Mission 55 2s3s1d

Mission 55

Denise Turner

Copyright © 2012 by Denise Turner.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4797-3534-1 Ebook 978-1-4797-3535-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

B-24 photograph: copyright 2012, Bill Crump. Used by permission.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

About my father…

Day 1, March 7, 1945

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

What I have left… .

Missing Air Crew Report

This book is presented solely for educational and entertainment purposes. While best efforts have been used in preparing this book, the Author and Publisher make no representations or warranties of merchantability or fitness of use for a particular purpose, and makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book. Neither the Author or the Publisher shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages. Any likeness to events, or actual persons,either living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

To my mother, in honor of my father… .

Acknowledgements

I WISH TO acknowledge my father, Mero A. Chludil, for without his handwritten story, this book would not have been written.

I also wish to thank Carolyn Lewis and Col. ( R ) Colin McArthur, for sharing her father’s, his uncle’s WWII story of heroism. Navigator, 1st Lt., Godfrey A. Lewis, was part of a courageous crew.

About my father…

MY DAD. WHEN I think about him, I always smile. From when I was a little girl, we always had wonderful conversations, about anything and everything. He told me that there is nothing I couldn’t do, if only I try. He taught me about guns, to hunt and fish, play chess and poker, and to enjoy the land and trees and the world and stars around me. I was the youngest of three daughters.

He had met my Mum, Margaret, during WWII, in Sydney Australia. Mum’s sister Edna owned a camera shop in the King’s Cross district, and Mum was there just helping out, when several U.S.A.A.F Soldiers came in, looking for camera replacement parts. The one soldier, took a liking to her, and began seeing her on a regular basis. And the rest of that story never ended. Of course, after his recovery from injuries sustained and discharge from the military, they married here in the United States, made their home and raised their family in MidMichigan. Though, she did return “home” to Australia a few times, even giving birth to my second oldest sister Susan there. And, Susan eventually moved with her daughters to Sydney in 1984.

Mero, or MAC, as Mum fondly called him, worked in the construction industry, in spite of his war injuries, complaining never. He loved his work, and had an eye for detail. He believed in doing things right the first time. He told me that it’s called “pride of workmanship”. After he retired in 1986, he always found a day’s worth of work to do.

He had ed the local Masonic order, and the Shrine Temple, and was very active with these organizations. Mum was involved as well with the local Eastern Star, and other Masonic d organizations.

A few years after his retirement, they moved to Northern Michigan, where they had a cottage on the shores of the Tittabawassee River. It was very peaceful there, and it’s where he wanted to be. He loved to hunt and fish and explore the forests. He would often spend time fixing things, yard work, and just plain tinkering.

He ed away there in 1996. And, he was gone before I could say goodbye… . Mum tried to continue to live there, but was overwhelmed with the thought of his dying there, and was crying all the time, so I moved her closer to me. And, she did take a trip “home” to Sydney, in 1998 for six months, to regain some peace I think.

Then my oldest sister Helen, ed away in 2003, from emphysema.

So, it was just me and Mum. She’s had declining health since 2004, and still cries about losing her husband, and a daughter.

So, I’m writing this book for her… . .in honor of my father.

In our many years of deep discussions, Dad had always told me, that there was a place for him at Arlington National Cemetery. So with my sons, and their father, ( whom Dad was especially fond of ), I took his ashes to Arlington. He rests in a magnificent place. And the military funeral there took my breath away. The Old Guard Caisson, the riderless horse, the 21 gun salute, the jets flying overhead, the playing of taps… .”on behalf of a grateful nation… .” is all I hearing when they gave me his flag.

Mero A. Chludil was a Staff Sargent in the United States Army Air Forces during WWII, from 1942—1945, as an Aerial Gunner. His assignment was the 5th Air Force, 43rd Bombardment Group known as Ken’s Men, and in the 403rd Bomb Squadron nicknamed the Mareeba Butchers. Their duty was in the South Pacific Theatre. My father was the Tail Gunner… . the aircraft was a B-24 Liberator.

This book contains his recollection of events of his last mission during WWII. He put his memories to paper 44 years later, and left them to me. I’ve read them over and over again. Here it is. A small piece of untold history.

Day 1, March 7, 1945

EVERYONE SEEMED QUITE happy this morning, it was to be a “milk run”, retreating Japanese at Balete , mountains on the Island of Luzon, Philippines. We had a full crew with some added at the runway; a Photographer and an Observer Officer. We took off without incident.

