Encoded for the Experiencing War web site, "POW" release, for the Veterans History Project, September 2004.
All documents in the Moore collection were digitized.
MY PRISONER OF WAR DIARY
Walter W. Moore
1944 Photo of my B-17 Crew
Picture ID Of B-17 Crew
Standing: L to R Name Hometown Status
Tail Gunner Charles R Felker Oshkosh, WI d.12/10/1996
Ball Turret Gunner John P Atkinson Goodman, MO Baker City, OR
Waist Gunner Robert G Gutschow Cleveland, OH d.7/28/1997
Radio Operator replaced by Sprock Carl Justice Woodman, KY d.04/24/1991
Engineer & TTG Thomas R Emerson Williams, OK d.09/23/1996
Kneeling L to R
Pilot Paul T Kohr Columbus, OH d.08/22.2002
Navigator William T Crow Louisville, KY Gaithersburg, M D
Co-Pilot Walter W Moore Wauchula, FL Palm Coast, FL
Bombardier Replaced by R Moore Herbert S Stoltz Hartford, CT Croton-on-Hudson, NY
Missing From Picture-Replacements to Original Crew
Radio Operator Richard M Sprock Nutley, NJ d.10/28/2001
Toggeleer Richard A Moore Kelso, WA Unable to locate
MR PRISONER OF WAR DIARY
Walter W. Moore
January 2003 (Revised)
Basis
My diary is based primarily on records that I kept on a daily basis while a prisoner of war in Germany during WWII. Other sources include letters from and discussions with surviving members of our aircrew, fellow prisoners of war, Ted Cavooris--a WWII history buff, Evelyn Hutchinson-- proofreader, a German neighbor who lived in Germany during the war, WWII historical societies in Czechoslovakia, publications by the Eighth Air Force Historical Society, The 8th AF News and personal memory.
Incentives
My diary records have been mothballed for 58 years. A major incentive for finally compiling the records is a convergence of several happenings. One is my interest in genealogy and the fact that Great, Great, Great Grandfather William Butler fought seven years in the Revolutionary war for our freedom. A book "The Butler Family in America" written by his grandsons tells about major battles in which he fought but there is very little information about his personal battle experiences. For example, we know he was one of a heroic band of patriots who took part in the crossing of the Delaware and the capture of the Hessians in Trenton, New Jersey. He was with Washington at Valley Forge in the terrible winter of 1777-78, and he was one of twenty men with the forlorn hope group who stormed the British Fort at Stony Point, New York, and cut down the abatis with its rows of sharply tipped tree limbs and branches pointed toward attackers to protect the ramparts from being scaled. This was a first requirement before the fort could be captured. In this charge seventeen of the twenty were killed or wounded. He was there, but what, specifically, did he do? G.G.G. Grandfather Jonas Byrd, Sr. also fought in the Revolution. He was a private with a Company of the South Carolina Light Dragoons and got a Bounty Grant of 500 acres. That's about all we know about his personal involvement in the revolution. We know a little bit more but nothing personal about Great Grandfather William A. Byrd who was in the 50th Georgia Infantry during the Civil War and was at Appomattox when General Lee surrendered to General Grant.
Another incentive for writing my story is that Congress unanimously passed legislation in October 2000 to create the Veterans History Project. The plan is to collect records on the experiences and stories of war veterans who participated in the five major wars America fought during the 20th century. One of the objectives is to educate future generations. The information will be filed in the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress.
Also, the National Education Committee of The American Ex-prisoner of War Service Foundation plans to put its collection on computer disks and present a copy to every school library to which their AXPOW Speaking Team speaks, and to send copies of the CDs to the Library of Congress.
I also plan to submit a copy to Ivo de Jong of the Netherlands who is writing a book about our 487th Bombardment Group. Ivo plans to publish his book in 2003.
For unexplained reasons, I am reluctant to talk about my EX-POW experiences in personal conversations. For me, writing about it is much easier than talking about it.
Background
To put the significance of one soldier and the mightiness of the Eighth Air Force in perspective, I was just one of a crew of nine on our B-17 Flying Fortress. We were identified as the Kohr crew. The Kohr crew was one of nine in the 838th Squadron. The 838th was one of four Squadrons when flying in a diamond formation with the 836th, 837th and the 839th Squadrons. The four Squadrons made up the 487th Bombardment Group. The 487th was one of 46 Bomb Groups in the heavy division of the Eighth Air Force. The Eighth was one of several Air Forces in the US Army Air Force, now the US Air Force. In a maximum effort day on December 24, 1944, the Mighty Eighth sent over Germany 2,034 B-17s and B-24s and 936 fighters, the greatest single force of airplanes ever dispatched in history. The Eighth Air Force was the largest military unit in World War II: 350,000 served in the Eighth, 26,000 lost their lives and another 28,000 became prisoners of war.
To put the significance of the Mighty Eighth Air Force in perspective, our job was to help Allied troops defeat a highly effective German military machine that was under the control of the Nazi Regime. They had conquered 27 countries: Albania, Algeria, Austria, Belgium, British Channel Islands, Bulgaria, Crete, Czechoslovakia, Denmark, East Prussia, Egypt, Estonia, Finland, France, Greece, Holland, Hungary, Latvia, Libya, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Norway, Poland, Romania, the Netherlands, Ukraine, and Yugoslavia. The Germans had advanced to the outskirts of Moscow and were attacking England with fighter and bomber airplanes and with V-1 robot buzz bombs and V-2 rockets. Submarines were attacking USA shipping. Wherever they went, the Germans were reputed to be ruthless killers with little regard for human life.
America was mobilizing a big plan, part of which was to dominate the sky with air power and to devastate the German military infrastructure from the inside. The Eighth became the largest air armada ever assembled, henceforth and forevermore to be known to as the Mighty Eighth Air Force. We were made to be mighty because we had a mighty job to do. Major targets included the Luftwaffe and their airports, oil refineries and storage facilities, transportation facilities such as railroad marshalling yards, locomotives and bridges, and factories that produced war equipment such as ball-bearing plants and engines, and submarine pens. The heavies of the Eighth Air Force operated out of England and attacked during daylight hours with 46 Bomb Groups of 36 planes each usually but as many as 54 per Group. The 15th Air Force based in Italy also attacked during daylight hours. The British Royal Air Force attacked during the night with individual plane sorties. Round the clock; the Germans' only respite was weather too bad for flying.
Day 1: March 17, 1945 Saturday
Before the Diary
I was the co-pilot on a B-17 Flying Fortress. We were on our 31st mission over Nazi controlled Germany. Four more missions and our tour of duty in the European Theater would be
completed, and we would be rotated back to the States for possible re-assignment to the Pacific Theater.
