In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

This essay is written as a homework assignment at the Memoir Writing Workshop for Senior Citizens (Tenafly, New Jersey). The workshop is conducted by Lucile Lichtblau. I am the author of a FREE on-line book, entitled:

“Diary of a Former Communist: Thoughts, Feelings, Reality,” at

http://csam.montclair.edu/~kowalski/life/intro.html <<<a pretty good site and worth looking at.

It is an autobiography illustrating my evolution from one extreme to another--from a devoted Stalinist to an active anti-communist. This testimony is based on a diary I kept between 1946 and 2004 (in the USSR, Poland, France and the USA). The assignment consists of describing a single fragment of my life in a short self-standing essay. I decided to to focus on the the first year of the World War II.


= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Remembering the First Year of the War

Ludwik Kowalski (September 2010)


In 1941, my mother and I were living in Dedenievo, a small settlement (30 miles north of Moscow) on the bank of the famous Moscow-Volga canal. The major railroad connecting Moscow with Leningrad, and a paved highway, passed through that settlement. The place was surrounded by numerous collective farm villages; I still remember their names, such as Medviedki, Tselkovo, etc. The settlement had a school, a sanatorium (where my mother worked as a nurse), a hospital, two stores, a nursing home and a post office. It also had a large, partially ruined church. The tower of that church, dominating the area, could be seen from miles away. The northern wall of the church was destroyed and a person passing by could see a huge icon of Christ, painted on the inner wall. I was always fascinated by the fact that his eyes followed me as I was passing by.

I was ten years old when the war started, on June 22. That morning, in a store, I heard that our country was invaded by Germans. I immediately ran to the sanatorium, about half a mile away, to tell people what I heard. They turned the speakers on while Molotov was still speaking. Another thing I remember was the official order, distributed next day. Every tunable radio receiver--and we had one--must to be brought to the post office. The local authorities said that parts were needed by the army. Was this the main reason? Probably not; they wanted to protect us from German propaganda. After that day we had to rely on speakers connected to the central station by wires.

Eleven days later I heard Stalin’s first WWII speech. “Comrades! Citizens! Brothers and sisters! Men of our army and navy! I am addressing you, my friends! . . .” After telling us that Hitler’s finest divisions had already “met their doom on the field of the battle,” he reported that the enemy continued to push forward. I was very surprised to discover that our dear leader had a very strong Georgian accent. Posters “all for the front, all for victory,” and “motherhood calls you” were to be seen everywhere. But each day we heard depressing radio announcements, such as “today, as planned, our units units left Minsk,” or Kiev, etc. People had no idea what was really happening. The Soviet Union was totally unprepared for the war and losses were enormous, as we now know. The school was still functioning but about one half of our time was devoted to military matters. We learned how to deal with small incendiary bombs, how to use rifles (without live ammunition), and how to throw disarmed grenades.

One day a trainload of miserable looking and poorly dressed people was brought to Dedenievo. They were said to be a labor-front division. All of them were Uzbeks; non-Russian speaking. Each morning, escorted by armed soldiers, they were led to dig trenches and build fortifications. At night they slept on the floors of a tall building, next to the one in which we had a little room. Only much later did I realize that this division was a mobile gulag camp unit.

Herds of cows, sheep and horses, taken from surrounding collective farms, were led along the highway in the direction of Moscow. The policy was not to leave anything for Germans. During that time my mother and a neighbor bought a pig from a peasant in a near-by village. It was killed with a long knife and then divided into two parts, one for us and another for the neighbor. I will never forget the fear I experienced watching the killing and hearing the powerful squeals of the dying animal.

Several weeks later I experienced similar fear under very different circumstances. A Red Army soldier approached me and asked about the best way to go to the other side of the canal. He was probably wounded; his bandaged arm was in a rope sling. I knew that the canal was already frozen and that it could be crossed nearly anywhere. But I also knew that it was forbidden to give any information to strangers--anyone could be a German spy, we were told. So instead of answering I said, “I know who to ask; come with me.” And we walked toward the building guarded by two armed soldiers. I said that this man asked me a question that you might be able to answer. Then I left them and started going toward our home. A minute later I heard the familiar sound of a gun click. I turned my head back and saw that the guard’s gun was aimed at the wounded soldier.

Thinking that he was going to be killed I ran home, jumped on the bed, and covered my head with a large pillow. The fear experienced during the killing of the pig was the same as the fear I felt during this episode. The man was not killed, the guard told me later. They took him away because he was a deserter. Several days later, looking for wood in an abandoned shed, I discovered bodies of two Soviet soldiers. Were they also deserters? Perhaps they were hiding in this place and froze to death while sleeping. This kind of death, I was told later, is painless.

Two weeks later, Germans were only several miles away from our settlement. One evening, probably at the end of October, the railroad bridge over the canal was blown up by Soviet sappers. Then the Red Army retreated from Dedenievo and we were between two armies, for about a week. The settlement was heavily bombed by German airplanes. The building next to the school was destroyed by a large bomb, leaving a crater about 50 feet wide and 30 feet deep. That bomb was probably designed for the church tower, suspected to be an observation point.

Most of the nursing home residents died from cold after windows were shattered by numerous explosions. My mother carried some patients to the nearby hospital, on her back. Then she worked in that hospital, just across the street from the shelter where I was hiding, the basement of the church. About 100 people sat there, on tons of carrots and potatoes; the place had been used to store vegetables delivered to the government from surrounding collective farms. It is here that I heard, for the first time, about special Germans military units killing Jews and communists. I dreamed of joining partisans.

At a quiet time between bombings my mother came to the church basement and said I would be better off in the hospital with her. As we prepared to leave, bombs started falling again. One hit the wooden hospital building, burying about one hundred people. We heard calls for help but nothing could be done. Then the fire started; those who survived the bomb were burned alive. The first Soviet WWII victory, pushing Germans away from Moscow, took place where we lived. A week later I walked to Jachroma, the nearest settlement from which Germans were pushed away. Here I saw two abandoned German tanks. I climbed on one of them, opened the hatch, and went inside--not a wise thing to do. Only later did I learn there might have been a mine in the tank.

The constant roar of cannons became weaker and weaker. That was the beginning of a very difficult two or three years for us, due to the limited food supply. Like most people, we started growing our own potatoes, anywhere we could. We lived in a barrack, each family in a single room. Half of our space was used to store those potatoes, which we rationed to last until the next summer. In springtime we depended on eggs from birds' nests, and on fresh nettle. A little later in the season we ate birds, schav, and berries. Fortunately, I was able to help by bringing home mushrooms and fish. We were hungry most of the time. Winters were very cold. My ability to gather wood, sometimes stealing rejects from a local sawmill, was essential.

Meat from the pig we bought in the fall was an important part of our diet. By spring, only a large bone remained, hanging on the wall of our room. My mother decided to preserve it for as long as possible. It was eventually used to make a very tasty soup. I was so excited to see fat circles floating on the surface of this aromatic liquid. A year later I was even more excited by the aroma escaping from an open can of American SPAM. The label on that can was “swinaja tushonka.” The taste of my first American meat was the most memorable sensation in my entire life.

[bobbysocks]

Attack on Schweinfurt...

by Wally Hoffman, 8th Air Force...

As we walked into the ready room I was suddenly hit with this deep depression and a feeling of dread as I thought, “This is not the glamorized Wild Blue Yonder we had all heard so many times.” We will be fighting 5 miles above the earth. There are no foxholes to hide in up there. Most of the time there isn’t even the opportunity of fighting back, you just sit there and take it. We live by the laws of chance as we drive through the flak, which seems thick enough to walk on. There is always that chance to be where the projectile shot at us by random from the ground would intersect the plane and ourselves?
We are continually facing the life and death struggle of the plane with all of us inside. Maybe some dead, perhaps some wounded, and some not even scratched. At that moment all of our lives would reach a crisis in the heaving and smoking plane from the freezing hostile sky. It wasn’t the anxiety of maybe being killed before the day ended, but a deeper far-off feeling as if I weren’t operating within my own body.
As I dressed, in preparation for the long mission, I looked at the rest of the crew with a detached and lonely sadness wondering will we still be together tonight? No way did I want to expose my feelings to the crew for fear they would feel I was not equal to doing my part, all of our lives depended on each other.

