Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Death In The Desert: Lady Be Good

By
Scott Schwartz

Radio Operator La Motte sent another message to the Malta station.  He was looking for confirmation that Lady Be Good's course (140 degrees) was correct, and he wanted to be sure that the aircraft was heading to Benghazi.  The response from Malta is unrecorded.  Nonetheless, La Motte transmitted again at 8:59 PM, and this time, he received confirmation that his aircraft was on the correct heading.  

Bombardier Woravka was told to jettison the bombs.  With a tailwind and less weight, Lady Be Good was being bowled along at two hundred miles per hour.  The ride was rough, though, and Lady Be Good, cruising at 8,000 feet, passed in and out of clouds.  

La Motte contacted a Benghazi aircraft control station at 10:05 PM.  He wanted an exact vector back to the base at Soluch.  La Motte apparently received the vector, but whether it was being adhered to is unclear.

More to come.

Monday, December 30, 2013

Liberator Down: Lady Be Good...

By
Scott Schwartz

So, Lady Be Good was heading home.  Radio Operator La Motte tapped out a Morse-code message to the facility at Malta, in an attempt to find out if Lady Be Good was on the right course for her home base.  It was 8:55 PM.  There was no reply.  

More to come.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Liberator Down: Lady Be Good...

By 
Scott Schwartz

With Hatton's decision to about the mission and head back to base, Lady Be Good departed Naples on a South East heading of 140 degrees.  Lady Be Good was roughly seven hundred miles from her home base, and she only had four hours of fuel left.  Clearly, navigation errors could be disastrous.  Further, the aircraft was still three hundred, fifty miles North East of Malta.  The crew was apprehensive about whether the radio operators on Malta would be able to pick up Lady Be Good's transmissions at that distance.  

To be continued...

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Death in the Desert: Lady Be Good.

By 
Scott Schwartz

Over Naples, navigator Dp Hays plotted a course back to Benghazi.  Over the intercom, Hays asked Hatton and Toner if they could radio the station at Malta in order to verify Lady Be Good's position.  Because Hatton and Toner were apparently arguing about something, neither of them answered Hays' question.  Hays then looked down at bombardier Woravka, who was in the "green house" nose section of the aircraft.  Woravka passed a note pad to Hays, on which the following was written:

"What's he beeching (sic) about?"  "What's going to happen?"  "Are we going home?"  Hays' answer is lost to the mists of history, but Woravka stuffed the pad back into his chest pocket.  

Someone on the flight deck finally said something at 8:52 PM.   "We're going home, turning on a magnetic heading of 140 degrees, departing the area."  "No bombs to be dropped."  "Call Malta and request a location fix."

To be continued on Monday.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Liberator Down: Lady Be Good.

By 
Scott Schwartz

It was 8:40 PM.  Altitude:  9,000 feet.  Outside, the sky was black.  There were no enemy fighters, and no fires on the ground.  Despite flying at a lower altitude, Lady Be Good's crew was cold, and they badly needed to urinate.  

A crew member suddenly exclaimed that there fires on the ground.  The crew tensed, as they prepared to be attacked by enemy fighter aircraft.  But, none came.  Nor did the probing fingers of enemy searchlights.  The fires, of course, were the handiwork of the previous raiders.  

Hays and the other crew members agreed that they were probably over Naples, but they wondered what to do.  

Co-pilot Toner bluntly stated:  "Let's get out of here, but let's not screw up our course!"  Hays was sure that he could guide the aircraft back to base.....

To be continued.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Death in the Desert: Lady Be Good...

By 
Scott Schwartz

Besides the physical discomforts, Lady Be Good's crew was starting to recognize the fruitlessness of continuing on.  Reaching Naples after dark would make it difficult to spot targets.  And then what?  

As the time approached 7:45 PM, Lady Be Good was approximately one hundred, sixty miles east of Naples.  The crew believed that they were approaching Naples, but, because of the poor visibility, some of the crew members wondered how they would know when they arrived.  At this time, neither waist gunner, nor the tail gunner could see anything outside of the aircraft.  

A nervous Dp Hays sat at his little table, trying to figure out what was happening.  His last log notes had been made at 7:00 PM, and those were sketchy at best.  His notes indicate, though, that he knew that the aircraft was near the "heel" of Italy at 7:15 PM.  Now, with Lady Be Good flying a heading of 330 degrees, he realized that the aircraft was flying up the east side of Italy.  There was approximately five hours of fuel left in the B-24's tanks, at this point.

Hatton believed that 330 degrees would take Lady Be Good to Naples.  Toner suggested a heading of 270 degrees (i.e. a more westerly heading) and that Hatton descend below 10,000 feet so that the crew could remove their oxygen masks.  Toner figured that they'd have a better chance of figuring out where they were, if they were lower.  Plus, the fires from the previous raid would still be burning, making Naples identifiable.  

Hatton descended to 9,000 feet and steered the aircraft to a heading of 270 degrees.

To be continued.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Death in the Desert: Lady Be Good...

By
Scott Schwartz

Despite short periods, during which navigator Hays seemed to be on top of things, the whole crew knew that they were way off course.  Still over two hundred miles West of Naples, Lady Be Good penetrated Italian airspace at approximately 7:15 PM.  The crew was scanning the sky for enemy fighters.  The cold air entering the fuselage through the open gun hatches, coupled with the necessity of using oxygen at the ten thousand foot altitude Lady Be Good was cruising at, made for a fatigued and irritable crew.

More to come.  

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Death in the Desert: Lady Be Good..

Pilot Hatton really should have turned back toward base, at this point.  Lady Be Good was alone.  Her inexperienced navigator was nervous, the sun was setting, she was flying in and out of the clouds and through rain showers, and the high winds had pushed her toward the Libyan coast.  Hatton knew that he would not reach Naples until 9 PM. Recognizing his target after dark would have been nearly impossible.  He couldn't call for help on the radio, because radio silence was being observed in order to avoid detection by enemy aircraft.  An experienced pilot would have seen that pressing on, under these circumstances, was foolish.  But, Hatton was not experienced, so he pressed on.  What he was thinking is anyone's guess.  A courageous and determined man, Hatton may have wanted to accomplish his mission regardless of the conditions arrayed against him.


Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Tempting Fate: Lady Be Good...

Off course and directed by a nervous navigator: this photograph depicts the fate of Lady Be Good.
Photograph courtesy of the United States Air Force.

