F.E. WARREN AIR FORCE BASE, Wyo. -- On the morning of August 18, 2024, as I approached FIFI – one of two airworthy B-29s remaining in the world – I reflected on the observations of a World War II Twentieth Air Force crewmember assigned to XX Bomber Command Mission No. 7.
Eighty years ago, after returning from a mission against the Yawata Steel Mill over Japan on August 20, 1944, this Airman (referred to only as “one of Major Van Horne’s Crewmembers” in a 468th Bombardment Group unit history) contemplated over a solemn moment preceding his unit’s operation: The squadron chaplain performed the “Last Rites of the Church” for anyone who observed the faith.
“That gives one pause for thought,” the Airmen acknowledged in the mission’s aftermath.
Obviously, that 20 AF Airman survived the operation to provide his sober impressions. Yet his recollection stuck with me, nearly 80 years to the day, as I boarded the aircraft until just after FIFI lifted from the ground.
Twentieth Air Force’s WWII Legacy
During the third week of August 2024, the Commemorative Air Force, or CAF, brought its AirPower History Tour to Cheyenne, Wyoming.
On August 14, roughly two dozen members of the HQ Twentieth Air Force staff received a private tour of FIFI, one of two operational Boeing B-29 Superfortresses still in existence.
Four days later, I was fortunate to catch a Sunday morning flight on the historic aircraft.
These opportunities connected today’s 20 AF Airmen with our organization’s World War II heritage.
On April 4, 1944, the Army Air Forces activated the Twentieth Air Force. Gen. Henry “Hap” Arnold established the 20 AF to serve as the sole organization for operating the next-generation bomber created during World War II: the Boeing B-29 Superfortress, the U.S. military’s most expensive weapon system of the war. Arnold took command of 20 AF while retaining his overall charge of the Army Air Forces.
For the last 14 months of the war in the Pacific Theater, 20 AF crews progressively devastated the enemy’s warfighting capabilities, both rebuffing a ground invasion of the Japanese mainland while simultaneously demonstrating the value of an independent air force, a co-equal military branch to both the Army and the Navy.
But it took time and training, and countless sacrifices, to develop the crews and techniques to get to that point.
Growing Pains
The B-29 was originally advertised as a long-range bomber that flew faster, further, higher, and with a heavier bomb load than any previous US bomber. It was intended to replace both the B-17 and B-24.
Those improvements tested the resolve of 20 AF Airmen responsible for operating the advanced bomber in WWII’s Pacific Theater.
Accounts similar to those expressed by the Airman assigned to XX Bomber Command Mission No. 7 abound, as crews associated with 20 AF’s WWII bomber units in the China-Burma-India Theater began increasing the number of combat missions.
Many had reason to be apprehensive.
The sophistication of this next-generation bomber clashed with an urgent desire to move it from production lines to overseas combat. The program was hampered with recurring delays, and these setbacks precluded crews from gaining familiarity with the aircraft prior to deploying overseas.
Before XX Bomber Command Mission No. 7, the six previous missions had been underwhelming. Early campaigns against Japanese objectives demonstrated both mechanical and targeting shortfalls with the B-29 program.
The August 20, 1944, bombing raid was part of Operation MATTERHORN, the bombing of Japan and its possessions from the China-Burma-India Theater, or the CBI. This was arguably the most challenging environment of the global war.
Moreover, those early operations highlighted the apparent challenges flying from India to the Japanese mainland, notably the constant risks endured traversing over the Himalayan Mountains. The engines alone – each B-29 initially possessing four Curtis-Wright R-3350s – regularly caught fire while flying over “The Hump” and elsewhere throughout the region.
No surprise that crews initially nicknamed the new bomber “the widow-maker.”
And why some prayed to avoid a fateful outcome.
FIFI the ‘Time Machine’
FIFI, the B-29 that today’s 20 AF members toured, was never assigned overseas. It rolled off the assembly line in 1945, two months before the end of the war. Due to its late production, according to one of the crewmembers with the CAF B-29 Squadron, the bomber was used as a stateside trainer. It was never assigned to Arnold’s 20 AF units.
Regardless, FIFI’s arrival was a unique opportunity for today’s 20 AF members stationed at F. E. Warren AFB to tour the aircraft. Few B-29s remain today, as the majority were either destroyed during combat, scrapped for metal, or are on static display in air museums across the world.
