Art Alexander: P-51s over Nazi Germany

ART ALEXANDER: P-51's OVER GERMANY

Copyrighted by Emerson Thomas McMullen

Concludes with a Postscript on Steeple Morden

(About four double-spaced pages long)

Introduction

Arthur K. "Art" Alexander is my step-father. He flew P-51's in WWII and ended up as a prisoner of war when his engine caught fire over Germany. After the war he stayed in the service, and retired after twenty years, having flown a variety of planes from the PBY to the B-47. He moved around on the West Coast, eventually settling in the San Diego area. He doesn't talk much about his war-time experiences and so what is here is sketchy and incomplete.

Background

After three years of high school in Los Angeles, Art moved to Portland and graduated there. He went back to his home state of Hawaii where family members decided that he should attend Tri-State University in Angola, Indiana (approximately forty-five miles north of Fort Wayne). The cold there did not agree with his Hawaiian upbringing, so he decided to go to the University of New Mexico where a high school buddy, Roy Meyers, was attending. Jack Bell, another high school buddy, had gone up to Winnipeg, Canada and called for his car. They both drove it up to him and then joined the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) in about March 1941. Roy was eighteen; Art was twenty.

Art's Training Class had Polish, Canadian, Australian, and twelve American student pilots out of a total of thirty to forty. They trained on the Tiger Moth airplane and then the T-6 Texan (called the Harvard there). He could have gone to England with the RCAF to fly Hurricanes, but after graduation in April 1942, he waited for a United States team in Canada to come around to recruit him - the U.S. was in the war now.

When the team arrived, Art was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Army Air Corps and reported to Sacramento, California. There he became a Flying Instructor at Merced, primarily using the BT-13. He applied to fly B-17's, but he weighed only 145 pounds. The service wanted him to be 150 pounds for the Flying Fortress, so he opted for fighters. He went to Gila Bend, Arizona for aerial gunnery in a T-6 against towed targets using colored ammo. Then it was on to Tallahassee, Florida for ground school. It was hot and sticky, but he was there for only two weeks.

Art was then sent to Venice, Florida for P-40 training. He had 2000 hours of flight time by then, so he only needed eight hours in the P-40 to get checked out. (The ordinary Second Lieutenant had 300 hours and needed twenty-six to thirty hours in the P-40.) From there he went to Camp Kilmer, New Jersey for more ground school, and then straight into the P-51A (the type with the bird cage cockpit), for two flights.

Over There

Art went overseas to Steeple Morden, England (sixty miles north of London). He was assigned to the The Steeple Morden Strafers, the 358th Squadron, 355th Fighter Group, 8th Air Force. He flew five flights in the local area as wingman for William J. "Billy" Hovde (who would be Squadron Commander in 1945). After that Art fought the war. He flew a total of twenty-five missions (200 hours the maximum). Among other things, he saw contrail of a V-1.

On one seven-hour mission escorting bombers, Hovde shot down 5 1/2 planes over Berlin. (The German fighters had come up in gaggles.) Art was his wingman and received credit for the other 1/2, a Focke Wulfe (FW). This was on the 5th of December 1941. They had ended up together because Hovde's wingman had aborted and Art's had crashed - he only had a few hours in the plane and did not compensate enough for the torque. (You have to use the left rudder all the way - the P-51 won't fly itself; it is very sensitive to fly.) Hovde and Art had enough experience that they flew very well as a team. At one point during the swirling dog fight, Art was in a better position, so he took the lead and Hovde became his wingman. The following is Hovde's account of this same action from Fighters of the Mighty Eighth by W.H. Hess and T.G. Ivies:

Maj. William Hovde, who was leading A Group of the 355th, ran into another of the green and inexperienced Luftwaffe units. Hovde took his group to the target and then to the north of Berlin to investigate the area. At about 1055 a gaggle of more than fifty German fighters was reported and the Mustangs dropped their tanks and headed for the fray. Hovde stated: "I swung in from five o'clock and 1,000 feet above to make an attack from six o'clock. Upon closing I called them all in as Focke Wulfs and to a coordinated attack line abreast. These Jerries were carrying belly tanks and it wasn't until they were dispersed or shot down that they dropped the tanks. All appeared to be flying heads up and sound asleep.

"I attacked the Hun on the right rear of the gaggle and scored hits immediately. The ship went down in flames.

"Lt. Alexander, my wingman, called and said he had me covered and to take my time. I slid over to the left and picked out another. This one was well hit around the cockpit and wing roots. Either out of control or taking evasive action he did a wild chandelle to the left and collided with another FW 190. Both went down but I observed only one chute.

"Lt. Alexander called in to watch one back at four o'clock. He and I both did a tight 360 degree turn to port with Lt. Alexander being out in front. I called and told him to take the Jerry as I had him covered. I saw strikes on the Hun as Alexander slid by him. Lt. Alexander called for me to finish him and as I had a good shot blew him up.