Coming tomorrow evening: more about Lady Be Good.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Liberator Down: Lady Be Good...

By 
Scott Schwartz

Lady Be Good was now on her own.  The two B-24's ahead of her, and on whose navigation Hatton was relying on, had aborted the mission due to rough-running engines.  The sandstorm had done its work thoroughly.  Lady Be Good's engines were running fine, but she was alone.  I remind the reader that this was the crew's first combat mission, and the responsibility for finding the target lay with inexperienced navigator Dp Hays.  Inexperienced and unsure of himself, Hays apparently made a course correction in order to compensate for the high winds connected with the sandstorm.  But, by this time, Lady Be Good had been blown eastward, toward Greece, and she was still some 380 miles from Naples.   

Monday, December 9, 2013

Death In The Desert, Lady Be Good.

Ok, folks, I thought I'd share a photograph of Lady Be Good's crew.

Photograph courtesy of the United States Air Force.

Left to right: Hatton, Toner, Hays, Woravka, Ripslinger, LaMotte, Shelly, Moore, Adams.

More to come.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Death In The Desert: Lady Be Good..

By
Scott Schwartz

As mentioned previously, Lady Be Good was trailing behind two other B-24's, because its crew had the least (virtually none) combat experience. Lady Be Good's navigator, Dp Hays, was having no trouble keeping his airplane on course, while en route to the target, because his B-24 was simply following the others.  The winds from the storm were blowing the aircraft off target.  The two leading B-24's engines were still running rough, due to sand ingestion.  The navigator in the lead aircraft corrected for the high winds.  Everything was going just fine, for Lady Be Good's inexperienced navigator, Dp Hays. Until the two lead aircraft turned back for base, due to their rough-running engines.

More to follow on Monday.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Liberator Down: Lady Be Good, Continued.

I must emphasize that Mission 109 was launched under horrendous conditions, due to the sandstorm.  The disorientation among the B-24 crews is a matter of record.

Lady Be Good was to trail behind two other B-24's during Mission 109.  The reason for this is that, at the time, the aircraft with the most experienced navigator took the lead, while those with less experienced navigators bringing up the rear.  Since Lady Be Good's navigator and crew had no combat experience, Lady Be Good was the twenty first B-24 to take off, of a group of twenty five.

More to follow.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Death In The Desert: The Lady Be Good..

Once Mission 109 was completed, and it was discovered that Lady Be Good was missing, rumors abounded about a B-24 that had gone down in flames over Naples.  Naturally, this aircraft was assumed to have been Lady Be Good.  In truth, the only bomber missing was one that was designated "Number 64".  It took a little time, but it came to light that Liberator Number 64 was, in fact, Lady Be Good.  Further, no B-24's were shot down in flames during Mission 109.  The only airplane that was unaccounted for was Lady Be Good.

To be continued.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Death In The Desert: The Lady Be Good, continued.

Depending upon whose diary is to be believed, Lady Be Good took off at either 3:10 PM or 2:50 PM local time.  The fourteen cylinder engines mounted on all of the B-24's in Lady Be Good's section were sputtering due to the sandstorm.  Nine of the thirteen B-24's in the section turned back to Soluch, because sand had accumulated in their fuel lines.

By 7:45 PM, the four remaining B-24's of Section B were over Naples.  The area had already been hit by B-17's approximately three hours earlier, and the last B-24's from Section A were already heading for home after unloading their bombs.

In the wake of this previous attack, three of the four Section B aircraft were following the lead of the unidentified fourth B-24.  When the four airplanes were only thirty miles from the target (Naples), this mysterious lead aircraft suddenly veered away from the target.  The three trailing aircraft were obligated by procedure to follow.

The crews in the three following B-24's were puzzled; some of them believed that the mystery airplane was, in fact, Lady Be Good.  But, was it?


Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Death in the Desert: The Lady Be Good.

By 
Scott Schwartz

Lady Be Good was one of twenty five B-24's that were being prepared for take-off.  The time was 1 PM.  

As Hatton and is crew sat in Lady Be Good, its four big Pratt & Whitney engines rumbled as Hatton and his co-pilot Toner went through their pre-take off checklists.  Mission 109 was a risky one; enemy fighters-both German and Italian-were expected to be encountered, as well as heavy anti-aircraft fire.  

But, first the Liberators had to get off the ground; the storm was still blasting men and machines alike with sand.  Crews could not see outside their aircraft.  All hatches were closed, raising the B-24's interior temperatures to over one hundred degrees.  It was no wonder that many of the bomber crews were in their underwear.  Once the aircraft began climbing to the cooler air, the men would don their heavy flying suits.

To be continued...

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Death In The Sand: The Lady Be Good, continued

By
Scott Schwartz

During this gritty lunch period, pilot Bill Hatton and his crew were seeking the advice of other aircrews - this being their first combat mission.  Hatton and his crew had just found out that they'd been assigned to the Lady Be Good.

The men were particularly pleased with the their ships name; Lady Be Good evoked images of upscale clubs and "classy" ladies.  For his part, Hatton was thrilled that Lady Be Good was a brand-new, or nearly brand-new aircraft that had never been flown in combat.  As such, it was sure to "Be Good" by operating reliably, and of course, bring its crew home safely.....

More to follow. 

Monday, November 25, 2013

Liberator Down: The Lady Be Good..

The first attacks on Naples would be launched by B-17's at 9:55 AM local time.  Ultimately, the B-24 Liberators were to reach their targets at approximately 8:00 PM-right around sunset.

Lady Be Good's crew started their morning on a cold, miserable day. Rainfall during the night had turned Soluch's runway (which was composed of sand) into a muddy mess.  Attempting to take off under such circumstances in a B-24 that was laden with bombs and gasoline was frightfully dangerous.  Nonetheless, ground crews got the aircraft ready for flight, and the B-24 crews, having been briefed about the mission, were eating lunch.

Lunch was not at all pleasant; for a sandstorm had begun.  Howling winds buffeted men and tents alike.

To be continued.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Liberator Down:The Lady Be Good, continued....

By 
Scott Schwartz

Naples, Italy was a major re-supply center for German and Italian forces in Tunisia, at the time that Mission 109 was being planned.  

The attack on this important target was to take place in several stages, throughout the day.  

To be continued on Nov. 25, 2013.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Liberator Down: The Lady Be Good, continued...

