| The Last One by Albert B. Nickels Captain, USAF |
| The Last One
By Albert B. Nickels Captain, USAF (Ret) Dedication: TO- A bunch of Guys; who won a hard fought battle, on a front that many of us never knew existed. I hope, in this way- to repay, In small measure; those Guys. They gave their all, so that you and I can enjoy life in its inexpendable manner. Yes, the push was really in progress and we were flying each and every minute possible, from morning till night. The Germans were retreating by the thousands and with every means possible. It was actually fun flying over our troops, helping them and watching them chase the Krauts. On this particular day, my wing-man and I had a noon mission. We took off about twelve-thirty and proceeded to the Po River Valley. (Northern Italy) While on our way my plane started developing engine trouble; but after a few minutes of nursing and debating as to whether to turn around and go back or continue, the engine appeared to get better so I went on. Our mission was scheduled as a �Rover Jo� but ended up as being a �Target of Importance�. On a Rover Jo, a controller observing on the front lines directs you to a target. However, since a target of greater importance that the Rover Jo was found, we proceeded to it. Planes of all descriptions were flying around; smoke was almost thick enough to cause an overcast and every few minutes you could see a bomb explosion. Smoke rose thousands of feet. It was really quite a sight to behold. We would fly along and sometimes find ourselves in some flights gunnery pattern where they were strafing trucks, guns, horse-drawn carts, personnel and just about everything. You could observe the civilians waving white flags from windows; there were white sheets on the roofs and in the yards; they were using every possible means in hopes that we wouldn�t take them for Krauts. We proceeded to our target and found it to be a concentration of trucks, guns, personnel, tanks, horse-drawn artillery, horse-drawn carts and almost anything you would want to bomb and shoot up. I picked out a concentration of vehicles and started my bomb run from about eighty-five hundred feet. At about two thousand feet I released my two five hundred pounders and pulled out at five hundred. I looked back and saw my bombs hit within the concentration of vehicles. I could see parts of wheels, boxes, chinks of wood and debris flying very direction. Later I went back and observed my hit; it was a ghastly sight; horses were running wild, some with legs shot off; others were just left masses of blood. In the meantime, my wing-man, Ralph, had picked up another target and was on his way down; he too scored a hit. I could see debris flying in every direction. I�m sure both of our bomb hits accounted for the destruction of twenty-five or thirty odd carts, guns and motor transport. After circling for about five minutes to observe the ground movements and identify the motor transport, we started strafing. On each pass both my wing-man and I picked a target, and each time we got a flamer. As I came around in my gunnery pattern, I happened to see a concentration of horse-drawn carts and guns assembled in and about an old barn so I just pulled my trigger as I passed since I knew I wouldn�t have to aim. Though it wasn�t the target we were strafing, I was sure I could hit it if I�d just give a burst in passing, then later I would return and finish off what was left. AA couple of times I observed my bursts; they were near the hits and I could see those beautiful, powerful horses rant and stampede. In order to make sure that I wouldn�t have to shoot at the same truck more than once, I made long low passes. I had made four such passes when Ralph, my wing-man, called over the radio that the passes were getting dangerously low and that I had better watch myself. His advice was well founded for as I started to gain more altitude on my fifth strafing run they hit me with small arms right in the engine. It must have been a machine gun since I heard two or three bullets hit; probably a � Burp� gun, for it had a terrific rate of fire. No sooner had the bullets hit than the engine started smoking� then suddenly it was ablaze. In that instant I knew my only hope was to pull up fast as possible and bail out. I knew it would be but a matter of seconds before the engine would blow up. I looked down at my air speed to see if I had enough air speed to gain sufficient altitude to bail out safely. I had three hundred miles an hour and believe me, all you have to do to get this air speed in a P-47 is just shove the nose down and you have it. Meanwhile, the smoke and fire had momentarily distracted my train of thought from flying. Making low passes as I had been doing, I found myself flying through an orchard mowing down trees like a scythe cuts grain. I guess I had clipped off tops of trees for some two hundred feet when I finally managed to get out of them. This still hadn�t worried me too much since I had seen many P-47�s come back that had flown through high tension wires, power line posts, trees and the like. Often all they suffered was a mangled wing. Why, I�ve even seen a P-47 with a direct 88 mm hit that still managed to make it back. Whenever they knocked one out of the sky, it�s just luck and that�s all. Well, after I got up and out of the trees I found I had little or no control over the ship and in spite of all I could do it rolled over on its back. I was pushing, pulling, and stamping everything in the cockpit in an effort to right it, but no soap. When the ship actually rolled over, I felt it was probably the end for me. I could just feel myself hitting, and having my head ground or sliced off inch by inch. The plane hit nose first, upside down, with an air speed of, well, I�ll let you guess. It was already blazing. There was a terrific jolt; instantly I was blinded but I did not lose consciousness. The plane didn�t skid very far, for it stopped almost as soon as it hit. I could feel the plane flying into a thousand pieces. Only my cockpit stayed intact. My canopy jettisoned