In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

Lt. William Laubner

I was shot down near Rhune, Germany, while on the first all fighter sweep scheduled by the 8th Air Force. Our target was an airfield southwest of Berlin. My flight was supposed to provide top cover but Wyche (flight leader), took us down to join in the fun. On the way out on the deck, we passed a flight of FW-190s going in the opposite direction, but they did not bother with us. I strafed a locomotive, power lines and a dry dock facility on the Rhine River which was surrounded by flak towers. My left engine was shot out and my left fuel tank was set on fire. I crash landed near a German anti-aircraft camp and taken prisoner. I hit the gunsight and broke my nose. I cut my knees getting out of the burning ship. My left shoulder felt as if it had been hit with a hammer. After I was put in jail, I took my flight jacket off and noticed a right angle tear on the side of the left shoulder. Evidently a round must have penetrated the armor (the planes armor plate, behind the pilot), and backpack (parachute), and sliced a hole in the jacket. I did not require hospitalization. Lady luck was with me on that mission!

After my capture, I could still understand enough German to make out the rivalry that existed between the two anti-aircraft officers trying to claim credit for my being shot down. One was CO of an 88 mm crew and the other had the flak towers. When a German major walked in everyone snapped to attention. I was sitting with my right leg resting on the top of my left knee. The officer nearest to me kicked my leg off of my knee and made me get up. I left with the two officers still arguing over who was going to claim me. It was hard to keep from smiling. I sat between the major and another officer on the way to the local lockup. We passed an airfield with 109s parked under netting. They remarked to each other that I would have liked to report the location to our air force if I could. That bought another smile to my face. I went through the interrogation center at Frankfurt and from there to Stalag Luft III. My interrogator at Frankfurt spoke perfect English. He told me that he had lived in Hackettstown, N.J. As I was sticking to the name, rank and serial number routine, he told me more about our outfit than I knew myself. He named our CO, Jolly Jack Jenkins, our base name and location, wing number, wing commander, Red Cross girl's names, etc, etc. I finally asked him if he thought he was going to win the war? He said if he didn't think so he would not be sitting across the desk from me. He also told me that they were waiting for Bob Rosenburgh. This told me that he knew I was in A flight, as Bob was also in A flight. I was really too small a fish to waste much time on.

I was at Stalag Luft III until the early part of 1945. I received permission from our barracks commander to converse with the guards. We called them ferrets. Since the barracks were built with a crawl space, the ferrets would crawl under them in order to pick up bits of information. They could speak and understand English. The floors had cracks between the flooring and when we heard them underneath we would get water buckets and brooms to clean the floor. We could hear them scramble out and of course that tickled hell out of us. They could not chastise us because keeping our room clean was S.O.P.

Another humorous diversion was trying to find the camp radio. Time and again a block was singled out and made to wait outside while the guards searched the building for the ever elusive radio. They never did find it. This always brought smiles to our faces. I was not mistreated because I was captured by the military. I did see some POWs that were man-handled by civilians before being turned over to the authorities. I also saw the Gestapo come into camp and take out three POWs. We heard that their gun cameras showed they were shooting civilians and other non-military targets. We never saw them again. We received soup, potatoes, black bread and occasional horse meat. We also received Red Cross parcels periodically. These parcels were used to augment the German rations and were eagerly received. Another bit of humor. We used to comment on our rib showing physiques when we were taken for an occasional shower.

At the end the Germans marched us out, for three days, to Spremburg. Around March of 1945 we were marched to Moosburg. Joe Hummel, who went through flying school with me, was shot down on the same day and we were in prison camp together. Joe and I and another pilot named Sturm, who flew P-47s, plotted our escape on the march to Moosburg. I developed blisters on my feet so gave them half of my rations and they took off during the night. They made it back but I had to wait to be liberated by Patton.

Needless to say we were hungry all the time and the movement from camp to camp in the dead of winter with snow on the ground in just a pair of leather shoes was not too comfortable. We were literally liberated by General Patton on 29 April 1945, pearl handled six gun, polished boots and helmet. His tank rammed through the front gate and he got out and said, "Did any of these bastards mistreat you?" I believe he would have shot them on the spot. We'd heard that he'd given one of his pearl handled six guns to one of his paramours. Don't know how much truth there is in that story, but when he came into camp I had to see for myself. Sure enough he only had one strapped to his waist.

Lt. Robert M. Littlefield "The Bridge at Barentin"

It was a bright, clear, and beautiful Sunday afternoon. Our squadron was top cover for the other units while they worked over a German airfield outside Paris. It was to be a milk run and as we circled above our attacking planes, I unhooked my oxygen mask and had a cigarette. After completion of the attack and on the way out, I spotted a train approaching a large multi-spanned brick bridge at the village of Barentin and called it in to Captain Buck Earls, my flight leader. We were Hellcat White flight, which meant Buck was leading the squadron and I was his element leader. Lt. Francis Matney was my wingman and Lt. Francis Waice was Buck's wingman.

The attack on the train was made by White flight only. Buck gave us the signal to spread out and go into trail in preparation for the attack. He and Waice went in first and I could see their strikes all over the locomotive. Great billowing clouds of steam shot skyward from the locomotive as they pulled off. I made a right diving turn and put my pipper (gunsight) on the car behind the locomotive. Matney was on the outside of the turn and behind me.

I squeezed the trigger and saw strikes from my six fifty caliber machine guns as I raked the box cars. By this time the locomotive and box cars had stopped on the bridge. I gave it another burst, saw more strikes on the cars but as I pulled up I heard a loud explosion and my P-51 lurched. My stomach tensed with a burning sensation because I had previously experienced that same sound over Germany, which resulted in my shot-up P-38 being totaled in a crash landing at Old Buckenham, England. I realized that I had taken an explosive shell hit on the leading edge of my right wing at the inboard 50 caliber machine gun. The wing was burning fiercely and close to a gas tank. I decided to bail.

I made a quick call to my flight, informing them of my situation. I was doing about 350 miles an hour so I pulled up and delayed a bit before I pulled the emergency canopy release handle. After leaving the plan, falling head first, I pulled my rip cord, the chute opened and at about the count of three I gently hit the ground. As I was examining light wounds on my neck and chin I heard gunfire and immediately hit the dirt and started looking about to establish the direction of fire. It was the ammo in my crashed plane cooking off about 150 yards away!

I gathered my chute, hid it in some bushes, and walked to a farmhouse nearby. A lad of about 16 was watching as I approached and I identified myself as an American pilot and asked where "le Boche" were. He motioned that they were all around. He obviously was of no help. An older man walked up and asked, "le parachute?", and I pointed to where I'd hidden it. When he returned he signaled for me to get the hell out.

I had walked only a few dozen yards when a man, walking a bicycle, with a big smile on his face, motioned to follow him. We soon passed a lady who gave me the V for victory sign. We stopped for a moment to talk to another lady who told me to take off my flight suit, which I did. A moment later she began shoving me down the road and talking excitedly. As I followed Rene, riding his bike, I glanced back and saw two German soldiers walking up to my crashed plane with rifles at the ready.

We were at a sharp bend on a direct road so were out of sight of the Germans within a few steps but I ran like hell for as long as I could until I was running so slowly that Rene became alarmed and got off the bike and ran while I rode. He took me to his parent's farm and hid me in a hayloft. I was beginning to think I was living a class B movie. Shortly, Rene brought me into the house. Years later he told me his father was furious with him for bringing me home; the Germans would have shot them all if we were caught. At the farm there were five members of the family all trying to ask questions by sign language.

A short time later three men, one with an arm in a sling, called me out of the hay and told me were taking me to an English speaking lady. Two bicycles were provided for Marcel and myself and we set off down a dirt road until we arrived at a main cement highway. In about 20 minutes we arrived at Chateau le Matra, a large 150 year old, three story building. I was taken into a darkened room where a lady about five feet two inches tall, buxom and plump, proffered her hand and said in a very heavy French accent, "I am Madame Angele Greux." She was the wife of Armand. She motioned me to a chair along side hers and opened a map of northern France. "You are here", she said, pointing to the small town of Barentin in Normandy. she then began speaking rapidly and I could not understand her. I became alarmed because I feared that if everyone thought she spoke perfect English and I did not understand her they would be suspicious of me. I knew the French Underground had executed German agents attempting to penetrate their organisation. She must have sensed my dismay for she said very slowly, "Pardon my English, I have not spoken it since 1936 when I worked in England for two years. You will be living here."

Henri and Armand arrived and I was introduced to the eleven who lived here. The chateau was owned by a wealthy French farmer, Monsieur Douillet, who, with his wife and family, lived in a small home nearby. The chateau had been requisitioned by the Germans for people who had been bombed out of their homes in Rouen. The others who lived there were: a very old lady whose name I never knew, a young boy of 7, named Pierre, not related to any of the household; Henri's sons, Daniel Couture, age 22, and Andre Couture, age 18, Micheline Guilloux, age 12 on that very day, niece of Angele; Madame Glasson, age 47, and her daughter Janine, age 22 (Janine was engaged to Daniel). And Huguette Greux, age 19, sister of Armand. No one worked except to help local farmers in exchange for food and they were living on their savings. In addition to the food received from local farmers, there were rabbits and chickens in hutches in the back yard. We never had wine but drank cider, a very weak hard cider made from local Normandy apples. The children drank it too. Henri and I drank it with baking soda because it gave us heartburn.

I was also provided with an identification card with my picture, the photo provided by me courtesy of the US Army, a food ration card and a paper that stated I was deaf and dumb so that hopefully, I wouldn't be sent to Germany for forced labor.

Local people who had seen me were told that I was Angele's deaf and dumb cousin from Dieppe. My French identification card stated that I was Robert Joseph, address in Dieppe. All records in Dieppe had been destroyed in a bombing raid so this could not be disproved.

One day as Armand and I sat quietly watching Angele knit, we were startled by the roar of an airplane, firing its guns, right over our roof top. We all dropped to the floor. I peeked out the window to see two British Typhoon fighters who had caught five German soldiers in a small civilian panel truck in front of the chateau. "Feld-grau", (field gray), which was what the German soldier was called, after the color of his uniform, were running in every direction. When the planes left, the soldiers got back in and drove the truck into an apple orchard next to the chateau. The Typhoons had riddled the truck but hadn't hit one vital part and the Germans had escaped without a scratch! Needless to say, I was very disgusted with their marksmanship and told the French my fighter unit would have destroyed the truck.

It was rumored that the Americans were nearby. Paris had already been liberated. So Henri, Angele, Daniel, Andre, Janine and myself started walking toward the seine. Armand still hadn't returned. We had gone only a short distance when we encountered two young Frenchmen, one with a 25 caliber automatic pistol and the other with a single hand grenade. There was automatic gunfire coming from a short distance north and they were going to help the French Resistance who had a small group of Germans "cornered".

