Compiled by Ken White
As with all 46th Recon missions, the Kee Bird flight of 20-21 February 1947
was the culmination of many days of planning and preparation. For several
days before the flight itself, the crew had been briefing their mission and
doing their mission planning. Maintenance personnel had been preflighting the
aircraft during that time, warming the plane so instruments and systems could
be checked out prior to flight.
On the morning of the 20th, S/Sgt. Ernie Stewart was assigned to take the
place of S/Sgt. Robert Zweisler, who had a bad cold. Sergeant Stewart felt
he was lucky. In order to earn flight pay, a flier had to fly a minimum of 4
hours a month, and Stewart needed the flight time. The crew reported to the
operations room at about 0500 hours for a briefing, had breakfast, and went
out to make the final preflight check of the aircraft, a job that usually
required about 4 hours.
Emblazoned in large yellow block letters askew on the lower left side of the
aircraft fuselage near the nose was the name, "KEE BIRD," and a picture of a
bird trudging through the snow. Looking at this, few crew members could forget
the story of the plane's namesake, which was a mythological arctic bird, that
when the winter snows came and other birds flew south, the Kee Bird would
trudge around in circles in the snow, ruffling its feathers, and saying "Kee-
Kee-Kee-riced, it's cold!" But the crew members didn't need reminding that it
was close to 50 degrees below zero.
During preflight, number four propeller was found to be loose, ad the takeoff
was delayed. Lt. Burl Cowan, the navigator, had computed the twilight time
and said it was safe to delay until 1600 hours if necessary without
endangering the mission or their safety. But once maintenance took care of
that problem, the plane was in good shape, and was subsequently airborne at
1420 hours and climbed to 12,500 feet cruising altitude.
When maximum cruise power was established, the Airplane Commander, Lt. Vern
H. Arnett, noticed the airspeed was lower than it should have been. Instead of
increasing the power setting, he decided to let the aircraft settle down to
10,000 feet, thereby saving fuel and keeping the airspeed up. He reasoned
that as the plane became lighter from fuel burned, the airspeed would climb
up to normal. This did not turn out the way he planned, and he was eventually
required to increase his power setting slightly. By doing this he could not
practice the strict cruise control that is desired on all long polar flights.
Point Barrow was passed at 1800 in twilight as the crew flew outbound from
the Alaskan landmass northward over the ice cap. There would be two hours of
flying before stars were available for steering for a celestial fix. Weather
forced them to climb back to 12,500 feet in order to remain on top of the
clouds. A fix was taken at 2125 and gave their position as 81º40'N 135º50'W,
and a correction was made to put them back on course.
At 2325, when a final alteration was made to take them over the pole, the
aircraft was moving up along the 60th west meridian. Capella, the star they
were sighting on, was giving a good course line and indicated they were on
the planned track. The last leg to the pole caused some worry to the
navigators as the twilight was enough to make celestial sightings extremely
difficult. It was necessary to use the telescopic sight on their sextants
while making observations. At 2400 hours, the pole was crossed and the course
set to Alaska. Once this course was established, the celestial navigator took
three sightings for another fix. These were plotted and the Dead Reckoning
navigator disregarded them as the triangle was too large. This fix showed
them to be drifting to the left of course but no alteration was made as he
didn't believe the fix. Another fix was taken which also indicated the
aircraft was drifting to the left of course. At this time an alteration was
made and it was the last time they were to have any stars visible for
steering or fixing their position.
Just as the plotting of the last fix was finished, the weather began to close
around and over them. Their lst position, determined by celestial, gave their
position as 86º35'N 122º00'W, with the stars obscured by clouds. Lt. Russell
Jordan, the copilot, later said as they flew into the cloud bank, "At first,
we thought very little about it, since we had been flying VFR (Visual Flight
Rules) on our first leg...we assumed we would soon be breaking out of the
clouds. However, after flying IFR (Instrument Flight Rules) for about 45
minutes, we decided we would have to get a fix on our position and to correct
our gyro setting. To save fuel, Lt. Arnett decided to make a gradual climb to
get on top of the clouds. Using a climb power setting, it took us about 30
minutes to get above the clouds at 24,000 feet into twilight." The crew
needed to find a star to give them an idea of their heading, but even at
24,000 feet, there was still an overcast of cirrus clouds above them.
Unfortunately, the twilight conditions precluded them from getting a good
celestial shot and accurately determining their position.
Lt. Cowan, the navigator, said that under these conditions, it would be
impossible to get a good fix and recommended that the present heading be held
until the sun got high enough to get a fix on it. However as they watched the
sun rise above the horizon, it immediately started to set. Lt. Cowan pointed
out that if they took a fix, there would be so much of a refraction error
that it would not be a good one.
