It would seem that our final flight on Thursday, June 29, 1944 was, indeed, jinxed from the beginning. We supposedly were "standing down," but at the last minute were called to fly this mission. At the time we were awakened, around three A.M., none of us were enthusiastic about flying on such short notice. We quickly dressed and rode our bicycles over to the mess hall to eat. After eating, we went to get our flying equipment and dressed for the flight. We were pressed for time, and rather than change into a flying suit, I simply put my electric suit over my dress uniform, and went to mission briefing.

In mission briefing, we learned of our target (JU 88 plant and airfield at Aschersleben, Germany), route of flight, enemy opposition, etc. We were driven away from the briefing room to where our aircraft was on the hardstand (parking area). We were one man short because the enlisted men had informed me that Sgt. Thomas Hansbury, our tail gunner, had been on guard duty the night before. The thought of placing a combat crew member on guard duty and then expecting him to fly the next day was irritating to me, and I had the word passed along to Hansbury to remain in the barracks and I would credit him as being on this mission. I suppose he was put on guard duty because we weren't scheduled to fly the next day. At any rate, it didn't set well with me to put a combat crewman on guard duty, which could have been performed just as well by base personnel. Sgt. Robert Fisher took Hansbury's place as tail gunner and the ball turret was left in the retracted position.

After performing our normal pre-mission and pre-flight duties, we sat in the aircraft waiting for the green "go" flare from the tower. We maintained complete radio silence between all planes and the control tower, to reduce information available to the enemy. When we got the signal to go, we taxied out in our proper slot and took position on the runway. It was here, as we started take-off roll, that I looked out to my left and saw our Chaplain standing at the edge of the runway. He gave us a combination salute and "God be with you" motion and we were rolling down the runway 20 seconds behind the preceding aircraft.

Our take-off was to the southwest and we were on instruments almost as soon as we were airborne. We made our left turn to climb north bound until reaching on top of the clouds where we would be assembling for the trip over the continent. Our nose wheel had failed to retract and I sent Sgt. Harris Davis, our engineer, down into the nose gear compartment to make manual adjustments to enable the nose gear to retract. After some difficulty, he got the nose gear up and in place, and we continued our climb through the clouds. If we had been unable to retract the nose gear, we would have had to abort the mission. The hand of fate was, indeed, laying heavy upon our shoulders!

We, as well as all other aircraft, were unable to reach on top conditions and therefore started assembly between layers of clouds. In very short order, contrails (vapor condensation) filled in the narrow space between cloud layers and the decision to proceed on course was made. I don't recall the exact number of airplanes in formation, but it was less than the number we were scheduled to have.

While over the English Channel, we tested our machine guns and found that one of the top turret 50 caliber guns was not firing. It had only been a short time before this that the decision had been made, by higher authority, that only one gun malfunctioning was no longer a valid reason to abort a mission. As we neared the coast of the continent, waist gunner Sgt. Joseph Kennedy, called over the intercom, "Lieutenant, there's the 'Bird Dog' out to our left.” I looked out my left cabin window and sure enough, there she was — the shiny B-24 we had flown to the United Kingdom. The "Bird Dog" was flying alone, and if memory serves me correctly, that crew joined up with us in the lower left hand box of our formation. We also saw a B-I7 flying alone and I mention this to illustrate what a foul-up everybody was having that day in assembling.

We continued on course without further incident, other than the deputy lead aircraft aborted just as we got to the continent coastline. While still over the Channel, and before getting over enemy territory, it was customary for each of us to use the "restroom" since we would not be getting out of our seats until we were again back over neutral territory. This was not as simple as it may sound, because of the procedure involved in disconnecting and reconnecting oxygen, electric suit, flak vest and pants, steel helmet, and radio connections, etc. When I sat back down, I reconnected everything except I FORGOT TO FASTEN MY SAFETY BELT AND SHOULDER STRAPS! I had never done this before, and it was to be the major factor later in my not perishing inside the ship.

As we continued inland toward our target, at an altitude of 21,500 feet, I kept eyeing the deputy lead's position, hoping someone else would fill that slot. No one did, however, and I waited until almost the last minute before sliding our ship down into that position. This maneuver was accomplished between Wing IP and Group IP. (Wing IP means Wing Initial Point where the Combat Wing breaks up into individual groups and proceeds to that group's target. Group IP means the Initial Point for the individual groups to proceed to their own target).

