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NEWS It was December 6, 1944. We knew who we were. We were about 200 downed American and British airmen, locked up in two very old railroad cars. We only knew what we could see, while looking out the small windows and through the iron bars. We knew where we had been. That was in solitary confinement in small isolated cells at the dreaded German Luftwaffe interrogation center at Dulag Luft at Oberursal, on the outskirts of Frankfort. All had been flying in some kind of aircraft over Germany, or German occupied territory. All had been downed under different circumstances by enemy anti-aircraft fire or fighters. Our transit from air to ground and the reception on the ground had varied considerably. Some airmen had had a long ride down from high altitude while the air war raged around them. Others had just barely made it out of their aircraft before being slammed into the hard ground. The reception on the ground had varied. German military personel had picked up some of these boys, now quickly grown into men. Others of our group of downed airmen had been captured by the civilians, who were often armed with pitchforks or shovels. Often, these civilians were “Hell Bent” on following Himmler’s propaganda that we airmen were “War Mongers” and should be killed on the spot. Some had been badly beaten, before proper authorities had “rescued them” for transport to Dulag Luft for interrogation. The important thing we did not know, were where we were, or where we were going. We assumed we were “somewhere” in Germany. We assumed we were heading to some German prisoner of war camp, but we could not be sure. Our captors did not give us an itinerary. It was just after dark and we had pulled into a railroad station. Our two POW cars were right at the station, where numerous people were milling about, boarding and leaving the train. Then it happened. We heard that familiar wail of the air raid siren. We felt sure our friends in the Royal Air Force were out there somewhere overhead. We Americans flew mostly during the day. It was the RAF that flew the night bombing missions. We were able to see out enough to see the Germans making a mad rush to get to the air raid shelters. They knew there was not enough room for everyone and if they did not get there in time to get a spot inside, they would have to remain outside while the bombs fell, if the target was nearby. One lady was pushing a baby buggy. I do not know if there was a baby inside or not. However, apparently, she could not go fast enough with this buggy and shoved it aside to make a mad rush to the shelter. It was at about this time we saw a red flare dropping out of the sky, and the German anti-aircraft guns opened up. There seemed to be numerous ones and big ones. It also seemed to be a couple mounted on cars attached to our train. This all seemed to confirm that it was the RAF somewhere overhead. The British did not fly in a tight formation like we Americans. They flew in a line, one behind the other. The lead aircraft dropped red flares to mark the way to the target, which those flying behind followed. Meanwhile, the crew on the train had managed to get started up and we slowly gained momentum as more red flares continued to float down. We knew we were probably close to the target. Finally, someone yelled to a little British Spitfire pilot, who was lying in a baggage rack overhead, “What does a green flare mean, one just bounced off a car up in front of us?” He yelled back, “Hit the deck, that’s the center of the target.” With that he “bailed out” of the baggage rack and landed flat on top of me, as I had been lying on the floor trying to get some rest. Almost immediately, I found myself pinned down by seven other POW’s such that I could not move. The sound of large anti-aircraft guns firing so close on the ground is quite a racket. In fact, I found it much more scary than seeing exploding shells all around you, while flying at altitude over a bombing target. Add in the exploding RAF bombs falling on both sides of the railroad tracks and the result is something you do not want to wish on even your worst enemy. Up until that time, I had faith that I would survive the war somehow and return safely home. I lost that faith that night. There I was pinned down flat on my stomach, hardly able to move a muscle and that awful noise of the anti-aircraft guns and the exploding bombs all around me. I could only move my two fists slightly up and down. I kept doing that and saying to myself. “I can’t stand this any longer. Come on, put one right in the center of us and lets get it over with.” The train slowed some and then picked up speed and gradually, we could tell that awful sound, the kind you never want to hear, slowly faded into the night and I dropped off to sleep. About sunup the next morning, December 7, 1944, we rolled into Berlin and spent all day moving from one railroad switch-yard to another. All day somewhere through those iron bars on the windows, we could see badly bombed out buildings, many still burning from bombs that had been dropped. In many, we could see German civilians picking through the ruins, apparently trying to salvage what they could. I remember, that as I watched and reflected on what I had experienced the night before, thinking how thankful I was that we had managed to keep the war away from the shores of the good old US of A and that our loved ones at home were not having to experience what I had just seen. Lee Lamar Note: On December 8, we arrived at Stalag Luft One, at Barth, Germany, where we spent the rest of the war. It was many years later that I learned the targets of the RAF the night of December 6, 1944. It was a synthetic oil plant near Leuna, Germany, and that we were at a railway station in the vicinity of Merseburg - Luna. Four hundred sixty five RAF aircraft were dispatched to go on this mission and two failed to return. This important German oil plant was bombed a number of times during the war by both the American and British air forces.
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