[bobbysocks]

Captured
By Paul M. Bull

June 9, 1944 - 315th base at Pignataro, Italy. I didn't feel as sharp as I had been, so I talked to Doc Laughlin, the squadron flight surgeon. He looked me over, took my blood pressure, and said I should rest for awhile. In fact, he told me I should be sent back to the States. I told him I was helping Art Marks in Flight Operations. Doc said, 'Okay, we will start the paperwork.' I reported to Flight Operations and the request for air strikes began to come in. We only had two Flight Leaders and one was already on a mission. One of the Flight leaders returned and he said, 'P.M., I've got the runs and I can't fly. I don't feel too sharp.'

A call came in for an air strike at the north end of lake Bolzano. There was a Battalion of Germans dug in where the roads on each side of the lake turned north. The call said that our tanks were only about one-half mile south on the west road. They asked for the strike as soon as possible and since Art was not available, I said, "I'll take it" and threw my wallet on the desk. All the pilots "on call" were summoned, and the flight-line crew loaded twelve planes with 1,000-lb bombs. I took off with my Flight Group and when we arrived, I could see the German Cross painted on the tops of some vehicles, so I said to the other 11 planes, 'Okay, this is our target. We will drop our bombs and strafe. Tally Ho!"

We received very little visible firepower. We strafed the area good. There were quite a few fires. When I felt the area had been covered, I said, "Okay, let's go home." As I began to pull up, I saw a bunch of big trucks that were parked under some trees. I asked my wingman if he had any ammo left and he said he did. I said, "Red Leader, go on. We'll catch you over the lake" We swung around and destroyed a bunch of big trucks. I said to my wingman, "let's go home." We still had not received any visible gunfire, but when we were about 300 feet above the ground, all of a sudden the air turned white with tracers.

I pushed the stick forward to get on the deck, but there was a big explosion and my control stick just flopped around. So I unsnapped my seat and shoulder straps. Fire entered the cockpit from the engine area in a stream about 6 inches in diameter, and I tried to jettison my canopy, but it wouldn't budge. All of a sudden I was out in the air and as I turned over, I saw my plane hit the ground. The tail was gone, so I knew a tracer must have hit the 60-gallon gas tank right behind my seat. Thank heavens for the armor between my seat and the gas tank!

I landed off to the side of the area we had just bombed and strafed. It was 11:45 a.m., June 9, 1944. I couldn't see anybody, so I started gathering my- chute to bury or hide it. I said to myself, "Paul, what are you doing? They know you're here" I don't remember pulling the ripcord, but I had the 'D' ring in my hand. Then I started to unzip my chute back and again I thought to myself, "Paul, get out of here.". I looked around and to my right and about a hundred yards away I saw fires, horses down and men yelling. So I looked to my left and approximately 150 feet away was a rock fence.

As I was about to move, a rifle fired and the bullet went right by my head. I turned and there stood a soldier, I would guess between 15 and 17 years old, wearing a helmet, shorts and a pair of shoes. I spoke to him in Italian, but he just ran over to me and said something in German. He pointed to the slit trench and still in an excited voice, pointed to the sky and pulled me to go with him back to the slit trench. I tried to assure him the planes were gone, but he was too scared to listen.

A German Corporal ran up and demanded my pistol. I told him I didn't have a pistol. He reached over and took my pen and pencil. I grabbed them back because I was mad at myself for the position I was in. As I placed the pen and pencil back in my shirt pocket, I felt a slip of paper that had names and plane numbers written on it, that I had neglected to leave in Operations. I reached in my back pocket and pulled out the black escape packet and tore it open. Italian money spilled all over the ground. Immediately both soldiers were on the ground - one for you, two for me. While they were busy picking up money, I put the piece of paper in my mouth and eventually swallowed it.

A German officer showed up and the young soldier split. The officer jabbed me in the ribs with his pistol and said, "H'rous". I assumed that meant to walk in the direction he was pointing. I took one step and fell flat on my face. I looked down at my left leg and the pant leg from my knee down to my GI shoe was blown up as big as a balloon. All the shoelaces were burned out and my GI shoe was well scorched.

The officer told the Corporal something and the Corporal left. The officer was talking the whole time and from the tone of his voice, I gathered he didn't like me much. After a while, the Corporal came back with one of the 99th Fighter Group pilots. I could see he had been mistreated, as his shirt and pant pockets had been ripped off and his face looked bruised. The officer motioned for Lt. Smith (I learned his name later) to carry me and pointed toward some buildings I had seen from the air.

Smith helped me up and put his arm around me, and I put my right arm around his shoulders, grabbed the lapel of his shirt and away we went. The German officer mumbled all the way. The buildings were inside of a rock wall about 6 to 7 feet tall. Inside the wall were a house, barn and several other smaller buildings. The officer said something to the Corporal and we stopped. Then the officer and Corporal left. Soon another German Corporal came over and spoke to us in perfect Eastern U.S. speech.

He began to question me. After each question, I would say, "Lt. Paul M. Bull, 0736977." The Corporal said that he knew I was aware of what we had done to their transportation. He continued, ' We are going out tonight. Tell us what we want to know and we will take you with us. Otherwise . . . ." and he just put his finger to his head and said, "Bang." He left, and we stood in the fairly hot Italian June sun all day.

The Corporal finally came about sunset and handed each of us a plate of beans and said, "Enjoy. This is your last supper." Soon, some soldiers took us around the back of a building. There were two freshly dug graves.

Lt. Smith and I were stood up against the stone wall with the graves right in front of us. I thought, "Hey, things are getting out of control" After awhile, out marched seven soldiers, similar to our Military Police, with big brass plates on chains around their necks. I remembered seeing pictures in my preflight schooling.

They lined up in front of us with their rifles at their sides. Then the Colonel and Corporal came out. The Corporal asked us the same questions he previously asked that morning and I gave him the same answer - name, rank and serial number. I wondered what Smith would say, but he said the same thing I did.

The Colonel stepped up and looked at us, shook his head and barked a command. The seven M.P.'s jumped to attention. The Colonel said in German, I assume - Ready, Aim and we were looking down seven rifle barrels. I thought, "I wonder what it feels like to die?"

There was a long silence and the Colonel barked another command, and the seven M.P.'s dropped their rifles, put them on their shoulders and marched away. The Colonel crooked his finger and said, "kommen sie hier." We followed him, with Smith helping me, to a building inside of which was large trailer. We entered and there was a bed, table with maps and cupboards. He opened one and took out three small glasses and a bottle of wine. He poured three and handed one to each of us. He raised his glass and said, "I salute you. You brave men."

Later we were taken to a jeep and the Colonel got his unit out of there that night! I expected the U.S. tanks to open up at anytime.

Paul Bull spent eleven months in German prisoner-of-war camps, including several winter months near the Polish border. After enduring a winter forced march to a camp in the interior of Germany, he was liberated by General George Patton's lst Army troops at Moosberg.