If my kids or grandkids would ask “What did you do in the Army?”, my stories, beyond a couple about my mundane work monitoring the inventory of a parts warehouse for a tank battalion, would involve anything but actions to defend my country when my life might have been in danger. I essentially had a European vacation based in what was then West Germany.
Perhaps because of that, I have a special appreciation for what I call the “real veterans” — those who saw combat and worse. The late Gary Books comes to mind. Bob Buehl has made some notes about his time in Vietnam that I think deserve a book. And then 103-year-old Paul Young, whom I have come to know in the past couple weeks, actually has a book.
As related in a story in today’s edition, his recollections helped spur “The Bridgebusters: The True Story of the ‘Catch-22’ Bomb Wing.” Paul also shared with me a photo and a story about three men in that photo. It is a story that deserves our time, consideration and appreciation to mark Veterans Day.
Paul describes the picture as “my crew, although we never flew a combat mission together.” He explained that they had trained together and arrived at their assigned base on Corsica in October 1944 together and assumed they would fly together. “But you get moved around and ends up we never did fly as a group, but we served together and stayed in touch.”
We had rummaged through his closet and a dresser drawer to find some boxes and files. After finding the photo, he was looking for something else specific.
“Here it is,” he finally said. “You can borrow this. I think you’ll find it interesting. It’s about these three fellows here,” as he pointed to three men in the photo. “But please bring it back. It’s the only copy I have.”
Paul is not sure what year the 11-page typewritten document came to him. It is “An Account of the Flight of the ‘Miss Bobby’ on February 27, 1945, and the Subsequent Fate of Its Crew.” The seven-man crew included three of his buddies: Pilot Jay DeBoer, Jr., of Muskegon, Michigan; Engineer Bob Mitchell of Oneida, Illinois; and Radio Operator Charles Reagin of Cory, Indiana.
Their B-25, nicknamed “Miss Bobby,” was part of a mission to destroy railway lines near the Brenner Pass in the Italian Alps. Just as they were beginning their bombing run at about 11,500 feet, a flak round from a “German 88” tore through their right engine and took half of the right wing with it, sending the airplane into an immediate dive to its right, nearly flipping it over. DeBoer and his co-pilot managed to level the plane off enough for the entire crew to bail out within about 30 seconds.
“The entire crew landed within six miles of each other,” the author, Russ Head of Thomaston, Georgia, wrote. “Where you landed meant the difference between capture and escape” since there were detachments of German soldiers manning the anti-aircraft guns and an active group of Italian partisans both searching for any survivors.
When DeBoer hit the ground, “he started rolling downhill. A mile away, the crew’s B-25 crashed into the valley below. As soon as he stopped rolling he heard shots ring out. He had been spotted by the Germans and quickly jumped over some rocks and hid under a little ridge. There he huddled for the night, safe but freezing in the chill of late February.”
He evaded capture for three days with no survival kit. On the fourth day he saw a priest; desperate, he took a chance and approached him. “Luckily, the priest accepted him as a friend rather than a foe.” While being hidden in the church, a German patrol arrived, at which time the nuns dressed DeBoer as a priest. The ruse worked.
DeBoer was then placed into the care of the local underground resistance, which took him to a farmhouse where he was hidden for several weeks. He was also assisted by “a mysterious British major” who apparently was the coordinator of the partisans to smuggle downed fliers out of Italy. DeBoer’s journey included being joined by three other airman, and then getting on a train to Switzerland which also was carrying German soldiers. The partisans convinced the Germans that the men were deaf mutes, former Italian soldiers who were suffering from “shell shock.” The group eventually crossed over into Switzerland and were put in touch with the Red Cross and thus, their way home.
Charles Reagin and Bob Mitchell both suffered some injuries during the ordeal of the plane getting hit and their descent. Although Reagin was initially found by a father-son team of partisans, their attempt to get him medical attention led to his capture by a German patrol. His initial interrogation by the patrol was in a wine shop amid a small crowd of Italians. There was apparently an argument — in German of course — as to whether he should be shot or taken in for further interrogation. But just when it looked bleak, a group of officers drove up and put Reagin in their car.
While he was in a prison being interrogated, he met up with Mitchell, also recovering from his wounds. “Under repeated questioning, the two had to deny knowing one another for fear their captors would play one against the other in their efforts to extort information.”
The two were separated and sent to P.O.W. camps where they eventually met again and lived to see their camp liberated by American troops.
While two other members of the crew were also rescued by partisans, “the endings were not all happy,” Head wrote. The graves of Co-pilot Lucian Crutchfield and Bombardier Will Brooks were found in an Italian Cemetery after the war’s conclusion. A local man gave an eyewitness account of the two men being executed by a German patrol, with their bodies left alongside the road. After the Germans moved on, the witness and a local priest buried the Americans and marked their graves.
In his introduction to his narrative, Mr. Head quoted Shakespeare’s “King Henry the Fifth,” specifically when the king addressed his men before the battle at Agincourt on St. Crispian’s Day. He had given them the option of a free passage home but added:
“He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand on tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors
And say, ’Tomorrow is St. Crispian’s Day.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…”
Monday is sort of like our St. Crispian’s Day. We salute this particular Band of Brothers.
miller@news-banner.com
