As we were approaching the target, we encountered a large number of enemy planes which were very deadly. Two of our engines were shot out and the right wing was afire. All of this happened instantly. Your son called Evans to release the bomb load to lighten the ship. This was impossible because Evans was wounded or probably killed as he could not release the bombs.

Being unable to gain speed, we had to drop out of formation. An instant later, your son gave us the order to bail out if we could but the ship went out of control and we went into a dive. At the moment none of us could get out but your son somehow pulled it out of the dive into level flight again. How I do not know. It was a miracle.

We were all shaken up but somehow I managed to get to the waist door. I pulled the cable and Norman Phillips kicked the door out and made the jump at the same time. As he jumped, I told the ball turret man to follow me out as quick as possible. Just as I stepped out, the ship turned over on its back and blew up. I felt the concussion and it blew my left boot off as I jumped. The rest of the crew didn’t have a chance to get out, for all this happened so fast, no one can imagine. When I pulled the ripcord on my parachute I noticed it was ripped but I landed in a tree which saved my life. I didn’t land anywhere near the ship so I couldn’t see what happened.

Later on, when I went to the camp, I met Norman Phillips and Earl Matheson who thought I didn’t get out and were very surprised to see me. As I spoke with them, I found out that they had landed right near the wreckage of our ship. As Norman neared the ship, it was still burning and all the escape hatches were still intact with the exception of ours. We saw one body and this was the ball turret gunner, Earl Schieke. He was not permitted to stay there very long for the guards feared that the bombs would go off any minute, for they were still in the ship.

Earl Matheson was blown out of the radio room and to this day, he still doesn’t know how his parachute opened. The only one he saw starting out of his turret was Chauvin and he doubts very much that he got out because he was instantly blown and I was partially blown out, which almost happened at the same moment. The only one I saw from the waist position was Joe Sorbino, who I think was killed instantly because he was motionless in the tail.

That is the only information I could explain to you by letter. – S/Sgt Adolph V. Carini, left waist gunner.

I was flying with Captain Hecker and major Fitzgerald in the lead ship of the second high squadron as tail gunner when in the middle of our attacks, several FW 190s attacked Lieutenant Downey who is flying B-17G, A/C 42-31533, and cannon fire perforated the vertical stabilizer.

After a little while Lieutenant Downey put down his bombay doors and landing gear and side slipped to the left. He was flying on our left wing and as he pulled out of the formation, he was jumped by more FW 190s. When I last sighted Lieutenant Downey’s ship it was losing altitude fast and dropping out of formation. S/Sgt Ralph Rosato

22 February, 1944 1254 hours – take off to intercept. The Americans are approaching central Germany. I am able to take only five aircraft into the air, as losses suffered by the Squadron during recent weeks have been very heavy. More than 1,000 enemy aircraft are reported. The Americans no longer fly in mass formations, but come over in groups of 30 or 40 at a time. The route which they follow we call the bomber alley.

These bomber alleys are carefully guarded by the vigilant fighters. Today the bomber alley happens to pass over my old hometown, Hamelin. By a strange chance I go into action directly over the familiar hills and mountains just west of Hamelin. Accompanied by corporal Kruger, who was posted to the flight only 2 days ago, I attack a fortress in a formation of about 30 heavy bombers.

An automatic camera has been attached to my guns for the past two weeks. The resulting films are to be used for training purposes in fighter schools. In a frontal attack on the heavy bomber, I place my first salvo directly in the control cabin. I come in again, this time diving down upon my victim from above the tail until a collision is imminent. The Fortress tries weaving out of my line of fire and swerves sharply around to the left. As my shells continue to plaster the left wing and the left side of the fuselage, I cannot help thinking of my camera. The films of this engagement, when enlarged, may prove to be really instructive.

Flames come belching out of the tail. I pull in close beneath the monster fuselage and continue blasting away with all I have in the magazines. The young Corporal, by this time, is taking on the Fortress off to my left. The lad has lots of guts, pressing his attack to within a few feet of the enemy, and not flinching, although severely hit.

Then the crew of my Fortress bail out. The fuselage is a blazing torch, it makes a wide sweep round to the left and begins to go down, its passage marked by a long trail of black smoke. Hamelin is directly below. The blazing Fortress drives ever more steeply, and soon it is in a vertical spin. It crashes in a pasture besides the river at the south end of my old hometown.

A tower of flame spurts high into the air. The pasture directly across the river was the one from which as a boy I had taken off from my first flight during that air display so long ago. At that moment, a second aircraft comes hurtling down out of the sky. It crashes in a lumber yard at the south end of Hamelin, on the premises of the Kaminsky wagon manufacturing and repair workshops. It was my wingman, the young corporal. This was his first mission. I swoop low over the flaming wreckage but he was killed instantly.

In a wide sweep, I fly low over the roof tops of my old rat-hole. The streets are deserted. All the good citizens of Hamelin are no doubt sitting timidly in their cellers and shelters. With my last drop of fuel, I land again after 90 minutes, at Wunsdorf.

A second time, I take off after the Fortresses when they are homeward bound. I do not have another chance to fire at any of the bombers, however, because I have to spend a half an hour in a dog fight with a whole pack of Thunderbolts. They seem all together too eager to catch me with my pants down. – Hauptmann Heinz Knoke, II/JG 11