Unfortunately, this pleasant time at home passed all too quickly and Maggie & I found ourselves back on the train to New Orleans and on to Dallas. We picked up the car from the storage garage and drove to Ft Worth, just a few miles west, in ample time for my reporting date to Tarrant Field, on December 17th, for transitional training as a First Pilot in the B-24 Liberator. Here our status as student pilots came to a close and we switched from trainers to combat type aircraft in a phase that I affectionately referred to as “graduate school”.

If any of the previous training was un-nerving, my initial exposure to the B-24 could only be described as awesome. With current advanced technology and the size of todays commercial and military aircraft it is probably difficult for recent generations to understand the disbelief that I and my fellow assignees had when we first saw a B-24. It was, at that time, the largest fully operational airplane in the Air Corps arsenal, with a wingspan of 110', 65' in length, powered with four twin row Pratt & Whitney radial engines that developed 1200 HP each and swinging three bladed Hamilton Standard variable pitch propeller with a diameter of almost 10'. This plane, nicknamed the "LIBERATOR", was capable of carrying a standard bomb load of 6000 lbs, but later, in the combat role, often carried 8000 lbs. I am sure that our initial reaction was that this airplane could never fly and if it did we would never be able to master its intricacies. And our worst fears were only further substantiated when we climbed into this big bird and sat on the flight deck. The instrument panel was truly an unbelievable array of dials, gauges, control levers and switches far more elaborate than anything we had ever seen before.

Part of our initial indoctrination included several hours of "on the ground" flight deck time just learning where the various instruments were located and what they were for. The pre-flight check list was intimidating to say the least. But, as surprising as it may seem, in less time than most of us expected we became familiar with the 'hows' and 'whys' of the B-24, accepted them as standard operating procedures and moved on with transition to this combat aircraft.

The standard training crew included two or more student pilots, an instructor and a flight engineer. Because of the four to five hour duration of most training flights the student pilots alternated time in the left seat. The poor instructor pilot had to endure most of the time in the co-pilot seat and the flight engineer often had a lot of sack time on his hands. During our nine weeks at Tarrant Field we would get about 100 hours of left seat, first pilot time - about fifteen to twenty with an instructor pilot aboard and the balance as "solo" left seat time. Without going into the full details of this training, suffice it to say that we did it all. Take offs and landings, both day and night; instrument practice including approaches, various engine out emergencies, slow flying, stalls, cross country navigation under VFR and IFR conditions and an introduction to formation flying. Coupled with the air time was a similar number of hours of ground school to learn the complexities of the aircraft engines, fuel system, electrical & hydraulic systems, flight control system, oxygen distribution system, de-icing procedure and bomb release mechanism. We were also introduced to the importance of weight and balance requirements, radio navigation, fuel management and fuel transfer.

One of the highlights of our transitional training was to have been a long range cross country flight from Fort Worth to Los Angeles. All of our flight team had looked forward with great anticipation a flight of this duration not only for the navigational experience, but to see another part of this great country from the air. Unfortunately, only a couple of hours after take off, engine trouble developed and we were diverted to El Paso, Texas for repairs. After a day lost there the rest of the flight was canceled and we returned to Fort Worth. Just one of those unfortunate things that can happen and nothing could be done.

These weeks of transitional training were pleasant times for my wife and me. Our housing consisted of a small apartment in a private home. We made friends with other pilot trainees and their wives and spent enjoyable evenings together; cooking out, attending movies or other social functions. Some of these couples would move on with us to our next duty station and more will be written about this later.

Toward the end of February 1944 our training was completed but most of us still felt only marginally qualified as aircraft commanders of this sophisticated airplane. Some of my classmates were on the same orders specifying that we should arrive at Hammer Field, Fresno, California on Feb 25th. Since most of us had cars we applied for gas rationing coupons for the trip, bid farewell and agreed to meet in Fresno the day before our reporting date. During the next six days, for the first time since our wedding, Maggie & I were completely on our own and could enjoy this change of station traveling at a leisurely pace. The gas ration board allowed us fuel for the trip at 15 miles per gallon, but our trusty Studebaker, with overdrive, could actually deliver about 20 miles per gallon so we were in good shape. One of the things that has grown hazy in my memory is our monetary situation during that time. I don't remember any real hardships, but on a married second lieutenants pay, even with flight pay, we couldn't have had a lot of cash, but apparently we managed. With such short duty assignments it is unlikely that we established bank checking accounts, so we must have operated on a totally “cash” basis.

