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WHERE DID I LAND
IN THE CZECH REPUBLIC? Prior to traveling to the Czech Republic in April 1999, I studied the information made available to me in an effort to locate the small village and the small town where I spent the first seven or eight hours on the ground. Michal Sisovsky is a young man in the Czech Republic who has researched the air wars over his country during World War II, and is writing a book on the subject. Michal provided me with the crash site of the major section of my aircraft and maps of the area. John Bybee, an American author of war time stories of military aircraft operations, provided me with historical documentation of this particular mission to Poland and the Odertal Refinery. From the information provided by John Bybee, I have a close fix on my position at the time of my leaving the aircraft. He has somehow obtained the wind direction and velocity at our formation altitude. In a debriefing report by Capt. Chalmers (pilot of the only returning aircraft from our 765th Squadron that day), he stated that I had crossed back to the right and under him just before my right wing came off followed by an explosion. This provides a general final heading direction. With this help and my memory I have deduced the most probable area of my parachute touchdown. Hopefully, with this bit of magnificent sleuthing and my following description of the people, the villages, and events of that day, all of which I have E-Mailed to Michal, he will locate these two places before I arrive next month. I sure am an optimist to think it will be easy after over fifty-four years have passed! Here is the story: Allowing for a descent parachute rate of 13 feet per second, from an altitude of 26,000 feet, the time of descent would be about 2,000 seconds or a little more than thirty minutes. The stated wind at 26,000 feet was 52 nautical miles per hour from 260 degrees (slightly south of due west). The wind at ground level, as I recall, was negligible. Using an average wind velocity of 26 statute miles per hour, I would have drifted to the east and a bit north in my chute for approximately 13 statute miles. Our formation had been on a north-westerly heading from a point about 20 miles east of Bratislava, CZ, en route to the next turning point at Muglitz(?) near Unicov. That flight path passed about 10 miles west of Olomouc. If I bailed out after passing Olomouc but before reaching Unicov, then my parachute landing should be north of Olomouc near Sternberk and Road No. 46. Let me now relate my recollections of that afternoon and evening. There were two towns that I was in before Olomouc. I will call the first "A" and the second "B". The weather was very cold and though it was shortly after noon time I had no means of determining compass directions. The heavy overcast had a ceiling of only a few hundred feet. The high altitude wind velocities were almost dissipated at ground level. I came out of the cloud cover and had my first view of the immediate area. Snow covered the ground and I was drifting slowly toward an open field adjacent to a small one street village. Perhaps fifteen row houses ran down each side of the snow covered street. I would guess the population to be no more than 200 people. A small group of about 12 to 15 people were pointing at me in my parachute and running toward where I was coming to ground. I hit the snow (about 12" deep) and rolled to a sitting position, and managed to unbuckle my back-pack chute harness while observing my welcoming committee. They were all very young people who ceased talking to each other as they approached and stopped about fifteen feet away. I spoke to them but had no response -- a language barrier. I was painfully aware of the bitter cold. I was hatless, one shoe gone, and my flight suit was not insulated. I also had been taking inventory of my physical injuries which for the most part consisted of a separated shoulder that rendered my right arm almost useless; a ruptured right ear drum; and numerous superficial cuts and burns from my dive through the bomb bay. I needed to get warm so begun walking through the field to the road and into the village, a total distance of about one-quarter mile. My reception group followed closely behind and as I neared the center of the town, one youngster stepped up next to me and pointed to a doorway on my right. I entered and straight ahead for a short distance and was then directed through another doorway to my left which opened to a long narrow room. The narrow end of this room had a window on the street where a few onlookers were gathering, peering in. A chair at the opposite end of a long table was pointed out to me and I gladly sat down. Using a first-aid kit from a knee pocket, I clumsily, one-handed, applied antiseptic to my cuts. The same welcoming group, with perhaps a few additions, had gathered in this room and were talking quietly amongst themselves. The end-to-end tables and chairs on both sides were made of a blond hardwood (oak perhaps), and filled the room. I assumed that the room was used by the villagers for civic assembly. Within about fifteen minutes, a pretty young blond haired girl of about fourteen years came in. She explained in uncertain English that she had been asked to assist in communication. She was nervous and a bit frightened at first. My immediate questions had to do with obtaining help in avoiding capture by the Germans. This approach frightened her even more but she recovered soon and in time conveyed the information to me that they could not help. As much as they desired to help me, she pointed out two Nazis outside the front window. She stated that the whole village would suffer if they helped me to escape. When I asked what she expected to happen now, she informed me that men from a larger town were on their way to take me there and hold me for the German army. Two civilian Czechs came into the room about a half hour later to warm up. They were obviously my escort and dressed in warm winter clothing. They conversed with the locals, and could not speak English. After about fifteen minutes they motioned for me to follow and exited to the street. To my amazement, here was a one horse open sleigh with a bench seat for the driver and one other. The driver mounted and his associate handed me up to the remaining seat and produced a heavy robe to cover my lap and the drivers. With the associate walking at the head of the horse, we left town "A" for town "B", traveling