United States Army Air Forces airman Henry Eugene "Red" Erwin, Sr., who was presented the Medal of Honor for his actions in World War II. (Courtesy of Erwin family)

Red Erwin was in such bad shape, suffering from burns all the way to the bone, that then-Maj. Gen. Curtis LeMay put one of his legendary bull rushes on the regulations to get him the Medal of Honor before he died.

The medal was awarded and presented to Erwin within a week of his near-fatal injuries; it's still believed to be the fastest approval on record of the nation's highest award for valor.


Staff Sgt. Henry E. "Red" Erwin, the radio operator on a B-29 Superfortress over Japan in April 1945, beat long odds to survive and go home to Alabama, where he was welcomed at the hospital with a kiss from his wife Betty on the only part of his face that wasn't scalded.

The doctors didn't think he would see again, but he did. They thought he would lose his right arm, but he didn't. Following more than 40 surgeries, Erwin would work for 37 years counseling burn patients and advising on benefits for the then-Veterans Administration in Birmingham, Alabama.

He and Betty would have four children. Following his death in 2002, son Henry Erwin Jr., who had become a state senator in Alabama, said his father "embodied all the ideals of the Medal of Honor. He wore them like a well-pressed suit."

"He was honest, thrifty and patriotic," the son told the Pentagon, "[and] treated everyone with courtesy and respect."

There was never any doubt that what Erwin did on April 12, 1945, deserved the Medal of Honor -- not among the other 11 crew members whose lives he saved and definitely not for LeMay, then-commander of the bombing campaign against Japan.

As the radio operator, Erwin was also in charge of dropping white phosphorus charges down a chute to signal rallying points for other bombers in the formation to proceed to targets.

On that day, something went terribly wrong with the "willy peter" charge. It either jammed in the chute or went off prematurely, bouncing back up and hitting Erwin in the face. He was blinded, part of his nose was burned off and his clothes were on fire. Flames were spreading through the aircraft.

Despite his injuries, Erwin picked up the white phosphorus charge, still burning at more than 1,300 degrees Celsius, or 2,372 degrees Fahrenheit. He groped and crawled his way to the cockpit, where he somehow unhinged a small desk blocking his way to a window. He heaved the charge out the window and then collapsed.

On Guam on April 19, 1945, Erwin's entire body was covered in bandages when Maj. Gen. Willis H. Hale, commander of Army Air Forces Pacific Area, presented him with the Medal of Honor. It had been approved by the newly sworn-in President Harry Truman.

LeMay would later tell him: "Your effort to save the lives of your fellow Airmen is the most extraordinary kind of heroism I know."

Erwin's story has become part of Air Force lore, but the effort to honor his legacy and preserve it for new generations has taken on a new form to mark the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II.

His grandson, Jon Erwin, in collaboration with author William Doyle, has written a book, to be published Tuesday, on Red Erwin's astonishing sacrifice, his life after the war, and the strong Christian faith that saw him through hardship: "Beyond Valor: A World War II Story of Extraordinary Heroism, Sacrificial Love, and a Race against Time."

In a 1999 History Channel documentary with other Medal of Honor recipients, Erwin said, "I called on the Lord to help me, and He has never let me down."

Jon Erwin and his brother, Andrew, the director-producer team in a string of successful inspirational movies such as "Woodlawn" and "I Can Only Imagine," also are at work on a movie about their grandfather.

For Jon Erwin, the book and movie are a way of coming to grips with the meaning of his grandfather's legacy, which he may not have fully appreciated in his youth.

In a phone interview, he recalled being about six years old when his grandfather took him to the basement and retrieved the Medal of Honor from its display case.

"He let me hold the Medal of Honor in the basement," but initially said nothing as the young boy tried to grasp what his grandfather was telling him, Jon Erwin said.

Then, Erwin leaned over his shoulder and said only, "Freedom isn't free."

The message was lost on him as a boy, Jon Erwin said, and he feels that he never truly comprehended through his teenage years his grandfather's passion for duty and service.

"I think my generation doesn't look back enough on the heroism that built this country," typified by the World War II generation, he said. "I didn't either. That's my one lasting regret -- that I didn't take the time to listen."

Jon Erwin said there is new material in the book, including a stash of letters that his grandparents wrote to each other during the war, interviews with Erwin's crew members, and a quote from LeMay on his determination to get the Medal of Honor to Erwin quickly.

