In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

i should save this for halloween but i will never remember ... so.

Spitfire-ghosts
England is in many ways the homeland of ghosts.

Thousands of castles and old houses who have stories circling around them about lost spirits who does not seem to get peace. Everyone knows Tower of London and it's ghosts and most of us have heard stories from England which makes you shiver down your spine.


Old airports are no exception. In the aviation and historic aviations theres many stories or headless pilot ghosts, Rolls Royce Merlin sounds in the air but no plane to be seen or persons in pilot gear spotted walking around on airfields only to disappear into thin air. Here are some of those stories..

«The Ghost Mosquio and visitors from the past»

At West Malling Airfield the story goes that you can hear a De Havilland Mosquito at a specific time and date. Visitors to the airfield have reported they have been surprised by a very low flying propellor driver airplane without actually spotting it. They only hear the engines that seems to pas straight over their heads. And always at the same time and date. In 1993 a group of security guards called in from the old guard-office and said that the airfield had visitors. The adjutant at the airfield went promptly over to greet the visitor. The problem was, there was no visitors there! The guards then explained to the adjutant that the person who had arrived were in uniform with a long, gray military great coat and black gloves. The person seemed to have been quite young. Nothing special in that maybe, but the airport never really had visitors in those uniforms anymore, and great coats hadn't been trendy for many years. They never did find out who the visitor was. Could it have been an officer from world war two paying a late visit?

«Liberator and ghost planes in Germany»

At Cosford in England stands an old american Consolidated Liberator from the days of world war two. On one occasion a lucky person was given permission to enter the plane. He had been told by the airfirlds employees that mysterious things happened with the Liberator. Sometimes voices could be heard from the bomber and the radio could suddenly recieve disturbed messages. It is not known if he ever did experience any eerie things while inside the bomber.

The same person who entered the Liberator also had a strange experience sometime in the 1980's. While he was biking at a British airbase in Germany he heard several propellor engines in the air. The weather was very poor and he didn't see one airplane. It seemed to him that up to several airplanes were doing aerobatics and practised landings and take offs. Engine revs changing, steep turns, diving and climbing. He thought this was very strange and went up the control tower and asked about what was going on. Those people could on the other hand report to him that there were no airplanes over the base on the radar and no airplanes were planned for take offs or landings because of the poor weather.

«The Biggin Hill ghost Spitfire»

A ghost-Spitfire phemonon are quite common and the Spitfire-ghost at Biggin Hill is probably the most known of them all. People have reported of Merlin engines in the air even at the most terrible winter days with strong wind and low cloudbase. Many of the people reporting that they have heard the Merlin sound knows quite well how a Merlin sounds.


Biggin Hill was one of the most important airfields during the Battle of Britain and also later during the war. Tangmere airfield, known as the place where the legandary Dougles Bader operated from also has a story circling about a ghost-Spitfire that supposedly lands at Tangmere and then takes off again.

«Visitors at night»
Lots of things seems to be going on at West Malling and during one of the big airshows the place hosted during the 80's, it was not uncommon for visitors (for example the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight) to park their airplanes in the old hangars with security watching over them at night. It was normal during these airshows for some of the aircrews taking part of the show to dress up in correct world war two outfits. Close to where the BBMF was parked a security guard was keeping an eye on the planes when two men appeared. They were well dressed in these sort of retro WW2 clothes. Since many people did used those clothes during an airshow weekend he didn't think much of it even it was very very late. The two men walked over to the guard and asked for the way to the officers mess. They told the guard they were late for dinner. The guard explained that there were no officers mess at West Malling and the two men thanked for his help and started to walk away from him. What then happened remains with him to this day. The two men had simply vanished into thin air, straight infront of him! They just disappeared! The guard left the hangar quickly, quite shaken up and was found some distance away from the hangar. He was very shaky and had even wet his pants. None of the BBMF crew had been in the hangar at that late moment of the day.

«The Polish pilot»

During the second world war Lindholm Park was used as an RAF airfield with Wellington bombers. It was from here some of the first raids on Berling at night took place. On one of the first of these daring missions a Wellington bomber crashed at the end of the runway and the entire Polish aircrew were lost. In the years after, stories started to go around about a figure in pilot gear asking local citizens for the way home in a foreign language.

The rumours and the story spread to the local nearby villages of Finningley and Hatfield and it was told that the crashed Wellington's tail section rose and sank in the landscape when the ghost was out walking.

During the 50's the airfield was the home of a squadron of Avro Lincoln's and the ghost were still to be seen. A mechanic working late was so frightened by the ghost that he ran from his post and was later put against a court for abondoning his post during service.

The ghost continued to scare people at the airfield and it was observerd on several occations standing beside the beds of the pilots on the base. A pilot was so scared by the ghost that everyone in the building woke up from his scream.

During the 70's a Wellington was dug up and four persons were buried at a nearby cemetary. In 1975 Ltn. Colonel Stephen Jenkins and an RAF squadron leader returned from nearby RAF Finningley when they observed a figure in pilot gear standing where the Wellington bomber had been dug out.

The history ends in the 80's when a corpse was found. It was of Polish heritage. He was never identified because of the age of the corpse. They buried him at the same place as the other four who had been found earlier. No observations have taken place since then.

[bobbysocks]

For king and country
The official 1942 report by the RAF especially took notice of the Norwegian squadrons and their efforts. 331 were the leading fighter squadron when it came to shooting down enemyaircraft. 332 were 3rd on the list.

The beginning

When Nazi-Germany invaded Norway in the early hours of 9th of April 1940, the tiny fleet of British built Gloster Gladiators were sent up to meet them. Finn Thorsager was the first Norwegian to engage enemies in the air in Norwegian history. He was joined later this morning by others. Amongst them was Per Waaler and Kristian Frederik Schye, but even a heroic effort by these young men couldn’t stop the Germans invading Norway. They were out-numbered and out performed by the German machines.

When the fighting in southern Norway was over in the spring of 1940, Captain Bjarne Øen was given orders by General Otto Ruge to gather as much personell as possible. He was told to gather as many mechanics, pilots and other volunteers and get them over to Great Britain as soon as possible. From there he would be able to create fighter squadrons as way to continue fighting in northern Norway. It didn’t take long before this plan was scrapped because of the rapid progress of war with the surrendering of northern Norway and the invasion of France shortly thereafter.

In the middle of June the same year the decision was taken to re-locate their plans from Great Britain to Canada. From there they would train pilots and personell and in due time send them over to England to form Norwegian fighter squadrons. Pilots engaged in action in April, like Waaler, Thorsager and Schye would later find themselves in Canada, at Norway’s training camp called Little Norway. The squadrons formed would include as much Norwegian personell as possible, but would belong to the British Royal Air Force and under British command. Norway’s government would pay for the expenses and in return get British fighter planes.

In July 1941 it was all set and the first Norwegian fighter squadron was formed under the squadron codes of (No) 331 Squadron. Later in January 1942, a second Norwegian squadron was formed, this one under the name of (No) 332 Squadron.

331 squadron were (from the pilots own point of view) unlucky and found themselves located on the Orkney Island in protection of the British naval base at Scapa Flow and the surrounding area. They longed for some real action and though the population were friendly (they usually proclaimed themselves of Norwegian heritage after a couple of whiskies) and the activity peaceful and quiet, they desperately wanted to get themselves down to southern England for some real action. They did not avoid casualties, among several incidents was the death of pilot Ulf Wormdal from Hamar. Ulf died tragically when he did not pull up in time when doing practice attacks on a squadron of British Swordfish torpedo planes. His Spitfire crashed into the sea and Ulf was never seen again. Another tragic accident happened when John Nordmo (present at Fornebu on the 9th of April) drowned on a day out arranged by the squadron.

Finally on the 4th of May 1942, 331 squadron was re-located to North Weald airfield, just outside London. Right on the front line. 332 Squadron, operating from Northern England at the time, followed shortly thereafter.

A veteran from the Battle of Britain at the age of 21, Wing Commander David Scott-Maldon chose the Norwegian wing as his post and took control of the green but very eager Norwegian pilots. Why Scott-Maldon chose the Norwegian wing is a secret only known to him. When Scott-Maldon left the Norwegian wing at North Weald he was given the highest form of decoration a foreigner could receive by Norway. No one deserved it more than Scott-Maldon they said. Later the squadrons would be led by Dane Kaj Birksted, a sharp shooting Danish fighter pilot, Norwegian Helge Mehre, and Wilhelm Mohr amongst others.

Dieppe

The Norwegian squadrons were up in the air several times a day during the ill-fated Dieppe raid by led by Canadian forces. Led by Scott-Maldon they got stuck in with the Germans at several occasions.

A German Dornier 217 finds himself surrounded by angry Norwegian Spitfires and only seconds go by before the German plane shivers and black, thick smoke gushes from its engine. One or two parachutes opens ups while the attacking Norwegian Spitfire breaks hard left to avoid hitting bits and pieces from the doomed German machine.

The pilots look down and see soldiers in their landing crafts waving at them while other soldiers lies dead on the beaches colouring the sand red of Canadian blood. A section of German Me109 breaks and attacks the Norwegian formation. No need for a Tally Ho. The Norwegians break hard with planes flying everywhere.'

A Spitfire sneaks onto the tail of a Me 109, and suddenly the German pilot is hopelessly lying over his stick while the Me109 spirals down towards the ground. Another break left with German bullets hitting somewhere down the fuselage of a straight flying Spitfire. Break, break, break. The pilot gets pressed down in his seat, almost blackening out from the pressure. The Me109 hits but the Spit gets away.

Another Spitfire got its wing shot off. No parachute. The wing falls to the ground like a leaf while the Spitfire spins further and further down before it hits the water in a gigantic splash.

The Norwegian squadrons lost 2 pilots during the Dieppe raid. 3 others were taken prisoners by the Germans. In return they shot down 15 enemy aircraft, 3 probables and 14 damaged. The best score of all RAF squadrons that day.

Mascots

The two squadrons both their little mascots. 331 had a dog called Varg who followed them through thick and thin. If his caretaker was shot down, Varg would be given to another, but he was everyone’s mascot and they all took care of him. 332’s mascot was not so popular. A goat called Mads. He was said to be a real pain in the ass and often found himself in places he shouldn’t have been, for example being the showman when Crown Prince of Norway, Olav visited the squadrons. Mads ended his life when he was shot dead by a guard after one of his little trips out in English countryside by night. According to the guard he did not answer to his call of identity.

Towards D-Day

The Norwegian squadrons continued their operations over the channel and into France. Covering American or British bombers on their way to targets on the continent were one of their jobs. Sometimes they were on offensive patrols over France or the channel trying to get the Germans up in the air to fight. Other times they were flying low offensive sweeps into France. The youngest pilot of them all, Marius Eriksen, barely 19 years old of age got shot down when he tried a head-on attack on a FW190. He survived and was taken prisoner. His best friend Jan Eirik Løfsgaard is not so lucky and is shot down when Marius is on leave in London. Other casualties included Captain Stein Sem.

-We dived side by side heading for the coast of France. Just before reaching the coast a FW190 appeared just over and behind Sem’s plane. I called out to him over the radio but it was too late. Black smoke came out from his engine. I heard him calling to me over the radio but I couldn’t hear what he said. I last saw him breaking hard right and upwards with thick black smoke still coming out. I pulled up and to the left but the plane got into a spin and the engine stopped. I couldn’t get the plane out of the spin and knew I had to jump out. I couldn’t get the canopy open and thought I was over and done with. At 4000 feet the plane flatted out and I continued over the channel before the engine stopped again and glycol streamed out. I finally got the hood open enough to get out but the release handle hit me in my face and I had to get out by pulling myself up and kicking the stick hard enough so I would get free. Covered in blood and oil I had a hell of a time finding the parachute opener but found it after awhile and the chute opened at 300 feet. I got into my dingy and after half an hour I was picked up by a British fishing boat. – Pilot Officer Malm.

6th of June 1944 and the show was on. 331 and 332 were there. In the early mornings they took of from Manston patrolling the shores of France. They saw it all. A pilot described it like a huge theatre. It seemed that a person could walk across the channel and not get wet because of all the ships. They saw the little dots on the beaches, some running inland, some lying dead down there while tanks, cars and all kind of vehicles moved inland from the beaches. When they were low on petrol they headed back to Manston. They fuelled up and went back into action. In 10 days they would cross the channel. Leave North Weald for good.

Even though the Luftwaffe were not up in numbers it did not mean it was a peaceful business. Trigger happy sailors often opened fire on them from their ships.

