The Cisco Kid

The first combat zone in which I served during WW II was Guadalcanal. I was a B-24 tail gunner assigned to the 31st Bomb Squadron in the 5th Bomb Group, 13th Air Force. The first B-24 in which I flew after reaching Guadalcanal in May, 1944, was The Cisco Kid, (Consolidated B-24D, Serial Number 42-40174).

Because of my first encounter with The Cisco Kid, I have a natural interest in that plane and those who flew her. In May 1996, I attended a reunion of The 31st Bomb Squadron Association in Topeka, Kansas. There I met Jim Berry and Owen Carr, both of whom had flown in the Kid from Guadalcanal in 1943. Conversations with Jim, Owen, and other 31st veterans led to the discovery of several stories that I retell in the following pages. These stories focus primarily on the experiences of several B-24 crew members whose lives, for a while, were entwined with the life of The Cisco Kid.

THE ORIGINAL CISCO KID

The original Cisco Kid was purchased by the United States government in 1942 for $297,627.00. The first pilot assigned to the plane was Jim Berry of Cisco, Texas. The crew consisted of Leon Martin, Co-Pilot; Jethro W.Mock, Navigator; John (Ace) Hayes, Bombardier; Bill Kellums, Engineer and Waist Gunner; John Gilb, Radio Operator and Waist Gunner; Walter Rawleigh, Assistant Engineer and Top Turret Gunner; Owen Carr, Assistant Radio Operator and Nose Gunner; (later replaced by Alvin Stanley) Willis Butler, Ball Gunner; and Alden Campbell, Tail Gunner.

At the end of February, 1943, the Berry crew completed their Third Phase B-24 Combat Crew Training at Clovis Army Air Base, Clovis, New Mexico. At that point, each enlisted man was given an additional stripe (from Sergeant to Staff Sergeant and from Staff Sergeant to Technical Sergeant). In early March, the crew was ordered to Topeka, Kansas, to pick up a B-24 (which later became the original Cisco Kid)and take it overseas. At that time, all crews were given seven days delay-en-route orders to report to Topeka Army Air Base. However, the state of public transportation in 1943 was such that it was almost impossible for many of the men to travel to their homes for a brief visit and then get to Topeka on time. Yet it would be the last opportunity they would have before going overseas. Thus, many crews agreed among themselves not to arrive at Topeka on the appointed day--even though they knew it would cost them their stripes. Even some officers failed to report on time--possibly costing them some forfeiture of pay.

When a crew member suggested to Jim Berry that they all agree to arrive late, Berry said: "Don't tell me about it, it will be a conspiracy. I'll see you when I get there." All but one of the enlisted men then arrived 3 days late. For their tardiness they were "busted" to privates. The one exception who had arrived on time was Bill Kellams. So, with the exception of Kellams, Berry left for the Pacific theater with a bunch of well-trained buck privates.

Considering all this more than fifty years later, the decisions of these men seem eminently rational. As it turned out, many of them saw their loved ones for the last time when they ignored their orders and showed up late in Topeka. One member of the Berry crew in violation of his orders was Alden Campbell, the tail gunner on the Cisco Kid. It would have been impossible for him to go from Clovis, New Mexico to his home in Maine and back to Topeka in only seven days. Campbell died in April, 1944, when his plane crashed on takeoff from Los Negros in the Admiralty Islands. Other men, of course, returned physically or mentally altered. One must assume that they never regretted the judgments they made to visit family and friends in violation of their orders.

JIM BERRY

Jim Berry, from the small Texas town of Cisco, was a vital cog in all that happened to him and his crew while serving in the South Pacific in 1943-44. The qualities he possessed as a person and as a professional airman were, in my judgment, rarely matched by other personnel I encountered while serving in the same theater in 1944-45.

Crew of the Cisco Kid. Pilot Jim Berry is 2nd from the left in the back row; Walter Rawleigh is 3rd from the left in the front row.

As a person, Jim was very solicitous of the needs and welfare of his crew. Al Stanley says that once, when coming off a mission to Bougainville, a large number of Zeros jumped Berry and his boys. Since bombs had already been dropped, Berry went off course in order to take advantage of cloud cover--thereby losing the Japs. When being debriefed back on Guadalcanal, General Matheny asked Berry: "Why did you turn away from the zeros and fly into that front. Why did you not stay on course and fight those Zeros?" Berry replied: "Gentlemen, if you want to fly these missions, you ought to get a crew and go up there and fly them. I'm not needlessly going to put my men in a position to be killed." Jim does not recall this event, but it is so like the salutary qualities he exhibited in so many other instances that I am inclined to credit it.

Berry was also quite a wit. For example he says that while overseas and living in the jungles that served as encampment areas for the USAAF, he had two pairs of brogans. He would alternate them every other day since "...if you wore one pair two days, the other pair would start to grow and the pair you wore would start to stink." He was also quite low key. Rarely excited. Took a lot to tick him off. For example, Berry flew combat with a gunner who would not fire his guns. When in combat, this gunner would sit at the radio table. The crew usually had an extra man aboard (photographer, radar man, intelligence officer or Squadron Navigator). This freed someone to fire the waist guns. Yet this "gunner" was allowed to remain on the crew throughout Berry's missions.

Al Stanley reports that he only saw Berry show irritation once in 44 missions. Jim recalls the occasion this way: On a mission to Rabaul "...Jap fighters came in about a thousand feet above us at 12 O'clock, and they all dropped phosphorus bombs that exploded some three hundred feet above us. White streamers of burning phosphorous fanned out like fourth of July fireworks. Those chunks of burning phosphorous were intended to burn holes through our planes. Bomber Command devised a plan to discourage the little yellow bastards from continuing that pursuit. We would all go in abreast with all our nose guns and the top turret guns blazing . On that run Rawleigh, in the top turret, was firing straight ahead with muzzle blasts about a foot above my head. The vibration shook dust all over the flight deck, and the panel lights shook loose and dangled by their wires. Stanley, in the nose turret was firing short bursts just like in gunnery school, whereupon, I shouted into the intercom: 'Stanley, G...D...it, burn out those friggin gun barrels.' They've got plenty more where those came from.' After that day, we never encountered any more phosphorous bombs."