In kind of a dream I proceeded to our plane, and went through the motions of the checklist for pre-flight. I was there, physically doing all things which were necessary, but seemed detached and totally out of my body I had the feeling I was in another dimension watching what I was doing. I was there, but wasn’t there. Knowing we were in for a rough mission and catch hell from the fighters we loaded many additional boxes of caliber 50 ammunition. We rechecked our flak suits and helmets then all of us made one last trip to the bushes to relieve ourselves.


All too soon we were starting the engines, taxiing into position, moving down the runway and again skimming those damn trees. We formed up at 28,000 feet then heading for Europe for what we didn’t know and into Germany. I was there, but as if I was doing everything necessary only by the numbers.

Suddenly I heard on the intercom from the top turret “Bandits 9:00 O’clock High” instantaneously followed by the tail and the nose of fighters coming in from all directions. Immediately you could feel those 20 millimeters going through the plane. The sound of a cannon shell hitting a fortress depends on where you are. If you aren’t too close it is like a metallic woof and you feel a jar that shakes the whole plane, which reaches you and leaves you instantly. If the shell explodes close to you there is nothing gentle and it certainly isn’t a momentary tremor. It is like a giant slapping his hand on the water. There are two sounds one from the impact and the second of it exploding. It’s like firing a shotgun into a bucket which all comes back exploding in your face.
For a moment you aren’t scared because your senses are dulled. Your bowels seem weak, (you tighten your pucker string), your stomach shrivels up until you can figure out how much you are hurt. It was as if a huge electrical shock had hit me and from then on to this day I have never felt fear. It was as if my mind had gone into a corner to hide and had then come charging out to do battle.. In talking to others later, I found we all have gone through some factors of this type of withdrawal. Some retreated from themselves and would no longer be able perform.


I immediately found myself in a world alien to everything I had ever experienced. There were ME-109s and FW-190s leaping into existence from everywhere without warning. When they opened fire you saw sudden flashes of light winking at you from the distance. All at once there existed a canopy of cannon shells and bombs, aerial mines and rockets exploding everywhere. Each one was intent on hitting us and our pregnant bomb load.
We are no longer in a stately march in tight formation through the upper heavens. We try desperately to return to the crisp efficiency of our tight formation, but it is impossible to achieve in this raging space of time. We find ourselves slogging our way through a thickening mass of exploding flame and smoke, with the equal determination of every member of the crew. We are driving ahead through a solid whirlwind of steel splinters, flame, and jagged chunks of red hot metal. The steel is everywhere, it crashes into wings, engines, bulkhead and airplane bodies; and into the bodies of men-spewing blood, tissues, intestines, and brains.



The plane seemingly is alive with lights as all the guns are firing and the noise is deafening. There is the continued on the intercom shout of “incoming bandits” from all around the clock (fighters). The fourteen caliber 50 machine guns of our plane can be heard and felt above all the roar of the plane. Our world seems to plunge into insanity as the sounds of air battle are all around us seemingly merging into an inhuman shriek. Our ship doesn’t seem to be occupied by men, we are transformed into beings from another world, with the strange breathing systems dangling beneath our faces.

As quickly as it started the fighters are gone and we are alone with only the extremely bright sun. Our enemy now is the temperature which is minus fifty degrees and never seems to relax its vigil against us for any exposure to sensitive flesh and frostbite.

Central Germany is now below us and in the distance we can see the first black specks of flak over the target. We now begin to assess what battle damage we had taken. Was everyone OK? Soon, everyone was checking in: Tail OK, except almost out of ammo and was reloading the belts; Waist OK, lost my flak helmet somewhere; Ball, one of the side windows was hit, can’t see anything except straight ahead; Radio, OK; Top Turret, “think I was hit in the leg and my ammunition boxes are gone”. It turns out that a 20 mm came through the turret knocking out the ammo boxes on each side and tearing off his flight suit at the thigh. He had a slight red mark on one leg. Ammo boxes were moved in and connected to both guns with the hope they wouldn’t jam.

In the cockpit the gauges were still working but the glass on the dials looks as if someone had taken a hammer to them. The radio compass is shattered and the other radios are hanging by their connecting cords. All seem to be working, at least the intercom is OK. The right portion of the windshield in front of the co-pilot has two vicious looking cracks in it. The co-pilot’s flak helmet was knocked off and has a huge hole in it. He doesn’t have a mark although I think he is turning gray. In the nose one of the cheek guns is out, the navigator’s table is shattered as well as his instruments. For all the holes our plane is still flying. It’s a miracle nobody has been seriously wounded.

When we have turned on IP the bombardier is already looking for his aiming point as the plane controls are hooked to the bombsight. Again the fighters are coming in all directions, but this time it is the squadron ahead of us. Soon the sky around us filled with flak burst, paving a solid black-steel asphalt roadway to Schweinfurt. The explosions sound as if someone is throwing rocks at you when they burst close. Those flak gunners on the ground are good. Normally the fighters will usually leave when you get into the flak from the target, this time they are flying through their own flak. Apparently, they have been ordered to defend the target at all costs. These fighters may be the enemy but I have never seen braver men. All the German efforts to keep us from the target have so far failed, but we have paid a tremendous price in men and planes. The stakes were high but the “Devil” was the winner. The target below is now fast deteriorating into smoke and debris as our strings of bombs walk through the city. The dead will outnumber our losses by a great number. Finally we feel the plane lighten in little jerks as the bombs pass out the bomb bay on their way to Germany. We are now at the halfway point of the mission as we begin a wide turn to the right. There is little need to get into formation as everyone is staying close. As we make our turn one can see the other formations behind us. They look ragged and are still under attack from the fighters. The fighters are leaving the “cripples” alone, going for those planes still carrying bombs. As we turn you can see the target below and the sticks of bombs on their five mile flight to the earth. The target is covered with smoke and gray dust is rising from the impact of the bombs.


As we look out there are no fighters roaring in against us with their guns winking at us. It seems so quiet and good to only hear the noise of the engines and the air rushing by as our faithful girl hurtles us towards our base in England. We are soon over France and a few fighters appear in the distance but do not press any attack against us. We wonder are they as low on ammunition and as tired as we are? We also now look for our little friends and assume they must be busy somewhere else. The cloud cover comes up to 20,000 feet and we are told to let down over the channel. Each group will proceed to their base individually. We soon see the angry water of the channel, then are flying up the “Wash” (a large estuary on the east coast of England). When the smokestacks of Peterborough are in sight we turn southwest and there is Polebrook below us. What a wonderful sight, and how many times in the past twelve hours have we all wondered if we’d ever see the base again?

As we cross the field preparing to break into the landing pattern we can see the men on the handstands, the meat wagons with the large red cross on the top, and the fire trucks parked all along the runway. They are all watching us and counting the bombers and trying to read the symbols as we fly over. All at once, there are many red flares indicating wounded on board, and they will proceed into the pattern and land first. Soon we are lined up with the runway on our final approach, crossing the boundary of the field, begin the flare and soon the wheels are finally touching the runway. We are again down on mother earth. As the tail settles to the runway, there is a terrific bang as if the plane had been ripped apart, followed with a loud screeching of metal! Not only had the tail wheel blown, but the whole tail assembly seems to be dragging behind the plane. The tower tells us we look like a giant sparkler and as soon as we have completed our roll to pull off the runway and get out of the plane. We find later that during the fighter attacks the total frame just forward of the horizontal stabilizer had been totally torn apart by the 20mm shells. Only the skin and the control cables held it together. We complete our roll and moving off the runway into the grass and mud. The faithful engines’ roar dies out and the silence is followed by a mad dash of everyone from the plane. As we are leaving the plane a fire truck and ambulance are johnny-on-the-spot.


