Charles E. Stanley - Lost Airmen: The Epic Rescue of WWII U.S. Bomber Crews Stranded Behind Enemy Lines

Lost Airmen

The Epic Rescue of WWII U.S. Bomber Crews Stranded behind Enemy Lines

Charles E. Stanley, Jr.

Copyright 2022 by Charles E. Stanley Jr.

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Cataloging-in-Publication data on file with the Library of Congress

ISBN: 978-1-68451-262-1

eISBN: 978-1-68451-282-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021949800

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Cover design by John Caruso

With gratitude to Reverend James B. MacGee, OMI, mentor

A forlorn Army Air Forces private sat alone in the back pew of an unadorned chapel. It was a Friday night, and most of his fellow aviation students at the University of Buffalo were out on the town blowing off steam. He had opted to attend this religious retreat instead.

The private yearned to be a pilot, but he knew the odds were against him. Half his classmates would wash out and be relegated to lesser duties. He worried that he might fail too, as he found his coursework difficult and uninspiring and felt he was floundering. Yet if he won his wings, the private faced a far greater problem: he would have to survive the most terrible war in history. The six-month Guadalcanal campaign had just proven the Japanese would be a tenacious foe. In eastern Europe, Hitlers Germany and Stalins Soviet Union squared off across a thousand-mile front stretching from Leningrad to the Caucasus Mountains. Meanwhile, British and American forces battled the Germans in northern Africa.

The Normandy D-Day invasion remained over a year away. For now, the air war served as the second front against Hitlers Fortress Europe. It held perils beyond the privates imagination. The casualty rate for American airmen was worse than among the Marines in the Pacificthe life expectancy of U.S. Eighth Air Force crews was fourteen missions. Just one quarter of its personnel survived a full twenty-five-mission tour. The struggle for air supremacy had become a war of attrition, and replacements were desperately needed.

The private was eager to become one of them. Six months before, he had been a twenty-year-old civilian facing two options: he could wait to be drafted, or he could volunteer for one of the specialized service branches. He did not want to spend the war marching through muddy battlefields, and the Navy was out of the question as he hated water and did not know how to swim.

Aviation, however, held a certain romance. World War I aces, barnstorming daredevils, and aeronautical record-setters lived fresh in memory. Only fifteen years had passed since Lindberghs solo transatlantic flight. Magazines showcased handsome fliers being admired by pretty girls. In contrast, the nickname for the common infantrymandogfacespoke for itself. If a young man wanted high status, good pay, and a sharp uniform, enlisting in the Army Air Forces was just the ticket.

So far, however, the privates experiences had not lived up to his expectations. He passed the qualifying examinations with ease, but boot camp in wintertime Atlantic City had been awful, beginning with his quarters in an unheated hotel designed for summer tourism. His lightweight, short-sleeved uniform offered little protection against the elements. The inductees received a battery of inoculations. As each recruit filed through, a doctor held up a needle to capture his attention. Then a second doctor jabbed him from the opposite side. When the victim turned his head toward the pinprick, the first doctor stabbed the other arm. Some fainted on the spot.

The units drill sergeant spewed profanities as he drove the recruits up and down the boardwalk. When heavy uniforms arrived, he refused to let them drill in their overcoats, marching them in sub-zero temperatures to the point of frostbite. The private thought the sergeant must be insane.

For exercise, the recruits formed a circle and took turns breaking out through the groups interlocked arms. One scrum had injured the privates left knee, but he hid his limp as best as he could for fear of washing out.

To add to his troubles, his girlfriend, Mary, had just broken up with him. It was small consolation she had jilted him to enter a convent. Now a novice, she still corresponded with him. Just around the corner, she predicted in her most recent letter, is a darling girl whos sweet enough and good enough to share with you your heart and home. I know shell make you very happy.

Now, seated in the quiet chapel, the private didnt realize he was being watched from above. Mary Alice Schmitz, a freshman at Buffalos State Teachers College, stood perched in the front row of the choir loft with her friends Janice and Lorraine. They had volunteered to help run the religious retreat sponsored by their schools Newman Center, a ministry organization for Catholics attending secular colleges. Between hymns, the trio checked out the male contingent below. A dozen smartly uniformed soldiers were interspersed among the assembly of worshipers. Per custom, they had removed their Army caps. One head of wavy black hair stood out. Lorraine, a pretty blonde, pointed at him. Did you see the cute one?

I dont like cute boys! snapped Mary Alice. She had indeed noticed the handsome private at the registration table, but boys with his kind of looks never seemed interested in bespectacled, serious girls like her. Besides, she volunteered regularly at the local USO and knew how visiting soldiers could be.

Saturday evening found the private at the chapel again. As that days portion of the retreat ended, everyone lined up for confession to prepare their souls for Communion the next day. The private entered the confessional, knelt, and murmured, Bless me Father, for I have sinned. He usually disliked confession, and he especially hated sharing confidences with priests he did not know. This time, however, his confessor was Father Dempsey, the jovial moderator of the retreat. Something about the priests manner helped the words come out. The private confessed more than his sins; he revealed his loneliness and admitted self-doubt. Father Dempsey listened, gave the private his penance, and encouraged him to be more assertive. God would be with him wherever he went.

The private emerged from the confessional with a renewed spirit. A medical student from the university named Charlie Bauer had promised to give him a ride back to his quarters across town, but Bauer was nowhere to be found, even outside in the wintry March air. The private retreated to the sanctuary of the church. There he spotted a young lady making her way down the line of penitents awaiting their turn in the confessional.