Nazi Germany and the United States were at war and Germany had to be defeated at all costs. President Delano Roosevelt asked me if I would lend a hand. He sent me a letter asking me to join in our conflict. The letter started out by saying "Greetings". On February 16, 1943 I responded to his request and armed with nothing, except youth, I set out to defend the principles of Democracy.
On May 10, 1944 I became an unwilling and unwanted guest of Nazi Germany, A MIA/POW. I was flying as a ball turret gunner on a B-17, Flying Fortress, with the 15th Army Air Corp, 483rd Bomb Group, 815th Bomb Squadron out of Stepperone, Italy, (Foggia). Our aircraft had two direct hits by anti-aircraft fire on #1 and #2 engines after we released our bombs on our target, an aircraft factory in Wiener Neustad, Austria, (Vienna).
I heard the co-pilot's order to prepare to bail out and seconds later his order to bail out. I never heard a warning bell. The one position that a parachute could not be worn was the ball turret position. My parachute was located above and to the right of the ball turret escape door. A ball turret operator had three immediate problems facing him in his attempt to bail out: (1) that the electrical and mechanical systems were not damaged, (2) the parachute was in place, and (3) his oxygen life system was in the ball turret and delay in bailing out would result in a condition called ANOXIA, the lack of oxygen, best described as a good narcotic high or similar to rapture of the deep, as experienced in deep sea diving.
Fortunately, the electriucal and mechanical systems were operating in the ball turret. The extent of the damage from the enemy anti-aircraft fire was that #1 and #2 engines were totally inoperative and on fire, the open bomb bay doors acted as a draft, and the fire from #2 engine spread into the bomb bay.
My escape exit was the right waist door but a malfunction of the escape release pin prevented escape from this exit and was the ultimate result of our right waist gunner's death. We were flying a ship that had out lived it's time in combat hours. The escape pin was corroded in a locked position. A sudden downward lurch of the ship sent me tumbling forward toward the bomb bay and I faced a wall of flames. With palms clasped together, as in prayer or a position of diving into the "ole" swimming hole, I left unceremoniously to meet the enemy below.
President Roosevelt never told me that someday, in the defense of my country, that I would be in this situation, my troubles were just beginning. I bailed out at about 20,000 feet and immediately pulled the rip cord on the parachute, I had not realized that we were still at high altitude and required oxygen. I blacked out due to the effect of anoxia.
A saying goes, "Do not pull your rip cord until you can distinguish the difference between a cow and a horse on the ground." In my condition I could not see the ground.
There is one instance on my descent that always baffled me. It was a condition that I was oscillating from side to side to the extent that I thought the parachute would collapse. Upon my return from the effects of ANOXIA, I saw a German FW 109 aircraft circulating me several times and then veering off for a fatter prize. Not until 1983 did I learn that this circulating practice by the enemy aircraft was a substitute for fighter plane pilots in lieu of shooting down flyers by flying in close and allowing the prop-wash from their engines to collapse the parachutes. The German pilot left, what a beautiful sight. A red headed from Riverside, NJ suddenly became a man.
I was descending rapidly and suddenly, I became aware of my predicament; instead of seeing cows and horses, I saw trees, rocks and mountains. One thing flashed through my mind from the little bail-out training I received and that was; if your going to land in trees, keep your legs crossed. I complied. I soared in neatly, missing the trees, but slid in backwards into a huge briar patch. The abrupt stop gave my neck and back a painful jerk. Although bloodied by the briars and trembling and shivering, not from the cold but absolute joy of having no broken bones, and was once more earthbound. I hurriedly buried my parachute in the briar patch. A quick decision left me extremely erratic and apprehensive. I just sat in my briar patch, closed my eyes, and drifted into a blissful sleep.
WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE
The shrill voices of children permeated the crisp mountain air, interrupting my reverey, and once again I faced reality. I was greeted by six rosy-faced cherubs, three boys and three girls, ranging in ages from eight to twelve years. Their flailing arms and the excitement on their faces assured me my situation was unfavorable. Their repetitive shouts of "Gestapo, Gestapo," all around, was a clear indication to vacate my briar patch. The oldest boy did the talking; his English was understandable at the least. I asked him if he would direct me to the underground. He replied, "Nein, Men Schutzstaffel, Schutzstaffel," (S.S. - the black uniformed elite guard much despised, hated and feared). I extended a full pack of Lucky strike cigarettes. Each cherub took two and returned the pack of cigarettes along with two dinner type bread rolls. I tucked the two rolls in my pocket, not knowing the trouble those two rolls would cause me. I lit a cigarette from the white pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes recalling the advertisement - "Lucky Strike Green has gone to war". The cigarette pack was originally green.
