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Let's take a listen. On a sunny June day in 1944, the only sound on the flight deck was the wind. As the Bose 24 Liberator, absent the power of its four engines, glided to its final moments of life before ditching in the choppy waters of the Adriatic Sea. My father, Lieutenant Ernie Latham, was pilot in command. Attention crew, get to the back of the plane. Certain his men had followed his last order, he now focused all of his attention on flying the wounded bird.
The command was standard operating procedure. The tail section would give the crew the best chance to survive. Earlier, as the wounded plane limped its way across Yugoslavia, he gave them the opportunity to parachute. No one jumped. Now, at 300 feet above the water, it was too late.
The young lieutenant and his entire crew would digest their fates together. Flaps. Ernie spoke in normal tone and volume. There was no need to panic. It only made flying the airplane more difficult. Seconds later, the flaps remained unmoved. Hogan dropped the flaps. Ernie shouted the command as he glanced at his co-pilot. Lieutenant Hogan seemed transfixed on the instrument panel. His hands were in his lap and in a flat, monotone voice. He kept repeating, I can't believe this is happening.
I can't believe this is happening. The plane slammed head-on into the wave. Instantly, the Liberator went from 110 miles an hour to dead stop. The roaring sound of twisting metal screamed as the bomber began to break apart. Then it became dead quiet. Quiet as a grave. Now, with nose of the plane aiming to the bottom of the sea, he had a strange thought. They'll think I died in the crash. Never know I drowned.
Guess I ought to try to get out. This began the arduous task of extracting himself from the sinking plane. Upon breaking free of the tangled shards of metal, he bobbed to the surface. Here, about 200 feet away, he discovered the emergency lifeboat. He fumbled with his pocket knife, found it and quickly used it to free the dinghy from its mooring. This activated the propellant and it inflated instantly. Climbing aboard, he began to search for additional signs of life. Of the seven remaining crew members, he found and saved five for the 15th Air Force.
It was a record that would never be broken. Within 30 minutes, the sound of a high-powered boat could be heard rushing toward the stranded airmen. The speeding craft filled with German soldiers armed to the teeth brought a new terror. Throw your guns overboard. The command came as Lieutenant Latham tossed his Service 45 in the drink. The German boat, emblazoned with Nazi swastikas and flag, circled the dinghy.
When it came to a stop, a man's voice offered a broken English breath of hope. Hugo, no guns. They were Tito's partisans. The German uniforms were the ones they'd taken off good Nazis.
The Red Ones. Five days later, the Yugoslavians returned the Americans to the warm confines of the 464 Bombardment Group. Back in Pantanella, Lieutenant Latham offered debrief to his commander. He left out the fact that he had injured his back pretty severely in the crash.
He had to be sent back to the States and lose any chance of flying his dream plane, the P-38. After he offered a detailed mission assessment and debriefing, the major said, You need some rest and recuperation. How would you like three days of R&R in Rome?
That works. What about the rest of my crew? A couple are banged up and will be in the hospital for a few days. They'll all get their R&R. It's strange how the fickle fangir of fate points to the fortunate few.
There is an old quote, It's not what you know, it's who you know. On his first day in Rome, Ernie met the right one. He and Jim Jameson hit it off immediately. After three days of hard drinking and soft swimming, Ernie asked Jameson, What do you fly for the Army? Company commander of the 306 Fighter Wing, P-51s. Oh my God, you've got to get me a transfer. I'd love to fly for you guys.
I'll do that. Who's your commander? Major William Moore. Oh, I know Bill. We were in primary training back in Oklahoma.
I'll send in a transfer request when I get back. Back at the 464th, Lieutenant Latham came to attention as he greeted Major Moore. Oh, I have some good news. You're receiving the Silver Star for saving so many of your crew.
And best part? You get to go home. They want you for a war bond tour or something.
Ain't going, Ernie said. You have to if you take the Star. The Army can keep, it's pretty metal. I want to fly fighters and I have a chance if Major Jameson does what he said he would do and gets me a transfer. He already did. I got a call from Jameson this morning and the courier dropped off the formal request about 10 minutes ago. If you sign the papers, I'm heading to fly P-51s. The Major smiled. I've already signed it.
But when you get your new ride, you'll need to come back and tell us how much fun it is to go fast. The next day, Ernie reported to the orderly at the 306th. I'm Lieutenant Latham. Need to report for duty. Where's Major Jameson?
Just a minute. Sir, the new pilot is here. Send him in. The 306th new hire came to attention upon entering the old man's office. Lieutenant Latham reporting for duty, Ernie said as he stood at attention before his friend.
Major Jameson smiled as he stood and greeted him. Did you start learning how to fly a Mustang? Well, that's what I want to talk to you about. Well, I need to ask for one more favor. For as long as I've been alive, I've wanted to fly a P-38.
Now I have that opportunity if you'll transfer me. Jameson wrote the letter to the office of the 15th Air Force Command, and in three days Ernie joined the proud ranks of the 49th Fighter Squadron. Here he would complete the remaining 36 missions of his standard 50 mission requirement of the Army Air Corps. Dad's days in the 49th came with many exciting tales of valor. His new gaggle of wingmen and stories of missions over Germany and beyond came with photographs to prove it.
I listened to every word he spoke and hung on each. In the early 50s when Superman made his debut on black and white TVs around town, my classmates turned their mom's old bedsheets into capes. I wore Dad's service cap with the gold bar. My Superman was stronger than 100 locomotives, flew faster than a 50 caliber bullet, and best of all, he sat at the head of our family dinner table every night.
Dad didn't eat a Silver Star and I never wore a cape. And a terrific job on the production by Greg Hengler. And what storytelling by Roger Latham about his father, Lieutenant Ernie Latham, a real life superhero. And you can be one to your kid.
They're watching you. My dad had many exciting tales of valor, the son said. I listened to every word he spoke.
I hung on them, he said. And that story about turning down the Silver Star and the easy war bond tour. The Army can keep their pretty medal, Lieutenant Latham said. The story of Lieutenant Ernie Latham and so many soldiers who served their country valiantly and the son who remembered them and honored them here on Our American Story. We've all got a thing. An obsession. For some of us, it's vintage fashion, our cars, anything we can collect.
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