About an hour later we ran into Scottish commandos advancing with guns at the ready. The officer in charge apologized for not having transportation to take me to Duclair, on the Seine River, so we continued until we arrived at an almost totally destroyed Duclair. I gave Angele my GI watch and my escape kit, which was always issued prior to each combat flight, and which contained 2,000 francs ($40.), silk maps and language phrase sheets of which I had made good use. After long teary goodbyes and many hugs and kisses, I left my dear friends who had made me one of the family for three weeks. The British interrogated me and flew me back to London on September 3, 1944. There I was interrogated at 63 Brook St., by the American military. My interrogator said there were 40 men a day, like myself, coming through enemy lines.

Lt. Howard W. Rhodes

On July 28, 1944 I was on an escort mission in a P-51, shortly after the group switched from P-38s. The target was Merseburg, Germany. We observed two B-17s falling in flames. We assumed that they were under fighter attack as no flak bursts could be seen. The squadron leader radioed, "Drop tanks and let's go" and turned towards the bombers.

I dropped the exterior tanks after switching to the interior 90 gallon fuselage tank. Unfortunately my engine quit. I was unable to get the engine going. The only action I was able to get out of the engine was occasional burps from using the primer. I had agreed with some buddies, that if we ever did go down we would try to do it in style. So I told the guys not to take the new Wellington boots I had just gotten from Peal's, but my voice was sufficiently projecting my anxiety that it wasn't funny.

At about 3,000 feet indicated, (being blissfully unaware that the ground was not at sea level), I determined to bail out. I found myself facing upwards, being caressed by a gentle breeze. It was a delightful sensation; there was nothing to do but open the parachute, no more struggling to get power. After enjoying for a second or so, I pulled the rip cord rather halfheartedly and nothing happened so I pulled it hard. No sooner had the parachute opened than I hit the ground. I was sure I was dead because everything was black and there was a kind of warm, flooding, pleasant sensation, Nirvana. I actually thought at the moment that the Hindus were right, it seemed to me precisely as I had understood the Hindu notion of the afterlife to be.

Very shortly thereafter consciousness began to return, and I could begin to see that I was on a hard packed dirt farm road. I unbuckled the parachute harness and, taking stock, observed that my wallet was still in my back pocket. I should have left it in the ready room, since it contained, of course, my identification and sources of information to the enemy.

There was a ditch about twenty yards away. I tried to walk there but I couldn't walk because of an injury to my back and foot so I crawled over to a big bush on the top of this ditch bank. I left the parachute there with my wallet which I tried to hide under the litter. Then I crawled out into the corn field because there was a hill beyond it. About fifty yards into the corn field, still crawling, I looked up and about a foot away were two shoe topes and above them this red haired and mustached farm worker with a tiny pistol pointed at me. He first words were, "Me Polska." I understood him to mean that he was a Polish farm worker, not a German, and that he was sympathetic with my situation. In any event he assisted me up and helped me stagger over to the edge of the field where there was a fat old German farmer with a hunting rifle.

We went down the road to his home and into his little study, a tiny room with a desk in it. He let me sit in the corner. After fifteen or twenty minutes, a car came and a blond man about forty years of age dressed in a grey suit with a Nazi arm band on his left sleeve got out. He greeted the farmer with a Hitler salute, then shook his hand, then repeated the same greeting to the farmer's wife and their several children in descending order of age. He then drew himself up, turned to me and with a torrent of abuse, in German, which I could not understand except the part about being a North American Air Gangster, then he slapped me on both cheeks, grabbed me by the shoulders and made me face the corner of the room. Then he tried to interrogate me in English, asking me where I had come from. I was so unaware of the Big Picture that I didn't even know that I could have come from Italy, instead of England, so I said America.

A policeman arrived in a three wheeled car, one wheel in the front and two in the back. He put me in the back seat. Around the same time my parachute appeared along with the wallet which I had attempted to bury. The policeman took me and my effects to his home in the town, apparently so that he could show me off. He left me in the car and went inside.

We then drove down to the city jail which consisted of one cell. He gave me some bread, but I wasn't really interested in that. I really hurt. I had strained my back. I think I had a compression fracture but I never had any medical treatment so I don't really know. My left foot was so far extended over my low quarter shoe on impact that it was bleeding around the upper line of the shoe.

After joining up with some B-17 crews, we were taken through Frankfurt to Oberursel, a Luftwaffe interrogation station. On arrival, I was called into a tiny office in which there was a private, a little guy, but obviously a sophisticated and intelligent person. He asked me to fill out a form. The form had "Red Cross Information" at the top, and then it asked for name, rank, serial number, home address, with spaces for all kinds of military information. If I had filled out the whole form it would have given the store away. I filled out my home address and parent's name, as well as my name, rank and serial number. I declined to go further. He said he didn't give a damn anyway, as he was doing Red Cross duty and that the interrogation would come later. He said that we had to spend some time anyway, so we might just as well talk.

(Howard Rhodes was interrogated by Hanns Scharff, August 3rd, 1944.) The interrogation started with the usual cigarette or cookie, and then he said, in substance, I had to identify myself as an officer of the United States Army, that if I failed to do so I would be treated as a spy. That they weren't trying to get information; that a second lieutenant couldn't tell them anything anyway that they did not already know; that I could come in saying I was Colonel Bullshit with my dog tags; but that I had to prove it. Note that I was twenty-one, not a colonel, did not have proper insignia, and that I didn't have any dog tags. He said that the Geneva Convention had been mistranslated by the Allied governments, and that I was obliged to tell them what unit I was from; I gave him name, rank and serial number. He replied, "Oh dear, Lt. Rhodes, don't be such a bore!" Then he got from behind his desk a volume and started flipping through it. He first asked if I was from the 4th Fighter Group, P-51s, and of course, I just stared at him. He finally got down to the 55th Fighter Group, P-38s. "Oh no", he said, "just changed to P-51s." (The one big secret I thought I knew). Well, I made a little involuntary reaction, and he said, "Oh my goodness, Lt. Rhodes, you don't think we don't know that yet?" He said his name was Hanns Scharff.

Nothing further of substance transpired. He told me a lot more about the 55th. Then he stood up, told me the interrogation was finished, that I would be on my way in a couple of days, and wished me good luck. He stuck out his hand, I took it, and bang, the door opened with another prisoner outside looking at me as though I had just divulged the secret of the atomic bomb.

Later, we were taken to Dulag Luft in Wetzlar and given showers, our Red Cross parcels, clothing, cigarettes and food. We were put on a train to our permanent camps. No fun spending all night in the Berlin marshalling yards, hoping it was not the night's target for the RAF.

They hauled us into the prison camp, Stalag Luft I, and since other contributors will have told you a great deal about prison camp life, I will not. But one thing about any detention facility is that detainees, ie, the prisoners, have a lot of hostility about their detention. Rightly or wrongly, they take it out on the guards who represent the detaining power.

Early in 1945, the camp commandant issued an order requiring the transfer of all identified Jewish prisoners to a single compound within the camp. We all inferred our Jewish buddies were to be mistreated, so we ranted and raved and yelled and screamed, actually considering trying to attack the guard towers and revolt, but cooler heads prevailed and the transfer occurred the next day, although we stayed up until midnight, probably. Since our compound was next to the Jewish compound, we spent a lot of time talking to our buddies across the intervening fence for a period of days, and finally it just seemed a normal thing, and no one was mad any longer.

The Oberst in charge of the camp, who also commanded a nearby Luftwaffe air base, where jets were based, the nearby sugar factory where slave laborers worked, and a nearby death camp, came to our compound to visit us. I remember that I kind of wondered how, in his mind, he justified the different sort of treatment for the people in the various camps he commanded. One morning we woke up after hearing the sounds of artillery for a couple of days, and all the Germans were gone.

When we got back to London, we waited to go home for weeks. When I saw on the bulletin board orders for transport for an officer, Albert LaChasse, who I knew had already hit Los Angeles, I adopted his name and identity and got on board the ship. When we got to Camp Miles Standish I was put under house arrest for ten days, but I was home, and they had a hole in the fence. That's my story.

[bobbysocks]

The Bomber Plot Who Escaped To Fly Fighters

Ed Appel flew to England during February, 1944. Before returning to the States, he not only had flown both heavy bomber and fighter planes during WWIl, he had been shot down twice while over enemy territory - once in a B-24 bomber and again in a P-47 fighter. Both times, Ed eluded the Germans who were hunting for him, and made his way back to the Allied ground forces.

His B-24 was shot down during his 30th (and final?) mission. He describes the flight this way. On my 30th mission I flew as Command Pilot on Lt. Frazee's crew. It was on the 15th of September, 1944. The target was at Karlshrue, Germany. Just before we reached the IP, we broke into the clear. We had just started our bomb run when we were hit.

We took a monstrous hit on the right wing which knocked out the two right engines. The two left engines were still running, but we had no turbos and the fuel cells were ruptured. The rudder cables were cut so we had no use of our rudders. The windshield had caved in from the blast, and gasoline spewed all over. I thought we were going to burn. However, we managed to get the plane turned by using the ailerons but losing altitude fast. We headed westward towards France. With the loss of two engines' power, along with other damage, we couldn't hold altitude. In that case a B-24 is like a falling rock.

First we salvoed the bombs and then had the crew throw out anything loose in order to lighten the ship. In minutes we had gone from 24,000' to 10,000' and the front lines were still 100 miles away. It was time to bail out and we did. Our B-24 crew was scattered over miles of Eastern France.

When my chute opened, it was only seconds before I hit the ground - in a ploughed field. I shucked my chute and saw two men running towards each other about half a mile away, so I didn't go that way. I hid in a vineyard for awhile. Thinking it wasn't a very good place to hide, I started to get up. I heard "Halt." Coming across the field toward me was a line of German soldiers. They could have shot me easily, but they kept yelling "Halt."

I pretended I didn't hear them and kept walking away. I walked into a clump of trees and then ran like a scared rabbit out the other side and down into a slew where I jumped into the water and hid among the slew rushes. They knew I was in there somewhere because they kept walking around the edge of the water. They would get together on one side and fire their burp guns through the weeds, Scared the hell out of me. They all left except for one man. I could see him standing there watching the place. After awhile they all came back and went through the same procedure - shooting and all. Finally they left. I stayed there until dark.

Heading West
Ed began his westward walk toward the front lines. He traveled mostly at night, hiding in any cover he could find during the day. He had an escape kit with a compass, a map, a hack saw blade and some concentrated rations. He also had his .45. On coming to the Donau River, he used the hack saw to cut a chain that moored a small boat. The boat was on a cable that had a pulley hanging on another cable that ran across the river. Ed was able to pull himself across. He staged a repeat performance at a second river. A third river turned out to be a lake which he could have walked around but ended up sitting in the middle of the lake.

Ed Appell had several close calls. In one instance, he carefully entered a barn in which he found a horse. He took the blanket from the horse, stuffed some potatoes in his pockets and started back out just as some German soldiers came by. In another instance, he was sitting in the woods waiting for nightfall when he heard two civilians coming towards him. He drew his .45 and hollered "Halt." They would not stop though I kept hollering. One finally did stop and then the other stopped advancing. One stayed there and the other took off. Ed took off running from the one, and out ran him.