Jim was equally impressive as a pilot and navigator. Since Jim was the son of a pilot who owned and flew a Travelair biplane powered by a World War I OX5, some of his flying skills may have been inherited. Yet, he had special qualities, as reflected in one decision he made while in training. A portion of pilot training time on the ground was spent flying on instruments in a Link Trainer. When actually flying the B-24, however, trainee pilots were forbidden to fly on instruments.. A possible reason is that the Air Force, or its instructor pilots, wished to minimize the loss of planes and air crews prior to going overseas. Recognizing the importance of instrument flying skills, Jim, in spite of the rules, flew on instruments every chance he got while aloft. Thus, he avoided the anxiety reported by some pilots who flew in a pitch black sky for the first time when they flew their B-24s from the States to Hawaii.

As Jim Berry has pointed out, lack of instrument practice flying the B-24s in stateside training would be one possibility. For example, an inadequately trained pilot may fail to maintain the proper ratio between air speed and rate of climb on takeoff. Avoiding a stall by maintaining air speed is drummed into pilot trainees with so much intensity that paranoia sometimes results.

Taking off over water in pitch black darkness may cause a pilot with inadequate instrument training to panic the first time he encounters such conditions. Concern about air speed may cause him to lower the nose of the plane in order to maintain or increase air speed. Yet, if he lowers it too much a crash is inevitable. In short, fear of stalling may cause an over compensation in rate of climb. Either error is likely to be deadly. Further complicating the picture was the common practice in the 31st Bomb Squadron of overloading bombers with extra gasoline. This was necessary in order to fly the distances required to reach many of our targets. Unfortunately, a pilot had no systematic way of knowing what the stall speed might be for the overloaded B-24 he might be flying on a given night. These long distances also meant that most takeoffs were very early and very often in the dark. So the problem was not insignificant. As for the B-24 that took off and crashed into the runway, one may surmise that the pilot raised the landing gear to reduce drag so that the air speed would pick up sooner; he then dropped the nose and ploughed back into the runway.

Because of his foresight in training, Jim Berry was, in the modern vernacular, not instrumentally challenged. That was one of many reasons why his crew loved and respected him.. The crew considered him the best pilot in the 31st Squadron and often reported members of other crews wishing they had Jim Berry for their pilot.

As for navigational skills, the following story is quite revealing. Once Jim was flying from Hawaii with a navigator who made a wrong turn while looking for Johnston Atoll in the Pacific. The result--he was then going away from the island.

Jim quickly suspected the error. He asked the Navigator "Where the hell is that island?" The Navigator replied: "Jim, have confidence in me." But Jim was tuned to a dot-dash station on Johnston. He noticed that the farther they flew on the new heading the weaker the signals became. He had been taught in Link training that such an event meant one was going away from one's intended destination. But rather than make a big scene out of it, he flipped off the automatic pilot, and did a 180 degree turn to resume the original course. The strength of the signal then increased. The Co-pilot said: "Sure hope to hell you know what you're doing." Jim replied: "I do too." But, of course, he knew exactly what he was doing. He eventually was able to contact Johnston Atoll, got the proper heading and made it in without further difficulty. The navigator knew what was happening but made no response. Once on the ground, Berry told this navigator to "Get as far back in the tail as you can get. I can take us back to Hawaii." Unlike the outbound trip, Jim had a beam back to Hawaii. So the return trip was navigationally uneventful.

Prior to going overseas, Berry's crew could not have known all there was to know about Jim Berry. But they had certainly seen enough to know they liked what they saw!

Before leaving Topeka, Owen Carr, Walter Rawleigh, and other enlisted members of Berry's crew decided to put some nose art on the plane to honor their pilot. They chose a figure of a Mexican cowboy in an enormous sombrero hat straddling a large bomb. A collection was taken, a ground crew mechanic-artist was located and the deed was done. Right beneath the painting, they put the words: THE CISCO KID. Jim Berry had a conversation with the man painting the Mexican cowboy on the plane and learned that he had been involved in doing the advertising for The Cisco Kid movie.

As it turned out, Jim was never all that fond of the painting. Today, Owen doesn't blame him. After all, the painting is not all that flattering to the Kid and it bears no resemblance to Caesar Romero who played The Cisco Kid so strikingly on the screen. At the same time, if "THE CISCO KID" implied to the Japanese who would later encounter him some of the qualities attributed to the Kid by O. Henry--the message would seem quite apt.

Given Jim's lack of fondness for the painting, one can't be too surprised to learn that he proceeded to paint (with yellow chalk) the words "ROYAL TEXAS AIR FORCE" to the left of "THE CISCO KID." There they remained until the matter came to the attention of some General, whose name cannot be remembered. He ordered the slogan removed. I suppose he didn't want the luck of the Alamo to contaminate the war effort of the U. S. in the Pacific Theater.

GOODBYE TOPEKA

After leaving Topeka, Jim was ordered to take The Cisco Kid and its crew to McClellan Field in Sacramento, California. On the way, Owen Carr came up to the flight deck and said to Berry, "Any way we can go to Denver to see my mother?" Berry said "No" and Carr went on back in the plane. Jim then said to his engineer, Bill Kellums, "Find something wrong with the son-of-a-bitch." Kellums replied, "The number three engine is heating up a bit. Maybe we better go into Denver and fix it." So the Kid put down at Lowery Field in Denver and Carr got to visit his mother one last time before going overseas. He and the crew had a jolly time in Denver that night.

