Ralph Coleman Graham - 12 Minutes: The Untold Story of the Ghost Plane at The Battle of the Bulge

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12 Minutes

The Untold Story of the Ghost Plane at The Battle of the Bulge

Ralph Coleman Graham

Copyright 2020 by Ralph Coleman Graham

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

For my mom and dad, for the work you did and the life you lived

Preface

This book was written by a veteran of World War II, who at the age of eighteen volunteered his services fourteen months before the beginning of the attack at Pearl Harbor and the Declaration of War.

For sixteen months, he served in the regular army with the Engineer Corps before transferring to the Air Corps. Although his combat service was with the 8 th Air Force in Europe, he reveals some very interesting stories about our prewar depressed years. He was a part of the 487th Bombarbment Group.

The main story line of the book concerns the year he spent in combat, the missions he flew, including the final engagement known as The Belgium Bulge, and finally to the finishing of his career at the end of the war in Europe. In the end, he reveals some of the most interesting and, in some cases, the most unbelievable experiences of the war.

Ralph Coleman Graham
Radio operator, patriot, and author
At peace with his memories

Chapter 1

Birth of This Book

Ever since I left the service some seventy years ago, I have wanted to write the story of that epic mission flown on December 24, 1944. From time to time, I would write of that day so I would never forget what occurred.

As the only living survivor of our crew, I feel deeply obligated to tell our story in order to correct not only the losses and mistakes made and never corrected but also the accounts of that event which were overlooked.

I realize there will be some who will challenge the mind and the sanity of a man who served that long ago knowing he has to be in his midnineties, and they are right in such a challenge. All I can say is Ive been so lucky and blessed that my health has never been an issue.

The story of that epic mission is written by me, the radio operator of the ghost plane that was supposedly lost in the air battle but was never involved in the attack. We unashamedly discussed it back then that somewhere among the celestial landscape there was a guiding hand that led a bunch of kids through that valley of the unknown. Several times, our crew would gather at various locations and talk of the past and how fortunate we were.

Finally, at the last of our reunions, there were only three of us left. Today, as I attempt to finish this account of one of the most important combat encounters, I, the writer, am the only remaining crewmember. They would have been pleased I am setting the record straight.

This is my true story which covers graduating from high school in the year 1940, ending my first job as a farm worker picking cotton in West Texas to join the regular army, serving sixteen months in the Engineer Battalion and then transferring to the Army Air Corps. After training at several points throughout the states, I was deployed to the European theater to serve with the Army Air Corps as a radio operator with the 8 th Air Force. I completed thirty-three missions of high altitude bombing in a B-17 bomber over Europe.

After a lot of years had passed and numerous discussions among our crew when we would gather for reunions, all of us agreed that what we knew happened on some of our missions were recorded incorrectly. The main story we felt needed correcting happened on the mission of December 24, 1944, during The Battle of the Bulge. It is included in the book.

Final award

Chapter 2

Depression

The year was 1940. Early summer was upon us. High school graduation was over, and here I am, a highly educated young man with a gold class ring and a new sheepskin diploma to prove it. I took my personal inventory, and to my not very shocking surprise, that was it. Well anyway, knowing that there were lots of new worlds out there to conquer, I headed to my new job picking cotton in Rule, Texas.

After an uneventful trip in the back on a new flatbed truck, my friend and cousin, Dugger, and I surveyed the vast fields of white farmland and an old run-down ranch house that was to be our home while our job lasted.

After a couple of days in the field and six meals of hoecakes and dried beans, we realized this was not what the future sounded like at our graduation speeches. So we pulled up stakes, made our peace with our friends and family, and headed for what was to be our new jobthe US Army.

We left early on our new adventure by the way of hitchhiking. I remember passing that last row of cotton, I pulled a green bole and said to Dugger, Hey, this is the last bole of cotton I ever intend to pick, and threw it high into the air. I think maybe forty years ago, I did pull a bole to see if it would wink at me. It didnt.

On our first ride, we asked the fellow how far he was going, and he said Fort Worth. Good, we said, we would ride with him. What luck we caught two more rides and were home by two oclock that afternoon.

I knew we were lucky. The folks with whom we rode were so nice that they even offered us money. Perhaps that kindness led us to realize how fortunate we were to have such a wonderful home and family. They had done so much to bring us this far.

Let me explain, Dugger and I had grown up together and became almost like brothers. We lived a short distance apart, and we worked, played, hunted, and attended school together. So it was natural for us to want to join the army together.

After we arrived back home, we began to make arrangements to go to the nearest recruiting office. Among other things, we had to seek permission from our parents to leave for the army.

When I was told that Dugger could not go because of his health, I was saddened to no end. We had been together since childhood, and I was sad to end our close relationship. I knew that we would never again be like we were as kids growing up. We had always hunted together, and we worked together in the fields. Our parents had let us learn to plow together even at age nine. They would let us plow middles between the rows of our crops. There were a lot of fond memories I had to set aside as I was leaving to serve our country.

As I write this, I hesitate now and then to check some of the facts. Then comes the stark realization that there is no one left and no records except for one persons memory.

Before I begin, I must say that the happiest time of my life was spent in these short years. As a family, we lived, we worked, we struggled, and we would laugh and sometimes weep. But in the end, we rejoiced together, and I know my life was grounded in faith and hope due to the way I was raised.

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