Silent Warriors, Incredible Courage Page 6

  Squadron Leader Crampton noted: “The story would not be complete without a tribute to the American and British leaders who set up the whole exercise, in particular the late Sir Winston S. Churchill, who agreed to RAF participation, and to General Curtis E. LeMay, who was determined to get the best target information for his SAC aircrews. I found the operation a good example of real USAF/RAF get-togetherness. There was never anything quite like it.” Squadron Leader Crampton died in June 2010. His daughter, Anne Turner, wrote to me about a moment in February of that year, when she asked her father, “‘Given a choice of all the airplanes you’ve flown, which would you like to have up on the wall to look at?’ In a faint voice my father replied, ‘The RB-45C.’ I am very proud of my Papa.” And so are we, Anne, and of all the valorous men who kept our lands safe, at the risk of their lives.28

  RAF Special Duty Flight personnel, October 1952, RAF Sculthorpe, England. Left to right, Sergeant Donald W. Greenslade; Squadron Leader Gordon Cramer; Unknown; Squadron Leader Rex S. Sanders; Flight Commander John Crampton; Flight Lieutenant M. Furze; Unknown; Flight Lieutenant H. Currell; Flight Lieutenant G. Acklam.

  TO THE YALU RIVER AND BEYOND (1950)

  The Korean imbroglio was a frustrating experience for the SAC strategist. The real and inviting targets lay in China, just across the Yalu River, industriously turning out war goods for the enemy without the slightest fear of reprisal.

  —Richard J. Hubler, in Curtis E. LeMay, Mission with LeMay

  On June 25, 1950, North Korean armed forces, including large numbers of T-34 tanks provided by the Soviet Union, launched a surprise attack against the South, aiming to unite the country under Communist rule. By that September, hastily assembled US Eighth Army elements were fighting for their lives at the southern end of the peninsula, in the Pusan Perimeter. American air power prevented a disaster, chewing up the attacking North Korean formations—and an audacious seaborne landing on September 15 at Inchon, near Seoul, by American forces under the command of General Douglas MacArthur drove the North Koreans back across the thirty-eighth parallel. That same September, a reconnaissance element of three RB-45C Tornado aircraft settled in at Yokota Air Base, Japan, to support the ongoing war effort. The detachment was commanded by Captain Charles E. McDonough. Another of the pilots assigned to the RB-45C detachment was Major Louis H. Carrington. Carrington and his crew, on July 29, 1952, would gain a measure of fame by flying an RB-45C aircraft 3,640 miles, in nine hours and fifty minutes, from Elmendorf Air Force Base, Alaska, to Yokota Air Base, Japan, made possible by two KB-29-supported in-flight refuelings. It was the first transpacific flight of that nature and was recognized as such by the award of the prestigious Mackay Trophy awarded by the National Aeronautic Association for the outstanding flight of the year.29

  The RB-45Cs at Yokota were flown by aircrews provided by the Tactical Air Command in support of the Far East Air Forces (FEAF) combat operations against the North. Their objective would be to provide photographic intelligence not only of North Korea but also of China and adjacent Russia, who were supporting the North Korean war effort. China entered the Korean War as a cobelligerent of the North in October 1950, and Russia provided active military support to North Korea. In recognition of those facts, President Truman in December 1950 authorized overflights of the Sino-Soviet block countries.30 At noon on December 4, 1950, an RB-45C piloted by Captain Charles E. McDonough, the RB-45C detachment commander, rose into the sky above Yokota Air Base, headed for its reconnaissance targets beyond the Yalu River, the border between North Korea and China. The aircraft called in its position when it entered North Korean airspace—after that, silence. It was not a routine reconnaissance mission. On board the aircraft, besides the pilot, copilot, and radar navigator, was an air force colonel by the name of John Lovell, who was based at the Pentagon and directly involved in planning reconnaissance missions for the RB-45C. Why Colonel Lovell was on board this particular aircraft is unknown; however, for a man with his knowledge of highly classified and close-hold reconnaissance operations to expose himself to possible capture was indeed unusual and very risky. It just wasn’t done. Certainly Moscow was aware of the RB-45C’s capabilities, the most advanced photo-reconnaissance aircraft at this time in the world. Moscow may have even known more than that, regarding this particular flight. However that may be, the aircraft was intercepted by fighters as it entered Chinese airspace—and was shot down. According to documentation that became available after the demise of the Soviet Union in 1992, Russian fighters shot down McDonough’s plane near the Yalu River. McDonough ejected from the plane but appeared to have been injured in the ejection and died en route to an interrogation facility. None of the others appeared to have survived.31

