Tales of the Guinea Short Lines 25th Liaison Squadron

Flight Journal, Apr 2002 by Busha, James P, Henkle, James, Bartlett, Frank

JUST HOPPIN ' AROUND

In 1938, while attending Gonzaga University in Spokane, Washington, I learned to fly in a Piper J-3 Cub. There was a nationwide civilian pilot training program to teach college kids to be pilots, and I got in on that. I was also a brand-new PFC in the Washington National Guard. Little did I know that in a few short years, my world would be turned upside-down and I would be stationed near the "bottom" of the world.

It all started in May 1938. A traveling Air Force Board gave "free" physicals to anyone in college who was interested. A buddy and I were walking on the campus and saw the "free" sign, so we got in line and were given our "free" checkups. Boy, what a couple of dummies! In August, I was given orders to report to Air Force Flying School. I had one small problem with this: I had already paid for my senior year of college and it, too, was to begin in August. Local Air Force personnel assured me there was nothing I could do. I needed to tell someone in the Air Force of my dilemma, so I wrote a letter to Gen. "Hap" Arnold. I received a "nice" letter from him stating that I could finish college but that, on graduation, I was to report for flight training. In June the following year, I reported to Oxnard, California, where I took my basic training in a PT-17 Stearman. After this, I moved on to Randolph Field for intermediate training in BT-9s. Then, at Kelly Field, I learned "the old school" way of flying in AT-6s. I was graduated from flight school in the class of 41A at a time when things were really heating up all over the world. As I was a new Air Force pilot, I knew I would be sent to where the action was. Boy, was I wrong! I received orders to report back to the Washington National Guard, as it had first "dibs" on me. The only good thing was that I would be returning as a first lieutenant-not a PFC. At that time, the National Guard seemed more like a country club to me than what I was used to in flight training. Things were a lot less formal. I did stay current, however, by flying 0-38 biplanes, 0-36s and AT-6s-mainly chasing others through the large cumulus clouds that formed over Washington state.

Eventually, in 1942, I was given orders to report to the 71st Reconnaissance Group. The Air Force needed me! The 71st was a reconnaissance/observation group that consisted of B-25 Mitchell bombers, P-39 Airacobras and Stinson L-5s. I learned to fly multi-engine aircraft such as the B-25 primarily by "on the job training." To me, it was just another engine to monitor. We went with an instructor and learned the engine-out procedures and flight characteristics of the plane we were training in. Then we went down and shot a few touch-and-go's; if all went well, we were recognized as "multiengine pilots." Things were sure a lot different then than they are now. After learning multi-engine systems, I got checked out in the B-25-a sweet airplane to fly and a very nice handler. I was soon an official B-25 bomber pilot in the U.S. Air Force!

In mid-1942, I was stationed in Salinas, California, and the Air Force took our observation squadron and decided to reorganize us into two fighter squadrons: a bomber squadron and a liaison squadron using the L-5. I knew that a bomber was used to bomb targets and that a fighter was used to protect the bombers or to dogfight other fighters, but what can you do with an L-5? And what did "liaison" mean? I soon learned the answers to both questions.

One day shortly after the reorganization of the squadrons, the "old man" called me into his office and said, "You got a command." I stood there in shock. Here I was, a young lieutenant flying B-25 bombers and I was being given a command of a bomber squadron! The shock wore off very quickly when the old man continued, "You got the L-5 squadron. There are 300 people in that squadron, and I need you to cut it in half. Dismissed!" I had been given command of a squadron that I had no idea what to do with and had been told to cut 150 people from the group. I was no longer a B-25 pilot and I was promoted to captain.

I was determined to make mine the best damn squadron the Air Force ever had. It was quite a job cutting the squadron in half. I went through the records to see what each had done and picked the best people I could. Every squadron in the group had L-5 pilots, most of whom were enlisted men with the rank of sergeant; I picked the most qualified, most experienced ones. The problem was that these "aerial sergeants" were not quite officers and not your ordinary enlisted men. Some had medical ailments that prevented them from being entitled to an officer's commission. Some did not "do well" with authority figures (didn't salute officers, got into fights and those sort of things). Others liked to do "stunts" with their planes when they were supposed to be in formation training, and there was a lengthy list of other problems. But, boy, could they fly! I picked the older mechanics who could tear apart an engine and reassemble it blindfolded. I found a cook who was a real cook, and not a co-opted truck drivers bona fide 100-percent cook. I placed them all in the positions they were supposed to be in and left them there. Our squadron was complete. We had 25 L-Ss and 30 pilots with 120 people in support staff; we were ready for duty. The only problem was that I still didn't know what we were supposed to do and neither did the other command officers on the base. No one seemed to know what to do with us.