“I Was Just There.”
Special Note: As we celebrate Veterans Day on Nov. 11, we’d like to share Paul Crawford’s personal account of his training and service as a fighter pilot with the U.S. Army Air Corps 14th Air Force Flying Tigers during WW-II. Paul was shot down by enemy ground fire while on a strafing run over Japanese-controlled territory in China.
“When I recall my time in WW-II, I always start by saying, I was not a hero! I was just there! That is not false modesty because it is the way I have always felt. I flew the P-51 Mustang.
The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and I graduated six months later, during which time Congress passed the law to draft 18 year olds. I knew I was going to be drafted so I went to Atlanta to talk with the Army Air Corps and the Navy about flying. I knew I didn’t want to be a “grunt” (on the ground in the dirt, rain, mud of misery and carrying a rifle) and, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t sure I had the guts for it. The Navy said they would accept me for flight training but wanted me to go right then to their Great Lakes training center. The Air Corps told me they would accept me, but to go on back to college and they would notify me when to report. I went back to Americus, entered Georgia Southwestern College and shortly thereafter I got my draft notice to report to Fort McPherson in Atlanta on Jan. 2, 1942.
I had an older brother, Tim, who had gone in to the Air Corps before Pearl Harbor and was flying B-26s, a great medium bomber. He ended up flying combat in the B-17 heavy bombers out of North Africa. He influenced my choice, of course, and I thought the Air Corps had better aircraft, and I thought the water was, as they say, too deep and too wide to swim.
I had another brother, John, who was a little older than I was and a scholarship football player at Georgia Tech. He also became a pilot and ended up flying B-24 heavy bombers out of North Africa. Think of your parents: three boys, all pilots, all in combat at the same time.
From Fort McPherson I went to Keesler Field for basic training and then to Nashville for classification and for training to be a pilot, navigator, or bombardier. I was accepted to be a pilot. I had pneumonia, thought I might die and not so sure I didn’t. They caught the pneumonia on one of my physical exams and took me to the hospital in an ambulance at night. I was sick for a few days and then couldn’t get out. They held me up for three months, which meant I graduated with the next class rather than the one I started with.
Now an aviation cadet, I was sent to Montgomery, Ala. for ground school. Very rigid, lots of discipline and academics like communications, Morse code, navigation, aircraft recognition etc. Next I was sent to Madison, Miss. for primary flight training in a bi-plane, PT-17. The ladies running the kitchen spoiled us. Best food during my whole Army time.
Next I was sent to Greenville, Miss. for basic flight school with the BT-13. Night flying, cross country, formations. Big cockpit. Had to have a seat cushion to reach the pedals. My instructor said, “Okay Crawford, get your parachute. I’ll carry your d**n cushion for you.” He later showed up in China with me. After basic flight school, you requested your choice of advanced school — fighters or bombers. The instructor told me, “Crawford, you are going to fly fighters. You can’t reach the pedals in a bomber.”
So I was sent to Dothan, Ala. for advanced single-engine training in the AT-6. Great little plane. Very acrobatic. My parents and girlfriend came down for the ceremony and parade for receiving wings and my commission as a 2nd Lieutenant. Got a 13-day leave and then came back for a few hours of training in a P-40. A plane with a long nose and a lot of power.
From Alabama I went on to Englin Field in Panama City, Fla. for aerial gunnery training in the AT-6s. Then we went to Dale Mabry Field in Tallahassee for fighter school and from there to an Army Air Base in St. Petersburg, Fla. There they had a squadron of P-40s and P-51s. When I walked out of the Ready Room onto the ramp, there sat those beautiful P-51 Mustangs. The Mustang was a pilot’s airplane, a dream — quick, fast, agile and fun to fly. I always say, “You shouldn’t turn a toy like this over to a 19 or 20 year old to fly. But I’m glad they did.”
After St. Petersburg, it was back to Tallahassee for an overseas assignment. I think I had maybe 100 hours in the Mustang, and about 250-275 hours total flying time — not a lot!
Soon about 15 or 20 of us were awakened in the middle of the night and were on our way overseas by way of Miami. After a few days in Miami for physicals, shots, briefings and my first drink (and by no means my last), we opened our orders on the airplane. We were on our way to Karachi, India. This was the middle of July. What a shock. A different world. But then we had to sit there until November when we headed to Chengtu, China and assigned to the 311th fighter group, 529th fighter squadron. We spent our time protecting the B-29 bases, the B-29s soon to be transferred to the Pacific Theater. Finally, after about nine months since St. Pete, Fla. and only 60 more hours of flying time (very little considered as combat), my squadron is transferred to Hsian and I’m headed for combat.
The great majority of our missions began early, usually take-off before down and in flights of four planes. My first mission, I’m flying tail end and we are headed over the Great Wall, over the Gobi Desert, and into inner Mongolia. Who is the Sam Hill would know that we were engaged in combat in Mongolia and Manchuria? Well, it’s my first mission, so they let me have first crack at a supply train. I cut my angle too sharp and too late and drifted right over the train. If they had had a BB gun down there then they could have shot me down.
Several other missions seem to stand out in my mind for one reason or the other. One I was flying wing. We were going out to dive bomb one of the main bridges across the Yellow River connecting Peking (Beijing) with the Southern part of China. I winged over into the run, right on target (guesswork in that day) and I took a heavy blast of flack. Knocked me off target. Then a second burst whammed behind me, knocking me right back on target. I don’t remember whether I hit the bridge or not. Probably killed a bunch of fish. I think that bridge, which was heavily defended, was hit once a week but seemed to be back in operation the next day.
Another mission, I was leading. We were heading north, looking for trains and targets of opportunity. We flew the outskirts of Peking turning southeast and spotted a supply ship in the canal going to Tiensu. I said, “OK, we’ll give him a call.” Down we went. I could see men running to their guns and a few tracers. As I cleared the target I turned to look back, saw my wing man pass over and his plane wobble a little. He started yelling, “I hit the mast, I hit the mast, I hit the ****mast.” I said “OK, OK, pull up and let me see what you’ve got.” He had a piece of the mast stuck in his wing. Amazing it didn’t break off his wing. That piece of mast is on his mantelpiece at home.
Another, I was leading, looking for targets of opportunity. We caught a column of troops on a road. I was the first one over and as I crossed I could see a woman with a baby in her arms trying to get to a ditch aside the road. I hollered, “Don’t shoot, Don’t shoot, women and children.” About that time though, too late, he pressed his trigger.
Those were just a few missions. My last mission was my 29th. I got shot down. Ground fire. Getting shot down doesn’t make you a hero! Again, I was leading. Flight of four. Mission — railroad sweep and targets of opportunity. We were strafing a small railroad facility. I got hit, had to bail out, was picked up by some Chinese Communist guerilla soldiers and led out. One of my house mates had been shot down nearby a few days before. The Japanese had got him, cut off his head and put it up on a gate post. We were chased by the Japanese a couple of times, evading capture, and, after walking about 200 miles, ended up at a compound owned by a wealthy Chinese man who had gone to college in America and married an American girl. A few miles away was an air strip where the OSS (U.S. Office of Strategic Services) brought downed airmen like me to be flown out.
I am lucky to be alive and glad to be here.
After serving in WW-II, Paul Crawford finished college at Georgia Tech with a degree in Industrial Management. That’s also where he met his wife, Jean. They were married 61 years before her passing and raised their daughter here in Atlanta. Paul worked in the paper industry and for U.S. Envelope Company until he retired in 1988.