arnold nass story

The following stories are by Arnold Nass, as told to Brian and Nancy Kleeman, about Brian's father, Carlton Kleeman, and Arnold's experiences during World War II:

I started and finished my flying in San Antonio, Texas. After combat, I instructed in B-29s at Randolph Field until I was discharged in March of 1946.

He did not own it, but we really considered it Kleeman's plane and he let me put "The Sweetest Rose of Texas" on my side of the airplane. Everyone called it "The Rose." It was a great airplane. It flew in excess of 109 combat missions without an abort. The rose painted on the airplane, you know, was for my wife, Rose Mary, from Palestine, Texas. The bud, painted next to it, was for our daughter, Carla, born August 10, 1943. I almost washed out of Cadet Class 43-I at Ellington Field, Houston, Texas, just before getting my wings, because I went AWOL to see her at Palestine, Texas.

Keep in mind that I just got my wings Oct. 1, 1943, and was immediately assigned to Kleeman's crew as co-pilot and transferred to Blyth, California, for training in the B-24. In November or December, we had a long weekend off and most of the crew went to Los Angeles. Rose Mary and Carla were with a friend in San Diego, so I went there. We all stayed off base as long as we could and didn't sleep much, so we were all tired when we returned to the base.

As soon as we arrived at the field, we had to change our clothes and take off on a practice flight. I don't remember the original destination, but we got as far as Bakersfield and had to turn around because the head winds were about equal to our ground speed. We thought we would get to land when we got back to Blyth but no such luck. They sent us to Tucson and Phoenix before we returned.

Everyone, including Kleeman, went to the waist to sleep and left me alone to fly the airplane. Kleeman didn't yet know that I had difficulty staying awake at night when driving a car and of course it was no different flying an airplane. No telling how many times I dozed off, only to awaken as the plane was descending in a spiral.

We did, however, make it back to Blyth OK and landed south. The next morning, when we were going out to the airplane, I asked Kleeman what turns we made while landing the preceding night. He said, "Left." That was bad news because, as I recall, the mountains east of the airfield were high enough to interfere with our downwind leg. We were supposed to make all downwind legs on the west side of the runway and make left turns when landing north and right turns when landing south. We landed heading south. I don't know how we missed the mountains.

Our flight over the North Atlantic, where our very lives depended upon those four Pratt and Whitney engines and the ability of the superchargers to deliver the specific amount of fuel/air mixture for the power needed to take off, climb and fly at assigned altitudes, is my next story.

We flew from Langley Field, Virginia, to Bangor, Maine, on March 5, 1944. We spent the night there and then flew from Bangor to Goose Bay, Labrador, where we spent several nights waiting on repairs and a good tailwind. Next we flew from Goose Bay to Reykjavik, Iceland (about like flying non-stop from Los Angeles to New York) and spent another several nights there, waiting on repairs. Finally, we flew to Glasgow, Scotland, on March 27, 1944.

In addition to getting Kleeman's crew to England, we were delivering a new B-24 bomber loaded with radar equipment and radar operators. But before we cross the North Atlantic, let me give you a few numbers that will help you understand the seriousness of a very unusual problem we had all the way from Bangor, Maine, to Reykjavik, Iceland.

The atmospheric pressure at sea level is 14.7 pounds per square inch, and that is reduced by 40 percent at 10,000 feet, where the stratosphere begins.

Those same pressure differentials affect the amount of fuel entering the cylinders of our engines, where that pressure is measured in inches of mercury and determines how much power (horsepower) we have. At sea level, atmospheric pressure is approximately 29.9 to 30.0 inches of mercury. At 10,000 feet, it would be 40 percent less and we could not get that high or higher without superchargers.

On take-off at sea level, or thereabouts, we needed approximately 42-44 inches of mercury, climbing we needed about 36-38 inches of mercury and cruising we needed about 32-42 inches of mercury. Therefore, we needed superchargers to increase or maintain air/fuel pressures in the cylinders for take-off, climbing and cruising at various altitudes.

We did not have barriers to get over on take-off from Bangor, so it appeared to be normal, but we soon discovered that we were having difficulty getting to our assigned altitude and considered the possibility of turning around and going back to Bangor. However, we did not want to look like we had changed our minds about going overseas. So, at the point of no return, Kleeman made the decision to go on to Goose Bay.

It was a risky decision because blinding snowstorms happened there without adequate warning and there were no alternate airports within our reach. However, we landed there between snow banks higher than the B-24 and reported our problem. Although we were there several days waiting on favorable weather and a strong tailwind, maintenance could not find a problem to fix.

Knowing that we had a problem when we landed and maintenance could not find it, we were prepared for anything on take-off.

Once we started down the runway, Kleeman knew we were not picking up speed fast enough and he could only crash into the surrounding snow banks or ask for full flaps to jump the snow bank at the end of the runway and then let down over the ocean as much as possible, while getting the flaps and wheels up.

