Twenty-four hours isn't very much time when you're enjoying yourself or when things are going normally, but try spending twenty-four hours on a choppy sea, trying to keep five men alive besides yourself and seeing each of them drop off into the darkness; fellows you've known for a long time, trained with, eaten with, slept with and with whom you've spent many pleasant hours.

That is precisely what happened to Sgt. Paul Estep, 23, aerial gunner and radio operator on a B-24, of Mount Union, Penn. This particular morning of October (20 October 1944), he and his comrades of the 758th Bomb Squadron, took off on a bombardment mission against enemy installations in Germany (oil refinery at Brux, Czechoslovakia, oil storage at Regensburg) from their base (Giulia Airfield), in Italy.

(The mission focus since late September named oil as first priority and had placed ordnance depots, armored fighting-vehicle assembly plants, and motor-vehicle assembly plants in a composite second priority. The destruction and then the occupation of the Ploesti fields had cost Germany approximately one-fourth of its supply. For a brief period in September 1944 it seems that no German oil installations of any type were operating, and by the end of the month the evidence indicated that of the ninety-one still in German hands only three were in full production and twenty-eight in partial production. The Germans secured for that month less than 300,000 tons of oil from all sources, about 23 per cent of their monthly supply before the concentrated air attacks had begun.)

(The Allies knew, however, they would have to struggle to keep their oil victory from slipping away, for they were by now aware of the far reaching program to restore a minimum oil production. With 350,000 laborers devoted to this purpose, the Nazis were able to reconstruct their bombed plants and refineries at a much faster rate than Allied air commanders had considered possible. The Germans were also dispersing their entire synthetic oil industry in such a way that bombers would not be able to locate the targets, as already had happened to a large extent in the case of the aircraft industry. The enemy was displaying his usual skill in the use of smoke and camouflage, and was concentrating heavy flak guns around the chief oil installations in numbers that probably would have made Berlin's inhabitants resentful had they known of it. Speer, moreover, could count on the approaching bad weather of the autumn and winter months to keep the bombers away, and only a few weeks of immunity might allow German oil production to rise to as much as 60 per cent of normal.)

(The Fifteenth Air Force had a good month in October. It hit the synthetic plant at Brux, which had been rated as out of production for four and it unloaded large tonnages on Blechhammer South on 13 and 17 October. Blechhammer North was bombed effectively on 14 October, as was Odertal. And three major centers in Austria were attacked on the 7th, 13th, and 16th. In all, the three strategic air forces directed 12,592 tons of bombs at oil targets during October 1944, just under 10 per cent of their total effort.)

SOURCE: EUROPE: ARGUMENT TO V-E DAY JANUARY 1944 TO MAY 1945 THE ARMY AIR FORCES In World War 2 (Volume 3)

(On 20 October 1944, 480+ B-17s and B-24s attack an oil refinery at Brux, Czechoslovakia, oil storage at Regensburg, an airfield at Bad Aibling, and marshalling yard at Rosenheim, Germany and marshalling yard at Innsbruck, Austria, motor transport, armament plants, and ordnance works at Milan, Italy, plus scattered targets of opportunity. P-38s and P-51s escort the Brux, Czechoslovakia and Regensburg, Germany missions.)

Slowly the planes completed their flight pattern and headed north. Sgt. Estep's plane held it's place in formation, but over the city of Venice, Italy, the No. 3 supercharger went out.

The pilot (2LT Arthur Hartman) decided that the trip was too long and he would not have enough fuel to maintain the high altitude on three engines, so he turned to start back to his base. Then all hell broke loose. As the plane started across the coast, the Germain anti-aircraft batteries opened up. One lone target and twenty or thirty flak guns holding her in her sight, and letting go with everything they had. The plane was riddled from nose to tail--Nos. 3 and 4 engines hit and knocked completely out of control. As the heavy bomber started to dive, the pilot (2LT Arthur Hartman) and co-pilot (2LT Donald G. Smithey) did everything in their power to take her back up, but the best they could do was to hold the nose fairly high as she dove for the water. The plane hit at a terrific speed and the impact broke her in two by the tail turret.

(The B-24 was named the "Flying Coffin" by it's crews because it's very hard to get out of the airplane. Only 25% of B-24 intentional water landings were successful. The body of the B-24 rests below the wings, exposing it during a water landing. As the airplane hits the water, it can break in half very easily.)

SOURCE: Nova; Last B-24 (Season 45, Episode 15, 39:00 Minute)

(The pilot (2LT Arthur Hartman), co-pilot (2LT Donald G. Smithey), bombardier (2LT Donald L. Collins) and the Engineer/Gunner (Sgt. Don Kearney) did not escape the aircraft. In December 1957, human remains were recovered during a salvage operation on the bomber that was found off the coast of Chioggia, Italy. They also found Smithey/Kearney's ID tags, Smithey's gold signet ring, four pairs of service shoes. The few remains were casketed and interred at Santa Fe National Cemetery under a common grave.)

