Training and Teamwork Brought Us Back

Training and Teamwork Brought Us Back
by Capt. Charles S. Grant

As Navigator of the B-26 bomber, So Sorry, Capt. Grant flew 37 combat-missions in the Southwest Pacific theater. Here is the Captain’s story of his most unforgettable flight.

The So Sorry was dishing it out that morning over the New Guinea coast. Six or eight Zeros had jumped the formation, and our gunners–Sgts. Lawrence Steslow, Melvin McCaskey and Andrew Johnson–were strictly “on the ball.”

Johnson in the top-turret, Steslow firing from the tail, and McCaskey manning both guns in the waist had cleared the air of enemy fighters as our pilot, Maj. Gerald Crosson (then a Capt.) swung in over our objective at 8,000 for a long, steady bombing run. A few flak bursts blossomed around us–but we ignored them. We wanted to be sure that we drew a good bead on our target.

The bombardier’s eve was glued to his sight. He had the Jap air-strip caught square in the crosshairs, and was all set to lay his eggs in there…

And then the whole sky caved in on us! A terrific shock hit the plane–as a 75 mm. ack-ack shell tore through the bomb-bay doors, three feet from my head, and burst backward.

I had a sensation of overpowering heat… and the entire compartment around me was one great swirling ball of angry red and yellow flame.

The blast picked the So Sorry up and stood her on one wing. Her bomb-bays became a shower bath of oil and hydraulic fluid. The bombs jammed in their racks. The elevator controls were severed and the rudder and ailerons partially fouled.

It looked like we’d spin right into that ack-ack battery. But with the stick limp and useless in his hands, Major Crosson managed to pull us out with the trim-tabs! It was the finest piece of flying I have ever seen.

The nearest spot for a landing was back of the Allied line, 200 miles south. But before we had gone a third of the way, we ran into typical New Guinea weather. Every landmark suddenly “socked in.” We limped along on dead reckoning.

Now a navigator has to say to himself: “You’re right!”–and believe it. And when you’re as scared as I was that day, you sweat out even the simplest calculations. I didn’t take any part of the ride “with my feet on the desk.”

When my charts said we should be over our base, we ducked cautiously down through the fog and driving rain. Sure enough, there was a landing strip… and bouncing along beside it, an American Jeep. We knew we were home.

Major Crosson cut the engines, feathered his props and brought us in with our wheels up, our flaps down, our bomb-bay doors wide open and our bombs still hanging crazily in their racks. We hit hard–slid 400 yards–and buried me under an avalanche of dirt scooped up through the open doors.

I dug myself out and looked around–at the men whose courage and skill and training had brought this airplane back when it should have been at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

And, looking at them, I knew why nothing will ever stop the AAF. I knew what the General meant when he called it “the greatest team in the world.”

Back in the U.S.A. Left to Right: Major Crosson, Captain Grant, Sgt. McCaskey, Sgt. Johnson. When this picture was made, Sgt. Steslow was an Aviation Cadet, in pilot training.