By
Scott Schwartz

New Boston, Ohio native, Staff Sergeant Vernon Moore was the other waist gunner, as well as the assistant radio operator aboard the aircraft.  He was fond of reminding people that he and Roy Rogers were from the same city.  Not surprisingly, Moore loved Western movies, and, at twenty-one years of age, he was the youngest member of Lady Be Good's crew.

Mission #109 was set to commence on April 3, 1943.

More to follow.

B-29 "Doc".. in the Mojave Desert...

Boeing B-29 being towed from the China Lake Naval Weapons Station to Inyokern Airport.  I took this photograph in 1998.  This aircraft, known as "Doc"- as in one of the Seven Dwarfs-is now in Wichita, KS, where its restoration to flying condition is to be completed.

Photo by Scott Schwartz.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Liberator Down: The Lady Be Good, continued.

By 
Scott Schwartz

One of the waist gunners was Staff Sergeant Guy Shelley.  Shelly was also an assistant flight engineer aboard the Lady Be Good, and he loved to wear his striped locomotive engineer's cap.  Hailing from Harrisburg, PA, Shelley was a Protestant; he was also known for having quite a bit of stamina.  No one knows if he was wearing his railroad cap while flying on his last mission.

To be continued.


Monday, November 18, 2013

Liberator Down: The Lady Be Good, continued.

By 
Scott Schwartz

Lady Be Good’s tail gunner was Staff Sergeant Samuel Adams.  Although a Protestant, Adams shared one thing in common with Hatton; they were the only two crew-members who were married.  Unlike Hatton, however, Adams had a child-a son by the name of Michael.  Twenty four years of age at the time of  Lady Be Good’s last flight, Adams was actually a replacement for the original tail gunner, who’d failed to return from leave. 

To be continued... 

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Liberator Down: The Lady Be Good....

By
Scott Schwartz

Hatton’s flight engineer was Technical Sergeant Harold Ripslinger.  Ripslinger doubled as a gunner, and his home town was Saginaw, Michigan.  Like co-pilot Toner, Ripslinger was an enthusiastic Catholic.  Twenty-two years years-old when he was posted to Hatton’s crew, Ripslinger was an athletic, determined young man.  He was eager to go overseas, and he badly wanted his first combat mission to be successful. 

    

 Technical Sergeant Robert LaMotte was Hatton’s radio operator, and he was also a gunner.  Twenty five years-old at the time of the  Lady Be Good’s disappearance, LaMotte was another Catholic, and he had six siblings.  La Motte graduated high school in 1936 and worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps prior to the United States’ entry into World War Two.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Liberator Down- The Lady Be Good, Continued.

By
Scott Schwartz

In civilian life, he was a bank clerk.  He was the man who was responsible for getting Lady Be Good to and from her targets, yet the entries on his navigation log were spotty in some cases, and incorrect in others-which may have indicated has state of mind on the mission.  Navigator Dp Hays (Hays never received an actual first name- the other crew members called him “Deep”) apparently was an austere, unsmiling man from Sedalia, Missouri, whose quiet demeanor and partial baldness made him seem to be older than his twenty four years.  After attending community college for two years Hays joined the Air Corps in January of 1942.
Lady Be Good’s bombardier was 2nd Lieutenant John Woravka.  Hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, Woravka was twenty six years old in 1943.  He sent a cable from the base in Africa to his brother.  It was Woravka’s last message to is family.  In the message, he told his brother not to worry.


Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Liberator Down- Death in the Desert-Continued....

By 
Scott Schwartz

Toner, at the age of twenty seven, was the eldest member of the crew.  There were striking differences between Toner and his pilot, Hatton.  Whereas Hatton was a relaxed type, whose leadership and flying skills were good, but not outstanding, Toner was the most experienced aviator in the crew.  What was more, was that he was known for his courage and his “get-the-job-done” attitude. 
Coming from a broken home, Toner had always wanted to be a pilot.  The problem was that he was not a great student, and this disqualified him from service with the U.S. Army Air Corps, which he’d tried to join in 1940.  Not one to give up easily, Toner joined the Royal Canadian Air Force.  There, he learned to fly.  Once the U.S. had entered the war, Toner re-applied to the U.S. Army Air Corps- and this time, he was accepted.  The Air Corps made Toner start pilot training from scratch, despite his having over two hundred hours of flight time, at this point.  Still, by the time that he was posted to Hatton’s crew, Toner had roughly seven hundred hours of flight time- which was quite a bit more than Hatton had accumulated. 

Besides being the most experienced aviator in Hatton’s crew, Toner was one of the most religious; he was a devout Catholic who attended Mass and Confession on a regular basis.  Little did he know that his faith would shortly be tested.....   


Monday, November 11, 2013

Death In The Desert: The Lady Be Good...

By 
Scott Schwartz

Most writers and historians typically refer to those who manned combat aircraft as “the crew”, “the pilot”, etc.  Therefore, it is easy for us to forget that these aircrews were individuals, with thoughts, loved ones, dreams, and desires.  Accordingly, the crew of the Lady Be Good will be “introduced” to the reader, as follows:
Pilot:  1st Lt. William Hatton.  Hatton was born in New Jersey, but he was raised in Whitestone, NY.  He received a Jesuit education as a youth, and he received a Liberal Arts degree from Fordham University.  At one point, he’d considered becoming a dentist.  At the time of the Lady Be Good’s first combat mission, Hatton was twenty-six years old. 
With eight siblings, Hatton came from a happy home, and from an upper middle-class family.  By most accounts, he was a compassionate and warm young man.
War was on the horizon when Hatton graduated from college, in 1940.  Accordingly, he joined the U.S. Army  - as an infantryman – and served for one year.  Hatton was discharged on December 1, 1941.  Six days later, of course, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.  This time, Hatton joined the Army Air Corps.  During his physical examination, doctors discovered spots on his lungs.  As it turned out, the spots were found to be the result of sand he’d ingested during his infantry days at Virginia Beach.  With treatment, the spots cleared, but Hatton never got over his disdain for sand. 
Although he was originally trained to be a fighter pilot, Hatton found himself assigned to B-17 Flying Fortress bombers.  He never did learn the reason for this mysterious switch.  Nonetheless, while training to fly heavy bombers in Florida (during 1942), Hatton married a girl from his home town of Whitestone, NY, by the name of Amelia Jarsky.
Hatton’s sister, Elizbeth Henry paid him a visit during his bomber-training days- in August, 1942.  It was during their time together that Hatton told his sister that he had no desire to fly B-24’s, because they were difficult to bail-out from.
As previously mentioned, Hatton did come from a happy home, but his father was a rather stern sort, who prohibited any of his children from driving his brand-new La Salle automobile. The man relented, when Hatton told him that he’d been given command of his own aircraft.

