by C V Ricks
Budd and his crew had flown missions to Rumania, Czechoslovakia, Germany and Austria. They only bombed strategic targets such as steel factories, factories that manufactured war materials, and railroad yards. They never bombed civilian facilities. Sometimes his crew flew sorties. Sorties were short missions which were closer by and which meant shorter exposure to enemy flak and fighters. They had to fly two sorties to get credit for one mission. Budd and his crew were in air as often as weather permitted. Budd's crew's bombardier had received radar training while at Langley Field Virginia. This meant that he and his crew could fly during bad weather, using radar and could go out alone to bomb targets.
Now we are back to the beginning of this story, one that entails terror and fear, but also love and safety. The mission began on December 3, 1944. Budd's crew prepared for mission number twenty-three. If this mission was successful it would mean Budd and his crew only had two more missions to complete and they would be able to go home. What an amazing feat. Not many crews lived to see the day. It was a cold and rainy day in Italy. Budd's crew was required to fly up through Northern Italy, through the Udine pass, over the Alps into Austria. Their target was the Herman Goring Steel Factory at Linz, Austria. The crew was happy and somewhat at ease, because this was to be a milk run (easy mission or piece of cake). The crew was so excited to think that they had beaten the odds and would soon be going home. For the odds were that they would never make it to mission number twenty-five or make it home alive. The crew climbed into the sleek new radar plane. As the navigator guided the crew through the pass, they sang, “Bless them all, bless them all, bless them all. The young the short and the tall. There will be no promotion this side of the ocean so bless them dear Lord bless them all.”
Their e.t.a (estimated time of arrival) to the target was 12:00 noon. As they neared the target, about ten minutes away, the clouds dropped from 30,000 feet to 15,000 feet. This was a significant change. It was not a good thing. This meant that the cloud cover would make the accurate execution of the bomb to the target more difficult. The crew voted whether they should take the chance and go on with the mission.
Pep, the pilot, spoke over his intercom to the crew. “We're going to take a vote. The clouds have dropped. Do we want to go on with the mission, or go back home and try again another time?”
This was their twenty-third mission. They were so close. They didn't want to turn back now. The voting was unanimous to continue with the mission.
The plane reached the target. The bombardier had control of the plane through the nordan bomb site. The navigator was busy plotting the crew's course back. The plane made its first pass over the site, blinded by the noonday sun. Suddenly they were struck by ME-109's and Folk Wolf 190's in force. The milk run had turned into a mission of tension and fear. Their right inboard engine was set on fire. The plane was going down. Budd heard voices and shouting but couldn't make out what everyone was saying. The plane's guns were blazing but the damage was fatal before any one of their guns fired. It happened that quickly. Budd was not aware of what was happening but was firing at the fighters as they slipped back to the tail. Budd saw chutes opening and realized his own crew was jumping out. He looked back over his shoulder and realized Jacob, the radio operator was standing at the waist door and was waving him out. The plane continued to spiral down. Budd forced himself to his escape hatch, but as he continued to try to go toward the hatch, the pressure forced him down to the floor. Budd tried with all his strength to rise up from the floor. On his hands and knees, Budd inched his way toward the hatch all the while crying out, “God, God, Oh my God help me!”
From my Earth-watching position, Joseph said to me, “Well, are you ready to save Budd's life?”
I had been watching my son and eagerly said, “Yes, let's go now!”
“Follow us,” said Joseph.
I followed them down and we hovered above the scene.