The next stop was Kingman, Arizona where Jim visited his brother--a pilot stationed there. Later that day, the Kid finally reached McClellan Field. After a few days in a hotel, during which time radio and other equipment were installed, Berry and his crew flew to Hamilton Field, outside of San Francisco. After one day at Hamilton--at 2300 hours on April 5, 1943--The Cisco Kid took off for Hickam Field, Hawaii. The trip took 14 hours and covered 2200 miles.

On the approach to Hickam a mistake caused the Kid to come in at Rogers Field, a civilian airport adjacent to Hickham. These two fields have since been merged to form Honolulu International Airport. Before it could take off from Rogers Field the Kid needed refueling. Since this was a civilian airport the U. S. Army Air Force, presumably, had to foot the bill. I am not aware that the crew had to reimburse Uncle Sam--but, given the Army's propensity to collect for any lost or damaged GI issue, who knows?

THE HAWAIIAN PERIOD

While at Hickam, the Hawaiian Air Depot made several modifications in the Kid. These changes had been requested for all B-24s coming into the Pacific Theater by Lt. Colonel Marion D. Unruh, who later became C.O. of the 5th Bomb Group. They consisted of installing a Sperry lower ball turret just forward of the waist windows, removing the tail turret and putting it in the nose, and placing a twin-fifties, hand held stinger in the open tail.

By the time I reached the South Pacific in May, 1944, all B-24s came with ball, tail, and nose turrets factory installed. But the desirability of nose and ball turrets was first determined by the airmen who were engaged daily in actual combat.

After modification the Kid and its crew were attached to the 7th Air Force at Kahuka Point on the other side of Oahu. From there the crew flew sea searches of ten to eleven hours; 800 miles out, then cross over for 150 miles, then back to Kahuka to complete the triangle. The purpose: to look for enemy submarines. Altitude for these searches was 500 feet. One word describes them: boring! Jim Berry would break the monotony by watching the flying fishes "...to see how high they would flop." Jim says: "It was a hard way to make a living."

During this period, Carr was sent to the Hickham Field Radio School, not surprisingly since he was the Assistant Radio Operator-Gunner on his crew. Owen remembers flying, on occasion, down to Hilo on Hawaii to pick up fresh vegetables. Having served a year in the Pacific in 1944-45 without fresh vegetables, I can easily understand why this particular memory has stuck with him so long.

Since, after four or five weeks, The Cisco Kid and its crew were assigned to the 5th Bomb Group (H), Owen did not get to complete his radio training. It was on to Espiritu Santo in the New Hebrides. Flying searches resumed. One day Owen volunteered to substitute for a sick gunner on another crew. Right before take-off, he was told he could not go because his own crew might need him that day. He had just started back to his bivouac area when he heard a loud thud! The B-24 in which he had volunteered to fly had crashed on take-off.

Owen and other members of his crew attended the funeral of nine airmen, including the pilot killed in the crash--John F. Epple. After the crash, Jim Berry told Owen: "Junior, (a name Owen picked up because he was only 18), you're dipped in s___!"

In spite of occasional tragedy, this bunch of privates believed in having their fun. While on Espiritu Santo, the Berry crew had a white female dog named Malfunction. One night the crew decided to have a "Big Push." This involved everyone drawing a case of beer and putting it all in a tent. The floor of the tent was two feet off the ground, thus requiring one to climb several steps to enter. Malfunction got so drunk that, after going outside to relieve herself, she could not get back up the steps, thereby living up to her name. The crew's condition was probably not much better since the party was still going on a 0300. At that point the word came that the crew would be flying a sea search before dawn. Jim Berry, at that very moment, was "... as full of that Australian beer as [he]... could get." But on two to three hours sleep Berry and his boys did their duty. The reader may guess in what condition!

It was on Espiritu Santo that Al Stanley joined the Berry crew. Stanley tells the story this way: He had been in the Pacific prior to the arrival of The Cisco Kid. He had been flying in B-17s in the 72nd Bomb Squadron. At one point new crews began to arrive with more stripes than Stanley possessed. He was a Corporal while they were Staff and Technical Sergeants. Seeking equity, he requested promotion to the rank of the new crews. When his request was turned down, he was so ticked off he refused to continue flying. In response, he was "busted" to buck private and assigned every dirty detail his officers could find. One of these was the so-called Mosquito Patrol. This consisted of spraying kerosene in various water puddles and other jungle sites scattered around the island. As for effectiveness, Stanley compares it to "pissing in the ocean."

Another assignment was permanent KP in the Officer's Mess, a job he got by transferring from the 72nd Squadron to the Headquarters Squadron. In that job he thought he could begin to get his stripes back and eventually get the rank enjoyed by the combat crews without, as he put it, "Getting my butt shot off." While on this duty, the main cook in the Officer's Mess became ill. Stanley took over as temporary substitute. The officers liked his cooking so well that they gave him the job as cook. This job had some hidden advantages. For one, Stanley got to eat as the Officers did--in his words--"high off the hog"--fresh eggs, and chicken every Sunday instead of dehydrated eggs, Spam, Vienna sausages, stew, and C rations. In addition, he could hide food until late at night when he would invite some of his buddies from the 72nd over for an "officer's feast." This was at a time when food for enlisted men on Espiritu Santo was quite deficient. It was "not uncommon for men at Espiritu Santo to enter the mess halls, look at the food, and walk out." Even when the enlisted men's food was palatable, Owen Carr says that "...one had to battle the flies to see who would get the most." But, in any event, Stanley's "good deal" was not to last.