Our plane, “Morning Delight” just seemed to set there panting. That gallant lady gave us all she had and more for that total effort during the past 10 hours. She never flew again as she was so heavily damaged and became another “Queen Bee’s”--(used for parts). You don’t live and fly a fortress for months without coming to know the plane in the most intimate way. You know the sturdy construction she represents and how forgiving she is to fly. She is there in our hearts, for all of us for the days to come if by chance we survive this war.

[bobbysocks]

not aviation related but this guy has real hutzpah!! you ought to hear clanging when he walks...

The hero in a kilt who tackled a Panzer division on his own! (and then accepted the surrender of 23,000 German soldiers)

The undercover British officer crept silently through the bushes, his tartan kilt a bizarre form of dress for a man who did not want to be conspicuous.

Then he stopped to take in the awesome might of the enemy. Through the gloom, he could make out the 15,000 battle-scarred men and 200 machines of the cruellest and most feared of all the SS forces in war-torn France in the summer of 1944.

Parked up for the night, their tanks, half-tracks and heavy guns stretched as far as his eyes could see. How could he and the tiny band of amateurish French Resistance fighters he commanded *possibly take on these professional killers

The notorious Das Reich panzer division was on its way from southern France to Normandy to help repel the Allied armies that had landed there on D-Day.

If they made the 450-mile journey in time, they could well be the difference between victory and defeat — which is why scores of Resistance units like this had been mobilised to slow their progress by whatever means they could . . . and at whatever cost.

That cost was already terrible. In towns and *villages of the Lot and Limousin regions, the *bodies of partisans swung from lampposts and telegraph poles as the SS soldiers — veterans of barbaric battles on the Russian front — ruthlessly took revenge on anyone who got in their way.

And now they had reached the patch of 23-year-old Major Tommy Macpherson — a fresh-faced former Fettes schoolboy, athlete and aesthete and, before the war intervened, a man destined for the dreaming spires of Oxford rather than this bleak French backwater where there was every chance of his being killed.

Macpherson was an exceptional warrior-hero, acknowledged by experts as one of the bravest, most determined and resourceful British soldiers of World War II. Today, at 90, he is Britain’s most decorated former soldier.

His story — told in his forthcoming autobiography — is one of remarkable daring and danger, outstanding even in the annals of that unique generation, as he fought his very special war, almost entirely behind enemy lines.

He did indeed go up to Oxford after the war, gaining a first-class degree. Today, he remains president of the Oxford and Cambridge athletics club, having retired from his career as a successful businessman: he was variously a director of the National Coal Board and High Sheriff of Greater London.

But inevitably nothing in his later life had quite the drama of the extraordinary exploits he undertook in his one-man war against the Nazis.

Recruited into the Army straight from the sixth form, he was picked to be in the newly-formed elite band of Commandos, and earmarked for specialist training to carry out *clandestine raids on enemy territory.

And so began an extraordinary series of escapades in which he relied solely on his own cunning, bravery and initiative to stay alive.

In North Africa in 1941, he slipped ashore from a submarine on a reconnaissance mission.
But his sortie went disastrously wrong when the sub that was supposed to collect him did not arrive, and he was forced to trek for days on foot across the desert towards his own lines, sabotaging enemy installations as he went, only to be captured by Italian troops.

Held in a prisoner-of-war camp in Italy, he made several attempts to escape but was caught each time. He was handed over to the Germans and interrogated by the Gestapo before ending up in a remote camp on the far eastern borders of *Germany.

He slipped away from there wearing a French uniform, made it to the Baltic coast and stowed away on a ship to neutral Sweden.

On his return home in November 1943, he could have been forgiven for seeking a quiet life after two years at the sharp end. Dodging bullets and Nazi forces, he had already endured and survived more danger and hardship than almost any other soldier.

But his unrivalled experience of clandestine operations was vital to the war effort. He was needed for the Special Operations Executive, to parachute into France and gee-up the reluctant foot soldiers of the French Resistance in the aftermath of D-Day.

At Churchill’s behest, he was to arm them, train them and lead them in a guerrilla war against the occupying Germans.

In the dead of night and accompanied by a French army officer and an English radio operator, he dropped into south-central France on June 8, 1944 — two days after the Allies stormed the Normandy beaches.

He was in his Highlander’s battledress, kilt and all — and deliberately so. He was meant to be visible, his undisguised presence a symbol for any wavering Frenchmen that *liberation was at hand if only they took the battle to the Boche.

His attire caused consternation. He heard an excited young Resistance fighter babbling to another that a French officer had landed ‘and he’s brought his wife!’ The lad had never seen a man in a kilt before.

The unit Macpherson joined was a joke, despite all the assurances he had been given back in England that the maquis was a dedicated fighting force.

Here in the forests and *mountains of the Massif Central it had just eight members, four of them mere boys, a few guns and a single, clapped-out lorry for transport. In four years, they had never mounted any sort of operation to trouble the occupying Germans.

He brought them a machine gun, grenades and plastic explosives, but did they have the savvy and the guts to use them? He found out soon enough when, just days later, the Das Reich SS column hove into his sights.

It was do-or-die moment — and dying seemed the more likely outcome. He decided that engaging them directly would be suicidal and pointless. But ingenious, cleverly-planted booby traps might do the trick of slowing them down.

Through the night, he and his men felled trees to block the road ahead of the convoy and laid their only anti-tank mine, strapping plastic explosives to it for extra oomph. Grenades dangled from overhanging branches — primed to fall and explode.

Primitive though these measures were, they was surprisingly effective. In the morning, the Germans had to bring up heavy equipment to move the tree trunks. Minutes ticked away. Then a tank hit the mine and slewed across the road.

More delay. Finally, Macpherson and his men sprayed troop carriers with their Sten guns and then dashed away into the trees — classic hit-and-run tactics. Hiding at a distance, they heard shouts and screams as the grenades did their job.

Eventually and inevitably, the SS column moved on, but precious hours had been won. With similar small *victories the length of France, it took Das Reich more than a fortnight to complete what should have been a three-day journey, by which time the Allied hold on Normandy was secure.

So, too, was Macpherson’s hold on his new friends. With this success under his belt, his status was assured and streams of newly-emboldened volunteers arrived to join him. Now they began to fight back in earnest.

German supply lorries were hijacked for food, railway lines and road bridges blown up, steam engines wrecked, enemy petrol dumps drained (though not blown up for fear of civilian casualties). The major encouraged children to scatter nails in the street to puncture the tyres of German trucks.

One of his favourite targets was electricity pylons, and he took enormous schoolboy pleasure from blowing up two together. As they crashed, massive sparks flew out, like a giant firework display. To celebrate Bastille Day, he knocked out eight in one exhausting night.

In his Cameron Highlanders’ *tartan, with a Sten gun in his hand, explosives in his pockets and a skean dhu — the traditional Scottish *dagger — tucked into his sock, his flamboyance made him a legend in this rugged area of rural France.

Furious and frustrated, the Germans offered a 300,000-franc reward for the capture of this ‘bandit masquerading as a Scottish officer’, as Wanted *posters described him, but he seemed as elusive as the Scarlet Pimpernel and as bulletproof as a tank.

Driving round the countryside to muster and train his growing fighting force, he narrowly missed *German patrols on the road, or *skidded away from road blocks just in time.

Pursued by an enemy patrol one night, his car’s fuel tank was hit by bullets, but even then his luck held. They had just enough petrol left to turn into dense woods, dump the car and seek refuge with the nuns in a nearby convent.

He was at times able to turn the tables. Returning from a night raid on a railway, he was warned that the road he was on was used *regularly by the Germans. Indeed, the local commandant’s staff car was expected shortly.

‘We were at an unmanned level crossing with a heavy wooden pole that lowered itself across the road when a train was coming. It was a perfect opportunity. I fixed some plastic explosive to the wire holding up the pole and rigged it with a fuse.’