An easy-going, modest fellow, Hatton believed that his co-pilot, 2nd Lt. Robert Toner should have been the pilot instead of himself.

To be continued...

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Death In The Desert: The Lady Be Good, Continued...

By 
Scott Schwartz

Hatton’s crew had been in Africa since before March 12, 1943, and Hatton’s “combat experience” had consisted of flying as co-pilot in a different Liberator, on a mission that was aborted due to poor weather.  He also flew several familiarization flights over the sand-dunes that were south of the field, with his assigned crew.  After this, Hatton and the rest of his crew were deemed to be ready for combat.  All they had to do was wait for a mission.



Most writers and historians typically refer to those who manned combat aircraft as “the crew”, “the pilot”, etc.  Therefore, it is easy for us to forget that these aircrews were individuals, with thoughts, loved ones, dreams, and desires.  Accordingly, the crew of the Lady Be Good will be “introduced” to the reader, as follows:

My dear readers:  As usual, I'm taking a break from Friday through Sunday.  This article will be continued on Monday.

-Scott

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Death In The Desert: The Lady Be Good- Continued....

By 
Scott Schwartz

Eighteen days later (they were delayed in Trinidad, because Rose clipped some trees with a wing-tip while parking the aircraft), 1-24301 arrived at Soluch Air Field in Libya. 

Because the new Liberator bombers were so desperately needed by the Ninth Bomber Command, the arriving aircraft were usually taken from the crews who flew them in and re-assigned to experienced combat crews.  Consequently, Sam Rose never saw 1-2401 again.

Of course, “experience” can be a relative term.

After being inspected and serviced, 1-24301 was assigned to a crew who consisted of the following men:

1st Lt. William J. Hatton-pilot.

2nd. Lt. Robert F. Toner, co-pilot.

2nd Lt. Dp Hays, navigator.

2nd Lt. John S. Woravka, bombardier.

Technical Sgt. Harold S. Ripslinger, flight engineer/gunner.

Staff Sgt. Samuel E. Adams, tail gunner.

Staff Sgt. Guy E. Shelley Jr., waist gunner/assistant engineer.

Staff Sgt. Vernon L. Moore, waist gunner/asst. radio operator.


To be continued...

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Death In The Desert: The Lady Be Good- Continued...

By 
Scott Schwartz

Lady Be Good was officially known as a B-24D with an assigned serial number of 1-2401.  Coming off the San Diego assembly line in 1942, 1-2401 was destined for service in the African desert.  Accordingly, it was ferried to Fort Worth, Texas, where it was outfitted for the combat conditions it would eventually operate under.  Once the aircraft was ready for combat, it was flown to Topeka Kansas.  There, 1-2401’s first crew was officially assigned to the aircraft.    

Her first pilot, Second Lieutenant Samuel D. Rose, originally named the aircraft “Bugs Buggy” and wrote this name in chalk on the fuselage.  The rest of the crew didn’t like the name, and when the rain washed the chalk away, the name was not re-applied, and the airplane left the United States as just one more non-descript B-24 Liberator.  At least, that’s one version of the story.  After the war, Rose’s navigator asserted that a member of Rose’s crew came up with the idea of naming the aircraft Lady Be Good.  Regardless, 1-24301, along with six other B-24’s started the long flight to North Africa on March 8, 1943.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Death In The Desert...

By
Scott Schwartz

Oh Lady Be Good

Listen to my tale of woe,

It’s terribly sad, but true,

Each evening I’m awfully blue.

I must win some winsome miss,

Can’t go on like this,

I could blossom out, I know,

With somebody just like you, so,

Oh sweet and lovely Lady Be Good,

Oh Lady Be Good to me.

I’m so awfully misunderstood,

So Lady Be Good to me.

Oh please have some pity,

I’m all alone in this big city,

I tell you I’m just a lonesome babe

In the wood, so Lady Be Good to me.

-Oscar Hammerstein II and Jerome Kern.


Returning from their first combat mission, the crew of the brand-new B-24 was in trouble.  It was just after midnight on April 5, 1943.  While en route to the Army Air Force base at Soluch, Libya, the pilot, First Lieutenant William J. Hatton, radioed that his automatic direction finder was not working.   He asked for a radio vector to the base.  The B-24 was flying directly to the base, from Naples, Italy.  But, because it had only a single antenna, the radio direction finder at the base was unable to tell its operators whether the aircraft was heading toward or away from the base.  Apparently, the crew of the B-24 never saw the flares that were fired by base personnel.  The B-24-which had been named Lady Be Good-flew onward toward oblivion.  

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Okha:Japanese Cherry Blossoms...

By
Scott Schwartz

Although devastating when they hit their targets, the Ohka was deployed too late to affect the course of the war.  Even so, the Ohka and “conventional” kamikaze attacks exacted a terrible toll, with over twelve thousand American servicemen killed as a result of these attacks.
And what became of Ota, Miki, and Ichikawa?  Ota actually stole an airplane three days after the war ended, supposedly intending to mount a suicide attack.  He wound up ditching in the ocean and was picked up by a fishing boat.  Fearing that he would be arrested as a war criminal, he hid out in a fishing village – surfacing only occasionally to borrow money (which he never paid back) from other surviving Ohka pilots.  He was last seen in 1949. 
Tadanao Miki refused to discuss the development of the Ohka and refused to release any of his documents after the war ended.  That changed when he happened to see an American documentary entitled Test Pilot, which chronicled the development of the Bell X-1 rocket plane.  Something about the X-1 being carried aloft and released by its large mother plane seemed familiar to him, and he decided that his war-time work might have some scientific value. 

As for Petty Officer Ichikawa, he died in 1980, after his aerial survey company went bankrupt.  In poor health, he spent his last days living alone in a run-down room.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Okha- Japanese Cherry Blossom- Continued...

By
Scott Schwartz

It should be noted that the men who flew the Ohka were not emotionless robots.  Many had misgivings about flying these missions and expressed their fears privately. In one case, an Ohka pilot confided to a comrade that he was afraid that it would “hurt” when he struck his target.  His companion told him not to worry, because he would be blown to pieces before he could feel any pain.   Some pilots, who had transferred from conventional units, expressed resentment at having to fly their last missions in what they considered to be a cobbled-together contraption.  Plus, Ohka pilots at one base actually rioted in response to the harsh treatment that they were receiving from their superiors.

