[bobbysocks]

this story doesnt take place in europe. but it has several interesting aspects that people may not know. like the 4 beam code system for finding your way back.....that was used in europe as well to some degree. a lot of boys never made the long boat trip over as their flying days ended here and too soon.

A Flight in the Dark
By Les Krause

In the early part of 1942, 1 was with the 59th Squadron of the 33rd U.S. Army Air Corps Pursuit Group stationed at Logan Field near Baltimore, Maryland flying P-40s. Training under Major Joe Mason was very intensive. There was flying going on almost every morning, afternoon and night. One week we went to Langley Field, Norfolk, Virginia for gunnery, bombing and night flying, because there was less air traffic in this area.

On the night of April 4, 1942, 1 was one of four scheduled for night flying. It was very hazy and the squadron stationed there canceled night flying because of the conditions. They were smart, as it turned out. However, we went ahead. The first leg of our mission was to fly west-northwest on a dead reckoning heading with no navigational aids and intersect the SW on-course beam to the local range station. These stations at the time broadcast four low-frequency directional beams, using A (dah dit) and N (dit dah) Morse code signals. As you approached the station location where the beams intersected the signals got louder.

If you were on one of the four beams, which got narrower as you near the station, you got a steady tone, and if you were to the left or right you got an A or an N. When you passed over the station, the location of which you knew by the chart, the signal would fade out in an inverted cone of silence. On intersecting the SW beam, we were to fly that beam to the station, the fly out from the station on the SSE beam to intersect the WNW leg of the Norfolk station, cross the narrow A signal quadrant, pick up the WSW leg, let down and land back at Langley.

Four of us took off, but one pilot aborted after takeoff, and landed because of poor visibility. Three of us continued on. I intersected the first leg as planned and flew to the station. We were supposed to be flying under visual flight rules, but in fact the visibility was so bad that I was actually flying instruments. We had only one navigational radio of the "coffee grinder" type, which required turning a crank to change frequency in order to pick up another station.

After I tuned my navigation radio to Norfolk I was still getting a strong N signal so I tuned back to the other station to verify I was still on course. In a couple of minutes, I cranked the radio to tune back to Norfolk and was still getting a strong N. I had hoped that I would be starting to receive an alternating faint A in the background, which would indicate that I was approaching the WSW beam, No A was audible, so I tuned back to the first station again.

I was ten minues past my ETA to intercept the beam when I tuned to the Norfolk station and was still getting an N signal. For five more minutes I flew the same heading, then I became aware that the N signal was fading. Panic! While tuning I must have flown through the WW beam, the A quadrant, the WSW beam and was now in the south N quadrant. But where?

I reversed course and flew for several minutes. Under such conditions your mind and eyes play tricks. To the left I thought I saw through the haze a red arc. (Later, I realized that I had been looking at my left red wingtip running light reflected in the haze). I must be approaching the coast and seeing the lights on a roller coaster in an amusement park. I went into a aleft descending turn to identify the park.

Suddenly all my flight instruments went crazy. I had lost control of the aircraft! We didn't have full 360-degree gyro horizons in those days. After you exceeded its limits, the gyro tumbled and was useless. I had to resort to the primary instruments, ball and needle, airspeed, rate of climb and altimeter. I got control of the needle and ball but my airspeed was bleeding off much too quickly, and the altimeter was winding up like a broken clock. I pushed forward on the stick and dust rose up off the cockpit floor.

My rate of climb, altimeter and airspeed indicator gave readings I did not want to see. I stalled out and went into a spin. Again, I went to the basics, needle and ball, airspeed, etc. and hope I had enough altitude to recover. This time I was successful. I still hadn't solved where I was but figured that since most of my movements had been vertical I hadn't covered much horizontal territory. I headed north again, climbing to a higher altitude to conserve fuel, which was becoming a problem.

Before long I heard the faint voice of Langley Tower calling me on the command radio (a VBT push-button channel type). They asked my position. I said I didn't know but believed I was in the south N quadrant of the Norfolk station, and I would do an orientation pattern to determine my location. I asked them to advise the Norfolk Air Defense Command of my predicament and ask them not to turn their search lights on me. Search lights could be blinding and would have made it impossible to read my instruments. Also, I was worried they might start shooting at me, since this was a time when the public was in a high state of anxiety about the possibility of enemy aircraft reaching the U.S. coast.