When the open staff car sped into view, he blew the fuse, the pole came down and the car hit it at 50mph, decapitating the commandant and his driver. Then Macpherson’s men mowed down the cavalcade’s motorcycle escort with Sten guns. All in all, he recalls phlegmatically, ‘a satisfactory morning’.

By now, the war was swinging decisively in the Allies’ favour and it was time for Macpherson to become ever more brazen in his defiance of the Germans. To impress the locals, he began to fly a Union Jack and the Cross of *Lorraine flag of the Free French from his black Citroën.

Then he sat in full uniform at a café in a town square, nonchalantly and openly drinking wine with the mayor, just to show that he could. It was almost an act of bravado too far.

Suddenly a German armoured car swung into the square. In the nick of time, Macpherson and his driver leapt into the Citroen and raced away into the hills, chased by the Germans.

With the advantage of the higher ground, they stopped and lobbed a makeshift grenade into the pursuing armoured car, destroying it. Then they laid charges around a bridge over a river and blew that, too. ‘It was,’ he recalls, ‘just another day at the office’.

But his most extraordinary achievements were yet to come.

With Allied forces now advancing into the heart of France from both north and south, the Germans were on the retreat. But would they depart without causing a bloodbath? Subtlety and subterfuge were called for.

With just three companions, Macpherson bluffed one German garrison of 100 soldiers with a mock show of force.

He and his men wrapped wet handkerchiefs inside the metal hand grips of their light Sten guns, so that when fired they made the deafening noise of heavy machine-guns. The garrison, fooled into thinking themselves outgunned, surrendered.

Then he went one better when a German column numbering 23,000 men and 1,000 vehicles was heading back to the German border through the last remaining gap between the two advancing Allied armies.

In the Loire valley, a small band of Resistance fighters held a vital river bridge, and a fight to the death — which they had no hope of winning — seemed inevitable. Unless the German general could somehow be persuaded to give up without a fight . . .

At a parlay with the Germans, Macpherson once more bluffed. ‘My job was to convince the general that I had a brigade, tanks and artillery waiting on the other side of the river and they could not get through.

‘The clincher was when I told him that I was in contact with London by radio and could at any time call up the RAF to blow his people out of sight. In truth, the only thing I could whistle up was Dixie, but he had no way of knowing that.’

The German general bowed to what he was persuaded was the inevitable and surrendered, bringing the liberation of France a large step closer but with no loss of life.

Amazingly, Macpherson’s war did not end even then. With France freed from the Nazis, he was whisked off to Italy to organise the partisans in their last struggles to evict the Germans.

There he found himself up against a new enemy — communist forces loyal to the Yugoslavian leader, Tito, and intent on annexing parts of Italy.

Macpherson’s determined *opposition succeeded in thwarting these plans, with the result that Tito pronounced a death sentence on the ‘interfering major’.

To have had a price put on his head by Nazis and Communists was a rare distinction, and as highly prized as the Military Cross and two bars, the Legion d’Honneur and the Croix de Guerre this most buccaneering of British soldiers was awarded for his extraordinary exploits.

[bobbysocks]

nice site and interesting read.

Diary of a Corsair Pilot in the Solomons

http://www.scuttlebuttsmallchow.com/winnia.html

[bobbysocks]

The Legacy of Gordon Piland

It was the end of winter and despair; it was the beginning of spring and hope. It was TWELVE O’CLOCK HIGH, not the movie; it was 1944 over war torn Europe. Anti-aircraft fire (flak) and swarms of Luftwaffe fighters brought the stark reality of war to the aircrew of “ DogBreath” of the 452nd Bombardment Group. German fighter pilots attacked Eighth Army Air Force bomber formations, the fighting building to a crescendo in the blue skies. The mission: attack a Messerschhmitt factory in Posen, Poland. German defenses threw up a heavy barrage of eighty-eight millimeter flak and German fighters! S/Sgt. Gordon A. Piland; flying in a B-17G bomber, better known as the “Flying Fortress” was in the middle of this air war with the crew members of “DogBreath.” Bomber crews flying through a “zone of death” and wall of steel, were now confronted by a hornet’s nest of cannon firing Focke Wulf 190s and Bf 109s forming up to attack their bomber boxes.
Just as the formation was nearing its objective, about 125 to 150 enemy aircraft hit the formation blazing away with their machineguns and 20-mm cannon fire. A German fighter plane came so close to “DogBreath” that Sergeant Piland could see the facial features of the Messerschmitt Bf 109 pilot. The enemy was less than 100 yards distant! Gordon manned “DogBreath’s” top turret with its twin fifty-caliber machineguns, sighted on the German fighter, and clobbered the “bandit.” Gordon kept on firing, until pieces of metal started flying off the wing of the enemy fighter and smoke poured from the engine. The “peppered” enemy plane, was raked nose to tail, forcing the pilot to bail out as the ship went into a tailspin (at the post-mission interrogation, S/Sgt. Piland was elated to have intelligence determine he shot down the group leader).
German forces were determined to stop the Eighth Army at all costs. German fighter planes attacked the formation, throwing everything at them, including the kitchen sink. They really wanted to defeat this attack on their industrial base at all costs. Sergeant Piland’s B-17G was “tooling-up” a position, and just as the German made his 'pass' and Gordon chalked-up his victory, another fighter fell out of the sky towards them. This Bf 109 attacked like a raven on prey and swooped down on “DogBreath.” The German fighter was flying only ten feet over Piland’s top gunner position; the port machineguns shredded the plane. Flying pieces of metal from the enemy aircraft came close to acting as a fallen guillotine, almost taking the sergeant’s head off on that eventful day in the sky.
On the return flight in the B-17 Flying Fortress, at high altitudes and freezing temperatures, German defensive fire threw up a heavy barrage of jagged metal. One large piece pierced the glass dome underneath the B-17 and cut the wiring connections of S/Sgt. Ronald B. Clark’s electrically heated suit, rendering it inoperative and life threatening.
The pilot ordered the sergeant to come up from his gun position to repair the damage but return if enemy fighters were sighted. S/Sgt Clark followed his orders, removed his heated suit and shoes and started to make his maintenance checks. During the course of the operation, his right foot started to feel numb. “Fighters attacking from the nose,” yelled the pilot over the interphone system. S/Sgt Clark in his stocking feet, climbed back into the ball turret, forgetting about the numb foot.

An hour later, when the attack ended S/Sgt. Clark pulled himself out of the gunner position, with extreme pain in his frostbitten foot. S/Sgt. Piland knew just what to do. He removed all of his outer clothing from the waist up, had Sgt. Clark lie down on the floor and placed the gunner’s swollen foot under his armpit. Flying at reduced altitude for three hours until the pilot landed at home base; they were stretched out on the floor of the radio compartment. This was one of the most important moments of the mission; however, the flight physician said that S/Sgt Piland’s quick thinking and decisive action saved Clark’s frostbitten foot from certain amputation. The two men remained friends for life.

For his heroic efforts, Gordon was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal and combat service medals with four Oak Leaf Clusters for participation in bomber combat operations over enemy territory in Europe. Gordon was mobilized during the Korean War and qualified for the National Defense Medal. Finally, Gordon was awarded his eighth medal in 1981.

TWELVE O’CLOCK HIGH was not just a film and a heroic tale about a war; this was a chapter in Gordon’s life. It took thirty years to pull the whole story out of him.

His generation did not like to talk about the war. He stood like a sentry over his war experiences; only a privileged few heard of his brushes with death. Gordon did not love war and just did his duty.