It was on our bomb run that things went wrong. Just before bombs away, heavy clouds cover the target, so we had to try another run.

Our squadron, 403rd, six B-24’s turn to the left, I don’t know the com reading, but right into the clouds. I couldn’t see anything. I looked to the right to see green trees that should not have been there. The last thing heard on the intercom was the bombardier yelling, “For God’s sake, pull up!”

Then, the plane lurched upward and there was a “grinding sound”. And, that’s all I know till about two hours later. We had started our run about 10:30 and I came to about 12:30. My watch was still on, but my 45. Pistol was torn off.

When I regained consciousness, the one thing a crewman fears is fire, so I scramble to the nearest exit, probably in blind panic. I didn’t realize that the plane broke in two parts, I was in the tail section, alone. In my hurry I fell out of the waist window. Then all black again. My part of the plane was hanging in the trees.

When I came to, I was in a heap with my face in the gravel. I had blood and

gravel in my right ear, and was bleeding from behind my ear; a half moon cut, probably caused by my earphones, the broke out earpiece cut through the sponge rubber so I hit pretty hard.

At this point, I examined myself. I felt no pain at all. I felt stiff and couldn’t move very fast. I didn’t know why at the time. (My back and neck were fractured in seven places, my left wrist broken.)

I had cuts and scrapes everywhere, I didn’t count them all.

I must have been in shock. I tried to comprehend what happened, I knew it was very serious, because there were body parts hanging in the trees. The tail of the plane was on top of the mountain near a very sharp drop, almost straight down. The smoke of the burning front half, was coming up the drop off. I thought it looked like about two hundred feet down to the trees. I couldn’t hear anything of life below. There was no way to get down. I tried, but slipped and grabbed a piece of small tree with my injured hand and hung on, and was able to get back up. It was a stupid thing to try. I realized I had better think twice before pulling another stunt like that.

So I sat down to analyze my situation. I wasn’t really comprehending what problems I had.

I was gazing at the smoke in disbelief. I looked to the right, there was another high point about 1/8 of a mile away with black smoke rising from the side. (That would be our right wing man). It looked real bad, like flying right into the side. I just sat there, stunned at what fate had dealt me.

I don’t know where the time went, but it was getting dark. I had to find a place to sleep. I looked around to salvage something. I found a parachute backpack and emergency equipment. I had a signaling mirror, two plastic water flasks, and a bottle of iodine. Someone had pilfered on the ground, because there should have been a folding machete, com, and food rations. So I had to do the best I could with what I had.

I spread my leather jacket on the bushes, to collect moisture over night from condensation. I found a hollow in the ground, it felt comfortable, and I tried to sleep. I still can’t believe what happened, so sleep didn’t come easy.

I was awakened by a shuffling sound overhead, then an explosion below on the other side. It was our artillery shelling the . I could hear the artillery firing in the valley below, a pause, then like a shuffling, then the shell exploding below. I counted about ten or twelve before I fell asleep again.

Day 2

WHEN I AWOKE the next morning, I was still in disbelief about what happened. The smoke from the burnt front half had subsided to just the smell of disaster. The plane on the other peak also looked like a steam cloud.

I tired to get up and move around, I still felt no pain, but to move was not that great.

I knew I had to get out of there, so I walked around and decided to go down the other side to the point of impact. It was very tough going, very thick underbrush. It must have cushioned the impact, and probably saved me, I’m sure.

When I got down a ways, I don’t know how far, I heard voices I couldn’t understand. So I did an about face slowly, and got the hell out of there. I was hoping to find my 45 Pistol. When I got back to the tail section, I took off my heated suit and placed it over the U.S. Star to let someone know that somebody made it. I put gravel into my turret machine guns so they couldn’t be used without a lot of care.

I proceeded down on the south side, and found a little stream. It started with a trickle, then got bigger as it went down. I refilled my flasks, (the water I got from my leather jacket had a taste of dye and leather) So now I had fresh water. There were no rations, so I would have to forget about eating.

On the way down, I tried to get to the level of the others. I whistled several times

and listened for a long time, but no answer. So, the only thing left to do was to get out of there and get help. I finally got down the mountain, and the stream opened up into a deep gorge, surrounding a flat plateau with tall grass about 4 feet high. I explored my situation, and found a lot of empty cartons, with no names on the boxes. I assumed they were Japanese. It was starting to get dark again, so I made a bed of the boxes and covered myself with flat pieces of cardboard. This must have been a camp area of the Japs, because it had the smell of latrine someplace.

