Stinky's Last Flight
       June 2, 1944

  The 489th Bombardment Group was stationed near Halesworth, 
East Anglia, England. We were part of the 2nd air division of 
the 8th Air Force. There were four squadrons in the 489th. They 
were the 844, 845, 846 and 847th. We were in the 846th squadron, 
crew #66, consisting of Lt. James Bebout, Pilot, Lt. Donald 
Bruening, Co-pilot; Me-Lt. Stanley Biskup, Navigator; Lt. Dean 
Davidson, Bombadier; Sgt. Jim Trewartha, Engineer; Sgt. "Shorty" 
Smith, Radio operator; ??? Meehah, Top-Turret Gunner; ??? Harris, 
Ball-Turret Gunner. Our B-24 Liberator's serial number I believe 
was 94864 + U. It was painted olive drab and it had "Stinky" 
written in yellow on both sides of the nose section. Also, next 
to the word Stinky there was an out-house painted on both sides 
of the plane. Our pilot, Jim Bebout picked out the name for the 
plane back in the states. I liked the plane, but I didn't care 
for it's name.

  Our group had flown two combat missions and was not scheduled
to fly June 2, 1944. In the afternoon an alert was called 
and all available flight personnel were informed to report to the 
briefing room. Our Colonel Napier read a commendation letter 
from headquarters, regarding our previous successful mission and 
stated that next, he expected a Presidential Citation. Many of 
the fellows laughed. Then the S-2 (Intelligence Officer) reported
that the Germans had moved squadrons of fighter planes to two 
airfields around Paris. We were to rendezvous with other groups 
over East Anglia, leave the English coast at Beachy Head, cross 
the Channel, cross the French coast 5 miles right of LeHarve, 
head for the initial point chartres, there make a sharp left turn 
and proceed to the primary target, an airfield just south of 
Paris. We were to fly at 19,000 feet and estimated time of 
arrival was to be 21:30 (double British Saving Time). If for 
some reason, we were unable to drop our bombs, we were to proceed 
to the secondary target, which was an airfield just northeast of 
Paris. Our heading back was almost northwest, cross the French 
coast East of Dieppe, over the Channel and back to our home base. 
We could expect heavy flak crossing the French coast both, come 
and going. Some flak could be expected along the route to 
Chartres and heavy flak around Paris. Intelligence had reports, 
that there were about 750 anti aircraft guns surrounding the 
city. The meteorologist told us we should have good flying weather
except for some scattered alto cumulus clouds. The briefing 
was over and we filed out of the room, climbed into trucks and 
were driven to our dressing room. While dressing into our flying 
clothes, James Bebout remarked to Don Bruning "You know - I don't 
think we're coming back from this one". Don laughed, but in a 
serious manner replied "Hey - Let's not talk like that". My 
comment was "Yeah! I also feel it's going to be a rough one". 
The squadron navigator came by and asked if he could fly in my 
place. I wanted to say yes, but reluctantly turned him down. My 
crew would have been very apprehensive if I didn't fly with them. 
They knew, that back in the states my previous crew crashed on 
landing while I was grounded for a bad cold. Also, that I was a 
survivor of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor (Wheeler Field), 
December 7, 1941. I had the feeling that the crew would be very 
uncomfortable if I didn't fly this mission with them.
  
  It was a good day for flying and at first all went well. 
The take-off, the assembly of the group and the rendezvous with 
the other groups. Our plane was flying #4 position behind the 
lead ship of our squadron. The group was on course leaving the 
English coast and proceeded across the Channel. I was surprised 
to see the great number of ships in the Channel. About 15 miles 
from the enemy coast I informed the crew, it was time to put on 
the flak helmets. We broke the French coast right on course 
through some light flak and proceeded toward Chartres, with light 
flak around along the way. We made the sharp left turn at 
Chartres and headed for our primary target. The flak began to 
get heavier and heavier, the closer we got to Paris, I was having 
difficulty making navigational entries into my log - something 
kept telling me that it didn't matter it wouldn't make any
difference whether I had a good log or not. Some flak hit the 
Astral Dome above me and another made about a 2 inch diameter 
hole at my right. I stood up and pointed to the hole in the 
Astral Dome, Don looked concerned, but Jim was smiling - it 
didn't seem to phase him at all. We were now on our Bomb Run, 
the Bomb Bay doors were opened and I was slouched over with mny 
hand on the Salvo Lever waiting for Dean's "Bombs Away" the flak 
was very intense bursting close to our plane and rocking it. We 
did not drop our bombs. The bomb bay doors were closed and I 
returned to navigating, looking out I was surprised to see that 
we were cutting across a good part of Paris, (I thought we should 
be flying around it-less flak). As I was trying to pin-point 
myself off the left side of the plane, I saw flak hit the plane 
flying next to us, between the #3 and #4 engines. It made the 
plane rise with one wing pointed toward the ground and then drop 
barely missing our plane. Our tall gunner, kept watching the 
plane, reported it in a crazy spin - no parachutes and then it's 
crash. We were now approaching the secondary target..