After that, he would go up to a house right after dark and knock on the door. Usually the man of the house would answer. Ed would immediately state that he was an American flyer and needed food. He was fortunate. Many times they invited him in to the table. They gave him bread meat and coffee. He would leave his gun on the table, and after eating, would leave and make as many miles as possible so they wouldn't catch him.

A few days later, he decided to cross a field in the daylight when he saw a French farmer and his wife at work. Shortening his dramatic story, Ed says, "they hid me in a hayloft along with their son who was also hiding from the Germans. Though he was French, he had been conscripted for duty with the Germans on the Russian front. After being wounded in one leg, he went AWOL and was spending the rest of the war in the hayloft. So the two of us spent about two and a half months right there when the Germans were pushed out and American tanks, trucks and troops came down the road. l was out!

Later I learned about the navigator who jumped before we did but did not make it. His chute never opened. Two others of the crew hid out in a farmhouse near Alsace Lorrain for about a month, then decided to get out, joined the French underground, put on civilian clothes and tried to make it through the lines. They were caught and shot as spies.

I had talked my friend, Capt Paul Anderson into flying this last mission with me. He ended up doing 9 months in Stalag Luft #1, Barth, Germany. In the summer of 1945 in our home town of Redfield, SD his first words to me were, "You son of a gun. You take me on a trip over Germany, and you dump me out."

Back In England
While waiting for orders to the US Zone of Interior, Ed decided he would try to hook on with a fighter group. By his own statement, he guessed that he was flak happy. He contacted Dave Shilling of the 56th Fighter Group. Colonel Shilling said, "Sure, come on down." And down he went.

That was quite a kick, getting out of bombers and into fighters. Like getting out of a truck and getting on a motorcycle. After checking out in the P-47, I flew 16 dive bombing, strafing and escort missions. My last mission came on 16 April, 1945. I was busily strafing Muhldorf Airdrome, 50 miles east of Munich. I came in on the deck and was shooting into ME-109s sitting on the field. I picked up a lot of ground fire. The engine started running rough and I was losing power. I started to pull up. I shouldn't have done that over the enemy airfield. They really started getting hits.

I tried to get over one last hill before bellying in. As I started to clear, the right wing stalled and went down. I cart wheeled across the country side and thought school was out. By some miracle, the plane came to rest right side up. I crawled out and ran until I reached some trees.

He traveled at night, as he had done before, stole boats and crossed rivers, got food from a few German homes and eventually reached the front lines where he "surrendered" to US Army troops. Traveling at night toward the west and the front lines, I finally got near the front lines where there was a lot of shooting. One night I heard the shooting move to the east. The next morning I crept out to the edge of the woods and watched the roads. Finally I spotted Weapons Carriers, Tanks and troops that were definitely ours. I came out of the woods with my hands held high. Believe it or not, it was the same outfit I came out with the first time. By the time I got back to Paris, the war was over. I rode on an LST across the ocean with a whole load of ex-POWs.

[bobbysocks]

From the nose of his B-24 Liberator commanded by Lt. John French, came those words from F/O Robert Timms of the 700th Bomb Squadron who was watching his entire 445th Bomb Group disintegrate. Wave after wave of FW 190 fighters from the three Sturmgruppen had approached the 445th unmolested and were now driving through the formation, all cannons blazing. In just a few short minutes the Kassel mission was escalating into a full-scale disaster for the 445th. In the opening moments of the battle, frantic radio calls for help went out on the fighter channel.

I saw Pearson's ship to our left blossom with sudden bright flame, then kick over and down, Carlow's ship behind him hurt and distressed, trying to fight off the angry bees. Then it fell like a broken toy. I felt the thud of our own ship being hit hard. Where are our fighters!? Where are our fighters!? Oh, God!!...
Even as the bombers were falling, P-51 Mustangs of the 361st Fighter Group were not far away and were heading at full speed for the fearful scenes of destruction over Eisenach. While that day was undoubtedly a black day for the 445th from Tibenham, Norfolk, the same mission ironically was uniquely successful for a single squadron of P-51 Mustang escorts who only the previous day had arrived at their new base in Little Walden, Essex. Ernest Schroder of II./JG 300 had just passed through the bomber formation and registered two kills. Now he was circling in large downward spirals the two B-24s in their death throes. He could see some ten to fifteen large columns of smoke rising through the cloud layer where crashing aircraft had exploded ...

Everywhere was burning wreckage. The fields were covered with many white parachutes where American and almost certainly German fliers had come down. I arrived at 100 meters above ground and could clearly see the crewmen who had bailed out running through the fields. Suddenly, diagonally from the front, a yellow-nosed airplane shot towards me, an American fighter unmistakably.
The fighters Robert Timms so desperately wanted to see must have arrived very shortly on the scene after the third wave of FW 190s had gone through the bomber formation. They would soon have a very dramatic effect on the 27 September 1944 air battle even if they could not save the American bombers. In the lead bomber Timms heard his nose turret gunner exclaim, "Oh, you sonovabitchin' lovely angels, you... "

The 361st Fighter Group had been assigned as one of five fighter groups accompanying the Kassel force on that day. Its component 376th Squadron, known as the "`Yellowjackets" for the bright yellow noses on their P-51s, was destined to make its mark on that day.

Forty-five of the group's Mustangs had made their scheduled rendezvous with the bombers of the 14th Combat Wing over Holland before penetrating German air space that day ... but as the Focke Wulf Sturmjager hit the B-24s, the radio headsets came alive with the cries of pilots calling out enemy aircraft. Now Ernst Schroder was immediately in trouble.

Both of us opened fire simultaneously with our big caliber weapons. The American immediately scored a hit on my tail. My weapons, on the other hand, failed after a few shots. I began to fly with evasive movements.
Schroder believes he escaped with his life because he had come down to 100 meters altitude. The P-51 quickly lost the camouflaged FW-190 against the trees of the forest-covered valley sides over which they were flying. "I landed after minutes of fearful seating at Langensala after a total of ninety minutes flying time. Part of my rudder had been torn away."

Meanwhile, Lt. Victor Bocquin leading the 376th FS was able to bring his guns to bear on the first of three Focke Wulfs that he would personally destroy that day. "I caught an FW-190 just before we hit the clouds and began shooting at 300 yards, getting good hits. I followed him into the overcast and lost him, but then saw a chute when I came out and his plane spinning down."

Elsewhere in the action, other 376th pilots, no strangers to aerial combat, operating in groups of two or three, were in frenzied pursuit of the FW-190 Sturmbocke. lst Lt. William Beyer, Red Flight leader and Robert R. Volkman, flying his wing, pressed home their attacks.

I got on the 190's tail and he did his best to lose me, doing split S's and tight turns. I followed through his maneuvers until he started to climb. I opened fire at about 100 yards getting hits. He popped his canopy and bailed out...
With its extra armor and guns, the A-8/R2 Sturmbbock was a very un-maneuverable heavyweight and was totally unsuited for low altitude turning dogfights. Verner Vorberg of II.JG4 was in the fight but made it back to Welzow, south of Berlin.

Individual pilots were being wiped out by the escort fighters. Seven Satffel ceased to exit. Five Staffel came away much better off and must have broken off before the Mustangs arrived. On my return to Welzow, a wheel along with its shot up support fell off when I let down my landing gear. I had to land on my belly...
Othmar Zehart, one of the most experienced pilots of II.JG4 and Staffelkapitan of 7.JG4 was lost and is still listed missing today. He was one of the few survivors at that stage from Sturmstassel, and in nine Sturm missions had shot down seven American bombers. Amongst the relatively more experienced aces of IV./JG3 the carnage was not so severe. One notable victim was Verner Garth Staffelkapitan 14./JG3 who bailed out of his burning FW 190 and landed uninjured. Karl Dieter Hecker of 15./JG3, who had just registered his fifth Viermont victory, was another who bailed out although badly wounded. A similar fate befell Lt. Ernst Rex who had just shot down his first B-24.

In total, some 25 Focke Wulf 190 Sturmbockes were shot down along with four of the bf 109 escorts. Only one P-51 Mustang was lost, a member of Blue Flight; lst Lt. Leo Lamb would not return to England. Gerhard Vivroux would claim him as his l lth victory. On landing, the victorious pilots of the 376th discovered they had destroyed eighteen FW 190s in the air and three on the ground - a 376th record, with Victor Bocquin claiming three and William Beyer five. (During September, Beyer had downed 72-victory German ace Major HIaus Mietusch after a protracted dogfight.)

The events of September 27, 1944 mark a watershed in the fortunes of the Jagdwaffe's Sturmgruppen. Clearly capable of pulverizing an unescorted bomber, the average Sturmgruppen pilot was at a terrible disadvantage when faced with aerial combat with the U.S. escort fighters. Wellequipped eager P-51 pilots had a distinct edge. Tactically the Sturmgruppen formation, while providing firepower in mass against the bombers, would become increasingly more difficult to be effective as more U.S. fighter escorts ranged over central Germany. The writing was on the wall after the Kassel mission.

This is a perspective from both sides of the battle over Kassel on the ill-fated mission of September 27, 1944. Quoting participants Ernst Schroder of II./JG 300 and F/O Robert TIimms of the 445th Bomb Group, these excerpts appeared in an online account of that epic battle in the skies: Those of the 376th Squadron, 361st Group who were there could no doubt add much to this narrative.

On September 27, 1944, the 445th Bomb Group flew a mission to Kassel, Germany with thirty-seven aircraft. There was a solid undercast and navigational errors were made such that a different target was hit (Gottingen) about thirty miles northeast of Kassel. This put the entire group out of the bomber stream: they were on their own. Ten minutes later, about one hundred German fighters jumped the group of bombers. The entire battle took less than five minutes. We lost twenty-five crews and ships at the scene of the tragedy. In addition, two ships crash landed in France, two crashed at Manston, England, and five crashed near our base at Tibenham, England, which means that only three ships returned and landed at our base.

During a target escort mission to Kassel, the 376th set an ETO record with claims of 18 E/A destroyed in the air, plus seven damaged, and three destroyed on the ground, plus one damaged. Lt. William R. Beyer became an “Ace in a Day”, claiming five Fw190s destroyed, but Lt. Leo H. Lamb was KIA.

The ferocity in which the Fw-190's attacked is evident by their claims of bombers destroyed which of course is not correct. 56 B-24's destroyed and 25 shot out of formation. For fact, we do know that IV.Sturm/JG 3 was the first to attack and had no high cover. I would suspect that their claims of 17 B-24's is correct, as they lost no pilots KIA, but had 5 wounded. They lost 6 aircraft to bomber return fire, and 3 damaged. II.Sturm/JG 4 came second with II.Sturm./JG 300 and the Bf 109 Gruppen coming in at a close 3rd, probably within 30 seconds to a minute of the JG 4 unit. These units probably shot down the stragglers not already shot down by JG 3.

[bobbysocks]

A native of Augsburg, Josef ‘Sepp’ Schmauz was 22 when the war started. Having joined the German army, he did not cherish the thought of fighting on the ground. So he quickly applied and was accepted for the Luftwaffe and after training was posted to II Gruppe/Kampfgeschwader 53 (II/KG 53) ‘Legion Condor’ at Lille-Vendeville in northern France in the latter months of 1940. His function was beobachter (observer) in a five-man He 111 crew.