At this point, the navigators felt that they had at least a reasonable chance
of coming through to the mainland of Alaska. If the gyro precession rate
determined two hours earlier was correct, radar winds and ground speeds would
keep their dead reckoning fairly accurate. There was nothing left to do but
hope the precession data was correct and they would cross the coast at some
point identifiable by radar.
At this time, the crew had been in the air approximately 16 hours. Lt. Arnett
and Lt. Cowan were going over their navigational charts trying to figure out
the Kee Bird's approximate position. Shortly afterwards, Lt. Cowan told the
pilots that he was unable to give them a new heading or determine their
location.
The ETA (estimated time of arrival) for landfall was approximately 0630, but
at 0500 the radar operator reported land coming in on the scope, and called
"Landfall, 100 miles ahead." Flying for some time further on the same
heading, the crew noticed that the undercast was breaking up, although what
they saw below was not a very inviting sight, with mountains, rugged peaks,
and a rugged coastline as far as they could see. They endeavored to identify
the terrain. The mountains seemed to go right up to the shoreline, which was
surprising since in Alaska the terrain is smooth for more than a hundred
miles inland.
The crew felt they were faced with two possibilities. The first one was
holding the same heading until it got dark enough for Lt. Cowan to get a
celestial fix. In this case, knowing that they faced approximately 16 hours
of total darkness and estimating approximately 9 to 10 hours of fuel, it
would take them time, once they knew where they were, to make a safe landing
either at Fairbanks or stations unknown. The other possibility was to find a
place safe enough to make a crash landing during the remaining daylight.
While all this was going on, Sgt. Leader was trying to make radio contact
with anybody who could offer any assistance,
Lt. Russell Jordan proceeded to use the radio compass to locate a radio
station to home on, and after considerable effort, picked up KFAR, an AM
station in Fairbanks, Alaska. The signal was fairly strong, so he informed
Lt. Cowan and Lt. Arnett of his finding, and they turned to follow the
direction of the beam. After approximately a half an hour, however, the
signal faded out and the radio compass started wandering. He knew then that
it had to be a radio skip wave bouncing off the ionosphere instead of coming
directly from the station.
Radar observations were of no help either. It was known that around Herschel
Island the land is mountainous to within about 40 miles of the Beauford Sea.
But this did not fit the picture that came on the scope. First, there crew
turned left to look over a piece of land that looked familiar, then changed
their minds and did a 180 degree turn to follow the coast. This heading was
followed for about 45 minutes. By this time the crew was becoming anxious as
to their position and wanted to turn inland. This was done, and later they
began turns to the right, then left, and more 180 degree turns until it was
impossible to record them all. Lt. Arnett was obviously looking for a smooth
place to set the plane down.
Optimism rose when, using the radio compass, the crew picked up a station
transmitting a strong continuous signal. It did not have an identifier. It
was not conclusively known at that time, as it was later, that the Russians
were beaming bogus radio homing signals over the ice cap to lure our aircraft
and crews into Russian territory. Lt. Arnett suggested they follow the radio
beam and if they would hit a cone of silence over the station, to bail out.
Lt. Jordan, the copilot, looked out at the broken undercast, and not sure of
what was beneath it, politely informed Lt. Arnett that if he wanted to bail
out along with those who wanted to go with him, he could; but in no way was
Jordan going to leave the plane. He was staying with the aircraft.
With the plane boring around aimlessly and with no way to determine
direction, every effort was made to make radio contact with someone. Although
he had great difficulty raising them, the radio operator, Sgt. Leader,
finally made contact with Ladd Field, and requested a QDN (fix), When the
Ladd radio operator asked if it was a practice QDM that was being requested,
he was informed that it definitely was not. Ladd responded that no operators
were presently on duty but that they would get the operators out of bed and
immediately contact the Kee Bird when the operators were at their duty
stations. It was at this time that the Kee Bird crew radioed information to
Ladd as to the type of terrain the crew was flying over and the fact that the
sun was just below the horizon.
It was becoming increasingly obvious to Ladd Field that the crew would have
to crash land. When the Commanding Officer, Major White, was awakened in the
early hours of the morning of 21 February, it was reported to him that the
lst message Ladd Field received from the Kee Bird crew was, "We're heading
into the sun, and we're going to set her down." It was as the Kee Bird was
on the final approach just prior to the crash landing that Sergeant Leader
locked down his radio transmitter key to enable Ladd to get a line on their
position. Ladd picked up that transmission, found its bearing of 046º; but
then, abruptly, the signal went dead.
