Chapter 7
"Someone called out, ‘Here comes our fighter escort!’ I looked out my little window, and there’s a hell of a lot of commotion, and I saw these radial engine planes. I thought, ‘Those are our P-47s.’ All of a sudden they peeled off and there was the Swastika. And about that instant, they start flying through the ships."
Frank Bertram
Navigator, 445th Bomb Group
Survivor of the Kassel Mission; former POW
The Kassel mission of Sept. 27, 1944, actually was percentage-wise the worst loss of any mission throughout the war. Of the 35 planes that went in to the target, I believe only five – to be completely accurate, you have to talk to George Collar or Bill Dewey – got back. Twenty-five of the bombers went down immediately around the target, or were crippled badly enough that they went down within a radius of maybe 15 miles of the point of combat.
You mentioned something the other day about post traumatic syndrome that apparently a lot of the veterans from Vietnam have had, which was not even heard of in Korea or in World War II. However, it must have been there to a certain extent. It is my opinion that nobody who went to war, particularly if they went overseas and more particularly if they got into combat, you came back, you were not the same person. For guys who were prisoners of war it was even worse, because you actually felt that you were looked down upon. It’s very demeaning to be a prisoner in war. You’re stomped on to a certain extent. Some people more than others. If you get the full stories of POWs; you talked to Mr. Levine [Bernie Levine, whose interview is on the World War II Oral History web site], I don’t know how much you talked to him about it but I like his deal, that he’s never gonna be cold or hungry again. Boy, those were bitter winters. Every once in a while something snaps you into it. You try to forget about it and then something snaps and bingo, you start thinking. Things like that happen to me where I actually relive every moment I was in that plane that day, after coming under attack.
In all the missions I was on we had never been attacked by fighters. The primary reason for that is our particular group, the 445th Bomb Group, was known exceptionally for their close formation. And when you have a close formation, usually enemy fighters are not going to attack you because you throw up such a concentrated cone of fire it was not feasible for them to try and penetrate it, whereas the groups that were spread around were sitting ducks. That’s why it was such a shock when so many of our planes went down that day. But we were scattered. We were just getting back into position, into our close formation, when we were hit.
The day of that mission, my crew was not supposed to fly. We were a radar crew, so we alternated with another crew. They had their plane, we had ours. We had flown the day before and we actually led the mission; our squadron was deputy lead squadron and in the lead squadron both planes with radar were knocked out by flak, so we took over. That was going into the town of Hamm. We had no problem going in; we got out of there, came back and we landed safe. So it was a surprise when they asked us to fly the next day. We were looking forward to a little rest and recreation, to going into Norwich and raising a little hell. But fate intervened and here we are.
When the group flew in toward the target – the tactics of the Air Force were I won’t say to zigzag but you’d go from one place to another to avoid areas of known flak guns. Because if the Germans could see you, they could hit you. They were that good. Even at 22,000 feet, they could come damn close, if they could see you clearly, with the great optics they had.
We did our usual deal till we came to what they called the initial point. The initial point in a bomb run is where control of the bomber is turned over to the bombardier. And from the initial point to the point of impact, which could be anywhere from 10 to 30 miles, the pilot has no control whatsoever. You’re on a straight heading, no matter what comes through the formation, what kind of flak you get, you’ve just got to rough it out, straight ahead. As all the planes in back of you do.
This day we had to make a little left turn to hit the initial point. As we made the left turn, we went further left than we were supposed to. I immediately called the pilot, Reg Miner, and said, "Hey! We’re going the wrong way! We’re going too far left. Call the lead plane and find out what’s going on."
And he came back and said, "They said, ‘Hold it in. Hold it in.’" We kept turning farther left, and I thought, "We’re going to miss the target completely."
The target was not visible from the air, but with the radar scope we had the target picked up, and with the little that we did see from the air to the ground, and the paperwork I was doing, we knew where we were exactly.
We were not the only one that caught the mistake. I think almost every plane in the formation that had a halfway good navigator called immediately and saw what was going on. You could actually look out the pilot’s window and see the flak off to the right, which we were supposed to be going through. Why we kept going to the left we’ll never know. We never did find out.
We released the bombs near the town of Goettingen. As it happened it was in an open field; probably killed a couple of cows. Then we followed our regular method to come out of the bomb run and head for home. That was a left turn off the target; a right turn, which took us on a southeast heading; another right turn, which took us on a southwest heading; then another turn to the right, which took us on a northwest heading.