Once again we had to consider turning around and landing at Goose Bay, but Kleeman decided to continue on to Reykjavik -- about 2,500 miles, if we could get to our assigned altitude and maintain flying speed. At our assigned altitude, we were lucky to be flying in dry, cold air between two layers of clouds, because we could not get our carburetor temperatures above freezing. Any moisture in the air would have shut down all our engines.

Did your dad ever tell you about how changeable the weather was in Iceland? A low-pressure air mass sets right over Iceland a lot of the time and the weather can change from sunshine to snow in minutes and back to sunshine. The wind can be calm, but without warning it can be like a tornado.

We had to weight down our planes with sandbags to keep them from blowing away. Each building on the air base was connected with a steel cable, about one foot off the ground, so if you got caught between buildings when the wind changed, you could drop down and hold on to the cable until the wind settled down again.

Here we had a solid rock runway with about a three- or four-foot rock wall at the end of it and about a foot of snow on the runway during take-off. We knew that once we got going there would be no stopping without sliding into the rock wall. And sure enough, we had the same problem; instruments reading as they should for take-off, but not enough air speed. Once again we had to dump full flaps in order to jump over the rock wall at the end of the runway and then work them up, as we let them down to just above the water.

I don't remember the elevation of the runway, but it was higher than at Goose Bay and we needed every foot of it in order to get flying speed. We knew the problem was getting worse on each new take-off and then we discovered that we did not have enough power to climb to our assigned altitude. With our instruments reading 38 inches of mercury, we could not climb above 2,000 feet, so we had no choice but to return to the airport and tell maintenance we needed a new airplane if they could not fix ours.

Maintenance found the problem this time and was able to repair it. In the air intake system of the B-24 were rubber expansion joints and the rubber had cracked. We didn't know why or when, but that let the compressed air from our superchargers escape before getting into the carburetor and engine. The superchargers were working OK, as indicated by our instrument readings, but the air to the engine was only at atmospheric pressure (about 29 or 30 inches of mercury) and with that, we were not supposed to be able to take off or climb. After new rubber expansion joints were installed, the flight to Scotland was without incident.

After landing in Scotland, we were sent to London by train and while we were unloading, in the train station, the Germans unloosed several of their buzz bombs on London. We had to take cover under the train.

From London, we were sent to Clonto Air Base about 30 miles west of Belfast, in Northern Ireland, for low-level bombing training. It was something we never used, but it kept us occupied until we were needed at the 445th Bomb Group.

Once we started flying combat missions, it took awhile before Kleeman was up to his old tricks. When returning from such missions, we could have as many as 30 or 40 tired pilots, running low on gas and trying to get on the ground as fast as possible, at each air base. We had 14 air bases in a very small area around Norwich, England. Thus, we had procedures we were supposed to follow in order to prevent midair collisions. Kleeman didn't always follow those procedures.

When returning without low cloud cover, we strung out our 12-ship formation into its three-ship elements and crossed the end of our runway before each airplane made a double-needle width (60 degree bank), 360 degree left turn to land on the runway. Well, one time while I was still his co-pilot, he decided he didn't want to demonstrate or practice a short-field landing, so he asked me to dump full flaps, he stalled the airplane and landed, while his wing men had to go around.

When returning over low cloud cover, we came in to a radio signal at Norwich and then flew out over the North Sea; one minute for each 1,000 feet of altitude, turned 180 degrees and then descended 1,000 feet per minute, until we were under the clouds. Well, one time Kleeman spotted a big hole in the clouds and just spiraled his element down through it, without knowing what might be underneath the clouds. No problems.

We were in the 701st Squadron and it was in the 445th Bomb Group (H) along with the 700th, 702nd and 703rd. Each squadron was capable of putting up a formation of 12 B-24s and a typical formation had four elements made up of the High Right Element, the Slot Element and the Low Left Element.

Each element had a leader and two wingmen. While I was Kleeman's co-pilot, he led the High Right Element. When I was taken off his crew and given my own crew, I led the Low Left Element and Kleeman became the leader of the squadron. The squadrons alternated leading the Group, the Groups alternated leading the Combat Wings and the Combat Wings alternated leading the Second Air Division.

Our 445th Bomb Group (H) was in the Second Combat Wing with the 453rd and the 93rd Bomb Group (H).

Jimmy Stewart was in the 445th before we got there, but had been moved to the 453rd and sent on a mission somewhere in Southern Germany. He was leading the 453rd and it was leading the Second Combat Wing, so we were following him.

On the way home, his navigator got off course and led us over the Germans' radar gunnery school at Abeeville, France. If we had gotten there a fraction of a second sooner, we would not have gotten home.

That German gunner may have been a student, but he put a red hot solid 88mm or 105mm shell through our nose turret and within inches of our windshield, between Kleeman and me. Luckily it didn't explode until it was above us.

Kleeman's bombardier, E.E. "Gene" Wallace, Jr., was in the nose turret when that shell glanced off of the bulletproof glass in front of him and he was in the waist of the airplane before I could recover and ask what happened to him.