General Yeager:
I was shot down 69 years and one day ago. The day before, I had shot down his 1st enemy aircraft on the first daylight raid on Berlin. The weather was stinkin’.
I was only one of 2 P-51s and a box of bombers who didn’t get the call back. I was out of ammo so headed home. Saw the remainder of the bombers, called ahead: I’m coming in but tell your gunners not to shoot me down. They were trigger happy – and understandably so. Bombers were somewhat like sittin’ ducks. And the P-51 did resemble a German airplane.
So the bombers protected me all the way home.
Just to show I wasn’t so Sierra Hotel, the next day we headed to Bordeaux area to bomb a manufacturing plant. The weather was socked in so we were about to turn East when I called bandits behind us – I was tail-end charlie. Literally.
I turned into 3 FW 190s. We did a head on pass.
They got me. Oops.
My plane was shot up. And me and my plane parted company.
I free fell for a while – probably 30,000′ to about 5000′ – and finally pulled my ‘chute.
The FW-190, I was told later, was heading for me and Obie O’Brien, my flight leader, shot him down. His parachute didn’t open.
I grabbed a sapling and rode it to the ground – just like West Virginia. I was wounded so I quickly gathered up my parachute, opened up my kit, put sulfa on the wounds, walked about 5-10 miles from the site and hid.
I slept a little. But still on alert. The Germans were out in force looking for me.
But there ain’t a German in the world can find a West Virginian in the woods.
The next morning, I heard a chopping sound. I snuck up to a woodsman. They said find the poor people – they are the most likely to help you. He was a bit started but immediately started “charades” – he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak French. I understood him to mean – wait here, he’d be back with some men who spoke English.
He left hurriedly. I moved away from the spot and hid where I had a good vantage point, pointing my gun.
He returned and was a bit concerned: American? Where are you? he whispered.
He was risking his neck too – we both had to be sure.
I came out and they took me to La Rode, a boarding house a few miles away. There, a Russian lady, in bed from a cold, interrogated me. “What? Has America run out of men already? Why are they sending boys?”
Then: “Are you married?”
Me: No, Ma’am. (I’m sure I thought of a few clever answers to her questions, but now was not the time).
Then: “AHA! You have a wedding ring – you are lying!” as she pointed to my right hand.
I replied: That’s my high school ring. In America, we wear our wedding rings on the left hand.” (In Europe on the right hand).
She pondered that. They had Germans trying to infiltrate the Maquis all the time of course. And when you are in the French Underground, you can trust no one. How can you tell whether someone will crack under torture if caught?
She had a young daughter who was there. I remembered her as 5 or 6 but she told me later, she was 14.
She hid me in the barn. Lots of Germans still looking.
Stay tuned for tomorrow.
c. GCYI