USAAF Mosquito 9-4-1945

Dear Henk,

See if you can locate a copy of the book, "Aerial Intelligence of the 8th Air Force." In it you will find that this indivdual PURGED my name from my WORK, including the story of how the Mossie was lost, on page 97. His actions created turmoil within the 25th Bomb Group Association, and split the organization apart, such that, Mosquito crew members no longer attend the reunions.

The above individual died three years ago, and no doubt, his soul will now burn in hell forever.

Norman Malayney

[Henk Welting]

Thanks Norman for info. Will talk about it with my friend Jan.
Best regards,
Henk.

[paulmcmillan]

Originally Posted by Norman Malayney

Dear Henk,

See if you can locate a copy of the book, "Aerial Intelligence of the 8th Air Force." In it you will find that this indivdual PURGED my name from my WORK, including the story of how the Mossie was lost, on page 97. His actions created turmoil within the 25th Bomb Group Association, and split the organization apart, such that, Mosquito crew members no longer attend the reunions.

The above individual died three years ago, and no doubt, his soul will now burn in hell forever.

Norman Malayney

Norman, as the main protagonist is no longer alive prehaps you can now provide your summary of events on how the Mosquito was lost on this site?

Many Thanks

Paul

[Henk Welting]

Originally Posted by paulmcmillan

Norman, as the main protagonist is no longer alive prehaps you can now provide your summary of events on how the Mosquito was lost on this site?

Many Thanks

Paul

Yes Norman, that would be great. We don't have access to the said publication. Also on behalf of Jan (known to you) thanks in advance and best regards,
Henk.

Dear Henk,

Here is information from my interview with the late Claude Moore that appears in my manuscript on the 25th BG Rcn history (c):

Norman Malayney
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The afternoon of 9 April, 1/Lts. John A. Pruis/Claude C. Moore took off in NS792 for an eventful mission with tragic consequences. This was a Graypea mission that preceded a maximum effort mission by lst AD to the Dornier aircraft plant at Oberpfaffenhofen, a suburb 20-miles north of Munich in southeastern Germany.

Moore: We rendezvoused with the bomber formation prior to the IP that was some 28 miles from the target. At the IP we climbed 2,000 feet above the bombers and began dispensing Chaff. I activated the cameras as we flew over the target area to obtain photo coverage before the bombing began. After passing the target, we orbited and followed behind the bombers to obtain damage assessment pictures of the destruction.

Thoroughness was one of my characteristics and having unused film, I instructed Pruis to circle over the target again for more pictures. This gambit distanced us far behind the other Mosquitoes.

We set our course on a 314 degree heading to make eventual contact with the Mosquitoes and return to base. This was Pruis’ third Mosquito mission with the 25th BG. He previously completed a tour in B-24 bombers. As pilot, he was concerned with fuel consumption, especially considering the distance of our mission. Though fuel consumption would be close, all concerns for engine and aircraft performance were minor.

Flying at 20,000 feet, we could see three aircraft in the distance on course toward England. We presumed these to be our Mosquitoes. As we came closer, Pruis and I decided they were P-51s, but with RAF roundels. They banked to the left and I no longer gave them any thought.

Some minutes later, I was noting observations on my navigational chart or log, when there was an explosion. With two engines running, the indication of an explosion was not so much a noise as a jolt. I realized we were in trouble when Pruis slumped over the wheel. I attempted to help but was unable to move him.

The Mosquito began a right-hand spin with the right engine in flames. With a right-hand spin, the flames from the right, or starboard engine, blazed across both the canopy and bottom escape hatch. Black smoke poured from the right side of the nose between the cockpit and the nacelle. I did not know what happened. I had not seen any enemy aircraft in back of us nor in the sky.

I never wore a parachute pack on my missions. A seatpack placed me too high in relation with the canopy and the work table. A chestpack pushed me too far from the plotting table and was burdensome to work with. I stored the chest parachute pack on a small shelf behind the pilot.

