Chivalry
in the Air
By:
Sir Ernie Hamilton Boyette
This story is based on true accounts from both B-17 pilot Charlie Brown and Luftwaffe Ace, Franz Stigler. I interviewed both pilots from 1997 through 2000. I started writing about their encounter right away.
The following account is based on facts as they were explained with my writer’s script added to blend the tale into a most amazing story. Writing about the encounter from both sides was like gluing together two sides of a mold; a perfect fit. Added together this tale became a complete story. Not just what happened, but what each pilot was thinking.
I used the many stories Franz told me of the numerous times he fired on B-17’s and B-24’s bombers and how he was shot down over and over by their defensive guns. What Stigler was thinking in combat and what B-17 pilot, Charles Brown was thinking. Charlie Brown is a great man and his strength and the integrity of the B-17 brought him and his men home to fly and fight another day.
I correctly took notes, recorded most phone conversations, and video taped personal interviews.
Truly these are two warriors of the air. Both pilots continued fighting through the war after their encounter. Both pilots were certainly in the same air battles in the months ahead of them and may have shot at each other a few times unknowingly.
Two pilots met in the air and lived to tell their story. I feel privileged to be the storyteller.
Enjoy. Please tell your friends about my Aviation Art Web Store.
Sir Ernie Hamilton Boyette
Aviation Art Store
1-904-282-4198
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Artwork by Harper.
This is a great painting by an artist named Harper. Here the artist illustrated Luftwaffe Ace, Franz Stigler and U. S. Captain Charlie Brown.
I will add more and finish this story for my up coming book in 2008!
With his B-17 shot up and barely able to fly, a wounded B-17 pilot, Captain Charles Brown carefully checked his instrument panel along with his copilot. Their altitude was low, just above tree top level. Charlie pulled back on the controls with the help of his copilot. They slowly started to climb to get a better idea as to where they were. The controls were stiff and it took the brute force of both men to bring the yoke back towards their chest. They decided to stay low to avoid enemy fighters but they had to get a little higher. Charlie shouted back to the navigator for their location. The navigator was already scanning over the charts to get his bearings and to plot a course for the English Channel and home to their base in England. Blood dripped from the navigators forehead onto his map. He whipped his wound with his jacket sleeve. His vision was blurred like looking through smoked glass.
The entire crew was injured. The few who were only slightly injured were tending to the others that had more grievous wounds as best they could. The tail gunner was dead and the welfare of the others was on Charlie's mind. The controls seemed to be working but the aircraft had been badly damaged. How long the B-17 would fly would now rest on the craftsmanship that went into the building this great aircraft.
Craftsmanship. Charlie and his crew knew that hard working American men and women built this Fortress. We could say these planes are built by craftswomenship as much as craftsmanship. And a darn good job they did. I hope that Rosie the riveter did a good job on this crate, one of the wounded crewman was thinking as the aircraft shook under him. The only thing that was between him and the earth was this shot up bird. Every time the bomber hit an air pocket the plane jumped a few inched or a foot at a time. Empty machine gun cartridges rattled nosily along with everything else that had fallen to the floor of the Fortress. The right waist gunner was tying a knot on the injured arm of the left waist gunner. The bone had been shot into by a German bullet that pierced the arm. The wounded gunner was in a daze as his friend tighten the knot. Shock had enveloped him into a death grip. The heated suit still worked, that was going to keep him alive until they all could get back to base and be treated by the doctor and nursing staffs. They all cared for each other as best they could.
A stiff wind was coming through the airplane like a blast of cold water. It wasn’t as cold at this low altitude but it was endless and bitter. The bomber had taken a hit in the nose from anti-aircraft fire, which had blown out the Plexi-glass sending a continuous flow of air straight through the aircraft over everyone. When you are in shock a deep chill takes hold of the body. Charlie and his copilot looked over at each other, no words were spoken. They had talked steady for the last five minutes as they scrambled to regain control of their plane. Their eyes met and so did their minds. No words were needed. They knew what could be ahead for them and the crew of "Yea Old Pub".
At
a Luftwaffe airfield,
Oberleutnant Franz Stigler was climbing onto the wing of his Bf 109. His
aircraft has been rearmed and refueled from his morning combat with American
bomber formations. He was pleased that he had shot down two B-17's earlier. Now
Stigler was to take off again and chase the remaining bombers back to the
Channel and hopefully shoot down another. In the Luftwaffe you got the Iron
Cross if you shot down three bombers in one day. Stigler felt lucky as he stood
on the wing and looked across the field.
With the American bombers having to travel so far from their bases in England the Luftwaffe was able to attack them on their way to a target and then again on the return flight. Actually the bomber formations could be hit as many as four times by fighters. The first time was as they crossed the coast line by Luftwaffe fighters stationed in France. If the bomber mission was deep in Europe, the first fighters would be replaced by another group that was stationed in the target area. These fighters would break off as the bombers entered the target and encountered anti-aircraft fire. Once the bombers left the AA area the fighters would descend on them again. After the first wave of fighters broke away to return to their home base another group would engage the bombers as they passed over French Luftwaffe bases. This was the position Stigler was in. He and his fellow fighter pilots hit them first coming in and then made a last jab at the bombers as the left the continent.
Stigler’s ground crew was finishing their job of preparing his fighter for another sortie. The Messerschmitt was purring like a loin, a loin ready to pounce. Small puffs of exhaust were coughing from the engine as it hummed, waiting to be tested to its fullest in combat. The Daimler-Benz engine was running smoothly slowly spinning the prop blowing a steady breeze back over the wings. The wind blew Franz's hair as he strapped on his leather headset and poised his goggles on the top of his head.