One night he went to the "Snake Ranch", which was a clearing in a field with a few tables. Airmen and others would gather there to drink beer and shoot the bull. After drinking a few beers, Stanley says, one could then go back to his tent, take his "raisin jack" out of its hiding place (usually a fox hole) and drink to his heart's content. Or, if no raisin jack was available, get some de-icer fluid and cut it with grapefruit juice. Either way the job would get done.

On this particular evening, Stanley sat at a table next to a bunch of guys who were complaining loudly about their misfortune. Prior to getting into combat, one of their original crew members, Assistant Radio Operator-gunner Owen Carr, had left the crew. They were anxious to start bombing and shooting down Japs--champing at the bit, so to speak. After a few beers and listening to the complaints, Stanley volunteered his services. Necessary approvals were obtained and he became the Assistant Radio Operator-gunner on The Cisco Kid in the 31st Bomb Squadron.

In August, Berry's crew moved on to Guadalcanal in the Solomons.. Shortly thereafter, Stanley H. Zyskiewicz ("Smitty"), of Captain William McKinley's crew, was killed instantly when hit by a 20 mm canon shell over Kahili Airdrome on Bougainville. After attending the funeral, Owen was assigned to the McKinley crew to replace Smitty as Radio Operator-Gunner on "Thumper", the plane assigned to that crew.

THE BOUGAINVILLE STRIKES

Owen Carr flew his first combat mission on Thumper on August 24th. The target was Kihili Airdrome on Bougainville. However, weather prevented Thumper from reaching Kahili and bombs were dropped on Rekata Bay, the secondary target. While a few shots from Jap anti-aircraft gunners came up, (non too close) no fighter interception appeared.

On August 26, the Berry crew was not slated to fly but the McKinley crew was scheduled to strike Kahili Airdrome again. This would be Carr's second combat bombing mission. The Commanding Officer of the 31st Bomb Squadron, Colonel Joseph C. Reddoch Jr., decided to go along--using The Cisco Kid. He had been checked out earlier in the Kid by Jim Berry. The Bombardier on the McKinley crew was Donald B. MacAllister who was already gaining a reputation for hitting the targets assigned him. That may account for Reddoch's decision to ride with McKinley and his boys.

Carr and Nerstad Hit

Although major fighter cover had been expected, only four Corsairs and three New Zealand P-40s went along. Reddoch's plane took the lead, dropping forty 100 pound demolition bombs on the target. Then all hell broke loose with 75 Zeros in screaming dives all around the formation. They came with a vengeance! After getting off only a few rounds, Carr was hit in the leg by a 20 mm shell from the wing cannon of a Zero. The shell exploded on contact with the Liberator, taking off a large chunk of the fuselage. He felt, he says "... as if my left leg was being torn to shreds." That is about what was happening. As he fell to the floor, the other waist gunner, Harold Nerstad called over the intercom: "You better send someone back. They got Carr and me."

Don MacAllister Responds

MacAllister, the Bombardier, was also the first aid member of the crew. In response to Nerstad's call, he came back immediately. He could not begin first aid right away as he had to take over the waist guns to fend off the Japs who were still attacking as if there were no tomorrow. Turning from one waist gun to another, MacAllister kept the waist fifties hot. And Carr was feeling the heat as the hot, empty 50-caliber shell casings from the right gun kept hitting him in the face. While MacAllister shot at Japs, he kept feeling Carr pulling on his leg and begging for morphine, a Hobson's choice to be sure; damned if you do and damned if you don't! As soon as possible, MacAllister turned to see about his wounded comrades. He proceeded to place a tourniquet on Carr and to give morphine--1/4 grain syrettes--three before getting back to base, the last plane to land at Henderson Field on Guadalcanal.

Don also had the presence of mind to pin the three empty vials to Carr's electrically heated suit so the medics would know how much morphine had been administered. According to the medics at Henderson, this was critical information since, in their judgment, one more vial would have been fatal.

While Don was placing the tourniquet on Carr, Nerstad was lying with his back to Carr. Nerstad had gone down saying he had no feeling in his legs and couldn't move. Don examined Nerstad but could find no damage. After return to base, it was discovered that the nose fuse of a 20 mm shell had severed Nerstad's spine. Since nothing could be done for him on Guadalcanal, he was sent by hospital ship to New Zealand. Unfortunately, he did not survive and was buried in New Zealand. Eventually, his body was disinterred and returned to the United States.

Before landing, MacAllister tore open a parachute to make cushions for his wounded buddies in the event of a crash landing. As it happened they did not crash. The hydraulic system, along with the mechanism for raising the Sperry ball turret, was shot out over Kahili. Since a Liberator cannot land with the ball turret in the down position, this presented a quandary. The landing gear had to be cranked down and the ball turret up--both by hand.

The gear presented no major problem but the ball turret was another story. Gravity helped in the first case but was a significant enemy in the second. Don MacAllister, Bill Krimer, the tail gunner, and Colonel Reddoch had to work for a considerable length of time before the task was accomplished. On landing, Carr was lifted out through a waist window. Though out of his head by this time, he still remembers Jim Berry standing beside the plane as the medics removed him and rushed him to the 20th station tent hospital.

Carr in Surgery

The hospital was in a very rough setting--but fairly well equipped with the essential medical items. As for the operating room, Owen has described it this way:

"The operating room of the hospital was a Quonset hut with a concrete floor in the front portion and a tile floor in the rear where surgery was performed. The temperature in the hut was 98 degrees Fahrenheit and a large pedestal fan was circulating the air. I remained in the operating room for 48 hours. During the first 24 hours I was given four pints of whole blood and six pints of plasma, and they continued pumping blood and plasma into me for about a week. My red blood count was at the very dangerous level of about 1 1/2 million. I was truly on the brink."