As we approached our target, the JU-88 factory at Aschersleben, visibility was good and we could see no flak or fighters in the area. We were not more than 30 seconds from "bombs away" when the first burst was fired, and they hit us with that burst and every ensuing burst. We could hear the flak tearing through the aircraft each time one of the 88mm shells exploded. As I reflect on this, I am amazed that our bombs were not hit in the bomb bay.

Just before "bombs away," Sgt. Francis Van Veen, our radio operator, tapped my right shoulder and said, "There's a fire in the bomb bay." I looked back over my shoulder and saw the fire, which appeared to be hydraulic fluid burning. I told Van Veen to try to put it out, and returned to trying to keep the aircraft in formation and clear of other planes. At almost the same time Van Veen reported “fire, "I had felt the controls go slack and my oxygen supply was extremely hot. I jerked the oxygen hose loose to avoid inhaling flames, in case that system was on fire — as it is sure death if this happens. Eyewitnesses later reported seeing the men in the back of the plane slump over and fall to the floor, and flames streaking out of the waist windows. It is my belief that they died from breathing the deadly flames from the oxygen system, but there is no way to know this for certain. They could have been hit by flak fragments. Because of this fact, Sgt. John Murphy may not have been able to get his customary brick thrown out. On every mission he carried one addressed, "to Adolph with love, from Murph," and threw it out somewhere over Germany. It was Robby's custom to call out "bombs away," and I didn't hear him as I felt the ship rise as the heavy bomb load was released. Our radio was out but I didn't know it at the time.

Immediately after bombs away, I fed the two left engines in and cut back the right engines, in order to avoid midair collision with anyone else and clear the formation. As we cleared the formation, in a diving right turn, I fed all four engines back in and the plane began heeling to the left. I felt that we were going to go down, and told the boys on the intercom to abandon the aircraft. I repeated this twice before I realized the radio was out, as I didn't get any "feedback" through my headset. As I reached for the alarm bell to alert the crew to bail out, Lt. Bill Greble, my co-pilot, had risen from his seat and was stepping around the control pedestal, when, it felt to me like the right wing came off. I don't know if the wing did come off then, or there was an explosion, or exactly what happened; but for lack of a better expression — "all hell broke loose." I believe the top turret came loose and crushed Greble and nearly got me, as something grabbed my left leg and held it tight enough to pull my flying boot, electric sock and regular sock completely off.

The aircraft gyrated viciously, with a whipping motion, that I find difficult to accurately describe. I was being tumbled about inside the fuselage like a pea in a rain barrel, and could not maintain any sense of direction, up or down, center of gravity or anything one might think they could do under those circumstances. I had previously thought what I might do if something like this were to happen, but I couldn't even put my hand in front of my face, so violent were the forces. After what seemed an eternity, during this period, I realized I was not going to get out and that I would be smashed lifeless upon striking the ground. I was almost unconscious from the beating I was taking inside the plane, when the violent oscillation suddenly stopped and the plane continued falling with a rolling motion — similar to the rotation of a mixing machine, such as a concrete mixer.

After an indeterminate time in this condition, I suddenly felt fresh air blow across my back, and I knew that the next time the plane rotated I would be thrown out — and sure enough, I was thrown out of some hold, like a shot, into cool, fresh air. I estimate the altitude to have been about 25(X) feet, and as I got my feet pointed towards earth, I looked down and saw our aircraft fuselage falling below me, rolling over and over, with no wings on it. It appeared to me that the plane had quit burning. I remembered our briefings on being shot down, to delay opening your chute until you could see trees start to spread rapidly and you would miss some ground fire at you. I did this and when I thought it was time, I grasped my "D" ring with my right hand and pulled, but was unable to pull the rip cord. I had injured my right elbow and hadn't realized it until that moment. I then put my left hand over my right hand and pushed, opening the parachute. I swung forward and then backward and started another swing forward when I hit the ground face down in a plowed field, about 1(X) feet from where the fuselage of our plane hit. I wanted to run over to it, but couldn't because Germans were already coming toward me from across the field.