The ground crew were now shutting all the panels and doors and checking the latches. All oil pressures and hydraulics had been checked. Landing gear and tires were checked. The belts of machine gun bullets were checked so that they would feed freely into the guns. Jammed guns could turn a good fight into a desperate escape from the battle. The guns had been quickly cleaned and oiled. The 20mm cannon was ready to throw its large caliber steel missiles into the enemy's aircraft.
The ground crew took great pride in their jobs. Their job was to prepare this Messerschmitt to fly and fight. To take the pilot into combat like no other commandant before. Flight is a recent achievement of mankind that had been conquered only 40 years earlier. Now with this new ability to fly raced along with technological advancement the world now knows the power and might of air warfare.
Man had dreamed of flying for thousands of years and as soon as he could he used aircraft to attack his fellow man. The ability to use aircraft for observation, support ground troops, neutralizing enemy defenses, supplying troops with munitions, food and medical supplies was awe inspiring. The great cities that had survived wars in the past like London, Paris, Rome, Moscow, and Berlin were now in flames. No city was safe from an enemy’s aircraft.
Franz watched the ground crew look over the aircraft one last time. The flaps, trim tabs and rudder were checked. The damage from the morning battle had been temporally patched. The metal workers would patch the holes better after this flight. The crews could work into the night preparing the aircraft for the next day’s battle. This was a quick turn around from one mission to another.
Just 45 minutes to an hour and Franz would be back into the air engaging the enemy. Like a race car driver pulling into the pit to have his racer serviced and gassed and back out to finish the race, this was Franz the aviator, Franz the warrior!
Franz always brought his aircraft back damaged after his aerial battles with the American fighters and bombers. That was good, that shows that you are aggressive. It showed that Franz got in close to make sure that his hits counted.
The mission of the ground crew was to give the pilot a machine that would take him safely into battle and bring him home again. Franz and his ground crew were comrades. Men brought together and bonded in their effort to defend the Fatherland. The ground crew loved Franz. He was a good man and an expert aviator and fighter pilot. They wanted him to succeed; they thrilled equally with his aerial victories. Every time Franz returned from a mission they carefully tended to his aircraft as if it too were a living warrior.
The ground crew groomed his fighter like in the days of old when a Knight would ride off into battle on a mighty steed. The Knight had a consignment of men whose job was to care for his steed. In preparation for battle his men would saddle the steed and strap on the armor protecting the face of the animal and its sides from injury. If the Knight returned, they would tend to the horse, its wounds and groom it for its next charge into battle.
Franz was ready for another air battle. Another mission that someone would not return to his base. Franz was a veteran German ace who had flown in North Africa with Hans-Joachim Marseille. He had also been an instructor and taught the best and flown with the best. He would end the war flying the first operational jet fighters, the Messerschmitt 262 with the "Fighting General" Adolph Galland in JV44. Stigler would be credited with destroying a total of eleven four-engine bombers before the war would end and badly damaging many others.
His plane captain was preparing the cockpit for Franz as he took one last look around the airfield. As Franz was about to enter the cockpit, he was shocked to see a smoking B-17 flying just above the treetops right past his airfield. Franz leaped into his cockpit with the help of his plane captain. The ground crew began shouting at one another as they clamored last second checks.
Quickly strapping Franz into his seat his plane captain shut the canopy and gave Franz a thumbs up signal that the canopy was secure. The captain leaped off the back of the wing of the sleek Messerschmitt as the prop wash increased practically pushing him off as the Daimler-Benz roared while Franz increased power.
Dust flew up as the ground crew grabbed the ropes that held the wood blocks under the wheels and freed them. The aircraft rolled forward. Franz increased power and his aircraft sped down the runway after the smoking bomber.
As the fighter’s speed increased, the tail wheel rose from the runway. The fighter was now level and Franz glanced down to watch the RPM's increase. Franz pulled back on the stick and the nose of his Messerschmitt rose. The wheels spun freely as they left the runway. Bits of dirt were thrown from the tire treads as Stigler retracted the gear and they pulled themselves up into the wings as a bird pulls his talon’s close to his body to gain speed.
With his wheels up and his Daimler-Benz running smoothly the Messerschmitt rose from the earth after the enemy aircraft. The broad sharp propeller blades chopped the air pulling his aircraft toward the crippled bomber. Stigler trimmed the Messerschmitt and matched the altitude behind the low flying Fortress in the distance.
Making sure that his gun sight was working, Franz readied himself for combat. It took many minutes to catch up with the bomber. Franz closed in on the enemy aircraft placing the B-17 in his gun site's crosshairs. Still to far away it took a few more minutes as Franz approached the bomber. He was careful not to get to close to the enemy, not wanting to be shot down himself by the rear gunner. Franz had already been shot down several times and before the war ended he would be shot down a total of seventeen times. American bombers alone would shoot Franz down eleven times.
Being shot down was no disgrace, no; it meant that you were aggressive. You had the guts to get in close. Close enough to see the face of the rear gunner and watch balls of fire, tracers coming back toward Franz from the bombers guns. Maneuvering his Messerschmitt carefully Franz would try to put his tracers into the face of that gunner and kill him first. Every once in a while you would see the rear gunner stop firing, for a moment. He ran out of ammo! Now, now is your chance to slip in quickly and silence that gun forever! You have to drop that bomber. That B-17 just bombed a German city. Your country. Did that bomber just kill someone you know? One of your relatives, or a friend?
In past attacks on bombers Franz would be distracted by pieces of the bomber he was firing on coming off and flying back towards him. Large and small pieces of metal glancing off his aircraft. And the smoke. If the bomber was smoking you had to stay out of its slipstream so you could concentrate on your victim.
