![[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 2
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Sweat started rolling down my back. I was so nervous
and afraid for fear that he would discover that I was an American soldier and that would
be adios for me. But, luckily, he left the car before I did.
At the end of the line I got off the cable car, walked
until I was out of sight of anyone and opened my escape kit and took out a map that
was shaped like a 24x24 handkerchief — along with a compass, whereupon I established
a heading and walked until exhaustion overcame me.
The first night I did some soul searching and realized
survival at this point was the name of the game. I tried to locate a garden during the day,
which I could rob at night. I learned to like raw veggies and when I couldn't find a garden I
ate leaves from trees, grasses, a lot of clover and lots of other things too gross to mention.
Hunger I had known before, but never like this.
I drank water from streams and slept any place I felt was
safe; in ditches, behind trees, etc, trying to blend in with the scenery. At one point, after
I had located a large garden during the day, I had plans that night to raid it. I waited around
all afternoon until it was dark. I crawled into the garden and was pulling carrots, I also
had a small head of cabbage. All of a sudden a door from a small house opened and a
big dog came out. The dog was barking and headed straight toward the garden. He was
about 20 feet away from me when he stopped and continued to bark. The old man in the
cabin yelled at the dog several times. Finally the dog turned and heeded his master's
call. I got up and ran like hell, carrying my garden loot.
This made me aware that this was the survival of the
fittest... it came to either the old man or me...if I couldn't have gotten past the dog. I couldn't
take the chance of being found because I would have been hunted and shot on sight.
Needless to say, I was more cautious after that. It awakened me to the harsh realization
that I was completely under enemy control and in no position to give myself away.
I began wondering where and how all of my crew was and
had they survived. Loneliness sank in, far from the comfort and camaraderie of the base
and thousands of miles from my family, at home in Joelton, Tennessee. But I was here;
alone in the middle of nowhere and who even knew?
I was very weary and tired from days and days of walking
and my feelings bordered between anxiety and sheer terror. Now fully conscious of my
survival situation I knew it was of the utmost importance that I travel by night and hide
by day. Therefore, if I could keep my wits about me and keep moving in a steady direction,
this would perhaps keep me from wandering in a circle in the dark. The night was my
protection because the darkness gave me cover.
After many days I was beginning to feel I had it made —
becoming almost complacent. After about two months (I later learned) I entered Yugoslavia.
I was in a wooded area in farmland and I saw a man harvesting oats, tying bunches together
until he had a shock. When he moved over close to the woods I approached him with
pistol drawn and ready to fire. I opened the jacket I took from the railroad man, and unzipped
my flight jacket — sewn inside was the American Flag and an inscription, which
said in three languages, "I am an American."
His first words were "Americana?" I nodded
yes. He dropped his sickle and we walked for approximately one hour to a tiny village
with 3-4 houses where he told me to wait outside. The other villagers stared at me. He
returned within 10 minutes with another fellow with a German burp gun (machine gun)
with two bandoliers with bullets harnessed on his body. But he spoke English and told
me not to be afraid.
He took me into a house that had an underground room
and in that room were three men...mean, rough looking characters. At the same time I saw
a large array of radio equipment.
They fed me a heavenly feast of hominy, a vegetable
somewhat like cauliflower; black bread and water to drink. I later learned that this was
a group of underground partisans.
The anti-axis were grouped in several areas to rescue allied
troops. They contacted the 15th Air Force Headquarters in Foggia, Italy who replied in
code to them the date the bomber and fighters would come and pick me up (near Belgrade).
Upon leaving — which was customary to do, I
gave my rescuers the contents of my escape kit. The kit consisted of forty-nine $1.00
bills, my government issued .45 automatic pistol, plus the two clips.
I stayed with these partisans in this village for about 4-5
days. They fed me and I slept in a hayloft until a B-24 rescue mission was accomplished.
What a wonderful sight to see! All of a sudden there was
a sky full of P-51 Mustangs escorting the B-24 to rescue me. I was not emotionally upset
or scared while at this village with these partisans.
Two weeks of R & R was given to me to spend in
Cairo, Egypt. This was heaven sent, but I returned to Pantanella to the 464th to fly 24
more missions.
Of all the missions I flew, one is more memorable than
all the rest and one I will never forget as long as I live. I have attempted to relate my own
personal story to my wife, Elise, and find myself almost incapable of coping with the
memories because of the emotions involved. After all these many years I cry and cry when
thinking or talking about this particular mission.
The date was Friday, October 13, 1944 over Blechammer,
Germany's South Oil Refinery. On this mission I was the engineer top turret gunner with
Bernard Eiler as pilot and Edsel Bishop as co-pilot.
The briefing officer had told us what the mission would
be and where it would be. He warned us that an excessive amount of flak guns were active
on the ground and fighters were on the ground.
On take-off my position as engineer was in a stand-up
position directly behind the pilot. The reason for that was to assist the pilot in doing anything
needed to get the aircraft off the ground.
The first thing we would do before take off was to pull
the props through. And following that, I would start the motor on the auxiliary power unit
and move to the compartment and start engine #3. Then the pilot would start engines #1,
2 and 4. After all engines were fired and running the auxiliary unit was turned off. Thus,
the reason for pulling props through (and we did this 4-5 times) was because the
overnight inactivity would cause the oil to become sticky.
With every flight we were escorted to and from our
destination by Muskhogee airmen (Checkerboards) P-51 or P-38 fighter planes. They would
fly high above our altitude and if they saw any enemy planes they would engage in a dog-fight
in hopes to destroy their aircraft and protect us throughout the bomb runs. We would
maintain radio silence unless in extreme emergency. We could use the intercom on the
aircraft but could not use command radio unless it was an extreme emergency.
The nauseating stench of the interior of the B-24s was
almost sickening; the heat, 100 octane gas and neoprene rubber gasoline tank. After the
plane got in position and the rest of the crew took their positions within the aircraft we
cleared airspace and started into another country. All artillery positions tested their weapons
to assure guns would operate properly.
We soon saw warnings given to us at briefing holding
true. We had heavy black flak from the ground before we got to the target, over the target
and their fighter planes were already engaged in battle with our escort planes.
We made the bomb run and were coming off the target
when the flak burst through our plane — above the pilot and co-pilot — leaving
a huge hole in our aircraft above their heads. Our plane was riddled by flak and the cockpit
and instrument panel were covered with blood.
Bernard Eiler got an enormous piece of shrapnel through
his head, peeling his scalp and cracking his skull wide open. His brains were spilled and
laying out of his skull and out across his eyes in front. His pain was so intense he lost
conciousness and he looked like he was dead.
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Published with the permission of Art Rawlings, Jr., (464th, 778).
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