June 8th 1944

-Why are they shooting at us? Can’t they see were friends? Idiots! Are they that nervous? Get up into the clouds! Now! Climb! Who’s that over there? My God, it’s Leif! He’s hit by those crazy navy guys! There he is, I see him clearly. “Red 1, this is Red 2 are you alright?”. There’s smoke coming from his engine. Oh God. “This is Red 1, return to base, 020 degrees”.

More smoke coming from Leif’s plane. He’s not going to make it. He’s weaving all over the place. Oh no, there he goes.”

Red 2 was the last who saw Squadron leader Leif Lundsten alive. The last thing he did before his death was to give his squadron the right course for him. He was never found.

-Tally Ho, Tally Ho! Fifteen Me109 and FW190 six o’ clock low, going down! Going down with the sun behind them, the two Norwegian squadrons with the British 66th squadron attacks the German formation. The Germans fall down from the sky like leafs from a tree. An over-whelming force of Norwegian and British Spitfires takes the Germans completely by surprise

When the fighting was over, 8 German planes were shot down, another probably shot down with another nine damaged. One Norwegian lost his life. Kjell Sandvig.

After a slight delay, the squadrons were on their way over the channel and to France. Later Holland and Belgium. Long gone was the cosy days at North Weald. The conditions on most of these airfields were poor. At one place the smell of corpses were so bad that the pilots could smell it even up in the air. The Germans had been in such a rush to get out that they never found the time to bury their soldiers properly. Suddenly an arm or a leg could pop up around the airfields. And the smell were always there.

December 1944

Tally Ho, Tally Ho! 25 Me 109 slightly above. The squadron leaders shows experience and skill and gets the whole squadron into a good position for an attack on the Me109’s without being seen. The squadron is now experienced and knows how to turn a bad situation into a good one. The Germans on the other hand are inexperienced and have still not seen the attacking formation of Spitfires. In a matter of minutes 12 German ME109 are blown out of the sky, another 2 damaged with the rest of the German formation running for the nearest cloud.

In the last part of 44 and 45 the Germans are less to be seen in the sky. 331 and 332 continues their crusade towards victory, mainly now by focusing on ground targets such as flak batteries, German vehicles and basically whatever German things that still move on the ground. It’s however a risky business and many fine pilots are killed by flak or low flying. The occasional dogfight still happens, but the Germans are cautious and often escapes before the Norwegians can get a hold of them.

The story about Wing Commander

Rolf Arne Berg

The pilots of 331 and 332 doesn’t really want to talk about themselves and what they did in their Spitfire during the war. They would much rather talk about their friends. Those who did make it and those who didn’t. According to them, if there’s one of those people that need special attention, its Rolf Arne Berg.

Rolf Arne Berg was one of those people who is seldom noticed in peace time. A shy, intelligent man from Trøndelag in Norway. He was with 331 squadron all through the war until his death in February 1945. He took especially care of the new pilots and gave them confidence. He was one of the best pilots Norway had according to his friends. He was first and foremost a friend and not a snobby officer. He could to some seem arrogant, but this was not the case. He was one of those everyone loved and enjoyed being in company with. He was a gentleman and got along exceptionally well with the British RAF boys, not only because of his personality, but also because of his fantastic flying. He was calm, steady and exceptionally relaxed in dangerous situations.

Flying was his life. After a sortie he just took a deep breath and wanted to take off again. When he died, some people are certain that he more sorties than anyone else in the entire 2 Tactical Air Force. Together with his friends Martin Gran and Svein Heglund he often talked about what he would do after the war. Rolf sometimes wanted to continue flying, other times he wanted to buy a fishing boat or travel the world to see places and meet girls. Rolf though, wasn’t a big flirt like some others. He was a man of romance and Heglund knew he had someone special waiting for him. He wanted someone to live with for the rest of his life. It didn’t happen.

Saturday February 3rd 1945.

Rolf’s bags are packed. His operational duty are over. He’s on his way to a well deserved rest. Maybe see his girlfriend. Relax. Go to Chamonix and ski.

With the briefcases in his hands he listens closely as 332 squadron tells the CO of lots of German places parked on an airfield in Holland. He wants to go. This is an opportunity he can’t miss out on. Sitting ducks on an airfield!

But Berg is officially “posted” and not on the squadron roster. He begs his CO for yet another sortie. Mehre denies him the trip. Follow the rules he says. But Berg doesn’t give in and takes his case to the top level and get permission to go by his best friend, ‘Zulu’ Morris.. By a hairs length.

It’s a simple hit and run attack.

Berg leads the squadron to the place were the planes were reported to be seen. Nothing there. Just dummy planes on the ground. Dummy planes put there to trick Allied planes into the massive flak they had placed in the area.

Berg gives his orders. “Going down, now!”. And so they go down. Berg leads and then it happens. The Germans opens up with everything they got at them. Massive flak. Like flying into a wall of fire. Berg continues on but then pulls out and goes up.

Someone calls out on the radio; “Red 3 is missing!”.

But it’s not red 3, it’s red 1.

Berg’s Spitfire is seen loosing it’s wing and then goes straight down without any form of control. It crashes into a farm house without exploding. The rest of the squadron lands at their base without their leader.

“Wing Commander Berg missing sir” reports Martin Gran to Morris.

Morris turns away and starts crying, the only time he’s seen crying when with the Norwegian squadrons during the war.

Rolf Arne Berg died on his last trip, plus one. A trip that shouldn’t have happened. He was tired, done, finished. He was found dead in his Spitfire and was buried on a cemetery close by.

331 and 332 squadron finished their last sortie on the 21st of April 1945.

1055 22nd of May 1945.

36 Spitfire planes start their engines. At 1105 all of them were airborne. Destination, Sola, Norway. Open formation. The moment they had been waiting for had come. They were going home. They left Norway beaten. They arrived in England with nothing more than their clothes and a couple of belongings. Now they were coming home in Spitfires. The war was over.

[bobbysocks]

Air Marshal Ivan Kozhedub was one of only two Soviet fighter pilots to be awarded the Gold Star of a Hero of the Soviet Union three times during World War II. The other, Aleksandr Pokryshkin, had flown from the German invasion in the summer of 1941 through the end of the war, during which time he scored 59 aerial victories in MiG3s, Bell Airacobras, Lavochkin La-5s and Yakovlev Yak-9Us.

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. On February 19, 1945, he became the only Soviet pilot to shoot down a Messerschmitt Me-262 jet fighter and, on April 19, 1945, he downed two Focke-Wulf Fw-190s to bring his final tally to 62–the top Allied ace of the war.

In contrast to Aleksandr Pokryshkin, Ivan Kozhedub is associated with a single fighter type, the series of radialengine, wooden aircraft designed by Semyen Lavochkin. The last of them, La-7 No. 27, has, like its pilot, survived to graceful retirement-in the airplane’s case at the Monino Air Museum.

AH: Could you share with us something of your youth and education?

Kozhedub: I was born on June 8, 1920, in the village of Obrazheyevska, Shostka district of the Sumy region in the Ukraine. I was the youngest of five children in our family. I had a hard time when I was a child and never had enough to eat as a teen-ager. I had to work all the time back then. My only toys were handmade stilts, a rag ball and skis made of barrel planks.

In 1934, I finished a seven-year school. At first, I wanted to go to art school in Leningrad, but realized that I’d hardly get through. For two years, I attended a school for young workers. In 1940, I graduated from the Shostka chemical technical school.

AH: When, then, did you develop an interest in aviation?

Kozhedub: A craving for the skies, which I could not identify as such at the time, was probably born in my heart when I was around 15. It was then that airplanes from a local flying club began to crisscross the sky over the village of Obrazheyevska. Later on, no matter what I might be doing–solving a difficult math problem or playing at ball–I would forget instantly about everything as soon as I heard the rumble of an aircraft motor.

AH: A lot of people are fascinated by aviation, but what caused you to take the big step from enthusiast to participant?

Kozhedub: In the 1930s, the Komsomol (Young Communist League) was a patron of aviation and, naturally enough, we were all crazy about flying. I remember well the words of my school teacher: ‘Choose the life of an outstanding man as a model, and try to follow his example in everything.’ For me, a boy of 16, and for thousands of other Soviet teen-agers, the famous pilot Valery Chkalov was such a man. The whole world admired his bold long distance flights in the Tupolev ANT-25, such as his 1936 flight from Moscow to Udd Island, Kamchatka–9,374 kilometers in 56 hours, 20 minutes–or his shorter but more hazardous flight of 8,504 km in 63 hours, 16 minutes from Moscow to Vancouver, Wash., via the North Pole, on June 18-20, 1937. He was also a fearless test pilot, and it was during a test flight that he lost his life on December 15, 1938.

Realizing full well that it would be difficult to attend a technical school and learn to fly at the same time, I still filed an application at the local club. That was in 1938, when the Japanese violated the Soviet frontier near Lake Khasan. That fact strengthened my desire to receive a second profession that would be needed in the event of war.

AH: Can you describe your training? How many flying hours did it take to qualify as a pilot? Was your training typical for a Soviet pilot, civil or military?

Kozhedub: At the beginning of 1940, 1 was admitted to the Chuguyev military aviation school. It was the beginning of a new life for me. At the flying club, we had just been working on the ABCs, whereas at the school, serious training was buttressed by tough military discipline. At our school, to become a pilot you had to fulfill a flying quota of about 100 hours.

AH: What was your perception of the state of Soviet aviation and general military preparedness prior to and in the months following the German invasion?

Kozhedub: Of course, we were young at the time. We believed that our country was absolutely ready to rebuff any aggression. Any fighting on our own territory was considered unthinkable. Everything we read or heard over the radio about the war to the west seemed very remote to us. Needless to say, at that time we did not know that more than 40,000 of the most talented military leaders had been killed by Stalin’s purges a few years earlier. We realized what had happened much later. Every report about the retreat of our troops made our hearts bleed.

AH: Did the Soviet Army Air Force (VVS-RKKA) undergo any changes in structure, philosophy or strategy during the war years? If so, what changes did you notice?

Kozhedub: The experience of hostilities in the early months of the war required a change in the tactics and organizational structure of fighter aviation. The famous formula of air-to-air combat was: ‘Altitude-speed-maneuver-fire.’ A flight of two fighters became a permanent combat tactical unit in fighter aviation. Correspondingly, a flight of three planes was replaced with a flight of four planes. The formations of squadrons came to include several groups, each of which had its own tactical mission (assault, protection, suppression, air defense, etc.). The massive use of aviation, its increasing influence on the course of combat and operations, required that its efforts be concentrated in those major specialties.

Fighter air corps making up part of air armies were set up for that purpose. Hundreds of fighters took part in crucial tactical and strategic operations. Quite often, air-to-air combat developed into a virtual air battle. The arsenal of combat methods used by Soviet fighter aces came to include vertical maneuvers, multilayered formations and others. Out of the 44,000 aircraft lost by Germany on the Soviet-German front, 90 percent were downed by fighters.

AH: Did you request a transfer to the front as a combat flier, or were you given such duty by your commanders?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What was your first impression of the LaG-5, your first combat aircraft? Did it have any special quirks or idiosyncrasies?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: Did you know anything of the less-successful predecessor of the LaG-5, the LaGG-3? Did you ever fly that plane and, if so, how did it compare with the later Lavochkins?

Kozhedub: All those planes were one family. So naturally enough, every new generation flew higher and farther. However, I did not fly the LaGG-3 myself. I know this plane was designed by Lavochkin together with his colleagues, Gorbunov and Gudkov, in 1940. It had a water-cooled engine, and like all early models, was not faultless. Its successors, the La-5 and La-7, accumulated combat experience. They had air-cooled engines and were much more reliable.

AH: To what unit were you first assigned? How were you received by the men of the regiment?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What was the typical strength and organization of a Soviet VVS regiment (Polk) or squadron (Eskadril) during World War II?

Kozhedub: Since the war was teaching us its bitter lessons, we had to change tactics as we went along. Thus, considering the experience of the first battles, the Air Force went over from 60-plane regiments, which appeared to be too heavy, to regiments consisting of 30 fighters (three squadrons). Practice showed that this structure was better, both because it made the commander’s job easier and because it ensured higher flexibility in repelling attacks.

AH: Your first week of combat was over the Kharkov sector, during the last great Soviet defeat prior to the decisive battle of Kursk. Allegedly, you yourself were badly shot-up during your first combat by German fighters. What was the state of morale among you and your comrades at this time?

Kozhedub: 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. Many, like myself, had their families in Nazi-occupied territory. We were all thirsting for revenge.

AH: What was your impression of the skill and courage of your Luftwaffe opponents at this time–and later? Did you perceive any changes in their skill and élan between 1943 and 1945?