  Military situation map, Korea, 1950. By November 1950, US forces had advanced deep into North Korea, when the PRC committed its armies to the conflict. Reconnaissance was flown over North Korea to support combat operations, and across the Yalu River to find the location of IL-26 medium bombers, which could threaten the fleet and US air bases in South Korea and Japan.

  Only four months later, on April 9, 1951, a second RB-45C came close to sharing the fate of Captain McDonough’s aircraft. Second Lieutenant Arthur L. O’Connor, assigned to the 4th Fighter Interceptor Group based at Kimpo Air Base near Seoul, South Korea, was lead of a flight of four F-86 aircraft escorting an RB-45C in the Sinuiju area. First Lieutenant James McGrath was the pilot of the RB-45C. The F-86s joined up with McGrath as he crossed into North Korea. A large formation of MiG-15 jet fighters attacked the RB-45C. The enemy leader, according to Lieutenant O’Connor’s Distinguished Flying Cross citation, was in firing position behind the RB-45 when O’Connor shot him down. The F-86s, commanded by World War II ace John C. Meyer, were all MiG hunters and thrilled when they could get an RB-45 escort assignment, which nearly always guaranteed that MiG-15s would show trying to take down the RB-45.

  Since all the RB-45C reconnaissance aircraft were assigned to the Strategic Air Command, and only the B-45A/C bombers were assigned to the tactical air forces, the decision was made in January 1951 to replace the RB-45C Tactical Air Command aircrews at Yokota Air Base with SAC crews. Captain Stacey D. Naftel was assigned to the 323rd Reconnaissance Squadron, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Marion C. Mixson of the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance Wing based at Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana. “I was asked if I would be interested in going to Yokota Air Base, and I was, provided I could select my crew,” recalled then Captain Naftel at the 2001 Early Cold War Overflights Symposium. “I selected Captain Bob Dusenberry as my new navigator, and 1st Lieutenant Ed Kendrex as the copilot. Two crews from the 91st SRW went over. First Lieutenant James McGrath commanded the other SAC crew. Captain Lou Carrington, the former Tactical Air Command aircraft commander, checked me out on my first combat mission along the Yalu River in North Korea. We became Detachment 2, 91st SRW, at Yokota. For day-to-day missions we were briefed to avoid the corridor along the Yalu River. For sorties that penetrated that corridor we were provided F-86 escorts. For missions considered extremely sensitive, both Jim McGrath and I received our initial briefings at Far East Air Forces, FEAF, headquarters, also located at Yokota. Briefings and mission planning were conducted in a top-secret environment. On at least one occasion General Earl E. Partridge, the FEAF commander, sat in on the presentation. Jim and I both flew three of these highly classified missions. The first was over central China. I pointed out that we could not get there and back without aerial refueling. ‘That’s no problem,’ the briefer replied. ‘We’ll get a tanker over here.’ As I had not formally checked out on night refueling, I felt I would need a little practice before committing to the mission. Anyway, they got a tanker. I did know the tanker pilot, Captain Bob Hall. After working together a little I checked out on night refueling, and we were ready to go.”