The Commemorative Air Force, based out of Texas, allowed 20 AF personnel an opportunity to tour both the aircraft’s cockpit and gunner compartment. We crawled over the entire aircraft, from the bombardier’s seat in the front – equipped with an original Norden bombsight – to the rear gunner’s position in the back.
Some in our group already possessed an understanding of the aircraft’s layout prior to the visit. The rest were captivated by the public history experience provided by the CAF volunteers.
The B-29 was the first pressurized bomber in both the forward section and the aft. The only way to transit from the cockpit to the rear was through a pressurized tunnel. Our group wasn’t allowed to crawl through the tunnel – and few were saddened, given the tunnel’s tight surroundings.
Inside the cockpit, we glimpsed where the navigator, radio operator, flight engineer, pilot, co-pilot, and bombardier all sat.
Everyone who passed by the radio operator’s seat acknowledged the plaque honoring Master Sergeant Henry “Red” Erwin, the sole 20 AF Medal of Honor recipient, for his heroic actions in April 1945.
On 12 April 1945, then-Staff Sergeant Erwin was serving as the radio operator aboard the B-29 City of Los Angeles when a smoke marker exploded and shot back inside the aircraft. Erwin instinctively picked up the burning phosphorous marker as smoke filled the forward section of the airplane, burning through his flesh and blinding him in the process.
Erwin managed to successfully toss the marker out of the aircraft, saving the lives of his crew members. One week later, Erwin received the Medal of Honor while recovering in a field hospital on Guam.
On April 4, 2024, the 80th anniversary of the establishment of Twentieth Air Force, we dedicated our headquarters building on F. E. Warren AFB in his honor, now known as Erwin Hall.
Inside the rear of the aircraft, our group was offered a rare view of the gunner compartment. Crouching through the compartment, everyone gained a sense of the discomfort that an aircrew experienced over the course of an hours-long flight.
From here, we each had an opportunity to sit in either the right or left gunner seats and peer out the “bubble windows” protruding from each side of the aircraft.
Agile members who crawled through the compartment to the rear gunner’s spot gained an appreciation for the challenges faced by those assigned to that position.
Capt. Travis M. Farris, deputy director, 20 AF Commander's Action Group, “found it incredible to learn that the rear tail gunner was in a pressurized environment separate from the rest of the crew.” Similarly, Mr. Arthur (“Bart”) T. Beisner II, 20 AF director of staff, was fascinated by the space: “Such a confined area and nothing but a tiny, fold-down wood bench to sit on for hours on end.”
Once outside, everyone had an opportunity to walk the length of the aircraft.
The aircraft’s “A” tail mark is in honor of the CAF B-29’s squadron founder, Mr. Victor N. Agather. FIFI was named after Mr. Agather’s wife; as a trainer, it was unnamed during WWII.
Facing the nose, Tech. Sgt. Jordan Stoeber, 20 AF’s ICBM electro-mechanical maintenance manager, directed my attention to the size of the propellor blades, and pointed out that each engine was individually-named: Ingrid, Mitzi, Rita, and Betty – after prominent WWII pinups, one CAF member shared with me.
The commitment of CAF volunteers to both preserve and teach about FIFI was readily apparent. Today’s 20 AF Commander, Maj. Gen. Stacy Jo Huser, was amazed “to meet the volunteers and feel their passion for maintaining and sharing these legacy aircraft with the world.”
She added, “it was awesome to finally touch and experience the roots of 20th Air Force. She is a beautiful machine and there’s a lot of love surrounding her.”
FIFI Airborne
Four days later, I had an opportunity to catch a morning flight on the historic aircraft.
Though I mulled the “pause” by Major Van Horne’s crewmember before boarding FIFI, I had little fear as I prepared to ride a twice-restored B-29 that had been flying since 2010, according to another CAF volunteer.
I was assigned the aircraft’s navigator position, behind the pilot and in direct view of the flight engineer to my right. Firmly bolted in front of my seat was a WWII-era map, featuring three of Japan’s four main islands, signed by Theodore “Dutch” Van Kirk, navigator on the Enola Gay, the B-29 that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945.
The seat also honored 1st Lt Bernard (“Bunny”) Black, a navigator for the B-29 Waddy’s Wagon. That aircraft was named after Waddy Young, a football standout at the University of Oklahoma who led the Sooners to the 1939 Orange Bowl. Waddy’s Wagon was part of 20 AF’s first bombing mission over Japan from Saipan in the fall of 1944.
