World War II Chronicle: January 20, 1944
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Today’s front page continues the controversy surrounding Soviet media printing “rumors” that the British may be seeking peace with the Germans. None of the allied nations are supposed to be negotiating for peace with Germany, and the story was printed by Pravda, which is controlled by the Kremlin. Could it be Nazi propaganda aimed at dividing the Allies? Or could Moscow be looking beyond this war and have something up their sleeve? Both nations have something to gain, so we will just have to wait and see (George Fielding Eliot expresses some suspicion in his column on page 10)…
Below the fold, Secretary of War Henry Stimson hints that Gen. Douglas MacArthur will remain in his post once he hits the mandatory retirement age of 64 next week. We have mentioned Stimson here and there, but have yet to profile him. This is his second stint as War Secretary, having been nominated by Pres. Howard Taft in 1911. Before the United States entered World War I, Congress gave former Pres. Theodore Roosevelt approval to raise volunteer divisions to fight overseas, much like the Rough Riders of the Spanish-American War. Stimson was one of the officer candidates trained for the expeditionary force at the Plattsburgh Training Camp, along with Roosevelt’s sons. Pres. Woodrow Wilson chose not to use the volunteer force, however, but Stimson was one of the few Plattsburgh men who ended up receiving Army commissions. He served as an artillery officer in France and rose to the rank of colonel…
Sports is on page 18, and features a column on college football by Grantland Rice… The Detroit Red Wings’ Syd Howe is about to become the top-scoring player in franchise history. No, this is not the famous Gordie Howe. “Mr. Hockey” is about to turn 16 and this year gets an invitation from Detroit to try out… Also on page 18, Schoolboy Rowe is hanging up the cleats and joining the Navy. He ends up playing ball on Mickey Cochrane’s Great Lakes team…
Roving Reporter by Ernie Pyle
IN ITALY — If you ever heard a dive bombing by our A-36 Invader planes you’d never forget it.
Even in normal flight this plane makes a sort of screaming noise, and when that is multiplied many fold by the velocity of the dive you can hear the wail for miles.
On the ground it sounds as though they are coming directly down upon you. It is a horrifying thing. The German Stuka could never touch them for sheer frightfulness of sound.
Also, the Stuka has always dived at an angle. But these planes come literally straight down. If you look up and see one a mile above you, you can’t tell where it’s headed. It could strike anywhere within a mile on any side of you. That’s the reason it spreads its terror so wide.
But our pilots have to hand it to the Germans on the ground. They have steeled themselves to stand by their guns and keep shooting. Pilots say the Italians would shoot until the bombs were almost upon them, then dive for their foxholes, and then come out after the bombs had exploded. Bot not the Germans — they stick to their guns.
Major Ed Bland, a squadron leader, was telling me about coming suddenly over a hilltop one day and finding a German truck right in his gunsights.
Now it’s the natural human impulse when you see a plane come upon you, to dive for the ditch. But the German gunner in this truck swung a gun around and started shooting at Bland. German and American tracer bullets were streaming back and forth in the same groove in opposite directions, almost hitting each other. The German never stopped firing until Bland’s six machine guns suddenly chewed the truck into complete disintegration.
Our dive bombers don’t have much trouble with German fighters. The reasons are several. For one thing, the Luftwaffe is weak over here now. For another, the dive bombers’ job is to work on the infantry front lines, so they seldom get back where the German fighters are. And for another, the Invader is such a good fighter itself that the Jerries aren’t too anxious to tangle with it.
There have been pilots in this squadron who have finished their alotted missions and gone back to America without ever firing a shot at an enemy plane in the air. And that’s the way it should be, for their job is to dive-bomb, not to get caught in a fight.
For several months the posting period back to America was set at a certain number of missions. Then it was suddenly upped by more than a score. There were pilots here who were within one mission of going home when the order came. So they had to stay and fly a few more months. Some of them never lived to finish the new allotment.
There is an old psychological factor in the system of being sent home after a certain number of missions. When the pilots get within three or four missions of the finish, they get so nervous they almost jump out of their skins. A good many have been kille on their very last mission.
The squadron leaders wish there were some way they could surprise a man and send him home with still six or eight missions to go, thus sparing him the agony of those last few trips.
Nowhere in our fighting forces is cooperation closer or friendship greater than between American and British in the air. I have yet to hear an American pilot make a disparaging remark about a British flier. Our pilots say the British are cooler under fire than we are. The British attitude and manner of speech amuses our pilots, but they’re never contemptuous.They like to listen in on their radios as the RAF pilots talk to each other. For example, one day they heard one pilot call to another:
“I say, old chap, there is a Jerry on your tail.”
To which, the imperiled pilot replied:
“Quite so, quite so, thanks very much old man.”
And another time, one of our Invaders got shot up over the target. His engine was smoking and his pressure was down and he was losing altitude. He made for the coast all alone, easy meat for any German fighter that might come along. He was just barely staying in the air, and he was a sad and lonely boy indeed.
Then suddenly he heard over his earphones a distinctly British voice saying:
“Cheer up, chicken, we have you.”
He looked around and two Spitfires one on either side, were mothering him back to his home field.
Evening star. (Washington, D.C.), 20 January 1944. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045462/1944-01-20/ed-1/