In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

Stolen Hurricane flies into history books

Two amateur historians have uncovered the story of an audacious spy, who infiltrated the RAF in the middle of World War II and escaped back to Germany in a stolen RAF Hurricane.

Augustin Preucil came to Britain along with scores of other Czech pilots when mainland Europe fell under Nazi domination.

The first clue to Preucil's treachery came when Richard Chapman, an historic aircraft enthusiast who lives in Germany, came across some old photos from the German National Aviation Museum in Berlin.

Dating from 1941, they showed an RAF Hurricane on display among German aircraft.

The squadron markings were clearly visible and Mr Chapman, intrigued to know how the Hurricane got there, set about tracing the aircraft.

Steep dive

Mr Chapman enlisted the support of Roy Nesbit, an air historian with 20 books to his name, and who had himself served in the wartime RAF.

Together they established that the plane belonged to "55 OCU" - an Operation Conversion Unit which trained foreign pilots converting to British aircraft.

What's more they found an official loss report relating to the plane in the picture; it said that the plane, and its pilot Augustin Preucil, had been lost, presumed crashed, in the North Sea off Sunderland.

Preucil had taken off with another pilot, a young Pole, to practice dogfights over the sea.

The Pole returned to base reporting he had seen Preucil in a steep dive and assumed he had crashed.

Gestapo

In fact Preucil had flown his machine across the North Sea to Belgium.

There he landed on a farm and was offered food and shelter by the farmer and his family .

But Preucil immediately betrayed them to the Gestapo and the family were imprisoned.

Preucil went on to work for the Gestapo mainly by infiltrating Czech political prisoner groups in concentration camps; it is known that some of those he betrayed were shot.

When Germany was finally defeated Preucil was captured by the Czechs and put on trial for treason.

He was executed in 1947.

'High regard'

So how was it that Preucil was able to be accepted by the RAF and remain undiscovered?

Roy Nesbit says that in the early 1940s Britain welcomed many pilots from Poland, Czechoslovakia, Greece, Holland and France whose countries had fallen to the Nazis.

"They were very valuable to us" he said.

"The Czechs, especially were courageous. We had a very high regard for them.

"They had a fervent feeling to fight the war, often they were more ferocious than we were. But Preucil was an exception. He was a complete traitor."

Mr Nesbit says that the pilots wouldn't have been very carefully screened and it would have been easy for Preucil to dupe the British authorities.

RAF morale

Mr Chapman believes that Preucil would have had a lot of information of use to the Germans.

"He went from one unit to another and must have gathered a lot of information about RAF morale and, of course, its shortcomings."

Mr Chapman says that in his experience the Preucil story is unique.

"This is the first time I've heard about an agent in the RAF" he said.

The Preucil story leaves many questions unanswered, the most important being who was his handler?

Roy Nesbit thinks he must have been working for a German controller here in Britain.

But so far there are no clues as to the handler's identity and Mr Nesbit believes the files that would reveal it are still classified as secret by the government.

[bobbysocks]

galland talks about the pilots rebellion..

Galland: Yes, he had many problems, but he was basically an intelligent man and well educated, from the aristocracy. He had many weak points in his life, and he was always under pressure from Hitler, yet he never contradicted him or corrected him on any point. That was where he made his greatest mistakes. This weakness increased as the war dragged on, along with his drug addiction, until he was nothing. As far as our Luftwaffe was concerned, he was even less and should have been replaced.

WWII: Isn't it true that regardless of Göring's position the fighter pilots looked to you for leadership most of the time?

Galland: Yes, that was true.

WWII: What were your impressions of Hitler, since you spent months in his company and knew him very well.

Galland: Yes, I did spend months around him, speaking and having meetings, but I don't think anyone ever really knew Adolf Hitler. I was not very impressed with him. The first time I met him was after Spain when we were summoned to the Reichschancellery. There was Hitler, short, gray-faced and not very strong, and he spoke with a crisp language. He did not allow us to smoke, nor did he offer us anything to drink, nothing like that. This impression was strengthened every year I knew him as his mistakes mounted and cost German lives, the mistakes that Göring should have brought to his attention. Other officers did, and they were relieved, but at least they did the right thing and voiced their objections. For Göring to willingly follow along was a terrible situation for me personally.

WWII: So you feel Hitler should have replaced Göring as head of the Luftwaffe long before things became terminal?

Galland: Sure, if Hitler cared, but who would take Göring's place and stand up to Hitler, to do what was right? People were not lining up for the job, I can tell you. Hitler was unable to think in three dimensions, and he had a very poor understanding when it came to the Luftwaffe, as with the U-boat service. He was strictly a landsman.

WWII: Well, of all the men you led and are friends with today, are there any who simply stood out as great leaders apart from their records as aces?

Galland: Oh, my, that would be a long list, and you also know most of them. Of all the names you could mention, I think perhaps the greatest leader was still Mölders. All the rest are still very good friends of mine, but we are old men now, and life is not as fast as it was in the cockpit. However, as their leader I also made many mistakes. I could have done better. I was young and inexperienced with life, I guess. It is very easy to look back retrospectively and criticize yourself; however, at that time it was very difficult. My situation was that I had to fight with Göring and Hitler in order to accomplish what they wished, but without their support, if that makes any sense. Göring was a thorn in my side, and Hitler simply destroyed our country and others without any regard for the welfare of others.

WWII: What led to the Fighters' Revolt in January 1945?

Galland: Basically, it was the problems we were having with Göring, and the fact that he was blaming us, the fighter pilots, for the bombings and the losing of the war. All of the senior Kommodores brought their grievances to me, and we chose a spokesman to represent them. I sat on the panel and arranged for the meeting with Göring.

WWII: Your spokesman was Günther Lützow?

Galland: Yes, Lützow was a great leader and a true knight, a gentleman. When they all sat down with Göring, he told Göring that if he interrupted, which he always did so that he could show his importance, nothing would get accomplished. Lützow, Johannes Steinhoff and myself had voiced our grievances many times, but since I was not invited to this meeting, Hannes Trautloft along with Lützow kept me informed as to their recommending that Göring step down for the good of the service. Well, I was fired as general of fighters, Steinhoff was banished from Germany and sent to Italy, and Göring told Lützow that he was going to be shot for high treason.

WWII: What was the atmosphere like, and what were the Kommodores' opinions of the meeting?

Galland: Well, Göring knew that he did not have their loyalty, and we knew that we could not count on Berlin doing anything to help us, so we were alone, as we always were. At least now it was in the open, no pretenses.

WWII: What do you recall about the death of ace Walter Nowotny, and do you feel that his death had any impact on Germany's Messerschmitt Me-262 jet fighter program?

Galland: I had been telling Hitler for over a year, since my first flight in an Me-262, that only Focke Wulf Fw-190 fighter production should continue in conventional aircraft, to discontinue the Me-109, which was outdated, and to focus on building a massive jet-fighter force. I was in East Prussia for a preview of the jet, which was fantastic, a totally new development. This was 1943, and I was there with Professor Willy Messerschmitt and other engineers responsible for the development. The fighter was almost ready for mass production at that time, and Hitler wanted to see a demonstration. When the 262 was brought out for his viewing at Insterburg, and I was standing there next to him, Hitler was very impressed. He asked the professor, "Is this aircraft able to carry bombs?" Well, Messerschmitt said, "Yes, my Führer, it can carry for sure a 250-kilogram bomb, perhaps two of them." In typical Hitler fashion, he said "Well, nobody thought of this! This is the Blitz (lightning) bomber I have been requesting for years. No one thought of this. I order that this 262 be used exclusively as a Blitz bomber, and you, Messerschmitt, have to make all the necessary preparations to make this feasible." This was really the beginning of the misuse of the 262, as five bomber wings were supposed to be equipped with the jet. These bomber pilots had no fighter experience, such as combat flying or shooting, which is why so many were shot down. They could only escape by outrunning the fighters in pursuit. This was the greatest mistake surrounding the 262, and I believe the 262 could have been made operational as a fighter at least a year and a half earlier and built in large enough numbers so that it could have changed the air war. It would most certainly not have changed the final outcome of the war, for we had already lost completely, but it would have probably delayed the end, since the Normandy invasion on June 6, 1944, would probably not have taken place, at least not successfully if the 262 had been operational. I certainly think that just 300 jets flown daily by the best fighter pilots would have had a major impact on the course of the air war. This would have, of course, prolonged the war, so perhaps Hitler's misuse of this aircraft was not such a bad thing after all. But about Nowotny....