Our crew had been assigned a brand new B-17G that had never been flown on a mission. We took off at daybreak from Lavenham, England (near Bury St. Edmonds) on a 10-hour mission across Germany to provide tactical support to the Russians. The target was an oil refinery near Ruhland, Germany. Our navigator, Bill Crow, said the target was only nine minutes from the Russian front line. We were flying in our regular formation position off the left wing of the 838th Squadron leader. As always, we flew a zigzag course over Germany to avoid areas of known or suspected anti-aircraft artillery. We encountered no enemy opposition on our way to Ruhland. The mission appeared to be a "milk run" until we reached the Initial Point (A point from which we started the bomb run). The formation always flew in a straight line from the Initial Point to the target to allow time for the bombardier in the lead squadron to aim his Norden bombsight at the target. This is the time when we were the most vulnerable to their anti-aircraft artillery because they knew we would not deviate from the course. Bomb runs usually lasted ten to fifteen minutes. During this time we usually saw lots of black puffs of exploding artillery called flak. When under attack, your mind and body are on high alert. There is no time to think about being scared but you do realize that the next burst, any second now, may have your name on it. Then there's no "you" anymore. There are no evasive choices; you must stay in formation. The Infantry has foxholes and they say there are no atheists in foxholes. There are no foxholes in the sky and there are no atheists on a bomb run either. So you think a little prayer, "Oh Lord, please protect us if it be thy will". You can be scared later when it's all over but by then it is not scary anymore. The flak was moderate to intense on this mission. Much of it was below us because preceding groups had dropped Christmas tree tinsel made from aluminum foil, called chaff, which had descended and fooled the German radar.
After bombs away, we were cruising along on a clear sunny day at an altitude of 25,000 feet. The mission was essentially over because we rarely encountered enemy activity on return flights. It was pure pleasure to be flying in formation with a bunch of magnificent four-engine flying machines. They were good war birds that could take a lot of punishment from flak and enemy fighters and still bring their crew home. This is not to imply that there were zero problems with various conditions external to the quality of the plane. For example, sometimes the outside temperature at 25,000 to 27,000 feet was 50 degrees below zero. In the unheated models that we flew earlier, the temperature in the cockpit was so cold that our skin would freeze to the metal throttles if we were not wearing gloves. The moisture from our breath would freeze on the exhale ports of our oxygen masks and form an ice beard that would extend down to our chests. On descents, frost would form on the windshield so quickly it was difficult to keep it scraped off fast enough to maintain outside visibility. We wore electrically heated underwear to cope with the cold. They looked like a jumpsuit made from green satin cloth with veins of electric cords running throughout. It also had snap-on electric booties. Toes get very cold without the booties.
On a previous mission, after hitting the target, our B-17 could not keep up with the formation and we had to fly unescorted across Germany to Brussels. Two engines had been knocked out by flak. We feathered one propeller: the other was windmilling. We had to make a forced landing at Brussels because we were losing altitude too fast to make it back across the English Channel. After landing, our bombardier, Herb Stoltz, counted 26 shrapnel holes in our
B-17 caused by the flak. The date was December 18,1944. The Battle of the Bulge was underway and although the Germans were making good progress, Brussels was not endangered, or so we thought. However, many of the Brussels citizens thought otherwise and were already flying the Swastika flag out of their windows. That was the time the weather closed in and we were unable to depart Brussels until December 23rd. When we returned to our base at Lavenham, we were told that the entire Eighth had been grounded by the same weather that prevented our return to England and had delayed the Eighth from supporting the Allied troops at the German breakthrough in the Battle of the Bulge. We also learned that the flight schedule for the next day had been filled. Another crew was scheduled to fly in our regular formation position. Thus, we were going to miss flying in the largest air armada ever to fly over Germany. That day, the 487th led the entire Eighth Air Force across the English Channel. An estimated 50 fighters from the Luftwaffe met them over Belgium before our "Little Friends" the fighter plane escort arrived. We lost nine of thirty-six planes including General Castle. I still wonder if one of the nine losses was the crew filling in for us in our regular position off the left wing of the 838th Squadron leader.
I didn't know it then, but as good as it was after the bomb run over Ruhland, my time in a B-17 was about to end forever. The time was about 12:20 P.M., about 30 minutes after bombs away over the oil refinery. A single black puff of flak appeared in front of us at eye level, then another, the third was directly under us. The plane lurched up about five feet from the blast. From the cockpit we could see torch-like flames spouting up from a hole in the #2 inboard engine nacelle on our left. Radio operator Dick Sprock called on the intercom to report that the waist and bomb bay were flooded with orange colored smoke. Ball turret gunner John Atkinson reported flames trailing 10 to 20 feet behind the wing, almost back to the ball turret. We pulled the fire extinguisher cord but the fire was behind the firewall and the extinguishers don't work there. Next we dived the plane a thousand feet or so to increase the airflow hoping to blow out the fire but this did not work either. By now, it was two or three minutes after being hit. It was a tough decision but Ted conferred with Flight Engineer Tom Emerson and me, and then gave the order on the intercom for every body to bail out. (P.S. A review of Missing Air Craft Reports (M.A.C.R.) shows that B-17s on fire often explode within the first 30 seconds after being hit. The MACR for us is appended).
My thinking about Guardian Angels is that they don't work full time, but they are always there when you really need them. I believe one or more of mine were on duty this day. Remember, the fire was spouting from the number two engine nacelle about eight feet to the left of the cockpit. Our regular position in the formation was off the left wing of the Squadron lead plane. This made it much easier to fly in formation from the right seat because visibility from the left seat across the cockpit is more restricted. I flew the right seat and had an excellent view of the plane on our right. We were encouraged to fly a tight formation for two good reasons: It concentrates firepower and it discourages pilots from drifting and thus becoming isolated targets for enemy fighters. One of our Generals always encouraged us to fly a tight formation and to "stick the wing in the tail gunner's face". This is safer and easier to do when there is little or no turbulence. There was no turbulence at our altitude. I was flying and the wing tip was almost touching the tail gunner position. I mean within an inch or two of touching the plane. I enjoyed doing this on return flights with no bomb load and no turbulence. If I had been flying in turbulence, or if Ted had been flying from his position across the cockpit, the plane would have been about ten feet to the left and the explosion would have been in or directly under the cockpit. It was a perfectly aimed shot. We just were not in the position the Germans expected when they fired their 88 millimeter anti-aircraft gun.