Then there were those moments when the tracers from the rear gunner would strike Stigler's fighter. Sparks, smoke, and oil everywhere, and the noise, the ear shattering noise of hot nuggets of metal ripping through his aircraft, coming towards him! Blood! Pain! You've been hit, quick bank away! Stigler would forever wear scars on his forehead and legs form the bullets of B-17 rear gunners.
These are the thoughts of a Luftwaffe pilot, a veteran. One who had faced death over and over defending his country from the thunderous storms of bomber formations. And the swarms of murderous Mustangs, Lightings and Thunderbolts!
Franz was focusing on the low flying bomber when he noticed that the bomber was damaged. Damaged very badly. He also noticed that no gunfire was coming from the aircraft. That bomber would normally be firing back at him. Even if the German fighter was out of range the rear gunner would try to spoil his attack with burst of gunfire.
Still holding his fire, Franz pulled closer to the bomber with his trigger finger poised to blast the enemy out of the air. As he neared he saw that the guns of the bomber were not manned! In fact upon closer inspection, an exploding 20mm shell from another German fighter must have hit the rear gunner.
The left stabilizer wing mounted under the massive tail of the bomber had been shot away. The rear section the gunner sat in had taken a direct hit. The Plexiglas was blown away and what was left of the crewman's body was in plain view. Blood from the gunner was thrown up onto the tail of the bomber like a coat of red paint!
This view of death shook Franz. He knew that he had killed rear gunners and other crewmembers in enemy bombers but he never got this close to see the carnage that resulted. In aerial combat you shoot at aircraft, not men. And when the aircraft you attack goes down you don't see the face of the pilot, you see a smoking enemy fighter or bomber plunging toward earth. This form of combat is so sanitized. Aerial combat is a battle of aviator’s abilities and marksmanship. In all the aerial combat Franz had experienced, he had never seen a dead man-sitting limp at his station like this.
Franz pulled up along the right side of the bombers and was astonished that the aircraft was flying at all. The damage was extensive with one engine out, and another prop slowly spinning. Large holes were in the wings and fuselage. How was this aircraft flying thought Franz? So large were the holes in the side of the bomber that Franz could look in the windows and holes and see that at least half of the crew were wounded and the other half was tending to them.
Stigler flew on Browns right wing for several minutes looking at the proud Boeing aircraft. He could see the crew in the B-17 look out at him. This was indeed a rare opportunity for Stigler to get close and have a good look at one of the enemy bombers.
Franz gently pulled back on his stick rising just above the fortress and with slight peddle movement he floated over the bomber to the left side of the aircraft and looked over at the pilot. The B-17 was equally shot up on this side. Franz thought that if he could get the attention of the American pilot, he would signal to him to land and surrender. Franz thought this was the best for the crew because he could not imagine the ship getting them safely home to their base in England.
Charlie's first mission had been as a co-pilot over a target that was considered a milk run. A milk run is a bombing mission where there was little or no fighter opposition and little antiaircraft fire. An easy in and easy out bombing mission. Brown was just like any new aviator to combat. He felt undefeatable. His first mission had been confidence building. Charlie was excited that this, his second mission, he would be the Captain. He would led his men into “Fortress Europe”.
The
B-17 Charlie was assigned to was a war veteran, “Yea
Old Pub”. He had been working with the crew for weeks. A few of the men
already had a few missions under their belt and in each man’s mind different
thoughts drifted but the one thing every one came back to was the upcoming
mission.
The
predawn wake up call, the chow line, black coffee. The cigarettes hanging out of
their mouths and finally the mission briefing would be a daily routine until
their tour was over. They all drove out to the airfield, which was filled for
what looked like a mile of B-17’s. The early morning air was brisk on the
faces of the young men who were hanging onto their Willis Jeep as it followed
one of many heading towards the flight line. How magnificent the sight was. The
smell of aviation gas, oil and cigs would fill their noses now for a while.
As
they passed the neat row of aircraft they each looked at every Fortress to view
the artwork. The names of girl friends, wives, fully clothed and half naked
adorned these war machines. Hundreds of props
slowly spinning like an endless row of windmills.
“Like Time Square” one of the guys said. The traffic was as busy as any
morning in any major city gearing up for a busy day. Only instead of meats,
clothing, jewelry, and other merchandise, the truck traffic was hauling fuel,
bombs and miles of machine gun belts full of fifty caliber missiles.
As
they came to the wingtip of “Yea Old Pub” the guys started to jump off as
Charlie slowed to a stop. The ground crews were still busy loading the bombers
for their daily mission. They ground crews had already been working now for hours. When
Charlie and his men were wakened, the ground crews had already been busy assembling
everything needed for the day’s mission.
Charlie
and his copilot started their walk around the bomber checking and
rechecking. They would be doing a walk around every time for their pre-flight. The rest
of his men, the bombardier, navigator and gunners were disappearing one at a
time into different open hatches in the beast. Standing at the tail looking at
the graceful lines of this war machine was awe-inspiring. Charlie tapped on the
side of the tail where the rear gunner was seated.. The
rear gunner was checking his twin fifty's. The gunner looked up and smiled big
at Charlie giving him a thumb’s up sign.
“The
mission is a go!”, was called out by a guy driving swiftly by in a Jeep. Charlie and
his copilot walked along the left side of the sixty-foot long fuselage bending
to duck under the huge broad wing. Charlie slapped the copilot's back as he
reached up and drew himself into the bottom of the Fortress. Charlie was the
last to enter. He looked around the field and marveled at all the human
After
strapping themselves in they reviewed the dials and gauges. Charlie calling out
a list that would become routine. Checking the intercom system each man had his
job. Each was trained, gun bolts checked, machine gun belts checked. Suits
checked, helmets, flak jackets close by and available. Maps studied, radios
checked, first aid kits readied, and the incredible low throbbing hum of the
Wright Cyclone engines. The airplane fills with exhaust fumes and the smell of
gas is penetrating.
