THE FORGOTTEN FIFTEENTH

My next book has just been contracted with Regnery in Washington, D.C. To my knowledge it’s the first full-length account of the 15th U.S. Army Air Force in World War II: “The Forgotten Fifteenth.”

Absolutely everybody who knows anything about WW II aviation knows of “The Mighty Eighth” that flew from England from 1942 to 1945. But other than the Red Tails of the 332nd Fighter Group, hardly anyone walking down the street can name any of the other 28 bomber, fighter, or recon groups of the 15th, which conducted the southern half of the Allied Combined Bomber Offensive. Between November 1943 and May 1945 the 15th flew from bases around Foggia, Italy, with a lasting effect on the course of the war. That reason was summarized in one word: oil.

Hitler’s Balkan petroleum sources lay in Romania, far beyond the reach of UK-based bombers. Therefore, the 15th was handed the major task of turning off the oil flow that fueled about one-third of the Wehrmacht. The importance of the mission—and the cost—already had been demonstrated in a spectacular low-level attack against Ploesti in August 1943, two months before the 15th stood up. Of 177 B-24s on the mission, 54 were lost or interned when they landed with battle damage in Turkey.

However, because the 15th operated in the Mediterranean Theater of Operations, it was largely overlooked in favor of the 8th. The reasons were varied: geographical, institutional, and promotional. Veterans of “the forgotten air force” will tell you that war correspondents much preferred sipping single-malt scotch in London hotels to chugging vino under canvas in not-so-sunny Italy, where (contrary to expectations) the weather was worse than in Britain.

Despite the dearth of PR, the 15th produced many outstanding airmen. The first commanding general was Jimmy Doolittle, who learned the trade of a strategic air commander in Italy before being called to England in January 1944. He was succeeded by Nathan Twining, later chief of staff of the independent U.S. Air Force from 1953 to 1957.

At the cockpit level, the 15th had two posthumous Medal of Honor recipients: B-17 bombardier David Kingsley who gave his parachute harness to a wounded gunner, and B-24 pilot Donald Puckett who remained with his doomed plane rather than abandon some crew members. Both died on missions against Romania in 1944.

Fighter pilots included top guns Captain John Voll (21 victories) and Major Herschel Green (18) as well as 21-year-old Mustang pilot Bob Goebel who almost certainly defeated the world’s top ace, Major Erich Hartmann. Then there was Colonel “Curly” Edwinson whose P-38 group tangled with some unidentified fighters over Yugoslavia with losses on both sides. The strangers were Yaks, and the Soviets were cranky about losing a general in the Lightnings’ strafing attack.

Two special-operations squadrons flew clandestine missions in and out of Occupied Europe, sometimes from bases carved from the land behind enemy lines. Those operations remain almost unknown to the public, even to many students of aviation history.

An unappreciated aspect of 15th Air Force operations is the variety of opponents it faced. Apart from the Luftwaffe, Twining’s enemies included air arms of Fascist Italy, Bulgaria, Hungary, Romania, and Slovakia. In fact, due to MTO geography, the 15th not only fought more Axis nations than the 8th and 9th, but crossed more borders as well. In addition to the nations noted above, the 15th also flew in France, Austria, Albania, Greece, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Yugoslavia, and Russia.

In contrast to the 8th, the 15th only attacked Berlin once—the longest mission Twining ever launched, in late March 1945. But the 15th lost 311 aircraft flying against Vienna--more than anywhere else, including the notorious Ploesti oil complex in Romania, with about 235. Munich ranked third with 101 losses, followed by the Weiner-Neustadt complex near Vienna. Another dreaded target was Blechhammer, the synthetic fuel center in present-day Poland. Bomber crews knew the place as “Black Hammer,” with good reason. It tied with Regensburg as the fifth most dangerous name on the 15th’s target list.