Lieutenant Jordan noticed through a break in the clouds at about the 1
o’clock position and 10 miles away what looked like a saucer-shaped area
among some rolling hills in the vicinity of a large glacier. He turned around
and told Lt. Arnett that he should take a look at it, as it appeared to be a
possible landing site for the Kee Bird. When Lt. Arnett got back to his seat,
he took the controls from Lt. Jordan and began a slow, descending turn to get
a better look at the flat patch of snow. As it was starting to get dark very
quickly, there wasn’t much time left to decide where to land. At
approximately 100 feet above the area, Lt. Arnett proceeded to fly away from
the site so he could make a gradual turn to line up for a final approach as
low as he could over the rolling hills at the far end. The pilots agreed to
make a normal traffic pattern and landing except that, although they would
lower the flaps, they would leave the landing gear up.
Since no one had any idea what was underneath the patch of snow, Lt. Jordan
suggested to Lt. Arnett that it might be a good idea to open up all the
escape hatches in the event of a rough landing, so they wouldn’t be jammed
and trap them inside in the event of a fire. But in doing so, they found that
the noise level became so great that they were unable to communicate with Lt.
Luedke, the flight engineer, on final approach. To compensate for this, they
arranged that when Lt. Arnett wanted the fuel selector switches off, he would
let Lt. Jordan know, and Lt. Jordan, in turn, would pass the word by patting
Lt. Cowan on the back, who would make sure the message got through to Lt.
Luedke, the flight engineer. This effort at purging all of the fuel out of
the fuel lines was a necessity in order to lessen the chance of a fire upon
impact. In the same way, when Lt. Arnett wanted Lt. Luedke to turn off the
master electrical switch, the same procedure was used, and the master switch
was turned off, cutting off all electrical power immediately before touching
down, which also cut of Sgt. Leader’s radio.
While this was going on, the men in the back part of the plane were preparing
for the landing by getting all the emergency equipment next to the escape
hatch so it could be unloaded quickly in case of fire. After stowing all
loose articles and getting strapped in, Sgt. Ernie Stewart remembers offering
a short prayer, asking that if the plane caught on fire, that they would have
time to get out of the plane and take most of the survival gear with then. He
also prayed that if the plane exploded on impact that everyone would be given
a painless death.
The tail skid struck first and dragged for about 25 feet. Then the tail skid
bounced up and the fuselage touched down, causing the crew members to lurch
forward. The plane skidded on its belly for about 800 feet before it finally
stopped. The only sensation was the deceleration. The plane did not turn
from its initial heading once it touched down on the ice.
As the plane stopped, Sgt. Ernie Stewart, who was sitting in the right
scanner’s seat in the rear of the plane, remembers being somewhat nervous and
having trouble unfastening his seat belt. Master Sergeant Yarbrough, who had
been sitting in the left scanner’s seat, told Stewart to calm down, which he
immediately did, and then released his seat belt with no further problem.
When the plane stopped sliding, Lt. Jordan, the co-pilot, climbed through his
escape hatch with a fire extinguisher to combat any fires that might erupt.
The number three engine appeared to be smoking, but it was later determined
to be caused by snow in the exhaust. The crew abandoned the aircraft with all
possible speed, but not before throwing the emergency equipment out the open
hatches onto the snow.
The first person out of the rear hatch was S/Sgt. Paul McNamara, who
immediately knelt down on the snow, made the sign of the cross, and offered a
short but silent prayer. While he was still on his knees, he was overheard
making an audible statement about how he thought this kind of thing only
happened to other people.
On initial inspection of the aircraft, Lt. Arnett noticed that the tail skid
had not been retracted with the main gear on takeoff, which accounted for the
slow indicated airspeed they experienced during the entire flight.
At this point, good luck began replacing their previous bad luck. On close
inspection, the “patch of snow” turned out to be the smooth surface of a
frozen lake and the plane had been cushioned after touchdown by four to nine
inches of snow. The Kee Bird had skidded the length of the ice and had come
to rest on the edge of the shore. All were thankful that there was no
evidence of fire.
The crew was soon searching through the survival gear and found lots of
equipment they needed and some they really did not need on this particular
trip, to include mosquito netting, tropical leggings and campaign hats. They
immediately started organizing their camp. Lt. Arnett was suffering from a
severe cold and sore throat, so Lt. Jordan took over part of his duties as
commander of the crew. Lt. Luedke, the flight engineer, immediately drained
oil from the engines while it was still warm and fluid, which was later to
come in handy for heating purposes. Emergency equipment was stored, rules of
sanitation made, and then the crew members discussed where they might be,
whether in Alaska, Canada, or, heaven forbid, Siberia. No one even considered
Greenland.
Lt. Jordan talked with the other crew members, and did not detect and fears or
doubts. The crew's spirits seemed to be high and all felt it would just a
matter of time before they would be rescued. There was not much else to do
except wait for it to get dark enough for Lt. Cowan and Lt. Lesman to make
celestial sightings in order to determine their location.
