RPT Info

Service number #431067

Account of final mission

alph wrote the following about the Dec. 28, 1943 mission:
This is an account of my experience in leading Mission #206 of the 376th Bombardment Group
(H). The date was 28 December 1943, the target was the railroad repair facility at Vicenza, Italy,
about 500 miles northwest of our base at San Pancrazio, in the "heel of Italy. I was in the pilots
(left) seat and Lt Colone1 Ted Graff, the Group Commander was in the right seat. Colonel Graff
and I were friends. I was the 515th Squadron commander, so he was also my boss.
The conduct of the mission was hampered by cloud decks and haze. We opted to climb to cruise
altitude over our base, since there was a hole in the 9 to 10 thousand ft overcast. This delayed us,
but we knew the 98th Group would also be delayed. Arriving about 8 minutes late at our
rendezvous, we did not see the 98th. From then until we arrived in the target area we felt that the
98th was ahead of us. Later at the 82nd Fighter Group (P-38s) rendezvous we failed to see them.
Again we felt that the other groups were ahead of us. The 98th had been designated the lead
group. En route we saw a formation of aircraft to our left. We turned toward them but soon
determined that they were B-17s, so resumed our heading to our target. We saw no other aircraft,
heard no radio comments. We flew between decks at about 11 thousand feet and were in the clear
at the head of the Adriatic, as briefed. As we approached the Initial Point we saw a formation
ahead of us. We thought they were the 98th Gp until we quickly realized they were enemy
fighters.
By that time Jerry was attacking and destroying the 5l2th Squadron. We dropped our bombs on
the target and turned toward Base. We had lost ten of the seventeen B-24s that had started the
mission.
Clifford Wendell wrote eloquently of his misfortune of being shot down, losing members of his
crew, being a prisoner of war. He wrote further that I broke radio silence to try to find the 98th
and the 82nd, that other air commanders tried to persuade us to abort the mission, that
"ordinarily" we had instructions to abort if a rendezvous was missed, all inaccurate.
I did not know that it was my "last mission" and I wonder how Wendell knew it. The furor after
the mission resulted in me being "stood down" and thus my tour was ended. Wendell erroneously
assumed that my thought processes regarding turn-backs, finishing my tour, etc., coincided with
his. Not true. We had different perspectives, it appears.
We were not used to having fighter cover: we had confidence in the weather forecast. Col Graff
was on his 13th mission, I on my 39th. We discussed the weather, the inability to rendezvous

with either the 98th or the 82nd, so we agreed to proceed, still thinking the other 2 groups were
ahead.
What else? We were fighting a war, we had orders to bomb a target, we had seventeen bombers
and crews. We were combat crews doing our thing. It would have been a dereliction to turn back.
The mission was conducted professionally. We got clobbered.
The following are other accounts of the Dec 28th mission from
www.armyaircorps-376bg.com

Paul Brown
The mission that proved to be our last in the E.T.O. left our home base at San Pan at 08:40 on
Dec. 28, 1943. Our target was to be the (left blank). The group was flying our usual formation
with Capt. Thompson leading the group and our squadron flying the low squadron. I was flying
the lead position for our squadron with Jim Collison on my right wing and Ralph Jackson on my
left. Tommy Haigh was leading our second element, being flanked by Harlen Wenginger, right,
and Jim Fortenberry, left. Today because of various reason we had our six best crews together to
make the best job possible.
All our first pilots were an All-American, cross-section, representing almost all sections of the
U.S. Jim Collison, married and father of a five month old girl, of Minneapolis, MN (43); Ralph
Jackson; single and easy going "you all" boy from Louisville, KY. (40); Tommy Haigh, single
and squadron big time poker player, hailing from Richmond, VA (25) - killed; Harlan Wenginger,
single, tall, raw bone fellow from the farms of Blue Hill, NB. (19); Jim Fortenberry, single
young, red hair, kid from Beaumont, TX (7), and myself (39).
Our gang hailed from far and wide also. Paul H. Brown, first pilot, Atlanta, GA; Arthur B.
Fontaine, Co-pilot, Sacramento, CA; Charles C. Banks, Navigator, Nampa, Idaho; Arthur W.
Vigneron, Bombardier, Buffalo, NY; all officers. The enlisted men were: Oscar C. Moseley,
Engineer, Wachula, FL; John A. Swearingen, Asst. Engineer-Gunner, ______________ WI;
Stanley Wesson, First Radioman-Upper Turret Gunner, New York City; Morton Milstein, Asst
Radioman-Lower Turret Gunner, Toledo, Ohio; William T. McKenna, Tail Turret and Chief
Gunner, Chattanooga, TN; and C.L. Cline, Gunner.
The mission was as usual until we got to our rendezvous point where we didn't meet our other
bomber or fighter escort. As fate would have it, every time Capt. Thompson lead, the missions
were in some way not go as it should. However, this being Thompson's last mission, he didn't
want to have a turn back against him.
We had been briefed as to the fighter situation at and around the target, and it didn't seem to be
any heavier than usual with practically nil on the flak. We had our usual accompaniment of
bombers and fighters it should have been another mission, as only three days before at the same

