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MY LAST WW-II COMBAT
MISSION
by
FRANK Q. O'CONNOR
COLONEL, USAF Retired
On November 5,
1944 my squadron, the 356th Fighter Squadron of the 354th Fighter Group,
was based at an airstrip, near Vitry le Francoise, France. However, we
were temporarily flying our missions from a nearby airfield at St.
Dizier, France due to extremely muddy conditions at our strip. We were
briefed for each mission at our strip and then trucked to our aircraft,
parked at St. Dizier. At the time we were flying P-5l-D Mustangs.
On that date, I
led my squadron from St. Dizier to an enemy airfield at Schwaebisch
Hall, Germany. Our mission was to dive bomb and strafe the airfield.
Upon completing our dive bombing run, I led my flight in a circle to the
left and we strafed some camouflaged aircraft parked on the north part
of the airfield. Upon pulling up from this run, I saw another airfield
with parked aircraft and we dove for a strafing attack. Just after we
started our strafing run, I saw flak tracers being fired at us from
about two o'clock. I winged over to make a headlong attack on the flak
battery, hoping to get them before they got us. Almost immediately my
aircraft engine was riddled and boiling hot coolant streamed back into
my cockpit (causing superficial burns on my hands and face and a very
bad burn on my right shin). My engine started vibrating and making a
loud, whining noise. I pulled up and bailed out immediately. My aircraft
exploded just after I left it.
I landed in a
forested area and my parachute caught among some tree branches. I swung
by my parachute straps until I was able to unhook them, and then fell to
the ground. I was pretty shaken up--in shock, I suppose, and remember
sitting on the ground for a short time trying to gather my wits. A dog,
a bloodhound I think, went right by me with its nose to the ground,
sniffing away. I then realized that I had better get away from there and
started trotting through the forested area. I came to an open area which
I started to run across to gain another forested area on the other side
of a narrow road. Just as I reached the road I saw a group of people
coming up a slight rise in the road. I ducked behind a pile of lumber
near the road, hoping I had not been seen, but I was soon surrounded by
a rather large group of civilians, some of whom wore armbands of some
sort and pointing rifles at me. I held up my hands in surrender.
My hands were
tied behind my back and I was forced to sit on a log. Three of these men
(fairly old men) backed off a short distance and operated their rifle
bolts. Perhaps it was my imagination (which, believe me, can be most
vivid in a situation like this), but I really feared I was on the verge
of being executed on the spot. Thankfully, about this time a German
staff car pulled up and a Luftwaffe officer got out and took custody of
me. I was driven back to the airfield we had just strafed (Crailsheim)
and placed in a cell. Sometime later an armed guard escorted me to a
room in another building. There were three German officers seated at a
table in front of which they had me stand while they attempted to
interrogate me. I could not understand them very well because their
English was very poor. I gave them my name, rank, and serial number and
then just stood there staring at them. After a short time, I was
released and the guard returned me to the cell. Sometime later, after
dark, I was released from the cell and turned over to another armed
guard (who spoke no English). We were driven in the back of a truck to a
railway station and boarded a train with wooden seats and no windows. We
rode trains all night, changing trains and waiting on station platforms.
It was a miserable night for me because it was very cold and I wore only
a shirt and trousers (they had kept my flight suit and jacket at the
airfield).
I spent most of
the night shivering while my guard had on a heavy overcoat, boots, and
gloves. When I would really shiver and shake my guard was most
solicitous and from time to time would ask, "Kalt, yah?" At one stop,
quite late at night, we waited awhile in a beer hall in a basement. I
think an air raid was going on in the vicinity because I could hear a
periodic "Achtung, achtung" coming from a radio. The guard ordered two
beers--one for me, which I gulped down. I had had nothing to eat or
drink since lunch the previous day. After more train travel we arrived
in Frankfurt, Germany. We walked awhile and then boarded a streetcar for
the Luftwaffe Interrogation Center at a place called Oberursel. I was
taken to an office in a building where I was searched and then given a
form which I was told to fill out. There were a number of questions on
the form, but I entered only my name, rank, and serial number. The
Luftwaffe officer, or NCO (I could not distinguish rank), seemed quite
upset that I had not answered all the questions on the form, but did not
continue to pressure me to do so. At this late date I cannot quite
remember, but I think that at this stage I was also photographed and
fingerprinted, after which I was locked into a small solitary
confinement cell. I laid down exhausted, cold, thirsty, hungry, the burn
on my right shin hurting badly, but was able to go to sleep for a short
time.
Sometime later,
perhaps about 6 P.M., a guard opened my cell door. I was given some
lukewarm tea in a bottle and two pieces of black bread--my first food
since noon the day before. After devouring such a "sumptious" meal, I
finally felt warm and managed to sleep fitfully through the night. The
next morning I again received my tea and two pieces of black bread. For
the next twenty-six days that was the daily fare, with the addition of
only a bowl of thin soup for lunch.