Kozhedub: The sinister colors of the German Messerschmitt Bf-109s and Focke-Wulf Fw-190s with the drawings of cats, aces, arrows and skulls on their sides, were designed to scare Soviet pilots witless. But I didnt pay much attention to them, trying to guess as soon as possible the plans and methods of my enemy, and find weak spots in his tactics. However, I always respected the courage of the German aces. It would have been stupid to underrate the enemy, especially at the start of the war.

After August 1943, the supremacy in the air finally went over to the Soviet pilots and, by the end of the war, we were locking horns with hastily trained youths more and more often. The onetime conceit of invincibility claimed by Göring’s aces had gone up in smoke.

AH: How did Soviet and German aircraft compare throughout the war? What type of enemy aircraft did you have a particular respect for?

Kozhedub: In combat potential, the Yak-3, La-7 and La-9 fighters were indisputably superior to the Bf-109s and Fw-190s. But, as they say, no matter how good the violin may be, much depends on the violinist. I always felt respect for an enemy pilot whose plane I failed to down.

AH: Describe a typical ‘day’s work’ for a Soviet fighter pilot. How many sorties did you normally fly per day?

Kozhedub: The phrase ‘day’s work’ does not fit in here, for we had to fly all day long. I myself was surprised at the potential endurance of the human body in an emergency. Three to four sorties a day during an offensive was quite routine. True, one sortie would be very different from the next.

AH: Your first success was over Kursk on July 6, 1943. What were the circumstances of that victory’?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: The Battle of Kursk involved thousands of aircraft in a mammoth struggle for tactical control over the battlefield. What role did you and your comrades play toward the Soviet victory?

Kozhedub: In actual fact, I had my true baptism of fire near Kursk. We escorted bombers, fought enemy fighters and neutralized air defense batteries. The battle for Kursk was a landmark in the development of the forms and methods for operational and tactical use of Soviet aviation in the war years. In its first defensive stage, our airmen flew 70,219 sorties. Tactical aviation accounted for 76 percent of the total, long-range aviation for 18 percent, and air defense fighters for six percent. During that period, they destroyed 1,500 enemy planes. Our losses were 1,000 aircraft. During the counteroffensive, our flyers made 90,000 sorties, about 50 percent of which were designed to support attacking troops, and 31 percent to achieve supremacy in the air. The enemy lost up to 2,200 planes in that time.

AH: To what do you attribute your growing success thereafter?

Kozhedub: Young pilots often ask how they can learn to fly a fighter quickly; I came to the conclusion that the main thing is to master the technique of pilotage and firing. If a fighter pilot can control his plane automatically, he can correctly carry out a maneuver, quickly approach an enemy, aim at his plane precisely and destroy him. It is also important to be resourceful in any situation. At the first stage of combat skill, I dreamt of downing an enemy plane–the tactics of an air battle were theory to me. The second stage began with the training at the front before the Battle of Kursk. The fighting near the Kursk bulge was a new stage. The battle for the Dnieper was yet another.

Having become the commander of a squadron, I began to lead groups of planes and direct the actions of pilots during combat. The next stage was called lone-wolf operations. Being deputy commander of the regiment from the 1st Belorussian Front, I flew together with another pilot to the front lines in search of targets. There were many more stages like these. It is never too late to learn.

AH: On May 2, 1944, you received an La-5FN specially dedicated ‘In the name of Hero of the Soviet Union Lt.Col. N. Koniyev.’ You allegedly scored eight victories in seven days flying this aircraft. How much of an improvement over the La-5 was that La-5FN?

Kozhedub: It was, practically speaking, a simplified version of the La-5 developed in the same year, 1942. It had a boosted engine with direct fuel injection But it was important to me for different reasons. Vasily Koniyev, a beekeeper from the Bolshevik collective farm (Budarin district, Stalingrad region), bought it with his own money and asked that it be named after the nephew of the famous Marshal Vasily Konev, killed at the beginning of the war. Indeed, this plane was a lucky one for me. Out of the eight Nazi aircraft I destroyed while flying it, five were the much-vaunted Fw-190s.

AH: In July 1944, you were posted to the 1st Belorussian Front as vice commander to the 176th Guards Fighter Regiment, and received La-7 No. 27, in which you would score your final 17 victories. What were your command responsibilities; did they effect your flying habits?

Kozhedub: At first, 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.

AH: How did the La-7 compare with its La-5-series predecessors?

Kozhedub: The La-7 had top-notch flying characteristics. It was a very obedient plane, which attained a high speed by the standards of those days. I must say that the La-7, the La-9 and Yak-3 were perfect planes. Their characteristics virtually reached the ceiling for piston-engine planes.

AH: For a wooden airplane, La-7 No. 27 must have been a sturdy and reliable airplane to serve you faithfully over 10 months of combat. What was the key to the robustness of these aircraft?

Kozhedub: The Lavochkins were simple, reliable aircraft. I met with their designer, Semyon Lavochkin, and visited plants where they were built. He always listened attentively to all remarks. The margin of safety was so great that, while pursuing the enemy, I exceeded the estimated loads without thinking twice. I was certain that the plane wouldn’t let me down. I reached speeds of 700 kilometers per hour (434 mph) and even more on it. The La-7 was an upgraded version of the quite good La-5FN, which had the M-82FN engine. Lavochkin modified the design of the airfoil, changed the locations of the aircooling intakes, and upgraded the design of the central part of the wings.AH: What were the circumstances of your success over the Me-262?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What of your last combat, with Lieutenant Titorenko on April 19, 1945?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What were the highlights of your career in the VVS after August 18, 1945, when you were awarded your third Gold Star?

Kozhedub: After graduating from the Academy, I occupied several different high posts. But I always considered the training of young pilots my chief responsibility. It gave me a kind of satisfaction that could possibly only compare with one more gold star.

AH: Have you any comment on the present state of the art of Soviet aviation, military or civil?

Kozhedub: The Air Force is equipped with powerful and reliable aircraft, and a new generation of airliners is coming to civil aviation. That is beyond doubt. But still the main role is played by the person who is in charge of this perfect hardware–the pilot.

AH: In retrospect, which did you consider the better Soviet fighter design–the La-5 series or the Yak9 series?

Kozhedub: I always preferred the La-5s and always considered them the best ones. When I was a bit younger, I often went to Monino, about 25 miles northeast of Moscow, where my La-7 is on display at the National Air Museum. I would sit in its cabin, and life would seem more cheerful. For me, it is the time machine that takes me back to my youth, to the formidable ’40s.

AH: What do you consider to have been the best fighter airplane–regardless of nationality–of World War II?

Kozhedub: The La-7. I hope you understand why.

AH: As a flier, if you had a choice of any airplane in the world, old or new, which one would you most like to fly?

Kozhedub: My choice is the Buran–the Soviet space shuttle. I don’t know a better plane. This wonder plane was developed in the last decade, literally before my very eyes. Aviation is said to be the cradle of cosmonautics, and with good reason.

AH: Have you any final comments?

Kozhedub: Yes. I’m glad that perestroika in my country is paving the road to a time when all threatening combat hardware will be stored in the Monino museum.


Fighter air corps making up part of air armies were set up for that purpose. Hundreds of fighters took part in crucial tactical and strategic operations. Quite often, air-to-air combat developed into a virtual air battle. The arsenal of combat methods used by Soviet fighter aces came to include vertical maneuvers, multilayered formations and others. Out of the 44,000 aircraft lost by Germany on the Soviet-German front, 90 percent were downed by fighters.

AH: Did you request a transfer to the front as a combat flier, or were you given such duty by your commanders?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What was your first impression of the LaG-5, your first combat aircraft? Did it have any special quirks or idiosyncrasies?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: Did you know anything of the less-successful predecessor of the LaG-5, the LaGG-3? Did you ever fly that plane and, if so, how did it compare with the later Lavochkins?

Kozhedub: All those planes were one family. So naturally enough, every new generation flew higher and farther. However, I did not fly the LaGG-3 myself. I know this plane was designed by Lavochkin together with his colleagues, Gorbunov and Gudkov, in 1940. It had a water-cooled engine, and like all early models, was not faultless. Its successors, the La-5 and La-7, accumulated combat experience. They had air-cooled engines and were much more reliable.

AH: To what unit were you first assigned? How were you received by the men of the regiment?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What was the typical strength and organization of a Soviet VVS regiment (Polk) or squadron (Eskadril) during World War II?

Kozhedub: Since the war was teaching us its bitter lessons, we had to change tactics as we went along. Thus, considering the experience of the first battles, the Air Force went over from 60-plane regiments, which appeared to be too heavy, to regiments consisting of 30 fighters (three squadrons). Practice showed that this structure was better, both because it made the commander's job easier and because it ensured higher flexibility in repelling attacks.

AH: Your first week of combat was over the Kharkov sector, during the last great Soviet defeat prior to the decisive battle of Kursk. Allegedly, you yourself were badly shot-up during your first combat by German fighters. What was the state of morale among you and your comrades at this time?

Kozhedub: 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. Many, like myself, had their families in Nazi-occupied territory. We were all thirsting for revenge.

AH: What was your impression of the skill and courage of your Luftwaffe opponents at this time--and later? Did you perceive any changes in their skill and élan between 1943 and 1945?

Kozhedub: The sinister colors of the German Messerschmitt Bf-109s and Focke-Wulf Fw-190s with the drawings of cats, aces, arrows and skulls on their sides, were designed to scare Soviet pilots witless. But I didnt pay much attention to them, trying to guess as soon as possible the plans and methods of my enemy, and find weak spots in his tactics. However, I always respected the courage of the German aces. It would have been stupid to underrate the enemy, especially at the start of the war.

After August 1943, the supremacy in the air finally went over to the Soviet pilots and, by the end of the war, we were locking horns with hastily trained youths more and more often. The onetime conceit of invincibility claimed by Göring's aces had gone up in smoke.

AH: How did Soviet and German aircraft compare throughout the war? What type of enemy aircraft did you have a particular respect for?

Kozhedub: In combat potential, the Yak-3, La-7 and La-9 fighters were indisputably superior to the Bf-109s and Fw-190s. But, as they say, no matter how good the violin may be, much depends on the violinist. I always felt respect for an enemy pilot whose plane I failed to down.

AH: Describe a typical "day's work" for a Soviet fighter pilot. How many sorties did you normally fly per day?

Kozhedub: The phrase "day's work" does not fit in here, for we had to fly all day long. I myself was surprised at the potential endurance of the human body in an emergency. Three to four sorties a day during an offensive was quite routine. True, one sortie would be very different from the next.

AH: Your first success was over Kursk on July 6, 1943. What were the circumstances of that victory'?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: The Battle of Kursk involved thousands of aircraft in a mammoth struggle for tactical control over the battlefield. What role did you and your comrades play toward the Soviet victory?

Kozhedub: In actual fact, I had my true baptism of fire near Kursk. We escorted bombers, fought enemy fighters and neutralized air defense batteries. The battle for Kursk was a landmark in the development of the forms and methods for operational and tactical use of Soviet aviation in the war years. In its first defensive stage, our airmen flew 70,219 sorties. Tactical aviation accounted for 76 percent of the total, long-range aviation for 18 percent, and air defense fighters for six percent. During that period, they destroyed 1,500 enemy planes. Our losses were 1,000 aircraft. During the counteroffensive, our flyers made 90,000 sorties, about 50 percent of which were designed to support attacking troops, and 31 percent to achieve supremacy in the air. The enemy lost up to 2,200 planes in that time.

AH: To what do you attribute your growing success thereafter?

Kozhedub: Young pilots often ask how they can learn to fly a fighter quickly; I came to the conclusion that the main thing is to master the technique of pilotage and firing. If a fighter pilot can control his plane automatically, he can correctly carry out a maneuver, quickly approach an enemy, aim at his plane precisely and destroy him. It is also important to be resourceful in any situation. At the first stage of combat skill, I dreamt of downing an enemy plane--the tactics of an air battle were theory to me. The second stage began with the training at the front before the Battle of Kursk. The fighting near the Kursk bulge was a new stage. The battle for the Dnieper was yet another.

Having become the commander of a squadron, I began to lead groups of planes and direct the actions of pilots during combat. The next stage was called lone-wolf operations. Being deputy commander of the regiment from the 1st Belorussian Front, I flew together with another pilot to the front lines in search of targets. There were many more stages like these. It is never too late to learn.

AH: On May 2, 1944, you received an La-5FN specially dedicated "In the name of Hero of the Soviet Union Lt.Col. N. Koniyev." You allegedly scored eight victories in seven days flying this aircraft. How much of an improvement over the La-5 was that La-5FN?

Kozhedub: It was, practically speaking, a simplified version of the La-5 developed in the same year, 1942. It had a boosted engine with direct fuel injection But it was important to me for different reasons. Vasily Koniyev, a beekeeper from the Bolshevik collective farm (Budarin district, Stalingrad region), bought it with his own money and asked that it be named after the nephew of the famous Marshal Vasily Konev, killed at the beginning of the war. Indeed, this plane was a lucky one for me. Out of the eight Nazi aircraft I destroyed while flying it, five were the much-vaunted Fw-190s.