"I want to pin the Medal of Honor on that kid's neck before he dies," LeMay said.

Jon Erwin said his grandmother shared her husband's general reluctance to dwell on what had happened during the war.

"He didn't talk about it; that was my husband," he recalled Betty saying.

'He Cradled It Like a Football'

Red Erwin was born in Docena, Alabama, on May 8, 1921. His father, a coal miner, died when he was 10. He quit school to join the Civilian Conservation Corps, one of President Franklin Roosevelt's "alphabet soup" agencies meant to ease the devastating effects of the Depression.

Erwin joined the Army Reserve in July 1942 and was called to active duty as an aviation cadet in the Army Air Forces in February 1943, training as a pilot in Ocala, Florida. He didn't make it through flight school and later was trained as a radio operator and radio mechanic.

He was assigned to the 52nd Bombardment Squadron, 29th Bombardment Group, 20th Air Force, which left for the Pacific in early 1945.

From Feb. 25 to April 1 of that year, his unit participated in 10 missions against Japanese cities. On April 12, his B-29, called the "City of Los Angeles," was the lead bomber in a formation on a low-level mission to attack a chemical plant at Koriyama, 120 miles north of Tokyo.

The following account of the mission is based on Air Force historical records, which included interviews with other crew members, Erwin's medal citation and the interview with his grandson Jon.

Erwin's job dropping the white phosphorus charge down the chute on the signal of Capt. George Simeral, the B-29's flight commander, was crucial to the success of the mission. The bombers flew individually to Japan and would await the phosphorus signal to form up on Simeral's aircraft.

Over the Japanese volcanic island of Aogashima, Simeral barked the order to Erwin, "Now."

Erwin pulled the pin on the charge, which contained 20 pounds of white phosphorus, and dropped it down the chute.

There was supposed to be an eight-second delay on the charge, giving it ample time to clear the aircraft, but it either went off prematurely or caught in the chute. Erwin was kneeling over the chute when the charge shot back up and hit him in the face.

Erwin said later that he immediately sensed something was wrong as he lit the charge. "I knew that sucker was coming back. I was completely aflame."

Thick white smoke spread through the aircraft. The charge, burning at 1,300 degrees Celsius, was eating its way through the metal bulkhead.

The navigator's table blocked Erwin's path to a window. He clutched the white-hot charge between his right arm and his chest -- "he cradled it like a football," other crew members said -- and reached out with his left hand to unlock the table.

Erwin "stumbled into the cockpit, threw the bomb out the window, and collapsed between the pilots' seats," an Air Force report said.

"After Red threw that bomb out the co-pilot's window, the smoke cleared out, and I could see the instruments. And, at that point, we were at 300 feet," Simeral said. "If he hadn't gotten it out of there, well then, why we probably would have gone on in."

Simeral aborted the mission and headed back to Iwo Jima, the closest place where Erwin could be treated. The crew used a fire extinguisher to put out the flames on Erwin's clothes, but the white phosphorus embedded in him continued to smolder.

Erwin was in agony but never lost consciousness. He kept asking, "Is everybody else all right?"

On Guam on May 7, LeMay asked Erwin what else could be done for him. He asked for his brother Howard, who was on Saipan with the 7th Marine Division.

Screen idol Tyrone Power, star of swashbuckler hits and a Marine Corps cargo pilot in the Pacific during World War II, flew Howard to visit him in the hospital on Guam.

"And so my brother was there the next morning," Erwin said. "He stayed with me for 24 hours. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was there and that was a great comfort."

Erwin received a disability discharge from the Army in October 1947 as a master sergeant.

In a 1986 oral history for the Air Force, he said, "I love the military. Even though I was severely burned, if they had retained me, I would have stayed in."

Reflecting on World War II, Erwin said, "We had the leaders, we had the logistics, and we had the brave men at the right place at the right time."

In the business of movie-making, Jon Erwin said that he and his brother try to tell stories that "have the power to uplift and inspire people," adding that their grandfather's story is the best example.

"The lessons of Red Erwin inspire us with the ideals of endurance and perseverance," which can mean the difference between success and failure, he said. "And I've found that the people who are successful are the people who can go above and beyond. I learned that from my grandfather."

This article originally appeared on Military.com. Follow @militarydotcom on Twitter.