The solitary
confinement cell was also to be my home for the next twenty-six days. I
believe it was about ten feet by six feet in size. It had a barred
opaque window, a steam radiator, and a single overhead light bulb. It
was furnished with a wooden stool and a wooden bunk with no mattress or
pillow. There was a burlap mattress cover but it was devoid of straw or
excelsior and consequently did little to alleviate the hardness of the
wooden bed. I also had a two-thirds blanket with which I could cover
either my lower half or the top half of my body. I don't know if this
short blanket idea was contrived or not, but it was certainly an
ingenious method of adding to a POW's discomfort. There were no washing
or toilet facilities in the cell. I had no soap or toothbrush, and I was
not allowed to take a shower. I was able to wash my face and hands
whenever I was escorted by a guard to the latrine. I’m not sure now, but
I think I was allowed to shave on one or two occasions. The cell had
little ventilation and smelled pretty bad. There was nothing to see
except the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. There was nothing to do
except pace the floor, lay on the wooden bunk, count the nailheads in
the walls, do multiplication tables--and worry. There were no
cigarettes, nothing to read, and no one to talk to.
After a few days
of laying on the wooden bunk my elbows, shoulders, hips and knees became
raw and sore and made sacktime a not very pleasant pastime. To make
matters worse, the burn on my right shin became infected, smelled badly,
and throbbed with pain. The radiator heat was controlled so that some
days the cell would be quite hot and other days freezing cold. The only
times I left this cell were the times I was escorted by a guard to meet
with the interrogator, or escorted to see a medic to have my shin burn
treated, and when I went to the latrine. Although the rations were
meager, mealtimes were the highlights of each day -- the only thing that
broke the monotony and loneliness.
At this late date
I cannot recall the exact sequence of events or many specifics of my
interrogation. One thing that does stand out in my mind, however, is
that the interrogator (who spoke excellent English) seemed to know all
about me. He knew I was from San Francisco and mentioned my father’s
and mother’s first names. He knew my squadron and group numbers, my
group commander's name and the names of a number of my former flying
mates who were previously taken prisoner. He knew the number of
victories I had to my credit, and even the decorations I had received,
plus other facts I can't recall now. I was completely astounded by this,
but later I understood how he came by such information. I have since
read that at this interrogation center a mass of information concerning
Allied air units, airmen and operational activity had been assembled
into a library. Thousands of dossiers had been built up from newspaper
and magazine clippings, documents and personal belongings of other
airmen, and information gleaned in the course of previous
interrogations. I don’t think anything could be more astonishing than
hearing this enemy interrogator recite such intimate information about
you, right in the middle of Germany.
Although, to my
mind, the solitary confinement, semi-starvation, harsh and filthy living
conditions, prevention of personal hygiene, etc., amounted to a
depressing and degrading kind of psychological torture, I will give
credit to the man who was my interrogator. His manner was not exactly
friendly, but he treated me as a human being and never once threatened
me with any kind of abuse or physical torture. He spoke excellent
English and seemed a very intelligent, clever man. So much so, that I
felt very wary and on guard when in his presence. For example, on our
first meeting he had asked me where my squadron was based. I felt
somewhat angry and replied, "You know I'm not required to answer a
question like that." He then said, "Well, it really doesn't matter, we
know you came from the airfield at St. Dizier, but your actual base
location is an airstrip near Vitry le Francoise." If he wasn't positive
his information was correct, I probably confirmed it for him by blurting
out in shocked surprise, "How did you know that?" I don't recall whether
or not he even bothered to answer my query. I still can't imagine what
he was specifically after -- if anything. Maybe he was just fishing for
confirmation of his data or hoping to pick up something new to add to
his jigsaw puzzle. After my first encounter with him, I realized that
here was a very smart and clever fellow and I had better beware. As I
recall, I was brought before him in his office on three occasions during
the first eighteen or twenty days of my solitary confinement.
I became quite
depressed and bitter about being caged up like an animal. One evening
around the twenty-second or twenty-third day, he visited my cell
briefly. I demanded to know why I was being kept in solitary confinement
for so long. He said I was under investigation for possible court
martial, that a passenger train had been strafed and a number of
civilians had been killed in the area where I had been shot down. I knew
I was innocent -- but did they? Something else to worry about! That was
the last time I saw him. Four or five days later I was finally released
and transported, along with some other POWs, to a transit camp called
Dulag Luft. Here we joined other Allied POWs awaiting transfer to
permanent POW camps.
We had some
decent food, a hot shower, and were issued necessary items of clothing,
a toothbrush, and a razor. It was certainly a relief to be among fellow
POWs rather than alone in a tiny, barren cell. Two or three days later,
a group of us were put aboard a barred and guarded prison car coupled to
a train. We were on our way to our permanent camp, Stalag Luft I at
Barth, Germany, near the Baltic Sea. It took three or four days to get
there. The trip was most uncomfortable and at times harrowing. In the
prison car, we were six to a small compartment of facing wooden seats
and there was no place to lie down except on the floor or baggage rack
of the car, so we took turns. On one night the train crept along during
a bombing raid on what appeared to be an industrial area near the
tracks. We witnessed a couple of flaming bombers coming down. The train
was not hit but the bombs and German "ack-ack" seemed mighty close and,
of course, gave us some pretty anxious moments. The rest of the trip was
uneventful, and when we finally arrived at Stalag Luft I, we were
marched into the camp escorted by a number of guards and guard dogs.
We were assigned
to barracks, issued Red Cross food parcels and settled in for an unknown
period of time. It was a welcome feeling to finally be at a permanent
camp and among our own people, plus having fairly decent food because of
the Red Cross food parcels. Renewing old friendships with squadron and
group mates who had been shot down and captured earlier was an added and
pleasurable bonus.
Early in May 1945
we were liberated by Russian forces, and shortly afterward flown out by
B-l7s to Camp Lucky Strike in France. There we were debriefed,
processed, stuffed with food, and 'soon started for home by ship.
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Frank