AH: In July 1944, you were posted to the 1st Belorussian Front as vice commander to the 176th Guards Fighter Regiment, and received La-7 No. 27, in which you would score your final 17 victories. What were your command responsibilities; did they effect your flying habits?

Kozhedub: At first, 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.

AH: How did the La-7 compare with its La-5-series predecessors?

Kozhedub: The La-7 had top-notch flying characteristics. It was a very obedient plane, which attained a high speed by the standards of those days. I must say that the La-7, the La-9 and Yak-3 were perfect planes. Their characteristics virtually reached the ceiling for piston-engine planes.

AH: For a wooden airplane, La-7 No. 27 must have been a sturdy and reliable airplane to serve you faithfully over 10 months of combat. What was the key to the robustness of these aircraft?

Kozhedub: The Lavochkins were simple, reliable aircraft. I met with their designer, Semyon Lavochkin, and visited plants where they were built. He always listened attentively to all remarks. The margin of safety was so great that, while pursuing the enemy, I exceeded the estimated loads without thinking twice. I was certain that the plane wouldn't let me down. I reached speeds of 700 kilometers per hour (434 mph) and even more on it. The La-7 was an upgraded version of the quite good La-5FN, which had the M-82FN engine. Lavochkin modified the design of the airfoil, changed the locations of the aircooling intakes, and upgraded the design of the central part of the wings.

AH: What were the circumstances of your success over the Me-262?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What of your last combat, with Lieutenant Titorenko on April 19, 1945?

Kozhedub: 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.

AH: What were the highlights of your career in the VVS after August 18, 1945, when you were awarded your third Gold Star?

Kozhedub: After graduating from the Academy, I occupied several different high posts. But I always considered the training of young pilots my chief responsibility. It gave me a kind of satisfaction that could possibly only compare with one more gold star.

AH: Have you any comment on the present state of the art of Soviet aviation, military or civil?

Kozhedub: The Air Force is equipped with powerful and reliable aircraft, and a new generation of airliners is coming to civil aviation. That is beyond doubt. But still the main role is played by the person who is in charge of this perfect hardware--the pilot.

AH: In retrospect, which did you consider the better Soviet fighter design--the La-5 series or the Yak9 series?

Kozhedub: I always preferred the La-5s and always considered them the best ones. When I was a bit younger, I often went to Monino, about 25 miles northeast of Moscow, where my La-7 is on display at the National Air Museum. I would sit in its cabin, and life would seem more cheerful. For me, it is the time machine that takes me back to my youth, to the formidable '40s.

AH: What do you consider to have been the best fighter airplane--regardless of nationality--of World War II?

Kozhedub: The La-7. I hope you understand why.

AH: As a flier, if you had a choice of any airplane in the world, old or new, which one would you most like to fly?

Kozhedub: My choice is the Buran--the Soviet space shuttle. I don't know a better plane. This wonder plane was developed in the last decade, literally before my very eyes. Aviation is said to be the cradle of cosmonautics, and with good reason.

AH: Have you any final comments?

Kozhedub: Yes. I'm glad that perestroika in my country is paving the road to a time when all threatening combat hardware will be stored in the Monino museum.



This article was written by Jon Guttman and originally published in Aviation History Magazine in September 2000.

[bobbysocks]

Explosion in Mid-Air

On July 11th, 1944 we were just forming up on a mission to Munich, the fourth largest city in Germany. Our target was to be a jet aircraft plant located in the city and over 1200 heavy bombers were dispatched to the target. This was the Group's 86th mission and my 11th mission.
Our crew was made up of me, Jack W. Gazzale (Pilot), Jim Philips (Copilot), Fred Oglesby (Navigator), Ralph Hipsman (Engineer), Everett Broadie (Nose Gunner), his brother Robert Broadie (Tail Gunner), Bob Ehlert (Ball Turret Gunner), Burt Chenkin (Radioman), and William Becker (Waist Gunner).

At approximately 0930 and about one hour after takeoff and still forming up over England, the crew began to smell fuel. Suddenly the left wing was engulfed in flames and exploded, sending the aircraft into a severe spin preventing anyone from moving to an exit.Seconds later the main fuel tanks and possibly the bomb load exploded and the aircraft disintegrated. I was blown from the plane still strapped in my seat and Oglesby and Evertt Broadie (in the nose) were ejected through the nose section, severing Oglesby's left leg. Oglesby related that, as he fell toward earth unconscious, he became aware of something slapping him in the face and it was his boot and the severed leg. He pulled the ripcord and noticed his blood soaked parachute deploy before passing out again.
Witnesses on the ground reported seeing me plummeting toward the ground still strapped into my seat and at the last possible moment, unbuckling my seatbelt and pulling the ripcord. I received only minor injuries, but the trauma of injury and lost crew members was devastating.

Oglesby, bleeding profusely from his severe injury, was in a way, lucky. He landed in a tree beside the road just as an ambulance and crew came by on their way to a hospital with plasma. They and some farmers immediately removed Fred from the tree and applied emergency first aid, although they were unable to save his leg, he did survive and died only last year. Jim Phillips, Ralph Hipsman and Everett Broadie were lost in this crash.

The debris covered a five mile long path with an engine at the beginning and the largest piece, the tail section, at the other. Some debris fell on a B-24 base, causing a departing B-24 to abort it's takeoff after being hit by some of the debris.

Fred Oglesby and I are Colonels in the Confederate Air Force and I have the distinction of being a charter member of the High Sky Wing. Oglesby was a member of the Arizona Wing, which operates the B-17 "Sentimental Journey", whose markings are those of the 457th Bomb Group.


the nissan hut

To me, a Nissen hut at Glatton during the winter of 1944-45 was a man made cave. The interior was always cold, damp and gloomy. The windows were covered by thick blackout curtains, the overhead light bulbs, two to a hut, gave scant lighting. As a result, the time spent in the hut was mostly for sleeping. Off duty time was largely spent at the officer's club where there was a hugh fireplace which gave off some warmth, if you stood close enough.

The hut provided quarters for up to twelve men but my hut usually housed ten. There were no chairs, no table. Men in lower bunks could sit down, but men in upper bunks were disadvantaged.

In my hut no lingering ties of friendship seemed to develop. For example, the four officers of the Don Meyers crew, a typical crew, shared my hut from the time I arrived at Glatton in December until they finished their tour in March. Within a matter of days, they received travel orders, packed up, left for the Stone Replacement Depot and we never heard from them again. No final good-byes, no exchange of addresses. Why was this so?

To begin with, the Nissen provided cramped and uncomfortable quarters, an atmosphere not conducive to social conversation. We tended to share limited personal information about ourselves. The infrequent talks seldom touched on serious matters as the war or future plans. I didn't know who was married, not anyone's home state with the exception of a bombardier nicknamed "Tex" Huddleston, who I assumed, was from Texas.

There was another factor, and it was probably the primary one, working against the creation of friendships, namely combat missions. We tried to deny it to ourselves but the missions concentrated and dominated our thoughts, You could'nt help thinking that maybe tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or the next day after that, you might be wounded, face captivity or even death. A man was meditative about missions and survival. Maybe we tried not to know each other too well, so if a man from the hut was posted as missing, or killed, the loss would be less personal.

For the seven months I was stationed at Glatton there was no combat loss in my hut. On one occasion after a mission John Medwin was declared missing in action, but his plane landed safely at an alternate field and he later came back to Glatton.
The only man wounded in those seven months was Bill Pursell, who got his first medical attention from a British doctor when his plane landed at a Royal Air Force base due to a shortage of fuel. The flesh wound on his leg was painted with a generous amount of a disinfectant called Gentian-Violet. For a time he was the "man with a violet leg" but he fully recovered.

Your bunk bed was a repository for your mail and other items. One day I returned from a mission and found a good-looking box lying on the bed. It was an Air Medal, given for six missions. Additional increments of six missions brought flimsy sheets of paper to the bunk informing me that Oak Leaf Clusters were added to my Medal. This method of award delivery lessened the luster of the award. No ceremonial rites, no hand shakes.

The practice of rating an officer with an efficiency report continued even in combat. In view of what one of my reports contained, or more correctly what it did'nt contain, I was lucky that my report even reached me. The rating completed by the 750th Squadron Commander, Major James Havey, on March 15, 1945, stated "the only rating I can fairly give this officer is UNKNOWN."

If there was anything good to be said about living in a Nissen hut, it was the omission of a mainstay of military routine in the States, the inspection of Quarters. We took advantage of this; we wasted no effort to make up bunks or to be neat. This disarray added further to the man-made cave atmosphere of the Nissen hut.

[bobbysocks]

This is Leon Finneran's letter to Don Boyle.....................


Hi Don,

Sorry for the delay in answering your letter. My wife and I went on a few days vacation for the holiday weekend. Now that everything is back to normal, I will try to answer some of the questions you probably have been asking yourself all these years about the rest of the crew and the plane. Bear in mind my memory isn't what it was then. I will tell you now what I remember at the time of seeing the burst of AA (Antiaircraft fire) that got us.

We were on the bomb run and I had the turret facing straight ahead. I saw about three shells break in front of us, each one getting nearer the plane. The last shell (which one whether the 3rd or 4th I can't remember) hit us and knocked out both our outboard engines. Lindskoog (Copilot) immediately began to try to restart one of the engines. I could see gas was pouring over the starboard wing. I reminded Kerr that trying to restart the engines might start a fire. He then feathered both engines. There was no hope of getting home but Kerr said he thought we could make it to Switzerland. We could'nt hold our altitude so Kerr ordered us to throw out everything we could find to lighten the plane.

After pulling out of formation, Kerr told me to get the flare gun and continue to fire hoping we could find fighter protection. I did this and it seemed almost immediately we had fighters on each wing. Kerr was talking to the pilot on our left wing using the FM radio and asked for an escort to Switzerland. They headed us toward the Swiss border but after some time the pilot told Kerr that with all the cloud cover he could not be sure whether or not we were over Switzerland, but thought we were very near the border. The fighter pilot wished us luck and left us. I was standing between Kerr and Lindskoog looking at the clouds below and wondering how we were going to get down through them safely. I was talking to Kerr about the conditions and how we were still losing altitude when one of the other members of the crew said over the intercom that he saw a hole in the cloud cover and that he could see mountains. I then also saw a break in the clouds and told him that I could see we were below the peaks. He then pushed the light signal to prepare to bail out and almost immediately sounded the bail out signal (the bell). He asked me to stay a little longer to see if we could get down. (at this point the four gunners in the back of the plane bailed out but for some reason no one in the front of the plane did....electing to stay with the pilot.) I believe he knew none of us would have much of a chance if he left the controls.

We were flying blind and still losing altitude. I don't know how long it was but I noticed we were beginning to loose oil pressure on the overworked #3 engine. It acted like it was about to give out. There was no way of knowing what damage the flak had done to the two engines that were still operating.

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Not being much of a hero, I told Kerr we I did'nt think we were going to make it and I thought it was time for me to jump. He agreed. I went forward to the nose hatch, put on my chute pack and released the hatch. Lindskoog, who followed me down, was kneeling beside the hatch waiting for me to go. The nose hatch looked too small so I took off one of my flying boots. Lindskoog reminded me I might break my foot without my boots so I left the other one on and went headfirst out the nose. Lindskoog jumped after me, but I don't know if his chute didn't open or if he was too low. (the search party later found his body on the shore of Lake Constance). I flipped over in the air and pulled the ripcord and the pilot chute came out but it seemed to me real slow. I started to panic and pulled at the parachute cloth. The chute opened and at the same moment I heard the sound of the plane crashing. It's hard to describe how you feel at a time like that because I knew there was no way the others could have gotten out. I knew that none of them survived. I experienced an odd feeling as I floated down. After I heard the plane hit, it was as if I was in a vacuum, no sound, nothing, it seemed so quiet that if someone whispered miles away I would have heard it.<

It seemed like only a few seconds after I pulled the cord that I could see I was headed for the side of a mountain. I tried to control my direction but it didn't do any good. My chute caught on the peak and I was knocked very hard against the side of the mountain. I don't know how long I was out but when I came to I found the ripcord was still in my tightly clenched fist. The clouds had almost gone and I could see across the valley and the I could see our burning plane.
I was high on some Swiss mountain in the middle of July and there was snow all around me. I don't think I have ever felt as alone in my life, not knowing where you guys were, and knowing what had just happened to the others.

