Night of the Intruders by Ian McLachlan

Author:Ian McLachlan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pen & Sword Books
Published: 2010-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Captain George Doerr had to abandon Pegasus over France. (S Blake)

Parachuting into occupied Europe offered at least the chance of a friendly reception. Landing in Germany seriously reduced the likelihood of escape. Nonetheless, the fourth 363FG flier lost that evening did his best as Second Lieutenant Paul R Maxwell recalls:

“We had gone in an hour before target time and split up the triangular area surrounding same by Squadrons. Our side of the triangle was from Frankfurt to Karlsruhe and was supposed to have based some 600 fighters. Our Mission was to sweep these fields and to get as many of them airborne as possible (without engagement) so they would be on the ground refuelling at the bombers’ target time over Hamm, Germany. At least this was my interpretation of the briefing. We had further broken down into flights upon departing Frankfurt and I was flying Number Four, or second element wing position of ‘C’ Flight. Our lead was trying to stay at or near 15,000 feet and we were tracking down a river with a low sun to our backs while diving on targets of opportunity (river barges, RR trains etc), climbing back to altitude after each pass and exposing ourselves to heavy flak. This was totally against my limited experience and training (when you commit yourself to the deck, stay there) plus, the most lethal altitude for flak was about 15,000 feet.

On our last such climb-out, straight ahead and setting sun to our back, I strained my eyes toward the ground along our projected flight path and was able to make out smokestacks and buildings of a large city through the purple haze of sunset, whereupon I notified flight lead with no response. (I talked to the other two members in this flight a couple of months later in Luft III and they verified hearing my transmission.) Anyhow, from where I was sitting in the formation, we caught plenty of flak as we continued our climb-out over what I’ve always claimed was Karlsruhe. I took a hit on the left wing, losing tip and damaging aileron; however I was still flying and was able, with some effort, to hold formation. My instinct told me to hit the deck and go for home; but, again, my training to never break formation took over and I hung in there.

The next thing I remember we were scooting along over heavy forest around 2,000 feet and I was watching muzzle flashes about a mile or so left and seeing flak bursts about the same distance right. Almost at that same instant, I took a hit behind the seat which felt to me like someone standing on my shoulders swinging a 16 lb sledge hammer right into the middle of my back. The next few seconds seemed an eternity. The cockpit filled with smoke, the engine over-revved as I watched the tachometer go off scale, and it suddenly became very hot around me. Not knowing my altitude at that moment, but realizing it was

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