Here
they would sit for a half hour before Charlie could release he brakes and start
the long roll down along the side of the runway. Stacked up one behind another
nose to tail, nose to tail. At first it is exciting to
watch each bomber roll past, watch the tail rise and then, the monster rises
into the air ever so slowly. Charlie watched and waited. Another thirty minutes
and it would be their turn.
“O
Lordy this is sooo boring” someone says over the mike. Charlie and the copilot
look at each other and smile. Its funny, first you get excited about the
mission, you get strapped in and wait. You loose your thrill until its time to
take off. Then the long, long flight. You are bored again, then the first
sighting of a German fighter!
Finally
Captain Charles Brown pulls his Fortress onto the matt of the runway. Throttles
are pushed forward and acceleration begins. The new run ways are fairly smooth
and the trip down is swift. Every man on the plane feels the tail lift. The
engines are roaring. No bone in your body goes unshaken. Finally, the feeling of
the aircraft leaving the earth is a thrill, slight as it may be, but you know
that you are free with nothing but sky in front of you.
Next
is the arduous process of forming up over the English territory. As all aircraft
are gathered together into groups they gain altitude. After a few minutes the
English Channel draws slowly closer. On and on they will fly together all the
while climbing. Climbing to a point that death would take you in sub-zero
temperatures if you were exposed.
Thinking.
Every man is again thinking their own thoughts. Mom, their girlfriends, friends
in their hometown and cities. Their future? Collage? Mechanics school? A
thousand American airman with a thousand different thoughts all going in the
same direction. To an “X” on a map that had to be destroyed.
The Germans were thinking also as they watched the approaching Americans on the radar screens. Phone calls were made. Anti-aircraft gunners stacked ammunitions. German fighter pilots were suiting up as the ground crew scrambled to their duties. The Americans are coming!
That
morning, Franz
Stigler along with fellow Luftwaffe pilots had reached their assigned altitude
and was moving toward the yet unseen American bomber formation. As they sped
towards each other their fates came closer.
Dots,
just dots in the distance. Then the dots seamed to not only grow larger, but it
was like looking at a huge cloud of bees. Angry bees. Stigler checked his guns
as he fired off a few rounds. He saved his 20mm cannon because those rounds were
precious. He needed every one of those shells for the heavy bombers. Stigler had
already claimed several four-engine bombers in the past and he was looking
forward to adding a few more victory marks on the tail of his Messerschmitt. His
ground crew was always as thrilled as he was when he came back with new
victories.
Yet
on a few occasions, Stigler’s plane did not return. Long faces were drawn on
his crew, as they would look into the sky waiting for him. Hoping the best for
him, or hoping that if the worst happened, it was quick. When Franz didn’t
return they would turn and head back to the hanger. Await a new fighter pilot
fresh from training needing a talented crew.
Then
later that day or the next Franz would show up back at the base with a new story
and new victories to be painted on his newly assigned Messerschmitt. Beer would
be consumed by all. This was a brotherhood.
Since the bombers were stacked at different altitudes in their box formations Stigler and his men met the first wave of Fortresses at their level. Lining up on the nose of the most convenient Fortress Stigler waited for the proper range.
The
7.9mm machine guns of Stigler’s Messerschmitt opened up first since their
range was greater than the cannon. Yet it was just another moment before the
“BAM, BAM, BAM” kicked in. He could see the tracers from the top turret reach toward him as he witnessed puffs appear on the nose and fuselage of the
Fortress. Those innocent puffs were Stigler's rounds striking the Fortress. The bomber was hit and in the flash of an eye he dove under the B-17.
Franz knows to go under the bomber because the top turret was already drawing a
bead on him. You need not serve yourself on a silver platter, if you dive under
the bomber the bottom turret would not be ready for you and you would be past
the aircraft in a flash.
Franz
kicked rudder to come back around for the bomber he had just hit. The only
problem is that the American bomber formation was so large he found himself in
the middle of the group. Orange and yellow fireballs chris-crossed all around
him. He could see that the bomber he had fired on had developed problems. In his
approach from the bottom coming in on the tail of the Fortress, he could see it
was slipping to the left leaving its position and nosing down a little. Closed
and closer Franz waited to get closer. The tail gunner of the Fortress was
firing along with the bottom turret.
Franz
pulled up slightly to avoid the bottom gun. The rear gunner was enough. Just as
a few rounds from the bomber hit the right wing of his Messerschmitt Franz fired
on the bomber. His rounds first struck the tail area in an effort to silence the
gunner. There was no way that Franz could hold his target as he was moving and
the bombers was sliding to the left and nosing down a little more. As Franz
fired he could see his rounds follow up the side of the fuselage. Franz
triggered his cannon and its rounds went into the right wing root area.
Franz
banked and looked back over his shoulder. Franz figured that
he had hit the pilot or damaged his instruments enough for the Fortress to loose
control during his first pass. On his second pass it looked like if he did not
hit the rear gunner he certainly caused him much grief. The bullets along the
side of the bomber sprayed the right waist gunner, but it was the 20mm cannon
ripping holes into the main body of the plane at the wing root that ensured its
demise. Franz banked to the right and then left pulling in front of the B-17. He
saw the first parachute and another figure bail out as he came back into the bomber
formation selecting his next target. One B-17 down.
Heading
back into the bomber formation he selected one that was about a mile away and
1000 feet lower coming at him. Franz bore down on the bomber. He
aimed just ahead of the bomber coming in an attack that would take his bullets
for the right to the left starting right behind the pilot in the wing root and
ending at the end of the left wing root. Franz waited for the bomber to
intersect with his line of fire.