My chute was caught on the peak and there was no way I could get it down. On one side of the slope was snow, on the other, after I looked, was a sheer drop of about three or four thousand feet. The trouble with the snow side was I had to brace my back against the mountain and go side ways on top of the snow an inch at a time. If I slipped it was a quick ride to somewhere......I didn't want to find out where. After reaching a level spot and removing my parachute harness, I took the top part of my underwear off and wrapped it around the foot with no boot and with a lot of Irish luck slowly made my way down into the valley. I broke into a barn and slept in the loft that night. If anyone had said one word to me at that time I think I would have jumped through the roof of the barn.

The next day I took my escape kit maps and compass out and plotted my course. Before going into the service I was a city boy, I knew nothing about a compass or about reading a map. Nevertheless, there I was in the barn with everything laid out as if I was Columbus about to discover the New World. Needless to say, the course I took was later proved completely wrong. (When I was picked up by the Swiss border guards, I was heading back into Germany).

Some time before I met any border guards, I walked quite a way thinking I was headed into Switzerland. The next day I came across a small cabin with all the windows boarded up. I had plenty to drink from the stream coming down the mountains. I must have been out of shape on the trip because I fell quite a few times and could only walk a few minutes at a time. My head still hurt from the landing so that could have been the reason. I found a pick near the cabin and broke one of the boarded up side windows. I hadn't eaten in a couple of days so I looked for food. There were canned goods on a shelf but I couldn't read the labels so I was still hungry. There were four big bunks against the wall with straw in them, so I took a big knife from the drawer in a table and stuck it in the straw beside me when I laid down.
I don't know how long I was asleep but the next thing I knew the door opens and three men in uniform come in. They put their rifles in the corner and started to take their coats off. They still hadn't noticed me as the side boards on the bunk were high. When you were captured you said you thought they were Swiss guards, in my case I thought they were Germans soldiers(Swiss and German uniforms are similar). As I said, not being much of a hero, I let go of the knife and made a little noise but did not move out of the bunk. I told them I was American and when they pointed to the buttons on their uniform (Swiss cross) I almost laughed out loud. They gave me cheese, wine and raw bacon (My mother would not believe me because I cut all fat off any meat I eat) When we left, one of the older guards (over 50) gave me his shoes and socks and went barefooted. One gave me his jacket because he said we were only 200 yards from the Germans and if they thought I was American they might shoot.


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The next day they sent me to a Swiss hospital to have my head xrayed and in a couple days I was with other American crews that had landed in Switzerland. I was interned for about 6 months until four of us got in touch with the French resistance fighters who took us through the German lines and we made it back to England. After leaving Switzerland we stayed on the outskirts of Nancy, France near the Swiss border. We were later taken to Lyons and flown from there to England. From England I went home for a few weeks and then to Atlantic City for R & R.


It feels good after all these years to tell my experiences to someone who cares. I know you want to know about the officers too.

A couple days after being placed with the Americans, I was told that the Swiss found our wrecked plane. They were going to bury the three officers the next day . They were Kerr, Levine and Shilling (they could not locate Lindskoog's body since he was not with the plane wreckage ). I went to the funeral with officers from the American Embassy and a Swiss honor guard. They played Taps and had the Swiss Army fire a last salvo for them. They found Lindskoog some time later and he was given the same burial service. They were all burried in a small Swiss town called Thun.

To this day I can't get over how lucky I was. By all rights, I should have been with you men, or with the real unlucky ones, the officers. Your luck was bad, mine got better.(editors note - The four enlisted men who bailed out when the order was given by Kerr, were Boyle, Ahlfors, Younger and Hegedus. They too landed in the mountains but on the German side of the Swiss border and were taken prisoner and ended up in the prison camp at Stalag Luft #4 and endured considerable hardship before they were freed.)
That about does it Don. You made a mistake when you asked me to tell you everything that happened after you jumped. If you tell someone about what happened on that last mission, they listen but unless you've been through it, no one really cares, so I hope it sheds some light on what you wanted to know. In my mind I've gone over that mission hundreds of times and still can't get over how luckiy I was. Lucky not jumping and becoming a POW. Lucky not waiting too long and ending up with the others. It was only a matter of seconds that I missed ending up with them. Compared to what you guys went through, my experience wasn't much.


I remember some details as if they were yesterday....Kerr saying "Okay, you had better go too" and I know that Lindskoog's last words to anyone was when he told me I might break my foot in landing without my boots. I still feel sad seeing him kneeling beside the nose hatch talking to me and waiting for me to jump. I still feel sad that we never shook hands or wished each other luck, I hope it was because we were either scared or being young never thought anything bad could happen to us and would see each other on the ground. It's been a long time to say it, but I'm happy for every one of you that made it out. Maybe not in the best of health, but at least alive. After all these years it feels good to tell of my experiences to someone who cares. Hoping to hear from you soon.
Your friend from another time,

Lee Finneran

[bobbysocks]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpJTdu4hjFA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gvy5M4OKR8Y

[bobbysocks]

Lt. Col. Bill Holloman flew "Red Tail" P-51s with the 332nd Fighter Group in World War II -- the famed Tuskegee Airmen. He continued flying during the Korean War and Vietnam, was the first black helicopter pilot in the Air Force and later became a professor of history at the University of Washington.

"I'm proud to be associated with that group of men who not only fought racism among the Nazis, but also here in America," Holloman says.

He'll speak on the contributions of the Tuskegee Airmen in a Black History Month presentation at the Pacific Aviation Museum at Pearl Harbor tomorrow and Sunday.

It's one of the great stories rising from the so-called Greatest Generation, the tale of the "Tuskegee Airmen," the all-black squadrons that not only scored victories over Nazis in the air, they scored strikes against racism on the homefront. As an inspirational paen, it's a story that can't be told often enough.

Particularly now, during Black History Month. Which is why the Pacific Aviation Museum at Pearl Harbor is bringing in Tuskegee Airman Bill Holloman and others to give a couple of talks on the subject this week. Except that ...

..."During the war, nobody ever heard of Tuskegee Airmen," explains Holloman.

Say what?

"We were 'those colored pilots,' " said Holloman. "Then we were 'Negros' until 1963, when we became 'black.' Then somebody dreamed up 'African-American,' which I sort of resent. I'm an American who happens to be of African descent. And I'm proud to be associated with that group of men who not only fought racism among the Nazis, but also here in America. Some of our pilots who were captured by the Germans were asked, why would you fly for a country that treats you as second-class citizens? Compared to what the Nazis were doing, America is the greatest nation on Earth."

The phrase "Tuskegee Airmen," Hollomen explained, came about in the 1970s when veterans of the fighter group organized an educational trust under that name. It comes from the all-black Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, a university that served as a conduit for young black men to join the Army Air Forces.

In 1941, Congress pressured the military into creating a black flying unit, but the plan was nearly scuttled by overt racism within the War Department, which commissioned "scientific" studies from the University of Texas proving that blacks couldn't handle anything as complex as a flying machine. This notion was scuttled by, of all people, Eleanor Roosevelt, who showed up at the flying field one day and insisted that she be taken up in the air in a Piper Cub flown by a black pilot.

Eventually, the 99th, 100th, 301st and 302nd all-black squadron were formed, collectively under the 332nd Fighter Group. And if you're wondering why there are four squadrons instead of the usual three, "we were the only four-squadron group in the armed forces," said Holloman. "And it was because we were segregated."
Not just pilots. The Tuskegee Airmen also consisted of hundreds of black support personnel. "And one of the beautiful things about being in a segregated unit," said Holloman, "is that you couldn't be transferred out away from your friends. We became a family."

Holloman hails from St. Louis, and like many aviators of the era, tried flying by jumping off the garage roof with a sheet tied across his shoulders. "That is, until my mother got wind of it, and my father had us try jumping off a box instead. 'If you can fly off the box,' he said, 'I'll let you jump off the garage.' "

The airplane-crazy kid went to Tuskegee for training, graduating in class 44H, and Holloman says that nearby Tuskegee Airfield was unique in the sheer variety of training aircraft. "Usually, cadets would move from one field to another, learning different types of aircraft. But since we were segregated, instead, all the types of aircraft came to Tuskegee."

Holloman became rated in the famous P-40, P-39 and P-47 fighters, and like many aviators, his heart was stolen by the sleek P-51 Mustang. The 332nd painted their aircraft with distinctively crimson control surfaces, and thoroughout the campaign in Europe, the "Red Tails" were noted as a fierce bunch of fighter pilots who went the extra air mile to protect bombers -- and often the crews who praised them didn't know the Red Tails were black.

Star Wars" creator George Lucas' dream project is a movie about the 332nd, called, naturally, "Red Tails." Holloman was called to Los Angeles last week to consult on the script.
"By 1945, we pretty much controlled the air," said Holloman. "We'd do five escort missions, then get to do one search-and-destroy or strafing mission, which we preferred because it was more exciting! As a whole, fighter pilots are crazy young men, and we liked it that way."

The armed forces were desegregated in 1948 by executive order, creating by law -- supposedly -- the only fully integrated communities in the United States. "I discovered quickly that you can have friends in the military, and be treated as an equal, as long as our kids didn't date," said Holloman. "If there was any good that came out of World War II, it was the notion that we ignore the color of our skin when we're in the trenches together. America is not perfect -- 'America' is a goal, a dream to work toward."

[bobbysocks]

My recollections of Tuskegee airmen...

Edited on Wed Feb-16-05 01:50 PM by HamdenRice
My father was in the 332nd Fighter Group of which the 99th Fighter Squadron was part.

First of all, a quible that my father always corrected. It is a bit unfair to always talk about the Tuskegee airmen, rather than the 332nd Fighter Group. Usually the term is meant to apply to the first squadron of fighter pilots trained at Tuskegee and assigned to the command of African American Army Air Force General Benjamin O. Davis, as the 99th Fighter Squadron. But after the 99th proved their prowess (despite vicious criticism) General Marshall expanded the black pilot program to an entire fighter group, the 332nd. Moreover, this group included not just pilots, but mechanics, intelligence, medical corp -- every other function you would expect in a large fighter group, and all African American staffed and led. My father was a corporal in the 332nd.

There was a lot of officer/enlisted man comraderie, and after the war, my father stayed in touch with some of the officers as well as many fellow enlisted men. One night when I was in college, nearly 30 years ago, my uncle from California was in town, at the time still in the Air Force, and my father and mother had a dinner party. A 332nd pilot they both new attended.

He told me the story of a mission over Germany. Remember, the 332nd consisted of fighter pilots who often escorted bomber groups. Bomber groups were still segregated and entirely white. Bombers were much larger planes with longer range, and so they would pick up their fighter escorts closer to the targets. Although the bomber group commander was in overall command of the mission, it was up to the fighter squadron commander to instruct the bomber group commander when the mission had to end because the fighters would run out of fuel first.

The fighter squadron, of which this guest was a pilot, heard the radio trafic in which the black fighter squadron leader told the bomber group that it was time to turn around. The bomber group commander said over the radio he wasn't taking commands from a nigger and stayed over the target area. The fighters had no choice but to stay with the bombers.

The bombers finally decided to turn back. According to this dinner guest almost every fighter pilot ran out of fuel before reaching their bases in Italy, and crashed. He himself ran out of fuel a few miles from base and managed to glide to base. As he told this story, we were sitting next to a table lamp. I'll never forget what he said next:

"See this face? This is not the face I had when I went into the war. I glided in, but without power I crashed on the runway and my head went through the cockpit, and the glass shredded my face."

As he leaned into the lamp light I could see that his face was lightly striped with scars running from the front of his fact to the back of his head. He continued:

"I was in the hospital till the end of the war. After the war, all us black pilots were given the choice of either resigning our commission with officer's rank or being demoted to enlisted men, because the Air Force was not going to have any more black pilots. I resigned with my officer's rank. But when the Korean War began, they called me up and I went back into the Air Force as a pilot and officer."

[bobbysocks]

Bob Hoover is a pilots pilot. he is famous for his one wheel landings that he preforms at airshows. it was a coin toss as to whether it was going to be him or yeager who flew the x-1. this is a long ( even after i editted ) but worth reading...

"Jimmy Doolittle was my idol," he said. "I wanted to be just like him."

At 15, Hoover began taking flying lessons. Each Sunday, he pocketed the two dollars he'd earned for 16 hours of sacking groceries and showed up at the airport for a 15-minute lesson in a Piper Cub. After almost a year, he finally had the eight hours needed to qualify for solo flight. But he had a problem.

"I was nauseated every time I got airborne," he said.

When Hoover did finally fly solo, he was pleasantly surprised to find that without his instructor, the plane flew better and he didn't get as sick. "Every time I found I could handle one maneuver, I went on to the next one, until I conquered the airsickness," he said. "I did all sorts of aerobatics with airplanes that weren't designed for it. I didn't know any better, but I managed to do it without hurting them."

