Great Escapes (17 page)

Not all escapees were Europeans; some came from the United States, Canada and other Commonwealth countries. The fact that the Americans did not enter the war until December 1941 does not detract from the part they played in causing confusion and mayhem amongst their captors once they were captured. The American philosophy of captured soldiers and airmen differed from that of the British inasmuch as they generally believed in infuriating the German guards by carrying out passive hostile resistance, whilst using trickery and deception to cause the enemy the biggest amount of problems they could. The British on the other hand, reasoned that escaping quietly and with no fuss caused the Germans immeasurable problems regarding their security. In addition to this, once escapees had been missed, a desperate search ensued that tied up hundreds of troops the Germans could ill afford, causing extensive problems for the military. It has to be remembered as well that Britain was also part of Europe, and as such, a number of the British had a working knowledge of French or German or both. This of course made it easier for some British escapees and evaders to move around.

Thousands of German troops were tied up in counteracting these escapes and evasions, causing the enemy a considerable amount of disruption. There were, however, a number of escapes made by Americans, including one which involved taking a German Focke-Wulf 190 from under the noses of the Luftwaffe.

As he leant his body against the wall of the abandoned and derelict farmhouse, ligh thought back to the night before at St Dizier, France, when the 353rd Fighter Squadron had one of its rare ‘stand down’ parties. The Commanding Officer had broken out a case of the ‘Old Methuselah’, a green, mission whiskey, and the party was just about to get into full swing when the OD (Officer of the Day) walked in with operations orders. The squadron was scheduled to fly the following day, and as the time was 3 a.m., it was decided that the party would have to be put on hold. The crews had just ‘one for the road’ before retiring.

Two hours later Bruce Carr was awakened. He quickly got into his flight gear and put on his leather flight jacket. At the briefing, he listened intently, between gulping down mugs of steaming black coffee, as the mission plan was unfolded. The squadron pilots left the briefing and headed for their P-51 North American Mustangs parked in the dispersal bays. Firing up the engines they taxied out onto the runway and took off.

Their mission was to carry out a fighter sweep of the retreating German army and mop up anything that they came across. They were not concerned with ground fire, as normally this never affected them, but they kept their eyes peeled for the odd fighters that suddenly appeared from nowhere. The sky around was blue and clear, and it felt like a routine training flight. The perfect reassuring beat of Bruce Carr’s 1,720-hp Packard engine was suddenly transformed into a horrendous grinding of metals as cannon shells ripped into it.

Frantically looking around for an enemy aircraft and seeing none, Carr realised that his aircraft had been hit by ground fire. His eyes immediately flashed to his instrument panel where he registered that the engine temperature was about to go off the scale, the oil pressure gauge was at zero. Grey smoke started to fill the cockpit, the windscreen was spattered with oil and he could see white smoke pouring out of the exhaust manifolds. Loosening his seat belt, he slid the canopy back to its fullest extent and pulled back on the control column. He was trying to get as much height as he possibly could before bailing out because he realised that the only place his aircraft was going to go in a few moments was into the ground. Suddenly flames started to flicker around the manifold exhausts and Carr realised that it was only a matter of seconds before his aircraft disintegrated into a fireball. Standing on the seat he hurled himself clear of the burning aircraft at 12,000ft, then free-falled down to 1,000ft before opening his parachute. He left it as late as he dared in an effort to minimise the chance of detection.

As the ground rushed up to meet him he braced himself for the landing. Rolling over in the grass, he struggled out of the parachute harness and rolled the parachute and webbing into as small a ball as possible and threw it into a nearby ditch. He then covered it with rocks and dirt in an effort to conceal it. He sat down and regained his breath and composure and looked around the countryside – at least he was alive. Then the realisation hit him, someone must have seen his parachute, so he looked around frantically for somewhere to hide.