[bobbysocks]

the real dogs of war... has nothing to do with airplanes but interesting nonetheless.

The Red Army trained as many as 50,000 dogs before and during the early part of the war. Dogs proved themselves paricularly valuable during the severe Russian winters, when they located and dragged wounded soldiers from the front on sleds.

A wounded man's chance of survival in the extremely low temperatures of Russian winters, depended largely on how rapidily he was discovered and then transported to a first aid station. Dogs alone could travel in the deep snow, which bogged down motor vehicles, thus improving their chances!

During one battle, near Duminichi, in between attacks, a german shepherd named Bob, located sixteen wounded men, who had crawled into shell holes and ditches. Bob, when he came across a soldier, would lay down beside him, until the wounded man took some dressing from a medical kit strap on the dog's back.

And in one sector of the front, a team of sled dogs, in five weeks, carried 1,239 wounded men from the battlefield and hauled 327 tons of ammunition.

White Samoyeds, were found particularly useful for winter operations and were used to pull white-clad Russian marksmen on sleds close to enemy lines undetected. Plus six dog teams transported machine guns in sleds and two dogs teams were used to pulled soliders on skiis into battle.

The Russian military also trained suicide dogs, during WW II. The dogs (half staved) were loaded with explosives, and trained to seek out food under moving tanks; a trigger device attached to their backpacks, would depressed causing an explosion capable of cutting through the steel under belly of the tanks.

In one day, alone, on the Izyum sector, these canine tank busters destroyed nine tanks and two armored cars. So feared by the Germans, that as soon as they heard the barking and saw the running dogs, they would frantically turned their tanks around and head back towards their own lines, for they knew from experience what was in store for them.

One Russian correspondent stated that "the dogs have saved thousands upon thousands of lives on the Russian front." And he was right!

The German High Command also entered into a secret pact with Russia, to establish other military facilities across their border, in Russia; airfields, training schools, and various war plants. In return for the use of Russian soil, they were to train Russian officers in the art of warfare!

Also at that time, the Army High Command formed an alliance with Hitler, seeing in him, an opportunity to eliminate the Treaty and rearm the military. The National Socialists, then formed their own training camps, where members were secretly trained in military tactics by the army (SA K-9 Units were also formed), under the guise of being public work units.By the time, the Nazis and Adolf Hitler were in power, these units simply traded their shovels for rifles and became the new German Army.

In the ten year period leading up to World War II, Germany trained at many as 200,000 dogs. The Berlin dog paper Die Hunderwelt told of a grand recruiting rally held in that country, adding another 15,993 Shepherds, Dobermans, Airedales, and Boxers to their K-9 army. The dogs were trained as sentries, scouts, guard and messagers.

In 1939, when Hitler launched his blitzkrieg against Europe and Poland, Germany K-9 Army units were there as well, organized and trained as thorough as the Luftwaffe or armored forces were. Once occupied, the K-9 units were used for policing the cities; and the Jewish ghettos and camps create by the Nazis.

The use of large dogs gave the Bahnschutz (Railroad Police) increased effectiveness during patrols of train stations, waiting rooms and railway cars. As early as 1923, the Reichsbahn began a systematic program of training dog handlers as well as dogs.

Schäferhunde (German Shepherds), considered the most loyal and least temperamental of the large breeds and the easiest to train, composed over 90 percent of the Diensthunde (service dogs) in the Bahnschutz.

While on duty a Bahnschutzstreifer (patrolman) normally would accompanied the Bahnschutz Hundeführer (dog handler) and his dog. This allowed the handler to keep the dog on the leash while the second patrolman could perform routine duties such as checking identity papers. When a arrest was warranted, the Streifer handcuffed the suspects while the Hundeführer controlled the dog.

The Reichsbahn operated a breeding farm and training facility for Diensthunde (service dogs) in Röntgental near Berlin.

The leader of the school, was Reichsbahninspektor Langner, who was an experienced World War I dog handler and trainer; he recognized the importance of matching the appropriate handler for each dog.

He sought handlers who were, above all, Hundefreunde (dog lovers), and spent as much time training the Hundeführer as he did the Diensthund.

Each of the 700 teams of dogs and handlers underwent yearly re examination by Reichsbahninspektor Langner, and teams, that were incompatible disbanded. The K-9 training methods developed by Langner became recognized worldwide.

As noted, these same Railroad K-9 Units, were used later on by the SS during the deportation of millions of prisoners to the concentration and slave labor work camps, as well as POWs!

On November 26, 1944 - Dr. Aaron Kuptsow, a B-17 radar officer, was shot down and then captured by German farmers, This is a brief account of what it was like for him!

"We had a force march, which I think was about 17 kilometers. That was the worst experience of my life. I was still wearing my flight boots, and by the time we reached the station, my feet were bloody and raw! I think we had three policemen and two german shepherds walking with us.The march to Frankfurt was quite an experience, the guards and dogs kept us in line, the dogs nipped at us, or the guards prodded us with their guns if we slowed down."

Ousseltria, Tunisia - Allied troops held the western edge of a little valley, and the Germans and Italian forces the eastern side. The battle went back and forth, with each side trying for a knockout blow.

An American lieutenant and two sergeants were sent out to scout the enemy positions. After edging their way slowly to the eastern side, they suddenly spotted a pure white dog, about fifty feet ahead of them. The dog stood as silent as death. He didn't bark or growl a warning as a sentry dog would. Instead he stood there like a statue, head erect and tail straight out behind him. As if he was pointing!

The silents was broken by machine gun fire, hitting one of the men, both his legs shattered. The others had to leave him.

Later, a well armed patrol was sent out to find him, again near the eastern edge of the valley, the white dog appeared again. When the group finally reached the spot where the wounded man had fallen, the man was gone. To all appearances the dog had hunted him out and returned to the Germans, who found him first.

Other white dogs, were later observed, in the Ousseltia Valley, where groups of three or four would prowl through the British and American positions, pointed, then returned to their line. Apparently the German snipers were using them to point the enemy!

Towards the end of the African Campaign, both the German African Corp and Italian armies were forced to abandon most of their dogs during their rapid withdrawal in the North African desert.

The Nazis used so many dogs during the war, that by the end, there wasn't hardily any breeding stock left in the entire country.

[bobbysocks]

Fighter Ace Bruce Carr . . Evading With A Dead Chicken Around
His Neck

After carrying it for several days, 20-year-old Bruce Carr still hadn't
decided how to cook it without the Germans catching him. But, as hungry
as he was, he couldn't bring himself to eat it. In his mind, no meat was
better than raw meat, so he threw it away. Resigning himself to what appeared to
be his unavoidable fate, he turned in the direction of the nearest German
airfield.
Even POW's get to eat. Sometimes. And they aren't constantly dodging
from tree to tree, ditch to culvert. And he was exhausted.

He was tired of trying to find cover where there was none. Carr hadn't
realized that Czechoslovakian forests had no underbrush until, at the edge of
the farm field, struggling out of his parachute he dragged it into the .
During the times he had been screaming along at tree top level in his P-51
"Angels Playmate" the forests and fields had been nothing more than a green
blur behind the Messerchmitts, Focke-Wulfs, trains and trucks he had in his
sights. He never expected to find himself a pedestrian far behind enemy
lines.
The instant antiaircraft shrapnel ripped into the engine, he knew he was in trouble.

Serious trouble.

Clouds of coolant steam hissing through jagged holes in the cowling told Carr
he was about to ride the silk elevator down to a long walk back to his
squadron. A very long walk. This had not been part of the mission plan.
Several years before, when 18-year-old Bruce Carr enlisted in the Army,
in no way could he have imagined himself taking a walking tour of rural
Czechoslovakia with Germans everywhere around him. When he enlisted, all he
had just focused on flying airplanes .. fighter airplanes.

