WWII Stories: Thank you Lord I’ll Never Do That Again!

Stories from World War II

Thank you Lord I’ll Never Do That Again!

by Everett A. Long 

I was a pretty new pilot and had just enough single engine pursuit time to poke my nose into the unknown and get myself in trouble  —  and hope to God I had enough experience to get out.  In some ways the Good Lord allowed you make certain mistakes and then He says I wouldn’t do that again.

War was looming on the horizon, and an entire generation of American youth knew they would be faced with difficult decisions in the near future.  Some were inspired by the airplane when a dashing young pilot buzzed the farmhouse and waved from the open cockpit.  The clashing roar of the engine immediately got one’s attention.  Others watched the frail aircraft but had other interests……

Steve Allison, Enterprise, Oregon, grew up on the ranch near Oxnard, California, a mile and half from a primary flight school.  Cadets flying Stearman PT-17s used one edge of their ranch as the base leg.  I watched them mowing across about me, Allison said.  I could have cared less.   His interest was education in cattle ranching.  Allison, then 21, was a Cal Poly student at San Luis Obispo when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor.  Having no desire to sail on ships or pack a rifle in a muddy field, he enlisted in the Army Air Corps and became a gunner.

However, after a tragic accident killed a friend, he decided being a pilot was a better choice to determine his own destiny.  Allison was walking out to his assigned A-20 (a twin engine Attack aircraft) when a buddy came up and asked to take his place.  He needed some flight time, so he would not lose his flight pay.  I grumbled a little, Allison said, because I wanted to fly — not sit around.  The three A-20s took off.  15 minutes later, one of the pilots reported that two planes had gone down and only two parachutes were seen.  One of the A-20s had passed under the other and clipped the tail off the plane above it. 

I thought, Allison said, if I was going to get my neck broke I might as well do it myself instead of somebody else do it.  He had had enough of the cold cramped quarters of a gunner’s turret and applied for cadet training.  Allison, who was now eager to fly, got his cadet appointment and started training at San Antonio, Texas.  Learning to fly was not a problem; however, some of the Eastern college boys, as he called them, created some academic challenges.

On graduation from advanced flight school, Allison was in for a big surprise.  Here I was, he said, a highly qualified pursuit pilot ready and eager to go into combat.  I read my orders and I couldn’t believe what I saw.  Allison had been assigned to the Air Transport Command and was being sent to Atlanta, Georgia, to fly with Delta Airlines.  I thought, Oh God, how could this happen?  Here I’m a pursuit pilot, and now I’m going to fly twin engine DC-3s or C-47s to become a transport pilot.’  I didn’t have brains enough to realize it was one of the greatest things that could have happened: to be able to train with these old time cargo and passenger pilots.

Weeks later Allison was sent back to the Air Corps for more instrument training in C-47s.  It was a snap, he said, I already had that with Delta.  Allison’s flight training intensified adding the North American B-25 Mitchell medium bomber, then another month in Palm Springs for pursuit transition adding the P-47, P-39, P-40, and P-51 to his list of qualified aircraft.
In a letter home January 27, 1944 Allison writes, Monday I start flying the hot jobs. First was the P-47 Thunderbolt which was a thrill, and today I’ve been flying the P-39 Airacobra.  I like it very much and believe we will get along quite well.  I have several more planes to fly here and then will be off to the cooler climate in the North.  The 39 is a forgiving airplane in some ways, but there were some no-no’s.  You don’t want to do some stupid things with that engine right at your back.  It was a different aircraft. 

Tech orders were written which specifically stated Do Not Spin the Airacobra.  The Airacobra could go into a flat spin that was difficult to get out of — especially if there was not enough altitude.  Another error that killed more than one pilot was coming in too slow on final.  You had to keep your nose down and your airspeed up, Allison said.   You didn’t want to make a flat turn onto final.  If it stalled, which it could do, the nose just flipped and you were buried in the ground.  It just happened so fast.  The thing to do was to keep your airspeed up in the Airacobra, and then you had no problems.

Allison’s home base was now the Seventh Ferrying Command located at Gore Field near Great Falls, Montana.  I was a pretty new pilot, Allison said, and had just enough time to poke my nose into the unknown — get myself in trouble and hope and pray to God you had enough experience to get out of some these problems.  In some ways He allowed you make certain mistakes and then He says I wouldn’t do that again.  Allison is quick to acknowledge a thank you to the Good Lord with promises not to do the same error again.

