In my most recent column, I told you about my friend Don White, a retired colonel who served 31 years in the Air Force, having started out in the Army Air Corps in 1946. He was a second lieutenant when his squadron arrived in Korea in 1950, a few months before the start of the Korean War. After the war started, he and his crew flew B-29s specially modified for the weather service. The aircraft were stripped of all weapons, save for the tail gun, and were used for reconnoitering weather to help coordinate operations on the ground.
All of White’s squadron’s flights were called “Buzzard.” Buzzard Horse. Buzzard Dawn. Buzzard Lion. Buzzard King was assigned to conduct a nighttime weather survey over North Korea, and White was to be co-pilot for the mission. His aircraft commander, Maj. Mask, fell ill and was grounded, so command of the mission turned to Capt. Paul Thendon, who was new to Korea. Buzzard King would be his first flight in the war.
During the flight, they took flak from enemy anti-aircraft batteries.
“I wasn’t afraid of it,” White explained. The North Koreans were bad shots, and this wasn’t the first time his aircraft had been under fire. “It’s kind of pretty, in a scary way. Normally, you just see a black puff when the round explodes. You might see a little flash, but you don’t see any shrapnel coming out of it. At night, you see bright flashes of light when the round explodes. If it’s real close, you’ll hear little sounds as the shrapnel hits the airplane, kind of like hitting a tin pan with a fork.”
I was impressed he had taken it all so casually. But not everybody aboard the aircraft was so calm. As they flew east over North Korea on autopilot, far-off flak exploded. They weren’t being hit, but Thendon switched off the autopilot and turned south, calling for maximum power to fly to safety as fast as possible.
“Sir, what the heck do you think you’re doing?” White asked.
“They’re not going to get me,” Thendon kept repeating.
White faced a tough decision. He was not in charge of the aircraft, and Thendon outranked him. His duty was to obey. But he also had a duty to complete the mission.
“Sir, we don’t quit,” he said. “This crew doesn’t run from flak. We run the mission.” He informed the captain and the rest of the crew, “I have assumed command of this aircraft.”
Thendon instantly turned over control and sat back in his seat with his chin down, crying. White flew the rest of the mission, including the landing.
Back on the ground, White told the rest of the men, “What happened tonight was just between us as a crew. Don’t go around talking about it.”
“You chose to protect Capt. Thendon?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to embarrass him,” White said. “He was brand new in the squadron, and he didn’t need that hanging around his neck.”
The incident was kept off the books. But White thinks his navigator, a major, quietly talked to command because after White’s normal promotion to first lieutenant, he was quickly given command of his own B-29 crew. The situation was unusual in that White was to command an aircraft on which he was the lowest-ranking crew member. He offered to let the others seek reassignment, but they stayed, with the understanding that they outranked him on the ground but White was in command in the air.
Thendon eventually commanded his own aircraft crew and flew many missions, serving with honor throughout his time in the war.
“He learned his lesson in his first flight,” White said.
White’s compassion, courage, and excellent leadership instinct on the Buzzard King mission saved Thendon’s career and bolstered his unit’s effectiveness. We could all learn a lesson from his example.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
