Polka Dot Warriors – The Assembly Ships of the Mighty Eighth
Clapped out and painted in humiliating markings, the “Judas Goat” aircraft of the Mighty 8th Air Force kept their units in line.
Somewhere over Southern England, the crew of a fully bombed-up, four-engined Consolidated B-24J Liberator by the name of You Can’t Take it With You beats its way through low clouds on a hot hazy day. They are bound for the railroad marshalling yards outside Munich. The day is steamy; the visibility is low and grey. The wings flex. The pilots repeatedly lift from their seats, to the limits of their seat belts. The noise in the cockpit is thunderous, the heat is almost liquid. It smells of gas and sweat and Bakelite. Fear rises from their guts, dries their mouths, and increases their heart rates. It’s midsummer of 1944; 20 July to be exact.
The pilots lean forward, toward the windscreen, craning in the haze, looking for aircraft of their unit, looking to coalesce into a solid box formation which will enable them to cover each other in the coming battle. Soon, they will be raked by German fighters en route. Many will fall. Many will die. There will be a trail of smoking pyres the length of their route to Germany.
To the left and right now, rising up from behind, they see other Liberators working their way up to join them. Many are worn and tired looking, though most rolled out of the factories in Texas and California just the previous year. Paint is stained with oil and exhaust soot, flaking from every edge that is exposed to the slipstream. On their sides, they carry outrageous and sometimes puerile artwork and names like Arise My Love and Come With Me, Squat ’n Drop it, S.O.L., Time’s a Wastin’ and Big Chief Little Beaver. They are drawn up closer, closer, like moths to a flame. Below them, between the layers of heavy cloud, they glimpse the green farmlands of the English countryside and many more Liberators, sliding across their track, moving together toward their destiny.
In front now, they see the one Liberator they have been looking for. Actually they can’t miss her. She slides and bucks on invisible currents, lit by the late afternoon sun which flashes on her white wings. She climbs, beckoning to them to join her. She fires flares from her flanks, flashes lights on her side—everything to make herself visible to the other aircraft of her Group—the 458th. She maintains a steady climb, a steady rate of knots, and a steady predictable course. She is a beacon to all her mates, calling out for them to join her. Once You Can’t Take it With You and the others are with her, she turns toward the English Channel, dragging her Group behind her like an deathly cappa magna.
As the pilot brings You Can’t Take it With You close to the lead ship, he and his co-pilot smile and even make a few tasteless jokes. The aircraft they are following, the one they have been looking for, is not like the others in the group. She wears a paint scheme any other Liberator would think humiliating—white from chin turret to trailing edge, covered in a pox of bright red and blue polka dots about 18 inches in diameter. Aft of the trailing wing edge, she is army green, but the pox extends down her flanks in garish red and yellow dots. And she has a face... perhaps it was meant to be that of a shark, but it grins like a dim-witted dachshund. It seems to pant in the heat of the turbulent air. The spotted markings make her look like a massive flying bag of Wonderbread. The only marking she shares with the other aircraft of the group is the red paint and white diagonal slash of her barn door-sized tails.
She is also in terrible shape. Dirt streams over her wings from the exhaust stacks. Her sides are dented and scraped. She does not carry her old name on her sides anymore. Her guns have been removed; she carries a light load of fuel for she is not going on to the target with her charges. Once, she was Dixie Bell II, a combat veteran. But she was deemed “troublesome”, perhaps beset by gremlins. The pilots who are following her now call her Spotted Ass Ape, Spotted Ape or even Wonderbread.
Spotted Ass Ape, in all her spotted and clown-like glory, is an “assembly ship”, an aircraft whose job it is to assemble and lead other aircraft of her Group on the proper track for the target. These aircraft are usually war weary and veteran airframes no longer suited to the rigours of combat flying. Most are stripped of their guns, for when their job is done and the aircraft have been assembled and pointed in the right direction, they turn for home. They are also known ironically as Judas Goat aircraft—a term based on the goatherd’s lead goat, trained to lead his flock to the slaughter.
Forming up a massive bomber stream of hundreds of heavy bombed-up aircraft in a small geographical area is a recipe for disaster. The weather is often very poor, the crews fresh from training stateside. Hundreds of aircraft in numerous groups rise from dozens of airfields in several counties. Ships join with the wrong groups, aircraft collide in broad daylight. Confusion reigns.
In 1943, someone came up with the idea of selecting a war weary bomber from each group and providing it with the means of clear identification—additional navigation lights, pyrotechnics, and a wild unmistakable group-specific paint scheme. Signal lighting systems vary from group to group, but generally consist of white flashing navigation lamps on both sides of the fuselage in the form of the identification letter of the group. All armament and armour has been removed. These ships will not go all the way to the target, so they carry minimal fuel and a skeleton crew of two pilots, navigator, radio operator and one or two flare discharge men. A few groups require an observer to fly in the tail position to monitor the formation. They are the first from each group to take off and they orbit the assembly point, flashing their lights and firing off coded flares until all their charges can find them and form up on them. Then they turn towards the target and join the other groups on the mass raid. Usually, at this point, the assembly ships will then return to their home airfield, but Spotted Ass Ape is known to have joined its fellow crews all the way to the target in Germany on at least one occasion.
The paint schemes of these aircraft are far from tactical or warrior-like, but their war weary history and their pivotal role in assembling their groups make them some of the unsung heroes of the Mighty Eighth. I liken them to rodeo clowns, those veteran rodeo cowboys who dress up in laughable clown costumes and use their hard won knowledge of the rodeo ring to help cowboys survive a raging bull who has just thrown them or who will risk their lives to save that of a cowboy whose boot is caught in the stirrup of an angry bucking bronc. The rodeo clown may look ridiculous, but there is a reason, even a tradition. And they have the complete respect and love of the men they work with, for they have paid the price too.
Somewhere past the English Coast, the clouds begin to thin. The air still churns. The fear intensifies. The pilots of You Can’t Take it With You can see on both sides an armada of Liberators, level after level, stretching away behind them. Hundreds of Liberators rise and fall like fish in a sluggish stream. They are now well formed up and on their way. Soon it is time for the Judas Goat to leave the formation. She flashes her lights and begins a long climbing turn that will take her home. The other crews look longingly at her as she carves a course for home and for safety. You Can’t Take it With You thunders towards her destiny, surrounded by her group. She would never return.
Dave O’Malley
Here, for your edification, is an assembly of photographs and histories of many of the Judas Ghost assembly aircraft of the United States Army Air Force’s 8th Air Force.