Whirlwind

by Barrett Tillman

  Boeing delivered the first three XB-29s in 1942, and flight-testing proceeded under the company’s extremely capable chief pilot, Edmund T. Allen. Eddie Allen knew his way around big airplanes, having flown the XB-15 and other bombers and large transports. B-29 engine failures became almost routine, and he handled each incident with professional aplomb. On December 30, 1942, he landed the second “X job” with one engine streaming flames that could only be extinguished by the ground crew. The next day another Cyclone choked at 20,000 feet.

  Reportedly Allen expressed doubts that so complex a machine as the B-29 could be produced in useful numbers, but he remained committed to the project. On February 17, 1943, he dealt with a serious fuel leak and landed safely.

  The next day he died with his crew.

  Flying the second prototype again, Allen radioed that he had a serious engine fire spreading to the main wing spar. The flames ate voraciously into the left wing as the bomber descended toward home. Not even Allen’s fabled skills could retrieve the situation. The wing burned through, sending the XB-29 crashing into a Seattle meatpacking plant, killing all eleven aboard the plane and nineteen on the ground.

  The setback was serious but not enough to cancel the program. The Army proceeded with thirteen “service test” aircraft designated YB-29s, the first flying four months after Allen’s crash. They provided Boeing and the Army with enough Superfortresses to continue evaluation, to test improvements, and generally tweak the design before it entered production.

  Meanwhile, the AAF struggled to build the immense infrastructure to maintain and deploy its B-29 fleet. A total force of twenty bomb groups was envisioned, each with 112 aircraft organized in four squadrons. Early plans to use the Superfortresses against Germany were scrapped when B-17s and B-24s were able to operate from Britain and Italy.

  Two officers bearing critical influence upon the B-29 program were the project director, Brigadier General Kenneth B. Wolfe, and a surprisingly junior flier, twenty-nine-year-old Lieutenant Colonel Paul Tibbets. Wolfe possessed an extensive engineering background dating from 1920, and had worked with industry to bring new aircraft into service. In June 1943 he formed the first B-29 wing at Salina, Kansas, largely on the strength of his extensive knowledge of the aircraft and the program. Much later, General Curtis LeMay summarized the rationale for tossing the Superfortress project into Ken Wolfe’s hands, citing his “splendid record in the development and procurement business.” Like most AAF officers who wanted to prove themselves in combat, Wolfe would later eagerly accept the China-Burma-India (CBI) command even though his expertise was technical, not operational.

  Paul Tibbets’s job was essentially that of a salesman. Having flown some of the first AAF bombing missions over Occupied Europe, he possessed the credentials to make new fliers listen to him. But the word about the ’29 had quickly circulated, and in some quarters it was regarded as a widow maker. Pilots heard the stories (mostly true) of in-flight fires, spectacular crashes, and an accident rate 30 percent higher than for other bombers.

  Paul Tibbets had a plan.

  He turned to the Women Airforce Service Pilots who ferried Army aircraft all over the country. Tibbets searched until he found two of the shortest, cutest WASPs available and taught them to fly the Superfortress. Then he went on the road, demonstrating the ’29’s exceptional performance to shame and educate “all those college athletes” who feared the airplane.

  Even with production B-29s rolling off the first assembly line in September 1943, problems remained. Each had to be corrected (or at least addressed), leading to numerous solutions. As many as fifty fixes were required, but it took too long to interrupt production and implement the changes in the factories. Therefore, the AAF established four modification centers around the country to retrofit the changes before the bombers went to their operational units. The “mods” included fixes to engines, propellers, rudders, turrets, bomb bay doors, and radar installations.

  The situation did not sit well with General Hap Arnold, a hands-on administrator who suffered four heart attacks in less than three years. In late 1943 he said, “It is my desire that this airplane be produced in quantity so that it can be used in this war and not in the next.”

  Clearly, the B-29 was headed for war as an immature weapon, but the need was considered urgent. Consequently, shortcuts were taken.

