On August 1, 1943, a Consolidated B-24D Liberator bomber named the Vagabond King and its American crew took part in a massive bombing raid on the oil refinery complex at Ploesti, Romania. The B-24s took off from Libya without the benefit of a fighter escort.

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We know the names and some of the ranks of the 10 men who flew aboard the Vagabond King that day — 1st Lt. John McCormick, pilot; George Brinton, co-pilot; 1st Lt. Marvin Mosco, bombardier; Marvin Mendelson, navigator; Paul Miller, Alfred Rossi, Gerald Murphy and William Bundai, all of whom were gunners; David Shattles, crew chief; and Martin Van Buren, radioman — and we know they all survived that mission. But a total of 54 B-24s did not return from Ploesti. Nearly 500 crewmen were either killed, captured or interned in Turkey.

The Vagabond King’s crew cheated the odds in the August 1943 raid and made it to friendly territory before crash-landing. Many of those same men, however, survived that mission only to lose their lives in subsequent sorties. Following is an excerpt from an account of the August 1, 1943, Ploesti raid written by Vagabond King pilot John McCormick. His report — a copy of which was apparently later sent to the family of each man who participated in that mission — paints a vivid portrait of one of the most costly bombing missions in history.

What I wanted to write to you about was the story of the Vagabond King’s part in the Romanian oil field raid. The story is out now, so I can give you the particulars.

You’ve probably heard how we practiced again and again on a full-scale replica of the vital facilities of the refineries laid out on the desert in Libya. We attacked them repeatedly to work out our precise timetable attack and approach through the Carpathian Mountains, and then one day we received our final briefing and got our ships ready for the long hop.

Inasmuch as it was to be the longest mass raid in history, we were prepared for plenty of trouble. We were carefully briefed on how to escape if forced down and how to act as POWs or internees and where to escape to, in an emergency. The target was so important that headquarters deemed it necessary to destroy it, even if we stood to lose 100 percent of the striking force. The losses would still be acceptable. So, without detracting from our chances of totally destroying the target, we worked out defense measures that we hoped would enable the greater part of us to return. We felt that a low-level attack by high-altitude bombers would constitute a combination of surprise and accuracy, sufficient to accomplish both aims. This would be the first time bombers would be used for strafing ground targets.

The well-known importance of the refineries to the Germans was the key to our great efforts to get our new technique and timing down pat … And the excitement never lagged from repeated practices.

We got up early, the morning of our takeoff, ate, and got out to the ships for a final check-up on our gas, oil, oxygen, bombs, rations and ammunition. We were well prepared. We signaled thumbs up to Sergeant Frank Chowanski and Pfc Eddings and got off, the last plane in our group.

Nerves were a little on edge because one plane just ahead exploded on takeoff and worried some boys who knew about it.

A small last-minute repair had delayed our takeoff so that my wingman had taken off shortly before I did. That was James, our bad-luck kid since he joined the group back in Texas.

My left wingman lost a carburetor on the runway and had to abort. That was Lighter. He certainly looked sad to be left out of it, and I didn’t particularly like losing a damn good wingman for a blank space of enemy sky.

We got into formation and headed across the bluest Mediterranean you can imagine. Things were running smoothly. The air was full, from starboard to port, from top to bottom with the Libs [Liberators]. Everything looked good.

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