town we had suffered no losses. Our target was only sixty miles the historic and picturesque city
of Venice, Italy on the Adriatic coast and seventy miles from the snow covered Alps.
As we crossed the Adriatic Coast south of Venice, and started inland the first sight of enemy
fighters were reported. The Folke-Wolf 190s, ME109s, and Machiis had climbed several
thousand feet above us and were forming for the first attack. At 11:50 o'clock the first wave of
fighters started to dive on us.
"Four fighters at eight o'clock" drawled Bill McKenna, Tail Gunner, in his slow steady tone,
"eight fighters at five o'clock - now there are twenty and they are coming in." (The position of
enemy planes are reported on the clock system, with the nose of our plane being twelve o'clock
and working clockwise around the ship.) As the fighters came within gunfire range, all the guns
started the steady drum of 50-calibre fire. I could feel the entire plane vibrate under the heavy
fire being brought to bear on the incoming Germans. I could now see the heavy rocket shells and
millimeters bursting in and around our formation. The first fighters passed so close to us that I
could hear the scream of their engines over the roar of our four. The first wave had passed and
we had been hit in the rear of the plane and I could feel the controls begin to get sloppy. The pass
had hit us hard and I saw two fighters explode less than 100 yards from us, at the same time one
of our bombers had been hit in a vulnerable spot and was beginning to burn. From then on things
happened so fast it is imprinted in my memory like a quick flash of a news reel.
After the first wave had passed we had lost two planes and crews of Fortenberry and Wenzinger
with the other four hit in some part. Seeing that we were hit and not able to hold our position
with the formation I called each pilot and had him jettison his bomb load of 6000 lb. This being
done, the ships were able to pull up a little for the last grouping before being torn to shreds by
the second pass, which was now under way. The fighters, not having any Allied fighter
opposition had come up with belly tanks, which will about double their gas capacity. So with
what looked like a fight all the way, the gunners kept blazing away, knocking down what we later
learned to be about 30 fighters. The estimated fighter opposition that day was set at 60-70.
As this wave of fighters came in, they were more and more determined to get more of us each
time. "I'm hit, send someone to take my place" gasped Bill McKenna, Tail gunner. Art Fontaine,
being in charge of the crew during engagements, signaled our Engineer, Oscar Moseley to start
back to take over. However, we then received a vulnerable hit that set our ship on fire and into a
dive, so we were never able to get to our wounded Tail-gunner. Two shell of heavy calibre, burst
within three feet of the pilot and co-pilots seats - also within range of Moseley and Wisson luckily no one except myself was hit. I felt a stinging sensation in the left ankle and knew I had
received my first wound. Art Fontaine started getting up to see if we were put out of commission,
and returned reporting of inside fires - just our number two engine and rudder controls gone.