  Crew training suffered perhaps most of all. When Ken Wolfe established the 58th Bomb Wing in Kansas during the summer of 1943, his four groups were short of everything, including B-29s. Especially B-29s. Moreover, the original ratio of combat-experienced pilots in the wing fell far short of expectations, as did those with the desired 400 hours of multi-engine flight time. Consequently, until enough Superfortresses became available some squadrons trained on Martin B-26s, fast twin-engine bombers with nose wheels and high landing speeds comparable to the B-29. Others reverted to B-17s, especially for practicing high-altitude-formation flights.

  With the 58th Wing based around Wichita, “The Battle of Kansas” proceeded apace. That winter was particularly harsh, with wind-driven snow whipping across the Great Plains, freezing Army and civilian technicians alike because there were too few hangars. Most maintenance and modification was done on the tarmac, exposed to miserable working conditions.

  Ready or not, the 58th Wing had a date in China, honoring a commitment that Franklin Roosevelt felt he owed Generalissimo Chiang.

  Introducing “B-san”

  The Japanese knew that America was developing a successor to the B-17, itself an intimidating presence in Pacific skies. In early 1943 news reports reached Tokyo of the death of test pilot Eddie Allen in the crash of “a new Boeing bomber” that February. Furthermore, American intention to mount a strategic bombing campaign against the home islands was no secret: Hap Arnold had said as much, and Domei News Service picked up information from its Buenos Aires and Lisbon bureaus in February and March.

  With solid knowledge of the Boeing prototype’s existence, the intelligence section of Army Air Force Headquarters was expanded to track the program. Initial assumptions of the configuration were approximately accurate: a mid-wing, four-engine aircraft with total loaded weight “in the forty-ton class.” Defensive armament was estimated at four to six 20mm cannon, and bomb load at 4,500 kilograms (9,900 pounds)—about half the maximum possible ordnance load-out.

  More than payload and performance, the Japanese worried about the new bomber’s range. In May, Colonel Joichiro Sanada, head of the Army General Staff operations section, cited navy information that the B-29 (the designation was known by then) might reach Japan from Midway—2,580 statute miles. In fact, B-29s seldom operated more than 1,500 miles from Japan, but even that figure was cause for alarm in Tokyo.

  Justifiably concerned, in early 1943 Imperial General Headquarters directed the Japanese Army Air Force (JAAF) intelligence section to determine the performance of the emerging threat, likely rate of production, and tentative combat debut. Though scattered information was gleaned from publications, consulates, and elsewhere, it was a time-consuming, often inaccurate process. Consequently, JAAF engineers were tasked with “building” a super-bomber based on known or probable capabilities of the U.S. aviation industry. An interim report issued at year end concluded that the new design would exceed the B-17 and B-24 in every category, with the range to attack the homeland from Wake Island, almost 2,000 statute miles away. Though Wake remained in Japanese hands until war’s end, the Marianas were an equally obvious roost. Likely China bases included Chengtu, the actual B-29 operating area.

  The Japanese reckoned top speed at 600 kph (372 mph, somewhat more than the original B-29). With an operational ceiling of 32,800 feet (an accurate figure) the JAAF correctly assumed that the bomber would have a pressurized cabin. Army Air Intelligence surmised that the Boeing had entered production that autumn, which was reasonably accurate: ninety-two B-29s were delivered in 1943.

  Estimates of full-scale production led Tokyo to conclude that B-29 combat operat
ions would begin in May or June 1944. The General Staff’s Intelligence Section Six (Europe and America) and Seven (China) agreed that new Boeings would be employed against the homeland, but probably operating independently from the Pacific and China—another accurate call, if premature.

  A mimeographed five-page pamphlet titled Views on the Use of Crash Tactics in Aerial Protection of Vital Defense Areas—No. 2 was issued by the JAAF in February 1944: “Now the enemy is speeding up the mass production of powerful, extra-large bombers like the B-29 and B-32, and boasting of his intention to bomb vital areas of our empire. It is therefore a most urgent and vital task to thwart these planes by establishment of some counter policy.”

  The Japanese got their first look at a Superfortress when the initial aircraft landed in India in April. Therefore, Tokyo knew much about the world’s most capable bomber before it appeared in Asian skies. That was the good news for Japan. The bad news: Japan could do very little to prevent “B-san” from operating wherever it chose.