After the wedding of Gordon’s daughter during a brief reception a rugged middle-aged man with gray side burns pulled the groom aside and stated, “You don’t know me from Adam, but I drove here from Michigan to be here for your wedding. I am here because Gordon and I served together during World War II and he saved my life! I owe my life to Gordon. No man should be that indebted to another; I could never pay him back. My name is Roland B. Clark. Gordon and I have been friends for many years.” The new son-in-law responded, “I have known him for a year and had no idea that he served in the military.”
After ten years of marriage to his daughter, Gordon began to provide brief insights into his experiences and feelings about the war. Upon returning from an active duty tour, his son-in-law walked into his living room, wearing an Army Reserve uniform. Gordon paused for moment, as if in a different place and time. A silence fell over him; Gordon looked through the window at the blue sky, and started talking about a great captain he knew during the war. Gordon said, “The Captain was killed by enemy anti-aircraft fire during a pre-invasion blow against Cherbourg, France. We feared the eighty-eight steel shrapnel more than the fighter planes.”
The conversation continued, “ We were bombing the German war machine from above and my brother was part of the ground invasion on the beaches of Normandy. My brother, Haslette, is still serving as a Captain in the National Guard… Gordon said softly, we were both lucky to come back alive; many were not so fortunate.”

Gordon then jumped to his feet and went to the back bedroom. He pulled a clothing garment bag from a small closet. He modestly retrieved an aviator leather jacket. His name “Piland” and the name of the plane, “DogBreath” was painted on the jacket. The liberty bell, eagle and the American flag on one side, on the other side an Iron Cross indicating the fighter plane he shot down, and twenty-five bombing missions. On the back of the jacket was a hand painted beautiful young woman with long red hair. This was a special moment for Gordon and his son-in-law; this was a very private part of his life.

Years went by and once again, he would take his son-in-law for a journey into his past. In a small box, he kept seven military ribbons and medals from the war. The box also held an old whistle that he wore on his fight jacket. Sergeant Piland’s whistle would be necessary in case his B-17 “flying coffin” crashed and he survived. He could signal others where he could be located.

Moving cautiously through the tattered photographs of Gordon and his crewmembers, the son-in-law scrutinized all of the old photographs. These were not middle-aged men, but boys in their prime. The torn orders revealed that Gordon had volunteered for additional bombing missions. The casualty rate was extremely high for twenty-five missions, but few survived thirty; he was one of the few to make it home. “DogBreath’s” battle damage was extremely high, according to Eighth Army records. At the end of his tour of duty in 1944, Eighth Air Force issued him a Lucky Bastard Club Certificate.
Gordon was a fighter all of his life. He kept his spirits high and always had a smile on his face in the midst of adversity. Living through the Great Depression and World War II prepared him for the tough times. Gordon would face adversity many times in his life. He suffered a major heart attack in his early fifties, faced three open-heart surgeries, three minor procedures and a heart pace maker implantation over the next twenty-five years. Gordon’s church and community service continued to play a significant role in his life in spite of repeated hospitalizations.

At the age of seventy-six after all he had endured, Gordon completed a community college program with honors. He volunteered to help others in the Academic Support Center and was one of the most popular students on campus. Gordon finally made graduation; it was a happy day for Gordon and family. He beamed and smiled all day; his lifetime goal realized.
The next year would take its toll on the determined veteran; repeated hospitalizations would reduce some of his activities. The family knew this was going to require the fight of a lifetime. Gordon fought the war and contributed to the peace, but his damaged heart could not make this last battle. Gordon died on the operating table; his loved ones at his side.
The legacy continues through the contributions he made to his family, church, community and nation. There are many veterans like Gordon across the United States of America, each veteran with his or her own story and unique legacy. They defended the Nation and after the war, sustained the legacy. There must be a special place of honor in heaven for those who served so well.

Hello bobbysocks ... Thank you for posting a story about my Father, Gordon A. Piland. My husband wrote the document in memory of my Dad. It represents an accurate oral history for the Piland Family.

Please include my husband's name as the author. His name is Thomas E. Baker, LTC MP USAR. I sincerely appreciate your time and kind consideration.

I simply want to be sure my husband is recognized for his efforts and authorship. It was indeed a labor of love. Best wishes, Jane Piland

[bobbysocks]

i love this picture!

“Clash over the Rooftops of Paris”
Capt. Leonard ‘Kit Carson & 1st Lt. Ted Conlin over the Seine River in Paris
Victory Followed by a Daring Escape

Late in July, 1944, a group of Mustangs began a sweep in the vicinity of Paris and encountered a group of 25 Me 109 and FW190 attacking a group of P-38 Lightnings. Kit Carson describes his encounter:

“I Chased a 190 clear across the city of Paris and finally nailed him after a weird rat race past the Eiffel Tower. You could identify the major boulevards in my combat film. It wasn’t until the shooting was over that I fully realized where I was and then clearly recall asking myself, ‘How the hell am I going to get out of this place?’ I shoved everything forward – throttle, mixture, RPM and stick. It was one of the few times that I asked Rolls Royce to deliver everything advertised. The Merlin was laying down black smoke out of both rows of exhaust stacks. I almost never ran an engine at full power in combat. I was at house top level, flat out at 72 inches of HG and 3,000 RPM. Half the flak in Paris was coming up.”

Ted Conlin clearly remembers his experience:

“The game was on and I was on a wild ride earthbound trying to stay in position on Carson. At the time it seemed we were diving almost vertical and the 190 pilot was doing big barrel rolls, and we were right with him.

As Carson closed range, he started getting strikes on the 190. This and the ground coming up caused the German to flare and level off. We were now at about 300 feet and every soldier with a weapon was firing at me. I even saw one officer whip out a pistol and shoot at us! The Germans had AA weapons on the roofs and in parks – they were all concentrating on me! I saw the Seine River off to my right and swung over and down onto it, hugging the north bank which got to be about 50’ high. The guns could not repress enough to reach me that way.

Carson had taken the same route and I confirmed his victory. I had a new appreciation for the daring and flying skills of the man who would ultimately become the leading ace of the 357th, Leonard K. Carson.”

[bobbysocks]

Ivan Nikitovich Kozhedub... Allied Leading Ace... 62 Kills..

Russian Ace of WW11, Ivan Kozhedub was the leading Soviet and Allied Ace of WWII. Flying mainly the Lavochkin La-7 fighter aircraft, he carried out 330 sorries, was involved in 120 aerial combats and was credited with 62 confirmed victories. Earning the nickname "Ivan the Terrible", he was the only Soviet pilot to shoot down a Messerschmitt Me-262 jet fighter. Ivan was one of only two Soviet fighter pilots to be awarded the Gold Star(Hero of the Soviet Union) three times during World War II. Soviet Air Forces suffered very high losses during World War II. US historians David M. Glantz and Jonathan House("When Titans Clashed", 1995) give the figure 88,300 Soviet combat aircraft lost. The Germans claimed the destruction of 77,000 Soviet aircraft(including 45,000 in aerial combat) during the entire war.

Born in Ukraine in 1920, Ivan Kozhedub began his rather distinguished career in the VVS in 1940 and was graduated as a pilot at Chuguyey military flying school a year later. Ironically prevented from fighting because his skill as a pilot made him more useful as an instructor, Kozhedub did not fly his first combat mission until March 26, 1943. He was posted as a Starshij Serzhant in the 240 IAP on Voronezh Front flying La-5s in 1943. He did not make his mark against the Luftwaffe until several months later when the regiment became greatly involved in the Battle of Kursk. Kozhedub, who had by now become a Miadshij Lejtenant, was off on July 6 with three fellow pilots providing ground force cover in the Pokrovka area where they stormed into a formation of 22 Ju 87s with Kozhedub destroying one of them. He claimed another of these the following day and on the 9th Kozhedub and his flight were assigned to a front-line patrol and became involved in a melee with nine Ju 87s, four Bf 109s and two Fw 190s. During this combat he bagged a Bf 109 on his first pass and with his fourth kill met the conditions for the award of his first Order of the Red Banner.