I was quite warm under the cardboard, but, my sleep was fitful. This night, though, there was no shelling from artillery. I was worried about all the tall grass. A good place to get your throat cut, and I wasn’t ready for that.

Day 3

I GOT UP next morning stiff as before, but, as I moved around, it was better. I decided to make a long arrow pointing to the crash site in case there was an air search. There was a lot of cardboard cartons, so I made a big one.

I had to ration my cigarettes, I had almost a full pack and Ronson lighter. I had no food, so I may as well ration my smoking.

It was about 11:00 when I heard an airplane engine. Sure enough, it was a B-24 search plane. I had to signal the plane someway. So, I started a signal fire. The plane came back again, circled twice. Then gave me an amber signal light. I could see the person in the waist gun window; I waved with my jacket. You have no idea how much just seeing the plane picked up my morale.

Being joyous at this point, I forgot about the fire. It got out of control. I couldn’t outrun the fire, so I climbed atop a large boulder. The fire raged pretty good and in about an hour, the whole plateau was on fire. Now, I didn’t have to worry about somebody sneaking up on me. Now, I stick out like a sore thumb.

Again, the light was fading. Time to look for a place to bed down. I crossed the burnt area to the gorge on the north side. I went down into the ravine. It was not a deep as the south side.

To my surprise, in this depression, it looked like a small village; several small huts on stilts, roof of grass, also, beds of grass.

I decide to spend the night in the newly found hotel. In the lower levels, I notice more insects, so I used my undershirt over my head as mosquito netting, closed all the openings, like putting my socks over my pants to protect my ankles. So about the only thing open were my hands.

I slept pretty well considering, but got up about 5 o’clock, went out and saw a filipino chicken. I thought how hungry I was. I tried to catch it, but the chicken was in better shape than I was. Besides, I had no knife, so things were pretty futile.

I went back up to the plateau, the fire was out, so I went to my shelter, the big boulder. I wasn’t there very long when, I saw three men on the southern ridge. I hid behind the boulder on watch. Although I couldn’t see their faces, they wore what I thought was a Jap uniform, their rifles seemed quite long, so guessed they were Japanese.

They followed the ridge, and looking to the burnt area, but, I don’t believe they saw me. They continued on and disappeared into the mountain cover. But now, I knew I was not alone.

About an hour later, on the same ridge, a group of five soldiers, but these were U.S. soldiers. (Only by they way they were dressed; helmets and rifles, one had a backpack like a radio).

I got up and waved at them, but didn’t get one in return. (But didn’t get shot at). They probably thought, “What kind of a nut is that?” They continued on.

After that, I got brave and went down into the ravine and decided this was the way back. I followed the stream that was full of large boulders. I found out later, the little village was occupied before by mountain people called Igorots.

The rest of the day was uneventful, and I decided to sleep on a large boulder. I found the sun had warmed the rock and stayed warm till almost daylight.

Day 4

I CONTINUED DOWN the stream during the morning. I found an easy trail to the top of the ridge. I went to the top to check it out. The trail that was there, I followed for a bit. I found a bag of hand grenades. I didn’t know if it was some kind of trap. I left them alone, but I thought I was safer down below… I showed up too much up there. It was another uneventful day. The boulders were plentiful, so I followed the same procedure of the other night.

Day 5

I AWOKE WITH the sun in my eyes, stiff as usual, my cuts were all dried up and no infection… lucky.

I continued downstream that seemed endless, but I was thankful for all my good luck so far.

Just as I was going around a bend, I saw a man I thought was a Jap. I think my heart stopped. Then a Big Yank came into view carrying a B.A.R., and I knew I was safe at last. I could have kissed this guy!

I got up from my hiding place and started walking straight in, I waved my leather jacket. He probably thought I was seeing things. The other was a Filipino with a M1 carbine, they were guarding this side of the outpost.

Everyone was smiles but no bigger than mine. I was introduced all around. I was the happiest one there. I told them briefly, what happened. They looked at each other like I was handing them a line. But I was there, safe, and I was glad.

Evening came, they prepared booby traps around the outpost perimeters and had a guard on watch all night. They had some encounters during they night; Japs tried to sneak in.

The Sargent said they were to be relieved the next morning and they would go through the mine fields to headquarters of the, what I thought was the 24th division, but now wasn’t sure. When I looked in my diary, I found that it was the 32nd division, 128th infantry.