But, he goes on,"...I was extremely fortunate in having an excellent surgeon, Major Patrick J. Nagle, work on me. Members of my crew were asking the doctor to try and save my leg while I was screaming at him to 'cut the damn thing off'. In my condition I falsely believed that by cutting off the leg they would also cut off the horrible pain. Anyway, they had no choice as dry gangrene was moving up from my toes at about two inches per hour. I remember clearly Major Nagle pulling the lamp cord over my table, staring down at my leg, and saying to another doctor, 'We better get to work on this man.' The next thing I remember was a sharp instrument cutting into my thigh. I screamed and sat straight up. After that, I remember nothing until I woke up in a tent ward. I told the attendants that I had to get back to my squadron and started to get up. They pushed my shoulders down." The leg had been removed at or near the hip joint.

One "essential" item the hospital did not have was good food. But it mattered little for at that time Carr had no appetite. His weight proceeded to drop from 120 pounds to a mere 90. At one point, medics offered Owen whiskey to improve his appetite, but he couldn't drink it. So a couple of the ward boys got a windfall, but not before arguing over who should get the ration. Another time, a Chaplain, who visited regularly, asked Owen what he would like to eat. The answer: "fruit cocktail." But, of course, he might as well have asked for a ten course meal prepared by the finest chef in Paris. Fruit cocktail would have been a real luxury in that place at that time. Yet, it was obtained, eventually, from an aircraft carrier. A kindness Carr has never forgotten.

Recuperating in the Tent Ward

The floor of the tent in which Owen recuperated was concrete poured over coconut logs. Beneath the floor was a dugout bomb shelter for the patients in the ward--three at this time. And air raids they had--several while Carr was in the tent. The Japs were quite fond of night strikes. When they came, the ward boys would move the patients into the dugout which was lit by two or three candles so patient care could be given if needed. Carr hated the dugout and having to be moved into it, but he recognized the necessity.

While recuperating in the tent ward, Owen received two more memorable visits: an unnamed Non-Commissioned Officer and Eleanor Roosevelt, the first lady of the United States. The NCO came bearing a gift one day before Owen's 19th birthday. Carr describes it this way: He "...brought me a very small, cheap cardboard box and asked that I sign for it, which I barely managed to do. The NCO then left. Inside the small box was a small piece of colored cloth and a piece of cheap, painted metal. On the outside of the box was a sticker with the words "PURPLE HEART" printed on it. I guess it was some sort of birthday present."

Obviously, this is not the way Hollywood portrays the presentation of Purple Hearts. But it does remind one that war is hell behind the scenes as well as up front and on camera. A different kind of hell but just as personal.

On September 17, 1943, Carr received a visit from Eleanor Roosevelt, who came through with a large entourage. Such a visit in such a place at such a time is a remarkable event. This was, after all, a combat zone. Air raids were a distinct possibility any and every night.

Since all facilities on Guadalcanal at that time were extremely primitive, it is probable that the first lady was quartered on some naval vessel in the harbor. At the same time, there is no denying she took some considerable risks. Yet Owen's memory is not about the first lady's courage. It is about a story she told him, in good faith, undoubtedly, to cheer him up--i.e., the old story of a young man she had met who had one leg but was "a wonderful dancer." Owen says that practically everyone he has met has a similar story--one he has heard "...at least ten thousand times." And, one might guess, not with approbation!

The first lady's visit also had ramifications for the Berry crew. They were scheduled that day to fly a strike to Buka in the Solomons escorted by P-38's. At the last minute, however, the P-38's were diverted to escort Mrs. Roosevelt into Guadalcanal. So the Berry crew had to do without.

Over Buka, Berry and his boys ran into a hell of a fight. Worse, the Jap fighters could fly from Buka to Bougainville and refuel for the return trip. That made it tough on the bombers since the battle was quite extended.

One of Carr's tent mates in the hospital tent was Donald Owens Harrison, whom everyone called Owens. He was brought to the 20th Station Hospital from Carney Field two days after Carr arrived. Owens had taken a 7.7 mm bullet in the abdomen from a zero, after an attack on Kahili Airdrome--all after he had already shot down two Zeros. He was a tail gunner on Homer Faucett's crew in the 372nd Bomb Squadron of the 307th Bomb Group. The 307th, flying out of Carney Field, frequently accompanied the 5th Bomb Group on its strikes. On this particular day (August 30, 1943) the strike on Kahili was led by the 5th Bomb Group and the 31st Bomb Squadron, with the 307th in trail.

Shortly after Owens Harrison arrived in the ward, he was in extremely serious condition--moaning and groaning in the bed across from Owen Carr. Carr was also moaning and groaning, which led Harrison to complain to the doctor: "Major Nagle, that man over there is mocking me and making fun of me." Nagle replied: "No he isn't, son. He's just as bad off as you are." This began a friendship between the two Owens that continues as this is written. They were both on the U. S. Navy Hospital Ship, Solace, and in the Army's 39th General Hospital in Auckland, New Zealand. Carr preceded Harrison to the States by quite a spell since Harrison's condition was too serious to permit him to make the journey at that time.

Another episode Carr remembers concerned a Red Cross Field Representative who visited the tent ward once or twice a week. Carr says: "He was perhaps middle-aged and he offered the usual basic necessities such as toilet articles, stationary, playing cards, etc. (I think about the only thing I could use was chewing gum). Anyway, he had an old, small, portable wind-up victrola and a few old records which he would gladly play for us. We really didn't feel much like listening to the music which wasn't all that good, but we listened because we felt sorry for the poor fellow who was trying his best to do a good job under very adverse conditions with very limited logistical support."