A short time later he took over as leader of a fighter squadron which was to be credited with downing 12 Bf 109s, 11 Ju 87s and a Fw 190 during 165 combat sorties between August 21 and October, 1943. Kozhedub became a devotee of the surprise attack closing right in before firing. He now began to pile up victories at a remarkable pace. On August 9 another Bf 109 fell to his guns while leading four fighters on a Pe-2 escort to Kharkov. Six Luftwaffe fighters rose to oppose them but broke away as the La-5s turned into their attack. Six days later he made a claim for two Bf 109s when enemy aircraft tried to bounce a Pe-2 reconnaissance plane and on August 22 was leading an escort for 14 Pe-2 bombers to Merefa(SW Kharkov). In the target area they came under attack of Fw 190s , one of them being shot down in flames by Kozhedub himself. He had by now become a Kapitan and on September 30 splashed a Ju 87 for a change while leading six of his squadron to bounce 18 Stukas in the Borodayevka area.

He continued his streak into October, when the regiment became involved in the ferocious battles above the Dnyepr River. In 10 days of combat he ran up a string of 11 kills while runners-up were Vasilij Mukhin and Pavel Bryzgalov with five apiece. On October 1 he was leading six La-5s against two large gaggles of Ju 87s west of Pogrebnaya and blasted two of them as his squadron got two more. The following day he shot down another of these together with a Bf 109 when eight of his squadron took on 27 enemy planes destroying four dive-bombers along with three Messerschmitts for no losses. He was in action three days later claiming a Bf 109 shot down in flames when 14 La-5s tackled with 15 fighters near Borodayevka.

Later that afternoon he added another 109 when combat occurred with 12 Ju 87s escorted by six fighters. The total claims for this affray were three Ju 87s and a Bf109. He was wounded in a fighter battle on the 12th but was able to stagger back to his own airfield being back on duty a few days later. On October 29 Kozhedub and five of his comrades were off on a sweep and once over the front made contact with a formation of He 111s, Kozhedub claiming one of them destroyed. Shortly after this they met Luftwaffe dive-bombers engaged in bombing ground targets with Kozhedub blasting one out of the sky. With 20 personal kills he now was well qualified for his first award of the coveted title Hero of the Soviet Union and had already established a reputation for aggressiveness, skill and tenacity.

It is particularly noteworthy that he required only 27 encounters to pile up his kills during the course of 146 sorties, 90 of which were escorts, 39 ground force cover, 9 armed reconnaissance and 8 scrambles. After a short rest from operations Kozhedub was again in the thick of fighting and on January 1, 1944 was providing ground force cover with five La-5s between Kapitanovka-Lebedin(NW Kirovograd), where they engaged nine Ju 87s, four of these being shot down. Kozhedub personally accounted for one as a Bf 109 fell to his guns a short time later. He participated in periods of intense activity that flared up along the Yuzhnyj Bug River and subsequently took part in the brutal battles over Rumania. In the same time frame he was in a highly competitive scoring race with another great fighter ace, Kirill Yevstigneyey.

Kozhedub claimed another Ju 87 shot down in flames on March 14, 1944 while leading five La-5s assigned to patrol the air space over the Yuzhoyj Bug and five days later forced down an He 111 when four fighters under his leadership took on 18 bombers escorted by six Messerschmitts in the vicinity of Vulturul. On the 29th six La- 5s with Kozhedub in the lead were sweeping over the Yassy area where they engaged a formation of 10 Hs 129s and four Bf 109s. Kozhedub went after the assault aircraft, pulled in to point-blank range and after several bursts one of them blew up and crashed. In an outstanding effort Kozhedub's squadron had been credited with 65 enemy planes in the air since August, 1943 consisting of 23 Bf 109s, 30 Ju 87s, 5 He 111s, 2 Hs 129s, one Fw 190, three Fw 189s and one PZL-24 during 710 sorties(318 ground force cover, 357 escorts, 35 armed reconnaissance). Kozhedub's score now had risen to 34 and he was recommended for his second Gold Star award.



Lavochkin La-7
Triumph followed triumph. At Yassy, victories continued to come thick and fast. He chalked up four more kills between June 1 and June 3 to run his tally to 43 but Yevstigneyev in the same time frame had increased his score to 44 by claiming five aerial victories. A short time later he was posted as deputy commanding officer of the 176 GIAP flying La-7s. On September 22 he took off with Lejtenant Sharapov on a patrol and engaged two gaggles of Fw 190 fighter-bombers comprising of 4-8 aircraft each and shot down two of them in quick succession opening fire at 150 meters. He added another of these on January 16, 1945 while victory number 50 came on February 10.

On this day Kozhedub was carrying out a free hunt with Major Titarenko as his number two in the vicinity of the Oder River, two German fighters being seen, and Kozhedub shot down one of these. The enemy pilot made a forced landing in his crippled aircraft in a pasture and became a prisoner. It was discovered that he was an ace with eight victories but his identity has unfortunately not been established. Two days later he was off on another free hunt with Lejtenant Gromakovskij flying wing to him and while sweeping over the Konitz area they spotted 18 Fw 190s fighter bombers flying at 400 meters. They immediately swept down and Kozhedub opened fire on "tail end Charlie," seeing hits exploding all over him and pieces flying off in all directions whereupon he spun into the ground in a solid sheet of flame. He then destroyed two more in quick succession which crashed 10-12 km southwest of Konitz. Gromakovskij shot another off Kozhedub's tail for his second kill of the day.

Kozhedub is believed to have shot down one of the first Messerschmitt Me-262 jets to be encountered on Eastern Front during February but the date for this remains dubious. The date given by Kozhedub himself is the 19th while others are suggesting the 15th or 24th of February. It seems most likely that this claim has never been officially accepted as it cannot be traced in his "nagradnoj lisf'- the recommendation submitted by Polkovnik Chupikov, the commander of the 176 GIAP, for the award of his third title of Hero of the Soviet Union on March 31, 1945. On March 18 he claimed a Fw 190 that crashed 5-6 kilometers northwest of Kiistrin and five days later four La-7s with Kozhedub and Major Kumanichkin in the lead tackled with some 30 Fw 190s in the Seelow area. Kozhedub and Major Titarenko attacked from the sun claiming single 190s each on their first pass before breaking away in a high speed climb. In continuing action Kozhedub bagged a second while in taking on another gaggle Kumanichkin and his wingman, Gromakovskij, both knocked down singles with the latter's victim taking to his parachute. By March 31, 1945 Kozhedub had reached 60 confirmed kills becoming the top Allied fighter pilot of the war.

During the Korean conflict he displayed exceptional leadership, his unit claiming 207 U.N. aircraft destroyed for the loss of 27 MiG-15s in combat and 9 pilots. He later was assigned as an inspector of VVS flight training between 1956 and 1963 and in January, 1964 became deputy commander of the Moscow PVO forces. In 1967 Kozhedub was appointed president of the Aviation Sports Federation and vice president of the International Federation of Aviation(FAI). He later rose to Marshal Aviatsii and was assigned as an inspector of the Soviet Ministry of Defense.

Perhaps the last words should be left to Kozhedub himself, who provides the following revealing recollections: "I destroyed my first enemy aircraft in the air during the Battle of Kursk. Historians have been setting forth my total score as 62 victories. As a matter of fact this figure requires revision. There were many victories that either remained unconfirmed or were credited to fellow pilots. I reckon that my personal score actually is in excess of 100 victories while I never counted enemy aircraft destroyed jointly with my comrades."

Air Marshal Ivan Nikitovich Kozhedub passed away in August, 1991.

Quotes by Ivan.........

"I requested a transfer to the front more than once. But the front required well-trained fliers. While training them for future battles, I was also training myself. At the same time, it felt good to hear of their exploits at the front. In late 1942, I was sent to learn to fly a new plane, the Lavochkin LaG-5. After March 1943, I was finally in active service.

My first appointment was to the 240th Fighter Air Regiment (Istrebitelsky Aviatsy Polk, or IAP), which began combat operations on the first day of the war, on the Leningrad front. Since many graduates of the Chuguyev school served there, I did not feel out of place, not even at the beginning. Our pilot personnel included people of many nationalities. There were Belorussians, Tartars, Georgians, Russians and Ukrainians. We were all like one big family.