Once deemed suitable for operational flying, ‘Sepp’s’ crew was assigned to 6 Staffel in April 1941 and in the months that followed, they flew 12 missions over he UK against Belfast (probably April 15, 1941), London (three times), Liverpool, Portsmouth, Sheffield (likely May 8, 1941), Brighton, Southampton, Ipswich, Harwich and the bomber airfield at Stradishall in Suffolk (possibly May 11, 1941).

Sepp Schmauz, with more than 290 bombing missions over Russia, was withdrawn from operational flying to be an instructor, but following the Allied invasion in Normandy in June 1944, returned to 6/KG 53 to fly limited bombing and re-supply missions over northern France.
On August 28, 1944, the Gruppe was recalled to Germany where it was to convert to bombing missions carrying an underslungV-1 ‘doodlebug’. Sepp recalls: “On August 28, 1944, 09:15, our He 111 took off from Rouvres, near Verdun, to fly to Babenhausen. The first contact with fighters, P-51 Mustangs was in the area of Bernkastel at the river Mosel. Our reaction was to fly as low as possible, at about ten metres flying height.
“Three of the fighters immediately launched an attack. During the first, our Heinkel was hit in the fuselage. Our radio operator told the pilot, Lt Fritz Will, and myself that two comrades had been wounded by the gunfire. There were several more attacks which also hit our aircraft.
“To avoid being shot down and crash we tried to carry out an emergency landing on a field near the village of Hahn. While carrying out this manoeuvre a Mustang, coming from the right, fired into our glazed nose. It was obvious that the pilot wanted to hit the cockpit crew.

“Lt Will succeeded in belly-landing our He 111 on the field. I had already opened the pilot’s sliding hatch to make getting out… easier for him. The other members of the crew who were able to escape had left… at the side of the fuselage.
“They crept along the furrows away from the plane. The pilots of the enemy fighters acted very fairly because they did not shoot at us. They shot at our Heinkel until it burst into flames.
“In the meantime we had reached Hahn which was only about 300 metres away. The villagers who had been running towards us lead us into the village Inn. The landlady helped us and sent for the doctor.
“Because of the strain and the concentration during our emergency landing I had not noticed until now that I had been wounded by shell fragments in my right upper arm and the right part of my chest. Our radio operator and the engineer were wounded, too.
“Only seven out of our crew of nine had arrived at the inn. Our gunner, who was the last to arrive, told us that Lt will and Ogefr Hermann Deubner had not left the aircraft, so they burnt in the plane. They had probably suffered such severe or even deadly wounds that they were not able to leave the plane. We were deeply shocked by the death of our comrades.
“An ambulance took the three of us who were wounded to a hospital in Bernkastel for further medical care. Because of his severe wounds our comrade Ofw Ludwig Römer lost his right leg…”

[bobbysocks]

Encounter with Me 262s Over Berlin

In February, the 353rd came to grips with the Luftwaffe in the air only once, and then it was a hard chase to score. The quarry were Me 262 jet fighters, and the engagement can best be described by the encounter report of the Group Leader, Major Blickenstaff.

"I was flying with the 350th Squadron as Jonah (Group Leader) on a free lance mission, 22 February 1945. While we were patrolling between Brandenburg and Muritz Lake, my White Three informed me that the bombers had reported jet aircraft in the vicinity of Brandenburg. From northeast of Brandenburg we encountered four Me 262s and the entire Group gave chase.

"When first seen, these E/A were in a diving turn to the left in a staggered string formation. The E/A broke formation when they reached a southeasterly heading and Seldom (350th) Squadron chased one which continued in a left turn. We followed him through a cloud and discovered ourselves over the heart of Berlin, at 7,000 feet. A short time later, still chasing this E/A north of the city, we encountered another Me 262 flying at about 2,000 feet in the haze coming toward us. I rolled over after him, my flight following, and dropped tanks in an effort to gain more speed. This E/A evidently decided to take advantage of the haze and hit the deck. We chased him for 7 or 8 minutes at full throttle in an easterly direction but were unable to close. Being a bit discouraged and believing that we were near the Russian lines, I decided to break off. After a climbing turn to reassemble the flight, we started homeward on a course of 280".

"We were at about 8,000 feet northwest of Berlin when I noticed another 262 flying east in the haze. I was able to pick up enough speed in the dive to close on this E/A and opened fire at a range of 600 to 700 yards. Strikes were observed in the left jet, and a thin stream of smoke began to trail from it. Finding that I was able to close even more, I opened fire again at a range of 4-500 yards. The E/A responded with some rather wild evasive action so that I was unable to keep my sight upon him. The Hun then dove for the deck and started pulling away, but I scored strikes again on the left jet. The E/A pulled up sharply and slowed down enough for me to close and get strikes again. Smoke began to pour out of the left jet. The pilot jettisoned the canopy and bailed out the right side. The plane rolled to the left and split essed into a forest. I rolled over and snapped a picture of the wreckage with my K-25 side camera about two seconds after it went in."

This victory was Blick's fifth, making him an ace. Meanwhile, after the four Me 262s were bounced, Capt. Gordon B. Compton caught on to the number four jet and fired by line of flight calculation. He scored a few hits on the right engine which slowed down the jet enough for him to open fire from 350 yards dead astern. Further hits were scored, the plane zoomed, the right engine burst into flames and the pilot bailed out. The Me 262 went down, bringing Compton's total of air victories to 4.5.

If the hunting of enemy aircraft in the skies was poor in February, hunting of grounded aircraft picked up considerable. The 27th turned into a field day, following a bomber escort to Leipzig. Major Walker L. Boone, leading the 350th Squadron, went looking for targets of opportunity in the Botha area. "Old Eagle Eye" spotted 50- plus assorted aircraft on Rohrensee Airfield, made a quick pass to test the defense, received no response and then led the Squadron in a ring-around-the-airdrome strafing attack. Results of the 350th's strafing were 37 planes destroyed on the ground and 16 damaged. Major Boone himself accounted for 7-4. Capt. Herbert G. Kolb was second high scorer with 5-3. 2nd Lt. Roland J. Lanoue destroyed 2 FW 190s and 2 Me 410s.

On the following day, B-17s were escorted to Kassel, after which the squadrons went looking for ground targets. Lt. Lanoue spotted a small satellite field near Gotha and was given permission to look it over. He found planes dispersed and well camouflaged and made a strafing attack, soon being joined by other squadron planes. Strafing lasted for several minutes, and when it was over 8 twin engine planes and 1 single engine plane were destroyed and 3 twin engine planes damaged. On the way out two 350th planes revisited Rohrensee Airfield, destroying one twin engine plane and damaging another. Major Blickenstaff, who had been leading the Group with the 350th, had suffered a flak hit while escorting the bombers. He returned safely to base with his hydraulic system damaged and made a beautiful one wheel landing.

Throughout February, after completion of their escort duties, the Group went after ground targets, other than aircraft, on 14 days, including each day from the 20th through the 28th. Claims from ground attacks for the month were:

113-19 locomotives,
50-369 rail cars,
35-23 motor vehicles,
0-11 tanks,
0-5 gun positions,
0-6 buildings and 0-4 barges.

[bobbysocks]

Nuthouse Control

At 1420 hours, Nuthouse Control told the squadron to patrol in the Rheine-Dummer Lake area. While proceeding to that location the controller directed the planes back to their assigned area. With a heavy heart, Blickenstaff led his charges south and swept uneventfully through the Hersfeld-Kassel area. They then turned in a northerly direction and proceeded on that heading west of Kassel, flying at six to seven thousand feet. It was 1515 hours when Seldom Red Leader and Blickenstaff spotted enemy planes below, heading west. At about 3,000 feet there were 15-plus FW 190s carrying bombs while, some two thousand feet above them, 15-plus Me 109s flew top cover. Both formations were in line abreast formations.

Red (2nd) Flight turned into the enemy aircraft, and Blick took White (1st) Flight down in a diving right turn to complete identification of the lower planes. He pulled up behind and to the side of the right outside aircraft, saw the Focke Wulf's "big white cross on the fuselage", slipped astern of this plane and opened fire.

At the same moment Red Flight dove into the middle of the enemy formations, going after the low gaggle too, and Blue (3rd) Flight, led by Major Robert A. Elder, bounced the right flank of the top cover 109s. Just as Blickenstaff was ready to fire on his 190, its pilot saw him, jettisoned his bomb and reefed to the right. Blick turned with him for a half circle, scored strikes and sent the 190 rolling over and diving into the ground. Each of the other White Flight planes had also picked a 190 before the enemy pilots broke in all directions. White Two, Capt. Hartley, and White Three, Lt. Louis W. Lee, followed their 190s and shot down both.

At the same moment Red Flight also hit the 190s. Red One failed to get his as a handful of Me 109s bounced his flight. Other 109s were being engaged at that moment by the three Mustangs of Blue Flight. Major Elder and Blue Three, Lt. Guthrie, got onto two 109s before they broke formation, Elder shooting the wing off his and Guthrie sending his down in flames. Blue Two, Lt. William R. Hubbel, caught a 109 turning north, fired in to point blank range and sent it winging straight into the ground.

Thirty seconds after the first shots were fired, Mustangs, Me 109s and FW 190s were in a great whirling dog fight, made up of a number of individual lufberry chases, just above the deck. Into this swirling battle came Yellow (4th) and Green (5th) Flights, avoiding the 109s and hitting the 190s. In the middle of the battle, Lt. John F. May lined up on a 109 that had bounced his element leader, Red Three, and scored hits on its fuselage and wings. The Messerschmitt split essed and exploded at 200 feet. May looked back over his shoulder and saw four 109s bouncing him. He broke violently left and crashed into another 109, losing his left wing. May was in a flat spin but managed to bail out. While floating down to become a POW he saw a 109 on the ground with a piece of his wing embedded in its cockpit - his second and last victory for the day.

After destroying the first FW 190, Wayne Blickenstaff had continued through in a climbing turn and picked up a 109 at 5,000 feet. He opened fire, closed to zero range, getting strikes all over it, and then registered more strikes as the German pilot obligingly leveled off. Pieces came from the 109's wings and tail, then the canopy popped off and the pilot attempted to jump, but the 109 smashed into the ground before he could get free. Hurriedly looking around, Blick received a vivid impression of 109s and 190s going down in flames and the fires of many destroyed aircraft on the ground.

As Blickenstaff had gone up to get his second victory, Major Elder broke down toward the 190s. He latched onto one and after some maneuvering closed to 300 yards and opened fire. The 190 flamed up, went into a spin and hit the ground just after the canopy came off but before the pilot could jump. Immediately, Elder found himself in a big, turning fight with twelve 190s, between the deck and 1,000 feet. One Focke Wulf reversed his turn and Elder got on his tail, fired and was still closing when his third victim split essed into the ground. Pulling up to 1,000 feet over the blazing wreckage, he found another 190 flying between trees straight away from the fight. He dove down to within 100 yards dead astern, and his first shots sent his fourth victim into the ground in "a big, long splash of black smoke and fire."