  Captain Naftel was born in 1922 in Atlantic, Massachusetts. After graduating from high school in 1940, he enlisted in the Army Air Corps wanting to be an aerial photographer. The
33rd Pursuit Group was a P-40 outfit at Mitchell Field, Long Island. They had no positions calling for photographic skills, so they assigned him to the orderly room. In 1941, the Air Corps opened up the pilot program to high school graduates, and Naftel saw his chance. He graduated in class 42-G and was assigned to a B-25 outfit in Greenville, South Carolina, to train others in the B-25. Finally, in late 1942, he got a much sought after combat assignment. He picked up a brand new B-25 in Battle Creek, Michigan, to head overseas. There was a problem. He was a staff sergeant, and his newly assigned copilot was a flight officer—everyone on the crew outranked him. Policy at the time restricted enlisted pilots from combat assignments. Since he had more flying time in the B-25 than anyone else on his crew, they promoted him to flight officer. Naftel received a battlefield commission as a second lieutenant, and after fifty combat missions over Burma he returned to the United States. In 1949, he was assigned to the 55th SRW at Barksdale Air Force Base, and after the wing’s deactivation he found himself in the 91st SRW checking out in the brand new RB-45C reconnaissance aircraft. After being certified combat ready, Naftel was assigned to the 323rd SRS.

  “This was shaping up to be a long, hairy mission. Some thirty minutes after penetrating Chinese airspace south of Shanghai, we received orders to abort, turn around, and get back out. The reason was that west of us the sky was filled with contrails. We could see the contrails at sunset, dead ahead, and assumed correctly that they were MiG fighters. The electronic intelligence aircraft, or whatever it was monitoring our mission, reported that there was no way we were going to get through the Communist Chinese air defenses that night. We were happy to turn around and hightail it out of there. My second mission was flown on July 4, 1951. It too was a moonless nighttime mission intended to gather radar scope photography of a military complex in the Harbin area of Manchuria. Taking off from Yokota Air Base, we headed west across the Sea of Japan, transiting North Korea just south of Pyongyang. Then we flew across the Yellow Sea, entering Chinese airspace in the area of Port Arthur and Dairen. Our flight plan called for us to follow the railroad line to Fushun, then on to Changchun, with our target in the Harbin area. About halfway up that line of flight, while cruising at about 34,000 to 35,000 feet near the city of Fushun, the copilot and I noticed what appeared to be Roman candles exploding off our right wing. I banked the aircraft sharply to check the ground, thinking that this must be hellish high antiaircraft fire. Nothing but blackness below us. The Roman candles kept popping off our right wing. I asked Kendrex to turn his seat around and see if there was anything behind us. I heard Ed exclaim, ‘My God, Stacey, there are about seven aircraft back there in echelon. They’ve all got their navigation lights on.’ Of course, we were all blacked out. They were in echelon to the right, and appeared to be firing in turn until each expended their ammunition, dropping off to the left to be replaced by the next in line. This went on for some time, while we went through a series of corkscrew maneuvers, varying heading and altitude, trying to shake them. We were riding the RB-45’s Red Line, and whenever I felt the aircraft start to shudder due to our high speed, I would ease off or pull up some. The attack and our evasive maneuvers lasted for about twenty-nine minutes.

  “When we did these penetrations, the special operations people would launch an electronic intelligence aircraft to monitor communications. They used, I believe, RB-29s or RB-50s, with the ability of monitoring and recording any Chinese air defense transmissions as well as ground radar transmissions. They were picking up that kind of intelligence while we were covering the area with radar scope photography. Of course the electronic intelligence aircraft did not penetrate hostile airspace. The MiG fighters we encountered had no problem staying right with us. According to the information I was given, this was the first time the Chinese attempted a night airborne intercept. Our Roman candles probably were 20mm tracers or exploding shells. I do not know if they had proximity fuses or not. The only fireworks we saw that Fourth of July was provided by the enemy. After the MiG fighters broke off, Dusenberry gave me a revised heading into the target area of Harbin. With the mission completed, we took up a heading for North Korea, careful to avoid overflying Soviet airspace, then back over the Sea of Japan into the Yokota traffic pattern. The ceiling was down to 300 to 500 feet and we called for ground control radar assist. We lined up for final approach, and the operator started to give me reciprocal headings. After a night flight we had just had, it was almost too much. I aborted the approach and called for the senior supervisor to take over. Fuel at this point was critical. Brigadier General James E. Briggs, commander of FEAF Bomber Command, and Major Henry Walsh, our operations officer, were on the flight line to meet us and take us to the debriefing. Said Walsh after landing, ‘When you pulled up, I watched the clouds, expecting to see three parachutes. What a relief it was to see you break out of the clouds on final approach.’ We landed with less than 300 gallons of fuel at chock point—about enough fuel to fill the fuel lines.

