The Story of the FLAME McGOON

Lt. William L. Frese, volunteered for this mission, his 50th, that would have completed his tour. He was looking forward to his return home. Lt. Frese was captured and spent the rest of the war as a POW.

According to Pilot William Patericks accounts, "had we been able to fly 2 more minutes, we would have been rescued." But the results of the 4 direct flak hits were devastating. Of the 10 man crew, 6 were captured and became POWs. One man, Morton Smith, the bombardier, didn't have his chute, so he piggybacked down with the navigator, William Frese. Half way down, Mr. Smith lost his grip and fell into the burning wreckage of the Flame McGoon. 3 other crew members were shot to death from gun fire from the ground.

"It is noon at a heavy bomber base in Southern Italy. The sun blazes in a clear blue sky while wisps of breeze stir little whirlpools of dust along the runways. A sprinkling of enlisted men stand around the buildings in various attitudes of bored nonchalance, waiting. Suddenly, one of the men straightens up with a snap and cocks his head intently to one side, listening. The bored expressions vanish as the men shade their eyes with their hands and peer at the northern horizon. Faintly discernible, low against the blue haze of the distance, are a rash of tiny black dots. The airfield that a moment before was wrapped in sleepy lethargy, bursts into a frenzy of activity. Jeeps and trucks scurry in all directions, each with a well rehearsed job to perform. The mission is coming home.

The heavy B-24 Liberators sweep low across the field in a thunder of powerful engines and peel off to form the circle that will bring them into position for their landing glide. On one hardstand, five mechanics, anxious frowns creasing their brows, are counting the ships as the pass over the field. There's "Yum Yum" and "My Achin" Mack's mutters the youngest of the five. That's Gentle Annie' and Fearless Joe' grunts another. The rest of the little group continues to silently scan the sky. Suddenly they all begin to shout. There she is! There she is! She's done it again. Flame McGoon or the E-ternal Flame as the boys call her, has added another mission to her record-breaking string. As her turn comes, the big sand colored Liberator swings into the approach glide and with muffled engines, settles to earth like a tired bird. Swinging left off the end of the runway, she trundles along the taxi strip, noses her way into her own hard stand and with a final cough, the four whirling propellors come to a twitching stop. Ten weary combat crewmen crawl out of various niches in the big ship, dragging their equipment behind them. The five mechanics leap into action, swarming over the B-24 like bees around a hive. As the pilot ducks out from under the bomb bay doors, he is met by slow-talking hardworking Master Sergeant Jack Harden, 416 Forsyth St, Macon, Ga., crew chief and leader of the quintet of maintenance men. How did it go today, sir? he inquires anxiously. The pilot grins. We caught a burst of flak off the left wing tip. Better check it, and number 3 (engine) was hanging back on the limb. He goes on in detail with all the ills, real or imaginary, that crowd through the mind of all flyers whose lives depend on the performance of their aircraft. Every possible weakness is noted, even though many of the symptoms are born of a worried imagination. Nothing can be slighted or lightly dismissed, though it may mean working throughout the night to locate a rattle, which proves to be the hinge on the navigator's desk. In addition to the ordinary anxiety that all ground crews have for their particular charge, these boys have the added responsibility of caring for a ship that has already set a record for consistent missions, having flown 75 without a turnback because of mechanical failure. The fact that they established this record in the first place, doesn't ease their minds a bit. They are determined that as long as Flame Mc Goon flies, it shall never turn back before reaching the target, because of something that they overlooked.

This venerable ship is an early model D long outmoded by the innovations of the more modern designs. Chipped and scarred it until sports a sand-colored finish, reminiscent of her early days, flying over the African desert, while her newer sister ships are painted olive drab or silver. A civilian might imagine that a battle-scarred old-timer like Flame Mc Goon would be relegated to the least worthy of the combat crews but on the contrary. It is considered a high honor to fly the record-breaking veteran. No crew, unless they have a perfect record and at least forty missions behind them, is permitted to take her into combat. As the airmen pile into the waiting truck, their worries are over for another day. They know that when they are again called upon to fly deep into enemy territory, their ship will be ready, but for the ground crew, the day and perhaps the night has just started. Each of the four mechanics "owns" an engine and is responsible for its performance. Quiet, stocky, brown-eyed Corp. Theodore R. Harless, from Anderson, Ind, takes engine number one and is soon buried under its shell. Youngest of the crew, he nevertheless acts as a steadying influence for the older boys. Short and brown haired, a good listener, he hears everyone's troubles and has a reassuring word. Married and deeply in love with his wife, he frowns on any humorous remarks on married life. His ticklishness is his weak spot, a fact which his comrades take gleeful advantage of unexpected moments. As this is written, he is recovering from an appendectomy and demanding daily bulletins on the progress of his beloved "Flame".

