THE LOCO BOYS GO WILD
-Conclusion-
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"I have never prayed so hard in my life," Martin said. "Blood was streaming down my face and shoulder. I was terribly weak and could hardly see at all. I had to close one eye to read what instruments I had left. I guess I was getting dizzier all the time, too." "I lost contact with my flight. I headed home alone -- and very fast! That's one time I really sweated out the English coast. Once I thought the jig was up when my one good engine started sputtering, but it soon smoothed out." "I reached an emergency landing field and brought my plane down and found they had an ambulance waiting for me. How they knew about me, I never found out, but I just remember getting out and walking under my own steam to it and they took me off to the hospital." A delicate surgical operation removed the piece of steel from Martin's skull, but he still carries fragments in his neck and shoulder. Practically recovered, he is now waiting to fly the new fighters they are being equipped with." Things happen to the Loco Group that shouldn't happen to a sky dog. They can even go and get themselves shot up by their own side. This is what happened to Lt. Albert R. Fogg who came from Somer's Point, N.J. "On that day," Fogg told me, "everything happened. To start off, my right engine went dead over enemy territory and I had to slip away from the fromation. Well, ususally you can find someone to hook up with and together maybe you can cripple home together. "But this time I felt jittery....I guessed I sensed something glorious was about to happen to me. Anyway, I plugged away at it, watching out for enemy planes until I reached a point within sight of the French coast. Just then a lone Thunderbolt came up and I slowed down even more to allow him to get on my wing tip. You see, I figured he was in bad shape, too, and, misery liking company, I waited for him. "Well, you can imagine what I said and did when this American P-47 opened fire at me. He came in full tilt with everything spitting. I managed to evade him and tried to figure out whether this was some dumb cluck guy who didn't recognize his own crowd or whether it was a Hun flying a captured Thunderbolt. "I dived and made a weak pass at him, even though I had but one engine, but this egg kept coming back and eventually he made several strikes on me. Meanwhile my turbo-regulator went out and the good engine started acting up. I finally made one more pass at that Hun, as I now call him, and drove him off. "Finally I got across the Channel and made the English coast. I headed for the nearest emergency field, but they gave me a red light, indicating their runway was tied up. My engine was now smoking badly and I was losing altitude fast and there was nothing for me to do but bring her down in the nearest open space. I tried to lower my landing gear, but onje of the wheels jammed. I had to bring the other up again. I decided on a belly landing. "I picked out what looked like a fairish spot, but it turned out to be an old surface iron mine. I t would be iron, wouldn't it? I sat her down in there, but it was like ramming a stone wall. I was dazed for a minute and when I came to, I was all wedged in the middle of alot of wreckage. "I sat there and then wised up and looked around. I got the royal creeps when I saw a small flame start out from under one of the engines and work its way toward me. I struggled wildly for what seemed about five minutes and then gradually I became used to the idea I'd be burned up or blown to bits. "By this time a group of soldiers came up and in the background somewhere was an ambulance, but somehow none of it mattered. I could see a doctor getting out alot of ominous-looking instruments. I guess someone was trying to fight the fire, but I can't remember now. All I knew was that any minute that doctor guy was coming over and cut my leg off -- because my foot was caught and if that fire got many inches closer they were going to hack me out. "Finally some GI had a bright idea and he somehow got one arm inside the wreck and cut my boot off and I was able to wriggle my foot out. They freed me and dragged me away, but I'll live a long time before I really forget that doctor guy standing there with those butcher tools. "The Gi who got me out? Funny about that. I never found out his name but I guess he's getting something worthwhile to remember me by. They tell me he's been out in for a Soldier's Medal. He sure earned it, too." Lt. Lee W. Anderson who hails from Stanley, N.D., went loco hunting one day. Lee was really anxious too...and I mean anxious. He found one all right and he went down after it, but he was so intent on making a good job of it, he almost bumped himself off. Anyway, he went in so close that when he came out he had left a part of a propellor blade and a long section of his fuselage on the engine. "They build those French trains too damned high," Anderson argued when he got back. "We got a troop train and 300 soldiers," reported Capt. Maurice R. McLeary of Pendleton, Ind., when he came back from a train strafe the other day. How he figured getting 300 soldiers is explained in the following. "As we went about our business of knocking out the locomotives, the soldiers were streaming out of the cars, but they were really dumb, what I mean. Instead of streaking it for the trees they just flooped flat in the open field. We wrecked the locomotive and then went back to work on the soldiers. "We made three sweeping passes at them and only a few got up again to run for real shelter. That's what I say. We got two locomotives, a troop train and three hundred soldiers, believe me," closed Capt. McLeary. We'll believe anything about the Loco Group. A special thanks goes to Maj. Jack Ilfrey for sending me a copy of this article and to Capt. Art Heiden for his efforts in getting me the one page that was missing. |
Unless otherwise noted, all content © copyright The Art of Syd Edwards 1998-1999. All rights reserved and reproduction is prohibited.