By the time he had joined the military, Carr already knew how to fly. He had
been flying as a private pilot since 1939, soloing in a $25 Piper Cub his
father had bought from a ed pilot who had left it lodged securely in
the top of a tree. His instructor had been an Auburn, NY, native by the name
of Johnny Bruns. " In 1942, after I enlisted, " as Bruce Carr remembers it,
"we went to meet our instructors. I was the last cadet left in the assignment
room and was nervous. Then the door opened and out stepped the man who
was to be my military flight instructor. It was Johnny Bruns !

We took a Stearman to an outlying field, doing aerobatics all the way;
then he got out and soloed me. That was my first flight in the military."

" The guy I had in advanced training in the AT-6 had just graduated himself
and didn't know a bit more than I did," Carr can't help but smile, as he
remembers .. which meant neither one of us knew anything. Zilch ! After three
or four hours in the AT-6, they took me and a few others aside, told us we
were going to fly P-40s and we left for Tipton, Georgia."

" We got to Tipton, and a lieutenant just back from North Africa kneeled on
the P-40's wing, showed me where all the levers were, made sure I knew how
every- thing worked, then said ' If you can get it started .. go fly it' . .
just like that ! I was 19 years old and thought I knew every thing. I didn't
know enough to be scared. They didn't tell us what to do. They just said 'Go
fly,' so I buzzed every cow in that part of the state. Nineteen years old ..
and with 1100 horsepower, what did they expect? Then we went overseas."

By today's standards, Carr and that first contingent of pilots shipped to
England were painfully short of experience. They had so little flight time
that today, they would barely have their civilian pilot's license. Flight
training eventually became more formal, but in those early days, their
training had a hint of fatalistic Darwinism to it: if they learned fast
enough
to survive, they were ready to move on to the next step. Including his 40
hours in the P-40 terrorizing Georgia, Carr had less than 160 hours total
flight time when he arrived in England.

His group in England was to be the pioneering group that would take the
Mustang into combat, and he clearly remembers his introduction to the
airplane. " I thought I was an old P-40 pilot and the -51B would be no big
deal. But I was wrong! I was truly impressed with the airplane. REALLY
impressed! It flew like an airplane. I FLEW a P-40, but in the P-51 - I WAS
PART OF the airplane.. and it was part of me. There was a world of difference."

When he first arrived in England, the instructions were, ' This is a P-51. Go
fly it. Soon, we'll have to form a unit, so fly.' A lot of English cows were
buzzed. On my first long-range mission, we just kept climbing, and I'd never
had an airplane above about 10,000 feet before. Then we were at 30,000 feet
and I couldn't believe it! I'd gone to church as a kid, and I knew that's
where the angels were and that's when I named my airplane 'Angels Playmate.'

Then a bunch of Germans roared down through us, and my leader immediately
dropped tanks and turned hard for home. But I'm not that smart. I'm 19 years
old and this SOB shoots at me, and I'm not going to let him get away with it.
We went round and round, and I'm really mad because he shot at me. Childish
emotions, in retrospect. He couldn't shake me . . but I couldn't get on his
tail to get any hits either. " Before long, we're right down in the trees. I'm
shooting, but I'm not hitting. I am, however, scaring the hell out of him. I'm
at least as excited as he is. Then I tell myself to c-a-l-m d-o-w-n."

" We're roaring around within a few feet of the ground, and he pulls up to go
over some trees, so I just pull the trigger and keep it down. The gun barrels
burned out and one bullet . . a tracer . . came tumbling out . . and made a
great huge arc. It came down and hit him on the left wing about where the
aileron was.

He pulled up, off came the canopy, and he jumped out, but too low for the
chute to open and the airplane crashed. I didn't shoot him down, scared him
to death with one bullet hole in his left wing. My first victory wasn't
a kill - it was more of a suicide."

The rest of Carr's 14 victories were much more conclusive. Being red-hot
fighter pilot, however, was absolutely no use to him as he lay shivering in
the Czechoslovakian forest. He knew he would die if he didn't get some food
and shelter soon.

" I knew where the German field was because I'd flown over it, so I headed in
that direction to surrender. I intended to walk in the main gate, but it was
late afternoon and, for some reason . . I had second thoughts and decided to
wait in the woods until morning."

" While I was lying there, I saw a crew working on an FW 190 right at the edge
of the woods. When they were done, I assumed, just like you assume in America,
that the thing was all finished. The cowling's on. The engine has been run.
The fuel truck has been there. It's ready to go. Maybe a dumb assumption
for a young fellow, but I assumed so. "

Carr got in the airplane and spent the night all hunkered down in the cockpit.

" Before dawn, it got light and I started studying the cockpit. I can't read
German, so I couldn't decipher dials and I couldn't find the normal switches
like there were in American airplanes. I kept looking , and on the right side
was a smooth panel. Under this was a compartment with something I would
classify as circuit breakers. They didn't look like ours, but they weren't
regular switches either."

I began to think that the Germans were probably no different from the
Americans . . that they would turn off all the switches when finished with the
airplane. I had no earthly idea what those circuit breakers or switches did .
. but I reversed every one of them. If they were off, that would turn them on.
When I did that . . the gauges showed there was electricity on the airplane."

"I'd seen this metal T-handle on the right side of the cockpit that had a word
on it that looked enough like ' starter ' for me to think that's what it was.
But when I pulled it . . nothing happened. Nothing."

But if pulling doesn't work . . you push. And when I did, an inertia starter
started winding up. I let it go for a while, then pulled on the handle and the
engine started. The sun had yet to make it over the far trees and the air base
was just waking up, getting ready to go to war. The FW 190 was one of many
dispersed throughout the woods, and at that time of the morning, the sound of
the engine must have been heard by many Germans not far away on the main
base. But even if they heard it, there was no reason for alarm. The last thing
they expected was one of their fighters taxiing out with a weary Mustang pilot at
the controls. Carr, however, wanted to take no chances.

" The taxiway came out of the woods and turned right towards where I knew the
airfield was because I'd watched them land and take off while I was in the
trees. On the left side of the taxiway, there was a shallow ditch and a space
where there had been two hangars. The slabs were there, but the hangars were
gone, and the area around them had been cleaned of all debris."

" I didn't want to go to the airfield, so I plowed down through the ditch, and
when the airplane started up the other side, I shoved the throttle
forward and took off right between where the two hangars had been."

At that point, Bruce Carr had no time to look around to see what effect the
sight of a Focke-Wulf ERUPTING FROM THE TREES had on the Germans.
Undoubtedly, they were confused, but not unduly concerned. After all, it was probably
just one of their maverick pilots doing something against the rules. They didn't
know it was one of our own maverick pilots doing something against the rules.

Carr had problems more immediate than a bunch of confused Germans. He
had just pulled off the perfect plane-jacking; but he knew nothing about the
airplane, couldn't read the placards and had 200 miles of enemy territory to cross. At
home, there would be hundreds of his friends and fellow warriors, all of whom
were, at that moment, preparing their guns to shoot at airplanes marked with
swastikas and crosses-airplanes identical to the one Bruce Carr was at that
moment flying.

But Carr wasn't thinking that far ahead. First, he had to get there. And
that meant learning how to fly the German fighter.

" There were two buttons behind the throttle and three buttons behind those
two. I wasn't sure what to push . . so I pushed one button and nothing
happened. I pushed the other and the gear started up. As soon as I felt it
coming up and I cleared the fence at the edge of the German field, then
I took it down little lower and headed for home. All I wanted to do was clear the
ground by about six inches.

And there was only one throttle position for me >> FULL FORWARD ! ! "

As I headed for home, I pushed one of the other three buttons, and the flaps
came part way down. I pushed the button next to it, and they came up
again. So I knew how to get the flaps down. But that was all I knew.

I can't make heads or tails out of any of the instruments. None. And I can't
even figure how to change the prop pitch. But I don't sweat that, because
props are full forward when you shut down anyway, and it was running fine.