In February 1943, Allison begins his career of delivering aircraft taking a new P-51B from the factory in Long Beach, California, to Newark, New Jersey.  From there he went to the Bell Aircraft factory in Buffalo, New York.  Allison was now in the business of delivering Airacobras to the Russians stationed at Ladd Field near Fairbanks, Alaska.  The first flight from the factory did not happen exactly as he had planned. 

The weather in February was not good that year, so there were many delays.  When their flight of three Airacobras managed to take off from Buffalo and head towards South Bend, Indiana, for their first overnight something didn’t feel right.  Climbing out over Niagara Falls, his Airacobra felt real doggy.  Their planes were fitted with a 175 gallon belly tank which added 1500 pounds and more drag.  But it still wasn’t right. 

My buddy is off my right wing, Allison said, and he is pointing. 
And boy this airplane is doggy, Allison thinks to himself. 
And he keeps pointing. 

Settling in on course Allison scans the gauges and makes sure the gear switch is up.  Down on the floor below the pilot’s right arm is gear lock lever.  It locks the gear, so someone won’t inadvertently flip the gear switch on the ramp.  My eyes settled on that little lever, Allison said.   The light flashed the bells clanged and — Oh my God — I had forgotten to release the manual gear lever before taking off.  I reached down, turned the lever, and hear the thump-thump-thump as three gears come back up into the fuselage.  My aircraft took off and I said, Yes, Lord, I won’t do that again.’  That was a do it yourself training experience.

However, that was not the end of adventure for these three pilots.  The weather held them up in South Bend before making their next stop in Bismarck, North Dakota.  On the way, one of the pilots wandered off course.  Almost out of fuel, he landed on blacktop country road scarring the daylights out of a farmer.  The base at Bismarck brought fuel and he rejoined the flight.

The next day they took off for Gore Field but ran into another storm and landed at Miles City, Montana, where they were stuck for several days.  The town folks treated us as honored guest.  It was bitter cold, so to prevent the engine oil from turning into gel they went out to the field and warmed the Airacobras up frequently.  Then in appreciation for the hospitality of Miles City, they gave the town a little airshow buzzing down Main Street a few times.

That model of Airacobra had two 60 gallon main tanks plus the auxiliary belly tank.  The procedure was to take off on the right main, then switch to the other main or the belly with a preference of emptying the belly tank first.  After burning up a little extra gas in Miles City, the plan was to refuel in Billings before heading for Great Falls.  However, one of the pilots said, Hell we have plenty of fuel we can make it we just fly straight from here to Great Falls.  Leveled off at 8,000 feet Allison is content and heading for home and Gore Field.  Suddenly it is absolutely quiet.   Oh my God, Allison exclaims, I’ve run the belly tank dry.  Switching back to one of the main tanks and hitting the boost pump brings back the power.

The belly tank is dry and they had their little airshow stint at Miles City plus firing up the engines to keep the oil from gelling.  The right tank shows half and the left even less.  After a while everything turns quiet again.  Switch tank boost and restart.   Allison is now on the last main tank.  In the distance Allison can see a little thread of smoke from the huge smelter stack in Great Falls, like a beacon in the wilderness.

 I called Gore Field 20 miles out, Allison said, and asked for a straight in approach — I’m running low on fuel.  I can just see it now standing in front of the accident review board trying to explain how you could bring an aircraft all that distance and belly land it in a wheat field five miles from the base.  Well, He was good to me and He let me make my landing.  I’m filling out my paperwork and saying, Thank you Lord.  I’ll never do that again.’   The ramp crew couldn’t see any gas in the tanks.

December 1943 was Allison’s first of more then 30 flights delivering warplanes to the Russians at Ladd Field.   The first flight was as a copilot in a B-25 to see the country before any solo flights were made.  Everything Allison flew to Alaska were Lend-Lease aircraft already painted with the Russian Red Star identification.  We kidded about flying those aircraft, Allison said, with this big red star on the side, we joked about whether we were flying for the Russians or the Texaco Air Force.

Bundled in winter flying gear, he cruises up to 4,000 feet and levels off with his wingmen tucked into a right loose formation.  They are cruising over the Grand Prairie region, nice and flat with no mountains to worry about.  The heater is blaring away as much as it can, Allison said.  The weather was good it was great flying.  Then Allison begins what appears to be a long shallow dive to a lower altitude.  His wingmen, following their gallant leader, think they are going down to buzz the countryside.  Having a lot of time in twins Allison’s ears were tuned to the sound of the prop’s pitch.  This variant of Airacobra had an oil pressure governed prop that would change pitch if there was a change of the wing’s angle of attack.  Just when the wingmen think their gallant leader is taking them down to buzz the countryside, he pulls up again to 4,000 feet.  The discouraged wingmen wondered what made him change his mind.

