Photo taken at Thunderbird Field, Phoenix, AZ, during Primary flight training.

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This web site is dedicated to preserving some of the personal history of World War 2. Some of my own experiences that do not appear in my film, A Fighter Pilot's Story, will be told here, as well as stories of other fighter pilots of World War 2. We hope you will find this site to be of interest, and that you will share it with your friends. We encourage you to visit our sub sites as well. Just click on the links to these sites at the bottom of this page.

Quentin & Jackie Aanenson & Ken Burns in Los Angeles in July 2007

Ken Burns, the outstanding documentary filmmaker, recently broadcast his latest epic documentary, entitled The War, on PBS beginning September 23, 2007. I was honored to be involved in many episodes of this show.

For highlights of the world premiere of The War, click here.




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I guess in one sense you can say we are an endangered species. But unlike the spotted owl or the whooping crane, there is no legislation that can be enacted to save us. We are rapidly disappearing off the radar screen, and soon all that will be left is what we have written, what we have recorded, and some old, fading photographs. Our voices will be forever silent, and the untold "first-hand accounts" of our experiences will remain untold.

We are the boys of World War II. We are dying off at the rate of 1,500 a day -- that's 45,000 a month. That number will steadily increase until the unyielding laws of mathematics give us an increasing rate of deaths, but a decreasing number of deaths -- the remaining pool will have become too small.

Taps is just one sunset away.

But in our lifetimes, we made a difference. We had the good fortune to live during a time when honor, patriotism, and character were important. We stepped up to defend freedom, and put our lives on the line for the "cause." It was a moment in history that may never occur again.





"It was 1944. I was 22 years old. And I was a combat fighter pilot in World War II. Along with thousands of other young Americans, I had been trained to be an efficient killer, and the deadly skies over Europe were my battlefields. The events of those violent and bloody days are difficult to comprehend, or even imagine. The story you are about to see is the result of the urgings of my children. They have wanted to know -- in specific terms -- what my life was really like during those critical years....those were the years I left college and joined the Air Corps, and met the girl I later married. Those were the years this airplane, the P-47 Thunderbolt, was to be my main weapon of destruction. It has been a traumatic experience for me to go back through all this. But perhaps, in other ways, it has helped purge some of the devastating memories that have haunted me for almost 50 years. So this is my story. It is being told so the children and grandchildren of those who were involved in this mortal storm, can have a better understanding of what our world of war was really like."

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Those words above provide the opening to my personal war experiences, as told in my video and television program, A Fighter Pilot's Story. This was a story I had written, narrated and produced for my family. It also attracted the attention of national PBS, and was first broadcast in June 1994 on more than 300 PBS stations across the United States. It was repeated in 1995 and 1997. It is estimated that more than 30 million people have seen this program.

World War II was the defining moment of the 20th Century. For millions of young American men, it had an impact on them that would forever be a part of their lives. Their personal experiences defy description -- the trauma and tragedy they experienced would be theirs alone to endure.

I flew most of my combat missions with the 391st Fighter Squadron of the 366th Fighter Group. The 391st Fighter Squadron still exists as a part of the U. S. Air Force. Their nickname is "Bold Tiger," and is worn on the right shoulder patch of their flight suits. I have incorporated this name into my e-mail address: boldtiger@prodigy.net


Regarding Documentary Orders

Since Mr. Aanenson will be undergoing medical treatments for a few weeks, we are putting a temporary hold on DVD orders of A Fighter Pilot's Story. We are hopeful that we will be able to resume service in the future.








At times I will be posting some of my war experiences that were not included in the television program, as well as stories relating to other fighter pilots in World War II.





The Face of War


During part of the time I was assigned to direct the close air support in front of the 7th Corps, I would occasionally work directly with the lead tank crews that were attacking the German lines. On this particular occasion, I had spent the night with my tank crew and a few infantry guys who were hunkered down in the ruins of a small village that had been fought over a few days before. The next day as we were leaving this little town, we came upon a small church set back about 30 yards off the road on the right. An assortment of American military vehicles were parked around the church -- jeeps, weapons carriers, and tanks, so we pulled over to go into the church.

There was a special drama about the scene. The sky was steely gray and solid overcast. The ground around the church was chewed up by the vehicles -- the deep tread marks of the heavy tanks -- the tire tracks of the other vehicles, and the footprints of men coming and going.

Some of the infantrymen coming out of the front lines ambled toward the church, as did some of the replacements who were moving up from the rear areas into the lines. The face of war could almost be defined by the appearance and expressions of the infantrymen who were changing positions.