When Romania capitulated in August 1944, Ploesti was producing a fraction of the fuel it had previously delivered to the Wehrmacht. The 15th’s persistent oil campaign, conducted between April and August, made a significant contribution to the Allied war effort. At year end, when Hitler’s panzers ran out of fuel during the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium, the fliers who turned off the Balkan spigot were partly responsible.

By V-E Day the 15th had lost some 2,500 aircraft including more than 1,800 bombers. Its seven fighter groups claimed nearly 1,800 enemy aircraft shot down while producing 75 aces. The 15th’s mastery of southern European skies was such that it only lost 26 bombers to enemy aircraft in the last seven months of hostilities.

Even less known than the 15th is the MTO’s tactical air force, the 12th—counterpart to the 9th Air Force in Britain. The 12th flew fighters and medium bombers, mainly P-47s, B-25s and B-26s, supporting U.S. ground forces in Italy and Southern France, and also provided troop carrier groups for airborne operations. The 12th deserves a book of its own, and I hope that a qualified author will take a long look at that subject.

Meanwhile, I’d welcome contact with any veterans of the 15th Air Force—which should not be forgotten.

ENTERPRISE: THE FIGHTINGEST SHIP

On Valentine’s Day, Simon & Schuster will release my next book: Enterprise: America’s Fightingest Ship and the Men Who Helped Win World War II. So you lovers out there (and you know who you are!) can add a rip-roaring sea tale to the usual bouquets and heart-shaped candy boxes.

“The Big E” was “the fightingest ship” because she was engaged in more battles and campaigns than any other U.S. Navy vessel. Her twenty battle stars represented a map of the Pacific War: from Pearl Harbor through Midway, the Guadalcanal campaign, the Central and Western Pacific offensives, to the shores of Japan. Only one cruiser even came close. Of the six Pacific Fleet carriers that fought during 1942, only Enterprise and the much-battered Saratoga survived the war.

As a high school freshman I read the first Enterprise “biography,” Edward P. Stafford’s classic The Big E. In elegant prose it described the ship’s wartime career from 1941 through decommissioning. Ed’s marvelous book—and his email support in retirement—inspired me to tell the full story from design to demolition.

Depending upon how you count such things (excluding forewords and excerpts in anthologies), Enterprise is my 45th book, 35th nonfiction. It may be the most satisfying I’ve yet written because it’s the most personal, and because it could not be written again. Here’s why:

Over the past several years I’ve tracked the rising attrition among World War II veterans via the contributors to my books. When Clash of the Carriers was published in 2005, 25% of the contributors were already deceased. Five years later, the figure for contributors to Whirlwind had risen to 40%. As of last year, at least 53% of the Big E men I interviewed have departed the pattern. In other words, mortality doubled in six years. Even more notably, when I began the book in 2009 only four of the original 2,100-some crew and air group remained from 1938. Just one of those “plankowners” was willing and able to talk.

Therefore, the story of USS Enterprise (CV-6) is very much a last-minute grab at history.

Fortunately, I started interviewing Enterprise veterans while there were still thousands living, in the 1970s. Today, the ship’s association knows of fewer than 450 among an estimated 15,000 or more who served aboard her between 1938 and 1946. She languished for 12 years before being sold for scrap, a terrible loss to the nation’s naval heritage.

In researching previous books I came to know, respect, and appreciate many Enterprise fliers. Fighter aces such as Swede Vejtasa and Don “Flash” Gordon; dive bomber greats including Dick Best and Jig Dog Ramage; torpedo pilots such as Mr. Night Flying, Bill Martin, and the irrepressible “Hotshot Charlie” Henderson. But I wanted my book to include the huge majority of Big E men who never flew. They include Barney Barnhill, the teenaged bugler who sent Enterprise to general quarters on December 7; Bill Norberg, yeoman for almost every wartime captain; and violin artist Arnold Olson who became a radar technician. Plus so many more.

The long-service “whitehats” and chief petty officers provided the basis for Enterprise’s exceptional performance. Probably no other warship retained so many highly-experienced sailors for so long. In fact, about 120 served for the entire war, and when the ship lowered her commissioning pennant in 1946 there were still four plankowners aboard from 1938.