Thinking of escape, at some later time, I unbuckled my chute and ran about 100 feet into a clump of trees, about the size of a very small house. I quickly broke open my escape kit and hid a tube of condensed milk and an escape compass in my only boot — the right one. My left foot was completely bare. I buried the rest of the kit, containing Germany escape money and other items that I didn't want the Germans to get. As the Germans approached me, I came out of the woods toward them and fell down on my stomach, pretending to be hurt more than I actually was.

The next thing I knew they were standing all around me, both men and women. They looked to be some sort of civilian watch force whose purpose was this very thing. One woman asked me if I had a "pistola." I pretended not to understand. Another one looked at my clothes and asked a man if I was a civilian. He replied, "Nix, officere." They brought my parachute over and the women were feeling the material and looking as though they were thinking of what they could make out of it. They handed it over to some of the men.

They took me over to a road where I sat down. It wasn't until later, when I saw myself in a mirror, that I realized how terrible I must have looked. My head and face were totally covered with blood from head wounds that went to the skull and my face was totally covered in blood; you could see no skin, except for my eyelids. My left foot was also burned and cut, especially on my heel and my right elbow was injured. I was very fortunate, though!

One old man pointed a rifle at me and indicated that he wanted me to start walking down the road, away from the others, and I had no choice but to go. I firmly believed at that time, and do now, that he intended to shoot me when we were out of sight of the others. I made up my mind that I was not going to just walk along and be shot, and I was trying to formulate a plan, in my mind, of how to jump him first, when the regular Wermacht soldiers came down the road in a pick-up truck and put me in the back with two of them. During this time, they were apparently checking the old man out good, which included threatening hand gestures. It was during this trip, where they took me to an airfield we had just bombed, that I saw two B-24s from other groups, on the ground burning and two other plumes of black smoke that I am almost certain were either other aircraft burning, or the wings from our aircraft, which contained the fuel tanks. On the way to the field, as we were passing along a high bluff, someone apparently threw a brick at me from the top of the cliff and it landed in the bed of the truck. One of the young German soldiers drew his pistol and I believe he would have shot at whoever threw the brick if he had located them.

It was at the airport that I saw myself in a mirror. They took me to a room where there were three other American fliers. One of them was named Friend, and he was seriously injured in the back. Another one was named Feldman, who later turned up at Stalag Luft III with me. He was from Tulsa, Oklahoma. If I was told the name of the other flyer, I do not remember it. We were not allowed to speak to one another. I remember that the clocks in the building were stopped at 10:32 from our bombs. They took everything I had away from me, except for my handkerchief, which they must have missed. That handkerchief was really good to have, especially when I was in solitary confinement later. When I went down the corridor to the bathroom, I would wet it and carry it back to my cell and dob it around my face the best I could.

From the room at the airport, I was taken to the local jail, where I was put in a dark room (cell) that had a wooden bunk with nothing but boards on it. It was made to slant upwards for a pillow. (The Germans didn't mollycoddle their outcasts.) Believe it or not, I actually went to sleep, I suppose from a combination of shock and loss of blood. Later that same day, I was transferred to a regular jail at Bernberg, where a German doctor supposedly tended my wounds. He put something on gauze that burned like fire and just scrubbed my head and face wounds with much unnecessary vigor. I decided he was trying to make me show pain, but I was determined to show none, and didn't. I almost fell out though, as when I was standing there everything went slowly black, but I didn't fall. I probably would have if the doctor hadn't stopped scrubbing on my wounds when he I had been asking about any other fliers, hoping some of the crew might have made it, but a German Major who interrogated me drew me a picture of the fuselage of our plane, showing the location of the bodies of the crew members that they had recovered.

They also told me where Bill Greble and Don Hudson had been found. Greble hadn't opened his chute, and Hudson was thrown out with no chute on. He was found over half a mile from the fuselage where the others were. They showed me Greble's Zippo cigarette lighter, which was crushed like a wad of tinfoil. They also brought me Don Hudson's left flying boot to wear. I knew Bill and Don didn't make it. But I could not tell, from the information they were giving me, whether it was the truth or not. They were very cunning at obtaining information from downed fliers and we were warned about this. They could not account for the tenth, or missing man from the crew. It puzzled them. They kept asking me if I had a boxer on my crew. I told them no. It seems, as they said, they had shot and killed an airman that day who had tried to fight when they captured him. He took a swing at one of the Germans and was shot to death. I have no way of knowing whether that was the truth or not.