Lt. Luedke mixed some of the oil and gasoline he had drained from the engines
in a can, which, with the addition of a wick made out of a piece of parachute
harness, made a heater to warm up the “putt-putt” (auxiliary power
generator). He subsequently covered the generator and its battery with a
tarpaulin to conserve the heat so that neither the battery nor the generator
would freeze at the minus 55 degree temperature. Many anxious moments were
spent wondering if the generator would start and thus supply electrical power
to the aircraft radio so that Sgt. Leader could contact anyone that could be
of any assistance. It meant the difference between the possibility of an
early rescue and an extended, perhaps even tragic, stay in the arctic no-
man’s land. The time spent waiting for Lt. Cowan and Lt. Lesman to determine
their location before attempting to start the generator was some of the
longest moments of their lives.
Another fire had been made using the plane’s gasoline and oil, which let off
a lot of black smoke. The food they had on hand was frozen solid. Sgt.
Stewart opened one of the K-rations and found it almost impossible to remove
the clear plastic wrapping from a fruit bar as the plastic was frozen firmly
to the fruit bar it covered.
Lt. Jordan went back to the copilot’s seat. Sgt. Leader was still at his
position at the radio controls and they both continued to wait for the
navigators to determine their location. As soon as it was dark enough for a
three star fix, then it would be only a matter of getting the right charts
and seeing where the three lines intersected. As cold as it was, coupled with
the bulkiness of the clothing and gloves, it was a miracle that they were
able to accomplish what they were trying to do. Lt. Jordan remembers, “We
waited, anxiously wondering where we were, whether we would get a fix and
whether the putt-putt would start.”
Finally, the word was passed to see if the auxiliary power unit would kick
over. By heating up the oil pan under the auxiliary power unit for some time,
Lt. Luedke had greatly improved the chances of getting the putt-putt started.
Sgt. Yarbrough, with assistance from other crew members, made the first
attempts to turn it over. As the temperature was so low that the starter
would not turn the engine, they decided to wind a rope around the flywheel
and pull it to assist the starter. On the first try, they discovered the rope
was wound backwards, opposite the direction the engine was supposed to turn.
Their hands were almost frozen trying to wind the rope around the flywheel
for try after try with no results. Anxiously, they awaited the sound that
could mean the difference between early rescue and long exposure or even
death. After about two hours of “sweating it out” in more ways than one, they
finally got the putt-putt to kick over. When it came on line, Lt. Jordan
recalls that it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his life. This
meant that as long as they had fuel, they had a chance of making contact with
the outside world, since the auxiliary power unit was the only source of
power to the radio. Once the putt-putt was started, the crew members never let
it remain idle for more than 30 minutes. Now it was Sgt. Leader’s turn to
warm up his radio, get on CW (long range Morse code channel), and put out the
word where the crew was down.
During this time, Ladd Field was humming with activity. It was known that the
Kee Bird went down somewhere along the 046º radial from Ladd Field at
Fairbanks, but nobody knew how far out along the radial the Kee Bird was.
Major White, conducting the rescue effort from the 46th Squadron Operations
Room at Ladd Field, immediately dispatched several B-29’s to run search
patterns over the areas on either side of that radial, progressing
northeastward. At about the same time, Major White made a report to his
immediate supervisor, Brigadier General Frederick Smith, the Chief of Staff
at Strategic Air Command headquarters at Andrews Field, and informed him that
he had a plane down somewhere along the 046º radial from Ladd and that he was
conducting the search in rotating shifts with all available aircraft. This
meant that seven or eight aircrews were being launched at various times
during the long night to cover their search areas during daylight or twilight
hours when a visual sighting was possible, and then returning to Ladd Field
the following night. The Alaskan Air Command and Alaskan Theater were
subsequently notified. Immediately, General Joseph H. “Hamp” Atkinson, the
commander of the Alaskan Air Command, flew to Ladd to support the search and
rescue effort.
The 46th Squadron navigators were also working the problem with as much
information as they had at their disposal. They soon determined that, based
on the time the Kee Bird crew had seen the sun on the horizon from the 046º
radial from Ladd Field, as reported in their last radio transmission, the Kee
Bird crew had to be somewhere in northern Greenland. However, the first
position report from the downed crew suggested that they were somewhere on or
near Borden Island in the Canadian Archipelago. Immediately, Captain
McIntyre, flying one of the search B-29’s, was notified to set course for
Borden Island; but once he was in direct contact with the crew of the Kee
Bird, Captain McIntyre changed course for the updated coordinates radioed by
Sgt. Leader. Based on these communications, the Kee Bird crew was
approximately along the 80th parallel where it intersected the western coast
of Greenland, at an estimated 150 miles north of the Thule weather station
run by the government of Denmark. Captain McIntyre’s aircraft relayed the
welcome news to Ladd that the Kee Bird crew was down safely and McIntyre
passed on to Ladd the new information where the crew had said they were
positioned.