This time, it was German cows that were buzzed, although, as he streaked cross
fields and through the trees only a few feet off the ground, that was not his
intent. At something over 350 miles an hour below tree-top level, he was
trying to be a difficult target. However, as he crossed the lines . . he
wasn't difficult enough.

" There was no doubt when I crossed the lines because every SOB and his
brother who had a .50-caliber machine gun shot at me. It was all over the
place, and I had no idea which way to go. I didn't do much dodging because I
was just as likely to fly into bullets as around them."

When he hopped over the last row of trees and found himself crossing his own
airfield, he pulled up hard to set up for landing. His mind was on flying the
airplane. " I pitched up, pulled the throttle back and punched the buttons I
knew would put the gear and flaps down. I felt the flaps come down, but the
gear wasn't doing anything. I came around and pitched up again, still
punching the button. Nothing was happening and I was really frustrated."

He had been so intent on figuring out his airplane problems, he forgot he was
putting on a very tempting show for the ground personnel. " As I started up
the last time, I saw the air defense guys ripping the tarps off the quad .50s
that ringed the field. I hadn't noticed the machine guns before . . but
I was sure noticing them right then."

" I roared around in as tight a pattern as I could fly and chopped the
throttle. I slid to a halt on the runway and it was a nice belly job, if
I say so myself."

His antics over the runway had drawn quite a crowd, and the airplane had
barely stopped sliding before there were MPs up on the wings trying to drag
him out of the airplane by his arms. What they didn't realize was that
he was still strapped in.

I started throwing some good Anglo-Saxon swear words at them, and they let
loose while I tried to get the seat belt undone, but my hands wouldn't work
and I couldn't do it. Then they started pulling on me again because they
still weren't convinced I was an American.

" I was yelling and hollering; then, suddenly, they let go. A face drops down
into the cockpit in front of mine. It was my Group Commander, George R.
Bickel. " Bickel said, ' Carr, where in the hell have you been , and what have
you been doing now?' Bruce Carr was home and entered the record books as the
only pilot known to leave on a mission flying a Mustang and return flying a
Focke-Wulf.

For several days after the ordeal, he had trouble eating and sleeping, but
when things again fell into place, he took some of the other pilots out to
show them the airplane and how it worked. One of them pointed out a small
handle under the glare shield that he hadn't noticed before. When he pulled
it, the landing gear unlocked and fell out. The handle was a separate,
mechanical uplock. At least, he had figured out the really important things.

Carr finished the war with 14 aerial victories after flying 172 missions,
which included three bailouts because of ground fire. He stayed in the
service, eventually flying 51 missions in Korea in F-86s and 286 in Vietnam,
flying F-100s. That's an amazing 509 combat missions and doesn't include
many others during Viet Nam in other aircraft types.

Bruce Carr continued to actively fly and routinely showed up at air shows in a
P-51D painted up exactly like' Angel's Playmate'. The original ' Angel's
Playmate' was put on display in a museum in Paris, France, right after the war.

There is no such thing as an ex-fighter pilot. They never cease being what
they once were, whether they are in the cockpit or not. There is a profile
into which almost every one of the breed fits, and it is the charter within
that profile that makes the pilot a fighter pilot-not the other way around.

And make no mistake about it, Col. Bruce Carr was definitely a fighter pilot.

[bobbysocks]

On the 30th of April, 1942 a detachment of the 15th Squadron of the South African Air Force, consisting of three Bristol Blenheim Mk.IV. aircraft, under the command of Major J.L.V. de Wet arrived at Kufra, to provide air support to the Garrison maintained by the Sudan Defence Force. On the morning of 4th May, the three aircraft took off on a familiarization and practice mission, never to return. The grim story of the next week is detailed in the War Diary entries:

The testimony of Noel St Malo Juul, the sole survivor, during the subsequent Court of Inquiry is a shocking listing of the DON'T-s of desert survival:

I am an armourer in 15 S.A.A.F. Squadron detachment, KUFRA. On the evening of May 3rd I was detailed by Maj. de Wet to fly in his aircraft on the following morning on a Triangular patrol flight. We took off in formation and started our flight at 06.00 hrs. on May 4th. We completed our patrol as detailed with Maj. de Wet leading throughout the flight, and returned over KUFRA about 08:30 hrs. We flew then away from KUFRA as we had time to spare, but I do not know in which direction. After about half an hour the engine of T.2252 started cutting. This was the starboard engine, and therefore we all force-landed together. The pilots and observers discussed then our position with the aid of maps. At about 11.00 hrs. one aircraft took off and flew away between South and West, as the pilots thought they have ascertained their position from the surrounding hills. This aircraft returned after about half an hour. The pilot 2/Lieut. Wessels could not find KUFRA. We had all this time been transmitting but received no replies. At about 15.00 hrs. on the 4th of May, 2/Lt. Wessels took off again and flew east of South and returned after half an hour. For this flight he had taken some of the petrol from T.2252. he said on returning that KUFRA was not in that direction. we then spent the night all together.

On the morning of the 5th May we drained all the petrol from T.2252 and put it into Z.7513. 2/Lieut. Wessels took off about 11.15 hrs. in a northerly direction, and returned after about half an hour. He had nothing to report, so it ws decided to do no more flying that day.

On the morning of the 6th May, 2/Lt. Pienaar decided to take off in Z.7513 and fly west as this was the only direction that has not been searched. He did not return. We were still trying to receive wireless messages without success.

We were condfident all the time that a search party would find us. Maj. de Wet was uncertain of his position as he had been circling for a suitable forced landing ground. The visibility had been good during all the flights. There was no argument as to our position.

We did not ration the water on the 4th May, and by the following morning had consumed nearly 20 gallons, when we decided to ration water. On the morning of the 6th we received our last ration. On that afternoon we broke open the compasses to extract the alcohol.

On the 6th May in the morning a sand storm blew up, and so we took out the fire extinguishers and used them in the usual manner to try and keep ourselves cool. They relieved us temporarily but soon produced blisters which burst into sores.

The first member of the crews died on the 7th May. It was suggested to Maj. de Wet that he should shoot them as all hope of being found had been given up, but we persuaded him to stick it out. One of the crew, who drank too much alcohol, shot himself from the pain from the alcohol in his stomach. Morphia was used to relieve the pain from the fire extinguisher burns. gentian Violet was also used to relieve the pain of burns, but this gave little relief.

At regular intervals throughout every night we were firing Very lights and tracer ammunition from the turret guns. No ground strips were laid out except to lie on, but a parachute was laid out on a nearby hill. No aircraft nor ground patrols were seen. we did not light any fire.

When at last I did see the Wellington, I was the only one alive, and although I was too weak to fire a Very light I managed to put out some ground strips. The aircraft landed and I was flown back to KUFRA.


The diary of Major de Wet was found, and attached to the Court of Inquiry Proceedings:

Monday 4th Took off 0600 hrs and led 7610 and 2252 on flight Rebiana - Bzema and L.G. No.7. On last leg (No. 7 to Cufra) D.F. gave course to steer 305 deg. On E.T.A. turned to 305 found lost so flew on 125. 2252 engine trouble so landed.
Searched by 7610 and 7513 no avail.
Tuesday 5th D.F contact helio, Cufra, etc. but we cannot receive. they definitely receive us - Kufra gave us Q. 5713 to East gilf 45 miles 90 deg. hannes, frank and Oliver in 5713 on bearing 290 - 100 miles. Did not return.
Wednesday 6th 7610 in bearing 290 - saw nothing. Our last water. Only 1 bottle per man. Sandstorm in afternoon. Most of the fellows dead - started dying 1400 hrs. Still alive but for how long. Van Breda very weak. Still some water left. Broke compass for alcohol - it's stimulating. Not so much heat as previous days - but one must have water.
Thursday 7th (?) Boys are going mad wholesale - they want to shoot each other - very weak myself - will I be able to stop them and stop them from shooting me - Please give us strength.
Friday 6 of us left - out of 12 - no water - we expect to be all gone today. Death will be welcome - we went through hell.
Saturday 9 (?) Hope, Sgt. Vos and Lew also gone. Only me, Shipman and Juul left. we can last if help arrives soon - they know where we are but do not seem to do much about it. Bit of a poor show isnt it. But we will try to stick it out to the very (From this point it is impossible to know what the date is)
Sunday 10th It's the 5th day, second without water and 5th in a temp. of well over 100, But "Thy will be done, Oh Lord".
"Ons kan niks doen behalwe le en wag - miskien kom ons nog weg uit die Hel op Arde Hou diuwels vas hoor !" (We can do nothing except lie and wait - perhaps we may yet get away from this Hell on Earth - Hold tight.)


