Youks-les-bains, Algeria  December 5, 1942

Youks was the base for the 49th Squadron, 14th Fighter Group on December 5, 1942. The runway was a strip cleared from the desert dirt. It was about 3000 feet long and ran up a slight hill. We had no buildings or quarters. There were a few tents, but most of us slept in a dug out trench, two or three feet deep, with a canvas cover made from the aircraft turbo covers. We were given English rations, which we prepared individually. We had no support personal except for the crew chiefs. We gassed our P-38's from five gallon cans. This was some job, all done by hand.

We got our missions via field phones. On this day, we were to provide an escort for twelve A20 medium bombers during their run on Bizerte in Tunisia. We supplied eight aircraft. I don't recall who was leading. I think I was the number three man, leading the second element. My good friend, 1st Lt. Ernhart, was our flight leader.

After the bombing run, nine or ten P-109 German aircraft bounced our formation from above, at about 10,000 feet. We were at a disadvantage and the dog fights began. Our formation was scattered but I got good hits on two of the 109's. I decided to leave the fight but one of our pilots was screaming over the radio "Some one help me. He is on my tail." I returned to the fight and got some hits on a third 109 but another 109 got my left engine, which started to burn. I had to get away, so I headed straight for the deck. I kept close to the ground hoping I could crash land the aircraft. I was too low to bail out. The terrain was low mountains and hills. A downhill spot appeared and I decided to crash land the aircraft. The impact was worse than I had hoped for. The ground was covered with big rocks and tore the aircraft apart. I landed, along with the seat, outside of the aircraft. I was bruised up a bit, with my hands burned, and my back injured.

Almost instantly, I was surrounded by Germans soldiers and Arabs. They frisked me for guns (I had none, for some reason, on this mission. Generally, I carried a .45 pistol and sometimes a .45 caliber machine gun.) and led me to a building in an Arab village. It looked like a church or court building that was being used as a headquarters. They sat me in a chair at one end of the room. The German soldiers seemed to be waiting for someone to pick me up. Ten or twelve Arabs were squatting on the floor in front of me. My parachute was laying beside me. I tried to think of a way to escape. Back at Youks, we used to trade with the Arabs: one single mattress cover for two dozen eggs or one dollar apiece. What would happen if I tripped the chute and threw it among the Arabs? They all had old rifles that looked like the flintlock type. The seat of the chute was a packed dinghy with a collapsible mast and sail. The collapsed mast was about 18" long and could pull out to about 6 feet. This would make a good club.

I tripped the chute and threw it among the Arabs. Sure enough, they began fighting over the cloth. I grabbed the mast and lit into the group. In the confusion, I banged some heads and managed to escape. I ran down streets, over fences, through yards, and by houses. I didn't look back but I could hear yelling and shots. I finally lost them. I passed through the village and started into the desert. It was getting dark and, after going about 100 or so yards into the desert, I stopped to figure my chances of getting away to Allied lines.

I didn't know just where I was. I had a survival packet with a tub of food, a fish hook, and some water pills. I had a water bag but no water, maps, some medications, a leather flying jacket, four $20 gold coins sewn in to the jacket, American fur-lined boots but no shoes, and a "crusher" (an officer's cap that folded). I concluded that I couldn't cross the desert and decided to return and give myself up.

Just then, an Arab on a horse appeared over a sand dune, robes flying, just like in "Lawrence of Arabia". He was friendly but we didn't speak each other's language and couldn't exchange information. Still, we hit it off. I told him that I was an American. That one word he understood. He repeated "American" and patted my chest on the syllable "-can". Then, he said "African" and patted his chest on the syllable "-can". In his mind, we were both "-cans", and "-cans" were friends.

I showed him the map I had and asked him where the English battle lines were. He didn't know anything but he pointed to a spot on my map and said "French". He put me on the horse and led us some distance to a lonely house in the hills. It belonged to a Frenchman who operated a lead mine there before the war. They took me in and washed my wounds and fed me quite a nice meal. We couldn't understand each other but we got along quite well using gestures and facial expressions. The owner sent for his son who could read English but could not speak it. I wrote down my request: I wanted to return to the English or American lines. They arranged a meeting with the local Arab chief.

The Arab chief said he could give me a guide and a horse to cross the desert to Allied lines. He also suggested I remain with the French family, as they had two unmarried daughters. I said I had better be on my way. He provided me with a beautiful stallion and two Arab guides on donkeys to show me the way.

The next morning, I thanked everybody and gave them the four gold coins. Off we went into the desert. As night approached, we came to a group of Arab tents in the desert. One of the guides went down to check the situation and signaled us in. The big tent housed goats and chickens and people all together. These Arabs fed us and then proceeded to take from me my jacket, boots, belt, and a small cloth bag that was tied to my belt. I had forgotten about the bag until now. This bag was normally used to hold my oxygen mask to keep it clean when I was not flying. Now, it was empty except for a CO2 capsule for inflating a mayvest. [A mayvest was an inflatable life jacket used in water rescues.] The Arabs thought the capsule was a bomb of some sort and shied away from it. With exaggerated acting, I pretended it was a bomb and held it carefully, collected my things, then placed the capsule between myself and the Arabs. After a rather sleepless night, the guides and I started off again.

After riding all day, we encountered a dead brush area. There were no leaves but the branches were stiff, almost like thorns. Somehow, the branches caught my saddle, loosened it, and I fell under the horse. Thank God that stallion didn't move one leg as I lay there. The guides laughed and thought it was all very funny.

In the confusion, one of the donkeys ran away, leaving one of the guides on foot. We moved all night through gullies, hills, small valleys and passed through the German lines to meet up with an English commando unit. It seems they had been sent behind the German lines to cut off the Germans during an English push. The Germans, however, stopped the English advance and then turned to beat up the commando unit. The commando unit was pretty shot up but they helped me by allowing me to ride back to the their lines in a truck full of wounded soldiers. After arriving at the main unit, they sent me farther back to the American lines with a courier, on the back of a motor cycle. I arrived at the American units in the vicinity of Algiers.

After much questioning by the American military, I was given food and medical help. I finally caught a plane ride in a transport to Youks. There, I learned that all eight of the planes in our flight had been shot down. I was the only one to return. Years later, I learned that Lt. Ernhart had survived, but, unfortunately, had been a prisoner of war in Germany. None of the other pilots were heard from. Also later, some witness on the ground reported the dog fights, and I was credited with one confirmed destroyed P-109. I had returned to my unit by December 15, 1942 and continued my regular flying duties.

RETURN TO THE 20TH. FTR. GRP.

Unless otherwise noted, all content � copyright The Art of Syd Edwards 1998-1999-2000-2001-2002. All rights reserved and reproduction is prohibited.