  Again, the bomb bay doors were opened and we were on our 
bomb-run, I was slouched with my hand on the salvo release lever. 
Again, the flak was very heavy causing the plane to bounce 
around. Then I heard Dean's "Bombs Away" and I pushed the lever 
down. The bombs dropped, I sighed with relief and prayed fast, 
that no civilians would be hurt. Next, I noticed that our #3 
engine was sputtering. this I didn't like, although I knew that 
the plane could fly on only three engines. I resumed navigating 
noting into the log the areas where the flak was heaviest. Our 
#3 engine was feathered and we could not keep up with our
formation. We kept dropping further and further behind our group 
and losing altitude. Over the target areas we were at 19,000 
feet and now we were at 17,000 feet. I could see the French 
coast up ahead below the horizon. I made an entry into my 
navigational log - 22:00 (approximate time) and 13 minutes to 
English coast. Then, the coastal flak batteries opened up. the 
plane lurched up as it took almost a direct hit in the bomb bay 
area. I smelled gasoline through my oxygen mask. Next, I heard 
Dean Davidson on the intercom holler to open up the nose-turret 
door for him, (sometimes it would get stuck and it couldn't be 
opened from the inside). I opened the door and when I turned 
around there were flames coming in from the hatchway (which led 
to the flight deck). I immediately unclamped the two parachutes 
from the left wall, handed one to Dean, sat down in front of the 
escape hatch, placed my chute on the floor (right side, next to 
me) and pulled the red emergency handle which opened the escape 
hatch door. As quickly as possible, with both hands I removed my 
flak helmet, oxygen mask, flak jacket, throat Mike and unplugged 
the heated suit cort, grabbed the chute and snapped the right 
ring to the body harness. I don't remember jumping. I sensed 
the plane pass over me. I was holding onto the chute and tumbling
in the air. When I stopped tumbling, I very deliberately 
snapped on the left chute ring to the harness. Then, I checked 
both sides and yanked on it to make sure it was fastened securely.
I was falling on my back, feet up, spiraling, counter-clockwise.
I remembered to delay opening the chute for two reasons: one -
the air above 10,000 feet lacks sufficient oxygen, two - the
closer to the ground you open, the less chance of being spotted
or shot at by the enemy. I kept falling and spiraling. When I
wanted to view how high I was, I would put out my left hand, slow
down the rotation look over my right shoulder and tell myself
"still plenty high". After about the fifth time I put my
arm out, I saw in sharp detail a horse drawn wagon on an asphalt
road and a bunch of trees off to the side, like a small forest.
I figured I was close enough to the ground (about 2000 feet),
so I pulled the rip-cord. The chute opened up beautifully, with
just a slight jerk. I was amazed at the intense silence. My
thoughts were like a loud voice talking to me during my fall
and especially after the chute opened. The descent with the chute
seemed slow. All of a sudden, I saw myself heading for a cluster
of trees and realized that I could still break a leg or something
if I landed in the trees. I tugged on the chute strings and the
last 100 feet came up fast.

  I landed in a clearing about 150 yards away from the trees. I 
got up quickly, gathered up the parachute, unhooked it and threw 
it into some low bushes with the life vest and boots. I squatted 
down in the tall grass and began to move toward the forest, when 
I saw a German soldier coming from there shouting comarade. I 
squatted lower began to move to my left, when I heard another 
soldier shouting something which I didn't understand. I looked 
up and saw four German soldiers (about 20 yards away) with burp 
guns running towards me. One was shouting something and waving a 
potato-masher (hand grenade). I stood up straight and waited, 
they closed in on me, one began to search me asking for a pistol. 
