On 4/17/44, Lt. Smisson and his crew were forced to ditch in the Pacific on their first combat mission

The veteran Olive Drab model B-24J-1 named by some previous crew “Battle-n-Bitch (My ideal)” had been in the Central Pacific Theatre since the beginning of Operations Galvanic , Flintlock and Operation Forager, taking part in 11 missions with the 392nd Bomb Squadron’s campaigns for the past six months. On April 16th Lt. Leonard F. Smisson and his crew, were assigned to take it on their first mission from their base in the Marshall Islands, staging at Eniwetok. Little did the rookie crew realize their mission aboard the “Bitch” would be her last. At least Lt. Smisson and the soggy survivors of his crew would be lucky enough to resume their combat tour after that ordeal.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

On 5 February, 1944, a newly assembled crew departed the states for Hickam Field, T.H., where they were assigned to the 7th Air Force, 30th Bomb Group, 819th Bomb. Sqdn., and were given a 6-week training period in aerial gunnery, which was completed in early April, 1944. The crew departed Hawaii on 11 April, 1944 for combat assignment and active duty with the 7th Air Force, then based at the Marshall Islands, on Kwajalein. This was the major point of operations for the 7th, with a staging base at Eniwetok, and from which their raids were dispatched against enemy bases at Dublon, Eten, Param, Moen, and Truk Islands as well as Wake Island and Saipan. On 16 April, 1944 this crew was one of five selected to fly a special combat raid in conjunction with the U.S. Navy operations in the Pacific. It was the crew's first combat mission and Lt. Chapman's first bombing mission in W.W. II.

Lt. Smisson’s crew landed on Kwajalein, fresh from overseas training in the States, just one week prior to that memorable day on 17 April, 1944. Information had been received by the 392nd Squadron to dispatch five of its B-24 crews to Eniwetok on 16 April to attend a briefing in preparation for an important mission on the following day.

The 5 pilots & planes on the squadron’s first mission to Saipan were Lt. Martin, pilot of Bugs Bomby, Lt. Warren Myllenbeck, pilot of “Deadeye” Lt. Schneiderhan, pilot of “Libby Raider” A.K.A. "Annie", Lt. Smisson, pilot of “Battle-N-Bitch” & Lt. Walter “Ace” Crafford, pilot of “Salty Sal”. Lost was Lt. Smisson’s Liberator as well as a navy PBY Catalina that was later sent to rescue them.

At the U.S. Navy Headquarters they were informed that they would fly as escort for Navy PB4Y photo-recon ships, with concentrated fire power against enemy planes. They would also carry a full complement of bombs to carry out raids against enemy installations on Saipan. The importance of obtaining photos and returning them to the base was stressed to all combat teams, in view of the vital importance such material is to Intelligence Groups and Strategy Planning Groups. The rookie crew of #985 was assigned to fly "Tail-end Charlie" position, i.e., the last ship in the last element of the formation, and was jokingly called by veteran crews, the "Purple Heart" position. ———After the 6-hour flight to the target ——— "Bombs Away", and "Fighters leaving airstrip" came in almost one breath as the bombs fell on enemy radar installations. Flak was plentiful, though inaccurate, as the Japs had been taken unaware, but very soon 30 Zeros were trying to make up for it, when they made their attack. Just as suspected, the "end" position drew a lot of their attention; the Navy PB4Y carrying the photos was hit, and one engine quit. Their fire-power Lib pulled out of formation to give aid, and the Japs swarmed the two straggling planes. The Navy plane regained its power and continued to head back to its base with the important photos. In the escorting Lib, the pilots struggled with the dead engine and nacelle fire while the crew kept the guns chattering at the Zeros. The battle lasted about 30 minutes before the enemy fighters gave up and headed for home. Then damages were surveyed; No. 4 engine was dead; control cables were badly creased but luckily still holding; nine 20-mm, and over 200 7.7mm holes were counted in the ship, but miraculously, no one had been wounded. They began to lose airspeed in a 20-knot headwind, and jettisoned all loose equipment in an effort to remain airborne. This was successful, when the plane leveled off at 5,000 ft., but the immediate question was: how much fuel remained to get them to home base?