He found out quickly that he loved to perform various routines, and was soon practicing harder maneuvers, like Cuban 8s, Immelmanns and hesitation rolls.

Hoover graduated from high school in 1940. On his eighteenth birthday, he joined the Tennessee Air National Guard. He was a tail-gunner trainee in the 105th Observation Squadron.

"I wasn't eligible to go to the Air Corps flying school, because I hadn't turned 21 and didn't have the requisite two years of college," he explained.

Still, some of the officers let him fly the dual-control Douglas O-38s, and he continued to buy flying time with the few dollars he earned in the Guard. In the meantime, World War II had begun. Although the United States hadn't officially entered the conflict, the Tennessee National Guard lived up to the state's reputation as the "Volunteer State," and after requesting the privilege, went on active duty in September 1940. Hoover's squadron was soon transferred to Columbia, S.C., where it was meshed into the Army Air Corps.

A change in regulations appeared to be the answer to Hoover's dream of flying in combat and, ultimately, becoming an ace.

"They lowered the age to become a pilot from 21 to 18," he said. "The squadron's commanding officer gave me an opportunity to become a second lieutenant and a pilot in the Air Guard. However, I found out that if I went through his routine to become a military pilot, I would have an 'S' in my wings, which would mean 'service' pilot, not combat."

"I wanted to be a fighter pilot in the worst way," he said.

Shorter pilots were likely to go to fighter training and taller ones to bombers and transports. At six feet, two inches, Hoover definitely had a problem, as did a short friend, who wanted to go to transports but had been given a fighter assignment. The two developed a plan and visited a sergeant in the personnel office.

"I slipped a 20-dollar bill to him and said, 'He wants transports and I want fighters. Just switch those names, and everybody will be happy.' That's how I became a fighter pilot," Hoover said.

Hoover reported to the 20th Fighter Group, stationed at Drew Field, Tampa, Fla. After training in the single-engine AT-6 trainer, he advanced to the P-40 and the P-39 Airacobra. He was soon putting the "Widow Maker" through a series of loops, rolls and spins.

When Hoover was transferred to the European theater, although he was just a sergeant, he was placed in charge of 67 pilots, both officers and enlisted men. He arrived in England in December 1942. His unit was sent to Atcham airfield, near the small town of Stone, north of London. There, they flew British Spitfires.

In a ceremony in December 1942, Hoover and the other enlisted pilots, who hadn't received officer commissions, were designated flight officers, a rank equivalent to an Army warrant officer.

Africa

Two months after the Allies' November 1942 invasion of North Africa, Hoover's outfit was transferred there. He thought he was finally going to combat, and wasn't happy when he found they were headed to a supply depot in Mediouna, assigned to a replacement pilots' pool.

A few days after their arrival, the commanding officer, Col. John Stevenson, announced that a French major would be delivering and demonstrating a brand-new Lockheed P-38 Lightning. Although he had never flown the single-seater, twin-engine, twin-boom fighter before, Hoover had more twin-engine time than anyone else, and was told to put the plane through maneuvers after the initial display. Determined to outperform the major, Hoover put the Lightning through a series of low-altitude aerobatics.

"I was shutting down one engine and rolling into it, which is a no-no," he said. "Then I started up again, and shut the other one down and rolled in that direction. Then I started to do things with just one engine. When I landed, the colonel reprimanded me in front of everybody. He said, 'Young man, I want to see you in my office, immediately.' I thought, 'He's going to ground me.' When I knocked on the door, he yelled, 'Come in,' and by the time I got through the door, he was out of his seat and had his hand stuck out. He said, 'Young man, I've never seen anything like that in my life! I have 300 hours in that airplane; I'd kill myself if I tried to do that!"

He officially grounded Hoover from that airplane. But at places including Oran and Oujda, Morocco, he became familiar with the new P-40 and the P-39, and tested Spitfires and Hurricanes. Although he was unhappy with his assignment, he later regarded it as a great learning experience.

"Flying so many airplanes gave me invaluable abilities," he said. "I had every kind of emergency you could think of, and I learned to be quick in my thinking."

He also became skilled at test-firing weapons, perfecting his talent until he could hit targets upside down and do four perfect consecutive round loops, accurately firing at targets at the bottom of each loop. During testing, Hoover had a couple of narrow escapes, but his most serious incident up to that point occurred in the Vultee Vengeance A-3 1, a light attack bomber. During a routine test flight, torching occurred; fire spewed out around the cowling next to the exhaust stacks each time the landing gear was lowered and the throttle was reduced to idle.

As Hoover tried to land, an explosion blew out the bomb-bay doors. The plane was completely engulfed in flames. Hoover told his mechanic to jump, but when he did, his parachute harness caught on the stowed .30-caliber machine-gun mount in the rear cockpit.

Hoover rolled the plane and shook the sergeant loose, but by that time, Hoover was too low to parachute. He added full power and rolled the plane from its inverted position, extinguishing the fire. Then he climbed to 10,000 feet, shut off the fuel supply and dead-sticked back toward the field. On final approach, the aircraft burst into flames. Hoover set it down, jumped out and ran.

The Distinguished Flying Cross

While training in Florida, Hoover had become good friends with Tom Watts, another P-39 pilot, who was from Globe, Ariz. By early 1943, Watts was with the 52nd Fighter Group, in Palermo, Sicily. Hoover hoped to get his chance to join the group when he met Major Marvin McNickle, on his way to taking over the 52nd FG, and shared his disappointment at not being in combat. McNickle said that if Hoover could get a transfer, he'd back up his request.

But Hoover was ordered to report to the 12th Air Corps headquarters in Algiers, which was organizing a ferry command. Their commander, Colonel Eppwright, had requested Hoover for his operations officer. Hoover was disappointed to find that he would be checking out pilots in airplanes and later, leading them in a North American B-25 Mitchell bomber to airstrips on the fighting front. He would also be bringing pilots back to Algiers to pick up planes that would replace those lost in combat.

After piloting a B-25 bomber to lead six P-40 fighters to Licata, following the invasion of Sicily, Hoover complained to a two-star general, Joe Cannon.

"I told him I'd just led these airplanes from Africa and about everything else I'd done," Hoover recalled. "I said, 'All I ever wanted was combat. I have enough time now to go home, but I don't want to go home. I came here to fight!'"

Hoover also told him about McNickle's invitation to join his group, if he could get a transfer. Cannon said he'd try to help. Hoover later discovered that Eppwright had stalled an order for his transfer.

"He told me I'd probably be shot down, and that he was just trying to save my life," Hoover remembered. "He said that if I stuck with him, I'd be quickly promoted, and before the war was over, I'd have any assignment I wanted."

Finally, Eppwright told Hoover he could leave, after he checked someone out in the B-25 to take over his responsibilities. The next day, he received copies of his transfer orders. Not wanting to give Eppwright a chance to reconsider, Hoover headed for Boco de Falco Air Base at Palermo for the B-25 check ride.

"Palermo had just fallen into our hands," Hoover recalled. "I put my footlocker in the back end of that B-25, and I got in the pilot seat. These fellas said, 'Where are we going?' I said, 'Palermo.' When we got to Palermo, I took my footlocker out and said, 'Fellas, you're checked out. So long!'"

4th Fighter Squadron, 52nd Fighter Group

Hoover joined the 52nd Fighter Group in September 1943. Assigned to the 4th Fighter Squadron, his initial duties involved escorting Allied ship convoys carrying supplies. The newly designated combat pilot was disappointed that those excursions never resulted in dogfights with the enemy.

But Hoover became a hero when the squadron was offered a shot-up B-26 Martin Marauder, if someone could retrieve the plane from a short stretch of beach in the Straits of Messina. No one felt they could get the plane airborne, because it was in a narrow, obstructed area.

The challenge intrigued Hoover. He and a mechanic flew an L-4 reconnaissance plane to look at the bomber, which they found on a 1,000-foot crescent-shaped stretch of sand that had a 12-foot drop-off to the water at one end.

Hoover had studied manuals describing the plane's capabilities and knew they would need to lighten the aircraft. Two days later, the mechanic and a crew of 10 men began removing the copilot's seat, most of the instruments and everything else that wasn't essential to fly the plane.

The recovery effort took more than a month. On takeoff, Hoover had less than 100 gallons of fuel. With about four feet of clearance on each side of 600 feet of steel matting now covering the sandy beach, and a 300-foot extension of chicken wire beyond that, he was able to lift the nose of the B-26 and head toward Palermo. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his effort.

When orders came for the 52nd to relocate to Corsica, Hoover was told to fly an Italian Fiat to the new base. The vintage World War I aircraft had been discovered behind a damaged hangar, and Hoover and some of the base mechanics had restored the single-seat, high-wing monoplane. Traveling to Corsica in the aircraft was tricky, since he had only a float compass and no navigational aids. But he finally saw the southern tip of Sardinia.

"The Italian Air Force had surrendered, but these people didn't have anybody to surrender to," he recalled. "I landed, and they said, 'We surrender.' I said, 'I can't accept this. I have to be up in Corsica; all I'm asking for is some fuel and something to eat.'"

As Hoover neared the edge of the island, a flight of P-38s thought he was an enemy plane.

"They were going so fast, they couldn't slow down to shoot at me," he said. "I wagged the wings and pointed to the American insignia on the side of the airplane."

It won't happen to me

On Jan. 24, 1944, Hoover's twenty-second birthday, he lost his roommate and best friend. After being shot down near the coast of Calvi, Corsica, Tom Watts had successfully bailed out of his Spitfire. But high winds dragged his parachute into a reef of rocks offshore, and he drowned. It wasn't the first fatality for his band of men, but it hit Hoover the hardest.

A little over two weeks later, on Feb. 9, 1944, Hoover, who had been promoted to flight leader, took off from Calvi. He was heading a four-plane-formation of Spitfires on a mission to patrol the waters off the Italian and French coasts, between Cannes and Genoa.

Hoover was flying Black 3, a Supermarine Spitfire Mk. Vc, on a harassment mission to search and destroy enemy ships and trains. After Hoover and his fellow pilots had successfully destroyed a German freighter in the harbor near Savona, Italy, they flew back to base to refuel and then returned to patrol.

When Hoover caught sight of four German Focke-Wulf 190s, he called out their position. One of the FW-190s was on the tail of James "Monty" Montgomery, a friend who had been shot down a few months earlier and had spent three days in a life raft before being rescued. Hoover frantically called for Montgomery to break left to avoid gunfire. He knew he would need all the speed he could get, so he had to get rid of his aircraft's external fuel tank.

"That's high drag," he said. "It really slows the airplane down. I had only 1,100 horsepower and was capable of doing only 215 mph. The airplanes I had engaged had capability of 350 mph. It's like racing a Model T Ford with a Cadillac."

But when Hoover pulled the handle that would release the external fuel tank, the handle came off in his hand. With the Spitfire's superior turning ability now his only defense, he headed straight for a German fighter. He spat out a burst of .50 caliber gunfire and then saw billows of smoke streaming through the sky.

He had his first kill of the war, but had no time to celebrate. Montgomery had been hit, and Hoover watched his aircraft burst into flames. Now, two FW-190s were after Hoover. As he dove left, he noticed that his two friends had veered off and left him to fend for himself.

Not being able to release the external fuel tank seemed unlucky at the time, but now it made Hoover's Spitfire so slow that the F-190s overshot him. When two more enemy aircraft turned in toward him, Hoover fired and hit one of the FW-190s. Just when he thought he might escape, shells hit his engine cowling from underneath. An enemy fighter had hit him with a high-angle deflection shot.

"I saw this airplane, 90 degrees out here, and I just ignored it," Hoover recalled. "How could you ever get an angle shot like that?"

Hoover felt severe pain shoot through his lower body as another FW-190 closed in on him. The enemy pilot must've thought Hoover had no firepower, because he swooped under Hoover and pulled up in front of his nose. Hoover shot a burst of gunfire, but seconds later, the Spitfire's engine exploded, and a ball of flames engulfed the aircraft's nose.

"I called and told the British patroller, 'I'm going down at sea, so alert the Dumbos (Walrus amphibian rescue planes) to start flying,'" he recalled.

He opened the cockpit, released his shoulder and seat straps, rolled the plane and pulled his parachute's ripcord. The parachute didn't open until three or four hundred feet above the water. His life vest, riddled with shrapnel, wouldn't inflate, and when he hit the cold water, he felt immense pain in his lower body.

As he floated in the icy water, about 20 miles off the coast of Nice, France, he saw four Spitfires approach. When a group of FW-190s swooped down on them, one Spitfire was shot down and the others turned away. After four hours in the water, Hoover was picked up by a German corvette.

