Night Flights and Quiet Courage: My Father’s WWII Story

When most people think of World War II pilots, they picture bomber squadrons flying in broad daylight across Europe. But there was another group—one cloaked in darkness, secrecy, and silence. They were called the Carpetbaggers. And my father, Maurice Eugene “Jake” Jacobson, was one of them.

He never spoke much about the war. I grew up knowing he was a pilot, and that he flew a big, four-engine bomber called a B-24 Liberator. My mom would mention that he “flew supplies to the Underground,” comparing it to something out of Hogan’s Heroes. But the full story didn’t come to light until decades later—when Alzheimer’s gave us an unexpected gift: Dad finally opened up.

WWII B24 Liberator crew Jim McKenna, Maurice Jacobson, Dave Cleveland, Norman Russell Joel Carter, Mitch Hart, Seymour Chinich, Bob Marriett

While visiting home, I found the carefully preserved letters he’d written to his parents during the war. Those letters, typed and saved by his sisters, chronicled his journey from a Nebraska farm boy to a 1st Lieutenant in the Army Air Forces, navigating the sky above Nazi-occupied Europe on missions so secret, even the letters danced around the details.

Young WWII pilot, Maurice E Jacobson and Basic training, BT-13 class

From Cornfields to Cockpits

Dad enlisted in 1942 at just 19 years old. He trained tirelessly across the South, learning to fly everything from single-engine trainers to the mighty B-24. In his letters, he wrote about stalling planes, blindfolded cockpit checks, and flying upside-down over the Black Warrior River. He once joked that if he ever washed out, he’d at least racked up enough hours for a private pilot’s license.

Eventually, he earned his wings and was sent to Harrington Field in England, the covert base of operations for the 801st/492nd Bomb Group—better known today as the Carpetbaggers.

The Missions No One Could Talk About

The Carpetbaggers weren’t bombing factories or railroads. Instead, under the cover of night, they flew deep into enemy territory, dropping supplies, weapons, and agents to the Resistance in France, Belgium, and beyond. Their black-painted B-24s flew low and fast—no lights, no escorts, no fanfare. Just courage and precision.

Dad flew 30 missions—and like many of the men in his unit, he downplayed them. He called them “routine.” But nothing about those flights was routine. They required absolute stealth, nerves of steel, and a commitment to a mission no one could publicly acknowledge at the time.

He earned the Distinguished Flying Cross, multiple Oak Leaf Clusters, and my eternal admiration.

A Quiet Hero

After his missions, he returned stateside in late 1944, just before the war ended. He trained briefly on transport aircraft before being discharged and settling into a quieter life. He married my mom, raised a family, and never once boasted about his service.

But now, I want people to know.

I want them to know about the young farm boy from Oshkosh, Nebraska, who learned to fly, braved the night skies over occupied Europe, and helped turn the tide of war—not with bombs, but with hope.

And I want them to remember that sometimes, the biggest heroes are the ones who never tell you they were.

An excerpt dated New Year's Day—1944

I sure like the B-24’s. It is certainly a big plane but 100% reliable. It flies as well on three engines as it does on four. We came back from Birmingham on three engines the other day and number four had quit. It gets by on two engines if there isn’t too big a load on. Flying is a game a fellow has to eat with, sleep with, work with, and have all his heart set on with a lot of ease.

1 Comments

May 27, 2025, 11:06:11 AM

Melaney - Well, you just made me cry. What a wonderful tribute. Thank you.

Night Flights and Quiet Courage: My Father’s WWII Story

From Cornfields to Cockpits

The Missions No One Could Talk About

A Quiet Hero

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