I finished my cigarette, snuffed out the fire, dug a small hole and buried the butt. Once again an inventory was necessary but this time an inventory of my materials for survival. I had two rolls, one half pack of cigarettes and an escape kit.The escape kit contained needle and thread, one concentrated chocalate bar, two compasses, 1/2 inch in diameter, a rubber water bag, one pack of pills for purifying water, one pack of crackers and three silk maps and finally (what I was told and thought), was a package of forty "one dollar bills".
Knowing I was at least in or near Austria, I selected an appropriate map and proceeded to determine my route of escape. The route was very simple, I thought - South was my decision but this was one of several mistakes I would make. What an undertaking - 1,000 miles of enemy territory to cover and headed in the wrong direction (I should have headed Southeast). At least my first step toward freedom was down hill. My down hill jaunt was short, I paused before heading uphill and filled my rubber bag with water at a clear mountain stream fed by the melting snow. I dropped a purifying tablet into the bag and took my next step towards freedom uphill.
The uphill climb was tiresome and fatigue was suddenly upon me. I was about ready to sit down and rest when I spotted a sandy trail that bore no signs of recent activity. I decided to follow the trail; at least it was flat and the dense foiliage on either side gave me some cover. But the dense foiliage also prevented a clear view of what might lie ahead. I only traveled 100 yards on the trail when I came to a sharp bend in the trail. I rounded the bend and froze in my tracks. To my left was a huge lookout tower and I was directly beneath it. I had expected a burst of machine gun fire but everything was quiet. I was reluctant to look up, but the pure quiet gave me one ounce of courage. I took a glance skyward and the burst of machine gun fire never materialized. The tower was unoccupied, at least from my point of view. I made a hurried exit from the trail to the safety of the underbrush.
Once again it was an uphill climb and I was now in an area of scrub oak. My forward progress was hindered by the gnarled and twisted branches. There was no straight line and, at times, I was on hands and knees crawling beneath the brush. At one point the scrub oak was less dense and I could again see the tall pine trees ahead. The last ten yards was on all fours beneath more brush and I emerged facing a ravine and a sudden drop of about ten feet. The ravine sloped down gradually and rose to a lesser height on the opposite side. It was about the length of three football fields across, 900 to 1,000 yards. I needed a rest, the cover was good, so I plopped belly down and closed my eyes.
Sound is a funny thing; you can hear it and distinguish what made the sound but it is difficult to determine the direction it is coming from. The sound was chopping, like with an axe, the direction was deceiving, and an echo followed each whack. To my right and downhill, a column of smoke appearerd from a house chimney. Only the chimney was visible above the tree tops. The smoke column appeared as though it were suspended by a rope, lifeless in the still afternmoon air. The chopping continued deliberately and without pause and to my left and up the slope was a small clearing and the axeman in knee was sectioning a newly felled tree. My reasoning was, if I could see him, he could also see me. To avoid detection I would have to circumvent the ravine, an arduous uphill task; or go straight ahead and downhill with possible detection. So what the hell, straight ahead, but with caution.
Simplicity and luck and a plan emerges. Beneath my very nose lie two deer, content to remain there nibbling on some tender buds and shoots of the scrub oak. One deer decided to depart for greener pastures an in so doing the noise attracted the attention of the woodsman, but he soon turned to his job at hand. I urged the second deer to follow it's leader by sending a handful of sand and stones in it's general direction. When the deer left, the woodsman looked up and saw a startled deer. But what he didn't see seconds later was an American airman making tracks to the opposite side of the ravine.
It was all downhill now and what lay ahead of me was farmland and recently plowed fields.It was evening and darkness would soon put a stop to my travels, so it was best to find a suitable spot for the night's lodging. I sat down and propped my feet againmst a tree, took out a roll that I had gotten from the children, took a sip of water, ate one half of the roll, lay back and fell asleep from exhaustion. It rained and the first few drops hit me in the face so I tried to curl up to make my body area smaller. It was then that I found my neck and back would not respond to that position caused by that abrupt stop when I landed. I spent the rest of the night sitting up, propped against the tree.