Prisoner of war

At Nice, France, German guards took Hoover to a local jail. Even though he was searched, he wasn't given medical attention for his shrapnel wounds.

"Fragments of metal got into the backs of my legs and my private parts," he said. "It wasn't anything at that time; they were just flesh wounds."

Hoover was transported to the Continental Hotel in Cannes, headquarters for German officers. There, to all questions, Hoover answered as he'd been taught: "Robert A. Hoover, flight officer, 20443029." After days of lengthy, futile interrogation, he was transported to the southern coast of France, near Marseilles. There, he made his first of several escape attempts. When he was caught, he was confined to a dark basement cell.

He was then herded into a train compartment, and was soon heading north, toward Switzerland. Near the border, Hoover slipped out a small bathroom window and made his way along the tracks. He heard gunshots, and guards soon surrounded him.

When they arrived at the German Luftwaffe interrogation headquarters at Oberursel, north of Frankfurt, Hoover was put in solitary confinement. Over the next week, he would be questioned several times, but was still obstinate. One day, as he stood before a bullet-riddled cement wall, a frustrated German captain addressed him.

"You still have a chance," the captain said, and Hoover responded, "Robert A. Hoover, flight officer, 20443029."

"When they stood me against the wall, I thought, 'Well, it won't hurt for very long,'" he recalled.

As Hoover waited for the end, the captain said something to the Germans, who dropped their guns. Once back inside, the captain addressed him again, asking why he continued to be stubborn, since they already had information on him and knowledge of his aircraft from gun camera film. After repeatedly giving his name, rank and serial number, Hoover was returned to his cell. The Germans eventually did learn additional information about him, and Hoover was furious to know someone wasn't able to hold his tongue.

Hoover became even more determined to escape. After one attempt, he was kicked repeatedly, resulting in head and facial injuries that left permanent scars. The Germans still hadn't offered to treat his other injuries, which were now infected. Finally, an interrogator told him to drop his trousers. His swollen testicles and red, inflamed groin led the interrogator to believe Hoover had syphilis.

"I thought, 'Maybe I do!' I'd been having a lot of fun," Hoover chuckled. "But it was actually blood poisoning. They didn't treat me until I got to the main prison camp."

The next day, Hoover and other POWs were stuffed into a boxcar in the marshaling yards near Frankfurt.

"The British were bombing the marshaling yards," he said. "One of the British POWs had been the lead navigator on some night flights a few weeks before. He said, 'I say, old chaps, it looks like we've had it. We're the target.' Everybody was praying; bombs were bursting all over the place. The guards went to the air raid shelters and left us there to die."

Although those in his boxcar were unhurt, one car exploded, killing everyone inside. The prisoners finally arrived at Stalag Luft 1 in Barth. Double 10-foot barbed-wire fences surrounded individual compounds, while a similar fence enclosed the entire camp. POWs were aware that if they crossed a "warning wire," they would be shot. Searchlights, mounted on the guard towers, illuminated the entire area.

An obsessive pursuit of freedom

Guards boasted that no one had ever escaped from Stalag 1, but Hoover and many fellow "Kriegies" continued their "obsessive pursuit of freedom." He tried to escape at least 25 times, and as a result, spent a lot of time in solitary confinement.

Sometimes, while in confinement, Hoover talked through the walls to other prisoners. One was Col. Russ Spicer, who became an inspiration to his fellow POWs. Within earshot of German officers, he had given a bold speech about Nazi atrocities and reminded the prisoners not to get friendly with their captors.

"Russ was my hero," Hoover said.

In early spring 1945, Allied Supreme Commander Gen. Dwight Eisenhower believed the war was almost over. He issued orders to POWs.

"He told the soldiers that were going out on missions to pass the word: POWs were not to escape after a certain date," Hoover recalled.

By that time, 10,000 prisoners were held at Stalag I. It was a significant increase over the 1,200 who were there when he arrived. Despite Eisenhower's directive, Hoover and others still devised ways to escape.

"I had been on an escape committee," Hoover explained. "We'd been trying for so long. We were dedicated, digging tunnels and running at the fence. I once got caught hanging on the barbed wire, with dogs nipping at my feet. I really was scared, but I'd been working so hard at it, and I wasn't about to quit."

In April 1945, the Russians were getting closer, and German guards started deserting. Hoover had been a POW for more than 15 months. His partners in his latest escape scheme were Jerry Ennis, from the 52nd Fighter Group, and a Canadian airman named George.

"We found a board underneath one of the buildings," Hoover said. "A bunch of people who had worked on the escape committee created a diversion. They started a fight on one side of the compound, so the guards were all looking over there. We ran out with this plank, put it up over the top of the fence and climbed out."

The prison camp was located on a peninsula that jutted into the Baltic Sea. The three escapees went through the woods and gathered wood and grapevines for a raft.

"Jerry was on the raft," Hoover recalled. "He held our clothes while we were in that cold water, pushing this thing across. We had to go about 2,000 feet, before we could get to the other side of the little inlet. When we got over there, the Canadian thought he'd be better off by himself."

Hoover and Ennis spent the night at a deserted German farmhouse, under hay in the barn. The next morning, they stole bicycles from a small village.

"We kept heading west and landed in the middle of the Russian lines," Hoover said. "They were still fighting the Germans. It was a slaughter."

As Allies, Hoover and Ennis spent the night with a group of Russian soldiers. Ennis spoke fluent French and was able to communicate with some French-speaking Russians. The next day, another group of drunk, friendly Russian soldiers stopped them at a nearby village and invited them to a local church. Later, at another German village, a distraught elderly woman with a bloody cloth wrapped around her hand asked Hoover and Ennis if they were Americans.

"The Russians had cut off her finger to get her wedding ring," Hoover recalled.

The woman led them to an area where they found many victims whose throats had been slit, then another spot where hundreds more had suffered the same fate.

"The Russians showed no mercy," Hoover said.

While Hoover and Ennis traveled, they avoided revealing that they had been POWs.

"The Russians believed if you were captured, you were a collaborator," Hoover said. "We knew the Russian philosophy by then, so if they asked what had happened to us, I would say, 'We were shot down over Berlin, and we've been evading ever since.'"

The two men eventually ended up in a walled compound of farmhouses, where more than 50 people were staying. Most were French, who had been forced into labor camps when France fell to Germany and were now trying to flee the Russians.

"These people were all trying to get back home," he said. "Since Jerry could speak French, they opened their arms to us."

That night, as Ennis and Hoover slept in a hayloft, a tank broke through the wall of the compound.

We could hear them speaking Russian," Hoover remembered. "They were looking for people and anything they could take. They came into the barn, and I heard somebody scream. They were poking the hay with a pitchfork. When they finally came near us, we stood up and held up our hands. Jerry started speaking in French. Eventually, we found somebody who understood a little bit. We said we were Allies and had been evading, and we were trying to get back to our lines. They killed almost everybody else."

Up, up and away?

When Hoover and Ennis left that area, they came across an abandoned Luftwaffe air base, just inside Germany's border. The base was deserted, except for a few ground crew. As the men looked for an aircraft that might be flyable, they were surprised to be totally ignored. They discovered at least 25 Focke-Wulf 190s, but none were airworthy.

"They were all shot up," Hoover said. "I finally came to one that had a lot of holes in it, but not in any of the vital organs."

Although he had never flown a Focke-Wulf 190, Hoover had learned about the aircraft from a fellow POW, Gus Lundquist, who had gone to England to evaluate captured German airplanes.

"He talked one of the lead generals into letting him fly a mission, and was shot down," Hoover said. "One day, I told him that I wanted to go to Wright Field after I got out, and he said, 'I'm from Wright Field!' When we'd have an opportunity, he'd sketch in the dirt where everything was."

The men made plans to use the plane, but Ennis had decided not to fly out with Hoover.

"He never wanted to fly again," Hoover said.

When a mechanic noticed the men, Hoover motioned him closer with a gun he'd acquired during their travels. They discovered that the German could speak French.

"Jerry told him that if he didn't help me get airborne, he'd kill him," Hoover said. "I got in the cockpit and the German helped me get the engine going. The fuel gauge was full and the engine ran up nicely."

Realizing that the Germans could shoot at him as he took off, Hoover closed the canopy, opened the throttle full power and went across the grass field to the runway.

"I got airborne and pulled the gear up," he remembered. "The stupidity of what I was doing hit me. I thought, 'Here I am in a German airplane, without a parachute.'"

Since he was flying a plane with a swastika painted on the side, the Allies might take aim as well.

It was overcast at about 4,000 feet," he said. "I pulled up to the bottom of that overcast, so I wouldn't be a target."

Hoover headed north until he saw the North Sea.

"I didn't have any maps or charts," he said. "I knew that if I turned west and followed the shoreline, I would be safe when I saw windmills, because the Dutch hated the Germans."

He followed the coastline to the liberated Zuider Zee in Holland. When he saw windmill, he looked for somewhere to get fuel.

"I had passed over some airfields that appeared to be deserted, but I knew that deserted runways were often mined," he said.

He found a field and decided to land, but hit a ditch he hadn't spotted from the air.

"I ground-looped it and wiped the landing gear out," he said.

Hoover was disappointed.

"I wanted to get the plane back to England," he said.

As darkness approached, he remembered seeing a road past some trees.

"I thought if I walked to that road, maybe a military vehicle would come along," he said. "Just as I got ready to go into the trees, farmers with pitchforks came at me from all sides. They thought I was a German. They couldn't speak English, so I kept pointing towards the other side of the trees, and they took me there. I stopped an English truck. I said, 'I'm an American, but they think I'm a German!' This fella said, 'Get in here with us.'"

Hoover grins and says that later, everybody considered him a hero.

"People made it sound like a great escape, but the guards had deserted us," he said.

According to Hoover, in the two weeks before the Americans liberated the camp on April 30, 1945, about 200 POWs actually escaped.

"General Eisenhower was correct," he said. "We would've been safer to stay there. It was the dumbest thing I've ever done."

Hoover doesn't know of anyone else who flew an enemy plane out of Germany.

[bobbysocks]

Lt. William C. Florentine Jr.

We took off the morning of November 13, 1943, joined up, went to Bremen, Germany, joining the bombers at the coast. They had just finished their bomb run when we were jumped by 250 enemy fighters. I never have seen so damn many airplanes, the wrong kind with the wrong markings, in my whole life! They attacked us like a swarm of locust or bees. Someway or another we, Karl Garlock my wingman and Joe Marsiglia, our flight leader, got separated from the rest of the (sqdn.) formation. We engaged the enemy. I ended up all alone. I found out later that we lost seven P-38s. Of that seven I was one of three that was not killed. I started a climb to get back to my unit when I saw pink tracers going by either side of my cockpit. The cockpit filled with smoke so that I couldn't see so I wound down the windows and the smoke cleared. My right engine quit and I feathered it. I glanced up in my rear vision mirror and saw a Me-109 firing at me and lined up with him were four more 109s! No matter what I did I was cold meat on the table! I put my plane in a dive, but not fast enough, and the 109 put a 20 mm shell into the armor plate directly behind my back. I decided that was enough! I pulled the canopy release handle and pulled out of my dive at about 4500 feet. I had started at about 23,000 feet. I crawled out on the wing and hooked my toes on the window sill and at the propitious moment straightened out and left the airplane. I stupidly had been buckling my chute under my Mae West instead of over it. When I pulled the ripcord and the chute opened, the mae west was forced up under my nose so that I couldn't see zip. I heard the roar of the Me-109 going around me. Hell, I thought I was for it now, he was going to shoot me. I probably gave him a bit of humor in his busy life at the Front because I was trying to get the Mae West down from around my face so I could see what the hell was going on. I tried to turn the chute 180 degrees around so that I would have the wind to my back. I hit in a plowed beet field in Holland I found out later. I sat down real hard, hitting butt first and ramming my knees into my chest. I felt a snap in my lower back and the pain was excruciating. I laid flat on my back thinking I might have broken my back. I sat up and the Me-109 was still circling me. He flew by so close I could see his face and he saluted me and buzzed off. He had been busy all this time notifying some Germans at the border station of my location.