In anticipation of being located, the Kee Bird crew had set up the hand
cranked “Gibson Girl” radio for the search planes to “home” on. As they did,
they checked its operation by listening to it on the Kee Bird’s radio. It was
later learned, however, that the search planes did not receive any of the
Gibson Girl's radio transmissions.
Not having made visual contact, and running low on fuel, Captain McIntyre’s
plane was forced to return to Ladd Field. However, before they did, Captain
McIntyre gave the lost crew encouragement, and informed them that another
plane had left Ladd and would arrive early the next morning. He described
briefly the activity at Ladd to let them know that everything possible was
being done to effect an early rescue.
Though Captain McIntyre gave all the encouragement and hope he could, his
failure to pinpoint their location was disappointing. At first, Ladd did not
know whether the Kee Bird was 200 or 1000 miles out along the 046º radial,
but Captain McIntyre’s findings would be analyzed even before his aircraft
touched down back at Ladd. Major White and scores of 46th Recon personnel
would continue to remain actively involved, without sleep, until the Kee Bird
crew was safely recovered, no matter how long that would take.
Lieutenant Jordan then put on a set of earphones and shortly afterwards heard
a message from Thule, Greenland, saying that the Kee Bird was located
approximately 200 miles north of Thule and all further transmissions should
be directed to the Thule radio station, adding that they would be in touch
with Ladd and others concerned with the rescue effort. A schedule was
established between Thule and the Kee Bird as to when each would contact the
other, but for the present all was taken care of and there was no further
requirement for the Kee Bird’s radio operator to stay on the air. Only after
all information was coordinated with Thule and the rescue effort was
underway, did Sgt. Leader leave his post at the radio. Now that the crew’s
spirits were lifted, the thought came to mind to see if anyone could get any
sleep, since most of the crew had been up for over 30 hours. But some things
needed taking care of first.
Some time was spent storing away the survival equipment. Sgt. Ernie Stewart
recalls that one thing he did pull from the survival kit was a pair of
mukluks, a type of arctic boot. To get maximum insulation, first he put on
three pairs of socks, each one progressively heavier than the one before.
Over all these went the canvas boot. He found the mukluks to be amazingly
warm, and soon his feet were as comfortable as could be. As night approached,
the outdoor temperature dropped to about 60 degrees below zero.
The crew had a portable toilet in the back of the plane. Stewart quickly
found that the usual Air Corps flight coveralls were inappropriate for use in
the extreme cold when one had to use the toilet. Instead of only exposing
only part of one’s usually covered anatomy, much more surface area than
desired had to be uncovered when the flight suit was positioned in the
necessary configuration. By popular demand, the bathroom, such as it was, was
soon moved to an area just under the left side of the tail of the plane where
it was covered by a parachute. In this outdoor location, the bathroom was
still cold, but luckily during all the time they were in Greenland, the wind
never blew.
A plan was worked out where one person would stay on guard, while the others
attempted to get some sleep. They had difficulty in getting comfortable
places to sleep, and in trying to keep warm. The natural anxiety of being
rescued ran through their minds. Prior to the mission, the crew members had
attended a survival course conducted by Sir Hubert Wilkins, the noted Arctic
and Antarctic explorer, who gave them some tips on how to survive in the
arctic. One of them was that, even though it was extremely cold, the body
would still give off moisture. So, instead of sleeping with clothes on, it
would actually be better to take them off, turn them inside out and let the
moisture in the clothing evaporate in the air. Lt. Jordan remembers the
experience of climbing into a sleeping bag at 55 below zero wearing only his
underwear as quite a shocking experience. During their training, the crew
discovered that they had very little practical experience in surviving the
bitter cold, although they learned a lot through trial and error. Their
common sense and sound thinking was proven, as they survived the inhospitable
environment without a single casualty from frostbite.
They were awake and stirring early the next morning. It felt good to be up
and moving; blood began circulating and knots and kinks in their muscles from
the uncomfortable night began to loosen. Lt. Jordan was awakened by frost in
his face which had accumulated on the fur of the arctic sleeping bag as
somebody shook him and told him that there was a B-29 in the vicinity.
Apparently, Captain McIntyre’s promise was carried out on schedule. It was
still total darkness, but the crew members dressed and took turns turning the
hand crank on the Gibson Girl, hoping the plane could home in on its signal.
“I don’t know how long we were grinding away,” Jordan recalls, “but they
never could get a fix on us and we were informed by Sgt. Leader that the
aircraft would be returning to its base.”
When it started to get light, Lt. Luedke took another crew member and started
hiking across the lake to the far end. As Lt. Jordan remembers, “We heard
later that he had seen some rabbit tracks and had the idea of bringing home a
nice rabbit for dinner. Bob Luedke has since denied finding the rabbit
tracks, but we all agreed that the story had been good for morale at the
time.”
