1st Lt . Raymond Darling - Pilot |
324th Bomb Squadron, 91st Bomb Group |
A Distinguished Veteran |
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| Lt. Ray Darling was born on February 8, 1922, in Bonsall, California. He graduated from Oceanside High School in 1939, and attended the University of North Dakota. He signed up for the United States Army Air Force in October, 1942, and received his wings in May, 1944, in Pecos, Texas, as part of the class of 44E. He was assigned to the 324th Bomb Squadron, 91st Bomb Group, as a copilot on the B-17G (specifications) “Yankee Gal”, which was piloted by Lt. Mike Banta. He flew thirty-one combat missions, twenty-five as Mike Banta’s co-pilot. When Mike Banta completed his tour, Ray Darling took over the crew and finished as first pilot until the war ended. Several of his missions were flown in the B-17G “Little Miss Mischief”. He received the Air medal with four oak leaf clusters, several citations, and European Campaign medal. After the war, he owned and operated Texaco Service Stations. The following excerpts are used with permission from Ray Darling. |
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| Raymond Darling signing "Full House - Aces High" |
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| War and Peace |
 “Of the thirty-one missions, three were to Berlin. The most frightening mission to me was the last mission of the Eighth Air Force in WW II. The mission was to Pilsen, also known as ‘Pandemonium over Pilsen’, and was swept ‘under the carpet’. Hearing of it, and investigating it as a history professor at the University of Illinois, prompted Lowell Getz to write a detailed article, which was published in the January 2003 issue of Aviation History magazine. I was very fortunate to still be at Bassingbourn when the war ended. I was able to fly ‘peace missions’. One of those was to Barth. I still remember it so clearly, and that prompted me in 2000 to write a story about my experiences of that flight. I also flew ‘rubber-neck’ missions, which were low altitude flights over Europe to show loads of officers (Base officers, not flight officers), the vastness of damage we had done to Germany during the war, with our bombing. (No story written on those flights; I should write one though, because I flew too low over a little village in the German Alps and ‘clipped a tree’.) Being very blessed again, I was able to fly a B-17, loaded with veterans, home via the polar route, from Bassingbourn to Bradley Field, Connecticut. Most of my missions as a copilot were flown in ‘Yankee Gal’ with Mike. Several were flown in ‘Little Miss Mischief’. Picture enclosed. I am standing on the extreme left next to Mike Banta. (I’m the good looking one.)” |
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| The Revival Flights – Rescuing the POW’s from Stalag-Luft 1 |
| I was twenty-three years old, had flown thirty-one missions and had just been promoted to first lieutenant when the war ended on May 7, 1945. When Mike Banta completed his thirty-five missions, I had taken over his crew just as the last missions of the war were being flown. We were all waiting with great anticipation for our orders to return to the States when this message came over the intercom, “All pilots and navigators report to your respective squadron orderly rooms immediately.” “Oh, boy, I thought the day had finally come.” |
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| When we assembled in the Orderly Room, we were told by the briefing officer that we had one more mission to fulfill. Our mission would be to fly into Northeastern Germany to rescue our POW airmen from Stalag-Luft 1. The Russians had liberated the camp but seemed to be hesitant about releasing the American POW airmen. They were not being at all cooperative with their Western Allies. The briefing officer told us that we were flying into an airstrip at Barth Airdrome, a few miles from Stalag-Luft 1, and just south of the Baltic Sea. Here we would load the POW’s aboard our B-17s and fly them to the Bordeaux area of France, where they would be put on ships and sent back to the good old U.S.A. “The name of the operation is ‘Revival’”, he said. “The Russians don’t seem to want to cooperate in releasing our American airmen POWs, so we’re going in and getting them. If the Russians don’t like what we’re doing”, the briefing officer went on, “Then it’s just – Tough S#&t”. |
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| That was the first time I ever heard applause at a briefing! We were told to be cautious on this mission, to stick to the flight plan, and land only at the designated air field were we would receive further orders. We would fly singly, leaving at one or two minute intervals, and would fly at an altitude under ten thousand feet so no oxygen would be required. We were told to conserve on gasoline because this would be a long trip, and our twenty-eight hundred and ten gallons of gasoline had to last all the way home. Our crew would consist of five crewmen: pilot, copilot, navigator, radioman, and flight engineer. “Just so you won’t be taken by surprise,” the briefing officer continued, “You will be landing at Barth Airdrome on a narrow steel mesh runway rather than the cement runways you have been used to. But don’t worry,” he went on, “they have been B-17 tested”. The B-17s had been readied with all guns and armament removed. If you can imagine a transport without any seats except for the pilot and copilot, that’s what we were flying to rescue the POW airmen. The B-17 I was flying that day was lucky a/c #777, no name. As we went to full military power to take off in the early morning of May 13, 1945, I felt very comfortable because the crew consisted of my old crew members George Hobbs as flight engineer and Smokey Montgomery as radioman, plus a good friend and navigator from Ted Santos crew, Waldo Bowen. I’m sorry, but fifty some years has erased the name of my copilot from my memory. |
