Thursday, May 14, 2009

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

Monday, May 4, 2009

THE NIGHT I OBEYED THE LADY
By
ROBERT W. FISH

The time was late summer of 1944. I was on a resupply “Carpetbagger” mission to an area southeast of Paris, France. I can no longer remember whose B-24 and whose crew I was using for that flight. When I flew combat I made it a practice to act as the aircraft commander and to fly from the left side pilot’s seat.

We were only a few miles from our initial point when our flight engineer stepped onto the flight deck and informed me that we had a fire in the bomb bay. I gave that bit of intelligence a split second’s worth of thought and then said to him, “Don’t tell me your troubles, go back and put it out.” He did. An electrical short adjacent to a hydraulic fluid leak had ignited the fire.

With the situation back under control we elected to continue our flight to the target drop zone. The moon was very bright, the night was clear, we could see for miles. It was an ideal situation in which to be “zapped” by a night fighter.

Upon arriving at the target area we were disappointed by no reception party. That left us no choice but to return to England.

A few minutes into our return flight, the tail gunner came on the interphone and said, “Hard right!! Hard right!!” That got my attention and I did a diving hard right turn of about 90 degrees followed by a few violent cork screws right on the deck. My immediate reaction was that we had a night fighter on our tail. I next asked him why the alert.

He told me that we had had another B-24, one of our own aircraft, overtaking us and about to ram us from the rear. He estimated that it was less than one hundred feet behind us and exactly on our altitude when he saw it in the moonlight.

About halfway between Paris and London we lost power on our number three engine and had to feather the propeller. We climbed to about 2,000 feet of altitude to give us some room for maneuver in case we had to bail out.

As we approached the French coast I radioed the British Air Defense Controller to request a change in my flight plan to allow us to take the most direct route home to Harrington.

Our approved flight plan called for us to skirt around London to the south-west before we turned north to our base at Alconbury. That route would add about twenty minutes more flight time than a direct route.

I received an immediate response to my request. A female voice came on the radio and requested that we make a ninety turn to my left. This was an identification maneuver to allow the radar operator to positively identify my aircraft. As we completed the turn that same voice came back on the radio. “I have you identified. Follow my instructions and I will take you home. Fly a heading of 353 degrees.” That heading would fly me right over the heart of London. The heart of London was not normally a friendly area for any aircraft, especially at night. The anti-aircraft gunners in defense of London became very nervous whenever an aircraft entered their defense territory. I did not relish the idea of exposing my aircraft to them, so I began to bear a little more to the right so as to pass east of London.

In about three minutes she requested my heading and altitude. I reported 2,000 feet and 10 degrees. Her response was immediate. In very firm tones she came back with, “Listen to me, Yank! I gave you a heading of 353 degrees. Now get your ass back on that heading and hold it until I tell you otherwise! Please acknowledge!” I did, “Yes Mam!” She guided us directly to our landing field where we landed without further incident.

Footnotes:

1) “They Flew by Night”, author – Col. Robert W. Fish (Ret.) – Pages 219 & 220