With less than 30 minutes flying time left, the pilot ordered the crew to stand-by for "ditching", and the inter-com was alive with encouraging words from all the crew who knew that Chappie couldn't swim. The radio operator sent frantic distress signals, and the rest of the crew, with the exception of the pilots, went aft, for their "big plunge" into the Pacific. The water came closer; when all efforts failed, the radio operator crawled aft and joined the crew after sending his last frantic SOS; the pilot called out the altitude - - - 100 ft., - - - - 75 ft., - - - 50 ft., - - - and then the din was ear-splitting as the battered old Lib hit the sea and was torn apart. Everyone was dazed and stunned from the shock, but the onrush of cold water brought a beehive of activity as the crew fought for survival. Four crewmen went out the left waist window; two went out the right waist window, while the crew engineer and bombardier sought to get two life rafts out. By now, the remaining two were up to their chins in water, and remembering that the Bombardier couldn't swim, the Engineer pushed him out bodily, and followed him underwater. Together they managed to inflate two life rafts and not until long afterward, did it occur to Chappie that he didn't know how to swim. Like all the others, he was scared; but during the most strenuous moments, as his fellow crewmen later commented, "he dog-paddled with the best of 'em", and not just that, but he'd pushed a life raft ahead of him and barked orders to the two gunners who sought refuge on one of the plane's wings, to get off and get into the life raft, because the great Lib was going down fast. For that matter, in less than two and half minutes, the Lib went out of sight. The impact of the ditching had knocked both pilots unconscious, when the nose of the ship tore loose and slammed down under 20 ft. of water. When they revived, they released their safety belts and crashed through the broken plexiglass toward the surface. They each took one of the two rafts that had been released automatically and paddled over to join the rest of the crew. In the confusion, and not until heads had been counted, did anyone realize that one of the best swimmers, nose gunner Sgt. Harley Hines was nowhere to be seen. He'd been seen getting out of the ship, but no one saw him after that.

Darkness crept in quickly; wounds had been treated as best they could; every body ached, and the ocean splashed incessantly against the tiny rafts. Every man hoped for survival; they each tried for a few winks of sleep, but the 30 ft. swells of ocean waves constantly threatened capsizing their tiny rafts. At dawn on their first day afloat, provisions and water were carefully rationed. Each man took his allotted share without complaint, for they well realized it might be some time before they would be found, if ever. The sun came up, a welcome sight, on the second day, but it burned mercilessly on the occupants of the crowded life rafts. Somehow, Chappie had managed to salvage one lone cigarette, which it took nearly hours to light, but well worthwhile, for each man got about two puffs when it was passed around. That day, they also sighted a B-24, but it was too far away for flares to be seen, for it was still daylight. All eyes were watchful, but only empty, endless miles of ocean and sky greeted their view. This second night everyone ached for sleep, but cramped muscles and water-soaked clothes made it impossible. Another day adrift passed with nothing more momentous than more hunger and more thirst. On the third day a plane was sighted, flying at low altitude, and it created quite a stir because it looked like a B-26. The flares were ready to light and fire when the Engineer yelled "It's a Betty"! Everyone froze for a second and then Chappie screamed out, along with the pilot, to pull the blue side of the tarpaulins over the rafts. Thus protected, they held their breath and awaited the worst, but the Jap plane droned overhead and then hummed out of sight. Shaking with relief, the crew broke out a half can of rations, and two swallows of water for each man. Rigid discipline and strong will power was needed to take only the two small drinks of water allowed, when parched throats and blistered lips screamed for more. During the third night one of the rafts was capsized by a tremendous wave. The other crewmen paddled their rafts close and beat the water with their paddles to scare off the sharks, until the capsized raft was righted. Three nights without sleep; and all that night they were kept awake by a raging storm that constantly threatened doom. Even so, the rain was a blessed relief to their salt-dried lips and swollen faces. The fourth day and fifth night slip into oblivion; they were still adrift. Morale was surprisingly high, in spite of the ordeal. Capt. "Eddie" (Rickenbacker) had survived 21 days afloat with his crew; if he could do it, these boys were sure they could too; it became their goal. Each day they sighted B-24's, but always too far away to be of help.

