The Mission They Could Not Abandon: The Last Flight of “Hell’s Wench” and the Cost of Operation Tidal Wave
At dawn on August 1, 1943, the desert airfield at Benghazi, Libya, came alive with the sound of engines warming in the half-light. One by one, 178 B-24 Liberator bombers prepared for takeoff, forming the largest low-level strike force the United States Army Air Forces had yet attempted. Among them was a bomber named Hell’s Wench, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Addison E. Baker, with Major John L. Jerstad serving as co-pilot.
The mission before them was unprecedented in scale, ambition, and risk. Their target lay more than 1,200 miles away: the oil refineries of Ploiești, Romania. These facilities represented one of the most vital sources of fuel for Axis operations in Europe. Intelligence assessments at the time estimated that a significant portion of German military mobility—air, land, and sea—depended on oil refined in and around Ploiești. Disrupting that supply, planners believed, could weaken enemy operations across multiple fronts.
What made the mission extraordinary was not only the distance, but the method. Rather than bombing from high altitude, as was customary, the bombers would fly at extremely low levels—often no higher than treetops—directly through heavily defended airspace. The objective was to evade radar, surprise defenders, and deliver delayed-fuse bombs deep into refinery structures. It was a plan that demanded flawless timing, navigation, and discipline.
A Commander and a Volunteer
Lieutenant Colonel Baker was 36 years old and the commanding officer of the 93rd Bomb Group. He had accumulated nearly a year of combat experience and was known among his men as a leader who did not ask others to do what he would not do himself. Flying beside him that morning was Major John Jerstad, just 25 years old.
Jerstad’s presence on the mission was not required. He had already completed the number of combat missions needed to rotate home. Oregon awaited him, along with family and the promise of survival. Yet when Baker needed an experienced officer who understood the operation in detail, Jerstad volunteered. As the group’s operations officer, he was intimately familiar with the mission plan and believed his presence could help ensure success.
Hell’s Wench carried a crew of ten that day: pilots, navigator, bombardier, engineer, radio operator, and gunners. Every man understood the risks. Command estimates predicted that losses could reach fifty percent. Some crews would not return.
The Long Road to Romania
Shortly after 7:00 a.m., the bombers lifted from Benghazi and formed over the Mediterranean. Initially cruising at altitude, they later descended to low level as they crossed Greece and Yugoslavia, using terrain to shield them from detection. Flying so low increased fuel consumption and magnified the consequences of even minor navigation errors. A wrong turn could send an aircraft into a hillside with no time to recover.
Several hours into the mission, disaster struck before the target was even in sight. An aircraft carrying a key navigator suffered mechanical failure and crashed into the sea. With that loss, the mission lost its primary navigation reference. The formation pressed on, but the margin for error had narrowed dangerously.
As the bombers approached the initial point near Ploiești—the precise location where groups were to turn toward their assigned refineries—confusion set in. The lead formation made an incorrect turn, mistaking one set of landmarks for another. Instead of heading toward the oil fields, much of the force began drifting toward Bucharest.
Baker recognized the error immediately. Radio contact proved impossible amid interference and strict transmission limits. In seconds, he faced a decision that would define his legacy: follow the lead formation and risk missing the target entirely, or break away with his group and proceed alone into one of the most heavily defended zones in Europe.
He chose the latter.
Into the Fire
Eighteen B-24s of the 93rd Bomb Group separated from the main force and turned toward Ploiești. German defenders quickly recognized the threat. Anti-aircraft batteries were alerted. Fire was concentrated. Barrage balloons—tethered with steel cables designed to tear through wings and engines—filled the sky above the refineries.
As Hell’s Wench entered the defensive zone at low altitude, the city and its industrial complexes stretched ahead. Smoke already rose from earlier strikes. Anti-aircraft fire intensified, creating a wall of explosions and tracer fire. Baker maneuvered through cables and bursts by instinct, guided by Jerstad’s callouts and his own experience.
Then came the hits.
Explosions rocked the aircraft. Shrapnel tore through fuel tanks and systems. A cable scraped along the wing. Flames erupted. The right wing of Hell’s Wench burned fiercely, and smoke filled the cockpit. Below lay open fields where an emergency landing might have saved every life on board.
But behind Baker flew the rest of the group.
If the lead aircraft turned away, the formation would follow. The mission would fail. The refineries would continue operating. Baker held his course.
Jerstad, fully aware of the choice before them, did not urge retreat. Instead, he verified bomb settings and prepared for release. Both men understood the consequences.
Completing the Run
With fire spreading and systems failing, Hell’s Wench pressed on toward the Astro Romana refinery. Bomb bay doors were already open. The bombardier, lying prone in the nose, waited for the precise release point. Stability was essential. Any deviation could scatter bombs and waste the attack.
The aircraft flew through smoke and steel, wings level, speed steady. Flames licked the fuselage. Heat cracked glass and blistered paint. When the release point arrived, the bombs dropped cleanly, plunging into refinery structures below. Seconds later, delayed detonations tore through towers and pipelines, sending fireballs skyward.
The mission objective had been achieved.
No Way Home
After bomb release, Baker attempted to climb, hoping to gain enough altitude for the crew to escape by parachute. But the damage was too severe. Engines failed one by one. Fire consumed structural supports. Communication systems were gone.
Despite the danger, crew members stayed at their stations, maintaining what control remained and buying time. Baker continued to climb, knowing that every foot of altitude improved survival odds. Yet the aircraft could not hold together.
The right wing failed catastrophically. Torn away by fire and stress, it sent Hell’s Wench into an uncontrollable spin. Inside the tumbling aircraft, escape was impossible. Centrifugal forces pinned the crew in place. The ground rushed upward.
In the cockpit, Jerstad reached out and gripped Baker’s shoulder. It was a final acknowledgment between two men who had made the same choice. Baker kept his hands on the controls until the end.
At approximately 9:47 a.m. Romanian time, Hell’s Wench struck the earth and exploded. All ten crew members were killed instantly.
The Cost and the Legacy
Operation Tidal Wave ended with devastating losses. Of the 178 bombers that departed Libya, 53 were lost. Hundreds of airmen were killed, wounded, or captured. It was one of the costliest air operations in American military history up to that point.
The damage inflicted on the refineries was significant, though not permanent. Production was disrupted, repairs took time, and German operations felt the strain. Yet the human cost haunted planners and commanders long after the smoke cleared.
Months later, the United States recognized extraordinary acts of leadership and courage displayed that day. Lieutenant Colonel Addison Baker and Major John Jerstad were both awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously. Their citations emphasized their decision to continue the mission despite overwhelming danger and the opportunity to save themselves.
The other eight men of Hell’s Wench received no individual decorations, only the quiet acknowledgment reserved for so many wartime sacrifices. Their names were recorded, their families notified, their service concluded in official language that could never fully express what they had done.
Remembering the Choice
The story of Hell’s Wench is not simply a tale of destruction or heroism. It is a story about leadership, responsibility, and the burden of command. Baker did not choose danger for its own sake. He chose to lead, believing that his actions could shape the outcome for others.
Jerstad did not have to be there. He volunteered, fully aware of the risks, because he believed his experience mattered.
Together, they made a decision that ensured their mission’s success and cost them their lives. More than eight decades later, their story endures—not as a call to glorify war, but as a reminder of the human weight carried by those who serve.
In remembering them, we remember not only how wars are fought, but who pays the price.
