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Interviewed by: Katy Stithem |
| I was 22 in 1942, and
working as a machinist – a metal spinner to be specific--when I was drafted. I
asked for the Army Air Force, and was lucky enough to be chosen. I always loved
airplanes. Most people these days don’t realize that the Air Force was part of
the Army during the war. It didn’t become a separate branch of the Armed Forces
until 1947.
Gunnery training was fun. We’d fly in an AT6 (Advanced Trainer) and another plane would tow a target that we’d aim for. At least it was fun until the pilots started playing "wing tag," seeing how close they could get to each other’s wings, without actually touching. These were 19-20 year old men, fresh out of pilot school. That sure made us nervous! We had a close call during training when due to a malfunction in our navigational system we accidentally flew into restricted air space above Washington, D.C. Our own guys almost hit us when we were mistaken for foe and they started shooting at us. We got sent to Europe, and were glad of it. No one wanted duty in the Pacific.
The British really appreciated us Yanks. There was a boy of about 11, name of George Roper, whose family lived near our base in Horham. He brought us eggs and other fresh food from his family’s farm when they could spare it. I still am in contact with George. I’ve had British strangers shake my hand and thank me for our help during the war -- even youngsters. They seem to spend more time learning the history of the war than our kids do, though that seems to be changing recently somewhat. The 95th Bomb Group raised nearly $35,000, which was matched by the British, to restore the bells in the bell tower of St. Mary’s Church in Horham. The British also supplied free labor. The restored bells were dedicated in 1992 and serve as a memorial to the more than 600 casualties from the 8th who were stationed in England during the war. Before flying a bombing mission we always ate what we called our "Last Supper". It was really good, high quality food. Being that we would be flying at altitudes of 20,000-28,000 feet or more, we ate no beans or cabbage, or drank any Cokes before a mission. The resultant intestinal gas could be dangerous at that altitude. Of course you couldn’t really eat much when you were on a mission. We carried high dextrose tablets and white malted milk tablets for nourishment. Our escape kits contained morphine, maps, a compass, and a mug shot, so that if we were shot down and were taken by the French or Belgian Underground instead of the Nazis, they could use those pictures to make false traveling papers to aid our escape to friendly territory. We all looked like gangsters in those pictures! When we got back from a mission we were always met by the flight surgeon. He greeted us all with a shot of Scotch before we headed off for debriefing. After our mission to Russia, he handed us a tin cup and a bottle and we got to pour our own. Sure, we were scared before a mission. There was something wrong with you if you weren’t. Once some flak came right through the bomb doors and severed the hand of a bombardier. He wasn't on our crew but I know him well and see him often at reunions.He was were flying over Holland, and on his way to the target. He bailed out, knowing he had a better chance of survival even if he was captured than if he stayed with the crew. He made it down, and was captured and was a POW for the duration of the war. On another occasion when we were making a run over Warsaw, a shell came ripping through
the wing of our aircraft, just missing the fuel tanks and tearing a 12-inch hole in the
wing before it exploded. I’ll never forget the sight below me one day when the
bomber beneath us, flown by Lt. Robert Baber, took a direct hit right between engines
number three and four. As the plane exploded, the waist gunner blew right out of the
side of the aircraft. The cockpit was the most vulnerable spot in the B-17.
Once the IP (initial point) was set, and the target was in sight, the plane was on
automatic and the pilot didn’t change course. The Germans knew that, and
that’s when the fighters came after us. The average life of a crew member on a
B-17 bomber was 15 missions, and I flew 35. We were in the second wave of heavy bombers on D-Day. The Nantes Bridge in France was our target, but we got return orders before we dropped our bombs. Guess the brass decided we needed that bridge for our infantry, or else we were too close to our ground troops. In the end of June 1944, half our bomber force got sent to Mirogorod, Russia and the other half went to Poltava, Russia to refuel before continuing on to a bombing mission in Poland. A German spotter plane spotted them during the day when they landed in Poltava. During the night the German bombers came in and destroyed 47 of our planes. When we got wind of that, we took off and flew to Kharkov, figuring the Germans would be headed to Mirogorod next. We were right, they bombed that night, but the field was empty, we were already gone. We went back and forth a few times to avoid the German bombers. We bombed an oil refinery in Dorblitz, Poland, went on to Foggia, Italy to refuel, came back to Romania to bomb another oil refinery and then went to southern France to take out a railroad marshaling yard. After the war ended in Europe I went back to school on the B-29 engines in case I had to go over to the South Pacific. Luckily I didn’t. I returned to my former job as a metal spinner after my discharge in the fall of 1945.
**Author’s Note – Mr. Capen was awarded the Air Medal and three oak leaf clusters. When he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross the newspaper reported that it was because he "repelled numerous hostile fighter attacks by excellent marksmanship and displayed courage and presence of mind and devotion to duty while in aerial combat." Permission granted for use by Robert Capen © 2001
This poem was added by Penny Burdge, the transcriber. The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
Randall Jarrell
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Robert Capen
They
sent us to St. Petersburg, Florida for basic training, and then I, along with seven other
guys, was off to Tindall Field in Panama City for gunnery school. They put us up in
a really plush hotel, the Vinoy Park, while we were in training. We had great food
to eat, and we had four guys to a room with regular army metal beds, not folding cots.
Our base
was in England, Horham in Suffolk, about 90 miles northeast of London.
"Horham" is Gaelic for "muddy field" and it was just that. We
had a crew of 9 or 10 on the B-17 bombers. Two pilots, a navigator, a bombardier, a
couple of waist gunners, tail gunner, top turret gunner, nose gunner, and me, the ball
turret gunner. A post mounted in the top of the ceiling fixed the ball turret and it
protruded from the belly of the Flying Fortress. It weighed about a ton and was a
mere four feet in diameter. The ball turret gunner was the most physically demanding
job, and I was chosen for it simply because I was the smallest man in the crew. You
would be squeezed in there, lying nearly on your back, with your knees just about up
around your ears. I couldn’t even wear my parachute in there. You might
spend 8 hours or so like that on a bombing mission. It was my job to protect the
underbelly of the aircraft…and I did, for 35 missions. 
When it comes
to casualties, the war wasn’t worth the price, but it was a war that had to be
fought. There’s no doubt about that. It’s something that should
never be forgotten. I think there’s more interest in the war recently.
That’s a good thing. Our generation was the one that fought for the freedom
we’re all enjoying now.