Midnight Germany December 1942

When I came to we were flying somewhere over an unknown landscape lit by the full moon. I had lost consciousnesses for at least 15 minutes but by some strange luck the plane had held level and had drifted north from Munich where it all went wrong. It didn't feel good when the flying fortress lifted off the runway and I knew it wouldn't turn out well this time. We had been to Munich once too often and I knew the Luftwaffe would be waiting. I never saw the point of going there, the Germans had decentralized everything in Munich a year ago, there were many towns more worthwhile and Munich was just a City with a big name and little else. There were twelve of us in this plane, and five including the co-pilot, tail gunner, the bombardier were injured.

The B17 Flying Fortress, one of the legends of the war was known for its ability to fly back home even after taking heavy enemy fire, but I felt it would be different this time.  We were flying somewhere over Germany alone, and the formation of B-17’s and their supporting P-15 Mustangs, if there were any left had been separated from us. Two of the four engines were out, and part of the fuselage was torn making the wind ricochet off it making a howling noise. The altimeter, compass and all other equipment except the airspeed indicator were damaged and completely useless. Crossing the channel and reaching England now seemed a lost cause.

Without the compass I could not know where we were or even in which direction we were heading. I tried to locate our position by the stars but the constellations now seemed strange and different. Perhaps some landmark below could help so I brought her down to an altitude of 500 feet and as the plane moved forward the fields and hedges seemed to move backwards in a strange and monotonous way. Suddenly a church tower seemed to rise up towards the plane and then we were over what looked like a sleepy village. A farmyard led to a country road and suddenly we were over empty fields again and I realized the hopelessness of our situation. We didn’t know where we were and we didn’t know where we were going either, could we end up in the Arctic or in Siberia in the Soviet Union thought I.

We drifted along aimlessly but suddenly to my right I saw a Mustang. It was badly damaged but the pilot signaled me to follow him. Though I could recognize many of the pilots and planes I could not recognize the pilot or the markings of the plane. The poor fellow might have seen us drift and followed us through the night, but he seemed to be in a worse position than us for his parachute was damaged and the damages to his plane meant that it would be impossible to land her. This seemed like his last mission. But if not for him we would have to fly many miles inland and try to find an airstrip without radio, and because fuel was low it would be impossible to do so.

The Mustang had even less fuel capacity than the Fortress, it was a miracle that he took this long route and was still flying. He guided us to almost the edge of the runway, and flew low as if trying to land but at the last second climbed and flew strait ahead. As the fortress came to a halt in the runway I hoped that by some luck he would be able to save himself.

This happened in December 1942, and sixteen years later in 1958, I visited the airstrip again. What was once a busy Base used both by the USAAF and the Royal Air Force was now a deserted field that had only one operational airstrip. An old man worked in it and his only job was to switch on the runway lights when instructed to do so by the Air Traffic Controller in Chippenham, who would then guide the plane towards this airstrip in and emergency. Such an incident happened very rarely perhaps once a year.

“Heard you were once a pilot” said he. “Well, I don’t know what you would make of this, but ever since I came to work here in 1951 every December on the same day at around 2.30 at night a plane flies over this airfield, an old fashioned sought of thing, now not flown I think, a Thunderbolt or Mustang perhaps, it seems to want to land so I switch on the Run Way lights but it doesn't land, but flies strait ahead, it seems strange, what do you think it is”. “What does the plane look like” said I “are there any markings, letters, or maybe a name” “Couldn’t pick it at night, eyesight ain't good, but I can definitely say one thing, most of the fuselage in the lower part is missing.

Written by: RJX