Carole Engle Avriett - Coffin Corner Boys: One Bomber, Ten Men, and Their Harrowing Escape from Nazi-Occupied France

Copyright 2018 by Carole Engle Avriett

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First e-book edition 2018: ISBN 978-1-62157-655-6

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I dedicate this bookto the nine men in my crew; they

were the very best. Andto the French helpers,

especially Maurice Baverel, the gutsiest man I ever met.

Dr. George Wiley Starks

CONTENTS

Table of Contents

I am honored to have been asked to pen the foreword for Coffin Corner Boys, a remarkable narrative about Dr. George W. Starks and his B-17 crew assigned to the Ninety-Second Bomb Group of the Eighth Air Force during World War II. I have known George Starks for nearly fifteen years, when he became an early supporter of the National Museum of the Mighty Eighth Air Force, and we served on the board of trustees together.

What I did not know was the details of his distinguished military service as a B-17 pilot during the heavy combat operations of the Second World War. With the privilege of reading the working manuscript detailing the first-person accounts by George and his crew members of their shoot-down on March 16, 1944, by FW-190 fighters, I became aware of their grueling experiences. The reader of this book will become immersed in the experience of flying combat in a B-17, facing the terrible dangers and dilemmas of their mission, and then being forced to save themselves from death.

Each crew members account of that fateful day is absolutely fascinating! Although this is one of hundreds of such stories to come out of the Eighth Air Forces combat operations, it is unique to George and his crew. Clearly, this young crew, with an average age of only twenty-two, conducted itself in a highly professional manner, exhibiting tremendous courage under the most difficult of circumstances.

I would be remiss if I did not commend George for not only sharing this story but for including the stories of the French helpers who provided aid once the crew was on the ground, as well as his efforts to keep the crew in touch with one another after the war.

Additionally, George was a great help to me in my role as chairman of the board and CEO as we put together the National Museum of the Mighty Eighth Air Force. I will be forever grateful for his many ideas and support of the museum while serving on the board. During my service as the commander of the Eighth Air Force and my responsibilities with the museum, I really got to know so many Eighth Air Force veterans of World War II. My respect for their service and sacrifice is unbounded.

On a personal note, America entered the war on the day after my fifth birthday. At the time, my family was living in Caracas, Venezuela, where my dad was a civil engineer with Creole Petroleum Corporation, building roads back in the oil fields. I recall vividly how deeply concerned my parents were upon learning of the attack on Pearl Harbor. They piled brother Jake and me into the Chevy and drove to the American embassy to meet with Ambassador Corrigan to find out just what was happening to our nation.

The family soon returned to South Carolina, where we settled in while dad spent two years in the Pacific with the Navy Seabees building airfields. He would make the invasion of the Marshall Islands and supervise the construction of an airfield on Majuro. Later he would serve on the island commanders staff on Tinian in the Marianas Islands. Although very young, I was keenly aware of what was going on. I am certain that the events of WWII served as the genesis of my desire to serve in the military, which began with my commissioning at the Citadel on June 6, 1959, the fifteenth anniversary of the D-Day invasion.

My exposure to the Greatest Generation of Eighth Air Force veterans has often caused me to wish that I had been able to fly and fight with them! Enjoy the read.

E. G. Buck Shuler Jr.

Lieutenant General, USAF, Retired

Former Commander Eighth Air Force

March 1988 to May 1992

Paul Starks

I grew up hearing the stories from Dad: lost over the Atlantic, bailing out of the airplane right before it exploded, coming face to face with German soldiers, running across the border after the border guards had passed, and more.

Dad had been back several times over the years, but he talked about going again one more time before he got too old, and he wanted me to go with him. He was ninety-two, and he and I determined we had to make the time.

We arrived in France in the early morning, rented a car, and drove several hours to a small town near our starting point to retrace my dads escape route from the Germans in occupied France. Both of us were filled with anticipation and excitement.

After renting a motel room we began to look for the place he landed in the parachute near Vitry-en-Perthois. We visited the farm where the plane had crashed and later commenced retracing the route toward Switzerland. We found places he had not seen for a long time, and finally the very spot where he ran across the border to freedom.

Sometimes it was hard to watch him reminisce. It was difficult to imagine what was going through his mind after a whole lifetime, but it was touching to see his reaction.

On a larger scale, I am in awe of the menno, they were just boysmany of whom had never been away from home until they climbed inside a paper-thin aluminum skin and went off to vicious combat in such an unrelenting, hostile environment. And then do it again the next day. I cant imagine the fortitude it took. They inspired me to become a student of the air war during WWII and especially the Eighth Air Force. I am honored and proud to have seen what my dad did.