I saw the shooting down of a B-17 plane. Everything turned to chaos. Budd banged at the door with his steel flak helmet, but the hinges would not release so he clawed to get out the door. For every few inches he pushed the door out, the door continued to shut back in on him. Angel Joseph and Rachel flew toward the door. I followed. Pull the door on the count of three. Angel Joseph spoke to my mind. One, Two, Three....We yanked hard, and the door opened. We held it open. Budd wiggled his way out until his head and shoulders hung from the plane. Then, the wind grabbed Budd, tearing his jacket sleeve and ripping his boots off of his feet. Jacob had opened his chute and was watching Budd as he was being torn from the plane. After Budd had finally wrenched himself from the plane, it blew apart into bits and pieces. Budd was only semiconscious when he realized that he was free falling. Seeing the clouds enclosing him, Budd knew he had reached the 15,000 foot level, the cloud formation level. Budd's hands quivered as he reached for his chest parachute. His heart sank when he discovered it was not there. It must have torn from the holding rings when the door of the plane shut on him.
At this point Budd knew that his life was over. One would think that this knowledge would entail the uttermost dark and disturbing feelings that could ever enter a person's heart. But it was not so. Instead of anguish and despair, an astonishing feeling of peace swept over Budd's entire being. He was filled with a knowledge that there were things far much worse than death. At this moment, we were touching him, bearing him up and filling his very soul with a peace and feeling of love never before felt by Budd in all his earthly life. Being touched by a guardian angel does that to a person. Budd lifted his eyes upward, toward heaven, as if to let the Lord know that he was ready.
But the time for Budd's life to end was not at hand. It was then, as Budd's eyes were lifted upward, that he saw his chute swinging back and forth just above his head. Budd thought that the thread had broken from his harness, which allowed the excess to unfold, which removed his chute from his chest. But it I who had broken the thread. Budd was filled with glorious exhilaration as he pulled the rip cord and the chute opened into a beautiful billowy mushroom.
Budd's one hundred and eighty mile per hour plunge, now slowed down considerably. Now, his thoughts focused on what he had learned and practiced about landing. Budd gazed down at the patchwork below. He had been taught to choose a safe place to land and to prepare for the landing. He was taught to take the jolt by landing on the toes, fall forward on the knees and then to the chest. As he was fast approaching the landing, he could see a runway strip, a forest and a lake. He did not want to land on the runway strip, the forest, or the lake.
Budd's thoughts on where to land were interrupted as all of a sudden his chute collapsed. He had spilled the air out of his chute and was quickly falling. Blow! Blow his hands down! Joseph instructed me. And I blew. I blew Budd's cold hands down causing them to drop and the chute once again filled with air.
Budd once again examined his choices. Seeing that none of the choices were favorable, Budd decided to fall wherever fate took him. At this point fate came in the form of three guardian angels. We directed his parachute toward the forest, helping his chute clear the trees. Budd's back grazed a large fir tree and he slid down the tree with both feet in the air. He made a one point landing right on his rear end. It was the kind of jar he would feel for days. Instead of Budd going down to meet the ground, it came up to meet him and slapped him hard. But Budd didn't have time to reflect on his situation or to deal with the torturesome throbbing coming from his rearend. In the distance he could hear dogs barking and shouts of men. He knew that he had to get out of there. Budd balled up his chute and buried it and took off running as fast as he could. As he neared the edge of the forest he saw an old man with a shot gun and two young girls cautiously moving down a dirt road. Budd knew he was trapped. Should he take his chances with them, or let the military get him? Budd decided his best chance was with them, so he moved toward them with his hands up. He was hoping to get the young ladies' sympathy. He pointed to his bare feet. He pointed to the large tear in his bomber jacket. He p
ulled off his throat mic and handed it to one of them. They were large young ladies. The girls got on either side of Budd and lifted him by his elbows and carried him down the road. Several Germans came out of the forest with rifles and bayonets. The girls let Budd down and the Germans took it from there. They stuck their bayonets in his back and forced Budd across a snow encrusted field. Budd was brought to the front porch of a house. Several high ranking German officers were standing on the porch.
Budd was taken to a small jail where he was placed in a cell with Jacob, the crew's radio operator. Jacob had fallen through a roof and was captured by a group of irate civilians. They were so mad; they were about to do him in with pitchforks when German military personnel came upon the scene.