It takes a long time for daylight to appear when your sitting on the south side of a mountain and took a long time before I could stand up. The sun was warm, and rewarding. I removed the jacket part of my heated suit and also my fur lined flying boots as the boots were wet from the sweat inside and soaked from the rain on the outside. My footgear was a thin felt ped-like shoe Breakfast consisted of a drink of water and wafer like cracker of grain and cereals. I was tempted to eat the remainder of the roll but decided to wait. This decision placed me in a very hazardous position after my capture. After breakfast I headed downhill, me against the Nazis.
The freshly plowed fields should have been ample warning that I was appproaching a farming area and activity would increase. I sat at the edge of the woods pondering my next move. Should I risk crossing the field or should I backtrack? I decided to cross the field. There was a small brush patch of unplowed field about 50 yards out, and another 50 yards of plowed field and I would be back in the woods. It was a calculated risk but it would save several miles of backtracking. My first step into the field attracted more attention than I had ever dreamed of. A low flying German JU-88 was my demise. I could see the pilot's face and I knew he saw me. I ran to the small patch and dove head first for cover. Then minutes later I emerged to make my 50 yard dash to the woods and an unarmed soldier was waiting for me. I asked if he was a comrade and his answer was "Ya, Ya" I then noticed the Eagle with the Swastika in it's talons. I said your a god-damned comrade alright. The German soldier pointed his finger towards his mouth and said, "Essen, Essen", and motioned for me to follow him. I shrugged my shoulders and said "What the hell? might as well, I'm hungry." At least I evaded capture for one day.
Sometimes under adverse conditions you become suspicious and a sixth sense delivers a message of caution. My German guard led the way and I followed. I thought it should have been the other way around. I was armed with a stout walking stick and I contemplated that a good whack on the head of the guard would allow me sufficient time to head for the wooded area. Sometimes the obviouis is the most difficult to detect, but on this occasion and, since I was never a prisoner of war, I decided to keep a safe distance to the rear from the German.
A LINE OF RIFLES
It was a long walk and once more uphill. The muddy field presented an additional problem as my felt shoes kept sticking in the mud. I finally removed them and walked with just my socks on and by the time I reached our destination I was barefooted.
There was a line of trees at the top of a knoll, which was our general direction. Once again I pursued the idea of escape and once again caution was better than a fool-hardy attempt to escape.
There were twelve rifles at the top of the knoll and each one was held by a determined German soldier, determined that I was their prisoner of war dead or alive. If I had my choice I would be the alive part. The command "Actung" was given by the unarmed guard and the twelve riflemen came to attention. My first thought was that a high ranking officer had come to greet me, but it turned out to be a German coporal. The riflemen were dismissed and the corporal took charge. He led me to a large barn that was converted to an Aircraft Radar Station. This would account for the abandoned lookout tower. The corporal escorted me to the second floor of the farm which which would originally have been the loft. The entire facility was spotless. The corporal spoke English and related the same story to me as was told by almost every American airman interrogated by English speaking Germans, and that was that they had worked in Chicago or New York City, came to Germany for a visit and were forced to join the German Military.
ONE KARATE CHOP
I was seated at a mess hall-type table on a long wooden picnic-style bench. The German corporal was seated directly across from me. He unsnapped his side arm, a Luger type pistol, and slammed it on the table within my grasp; he then started the interrogation.. The interrogation on my part always ended in name, rank and serial number. The German corporal was very understanding but insisted that I tell him my age. He asked, and I repeatedly refused to answer him. My continued refusal infuriated him and a sudden right hand chop to my left ear sent me sprawling to the floor. Although dazed, shocked and scared, I climbed back up and sat down. The expression of anger left his face, he picked up his Luger and returned it to his holstere. The Luger, when placed within my reach was an enticement, a trap; somewhere the twelve rifles were an appropriate backup. My left ear started to bleed inwardly, this led me to believe the Luger played the leading part in the Karate Chop.
FOOD
The German Corporal asked if I was hungry and my response was a positive yes. To my astonishment I was given a huge pile of mashed potatoes with beef stew, steamy hot and cascading down the mound of potatoes.
My first taste of this mountainous pile of food was suddenly interrupted by a firm grasp on my wrist by the German Corporal; his proposition was that I would release the three silk maps in my escape kit to him. I told him that I was in no position to question his authority. If he wanted the maps he could take them. He told me that he had to turn all material over to the interrogation center. I told him he could have the maps if he would escort me down to the edge of the woods and return without me. He told me it would be a foolish move, because I was headed for the Hungarian border and, once I crossed the border into Hungry, I was a prime canidate for the gallows or a thrust in the stomach by an irate farmer with a pitchfork.