I then felt the plane give a lunge like a big bird about to die. The controls were all severed and
we were out of control. Up until then, as far as I know, no one had left his position, we then start
signaling each man to bailout as soon as possible (our electric system was out and the warning
bell would not relay the message to the various positions.) Art started out as I tried to put the
plane on automatic pilot, but to no avail. I remained in my seat as long as possible to G give the
others a better chance to get out. Stanley Wesson, having come down from the turret, was pulling
me by the shoulder and almost pleading for me to start out. Signaling him to go out first I started
what proved to be the most trying seconds of my life.
As I got out of my seat I could see Moseley trying to open the bomb bay doors, but the hydraulic
system was gone. He and Wesson then started out through the nose wheel escape hatch while Art
and I started to go thru the ship to go out the waist windows. Everything went well until we got
to the small door leading to the rear of the ship - then, Art was wedged in the door as the plane
lunged on its side and started screaming and whining on what seemed like a plunge straight
down. This episode, is I believe what proved to be fatal to Arthur Fontaine. To my knowledge,
Art hadn't been hit, but the next seconds the best friend and co-pilot a man could have was killed.
He started on through the door as I had pushed him clear and started to the right waist window.
Just then I saw Bill McKenna, who was our first man hit, coming toward us. He had by
some,outstanding effort gotten from his turret and making his way to an escape Hatch. His
wounds were plainly visible as he had received what looked like a direct shell burst in the chest
and face. As we saw him, I started toward him to carry him to safety as best I could. But, as fate
would have it, the plane rolled over and cost the lives of at least uninjured men -Fontaine,
Wesson, and Moseley and at the same time I was thrown on my back and pitched from the left
waist window. At the same roll, Art was thrown back into the depths of the plane and being so
close to the ground he was never able to recover.
One two and up to ten I counted before pulling my rip cord. By then I was so close to the
ground I could make out the outlines of people running to about where I would come down. With
a sudden jerk the parachute opened and before I could realize it I was settling down in a very wet
farm field.
By the time I loosened my chute harness and got off my life preserver I was met and attacked by
one Italian. He was very belligerent and out to do me all the harm he could until two more
Italians came up and pulled him off. I tried as best I could to get them to help me get away to
some hide out - but to no avail. They caught me by the arms and almost carried me to a farm
house about a half mile across the fields. They then tried as best they could to do what they could
for the gash I had on my lip and chin. Within fifteen minutes they had SOLD me to the Germans
for $14.00 - the price set on the head of all American Airmen.
After being turned over to the "Super Race", I was carried to the guard house in Vicenza. I stayed
here for about an hour and was transferred to the Luftwaffe Headquarters for searching and

questioning. After this was over, a German Doctor came in and gave me a very thorough
examination for wounds or broken bones. Then I found that the wound I had was about the size.
of a half dollar on my left ankle - however, the doctor didn't take out the shell fragment in my
leg. As soon as he finished he told me something that I believe I will always remember, in "Don't
worry, for you the war is over, tomorrow you will go to the Fatherland where you can rest."
Within the hour Arthur Vigneron was brought in and went through the same thing. We were then
taken to the airport at Vicenza and jailed for the night. We were then given for our supper and
breakfast black bread, butter and German cheese. The following morning we were taken along
with eight other men to the town of Verona where we got our thorough interrogation for the
duration of three days.
The morning of Dec. 30 saw us boarding a train to be taken to what the Germans called "The
Fortress of Europe." All Airmen were given "priority" over other prisoners to be taken to
Germany proper as soon as possible. Although under guard and in our present position we
enjoyed - as much as possible - the scenery of the Alps and surrounding country. We passed
through places such as Brenner Pass, Munich, Augsberg and other cities we had known only
from the air.
The trip proved to be a rough one of 26 hours duration with only bread, butter and one apple and
a change of trains three times. Arriving at Frankfurt we were taken immediately to solitary
confinement of the "sweat-box or hotel" as it was dubbed by the prisoners.
Dec. 1943 - May1945
Lt. Paul H. Brown
Stalag I Barth Germany
James Fortenberry

James Fortenberry recount of the mission on 1943 Dec 28.

The following is an account of the massacre of the 376th Bomb Group, 512th Squadron,
28 December 1943, remembered by James W. Fortenberry with the help of a diary kept
while a POW in Stalag Luft l, Barth Germany. The mission was led by Major Ralph P.
"Red" Thompson (I'm not sure which squadron he was in) with Col. Graf as copilot. It
was Major Thompsons 50th mission. Our target was the marshalling yards at Vicenza,
Italy. We were told later that the mission was recalled when we were about half way to
the target. I saw the 98th turn back and go home. Several P-38's flew very close to us
and seemed to be trying to get us to turn back; however because of radio silence, we
did not know what was going on. As we crossed the coast at the mouth of the Po River,

