When my wife and I retired, we decided to leave the hustle and bustle of Orange County, Calif., for the more serene environment of a gated community around a golf course in Murrieta, Calif.
There were many retired military men and women there. Most of the vets would be willing, if not eager, to share their war stories, but there was one man who never, ever spoke of the war. Gene had retired from the U.S. Air Force with the rank of colonel.
When my wife, Audrey, and I decided to take a Mississippi River boat cruise, Gene and his wife Ellie wanted to go, too. We booked our trip together, flew to New Orleans and boarded the American Queen.
Casual attire was OK in the dining room, except that the second night out was the Captain’s Dinner and guests were asked to dress conservatively. Gene and I wore suits and the girls wore long dresses.
Audrey noticed a small pin in Gene’s jacket lapel and asked him what it was. Gene seemed embarrassed and said the last time he wore the suit was to a military event, and he forgot to take it out. Audrey wanted to know more and asked him what it was for. It was for something he did in the war, Gene answered.
“What did you do?”
With a little help from Ellie, Gene started to tell his story. He was a pilot in a squadron of B-25 Mitchell bombers stationed on an island in the Pacific, flying bombing raids over Japanese cities. On one occasion, after flying around enemy territory on the way to the target, one engine of his aircraft caught fire. The crew extinguished the fire but had to shut the engine down. Gene realized they could not get to the target and back on one engine, so he got permission to leave the squadron and return to base.
A B-25 could fly on one engine but at a lower speed, and compounding the problem was the fact that they still had all their bombs on board. The navigator said the shortest way home was over enemy territory, and at the coast they would fly over a small harbor. If there was shipping in the harbor, they could dump their bombs there; if no ships were found, they could fly out over the water and dump the bombs into the ocean.
At the coast there was poor visibility, but they determined there were no ships there, so they flew out over the ocean. Gene remembered saying, “Dump everything and let’s get the hell out of here.”
They managed to get back to base and made a full report. About a week later, Gene was summoned to the commander’s office and was told he and his crew were being given credit for sinking an enemy ship. There was an eyewitness, an American submarine captain, who was submerged off the coast of Japan and looking through his periscope, getting his boat into position to fire torpedoes into a Japanese ship. Before he could fire his torpedoes, the ship blew up in front of his eyes.
He confirmed that the ship sank. He made a full report to his command. The two reports went to Intelligence, who found that the time, date and place were identical — so it must have been one or more of Gene’s bombs that hit the ship. Gene and his crew were “accidental heroes” and all were awarded that little pin.
Later, on another mission, Gene’s aircraft was shot down. He managed to crash land with only minor injuries to his crew. They were immediately captured and spent the rest of the war in a POW camp. Now we knew why he never wanted to talk about it. But I wanted to get his story told as I believe he was a true hero and one of many whose stories might never be told.
Sadly, I just learned a few weeks ago that my dear friend Gene passed away. He was 100 years old. R.I.P., Colonel, “Sir!”
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