The Diary Starts Now.
Bailed out over Czechoslovakia. We were never trained for parachute jumps but it becomes natural when you think the plane may explode any second. In our haste to get out I forgot the small emergency bottle of oxygen and my jacket. That was a stupid thing to do because as I was freefalling I became increasingly concerned about whether or not the parachute would open. So I committed another stupid thing by pulling the ripcord at an estimated 20,000 feet. There is not much oxygen at that level. It felt like running out of breath after a 400-yard dash and then getting no oxygen for relief. Without the emergency oxygen bottle, I almost asphyxiated and without my jacket I almost froze. I was breathing as fast and deep as I possibly could. I found that by pulling on the right or left shroud lines that the chute would partially collapse, dump some air and possibly descend faster. I overdid it once and the chute almost collapsed. The expected relief at the 10,000 foot level where we always went on or off oxygen when climbing or descending did not occur, probably because I was so oxygen depleted.
At a lower altitude where it was a little warmer, I realized that I was experiencing a rare and wonderful event. It was so very quiet and the view from beneath the parachute looking across the North Bohemian countryside was so beautiful. It was a euphoric situation as though I were an eagle, or even a buzzard, just sailing along in soundless space. I imagined that in post-war years high altitude parachute jumps could possibly take the place of merry-go-rounds at the carnival.
The heavy gasping for more oxygen continued almost to ground level. In addition, pain from sitting on the narrow seat straps was becoming almost unbearable.
The parachute drifted over a forest. As it neared the treetops it became apparent that the wind was moving the chute at 20 to 25 miles per hour and that I was going to land in a forest of tall trees. I prepared for the collision by turning the chute so I was facing downwind, doubled up my knees and covered my eyes and face with my arms. I don't recall the moment of contact with the treetops except that it was quick. I was suspended in the parachute harness about five feet below a large limb and about eight feet from the tree trunk, and a long way to the ground. The parachute was caught in the top tree branches. My guess is that the opened parachute was about 25 feet deep from top to bottom. I don't know how tall a tall tree grows but it was a long way to the ground. The pain from the narrow seat straps was becoming unbearable and my legs were getting numb. Something had to be done now. I realized it was too far to drop without causing some kind of injury to myself, but there was no other choice. I unhooked the straps, let go of the harness, landed feet first and fell over backward. Fortunately, a layer of dead leaves that covered the ground helped cushion the landing. Nothing broke, but my lower back and left leg were numbed. It got worse when the adrenalin wore off.
The first thing I saw after hitting the ground was a huge white rabbit. It was perhaps twenty times the size of an American cottontail rabbit (It was an albino Hose, or Hare, grown for food but the meat is tough). Next, a teen-age boy's head appeared from behind a large tree trunk. He called, and a bunch of civilian men armed with rifles, shotguns, sticks whatever, arrived. They were excited, and nervous, and maybe a bit scared because they had captured an enemy soldier that had
bombed their country and maybe some of their relatives or friends. There is a long list of Eighth Air Force personnel who were shot down overGermany who have never been found. They probably thought I was armed. (As a matter of fact, the Air Force issued all combat flyers a .45 caliber pistol but we had heard you are usually better off without them, so we all were unarmed). They led me through the forest to a clearing off the side of a narrow paved road. A man in a uniform that I thought was Gestapo or German SS faced me from about 20 feet away. He held a P-38 pistol in his hand and shouted an order. There were 15 or 20 people lined up on my left and another 15 or 20 on my right; none stood in the line of fire behind me. I did nothing but stand still with my arms raised because I did not understand his language. He shouted the order again. Then walked forward with his pistol pointing at me. Cautiously he began frisking. He seemed very nervous and unaccustomed to the task. He felt something in my shirt pocket, jumped back and shouted something again that I did not understand. I continued to stand still. He cocked his pistol and held it next to my head. Then, he cautiously reached inside my left shirt pocket, retrieved something, looked at it and flung it to the ground. Some of those in the crowd laughed when they saw it was a fountain pen that had fallen sideways in my shirt pocket.. (My thinking now is that the brute was just a Burgermeister trying to act like the Gestapo). Nevertheless, it was a dangerous situation. I remained calm throughout the ordeal because I had a feeling of being protected by an invisible shield all over my body. I also think I was mentally numb about recognizing the seriousness of the situation.
Next I was driven by auto to a nearby town named Komotau. (Now Chomutov). The entire crew was captured and assembled within two hours after bailing out. We all had survived the jump. Bill (Red) Crow, our navigator and an Irish Catholic, said St. Patrick let us down gently, this being his day. Some of us had been injured by the strong wind while landing in rough terrain and treetops. Medical attention was not offered probably because we all appeared to be okay. We would have refused anyway because no one was hurt badly enough to leave the security we expected by staying together. The nine of us were transported by rail about 10 miles from Komotau to Saaz (now Zatec) and spent the night in a small stinking jail. The lidless toilet had a full accumulation from previous occupants; it reeked and could not be flushed.
Day 2: March 18, Sunday
First meal in 36 hours at 5:00 A.M. consisted of some foul tasting ersatz coffee and a slice of black bread. It was called black bread but it was more brown than black+. The taste was so bad that we could only eat it off and on during the day. Later in the week as we grew hungrier we began to enjoy it. Dinner was a small bowl of thin soup. Supper was another slice of black bread and a piece of cheese that had the color and. texture of axle grease. Even in our hungry condition we could not stand the odor. To eat it was impossible. (It may have been old Limburger that had putrefied).
They left us alone all day. We had heard a lot about German atrocities. The suspense of being in a jail, waiting and not knowing what they were going to do with a captured bomber crew caused a lot of anxiety. John Atkinson, the ball turret gunner, had a pocketknife so, for good luck, we cut memento scarves from the parachutes that some were still carrying. My chute was left on top of a tree.
Day 3: March 19, Monday
Some ersatz coffee and black bread at 4 A.M. Departed from Saaz train station for a 40- mile ride to a large train station in Pilsen. We attracted a crowd in our flight clothing as we moved through the station and out to a street corner where we waited for transportation. At times, some would point at us and yell, "Flieger, Flieger" (meaning flyer}. No one threatened us physically because we had three armed guards, but we were not sure the crowd would do nothing.
The guards commandeered a streetcar. By that, I mean they boarded the streetcar, forced the passengers off, ordered us aboard and directed the conductor to proceed with no more pickups. The streetcar took us most of the way to what appeared to be a Luftwaffe Training Base. It was common talk around our home base in England that if shot down, hope you are turned over to the Luftwaffe and not the Gestapo or German SS. In this case, we were luckier than we realized at the time. They gave us two bowls of soup and bunked us in a well-constructed barrack containing over a hundred military-neat bunks on the second floor. There was a heater at one end of the room and they gave us the bunks close to it.