Throughout her career the Big E had 15 captains, including nine wartime, though three of the latter were temporary. That none of the remaining six left a lasting impression should be seen in context. They averaged about six months aboard, whereas the executive officers, air officers, and damage-control specialists remained longer. Even today Enterprise vets speak reverently of Commanders John Crommelin, Tom Hamilton, and John Munro—committed leaders who knew their jobs and their men intimately. “Uncle John” Crommelin was one of those rare people who did everything extremely well, and always had time for subordinates, even after he left the ship. Tom Hamilton, Navy’s winning prewar football coach, had helped prepare naval aviation for the coming war. And John Munro proved expert at his trade, keeping the Big E going though hit by Japanese bombs and kamikazes four times in two months.

Among my favorite characters was one whom I regret that I never met. Chief B. H. Beams was a big, brawny man who served as the ship’s master at arms—basically the police chief. “Bulkhead” Beams wielded his considerable authority with easy competence, seldom if ever resorting to force. Upon finding an illicit crap game he faced a dilemma: he could ignore the miscreants, who knew they’d been busted, or run them in. But Bulkhead had a third option. He knelt on the deck, anted up, and in an astonishingly short time he won the more astonishing total of $17,000—1944 dollars, equal to more than $200,000 today. He made sure that he lost it all before resuming his duties.

Then there was the irreverent Ensign Jerry Flynn, erstwhile Notre Dame cheerleader in charge of the ship’s lookouts. He was also the Big E’s sparkplug, the morale booster who feared no man—nor admiral. His ongoing feud with task group commander “Black Jack” Reeves (named for his disposition rather than any gambling acumen) became Enterprise legend.

Other Enterprise alumni made their marks after the war. One of the late-war officers was Lieutenant Charles B. Wilkinson, better known as Bud, the stellar Oklahoma football coach of the 1950s and 60s. And fighter pilot Jack Taylor named his business after his beloved carrier, founding a fabulously successful rental car business in 1957.

Today the current Enterprise (CVN 65)—the first nuclear-powered carrier--is scheduled for her final deployment of a 51-year career. Regrettably, there will probably never be a third flattop to bear the name because the Navy prefers to recognize mere politicians over essential warships. But whatever future vessels may be named, one thing is certain: there can never ben another ship so vitally important as the original Big E.

Available for preorder on Amazon.com until February 13 and for regular orders thereafter.

http://www.amazon.com/Enterprise-Americas-Fightingest-Helped-World/dp/1439190879

DUEL OVER DOUAI

Every writer gets the standard set of questions, including the inevitable, “How long does it take you to write a book?” The answer varies, but a typical nonfiction book of about 100,000 words can require perhaps two years.

But there are exceptions.

Take the WW I novel Duel Over Douai. From inception to publication, oh, fourteen years.

A bit of background:

Two of my friends, colleagues, and unindicted co-conspirators are retired naval aviators, Commanders Robert R. “Boom” Powell and Jack D. Woodul. In 1997 we began exchanging tongue-in-cheek emails about three Great War pilots based upon ourselves. Boom was Leftenant Robert John Brabazon Woodul-Powell; Jack became wild and woolly frontiersman George Armstrong Cody; and my alter ego was Leutnant zur See Friedrich Prinz von Tillmann und Bethwig. The situation was complicated in that “WP” and von T were second cousins who had grown up together. When the book opens in 1917, von Tillmann is nineteen and Woodul-Powell one or two years older. Cody’s age is indeterminate but he’s mature enough to run from the law along the Mexican border. He fetches up in France, joining a Sopwith Camel squadron where he and WP take an immediate dislike to one another. Eventually their animus turns to grudging respect, then friendship.

