The men of the 10^th Mountain Division drove the Axis forces out of the northern Apennine Mountains and across the Po Valley with an incredible amount of assistance from Allied air forces. This story is about one drama that unfolded in the war that was fought over the heads of the mountain troops. It is one of terror, death, heroism and sacrifice, and stands as a testament to the perseverance of archivists, archaeologists, the survivors and their families who have helped to tell their story.

The makeup of a bomber crew at the tail end of the Second World War might last for only one or a few days, and was not necessarily assigned to any particular aircraft. So as the crew of the B-17 named “Magificent Malfunction” boarded the plane in Foggia, Italy on the morning of April 20, 1945, it is possible that none of them had ever flown a mission aboard her before. Most of them knew each other to some degree, and had flown together in various combinations in the previous weeks. Many of their missions had been in strategic or tactical support of the 10^th Mountain Division, bombing German strong points around Bologna, as well as airfields, bridges and rail yards in Prague, Vienna, Verona, and many other places.

As they ascended into the air and maneuvered into formation with the other 27 bombers taking part in the mission, the crew consisted of:

Lt John Cunningham – Pilot

Lt Arthur Hall – Co-Pilot

Lt James Miller – Navigator

Lt Alfred Baldwin – Bombardier

Conrad Bailey – Top Turret Gunner / Engineer

Shelby Brown – Radio Operator / Gunner

James Wolfgang – Left Waist Gunner

Harold Simmonds – Right Waist Gunner

Hugh Litto – Ball Turret Gunner

Robert Ribbon – Tail Gunner

All but two of the crew aboard the Magnificent Malfunction on April 20, 1945.

Their target was the rail yard at Fortezza, Italy, on one of the routes the German forces would have to use if they were to make their escape into Austria. The bomber formation made its way up the coast of the Adriatic Sea, apparently without incident, but encountered brisk fire from 88mm flak as they neared the target. The bomb run was the most dangerous part of any mission, as the planes were forced to fly straight and level for an extended period, giving the enemy gunners time enough to accurately estimate the bombers’ position when the projectiles would reach the correct altitude. For more information on flak targeting, see this 1943 training video.

The formation passed over the target, and Bombardier Alfred Baldwin called out, “Bombs away!” A few seconds later, as the bombers’ payloads were still tumbling toward the earth, there was a tremendous crash. The Magnificent Malfunction received an almost direct hit from a flak burst. The plane lurched as shrapnel tore through the wings and fuselage. In an instant, chaos spread throughout the ship. Hugh Litto had emerged from his ball turret and was standing in the waist of the plane when, as one of his fellow crew members recalled, “He was killed very instantly,” when “he was hit in the head by a very large piece of flak, almost amputating his head.” In the radio room, large pieces of shrapnel struck Shelby Brown in the head, neck, and torso. Another crewman recalled that, “He was lying on the floor when I got there. I gave him emergency oxygen and tried his pulse. There was no life in him to my knowledge. He had a hole in his head.” James Wolfgang was struck near his knee, and Navigator James Miller received several serious wounds to his stomach. He slumped to the floor in the nose of the plane and drifted in and out of consciousness. He likely received medical attention from the crewman nearest him, Bombardier Alfred Baldwin.

Meanwhile, Pilot John Cunningham and Co-Pilot Arthur Hall struggled to control the plane. Engine number one burst into flames when the B-17 was hit, and engine two had a runaway prop. Either one was potentially fatal to the aircraft, and caused a dramatic reduction in flying power. The Magnificent Malfunction began to lose speed and altitude, and drifted out of the bomber formation. James Blackburn, aboard one of the other bombers remembered that, “I saw ship #44-6271 [Magnificent Malfunction] peel off and come down through the formation between number one and number four ship. I was in number four position. The number one engine was smoking and I think that the number three had been hit also. Then it went out of my view back to the left of my ship.” Although the drama that unfolded in the cockpit must have been tense and ongoing, Arthur Hall stated without elaboration that, “we got the fire out and the runaway prop under control.”

Co-pilot Arthur Hall peering out from the pilot’s compartment of the Magnificent Malfunction. (Click image to view larger)

Those in the front of the plane knew that there had been casualties, but it was unclear how many. Hall recalled, “The people behind the bomb-bay, we weren’t sure what had happened to them because we had no radio contact from them. They were always skittish about walking across the truss of the bomb-bay…So other than Brown, who was behind and below us, we had no idea of the casualties on board after we took the hit. John and I were fighting like hell to keep the plane under control.” While they struggled to keep the B-17 in the sky and navigate to friendly territory, those in the rear administered first aid to the wounded and tried to dump as much unnecessary equipment as possible in order to lighten the ship.

Though the twin crises of fire and runaway prop had been managed, the Magnificent Malfunction was falling rapidly at approximately 1000 feet per minute. It was obvious to Cunningham and Hall that the aircraft was not going to make it anywhere near as far as their base in Foggia, but perhaps with a little luck they could come down behind the rapidly advancing Allied lines. As it turned out, even this much would prove impossible.

As they approached the Po River, it was clear that the crash was imminent. The bodies of Hugh Litto and Shelby Brown were attached to static lines and parachuted out of the plane. Apparently, some attempt was made to do the same for the wounded James Miller, but he regained consciousness enough to refuse to don his parachute. There was neither time nor altitude to press the issue. It was decided to try to ditch in the Po River. James Miller left the nose and began to crawl his way toward the blood-soaked radio room.