About this time, with the putt-putt again powering the Kee Bird’s radio, Sgt.
Leader notified the crew that he was in contact with another B-29, nicknamed
“Boeing’s Boner.” from Ladd Field, piloted by Captain Donald Allenby. The ETA
was given and the crew anxiously awaited the plane’s arrival. Captain Allenby
radioed that they were in the area, but could not see the crew. They were
trying to home in the Gibson Girl, but were unable to pick up the signal.
Captain Allenby and his crew were scanning every inch of the terrain for any
sign of the downed plane. Then Sgt. Leader contacted the radio operator of
the search aircraft. Telling him to hold their heading they were flying and
to talk continuously, reciting poems, stories, or whatever they wanted, but
not to break up the conversation. Sgt. Leader turned his volume down as low
as he could hear, listening, detecting, fade, or build. After several
minutes, he told the radio operator on the B-29 to have the pilot change
course 90 degrees to the right. Here again, he told the radio operator to
inform the pilot to hold course. Lt. Jordan recalls that at the time he left
the radio compartment and exited the plane, the navigator, Lt. Cowan, then
told him approximately which direction they should be able to see the B-29
coming from; and then, about 11 o’clock position off the nose of the Kee
Bird, there was a small speck in the sky. Lt. Jordan told Sgt. Leader that he
had visual contact and asked him to have the B-29 alter his course about 20
degrees and start letting down. This brought them right down over the Kee
Bird. Captain Allenby’s B-29 made several passes and soon the crew saw many
small parachutes opening with bundles underneath them which the crew was
grateful to receive. Then, after a short while, Captain Allenby bid the Kee
Bird crew farewell and flew off on his way back to Ladd Field.
The crew’s next job was to gather up the supplies which were scattered all
over the area of the frozen lake. Once they had them all together, they
started examining the contents of the containers dropped to them. Someone
must have had a wry sense of humor. One of the things Ernie Stewart found was
a calendar advertising one of the bars in Fairbanks, Alaska, depicting a
partially clad young lady. This was probably the one thing Stewart would have
never thought to request under the circumstances. Another thing that looked
good was the Dinty Moore Beef Stew, but they were faced with the problem of
getting the contents out of the can, as it was frozen solid. Sgt. Yarbrough
took an empty metal barrel that had been used to drop supplies and filled it
about half full of gasoline, the submerged a parachute harness in it for a
wick and set fire to it. This gave off plenty of heat and would burn for
about five hours. It also provided a means of heating up the cans of food in
boiling water. Still, it took quite a while to heat up the food to thaw it
out, put it in a cold aluminum mess kit and try to eat it before it got cold
again. The crew members soon learned not to touch their lips to the metal
eating utensils, since they would stick and it would feel like they were on
fire.
The coldness eventually affected everything mechanical. Sergeant Stewart had
brought with him a Clarus camera with which he had shot about a half a roll
of black and white film during preflight the day before. The camera had been
advertised as ideal for cold weather work, but perhaps the manufacturer
hadn’t considered it being used in quite such cold weather. When he tried to
take a picture, it refused to work. Sergeant Stewart had also checked out an
M-1 rifle as part of his survival equipment when he was back at Ladd. When he
pulled it out on the second day, he removed the trigger housing, cleaned it
off as much as he could, and then fired one shot to test it. About 20 minutes
later, he decided to test the rifle again, but again the cold weather had
done its work. He could feel the firing pin moving forward, but without
enough force to fire the cartridge. If it were thawed out, Stewart thought.
it might make someone a good hunting rifle.
The crew spent three days on the ice, and never saw the sun once. They had
partial light for seven hours, followed by about 17 hours of total darkness
during each 24 hour cycle. The plan for the second night was the same as the
first. They would each take turns standing fire guard while the rest of the
crew would sleep. Lt. Jordan found that by using an Army blanket to prop up
his parachute, and laying his sleeping bag on top, it was much warmer than
sleeping on the cold metal inside the aircraft. As the crew retired that
night, they did so in much better spirits. They kidded one another and told
jokes. The felt now that their chances of being rescued were good.
As the crew settled in their sleeping bags for a good night’ sleep, not only
were their minds more at ease because rescue was near at hand, but experience
had taught them how to prepare for sleep. On the first night, some
crew members slept in the fuselage with all their heavy clothes on and were
cold and uncomfortable all night. When crew members slept out in the open with
most of their clothes on, it was somewhat better but not cozy. On the second
night, some of the crew stripped down to their underwear before climbing into
their sleeping bags and found it much better in both warmth and comfort.