The
top turret was the only gun that cold bring its guns to bear on him and he felt
and herd a few crashing sounds as a few of the American’s rounds hit is
fighter. NOW! Franz said to himself as he fired all guns. Just as planned he
crossed the aircraft with a complete folly of combined fire. Like opening a tin
can he could see that he all but cut the Fortress in half. His bullets ripped
into the Fortress right behind the turret gunner.
Franz flashed past the bomber in his dive. He kicked rudder to the right. His Messerschmitt was going full throttle and the turn took him into a controlled slide as he tried to right himself and go back to his target. Franz found himself back in the middle of a hundred guns all firing at him. He just had to ignore them. He began his climb towards the rear of the B-17. This time he would have to put up with the right waist gunner and the bottom gun. His angle was where the rear gunner could not reach him. These guys were not going to let Franz get in close. Franz could see the tracers of both the right side gunner and the bottom turret draw together towards him.
“God
Damn!” Franz thought as a few of the enemy’s rounds hit is machine. Finally
Franz fired all guns into the wing in-between the two engines where the fuel
tanks rested along with landing gear and many other controls. Franz flew
straight on pouring cannon and machine gun fire into this concentrated area. The
incoming fire was so intense that even Franz could not control his fear. He
threw his left arm over his eyes as he held his course and fired for a few more
seconds.
All Franz could see for one brief moment was the underside of the wing of
the massive bomber. The wing was as big as his whole fighter! Franz
flew under the wing of the bomber and flipped over onto his
back and pulled hard to bring the nose of his Messerschmitt straight down to get
away. He found himself
going down through the bomber formations below him. His fight was over. Franz
pulled his fighter level and looked back at his nemesis. His rounds and
struck true. Fire had enveloped the right wing of the Fortress. That bomber
would never see its target.
Franz was all but out of ammunition and he needed to save what he had if an American fighter jumped him. There were many American fighters flying in and out of the bomber formations as they chased FW-190’s and Bf-109’s. Yet one never confronted Franz. He set course for his airbase and checked for damage. Two down. That made for a good day. Of course Franz knew that anytime he lived through combat was a good day. Once Franz was shot down by the rear gunner of a Fortress before he was able to fire his guns. But he had lived. With a few scars on his shins form the enemy’s bullets of course.
“Yea
Old Pub” was bounced by German fighters and the intercom almost burst with
shouting crewmen yelling, “Here he comes”, “look out to the right”. The
overall engagement was dumbfounding. The waist gunners were both engaged. Just
minutes before they were both laughing and thinking that the Germans weren’t
going to come up and bother them. Then fighters were spotted. The plane was
filled with the scent of spent gunpowder.
The
Fortress was raked with the thunderous sound of incoming bullets. The left waist
gunners topped firing and fell back. The other bend down to help him. His arms
had been hit. Blood was flowing freely. The unhurt gunner tried to calm his
injured friend, he called on the intercom that his buddy had been hit and was
helping him. “Back to your guns here they come again.” The bomber was being
fired on from the rear. The rear gunner was saying “Here he comes, I got him
now!” Smashing and grinding noises came from the rear of the bomber.
Everyone
was busy. Both Charlie and the copilot bravely held course in order for the
combined firepower of the formation to be effective. What hell it was to fly
straight and level during such a burst of violence. The copilot told Charlie
that one of the port engines was hit but not burning or smoking. The Fortress
was rocked by turbulence as an enemy fighter flew past.
The
right waist gunner witnessed a fighter come in from behind and below. He could
not bring his gun to bear on him, nor the rear gunner. The bottom gunner was
firing at the German but the waist gunner did not see any hits. For some reason as the
enemy fighter pulled up and banked, the German pilot must have panicked or
miscalculated, the Messerschmitt banked away from the bomber. At that moment the
speed of both aircraft was equal as the light blue belly of the fighter was
right where the waist gunner was able to fire into the center section between
the wings. Time stood still for a moment as a plume of fire burst from the now
doomed German. The fighter fell back and tumbled away as the bomber flew on.
“I got one!” Was called out on the intercom.
Then
the skies were clear of fighters. Charlie called for everyone to report. One by
one he was able to account for his crew but the rear gunner never answered.
Charlie asked the uninjured waist gunner to check him. He never had to climb all
the way back to his station, he could see that their friend was limp in his
seat. “Looks like our back door defense got hit.” Was called up to Charlie.
“How bad?” Charlie asked. “He looks dead sir.” Was the answer.
Charlie was just too busy conversing with the navigator and
the bombardier. The target was less than an hour away and another bomber group
called in that they were being hit by a new group of fighters protecting the
upcoming target city. Some of the escort fighters were going back because they
were running out of gas or ammo or were damaged.
Charlie and his copilot discussed their upcoming mission. They were on course and flying well enough to figure that they got out of this good so far. Scattered clouds did not hide the countryside below. The target was coming into view. “Fighters!” With the tail gunner dead and one waist gunner out of commission they were attacked again. Fortunately “Yea Old Pub” did not suffer this time. Then the dirty white and gray cotton puffs appeared ahead of them. Anti-aircraft fire. All Charlie could do is fly right into the thick of it.
Charlie had been in the bomber formation approaching the target
when his Fortress received direct hits from the German 88mm
antiaircraft
guns. His bomber lost one engine
and another was already slightly damaged.
More of his crew were wounded. Then the left rear stabilizer was ripped off at
the tail. The sounds of a hundred pieces of metal hitting the skin of the
Fortress sounded like a hundred BB's hitting a tin roof all at once.
Charlie
nursed his bomber to the target and dropped his bombs. He was losing his
position in the formation as his plane lost power. This was bad. Very bad. A
lone bomber was a sitting duck for the swarms of German fighters. The bomber
formations were always hit by Luftwaffe fighters before they reached their
targets. They would then turn away as the attack on the bombers was
replaced by the anti-aircraft guns defending the target. As soon as the bombers
left the anti-aircraft defended area the fighters would return. Here the Germans
would try to weed out the damaged bombers and drop them onto the earth below.