I got LaG-5 No. 75. Like other aircraft of our regiment, it had the words "Named after Valery Chkalov" inscribed on its fuselage. Those planes were built on donations from Soviet people. But my plane was different. Other fliers had aircraft with three fuel tanks, which were lighter and more maneuverable, whereas my fivetank aircraft was heavier. But for a start its potential was quite enough for me, a budding flier. Later on, I had many occasions to admire the strength and staying power of this plane. It had excellent structural mounting points and an ingenious fire-fighting system, which diverted the exhaust gases into the fuel tanks, and once saved me from what seemed certain death.

In my first combat, I did not get a single scratch, but my plane was badly damaged. My commander said, with good reason, "Make haste only when catching fleas." I did not heed his advice. It seemed to me I could down at least two or three enemy planes at one go. Carried away by the attack, I did not notice an umbrella of Messerschmitt Bf-110s approaching me from behind. Of course, that was a bitter experience and a serious lesson for me. Despite general failures, our morale was quite high."

"We were ordered to attack a group of Junkers Ju-87 dive bombers. I chose a "victim" and came in quite close to it. The main thing was to fire in time. Everything happened in a twinkling. It was only on the ground, among my friends, that I recalled the details of this battle. Caution is all-important and you have to turn your head 360 degrees all the time. The victory belonged to those who knew their planes and weapons inside out and had the initiative. On July 7, I downed a second plane and, on July 8, I destroyed another two Bf-109 fighters."

"I was upset by my new appointment but only until I found out that I could fly with aces who went on lone-wolf operations. Day in and day out, we would fly in the morning and analyze our sorties back at the squadrons at noon. At 9 p.m., we used to gather in the canteen, where the commander gave an account of the results of the day. In this regiment, I also began to team up with Dmitry Titarenko.

The 176th Guards Fighter Regiment carried out 9,450 combat missions, of which 4,016 were lone-wolf operations; it conducted 750 air battles, in which 389 enemy aircraft were shot down."

"On February 19, 1945, 1 was on a lone-wolf operation together with Dmitry Titorenko to the north of Frankfurt. I noticed a plane at an altitude of 350 meters (2,170 feet). It was flying along the Oder at a speed that was marginal for my plane. I made a quick about-face and started pursuing it at full throttle, coming down so as to approach it from under the "belly." My wingman opened fire, and the Me-262 (which was a jet, as I had already realized) began turning left, over to my side, losing speed in the process. That was the end of it. I would never have overtaken it if it had flown in a straight line. The main thing was to attack enemy planes during turns, ascents or descents, and not to lose precious seconds."

"On the evening of April 17, we went on a lone-wolf operation over the suburbs of Berlin. All of a sudden we saw a group of 40 Fw-190s with bomb loads, flying at an altitude of 3,500 meters in our direction. We climbed to the left and flew behind them under the cover of clouds. The odds were obviously not in our favor, but we still decided to attack since the enemy aircraft were heading for our troops. At maximum speed, we approached the tail of the formation, out of the sun. I opened fire almost point-blank at the wingman of the last pair of aircraft. The first Fw-190 fell into the suburbs of the city. Several planes turned to the west, while others continued their flight.

We decided to drive a wedge into the combat formation and break it up. Making a steep dive, we swept past enemy planes. As often happened in such cases, the Nazis thought that there were a lot of us. Confused, they started jettisoning bombs. Then they formed a defensive circle--each fighter covering the tail of the one in front of him--and began to attack us. Titorenko skillfully downed the plane that followed me. At that point, we saw our fighters and we turned for home. But suddenly, we saw yet another Fw-190 with a bomb. Apparently, the pilot had received a warning, for he made a quick dive and jettisoned his bomb over the suburbs of Berlin. But I still reached him on the recovery from his dive. The plane literally burst in the air. We made a good landing but our fuel tanks were completely empty. After that battle, I brought my personal score of downed Nazi planes to a total of 62."

[bobbysocks]

Hubert Stassl

Hubert Strassl enjoyed great success in the air battles over Kursk in July 1943. In just four days he gained 30 victories and demonstrated the superiority of the FW 190 over opposing Russian fighters. However, Strassl would not live long enough to savour his victories; he was dead before the Germans had been defeated at Kursk. He had a total of 67 Kills....

Early Life and Career
Hubert Strassl was born in Austria in 1918. After joining the Luftwaffe and undertaking fighter training, he went to the Eastern Front with 9./J.G. 51 towards the end of 1941. His first victory did not come until 6 July 1942, when he claimed at Pe-2 in the morning. In August 1942 he shot down ten Soviet aircraft, including seven more Pe-2s (four on 19 August alone), two LaGG-3s, and an Il-2. His rate of scoring then slowed dramatically. He got an Il-2 on 3 September, and no victories in October. In November 1942, III./J.G. 51 went to Jesau to convert to the FW 190, and the Gruppe received six FW 190 A-2s and seven FW 190 A-3s in that month.[1] On 26 November Uffz. Strassl shot down an Il-2, his thirteenth career victory.

Strassl was posted to the Ergänzung-Jagdgruppe Ost in March 1943. After a few months as an instructor, Strassl returned to III./J.G. 51 in May 1943. His score quickly began to mount. On 30 May he downed a Pe-2, and on the first day of June bagged a pair of MiG-3s. This was the first of as series of days when Strassl (promoted to Feldwebel between in mid-June) downed multiple enemy aircraft: three on the 2nd, two on the 6th, six on the 8th, and three on the 11th. Between 14 and 30 June 1943, Fw. Strassl shot down six MiG-3s, taking his tally to 36 victories. On the afternoon of 3 July he downed an Il-2 for victory number 37. Two days later the Germans launched their offensive at Kursk.

The Battle of Kursk
On 5 July 1943 Hubert Strassl's unit, III./J.G. 51, was based at Orel with Luftflotte 6, flying alongside I./J.G. 54, Stabsstaffel, Stab, I., and IV./J.G. 51 in support of Army Group Centre.[2] These fighters were tasked with escorting Ju 88s, He 111s, and Ju 87s of St.G.1, as well as flying scrambles and sweeps over the battle area.

At around 03:30 on 5 July 1943, the Soviets launched concentrated air attacks against the German airfields, and as all available Luftflotte 4 and 6 fighters scrambled, one of the largest air battles in history began. The Orel-based German fighters engaged the Soviets at 06:45, and it was Fw. Hubert Strassl who made J.G. 51's first two claims, for MiG-3s at 03:48 and 03:50. Just before 07:00, III./J.G. 51 was back into the fray over the northern sector of the Kursk battlefield. Soviet fighters were encountered at 3,000 m, and Strassl added three MiG-3s to his tally (downed at 07:18, 07:25 and 07:2.

Strassl's most successful mission of his combat career occurred mid-morning on 5 July, as III./J.G. 51 clashed with Soviet light bombers and their escort fighters. Strassl scored his Gruppe's first victory, a LaGG-5 at 10:34, and followed it up two minutes later with another. 9./J.G. 51 then engaged the fighters and accounted for six LaGGs, while 8./J.G. 51 attacked the bombers, which were flying about 1,000 m below their fighter escorts. Strassl downed an Il-2 and a Boston, along with a pair of LaGG-5s who had come down to attack the 8./J.G. 51 FW 190s. The only III./J.G. 51 mission on 5 July 1943 in which Hubert Strassl either did not take part or did not claim any victories was an hour after midday, when Bostons and LaGGs were attacked.

As evening approached on 5 July, a final combat was fought between the FW 190s of Luftflotte 6 and a Soviet bomber force. Between 18:11 and 19:17, the German fighters claimed 45 victories, and once more Hubert Strassl and III./J.G. 51 were in the thick of the action. The III. Gruppe was the first to engage, and at 18:24 and 18:27 Strassl claimed a pair of the big Il-4 bombers. He then downed two more from low-altitude at 18:31 and 18:33. III./J.G. 51 returned to Orel at around 19:00, after bagging three Soviet fighters and nine Il-4s. Strassl had claimed a remarkable fifteen victories in a single day.

