Now, how about that bottle of 1896 Cognac?
As Jimmy Doolittle sat by the wreckage of his airplane, certainly the last thing on his mind was a vintage bottle of booze. This was a new low for the American aviator. In his mind, the combat mission had been a total failure. To his knowledge, all of the aircraft had been lost. The crews, forced to either bail out or crash land in the darkness, were scattered, some injured, at least one killed, and others possibly captured by the Japanese.
Having bailed out of his B-25 into the darkness over China and landed neck-deep in a rice paddy fertilized with human waste, Doolittle spent the night in a morgue. The next morning, thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone, he met up with one of his crewmen and made his way back to the crash site. Under such circumstances, it is completely logical to understand Doolittle's depression.
His grand B-25 was scattered over two acres of mountain. Local scavengers had already picked through the wreckage by the time he arrived. As he sat near the wing, Doolittle pondered his predicament. He figured he would be court-martialed. According to Carroll Glines, "Doolittle's morale was the lowest it had been in his life."
On April 18, 1942, Doolittle led a squadron of 16 B-25 bombers to deliver the first strike against mainland Japan. They took off from the aircraft carrier Hornet without incident, but were scattered as they made landfall. In one of the greatest coincidences of World War II, Tokyo was just finishing an air raid drill as the B-25s approached.
Thus, when the twin-engine bombers roared over the coast and approached Tokyo from different directions, no one thought much of the spectacle. Japanese military units fired a few pot shots, but no serious defensive maneuvers were conducted. Citizens smiled and waved to the low-flying planes. Even as Doolittle and his men dropped bombs on the designated target areas, causing great plumes of smoke to rise into the atmosphere, a few residents complimented the authenticity of that morning's air raid drill.
Having completed their mission, each B-25 turned southwest toward China. They were scheduled to land at a friendly airbase in Chuchow, but the premature departure from the Hornet guaranteed that each aircraft would run out of fuel before reaching its destination. One by one, fuel tanks ran dry, engines coughed and sputtered, and men prepared themselves for the inevitable plunge into darkness.
Of the 16 B-25s, only one landed safely. Each pilot had been ordered to avoid landing in Russia, which at that time was attempting to maintain its neutrality in the war. Realizing that his ship was burning and leaking more fuel than the others, pilot Edward "Ski" York made the relatively easy decision to change course to the northwest, toward Vladivostok. Interrogated by Russian authorities, the crew mistakenly believed that they would be released immediately.
Instead, York and his crew would remain in Russia for more than a year. In and of itself a great story, the men, driven nearly mad with boredom, devised an ingenious escape plan and actually broke out of Russia with the help of a few locals and more than a little luck. After some 13 months in captivity, they were back behind Allied lines.
All of the other B-25s were lost. Of the other men, two Raiders were killed when their airplane crash landed off the coast of China. Said David Thatcher, "The most memorable moment of the mission wasn't the training, long over-water flight of the dropping of the bombs in Tokyo, it was the crash landing. You just can't forget something like that."
Thatcher was lucky. He was momentarily knocked unconscious when his airplane struck the water. Others were crushed, suffered broken bones and deep lacerations, while at least two men were thrown through the brittle plexiglass as their faltering ships fell to earth. Thatcher, and others who were able, helped the injured men to shore and were eventually picked up by friendly Chinese.
Of the 80 volunteers who took part in the mission, the Japanese captured eight. After a mock trial where the men were forced to sign their names to "confessions" written in Japanese detailing how they had specifically targeted schools and hospitals during the raid, three were executed by firing squad. The other five were thrown in prison, where they languished for 40 months - the duration of the war. Of those men, one died while in captivity.
Those Raiders captured by the Japanese were tortured, starved, had their knuckles broken, shoulders dislocated, and were forced to sit in a prison cell to endure total isolation. So complete was the boredom that Robert L. Hite constructed, in his mind, an elaborate model farm - right down to the last fencepost.
Toward the end of World War II, it was believed that the Japanese intended to execute all prisoners of war in a last-ditch act of defiance. For more than three years the four surviving Raiders languished, until American undercover units identified the possible locations of various POW camps. Immediately upon the war's end, American parachute teams descended into Japanese territory to secure the fates of those captured. It was during these mop-up operations that the four remaining Doolittle Raiders were located and accounted for.