Later, Waddy’s Wagon was one of 72 B-29s assigned to a bombing mission over the Nakajima Aircraft Engine Factory near Tokyo on January 9, 1945. After deploying its bombs on target, the crew of Waddy’s Wagon attempted to provide cover to a fellow bomber in formation that had been rammed by a Japanese fighter plane. Not long afterward, Waddy’s Wagon, including navigator Lieutenant Black, was last sighted descending 10 miles off mainland Japan.
That last detail, while not mentioned on the map, was one that preoccupied my mind before takeoff.
Once boarded, the FIFI crew conducted its pre-flight inspection. Next, the flight engineer started each engine individually. From my condensed view on the left side of the aircraft, I watched engine two rotate, followed by engine one. Ever slightly, the bomber rocked back and forth, even before the wheels began rotating.
Once all four engines began operating, one of the flight line crewmembers closed the bomb bay hatch. The aircraft somehow grew louder.
FIFI taxied to the runway, and just before takeoff the flight engineer focused intensely on the instruments in front of him, balancing fuel levels and increasing or releasing the throttle as needed.
I wondered about the difficulty of his job if we were preparing for a bombing mission at 30,000 feet with heavy Pacific winds whipping the aircraft. Hardly anyone in 1945 was aware of the bands of strong wind in the upper levels of the atmosphere, now understood as jet streams.
Fortunately, FIFI was only expected to reach 8,000 feet this morning, far lower than the 30,000-foot ceiling the aircraft was originally capable of attaining.
Not sure what I expected, but the takeoff was routine. Passengers seated in the cockpit watched the aircraft depart from Cheyenne Regional Airport’s runway through the glass front.
Traveling west, we flew over and past F. E. Warren AFB, Wyo., then eventually returned over the city of Cheyenne. In all, the old bomber was airborne roughly 25 minutes.
Once the aircraft ascended to 8,400 feet, my fellow passengers and I were able to walk around the aircraft and take pictures of views both inside the cockpit and beyond the glass front. I noticed that the altitude instrument in front of the navigator’s position, no longer used by the FIFI crew, was only off by about 200 feet.
Before returning to my seat, I looked through the tunnel that connected the front of the aircraft with the rear. It was deafening. What must it have been like to crawl across while mid-flight?
We began our descent into Cheyenne from the east. All B-29s were manufactured with nose-landing gear. This meant that pilots had to apply differential power for the aircraft’s hydraulic brakes. Aware of this, I watched the pilots labor to create a smooth landing.
FIFI glided back onto the runway, a rather conventional landing.
Mission Complete
For nearly 50 years, the CAF has been flying FIFI across the U.S. as a way to “share the same interest in preserving and teaching the history of World War II airpower.”
During the pre-flight briefing, the FIFI crew affirmed that every passenger would have “a B-29 experience.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant prior to takeoff, but I understood the sentiment upon touchdown.
I recall two immediate emotions I had following both the flight and the tour earlier that week.
The first was admiration. How fortunate was I to have an opportunity to ride in an aircraft that was instrumental in ending World War II? Once B-29s relocated to the Mariana Islands in late-1944 and early-1945, 20 AF operated the bombers with more efficiency than they had in the CBI. As previously mentioned, 20 AF crews gradually destroyed Japan’s ability to defend its skies against these advanced bombers.
The other emotion was grief. Before those crews could demonstrate the capabilities inherent in the B-29, many never survived to see the war’s end. Some died during operational missions, like the crew of Waddy’s Wagon in January 1945. Others perished from aircraft malfunctions, or suffered mightily, as was the case with MSgt Henry “Red” Erwin in April 1945.
Underscoring this grief was one more quote, this from Maj. Gen. Curtis LeMay, Arnold’s successor as 20 AF commander in the summer of 1945.
On September 2, 1945, the Japanese officially surrendered to Allied forces aboard the USS Missouri. At one point during the signing ceremony, LeMay and everyone else aboard watched 462 B-29s conduct a ceremonial overflight.
While standing on the deck of the ship, LeMay recalled “the young men who died to bring about this moment of triumph and, as always, wondered just where I’d gone wrong in losing as many as we did.”
With my “B-29 experience” on FIFI, I could finally empathize with LeMay’s mixed feelings while onboard the USS Missouri in September 1945. And I could hardly believe that flying on a B-29 nearly 80 years afterward still elicited such heavy emotions.