we received very heavy flak, and we lost the right stabilizer. Within the next few
minutes, we were attacked by 109's, 190s and JU-88s firing rockets from long range in
the rear. As we approached the IP, the lead Squadron made a Right turn instead of
LEFT. The 512th, led by Lt. Paul Brown, had already started the correct turn to the
LEFT, and as a result, we were left by ourselves. We did not last very long. I was in the
second echelon, tail end Charlie. Lt. H. W. Wenzinger was opposite me and the first to
go down. We were under very heavy attack (German interrogators told me they had
over 100 planes and said we shot down 36 of them). Four 190's came at me head on
and Sgt. Wissman and Sgt. Yavorsky destroyed all four. However, they knocked out two
of our engines. Sgt. Porteous, tail gunner, informed me JU-88's were lobbing rockets at
us; one hit the bomb bay, with a full load of bombs, setting us on fire. One hit the tail
turret wounding Porteous. He was not a regular member of my crew, and I don't know
his first name. Sgt. Abney and Sgt. Easley got his chute on him and dropped him out the
hatch. I was informed he died in a German Hospital in Italy. After the crew had bailed
out, my copilot (Steve Fleenor) and I tried to get out, and the plane exploded with Steve
in the Bomb Bay and me behind him. We got out at about 1,000 feet and were both
captured about three hours later. From a goofed up mission, some very good crews
were lost that terrible day.
Arthur Leadingham

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Arthur Leadingham mission on Dec 28, 1943
ESCAPE FROM VICENZA

On December 28, 1943, seventeen B-24's from the 376thH.B.G. headed for the railroad yards in
Vicenza, Italy. About ten minutes from the target, we were attacked by forty to fifty German
fighters. They came at us three and four abreast, firing rockets at 1,000 yards, and then coming in
for the kill with 20mm cannons. Our 512th Sqd. trailed the rest of the formation, so we were hit
first. Our plane lost two engines, all communications and most of the flight controls. Jim
Collison, our pilot, put the plane on autopilot preparing to jump. Whitey Whitesides climbed out
of the top turret, opened the bomb bay doors, and said, "You go first." I jumped out and didn't see
another American for seven weeks. We lost all six of our 512th Sqd. planes within minutes and a
total of ten B-24's that day.
I landed in an olive grove with twenty to thirty people watching. A young lad on a bicyc1e took
me to his home for the night. The next day, we walked up into the hills to stay with his relatives
and try to escape the Germans. Four days later, my right leg became infected from a piece of

shrapnel. The boy took me to an English-speaking doctor, who wouldn't treat me because he was
afraid the Germans were watching his house. The lad then took me to the home of a registered
nurse and left me there for treatment. Two weeks later, my leg was healed enough to travel. I
didn't see the boy again but the nurse informed me that he had threatened to report me to the
Germans for ransom. The nurse and I made plans for an early departure for Yugoslavia. I gave
her all the money I had in the escape kit, plus about $75 of my own money to buy c1othes and
train tickets.
On January 20, 1944, we left the nurse' s home at dusk and boarded a train to begin our trip to
Fume on the Yugoslavian border. The nurse and I never identified with each other on the whole
trip, She would buy tickets and leave one on a ledge or in a crevice for me to pick up. We had
many delays because of the English night bombings. We changed trains often, and saw so many
German soldiers; we thought we were on troop trains. German officers accompanied the
conductors taking tickets and spot checking ID's.
After traveling all night and morning of the next day, we arrived in Fume at 11:30 a.m. Upon
entering the station, we saw five guards checking ID's and asking questions. When I saw this, I
made my way back to the station platform looking for another way out. The whole area was
surrounded by guards with automatic weapons. I waited until the crowd c1eared the station and
then went back in, ready to give myself up. The nurse had all five guards in one comer talking
excitedly and diverting their attention from me. I slipped out the door into the city and later she
joined me. We had lunch and said our farewells. She spoke no English and I spoke no Italian. My
guide was intelligent, dedicated and fearless in facing our common enemy. I thank God for
sending her into my life to make my escape possible.
I crossed the border into Yugoslavia and the guard didn't even stop me. I traveled south on the
main highway that follows the Adriatic coast until almost dusk. I headed for a small village in the
hills to try to make contact with the Partisan army. I met an old man with a long white beard on
my way to the village and told him who I was and what I wanted. He didn't say a word, but
motioned me to follow him. He took me to a home where they gave me food and put me to bed.
About three hours later, I was awakened with a gun pointed at me with ten people looking on.
The man with the gun was a high-ranking officer in the Partisan Underground army and he could
speak perfect English. He quizzed me for thirty minutes about my escape from northern Italy and
also asked many questions about America. I don't think he fully accepted my story, I can hardly
believe it myself. Only God knows why I was able to escape when the rest of my crew was either
killed or captured.
The next day, he assigned a guide to take me to the Northern Partisan Army HQ. Here I was
housed with a British (82) group that had radio contact with the Allied army HQ in Italy. The
Partisans asked them to verify my identity. I stayed with the British for three weeks waiting for
an American colonel, commander of a P-38 fighter group. He and a German had shot each other