Finally, I hit a leg of the Norfolk navigation station and determined that I had intersected the ESE beam. I advised Langley tower and followed the leg to the station. I advised Norfolk of my position and began my descent from 10, 000 feet following the WSW beam for a straight-in approach. Manifold pressure read properly for my descent, as did all the other indicators except for the zero reading on the fuel gauge.

Finally the field was in sight. I advised the tower and lowered gear, flaps and opened the canopy which we did for all takeoffs and landings. I saw my approach was going to be a little short and advanced the throttle slightly. Nothing happened. I had a slight cold and my ears were plugged up so I wasn't really sensitive to engine noise. I opened it further.

Nothing happened! I then realized that the engine had stopped and the manifold pressure gauge was only reading atmospheric pressure. I advised the tower that I was out of fuel and was ditching in the bay. I didn't have time or the hydraulic pressure to raise the gear, so I ditched with the wheels and flaps down. I knew the plane would decelerate rapidly when it hit the water, so I covered the stick with both hand just before the plane went in. My head slammed forward and hit my hands covered the stick. I knew I was lucky to have my hands there. If the plane floated it was only for a couple of seconds.

There was no time to release the safety harness and get out. Suddenly, I was under water and still strapped in the cockpit! I groped around and found the safety harness release and kicked myself free of the cockpit. It was pitch black, and I still didn't know which way was up. I pulled the cord to puncture one of the C02 tubes on my Mae West.

I popped to the surface and gulped for air. But the buoyancy of my seat pack parachute brought my butt up to the surface pushing my head under water. I had to release the buckles of my parachute. I dog paddled with my hands to get my head out of water to take a deep breath. When I stopped paddling my head would again go under, but then I could use both hands. The buckles were the type you had to push the two parts together and then rotate each part 90 degrees to separate them. I was unable to do this. The leather gloves I wore were wet and I didn't have much feel, and the harnesses were very tight, as they should be.

After several unsuccessful attempts and running out of breath I realized I had to get my gloves off so I could feel the buckles better. Shedding tight fitting wet leather gloves is not an easy task. Finally, I succeeded in unbuckling the chute. If I had inflated both air bladders on the Mae West, I wouldn't have been able to keep my head out of the water for very long, and I believe it also would have put more tension on the harness, and I don't think I would have had the strength to release it I decided to keep the chute as a flotation device while I swam to shore.

The worst of my problems weren't over with yet -- I was scared to death I might trip a floating mine while swimming. The shore seemed a great distance away, but I doubt if it was more than half a mile. Every stroke was filled with fear. Finally, I could see shore details, and suddenly my hand hit something. A mine? Nope. It was the bottom. I stood up and staggered towards the shore with my chute, which was a scarce commodity at that time.

My troubles were still not over. I was now in marsh land crossed by large drainage ditches. I fell or slid down each ditch and climbed back up the slippery side of until I reached the perimeter road around the airfield. I started walking on the road towards Base Operations. Suddenly, a truck full of guards appeared. They jumped out of the vehicle with machine guns and surrounded me.

I must have been quite a sight, wet and muddy, my hair and face draped with seaweed. I identified myself and explained what had happened, but they still didn't believe me. I was a spy landed by submarine! They took me to the brig still under guard and called Base Operations to confirm my identity. Now I was an American again. They noticed blood on the front of both pant legs. I pulled up my pants and there were three bloodied marks on my legs.

At the hospital, medics cleaned and dress my wounds, looked at the knot on my head and kept me for the night. I probably cut my shins on the metal edge of the windshielf when I kicked free of the cockpit, The only material loss was the Movado gold wristwatch my parents had given me upon graduation from college. The next morning I went out on the salvage tug and sat in the bow, motioning directions to the skipper, Finally, I pointed down with my finger. He stopped. Lo and behold, there were droplets of oil coming to the surface!.

Later that day they recovered the P-40. The other two pilots who continued on that night fared badly. One crash landed on a beach in North Carolina, but was not seriously injured. The other crashed into Dismal Swamp in North Carolina and was killed. I don't believe they ever recovered that aircraft or the body.