As for the mission that led to such a catastrophe for Carr and Nerstad, it was quite successful. McKinley's crew shot down several Zeros, Bill Krimer getting two of them. While Owen was recuperating from his operation in the 39th. Army Hospital in Auckland , New Zealand, a flight surgeon informed him that aerial photographs of the raid on Kahili Airdrome "showed a path of destruction that looked as if a bulldozer had driven through the bivouac area of the Airdrome." Given that knowledge, and after visiting Nerstad's grave in Auckland, Owen could justifiably feel that his mission had been accomplished.

The Kid Limps Home

After The Cisco Kid landed on August 26th, all shot up, with no hydraulic system, Jim Berry taxied it off the runway. The Kid was damaged so severely on this and subsequent missions that in December, 1943, it was sent to its back base for extensive repair. Eventually, after many months of work, the Kid returned to action and was available for my crew, with Pat Earhart as pilot, to fly in May 1944. Although able to fly combat missions after its ordeal, the Cisco Kid was in pretty bad shape. Jim Berry said it never functioned as well as it had originally. He told the McKinley crew it was very nice of them to return it to him in such "fine" shape. One of my crew members referred to it as "a pile of junk." Nevertheless, the Kid survived the War and ended up on the scrap junk heap in Brisbane, Australia.

GUADALCANAL REVISITED

In 1992, Carr returned to Gaudalcanal and found the remains of the 20th Station Hospital. He was able to take pictures of the concrete and tile floors and some rusting steel girders. The site was then occupied by a Marist Fathers church and school but a small plaque identified the place as the one-time site of a U. S. Army Hospital.

HECKLING THE NIPS

Subsequent to the use of The Cisco Kid by the McKinley crew on the August 26th mission to Bougainvile, the Berry crew flew a number of harassing raids on the same island. These "Heckler" strikes were flown from Munda. They were missions designed to keep the Nips up all night. They were not flown in The Cisco Kid. The Berry crew and three others flew two especially equipped B-24s on a rotating basis.

Under cover of darkness, two planes would alternate flying over the Jap's sleeping areas, drop a bomb or two and depart. After circling at sea for awhile, and taking a snort or two, each would return and repeat the process. Each plane would bomb three times each night for a total of six raids. The bombs were fragmentation bombs with aerial burst fuses. If all went according to plan, they would go off in nineteen seconds about 200 feet above the ground. Mission planners thought that this would get the Nip's attention and possibly enhance the fear of God that might be lurking in the back of their minds. The effect of all this is described dramatically in the book Zero by one of its Japanese authors who were on Bougainville at the time:

"It is dark now, and the field is quiet. Maybe, if we are lucky, it will be a restful evening. Before long we know differently. Even as the siren screams, we hear the distant sound of approaching bombers. Anti-aircraft guns cough raucously at the black shapes far above, and dazzling searchlight beams stab through the sky, swinging in circles to search for the raiders. A series of tremendous explosions smashes at the eardrums. Again the earth heaves and shakes, and dust and smoke shower over the entire field. Perhaps there is only one airplane up there, circling the field, dropping a bomb every now and then, but he keeps us awake for hours, and before he leaves, another nocturnal raider takes his place."

"Eventually the ear-splitting shock waves and the thunder leave. The mechanics and other ground crewmen curse the day, still black, as they begin another exhausting period of work. And this is but one day, typical of the seemingly endless succession of day and night periods, filled only with work, exhaustion, the ceaseless enemy attacks..."

COURAGE IN THE CREW

Walter Rawleigh

Walter R. Rawleigh began his service in the Army Air Force in 1942 as a pilot trainee. On May 19, 1942, after drinking too much, taking a plane up, hedge-hopping, hitting a tree, and crashing--he washed out of the pilot training program. He then spent eight weeks in the hospital with a broken leg and collarbone. Upon his return to active duty he was sent to gunnery school at Las Vegas and eventually became a top turret gunner on Jim Berry's crew.

Although known as a "fun-loving guy", Rawleigh was quite conscientious in discharging his responsibilities as a member of the Berry crew. For example, when picking up The Cisco Kid in Topeka, Rawleigh went out in freezing weather and washed the outside of the plane with gasoline. (It's hard to believe that his responsibilities as Top Turret Gunner included any such obligation.) Still beyond the call of duty, Rawleigh checked out as a Bombardier. Ace Hayes taught him the ropes and Berry tells us that Rawleigh "...became a respectable Bombardier." On at least one mission, Berry went without Hayes and Rawleigh dropped the bombs. Not bad when one considers that some Bombardiers "can't find their ass and hit it with two hands."

Rawleigh was also a courageous member of the Berry crew--as exemplified by his behavior in responding to a crash on Munda, New Georgia. The Berry crew was sitting on the runway waiting to lift off. Another bomb laden Liberator, while attempting to take off, crashed into a truck. It then blew a tire and ground-looped to the left with the left prop plowing the ground. It finally ended up in a taxiway where it burst into flames. All but one of the crew escaped. Although one should not be in the bomb bay on takeoff, it is thought that the crew member who lost his life was hit by a falling bomb within the plane.

The Berry crew was adjacent to the burning aircraft. Though the plane was burning slowly, Jim Berry assumed that when the fire reached significant proportions, the bombs on board would explode. Therefore, he and his crew debarked and moved about 100 yards behind an embankment. Shortly thereafter, two of the bombs exploded. There was imminent danger that others would do likewise; and the burning plane threatened to destroy another B-24 parked nearby. At that point, the Operations Officer, Bill Fallin, said to Rawleigh: "Let's save that plane." He and Rawleigh then got on board the parked aircraft, started it, and moved it to safety. Thus Rawleigh risked his own life to save valuable government property.

