A FREE TRIP HOME
By
DOUGLAS D. WALKER
My outfit in the 8th Air Force during World War II was the 856th Squadron of the 492nd Bomb Group. We flew out of Harrington Air Force Base near Kettering in Northamptonshire, England. We bore the code name “Carpetbaggers” because we flew clandestine missions at night, dropping agents in France and Germany and munitions and supplies to the French, Danish, and Norwegian underground resistance forces.
The agents we parachuted into France and Germany were working with the OSS (Office of Strategic Services) the forerunner of the CIA.
One night, while preparing the waist of the B-24 Liberator for the arrival of the “Joe” (the agent we were to drop into Germany that night), I was beckoned out of the aircraft by an OSS Captain.
He warned me to be careful that night, and to keep my distance from the “Joe.” Seems that the agent we were to drop was a former POW German Army Sergeant who had volunteered to join the American OSS and return to Germany as a spy for the U.S.
“Of course.” The Captain said, “we have no way of knowing if he is going to spy for us or if he is just looking for a one way free ticket back to the Fatherland. Watch out that he doesn’t try to pull you out of the aircraft when he jumps. You’d be a good prize for him to deliver to Hitler.”
My concern at this bit of news was further heightened by the actions of the “Joe” after we had leveled off and headed for Germany. I felt him move over to my side of the plane in the darkness. I had deliberately sat on the floor opposite him on take off.
He put his lips close to my ear and shouted over the roar of the engines in broken English, “Das is Liberator airplane?”
I yelled back, “Yes, why do you ask?”
He responded, “My gunnery crew shoot down many Liberators in North Africa.” I could hear the smile in his voice. This was enough to fuel my already suspicious concerns.
I pulled away from him, dug out my flashlight and jerked my 45 cal. Pistol from its holster. I pointed the weapon at him in the glare of my flashlight and yelled, “Move to the other side of the plane – Mach Schnell.” He stopped smiling and moved with alacrity to the other side of the waist.
For the next few hours, I flashed my light on him every five to ten minutes, still clutching my pistol in my hand. He didn’t move.
When he parachuted out of the plane, I stood five feet away from him when I yelled the signal for him to jump.
I have often wondered if he was just looking for a way back to Germany. He certainly said the wrong thing to an American Air Force man. I must admit, I had to fight down a passing thought to mistakenly not hook up the static line to his ripcord as a little revenge for the American flyers he and his gunnery crew killed in North Africa. He probably wondered the same thing, until his chute opened.
Footnotes:
1) “They Flew by Night”, author – Col. Robert W. Fish (Ret.) – Pages 229 & 230
By
DOUGLAS D. WALKER
My outfit in the 8th Air Force during World War II was the 856th Squadron of the 492nd Bomb Group. We flew out of Harrington Air Force Base near Kettering in Northamptonshire, England. We bore the code name “Carpetbaggers” because we flew clandestine missions at night, dropping agents in France and Germany and munitions and supplies to the French, Danish, and Norwegian underground resistance forces.
The agents we parachuted into France and Germany were working with the OSS (Office of Strategic Services) the forerunner of the CIA.
One night, while preparing the waist of the B-24 Liberator for the arrival of the “Joe” (the agent we were to drop into Germany that night), I was beckoned out of the aircraft by an OSS Captain.
He warned me to be careful that night, and to keep my distance from the “Joe.” Seems that the agent we were to drop was a former POW German Army Sergeant who had volunteered to join the American OSS and return to Germany as a spy for the U.S.
“Of course.” The Captain said, “we have no way of knowing if he is going to spy for us or if he is just looking for a one way free ticket back to the Fatherland. Watch out that he doesn’t try to pull you out of the aircraft when he jumps. You’d be a good prize for him to deliver to Hitler.”
My concern at this bit of news was further heightened by the actions of the “Joe” after we had leveled off and headed for Germany. I felt him move over to my side of the plane in the darkness. I had deliberately sat on the floor opposite him on take off.
He put his lips close to my ear and shouted over the roar of the engines in broken English, “Das is Liberator airplane?”
I yelled back, “Yes, why do you ask?”
He responded, “My gunnery crew shoot down many Liberators in North Africa.” I could hear the smile in his voice. This was enough to fuel my already suspicious concerns.
I pulled away from him, dug out my flashlight and jerked my 45 cal. Pistol from its holster. I pointed the weapon at him in the glare of my flashlight and yelled, “Move to the other side of the plane – Mach Schnell.” He stopped smiling and moved with alacrity to the other side of the waist.
For the next few hours, I flashed my light on him every five to ten minutes, still clutching my pistol in my hand. He didn’t move.
When he parachuted out of the plane, I stood five feet away from him when I yelled the signal for him to jump.
I have often wondered if he was just looking for a way back to Germany. He certainly said the wrong thing to an American Air Force man. I must admit, I had to fight down a passing thought to mistakenly not hook up the static line to his ripcord as a little revenge for the American flyers he and his gunnery crew killed in North Africa. He probably wondered the same thing, until his chute opened.
Footnotes:
1) “They Flew by Night”, author – Col. Robert W. Fish (Ret.) – Pages 229 & 230
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