This squad was the nicest group I have met. They tried to help me as much as they could, but as long as I could walk, I was happy.

Day 6

THE NIGHT WAS uneventful, I could hear the Igorots shivering on top of some boulder somewhere. The infantry used them to carry ammo. “They are surefooted as mountain goats and could carry a heavy load”, they said.

The relieving squad arrived about 9:30. The two squad leaders talked briefly and we started packing up. When we got to the minefields, the men warned me to stay in line and not to bunch up, this was deadly serious.

Somehow, the news of me got there first because a Colonel and his driver was there to meet us. I think the squad’s radioman got in touch with headquarters.

I got into his jeep and we were off. We hit a bump of a good size, and, that was the first time I felt pain since the crash. The Colonel and I went into a building, his office. He showed me a telescope on a table and said take a look. Sure enough. It was trained on the plateau I burned, and they were wondering what was going on. And he finally said, “So, that was you?”

The Colonel then drove us to a mess hall. The cook gave me enough food for three men. Would you believe I didn’t eat for six days… and could only eat about two spoonfuls. I did drink some coffee.

The Colonel then had a Corporal drive over to a tent with communications. I knew I could get word to my outfit now, the 403rd.

The Captain said another member of my crew was here. It was our navigator, he got through also, but through the mine field as well. Talk about lucky. He said the pilot and co-pilot were ok. The Bombardier had a broken leg, the rest of the men were gone. We were happy to see each other, almost in disbelief.

The 403rd had been notified. The infantry sent a squad and Filipino packers to get the dead, and bring home the lucky ones.

That night, the whole squad from the 128th infantry took me to a Filipino home for a chicken dinner. I said I didn’t have any money. They said forget about that. I enjoyed my first meal then. I told the Filipino family of my ordeal, I couldn’t understand what they said, but they were smiling.

The next day, I was asked by the registrar of graves to identify the men, but the Sargent in charge said it would be impossible. He was right.

I was never so choked up in my life as seeing those bodies wrapped in tarpaulin, it was a heap of parts. I was close to throwing up. I had to leave.

The next day, I went to the airstrip and was flown back to where the 403rd was, and found out they moved to Clark Field. From that point, I got my orders to go stateside.

I was listed M.I.A., and Japanese evader,

Thank you.

Mero A. Chludil 403rd Bomb Sqdn. 43rd Bomb Group

Photo of the B-24, taken at some time before the crash.

What I have left… .

ALL THAT IS LEFT is a few photos, documents, tokens, and the memories time can’t wash away. And, in this book, his memory lives on.

I have uncovered some details concerning the plane and the crew on board.

*Date of Crash: March 7, 1945 at 10:50am ( Philippine time) *Location of crash: 16 degrees 05’N—120 degrees 53’ E *Type of Mission: Bombing *Intended Destination: Balete , Luzon *Place of departure ( final flight ): Tacloban—Leyte, Course: 320 degrees *Squadron: 5th Army Air Force; 43rd Bombardment Group, known as Ken’s Men: 403rd Bombardment Squadron nicknamed Mareeba Butchers *Aircraft: B-24J, Serial # 44-40979 *Number of crew On Board: 11

1. Pilot: Robert S. Clark, 2nd Lt. #0-775795, (injured in action) 2. Co-Pilot: Harold L. Bernstein, 2nd Lt. #0-816400, (injured in action) 3. Navigator: Godfrey A. Lewis, 1st Lt. #0-698208, (injured in action)

4. Bombardier: Emerson A. Young, 2nd Lt. #0-699086, (injured in action) 5. Engineer: Madison R. Skeen, Jr., T/Sgt, #14149569, (killed in action) 6. Engineer: Clarence L. Clark, T/Sgt. #39310852, (killed in action) 7. Radio Operator: Joseph A. Kernan, Jr. T/Sgt., #34076398, (killed in action) 8. Ass. Raido Operator: James A. Keenan, S/Sgt. # 12047106, (killed in action) 9. Gunner: Mero A. Chludil, S/Sgt., #16149944, (injured in action) 10. Gunner: Ancle A. Alexander, S/Sgt. # 37073183, (killed in action) 11. Photographer: Richard V. Buchanan, Pvt., # 18125504, (killed in action)

*The other B-24 that crashed, (the right wing man my dad spoke of), is S/N 4441481 and MACR #13313.

Niche Cover at Arlington National Cemetery.

Missing Air Crew Report