Above, Blickenstaff had gone into an orbit at 8,000 feet, planning to reform the squadron as he felt the excitement was over for the day. He could not have been more wrong. Clearing his tail, he saw a 109 coming down on him from 4 o'clock high. He went into a 360" turn and ended up on the 109's tail in a 50" dive. A few shots brought smoke from the Messerschmitt and then it half rolled into some trees. Going by, Blick snapped a picture of his third victory with his K-25 side camera. Climbing back up, Blickenstaff suddenly recognized Elder's P-51, by its camouflage, as Elder fired and damaged a 190. Tracers came from his guns, indicating less than fifty rounds remaining per gun, and there were two 190s on his tail and others circling. Blick called that he was covering him, and Elder swung around, got on a 190 and out- turned him. This German reversed his course and ended up straight ahead of Elder, who carefully fired from 100 yards. His fifth victory flamed and crashed.

While this occurred, Blickenstaff came in on the 190 on Elder's tail, only to be dismayed to find that just one of his guns was firing. But a few shots were enough. The 190 trailed smoke, split essed and went straight in for Blick's fourth victory. Once again he started a climbing turn, thinking to reform the squadron, when he saw a 190 in a left orbit 1,000 feet below. With only one gun, he circled above him and called for someone to come down and finish the FW. When no one responded, he slid in behind the 190 and raked the cockpit with his single gun. The plane smoked, slewed off and crashed into the ground - Blickenstaffs fifth kill. Suddenly, there were only Mustangs in the air, seventeen of them. The battle had been so fierce that beside the loss of Red Four, Lt. May, four other planes and pilots were missing - White Four, Yellow One, Green Three and Green Four. Despite these losses, the 353rd had had its greatest single day's air victory of the war with the destruction of 29 enemy fighters, plus seven damaged.

In White Flight, Blickenstaff had destroyed 3 190s and 2 109s; White Two, Hartley, had 2 190s and 1 109 plus a 109 damaged; and White Three, Lee, had 2 190s and 1 109.
In Red Flight, Red Two, F/O Richard N. Gustke, damaged a 109; Red Three, Lt. Walter A. Prescott, destroyed 2 109s; and Red Four, May, got 2 109s.
In Blue Flight, Blue One, Elder, shot down 4 190s and 1 109 while damaging a 190; Blue Two, Hubbell, got 2 109s; and Blue Three, Guthrie, destroyed 3 109s and damaged a 190 and a 109.
In Yellow Flight, Yellow Two, Lt. Howard H. Hakonen, damaged a 190; and Yellow Three, Lt. George W. Robison, destroyed a 190.
In Green Flight, Green One, Lt. Clark, destroyed 2 190s; and Green Two, Lt. Francis O'Neil, destroyed a 109 and damaged another.
The 352nd Squadron flight did not score. Major Elder's five victories, combined with four he had scored previously with another group, brought his total of aerial victories to nine, and Lt. Col. Blickenstaffs five doubled his score to ten. Their outstanding accomplishments in becoming aces in a day marked the only time in the history of the 8th Air Force that two pilots from the same unit destroyed five or more enemy aircraft in the same engagement. A week later, Blickenstaff became Group Operations Officer, and Major Elder became Commanding Officer for the 350th Squadron.

[Gilly]

Not a war time account but at 89 pretty impressive

The rear gunner who lived to tell the tale
By Mario Cacciottolo
BBC News
4 February 2011



John Hall is drawing on his own wartime past to mentor current ex-military service personnel on how to cope with civilian life
A man who survived 60 missions as a Lancaster rear gunner during World War II might be forgiven for trying to forget his wartime experiences.
But John Hall, 89, of Sunderland, is doing exactly the opposite - drawing on his time as a "tail-end Charlie" in missions over wartime Europe to mentor former members of the UK's armed forces who have recently left the military and are struggling to cope with civilian life.
He has been attending group sessions in Sunderland for such ex-servicemen that are run by Forces for Good, a project that is part of the About Turn charity. Based in the north-east of England, the charity aims to help ex-service personnel and their families.
These sessions are for those former members of the nation's armed forces struggling to re-adjust to civilian life, who are either experiencing difficulties with finding work, coping with combat-induced stress or homelessness.
I get the impression now that they come out of the armed forces with this trauma; they're given a bit of a talk and that's it”
"I talk to them and try and find out their story first, find out what's troubling them," he said.
"I try to show them that they have got friends, that they're not alone. I try to give them confidence to carry on, rather than sit back and let it all happen."
Mr Hall, who was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross by King George VI in 1943, has also given presentations to group members who have served in Northern Ireland, the Falkland Islands, Bosnia, Sierra Leone, the first Gulf War, Iraq and Afghanistan.
During these lectures he talks about his own wartime experiences, how he managed to deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and adapt to civilian life after leaving the services.
About Turn says Mr Hall's "wisdom and enthusiasm" helps to encourage those recently out of the military to get their lives back on track, by using examples from his own heroic wartime past.

'Flak happy'
In 2008 the National Association of Probation Officers suggested that up to 8,500 veterans are currently in prison and another 3,000 are on parole - although the Ministry of Defence disputes this, saying its latest figures show there are 2,820 veterans in prison.
Many veterans will have suffered from PTSD, and when asked if he experienced this himself, Mr Hall says how his wartime missions left him "a bit flak happy" - he raises his hands and shakes them.
"You also had nightmares, but after 12 months you got yourself hardened to it. But you had to stick it out or else you were labelled a coward," he added.
Mr Hall had every reason to suffer nightmares. Estimates for the life expectancy for a WWII Lancaster rear gunner vary but are never high, mostly about just five sorties.
John Hall was shot down twice and landed in the Channel both times His remarkable figure of 60 missions included being shot down twice into the Channel, the first time seeing him and his crew spending about four days in a dinghy.
They were picked up off the Isles of Scilly, apparently only minutes away from heading out into the Atlantic Ocean where they would probably have been lost forever.

Royal appointment
The end of this particular story reveals plenty about how stress was combated in the 1940s.

"Shortly after we got back our commanding officer Guy Gibson told us to get into a Lancaster and go fly around for a couple of hours. We couldn't work out why he'd told us to do this, but he later said he wanted to keep our confidence up and it worked."
Wing Commander Gibson later became famous for leading the legendary Dam Busters raid in 1943.
As a result of his own wartime heroics, Mr Hall's DFC medal was pinned on his chest by King George VI, who showed signs of his famous stammer.
"He spoke to me afterwards and stammered a bit. When he got stuck on a word, I'd say 'Oh yes sir, I know exactly what you mean' to save him embarrassment and he looked quite grateful for that."
Remarkably, Mr Hall does not know what he was given his medal for, only that it was "For Valour", because he never saw his citation.
One of the crucial factors, he says, in keeping his own spirits up after the war ended was the fact that his old job, working in the paper-making trade, was kept open after the war ended.
The life expectancy of a Lancaster tail gunner in WWII was only a few flights This meant he had employment and therefore structure to return to once he was out of the regimented life of the military.
He also volunteered with the Air Training Corps, training future pilots, until his retirement in 1982.
"Having that bit of security, knowing there's a job waiting for you when you come out, makes a difference.
"I get the impression now that they come out the armed forces with this trauma, they're given a bit of a talk and that's it. They are lacking in advice and help.
"And the story I've had from one or two is that when they've tried to get a job, they're asked what they've been doing of late, as if all their time in the military doesn't count for much.
"When a bloke's time is coming up he should be put on certain courses for retraining back into Civvy Street. For the last three months of service they should train you as a plumber or electrician, something they can use in civilian life."


About Turn
Those who served six years or more, and all those medically discharged regardless of how long they have served, are entitled to the full resettlement programme, to help re-adjust to civilian life; those who served between four and six years qualify for the employment support programme, a tailored job-finding service.
And those who have served less than four years are interviewed and signposted to the various welfare entitlements and other support offered by the government, ex-services charities and the voluntary sector.
Tony Wright, of About Turn, said Mr Hall sets the standard at the group sessions he attends by always being punctual and well dressed, and is "idolised" by those he meets there.
He added: "John's wisdom and experience bring a great deal to the sessions and whilst he views the younger soldiers of today as heroes, they in turn idolise him and are astounded by the fact he was involved in so many bombing raids and was shot down on two occasions.
"John is an inspirational character and his input is a crucial element of our work. He could be sat at home isolated and thinking his role and contribution to society was over.
"However, he has proved that he and many others like him could be playing a huge role in supporting and helping young combat veterans when they return to the community."

[bobbysocks]

361st FG rememberances

"I well remember my first mission. After take-off and climb over the sea, some jock above and ahead of me cleared his four .50s with a burst of fire as we always did. The empty casings rattled off my windscreen, scaring the hell out of me. I thought the Jerries had 'zeroed in', and I was going to be shot down." -

Thomas Jones - 95th

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"My last mission was, February 3, 1943, we were escorting B-26 bombers on a routine anti-shipping mission against Rommels supply ships. We ran into 8 or 10, Me210s and Me109s. The flight leader turned into me and I had to immediately pull a tight turn to get away from the flight leader. After recovering from the tight turn, I jumped right back in the middle of that hornets nest, remembering Jimmy Doolittle's orders, 'protect the bombers'. I was flying every way but straight in a collection of machine gun bullets, that was striking my P-38. I shot the 'green house' off an Me110 which was firing at me and must have wounded the pilot, as he pulled into me for a mid air collision. I went straight up and chopped the throttle on one engine and did a wing over, and there he was, right below me. I gave him the, 4 fifties and the 20 mm. He caught fire. Then I was going to attempt another interception of them and in all the machine guns firing at me, I just happened to pick up a tracer in my right elbow, shattering the joint. I managed to get away from them and headed West until I figured it was time to turn South, out into the desert where the 82nd Fighter Group was located. I don't remember who pulled me out of the cockpit after I landed, as I was out of it-due to shock and loss of blood. I was taken to a British Field hospital, at the time of the Kasserine Pass Battle. Then I was sent to the, 298th British General Hospital in Algiers. As soon as I was ambulatory, I was placed on a British hospital ship headed for the first American hospital in Bristol, England. After winding up a 9 month hospital experience, which included 2 more hospitals in the United States, it was back to duty and confined to the US. No more 'fighters'."-

Soren "Whitey" Anton - 96th

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"We could hear the engines of a P-38 coming in 'HOT', way to 'HOT'. No one on the ground had any idea that Whitey had been shot. The plane touched down and just kept moving and moving and getting closer to structures. It finally stopped just short of running into a structure. Of course, by then, everyone had figured out that there was something seriously wrong with Whitey. A bunch of guys jumped up on the plane, to get Whitey out, Johnny Caputo (97th), being one of them. By this time, Whitey had completely passed out, from shock and loss of blood. Whitey was immediately taken to the hospital for a very long road, to recovery, from his wounds. Upon looking into the cockpit of his P-38, no one could figure out, 'how', he ever made it back to the base."-

Lincoln Jones - 96th

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"The recent story in the 'FLY PAST' magazine about the 82nd FG, brought this mission to mind. My 24th mission was to escort a 'Photo Recon' to Munich, Germany on December 3, 1944. We were challenged by an attack from above our foursome. I remember that there were three of us, escorting, one P-38 'recky'. We did peel off and follow the Me262 down but to know avail. We did have to jettison our tanks and go to the deck as we were over Munich and were treated to much ground fire. The debriefing was more complete than any of the others and seems that it lasted over an hour. I don't recall the other two guys, but something tells me, Snow, was the Flight Leader and I'm thinking, Harley Barnhart, may have been involved. I did fly my first ten missions as a B-24 co-pilot and lost my crew on July 3, 1944, as I sat a 'mission out', to make room for a pilot to complete his tour. They were shot down in a raid to Ploesti and were all taken prisoners in Sofia, Bulgaria. Happy circumstances created a happy meeting with Major Gardner in Rome and he helped me transfer to the 95th FS where, Bill Blurock, Ron Graham, and Don Stoutenborough became my mentors as I learned to fly the P-38. These were lucky days indeed. I completed my tour of 50 missions on February 18, 1945."

