ONE-WAY TICKET TO WAR

WW II glider pilot recalls the chaos

DURING THE EVENING OP JUNE 6, 1944, the 82nd Airborne Division was heavily engaged in fierce close-quarters combat with the German army. All day, the Germans had been desperately trying to drive the American parachute- and glider-borne assault troops back into the English Channel. The 82nd urgently needed reinforcements and supplies to hold its positions.

S. Tipton "Tip" Randolph was a pilot who flew to Normandy in support of the 82nd. Unlike most pilots on this fateful day, he knew that he wasn't expected to return from this flight; he was part of the little publicized group called military glider pilots. Not only did he fly into combat on a one-way ride, but he also did it in a glider that was neither designed nor made by Americans.

The preparation for Normandy

Tip Randolph was in his sophomore year at Asheville College, North Carolina, when America was forced into WW II. During that year, he had acquired his civilian pilot's license in the Civilian Pilot Training course. He earned credit toward his degree and a fun, useful skill to boot.

In March 1942, Randolph and some friends learned of the new U.S. Army Air Force glider program. A glib Army recruiter with a quota to fill found a rapt audience among the young college students. By having his pilot's license and passing a basic physical, Randolph was a prime candidate for this new program.

In May 1942, Randolph and 75 glider pilot trainees enlisted as privates in the Army Air Force and reported to Shaw Field in Sumter, South Carolina.

According to Randolph, the guys who reported were a "diverse-looking bunch." They were moved to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, where the group was formally processed into the military: the archetypical shot line, uniform issue and another physical that essentially required only that you be able to breathe and walk upright.

Following his abbreviated introduction to the military, Randolph traveled by train to a civilian-run preliminary light airplane gliding school in Goodland, Kansas. They flew powered light aircraft, and he primarily flew Piper Cubs.

Randolph recounts, "In Kansas, we repeated basic civilian flight training but with a heavy emphasis on deadstick landings. We flew a landing pattern, and on the downwind leg, the instructor would pull the throttle. The student had to fly the rest of the pattern and get the plane down on the field. This helped us develop the ability to estimate distances."

"The guys who couldn't do it after a couple of tries-and the patterns grew longer and longer from the touchdown point-were eliminated from the program. Since we had enlisted, those guys were sent to other assignments. That wasn't what we young guys wanted, so I worked really hard at being good at milking the plane's glide as much as I could."

From Kansas, the student glider pilots were moved to England Field in Amarillo, Texas. It was here that they got their first true sailplane training. Flying mostly Schweitzer and Laister-Kauffman two-seat sailplanes, Randolph learned basic towplane/glider theory and operation.

"This was the most fun I'd ever had flying. I was towed to three or four thousand feet, and then I would release the towline. After flying the pattern required for that flight's lesson-could be a loop or a 360 turn around a point-I could play and experiment for as long as I had altitude.

"The true gliders we flew at England Field were very different from the off-power Cubs. In a Cub, when you pulled the power to simulate tow release, the weight of the engine and the shorter wings ensured that you would go into an immediate descent. In the Schweitzer, that wasn't the case. With those long wings, you could do a lot without losing much altitude. I really enjoyed flying those gliders."

By the winter of 1942, the newly promoted S/Sgt. Randolph found himself in the cold, windswept Texas panhandle outside Dalhart, where he faced his first flight in what he thought would be his only wartime mount: the CG-4A Hadrian combat glider.

With a wingspan of over 80 feet and a load-carrying capability of more than its own weight, the CG-4A dwarfed everything Randolph and his classmates had ever flown before. After settling into its left seat, Randolph discovered that as enjoyable as sailplane training had been, it wasn't particularly applicable to this big glider.

"With the CG-4A, you pulled a release mechanism to cut yourself free. The towplane rarely released the glider. If the towrope snapped, the end from the towplane whipped back, and it could punch a hole in the Plexiglas, tear fabric-or worse-wrap around a control surface or the landing wheels. We lost many guys in training and combat to broken towropes.

"Anyway, once you cut off, the CG-4A was a big, heavy ship. If it wasn't being dragged forward, it would go downhill. If you maintained speed at more than above 80mph or so, it handled very well. You could maintain position behind the tow ship with only slight moves of the rudder. In free-flight, the controls weren't particularly heavy until the speed dropped off. At that point, you weren't far from a stall, and the controls were a bit sloppy."