A B-26 is a very uncomfortable
Place to be when you’re
SPINNING IN
By Leroy Lynn Adams
SPINNING IN
By Leroy Lynn Adams
It was a beautiful clear Sunday at Braintree, England, where I was with the 322nd Bomb Group. One day I was assigned to a B-26 named Parches as a bombardier-navigator. I was not with my own crew--sometimes I had flown two missions a day. I had seen the pilot, Joe Wright, and the co-pilot, Morris Kautz, but had never flown with them before. I do not know who I was filling in for--I do not know if the gunners had flown with Wright. They were already aboard and I did not even see them. Briefing, I believe, was about 9 o’clock. Two 2000-pound bombs were aboard. Our target was the Charleville - Mezieres railroad yards in France. This was to be my 30th mission.
Many German fighters were sighted about five minutes before we arrived at our target. Two fighters appeared from 10 o’clock low; I saw gun flashes and swung the nose gun to try to fire, but realized they were below my line of sight. They made a pass from underneath and hit us in the bomb bay area, setting our plane afire.
I was unaware of the hit, but heard our pilot on the intercom say, “Bombardier come back out of the nose.”
I was wearing the harness of my chute, as there was no room in the nose for me to wear my parachute pack. Our pilot had dropped the landing gear, exposing our exit at the nose wheel; Copilot Kautz dropped out that exit as I was grabbing my parachute pack from the navigation table behind the copilot’s seat.
As I clipped the rings to the harness hooks, the pilot dropped out of the exit. When the pilot left the cockpit he reached for the ignition to switch off The engines. As he said later, he hit only one switch before he jumped.
The plane went into a spin, and I was bounced around the cockpit area, hitting the ceiling, then the floor, with dust and smoke everywhere. Around and around, up and down, I was thrown, with no control. As I was bounced to the ceiling I tried to grab the latch on the Plexiglas hatch over the copilot’s seat, but was unsuccessful. On one bounce my head struck and shattered the Plexiglas---I felt a blast of cold fresh air in my face.
I struggled to get my elbows out through the opening as the plane continued its spin, and suddenly the aircraft exploded and broke in two. I was thrown free.
I was tremendously relieved to be out of that spinning trap. Only seconds before, my escape seemed hopeless. I grabbed for my chest pack and realized it was not in place-- it had been pulled loose from the harness and was floating about 10 feet away from me. I grabbed the web strap and pulled the pack close to me; then I grabbed the metal handle on the pack and yanked it out. The chute popped open. I looked up to check it, looked down, hit the ground and tumbled over.
I sprained my right ankle. I had dropped in a pasture, and stood up to gather my chute to hide in the hedgerow. There was a road along one side. I saw a farmer running toward me. He stopped a few yards away pointed at the horizon, and yelled. “Boche ! Boche !’
A ME-109 was coming in low, directly toward me. I could see the yellow spinners on the propeller. I dropped to the ground. The plane roared over me very low, but did not fire. The farmer disappeared.
I touched my hair and it felt like straw; it was burned crisp. My hands and face were burned, already blistered and very painful.
I spotted a small village, so limped over toward the road. About 300 yards away a was a man on a bicycle. I called to him, but he looked the other way and kept going toward the village. I slowly followed him, stopping at the first door on the right side. I did not knock, just stood at the door. Very soon a man opened the door and spoke to me--I think in flemish. He beckoned me to come inside the barn, which was attached to the house. There was a pump with a half-barrel tub of water. It soothed the burning and I splashed water on my face. Then handed me a small towel, which I soaked and patted on my hands.
He opened the door to the house and indicated I should enter, Inside, he pointed to a chair. I sat down. He seemed pleasant. I pointed to the pocket of my Eisenhower jacket for him to reach a book of phrased. He opened it to search for his language.
To one of the first phrase, “are there any Germans around here?” He answered by swinging his hands all around to indicate “Yes.” The next phrase, “ is there a possibility of escape?” He shook his head emphatically, “No.”
He gave me an enamel cup filled with water. My lips were blistering, so I sipped carefully, He talked to his wife, who was sitting at the table. They whispered together and both shook their heads, indicating they could not help me.
Within a few minutes there was a knock on the door. The farmer opened the door and a Belgian policeman in a tan uniform stepped inside. Another policeman stayed outside. The policeman kept an eye on me as talked to the farmer. He motioned with; his German Luger for me to go out the door.
As I stepped out I saw that copilot Kauz was in the back seat of a small two-door car. I got in with Kautz said hello and was relieved to find he was not seriously injured; though burned some. The policeman and driver got in the car and we drove to a small house in the village. The policeman went in to get a bottle of wine and a cup. He poured a cup for me and then one for Kautz. We thanked him. He returned the cup and bottle to the house. We continued driving on an asphalt highway.
After about a half-hour’s trip we arrived at a German first aid station. We were taken inside, where we say pilot Wright lying on a stretcher in the middle of the floor. His right leg was missing below the knee. It was bandaged, and he had been given sedatives, He was groggy. All three of us were taken in a German ambulance to Brussels. We were the only passengers. Where were the gunners?
We were delivered to a Luftwaffe prison hospital compound where we were checked briefly by what might have been a German doctor. He directed that my face he cleaned and bandaged with gauze and crepe over it. Looked like a mummy, Freda, the nurse, fed me soup by putting the spout of a teapot in my mouth.
My thumb and forefinger of my right hand protruded from my bandages, so after a few days I was able to roll cigarettes for other patients and myself. The German tobacco was a vile mixture of stems, seeds and other unknowns. After several days rest I was able to visit and talk with Kautz and Wright about the events, and we pieced together the sequence of our mission.
Wright said that when he left the pilot console he reached for switches but was sure he hit only one. He believed his leg was hit by the propeller, but was unaware of it until he was suspended in his chute.
Kautz said that he had used the fire extinguisher on the bomb bay fire, but quickly realized the futility of that and prepared for bailout, The gunners were already gone--he though they escaped early--when the fire started. The War Department’s first, Missing in Action notice, to my wife, reported three chutes were seen to open.
Krautz said that when his chute opened, he looked up and saw the plane blow apart at the bomb bays. I had been unable to salvo the bombs when the systems were shot out.
When I was shot down I was wearing my GI shoes and fleece-lined boots. A guard came to my cot in the hospital and said I could choose one pair and had to relinquish one pair for another prisoner. I kept the GI shoes.
Kautz left Brussels ahead of me, and Wright was still there. I wondered if he would be repatriated.
Forty-one days later, when my temperature dropped near normal, I was put in a truck to go to city hall. This was an interrogation point, with rows of jail cells--solitary. I had no communication with neighbor inmates. I received no Red Cross parcels; the bathroom was down the hall. A guard escorted me. Interrogation was an individual matter. The officer spoke good English; he offered me a cigarette, which I declined with thanks. He had a roster with some information about the 452nd squadron, which he referred to in an effort to secure more information from me. My responses were name, rank, and serial number. After several questions he made threats, “we have ways of making you talk,” to which I responded. “Very well, if you must.”
They gave up on me. My hands and face were still bandaged, and all that was visible was my mouth, nostrils and eyes. As I was returned to my cell I had to watch a guard eat from a Red Cross Parcel. I got nothing from it.
A few days later, about six of us went by truck to a railway station and were loaded on a train which was carrying many prisoners and which took us to Dulag Luft.