Those coming out of the lines, who had seen more than men should ever see, who had done things men should never have to do, had a blank, expressionless look about them. They were as dead men, walking, unseeing, silent. There was a different look about those going toward the front. They still had some of the characteristics of the boys they were. They talked and showed expression. They were not boisterous or joking -- for they knew where they were going. But they still retained some of what they were.

This assortment of men -- all young men, but you couldn’t tell it by looking at them -- moved in and out of the small Belgian church. A Belgian Priest and an American Chaplain were conducting this ongoing service. There were 30 to 35 men standing among the pews as we walked in. The service continued for about 10 or 15 minutes. The Chaplain began reciting the Lord’s Prayer, and we all joined in.

As he neared the end, German 88s started to drop nearby. No one moved. Just as he finished, a shell landed quite near the church. Normally, men would have been making a mad dash for cover, but for some strange reason, nobody moved -- we just stood there. Then behind me on the opposite side of the church, a man with a deep voice started reciting the 23rd Psalm, and soon everyone had joined in. The shelling continued, but it seemed that the voices of the men became stronger. I guess the thought was, if we are going to die, it might as well be in a church.

In a few minutes, it all ended, and we were each on our way to our next assignment.”






The Brotherhood of Warriors

It is strange what the impact of war -- with all the massive forces that it brings to bear on the participants -- can have on the men who are involved. Friendships developed during the deadly combat that was a major part of our lives were as if magnified by a scale of 10 compared to peacetime friendships. When death is a part of your life more than living is a part of your life, you find yourself drawn to those men who share your incomprehensible existence.

So it was with my friendship with Johnny Bathurst, who shared space with me in our tent which we had named "Duffy's Tavern." Johnny and I had been through flight training together, but it was only after we got into combat that we became such close friends. There were missions during which we each – without hesitation – threw ourselves into great personal danger in order to help our buddy who was bracketed in by German flak guns. We flew down the gun barrels of those flak guns to give our buddy a chance to break away.


Landing Strip A-1, Normandy. July 1944. "Johnny and Quent"

One night we were in the Officer's Club at Laon, France, after a brutal day of strafing and dive bombing German strong points in our front. We had both had a couple of drinks as we tried to put that day out of our mind, when Johnny pulled something out of his pocket, and told me he wanted to give it to me. It was a St. Christopher Medal, and Johnny tied it to the metal pull tab on the zipper of my flight jacket. With great sincerity he told me it would keep me safe on future missions. Just before every future mission – as a part of my ritual – I touched the St. Christopher Medal as I swung into the cockpit.

Strangely, when I went back to the States on leave a few months later, the medal fell off my flight jacket and was lost. It deeply saddened me, but I took solace in the fact that it had fully served its purpose.


Officers' Club, Laon, France, October 1944

When the war was over, our lives went down different roads. Johnny stayed in the Air Force, and I went back to finish college, then went into a career in the business world. We kept track of each other by letter and telephone calls for a number of years, then I lost track of him. In the early 70s I got word through a mutual friend that he had been killed while testing a high performance spy plane at high altitude. It was not until 1992 that I found out he had survived the disintegration of this plane, and was living in Seattle, Washington. We arranged to meet at the next reunion of our old Fighter Group, and renewed our friendship of those dramatic days so long ago. We had many good conversations and meetings during the next few years, but on December 6, 1999, my good buddy, John Forrest Bathurst, died after a long illness. But I will never forget him, and I will never forget how our friendship during those brutal days of combat during World War II helped both of us hang on to our sanity.



Bidding farewell to Johnny as I departed for home on leave -- March 1945






Thunderbolt Patriot

Artist William R.Farrell of New York City has created an impressive painting of Captain Quentin Aanenson standing with his P-47 Thunderbolt airplane. This painting, the Thunderbolt Patriot, pays tribute to those pilots who served their country in time of war. A photo of this painting and information about it can be found at Mr. Farrell's website by clicking here.




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Additional stories and photos of my personal war experience.

Click on the following links to view the pages.

World Premiere of Ken Burns' THE WAR
Ken Burns' THE WAR PBS site
The Making and Aftermath of A Fighter Pilot's Story
Additional War Stories by Quentin Aanenson
THUNDERBOLT! - The Airplane
John Rutherford's Story
Lt. Ruben "Chip" Bork's Amazing Final Mission
Herb Stachler's Story
From Youth To Manhood: A Soldier's Transition
The Pilot and his Sweetheart
War Photos


Links to other interesting sites

Wesley Johnston's Dad's War


Ray Castagnaro's Never Lark nor Eagle: A Fighter Pilot’s Story


Feel free to email Quentin.


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