When Robert Riley was growing up he first became interested in aviation through his father’s career, but soon he learned his family’s ties with aviation ran deep.
“My father was a pilot at FedEx so I was always interested in aviation,” Robert said. “He would talk to me about World War II and I became really interested in it.”
Robert found out that his grandfather flew in one of the most important time periods in history. His grandfather was Fred H. Tate and he was a B-17 navigator in the 305th Bomb Group, 364th Bomb Squadron, based in Chelveston, England. Fred was assigned to a crew of B-17 43-38976 (WF-J), She’s a Honey.
The aircraft had comical artwork painted on it, depicting a bee carrying a gun. Although due to operational needs they would float around a bit. Robert said of the crew, “They had a lot of personality.” The waist gunner, Dale Remaly, named his waist gun “Firing Flossie” after his wife, Florence. The other waist gun was named “Belching Bessie.”
As Robert dug deeper into Fred’s history, he found his original mission notes. He had arrived in Chelveston in December 1944. At one time, the 305th Bomb Group was commanded by none other than General Curtis LeMay. Fred’s first mission was to Bullay, Germany, on December 29, 1944. The intelligence reports said that the flak would be light to moderate. Once they arrived on target, the flak was anything but light. Due to the weather, they circled three times to ensure they dropped on target. “His notes make note that the flak gunners had a field day,” Robert said.
Just days later, on New Year’s Day 1945, Fred and the 305th were out on another mission, this time to Magdeburg, Germany. On this day Fred’s notes say that they lost three aircraft to enemy fighters. “Our fighter cover was late and the German fighters got them,” is indicated in Fred’s notes.
Robert said that through talking with his relatives, he discovered that Fred had a favorite story that he would share with Robert’s mother and her siblings because it was on the lighter side.
“On January 7, 1945, they flew a mission to Koblenz. They ran into a snowstorm on their return to England and were essentially flying blind. They got separated from their squadron and were flying alone. The pilot and co-pilot kept asking him over the intercom where they were and he had no idea, although he didn’t tell them that. He kept up the charade as long as he could until finally they were about out of gas. When the pilot finally brought them in under the overcast, they popped out at, of all places, Chelveston. He had no earthly idea how they made it back, as he had no idea where they were after they crossed the channel on the return. The pilot said, “Tate, you’re the best damn navigator in the entire 8th Air Force.’”
Fred’s most memorable mission is listed in his notes simply with the entry “Recklinghausen!!!” This March 1945 mission saw the 305th bomb not from the normal high altitudes they were used to, but instead from just 12,000 feet. Robert shared the story.
“On March 24, 1945, he flew two missions,” Robert said. “The first mission was to Vechta, Germany, in support of Operation Varsity. At one point, he was taking a nap in the back of the airplane. He was so exhausted, having flown the prior six days, that he was sleeping like a rock when he was awoken by the bailout alarm going off. He woke up and groggily put on his parachute before diving out the waist gunner’s hatch. It was a relatively quick fall to earth, as the plane was parked on the ground and it was one of the ground crew who had mistakenly set the alarm off while working on the plane.”
On one of their last missions, Pulitzer Prize winner McKinlay Kantor rode with the crew as a war correspondent. Fred flew his final mission, No. 35 for him, on Friday, April 14, 1945, the day after Roosevelt died. It was to Bordeaux, France. He sent home a telegram that simply stated, “Dear Mom and Dad. Work finished here. You can quit worrying.”
Robert found out that EAA’s B-17 was going to nearby Millington, Tennessee, and thought they should go out and fly onboard. He went with his father and mother. For takeoff, Robert and his family were seated near the back of the airplane, but once airborne and allowed to move around, they knew right where they wanted to go.
“We made our way to the nose to get to the navigator station,” Robert said. “Once there, my mom saw it first and pointed out that this is where he would have been. Sitting in that chair really felt like I was connected with him. I felt close to him. It was a really special moment.”
Over the years, Fred never talked about his service or what he saw over the skies of war-torn Europe. But thanks to his family safekeeping his items, his story is going to be preserved. Everyone who works around our B-17 can hold their heads high knowing that we were also able to help convey to his family a little of what it was like to fly in these aircraft. Together, we will make sure their legacy is never forgotten.