As
the bomber formation left the target the avenging Luftwaffe fighters attacked.
As soon as "Yea Old Pub" was alone, over twenty-five
fighters attacked Charlie's wounded bomber. Since Charlie was alone he did not
have to fly straight and level anymore. Twisting and rolling Charlie
maneuvered the fortress. In all
the tumbling and turning his crew fought back desperately. Incoming German
bullets and exploding cannon shells hit more of his crewmen. The bombers
defenders downed one of the attackers and damaged a few others.
Then
one
of the Germans bullets found its mark. But this was not a killing blow, but a
miraculous one. A bullet had found the oxygen supply for the crew. Charlie and
his crew without knowing it were about to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen
at twenty five thousand feet.
As
the German fighters came in for the final blow, they witnessed the proud but
battered B-17 simply tumble out of the sky toward earth. The German fighters
quickly pulled away to go after the next straggler. Who claimed that kill no one
knows but some German pilot would be painting a victory marking on the tail of
his aircraft when he landed.
The B-17 was a stable aircraft with broad strong wings. As the aircraft fell with the crew unconscious, the aircraft righted itself and flew alone with its crew motionless in their places.
Close up of Harper artwork.
This close up shows where the bombers front nose glass had been shot out opening up the bomber for front to back air conditioning. At high altitudes, the air temperature is amazingly cold.
Also behind the top turret you see the rear pointing 50 caliber sticking out of where the radio operator was stationed. This area has been opened up like a tin can by enemy gun fire.
As
Charlie came to, he found his aircraft flying level just above the treetops. The
other crewmembers woke not knowing at the time what had just happened. Charlie
quickly gained control of his bomber and asked for the navigator to chart a
westerly course back to the Channel.
This
is when “Yea Old Pub” passed Stigler's airbase. It wasn't long before Charlie knew
that a
German fighter was closing on his tail. His crew updated Charlie as it
approached. The only gun that was manned was the belly turret.
And his guns were jammed! The bottom turret gunner watched, almost in shock as the
Messerschmitt drew closer and closer. The gunner was helpless as he saw
certain death torment him.
Close up of Harper artwork.
Charlie knew that at this altitude if his wounded bomber was hit again it would break apart and they would be pulled to the earth, and their deaths. He tugged at the controls trying to keep the plane stable. His men were shouting to him what the German was doing, flying around the cripple bomber like a cat playing with a fear stricken mouse before he finished them off.
Charlie was young, wounded, and fighting the controls of his bomber. Charlie was scarred, but he was the Captain, he could not show anything but strength for his men. The Messerschmitt was now less than 100 yards away right outside his window flying beside him. Charlie would quickly glance to his left out the window trying to watch the German while trying to keep his plane flying straight and level.
When their eyes finally met, Franz, using hand signals motioned for Charlie to land and surrender. Charlie quickly jerked his head forward. The bomber was shaking and the controls vibrated and pulled in his hands. Land? Charlie thought, he wants me to land? Charlie knew that he did not want to spend the rest of the war as a POW. His only thought was to get his wounded men and broken aircraft back to England.
Franz flew along side the American bomber studying the damage. How is this aircraft flying, he kept thinking. The men in Charlie's bomber were watching the German fighter from the windows and hung on as their bomber shook. The wounded were bandaged and made as comfortable as possible.
Moving around in the B-17 was difficult at best. Even though the aircraft appeared large from the outside, the inside was a maze of equipment and crawl spaces. The front or nose of the aircraft holds the compartments for the navigator and the bombardier. They both had fifty caliber machine guns that they manned during an air battle. Both guns manned by these two men fired toward the front and had a limited area of coverage on each side.
The forward firing chin turret held two fifty-caliber machine guns. This turret had been added to the B-17 because the aircraft was venerable to frontal attacks by the Luftwaffe fighters. The German fighters would fly straight at the bombers firing into the nose of the aircraft. A direct stream of fire from the Germans guns would go straight through the bomber from the nose to the tail hitting every one and everything. But the goal was to hit the pilots which would drop the bomber. With the addition of the new forward firing guns, the German fighters were forced to duel it out with the bombers. Once the German pulled up he was venerable to the top turret and if he flew below under the bomber as they passed he was exposed to the bottom turret.
The radio operator was behind the pilots cabin. The radio operator also manned a rear firing fifty-caliber machine gun located about ten feet behind the top gun turret. His area of coverage protecting the bomber was limited but needed. When attacked by many enemy aircraft at the same time every gun was valuable.
All crewmembers of the Flying Fortress were Sergeants and officers who were trained to perform most jobs on the aircraft except the actual flying and navigation. At any time one of the crew could be wounded or killed, so depending on the situation another could quickly take over and man his station.
Charlie and the copilot fought the controls keeping the aircraft stable. When the bomber shook it rattled like a metal box full of coins. They had gained altitude for their return flight. The crew kept Charlie informed as to Franz's location outside the left side of the bomber. Charlie was frozen staring straight out the windshield of the bomber occasionally looking down with his eyes only at the gauges on the dashboard. The dials were acting like they too were frantic as they jerked like shaking fingers not keeping a steady reading on their numbers.
The muscles in Charlie's arms and back were now beginning to ache from their diligent attention to the control's that were pulling and tugging like they were trying to break free from him. His hands were gripped tight on the wheel as if they were glued. His face was transfixed straightforward, yet his mind was unable to ignore the enemy.