down head-on. After the colonel arrived, we joined a small group of Partisans heading south for
Tito's HQ where we could catch a plane back to Italy.
We were on the road for about ten days when my feet developed infected blisters caused by an
ill-fitting pair of British army shoes. I was sent to a Partisan army hospital, which was a farm
house. Two weeks later, I was able to travel again. We left after dark and headed for the Adriatic
coast where I was taken by a small boat to an island occupied by the U.S. Army Rangers. They
gave me food, a bath with soap and hot water and a good night' s sleep on an army cot. The next
day I was taken by Navy LST back to Italy and spent the next ten days in an army hospital for
observation and a cure for scabies and lice.
I rejoined the 376th B.G near Bari, Italy, after more than three months in enemy territory. After
being interrogated by S2 about my entire escape experience, I was told that I would be going
home as soon as orders and transportation could be arranged. This was great news because I'm
not sure I had much fight left in me. I lost about thirty-five pounds on this little trip; however, my
crew members in German prisons lost a great deal more.
On that one day in 1943, ninety-nine men in ten planes were either killed or taken prisoner. One
escaped. This is my story!

Ralph Scheer

Ralph A. Scheer was an armament officer in the 512 squadron. He wrote about his experiences
before, during and after the Dec 28, 1943 mission:
I had a ground-based view of the air war. I had always envied the fly boys and the glamorous
lives that they lived in contrast to our rather routine life-styles on the ground.
While the 376th was in Libya, I was based in an airplane repair depot in Oran. After months of
virtual inactivity, I wrote an official letter ahead requesting that I be transferred to the combat
zone. Within days of that letter, I found myself joining the 376th Group, 512th Squadron, in San
Pancrazio shortly after they had arrived in Italy. Upon arrival at the 512th, I was advised of what
my duties were, one of which was unexpected in that I would be part of a team which would
brief new incoming plane crews as to what to expect on their first missions and in combat, etc.
The group to do this consisted of a pilot, a navigator, an engineer, and myself as an armament
officer.
In the first new crew meeting I attended, I was taken aback by a question from one of the
gunners. At this time men did not talk about fear, you just were expected to be brave. He said to
me, "How do I know I can control myself? How do I know I won't be so shaken and frightened
that I'll either freeze on the controls or forget how to handle them?" This was an unexpected
question for me and I struggled through the answer as best I could. After the end of that meeting,

I went to see our administration and said, "If I' m going to handle a meeting like this, I have to
have had some experience in the air, so I would like to fly a few missions." After talking it out it
was unofficially agreed that! could fly unmanifested on a few missions to get familiar with the
routine.
I made an agreement with a couple of the crews that if they saw a milk run coming up to advise
me of it because I wanted to fly on short runs and not a heavy combat run. In this way, I did get
some missions under my belt.
After the crews left the briefings of the Dec. 28th, 1943 Vincenza mission, one of the crew
members said, "We don't know if this is going to be a milk run but it might be an interesting
one." I decided to try to join the Vincenza mission and I left the 512th headquarters and walked
out before the early dawn and as I was about to talk to them, a jeep came up and said, "Scheer,
you're ordered back to the squadron." I said, "What's the problem?" They said, "There's been
some trouble that too many people have gone up unmanifested. It's been embarrassing to the
Wing that we lost a cook the other day and there's no way you can justify him in the air. So
you're asked to go back to the squadron."
Sometimes on mission day my routine was to find out the expected time of arrival of returning
planes from the mission, then I would position myself on the balcony of the farm building that
the farmer had occupied which was now our 512th headquarters. This balcony was up on the
second floor and I would watch for flights to come in. If I was a plane that looked damaged, I
would send the jeep which was waiting on the ground below to go to that ship first, etc. The jeep
we sent out would be one that contained armament personnel who would talk to the crew, find
out the condition of the turrets, the condition of the guns, and repair what was necessary.
On the afternoon that we expected the return from Vincenza, I was waiting on the balcony. I
remember the other squadrons, 515, 514, 513, returning. I also remember that there were missing
planes from the squadrons. Then I waited for the 512th to return. There was a long wait, and
finally a jeep came up underneath where I was standing and called to me and said, "There's no
need waiting any longer. The 512th is not coming back. They've gone down." Obviously this was
a shattering experience for me and for all others involved.
The rather large farm building we occupied as the 512th headquarters had an Officers club on the
first floor; also, our dining room and the headquarters office. On the second floor, there was a
room reserved as a bedroom for the squadron CO and his executive officer, if he so wished.
Adjacent to this was a large room where the crew officers and I had our bunks and slept.
That evening, without foreseeing the consequences, I walked upstairs to our sleeping dormitory
to get something from my footlocker, and then the 24 empty cots hit me. I turned around, went
downstairs into the bar and started drinking. Late that evening I remember taking a bottle of
whiskey or some kind of booze upstairs to my room, putting it on the floor next to my cot, and
reawakening either the next day or the day after in the infirmary. The 512th had a small
infirmary, one cot, that was handled by the flight surgeon. He said to me at that time, "You will
immediately have to change your approach to this stress and moderate your drinking, or I' 11