After an extensive hearing of withesses the Court of Inquiry made the following findings:


The cause of the accident was in our opinion:-

1. The causes of the aircraft forced landing were:

(a) Lack of experience in desert flying by pilots and observers

(b) Failure by the observers to keep accurate navigator's logs

(c) Inability of wireless operators to carry out their duties in the air.

2. The reasons why the searchers failed to locate the three aircraft sooner were:

(a) GROUND SEARCH Lack of accurate information regarding the probable position of the aircraft, difficult terrain, and sand storm conditions made search from the ground far from easy. Nevertheless every effort was made both by No. 15 Squadron detachment and the Sudan defence Force who gave every possible assistance.

(b) AIR SEARCH Despite three aircraft being detailed by No. 203 Group on the day of the loss on prompt advice from No. 15 Squadron detachment, the Bombay did not receive the signalled instructions from Wadi Halfa, the Blenheim became unservicable at Wadi Halfa, and the Wellesley force landed at Station 6. This caused a fatal delay of twenty four hours as on the two following days (May 6th and 7th) visibility in the Kufra area made flying impossible; this weather also affected two other Bombay aircraft sent from No. 216 Squadron by H.Q. R.A.F. M.E. but in addition these did not obtain the call sign of Kufra HF/DF. station. On receipt of instructions from H.Q. R.A.F. M.E. No. 162 Squadron took very prompt and efficient action which resulted in the finding of all three aircraft, the first being located about 36 hours after the original instructions were received by the Squadron.

(c) ASSISTANCE GIVEN BY FORCED LANDED CREWS
(i) Bad D/F procedure even on the ground
(ii) lack of visual signs by day (particularly ground strips and smudge fires)

3. The reasons of the early death of the personnel were:

(a) Failure at first to appreciate their plight.

(b) Failure to ration their water immediately.

(c) Unintelligent use of compass alcohol and fire extinguishers.

...

The Court makes the following recommendations:-

1. That every aircraft likely to fly over desert carries as part of its desert equipment a pamphlet setting out comprehensive instructions covering

(a) Visual signals to be displayed by day and by night.

(b) Information regarding the most economical rationing of food and water.

(c) Precise details as to the use of the first aid kit.

(d) A list of "Donts" regarding compass alcohol, fire extinguishers, urine, leaving the aircraft, etc., etc.

(e) Special instructions regarding the particular type of equipment and its equipment.

2. That only crews experienced in flying over desert should be based at places such as Kufra.

3. No flying should be carried out from Kufra unless at least one serviceable aircraft and crew remains on ground.

4. That no aircraft should leave the vicinity of Kufra until effective two way wireless communication has been established with ground station.

5. That more attention must be paid by navigators to the strict maintenance of accurate navigators' logs at all times.

On the 10th & 11th of November, 2001, during our trip to SE Libya, we have relocated both the forced landing ground, and the possible remains of Z.7513.

By a very strange quirk of fate, during research on the SAAF Blenheims, it emerged that a very similar incident happened to another Blenheim IV of the Groupe Lorraine of the Free French Air Force. On the 5th February 1941, during Leclerc's Kufra campaign, Blenheim T1867 became lost on it's return flight to Faya after bombing Kufra. The remains of the aircraft and the crew beside it were found 18 years later in Ennedi, 250 kilometres to the south east of Ounianga.

more info and subsequent stories here:

http://fjexpeditions.com/frameset/blenheims.htm

[bobbysocks]

the last of the dutch bombers...

It’s the 13th of may 1940, the 4th day of the German invasion. There is a gap in the first line of defence, he “Grebbelinie” but the seccond, the “Waterlinie” is still holding. Near to Rotterdam, the German airborne troops captured the 2 bridges near Dordrecht, called the Moerdijk bridges, leaving the way to Rotterdam open. In the south, the French army retreated, leaving a big gap open for the Wehrmacht, to circumvent the Dutch defense and getting through to the Moerdijk bridges.

At 5.19h, the LVA (dutch airforce) dispatched the very last Dutch bomber, the Fokker T.V 856 to bomb the Moerdijk Bridges with 2 bombs of 300 kg. The bomber was escorted by 2 Fokker G.I’s (numbers 315 and 308 ), the most potent fighter in the LVA.

The 3 planes very low to avoid the German fighters. When passing Dordrecht, they ascended to an altitude of about 1000m. Shortly before they reached the bridges, they were attacked bij 8 Bf109’s of JG26. While being attacked, the 3 planes first flew over the water, made a 180° turn to the north and attacked the bridge with one of the bombs. They missed the bridge by a mere 50m. They saw that they missed, so they turned and headed back south again. Then they made another 180° tun and attacked the bridge again. They threw the second bomb and this time they hit the bridge. Unfortunately the bomb didn’t explode. After this, the 3 planes flew over Dordrecht, back to Schiphol. They were chased by several Bf109’s. One of the G.I’s was attacked by 4 Messerschmitts, finally killing the pilot, lt. Schoute. The plane crashed in a polder. The gunner tried to bail out, but fell to the ground and died as well.

The T.V Was attacked several times and finally crashed near Ridderkerk, killing all 5 crewmembers. One G.I could escape and safely landed at Schiphol airport at 6 o’clock.

One last strange note. The G.I and the T.V were declared been shot down by Hauptmann Karl Ebbinghausen. His Messerschmitt Bf109 still seems to be on display at the Militairy airforce museum at Duxford, England.

[bobbysocks]

Aviator has a blast from a wartime past.

When Lee Lamar sat Friday behind the controls of a vintage B-24 Liberator bomber, it was as if nearly 63 years had faded away.
Lamar of Mission recalls Nov. 18, 1944, with perfect clarity. The four-engine B-24 he co-piloted during World War II had been gunned down over what was then northern Italy.
“They (the Germans) kept hitting us and hitting us,” Lamar said. “It was hard to control with just two right engines. We lost altitude from 20,000 to 5,000 feet.”
The B-24’s two left engines had been shot out. The plane had lost its hydraulics. Lamar and nine other crew members spent the next 30 minutes trying to nudge the plane back to Allied territory in southern Italy, but they didn’t make it.
The men parachuted shortly before the plane crashed in what is now Croatia. Everyone survived — seven escaped and three were captured, including Lamar.
Fast forward to today.
Lamar, now 86, will return to the crash site next month to meet with an archaeologist who discovered the wreckage and tracked down Lamar through the Internet.
Accompanying the veteran will be Park University professor Dennis Okerstrom, who will film the excavation and create a documentary about Lamar’s last mission. The objective was to destroy a German airfield so fighter planes couldn’t take off. Lamar and his comrades succeeded.
Okerstrom called World War II an “extraordinary” time when young men were called into combat. And Lamar, a mere 23 years old when he was shot down, earned the nickname “Pappy” because he was the oldest on board. Other crew members were barely out of adolescence — 17-, 18- and 19-year-olds, Okerstrom said.
“He was one of several million who had to do the horrible time,” Okerstrom said.
Lamar said three other crewmates are still living, but their deteriorating health will prevent them from returning to Croatia.
The bomber Lamar briefly flew Friday is the last flying B-24 in the world, said Hunter Chaney, spokesman for The Collings Foundation, which works to educate the public about World War II through aircraft shows.
The foundation arranged for Lamar to take the helm during a flight from Fort Collins, Colo., to Kansas City. The foundation has the B-24 and a B-17 bomber on display at the Wheeler Downtown Airport until Monday.
“Most of these World War II veterans are in the mid- to late-80s,” Chaney said. “One of our primary objectives is to remind people what these fellows did in the war.”
After his three-hour trip Friday, Lamar was tired, giddy and emotional. He was dressed in a replica leather flight jacket and cap in 90-degree weather. A reporter asked Lamar when he last had flown a B-24.
“Nov. 18, 1944,” he responded as tears welled in his eyes.
Then, he straightened up and faced reporters calmly. He said he had forgotten how much strength it required to control the plane. And the plane’s instrument panel was much like he remembered.
“I enjoyed it,” he said. “It’s an opportunity that a lot people don’t get.”
Regarding the trip to Croatia, Lamar said he hoped to find something he left behind.
“I buried a perfectly good parachute over at the intersection of two stone walls,” he said, referring to the military policy of hiding gear.
Lamar, Okerstrom, their families and several Park University students will depart Aug. 3 for Croatia.