  Building Bases

  The plan for deploying B-29s to India and China was Operation Matterhorn, originally called Setting Sun. It was approved at the Allies’ Cairo Conference in November 1943 when Chiang Kai-shek and Winston Churchill agreed to construction of heavy bomber bases in the China-Burma-India Theater. Simultaneously the Pacific Theater commander, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, was directed to seize the Mariana Islands for the same purpose: placing B-29s within range of Japan itself.

  Meanwhile, contingencies were studied to prepare operating bases for B-29s. Original plans were literally all over the map: Alaska, Formosa, the Marianas; even Siberia. But grand strategy, weather, logistics, and geopolitics narrowed the menu. For the time being, it had to be China. However, the bases needed to be located well away from the coastal enclaves controlled by the Japanese. Consequently, AAF planners decided on the Chengtu area in central China, more than 1,000 miles from the coast and 1,500 from Japanese soil.

  Four locales were selected, each intended to support at least one B-29 group of four squadrons: Kwanghan, Kuinglai, Hsinching, and Pengshan. They were remote, underdeveloped, and difficult to supply, but staff studies determined that bases closer to the coast would have to be defended by dozens of new Chinese army divisions.

  However, it was not enough to build B-29 bases in China. They would require enormous logistical support, including infrastructure in theater. Therefore, Arnold’s headquarters in Washington dispatched an advance team to India in December 1943. The officers were to select the best Indian airfield sites and arrange for the human and matériel assets to accomplish the goal. The team settled on the Kharagpur region, sixty miles southwest of Calcutta.

  Ken Wolfe was promoted from the 58th Wing to oversee the entire B-29 operation in the China-Burma-India Theater, designated XX Bomber Command. He arrived in India in January 1944, primarily concerned with base construction. It was a vast undertaking, far more complex than “merely” building eight heavy bomber bases (four each in China and India) plus others for transports and tankers. The support and supply challenges were considerable, and deeply complicated by geography.

  The man who pulled it together was Brigadier General Alvin C. Welling, an engineer from the West Point class of ’33. His credentials were impressive: with a master’s from MIT, he had helped build the AlCan Highway across the Rockies, and the 1,000-mile Ledo Road from Assam, India, to Kunming, China.

  American resources were scarce. At the time only four Army aviation engineer battalions were available for Matterhorn compared to fifteen deployed in the Pacific Theater. Work proceeded on a huge scale, largely with human labor. As many as 350,000 men, women, and children were drafted into building the Chengtu complex and perhaps as many more were employed in India. There was not enough machinery to accomplish the task, so much of the work was done manually: crushing rock, spreading it, and compacting it into usable runways.

  Many Americans were astonished at the immense human effort involved in building the Asian bases—and the indifference to losses. Lacking enough tractors, GIs gawked at the sight of perhaps 550 peasants straining to tow a huge, spiked roller to compact a runway surface. Moreover, local cultural concerns occasionally infringed upon operational matters. At some bases pilots were instructed to ignore Chinese who might dash in front of a landing aircraft: peasants believing that the whirling propeller would sever “the devil” from their back. The theory held that if a prop cut a man in half, the steel blade would suffer no serious harm whereas evasive action could damage or destroy an airplane and perhaps harm the crew. As one pilot recalled, “Headquarters figured if a coolie got killed, there were plenty of replacements in the nearest rice paddy.”

  Construction of XX Bomber Command bases has been likened to the works of the ancient Egyptians and Mayans in that each relied heavily upon hand tools and muscle power. Yet incredibly, the task was accomplished on time. By April 1944 the eight operational bases were sufficiently advanced to accept the nascent XX Bomber Command.

  Around the World to War

  The 58th Wing began leaving Kansas in late March 1944, bound for Calcutta 11,500 miles and half a world away. Plans for a second, India-based wing were canceled owing to difficulty in supporting four bomb groups, let alone eight.

  By the time the 58th Wing departed for Asia, Ken Wolfe had been promoted to lead XX Bomber Command, overseeing all B-29 operations in the theater. Therefore, Brigadier General Laverne G. Saunders took the wing to India. Because no fighting airman could be addressed as “Laverne,” Saunders had long been called “Blondie.” He was an old hand, having fought the Pacific war from December 7, 1941, into early 1943 when he was recalled to the United States. There he worked closely with Wolfe to form the wing, which he took over in March 1944.