Again Charlie quickly glanced to his left. There he was, the enemy, flying practically wingtip to wingtip with the bomber. Thoughts were racing in Charlie's mind. Why hasn't the German attacked? We are helpless, why is he tormenting us? Their eyes meet again. Franz signaled for Charlie to land. Charlie jerked his face back forward; his gut was in his throat.
Franz had hoped that the bomber would land. Doesn't that American pilot know that his aircraft could come apart at any moment? The only smart thing to do is to get it down and save as many lives as possible now before it is to late. The emotions Franz was now feeling were ones of fear for the American aviators. Why were they not taking his advice and save themselves? They could survive the war as POW's and return to their families once all this hell was over. Come on you idiot, land!
Franz flew along and watched. He found himself concerned for the Americans. Franz thought that once they were near Switzerland they would land like other American aircrews did when they were badly damaged. But Franz wanted them down now. Franz again tried to get them to land by signaling with his thumb pointing down to when Charlie looked over at him.
Charlie glanced back to his shaking dials checking his airspeed, altitude, and engine pressures. Another hour and we will be home Charlie thought. He had instructed his crewmembers to lighten the load of their aircraft by throwing out everything they could. Franz watched the crew throw out what they could.
Thousands of thoughts raced through Charlie's mind, had the German ran out of ammunition and called for other fighters. At any moment would the enemy pull away and attack with dozens of his fellow Germans? Surely this lone German didn't need help, Charlie's Fortress was wasted. Even Charlie didn't know how his aircraft was flying.
As the coast neared, Charlie's throat was dry and his stomach was in knots waiting for the attack from the German fighter. What was this German doing? He would glance over and the German kept signaling for him to land. I'm not landing Charlie thought, no way, not as long as my aircraft is flying. Franz was truly puzzled, why is this fool risking his life and the life of his men? Can he not see that I am trying to help them?
As they finally cleared the coastline, Stigler pulled a little forward of Charlie's widow. Charlie looked out and saw Stigler raise his right hand and saluted “Yea Old Pub”, Charlie and his brave crew. The right wing of the German fighter raised and exposed the sky blue bottom of the Messerschmitt as Stigler banked away and reversed his course toward his airfield. Stigler thought about the American airmen as he flew back to the safety of his base, a warm meal, a drink, and a good nights sleep.
Charlie said, "Look at that, he saluted us and banked away". Several others saw the Germans farewell. "You never know", someone said over the intercom. "Lets get this crate back", Charlie said as he looked over at his copilot. "I'm with you Charlie", the copilot replied, and they continued their chatting as again they took inventory of everyone and the condition of the aircraft.
This had been a long flight. And if they make England, they will land at the first base they come to. The navigator reported to Brown that on their present course they should find a forward fighter base they could land at.
The talk among the crew was more relaxed now that the German was gone, but they would be shaken back into reality once in a while by the bouncing of the aircraft that they still knew was badly damaged and barely flying. Spent ammunition shells chatted on the floorboard like the chattering teeth of a skeleton. The shaking of the fortress never eased. The crew that could move about checked on their wounded comrades.
They all watched the dark blue water below with its white caps and spray. God they didn't want to go into that water. They had heard all the stories of how cold the channel was. Even in life rafts, they would be wet and miserable until rescued. If they were rescued. There were stories of airmen found in their life rafts, frozen dead from exposure.
They all hung on and prayed for the sight of land. They sat in their places listening to the drone of the engines. Some shut their eyes and thought of there loved ones. After what seemed forever a thin line appeared before them that slowly grew into a definite shoreline. They all cheered as they flew over the waves and the sandy shore that quickly turned into the beautiful lush green colors of the English countryside.
Charlie had been dropping altitude, which was easy as the heavy bomber nosed down toward the area they knew the airfield would be in. Just a few more minutes, just a few more long minutes.
"There it is", the navigator hollered as he was scanning the area looking for the airfield. Charlie told the copilot to drop the landing gear. The copilot reached over and pulled on the levers that would perform the task, but the lights on the dashboard either were not working, or the wheels were not down and locked. "Having trouble with the gear" the copilot shouted out. Charlie had been busy with setting the flaps and trimming the plane for a stable landing.
The navigator and engineer crawled around and looked out to visually view the status of the landing gear. The right wheel was down but the one on the left was only half way. Quickly the crew started to manually crank the gear down. Sweat broke on their brow as they traded off turning the crank. As they turned, the wheel and gear inched down. The others that watched were also sweating as the wheel dropped ever so slowly.
Charlie picked up the microphone and called to the tower that he had a damaged plane with dead and wounded aboard. The tower radioed back that the runway was too short for their bomber to land and to go on because they were in the process of having fighters take off for a mission.
Charlie held the microphone away from his mouth a few inches as he looked at his gages and then back out the window. Charlie looked over at the copilot. "Charlie, we can't go on, we have to land", the copilot said as he leaned over and looked Charlie in the eyes. No discussion needed, Charlie agreed and asked how the landing gear was going.
Below someone shouted that the wheel was going down, but slowly, it must be damaged worse than they can see from where they were. Charlie brought the microphone back to his lips and pushed the button with his thumb and replied, "I can't go on, I have to land. I am wounded along with the rest of my men, our gear is shot out and we are manually trying to correct it. We are lining up for you runway".
No need to talk any more, Charlie placed the mike back and again placed both hands on the controls. "We're taking her in everybody hold on." Again shouting from below told that the wheel was not down and locked, yet. Charlie looked over at the copilot and they both looked back out their windows as they leveled the wings lining up their fortress for the short field with one wheel down and one dropping.
On the ground the tower told the fighter pilots that were about to take off to sit tight! Fighters that were lined up for take off now started to pull away as best they could. Every body could now see the B-17 as it made a direct path for the end of the field.