Since Jacob had boots and shoes under his boots, he was ordered to take off his boots and give them to Budd. Budd was in his stocking feet. Then Budd was taken to a small cell. The only furniture in the cell was a wooden bed without a mattress or blanket. Budd was given a black piece of bread. It smelled so sour that it turned his stomach. He tossed it under the bed. By morning, however, Budd was so hungry that he desperately searched for that piece of bread. Realization then hit Budd that the war was over for him. He was now at the mercy of a hostile enemy.
The next morning all of the prisoners from a fifty-mile radius were rounded up and secured in a jail in Wells, Austria. All of the men in Budd's crew had been captured except for one. One of them was missing and it was assumed he was dead. For a week they were together and could talk about things. Each night they were marched to the railroad station to catch a midnight train to Frankfurt, but each night the train was full. Finally, after a week of trying, the German soldiers just loaded them on the train anyway. The prisoners were handcuffed to the windows opposite the other passengers. Budd and the men traveled all that night and all the next day, uncomfortably handcuffed in those positions. When they finally reached their destination, they were herded off the train. The civilians looked on them with hatred in their eyes and yelled bitter remarks at them.
The prisoners were taken to a large interrogation center outside of Frankfort and were separately interrogated, searched and locked up into private cells. In these cells, the only window was a small barred one. It was up near the ceiling and there was no way to see out. The bed was wood and the pillow was also wooden. Budd was fed only once each day. It was such slop as alfalfa soup and black bread. Each day he was taken to an English speaking German officer for interrogation. Each day Budd would only give his name, rank and serial number.
“Tell us more or we'll kill you,” the German officer threatened each time, angrily yelling and losing his patience. But Budd said nothing.
One night, after a week of interrogation, Budd was taken from his cell and led outside the walls of the center. Budd shivered , but not only from the cold. He feared that he was now going to be punished for not talking. The calm peaceful feeling of his earlier near-death experience was gone. From all of the threats he had been given, he assumed that the time had come for him to be shot. He was of no use to them now. As Budd trudged through the snow, he pictured his sweetheart Faelela and thought of how he would never see her again. He thought of his family receiving news of his demise. A large building along side a railroad track came into view. Budd's boots sank into the deep snow as he trudged toward the large building. Could this be the place they executed all of the prisoners who wouldn't talk? If so, what did they do with the bodies afterward? Budd continued trudging forward as the soldier pressed the gun into his back. Finally, they reached the building. The door was flung open and Budd was pushed inside. He fell to the floor. There he could hear the footsteps as the soldier who brought him shuffled out and shut the door. Slowly Budd lifted his head and peeked into the room. What he saw caused him to let out a sigh of relief. There was no gunmen. He was not with Germans. The room was filled with disheveled American airmen. What a glorious sight! Budd felt such joy and excitement. He was with his own kind.
Chapter 29
Budd enjoyed conversing with the other prisoners, after the feeling of isolation had nearly overwhelmed him. But as 3:00 a.m. rolled around, Budd's eyelids began to droop and his breathing to slow. It was dark in the cold building, and even though Budd could hear some of the guys still awake and whispering, he rested his head upon his arm for a pillow and pulled his coat around him tightly. He was soon asleep.
Budd awoke to the frigid cold air, a door banging open and men shouting orders. Although he couldn't understand German, Budd could discern that the officers wanted him to come with them. He quickly slipped on his frozen boots and followed the other prisoners out the door. He jumped in the truck with the others and off they went to the train station. They were then herded, like sheep, onto a freight car. When they reached their destination, they got off the train. Budd found himself at a temporary camp located in the heart of the Rohr Valley. Here the men received new uniforms and clothing that had been brought in from the Red Cross. Unlike the previous treatment Budd received, here he was fed well and treated well. Here Budd spent Christmas of 1944.
Even though the treatment Budd received at this camp was an improvement, everything was not peachy here. The camp was located in the heart of an industrial area and was subject to much bombing. Bombers came both day and night. Daytime bombing was not as frightening as night time bombing. The camp had large red cross signs on the roof of each building indicating to the allies that prisoners were housed there and therefore not a bombing target. But at night, it was a different story. The night bombers were wilder and the red cross signs on the building tops were not as visible.
