Whirlwind - Barrett Tillman [23]
Arnold sought to keep 20th Air Force headquarters close to the seat of power in Washington for geopolitical reasons. While enjoying cordial relations with his British allies, he feared that the charming, accomplished Admiral Louis Mountbatten—Allied theater commander in Southeast Asia—would try to winkle some B-29 squadrons away from American control in the CBI. Hap Arnold would have none of that—the Superfortress represented AAF doctrine, missions, and ultimately a postwar independent U.S. Air Force. Supporting one’s allies was one thing; ceding them authority over the AAF’s crown jewel was quite another.
Regardless of who controlled the B-29s, logistics were appalling—no surprise considering that Wolfe’s command operated at the end of the war’s longest supply line. Fuel was a constant worry: at least seven B-29 trips carrying gasoline from India were needed to support one combat takeoff from China. Therefore, supplies had to be flown from India over the Himalaya mountains to China.
The Himalayas stretch across six nations and 1,500 miles with 100 peaks over 22,000 feet. During the war some 450 aircraft succumbed to the climate and terrain, forming the fabled “aluminum trail” across “The Hump.” Some B-29 crews logged more than thirty trips over the Himalayas, and little could be taken for granted. The 40th Group alone lost nine aircraft. Said crewman Harry Changnon, “We lost a lot of friends flying over those mountains.”
To alleviate some of the strain on Superfortress engines and airframes, more than 200 B-24 Liberators were converted to C-109 tankers, each capable of ferrying 2,900 gallons of fuel. But the project dead-ended when the modified Liberators failed to perform as expected.
Japanese fighters were the least of the problems that Allied aircrews found flying The Hump. However, occasional interceptions occurred, and a peculiar legend grew up surrounding an enemy pilot. Given the unlikely moniker of “Broken Nose Charlie,” he was said to prey on transport aircraft, though presumably he would tackle any lone bombers that crossed his path. However, only one B-29 was intercepted over the Himalayas and the shootout ended in a no-score tie.
On June 5, Wolfe’s command launched its first combat mission: ninety-eight B-29s departing their Kharagpur bases for Bangkok. The target was Siam’s major rail facility, but a heavy cloud deck prevented visual bombing. Weather and aborts reduced the strike force to seventy-seven, of which forty-eight tried bombing by radar. Results were unobserved, but sporadic antiaircraft fire and a handful of enemy fighters made no effect on the bombers cruising as high as 27,000 feet. However, six planes were lost in accidents, including one that suffered engine failure on takeoff, and three ditched in the Bay of Bengal with fifteen men killed or missing.
In the meantime, planning proceeded for strikes against Japan. Each mission to the enemy homeland would involve enormous distances, starting from the Calcutta area and flying to the Chengtu staging bases more than 1,600 statute miles northeast—some seven hours’ flight time. Even from the Chinese fields, the B-29’s radius of action (with a small fuel reserve) permitted missions of a near identical distance to Japan, barely nipping the northern and western parts of Kyushu, southernmost of the home islands. Consequently, one of the few Japanese targets in range was an aircraft factory at Omura, twenty miles north of Japan’s eighth largest city, Nagasaki. It was as if B-29s took off from Los Angeles, refueled in Rockford, Illinois, and continued on to bomb