After a short time, we were roused and given rations for what they said would be a two to three day trip (three loaves of bread and two feet of sausage for the nine of us). Left the Luftwaffe base at 10:00 P.M. and spent most of night in a bomb shelter at the train station waiting for a specific train. Three armed guards were assigned to escort us to an unknown (by us) destination. The guards were neither friendly nor unfriendly, just doing their job. The language barrier was a deterrent to establishing a friendlier relationship during the next five days as we traveled on catch- as-catch-can trains from Bohemia in Czechoslovakia to Bavaria in the southern part of Germany almost to the western front near the American army. I have often wondered if returning us toward the American front was an act of kindness.
Day 4: March 20, Tuesday
Boarded a train early in the morning and arrived in Nurnberg just before sunset. We walked from one train station, through Nurnberg, to a second train station. The city looked as though it had once had a cluster of tall buildings. Now the streets were filled with debris 12 to 15 feet high from toppled buildings. There was a ten-foot wide path down the middle. Hundreds of wrecked train cars and locomotives were in the marshalling yard. Some were still standing on abandoned rails while others were in a huge pile. (Our crew had been over Nurnberg a month earlier with the 487th Bomb Group on our 23rd mission). The marshalling yards were close to downtown and bombardiers are not that accurate when aiming at marshalling yards through the clouds. The city was devastated. Glad we had the guards with us for protection as we passed through. Also glad we did not bail out close to any major target areas such as this. We boarded a second train at Furst and traveled all night and the next day with frequent stops and delays.
Day 5: March 21, Wednesday
We arrived at Lohr about sunset. Along the way, when air alarms sounded, the trains would stop and the passengers, including our guards, would make a dash to escape (and leave us locked on the train). We were concerned because most of the cars had bullet holes in various places. We spent a very miserable night at Luhr in a cramped jail. Rations were long gone and we had had no food for two different 24-hour periods. There was not much to eat even then.
Day 6: Mar 22, Thursday
Relieved when the guards let us out of this jail the next morning. We spent most of the day at a small rail station waiting for a train which had gone kaput passed the time away by lolling in the warm sun and listening to our artillery fire. (We thought it was our artillery). A few slices of now delicious black bread helped relieve our stomachs. The train finally arrived and we traveled about 20 miles to Wertzium. Spent the night in a higher-class jail on the third floor over a retail store on the ground level. It was a triangular building located at a fork off the main street of Wertheim. The jail was not heated and it was a cold night.
Day 7: Mar 23, Friday
After freezing all night as usual we walked to the local train station the next morning and waited for another train until 4:30 P.M. This train was a part of the Stuttgart Rail Line. As usual, we attracted a crowd of civilian spectators.
Day 8: Mar 24, Saturday
Traveled stop and go, stop and go by train all night in a parlor car with our three guards. Arrived early morning at a large platform, not a regular station, where a Company of German infantry was waiting for the same next train we were to take. There were about 300 of them. Some were walking wounded with bandages, all were solemn, and they appeared very tired. So did their uniforms. They were neither friendly nor unfriendly, just there. Apparently they were heading for the Western Front, the same direction we were heading. We felt at ease standing among them, almost like we were all fellow soldiers. One was very friendly. He had a bottle containing something that he said was like Coco-Cola. He insisted on sharing it with us. It tasted like weak cool aid. We did not disillusion him. When the train arrived, our guards commandeered another parlor. The aisle was full of standing German soldiers, several with bandages.
We arrived at Ludwigsburg about 10:00 A.M. and were delivered by our three guards to a Luftwaft interrogation station. We never saw the guards again. We were placed in solitary confinement. The cells were made of stonewalls, steel bar doors, a wooden bench and a window near the top of one wall that was too narrow for a person to escape. It may have been sound proofed because we could hear no sounds whatsoever, just eerie silence.
Solitary confinement was, to me, the most nerve-wracking experience we encountered. This was the time when I most realized what freedom is all about. There was nothing to do but wonder
what's next and what's happening to the others. One concern that crosses your mind: Is this the torture chamber you heard about? I had resolved to give only the information required by the Geneva Convention: Name, rank and serial number. Later, we were interrogated one-by-one and relieved of our "good luck" parachute scarves. At this stage of the war the Germans were not trying to force information from us. They already knew our bomb group number and the name of our home base. As I was being interrogated, the interviewing officer who spoke broken but understandable English asked for my name, rank and serial number, which I provided, and then about my parents name and address, which I refused to answer. He explained that he needed this information so he could tell the Swiss Army to notify my parents that I had survived. I reasoned that knowledge of my parent's name and address could not possibly harm the war effort at this stage, and that it would relieve a lot of anxiety if they knew, so I consented. (They were never notified). The interrogation ended but the officer motioned me over to a window where we watched a combat show in progress. Two P-51 Mustangs were strafing a high bridge over a deep valley between two mountains. I believe he said the bridge was on the road to Heidelberg, or Heilbronn. As the air show was going on, he talked about how useless war is, that we are all nice people and should strive for Utopia conditions where we all can get along together in peace. He said Sir Thomas More was one of his favorite authors and asked if I might be related to him. "Perhaps, but not to my knowledge" I said. (Sir Thomas More (1478 1535) was a great prose writer of the last half of the Romance Period. He wrote a romance called Utopia, which describes life in an ideal commonwealth, where men have freedom in religion and just social and industrial conditions. In this, More makes public his dream of happiness for the human race).
The interrogator returned my personal possessions that had been taken when we were captured, and issued a duffel bag and an army blanket. And then had me returned to the cell. My impression of the interrogator was that he was an officer, a gentleman and a well-educated, friendly person with excellent morals.
About sunset we were transferred to a POW camp and locked up overnight in a small barren room with a concrete floor and no windows. The toilet, like all the others we encountered was a large coal bucket reeking with accumulated filth. It was another miserable night. (This was Dulag Luft 15: later changed to Stalag V-A).
Day 9: Mar 25 Sunday
About 10:00 A.M. we were released from this Hell Hole into an adjoining compound that was encircled with barbed wire and elevated guard stations. There were about 1000 American soldiers, including 27 American officers in our section of the compound. Other sections included 400 Indians from the British Army plus about 300 French, Russians and a small bunch of British. Several 10 to 12 year old boys were in the Russian group. There were 1700 POWs in total. (These numbers are from a letter dated Feb 2, 1988 from John Young, a U. S. Army Sergeant who spoke Deutsch and English fluently and was in charge of the American compound. He worked very well with the 27 American officers in dealing with the Germans. John Young now lives in Dorchester, MA).