Franticly the crew turned the crank to lower the gear. Every second that passed brought the end of the runway closer and closer. Finally the gear lock light came on. "Its down" was shouted and everybody hung on waiting for the initial bounce as the aircraft hit for the first time. The first bounce made everything that was loose in the aircraft rattle making a terrific noise.
Gliding on for a few hundred feet the heavy bomber hit again and settled into a roll on the uneven grass field. The bomber bounced along as Charlie and the copilot commenced shutting down the power and struggled to control the aircraft.
The fighter pilots along the runway stood in their cockpits to watch the B-17 flash by. Everyone at the airfield had dropped what they were doing to watch the pilot of the bomber bring in his aircraft.
The tail wheel settled to the ground and the aircraft slowed as it left the end of the runway finally coming to a stop. Not every one at the airstrip had dropped what they were doing; the fire trucks and ambulances were already heading toward the end of the field to help the wounded crewmembers out of their bomber.
As the B-17 stopped the crew opened the hatches and began helping the wounded toward the openings. Some had jumped out and helped the medical attendants with removing the more severely injured. However everyone needed attention.
As Charlie and the copilot unbuckled themselves Charlie slapped the copilot on the back as they both dropped out of the bottom hatch below their seats. They were quickly attended to by the medical personal.
Charlie and his co-pilot walked around the bomber before they were taken off the field to the hospital. They reviewed the damage and were glad that they were back. “Yea Old Pub” would never fly again. Her days of combat were over.
Charlie and his crew returned to England in an aircraft that should have gone down but he returned to fly 23 more missions to complete his 25-mission quota. His next B-17 was named "Carol Dawn". While piloting the "Carol Dawn", Charlie would be credited with outstanding service. His crew claimed five enemy aircraft shot down with several others damaged.
Franz also continued to fly and fight against the American bomber formations. The difference between Franz and Brown was that Brown only had to fly twenty-five missions. The Luftwaffe fighter pilot had to fly and fight until they were either dead, too injured to fly, or the actual end of hostilities. Franz would claim many more B-17's and B-24's sending many bombers back to England in the same condition as, “Yea Old Pub”.
At wars end Stigler was officially credited with twenty-eight confirmed aerial victories. Eleven of these were four engine bombers. He was also credited with over 30 probable which were severely damaged aircraft like Charlie's B-17. How many safely got back like “Yea Old Pub”?
In the final days of the war Stigler flew his last 15 missions in the new jet fighter, the Messerschmitt ME-262 with JV-44. He shot down two more four-engine bombers flying the jet fighter but did not get them credited to his tally because the bureaucracy of the Luftwaffe was at this point in complete disarray because the end of the war was at hand.
How many times did Franz and Charlie pass each in aerial combat? Did they battle against each other not knowing as the war continued? For decades after the war Charlie thought many times about that German pilot that spared his life and the lives of his crew. Charlie could not let this issue die so he contacted a German aviation magazine and with their help he ran an article about his adventures that day when his crew had been shot up and then spared.
But there was no confirmation as to who the pilot could have been. As far as anyone knew the Luftwaffe pilot had been killed. Then one day Charlie got a call from Canada by a man who said that he was the Luftwaffe pilot described in the article. Charlie had withheld one piece of information deliberately in the article that would tell if this was the pilot that saved him and his crew. Charlie said, “If you are the Luftwaffe pilot, then what was the name of my aircraft on the nose of my bomber?” The reply was. “Yea Old Pub!” That was it! Here was the fighter pilot that flew with Charlie that day.
Charlie and Franz met and became good friends. On one trip to America which Charlie invited Franz on, turned out to be a surprise for Stigler. It was a reunion of all the surviving members of “Yea Old Pub”. Brown drove Stigler to a local park. There were many people and Charlie and Franz were talking to each other when they came upon a picnic gathering. As Charlie and Franz walked up to the gathering of the men with their wives and all of their children Charlie lifted his arm in a presentation of the group to Franz and said to him, “Franz you are responsible for the lives of these families before you, and we all thank you.” The group looked up from their frolic activities and saw Franz as he cried.
Sir Ernie Hamilton Boyette
Charlie Brown and Franz Stigler.
Brown, Stigler and the artist Ernie Boyette.
The painting of the B-17 is of the "Carol Dawn" flown by Charlie Brown after his flight in "Ye Old Pub."
The Bf 109F in North African colors was flown by Franz Stigler.
Stigler's Me262 is below.
My brother Bill with Charlie Brown
Bill and Stigler.
Stigler signs my paintings.
Please call or write for permission to use any word in this story.
I do not mind sharing, just ask.
Thanks, enjoy my writing. Sir Hamilton
904-282-4198
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Below are photos I have taken of the Collins Foundation B-17 "Nine-O-Nine."
You can see under the "Bomb Score" the hatch where the pilot and co-pilot entered the bomber.
This is the business end of the bomber. Brown's B-17 had its glass shot out in the front nose where the bombardier and gunners shared this tight space.
The yokes and the instrument panel of the B-17.
This is the radio operator's desk and radio.
This is the belly turret. You can see the waist guns just behind the turret.
This is the right side gun. This area had been blown open by enemy fire.
Pilot side waist gunner area. Remember the floor would have been full of bullet cartridges, as well as other debris.
Now add the injured crewman trying to treat the severely injured crewmen.
This space at its widest is only 5 1/2 feet. The floor board is only 20 inches wide.
There were holes blown straight through the fuselage. Stigler could actually look into the windows and gapping holes and see the crew inside!
There is nothing glorious about war. Returning form an easy mission with no casualties and doing major damage to the enemy my be temporarily glorious.
That does not last in combat.
No man knows what he will do until he is confronted with a death defying situation.
This is a listing of all art prints I have published since 1993.
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Started 2-7-07