[bobbysocks]

DETAILS Of MARINE CORPS ACE PAPPY BOYINGTON'S LAST COMBAT FLIGHT

It was December 1943. The Battle for the Solomons had reached a furious level and was intensifying daily. Rabaul, the Japanese "Pearl Harbor," at the northern end of the Solomon Island chain, had to be neutralized before the Allied march toward the Japanese homeland could continue.

A key factor in the neutralizing process was Marine Major Gregory "Pappy" Boyington, the swashbuckling CO and his hastily-thrown-together band of casuals and replacements who were blazing a heroic record across the South Pacific skies. Calling themselves the "Black Sheep," as a wry nod to their questionable origin, they had already downed a total of 76 Japanese planes by 25 December 1943. By usually giving him the first shot and protecting him while he scored, they had assissted Boyington in getting within reach of the US record for planes destroyed in aerial combat. That record, 26 planes, was jointly held by Medal of Honor winner Marine Major Joe Foss, for action over Guadalcanal, and Army Captain Eddie Rickenbacker from World War One. Boyington had downed 18 Zeros. These, with the six Japanese planes Boyington claimed from his service with the Flying Tigers shortly after Pearl Harbor, gave him a total of 24 (Editor's Note: Most sources do not allow Boyington the six AVG claims, narrowing his victories to two aerial victories and 2.5 aircraft destroyed on the ground).

We had seen the pressures mount daily on Boyington as he closed in on the record. The news media, already focused on the remarkable exploits of the Black Sheep squadron as a whole, descended on our little island of Vella Lavella in droves and dogged his every waking moment. They were in the ready room, in the mess hall, at the flight line and even in our tent where our Flight Surgeon, Dr. Jim Reames and I tried to fend them off. We recognized that he had enough pressures without the constant questioning: "Do you think you'll break the record?" "Are you scared?" "When will you break the record?" "If you break the record will you quit then?" "How does it feet to shoot down a plane?"

I told the most persistent, A.P. Correspodent Fred Hampson, that I would arrange an interview with Boyington for him if he would then leave him strictly alone. Hampson agreed and got his interview.

As some of us sat in our tent with Boyington on Christmas night, one of the Black Sheep pilots, Bob Bragdon, expressed a thought that was in all our minds:

"Look, Pappy, we all want to see you break the record but we don't want you to go up there and get killed doing it." "Don't worry about me," Pappy responded. "They can't kill me. If you guys ever see me going down with 30 Zeros on my tail, don't give me up. Hell, I'll meet you in a San Diego bar and we'll all have a drink for old times' sake."

On the 27th, Boyington got his 25th Zero to bring him one shy of the record. At the same time, the Black Sheep raised their squadron total to 82.

On the 28th, the Black Sheep shot down four more Zeros to bring the squadron total to 86 but Boyington did not score. The mission was costly for the Black Sheep as J.C. Dustin, Don Moore and Harry Bard failed to return.

Weather partially cancelled the major mission on the 30th but the Black Sheep added another Zero. Again, Boyington did not score.

After the mission on 30 December, Boyington went off by himself to sit and look at the rain. When we went to chow, Fred Hampson sat down across from us at the long table.

"Well, Pappy," he said. "What do you think? Are you going to get another chance at the record?"

"I don't know."

"Well, if you do, are you going to break it? Are you going to be satisfied with just one or two, or are you going after more?"

Boyington blew up.

"God damn it," he shouted, "why don't you guys leave me alone? I don't know if I'm going to break it or not. Just leave me alone till I do or go down trying."

He slammed his fist down onto the table, catching the edge of his plate and spattering food in the face of the correspondent, and then stormed out of the mess hall.

"I told you to leave him alone," I said to Hampson.

"Yes, I know you did, and I'm sorry," he said.

Deciding that Pappy was in no condition to fly on New Year's Day, Doc Reames and I cooked Lip a story about a mythical Zero down in the jungle and arranged for Doug White, a Marine Corps Combat Correspondent, and our own jungle expert, Bill Crocker, to take him out to find it and get some publicity photos. Doug and Crocker tramped what Boyington termed "a thousand miles" and brought him in at five o'clock ready to go to bed. He took a shower, stretched out for a "nap" and slept straight through until time to get up for the 2 January mission over Rabaul.

On that day Boyington led three other Black Sheep among a total of 56 Marine and Navy fighters on a sweep to Rabaul. The Black Sheep got one Zero but Pappy's plane was throwing oil and smeared his windshield so that he was unable to see.

When Pappy returned from Bougainville at five-o'clock all conversation ceased.

"Had a little tough luck up there," he said quietly.

"Do you think you should try to make that hop tomorrow?" Doc Reames asked.

"I'm okay," he said.

We got some sandwiches down from the mess hall for him and gave the thumbs-up sign as he rode away in the truck with Bruce Matheson, George Ashmun and Mack Chatham. The four of them took off for Bougainville for the early morning takeoff the next day.

On 3 January, Boyington led the flight of 44 Navy and Marine Fighters, including just the four Black Sheep, in a sweep over Rabaul. The battle was joined at 22,000-ft over Rapopo airfield with Pappy taking his four-plane division down on a flight of 12-15 Zeros. Boyington and Matheson each shot down a Zero and then, in the melee and the haze, the Black Sheep became separated.

Back at Vella Lavella, we expected the flight back before noon but long before that time the ready room was full of people wanting to know if Pappy had broken the record.

At 10 o'clock the first planes were back at Bougainville.

At 11:30, Matheson landed at Vella Lavella and brought the first word. He'd seen Pappy and Ashmun attack 15 Zeros and Pappy had brought one down. We cheered. Were there any more? Matheson didn't know. He and Chatham had had their hands full with another 15 Zeros; he'd shot one down and then Chatham's electrical system had gone bad and they'd had to return to Bougainville. Our squadron bag was now 90.

As time dragged on, other pilots came in. I talked to all of them. No, they hadn't seen either Boyington or Ashmun. I asked Operations to check all the other airfields: Munda, Ondonga, Treasury, to see if they'd possibly landed there. They had to be down somewhere, their fuel was long gone.

And then, gradually, it began to dawn on us.

Fred Hampson's report described it:

"The Skipper didn't get back!

"The news spread like a chill from revetment, to the ready room, to the tent camp on the hill. The war stood still for a hundred pilots and 500 ground crewmen.

"It couldn't be true. The Japs didn't have a man who could stay on the Skipper's tail."

But as the minutes rolled into hours and negative answers to our queries came in from all fields, we began to comprehend that Pappy and Ashmun were really missing.

The Black Sheep raged like wild men up and down the coasts of New Ireland and New Britain for the remaining three days of our combat tour. They shot up barges, gun positions, bivouac areas; strafed airfields, killed Japanese troops, cut up supply dumps, trucks, small boats. Every rumor of a sighting brought a horde of Black Sheep whistling down so close to the sea that their prop wash left white wakes in the water.

Aerial combat was incidental; they wanted to get down to look for the Skipper and George. Nevertheless, they shot down four more Zeros to bring the squadron total to 94* Japanese planes shot down in aerial combat, 35 probably destroyed, 50 damaged; and 21 destroyed on the ground. But it was a sad day for us when we returned to Espiritu Santo minus twelve of the pilots who had been with us such a short time earlier when we'd dubbed ourselves the Black Sheep.