The Germans fed us a thin watery soup and a slice of black bread twice daily except on Sunday and Tuesday. The soup was made from dehydrated spinach and was gritty. The black bread
tasted better with some kind of liquid greasy stuff smeared on it and then toasting it on the side of a potbelly stove when charcoal was available. Our best food came from the American Red Cross parcels that were delivered by the Swiss Army. We were supposed to get one parcel per man per week but we were lucky if we got one parcel for three men per week.
The bunk mattresses were straw sacks; some had lice & bed bugs. They were uncomfortable but we considered them to be very comfortable in comparison with our first week of sleeping on concrete and wooden floors.
Nearby targets were constantly strafed and bombed by our fighter planes. This boosted our morale because it made us think liberation was near. There were lots of rumors and some news brought in by newly captured men.
Day 10: Mar 26, Monday
Day 11: Mar 27, Tuesday
Day 12: Mar 28, Wednesday
Day 13: Mar 29, Thursday
Day 14: Mar 30, Friday
Day 15: Mar 31, Saturday
It was the same boring routine day after day. Our daily schedule was to arise in time for assembly and a head count, eat something if available, talk to somebody about something and hit the sack for another nap and another dream about food. The sounds of war became increasingly closer. Our fighter planes were bombing and strafing nearby targets. Then the sound of heavy artillery could be heard during the day and the bloom from firings could be seen on the horizon at night. There were many rumors of Allied victories. Freedom was expected soon.
Day 16: April 1, Sunday
Attended Easter church services held by a British Chaplain.
Day 17: April 2, Monday
Late in the afternoon we were alerted for evacuation. All prisoners vacated the Dulag (near Ludwigsburg) soon after dark. We marched an estimated 10 kilometers and bivouacked in a field near a lumberyard. John Atkinson thinks the name of the place was Esslingen. Our spirits were high the bloom of artillery flashes seemed to be coming from three sides. We thought we would be eating good GI chow within three days at the most. From our observations traveling across Germany on catch-as-can trains, it was pretty obvious that the Jerry's could provide neither shelter nor adequate food for so many on a march. By the Geneva Convention rules, Prisoners of War are not allowed to return to combat. If you ponder about it, a possible explanation is that to just leave us in the compound and do nothing might be construed by superior officers as a sign of weakness during times of war. Another possibility may be important logistically. War is about killing or capturing the enemy, and combat troops are the hard core of an army. For example, the US had 15 million in uniform during WW2, but only 1.5 million were involved in actual combat. That's a ratio of ten supportive personnel to one combatant. That means ninety percent of our armed forces are needed to support the ten percent who do the fighting. So, logistically thinking, if one prisoner is
worth ten other supporting soldiers, the Germans should retain all prisoners as long as possible. In a similar way of thinking, if a combat soldier is worth ten others, why weren't we paid ten times more?
During the night our flight engineer/top turret gunner, Tom Emerson, slipped into the nearby lumber yard and escaped. He told us at a reunion of the 487th Bomb Group Historical Society in Orlando that that was the worst 30 days of his life. He had to hide during the day, be wary during the night and exist with almost no food.
Day 18: April 3, Tuesday
Left our first encampment about 10:00 A.M. in rain. Traveled slowly with many stops hoping the army will soon catch up. Arrived at Schorndorf about 6:00 P.M. Several cold showers occurred during the night.
It became increasingly evident that the German guards did not like the Russians. They didn't care much for the French either but there were not so many of them in the column. The Russians were not under the Red Cross program and received no parcels of food whatsoever. They were at the head of the column and many of them passed out beside the road. An English doctor with us examined a few and said most of them will die in a short time. Rumor was that if you fell out, you were shot. This may have been true because we did hear one or two rifle or pistol shots coming from the rear on various occasions.
Day 19: April 4, Wednesday
The entire column left Schorndorf about 10:00 A.M. All of the Russians were at the head of the column, followed by the American enlisted men, the 27 American officers, the British, the Indians and the French. Everybody in the entire column of 1700 just ambled along except the British officers forced their men to march in cadence and in formation. Typically British old chap, wouldn't you say?
Sergeant John Young somehow came up with a two-wheel cart and gave it to the officers to use throughout the march. It was the right size to hold two dead bodies. Taking turns pulling and pushing the cart was better than lugging blankets and carry-over food parcels without a backpack.
A town just ahead of us was strafed by P-47s. It was another real wartime show.
Spent the night in a field near Lorch.
Day 20: April 5, Thursday
I was unable to eat anything today because of stomach problems: Dysentery, I guess. We called it "the GI's". What? No toilet paper? (Note:GI stood for anything Issued by the Government
and included soldiers, clothing and even diarrhea). Departed about 6:00 P.M. It rained all night while we were marching. Arrived at bivouac area about 4:00 A.M. and slept on muddy ground.
Day 21: April 6, Friday
Spent the day here in a trampled, rain soaked, muddy field. We improvised a makeshift tent to try to get out of the rain by attaching one of our blankets to the side of the cart. Another blanket was laid on the wet mushy ground and the third was used for cover. We slept side-by-side for added warmth. Our high-top GI shoes were put in our bags and used for pillows. We slept in our clothes and never had an opportunity to bathe our clothes nor ourselves. The sky was covered with bright stars on clear nights. Navigator Bill Crow knew something about astronomy and taught us to recognize various constellations such as Orion the Hunter, Cassiopeia, and the Seven Sisters.
Day 22: April 7, Saturday
Sleeting today. We departed this miserable campground about 11:00 A.M. It was good to be on the road again and out of the mud. The Russians & French were left behind. Arrived at Unterkoch just out of Aalen. Slept on hillside. Our blankets, which were still wet, froze during night.
Day 23: April 8, Sunday
Departed hillside about 11:00 A.M. heading southeast on old clay roads. I heard some talk about an "Old Roman Highway" and wondered if this could be part of a preserved section that was left more or less intact. Stayed near a small town, Unterriffiaen, with plenty of wood to boil two large rutabagas.