As they embarked on their sixth day adrift their thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the ever nearing drone of a plane; could it be help or just another false alarm? All eyes scanned the horizon hopefully, and then one man spotted a Navy Lib bearing down on the rafts. Flares were hurriedly set off; in the dusk they could see the Lib acknowledge their signal by dipping its wings. Even out of dry throats, the cheers sounded loud across the water. Rations and water were broken into unsparingly as the PB4Y dropped supplies. That friendly Lib circled around all through the hours, sending out 'homing signals' for other rescue craft, and giving the location of the rafts. It gave the survivors a wonderful sense of protection, which later proved warranted, for they had drifted to within 250 mi. of the Jap stronghold at Truk. The following morning a Navy PBY Catalina attempted a water-landing rescue, but its hull burst open on the terrific swells, and was leaking badly when its crew abandoned it and joined their rafts to those of the survivor crew. However their mission had been accomplished; a rescue craft was underway and would reach their position in the early morning hours. Meantime they all chain-smoked, ate rations and drank water to their content, until the small destroyer pushed its way toward the tiny rafts. "It wasn't a big ship," Chap said, "but that familiar gray hulk was the biggest, nicest sight in the world". Cheers went up from all the hands on deck as they lowered cargo nets over the side to the survivors. It wasn't until then that the crew realized how tired, or hungry, or exhausted they really were, because it took every last ounce of energy they could muster to make that final step to safety. With gratitude to the Navy, the crew could enter in their log "Mission Completed".

Lt. Chapman was released from hospital May 16th, 1944. After being released from the hospital, and following a short rest leave in Hawaii, the crew returned to their base. On May 25th, 1944 they had a new B-24 waiting for them in which they would continue their combat tour The crew completed a total of 40 missions, and 431 combat flying hours. It is reasonable to understand that they chose the name of "Bathless" for their new craft (fashioned after the well-known comic strip hobo character of the times, "Bathless Groggins", created by Ray Van Buren), and were distinctly proud of the painting of "Bathless" on the fuselage of their plane. They had surely earned the right to return home, and Lt. Chapman had certainly earned the decorations he wore: the Navy Air Medal with 6 Oak Leaf Clusters, the Purple Heart, the Distinguished Flying Cross with one Oak Leaf Cluster, and the Pacific Theater Ribbon.

After being recalled to duty for the Korean conflict on July 3, he was flying westward, on July 12th, 1950 at 08:30 hours, high in a sunny blue sky over the Sea of Japan. Neil Chapman's life came to an end in a blinding flash as the B-29 aircraft on which Lt. Chapman performed the duties of bombardier, exploded and plummeted to a watery grave.

++From a Biography written by a grandson of the crew's Bombardier, Neil A. Chapman

and info from the Missing Air Crew Report (MACR) # 16425

………Crew involved in the ditching of "Battling Bitch" 4/17/44.

Pilot - 2nd Lt. Leonard F. Smisson

Co pilot - 2nd Lt. Laurence R. Gilbert

Navigator - 2nd Lt. Robert W. Starkey

Bombardier - 2nd Lt. Neil A. Chapman

Radio Op. - S/Sgt. James D. Douglas

Radar - Sgt. Victor Valenski (not in crew picture)

Engineer /waist gunner - S/Sgt. Oliver E. Allen

Ball turret gunner - Sgt. Julio Diaz

Top Turret gunner - Sgt. William S. Stroud

Nose gunner - Sgt. Harley R. Hines - - - - KIA - 4/17/44 (Courts of the missing )

Tail gunner - Sgt. John M. Hines (Not listed in MACR)

New replacement crew members assigned in May,1944:

S/Sgt. Ole Chard

Sgt. William C. McIntyre

Smisson's photo of crew list from May 1944. This photo has 2 replacements included. S/Sgt. Ole Chard and Sgt. William C. McIntrye who replaced S/Sgt. Harley Hines KIA 4/17 in ditching of A/C #985.

Lt. Smission's crew in front of a replacement B-24 they named "Bathless" at Kwajalein. It was waiting for them after they returned from a 6 day ordeal at sea, ditching in the "Battling Bitch". This pic was after hospital stay and a rest leave in Hawaii

Smisson's photo of crew list from May 1944. This photo has 2 replacements included. S/Sgt. Ole Chard and Sgt. William C. McIntrye who replaced S/Sgt. Harley Hines KIA 4/17 in ditching of A/C #985.

The MACR #16425 of a 392nd B-24 named "Battlin' Bitch" lost 4/17/44. Not listed here is S/Sgt. John M. Hines, the tail gunner (612) on this crew

Leonard F Smisson