itself from the jolt I imagine, for it wasn�t there and I hadn�t touched it. After sitting there a split second or two, I realized the plane was on fire and that if I didn�t manage to get out, I�d be roasted alive. I was still blind as a bat; I didn�t regain sight for a half-hour or so, so everything I did before that was done by the touch and feel system. I thought this would be sufficient, but low and behold, I found myself in such a position that I was unable to get to my safety belt. I tried feverishly, but to no avail. I realized anew that I faced certain death. On each and every mission, I carried a hunting knife and my .45 automatic. I thought maybe I might be able to get cut the safety belt with my knife, but when I reached for it, there wasn�t any. My next move was to try to shoot the bolts from the end of the belt, but my gun too was gone. It seemed I was destined to burn alive. Still I worked feverishly and within a few seconds, managed to open the safety catch by reaching through from underneath my legs. It had been a last hope when I thought of it. I didn�t think it would work, but thank God it did! Still unable to see, I had to feel my way out. There was nothing but flame around the cockpit. Deciding I�d have to go through the flames or perish in them. I pulled down my goggles, put on my oxygen mask, pulled my flying suit up around my neck and went out through what I thought was the right side. Well, when I stepped out I expected to step on the wing, but instead, it was good old terra firma. This puzzled me for an instant. Then I realized that the wings had been broken off and the nose was buried deep. I took only a couple of steps before I fell flat on my face. As I lay there I was worried about what would be in front of me, whether a part of my burning plane, trees or just plain what. I couldn�t walk, so I started rolling, rolling away from the heat and my plane. I guess I rolled about twenty feet before I stopped to regain my strength and wins. It was then that I first noticed my injuries and pain, and believe me I was plenty sick. I was so sick with pain that I started praying to die; I felt sure I would die sooner or later, it was just a matter of time. Quick death would have been welcome then. About this time the heat became so terrific I had to get farther away, so I rolled on far enough to escape being scorched. I still hadn�t come in contact with any part of the burning plane so I felt sure it wouldn�t hinder me anymore. I could hear the plane pop and burn fiercely; I felt sure the �ammo trays� and gasoline would explode, but they never did. My only explanation of that was that they must have been knocked off when I hit. I guess I laid there for about half an hour before regaining any sight; even then everything was blurry. At least I could see, even though I couldn�t recognize anything. That was a ray of hope which I could cling to - at least I wouldn�t be blind if I pulled through. But I was still sure I would die. My stomach and chest were hurting terrifically. Blood was coming out of my ears, nose, and mouth; I had bad internal injuries. I could feel the blood clog my throat and I�d have to clear it every few minutes. I was sick and plenty sick and I was still praying for something to happen � either let me die or let something else happen. Being almost sure I�d die, I thought to myself this is the prelude to death, but �Death, where is thy sting.� This is when a battle started or should I say the climax. As I lay there I could hear footsteps approaching from the rear. I finally saw two people. I don�t know whether they were soldiers, civilians or what not, but they came straight for me at a very fast pace. When they were some fifteen or twenty feet away they came to a sudden stop. The next thing I knew they fired a shot at it and me hit the ground near my left ear. Another shot followed; it grazed my right temple just barely scraping the skin. I was unable to see the gun they used as my sight was still too blurry, but I think it must have been a pistol for anyone who is half a decent shot would be able to hit with a rifle at that range. Why they didn�t continue to fire I don�t know, but after these two shots they turned and went off at a rapid pace. As I see it, the only possible reason for not firing more shots was that they thought I was dead. I was so sick with pain that I was lying there motionless, even breathless for seconds at a time. The wound on my temple was bleeding profusely and blood had covered most of my face and was caking in my hair. The fact is, I was blood from head to toe and there wasn�t much I could do. After lying there for about three quarters of an hour � it seemed like hours- I decided to roll over to a nearby ditch where I could cover up w grass and wouldn�t be so noticeable. My sight was gradually coming back. I could recognize surroundings. I finally found a shady spot and started pulling grass and throwing it over my body. I tried to think of what I could do for myself, but there was nothing. I was too helpless � the only thing I could do was move my arms. Then I began to feel the pain again. I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. I didn�t have a First Aid kit so I did the next best thing. I tore up my undershirt and used it as bandages. It didn�t help much but at least it would keep the flies and dirt out. I had a small food packet which I opened in the hopes of finding some aid but all I had was cigarettes, gum, and concentrated candy. If I lived till night-fall, I knew I�d catch pneumonia because the only thing I had on was my thin flying suit and that had been torn. I thought of the possibility of our troops driving on up to where I had crashed and picking me up, but my better judgement told me that was definitely out since I knew from the way I went down n person on earth would believe I could have escaped alive. Then there was also the possibility of the Germans coming back and looking for me. The fact is, many things ran through my mind but I can truthfully say I never lost consciousness or even thought of