The Indians in our column were interesting people. There were five tribes. I only recall the Muslims, Punjabs and the Gherkas names. They all were friendly but each tribe had uniquely different customs. For example, almost everybody smoked cigarettes in those days. They were high priority for bartering. One of the tribes would not allow tobacco to touch their lips. So, they held two fingers parallel to their lips and drew the smoke through their fingers in such a way that the tobacco would not touch their lips. Another tribe was dedicated to cleanliness. Each morning, if any water were available, they would strip and bathe no matter how cold the weather. Then some would even pour a bucket of cold water over their heads to rinse off. We had camped by a stream feeding into the Danube. One Indian from this tribe had swum to the other side while taking his bath. A guard yelled for him to get back. He was almost all the way back when the guard shot him.
Day 24: April 9, Monday
We were permitted to stay over today so the Indians could build a pyre according to their custom and cremate their friend. I have a letter that John Young, our friendly Sergeant in charge, wrote in response to a letter I sent to him. John writes, "I was a Sgt. in charge of the camp and I lived in the small shack in the center of the compound. I recall the incident about the Indian that was shot. That was brutal and the Germans knew it. We got the Germans to postpone the march for one day so that he could be cremated. If you saw that, I was the one who represented the Americans and placed flowers at the base of the pyre. The Indian had been a prisoner for three years. After
we were liberated, the Indians picked out the German guard and shot him". The pyre was in an outdoor area. The smoke had an odor of a steak cookout.
The day: clear and sunny. While the service was underway I began to hear a low droning sound. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw some speckled dots in the distant sky. The drone got louder and the specks got larger. It was a group of B-17s on a mission. It was an awesome sight. I thought that that could be the 487th Bomb Group and except for our misfortune I could be up there flying a B-17 in our regular position off the left wing of the 838th Squadron leader. And maybe it would be our 35th and final mission before being rotated back to the States. Ernie Pyle, a famous war correspondent during WW II better expresses the feeling on page 434 in his book, "Brave Men" and repeated on page 332 of his book "Ernie's War". The comments are in reference to the "Break-Through" at Saint-Lo following the Normandy invasion. A reference to these comments by Ernie Pyle was made in the May, 1989, issue of a newsletter published by the Florida Chapter of the Eighth Air Force Historical Society. Pyle is referring to the Mighty Eighth Air Force.
Break-Through
"The first planes of the mass onslaught came a little before 10 A. M. They were the fighters and dive-bombers. The air was full of sharp and distinct sounds of cracking bombs and the heavy rips of the planes' machine guns and the splitting screams of diving wings. It was all fast and furious, yet distinct. And then a new sound gradually droned into our ears, a sound deep and all encompassing with no note to it just a gigantic faraway surge of doom-like sound It was the heavies. They came from directly behind us. At first they were the merest dots in the sky. We could see clots of them against the far heavens, too tiny to count individually. They came on with a terrible slowness. They came in flights of twelve, three flights to a group, and in groups stretched out across the sky. They came in 'families' of about seventy planes each. Maybe those gigantic waves were two miles apart, maybe they were ten miles apart. I don't know. But I do know that they came on in a constant procession, and I thought it would never end. What the Germans must have thought is beyond comprehension.
The flight across the sky was slow and studied. I've never known such a storm, or a machine, or any resolve of man that had about it the aura of such a ghastly relentlessness. I had the feeling that even had God appeared beseechingly before them in the sky, with palms outstretched to persuade them back, they would not have had it within their power to turn from their irresistible course."
Day 25, April 10,Tuesday
Departed about 11:00 A.M. Good warm day. Arrived at an open field about 5:00 P.M. for the night. Again, it was difficult to get any water. (There was a drainage ditch nearby with running water but two high-ranking German officers who appeared at the scene would not permit us to use it. We did anyway but did not drink it. We needed the water to boil some rutabagas).
Day 26: April 11, Wednesday
Left about 12:00 A.M. and arrived at a ball field in Whittingen. Prisoners traded soap and brushes (from Red Cross parcels) and other personal stuff such as watches and rings with civilians
for bread and potatoes. Everybody was hungry on the limited Jerry rations. Many were falling out on the march. More rain during the night.
Day 27: April 12, Thursday
Another day here at the ballpark. There were several rain showers during the morning.
Commentary: Hunger pains and thoughts of food occupied our minds most of the time. Another major concern was about the folks back home. I correctly thought the War Department would send a telegram to the folks telling them that I was missing in action (MIA). I worried about the anguish this would cause -- especially for Mom who was already worried about both of her combat sons, brother Bill in Italy and I in England. I also correctly thought the Germans would not notify the Swiss Army. I wished so much that I could somehow communicate to the folks that we were okay So I tried mental telepathy. To my knowledge, it did not work but the War Department MIA telegram was delivered.
Home was a farm in the Popash school district east of Wauchula, Florida. We grew lots of oranges and had a small herd of cattle. Almost everybody knew almost everybody. The MIA message affected a lot of people in various parts of the county and town, and all the relatives where ever they were. Mom told me later that people came to our house in droves to offer sympathy and to pray for my safe return.
Day 28: April 13, Friday
Left about 10:00 A.M. as the rain continued. The Indians were parted from the column at Dillingen. The officers were allowed to sleep in a hay barn just past Dillingen. This was our first night under shelter since leaving Ludwigsburg. The hay was much softer and dryer than the ground.
Day 28: April 14. Saturday
Spent the day in the barnyard. Our food supply was almost depleted. Red Cross rations arrived late in the day. The farmer helped by giving each of us about ten boiled potatoes.
Day 29: April 15, Sunday
Another day here. Not much doing and as usual all during captivity all thoughts led to food. Other than that, it was a boring day. In fact, about 80 % of the time was boring, the rest of the time we were just plain miserable.
Day 30: April 16, Monday
No entry
Day 31: April 17, Tuesday
Still here, still bored. Otherwise, it was a nice sunny day.
Day 32: April 18, Wednesday
Received one French Red Cross parcel for three men in late afternoon.
Day 33: April 19, Thursday
Received two French Red Cross parcels for three men. These parcels contained noodles, beans, lentils, crackers, chocolate, cigarettes, coffee, sardines etc. Good stuff to cook.
Day 34: April 20, Friday
Departed on the road to Augsburg. Along the way a low-flying P-47 appeared suddenly. We dove for the ditch and lay still. Any movement attracts the pilot's eye. For a moment we sensed the terror of being strafed by one of our own fighter planes. It was a chilling feeling. The possibility of not being recognized as American POWs was real. The pilot circled, recognized who we were,
dipped his wing, then flew on and strafed a bridge over the Danube River, or something near the bridge. Stayed the night in an open field. I was sick that night. My feet got so cold that I dreamed I was opening big blisters on them.