I brushed the searcher's hands away from me and said "No pistol". 
They motioned for me to follow them. It wasn't long before we 
came to a small town. Some French children began to follow us 
and I heard them say American several times. I was led into a 
large home, down some stairs to a lower level. One soldier, 
turned the crank on a telephne and began shouting into the
telephone. I figured that he was talking to his headquarters, but it 
struck me funny that they shout so much. When he finished, they 
led me into the front room, which had a table and chairs. I 
looked at a picture of a woman on the wall. One soldier made me 
understand that the woman was the owner of the building. They 
offered me a chair to sit on. I sat down and asked them what was 
the name of the town, some how I got them to understand. One of 
them brought out a road map and pointed to Ancourt. I still had 
my escape kit with me and this informmation was important, If I 
could escape somehow. They asked my name and rank, which I told 
them. One brought a cup of milk, drank some (I guess to show it 
wasn't poisoned) and offered it to me. I took it and drank it. 
A crowd of French people gathered outside and were looking 
through a window at us. A soldier began shouting, ordering them 
away. They didn't pay any attention so, he pulled out his pistol 
and threatened them. I told him to leave them alone, they 
weren't bothering anybody. I was surprised that he listened to 
me and didn't pay any more attention to the people. An automobile
arrived outside, and I was ushered into it. It was a four 
door (no top) open automobile. Two soldiers went in front and 
one soldier with me in the back seat. We drove along a winding 
narrow road for about 12 miles. During the ride, I thought how 
lucky I was to be alive and wondered and hoped that the rest of 
my crew, also got out of the plane safely. It was dark when we 
stopped and I was led into a building, up a flight of stairs into 
a longer narrow room. There were two German officers and a few 
enlisted men with the ones who brought me. One of the German 
officers began to speak English. He asked my name, rank and 
serial number. Then he asked where I was from. I told him 
Chicago. But that was not what he wanted to know. He said 
"Hell, you couldn't have flown here from Chicago". I said "Oh, 
yes, we fly here every day, take pictures and then return to 
Chicago". I was joking and he knew it. Then, in German he told 
a soldier to search me. I cooperated by emptying everything from 
my pockets onto the table. Previously, I had placed my escape 
kit into my woolen olive drab shawl, this I held in my hand while 
being searched and later placed it on their table. they didn't 
find it. They got real interested in a religious packet from my 
girlfriend, in it were some religious medallions and a note from 
my aunt written in Polish. One of the Germans read the note and 
translated it in german for the others. He asked if I could 
speak Polish and I said yes. He then commented that I must have 
a very nice aunt. He asked a few more questions and then said 
"Well-for you the war is over". A soldier opened a door at the 
end of the room and to my great surprise, in walked Murphy and 
Gullet. They were as amazed as I was. The German officer asked 
if I knew them. I answered yes. He asked if they were on my 
crew and I said I cannot answer that question. He asked what 
kind of airplane, what group? I told him my name, rank and 
serial number, and that according to the Geneva Convention, that 
is all I have to tell him. Then I asked him if he was in my 
shoes, how would he answer these questions. He then asked, if we 
were paid extra money for each mission we flew. I laughed and 
said, that was ridiculous! "We are soldiers just like you and 
get paid according to rank, the same overseas as in the States". 
The interrogation ended and we were taken to an underground heavy 
cement bunker There they placed us in a large room with three 
straw mattresses on the floor. Two soldiers were left to guard 
us and we were warned, that to try escape, would be futile and 
disastrous. An electric light bulb was left on all night. 