getting shock. Nevertheless, I kept on praying, repeating the Lord�s prayer over and over gain. While I was lying there praying, I could hear the planes overhead strafing the trucks. As they started their passes, I could hear the Krauts open up with everything. After listening to the fire they put up when a plane went over, I just can�t imagine how they missed us, but invariably they did. Every once in a while I could hear a flight of planes go over and then hear them peel off. The next thing I could hear and feel was the explosion when the bombs would go off. Artillery was continually blasting away on both sides and the rifles and machine guns never ceased until toward evening. The diminished fire gave me hope that maybe our troops were coming. But they never arrived. After lying there for what seemed like hours � actually it wasn�t more than one or two hours, I heard voices in the distance. The speech wasn�t English, it was German. My heart and my hopes almost faded but I just lay there and waited. They came closer and closer and at last I could see them, eight of them to be exact. I knew they would find me, so I called out to them. I didn�t think I would be able to speak with them, but with what little German I do know I was able to understand them and make them understand me. �Comrad�, I said, and they answered by asking, �What do you want?� I asked them to take me to a doctor or a hospital but they seemed to ignore my please. They asked me what was wrong. As if they didn�t know or couldn�t see! The gist of what I kept saying was to please take me to a doctor or a medic, and I kept saying this over and over all through our conversation. I would bring it up every few seconds, but all they ever game me in answer was they couldn�t because of time. They didn�t have a way to take me and there wasn�t any doctor around. I kept pleading for mere first aid but it seemed they were either afraid of me or just didn�t want to do anything for an enemy. I felt that might be it because they kept their rifles leveled at me all the time. They went on to ask me why or how I learned the German language. I explained that both my parents spoke very fluent German and that I had picked it up from them. They asked me the where-abouts of my home, but I wouldn�t answer that, so they didn�t question me any further. Then they went on to ask me why we were so inhuman and so merciless in strafing. They said they couldn�t see why we were shooting up their horses when they couldn�t even harm us. They said we even flew through trees and heavy flak just to shoot up one little truck. We shoed them so little care even for our own lives and when it came to shooting up some of their transport � our fliers were just plain reckless. Actually, I thought they were mad, and I still believe they were. They even had the nerve to say, �How did we expect them to fight if we shot up their innocent horses and all their soldiers.� It sounds quire comical now but it didn�t then, for all I could think of was trying to get them to take me to a doctor. About this time things were getting pretty hot for them so they started slipping away one at a time. I overheard a couple of them talking and asking what to do with me. One said, �There isn�t much we can do.� I couldn�t quite hear all the rest, but I guess they decided to leave me alone, for they all left except one. He laid his rifle down and came over beside me. After looking me over, he searched my pockets. He found nothing worth mentioning but a small Bible which I carried over my heart. As he took the Bible out, I noticed that through the middle it had been bent almost double. It had a steel jacket; that too was bent, and the protection it afforded I�m sure saved my chest from being crushed. In another pocket he found my pocketknife and a food packet which we carried on all our missions. Being satisfied that I didn't have a concealed weapon, he got out his first aid packet and dressed my wounds. He replaced the improvised bandages which I had made from my undershirt. While he bandaged my wounds, he told me his home was in Vienna, Austria, and that he had been drafted to fight. Though he aided me, he took my watch and ring before he left. He talked like he was intending to stay with me and give up but he soon got up and started away. Just before he left I asked him for a drink of water from his canteen. He said he had no water, only wine or, as they called it, �vino.� However, he gave me a couple of swallows of that and I was well satisfied. He picked up his rifle and started waling away, I watched him intently. When about twenty feet away, he turned around, drew his rifle to his hips and pointed over my head. Two shots followed, both missing me some two or three feet. Then he turned and left hastily to join the rest. I don�t know whether he meant to hit me or not, but judging from his actions I didn�t think he did, for from his aim it was too obvious he would miss. Well, believe it or not, this was my last close call. From here on out it seemed as tough my prayers were being answered. I lay there for another hour or so listening to the small arms fire gradually growing fainter as the sunrays grew dimmer. I was positive I knew what would happen if I lay out during the night but I just kept hoping! However, I was growing sicker by the minute and was starting to vomit the vino. I just couldn�t keep it down. My chest, back, and stomach were giving me all my trouble. I could hardly feel the bruises and cuts since they were so minor compared to the pain in my stomach. I guess it must have been three or four hours after my crash when relief finally came. I don�t know how they found me or how they slipped up so unnoticed but as I looked up I found the friendly, smiling face of an Italian farmer and his four sons, that is I presumed they were his sons. Speaking what little Italian I knew, I asked them to take me to a doctor or a hospital. This they said they would do. They picked me up and carried me in their arms to a road at the end of the orchard. This was the only time during the entire episode