To be continued.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Okha- Japanese Cherry Blossoms- continued...

By
Scott Schwartz

To many of us, the idea of constructing an aircraft specifically designed for suicide missions is incomprehensible.  From the Japanese point of view (at the time), the idea was very practical.  Besides being difficult to shoot down (once launched), the Ohka’s explosive was contained in the front of the aircraft, which maximized the explosive effect.  Young men, many of whom could barely fly, could be taught to fly the Ohka (a training version with a landing skid was produced) in less time that it would have taken to get them proficient in a conventional airplane. Still, the Ohka was not easy to fly, and there were accidents.

To be continued.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Japanese Cherry Blossoms- the "Okha"- continued...

By 
Scott Schwartz

The reader should keep in mind that Miki was not naive about the purposes for which even conventional aircraft were being used at this point in the war.  However, he rationalized that his job was to design and produce aircraft, with the decisions about their final use being decided by those in combat zones.  But to design an aircraft specifically for suicide missions was too much for him.  That is, until Ota explained that he would fly one of the missions.  Miki was taken aback by Ota’s dedication. 
And so work was begun on what became known as the Ohka (“Cherry Blossom”).  The aircraft was supposed to be powered by the same chemical rocket engines that powered the German Me-163 Komet.  This fuel used in these engines proved to be too unstable, so a jet engine was considered.  However, development of this engine was progressing too slowly, so Miki and his design team settled for solid-propellant  “gunpowder” rocket engines.
What eventually emerged from the laboratory was basically a large (2446 lbs.) flying bomb that was equipped with a small, rudimentary cockpit.  The only operational variant, the Model 11, had a range of about 23 statute miles, which meant that its lumbering mother airplane had to spend more time being exposed to enemy fighters.  Not surprisingly, many Ohkas and their carrier aircraft were shot down before they could launch their attacks. 

Still, with its extremely high diving speed (over 500 mph), the Ohka was almost impossible to intercept, once it was launched.  Seven American ships were sunk or damaged by Ohka’s.  In one case, an American destroyer was attacked by two Ohka’s.  One missed the ship completely.  The other one passed completely through the ship, with very little resulting damage.

To be continued.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Japanese Cherry Blossoms: The Okha....Continued..

By 
Scott Schwartz

Miki, having no idea what was coming, and figuring that he would be presented with another “cutting edge” guidance system idea, asked about it.  When Ota did not answer, Miki asked the question again and said that he was talking about “…the device to make sure that it hits the target.”  Ota replied that a man would be “on board.” In other words, the "the device to make sure that it (the new aircraft) hit the target" would be the pilot.


Incredulous, Miki exclaimed "What?!”  Trying to appear unfazed, Ota explained that the little aircraft would be carried by a bomber until the target was in range.  At that point, the pilot would climb from the bomber through the bomb bay into the small craft's cockpit. The flying bomb would then be jettisoned.  Ideally, there would be just enough propellant to get the manned flying bomb to its target while allowing its pilot to dodge defending aircraft.  Miki was outraged.   After calling Ota an idiot, Miki yelled that this "thing" would not be produced! 

To be continued next week.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Japanese Cherry Blossoms, continued..

By 

Scott Schwartz

Roughly two weeks prior to Petty Officer Motoji Ichikawa being asked to volunteer for the suicide missions, Lt. Commander Tadanao Miki, a designer at the Naval Aeronautical Research Laboratory, was asked to report to the laboratory Chief’s office to meet with a man who had plans for a new type of “glider-bomber”.  This irritated Miki, because the laboratory was in the midst of a crash (no pun intended) program to design jet-powered aircraft based on German design data.  He did not have time to discuss yet another cockamamie plan for a new “super-weapon”.  None of the previous proposals had ever been built, because the guidance systems (one of which was a heat-seeking device- imagine that!) were too advanced and impractical.  Nevertheless, Miki dutifully reported to his Chief’s office, where he was introduced to Sub-Lieutenant Shoichi Ota.  The Chief prompted Ota to continue the conversation that had been taking place prior to Miki’s arrival – the discussion of a “sure-hit” bomb.  Ota then produced a he drawing depicting a small craft suspended beneath a Mitsubishi Betty bomber.   The little craft did not have a propeller or landing gear.  Ota explained that the new aircraft would be powered by a rocket engine. 

To be continued.... 

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Japanese Cherry Blossoms....The Okha...

Contrary to popular belief, many in the Japanese military establishment were reluctant to adopt suicide or “body-crashing” tactics as official doctrine.  Even as the war turned against the country, Japanese tacticians believed that the goal in battle was to kill the enemy while at least trying to survive the battle.  Yet, as Japanese defeats mounted, there were more and more instances of desperate Japanese soldiers charging superior American forces, only to be mowed down in return.  Further, groups of pilots calling themselves Kamikazes) were making intentional suicide attacks on American ships, by deliberately crashing into and causing major damage to them.

Given the effectiveness of Kamikaze attacks, it didn’t take long for Japanese Naval officers to start lobbying for the use of suicide attacks as a regular strategy.  Although Naval Headquarters staff members were reluctant to go along with the idea, the reality of Japan’s war situation made it clear that there weren’t too many other options.  Accordingly, headquarters staff decided to include suicide attacks as part of Japan’s overall strategy. 

The “official” body-crashing tactics, though, left open the possibility (however slight) of crew survival.  This is because the early plans did not include aerial attacks.  Rather, the early strategy involved the use of manned torpedoes and the like.  This began to change in July of 1944, after the U.S. successfully invaded the Marianas.  Even so, naval leaders continued to resist the use of aerial body-crash attacks, because the deaths of the aircrews were guaranteed under such attacks.


In the meantime, B-29’s began making regular bombing attacks on Japan itself.  In addition, the Tojo government collapsed twelve days after U.S. forces occupied Saipan.   At that point, Vice Admiral Takijiro Onishi  - a proponent of aerial suicide attacks – “leaked” a story about the plans to produce body-crash weapons to a large newspaper.   In the story, Onishi advocated the use of aerial body-crash tactics as a means of winning the war.  He then lobbied the new government for the use of these same tactics.  With a flair for the dramatic, Onishi went to the home of one of the new government leaders.  There, he wrote the words “RESTORATION OF THE NAVY” with a brush on a large paper scroll.  Onishi was then placed in charge of the First Naval Aviation Fleet, a position that would enable him to carry out the plans for aerial body-crash missions. 