Murphy and Gullet came close to me and said they could hardly 
believe their eyes, when they saw me. They thought I was trapped 
in the nose section of the plane. I told them, that I thought 
Dean got out right after me, in fact he was in such a hurry, 
that he probably kicked me out. I didn't know anything about the 
rest of the crew members. They told me they were at the waist 
gun opening and Harris was ready to jump, but he told them to go 
first. They didn't know anything about the crew on flight deck 
except that they heard Jim, the pilot give the order to prepare 
to ditch. Murphy asked me what time it was and I told hiim it 
was 1:30 a.m. - time to go to sleep. During the night, there was 
an air raid and heavy bombing shook the ground. It scared the 
hell out of our guards and us. Next morning, June 3rd, we got 
up, washed our faces at a sink in the corner and were fed some 
dark bread. At about 11:00 a.m., a German soldier came into our 
room and told us to go with him. We gathered our clothes and with 
three soldiers guarding us, followed him outside. They motioned 
us to get into an old Army truck. We got in and were taken for a 
short rideout into the country. the truck stopped on the highway 
in the middle of open fields as I looked out I was amazed to see 
the tail section of our plane in the distance against a railroad 
mound. The Germand officer who was riding up front with the 
driver came to the back of the truck and told us to dismount. He 
gave some orders to the soldiers and went to examine the wreckage.
I looked in his direction and about 300 yards out I saw 
parts of a wing and engines. I also saw a train over pass to the 
left of the tail section. The next thiing I knew one of the 
German soldiers was motioning us with his burp gun to step off 
the highway through the bushes, I thought - My God, are they 
going to shoot us here? As I stepped off the road and looked 
down, I saw two bodies laying in a shallow pit. I turned away,, 
awe stricken from the sight of flattened faces of two of our crew 
members. The German soldiers wanted us to load them on the 
truck. We couldn't do it. We asked for the German office, he 
returned and there as some conversation between him and his 
soldiers. Then, two solders went through the bushes and soon 
came out carryng one body wrapped in the white cloth of a parachute.
With tears in our eyes, and gritting our teeth we helped 
the Germans load both bodies onto the truck. We then got into 
the truck and with the bodies at our feet, drove a short while to 
a small cemetary near a town, (I'm not sure whether it was 
Ancourt or Envermeu). The German soldiers carried the bodies 
into a small brick building (a 9' x 12' morgue). Then the German 
officer motioned us to come to the building. There were four 
steps up to the doorway. As we reached the doorway, there on the 
cement floor lay four corpses. On each of their chests was laid 
their civilian picture from their escape kit and their
identification dog tags. We identified them as Bruening, Meehan, Harris 
and Smith. An old Frenchman came to us and with tears in his 
eyes was trying to tell us something in French. We couldn't 
understand him. He then lit a match, showed two fingers and said 
"comarade". We then understood that two of our crew were burned 
badly. It must have been Bebout and Trewartha. This left only 
one crew member who was not accounted for and that was Dean 
Davidson. In mid-April of 1945, after about a three week March 
cross country from a P.O.W. camp at Nurnberg to a P.O.W. camp at 
Mooseberg, just north of Munich. I ran into Dean Davidson. 
After the usual greetings, he told me his story. In the airplane,
after I let him out of the nose turret, he was already 
disconnected from his throat mike, oxygen mask and heat cords, so 
he had his chute snapped on completely, while I was still disconnecting
myself. He saw the flames closing in on me (from the 
passageway to the fight deck) and when he saw me pick up my chute 
and snap on the right side, he just couldn't wait any longer, so 
he put his foot to my back and shoved me out. He immediately sat 
down and slid out of the escape opening. Soon as he stopped 
tumbling, he pulled the ripcord and the chute opened up. It took 
him a long time to get down, but he landed safely and was not 
captured. Next day, some French people found him and took him to 
safe place to hide. Later, they delivered him to the French 
underground. However, the following day, Dean had an appendicitis
attack. there was nothing they could do for him, so they 
arranged for Dean to be captured by the Germans. the Germans 
rushed him to a hospital and removed his appendix. They actually 
saved his life.

  We were liberated on April 29, 1945 by General Patton's 
Army. In fact, he rode into our P.O.W. camp and made a short 
speech stating how proud he was that even in a prison camp, we 
still looked like American soldiers. Anyway, Dean and I got 
separated and I haven't seen or heard of him since. When I 
returned to the U.S.A. I received forms to fill out about each of 
our dead crew members. I was surprised that they also asked 
about Dean Davidson. For a number of years, I wrote Christmas 
cards and letters to his home address, but I never received any 
reply.