Day 35: April 21, Saturday
Marched about 16 kilometers today in intermittent showers. A cold front with a driving rain arrived about camping time. The enlisted men slept in an open field. According to RHIP (Rank Has Its Privilege} the 27 officers were allowed to sleep in the farmer's hay barn. What a privilege that was with cold wind and showers lasting all night. The rain sounds on the roof were very comforting. We were in Hammen just before Augsburg.
Day36: April 22, Sunday
A cold driving rain continued as we marched through the edge of Augsburg to a camping spot. Augsburg had been hit hard by our Air Force. Jerry rations for this day consisted of one can of beef for 11 men and a loaf of bread for five. We slept on cold ground under a large tent that kept the cold wind and rain out. Not bad under the circumstances but not nearly as good as a hay barn.
Day 37: April 23, Monday
This morning we received one Belgian Red Cross parcel and one American invalid parcel for two men. The food situation was getting better. The weather was still cold and raining.
Day 38: April 24, Tuesday
The thousand American enlisted men, including our crew, were split off in Augsburg and marched on the road to Munich. From a beginning column of 1700 we were now down to 27 American Officers. The smaller number made it much easier to arrange more suitable accommodations. The 27 of us left Augsburg on the road to Regensburg (Route 300). Marched a few kilometers and stopped at a large dairy farm for the night. Fresh milk and potatoes were plentiful. This was luxury compared with the previous weeks. Rather than sleeping outside in the weather, we chose sleeping in the cow barn with the cows.
Day 39: April 25, Wednesday
Another day on the farm. Ate well from what remained from the Red Cross parcels today.
Day 40: April 26, Thursday
Left the farm today and spent the night on another dairy farm. There was plenty of fresh milk and potatoes, and we still had some carryover from the Red Cross parcels.
Day 41: April 27, Friday Stayed another day on this dairy farm. Adequate food and a good appetite but our stomachs had shrunk.
Day 42: April 28, Saturday
About mid-afternoon artillery shells began whistling overhead. We divided into groups of eight and waited inside a concrete cow barn for protection in case of gunfire. It had a strong bovine odor but it was warm and there was clean hay on the ground.
Day 43: April 29, Sunday
Not much activity this morning. We heard a few bursts of machine gun fire and constant mooing by the cows as though they sensed something was about to happen. Toward noon I lay down for a nap and was awakened by someone shouting, "They are here"! We all rushed out to meet our liberators. A hundred or more American soldiers on tank destroyers and loaded with snacks, sodas and cigarettes. What a day!!! 43 days of captivity and suddenly we are free again. Forty-three days was not much in comparison with some others. Troops from the 3rd Infantry Division (Mechanized) of the U. S. Seventh Army liberated us, and then drove us back to Augsburg where we spent the night in a factory office.
Day 44: April 30, Monday
Moved into the Kaiserhoff Hotel and began our wait for transportation back to the States. For us, the war was over.
During our six-week tour we saw lots of things inside Germany as we traveled by train from Pilsen, Czechoslovakia to Ludwigsburg and on the march from there to a place east of Augsburg on the road to Regensburg named Erasburg(too small to find on recent maps}. In a way it was impressive that the Germans still had some fight in them and had not yet capitulated from all the things they had to cope with. Their air force, army, transportation, fuel and food were almost depleted. The civilians had to cope with almost nothing to cope with. Some of the autos we saw had large furnaces on the rear to generate steam power. We saw autos parked along the road while the occupants chopped wood for their car's steam furnace. Trucks having gas would tow as many as three other trucks. Horse drawn autos were sometimes seen but auto traffic was almost non- existent. They also had to contend with the constant threat of bombers and fighter planes from the Mighty Eighth Air Force in England and France plus the Fifteenth Air Force in Italy, and the Royal Air Force.
Day 45: May 1, Tuesday
Still waiting for transportation to somewhere, anywhere. The beds in this hotel were fair but there were no bed sheets, no glass in the windows, no doors and no maid service. The food provided by Army was very good. Lots of chicken and steak, things we had not tasted for a long time.
Day 46: May 2, Wednesday
No word from Army so we hitched a ride in an army jeep going to Mannheim. The driver was a lieutenant with the 94th Engineer Corp. Traveled thru Stuttgart on the autobahn and spent the
night near Pforziem in a farmhouse commandeered by the driver. He selected a nice house on a country hillside, knocked on the door and told the elderly husband and wife owners that we are staying for the night and want beds and hot food for four. Apparently, conqueror soldiers do such things routinely. The owners were very gracious. They prepared a good dinner and their beds were clean and comfortable.
Day 47: May 3, Thursday
Left Pforziem for Mannheim and hitched a ride in a C-47 cargo plane to Paris. The pilot flew low over Mannheim as we departed and we observed the bomb and artillery resultsKAPUTT. The city was virtually leveled but many church steeples were still standing in isolation. Circled low over Paris and got an aerial view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. We got a courtesy room at the Hotel Francia. It was about three blocks from the Champs Elysee`s in downtown Paris and not far from the Eiffel Tower.
Paris: Ted, Bill and I stayed at the Francia Hotel for five days until May 8th. We were issued new clothing and visited the Eiffel Tower, the Seine River and various parts of downtown Paris. It was not a lively place at the time. First, we sent telegrams back home telling the folks we were liberated and safe. On the eighth of May, we boarded a train going to a deportation center named Camp Lucky Strike near Le Havre, France. This was VE day: We missed the celebration in Paris.
We were at Camp Lucky Strike for a week or so. I weighed in at about eight pounds less than my normal weight of 163 to 165. Funny thing about it was that our legs were fatter. We wondered why, and how many more pounds we would have lost otherwise. We heard about a mess tent where the cook would cook as many steaks as a former POW would care to eat. This was our first "all you can eat" since being liberated. We each ate three with potatoes and gravy. I stayed for two more. This is where I may have over-stretched my shrunken stomach muscles and never recovered.
When the war was over, the 487th Bomb Group had had 48 combat losses. When "all causes" are counted, the 8th Air Force lost 4,754 B-17's and 2,122 B-24's. + General Jimmy Doolittle tells us to be proud that you were a member of the 8th Air Force. "Whether a mechanic, cook in the mess hall, sitting at a desk, or a member of an air crew, you were part of the largest military unit in World War 11. 350,000 served in the 8th, 26,000 of your comrades lost their lives (more than the Navy in both the Pacific and the Atlantic) and another 28,000 became prisoners of war. That is a terrible price to pay, but, at that time, the job had to be done.