The following morning, the big question back at Ladd was, now that the crew
had been pinpointed, how to get them out of northern Greenland. A C-54 was
soon dispatched from Ladd Field towing a rescue glider. The aircraft was
headed on the most direct route across the Arctic to Greenland. The intention
was to land the glider near the Kee Bird, and once the crew was loaded aboard,
snatch it off the ice by the low flying tow plane trailing a hooked cable.
This system had been tested and found practical for certain crew recoveries.
And at the time, it seemed like the best possible solution to recovering the
Kee Bird crew. And if the relatively good weather over Greenland did not hold
out, there was no telling how long it would be before another rescue attempt
could be made.
That same morning, a thousand miles away, Sgt. Leader was again in touch with
Thule. He was informed hat another C-54 rescue aircraft, specially equipped
by the Air Transport Command with “JATO” rockets for this type of operation,
was on its way from Westover Field, Massachusetts, by way of Thule, to
investigate the possibilities of a rescue. At that time, an appointment was
also made to have Lt. Arnett talk with Lt. Cavnar, the C-54 pilot, and advise
him whether he thought a wheels-down landing on the ice would be possible.
Arnett was confident it could safely be done and told him that his crew would
mark out a runway. Several crew members had earlier found the ice to be solid
and the covering layer of snow to be an average of 5 inches deep. Now, to
give the pilot something to line up on, Lt. Jordan sent out several men the
length of what was to be the runway, and had them lay out cut-up sections of
signal tarps with the blue side up to mark the landing strip, Then they
placed flares at both ends of the icy surface of the lake to let the pilot
know that there was land at both ends, and it would be a little dangerous
(they thought) for the rescue plane to touch down before it was over the ice
or if it were to overshoot the landing and run into the shore at the other
end. All that remained was to light the flares as soon as the crew received
word, who in turn relayed the message to Thule, and, in Lt. Jordan’s words,
“all we had to do was to sit back and wait, and wait we did.”
Finally, close to his ETA, Lt. Cavnar’s C-54 was spotted on the east horizon
but appeared to be going past without seeing the Kee Bird. Sgt. Leader gave
Lt. Cavnar a radio call and directed his plane to their lake. At this time,
the crew members lit the flares and then tore up a rubber raft and placed it
in the barrel of burning gasoline and oil. This gave off a thick, black smoke
and was soon seen by the crew of the C-54. Arnett talked again with Cavnar
and told him that the runway was marked off by the crewmen and gave him a
heading on which to approach. The C-54 circled and finally made a low pass at
the marked landing strip and went around. The next time he was supposed to
touch his wheels, and then give her the gun and go around once more. Arnett
was going to inform the transport if his approach and touchdown looked OK and
recommend whether or not a landing be attempted. This, however, is not the
way Cavnar carried it out. He made his approach, touched his wheels and
completed the landing on this approach instead of the next as planned. The
plane overshot and ran into soft snow and rougher terrain. As there was no
damage done, the area was determined suitable for runway if needed on
takeoff.
After landing, the transport taxied up and down the improvised runway several
times to pack the loose snow. During this period the crew gathered back at
the Kee Bird and waited to load. The C-54 finally taxied in and Lt. Cavnar
kept his engines running while members of his crew were unloading emergency
supplies which they had planned to drop to the Kee Bird crew in the event
they were unable to land. There was not much gas in the C-54's fuel cells
because Lt. Cavnar wanted to fly with a low a weight as possible. JATO (Jet
Assist Take Off) units were attached to the C-54, which gave the aircraft the
equivalent of several extra engines worth of take off power. The Kee Bird
crew members were told not to take anything aboard the C-54, so Lt. Arnett had
all the sensitive material destroyed, and the “hunting rifle” was quietly
hidden in someone’s pant leg. After movies were taken of the crew, they then
climbed aboard the transport, which taxied to the far end of the ice, where
Lt. Cavnar prepared for takeoff.
Once the C-54 was ready, all the Kee Bird crew members were apprehensive about
the ability of the plane to take off. For a moment, the engines were roaring
but the plane was not moving. Suddenly, slowly, they started down the frozen
lake. At about 50 miles per hour, the JATO units were ignited and he
acceleration was impressive. Lt. Jordan recalls that at the time, “with the
noise and smoke, my thoughts were that we had an engine fire, and I was
thinking, ‘here we go again’.”
Meanwhile, another B-29 from Ladd arrived on the scene, piloted by Captain
Jack Setterich. “Moose” Holland, flying with Cap. Setterich remembers
looking down at the C-54 while it was on its takeoff roll and seeing a large
white cloud engulf the aircraft. His first thought was that the rescue effort
had failed and the transport had ploughed into a large drift. But the cloud
was smoke from the JATO rockets, and Lt. Cavnar was already safely airborne.
Since all the C-54’s emergency equipment had been off loaded on the lake. Lt.
