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When Vesuvius Went to War: The Forgotten 1944 Eruption That Grounded a U.S. Air Force
While the eruption that buried Pompeii is infamous, Mount Vesuvius last erupted in March 1944, during WWII. Hot ash and rock rained down on the nearby Pompeii Airfield, crippling the USAAF 340th Bombardment Group. The volcano destroyed over 80 bombers, a stark reminder of nature's power.
In the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, the ghosts of Pompeii are a constant reminder of the volcano's devastating power. For most, that ancient catastrophe in 79 AD is the only story they know about the famous peak. But the volcano’s most recent major eruption is a far more modern tale, one that unfolded amidst the chaos of the Second World War, pitting the might of the United States Army Air Forces against the unyielding force of nature.
An Unlikely Neighbor
By March 1944, the Allied campaign in Italy was a grueling slog. Stationed at the Pompeii Airfield at Terzigno, just a few miles from the base of Vesuvius, was the 340th Bombardment Group. Their mission was critical: flying B-25 Mitchell bombers to disrupt German supply lines in Italy, a campaign codenamed Operation Strangle. For the airmen, the volcano was little more than an imposing backdrop, a silent, smoking giant that occasionally rumbled but was largely ignored in the face of a more immediate, human enemy. The daily threat came from flak and enemy fighters, not geology.
That all changed on March 18, 1944. After two decades of minor activity, Vesuvius roared back to life with a ferocity not seen in generations. Initially, it was a spectacle. Lava began to creep down the western slope, and some airmen even flew reconnaissance missions over the crater, marveling at the geologic display. But the awe soon turned to alarm.
Nature's Artillery Barrage
The eruption intensified dramatically. A massive column of gas, ash, and rock shot miles into the sky, creating a terrifying plume that blotted out the sun. The wind, unfortunately for the 340th, was blowing directly toward their airfield. What followed was a bombardment unlike any they had ever faced. Instead of shrapnel and explosives, the sky rained down hot ash, cinders, and lapilli—small, sharp volcanic rocks. The sheer weight of the accumulating debris was immense.
Sergeant Robert McRae, a public information officer with the 340th, chronicled the scene:
The plexiglass noses of the ships were shattered. The fabric-covered rudders, elevators, and ailerons were ripped to shreds. The weight of the ash and rock caved in the top turrets of the planes. Engines were clogged with fine ash that would have meant certain disaster had any attempt been made to fly the ships. It was a mess.
The B-25 Mitchells, rugged machines built for combat, were systematically dismantled. Their aluminum skins were dented and pierced, canopies shattered, and engines filled with abrasive volcanic dust that would have destroyed them from the inside. Tents collapsed under the weight of the ash, and the entire airfield was buried under a thick, gray blanket of destruction.
The Aftermath: A Defeat Without a Battle
When the eruption subsided after about a week, the scale of the damage was staggering. Between 78 and 88 aircraft were either completely destroyed or severely damaged. In a single, indiscriminate act, Mount Vesuvius had inflicted more damage on the 340th Bombardment Group than any enemy action had throughout the entire war. The volcano had succeeded where the German Luftwaffe had failed, effectively grounding a crucial component of the Allied air campaign.
The unit was evacuated, and the immense task of salvaging what they could began. Many of the damaged planes had to be written off completely. The 340th was eventually re-equipped and returned to the fight, but the event served as a humbling lesson. In the grand theater of World War II, a conflict defined by human technology and strategy, the raw, ancient power of the Earth had delivered a stunning and forgotten blow.