A Flight to Kassel, Germany - Summer of 1943

By John P. Bruce 

The Keene McCammon crew's first combat mission to Kassel was aborted due to cloud cover over the target. Two days later on July 30, the target was again the Messerschmidt aircraft plant at Kassel. My position was copilot.

We were assigned an old plane, Man-O-War, the oldest plane in the 91st Bomb Group. It had endured combat as evidenced by the small aluminum patches on its outer skin. I discovered other evidence as I climbed into my seat. A splotch of dried blood on the floor near my foot. A copilot's blood. I wondered if he had survived. I hoped so.

With the crew in their positions, we began readying for takeoff. All four engines were started. . . good engines with 4800 horses. All systems checked and it was last call for crew check-in. Familiar voices checked in one by one. On cue, all 27 Forts were rumbling and snaking down the taxiway. In turn, we received our green light from the tower and proceeded to get airborne with our ten 500 pounders. This was no time to lose an engine.

We put on oxygen masks at 10,000 feet and within 45 minutes, at 17,000 feet, the group had assembled into formation. We were not to have fighter escort on the way to target but escort P-47's were to meet us on our return. We flew up the Channel, crossed the Holland coast and continued climbing to target altitude of 25,000 feet.

At this altitude, the outside air temperature is -40 degrees F. Only the flight deck and nose section were designed for some heat from the engines. Protection for the other crewmembers was provided by electric suits underneath bulky sheepskin-lined clothing. The two side gunners stood with their 50 caliber guns at window openings in the fuselage. The worst locations.

All eyes were on the lookout for enemy fighters from this point on. There was some light amount of anti-aircraft bursts, puffy black clouds we call flak, but they were not at our altitude at this point. Other group formations could be seen off at a distance on our left, but ahead of us. It was surprising that we had no encounters.

As we approached our initial point, the lead plane started a turn onto the bomb run. Flak began popping up in all directions around our formation. It was intense. Our bombardier, Dan Ohman, released our cargo and our group turned for a heading home. While doing so, we could hear fragments hitting the plane.

The fighters stay away from the target area because of the flak barrage. From here on in we could expect the FW-190's and ME-109's. Hopefully, our escort would show up soon and give us some cover on the way back.

McCammon called on the interphone for the crew to check in. Fortunately, no one reported any problem. No injuries. The task of sky surveillance resumed, but we didn't have too long at it until someone shouted that fighters were sighted and coming toward the formation. They were attacking our nine-ship element, the lower one. These were the infamous yellow nose 190's based at Schiphol airport.

Our gunners were shouting out the directions of attacking planes amidst the chatter of their 50's. It sounded as if all guns, top, rear, sides and underneath were opening up. This was an entirely new experience for all of us. A shocking one.

At one point, I watched a yellow nose 190 passing underneath our right wing and I saw him look up at us as he zipped underneath no more than thirty yards away. It was also at this time that I noticed a hole in the cowling of #3 engine, on my side. The oil pressure gauge for #3 indicated a dropping of pressure. We were losing that engine. The #2 was coughing and it wound down as well. Both inboard engines gone.

With the loss of power, our effort to stay in close with the formation was a losing one. We began lagging behind into that well known vulnerable position, "Tailend Charlie". An easy target with no firepower help from the formation.

What happened next was chaos. McCammon and I heard the top gunner, Cianfichi, yelling from his position behind us. We turned and saw flames roaring in the bomb bay and billowing into our flight deck. McCammon flipped on the bailout bells and called on the interphone to leave the plane. It was evident that it was a fuel fire from damaged fuel lines.

Cianfichi had a small fire extinguisher in his hands trying to extinguish the flames. As I was getting out of my seat while clipping on my chute pack, I yelled for him to leave it and go. I dropped down to the nose hatch and saw Ohman and Duggan huddled at their positions, probably held down by force, as the plane had started downward in a tight spiral. I pulled myself to the hatch and popped through the opening. I had enough awareness to delay the chute opening until a count of three.

It was a sudden jerk bringing pain to my shoulder that brought me out of my daze. My right arm had been caught in the shrouds as the chute opened and my boots had dropped away at the same time. It was so quiet. The din of battle was gone. A yellow nose encircled me and was gone.

I was at about 10,000 feet and couldn't make out any detail on the ground except the small buildings. Eventually, I could detect a few people beginning to gather below me. I landed near the edge of a road and tumbled down an embankment that was covered with large stones. I learned some years later that I had dropped down at Varik.

Stunned, I looked up into faces of several people gathered around me. I noticed one was an old man with a hearing aid horn pressed to his ear. Someone asked, "Deutch?". I shook my head and answered, "American". Smiles and "Ah's" were their responses. They helped me out of my chute and helped me up to the top. In doing this, I realized that I had a sprained ankle and a cut knee, as well as the shoulder pain.

The group was talking amongst themselves, probably discussing what to do with me. A young boy and girl appeared on bicycles and I was led to the boy's bike where I sat on the bar behind the handlebar. I wondered if this was to become the start of evasion.

We rode down a road until we sighted a blue-uniformed policeman walking toward us. The bikers stopped and chatted with him and the bikers left. We were waiting when a car drove up. The driver was in a suit. The policeman and I got into the car and we stopped at a residence where the man led us into what turned out to be a treatment room. He was a doctor. After wrapping my ankle, he put clamps on my cut knee, made a sling for my right arm, and left the room.

As he left the room, the policeman pointed in the doctor's direction and gave a Nazi salute. When the doctor returned, I noticed on his lapel a small pin with a swastika on it. So, he was a sympathizer. He led us into another nice room and offered me a chair. He didn't speak to me and I didn't know what was happening next. Within a very short time a car arrived with German soldiers. I realized then that he had notified German authorities. I was their prisoner.

They took me to a small village and stopped at a two-story building where a few soldiers were. I was led upstairs to a room with a cot. One brought me something to eat and I eventually went to sleep.

The next morning I was led downstairs to a waiting car. In the car was McCammon. He told me he had fallen in the River Waal. He also told me of the fate of the rest of our crew. No one survived. This was crushing news. The Germans had made him walk past our dead crewmembers. A form of gloating and punishment, I suppose. We had all been together for five months and though we didn't know much about each other's private lives and families, we had bonded, learned each other's personalities and it ended like this. Devastating and demoralizing.

We were taken by rail to Amsterdam where we were in isolation in a jail for about four or five days. It was a period of time when other downed fliers were brought in to make up a contingent to be sent on to a life as prisoners of war, and that's another story.