While we were just getting back together after the fourth turn, someone in our plane called out, "There’s a dogfight!" And all the time I’m thinking, "Oh boy, are we gonna catch it from headquarters when we get home," because we dropped the bombs uselessly.
Then our radio operator, Joe Gilfoil – who was mortally wounded that day – said, "There’s a fire in the bomb bay!"
Right after he said that, all hell broke loose. I’m looking out my little window – I sat in back of the pilot and had a window about one foot square – and here’s this flak, maybe three feet around when it explodes, a sort of a grayish black. And I’m thinking, "What the hell is this? We’re at 22,000 feet, and these guys are shooting through the clouds and hitting us like this?" I couldn’t believe the accuracy. And then someone called out, "Here comes our fighter escort!" I looked out my little window, and there’s a hell of a lot of commotion, and I saw these radial engine planes. I thought, "Those are our P-47s." All of a sudden they peeled off and there was the Swastika. And about that instant, they start flying through the ships. There were shells, explosions and guns chattering, you puckered up immediately and the lead hit the stomach, words just cannot describe your feeling. It’s absolute sheer terror for a while, panic for a while, and then anger.
At that point, all I saw was four planes. Apparently they were ten abreast, but I just saw the right side of our plane, and these planes shooting at us. And all of a sudden a big explosion hit the ship and the top turret gunner, who was right opposite me, came crashing to the ground. The turret got a direct hit from one of these planes, and it blew the Plexiglas out and smashed it right in this guy’s face and he fell down right at my feet. His name was Mac Thornton. I looked down and I knew he was dead. His face was just frozen; the blood was solid. At that point in September it was very cold, I think it was 20 or 30 below zero at that altitude, so everything freezes instantly. And I panicked at that point. I could see explosions going through the ship into the bomb bay. The interphone was out. We knew we were going to have to bail out. So I went to the bomb bay door and I almost fell over poor Thornton; got my foot caught in his arm and almost panicked to get out of his way. Then I couldn’t open the bomb bay; it was stuck. There were holes, and there was gasoline pouring in the bomb bay. To this day I swear the fact that the Germans blew that turret off saved us from exploding, because I think that sucked all the gasoline fumes from the bomb bay right out through the top. Otherwise I’m sure we’d have blown up, as many of our ships did that day.
I was wearing a chest pack chute. I crawled up to the nose wheel to check that and see how the guys up there were doing. The nose turret gunner was firing at the planes as they went by, because the attacks were from the rear. As they’d go by, the gunners up front would shoot at them.
I tried to open the nose wheel door and it was frozen shut. I thought, "Now we’re doomed. We’re trapped." So I thought, "I’ll see if can kick it open."
All this time I’m nervous, I’m scared. I expect the ship to explode at any moment.
I kicked and kicked, and I got the nose wheel doors open. I damn near fell out because I kicked so hard. I pull myself back up and one leg is dangling. Now I’m sitting on the edge of the nose wheel looking down at nothing but clouds and once in a while they would clear a little bit but the clouds were pretty dense. I’m looking down, dangling in space, and the plane is starting to yaw – that is, going from side to side, and up and down a little bit. As I learned later the engine was on fire, and there were all kinds of things I didn’t see because I’m inside the plane. I back up to get back in the plane, and I look behind me – all the guys are lined up with their parachutes ready and they’re pointing to me to go out.
I went out feet first. I didn’t free fall, like you’re supposed to do – I probably counted to 10 or 15 and pulled the chute. The chest pack has a little pilot parachute which comes out first and grabs the air, and then that pulls the main chute out. There’s always the possibility that wouldn’t work and you’d have to claw your way through getting the main chute open, so the more time you’ve got the better it is. As it happened, mine took off and popped, and boy, it was a jolt. I thought my legs would fly off. We were lucky – we had brand new parachutes, brand new harnesses, brand new electric flying suits that day – it was the first time we wore them. A beautiful gabardine flying suit. And I went out with just my electric boots. I didn’t have my shoes with me. Other fellows jumped out with shoes, they were luckier. I had grabbed my good luck charm, which was a little baseball mitt that my wife had given me, and I put that in my pocket. I had my prayer book, which I kept in my shirt pocket all the time. And we had an escape kit which I grabbed, and shoved that in one of my pockets before I went out. And I had a gun, too. We had .45s and we weren’t supposed to take them, but some guys took them. I had taken the clip out, but I had the gun with me for some reason, which I got rid of on the ground.