We loaded up the car with all of our worldly goods and headed west through a countryside that was completely new to us, but our enthusiasm and anticipation was at a high level. After a late morning start our route took us westerly from Ft Worth spending our first night in Abilene. The next day we drove across a corner of New Mexico passing through Hobbs, Carlsbad and then back into Texas, stopping for the night in El Paso. The following day we drove northwest and re-entered New Mexico, passing through Las Cruces and proceeding on through Lordsburg and into Arizona. The weather deteriorated and we found ourselves driving through the mountains, in the rain, and often no guard rails to protect us from sheer drop-offs of several hundred feet into the valley below. We finally reached Globe, well after dark, and were fortunate to find a room at a small hotel for the night. The next morning with much improved weather we drove on through Phoenix, then almost directly west about 100 miles, crossing into California, through Blythe and into Los Angeles for the night.

The drive from Ft Worth had been quite comfortable and it was not necessary to drive great distances every day so we were able to enjoy the beautiful scenery all along the way. We were looking forward to spending two nights and one full day in Los Angeles and still make it to Fresno in time to meet my reporting date. What an experience for a couple of youngsters from South Carolina to be in this metropolitan area of Southern California and to actually drive along Hollywood & Vine Streets and into Hollywood & Beverly Hills - home of the stars. The highlight of our first visit to L.A. was the two nights we stayed at the Biltmore Hotel, dinner in the supper club listening & dancing to the music of Joe Reichmann and his orchestra. And to think that most of the expense was being paid by Uncle Sam. "Is this a great country, or what"?

After this enjoyable interlude, away from training and even much thought about the war, we checked out of our hotel and started north toward Fresno on Feb 23rd. The route was lovely, across the Tehachapi Mountains, where we drove through a light snowfall then into the San Joaquin Valley, stopping in Bakersfield for lunch. From there, continuing northward through Delano and Tulare before reaching Fresno. We found a motel or Tourist Court as they were more popularly known as in those days. Surprisingly, the next morning we found that several of our friends from Ft Worth had arrived and checked into the same motel or one near by. It was nice to renew our friendships with these couples and we all looked forward to the developments of the next few weeks.

Bright and early on the morning of Feb 25th, several others officers and I drove out to the base and reported for duty. The sole purpose of this base was the formation of B-24 combat air crews for re-assignment to Muroc Army Air Field in the Mojave Desert.

The system at Fresno was rather strange, to me at least; as it was the responsibility of each first pilot to mingle among a mass of other officers and enlisted men with all the ratings needed for a crew of ten. This included officers for the positions of co-pilot, navigator, bombardier as well as enlisted grades for flight engineer, radio operator and four aerial gunners. What a predicament to find oneself and not a familiar face in sight. We had no access to records to help determine the qualifications, experience or personalities of any of the hundreds of crew members assigned. I wandered around in a daze not knowing where to begin. There was no way that I could bring myself to approach a perfect stranger, inquire about what crew position he was rated for and then ask if he would like to join my crew. Likewise, none of these people had any idea about my qualifications as a pilot & aircraft commander. Every day during the first weeks of March I faithfully reported to the base, wandered around looking for a friendly face and try to figure out how in the world I would ever be able to assemble a crew. And if I did ‚how would I know whether or not they were qualified to perform the function of their MOS (Military Occupational Specialty)? How would they get along with each other or perform in a combat or crisis situation? The entire thing seemed hopeless to me and many days I left after an hour or so and went back to the motel to be with Maggie hoping the whole matter would work itself out in some miraculous way.

