![[Graphic] Snapshots from the 464th Bombardment Group.](../images/flagd.jpg)
Our War Stories
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Bittersweet Recollections
by Art Rawlings (778) — as told to Elise Rawlings
Page 3
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As quickly as I could, I managed to get Bernard out of
his seat and found a heated suit and wrapped it around his head so it would not freeze. I
kept talking to him, trying to give him encouraging words and hoping and praying that he
could hear me.
Bishop got hit in his left leg tearing his leg open from
his thigh to his ankle. It ripped through his heated flying suit, heavy coat and flak suit.
I took over the pilot seat, called for fighter escort,
broke formation and with two P-51s escorting got on radio frequency for Bari, Italy. I gave
our call letters adn asked for landing instructions into their airport.
Bari warned us about their cabled balloons around their
runways, which was a defense device to keep enemy planes from landing. Bishop was
handicapped but still doing all that he could with the instruments on right-hand side of
the plane. Luckily we missed all the cabled balloons and landed safely on the ground.
As soon as we landed we got Bernard and Bishop off
the plane and into the hospital as quickly as possible. The flak had blown a large hole
in our plane directly over the top of the pilot's compartment.
The next time I saw Bernard was in Nashville, Tenn.,
in 1984 at our 464th Bomb Group Reunion. He was totally blind, but glad to be alive. It
was a very teary, touching meeting. He greeted me with hugs, kisses and tears. There
were a lot of wet eyes at that reunion.
For many years I was unable to talk about the pain
of this wartime memory. My wife seems to know and have patience living with an emotionally
traumatized veteran coping with disability. I would like to add that war does not end when
the shooting stops, but lives on in the memories of those who survived.
I flew several more missions and had just begun to
feel that every mission was just another "milk run" (easy as pie) then all heck
happened.
I was shot down again. On this morning, we had a "milk run"
or so I thought, to run up to Udine Air Drome in southern Austria. But, after take off, the
intended target was smoked over with smoke pots. We were given an alternate target
of Neuburg, Germany.
We turned on the IP (initial point) where the L & L
come together for the bomb run over the target. We had our #2 engine feathered because
we had an oil leak and over the target we got hit in #3 engine by flak. We had two engines
running and both were red lined to maintain altitude but the engines being old, we couldn't
maintain altitude and began falling even though the engines were running at maximum
rpm's.
We were flying at 26,000 feet and by this time we were
down to about 18,000, trying to make it to Bremmer Pass. The Alps were 15,000 feet
and we were still losing altitude. The navigator informed me that we couldn't make it...five
minutes too late!
When the plane was down to 14,000 feet we were flying
between the Alps and that is when I pressed the bail out alarm button. I parachuted out
and landed in the main street of Villac Austria. Later I discovered that miracuously all of
the crew had survived...every man for himself.
Luckily, I landed in front of some lady's house instead
of one of the many church steeples that I could see while falling to the ground. The lady
ran to me and took my chute and invited me into her house. She gave me some food that
tasted like sweet potatoes and goat's milk to drink. There were two small children in the
room, both looking at me wondering how I dropped out of the sky, I suppose. I had chewing
gum which I gave to the children and three packets of sugar which I gave to the lady. She
said, in broken English, "'suga' I have not seen since 1939."
I am sure some of the villagers saw my chute coming
down and the Nazi youth were searching house to house where they found me...in her
kitchen.
These Nazi youths were kids between the years of 10-15
but they had guns (25 automatics) and knives and wore uniforms of khaki with swastika
arm bands. I managed to escape from them when one stopped to tie his shoe laces, and
the kid in back was throwing stones for entertainment. They had not searched me. The
shoe lace tying gave me the opportunity to jump them with the butt of my .45 — taking
them by surprise. I managed to tie them all up with their own shoestrings. I took off running.
Much later that night, I was hiding in a ditch (a tree had
fallen over and left a big hole in the ground) when I heard bloodhounds coming. They treed
me. Very shortly the SS men (Nazi Special Services) in half tracks captured me and
took me to an outpost where I was then questioned. The interrogator spoke perfect English,
he told me he had been in Chicago and knew very well where Tennessee was located.
I had not been searched still.
My Mae West life jacket had a hole in the dye pocket
and this stuff was oozing out. One of the guards touched his finger to this and then put
it on his tongue. It foamed up all over his mouth and I laughed. The other guard hit me in
the right eye with brass knucks.
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Published with the permission of Art Rawlings, Jr., (464th, 778).
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