He was in the heart of Nazi country – Austria – so he was certain that the locals were not likely to be friendly. For the next two hours he made his way along the sparse hedgerows until he came across part of a crumbling wall, where he settled down to try and work out a way to Switzerland. At least the weather was dry and warm, and there was plenty of fresh water in the streams. Food however was another matter, but he felt certain that he would be able to find a remote farmhouse and steal some.

Travelling by night and sleeping by day, Bruce Carr made his way slowly across the Austrian countryside towards the Swiss border. For three days he travelled, sometimes on the road, but mostly across fields keeping to the hedgerows. He had fought shy of going to some of the farmhouses he saw, fearful of getting caught, but the pangs of hunger were beginning to take hold and he realised that he was getting weaker by the day. He needed to get some substantial food inside him, if he was to make the Swiss border.

On the third night he approached an isolated farmhouse determined to get some food. He watched as the farmer shepherded chicken and ducks into the downstairs barn of the two-storey house. One hour later he saw the lights in the upstairs rooms go out. He waited a further two hours before creeping towards the barn, hoping that by now the occupants in the upstairs rooms were fast asleep. Slowly he opened the door of the barn, thankful that the farmer had kept the hinges well oiled. His eyes had become accustomed to the dark by now and spotting a row of sleeping, plump chickens he slowly grasped one around the neck. As he did so the chicken awoke screeching and beating its wings. The next second the whole barn was in uproar as the remainder of the birds joined in. Grabbing his chicken he ran for the door and out into the night, putting some distance between himself and the farmhouse. He had killed the bird whilst running and so started to pluck the feathers with the intention of eating the bird raw.

Suddenly he thought he heard the faint sound of an aircraft engine. It became louder and he recognised it as a single engine aircraft, probably a German fighter, as the engine sound was unknown to him. Then out of the darkness came an aircraft, flying low and directly overhead. He watched the flames flicker from the exhaust, the engine cut and it disappeared over the hill in front of him. At first he thought the aircraft had crashed and he listened for an explosion, but on hearing nothing he headed toward the hill. Climbing the hill he peered over the top. Below him lay a huge Luftwaffe airfield, with fighter aircraft dispersed all over the place.

Finding himself a vantage point he scanned the airfield for guards along the fence line, but there only seemed to be a token number. He watched several figures crowded round a Focke-Wulf Fw-190 fighter and then heard the engine burst into life with a mighty roar. Bruce Carr listened as the engine roared as the propeller was manipulated until it was screaming. After running it up for a few minutes the engine was shut down and a man climbed out of the cockpit, closing the hood behind him, obviously satisfied with the full engine check that had just been carried out.

This was an opportunity he could not afford to turn down. If he could get to that aircraft, there was a better than even chance that he could fly it out of there and back to England. Taking a long careful look at the fence surrounding the airfield, he noticed that the airfield was surrounded by rolled barbed wire. Within that was approximately a 10ft-high fence, behind which a guard patrolled. Carr noticed that the guard never varied his patrol and took fifteen minutes to complete and at one point was completely out of sight. Looking round the airfield Bruce Carr noticed a number of hangars and revetments, behind which he could just see the tips of parked aircraft. There was no runway as such, but a long area of mown grass, which he took to be the main landing strip.

Bruce Carr watched the guard complete his patrol, then as the guard turned back to begin it again, he made his move and slipped down towards the fence. He realised that were he to be caught the chances were that he would be shot, but this was a chance he had to take. Getting to the fence he lay down behind a fallen tree to take stock once again of the situation. He knew that once he was over the fence there was no turning back.

He watched the guard stroll back and reach the parked aircraft. Then suddenly the man stopped and leant his rifle against the fuselage of the Fw-190. Carr’s first thought was that the guard was going to take a rest, then he saw the man fumble with his trousers and realised that he was just relieving himself. Carr gave a huge, silent sigh of relief as he watched the guard shoulder his rifle and resume his patrol. As the guard disappeared from sight, he made his move and slipped through the loosely thrown barbed wire and eased his 6ft 4in frame over the fence. He knew it wasn’t electrified because he had seen the guard run his hand along it earlier.

