Published July 15, 2013    
 
 
Floating vengeance: Remembering the arrival of an  early UAV in N.D.
 
It’s not big in the history books and it doesn’t get talked  about at 
gatherings of World War II veterans. But on a wintry day in the final  year of 
the war, Imperial Japan attacked North Dakota. 
By: _Chuck  Haga_ 
(http://www.grandforksherald.com/event/author/name/Chuck_Haga/) , Grand Forks 
Herald  
 
It’s not big in the history books and it doesn’t get talked about at  
gatherings of World War II veterans. But on a wintry day in the final year of  
the war, Imperial Japan attacked North Dakota. 
The attack was from the air, an early strike by an unmanned aerial vehicle  
(UAV), but it left no casualties and did no physical damage. Nor did the  
airstrikes — there were two — cause much alarm, thanks to a fairly tight 
news  blackout, though a young Walsh County boy named Clarian Grabanski did 
tell  authorities he fired six rifle shots at the craft that came down in a 
muddy  field on his family’s farm near the Red and Forest rivers.
 
A balloon. 
Specifically, a hydrogen-filled balloon — 30 feet in diameter — launched 
from  more than 6,000 miles away and armed with bombs and incendiary devices. 
“It came in from the west, and it was kind of spooky,” said Eugene  
Dauksavage, 78, who was a 10-year-old boy returning from a Lenten “stations of  
the cross” service at St. Stanislaus Catholic Church in Warsaw, N.D., with his 
 family. 
It was a blustery Friday evening, March 30, 1945. 
“It was a pretty big balloon, gray, the size of those that people sit in  
there and fly with helium,” Dauksavage said. “There was kind of a basket  
underneath, and ropes coming down. 
“It was maybe a couple hundred yards in the air and coming down, down, 
down.  We lived about a quarter-mile from where it landed, and we walked out to 
the  road to look at it. But we never did get to see it close because it was 
so muddy  in the field.” 
Several other people, on their way home from St. Stanislaus, watched the  
balloon come down, pulled on galoshes and hiked through the muddy field to 
check  it out. 
The FBI and the Army showed up the next day. 
Goals: Panic, fires 
Angered by the Doolittle Raid on Tokyo in April 1942, which showed the  
Japanese that their home islands were not immune from attack, military  
strategists there began looking for new ways to strike at the United States. 
After two years of design and production, thousands of high-altitude 
balloons  armed with bombs and incendiary devices were launched from Nov. 3, 
1944, 
to  April 20, 1945. The newly discovered “river of wind” that was the jet 
stream  would carry them in 50 to 60 days more than 6,000 miles to the West 
Coast of the  United States and Canada. 
Their objectives: cause massive fires in the western forests, divert 
manpower  and resources from the war effort, and shake American morale. 
“Floating Vengeance,” author and military historian Michael Unsworth 
called  the project after researching it and its effects. In 1994, he came to 
Grand  Forks for the dedication of a records archive at UND’s Chester Fritz 
Library,  Department of Special Collections. 
The archive includes U.S. investigators’ notes and accounts from Walsh 
County  residents who saw the balloon float onto the Grabanski farm, leaving a 
trail of  sand as it dropped its ballast sandbags. The documents had been 
stamped  “confidential” until shortly before they were deposited at UND. 
There were no contemporary newspaper accounts. Reporters from local and  
regional papers went to the scene but agreed not to publish the news. FBI 
agents  and other authorities took possession of the balloon remnants — and 
photos shot  by the Herald photographer — and urged people not to talk about 
the 
incident as  that might cause panic. They also wanted to deny Japan 
intelligence on the  effectiveness of the campaign. 
It was not particularly effective. Of the 9,200 balloons launched, only 
about  300 made it to North America. Most fell into the ocean, as batteries 
regulating  the dropping of sandbags froze in the high altitude. 
Almost all of those that made it across the Pacific Ocean fell in 
unpopulated  areas of the Northwest and did little or no damage, but bombs from 
one 
balloon  killed six people in Bly, Ore., on May 5, 1945. Another could have 
caused big  problems two months earlier when it struck power lines leading to 
a facility in  Washington state that was processing material for the 
American atomic bomb  project. 
Taking souvenirs 
The first of the two balloons to reach North Dakota came down near Ashley,  
southwest of Jamestown near the South Dakota border, on Feb. 22, 1945. 
Farmers  estimated it was traveling about 50 feet off the ground at 15 miles an 
hour with  its shroud lines just touching the ground. It came to a stop when 
one of the  lines caught on a farmhouse radio antenna. 
Gerald Rau, the 12-year-old grandson of the land’s owner, rode his pony 
over  the snowy fields to inspect the balloon up close, then reported to his 
father,  who with friends hauled the device to Ashley. It was displayed there 
in a vacant  lot, where local boys took souvenirs: patches with Japanese 
writing. 
They later became concerned after hearing that the balloon could have 
carried  a biological weapon, but nobody ever got sick and the event faded into 
 
historical obscurity. (Unsworth wrote later that the Japanese military was  
capable of arming the balloons with biological weapons but apparently 
elected  not to, fearing retaliation from the United States.) 
The FBI sent an agent from Minneapolis to inspect the Ashley balloon. He  
photographed it, packed it in his car and later sent it to Washington, D.C. 
Five weeks later, Clarian Grabanski personally opened a new front in the 
war,  firing six .22 rounds into the gondola of the Walsh County balloon. 
“Fortunately for him, he did his shooting from a distance and did not set 
off  the self-destruct charge” that was built into each balloon, Unsworth 
wrote. It  apparently had dropped its bombs already. 
Locals eyed the balloon for a day, wondering at its skin of shellacked  
mulberry paper and speculating on its origins. Despite young Grabanski’s brave  
assault, most people thought it was a weather balloon or a U.S. military 
device.  U.S. military authorities who arrived the next day tried to keep it 
that  way. 
Early UAVs? 
Dauksavage said he doesn’t remember when he first suspected or learned that 
 the balloon that drifted into his young life in 1945 had come all the way 
from  Japan and had been outfitted with a deadly weapon. 
“Once in a while it comes up in conversation,” he said. “But very few 
people  are left who remember it now. 
“I heard there were stories … people said they heard a couple men were 
seen  jumping out when it came down. 
“But where did they go then, in that mud?”

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