  A typical RB-45C crew loaded down with their survival gear (chute and Mae West) ready to enter their aircraft for another combat mission over North Korea—or Communist China.

  “All the special missions we flew were nighttime operations, except for the last one over Vladivostok naval base in the Soviet Union. That was a low-level daylight mission flown on about August 10, 1951. The weather forecast called for a low ceiling of about 1,500 feet. We let down below the overcast to about 800 feet. At 440 knots, flying the length of the harbor, we sure caught the attention of a lot of deck hands on the Russian warships and freighters anchored there. They were really scrambling as we completed our run and pulled back up into the overcast. We detected no enemy fire during our low-level run. By late August 1951 our replacement crews arrived, were checked out, and McGrath and myself headed back to Barksdale, joining the 323rd SRS under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Mixson, just in time to make the move with the 91st SRW to Lockbourne Air Force Base near Columbus, Ohio.”

  Although only one of the three RB-45C photo reconnaissance aircraft deployed to Yokota Air Base, Japan, was shot down, very early in their deployment, on December 4, 1950, there were frequent encounters with MiG-15s intent on claiming a victory over the American spy planes. According to then Lieutenant Frank Robison, who flew the F-86E Sabre Jet, first with the 4th Fighter Interceptor Group out of Kimpo, then transferred to the 51st FIG commanded by Colonel Francis “Gaby” Gabreski, a World War II ace with twenty-six confirmed kills and another six added during the Korean War period, “I flew fighter escort for the RB-45Cs on several occasions, and every time we escorted them, the RB-45s attracted MiG fighters like flies heading for a honey pot. The MiGs never succeeded again to shoot down a 45, but the 45s picked up a bunch of shrapnel holes from exploding cannon shells. I talked to the chief of maintenance for the RB-45Cs at one time, a Major Simmons I believe was his name. He told me that they came up with an ingenious method of patching shrapnel holes, flattening out beer cans, which made great temporary patches.”

  Lieutenant Robison has the unique distinction of shooting down two MiG-15s without ever firing his guns. Two MiGs got into Robison’s and his wing man’s jet wash; each MiG was already near a high-speed stall, “burbling,” snap-rolled twice, then went into a flat spin. “I put the pipper on the closer MiG’s cockpit,” Robison recalled. “Just as I started to pull the trigger, the pilot ejected. I put the pipper on the other MiG’s cockpit, and that pilot ejected. The second pilot’s chute didn’t open properly. Both were Russians I later learned. We all suspected that many of the MiGs were flown by Russian pilots.” Robison was given credit for the two MiG kills, and Colonel “Gaby” Gabreski, his group commander, pinned the Air Medal on Robison in a ceremony on January 17, 1951.

  “One day in October 1952,” continued Captain Stacey Naftel, “Colonel Mixson called me into his office and told me to take a three-ship formation of RB-45Cs to RAF Sculthorpe for a special operation. We departed Lockbourne on October 21, refueled in Goose Bay, Labrador, and Keflavik, Icel
and, arriving at RAF Sculthorpe on the twenty-second. My assignment was to requalify two Royal Air Force pilots in the RB-45C and check out a third, a Canberra pilot. The two pilots were exchange officers with the 91st SRW and had a fair number of hours in the RB-45C. The third pilot had no time in the aircraft. He was, however, one of the sharpest pilots I ever worked with, and after only seven training flights he was fully qualified, including day and night refueling. Then in late November the three planes I had brought over disappeared and reemerged with Royal Air Force markings. The overflight mission laid on for the RAF crews was canceled and the aircraft were released. In the meantime Colonel Mixson appeared at Sculthorpe and we flew the aircraft back to Lockbourne just in time for Christmas. Ground crews were surprised to see our aircraft in Royal Air Force markings—but they went into the hangar and came out shortly repainted with fresh US Air Force insignia.” Stacey D. Naftel had started his air force career as an enlisted pilot and retired in the rank of colonel.