Another close call for Rawleigh and the Berry crew occurred on a mission to Bougainville. On that occasion, Berry and his crew were carrying forty 100 pound bombs--twenty in the front bomb bay and twenty in the rear. All were armed with time fuses which were set to detonate the bombs nineteen seconds after leaving the bomb shackles. At one point, Jim was advised that in dropping the bombs, one had hung briefly on the shackle and dropped into the bomb bay springing the bomb bay doors. The wire that ran through the front and rear arming vanes were fastened to the shackle. The wire stayed on the shackle when the bomb fell, and the arming vanes--taking wind through the sprung bomb bay doors--spun off the bomb, thereby arming it. At that point the nineteen second clock began to run.

Having bombs hang up or fall into the bomb bay was familiar to those flying combat missions in B-24s. But, normally, they would not explode until the arming pin struck an object with some force. Usually when a bomb would hang up or drop into the bomb bay, Jim would have one or more crew members check it out, pick up the errant bomb and drop it by hand. When carrying time fused bombs, however, Jim always had one crew member stand in each bomb bay so that no time would be lost in taking remedial action in the event of mishap.

In the present instance the nineteen seconds were ticking away and there was little time to rectify the situation. Willis Butler, the Armorer-ball turret gunner, was standing in the bomb bay. He moved quickly, kicking the bomb bay doors until the bomb jostled loose and fell from the plane. The rear bomb bay doors failed to open further and it was contrary to standing orders to land with time-fused bombs on board.

Subsequently, Ace Hayes, (whom Berry describes as the best Bombardier in the 31st at that time)reinserted the pins in the remaining bombs in the back bomb bay so they would not go off accidentally. Then, in pitch dark, he, Butler, Rawleigh, and Kellums, moved them to the front bomb bay in "piss ant fashion". Each of 19 bombs was then tossed out one by one. This was a tricky maneuver since it involved carrying 100 pound bombs along a seventeen foot, ten inch wide catwalk with the bomb bay doors open. Heavy clothing and other gear usually worn by air crewmen further complicated the matter. For example, on his missions, Walter Rawleigh normally carried a 38 pistol in addition to a 45 in his shoulder harness. He also wore a leather jacket, a Mae West, a flak suit, a steel helmet, an earphone, and an oxygen mask. Given all the heavy clothing and other gear normally worn by air crewmen aloft, and the fact that they were working in the dark--one can have nothing but admiration for the guts displayed by these members of the Berry crew. ( Parenthetically, I never liked to walk the catwalk with the bomb bay doors open with both hands free, much less carrying a 100 pound bomb.) After this experience, Jim recommended that the bomb bay doors be left open if bombs remained in the bomb bay for the trip back to base.

He also recommended decorations for Butler and the others for their involvement in the errant bomb mishap. After all, quick and courageous action here probably saved the lives of his crew, not to mention the courage displayed in moving and dropping the remaining bombs. Unfortunately, his superiors would give it no thought. Such recommendation, after all, required approval by the Navy. The 13th Air Force was not Navy--though it was, in that time and place, under naval command (COMAIRSOL) and Admiral "Bull" Halsey.

Prior to the return of the original Cisco Kid, to combat action, a second B-24 was named The Cisco Kid II. The new Kid was assigned to Jim Berry in February, 1944. Though having the same name as the original B-24D--it was a B-24J which, in Jim's mind was inferior to its namesake. Indeed, he considered B-24Js to be inferior to the D models. The J took more runway to lift off and, according to Jim, was "...always trouble every time you went up."

In March, 1944, Jim Berry and Al Stanley returned to the states. As for those not departing, Berry waked them all, shook hands with them, and said good-bye. The remaining crew members had not compiled enough missions to qualify for return at that time. The requisite number of missions was determined by a point system. Crew members who volunteered to substitute on short-handed crews compiled points faster than those who did not avail themselves of this option. After Berry's departure, the remaining crew members and two replacements made up a new crew headed by Leon Martin, Berry's original Co-Pilot. Thus, seven of the Berry crew members, including TSG Walter R. Rawleigh, were still flying with the Martin crew.

On April 18th, 1944, Lt. Martin, TSG Rawleigh and the other members of the Cisco Kid II crew were directed to fly to their new base on Los Negros in the Admiralty Islands. On the way, the Kid and five other Liberators dropped 27,000 pounds of bombs on Woleai, 690 miles from Los Negros. The next day, they returned to Woleai with five more B-24s and, bombing from an altitude of 11,500 feet, scattered 22,500 pounds on the taxi strip and in the building area. During the entire campaign against Woleai, the Martin crew, and other gunners in the 5th Group, shot down 25 Japanese aircraft and damaged a number of other planes on the ground.

THE KID'S LUCK RUNS OUT

Although success had characterized the earlier efforts of the Martin crew, Woleai was yet to exact a price. A pendulum always swings two ways; and the see-saw of combat is little different. At this point The Cisco Kid II was about to ride that see-saw on its downward stroke. On April 20th, 1944 Lt. Martin and his crew were once again directed to fly a strike to Woleai in The Cisco Kid II.(s/n 42-73307) At this time, a new replacement crew had just joined the 31st Squadron, and some of them were anxious to fly a combat strike. Consequently, Hayes, Mock, and Kellums yielded to the desires of three of them and relinquished their positions.

Walter Rawleigh's son, Chief Master Sergeant, USAF, Rodger A. Rawleigh, retired 09/26/97 from March Field in California, and the President of our 31^st Bomb Sq. Assoc., tells the rest of the story this way:

Piloted by Martin, who at this point had accumulated only 162.65 hours as a first pilot and 835.05 total hours in B-24s, the Kid was the second in formation to take off from Los Negros. Airplane started down the mat for about 3,000 feet when #1 engine began back-firing, belching black smoke from exhaust and the engine started to cut out. After an additional 1,000 feet, #1 prop started to windmill, the plane now skidding sideways. It now appeared that Martin forcefully pulled the plane off the ground. Rising 150 feet into the air in a steep climb, with the left wing quite low, the plane took a slow turn to the left. The nose dropped and after making a 180 degree turn from its starting position, the plane plowed into the ground.