I was kept at Bernberg one night and sent, along with others, to Wetzlar, which seemed to be a distribution center for prisoners. I, along with others, were taken there by train. After a couple of days at Wetzlar, they loaded a whole bunch of us on another train. Those of us in my car were sent to Dulag Luft, the infamous interrogation center at Frankfurt on the Maine. The RAF finally firebombed this place because the Germans were obtaining so much intelligence from captured fliers. It was reported that only one Allied Prisoner of War lost his life in the bombing.

At Dulag Luft, I was placed in solitary confinement, in room 4C. The room was about 5 or 6 feet wide, and about 8 feet long with one barred window that had wooden shutters that were kept closed, making the room quite dark. I never got out of the room except for going to the restroom and to daily interrogation in the mornings. I was kept in this place a long time, perhaps 10 or 12 days — maybe even 15, as I completely lost track of time. This was in violation of the Geneva Convention, which restricts holding a prisoner in solitary confinement more than 3 days. As I was taken back and forth down the long hall to interrogation, I noticed there was a white card tacked up on my door, where only one or two others along the corridor had them — and even those would disappear after two or three days. One day I asked the guard why the card was on my door and in broken English he replied, "Why don't you speak?" He conveyed to me that they would keep me there until I was too weak to get up off the straw bunk without fainting, if I didn't tell them what they wanted to know. The guard seemed to be trying to warn me and I sensed that he didn't agree with my treatment. They deliberately fed starvation rations to prisoners as that was a part of the breaking-down process. In the morning I was given a warm cup of ersatz coffee and one piece of black bread, which was thinly spread with some kind of marmalade; at noon they brought me the coffee and a small bowl of warm, watery soup, and at night, the coffee with the bread again. Sometimes at night, they would bring two pieces of bread. I saved the hard crusts of the bread to scrub my teeth with, and wash out my mouth with the so- called coffee.

The very next weekend, after I had the talk with the partially friendly guard, I wasn't called in to be interrogated. When I asked why, I was told that my personal interrogator, a German Hauptmann (Captain) was on leave. I then said to the guard, "Why he told me I was going to be released this weekend.” To my surprise they believed me!!! They opened my shutters on my window, let me shave and clean up and even gave me a book to read. That very afternoon I was released from Dulag Luft and transferred to Stalag Luft III at Sagan, Germany. I should mention that it was obvious to me the reason they kept me for so long was because they were trying to find out where the tenth man on our crew was. They knew very well there should have been ten men on the airplane as they probably had the papers showing Hansbury as being on the flight.

Before I went outside, another POW handed me a draw-string tobacco sack with
enough tobacco in it, along with the papers, to roll two or three cigarettes. For the first
time since I was captured, I was free to walk from a room, by myself, and go to another
location unattended. I sat down by the side of one of the buildings with my cigarette, in
the warm sun, and was enjoying my smoke, when I heard a slow, southern drawl beside
me, asking, "Can I have a draw off that cigarette?” I handed him the tobacco sack and papers and we struck up a conversation, learning we were both from Arkansas. He was Lt. Roy Dale Thompson, from Clinton, and I was from North Little Rock. We became lifelong friends and were separated only by his death by heart attack in 1984. When Tommy and I returned to the States, his fiancee introduced me to her best friend, and we have now been married for almost 44 years. I feel sure the effects of the war cut his life short some 15 or 20 years, as he came out of prison camp with heart problems and a nerve condition.

For the longest time, after I was in Stalag Luft III, I lived in fear that they would discover my absence, when my interrogator returned, and come to Sagan and take me back to Dulag Luft. But they never did. It may be, by that time, the war was so advanced they couldn't keep up with everything. I never gave up hope that some one other than me made it out of our plane that dreadful day, but each time a new group of "Kriegies" (prisoners) came in, I would question them, but never received any hope from anyone I talked with. Incidentally, while I was at Dulag Luft, 31 one of the threats they used was accusing me of being a spy. I didn't wear my dog tags and they used that as an excuse to tell me that since I had no identification, that anyone could get clothes like my uniform, and therefore they had no way of establishing that I was an American service man - so I could be executed for spying.