Crouching low he made a run for the aircraft and threw himself down beneath the wing. After catching his breath, he moved the wooden chocks away from the wheels and quietly clambered up onto the wing. Sliding back the canopy, which made a soft screeching sound as it did so, he eased himself into the cockpit and closed the hood over him.

Running his eyes over the maze of instruments and switches before him he frantically tried to identify them. All the labels were in German of course and the gauges were in metric measurement.

Slowly but surely Carr began to recognise instruments, but try as he may he could not find the battery switch or magnetos and without knowing where they were he was going nowhere. Suddenly he was aware of a movement outside and realised that the guard was passing on his patrol. Crouching down as low as he could, he waited, holding his breath. After a few moments he glanced out and saw the back of the guard disappearing into the darkness.

Feeling around in the cockpit, he discovered a large, rectangular, hinged box under the right-hand side of the instrument panel. Opening it he discovered a number of switches and activating them one by one he waited to see what would happen. Then he flicked a switch and the cockpit came alive, illuminating every dial and gauge in the cockpit. For a few seconds the light blinded him and he quickly switched it off, thinking that everyone on the base must have seen it. Having found the battery switch, he now needed to find the starter. Because the battery switch was in an inconspicuous place, he figured that the chances were that the starter would be in a similar place and started to hunt around.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sudden realisation that dawn was fast approaching and that within a couple of hours the whole base was going to be alive with people. Putting his hand behind the box he felt a T-shaped handle and to his amazement could make out the word ’STARTER’ printed on the handle. The only word in English in the cockpit and it happened to be on the one thing he had been looking for.

Outside Carr could now see clearly the outlines of buildings as dawn took hold. With a dry throat and his heart pounding, he put his feet on the rudder pedals and gripped the control column in his right hand. This was the moment when he knew he had to attempt to start the aircraft and then take off. He could clearly see the airfield now and there was nothing obstructing his way out onto the grass strip.

Pushing the throttles forward, then the mixture control to full open, flicking the battery switch to on and pulling the starter handle up resulted in no response. He tried it again and then again. Still nothing happened. Then he remembered that earlier when the aircraft was being put through its engine test he had heard the slow wind up of an inertial starter. Pushing the starter handle down fully, he heard the inertial starter starting to wind up, then, when he felt it was at its maximum, he jerked the starter handle up and the engine roared into life. Releasing the brakes and opening the throttles he taxied the aircraft out on to the strip, jammed the throttle full forward and felt the aircraft leap down the grass strip runway. Easing the control column back, the Fw-190 lifted off and into the sky.

As Carr pushed one of the buttons on the left-hand side of the instrument panel he felt the undercarriage retract. Setting a course for his base at St Dizier, France, he settled back, the euphoria of his escape sending pleasant shivers through his body. Then suddenly the cockpit was lit up by a bright red light in the centre of the instrument panel. The only thing he could think was that it was a low-level fuel warning. Frantically looking around the cockpit, he spotted a lever projecting out from the panel just below the red light. Grabbing the handle he pushed it all the way down and to his relief the red light went out.

The flight was uneventful as he sped over the French countryside, then the most welcome sight of all – his airfield suddenly came into view. As he made his approach, he dropped the nose of the Fw-190, and with the propeller almost touching the ground, hurtled down the runway. Then he pulled back on the control column, executed a sharp climbing turn and started to make his final approach. Punching the buttons that he thought were to lower the undercarriage and flaps, he lined the aircraft up with the runway. The flaps came down but the undercarriage remained in place. Try as he could, he could not lower the undercarriage, so he set the aircraft for a wheels-up landing. He also became acutely aware of the anti-aircraft gunners around the field levelling the guns at him. He held the aircraft steady as he made a long, low approach, then, as he cleared the perimeter fence, he let the aircraft settle. The moment the aircraft touched the ground, Carr cut the throttle and mixture and turned off every switch he could see.