for a few miles through gently rolling snow covered hills. I will always remember the contrast from just two hours before and the feeling of being very, very much alone. The "One horse open sleigh" ride to town "B" was a very strange experience, like a weird dream. Here I was in a setting more apropos of a Christmas holiday scene by Currier and Ives, traveling through an all white winter wonderland with two elderly Czech men who spoke no English. The breathing of the horse, the snow muted sound of the hooves, and the almost inaudible "Swish" of the sleigh's runners, were the only intrusion on my frantic and vivid recall of events only a bit more than two hours behind me. From the intercom stream of information, I knew that both Howard and Abrahamson were killed while firing their single barrel fifty-caliber guns from the two opposing open windows in the waist; but what happened to Stewart and Modrovsky? Did they get out safely? What happened in the nose? There was no communication system left after the second German pass. I had seen the nose on attack by one FW-190 score on the nose turret. Could Brewer have survived that? What happened to Klarsfeld, the other man in the nose? Could one or both of them have escaped through the nose wheel door emergency exit? I knew that Carlson and Goldman were dead on the flight deck floor - I had to step over them at the last moment to exit the bomb bays. But where was Francisco? I had pulled him from his seat and told him to follow me. We both had shed our useless oxygen masks and had only a minute or less to get out before losing our consciousness. Vro seemed intent on exiting through the overhead hatch door on the flight deck which was virtually an impossibility, we were wearing back pack chutes. I had again grabbed his arm and shouted for him to follow me as I turned to the flaming bomb bay and dove head first through the wreckage of the bomb bay doors, losing consciousness momentarily as I did so. Where was Vro? After quickly being revived by the rush of extremely cold air and opening my chute, my attention was commanded by a German pilot trying to kill me as I hung helplessly in the sky. This situation kept me fully occupied for the first several minutes until rescued by an unknown P-38 pilot. After he had waved goodbye on a slow pass, I scanned the skies above, below, and all around me, but saw no other parachutes - nothing at all!! Was I the only survivor? How could that be? What was the fate of Francisco, Stewart, Modrovsky, Brewer and Klarsfeld? My thoughts were brought back to the present as we approached another Czech town. We had traveled just a few miles from "A", intersected another road where we turned left and into "B". This town was larger than "A", appearing to have about three streets on either side and parallel to the one we were on (which I deduced was the main street). There appeared to be about six to eight streets crossing ours. We halted in front of a two story building on our left, where I was escorted to the upper floor by means of an exterior covered staircase. These stairs were on the right hand side of the building as I faced it, and the entrance to the stairs was at the building front. At the top of the stairs I turned left through a door into a hallway of the building and left again for a few feet to yet another door which opened into a large room at the front of the building. There were three men in this room sitting at a large table near the door. My escorts pointed to a hard, leather covered settee against the far side wall for me to use. The next twenty or thirty minutes were spent quietly since we still had a language barrier. The five men were all elderly and in civilian clothes. Other than the table and chairs occupied by the men and the piece I was sitting on, there was a fairly large desk and chair in the front left corner of the room. On the wall hung the obligatory picture of Hitler and a German flag and swastika. I busied myself again with my first aid packet while my thoughts turned again to the events since noon. I was brought back to the present by the sound of footsteps in the outside staircase to be followed by another strange and unforgettable experience! A fairly large elderly civilian burst into the room, his eyes casting about quickly. His gaze settled on me, staring for a moment, tears forming and running down his cheeks. He made his way across the room to me saying, "Mine boy, mine boy, you don't know how glad I am to see you". His eyes took in my condition and the open first aid packet, while he regained his composure. He then introduced himself, although I cannot remember his name. I seem to recall that his first name was Joseph and that is how I have thought of him to this day. Joe had been brought in to the picture as an interpreter. He told me the following incredulous story: "He was Czech, had emigrated to the United States, and was married with four sons serving in the U.S. military. He stated that he had a saloon in Lyons, Illinois that his wife was still operating. He further told me that he had been deported by the United States Government several years before as a consequence of being framed on a bootlegging charge by Al Capone!!" I was beginning to think that I was dreaming this day and fully expected to wake up shortly in Italy! Joe went on talking and told me not to worry; that the Werhmacht would be picking me up after dark and take me elsewhere; that it was not the Nazi SS; that I would go through time in German prisons; and that I eventually would get home; not to worry!! Well, thank goodness he was correct in that forecast. Joe confirmed what the young girl at town "A" had said about escape possibilities. About thirty to forty minutes after Joe's arrival, another visitor came in, a young lady probably in her early twenties. Joe introduced her and instructed her to place a cloth covered tray she was carrying on the desk in the far corner of the room. She could not speak English, but Joe told me that her husband had been taken by the Germans to work elsewhere; that she did not know where, and that he had been gone for a long time. He presented the tray to me which carried breads, cold meats, and a bottle of beer, saying that this was for me only - help myself - but it had to be kept across the room so that when the German soldiers arrived later they would not make the connection. All this while the other men in the room ignored the young lady, Joe, and myself. I carried an escape kit that contained among other