Before daylight on January 28, 1945, we were marched out of Stalag Luft III because of the advancing Russians from the east. This was a miserable journey of some 2 to 3 weeks in the bitter cold and deep snow. Our German guards (some of them) were in worse shape than we were. There was one old man who got to the point where he couldn't put one foot in front of the other. He would drag his left foot, up to his right, one step at a time. The whites of his eyes were solid red with blood, and I have seen some of our own men carry the old man's rifle for him. We had orders not to escape during the march. These orders were from our own leaders. The reason was that all of Germany had been declared an area that any unauthorized person could be shot as a spy.

We walked from Sagan to Spremberg. During part of this journey, two German intelligence men walked with us. They talk ed to us about the Russians and made the statement that they had killed 15 million Russians and couldn't whip them — and that we (the Americans) couldn't either. They stated that we would have to team up someday to fight the Russians. For years it seemed their prophecy was right, but at this point in time the situation with Russia is not that bleak.

One night on this trip we stayed in a barn, and it was so cold that we stayed up and walked around most of the night to stay warm. We only had one light blanket each that we carried with us. Another night they packed so many of us in a church that the air grew stale, and we all became groggy and some men passed out. We stayed two or three nights in a pottery factory, where we were actually warm inside the building. They had some unique pottery containers there in which a man could crawl inside, and they were said to hold 1,000 liters.

At Halbau, Germany, we were standing in line in the street, with snow on the ground, and it was still snowing. An old German woman kept bringing us hot water, in defiance of a Nazi party member. Each time she went back and forth by him, she would toss her head up. The party member was standing over on a corner, by a post, with his hat brim pulled down over his eyes, like a movie gangster. Out in the country, we were stopped for a rest, and there was a house close to the road. I went over to the house and traded some soap for a bag of potatoes — kartoffels in German. I asked the lady in German if she had any food she would trade me. She said she had some kartoffels and asked me what I would give her for them. I told her soap, and we made a trade. I carried the potatoes all the way to Moosburg, where we had a potato bash. There were many of our men who had varying degrees of frostbitten hands, feet and faces from walking in the bitter cold.

At Spremberg, I traded a cigarette to a German soldier in exchange for his skull and crossbones insignia, which I have to this day. He was in either a storm troop or a panzer unit, I have forgotten which. At Spremberg, we were crowded in boxcars on a long train and rode, standing up for the most part, the balance of the way to Moosburg. The only way one could sit down was between the legs of another man, who also needed to rest. For the latter part of our stay in Moosburg, we slept in tents on the ground. It was further south, near Munich, and the snow was off the ground when we got there.

We were liberated by Patton's 14th armored force on April 29, 1945. After we were liberated, we had no food at all. We American soldiers in the area, and went out among the German population and obtained our food from them. While this may seem harsh, it was the only way we could get anything to eat. On May 10, 1945, we were flown to Camp Lucky Strike at Le Havre, France, where I obtained leave and had made arrangements to fly out to Rackheath to find out about my crew. But, before I could leave, I became deathly ill with the flu and couldn't make the trip. After I felt better, I did write to the 467th group in England for information and when I arrived home in North Little Rock, I had a letter there from a Lt. Thomas Goodyear, advising me that I was the only survivor of our crew. The last sentence in his letter has often haunted me —

"The Group has chalked up a good record and life at Rackheath has continued just the same as before.” Just the same as before. Nothing would ever be the same as before to those of us who didn't return to Rackheath from their missions — whether they managed to live through it or not.


There has been much soul-searching and considerable anguish in reliving these events. I will not belabor this account with further details. It is sufficient to say that air crew members had a special camaraderie for each other that is found only under circumstances where they routinely face danger together, time after time, and are dependent upon each other for their safety. To this day, I cannot watch a documentary of aircraft going down in battle without tears coming to my eyes for the gallant, young men riding those machines of war to their deaths. I think of what might have been had the men of my crew been allowed to live and contribute their good minds, talents and enthusiasm to our world. I sometimes think that what we lost was greater than what we won.