Maurice 'Ole' Olson - 95th

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'The American and British Liberation of Greece'. The 82nd Fighter Group mission for this liberation was to provide cover for the C-47's towing CG-4A gliders. The destination was Megara Airdrome, West of Athens. The date was October 16, 1944. There was a stratus overcast only a couple thousand feet above the Mediterranean and the 'gooney' birds and gliders were hugging the ceiling. We, as escort cover, could not fly above them, so, we flew along side making lots of turns to stay with them. Well being an experienced glider infantryman, I was a 60 millimeter mortar squad leader in the 82nd Airborne Division before being an Aviation Cadet, I lowered my wheels and flaps, and slid into a 'very tight' formation with one of the gliders. Immediately, M-1 rifle barrels, started popping out of the small plastic windows! I got the message. I 'slipped out' and resumed my proper position in formation. After the 'gooney' birds and gliders had landed, our group proceeded West, to an island to land for refueling. Now, knowing of this refueling stop. I had placed all my ration cigarettes on the right side of the cockpit. They covered the emergency hydraulic pump and valve. On landing each P-38 was positioned next to several 55 gallon drums, which contained gasoline. The pilot was to fill the tanks while a man hand pumped from the drums. This man wore an open shirt and shorts made from burlap! His shoes were in shreds. With no place to trade my cigarettes, I gave them to the man. The British officer in charge of the refueling, 'chewed' me out, something fierce! He said, "I made this man, rich"! After refueling, we flew back to Vincencio, our home base.

Roy Norris - 96th

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Early winter 1945, I flew an escort mission to Bratislava, Czech. On the way to the target, my 'wingman' had an early return as did a 'flight leader' in the 96th. The 96th 'wingman' was told to come over to the 95th Squadron and fly my wing. The anti-aircraft fire was well directed and some B-24s were shot up over Bratislava. I happened to be very close to a damaged B-24 and reported that my 'wingman' and I would escort him home. We were unable to establish radio contact with the crippled B-24, so hand signals were used between myself and the B-24. After about a 1/2 an hour, heading South, I spotted a single aircraft coming up from the South towards us. I positioned myself and 'wingman', up sun, to be able to make an effective pass should this aircraft be a bandit. As it was, it was a B-24 looking for the cripple we were bringing home. At the moment I was instructing the undamaged B-24, where I wanted him, to position himself, all hell broke loose with anti-aircraft fire on the crippled B-24. I instructed my 'wingman' to stay up with the undamaged B-24, as I dove down to get the crippled B-24, to follow me out of the flak. As the crippled B-24 started his turn, parachutes started to come out of the ship. I counted ten. The last chute to open, got caught on the wing tip of the falling B-24 and went right into the ground with the aircraft. If the pilot from the 96th, remembers this story, I would appreciate him contacting me, through the, Webmaster of the, 82nd Fighter Group website, as I never knew who he was.

Bill Hayduk - 95th

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" IF YOU AIN'T, 'CUTTIN' THE GRASS' !!!..... THEN DON'T BE 'BUZZIN' !!! "

Robert Kirtley - 95th

[bobbysocks]

The Ghost Ship
The date was November 21, 1944; Lt. Harold R. DeBolt with the 401st Squadron was assigned a B-17G number 43-38545 from the 324th Squadron, Hal's 33rd mission. The plane was so new; it didn't have a "Name" yet. It was only the 3rd mission for this plane. The mission was to go back to Merseburg, Germany and was lead by Major Klette.

The weather was terrible, with solid clouds everywhere as the mission proceeded. Most things had been routine until he turned on the bomb run. The formation tended to slow up in the turn and with bomb bay doors open, DeBolt's aircraft stalled and dropped out of formation. At this instant he was attacked by enemy fighters and also began the run through a very heavy and accurate flak barrage. Due to malfunction with the bomb release mechanism, the bombs would not drop. This caused the aircraft to fall further out of formation. About this time the whole ship took the blast from a flak burst just below the bomb bays, the plane was badly damaged.

The explosion caused the bombs to drop but No. 2 and No. 3 engines also went out. No. 2 was out completely and No. 3 was wind milling and causing undue vibration throughout the aircraft. The crew began jettisoning all surplus equipment in an effort to lighten the Fortress as DeBolt set course for home. The plane was losing altitude and was turned to a heading of 270 degrees west, for friendly lines. The crew stayed with the plane as long as they could and when it was down to 2,000 feet, Hal gave the signal for everyone to "bail-out" and they did, while the Fort continued on its way with the autopilot doing its job. All chutes opened and the men were picked up by British infantrymen soon after landing.

The damaged Fortress continued onward, losing altitude and remaining in a perfect landing attitude. The Fortress mysteriously made a perfect three point landing in a plowed field. It ground looped at the end of the field and sat there with engines still running, undamaged in an open field, near Liege, Belgium. The landing was in a flat strip area, near a British Army encampment. A British Officer ran out to help the crew, but only found neatly stacked flying gear inside and was astonished to find no one on board. He inspected the Fort (as a possible German trap) but found no one. He then turned off the operating engines. The British Officers name was Major John Crisp.

The Stars and Stripes published the story the next day and called DeBolt's B-17 - a Ghost Ship, or Phantom Fort.


Flights Over Germany (Shot Down Twice)

By Warren D. Price


At that time 25 missions was considered a tour and you would be eligible to come home however that was changed to 35 before I could finish my tour.

My first mission, April 1944, was to Munich, Germany and it was here that I learned real fear with fighters all the way in and the heavy flak over the target. This mission made it certain I wanted out of the waist position and into the tail if I was going to make it through this tour. At this time our crew was reduced from 10 men to 9 to put together new gunnery crews. This meant one waist gunner would sit out the next mission. That day was my day to stand down and my crew was shot down over Leipzig with no reports of anyone bailing out. This was a bad day for a lot of us.

When this happens, the extra crew member is put on stand-down basis for a couple of weeks to recover from the shock before being assigned to a new crew.

I spent my time on the skeet range and the gunnery range trying to keep busy. A Major Reaume and I shot skeet together on several days before the crew was lost and we both had 7 missions at this time. He had flown about every type of plane they had in England and was getting ready to fly lead for the 401st squadron. I had told him that 2 wanted to fly the tail position but didn’t look forward to starting with a new crew again. A short time later my name was posted on the board and was assigned to fly the lead plane crew tail position with the Major Reaume crew. All of this crew had rough combat experience and it was difficult to know that every man was as good as there was at his job Major Reaume’s mother owned a small airport in California so he grew up in a cockpit and it showed. He outranked all other active pilots on the base but I never saw him use that as a tool to put another pilot in line. His rank made him second in command over the entire 91st Bomb Group but his skill made him the No. #1 man to contact if there was a problem. He said very little about his personal life except that he was single and an Air Force Academy graduate. All of his first lead crew members were single except the navigator and that position had to be filled with the best the group had regardless.

We made the rest of our tour together and as I look back today I am sure I idolized him and I’m sure that he was aware of this. Many times when we were coming back from a mission he would give me a call as soon as we came to the English Channel to let me fly the plane across the channel. Later when flying weather ship out of Monroe, Louisiana, I spent hours in the cockpit getting a crash course on flying the big 4 engine jobs.

The following days flight crews list was posted around 4pm so we had time to prepare. Most important was a shower with a soap that prevented bacteria. This was important in case of a wound it could be hours before receiving medical attention.

The day the Battle of the Bulge began we were in the air before the news was announced so was unaware of the situations. We went deep into Germany to hit oil fields and refinery and started our "let down" to 10,000 feet early to get off oxygen. We believed we were over safe territory and had pulled off our masks and eating our lunch when ground fire opened up at point blank range. A large hole appeared 3 feet above me in the tail section and another round hit an outside engine so they had our range and speed programmed another engine had to be feathered so we couldn’t gain altitude. The ground fire had concentrated on our plane and the rest of the group was able to get out of range before getting hit. We were able to cross the German lines and the two feathered engines did not catch fire so we had time to consider our options. The navigator was hit in the shoulder so bailing out was not considered. It was decided by Major Reaume to crash land in the best area we could find. To stay in the air in our condition was foolish with German fighters in the area. For us to call our base would have alerted the fighters to our problem so we picked an alfalfa field to set it down. There were 3 Belgium workers in the field and I’m sure our problem scared them too. The Belgium people were not to be trusted and in some cases were pro German. With this in mind we hoped they would cooperate and further problems would be avoided. The landing was good enough that no one was injured and the navigator was still conscious and in good condition. Reaume was able to communicate our needs to the Belgians and each of us carried an escape packet with money, a price was agreed upon and we started our walk to a mine entrance where we would stay until dark. As soon as it was dark we started the walk to Liege, Belgium where we would find friendly troops and contact our base. We arrived in Liege in the early morning and M.P.’s put us in an old hotel for some rest. The navigator was taken to a field hospital and we radioed our base that we were safe. Two days later we were aboard another B-17 headed for home. An incident did occur when Reaume explained what we wanted the Belgians to do. They wanted to go home to tell their family where they were going. This of course was impossible because they could not be trusted and could very well come back with a truckload of Germans. They finally realized they could not be left and agreed to go as planned.

In December of 1944 we were shot down again and crash-landed at Merville France without incident. Our base flew in a B-17 in for us, parked it at the local airport and the two pilots caught a ride back to the home base immediately. We were notified that our plane had arrived and would be gassed and ready by the time we got to the airport. Both pilots had been celebrating the landing of yesterday and were slow to get our gear, etc., to the new plane. It was evident there was an altitude problem when we called the tower for take-off clearance. They weren’t ready to go back to our base and the tower control was not sympathetic. It was a short flight home and the flight bulletin board had us scheduled for a mission the next day.