The centrifugal force from the spinning aircraft was horrendous. I experienced a terrible time reaching for my chute behind the pilot. It took the strength of both arms to reach the pack and pull it toward me. I then attempted to connect it to my harness but due to the centrifugal forces, managed to connect only one side. I suspect I wasn’t being deliberate or thorough enough but later learned I had shrapnel wounds in my left arm from aircraft cannon shells.

If I exited the bottom hatch, which would be normal, I was afraid the flames would come into the cockpit. I wasn’t able to help Pruis, but if he should regain consciousness and was able to do something for himself, I did not want the flames coming into the cockpit. Thus, I released the canopy escape hatch and it flew off. Leaving the craft through the top is a high-risk endeavor. The probabilities of being struck by the vertical stabilizer are fearful.

I struggled through the hatch and somehow became entangled with the oxygen and communication cables inside the aircraft. I was stuck half-in and half-out the top opening. I had been struggling without my helmet and wore no gloves as tongues of flame from the right engine lapped at me. Fortunately, I still wore my RayBan sun glasses.

Flames lashed my upper body, seared my face and scalp, flesh burned from my hands and wrists, blood covered my left arm, while the earth below swirled closer. I moved back into the cockpit to remove the tangled cable obstructions that prevented my escape. Once in, I again experienced trouble getting out.

Now I was more weaker from the burns and wounds than in my first attempt to exit. The pain was driving through the tension to my senses. The centrifugal forces of the spinning craft were becoming more intense by the second. There was no sensation of up or down, just the vision of earth spinning closer on a collision course. I felt my first and only taste of despondency; in a few moments it would all be over and I would abide with the sense of peace.

Despondency was followed by the thought that my family and friends expected more of me than passive submission. Pruis was dead or unconscious, but my limbs still responded to my will. My limpid reaction to the slaps of fate made me furious with myself. Rage thrust all frailties from my mind. With a profane utterance I made my utmost and final effort to climb through the hatch.

The next thing I was aware of was floating in the air. As I bailed out, I glanced at the altimeter. It read one thousand feet. I interpolated that I left the aircraft at 800 feet. I am certain I was not fully conscious when I pulled the D-ring.

I was jolted heavily to consciousness by the opening parachute. I swung violently in 360 degree circles as I descended, probably due to the right chest hook being unfastened. I attempted to pull the risers to get the chute buckle fastened, but with the burns and injuries to my arms and hands, I failed. It was then I noticed the bleeding from my left upper arm and forearm.

As I descended, I was circled by fighter planes. They were P-5ls with the roundel markings. The Mustangs circled only minutes then left the vicinity. I did not see the aircraft that fired at us. I knew only that the shells entered the fuselage diagonally from the left-rear side and, that Pruis and the starboard engine received the brunt of their effects. I also remember the three P-51s flying previously ahead of us banked left and had flown past to our rear.

I turned my attention to the ground where I could see the Mosquito wreckage. The fire was confined to the right engine and had not spread to the rest of the aircraft. Its wings, nose and the forward part of the fuselage was intact. At that moment a gust of wind swept my RayBan glasses from my eyes. I was fortunate they shielded my eyes from the flames as I exited the escape hatch.

Below lay evergreen trees with tall spindly trunks and an abundance of weak, flimsy limbs. I attempted to guide the parachute to smaller fruit trees nearby but failed in the short drop. The parachute caught in the top of a tall evergreen leaving me hanging by the risers 50 to 75 feet above the ground.

Interestingly, information provided at briefings indicated we were deep in enemy territory. There were several armed German soldiers near the base of the tree where I was hanging. They were contemplating my plight but did not seem too concerned. I must have passed out for when consciousness returned the German soldiers had disappeared.

I unfastened the harness of the chute with great difficulty. My hands were burned raw, the left arm was bleeding and my face felt like it was on fire. The first-aid pack attached to the parachute harness tore off as I plowed through the branches. I attempted to climb down the pinetree, but the limbs would not support my weight. Suddenly the branches were snapping, and I was falling. I fell straight down in an upright position and hit the ground.