Cavnar radioed Captain Setterich and asked if he would escort his C-54
aircraft back to Thule, in the event they ran into difficulties. Captain
Setterich readily agreed as he had enough fuel to do this and still return to
Ladd Field. He subsequently accompanied the rescue plane until it was on final
approach at Thule, after which he set course for home. It was during the
flight to Thule that Ernie Stewart learned that his twin brother, Earl
Stewart, was flying as a crew member on the B-29 piloted by Capt. Setterich.
It was a welcome reunion.
Meanwhile, Ladd Field was notified of the Air Transport Command communiqués
through Strategic Air Command, as well as relayed messages from the unit’s B-
29’s, that the Kee Bird crew had been rescued. With this information
verified, the last of the many B-29’s search aircraft launched from Ladd, and
the C-54 towing the rescue glider, were recalled back to Ladd Field. Only now
could Major White, General Atkinson, the Squadron navigators, staff,
aircrews, and dozens of others get some well deserved sleep. It had been over
sixty eight hours since the Kee Bird had been reported lost.
When the Kee Bird crew landed at Thule, they were invited into a hut where
they were served an excellent steak dinner. Outside, the C-54 was being
refueled by some local Eskimos using a hand pump to transfer aviation gas
from 55 gallon drums to the aircraft’s tanks. Shortly afterwards, the crews
were loaded back on the C –54 for a nonstop flight to Westover Field,
Massachusetts. Aboard the C-54, a medical doctor gave each of the crew members
a sleeping pill, and the next thing several of them knew, they were landing
at Westover Field. There the crew was greeted by the military brass, an array
of photographers, newsreel cameramen and the Red Cross. They were immediately
taken to the base hospital, where they had a wing of the hospital all to
themselves. Military policemen were posted at the door going to the hallway,
and others were stationed at the door leading outside. New uniforms were
issued as all they had with them was their flight clothing. They showered,
were given pajamas and bathrobes, and were escorted to the mess hall where
breakfast was waiting for them. In addition to providing them with the usual
shaving equipment, toothpaste and soap, the Red Cross also arranged for the
crew members to make telephone calls to their families
Shortly afterwards, several ranking officers came into the hospital wing,
including a full colonel, who greeted the crew and told them what they could
and couldn’t say to other people. They were told not to talk about the
mission at all. He even went so far as to say that the crew members could even
be accountable for what they said even after they got out of service. “It was
strictly a training mission,” was all they were to say. The base officer said
that they were setting up a question and answer press conference in the
lounge of the hospital and asked Lt. Jordan if he would go down and speak to
them. Lt. Arnett didn’t want to go. Whether he figured Lt. Jordan didn’t know
as much about the missions he did and had less of a chance of slipping up,
it’s hard to say. But Lt. Jordan went down and talked to them, remembering
what he was told to say by the colonel. Jordan recalls, “They must have
thought that I was either stupid or a doggone liar because all I talked about
was a training mission.” After a while, they shut everything down and Lt.
Jordan was relieved to get out of there.
Meanwhile, other crew members started out the door to find a post exchange or
a bank where they could cash some checks. The military policeman at the door
had strict orders not to permit any unauthorized visitors into the ward, but
apparently had no instructions about letting the crew members out. Ernie
Stewart remembers that they soon found a place to cash their checks, with
each of them identifying the others for the benefit of the bank clerk.
Shortly afterwards the Kee Bird crew was loaded into a C-47 and flown to
Selfridge Field in Michigan, where they stayed overnight, and then on to
Great Falls, Montana, and finally on back to Ladd Field in Fairbanks, Alaska.
“Our mission was complete,” Lt. Jordan recalls. “It just took us much longer
than anticipated.”
For his role in the rescue of the Kee Bird crew, Lt, Cavnar, the pilot of the
C-54 rescue aircraft, received the Distinguished Flying Cross from the Air
Force Chief of Staff, General Carl Spaatz; and personal congratulations from
the United States Congress and President Harry S. Truman. Lt. Cavnar’s
commendations were well deserved as they proudly reflect the Air Force’s
tradition of looking after its own.
In a few days the Kee Bird crew was back with their unit ready for work. This
flight did more than just cost the Air Force an airplane and the expense for
the rescue operation. Other crewmen that were making similar flights on a
daily basis learned that they were not expendable, and that there was a good
chance of rescue if they were forced down in the polar regions. The Kee
Bird's crew was back to tell whether the emergency equipment carried aboard
the planes was adequate or not. They knew what it was like to be down within
the shadow of the pole and survive. The information they passed on to their
fellow crewmen was invaluable in boosting the unit’s morale and confidence,
and further contributed to the 46th Recon Squadron’s ability to accomplish its
assigned missions, an overall effort which was later to be described by
General Spaatz, the Commanding General of the United States Air Force as “the
greatest air achievement since the war.”
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