Note: Boyington DID show up for that post-war party. At the end of the war he was released from the Japanese prison camp where he'd spent 20 months, flew to San Francisco and joined his squadron mates for the celebration he'd told us he would be there for, no matter what.

* Upon his release, Boyington reported that he had actually shot down three Zeros and that Ashmun had shot down one, thus raising the Black Sheep Squadron total to 97 planes.

[bobbysocks]

The ones on the wrong side of the war
the story of mr. Kuhn, who turned traitor twice, first on the dutch and allied cause, then on the german LW:

JOHANNES ANTONIUS KUHN
Johannes Antonius Kuhn. Born in Amsterdam on 15th November 1908 was destined to survive WW2. Having obtained his pilot’s brevet in 1932, he was applied in 1937 for a six-year posting to the KNIL. He was accepted on August 14th. In the colony the reserve NCO flew Martin 139 bombers, but in 1938 he was repatriated due to health problems related to the tropical climate. En 1939 he re-engaged for service in the ML. He started with the unit I-2 LvR (equipped with Fokker C-V & Koolhoven FK-51) before progressing at the end of 1939 to V-2 LvR (a fighter unit) to re-train as a fighter pilot. At the start of 1940 he was the pilot of a Douglas DB-8A. The Netherlands had 28 of these aircraft. It is amazing that they were in service as fighters as they were designed as two-seat bombers. A shortage of fighter aircraft had forced the Dutch to take this drastic measure. Kuhn’s (nicknamed ‘Bulletje’ by his colleagues on account of his short stature) involvement in the May 1940 actions was to be brief. On the 1oth May his DB-8A N° 392 was shot down near Pijnacker (probably by a Bf 110 of II./ZG1) Kuhn and his radio-operator NCO Staal were able to leave the machine but Kuhn suffered serious injury to a knee as a result of the crash landing. This meant long months of recuperation in hospital which then followed. In 1942 he was regarded as fully recovered and discharged on 15th October, having been declared as unsuitable for flying duties. That same year he applied to join the Luftwaffe. What was his motivation? In 1944 during interrogation by the British he stated that his German fiancée pushed him into making this choice. One suspects that this was purely an excuse.

Anyhow, in view of his prolonged absence from flying, the Luftwaffe were not going to let him escape the need for re-training! From October 1942 through to April 1943 he was at Flieger-Ausbildung-Regiment 63 at Toul (F) before moving on to the Flugzeugführerüberprüfungschule at Prenzlau. Subsequently at the start of January 1944 he moved to Schlachtgeschwader 101 (a ground-attack unit equipped with Fw 190 and some Hs 129s) based at Orly (F) After an interlude training at Quedlinburg, the Dutchman was transferred to Überführungsgruppe West, a ferry unit formed in mid-1943to fly new or repaired aircraft from factories to front-line units.

Überführungsgruppe West comprised 4 Geschwader. Kuhn belonged to the third. It Willie recognised that Kuhn had arrived at a bad moment. In the weeks preceding June 6th 1944 the ferry pilots had to accept the risk of allied intruder fighters spoiling for a fight. Many pilots were shot down due to this cause. When the ferried aircraft finally reached the airfields, they were then likely to become targets for allied bombers. After the invasion on D-Day 6th June, Überführungsgruppe West abandoned their advance bases and retreated to within the Reich borders. The quality of the pilots declined rapidly as a result of losses reaching 35/40%! Kuhn was particularly depressed as, being based at Langendiebach, he regularly had to take-off in He IIIs of TG 30 participating in supply flights for the German pockets of resistance on the Atlantic coast.

He decided to desert. To do so he had to wait for a favourable moment, which presented itself on 30th August 1944. On that day he was flying one of fourteen FW 190A8s being sent to reinforce JG 26 at Brussels-Melbroek. Kuhn was flying Werknummer 171747. Time was getting short. At 11:30 he took off for Belgium. He passed Aachen & Ostend and then headed west. Close to the many ships at sea he crossed the North Sea. So as not to run the risk of being shot down by British flak, he did not head for a known aerodrome, but managed to put his aircraft down in open country near Monkton in Kent. It was a good landing and his aircraft suffered only minor damage. It would receive the serial AM230 and would be displayed to the public many times; at Farnborough in 1945 , then going to the Science Museum in London in 1946. It was later scrapped.

As for Kuhn he remained a POW in Great Britain until 1949. In the 1980s he was given a friendly welcome by Dutch military aviation veterans. His peers managed to sponge over his ‘intermezzo’ in the Luftwaffe.

[bobbysocks]

Mosquito vs V! Story

ever wonder how the paint got scorched off the Mosquito?

BY DAVE MCINTOSH

The following excerpt is from Dave Macintosh's book, "Terror in the Starboard Seat, "published by General Publishing Co. Ltd., Don Mills, Ont. It is Mclntosh's personal account of his experiences as a 418 Sqn observer/navigator on Mosquitos and of his sometimes strained relationship with his pilot, Sid Seid. Seid was a Jewish-American in the RCAF whose main aim in life was to single-handedly win the war against Hitler. The story picks up on their 1944 encounter with German V-l buzz bombs.
Ihere was nothing very complicated about the V-l. It was a small glider with an engine in it and it was loaded with explosive. Jerry put enough gas in the engine to make it go to London. \Vhen the gas ran out. the bomb fell down on whatever — or whomever — was underneath. The thing understandably made the Brits very jittery. It did me too.
The launching pads were near the French coast from Le Havre to Boulogne. You'd think they would be easy to find and bomb, but they weren't. The only alternative was to shoot them down, preferably over the Channel where they could do no damage. There was little point in shooting them down over England because they were going to fall out of the sky anyway.
So away we went looking for flying bombs. Better than stooging around France, I thought, until I found out we'd be stooging around at 10,000 feet over France waiting for the bombs to appear.
SEARCHLIGHTS
The first night we set out for Beachy Head, from where we were going to make track for France. Near Brighton, a couple of searchlights snapped on. They picked us up right away. It was blinding in the cockpit.
"Jesus, tell them we're on their side." Sid said, crouching as far down as he could so he could see the instrument panel. This was old hat. I reached around and casually fired die Very pistol. A beautiful green flare shot out- But the searchlights didn't go off as : posed to do. Two more stung
i .'si deadly accuracy. Zap!
"For Christ's sake, vou must have the
wrong color," Sid barked. He started to take the airplane into contortions to get out of the lights but then resumed straight and level flight. "They'll think we're Jerries if we try to get away," he said.
Meanwhile. I was scrambling around looking for the code color chart. I had left the green flare in from our last trip and had forgotten to check the chart.
"C'mon. for Christ's sake." Sid said. This made me doubly nervous. I located the color key in the map box. Then I began searching for my flashlight.
Sid exploded. ""What in hell do you want a flashlight for? You can read a ten-cent pulp novel in here."
The chart said red and yellow for 10 P.M. to midnight. I was so unnerved that I looked at my watch to check the time.
Sid could read me like a book. "It's after ten o'clock and it's before midnight." he roared. Then he added: "If you don't get those lights off. I'm going to go blind." He was really alarmed.
I looked along the rack and couldn't find the right flare. I thought I was going to be sick. I started over. This time I found one. pinching my fingers getting the old one out, thrust in the new one and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. My God. was there another red and yellow flare? I thought not. I pulled the breach open, slammed it again, fired. There was a sound like a fist in a pillow. Two beautiful red and yellow lights soared out aft. The searchlights went out like a basement light clicking off.
"Sorry." I said. It didn't seem adequate.
Mercifully. Sid didn't say anything. I think he didn't want to betray that he had been scared too.