The prop did what it was supposed to do, Allison said.  I had fallen asleep the cockpit was warm and I was drowsy from lack of sleep.  I’m just heading down.  When the prop changed sound it brought me right up and I thought, Thank you Lord, I won’t do that again.’   Wingmen don’t talk a lot on the radio and normally just follow their more experienced flight leader.  I don’t think that I confided in them, Allison added.  

Allison reflects on his flying career during the war.  There were nine of us from the Oxnard area who became pilots.  One was killed in the South Pacific, one was shot down in Italy and never found, another was put into the ground by a student.  Another good friend was killed in a P-39 in Palm Springs a week before I got there.   One got shot down over Germany and became a POW.  One fellow cracked up and didn’t fly anymore, and the other one had to bail out over the Hump.  The outcome was that I flew more aircraft than any of them.  I flew the world over in more different types of country.  I never cracked up an airplane, never had to bail out, never damaged one, and never got shot down.

 They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, made a mistake or something happened.  I was fortunate.  I wasn’t a better pilot; some of the others were probably better pilots than I.  I made mistakes, and He said, Don’t do that again.’   The outcome of all of those experiences I say is the Luck of the Draw.

A Ferry Command Pilot Shares a Distant But Fresh Memory

With the Blue Mountains of Eastern Oregon at their back door Steve Allison, 84 and his wife Trudy enjoy a quite retirement from cattle ranching.  Cattle ranching had been Allison’s ambition since he was a youngster growing up in Oxnard, California.  During a half day tour in the valley Steve and Trudy point out former land they had owned and sold or leased out.  Pleasant memories they share with friends.

When Japan attacked Pearl Harbor Allison was a college student studying to be a rancher at Cal Poly in Southern California.  The hand writing was on the wall join or be drafted.  Allison had no interest in flying airplanes, however, he also had no interest in marching through mud or jumping into the ocean from a ship.  A gunner in the Air Corps temporarily solved his problem until a tragic accident killed a friend.  Flying fighters was more appealing then riding in bombers. 

The newly minted pursuit pilot, ready for combat, got the surprise of his life when he was sent to the Ferry Command instead.  By the time the war ended Allison had flown everything the United States Army Air Corps had to offer and then some.  He delivered bombers to the Free French, transports to England, bombers to Chennault in Burma, and more than 30 warbirds to the harsh cold of Alaska’s North Country for the Russians.

He made mistakes which nearly cost him his life.  The same mistakes other pilots had made and not survived.  But Allison’s skill and faith in the Good Lord saved him for another day.  More than once Allison would say, Thank you Lord I’ll never do that again.

Every September Allison parks his motor-home a short distance from Pit Row at the Reno Air Races.  Steve and Trudy are not alone because their entire family is parked close by.  All of his sons and their families gather to relive dad’s flying memories.  Before the 2002 Reno Air Races started Allison was sitting outside his motor-home when a fully restored P-63 Kingcobra buzzed right over where they were standing.  Oh my God! he said, I flew those!

You can get his book at http://www.cobrasoverthetundra.com. You can reach him by email at:  [email protected]

Flying and writing was his other passion and he wrote a weekly general aviation column in the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner.  Many of his columns were expanded and published in national aviation magazines and newspapers such as The Western Flyer, Inflight, Private Pilot, Alaska Magazine, and the Smithsonian Air & Space Magazine.   

Alaska aviation offered a unique perspective to write about because many of the early Alaska aviation pioneers were still alive and enjoyed telling their stories.  Early Alaska aviation was rich in Northern pioneer flights between Alaska, Canada, and Russia.  In 1989 Long was invited by a representative of the Soviet Union’s president Mikhail Gorbechev to fly his 172 from the Alaska/Siberia (ALSIB) United States headquarters, Fairbanks to the Soviet ALSIB headquarters in Yakutsk, Russia.  On June 17, 1990 Long flew into Soviet airspace and followed the ALSIB route for more than two weeks.

Long was the first American pilot to fly through the Soviet Union after WW II.  Long wrote and published the book Cobras Over The Tundra, a history of the ALSIB flights including stories and photos from both American and Russian sources.  Long’s book was featured the Fox News War Stories by Oliver North episode The Untold Story of the Eastern Front.