I attempted to stand, but the pain was intense. My back, left ankle, knee, and foot were injured. I thought of using a tree branch for a cane to reach help. We understood the Catholic Church had a very good underground establishment functioning in the southern part of Germany. I was determined to find such an organization. It was near dusk when I crawled to a tree limb and attempted to stand. Physically it was hopeless.

I looked at my wristwatch and except for a rim around the dial, the face was burned. It said 1745. The forest was beginning to darken. I needed medical attention quickly. I could hardly see. I decided to take my chances with the Germans instead of spending the night in the forest. I wondered about their disappearance.

I always carried a whistle attached to the zipper-pull on my jacket. This was an RAF custom that I had appropriated. I blew the whistle and heard the rustle of twigs and brush. I blew again and a soldier appeared holding his rifle at the ready across his body.

We were told to avoid capture by the civilian population, youth corps, Gestapo, or the SS troops. Since the soldier wore a tattered outfit and I couldn’t see very well, I concluded he was one of the German Youth Corps.

He then questioned, ‘Yank’ which irritated me.

I replied, ‘Ya. What the hell is it to you?’

The soldier responded sympathetically: ‘It’s OK buddy, we’re Yanks too.’

He yelled to his seven companions that I was located and walked over to me. They joined us immediately.

Apparently, the American soldiers had been watching me come down in the Mosquito. They gave me hell for not getting out sooner. They had been trailing a pocket of SS troops when they observed our aircraft in trouble. When they saw me parachute, they gave up the chase and diverted their attention to my welfare. So, I had seen German troops and did not imagine it.

I cautioned the soldiers to please be careful. I thought my back was broken and wanted to avoid a severed spinal cord. They took off their shirts and jackets, gathered two large tree branches and made a litter. They carried me down the hill to two jeeps. I was placed diagonally on the flat platform of one jeep and held closely to prevent jostling on the bumpy ride. They transported me to a first-aid station located in a commandeered German home. The make-shift stretcher and I were passed through a window to medics inside.

As the soldiers were leaving to resume their patrol, they re-clothed themselves in the shirts and jackets used on my make-shift litter. This clothing was stained with blood from my wounds and the serum from my burns. I asked them for their names so I could thank them later in written form. They declined. They did not believe their act was beyond the call of duty, though I felt differently. This was the last thing I remember until awaking two days later in an American hospital in Reims, France, the effects of morphine I presume.

Some days later, I received a slip of paper that had been placed in my flying suit. It said: ‘Picked up near Waldkatzenbach, Germany, about 10 kilo west of Eberback by lst Sgt. Nelson Griffin and boys, Co. D. 1st Bn. 410 Inf. Regt., 103rd Inf. Div., APO 470, C/O PM, New York City.’

I was disturbed about having lost a pen-and-pencil set my brother had given me. It was the one I used for navigational duties with the aircraft. It was a personal item I valued highly. Later, when I was in the hospital someone handed me a personal effects bag and inside was the pen-and-pencil set. It was a surprise. Subconsciously, perhaps, in the turmoil of the spin, I had grasped the set and placed it in the pocket of my flight coveralls.

[paulmcmillan]

Norman

Thanks for this very interesting and fasinating post

Paul

[Leendert]

Interestingly, Sgt Nelson H. Griffin from Tennessee of the 1st Bn, 410th Inf Reg't may be still among us...

See unit roster on http://103rdcactus.com/compos/410/1s...20D/ib1-wc.htm

Regards,

Leendert

[paulmcmillan]

Originally Posted by Leendert

Interestingly, Sgt Nelson H. Griffin from Tennessee of the 1st Bn, 410th Inf Reg't may be still among us...

See unit roster on http://103rdcactus.com/compos/410/1s...20D/ib1-wc.htm

Regards,

Leendert

Unfortunately he died in 2008.....