SUPERSTITIONS
The trip was a washout. We couldn't concentrate on anything after that, though it was really a very minor incident. We carried out a two hour patrol but didn't see anything.
The next night started out the same. I wore the same shoes as I had the first trip. I also peed under the port wing before takeoff. I stuck with these superstitions, though my feet got damn cold sometimes and the ground crew complained now and then about having to tramp around in my wet spots. A superstition is not a good one unless you stick with it through thick and thin.
I think I had always been impressed by the film in which Clark Gable got in flying trouble the moment Spencer Tracy forgot his habit of sticking his wad of gum on the cockpit before takeoff. I was not particularly superstitious before the war but I have been since. More than the ordinary orx^-. a black cat crossing your path, breaking a mirror, walking under a ladder. When I struggle out of my high-back rocker. I have to make sure it stops rocking before I leave the room. Never a hat on the bed. Happy is the corpse that is rained on. You name it — I've got it.
We took off, crossed the English Channel and took up station inside France
east of Le Havre. We were at about 2,000 feet. "Look out the back." Sid said.
I stayed like that for an hour. There was a real danger, sitting up in the open, that we would draw a Jem' night fighter. "Jesus, there's one," Sid said suddenly. He jammed the throttles forward.
I looked down. Sure enough, there was the red glow, the exhaust of a V-l. It seemed to be moving fairly slowly, poor judgement on my part. We went into a dive to get more speed. The Y-l was ahead of us. In the blackness, of course, all we could see was that small burning sun in front of us. Because the V-l was smaller than a plane, you had to get fairly close to get in a telling shot.
We were doing more than 350 mph by this time but we weren't gaining. In fact, we were dropping back a bit. In a minute or so, we had to face the truth that the damn thing was running away from us.

We had been warned about this too. Jerry mixed 'em up. He'd send one over at 500 miles an hour, which we couldn't catch, and then poop one off at 200 miles an hour. Whether this was deliberate or not we didn't know, of course, but it drove us crazy. We climbed back up to 10,000 feet: Sid was sore as hell. He took the two misfires as an affront to his flying ability.
Another hour went by and we were thinking of doing one more stooge before heading home, when we spotted a third doodlebug. "By God. this time." Sid said.
The speed went up as we went down. I looked at the clock. It read 350 mph. I looked out along the wing. It was flapping like a seagull working in a hurricane. My stomach gave another wrench. Christ, the wings will come off and we'll go straight in. I didn't take any comfort from what had happened to Tony Barker and Gord Frederick, his navigator. They hit the drink

was thrown hard against my straps because the cannons going off cut down the speed suddenly.
When the explosion came I thought I was going to be dead. The goddam thing went off right in our faces. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of things whirling around outside the window. Black things and blobs of smoke.
"I can't see," Sid said.
"OK boy,"I said. "Just keep her like that. You can cut your speed though." He throttled back. After those hours of darkness, he had been blinded for a few seconds by the flash. Why we hadn't been smashed up from all that flying debris. I don't know. We had flown right through it.
" I got too close," Sid said.
"I noticed," I said. Now that I found myself in one piece and the props still going around, I wanted to laugh and natter and be Jesus H.(for Hannah) Christ in a blue bottle sitting on the mantlepiece. "Boy, I bet we saved the life of some limey in London reading his paper about how all the doodlebugs are being shot down by ack-ack guns," I babbled.
"Yes. you're quite a little savior," Sid said. But he didn't fool me. He was pleased he had finally made a score, no matter how small, in his Jewish war against the Germans.

"Russ said to go to 10,000." I said. Russ Bannock, our new flight commander, and Don MacFadyen, had worked out some tactics for the V-l. One of Russ's pieces of advice was to climb to 10.000 feet and wait there for the V-l launching. The height would enable us to gain our maximum speed of about 400 in a dive. "Look out the back." said Sid. We climbed to 10.000 feet and stooged around, my neck getting sorer by the minute.
"There's another bastard." Sid said. He banged the throttles forward and stuck the nose down. The sudden dive lifted me up hard against the straps and my guts came up with a thud against my heart. Down we went like a bat out of hell. We wouldn't be too slow this time. We weren't. We went screaming by the bloody thing before Sid could get set for a shot.

so hard the cannons pulled them through the floorboards of the cockpit and clear of the Mosquito. They got into their dinghies and a rescue plane picked them out of the Channel two miles off the Dieppe beaches. It takes all kinds.
Down, down, down. We were gaining some because the fire coming out the ass end of the V-l was getting bigger. The Mosquito was screaming in every joint. Sid had both big, hairy hands on the stick. When he began to pull back. I thought the wings would never stand it. But we began to level out and the clock said 400 mph. Sid pulled and pulled and she kept coming out of the dive. I tore my eyes away from the shaking wing and looked ahead. It was just like looking into a blast furnace.
"We're too close," I screamed. I shut my eyes as the cannons began banging away. I

we got one." was all he said. •: -:k the pistol," Sid said. I did, then turned on the Gee box and got a fix on our position. We were nearly home. That stretch at 400 miles an hour had helped speed things up.
I gave Sid a course: "Three-four-eight." Then I checked the IFF and the gas gauges.
"I bet we're all blistered." Sid said. He was talking about the Mosquito.
We drifted in over the coast and pretty soon our circle of lights showed up. He did a circuit and landed and parked. A flashlight bobbed around under my wing, the door opened, a ladder came up and with it a blurred face.
"Where in hell have you been?" ; -.-.-Hal.
"We got a doodlebug."
"From pretty close."
"That's been mentioned." Sid said.
I climbed down the ladder. Sid followed and took Hal's flashlight and played it on the wings and nose. There wasn't an inch of paint anywhere. The Mosquito was black. No roundel, no number, no letters, nothing.
What did you do, fly right up its ass?" asked Hal.
"Looks like," Sid said.
The truck with its little dim lights arrived and we rode back to the ops room. Sid reported to the IO.
A few minutes later, Pete came in smoking an enormous cigar. "One ceegar," he shouted, waving his smoke. He meant he had shot down a V-l.
"The son of a bitch," Sid said to me. "What'll he do if he ever shoots down a plane?" He was really annoyed.
The next afternoon, all the crews went around to have a look at our scorched plane and the CO said in the mess, "Don't get too close to 'em." I could have said that.
Sid didn't talk about shooting down a V-l. He talked about mistakes. "Jesus Christ. There we were going down like a stone in a well and my alligator sitting there with his balls in his mouth he's so scared and I'm fingering the old tit to get ready for a shot when we go tearing by as if that goddam thing had stopped to let somebody off. Then my alligator lectures me on tactics."
The bar laughed and roared. "Back up we go. with my alligator twitching like a dry leaf on the end of a dry twig in a dry wind because he's afraid a Jerry is going to come up our ass while we're trying to get up the doodlebug's ass. Well, we spot another, though my alligator here pretends he doesn't see it and says we should go home another way, like the three wise men. Well, down we go again. I don't know how you're supposed to tell how far away you are. I thought we were about 300 yards away when I fired. Jesus, we weren't three yards away. I'm going to wear dark glasses at night after this."
More laughter.
No other pilot talked like Sid did. The

others never admitted mistakes. They'd rather die than admit they had, for instance, overtaken a V-l without getting a shot in. Oh, they had heard of that happening to somebody over in 605 Sqn (our RAF equivalent). But that was all.
Except when describing a kill, most crews kept to themselves what went on in the cockpit. I was always interested in how the other navigators got along with their pilots and once in a while I found out.
One said his pilot gave him **** all die time in the air — a constant stream of instructions, complaints, invective about his navigation. But he didn't feel like retaliating because his pilot was so damn good he didn't make mistakes — he knew exactly what he was doing and what his plane could do every second the plane was in the air. It was uncanny. He added that he didn't speak to his pilot except in the ops room and in the plane. This must have taken some doing because, like the rest of us, they bunked in the same room.
Bill told me about his pilot: "Look, the guy makes mistakes. He puts us on the
wrong course sometimes. He's not one of your wonder pilots we have around here, with years of instruction. He made the course and he tries hard and he really flies pretty well. Do you think I'm going to hold him up to ridicule in front of the mess?"
I didn't consider that Sid was ridiculing himself or me. He was simply entertaining the Squadron. Besides, he was telling the truth while he did it, with a pinch of exaggeration here and there. I won't say he was the only one who told the truth. But he was the only one who broadcast it.