The British didn't have the newest innovations in bombing. The bomb sites they used were not as precise as the American Nordan bomb sites, therefore the men feared they could be bombed on accident by their own allies. Each night the roar of engines and the explosive sounds, brought fear and trepidation to the men. Every night the bombing brought back memories of that fateful day on Dec. 3, 1944 when Budd jumped out of the B-17.
In early January, Budd and ninety other prisoners were packed like sardines in a can into a small railroad freight car. The journey was to take them from Berlin to the Baltic Sea. The prisoners were squished into half of the freight car, while the two guards occupied the other half. Straw was strewn around the floor. After standing for hours, Budd's legs started to cramp. He had to wait his turn to sit, as there wasn't enough room for all to sit at once. Although warmth exuded from the bilgy bodies, it was still freezing. The blackish-gray dimness filled the freight car both day and night. There was no way to look out. On several occasions, air raid sirens blasted the air giving warning of approaching fighter planes. When this happened, the train stopped, the guards got out and locked the door behind them. Fear-coated silence paralyzed the living vessels huddled In the dark. Roars of fighter engines permeated the air. Were they German fighters or were they the mighty American P-47 planes intent on destroying the train? As the planes drew closer, Budd, relieved, could hear the pinging of the engines. The distinct pinging meant that they were indeed German fighters. Germany's gasoline was of such a poor quality it caused the pinging noise.
When the train stopped at a scheduled stop, Budd and the other prisoners were let out to relieve themselves. The train trip was a long and excruciating six days.-
Budd stumbled out of the train with the other sleep-deprived prisoners. Legs as stiff as boards refused to bend. Barth, Germany was located on the Baltic Sea, directly across from Copenhagen, Denmark. The prison camp, Stalag Luft One was located outside of the quaint little town of Barth. It was comprised of five compounds. Budd was taken to North 3. This camp housed ten thousand prisoners. At Barth, cold and dampness were Budd's enemies. The barracks were insufferable. Each of the ten rooms housed forty men. The prisoners were allowed one piece of coke per day per room. Coke was a heating substance made from coal used in stoves to heat homes and buildings. The men in Budd's room huddled together, saving their one piece of coke until the end of
the week. On the last day of the week they would use their week's ration of coke and they could be warm.
The cold was ever present, like living inside of a refrigerator. Also, the lack of food was unbearable. Hunger pangs shot through his insides like an archer's arrow, leaving a brash emptiness there. Flimsy rations did nothing to fill the gaping whole of a hollow stomach. Red Cross parcels were few and far between. The Germans, who were also hungry, stole them to survive. German rations consisted of frozen potatoes, rutabagas and bread laced with sawdust. Each man was supposed to receive one Red Cross food box per week. This was not so in Budd's case. The war had been going for so long, depleting the Germans of their substinance. Budd's parcels seldom made it to camp. A few parcels had to be divided between all of the men. If this kept up, they would all die of malnutrition.
To keep warm, Budd took walks around the compound. Carefully he walked, making sure not to step over the warning wire. During the day these walks were allowed, but not at night. The men were confined to barracks at night. When the darkness came, German police dogs were turned loose making sure that the prisoners stayed in their barracks. One could take a chance with a guard, but never with a dog. The dogs were too well trained. Guard towers were posted around the perimeter of the camp. The towers were formidable structures. It was a very unpleasant sight to see the guards standing there with machine guns ready to shoot any prisoners who tried to escape.
Budd formed a camaraderie with the other prisoners. They were all in this together, floating in limbo waiting for the war to end. They depended on each other for warmth. They spent hours conversing. They talked about how important they were as civilians. Budd carried with him in his pocket at all times, a picture of Faelela. He could show it to prove that his girlfriend was the best looking of them all. The men played poker and other games to bide the time.