After my chute popped open I looked around. Our plane was gone. I didn’t see anybody else. I couldn’t spot any other chutes in the area, but they all went out right after me; as a matter of fact, those in the waist undoubtedly went out first.
The pilot came through okay. He took the plane as far as he could, then bailed out. The co-pilot, we didn’t know what happened to him but we presume he got killed. And it turned out that he was not found until the middle of November, which was almost two months later. Up on a hill in a big beech forest they found his body, what was left of him. So we never knew truly what happened.
The bombardier went out and broke his leg when he landed. Our radar operator, Branch Henard, went out and landed okay. I thought Mac Thornton was dead. As it turns out he was right in back of me going out, which I couldn’t see; you had goggles on, you had an oxygen mask. I couldn’t tell who was in back of me.
Our plane had three navigators because it was leading the squadron. One them was a fellow named Jackson, he was the pilot’s navigator. He went out okay. He landed okay and walked around for a couple of days before he got captured. Our engineer got out okay, and he didn’t get injured. He was actually free for ten days, and he was probably the most nervous man on the ship. He was a very nervous individual; his name is Bob Ault, from Texas.
The radio operator, Joe Gilfoil, lost his leg – a shell just about ripped it off when it hit the ship. The two waist gunners threw him out, hoping that the blood would coagulate, but I understand that his leg just about snapped off, and when they found him on the ground he was dead.
Of the men in the waist, Alvis Kitchens – Cotton was his nickname – had a good section of his rear end taken off with some flak; not flak but the 35-millimeter. He got hit in the butt, and so did Larry Bowers, although not as bad as Kitchens.
The tail gunner, J.G. Weddle, broke his ankle when he bailed out.
We really received no training for parachuting that I can recall. I tried to manipulate the chute when I was coming down; on the way down I saw a fighter plane in the distance coming closer. It turns out it was an FW-190 and he went by me – I couldn’t judge the distance, but maybe a couple of hundred yards – and he waved to me. I could see his hand waving. I presume it was a wave. Maybe he was out of ammunition. But he didn’t circle me; he just kept right on going east.
I was going east too, because the wind was very strong, west to east. I probably drifted four or five miles farther than if I’d held my pull string another five or six minutes, as some of the guys did.
As I came down I could see there was a lot of beautiful green and I saw some little villages, and I could see these woods. I thought, "I’m going to hit those trees just sure as hell." And I did. I tried to manipulate into a little meadow nearby, but I couldn’t budge that chute. And I hit the trees. I would say they were 60 to 80 feet high. I tumbled straight down, right through the trees. And right now I can hear those branches snapping as I hit them. I hit the ground with such force that it knocked me out. I broke my wristwatch. And when I came to I couldn’t move my legs or my back. Now I’m panicked again; here I am and there’s branches all around me, the chute’s around me, my feet are killing me, and then all of a sudden the feeling is starting to come back. I start moving and pretty soon I could feel everything and I thought, "I’ll see if I can roll over and get up," which I did, and oh, my feet are sore. My knees are sore. My back hurts. But particularly the ankles and feet.
Fortunately, all the branches and stuff on the ground had probably saved me from bad damage.
I gathered up the chute as best I could; it was a struggle. I could hardly move my feet. I threw branches over the chute and I took off for the west. I hadn’t gone 150 yards when I heard the damnedest noise. It sounded like a V-1 rocket, putt-putt-putt-putt, or a motorcycle. I could hear German voices real loud. I was walking down a forest road, and I ducked off the road and all of a sudden this old truck came by and it was blowing smoke; I think they had a coal burner running it. I dove behind something where they couldn’t see me. There were a bunch of German soldiers and civilians in the truck. After they passed, I resumed marching, and I was just dragging. One time I heard a very guttural sound, like a sergeant directing troops, and I picked my way over through some trees and down in a little valley I saw an airplane. I couldn’t tell if it was a Messerschmitt or a Focke-Wulf, and then further away there was a guy with horses plowing the ground, and he was yelling at the horses. I ignored that and went my merry way through the woods.
I came to a point where there was a big, broad autobahn. It was getting dark so it was probably around 4 or 4:30 in the evening. I had walked about three and a half hours at that point. Our combat was about 11 o’clock.