This went on for about two weeks and the selection process, for me, was making little or no progress. Every morning, the officer in charge asked how things were progressing and I could only say "Beats me, Lieutenant".

While this fiasco was unfolding, Maggie and I had some wonderful time together. Fresno was a nice small town in those days and we sat in the park and talked about all that had happened to us this the last few months. We were living at the motel which had no provisions for cooking so we ate most of our meals out or fixed picnic style meals. We were painfully aware that our time together was growing short, but we made the best of the weeks remaining before my transfer overseas

In the end, Providence must have decided that I needed help in resolving the crew selection dilemma. One morning, during the third week in March, I signed in and received notification that unless crew selections were submitted within 24 hours, a crew would be assigned to me. To this I could only say "Thank you, Lord". Believe it or not, that is exactly how I got my crew - all nine men were picked at random and assigned to me. We were herded together to get acquainted; and remember, these guys didn't know any more about me than I did them. What an awkward moment, but realizing that the buck definitely had stopped with me I called for their attention, introduced myself and ask each man to give his name, rank & crew position and to tell a bit about himself and his training. Each did in turn and the miracle really started to unfold. To a man, these individuals far exceeded my wildest dream as a team. The original crew consisted of the following:

Pilot ..................... Carl E. Epting, Greenville, SC
Co-Pilot................ Watson E. Bowmer, Los Angeles, CA
Navigator ............ Harold W. Larson, Amboy, MN
Bombardier ......... Geoffrey G. Gregory, Deep River, CT
Flt Engr ............... John E. Schmidbauer, New Haven, CT
Radio Op ........... Robert E. Fudge, Houston, TX
Nose turret.......... Duane E. Myers, Hibbing, MN
Tail turret............. Everest E. Bailey, Waynesville, VA
Right waist.......... Mario P. Antetomaso, Baltimore, MD
Left waist ............ Thomas T. Powell, Scranton, PA

At this point, although it would be almost a year before the accolades would be earned, I would be remiss if I did not comment on the caliber of the members of my crew. It would not have been humanly possible for any individual to have hand picked a crew that was more capable, qualified and team oriented than those nine individuals. To a man I would have flown with them into the jaws of Hell with every confidence that we would have survived. My co-pilot, in spite of his frustration at not being assigned to a fighter squadron, had superior pilot skills, and was an excellent instrument pilot. On several occasions he was responsible for getting us out of awkward IFR situations that alone I might not have been able to pull off. Our navigator was absolutely the best that I ever knew. His expertise at pinpoint navigation was proven more times than I can count. He always knew where we were and could provide a heading and distance to an alternate location within minutes of the request; either in the day time or at night. Our bombardier proved his expertise whenever he was called upon. Unfortunately, due to the pattern bombing system that was standard for Eighth Air Force bomber groups, only the lead & deputy lead bombardiers of each squadron used the bomb sight - all wingmen simply toggled their bombs when the lead aircraft dropped. The flight engineer was world class in this function and an excellent top turret gunner. Our radio operator did a first class job on every mission and the tail turret, ball turret and waist gunners did their job extremely well whenever necessary. Fortunately for us enemy fighter interception was minimal during our tour and the need for offensive firepower was not often required.

As noted above, only the radio operator position had to be refilled, due to a family emergency, but the change was definitely for the better. After that one change, which was made within a few weeks, this crew trained as a unit and flew most of our combat tour together, returning to the States without a single enemy inflicted wound of any kind. The navigator did get a broken nose as a result of being mugged while on leave in London and the co-pilot slipped in the barracks one night and broke his ankle. More details of these events will be described later. But I digress, so let us get back to the story.

At this point, our assignment at Fresno ended and we were, from that time forward, referred to as a combat crew and appeared as a unit on all future transfer orders. The original order for our crew was dated 24 Mar 1944 and assigned us to Muroc Army Air Field for combat crew training in preparation for overseas movement. The enlisted crew members were transported by rail and the officers were authorized private transportation, if desired. The reporting date was 31 March 1944. Margaret and I left Fresno with all of our possessions and drove south to Bakersfield then east through the Tehachapi Pass and down into the desert en route to the small town of Lancaster, California where we hoped to find living quarters. It was less than a one day drive and we arrived there early enough to find a room for the night.

