Time Capsule: Local veteran tells his wartime story

Those who filed into the gymnasium and took seats reserved for them were, by appearances, an ordinary group. There were men of varying ages, two or three women, most dressed in street clothes.  Had we been taken outside and lined up for a photo the result would have resembled the company picnic.  

There was a notable exception. On the end of the front row was a thin, white-haired man in a wheel chair. He was wearing the green dress uniform of a World War II Army Air Force First Lieutenant.     

The uniform, on a tall man down to 120 pounds, did not fit like it once had.  He wore it, though, with a self-assured dignity. His back was straight as parade-ground attention; his gaze was fixed on the podium. I wondered if he was listening to the speaker or to voices of his memory.   

I approached him when the program concluded but arrived too late. A young lady was pushing his wheel chair toward the door. His name, I learned, was Carol Peterson, and he was a resident of the Stanton Care Center. I paid him a visit.

He acquired the uniform when he was commissioned in 1942.  He was a bombardier on the B26.  His brother, Harlan, piloted the B25.  Carol served in Europe, Harlan in the South Pacific. They saw each other for the last time while the uniform was still new.

Carol Peterson, born in rural Montgomery County in 1919, was looking for work when he went to California during the Depression.  There he enlisted in the National Guard, which was activated soon thereafter. During training, he was given the opportunity to transfer to the Army Air Force. He was taught proficiency with the Norden bomb sight. He flew missions out of Sardinia and Corsica during the ill-fated Anzio campaign.

Members of his 37th Squadron, 17th Bomb Group, were told they’d fly 40 missions then be relieved. This did not happen. Casualties in the 37th were heavy—men were lost faster than replacements could be trained.  Lt. Peterson kept flying.

The B26 was a big, heavy, aircraft. With a full load of two-ton bombs it required at least a mile of runway and a minimum speed of 140 mph to lift off. Between January and December 1944, Peterson flew 78 missions. He locked bomb sights on targets in Rome, northern Italy and France. The Norden was reliable, he said, and on those missions, he dropped tons of explosives onto railroad yards, bridges, factories, harbors and troop concentrations. These targets, protected by enemy fighters and anti-aircraft batteries that filled the skies with flak, were not easy.  

I asked if his B26 had a name. It did not.  His squadron lost so many aircraft few were named. Because men went down more rapidly than replacements could be found, crews didn’t stay together long. “We were re-assigned to different planes with different crew members,” Peterson said. “They’d take the remnants of one crew and match them with another.”

The biggest blow for the Peterson family came Oct. 18, 1943. Harlan’s bomber was shot down while on a mission near New Guinea. His body was never recovered.    

“The plan was for him to take over the family farm,” Carol told me. “Dad was about ready to retire. Then we lost Harlan.”

Carol Peterson, blessed by God and good luck, survived his 78 missions and came home to farm. Now, nearly 70 years later, he has his memories—and a uniform he earned.  

Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.