Now I’m really hurting. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared. I’m tired. In Germany they have these towers where hunters go up and they sit up there and they shoot the deer. I slept under one of those towers that night. I put a lot of branches over me and damn near froze to death.
I got up the next morning and started hiking. I found some pieces of our airplanes that I recognized. I found a motor embedded in the ground, the propeller all bent up. I wondered what happened to all the guys who were in that plane. And I’m going from forest to forest – some were birch, some were beech and some were aspen; they’re beautiful forests over there – and I’m thirsty. All of a sudden I come across a pool of water and it’s dirty, but I had this escape kit that had this little deal with the pills you mix with the water to make it drinkable. So I’m down there on my knees, and all of a sudden I hear a noise. At this point that I still have my gun, and I think, "Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m caught with this," so I threw it away. It wouldn’t have done any good anyway, since I had no bullets. I’m frozen. And I hear this noise getting closer and closer, and I’d just gotten the water in this little tube where you put the pills in – all of a sudden out of the woods comes the biggest stag I’ve ever seen. He had a big rack on him. He took one look at me and he split and I split. We both got out of each other’s way!
I kept on walking. Some of the trees were so big and close together I had to go sideways to get through them. They weren’t big in circumference, but they were close together. I’m going along, and as it turns out, I’m headed toward the Werra River.
As I go there, first I hear an airplane, then I hear an explosion. The whole ground shook, and I thought, "My God, what happened?" I figured that a B-17 got its bombs hung up after a mission and came by and just dropped them on the other side of the river. I thought, "My God, this is the most terrifying thing," although it was a mile away from me. I could have been over there. How can these people even survive a thing like this?
I’m near the river so I’m staying in the woods, still being able to look out and see the river. I continue to follow this river to see where it goes. I’m going through the woods and here’s a field; a farmer had just plowed and it’s full of potatoes, so I go out when nobody’s looking and I grab a whole bunch of potatoes. I must have had between 15 and 20 potatoes in my pants pockets. Then I’m going along a little further, and I see what looks like men with pickaxes hitting something and my first thought is, "My God, they’ve got one of our men up there and they’re beating him to death." It was actually our lead ship that went down right in that area, that blew up; this is the plane that led us to this debacle. I walked right by them. I presume that motor I found was off their ship. And I guess they were just chopping up the pieces that were left there. I went by the area and I went a little further and then I came to a beautiful valley. I’m looking down this valley and the river’s over to my right, but a little creek comes off the river and goes to the left and there’s a railroad track up there, and up the hill there’s more woods. So I thought I’ll lay low and go up through those woods, because I knew there was a town nearby.
While I’m looking out at this valley, I hear another airplane and I hear explosions, and I look up in the air and see all these pieces flying down. I thought, "My God, a bomber blew up!" And as these pieces floated down, I noticed they’re a funny shape. It turned out they were propaganda letters sent in German. And counterfeit money. Great Britain and the United States decided if they couldn’t ruin Germany with bombs they’d ruin their economy with phony money. So I laid low for a while before I went across this little meadow, and then I decided, well, I’d better do it. I went across. And I couldn’t move very fast. Then out of the corner of my eye – I’m about two-thirds of the way across – I see a movement. All of a sudden here’s a bunch of kids. There was a little bridge across the creek I was headed for and I knew I couldn’t make that because I’d be out in the open, so I turned and went straight to the creek. And I got down behind a tree. Because of the injury to my leg, I had to have one leg straightened out, and it was hanging in the water.
I’m laying there the best I can behind this tree, and all of a sudden I look up and I see this one little kid. As it turns out it’s Walter Hassenpflug. He looks down at me, and he doesn’t know that I see him because I’ve got my eyes half-closed. He jumps up and runs back and he comes back with another kid, who turns out to be Willie Schmidt, who worked with Walter years later. Then they both split and they came back and there was a bunch of them; there were a couple of real cute girls. As a matter of fact, years later I met one of them; her name was Rose Marie Neuman. The girls were 15 and 16 at the time and most of the boys were younger. And there was a tall, thin fellow who came over and looked at me and said, "Sir, are you hurt?"
I didn’t answer. I thought, "This is it. I’m dead."
He kept repeating, "Sir, are you hurt? May I help you?" In broken English. And I finally said "Yes. I’m hurt."
He said, "Let me help you up." He came down, stuck out his hand and I grabbed it and he helped me up.
Contents
Frank
Bertram, Page 2
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