To be continued...

Monday, October 21, 2013

Japanese Cherry Blossoms, continued...

By
Scott Schwartz

Such was the dilemma facing Petty Officer Motoji Ichikawa on a hot August day in 1944.  A flight instructor at the Aonagahara training base, Ichikawa had seen combat during the battle of the Coral Sea and could hardly be described as a coward. To him, dying during combat was one thing; but planning to die was quite another.  Nevertheless, Ichikawa was a product of the Imperial Japanese Navy.  He wrote “yes” on his card. 


At this point in the war, most of Japan’s experienced combat pilots were dead.  Fuel shortages made it impossible to give new pilots decent training.  Attempting to penetrate the wall of anti-aircraft fire and the swarms of defending Hellcats made attacking American ships nearly a suicidal prospect anyway.  Plus America’s territorial gains convinced Japan’s leaders that an invasion of the home islands was a very real possibility.  Whether Japan’s military leaders wanted to somehow reverse the course of the war or merely force America to the bargaining table (and thus avoid the unconditional surrender that was being demanded by the Allies), it is clear that the Japanese wanted to inflict as much damage to U.S. forces as possible.  

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Japanese "Cherry Blossoms"..

By Scott Schwartz

“A sublime sense of self – sacrifice must guide you throughout life and death.  Do not think of death as you use up every ounce of your strength to fulfill your duties.  Make it your joy to use every last bit of your physical strength in what you do.  Do not fear to die for the cause of everlasting justice.  Do not stay alive in dishonor.  Do not die in such a way as to leave a bad name behind you!” – From the “code of ethics” that General Hideki Tojo ordered to be issued to all members of Japan’s armed forces in 1941.
You are a military flight instructor.  You’ve just returned early from a training flight, and you are removing your sweaty flight suit in the blistering summer heat.  Your country is losing a war that it had virtually no hope of winning in the first place.  You wish that you were still flying combat missions with your comrades, but you are also looking forward to spending the evening in town.  Before you can get the flight suit off, however, a loud speaker blares with an order for all pilots to assemble in front of the command post. 

Once you and the other aircrew are in front of the headquarters building, your wing commander dismisses those who are only-children, sons of single parents, and first-born children.  To those who remain, he talks of how badly the war is going and that your country will be destroyed unless “extreme” measures are taken.  Your wing commander goes on to say that a new weapon has been developed – one that will sink any enemy ship it strikes.  The wing commander speaks a little more slowly as he mentions the “catch” involved with using this weapon.  The pilot will not return from his mission.  Since pilots are being asked to volunteer for these missions, you can theoretically refuse. You are not afraid to die for your country, but you do not necessarily want to die, either. However, your decision will be public (you have to write “yes” or “no” on your identification card), and refusal to volunteer will bring dishonor to you.  In reality, you have no choice.  You will volunteer to die. 

To be continued...

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Autopilot and icing...

I was asked to give a presentation about the effects of aircraft icing on autopilot systems, to my Civil Air Patrol squadron tonight.  All of my research revealed the following:

Autopilot should not be used when flying in icing conditions, because it can prevent the pilot from feeling the adverse effects on aircraft handling, and because the ice-if it forms on control surfaces-can overload the servo(s).  If this happens, the autopilot may disengage, causing an un-commanded control surface movement-which can and has caused several fatal crashes.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Lockheed EC-121...

Just to be clear; the aircraft was ferried to Chino in January of 2012.

Lockheed EC-121...

The temperature was well over one hundred degrees when I took this photograph.  This is an EC-121 that was acquired by the Yanks Air Museum of Chino, California.  The aircraft was ferried here from Camarillo, CA, where it had been sitting for over a decade.  Photo by Scott Schwartz.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Lockheed Constellation - Part Three...