MY interroigation continued and the so called friendly atmosphere was replaced by a strict and determined corporal. The major problem was why I had Austrian baked rolls in my possesion and only thirty nine dollars out of a standard forty dollars in the escape kit. The German Corporal concluded that I bought the rolls so he then concluded that under these circumstances that I was a spy and would be shot. Someone back in the U.S. was pilfering dollar out of each escape kit. I told the German corporal that he could have the three maps. He told me that I would not be shot and transportation was waiting to take me to an area processing, classified as a Prisoner of War.
BACK TO REALITY
Under guard, I was escorted down to a main road leading to Wiener Neustad. It was a two mile walk and I offered the guard cigarettes for an attempt to escape, but he refused my offer. Before leaving the German Corporal, I told him that I felt sorry for him and his family. He questioned my statement,"Why?" I told him that Germany was losing the war. He knew without agreeing.
When we reached the main road, I was placed in a truck with a driver and the guard. I told the guard that it was not necessary to guard me, and that I had no intention of attempting to escape. He told me he was guarding me from the civilians, that if they knew I was an airman they would string me up without question as I had just bombed their town and killed their women and children.
We entered Wiener Neustad, the railroad tracks were distorted, twisting skyward, the bomb craters pock-marked the target area indicating total destruction of the aircraft factory but only to be rebuilt and again bombed to final destruction. The railroad crossing was intact. After a bumpy crossing the truck stopped at a building showing distinct signs of the recent bombings. It was a one story building and all the windows were boarded up. The point of a bayonet in my back directed me through a maze of hallways to a huge room that appeared to be the central interrogation center. Again I was searched and stripped of all personal possessions, including the inner liner of my heated suit and felt inner boot liner, which contained the electrical wiring. The right knee of my fatigues were torn and this ticked off a series of giggling among the young female typists. I had an urge to tell them not to be too cheerful for their future was doomed and they would one day beg to have my torn fatigue pants. The urge subsided when interrogation started. Surprisingly name, rank and serial number was all that was required. I was permitted to leave directed by the same bayonet down the same maze of hallways to the outside.
The guard positioned me dead center on the cobble-stoned street with fixed bayonet and again urged me forward. For one brief moment I thought this was going to be a one man parade through the streets of Wiener Neustad. Through these dismal days of loneliness and then the uncertaintity of life or death a voice rings out "Joe O'Donnell, watch out for the hook (shots)." From the second floor of a bombed building the voices were American and the faces belonged to American airmen. I became part of that group. This group was the result of the May 10, 1944 air raid on Wiener Neustad - an estimated guess determined at least 200 personnel. I was joined with the remainder of my crew - 8 out of 10 survived; the pilot, Lt. Ray Scranton and right waist gunner, Sgt. Horace Stewart were killed in action.
TO FRANKFURT ON MAIN
We boarded a Tooneville type train, with wooden benches for seats, - our destination Vienna, Austria. We traveled over the same railroad tracks that we had just bombed several days ago.
Our arrival at the train station in Vienna was like entering a death trap, a huge hostile crowd of civilians surrounded us. They knew we were air corp and violently vented their anger. Fortunately for us, their only weapon were a swift kick, a deliberate punch, or a wad of well aimed spit in the face. Our guards double-timed us to the waiting 40 and 8 boxcars at the far end of the railroad station. We needed no urging as our incentive was survival and our only ally was distance from the civilians.
WALTZ TIME
Stupidity is an act of someone doing something stupid, (no quote). One P.O.W. started to hum the Blue Danube Waltz and another two P.O.W.'s started to waltz. This stupid act enraged the guards and they pulled open the boxcar doors and roused all of the P.O.W.'s into the boxcars, and jam packed the boxcars to overflowing. We headed out of Vienna immediately towards Frankfurt on Main.
The two train rides to Frankfurt were without food and water. Always, without fail, train rides were without food and water and toilet facilities, rarely was anyone permitted to leave the train when the train was delayed. The conditions on the four day train ride to Stalag Luft IV were typical, no food, no water, no toilet facillities. Our group arrived at Luft IV the later part of May, 1944. I was imprisoned at Luft IV for nine months and on February 6, 1945 I started out on "The Shoeleather Express".
