree or a windmill. I was exasperated and worried. As we flew back over Amsterdam, I thought of all the Dutch who were starving and desperate for relief. If we could not find the drop zone, there would be chaos in the streets.
"There it is!", Bill yelled, unleashing all his pent-up tension. "I can see the cross! Bombs away!" Bill pulled the switched and cartons of food fell to the earth.
For those watching from below, I can only imagine the sight of hundreds of B-17s flying into the city at a dangerously low level. The noise of the engines must have been deafening as five hundred bombers flew over Amsterdam, one after the next, every thirty seconds, for three and a half hours, dropping thousands of cartons of food.
I looked down for a few seconds. There were thousands of people running in the streets with their white handerkerchiefs, white cloth, white flags, anything white. And then I focused on something I will never forget. There was a gray-haired gentleman with a wooded pegleg, swinging a cane, and hobbling in the direction of the food. A little girl with long blonde hair, who must have been his granddaughter, was restraining him with all her might. She leaned back, her heels dug into the soil, pulling his coattails to keep him from moving forward into the falling cartons of food.
Ray saw people standing behind glass doors waving, a cow tumble and fall as it was hit by a carton of food, and a funeral cortege of horses that pulled a caisson with the casket on it, the mourners walking behind clutching flowers. Sometimes it's the oddest things that remain fixed in our memory.
During the first three days in May alone, eight hundred tons of food were dropped over Holland, enough to provide 1,080,000 meals. The mercy missions were a massive undertaking and unprecedented in wartime history.
