September 2014 Original

My name is Paul Lefkow and I am 90 years old. I was a Fighter Pilot in World War II, flying the P-47 Thunderbolt and this is my story - well, a very small portion of it.

My story starts on the 23rd day of September, 1944 in Grossetto, Italy. We had moved from Corsica about a week before and were now housed in swell quarters in town with bunk rooms, an activity hall and mess hall too – we even had tablecloths!

The whole group (four Squadrons) were living in one building and the 527th had the ground floor. Well, anyway, on the morning of September 23 I drew the assignment as the "spare pilot" which meant that I wouldn't be flying for the day. That morning, after the group left on their missions for the day, two of us were sent down to Naples to ferry up a couple of brand new planes for the outfit. These were the nicest, newest models fresh from the factory and after giving them a thorough check-over and getting clearance from the ground crews the two of us took off and headed back to base. (pict1)

We were flying the terrain, just about 50 feet above the treetops at high speed! It was one of my best days yet with the squadron. I remember looking off to my right and seeing a young girl standing on the porch of their farm house. We must have flashed by in about 3 seconds but I remember her waving. I waved back but at our speed and low altitude I have no idea if she saw that.

We pause Paul's real-world story here to tell you that leg one of this FOTM starts out in Naples, Italy where you will choose a World War II-era fighter of your choice and ferry that at tree-top level, up north to Grossetto.

Later that afternoon, after returning to base (I think it was about 13:30) I was climbing into the sack for a quick nap when Lt.Col. Gates, the Operations Officer, came into the room and asked Al and me if we wanted to go on an extra mission that had just come in. He said it was just over the lines and would be, 'an easy milk run'. He assured us that we could easily be back in time for chow. We both said, "Okay" and headed off for a quick briefing; this was going to be my 19th mission. Intelligence had learned that the Germans were bringing up more troops in preparation for a 5th Army advancement by the Allies. Our mission was to simply go bomb a crossroads between Fraenze and Imola to cut-off the German advance. (pict2)

We checked with the ground crew and I was assigned aircraft number 74; it was the worst ship in the whole outfit with more aborted missions due to mechanical problems than any of our other planes. The mechanic assured me that she was in "top-flight condition" and said that they had put a brand new 100-gallon belly tank on. "Whatever you do, make sure that my tank gets back in one piece!" he told me.

I was just wearing my coveralls; no flight uniform or anything, I wasn't even carrying my .45 pistol. (I figured if I was surrounded by a bunch of Jerries it wouldn't help me much anyway.) I did grab a survival kit and some maps, a compass and a few other little things. Then, I think it must have been around 15:00, Al and I took off.

The flight was easy, the weather was nice and the flying smooth. As we came over the target at 12,000 feet we had about 90% cloud cover but after a couple of circles Al had our target picked out and we started our dives. We peeled off, one at a time, rolled over onto our backs and dove into the clouds. We broke out at around 6,000 feet and Al called over the radio that he had tracer bullets flying at him. I knew that because I could see them too but our target was clearly in view now and we continued our dives nearing 300 knots! (pict3) We each dropped our two, thousand-pound bombs at around 2,500 feet and pulled up hard – the tracers were flying all around me but I slammed the throttle full-forward …

As I just started to climb I suddenly felt this tremendous shudder! It was as though the plane was being lifted right up under me, we shot straight up like a fast elevator and the engine coughed. I guess I zigged when I should have zagged, I don't know. I continued pulling back on the stick and pushing the throttle forward but as I cleared 5,000 feet the engine exploded into flames! I don't remember being scared, it all seemed to run in slow motion, automatic I guess. I called the forward controller on the ground and told him that I had been hit and was turning back toward the battle lines; at first I thought that I could drift back over to the Allied side. I reached down and pulled the lever to drop the fuel tank wondering what the Mechanic would say when I returned with no tank and a shot-up aircraft?

That old T-bolt glided like a brick and I quickly realized that I was losing altitude fast; I gave up making it back to the lines and fear took over. I called Al and told him I was going down – down ON THE GERMAN SIDE! There are no words to tell you how scared I was. I remember my hands shaking and my fingers bumbling as I reached up and pulled the lever to slide the canopy back. The flames were still burning hot and I felt my skin blistering from the heat. I unhooked my radio and seatbelt and rolled in a bunch of nose-down trim. I kept back pressure on the stick with my right hand as I climbed up and sat on the edge of the window. I could see the ground coming up fast and knew that I only had seconds to live or die.

We again interrupt Paul's real-story for leg two of this FOTM. Take your World War II-era fighter and depart Grossetto at 15:00 local time. Fly up north "between Fraenze and Imola" and perform a dive-bombing run from around 12,000 feet. Pull up at 2,500 feet and then kill the engine as you pass through 3,000 feet. See how far you can glide and take a photo of the crash!

I simply laid back and rolled over the side. I don't remember pulling the rip cord or anything. I imagined that I'd watch my plane nose-dive into the earth but what I noticed instead was that I was still falling, fast! I looked up to see that my parachute was tangled and only flailing above. At that moment I crashed through a tree, the chute and cords snagging into branches as I fell through to the ground. The impact with the ground crushed my left foot and ankle fracturing I don't know how many bones from my toes to my hip. I knew I was on the German side and at that moment I didn't feel any pain.

I quickly crawled to a little stream where I took off my helmet and headset and buried them in the mud. I waited there several minutes until I heard no one and then hurried into a cornfield that was across the road. As I was crawling on my belly through the rows of corn I came to a little open space and as I crossed I remember hearing three or four distinct "clicks". I looked up and saw four German soldiers standing over me. It was like they were just standing there waiting for me to crawl passed them. They weren't wearing uniforms, just shirts and sweaters but they were German alright! They greeted me with, "Fur mir, der krieg war fertig" (For you, the war is over – or at least that's what I figured they were saying.) I must have had a blank look on my face because one of them motioned with his rifle and said, "Huns Ooop." I stood up and raised my arms.

(pict4)

Over the coming months, Paul was taken north to the Baltic Sea, to a POW Camp specifically for Allied Airmen (he arrived on Christmas) where he spent the rest of the war.