By and by, we three amigos discovered that we had about 13,000 words of assorted passages and no plan what to do with them. All we knew was that we were having fun. But since Boom and Jack were still gainfully employed flying airliners all over the globe, our email literary society took a back seat. Not until they retired and Jack had built Rancho Del Mundo in the New Mexican fastness were we able to devote more attention to what had become Duel Over Douai.

A word about the title:

We’re big on alliteration, and kicked around other titles such as Passion Over Passchendale and Victory Over Vimy. But DOD just had a ring to it, so we kept it, though Douai only appears gratuitously, and is removed from most of the action up in Flanders.

Moving right along…

Certain Great War conventions had to be observed, including Wine, Women, and Song (well, OK, especially Wine, Women and Song). The protagonists indulge in all the above, but particularly von Tillmann’s encounter with Ursula. In fact, a recent DOD reader asked “So…who’s Ursula?” I could only reply “Well, Ursula is Ursula.” (Those who have seen the 1966 epic The Blue Max certainly recall Her in The Towel Scene.)

The reader’s question reflected the variety of femmes in the novel, including one or more each British, German, and French. In fact, Lynn is named for a longtime friend from London environs. (Other friends’ surnames are employed throughout, with a disclaimer that any resemblance is coincidental yadda-yadda.) Moreover, we asked wives and lady friends to read segments of the text for a feminine perspective, and pretty much heard what we expected. Stephanie, an Air Force brat teaching medieval literature in Britain, replied, “Well done, but this is such a boys’ book…”

In our defense, we tried to inject something other than dogfights, drunken revels, and mayhem in the mix by attempting to place our characters in context of time and place. Much historical fiction simply plops down 20th-21st century characters in a period setting, but DOD seeks to depict young people in a chaotic period, experiencing the violent end of the ordered world they had known all their brief lives. We are told that we succeeded to a large degree.

As for the aviation and military material, we think we scored 10 out of 10. All three of us have extensive experience flying open-cockpit aircraft, and Boom continues logging hours in WW I machines such as Avros and Fokkers. The fact that Jack and Boom both are combat veterans only enhances the effect. But DOD’s authenticity extends beyond technical aspects—in some cases matching the date with the weather. It’s unlikely that any Great War flying tale has achieved a similar standard of authenticity.

The variety of aeroplanes should please almost everyone. We have Camels, Bristol Fighters, Curtiss flying boats, and Hansa-Brandenberg floatplanes, plus Albatros and Fokker fighters.

Without giving away too much of the plot, I’ll note that WP receives the Victoria Cross for a notable Gotha interception over London one night (Gothas are way cool) while von Tillmann earns the Pour le Merite, and Cody earns a rare reputation as an accomplished mankiller fueled by red meat and single-malt scotch.

The challenge and the fun of writing DOD was to portray ourselves as we might have been during World War I. All are thrust into positions of leadership or at least responsibility at tender ages. Tillmann is just twenty when the book ends, probably the only naval aviator in Great War fiction. He struggles with self doubt while his kinsman and the Yank try to deal with British bureaucracy, class consciousness, and the inevitable SOBs in every large organization.

DOD has been very well received. Here’s a couple of reader comments:

“…more than just a book for aviation buffs. It is an extraordinary story of young men at war, locked in merciless combat over the Western Front at a time when pilots did not have parachutes and the penalty for a mistake was death. Duel Over Douai is a must for anyone seeking an exciting book on a little-appreciated era of aviation history, and I eagerly await any sequel these three produce!”

--USAF historian.

“…the authors have such a natural understanding of mechanical stuff that they insert meaningful details into a sentence in a way that it sounds ‘right.’ You can feel it, you can smell it, you can hear it. Also, I've not read anything so devoid of fluff, mistakes, and exaggeration for a long time. Another of those books that you hate to see end.”

–Editor, Flight Journal.

Incidentally, Boom has made a start on Volume II. Watch this space for updates!

DOD is available only as an e-book. You can order it off Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Duel-Over-Douai-Aviation-ebook/dp/B005CIYT6G