| Dale's ditching account, pg 2 |
| After Hank brought me the bad news, I went back to the waist section to help throw all removable equipment out the waist windows. With no power for the radio, we could send no SOS; however, firing up flares calling for fighter support brought two P47s to us. Using hand signals, we tried to convey that we had to ditch and that our radio was out. They signaled that they understood and flew with us until the time came to hit the water. As we assumed our ditching positions and then waited out the last few minutes before Lt. Locke set the plane down, I prayed that we might get through the ditching safely and be rescued. In view of the small place that I had given God in my life since entering service, I knew that I had no right to expect Him to answer my prayer; nevertheless, I prayed. I was aware that the Liberator was a difficult plane to ditch successfully and the rate of survival for crewmembers was rather low (I later learned that it ran only about one out of four). My closest friend, our crew's ball turret gunner, had been lost in a ditching when drafted to fill in on another crew on March 8. Only two of the crew were picked up. However, though I was quite concerned, I believed I would survive. I was still an optimist. When Lt. Locke dragged the tail of the plane in the water to slow it prior to setting the plane down, the escape hatch flew open and icy water sprayed us. It was unbelievably cold. Someone--I no longer remember who--jumped up from where we were sitting on the floor between the two waist windows (a rather foolish move, I thought) and tried unsuccessfully to slam the hatch shut with his foot, then sat down again. Seconds later when Lt. Locke attempted to set the plane down, a large wave caught the nose. It was like slamming into a concrete wall. The plane broke behind the rear bomb bay, and I found myself instantaneously submerged in the frigid water without even having time to take a deep breath. As I fought to get back to the surface, my forehead slammed against a metal object. My lungs were bursting, and I thought, I'm going to drown--what is it going to feel like? I even remembered reading somewhere that drowning was not such an unpleasant way to die and hoped it was true. I could not hold my breath one more second, yet somehow I did. Then my head broke above the surface, and I gratefully gulped in air. It was almost like being brought back from the dead--one moment after I had faced an imminent death, life was handed back to me. I was still inside the waist section, which had not broken completely free of the forward section. If it had, I would have gone down with it. Seeing that the right waist window was completely blocked, I turned to the other window, but Pete was struggling to get through the half of it that was not covered by wreckage. For a few seconds I tried to force my way through a narrow gap in the tangle of aluminum, then dropped back into the water. I thought about pulling the compressed air cylinder cords to inflate my Mae West, but stopped on thinking that I might have to dive beneath the surface in order to get out. In retrospect, I am surprised that I could swim with all the clothes I had on, which included heavy flight boots, but I do not recall having any problem. Fearing the waist section would break loose any second and sink, I frantically looked for a way out. Spotting a small opening in the side of the fuselage at the water's surface, I paddled over to it. I was relieved to find the fuselage completely ripped away beneath the water with plenty of room for me to swim through. As I was about to exit through the opening, someone screamed, "Help!" I turned around but could see no one. The last thing I wanted to do was to spend any more time inside the battered plane, but I could not leave if someone needed help. Hoping that the battered waist section would not break loose, I swam back a few feet. Still not finding anyone and not hearing another call for help, I swam back to the opening, pulled myself through, inflated my Mae West and began paddling away from the wreckage. I feared that if the plane sank, the suction would pull me under with it, but it continued to float. Hoping that someone had released a life raft, I looked around. No raft. I thought about attempting to climb up onto the wing to pull the raft release handle but was afraid the plane would sink and take me with it. I spotted four men in the water, but the only one close to me was Lt. Delclisur, who had a large gash over one eye with blood streaming from it. He called, "Let's stay together." I tried to swim to him but could make no progress against the large waves, and my arms soon felt like lead and I gave up. The waves washed me further away from him, and I lost sight of everyone. Surprisingly, the plane was still floating, and I regretfully thought that I would have had ample time after exiting the waist section to swim to the wing, climb up on it, and release the life raft. I did not see our plane sink, so do not know how long it remained afloat. I continued to paddle around dog fashion on top of my Mae West, finding it more and more difficult to hold my head up out of the water. I was now completely exhausted, but feared that if I turned over onto my back, the waves would wash over my head. Finally I could hold my head up no longer, rolled over and gratefully discovered that the Mae West held my head above the water and rode up over each wave with no effort on my part. Someone should have told us about that during our training, I thought. Having had no experience with life preservers, I didn't know that they were designed to float a person on his back. Hearing the sound of an aircraft, I looked around and saw a B-24 approaching. It flew over very low with its bomb bay doors open, and I saw a man standing on the catwalk. I thought he was going to drop a life raft; however, the plane circled twice and flew off. Why didn't they do something, I wondered. I was angry. |
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