have to send you back to the states as mentally unfit for combat, Section 8." I took that lesson to
heart and blocked Vincenza out of my mind.
Vincenza became deeply imbedded in my subconscious and I never even thought of it again until
decades later. As a professor of psychology at NDSU, I took a group of students to a state
hospital for the mentally handicapped. Our guide met us at the door and said, "A group of our
patients would like to greet your students with a song." He escorted us into a room where 15 or
20 of the residents were grouped around the piano. As we entered, they burst into a moving
rendition of "Why Me, Lord?" For the first time in years and years, I had a flashback to the 24
empty cots with the accompanying guilt feelings.
This is a recollection of an incident long past, one I tried to bury. But how does one rationalize
one's own survival? I'm sure there are others in our 376th B.G.V.A. who have asked themselves
that same question.
Joseph Taddonio (crew on RPTs aircraft for mission? He mentions some of
RPTs crewmemebers)

"We failed to meet the 98th Bomb Group and the P-38 escort. Col. Ted Graff ordered us to go on
alone. The flak is light and very accurate. Fighters: 70 EI A, comprised of ME-I09's, Mach202's. Bomb Load: Ten 500 lb, demos; time 6 hrs" 35 min.
Comments: "Were hit by fighters 10 min. before reaching target. Fight lasted 50 min, Of 17
planes set out, 7 returned to base. Lt. Brown pilot, crash landed on nose wheel and one main
gear. Lt. Weakland, bombardier, bailed out over field. Two other ships scrapped. Sgt. Allen
wounded in right leg by 20 m/m, Hit in leg myself by 20 m/m which did not explode but only
ripped my pants' leg and electric suit; another 29 m/m exploded, frags tore my left glove leaving
blood blister. Gas lines and bomb racks split by EI A fire. Entire ship a mess. Froze hands
reloading ammo. Firing almost pointblank to make every shot count. Less than 200 rounds left
after fight (all guns),"
"On the way back to base, saw the 98th and P- 38's at another target. E/A were gaudily painted
and told at debriefing this could have been Goering's crack outfit. Our "B" (high section) is
wiped out. Recollect one B-24 going down with its belly turret blazing away, Sgt. DeAngelis
seen bailing out. EI A came in four to six-abreast making attack after attack. Our top-turret
gunner Sgt. Hardison advised by Col. Graff to fire only short bursts to save ammo since it looked
like a long fight. Hardison's reply: 'Sir, fighters are filling my gun sight!'"
"Capt. Nuttall is aboard, thought that this would be 'baksheesh'." Sgt. Allen goes up front. Five
minutes pass and no Allen in sight. Later, we find him working on cut and leaking gas lines.
After that, he works on the bomb-bay doors blown open; hooking pulling and wiring shut to be
able to land. Peter Aspesi is our radio operator, also kept very busy. Sgt. Allen later received the
silver star,
Pilot on the mission was Capt. Ralph Thompson, his co-pilot Col. Ted Graff. Have no report on
damage inflicted to target.

Sgt. Taddonio's mother after having read an account of her son having his coveralls ripped by the
20mm, which appeared in a Boston newspaper, "fainted".