When they hit the water, Sgt. Estep was momentarily stunned but he and the other waist gunner made their way to the waist window, jumped into the water and swam away from the plane. The bomber sank in less than one minute after hitting the water; no time to break out the life rafts or rescue equipment. All the men had their Mae Wests to hold them above the water.

In the water, Sgt. Estep noticed the nose wheel still afloat, broken completely off by the impact. He called the other gunner to hold on to it and then started searching the area to see if any of the others had gotten out alive. There were four - the navigator, ball turret gunner, nose turret gunner and tail turret gunner. With his help there were soon six men hanging on to a wheel about two feet in diameter and half submerged in the choppy sea.

A quick check of the situation showed each more or less injured except Estep. He estimated the shore was about seven to ten miles distant, and if he could hold out, he might make it and get help. He decided, however, it would be too long of a chance--the sea was too rough and choppy. Moreover , the condition of his comrades was such, he felt they would not last very long if left by themselves.

The plane went down about noon of that day, and the minutes dragged by as Sgt. Estep tried to comfort the men while they waited and prayed for rescue. The waist gunner thought he had a broken hip. The navigator (2LT Arthur E. Fierman) had a gash across his chest and broken ribs. The ball turret gunner and nose turret gunner (Sgt. Harvey R. 'Slick' Sorensen/Sgt. Harold H. Lauck) were suffering from wounds around the face and head. The tail turret gunner had incurred internal injuries.

At six o'clock that evening Sgt. Estep saw the first of his comrades go. The waist gunner (Sgt. Richard I. Oldenburg), with whom he had flown and fought beside so often, was suffering intense pain from his broken hip and slowly losing consciousness. Despite their combined efforts to hold him to the wheel, he sank beneath the water and drowned. One gone - five left.

As darkness set in -- no flashlights --nothing except a wheel half submerged in the water and five men floating on Mae Wests that just about held their heads above the rough sea. The only thing that seemed to tell them that this was not a gruesome nightmare was the fact that Sgt. Estep's watch kept running and he could watch the slow minutes pass and keep the others informed.

Eight o'clock and the navigator (2LT Arthur E. Fierman) started complaining about the pain in his chest. Sgt. Estep made his way to him and tried to hold him on the wheel, but again, the sea, the bitter cold that was coming on and the unconsciousness that overcame the man proved more than a match for the ebbing strength of the survivors. Two gone --four left.

Midnight -- twelve hours so far in the water. A slight crescent of a moon in the distant sky - but the air was getting bitter cold and the men were coughing and gasping from the salt water that caught in their throats from the choppy sea. The ball and nose turret gunners (Sgt. Harvey R. 'Slick' Sorensen/Sgt. Harold H. Lauck) with their injuries began to lose consciousness. Sgt Estep called out to the other men with him to try and hold them on the wheel, but slowly their eyes closed and their voices trailed away as they drifted off in a coma. Despite their efforts the two men slipped off the wheel into the inky blackness. Four gone - two left.

Sgt. Estep started to talk to the last man (Sgt. Ted R. Scott) -- to try to keep both of them sane. The minutes mounted into hours. Still no sign of help and no chance to make their way to shore. Ted had a slight cut above his right eye, if someone would have picked us up, everyone would have made it. Although the sea had calmed down now, their strength was running low. The Sgt. Estep noticed the talk of this last man became jabbering and mumbling. Sgt. Estep held on to him with one arm and onto the wheel with the other. However, the man lost consciousness altogether and slipped below the water (4:30 A.M.). Estep held on as long as he could, until he was pulled about twenty feet below the surface. His lungs screaming for air, there was no chance. He released his last comrade and fought his way back to the surface. (I tried with all my strength to keep him up but all at once he sunk and took me with him, then I knew he was drowning so I got free of his grip and swam to the top.)

Sixteen hours in the water and now he was all alone. He prayed, he talked, moved around to combat the fatigue and cold that was overtaking him. He did everything he could to keep awake and alive.

At noon the following day, after twenty-four hours in the water a plane circled overhead. At first Estep thought he might be going crazy and just imagining it's presence. But the vision persisted and Estep finally figured it must actually be a plane. Whether it was an enemy or friendly made little difference. He was too far gone to care. Despite his condition, he retained his presence of mind and knew exactly what to do at this juncture. He fished in his pocket and found a package of a sea marker, (a yellow powder that spreads over the water easily seen from the sky). He held it tightly, ready to release it when he figured the plane would be close enough. Then, as it made a wide circle of the area, he spilled the contents on the water. After a moment of terrible suspense, he knew he had been seen because of the big flying boat settled down in the water and taxied over to him.

After pulling him in, the rescue plane then taxied over to a fighter pilot whose plane had gone down nearby. They received his radio call signals, which explained their reason for being so far north in enemy waters. Had it not been for the 1000 to 1 chance of the fighter plane going down in that area, Estep would certainly have perished with the rest of the crew.

As they came up to the other man in the water, Sgt. Estep momentarily forgot the fatigue and impulsively jumped to join the others in bringing on the strangled pilot. Sgt. Estep was later returned to his home field in Italy, one man in ten that took off to bomb Germany that October morning.

Harvey R Sorensen