The English people are a serious type. They are masters of the art of conversation and I found them to be students of history and very knowledgeable with American history. Their sense of humor is usually lacking and I attended a number of comedy shows in Cambridge that were slapstick type comedy and very boring after 15 minutes. The dry humor most of us enjoy is unknown to the British. Their transportation was mostly train and bicycle and since it rains often for 10 months of a year, every bicycle has a raincoat tied to the rear-carrying basket. All students and adults carry a book or newspaper or both. They read constantly and it is evident in their correct English. There is some slang but not much.

The food served in English pubs was plain and good. Meat, sugar and coffee were in very short supply during the war so this is not a true evaluation today. We always rode our bikes to a local home that served "Fish & Chips" when we had a day off. Their fish was always fresh and their potatoes were far superior to anything in the U.S. They always offered beans and Canadian bacon at the pubs and this was always a treat. Their bread was the old "home baked" type and was excellent. The pastries were poor by our standards and we stayed with the toast with peanut butter and orange marmalade for our dessert. I think our government shipped marmalade to the ETO in tank cars as it was everywhere. The tea was a good substitute for coffee but was never hot enough for me.

I carried my fly rod with me every place except on missions. I fished the small lakes and streams and caught carp and suckers. They had trout rivers but not in our area. The local farmers had pheasant and a type of grouse and they would allow us to hunt. All of the game was given to the farmer and they were very appreciative.

Soon after arriving at our base in England our first acquisition was a bike. For safety reasons all buildings were scattered over a large area and the need for transportation was top priority. There were many of them for sale on the base and a good used bike was cheap. The jeep was used to transport us with equipment to our plane but on days that were on stand down, it was our bike to get us to the range, etc.

Our library was almost non-existent and we borrowed from the men that received books from home.

On April 15, 1945 the major and I finished our tour with a milk run that was a short trip to a submarine base. We were home by mid-afternoon and we thought a low buzz job over the tower was a good idea. A mild reprimand was the penalty but we felt it was the thing to do.

We both had 6 air medals with battle stars so we knew a discharge was waiting when we got home.


Where Did You Come From?

A Story by Mike Banta

RMY A/C 936, IDENTIFY YOURSELF

February 19, 1994, on my eighteenth mission, I was hit in the right hand by a piece of flack. After landing, they took me to the hospital where the doctor took stitches in my hand and then took me off of flying status till my hand healed to the point where I could use my hand in flying.

Since the injury did not confine me to the hospital but prevented me from flying, they gave our crew a week's flack leave. This meant that we were free to go anywhere in Great Britain. We took a train to Aberdeen at the furthermost northern tip of Scotland, as far as we could get from the war, and we had a marvelous week's vacation from the terror of flying combat missions.

Upon our return, my hand still had not healed and the doctor kept me off of flying status while the rest of the crew started flying missions filling in on other crews where one of its members was unable to fly. On March 10, my hand had healed to the point where I was again put on flying duty.

During the nineteen days I was not on flying duty they assigned our B-17, Yankee Gal, to another crew. I was told that they did this because they were assigning us a new plane that had flown only one mission as we were now a seasoned crew and that Yankee Gal, which had completed many missions had been assigned to a new crew that had just arrived on base.

This sounded like our crew was receiving a great honor. We were told that since this was a new B-17 that we would have the privilege of naming it. I was told that the name and picture would be painted on the aircraft next time it had to be taken to the hangar. The crew brought up name after name but Ray, the copilot and I, being from California favored "Sunkist Miss," from the song "California, Here I Come." The debate raged on but to no effect, because after test flying the B-17G prior to flying it in combat, Ray and I flatly decided we did not want this aircraft.

On the test flight the number four-engine propeller ran away. This meant the mechanism for controlling the pitch of the propeller was not working when at full military power which is the power setting used for take off. On take off the propeller pitch control did not work and the RPM of the propeller and engine increased till it exceeded the red line on the instrument gage. We had to reduce the power of that engine or it would tear apart. Thus, it was almost like taking off with three engines, which was no problem on a test flight but could be very dangerous with a full bomb load.

At cruising power, the prop pitch regulator worked reasonably well though it had to be watched carefully. Next, the plane was vibrating so badly that the sliding window next to the pilot seat kept sliding open. I had to keep sliding it closed with my left hand while flying the plane with my right hand. This left no hand for the throttles and other controls which I found quite unacceptable.

We tried to trim up the ship with the trim tabs but they made little difference in the attitude of the ship no matter which way we turned them. The ship simply wouldn't trim up no matter how much Ray and I tried.

Next, we heard a tearing of metal and then a whoosh from the Bombardier - Navigator compartment below and in front of us. This was followed by an excited announcement from the navigator that the hatch through which the pilot, copilot, navigator and bombardier enter the aircraft had torn away and left nothing but a gaping hole. Many other smaller problems were reported from other positions on the plane.

When we landed A/C 936, I loudly proclaimed to the crew chief that I did not want A/C 936 and please return Yankee Gal to our crew. The crew chief promised to fix every thing we had written up on the flight sheet but he said, as I knew, that he had nothing to do with assigning aircraft.

I went to the ready room for the 324th Bomb Group and spoke to the Major, telling him that A/C 936 was a piece of crap and we wanted Yankee Gal back.

"They told me that I was honored by being given this aircraft with only one mission on it that I could name as my own ship." I said, "but what has happened to Boeing that the quality of the aircraft they are now building had dropped so low?"

The major said that they could not reverse the assignments but that they would guarantee to repair all the faults in the aircraft prior to our first combat mission in A/C 936. He again reminded me of how lucky I was to be able to name my own B-17. I left the meeting naively believing him.

March 24, 1945, our crew flew our first mission in A/C 936. I was assured by the crew chief that the prop control on # four engine had been fixed and was working properly and that he had found the problem with the trimming mechanism so that we should have no problem trimming the aircraft.

On take off for that day's mission, with a full bomb load, the propeller on engine # 4 again ran away with the RPM again going out of sight. I again had to cut the power on that engine, a hazardous measure with the heavy loading of bombs plus a full load of fuel. The aircraft was hard to trim and Ray and I fought all day to hold close formation. When we returned from the mission, I called the crew chief over and told him of the danger in which he had put our crew. He promised to change every part of the prop pitch assembly system, which was a closed system, before our next mission.

Our next mission in our "new" B-17G, A/C 936, was on March 28, to an aero engine factory at Spandau. The crew chief said he had replaced every part of the prop pitch system and, therefore we should have no problem. Once again, #4 propeller ran away at maximum power used during take off but we had little difficulty lifting the aircraft into the air well prior to the end of the runway. We were fit to be tied. It seemed as if no one cared that we were flying a disaster waiting to happen. We were flying as right wingman to the Squadron lead ship and on the way into the target the group leader got slightly off course and inadvertently flew us over a known flack area. Our squadron was flying high squadron in the group formation and we received
accurate and tracking flack as we unnecessarily flew over this known flack area on our way to the target. The squadron leader and the aircraft flying of his right wing received heavy flack damage. Captain Gaines, the squadron leader had two engines shot out while Lt. Smith on his right wing, lost one engine. We were the only plane in the element to receive only light battle
damage. This was fortunate as we already had one engine acting up.

With the Squadron lead flying on only two engines, his aircraft was losing altitude and with the primary target still many miles away, he decided to attack a secondary target, the Stendal marshaling yards.

We were obviously anxious and irritated by the accurate flack area that the group leader had unnecessarily flown us over and also at being unable to attack our primary target. Thus, when we landed, I was in an especially irritated mood and lit into the crew chief for not correcting the problem with the prop control.

"Take the whole engine and propeller off and replace them." I demanded.

"Sir," he said, "there is nothing more in this world that I would rather do, but I asked and the brass say that we can't throw away a perfectly good engine. I've replaced everything in the prop control system and I don't know what more I can do."

"If that prop runs away on our next mission," I told the crew chief, "I will assure you that it won't be a perfectly good engine when we return to the base."

Our next mission was to Bremen on March 30th; to strike the submarine and shipbuilding yards. Since the sub pens were made of heavy reinforced concrete, we carried a maximum bomb load of thousand pound delayed action bombs. We were leading the rear element that day. Again on take off, #4 prop ran away and this time we barely had enough runway to lift off with a full load of gasoline and the extra heavy bomb load. This engine had to go, I determined. The engine blew about half way to Bremen.

"Feather #4." I called to Ray on the intercom.

Ray reached out and hit the feathering button on the instrument panel and turned off the ignition and gasoline. The propeller continued windmilling and black oil poured from the rear of the engine. The prop control mechanism not only wouldn't control the RPM on take off, but it was also incapable of feathering the prop. With the prop windmilling instead of feathering, the
wind resistance of the unfeathered prop took one of the remaining engines to just push the dead engine through the air. It was like flying on two engines and with an extra heavy bomb load, our air speed dropped and we were unable to hold our altitude.

I called to our two wingmen and released them to catch up with the formation. I then called Major Klette, our Squadron commander and reported the mechanical difficulties and that we would be only able to hold an altitude of about seven thousand feet with the heavy bomb load. The Group was attacking at an altitude of twenty-five thousand feet. Since we had no bombsight, I informed him, we were aborting the mission which meant we were turning around and heading home. At this time we were flying all alone without any protective formation, a position in which the German fighters loved to catch a B-17.

Unbelievably, he told me to continue to the target, find the drifting smoke from a smoke marker bomb and drop my bombs on that. Bremen was very heavily protected by antiaircraft batteries. At seven thousand feet we would be sitting ducks. If the antiaircraft didn't get us, the German fighters would be waiting for a stricken B-17 flying alone miles into Germany with one
engine out and windmilling. It became abundantly clear to me that the Major intended to use us as a decoy to bring up the German fighters who would be looking for a B-17 flying alone with one engine out. This would permit our little friends to make some kills.

By this time we had fallen far enough behind the Group that radio transmission was breaking up and it was hard to decipher our transmissions to each other. It was obvious that he was having trouble understanding what I was saying and he had no idea of what I could understand of what he was saying to me. I thought a moment and realized that to drop bombs on smoke markers from bombs dropped ten or fifteen minutes before would only plow up some German farmers sauerkraut patch. Yet our chances of surviving this desperate and foolish attack were extremely poor. Our aborting the mission was not impairing the rest of the group as our B-17 had been removed from the squadron because of mechanical failure which incidentally could have been
avoided if someone had not been so stingy with new engines.

"I can't hear you clearly." I radioed to the Major. "Did you say return to base? The reception is so poor that I can't make out what you're saying."

"No!" he shouted. "I said . . . " and his voice became inaudible.

"Roger," I said, "I'm following your advice and returning to base."

When we reached the channel, we were holding our altitude at about seven thousand feet. We opened the bomb bay doors and released our unarmed bombs over the channel. I radioed the base for permission to come straight in for a landing. They cleared me for a straight in approach. We had a smooth landing with no difficulties and taxied to our assigned revetment.

The crew chief was waiting for us and came over to see his B-17 covered with oil and dripping all over the tarmac. "Well," he said I see you got rid of the engine. The plane will be going into the hanger for major repairs. Would you like to have the name you've chosen and a pretty girl painted on the nose? This is your chance to have the artist do the art work."