In air battles during 1944, fighter pilots and bomber crews destroyed over 6000 enemy aircraft strafing attacks by our fighters accounted for 1900 more. In precision attacks on enemy airfields and factories, our heavies damaged or destroyed an additional 2630 Nazi aircraft.
Fighters also knocked out 3652 locomotives, 5702 freight cars, 3436 trucks and significant numbers of tank cars, ammunition dumps, and similar ground targets" ++.
+8AF NEWS, November 1996 (96-4) ++ Sunshine Chapter News, Florida Chapter, 8th Air force Historical Society, July 1999,Vol 4
In my post war work-a-day world I had access to a smart marketing consultant. His name was Milton and he was from Detroit. I recall a statement that he attributed to his Jewish Mother. "There is nothing so good that there is not some bad associated with it, and there is nothing so bad that there is not some good associated with it". With respect to the widely known wisdom of Jewish Mothers, I have temporally re-phrased my viewpoint to express what a lawyer for the defense might say is the good part of the bad part of my POW experiences: "On St. Patrick's Day, 1945, German anti-aircraft artillery issued a non-revocable invitation for our B-17 crew to stop by for an extended visit. There were no charges for food, shelter or travel. Three armed guides were assigned to escort us safely through enemy territory under wartime conditions on a 300-mile, weeklong scenic train ride across North Bohemia and Bavaria. Next, we were provided a free week's stay at Hotel Stalag 5-A in Ludwigsburg, plus a four-week cross country hike in the beautiful Bavarian countryside from Ludwigsburg to Augsburg and beyond. However, as an unavoidable consequence of starting and losing two world wars, any good intentions by our hosts were restricted by their own deprivations. Their good chefs were off-duty, there were no waiters and breakfast, lunch and dinner were not served on schedule. There were no high quality motels, no bed linens, no bath nor toilet facilities and no privacy. However, the guided tour did include some scenes of bomb devastated railroad yards, devastated downtown areas, and front-seat views of US fighter planes strafing their bridges and other military targets, and the excitement of having our own fighters looking us over as a possible troop target. Another real-time experience was observing safety drills after several genuine air raid warnings during our train-ride excursion to Hotel Stalag 5-A. Our tour guides insisted that we remain in our seats while they and the passengers sought other places to observe the possible strafing action. We also received mental and physical training to withstand the pangs of an enforced weight reduction program. Thinking back from the year 2003, it was truly a fantastic journey, but one that's better remembered than experienced".
I learned a lot of basic things about civility. One of the best of the best included awe and appreciation of some very nice enemy folks who had been misled by their leaders and had to suffer the consequences of being severely deprived of the ordinary comforts of everyday life, and the indignities of a Nazi regime. In the end, Hitler's Master Race was deprived of world domination. One of my neighbors told me she was from Aschaffenburg, Germany. She was ten years old on Easter, 1945 when the Americans came. She was glad because she did not have to run to bomb shelters all the time and she looked forward to a new and better life for everybody. She also was tired of eating potatoes.
Ted Kohr, Bill Crow and I had been together almost constantly since I joined the crew in July 1944 at Avon Park, FL. It all ended at Camp Lucky Strike after many tremendously bonding experiences. Ted and Bill returned in a ship convoy that landed in Boston. I was assigned to the U.S.S. General Gordon, a fast Army ship. We sailed unescorted through the Sargasso Sea to Trinidad and then to New York City. It was a great feeling as we passed the Statue of Liberty with three or four fireboats streaming water skyward toward us and loaded with lots of pretty girls waving at us. I believe every heart on board was almost bursting from our country's show of appreciation and our own recognition that it was over over there and we were returning home safely. My eyes were moist with a tear that I tried to conceal because it is inappropriate for a veteran combat soldier to be seen crying about anything. I think it was the same with every heart and eye onboard the U.S.S. General Gordon. You could tell by the silence, but we did wave back. It was a tremendously glorious moment and a great welcome back to the USA, land of the free. God bless America.
B17G #43-39173 GOES DOWN IN FLAMES
CREW NOT ABOARD
A letter from Karel Novak of Most/Brux, Czech Republic Europe
November 5, 1998
Dear Sir
I am chairman of the North-Bohemian Air Archives. Our Goal is to chart all air fights above our region during World War II. We found that the Allies lost 131 airplanes / 123 US planes / and about 814 members of the crews above our region /KIA,MIA,POW/. Now we try to find something else about the particular planes and their crews.
I send this letter to Mr. Arthur W. Silva, who sends me your address.
On March 17th 1945 the aircraft B 17G crashed down near the village of Libocany / near the town of Zatec/Saaz/ 43-39173. Commander 1/Lt. Paul T. Kohr. All members of crew become prisoners of war. According to testimonies of eyewitnesses the aircraft during it's fly was in flames and it crashed down without the crew on the bank of a stream. We want to know something more about this case. I would like to ask you to send me the MACR 13110, photos of crew and aircraft. If it is possible, send me the addresses of members of the crew, who are in your Association. I send you the photos of our action, when we (have) succeeded in finding the remains of your aircraft. This case is not completed, we shall continue in researching. We have found the piece of shat iron with the number 43-39173.
I send you memorial bills our archive in this letter. I will be happy, if you should sign your name, like a participant of this war. If it is possible please, send me pictures from your war work and I want to know if you took part in some action above our region.
I'm looking forward to your answer.
Yours hopefully
Karel
ROUTE OF THE KOHR CREW IN GERMANY AND CZECHOSLOVAKIA
(Portion of 1997 American Automobile Association map).
Listed in order of the journey. Ruhland\Lauta, Gr. (Now named Lauta, Oil refinery target), Komatau\Chomutov, Czech. (Now Chomutov, Where we were hit by flak and bailed out), Saaz/Zatec, Czech. (Now Zatec. Our B-17 crashed in flames on riverbank near Saaz), Pilsen, Czech. (Start of westward trip across Bavaria to Ludwigsburg, Gr.), Nurnberg, Gr. Lohr, Wertheim, Ludwigsburg (Stalag V-A), Schorndorf (First known place on forced march), Lorch, Unterkoch+, Aalen, Unterriffiaen+, Whittengen+, Dilligen, Hammen+, Augsburg, Erosburg +(Liberated by the Third Infantry Division of the Seventh Army), Mannheim (Arrived from Augsburg by hitching a ride in an Army Jeep), Paris. (Arrived by hitching a ride on a C-47 cargo plane). Camp Lucky Strike near Le Havre, France for deportation to New York, NY, USA via Trinidad on the General Gordon, an army ship that was fast enough to outrun submarines and travel unescorted). + Not shown on this map.