The Magnificent Malfunction began to take a good deal of enemy fire from the ground. Co-Pilot Hall remembered that, “When we were low enough to ditch, we started taking light gun fire; 20mm and 40mm from along the river. Gunfire was very active! Our aircraft was pelted all over with gunfire. It was damaging and we developed a fire, forward, below our seat level. I went to check and found that the fire was severe.”

Baldwin later related that he had reminded Cunningham and Hall that the plane was rapidly approaching the altitude below which there would be insufficient time for a parachute to effectively deploy before the jumper struck the ground. Cunningham ordered the crew to abandon the aircraft. In an attempt to save the life of the wounded navigator, he was going to stay aboard and try to make a crash-landing.

Three men later claimed to be the last man out of the plane, but the crash reports made by each surviving crewman in 1945 are clear on the order of escape. Alfred Baldwin moved aft, passing Miller in the bomb-bay as he was approaching the radio room. Meanwhile, Conrad Bailey, James Wolfgang, Harold Simmons and Robert Ribbon each sidled over to the waist door and jumped in turn. Their parachutes opened, and they dropped slowly onto the floodplain of the Po River.

Cunningham told the co-pilot that he should jump if he wanted to. Alfred Baldwin reached the rear compartments and jumped from the waist door. Co-Pilot Hall punched out the door to the front escape hatch and followed suit. He recalled that, “By the time I saw the aircraft pass beyond me, I pulled my rip cord and was shortly on the ground. I guess that I left the ship at about fifteen hundred feet; surely close to the minimum amount necessary to save one safely. I landed in a peach orchard and missed every tree, but I was drawing small arms fire during my descent.” Baldwin recalled that, “After I landed I saw a thin column of black smoke rising several hundred feet in the air. I guessed that this was from the plane.”

Each crewman, once on the ground, rolled up his parachute and prepared to be made prisoners by whoever might come upon them. They were a few miles southwest of Casalmaggiore, Italy. At that moment, the lead elements of the 10^th Mountain Division, spearheading the Allied offensive across the Po Valley, were only 37 miles away. Local fascists and German soldiers had watched the plane go down, and it wasn’t long before all of the surviving crew were taken prisoner. Conrad Bailey remembered that, “The six of us who bailed out all came together about 30 minutes after we were on the ground.” Hall recalled it differently, possibly conflating the immediate aftermath of the crash with later events which took place after they were transported to a prisoner staging area in Verona, “I was taken prisoner immediately. We were not allowed to see or talk to any of the rest of our crew. In fact, I was separated and did not see any of the rest of my crew members. My interrogation went on for some time, and name, rank and serial number went on and on. We were finally turned over to the Luftwaffe for transfer to a prison Stalag.”

The wounded James Wolfgang remained in Verona, but the rest were brought over the Brenner Pass by way of Fortezza, past the very railyard that had been their target. Their column of trucks was strafed several times by Allied planes, but they made it safely to a prison camp in Austria. Alfred Baldwin never forgot the abysmal conditions there. He recalled being housed in a square cell that was so small he could only lay down in it diagonally, and being fed bread that was far too hard to eat, with soup made from a local weed that dyed his teeth green. Their stay was short; the camp was liberated by Allied forces two weeks later.

The Germans discovered the bodies of Hugh Litto and Shelby Brown along the banks of the Po River, and buried them at the Mirandola Cemetery. Litto’s body was later brought home to Rochester, NY at the request of his family. The Magnificent Malfunction crashed in a field next to the Po River. Navigator James Miller was unconscious when the plane struck the earth. He recalled that the pilot had, “landed the ship to save me. I was badly banged up by the crash and I was unconscious and therefore very limp and able to take more shock. I had a couple of broken vertebrae.” He regained consciousness in an Italian hospital. John Cunningham’s lifeless body was recovered from the pilot’s seat. The impact had broken his spine, killing him. He was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Local Italians took souvenirs and the plane was presumably taken away as scrap. By the beginning of the 21^st century, nothing marked the spot where the B-17 had come down except for the dim recollections of some of the elderly citizens of Casalmaggiore. In 2015, with very little information at hand, I went online looking for information about my grandfather’s B-17 (Alfred Baldwin was my maternal grandfather). Joel Swindelhurst, of the Kids of the 463^rd Bomb Group, sent the crew crash reports and casualty questionnaires from the archives. Italian friends made during other research regarding the 10^th Mountain Division put me into contact with members of Air Crash Po, an organization of Italian researchers and archaeologists who locate lost World War Two aircraft in their area. They had identified the crash site in 2008, though they found no traces of the plane itself. They sent along information they had gathered from the locals, and offered to go over the crash site with metal detectors. Some weeks later, I received a video of the Air Crash Po team at the crash site, unearthing several small pieces of wreckage, one of which they sent to me.

The fragment of the Magnificent Malfunction sent to me. (Click photo to view larger)

Ago Albertini, of Air Crash Po, then emailed a link to a newspaper article describing Arthur Hall’s celebration, in an Italian restaurant with some friends, of the 70^th anniversary of the crash. I was able to get into touch with Hall’s son, and connected him with Air Crash Po. They sent Arthur a piece of the Magnificent Malfunction, which he received before he passed away. Arthur Hall Jr and I spoke numerous times, compared notes, and sent each other resources. Our repeated requests for information about making a donation to Air Crash Po were all politely refused.

Arthur “Mac” Hall holding a piece of the Magnificent Malfunction. (Click photo to view larger)

Lt. Alfred J. Baldwin, bombardier aboard the Magnificent Malfunction on April 20, 1945. It was his fourteenth mission. (Click photo to view larger)

Written on the back of this photograph are the words, “Magnificent Malfunction – the ship I lost yesterday.” (Click photo to view larger)

The nose art of the Magnificent Malfunction.