  The globe-spanning voyage was epic in every way. From the central United States the Superfortresses flew to Newfoundland, Canada, then 2,800 miles southeast over the Atlantic to Morocco, across North Africa to Cairo, then on to Karachi and finally the Calcutta area. The bombers averaged fifty hours flying time over a major ocean and three continents—a flight that would have made international headlines a few years earlier. Of 150 bombers only five were lost en route, the most frequent problems being the damnable R-3350 engines.

  The first B-29 to touch Asian soil landed at Chakulia, India, on April 2, piloted by Colonel Leonard F. Harman, commander of the 40th Bomb Group. That landing represented a triumph of determination over every possible adversity. Apart from the daunting distance and weather, fewer than half the aircrews had completed the training syllabus. They were deficient in altitude and formation flying, gunnery, radar bombing, and a variety of other tasks. Furthermore, because so few combat veterans were available, most pilots and navigators had never flown outside the continental United States. It was little better with the crucial maintenance personnel, of whom perhaps half had ever worked on B-29s.

  By April 19, elements of all four of Saunders’s groups had touched down at their Indian fields. The largest facility, at Kharagpur, lay some sixty miles west of Calcutta; the others were seventy-five to 105 miles from that eighteenth-century city.

  Upon landing at the Bengal bases, the aircrews experienced serious environmental shock. After the freezing months of a Kansas winter the fliers found themselves in the sweltering humidity and triple-digit heat of the Asian subcontinent. Three of the Indian fields had been hacked out of flat scrub land—a relatively easy task—but the 444th Group alit at Charra, the northernmost base. With a sloping runway and appalling heat, the group dubbed the place “Hell’s Half Acre,” and arranged a move to Dudhkundi three months later. Meanwhile, the 40th Group went to Chakulia; the 468th to Kharagpur; and the 462nd settled at Piardoba. Their sixteen squadrons were fully assembled by mid-May.

  The 462nd Group commander, Colonel Richard L. Randolph, described the situation at Base B-2, Piardoba, saying, “We knew basic problems of the B-29 could not be remedied in a few days.” The legacy of design defects, especially engine cooling,
plagued aircrews and maintenance men alike. Mechanics tried to tweak the engines for unusually high operating temperatures but work was compounded by inexperienced technicians and frequently too few spare parts. The situation was aggravated by India’s miserable climate: often no work was performed between noon and 4:00 P.M. because aluminum was searing to the touch in the 120-degree heat.

  Accommodations were basic in Kharagpur, let alone at the outlying bases. (Headquarters was established in a former prison compound.) Thatched-roofed bamboo pole buildings contained interlaced hemp ropes for mattresses. Aside from the sweltering heat, the airmen remarked upon the fauna, including nine-inch centipedes and eighteen-inch lizards. Not to mention the local variety of cobra.

  Another problem proved as unavoidable as the environment. It was impossible to keep secret so many B-29s arriving in India, and Tokyo quickly learned of Saunders’s presence. Furthermore, Japanese agents in China could report every time the Superfortresses staged from India through Chengtu, providing hours of advance warning for the homeland. The Americans had no option but to accept that they probably would never surprise the Japanese.

  Meanwhile, in Washington that April, General Arnold activated the 20th Air Force, overseeing all B-29 operations. It was a unique situation. (There were no 16th through 19th Air Forces; 20 sounded more impressive.) Arnold assumed control of the 20th, running it from the Pentagon, where headquarters would remain until July 1945. His chief of staff was Brigadier General Haywood Hansell, the same Possum who had helped draft the AAF’s air war plans, AWPD-1 and -42.

  Arnold had good reason for the unprecedented measure of personally running 20th Air Force. He knew that the B-29, though still untried, would prove irresistible to theater commanders from India to the Pacific. For example, one of Arnold’s favorite subordinates, Lieutenant General George C. Kenney, commanding the 5th Air Force in the Southwest Pacific, had wanted B-29s early on. But when the Superfortress was limited to strategic missions, Kenney the tactical airman lost his enthusiasm, expressing doubt that the new bombers would be supportable in the Pacific. Most likely he feared that the B-29 force would siphon off men and supplies from his own operations.