that I was able to see my plane and then I only had a glimpse of it over my shoulder. What I saw I hope I will never see again. The plane was standing vertically with tail high and nose buried in the earth up to the cockpit � it was charred black. The engine, all smashed, was lying near the plane but the location of the wings, I don�t know; there wasn�t any sing of them. When we reached the road they place me on the seat of a bicycle. Then holding me on to the seat, they pushed me down the road to a farmhouse. Here I was carried up into the attic and placed on a very nice, clean, comfortable bed. The pain was still great but just the thought of having been found made me feel much better. Again I asked for water. After a couple of glasses they refused to give me anymore. I asked them whether they had gone after a doctor and when they said they had, I rested more easily. About dusk, a horse-drawn cart with a canvas cover pulled up to the house and I was carried out of the attic and placed on the cart. Where I went from there I don�t know; neither do I know what we went through, but I do know it was a long ride and a rough one. When they took the hood off I found myself inside a courtyard. Many people were gathered about to look. They took me into a beautiful church which had been converted into a hospital. I was placed on a very nice, comfortable bed in a room with about thirty other patients. Later I learned that I was lying between two German soldiers; one had his legs shot off; the other had a skull fracture. The hospital had quite a number of German patients, though by far the larger numbers were Italians. After I was placed on the bed they cut off my flying suit and left me with nothing but a pair of G.I. shorts. As they cut the last piece holding my suit, I noticed a number of people moving towards my bed; about that time one of them grabbed my suit and before it could be removed from the room, it had been ripped into many pieces. Later I found out they were only getting souvenirs. The bed and the hospital were certainly a welcome relief. Now I knew I had hope. Still I was plenty sick with pain. I also knew I was hurt internally though the Italian doctor had no way of finding this out because he had no x-ray. It was far past nightfall when a very nice looking gentleman approached my bed and addressed me in English. He introduced himself as a Greek Veterinarian who had been brought over from Greece by Mussolini. He had been in New York for over six years studying and working. He told me to have no fear, as they would do everything in their power to get me well and return me to our forces. As a precaution, they gave me a fictitious name and specified my home as being in Southern Italy. They told me if the Germans came in to inspect the hospital, I was to act dumb and out of my head � merely grunting at everything that was said. I had many visitors. In fact, there was someone with me almost all the time, probably just wanting to see what an American looked like since I was the first American in the town. Others came to wish me a speedy recovery. The doctor visited me about three times a day. Each time he told me I would soon recover and I shouldn�t worry. The two nurses who were constantly at my bedside did everything possible to make me comfortable. One thing that did �sort-of� get me angry was the fact hat each time I would ask for a drink of water, they would give me �vino�. Sick as I was, I couldn�t stand it so I threw it up each time. Finally, it got to where they wouldn�t give me either water or wine for fear it would make me sick and cause me to vomit more. It seemed I just couldn�t make them understand that it was only the vino that was making me sick. Well, I pulled through that night and the next day I felt much better � I was beginning to really have confidence in myself again. Towards the evening of this day, the Greek Veterinarian came running in to tell me that an English Captain was in town and that they had told him that an American pilot was in the hospital. He came right over. When I talked to him, I asked him to report me to the nearest medical aid unit and have them send out an ambulance for me. He said he would. He told me that I certainly was lucky in catching him since he had entered the town quite by mistake. He though it had been taken when it actually wasn�t. About an hour or so later and American ambulance came and picked me up. I was taken to an American medical aid station and from there to an evacuation hospital. That in itself made me feel much better. Just the though of it! I stayed there for a couple of days while they fixed me up. My injuries weren�t as bad as I had thought they might be. The doctor listed them as a ruptured left eardrum, would over the right temple, deep cuts about the face, a burned right wrist and arm, a broken right index finger, a broken left middle finger, cuts about the arms and hands, concussion of the chest, five broken ribs on the left side, and cuts about the body and legs. At the present time I still have a piece of shrapnel in my left and right hands, and my back still gives me a little trouble, but I am receiving the best of care and have the assurance that all a great country can do for me will be done. That faith means much to a soldier far from home, you can well believe. |
| Welcome! Ghost here. This story describes a mission of a P-47 Pilot flying in the Italian Front. As you read this, bear in mind that it was a 20 year old young man who experienced this; then try to imagine yourself or your Son in this position. Imagine flying a 2,000 HP "Jug" (short for Juggernaut, as they called the P-47) at 300 MPH, so low that you have to watch out for telephone wires, of course not forgetting that every gun in the area is shooting at you! Oh and by the way, don't forget that our young Sons (and now Daughters too!) are still out there defending our Freedom with their lives. As we reflect on their courage from a distance, there should be no doubt that "Freedom is not Free" |
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