Sept. 11th fell on Monday. A memorable weekend sightseeing in Scotland is the reason for not forgetting the day of the week. For that pleasure I had to miss Sunday dinner, which I much regretted later. There was nothing special for preparing for the mission, nor our mission to Central Germany. We were giving high escort to the bomber stream, and were returning home intact, more or less. There had been no German attacks on our 55th fighters. On our return course to base (westerly), I chanced to glance to my left. Off in the distance in Czechoslovakia was the big air battle between the 100th BG and Luftwaffe ME 109's. (No doubt 190's as well.) It was a sight never to be forgotten. They had dived down from high above. Many bombers were on fire, some spinning out of control. The 190's were diving through them and going right on down to saftey. So I immediatly radioed the leader and reported this action. He turned the unit to intercept the 109's still attacking the bombers which, by that time, had lost any semblance of formation. The altitudes were between 20,000 and 24,000 feet. A large number of bombers were on fire. Some had exploded. Several were spinning and on fire at the same time. An almost countless number of parachutes were floating amid the planes. Obviously, a terrible air battle was in progress.
Upon arrival, I saw a ME 109 diving. He had already attacked the formation and was below me. I followed him down and began firing. My airspeed built up rapidly. In my eagerness to "down" him, I kept my guns firing untill I realized we were on a collision course. The breakaway came too late to avoid my right wing. That threw me into a barrel spin. I did not see him again. I pulled the canopy release and instantly was projected out. My total mental focus was on delaying my parachute opening. (Fellows in chutes might freeze at altitudes where they now floated, we had been told, and also told to delay opening for that reason.)
Only semiconscious but concentrating mightily on holding on to the chute ring, I waited, likely with eyes closed, seeing nothing. Finaly I pulled the chord. The ground was rapidly approaching. It would be a forest landing. Just before hitting the trees, I threw my arms across my face. The parachute settled down over the trees but I eased through. My chute was gently stopped by the trees and I had only to unharness it and step on to the ground without having touched it.
I lit a cigarette and tried to calm my nerves. For 15 minutes or more the booming of crashing planes sounded in the distance. I knew that the air battle had been of tremendous size. But my flying days had suddenly come to a screeching halt. Where was I? What was I to do now?
Evasion
My first thoughts were on avoiding capture. The forest offered protection so I stayed where I layed until dark. While waiting, I removed my flight suit, emptied its pockets and took inventory: Pocketknife, half a package of cigarettes, lighter, Escape kit containing both usefull and useless items ( French Francs, German Marks, and a map of France and Western Germany). There were compasses of various sizes, five one-a-day energy pills and what else, I don't recall. ( Sadly it never occured to me to open the inflatable dinghy in my parachute seat to see what might be useful in it). Pulling the parachute down a little way and cutting off several pieces of parachute cloth and lengths of parachute line seemed like a good idea. Perhaps it would be handy in some way. (It certainly did). At the same time, I got out my G-suit and cut away the rubber bladders that inflate around the thighs and stomach These then became means to carry water (and worked very well). Our Sqdn. members did not wear insignia on missions. The unmarked khaki pants and shirt were more or less indistinguishable from those of any other army's. I would not be easily identified as an American. I left the immediate scene and made my way through the forest carefully, seeing no one, no one seeing me.
The pattern of the following days was to walk at night, using my compass and the north star to guide me. Daytimes I would hide, frequently in a rick of drying hay. These little "one- man tents" made excellent places to hide, and I greatly appreciated having them handy. They provided some warmth as well. My thought was that saftey lay, first, in getting out of Germany, and secondly, perhaps I could make it to Yugoslavia where Tito Partisans might find me. ( A rather impossible plan, in the latter instance. My sense of regional geography was very weak. It didn't occur to me that Czechoslovakia and Hungary ( and a corner of Austria, also) were between me and Yugoslavia.