I got to my feet and tried to give six or eight Hollanders my parachute but they would have none of it. I walked to a hut at the edge of the field and took off my tank, bib-type, coveralls and my winter flying boots that I wore over my shoes. I looked to my left and there was this huge dumb looking German soldier with a rifle in his hands. He said, in German and with no expression on his face, to come with him. He bundled me into a motorcycle sidecar and put my chute and flying boots on top of me and we drove down a red brick road, about a quarter of a mile to a German border station. I was treated with respect but notified that I was a prisoner and that for me the war was over. I was placed in a brick cell, in a WW I era building by an old man. It was afternoon by now and I started to go into shock. I started perspiring profusely and getting chills. They gave me some ersatz coffee and a slice of bread. At dinner I was given soup, 2 slices of bread and a cup of ersatz coffee. I was terribly cold and they heaped greatcoats over me. The following morning, Sunday, at 10 AM, a big German 1 /Lt. and three soldiers in a recon vehicle arrived and told me to sit up on the back of the seat. The Lt. drove and that son-of-a-gun drove under every low overhanging limb he could, trying to knock me off! I was kept busy ducking limbs of trees, etc. I didn't know it but they were taking me to an Me-110 station outside of Rheine. On the way we looked at a crashed P-38, not mine. We stuck in the mud and he broke the drive train trying to get out, all the time glaring at me as though it was my fault. We ended up walking a mile across a field to some red brick building surrounded by barbed wire. I believe it was a political prisoner prison. I was left at a guard house where they took my cigarettes but allowed me to keep some chewing gum. I asked for water, which they gave me. There were a group of soldiers and some women all playing cards and seemed to be enjoying themselves. At dark a two door Opel vehicle arrived and I was told to get into the back seat with a big burly soldier who kept calling me "gangster" and "Chicago gangster". Again the Lt. drove and he kept getting lost. He didn't know where we were. We eventually got to the Me-110 station near Rheine where I was interrogated from about 05:30 PM to about 08:30. They found my compass and the silk maps in the webbing of my tank jacket. They showed me the passport photo of Gene Stephens. He was one of the four who was killed and they wanted to know who he was because the body had no head when they found it. He had been on fire because the lower left corner of the photograph was scorched. I told them I did not know who he was. I just gave them my name, rank and horse power, (serial no.). They took me to the mess hall which was closed. As we approached the mess hall we passed an Me-110 pilot who saluted me and I returned the salute. The guards got me some bread, table margarine, sausage, and ersatz coffee. I didn't eat the margarine because it tasted badly. The guard insisted I eat the margarine. I motioned that I did not like it. He insisted I eat it, he had a gun, I ate it. I was taken to the front gate guard house where I spent the night sitting up. I was invited to sleep in the guard's bunk room but I couldn't stand the stench so I declined. The guards permitted me to sit up all night then. About 05:30 AM I was given something to eat and placed on a bus that took me and my guard to a railroad station.

We arrived during an air raid. We went into a shelter with civilians and some Hitler Youths, pompous little asses who strutted and preened - really comical. The all clear sounded and we boarded the train and headed for Frankfurt. We arrived at Frankfurt and the guard didn't want to take me on the electric train because he was afraid of having trouble with the civilians. We walked to an interurban electric street car and while walking I noticed the pale, thin look of the civilians. It was quite apparent that they were not getting enough to eat. We boarded the electric car and arrived at Oberursel where I was placed in cell no. 23. There I was interrogated by two different individuals. One was a school teacher from Leipzig, a gentle man. During the next two weeks, they told me all sorts of amazing personal things about me, such as: where I was born, who my parents were, that I had a brother in the navy, where I went to school and what flying schools I'd attended and even my graduating class in the Air Corps. I believe if they had the sense to use it properly they would have gone farther in making a dent in our military capabilities than they did.

I was taken with a number of other prisoners and spent about a week in a transit camp, (Wetzlar). We were loaded on a train for our permanent camp at Barth, Germany, Stalag Luft I. I arrived on the 10th of December 1943 and spent the remainder of my eighteen months of incarceration there. The trip took 4 days and nights and we were each given one half of a Red Cross food parcel. We slept on benches, under benches and on luggage racks, anywhere we could. The toilet facility was a hole in the floor at the end of the car. The filth and stench was terrible with four days of travel. We walked from the railroad station at Barth to the camp. My time at Barth was an incredible experience that I wouldn't want to go through again, but wouldn't trade for anything. It taught me a lot about human nature and my fellow man. The Germans left on the 28th of April 1945 and on the 29th the Russians showed up.

Robert N. Jensen

I joined the 338th Fighter Squadron at Portland, Oregon in April 1943. I had graduated from flying school at Williams Field, Arizona with cadet class 43-D. That fall the 55th Ftr. Grp. was shipped to England. I had about 175 hours in the P-38, none of it in preparation for high altitude bomber escort. A few hours transition time in our new planes in England and we went into combat. I have no excuse for being shot down on my 12th mission, but I do feel we had far too little training and were rushed into combat because we had planes capable of long range missions, something sorely needed at that time.

I was tail end Charlie in a three ship flight with Chas. Beall as flight leader and Bill Shank as his wingman on Nov. 13, 1943. The mission was bomber escort, target Bremen, Germany. Before we caught up with the bombers I lost the left engine and dropped out of the flight. I was attacked by a twin engine German fighter but managed to avoid significant damage and may have destroyed him as he went into the clouds smoking. I tried to head for England in the clouds but broke out with an Me-109 on my tail. He set my plane on fire and I bailed out.

I was burned about the face and neck and had shrapnel wounds in my left leg and arm before I bailed out. The chute was damaged by burning bits of my clothing after it opened but I landed relatively softly, a few Kilometers inside Germany straight east of Amsterdam.

I was picked up by German civilians immediately since I could not walk or run. I was taken to a rural schoolhouse where I was picked up that night by German soldiers in a truck. I was taken to a prison in Lingen, Ems, Germany where I received treatment by a French prisoner doctor and received no medical treatment from Germans.

While I was at the prison the only Red Cross medical parcel ever received there came in. It contained some type of sulfa powder. The French doctor used part of the sulfa on the infected leg of an American navigator and part on my face which had become infected. I suspect that my life was saved by that Red Cross medical parcel. After about two months I was able to travel and six of us American prisoners were taken to the interrogation center near Frankfurt. The train trip through the Ruhr Valley was at night and rather exciting as the city we went through was being bombed by the British. Upon arrival at the interrogation center I was placed in a small cell in solitary confinement, as were all prisoners.

The cells were small rooms about 6 by 8 feet in one story wood buildings. The one window was covered by an outside wooden shutter. The door was an ordinary wood door with a hasp and padlock on the outside. I remained at the interrogation center for about a week, and was interrogated about once each day. A guard would bring me from the cell to the interrogation office. The man who interrogated me spoke excellent American with no trace of accent. He was a small man and appeared to be forty or fifty years old. He was always polite and offered me a cigarette each session.

The first time he questioned me he was under the impression I was a bomber pilot and kept asking me what happened to my other crew members. I did nothing to make him think otherwise, but by the second or third session he knew who I was and what outfit I belonged to and the last time I saw him he showed me an aerial photograph of Nuthampstead and pointed out my Nissen hut. He then told me that since I had been shot down for over two months I had no current knowledge and would be released from interrogation and sent to a prison camp. I'm sure he learned a lot by watching my expressions when he told me of others from my squadron who had been shot down, and other intelligence tidbits. I wasn't treated badly except that I was refused medical treatment. One wound in my leg was infected and it worried me. I was told that as soon as I answered questions properly I would be sent to Dulag Luft where I could get medical treatment.

While at the interrogation centre I tried to escape. I had been given the liner to a heated flying suit to wear and I took the electrical connector from the suit apart. I used a piece of metal from the connector to slip through the window shutter and raise the outside latch. A Russian prisoner working on the grounds outside the building saw me and made his way to the window. He gave me a cigarette and two matches, but let me know that I could not get outside the grounds in that direction. I next used the metal piece to take the hinge pins out and had just opened the door on its hasp when I heard the guard walk out to the main hallway. Just as I got out of the cell the guard returned. So much for that.

At Dulag Luft, which was a holding camp where prisoners were kept until sent to a permanent prison camp, I was given clothing and a Red Cross personal care kit which consisted of a razor, blades, soap, toothbrush, tooth powder and a comb. I don't recall more than that. The camp was run by American prisoners under German control, with a mess hall, medical personnel and bomb shelters. It was truly a bit of heaven after the interrogation centre and the prison. After a week or so, a boxcar load of us were shipped to Stalag Luft I at Barth, Germany, where I spent the rest of the war.

The train ride to Barth was not especially enjoyable. The boxcar was crowded and had none of the usually considered necessary amenities. We stopped several times, for from one hour or so to several. Usually when we stopped the guards would open the doors but we were not allowed out. There were no sanitary provisions except buckets which were emptied by prisoner volunteers when we stopped. Drinking water was provided, and we had taken food from Dulag Luft, so it wasn't as bad as some other stories I've heard. We left on Jan. 17, and arrived in Barth on Jan. 20, 1944. We passed through Berlin on the way, but of course couldn't see anything as there were no windows or holes to look through.

On arrival at Barth we were marched to the camp. As we entered the gate I saw a former cadet classmate who recognized me. He told me which barracks he was in and I managed to get myself assigned to that barracks, number 1, just inside the gate and just across from the German offices, the hospital, the "cooler" and the Russian prisoner barracks.

Stalag Luft I had been entirely populated by British airmen before the Americans started coming in. A short time after I arrived an American colonel came in and since he outranked the British camp commander, he took over. There was a rather loose military organization inside the barbed wire. Each barracks was a squadron, with a squadron commander and a small staff. The Germans allowed us to run the camp as long as we obeyed their instructions. A typical day started with outdoor morning roll call by the German guards, then breakfast. Occasionally we would be kept outside after roll call while the barracks was searched. The usual reason for a search was to find escape tunnel entrances, locate forbidden items, or to see that rations were not being stored up in preparation for an escape attempt.

When Red Cross food parcels were available we ate fairly well. When that supply was interrupted we got by on German rations. These usually consisted of hot cereal and ersatz coffee in the morning, a slice of bread with oleomargarine or jam at lunch with more ersatz coffee, and thin soup with another slice of dark bread at night. Occasionally we were given horse meat, rutabagas or potatoes. There was a communal kitchen where the German rations were prepared, then delivered to the various barracks. Any other food, including that from Red Cross food parcels, was prepared in the barracks rooms, usually on makeshift stoves and using homemade pots, pans and dishes. There were times when we had no Red Cross food parcels. At that time the camp kitchen put out soup or barley each day at noon. The barley was in the form of a boiled whole-grain cereal, and was sent to each block (barracks) in five gallon cans. The block ration officer rationed it out to each room, and when ready, he gave the call, "Barley up!". This brought an avalanche of hungry Kriegies storming down the hall with every available can or bowl. The barley was eaten with salt as a soup, or if sugar was to be had, it was eaten as a cereal, or made into a pudding or cake.

Red Cross food parcels were supposed to be provided on a basis of one per week but we seldom got them regularly. After the Germans left and we took over the camp, just before the war ended, we discovered a lot of evidence of Red Cross food parcels at the Flak Training School near our camp. This confirmed our suspicions that some of the food parcels were consumed by the Germans. We also occasionally got Canadian or British Red Cross food parcels. An American parcel contained:

12 oz. Spam
2 oz. Instant coffee
12 oz. Canned corned beef
16 oz. Powdered milk (Klim)
6 oz. Liver pate
8 oz. Sugar
8 oz. Canned salmon
16 oz. Raisins or prunes
8 oz. Cheese (Velveeta)
8 oz. Chocolate (D ration bar)
4 oz. Jam or marmalade
4 oz. Soap
8 Biscuits
100 Cigarettes
16 oz. Oleomargarine
7 Vitamin tablets

In addition to the Red Cross parcels we sometimes received personal parcels or cigarette parcels sent from home, but this was pretty rare. Cigarettes were a medium of exchange and non-smokers who got them were considered rich. Some prices were:



D Ration bar (chocolate) 50
Spam 90
Corned beef 70
Liver pate 30
Salmon 35
Sugar (8 oz.) 50
oleomargarine 50
Jam 40
Cheese 60
Biscuits 60
Prunes 50
Raisins 70
Powdered milk 120
Instant coffee 60
Bouillon cubes (6) 30
Sardines 20

Occasionally prisoners would put on a show with original music, terrific acting and a lot of talent. Some sports equipment was provided by American support organizations so the sports minded could do their thing. A rather scantily supplied library provided some reading material. Some prisoners provided classes in one thing or another. Card playing was probably the most common pastime. Beds were straw filled mattresses on wooden bunks. Much time was spent fashioning necessities such as pots, pans and dishes out of tin cans or whatever was available. Ingenious contraptions for cooking, lighting and housekeeping proliferated.

Bedtime came early in the cold winter months since fuel was scarce and lights even more so. Guards with dogs patrolled outside the barracks and when window shutters were open on warm summer evenings the dogs would sometimes attempt to visit. A bath house provided infrequent showers. Laundry was done by hand when water was available. When I first arrived at the camp separate latrine buildings were in use but one indoor facility was installed in our barracks about a year later.

We were liberated by the Russians at war's end.