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| Our flight started perfectly, with clear weather and a beautiful sunrise. It felt wonderful to not have to worry about assembling a group of thirty-six bombers. We took off only worrying about one B-17 and getting to Barth. It was so different and nice, no formation, no oxygen checks, no flacks and no fighters. After getting to cruising altitude and trimming up the ship, the navigator gave me a heading. I set the autopilot and leaned back like an airline pilot and left the flying to it. No more six to eight hours of close formation. Then came the message I wanted to hear from Waldo, the navigator, “Barth straight ahead. Start your let down”. Smokey, the radioman, announced he had the control tower on the radio. The control tower gave me landing instructions and reminded me of the mesh runway. Several B-17’s had already arrived, and after a smooth landing, I taxied over to get into the line they had formed. The tower advised me to look for a ground signalman with a red flashlight. “He will signal you when to stop and go,” I was advised. “Don’t shut down you engines and don’t let any one off the airplane,” the tower continued. There were burned out hulks of German aircraft all around the field. But the only German aircraft I had seen in combat were 109’s, 190’s and 262’s and there were none of those among the hulks. Waldo, the navigator, asked, “ When we stop to load, is it OK if I jump off and get some pictures with my camera?” Knowing Waldo for a long time and trusting him I said, “Go ahead by hurry. I’ve got to go when they give me the signal.” As he was leaving the American POW airmen began to load the ship from the rear door. I sat in the pilot’s seat with engines idling and brakes locked and watched through the bomb bay as the men were coming aboard. George directed six to eight of them down into the nose compartment. Most had old shabby uniforms. They were all haggard, skinny and looked and acted like they were in a trance. Their eyes appeared glazed and no one smiled. They acted as if they didn’t know what was happening to them and appeared so meek and humble. They were just following orders. I tried to comfort a few of them by assuring them “we’re going to get you the hell out of here and on your way home”. George made his way to my side and told me, “We’re all in and the waist door is secure”. “I told George to tell all the airmen to sit down as best they could till we were airborne. Then the “Usher” with the red flashlight motioned for me to “go, go, go”. As I taxied out onto the runway, the B-17 in front of me was just getting airborne. Then it was our turn to start our takeoff roll. We started our long trip across Germany and France to an airfield near Bordeaux of which I didn’t know the name no I did know where it was located. But my navigator knew and that’s all that counted. |
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 After climbing to altitude and trimming up the ship, I pressed the intercom button and said, “Pilot to navigator, I’m ready for my heading, over . . .” A few seconds later I called, “Pilot to navigator, my heading please . . .” Then in aggravation, I shouted, “Pilot to navigator, Pilot to navigator”. Then a shaky, weak voice came over the intercom saying, “Sir – uh – sir, I’m one of the POW’s that just came aboard. I’m sitting in the navigator’s compartment and heard your calls. There’s no one here except us guys that just came aboard”. I said, “Thank you, over and out.” Immediately, I frantically searched the sky ahead of us, and there it was, just a speck in the sky. I could recognize that B-17 tail miles ahead. I didn’t even consider going back to Barth. Waldo could catch the next plane out. I just increased my air speed to catch that dot in the sky. I told George and the copilot to keep their eyes on the B-17 ahead. I was going to follow him wherever he was going. I said a silent prayer, “God get me out of this mess I’ve got myself into and I’ll never do it again”. In no time we gained on the other B-17 until we were flying loose formation with it and we still had plenty of gasoline to make it home. About this time, a skinny, bedraggled, frail figure came up from the nose compartment and asked, “Sir, did you find your navigator?” “No,” I said, “but it’s no problem. We’re following the B-17 ahead of us, and we’re going to the same place”. We struck up a conversation and he commented that he was a captain and had flown B-17F’s. He said he noticed that quite a few changes had been made to the B17G. He told me what it had been like to be in the Stalag I and IV. Then a thought struck me as I empathized with what he had been going through. I got out of my seat and said, “Captain, get in my seat and fly the G for a while. You’ll like it.” He got into the left hand seat and for the brief time he looked young and vibrant again as he once again flew that magnificent machine, the B-17. He just beamed. Then after a few minutes of flying he got up and went back to the nose compartment. In a few moments he returned with a handful of German souvenirs he had picked up while in captivity: a box of German matches, a swastika armband and some patches from German pilot uniforms. I still have and cherish those few small gifts he gave me. |
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| The rest of the flight was routine. We followed the leader to our destination, landed and watched as they loaded the rescued American POW airmen into trucks. We then parked the B-17 next to the one we had followed and had a nice tasty K ration for lunch. While eating lunch I heard a voice call out, “Ray, there you are”. It was Waldo. He had caught the next plane to Barth. After lunch, we flew back to Bassingbourn and none of us ever mentioned what had happened. Waldo was part of my crew when I ferried a no name B-17 back to the States. The 91st sent forty-one B-17G’s to Barth on the 13 of May 1945. If each B-17 carried thirty POW’s as we did, twelve hundred and thirty American POW airmen were freed and sent on their way home that day. Operation Revival lasted three days. |
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| Raymond Darling is one of our Rogue's Gallery members. |
| (Thanks are due Ray for providing photos and stories) |