Jimmy Doolittle would finally be able to fulfill a promise he made to the men before they disembarked. A promise that involved an 1896 bottle of Cognac.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
As Jimmy Doolittle sat by the wreckage of his airplane, certainly the last thing on his mind was a vintage bottle of booze. This was a new low for the American aviator. In his mind, the combat mission had been a total failure. To his knowledge, all of the aircraft had been lost. The crews, forced to either bail out or crash land in the darkness, were scattered, some injured, at least one killed, and others possibly captured by the Japanese.
Having bailed out of his B-25 into the darkness over China and landed neck-deep in a rice paddy fertilized with human waste, Doolittle spent the night in a morgue. The next morning, thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone, he met up with one of his crewmen and made his way back to the crash site. Under such circumstances, it is completely logical to understand Doolittle's depression.
His grand B-25 was scattered over two acres of mountain. Local scavengers had already picked through the wreckage by the time he arrived. As he sat near the wing, Doolittle pondered his predicament. He figured he would be court-martialed. According to Carroll Glines, "Doolittle's morale was the lowest it had been in his life."
On April 18, 1942, Doolittle led a squadron of 16 B-25 bombers to deliver the first strike against mainland Japan. They took off from the aircraft carrier Hornet without incident, but were scattered as they made landfall. In one of the greatest coincidences of World War II, Tokyo was just finishing an air raid drill as the B-25s approached.
Thus, when the twin-engine bombers roared over the coast and approached Tokyo from different directions, no one thought much of the spectacle. Japanese military units fired a few pot shots, but no serious defensive maneuvers were conducted. Citizens smiled and waved to the low-flying planes. Even as Doolittle and his men dropped bombs on the designated target areas, causing great plumes of smoke to rise into the atmosphere, a few residents complimented the authenticity of that morning's air raid drill.
Having completed their mission, each B-25 turned southwest toward China. They were scheduled to land at a friendly airbase in Chuchow, but the premature departure from the Hornet guaranteed that each aircraft would run out of fuel before reaching its destination. One by one, fuel tanks ran dry, engines coughed and sputtered, and men prepared themselves for the inevitable plunge into darkness.
Of the 16 B-25s, only one landed safely. Each pilot had been ordered to avoid landing in Russia, which at that time was attempting to maintain its neutrality in the war. Realizing that his ship was burning and leaking more fuel than the others, pilot Edward "Ski" York made the relatively easy decision to change course to the northwest, toward Vladivostok. Interrogated by Russian authorities, the crew mistakenly believed that they would be released immediately.
Instead, York and his crew would remain in Russia for more than a year. In and of itself a great story, the men, driven nearly mad with boredom, devised an ingenious escape plan and actually broke out of Russia with the help of a few locals and more than a little luck. After some 13 months in captivity, they were back behind Allied lines.
All of the other B-25s were lost. Of the other men, two Raiders were killed when their airplane crash landed off the coast of China. Said David Thatcher, "The most memorable moment of the mission wasn't the training, long over-water flight of the dropping of the bombs in Tokyo, it was the crash landing. You just can't forget something like that."
Thatcher was lucky. He was momentarily knocked unconscious when his airplane struck the water. Others were crushed, suffered broken bones and deep lacerations, while at least two men were thrown through the brittle plexiglass as their faltering ships fell to earth. Thatcher, and others who were able, helped the injured men to shore and were eventually picked up by friendly Chinese.
Of the 80 volunteers who took part in the mission, the Japanese captured eight. After a mock trial where the men were forced to sign their names to "confessions" written in Japanese detailing how they had specifically targeted schools and hospitals during the raid, three were executed by firing squad. The other five were thrown in prison, where they languished for 40 months - the duration of the war. Of those men, one died while in captivity.
Those Raiders captured by the Japanese were tortured, starved, had their knuckles broken, shoulders dislocated, and were forced to sit in a prison cell to endure total isolation. So complete was the boredom that Robert L. Hite constructed, in his mind, an elaborate model farm - right down to the last fencepost.
Toward the end of World War II, it was believed that the Japanese intended to execute all prisoners of war in a last-ditch act of defiance. For more than three years the four surviving Raiders languished, until American undercover units identified the possible locations of various POW camps. Immediately upon the war's end, American parachute teams descended into Japanese territory to secure the fates of those captured. It was during these mop-up operations that the four remaining Doolittle Raiders were located and accounted for.
Jimmy Doolittle would finally be able to fulfill a promise he made to the men before they disembarked. A promise that involved an 1896 bottle of Cognac.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