"Hell no!" I said, "I'm still trying to get rid of this dog. If I name it, it's mine for keeps."
We never did get rid of A/C 936 and flew it for most of our remaining missions. After the engine and propeller were replaced, we never again had a problem with the prop running away on take off. We even got used to the ugly way it flew. I'd like to tell you that the ugly duckling grew up to be a swan but that would be a lie. We did however learn to love the ugly duckling
though not enough to name it.

There was no way that they were going to tell me what had happened to A/C 936 prior to it being assigned to me. For fifty years I wondered and wondered. At the fiftieth reunion of the 91st Bomb Group Memorial association at Oklahoma City, I met Dale Darling (no relation to our copilot) who served as radio operator on the Laws crew. He has spent his last few years photocopying the records of the group at the Army Archives. At my request, he researched the
history of Army A/C 936 and the following documents tell of the dirty trick those bastards pulled on me when they gave me that brand new B-17G with only one mission on it.


>From a letter to Dale Darling, November 13, 1994:

My request concerns the information on what happened to A/C 936, DF-Z, of the 324th Bomb Squadron prior to its being assigned to me and my crew. From Ray Bowden's book, I can determine it was assigned to the 324th right after A/C 911, Bull Session, was assigned to the 323rd on November 5, 1944.

A/C 936 must have received major battle damage after November 12th when I flew my first check out mission. In checking the information you sent me, I find 926 did not fly on any of the missions I flew until it was assigned to me just prior to my March 24th mission.

I would be eternally grateful if you can find the time to check the mission critique sheets from November 5, 1944 through December 12, 1944 to see if A/C 936 flew any missions and, if so, any evidence of damage received. The mystery of what happened to A/C 936 between when it arrived on base in November or December 1944 and March 1955 when it was assigned to me is one I am most anxious to solve.

Your buddy in the 324th,

(His answer said that 936 had been shot down on it's first mission but made a forced landing in allied occupied France. It was flown back to Bassingbourn and declared salvage. After six months as a hanger queen it was resurrected from parts of several hanger queens and given to me.)

[bobbysocks]

Don't Count Your Chickens Before They Are Hatched
or, Don't Count Your Victories Before You See Smoke - Lt. Ted E. Hoffman (343rd FS)

It was late January 1945 and we were flying an escort mission to Hamburg. We had rendezvoused with the bombers just before crossing the Netherlands Coast. It was a cold but clear day with a few scattered clouds below us. The entire coastline and the full extent of the Zuiderzee were plainly visible.

My thoughts as we crisscrossed above the bombers were; this will probably be another dull mission. German fighters hadn't challenged us for some time at this stage of the war. We would probably follow the bombers to the target and stand off to the side while anti-aircraft fire was clobbering the bombers. On the way home, we would probably go down and look for trains or other targets of opportunity. Occasionally, a bandit would be caught trying to get some flying time in what had become an American sky.

We had been with the bombers about an hour, flying at 27,000 feet, when an airfield came into view from under my left wing. I was startled to see a Me 262 taxi into takeoff position at the end of the runway. I announced my departure, dropped my external tanks and headed straight for the end of the runway. The adrenaline was flowing as I watched the 262 begin his takeoff role.

I continued to zero in on the end of the runway and throttled back a bit as my speed continued to build. At that moment, a victory seemed to be in the bag. The 262 had just broken ground and I was at seven or eight thousand feet, still heading for the end of the runway. But it didn't take long before the outlook for victory began to dim.

I flared out about 50 feet above the runway and couldn't budge my ailerons and rudder. It was as if they were set in concrete. I stole a quick glance at a shaking instrument panel. The airspeed, as near as I could tell, was over 600 MPH. Everything was happening faster than I can tell it or write it down. I zoomed past the Me262 just above treetop level about 15 feet off his left wing tip.

I pulled up into a steep climb to kill air speed. As I was climbing I noticed a utility type aircraft below me, puttering about ten feet above the ground. I made a steep diving left turn and scattered lead off his left wing tip. As I pulled up from this near victory, in front of me was a site to behold. The 262 was leading about 15 P-5l s across the airfield in range of anti aircraft fire. I was in a position to cut him off in his turn. When he saw me he turned away and left us in his wake.

As I departed the airfield I discovered my wingman was still with me. How he did it I'll never know.

1Lt. Wayne E. Rosenhoff

I was captured in Wranowitz, near Pilzen, Czechoslovakia on September 22 at 07:30. I hid in haystacks, hedges, and culverts by day and travelled by night some 110 miles from Sonneberg. I had crossed the border unobserved on September 20 at 04:00, but was taken into custody on Sept. 21 by a Czech policeman when I requested food from a farmer near the village. After a night in the large civilian prison in Pilzen, I was escorted by a Luftwaffe NCO by train to Frankfurt and then by streetcar to the interrogation center at Oberursel. The trip lasted 16 hours.

I bailed out at about 20,000 feet. The sky was filled with falling B-17s, some spinning, some afire. Upon seeing hordes of open parachutes above 20,000 feet, I was determined to delay my opening. I fell what seemed to be forever in a dizzy, groggy condition, hardly conscious of my rate of fall. Only a few moments after I pulled the ripcord, I saw that I was going to land in a forest, so I covered my face with my arms. When everything stopped the chute had settled over the tree tops at just a perfect height. I unbuckled my chute and stepped onto the ground without ever having hit it.

In the escape kit I found both useful and non-useful items. By far the most important were five "energy" pills with directions to take one each day. Whatever they were, they worked like a charm for me. I could walk all night and rest all day without any need for anything but water. Two days after the last pill, however, hunger pangs were irresistible. My first attempt at scrounging was to try to eat a raw sugar beet, which is impossible to do. My second was to pick and eat a handful of green plums. This caused a gastric explosion worthy of mention in the Guinness Book of World Records. It occurred at about 22:00 on a clear but chilly moonlight night. My misery index at that time was my lifetime's greatest (at least till now.)

On the eighth day I entered a farm in the middle of the night, dreaming of stealing something to eat ... perhaps eggs, a chicken, or? Anyway, what I did find was a big ole rabbit in his hutch. So I dispatched it with my two hands.
After carrying it inside my shirt the rest of that night and all the next day, I prepared it for my dinner. I chose the twilight hour because of concern that some resident would see my very carefully laid fire even though I was now in a somewhat sheltered ravine. Roast rabbit is great if you're really hungry, and was I ever. But without some "go with" item, nor any salt for enhancing flavor, a great amount of rabbit remained for another day. Carried wrapped in parachute cloth, I nibbled on rabbit until captured. I managed to keep it with me through my night in jail, my morning at a Flakschule, and part of my journey to Frankfurt. My escort bade me toss it out the train window as we passed over a bridge. My feelings were mixed about doing so, but by that time it was unlikely that I could have eaten any more, even without the rations of brot and wurst and bier which he had drawn for the two of us.

On the train trip: This was a local train. At each stop, more people would get on. Soon my escort and I had to give up our space out of deference to many aged passengers. Later after dark, we could no longer stay together. More people crowded into the vestibule. Soon we could not even bend over or raise our legs to help circulation. At the last I could not even move arms or legs, nor could anyone else. But these people were desperate apparently, and only occasionally would someone murmur a complaint. There was lots of room for us in the afternoon for the obvious reason that few trains avoided the sharp eyes of eager P-51 pilots. In fact, I'd had some trains in my own gunsight not too long before this.

On meeting my first two Czechs: The farmer I approached was a peasant living in his two room, floorless house with his wife and meager possessions in one and an open door into the other which was his cow barn. He took me a short way to the village's mayor's house. Here, a man came to talk to me in English. He had lived for many years in Iowa where he had been a shoemaker, but had returned to his homeland to live out his remaining days. "You have had great good fortune", he said. "You will go to a camp where you will be with your friends, where you will get food and a place to sleep. But, more than that, you will someday return to your home and family, because for you the war is over!"

Following thirteen days of solitary confinement and intermittent sessions with the Interrogation Officer, Hanns Scharff, and one of his NCOs, who gave me my first shower and sent me on to Dulag Luft, the temporary prison camp at Wetzlar, which is about 30 miles north of Frankfurt am Main. Here I received clean clothing, "regular" three-a-day meals and an official welcome into the German POW system. Five days later, on October 12th, a trainload of American air force officers was sent out to their permanent camp, Stalag Luft I, near Barth, on the Baltic Sea. Each six seat compartment on a large number of railroad cars was filled with six prisoners together with enough Red Cross food parcels for the journey. Except for escorted trips to the men's toilet, we prisoners were locked in these compartments for the entire four day trip. Our greatest discomfort, however, was an overnight wait in Berlin while the city was under almost continuous attack by air. We were not bombed however, and gave thanks to the Red Cross for the great white crosses painted on the roofs of our cars.

Having lots of free time in the Stalag, I made a notebook out of tin cans with a piece of stripped barbed wire holding it all together. As a matter of fact, tin cans became our source of cups, baking pans, air tubes for escape tunnels and just about everything else. The notes taken over the eight months until repatriation make reference to the following:

Oct. 16, 1944: Arrived Stalag I at 07:30 and assigned to the South Compound, Block 11, Room 11, for 16 POWs commonly known as "Kriegies". The complete word is kriegsgefangenen, meaning prisoner of war.
Nov. 16: Thanksgiving --- our special menu: Breakfast... bacon and powdered eggs. Dinner ... 1/2 can of spam, potato chips, boiled cabbage and chocolate fudge pie.
Dec. 25: Christmas --- soup, boiled cabbage, choc. fudge pie, nuts, candy, plum pudding, honey and coffee.
Dec. 27: Moved to North Compound Two, Block 3, Room 11.
Jan. 3: Moved to North Three, Block 8, Room 12. Feb. 2: Moved to North Three, Block 9, Room 2.

Explanation on moves: In South Compound, barracks, called blocks, had equal numbers of British and American pilots. A British Wing Commander in our block made the arbitrary decision to require all residents to go out the back door for the twice daily roll calls. This was an affront to all but only we Americans took action to show our extreme displeasure. He had blocked off the front hall at the point where his room and his deputy's rooms began, thereby gaining about 100 square feet of additional space for his "Day Room". We climbed over the lockers blocking the hall, stepped onto his table and then out the door, So, the German Camp Commander did away with this mixed bag of POWs. A roommate friend and I opted to go to another compound, knowing that North Three would be our eventual destination when construction was finished there. As new barracks were finished, there would be a general shifting of persons for a variety of reasons including compatibility.

Feb. 16: Food parcels have been cut off.
March 6: Saw RAF night bombing.
March 8: Heinies open new mess hall for one meal. No parcels yet. The famine is on!
March 9: Coffee brought to rooms two times each day.
March 29: We eat, thank God! Thousands of parcels are in camp. This has been Hell!
April 3 : My first, and only, letter from dear wife Esther comes on our first wedding anniversary. A lovely day!
May 1: Russkies come thru, and, hey, we're free! What a great feeling!

The Russians herded in about 125 head of cattle and butchered them. We had T bones, hamburger and everything else we had hungered after for so long. We got along exceptionally well with our new found friends.