The next day we joined forces with other couples that we met in Fresno and commenced our search for a place to live. In the end, four couples rented most of the second floor of a former dude ranch on the edge of Lancaster. Our group had four bed rooms, two other bed rooms were rented to other couples and the common space included a large living/dining room, kitchen and one bath room. A total of eleven people shared that one bath! Believe it or not, it worked out remarkably well and no one really suffered from lack of privacy. Partly, because of our flight schedules over the coming months; most of the time the men were at the base. We worked out a car pool arrangement so the wives always had at least one car for their transportation needs.
As it turned out, none of the other officers on my crew were married and they were housed on the base in bachelor officer's quarters (BOQ). The married officer crew members were also provided bunks for use when late night flight schedules made it impractical to drive back to Lancaster - some 25 miles away. All of the enlisted crew members were either single or their wives did not accompany them to this duty station and they were assigned on-base quarters.

Within the next few days the crews were assigned to squadrons and the training began. There were ground school classes for each member of the crew with specialized instructions in their crew category. The first training flights were mostly for orientation and familiarization. The flight engineer tuned his skills in maintenance, the navigator learned how to function in the minimum space allotted him in the B-24. The gunners practiced their trade both on the ground and in the air. Our bombardier worked to improve his abilities with the Norden bomb sight and the pilots learned how to work together as a team to fly the airplane safely and effectively.

As I recall, we spent a lot of time doing formation flying, practice bomb runs, navigational flights both day and night, and low level gunnery practice. At Muroc there were no fighter aircraft to simulate fighter attacks on bombers, so someone had developed a rather crude and marginally effective gunnery practice that involved flying the B-24 along a straight path about fifty feet above the ground and the waist gunners fired at stationary targets that were laid out along a hypothetical "pursuit curve" at intervals along either side of our flight path. I was never sure that such training helped the gunners accuracy since the simulation made no provision for movement of the attacking fighters. About all it did was to acquaint them with the feel of firing a .50 caliber machine gun from the waist window of a B-24. Whatever accuracy they needed had to be developed later in the actual combat situation.

The flight schedule for the eight or ten weeks that we were here called for six days of flying, two days of ground school and then an automatic two day pass. While there I seem to recall that we did get two or three passes and when we could afford it Margaret and I and sometimes another couple would drive into Los Angeles to enjoy the sights and sounds. Mostly it was a time to get away from the routine of the training, relax and enjoy being together. We knew that our stateside time was running out and that sooner than we wanted our training would be complete and the next ‚assignment would be to an overseas theater of operations. In spite of this, we had some grand times seeing Los Angeles and the surrounding area. One of our concerns during this time was how Maggie would get home when my overseas orders came. In the end this worked itself out, but was a stressful unknown at the time.

Other sidelights of our crew training at Muroc involved both daylight and night flights of four to six hours in all directions from the base. Some were to fine tune our formation flying, but many were just routine navigational flights and bombing runs with 100 lb practice bombs on various targets spread out all across the desert. After completing our assignments we often had a hour or more to kill before returning to the base. During these hours we flew all over the place - up to Death Valley and the Grand Canyon or through the mountains checking to see if the actual mountain heights noted on the charts was really accurate; and I might add that often they were not, but that is of little consequence. Suffice it to say that we managed not to run into any of those that were higher than noted.

In early June we completed our Preparation for Overseas Movement (POM) and our crew, along with others, was ordered to Hamilton Field, north of San Francisco. At this point, our orders specifically stated that dependents would NOT accompany. In order to assure that this happened, the orders stated that all crews, both officers and enlisted, would be transported by rail from Muroc to Hamilton Field.

This then would result in the development of a plan that had all manner of risks and unknowns, but we persevered as you will see as the story progresses.