Upon crashing, the gasoline caught fire. Two seconds later the nine 500 pound bombs on board exploded. It was later learned that the plane had gone down in the 40th Naval Construction Battalion encampment containing a mess hall (tent city). A large number of Seabees were having breakfast. It was to be the last meal for 165 of them! None of the ten crew members of the Kid survived. This would have been Walter Rawleigh's 47th mission.

At this point, only one plane was in the air. Takeoff for all remaining planes was aborted. The one plane still airborne, the first to takeoff, now proceeded on to Woleai and dropped its nine bombs--walking them across a taxiway and one end of a runway. One Betty on the ground burned and exploded; another was destroyed. The crew also observed five fires and a large explosion in a supply area.

So, in the final analysis, of the ten members of the Berry crew who flew all or most of their combat missions from Guadalcanal in The Cisco Kid, five did not survive the war. For Rawleigh, in death, on April 20, 1944, was joined by Leon Martin, John Gilb, Willis Butler , and Alden Campbell--all of whom, with Rawleigh, last saw their loved ones when they violated their orders on the way to Topeka.

BAD LUCK BOMBERS OR BAD LUCK CREWS?

Given the exposition so far, how should this question be answered? It is true that the failure of all members of Berry's crew to accumulate "points" at the same rate accounted for five of them being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And some of this may be attributed to luck. One may also concede the congruities in the fact that Radioman Owen Carr and the Radioman he replaced both suffered a terrible tragedy over Bougainville when hit by 20 mm cannon from attacking Zeros. And some will undoubtedly see a role for luck here. But one should not be tempted to conclude that The Cisco Kid was a bad luck omen any more than was "Thumper", the plane in which Smitty was flying on his tragic day. Nor that the crews that flew with the Kid were bad luck crews. As Owen Carr has expressed it: "...It wasn't luck, it wasn't the crew, and it wasn't the airplane. It was simply the situation! That's all."

During the War in the South Pacific, many B-24 Liberators and the lives they carried were lost. Many to enemy fighters, others to bad and unpredictable weather. Some failed to make it home because of the distances they were forced to fly, some because of mechanical malfunction, and some because of pilot or navigational error. It was not uncommon to have Jap air raids during take-off, sometimes resulting in Liberators blowing up on the runway as they waited for clearance. And combat alone once led to a mortality rate of 31% and a casualty rate of 53% on a single mission flown by the 5th Bomb Group. So the experiences of the Cisco Kids were not all that unique.

At the same time, it is quite clear that luck played a role, as it always does, in the lives of The Cisco Kid's crewmen--and particularly in the lives of Owen Carr, Walter Rawleigh and the other crewmen who lost their lives with Rawleigh. First off, the makeup of crews prior to going overseas is best described as a random process. And then there is the question of who will be riding in which "flying boxcar" on any given day. The assignment of planes to crews on any particular mission was often the luck of the draw. For in the South Pacific Theater one could not realistically expect the luxury afforded European crews--i.e., to fly in the same plane on every mission.

Europe had first call on supplies and equipment. As a result, we not only had to cannibalize some Liberators to keep others flying, we frequently had to struggle to keep enough B-24s going to make up a Squadron or Group. This shortage of flyable aircraft forced us, on occasion, to put a crew on a plane that might have been assigned to someone else. Neither the wishes of crews nor sentimentality were allowed to interfere with this process. We had no choice. Thus, in forty-four combat missions in 1944-45, I flew in eighteen different Liberators; in no single one more than four times. So, who would be flying in the Kid on a particular strike was pretty much a lottery choice. Or the whim of a Commander, as in the assignment of the McKinley crew to The Cisco Kid on August 26, 1943.

If Owen Carr had not been an Assistant Radio Operator (with five weeks in radio school on Espiritu Santo), he would not have been called on to replace "Smitty." If Berry had not completed his missions before Martin, then Martin, with his small number of first pilot hours in B-24s, would not have been first pilot in the Kid II on the mission that ended in disaster for so many. And had Martin been trained to begin with as a first pilot, the horrible crash into the Seabees mess hall might have been avoided. Finally, if Martin, Gilb, Butler, Rawleigh, and Campbell had flown every flight with Jim Berry while overseas, they all would have returned home safely with him.

Yet, having said all this, the men who flew in The Cisco Kid, (I or II) were no more nor less lucky than hundreds, perhaps thousands, of other crews who flew missions in B-24s during World War II. For any of us could write a volume on the "what ifs" in life that may have contributed to our failures. But one who would play that game, in all fairness, would have to consider the instances in which luck led to better outcomes, as in Owen's narrow escape on Espiritu, Rawleigh's good fortune in escaping injury from the burning plane, and Butler's adeptness in freeing the ticking bomb over Bougainville, as well as the superb timing of Hayes, Mock, and Kellums in giving up their seats for the April 20th mission to Woleai. So 'tis a fruitless exercise, to be sure.

What we can do is admire and take pride in the courage of those who flew B-24s in the South Pacific in World War II--and particularly the remarkable devotion to duty and each other exemplified by such airmen as Jim Berry, Willis Butler, Owen Carr, Bill Krimer, Don MacAllister, Walter Rawleigh and the crews with which they served.

2nd Edition, February 20, 1997, updated 09/26/97
Copyright, S. Sidney Ulmer, 1997