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.
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