Engine number two is attacked by easygoing, fun-loving, talkative Corp. Homer G. Norris of 2201 Avenue K, Galveston, Tex, whose pranks and practical jokes keep the entire crew ever on the alert. Continually moaning and groaning, he might give a stranger the impression that he didn't like to work on this veteran fighting ship but one slighting remark from anyone outside the "family" brings down, an astounding deluge of wrath that causes the offender to flee the terror. This Texan's pride in Flame Mc Goon is only approached by his pride in his ability at poker, which his victims agree is very good indeed. This no doubt, will be news to his wife Sylvia, back in Galveston. Tall, heavy set and gray eyed his buddies call him "Good Looking", a description that pleases him not at all. Engine number three falls under the capable hands of a sandy-haired, fast-talking New Yorker, Sgt. Alfred J. Brunjes, 1107 Cypress Ave., Brooklyn assistant crew chief and the more or less sophisticated member of the team. His engine lacked full power on the last mission and he is determined to find the reason. Spark plugs, wiring, gas lines and unidentifiable parts of various sizes are soon falling from the cowling in a steady stream. He works under a constant barrage of wise cracks from his more fortunate partners who know, but would never admit, that the power loss was caused by some factor beyond his control. Soon, the trouble is located and the engine is swiftly assembled in perfect order. One of the most reliable men in the crew, this ex-swimming star left Clara Brunjes, his bride of ten days to answer the call to the colors. Good natured and a good mixer, his favorite comment on army life is "It builds you up", having brought him from 138 to a solid 180 pounds. Back to Brooklyn, blonde, ever-smiling Clara is waiting for a look at her much browner, much huskier bridegroom. The "Boss" himself takes over number four. Tall, wiry crew chief Harden rapidly checks the many complicated devices where trouble may originate. Spark plugs, wiring hose lines, superchargers, carburetors, oil pumps all pass in review before his ever questioning eyes.

Fun loving, social minded, admired by his men, the only bachelor on the crew, he says little and demands much of his hardworking teammates. Constant association has not soured these boys on their gangling, slow-moving, fast-thinking leader. A genuine affection for his men and intense pride in Flame Mc Goon's record lightens the burden for the record-breaking southerner. His ambition: to be able to care for a ship named "Gloria" when Flame finally has earned her rest. He won't say why. While the engines are being inspected, the blonde, energetic, well-built armorer, Corp. Arthur E. Johnson, 66 Hughes St, Hartford, Conn., is examining the turrets, bomb racks and every machine gun on the plane. Restless, bouncing and well liked, he takes his job seriously and is intensely proud of the fact that his guns have accounted for eight enemy planes. Target for most of Norris' affectionate kidding, he is good natured and forgiving. An earnest, hardworking Connecticut Yankee, he awaits the day when he can return to prompting the old fashioned square dances, where he first met black-haired, attractive Mrs. Johnson. Their specialized jobs finished, they band together and examine the ship from nose to tail for any detail that might have been overlooked. Control cables, landing gear, flaps, hydraulic systems and wiring all pass under their searching eyes and probing fingers. If a flaw is found, hours and fatigue are forgotten, while wrenches fly and hammers pound and the "Eternal Flame" is readied for the next day's operation. Not until everything is perfect beyond any doubt, do they turn their charge over to the guards who patrol the area and head for their tent, often at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning.

Flame McGoon and her devoted ground crew are part of a veteran B-24 Liberator group that was the first American flying unit to bomb the European continent from American aircraft. They won a Presidential citation for their part in the famous low-level attack on the Ploesti, Romania oil fields in August 1943. Lending invaluable support to Montgomery's 8th Army throughout the grueling African campaign, they helped corner Rommel and push him off the dark continent. As the tides of war shifted so too shifted their air bases, often flying missions while changing locations. This hardship can only be appreciated by one who knows the preparation that a combat mission involves. For this campaign, the Group added an Oak Leaf cluster to their first award, the equivalent of a second citation. Weather, the boogy of all flying men, is also the chief grief of the maintenance section. Working in the open, with no protection, these boys faced the shimmering heat of the African desert, where the metal of the plane became so hot that a burn would result from a careless contact. Blowing sand and dust, the deadly enemies of precision built aircraft engines, was an ever-present menace. As submarines played havoc with their supply lines, tools and spare parts were sadly lacking and were improvised from whatever junk and wrecked planes they could find that enabled several other ships to take to the air. Southern Italy in midwinter gave them a chance, if not an improvement, in their working conditions. Travel posters to the contrary, they found mud, rain, sleet and a stepped up tempo of operations. Working without gloves in the freezing darkness, their hands chafed raw by the icy, high-test gasoline, they kept their ship flying.

From one attack, Flame Mc Goon returned with wing tanks riddled. No replacements available, they installed a bomb bay tank in the sleeting darkness and presented the ship for the next day's mission. Five nights in a row they removed and replaced that bomb bay, as the ship flew alternate long and short missions. Says smiling crew chief Harden of that episode, "That's one week that we didn't sleep at all." Flame Mc Goon has suffered much battle damage but has worn out remarkably few parts. She has her original brakes, three original propellors, and two of the superchargers that came with the plane. On one attack on the Weiner Neustadt aircraft factories, she came home so badly mangled that one wing, one elevator, two superchargers, the right rudder and the wing flaps all had to be replaced. The electrical system and hydraulic lines were shot out, the leading edge of the remaining wing was riddled and the right tire was flat. To the amazement of the sweating mechanics, all ten of the flying crew stepped out of the ship unscathed.

During her eventful career, she has had an engine shot out over the target, three different hydraulic systems riddled and her electrical lines were torn to pieces on four occasions, yet none of her crew was killed. On one mission, the group returned but Flame Mc Goon was missing. Any ship that fails to return, as some inevitably do, is sorely missed but this was different. This was the Eternal Flame. The operations office was flooded with telephone calls from far and wide asking for any word of hope. The anguished ground crew, standing on an empty hardstand was inconsolable. Late that evening into a gloom wreathed bombardment group word trickled that the Flame, with an engine shot out and gas tank riddled, had bombed her objective and then limped back to the safety of a friendly field with her crew intact. Great was the rejoicing and many were the bottles of P. X. beer that celebrated her return, several days later, to assume again her role as matriarch of her high flying family. Chanted her revitalized ground crew in unanimous concert. She'll fly forever And so they go on, day after day, the unheralded and unsung heroes of the Air Corps, sweating her out and keeping her flying. Tip your hat to Harden, Harless, Norris, Brunjes and Johnson, Flame Mc Goon's five faithful mechanics."

LT. M. L. L.