things $49 in gold seal American $1 and $5 denominations. This would be useless to me now and I felt that in Joe's pocket they would be used against the German interest. I slipped the money to him with a quiet explanation and how I didn't want the Germans to use it. This was a great deal of money to Joe at that time and he insisted that I look up his wife in Illinois after the war and be paid back. Not long after dark, I heard vehicles in the street, followed by the entry of several German soldiers including one officer, all in uniform, performing heel clicking Nazi salutes with "Heil Hitler" greetings. They paid little heed to me and concentrated on getting warm. Joe and the young lady stayed put near me and were also ignored by the Germans. After about twenty to thirty minutes, the German officer beckoned to me to follow and started down the stairs to the street. Joe and the lady accompanied me down the stairs, with her holding my hand and giving reassuring squeezes. As we emerged from the stairs onto the street, I was chilled to the bone by the cold air. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees since the afternoon. I looked at the open troop carrier that I was directed to enter, and I must have shuddered. This young lady then showed another kindness by reaching up and pulling a large heavy wool scarf out of the front of my flight suit which she then refashioned into a babushka over my head, reinserting the long scarf ends into the neck of my flight suit. The small convoy started out, leaving in the direction from which I had come by sleigh. We did not turn right on the side road to "A" but continued on. The vehicles traveled very slowly and although it seemed like forever due to the bitter cold, we probably did not traverse more than 10 to 12 miles. During the entire trip I wondered why this unit, which had been scouring the country side for those who were shot down, had no other prisoners but me?? Was I the sole survivor of my crew? What about other survivors? My only warm thoughts were of the gestures and words of Joe and the young lady which gave me a measure of comfort in this weird dream. We arrived in Olomouc, with the German officer handing me over to jailers in a very old stone exterior building where I was placed in a cell by myself. Thankfully it was warm. After a sleepless night I pulled on a cord that released a wooden clapper outside of my door, alerting the guards that I needed a toilet break. When taken from my cell and pointed through a door to a wash room and toilet area, I entered to see a singed Klarsfeld. I was overjoyed, and more so when he told me that Francisco Vro was also there!!! That same afternoon guards walked me out to the street, a few blocks to the right, and across the street into a park where there were a few temporary small buildings erected. One building contained a small medical military unit, perhaps I should describe it as a first aid center. A medical man probed my shoulder with his fingers silently (still a language barrier). He continued moving my arm about until he had it straightened, one hand on the elbow the other with a tight grip on my hand, all holds contributing to a non-bending elbow. My shoulder had been badly separated due to my head down dive at the time of pulling my rip-cord. It was very sore and my right arm was useless. The manipulations now going on had me clenching my teeth. I didn't realize what was about to happen thankfully. He firmly and quickly, with all of his strength, swung my arm in an arc while applying directional force with the resulting popping of the ball on my upper arm back into the socket of my shoulder. I think the German medic understood the English that shot out of my throat as my teeth unclenched! I now had a new use for my wool scarf - a sling for my arm. After the walk back to the fortress jail house, I looked for but was unable to see or contact either Vro or Milt. In the evening, perhaps about eight PM, I was taken out to the street again to join a group of about ten prisoners including Vro and Milt. We were loaded into the back of a covered army charcoal/acetylene burning truck which transported us out of the city for a distance of several miles. When we left the truck we descended a ramp to enter what appeared to be a below ground modern jail house. We were marched single file down a corridor with steel barred cells on each side. A guard kept opening doors to the cells and directing a few men from the front of our line into each cell. Milt, Vro and myself were hanging tight to each other and found ourselves ushered into a cell that miraculously held Cliff Stewart and John Modrovsky!! What a feeling of both relief and exhilaration!! Milt had time now to tell what had happened in the nose. He had helped Brewer out of the nose turret, and the two tried to exit from the nose wheel door opening. The emergency release failed to open the doors. Milt felt that they were probably frozen shut. They then tried continuing through the small tunnel to reach the bomb bay or flight deck. The plane exploded and the next thing Milt knew was that the explosion had blown him clear with his parachute on. Milt had no other information as to the fate of David Brewer. Vro Francisco recalled the events on the flight deck and his reluctance to follow me through the burning bomb bay. He had turned back and opened the overhead hatch door. By this time he was getting goofy from lack of oxygen but he recalled his goofy actions. He told me that he had stuck his hand out through the open hatch and decided that the wind was blowing too hard!! He then leaned over the center flight console, reached up with his hand and pushed all four red feather buttons to slow the wind!! As he turned back under the open overhead hatch, the aircraft exploded, blowing him out through the hatch and opening his parachute. At least five of us had magically survived with no permanent physical damage. Much later that same night the Germans assembled a larger truck load of about fifteen prisoners and we were taken to a railroad station in a large city (I assume Prague) where we were put on a train. Our train rides to Frankfurt am Main, Obereussel: Wetzlar: Berlin and eventually to Stalag Luft I are another story to be told. There were many unpleasantries on that journey but we survived and managed to hang together throughout that winter of 1944-45 in that same POW Prison Camp near Barth, Pomerania on the Baltic Sea. |
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