                                                                         By Scott Schwartz


Known to aircrews as the “Willy Victor”, the WV-2 became the EC-121K in Navy parlance, after aircraft designations became standardized among the services in 1962.  One hundred, forty two of these aircraft were ordered for the Navy, and the first of them were delivered in 1953.
Thirteen of the EC-121K’s were converted into EC-121M “electronic intelligence” aircraft, while another nine were modified to become WC-121N weather-reconnaissance machines.  Other EC-121’s were used by Navy training squadrons- and one of these aircraft served until 1982.
For its part, the USAF received eighty four EC-121’s; the first of these came from the Navy contract, with deliveries to the Air Force beginning in 1953.  Ten of these aircraft- RC-121’s – became TC-121C trainers.  Most of the remainder were used as electronic-monitoring or as radio-broadcast aircraft for use in psychological warfare.
The reader should consider that the WV-2/EC-121 aircraft were operated primarily during an era when satellite surveillance was in its infancy or was non-existent. 
So, it makes sense that the Navy put its WV-2/EC-121’s to use in conjunction with “picket” destroyers for nine years, beginning in 1956.  Flying missions which lasted as long as twenty hours, the aircraft extended the “eyes” and “ears” of the destroyers in the hope of detecting incoming Soviet missiles or bomber aircraft.  Squadrons of EC-121’s covered both the Pacific and Atlantic “barriers” – the operation being known as “Barrier Force”- with operations winding down by 1965. 
But, that wasn’t the end of Navy EC-121 operations altogether, as the aircraft was put to use in hurricane-hunting and intelligence-gathering operations, as well as for training Electronics Warfare Officers. 
As for the United States Air Force; the war in Viet Nam found that service making good use of its EC-121’s in connection with its Operation Rolling Thunder and with the Linebacker I and II operations.  Prior to the war, Air Force EC-121’s were used as adjuncts to land-based radar that was set up along both coasts of the United States.  Cruising three hundred miles off shore, the EC-121’s plugged the holes in early land-based radar coverage.
Once the war in Viet Nam began, however, EC-121’s were used to direct American fighters engaging in combat, as well as to track enemy aircraft.
Since the EC-121’s were designed to detect targets flying over water, terrain and buildings tended to “clutter” the images received on its radar.  EC-121 radar operators, however, drawing upon their experience in tracking aircraft over Cuba, were able to bounce their radar signals off the water.  This enabled them to detect enemy aircraft (those that weren’t flying too high, or too low, that is) up to one hundred, fifty miles away. The tracking EC-121 flew as low as fifty feet above the water, while a back-up EC-121 cruised at 10,000 feet, some distance away.
These EC-121’s made up the Big Eye task force.
Despite the EC-121 radar operator’s ingenuity in tracking North Vietnamese aircraft, most of the MiG’s being detected were far beyond the range of the EC-121’s “height-finder” radar, which meant that the radar operators could not tell U.S. fighter pilots how high the enemy aircraft were flying.  This shortcoming severely limited the EC-121’s usefulness as a fighter director aircraft.
Because the relatively slow EC-121’s were vulnerable to interception by enemy aircraft; therefore, they were protected by F-104’s flying MiG Combat Air Patrol (“MiGCAP”).  So serious was this threat, that EC-121 missions would be canceled if the F-104’s weren’t available.
As if the threat of being shot down wasn’t enough, the heat generated by the radar equipment rendered the on-board air conditioning all-but useless.
Despite these challenges, an EC-121 assisted in the shooting down of two MiG-17’s, by providing airborne radar warnings to two F4-Phantom fighters, on July 10, 1965.  This was the first interception to be controlled by an EC-121.
Beginning in March of 1967, Big-Eye became the College Eye task force, and EC-121 crews took on the additional tasks of directing attack aircraft, as well as helping to keep American Aircraft clear of Chinese air space.  This latter item was in response to a protest by Chinese, after an F-105 entered Chinese air space while in pursuit of a MiG.
August of 1967 saw the addition of Vietnamese-speaking crewmen to one EC-121K, which became known as Rivet Top.  The equipment aboard this aircraft enabled the crew to listen in on the communications between enemy pilots and their ground-controllers.  This may sound like an ideal arrangement, except for one problem; the bi-lingual intelligence specialists flying aboard the EC-121’s weren’t provided with radar screens, because the radar worked in conjunction with then-top secret equipment that could “read” enemy transponders.  Consequently, the intercepted communications could not be matched to specific enemy flights; this severely limited the system’s usefulness assessing threats to American Aircraft.  Even after these restrictions were lifted (in 1972!), American fighter pilots receiving reports were not told where the information was coming from.  What’s more, the poor quality of the radio transmissions from the EC-121’s required other aircraft to provide radio-relay services- which often did not work.  As a result, many fighter pilots were suspicious of the information provided by the EC-121’s, when they received it at all.
These problems were never completely resolved; nevertheless EC-121’s did manage to aid in the shooting down of twenty five MiGs between 1965 and 1973.
Operation of the EC-121 by the Air Force ceased altogether by September of 1978.  By that time, the aircraft had been transferred to the Air Force Reserve, which used them as advance-early-warning aircraft. 
There are roughly twelve EC-121’s in existence today; one of these is EC-121T -serial number 53-0548- which is owned by the Yanks Air Museum in Chino, CA.
Leaving Air Force service in 1979, “0548” was stored at Davis-Monathan Air Force Base, where it sat for five years until it was purchased by Wayne’s Aviation.  The aircraft wound up at Camarillo Airport, in Camarilo, CA where it stayed until January of 2012.
Wayne’s Aviation flew the aircraft to several airshows, but the organization lost its momentum- at least as far as the EC-121 was concerned-and the aircraft sat until it was purchased by the Yanks Air Museum in 2004.
At that point, Yanks Museum Manager Frank Wright and his team of fellow mechanics had their work cut out for them.  Over nearly eight years, the aircraft was slowly brought back to life.
Not surprisingly, corrosion was a big issue.  The type of aluminum utilized by Lockheed in the construction of the aircraft tends to actually peel away in layers as it corrodes.  So, portions of the outer wing panels had to be patched up.  On top of this, the fabric on the rudders had to be replaced, the stainless steel fuel lines had to be carefully inspected (they tend to crack), and, of course, there was the FAA’s extensive list of items that needed to be inspected and/or repaired. 
Still, the big aircraft was ready for the ferry flight to its new home on January 14, 2012.  The FAA stipulated that only essential crew could be on board for the flight, and after completing several orbits over Camarillo in order to make sure that there were no mechanical problems, “0548”  departed the area, detouring over the Mojave desert (in order to avoid populated areas-another FAA stipulation).  Ninety minutes later, the EC-121 touched down at Chino Airport.
According to Mr. Wright, the museum has a few other projects to complete, before it can focus on the EC-121.  The plan, though, is to keep the EC-121 airworthy.  There are a couple of challenges involved- an Airworthiness Directive involving leaking propeller hub seals has to be complied with, but, Mr. Wright asserts that the real problem lays in finding pilots and flight engineers who are qualified to fly this aircraft.  Many of those who are currently flying aircraft like the EC-121 are in their late seventies.  So, it will probably come down to these pilots being able to pass their skills on to a younger generation. 
For now, though, “0548” is in good hands.
EC-121 Data:
Length:  116 ft., 2 in.
Wing span:  126 ft., 2 in.
Empty weight:  69, 210 pounds.
Engines:  Four Wright R-3350 turbo-compound units, eighteen cylinders each.  The engines were originally rated at 3400 HP each, but “0548’s” engines are “de-rated” to 2800 HP, because 145 Octane fuel is no longer available.
Top speed:  299 mph.  “0548” cruised at 200 mph during its ferry flight to Chino.
Service Ceiling:  25,000 feet.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Above The Weather: The Lockheed Constellation, Part Two.

By Scott Schwartz

Since the first flight of a Constellation didn’t take place until January 9, 1943, it should come as no surprise that the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) was very interested in this fast, high-flying transport aircraft.  World War Two was well under way, and, after all, the Constellation could out run the Mitsubishi Zero fighter, in level flight (theoretically, anyway).