On 6 July, Hubert Strassl wasn promoted to Oberfeldwebel. During the day he downed another four Soviet aircraft in his FW 190, the victories coming in two missions. III./J.G. 51 met LaGG-5s and MiG-3s at 12:30, and Ofw. Strassl claimed a LaGG-5 at 12:34, a MiG-3 at 12:37, and a LaGG-5 at 12:40. Later that afternoon III./J.G. 51 again engaged LaGG-5s and MiG-3s. Ofw. Strassl shot down one at 19:35, and Oblt. Maximilian Mayerl of 9./J.G. 51 claimed a LaGG-5 at the same time. III./J.G. 51 made no other claims in this combat.

On 7 July the fighters of Luftflotte 6 claimed 74 victories, and Ofw. Strassl made six of these claims. In the early morning 8./J.G. 51 encountered MiG-3s and Il-2s, the former at low-altitude. The Staffel made three claims, and Ofw. Strassl made two of these, for a MiG-3 at 04:20, and for an Il-2 at 04:25. In a fight with LaGG-5s shortly after 09:00, Ofw. Strassl made the only III./J.G. 51 victory claims, for LaGG-5s at 09:10, 09:24 and 09:26. At 18:36 he made his final claim for the day, another LaGG-5 at 1,800 m.

On 8 July 1943, Hubert Strassl was bounced by four Soviet LaGG-3s south of Ponyri, 60 km north of Kursk. Strassl had already downed three enemy aircraft on this day, but he was forced ever lower by the LaGG-3s, and eventually had to bail out of his FW 190 A-4 W.Nr 0142 351 'Black 4 + I' at 300 m. Unfortunately, Hubert Strassl failed to open his parachute in time.[3] Strassl posthumously received the Ehrenpokal on 22 July 1943, the Deutsches Kreuz in Gold on 16 August 1943, and the Ritterkreuz on 12 November 1943.

[bobbysocks]

Saul Sitzer, veteran and Pappy's restaurant owner, dies

He had served in the Air Force during World War II and had been held by Germans

Saul Sitzer, who owned a popular Parkville restaurant and was a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel who flew numerous combat missions over Germany in World War II, died of stroke complications Sunday at the Loch Raven Veterans Affairs Hospital. He was 86 and lived in Perry Hall.
Born in Brooklyn, N.Y., and raised in the Canarsie section, he was the son of a Polish-born grocer. He was a 1942 graduate of Samuel J. Tilden High School.
He attended Brooklyn College and enlisted in what was then the Army Air Corps. He became a member of the Eighth Air Force's 357th Fighter Group.
"My father had excellent eyesight," said his son, David Sitzer, a bond specialist who lives in Baltimore. "He was small of stature and fit in a tight cockpit. He also had good reflexes."
He flew a P-51 Mustang, a single-engine fast and nimble fighter. He flew alongside several well-known pilots, including Chuck Yeager, who went on to break the sound barrier, and Leonard "Kit" Carson, who shot down 18 German fighters. Mr. Sitzer escorted bombers deep into Germany.
"The weather has been miserable all month [December 1944]. In the Ardennes Forest of Belgium, American troops, short of winter clothing and everything else, had been fighting desperately for a week to stem Germany's last massive attempt to change the course of the war," said a history of his unit written by Merle Olmsted.
Mr. Sitzer was credited with shooting down a German Messerschmitt. But on his 22nd mission, his plane was hit by ground fire. He parachuted, landed and suffered a broken nose. He told his family he was captured by a farmer with a rusty gun who alerted military police. He was held as a prisoner of war in Stalag Luft 1 in Barth, Germany.
He tried unsuccessfully to escape from a rail car that carried him to the camp, where he lived for nearly five months. Because he was Jewish, his German captors placed him in a separate part of the camp away from other captives. He was liberated by the Russian Army on May 1,1945.
After the war, he earned a bachelor's degree in history from the University of Delaware.
He remained in the National Guard. He survived a second crash in April 1951 at the Newcastle, Del., Air Force Base. He was badly burned and underwent skin-graft surgeries.
Mr. Sitzer flew transport planes during the Korean War, the Cold War and Vietnam War, where he flew under heavy fire. Throughout his career, he received numerous medals and decorations, including Bronze Stars and Oak Leaf Clusters.

RIP Saul....blue skies and tail winds...

[bobbysocks]

David McCampbell

In one combat tour, David McCampbell shot down 34 Japanese aircraft. If he had served a second tour, he may very well have exceeded Dick Bong's total of 40. In recognition of his spectacular accomplishments: leading "Fabled Fifteen," personally accounting for 34 planes, and for his mission on October 24, McCampbell received the Congressional Medal of Honor, presented to him by President Roosevelt.

McCampbell also received the Navy Cross, the Silver Star Medal, Legion of Merit, and the Distinguished Flying Cross. After the war, McCampbell served in the Navy until his retirement in 1964. Married four times, David McCampbell must have had quite an eye for the ladies. He died in Florida after a lengthy illness on June 30, 1996.

"All available fighter pilots! Man your planes!" boomed the squawk box in Essex' ready room. The ship's radar had detected three large groups of Japanese planes coming in.

David McCampbell, the CAG and the Navy's most famous living aviator, considered this announcement. Earlier that morning, Admiral Sherman himself had forbidden McCampbell from joining a dawn sortie. Given his responsibilities as Commander of Essex' Air Group and his public prominence as a top ace, McCampbell was too valuable. He decided that he was indeed "available" and headed for his airplane, Minsi III. His plane crew hurried to fuel Minsi III, which had not been scheduled to fly that day. With the Hellcat only partially fueled, the Flight Officer ordered it off the flight deck - either into the air or below to the hangar deck. McCampbell went up, leading Essex's last seven fighters toward the Jap strike force.

He and Ens. Roy Rushing got out in front of the other Hellcats, putting on all speed to intercept the Japs, then only 22 miles away. He directed the other F6F's to get the bombers, while he and Rushing tackled the fighters. Surprisingly, the enemy fighters turned, allowing McCampbell and Rushing to gain altitude and a position behind them.

Seeing over 40 Japanese fighters, McCampbell radioed back to the carrier for help. "Sorry, none available." The enemy planes spread out in a typical formation of three V's. McCampbell picked out a Zero on the extreme right and flamed it. Rushing also got one on this first pass. Incredibly, there was no reaction from the Japs as they climbed back up to regain altitude. The two Hellcat pilots dived back down on their quarry for another pass; McCampbell blew up a second Zero. Now the gaggle of Zeros, Tonys, Hamps, and Oscars reacted - by going into a Lufbery! McCampbell made a couple of head-on passes against the formation, but without results.

A strange interlude ensued as McCampbell and Rushing climbed back up and circled, while the Japanese fighters continued to circle below. McCampbell radioed again for help; one of the Hellcats that had been going after the bombers headed his way. The Lufbery broke up and the planes headed toward Luzon in a wide Vee. The two American fliers closed in again on the formation. McCampbell opened up at 900 feet, and exploded his third plane of the morning. Rushing shot down his second one.

Apparently low on fuel, the Japanese planes doggedly flew on, maintaining formation. On his next firing pass, gunfire coming from behind forced McCampbell to break off his attack and pull up. It was another Hellcat shooting too close to him. A few choice words straightened things out. Still the enemy planes didn't turn and mix it up.

McCampbell realized he could relax and take his time. This was practically gunnery exercise. He could focus on identifying his targets carefully. The next one was an Oscar. Again his six fifties roared anad blasted the Oscar's wing root. It flamed for number four. Rushing had scored his third by this time. This continued for several more passes until McCampbell had downed 7 and Rushing 6. Rushing radioed that he was out of ammo, but he would stay on McCampbell's wing while the CAG used up his remaining bullets.

Two more passes and two more kills. As the Jap planes approached the security of their bases on Luzon, the two Americans' low fuel finally ended the slaughter. The Hellcats broke off and headed for Essex. In one morning sortie, McCampbell had shot down nine enemy planes and Rushing six, an unparalleled achievement in American fighter aviation.