Well, the initial plan was to allow the eighty Constellations being built for the airlines to be delivered to those airlines, but the airplanes themselves would actually be owned by the Government.  The USAAF would then receive another one hundred, eighty Constellations (designated as C-69’s) directly.  In reality, the USAAF decided to take all of the Constellations that were already on the production line, and it ordered more.  A total of three hundred, thirteen Constellations were ordered, but only a fraction of these were ever delivered to the Army.
This is because the Wright R-3350 was turning out to be far from reliable.  Many readers will know that the B-29 was powered by the same engine- and that one of the XB-29 prototypes crashed due to one of the engines catching fire-killing Boeing test pilot Eddie Allen and the whole flight crew.  Not to mention fourteen people on the ground.  This didn’t bode well for the Constellation  Although the initial test flights of the XC-69 yielded favorable results (indeed, Boeing’s Eddie Allen was “loaned” to Lockheed because of his experience with the R-3350 engine and is supposed to have said that the aircraft worked so well, that he was no longer needed.  This was a month before he lost his life in the XB-29 crash.), all aircraft using the R-3350 were temporarily grounded. 
The trouble was apparently traced to the design of the R-3350’s carburetor, and flight testing of the XC-69 was resumed in mid-June of 1943.  Once again, problems-this time in the form of leaking fuel tanks appeared.  This problem was resolved in April of 1944; but other problems like engine overheating and fires continued to plague the aircraft.  It became so bad, that Lockheed flat-out accused Wright of poorly designing and building the R-3350.  Lockheed even went so far as to recommend that the USAAF replace the R-3350 engines with Pratt & Whitney R-2800’s.  In response, the Army simply insisted that R-3350 production cease until its problems were resolved.
Naturally, this delayed the testing of the C-69 even further.  On top of this, the C-69 became less relevant to the Army’s needs as the war wound down.  So, most of the successes achieved with the C-69 were symbolic in nature.  One such instance occurred in 1944, when Howard Hughes flew a C-69 from Burbank to Washington D.C.  The trip was made in less than seven hours, and the aircraft averaged 346 MPH along the way.  Incidentally, this C-69 was painted in TWA colors (but, it had a military serial number), and it was to be handed over to the Army upon its arrival in Washington. 
Another aircraft- the original XC-69 had the distinction of being the last aircraft ever to be flown by Orville Wright, who was allowed to briefly take the controls during a flight that had departed from Wright Field.  And, finally, another C-69 was flown from New York to Paris, in August of 1945.  This flight was intended as a demonstration of the C-69’s trans-continental capability.  After all, the C-69 was intended to be a high-speed trans-continental troop-transport.  Nevertheless, the war had more or less passed the C-69 by, with the Army opting for the lower-flying, slower Douglas C-54 Skymaster.  Further, as the R-3350’s problems were ironed out, the needs of the B-29 program took priority.  Consequently, only fifteen C-69’s were ever delivered to the Army.   After the war, most of them were sold as surplus. Eventually, Lockheed converted them into airliners.  The old XC-69, which was briefly considered for conversion to Pratt & Whitney R-2800 power, was sold to the Hughes Tool Company.  Lockheed then bought this aircraft and converted it into the L-1049 “Super Constellation” prototype.
There is only one surviving C-69; painted in TWA livery, this aircraft rests at the Pima Air and Space Museum.
The lackluster success of the C-69 did not mark the end of the Constellation U.S. military service, however.
Lockheed introduced the L-749A version of the aircraft, which was supposed to be a more “economical” Constellation, in 1947. With the ability to carry 1555 gallons more fuel than the previous versions, the L-749A was supposed to meet airline requirements for a long-range airliner.  During the following year, the newly-independent United States Air Force (USAF) bought ten L-749A cargo aircraft, which were to be designated as C-121A’s.  The chief differences between the C-121A and the civilian Model 749A was the former’s reinforced floor and a large cargo door in the fuselage.  C-121A’s were later used during the Berlin Airlift and as VIP transport aircraft (VC-121’s).   Among the most famous of the VC-121’s was an aircraft that was named “Columbine” (a one-of –a- kind VC-121E)- which was President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s presidential transport aircraft.   By 1968, though, the C-121A had been completely withdrawn from service. 
But, still, the Constellation lived on in military service-albeit in a different form.
Back in 1950, the U.S. Navy had contracted for eleven cargo variants of the Lockheed Model L1049B Super Constellation.  And, prior to this, the Navy had ordered this same airframe as the WV-2- an early AWACS-type aircraft.  Well, the new cargo aircraft – first designated as the R7O and later becoming the R7-1-was actually delivered to the Navy before the WV-2, because, as a cargo/passenger aircraft, the R7-1 was easier to build.  First flying in 1952, the R7-1 could be converted from cargo to passenger aircraft relatively quickly.  Typically, the Navy removed at least some of the passenger seats on long over-water flights, in order to make room for life-rafts.  A couple of R-71’s were used to re-supply Arctic bases, and one of them is there to this day.   It had crashed during a landing attempt in 1970.  By 1962, there were fifty R7-1’s in the Navy’s inventory; during that year, thirty two of them were transferred to the USAF, which referred to them as C-121G’s.   The eighteen aircraft which had stayed with the Navy were re-designated as C-121J’s.  One of these remained in service as the Blue Angels’ support aircraft until it was replaced by another Lockheed product- a C-130-in 1971.
For its part, the USAF had ordered its own version of the Super Constellation, which it designated as the C-121C.  At first glance, the C-121C was similar to the Navy version.  However, there were some differences.  For one thing, the C-121C had square windows instead of the round ones found on the “J” model.  Further, the C-121C could accommodate troops (and their gear), passengers, or forty seven stretchers.  And, the seats could be stowed under the floor, so that cargo could be carried.
Like the civilian versions, the military variants of the Super Constellation were powered Wright R-3350 engines that were equipped with “power recovery turbines”.  Also known as “turbo-compound” engines, the theory behind their operation was simple:  the piston engine’s exhaust gases were routed through a turbine, which turned a drive-shaft that was connected via a fluid coupling to the engine’s crankshaft.  The idea was that the turbine provided extra power to turn the engine’s crankshaft.  That was the theory.  In reality, the system was prone to failure-so much so, that the set-up was sometimes referred to as a “parts-recovery” turbine. 
Still, the USAF received its first C-121C’s in 1955, and the type was retired in 1973.  One variant of the turbo-compound Super Constellation remained in service a little longer, though.  This was the EC-121 Warning Star.    
The idea of using the Constellation as an airborne radar aircraft germinated in 1949, when the U.S. Navy took delivery of two Model L-749 Constellations and had them fitted with large radomes on top of, and underneath the fuselages.  The two aircraft were designated as PO-1W’s, and their use confirmed the feasibility of operating powerful radar equipment on aircraft.  This paved the way for development of the next airborne warning variant- the WV-2 (the PO-1W’s were re-designated as WV-1’s in 1952), which was based on the L-1049 Super Constellation.
To Be Continued…..