"Still flying Lt. Alexander's wing we jumped 'another FW. lie got this one and I turned to get a 109 attacking Lt. Alexander. Hun half rolled down and I followed. I scored hits behind the cockpit and my tracers cut across his nose as he pulled the lead through. His courage or lack of it predominated and he bailed. The altitude was 12,000 feet and as I swung around I counted five parachutes; all brown ones.

"As I was out of ammunition, low on gas and generator out, I headed home. The Hun formation was very concentrated with no semblance of formation. Their front was of seven ships abreast and about six ships back in a horizontal plane. In depth it varied from two to three ships. The enemy was very herd-bound, and even after prolonged attacks did not break formation. I believe only the leader had a radio as evidently no alarm was given. It is my firm conviction that not one of this gaggle ever got to the bombers."

On 13 December 1944 a coolant line broke while Art was looking for targets of opportunity over Germany. His plane caught fire and went down. He bailed out somewhere north of Munster.

The Germans heard Art's plane go in. Before he could take any evasive action, the militia arrived and took him to a farmhouse. Two Luftwaffe Officers were sent out to get him. He found out much later that one was ordered to shoot him, but the other talked him out of it. Together they inspected the crash site, which was just a hole in the ground. All that was recognizable was the battery. They escorted him to a German airfield, where he met the Commandant, a Major who spoke good English. An NCO pilot bragged to him "for you the war is over!" He had 3 1/2 German planes to his credit.

Because the civilians were so nasty, there were two guards to protect him on the train ride to Frankfort for interrogation. He was put in a cell with one small window, cot with straw, and a burlap cover for a mattress. Art gave his name, rank, and serial number, but they knew a lot more about him. They had a folder containing his training, and his Squadron with every name correct except for the intelligence officer, who was newly arrived. (There were about twenty pilots in the squadron, sixty in the group.) After three or four interrogations, they sent him to Stalag Luft One, with a short stop at an intermediate camp where he received toilet articles, got a shower, etc. He arrived in late December at Stalag Luft One, just after Christmas. The prisoners had made jungle juice to celebrate the holidays. There was a chain of command, with barracks and room leaders. They had good morale, but there were also some who didn't get along or adjust well.

Suddenly one day in late April 1945, the guards were gone. The Russians liberated their camp. Colonel Hubert A. "Hub" Zemke was Camp Commander; he said "no" to riding a train out through Russia. Instead they waited to be flown out and eventually left by U.S. planes from a nearby airfield. Somehow, Zemke worked it all out, even though (or because) he was drinking with the Russians. At Lahavre, France, Art got into uniform again and took a Navy transport to the U.S., arriving back at Camp Kilmer. He took a train across the U.S. to Los Angeles and went on thirty to sixty days leave. He was in Hollywood on VJ Day, and had been getting his flying pay at Burbank Airport. For him the war was finally over.

The airfield at Steeple Morden, England is gone, but there is a memorial, shown with my brother on the right. It is the same design as the one at the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum, Savannah, Georgia.

Postscript on Steeple Morden

THE ENEMY DROPS IN

Peter Boggis

(Taken from A Village Airfield At War RAF Steeple Morden 1939 1943 by Ken Wells)

In 1992 I was sent a photograph of myself sitting in the cockpit of a German Ju88 which landed at an airfield from which I was flying one night in February 1941. I don't recall this picture being taken, but the background to it might be of interest as not many enemy aircraft landed at the RAF airfields during the war: the only other one I heard of did so in daylight, but discovering his mistake promptly took off again.

I was giving dual to a pupil this night on a Wellington aircraft at an airfield called Steeple Morden, a satellite of RAF Bassingbourn near Cambridge, and had just stopped at the marshalling point prior to entering the runway for take-off. Suddenly all the airfield lighting went out, indicating enemy aircraft in the vicinity.

Sitting in an aircraft beside the runway with a possible German intruder nearby was not the healthiest of situations. We had had the odd night attack on this airfield before and on two of these I had been at or near the same spot when they occurred: on the first occasion a stick of bombs was dropped across the runway and the blast caused my aircraft to jump through some ninety degrees. The second incident happened when I was waiting for an aircraft to land before entering the runway to take off. He was on his final approach when there was a burst of tracer in the sky and I watched in horror as the aircraft came down in flames and crashed about a mile short of the runway. Miraculously the two pilots, both pupils on their first night solo, escaped uninjured and appeared at the Control Tower later having walked back across the fields much to everyones' relief.

We did not have long to wait this time: Very pistol challenges from the ground, replies from the air, tracer firing, all seemed to happen at the same time. What on earth was going on? Then the pyrotechnic display abruptly ceased and a few moments later I saw an aircraft in the moonlight landing across the runway and immediately there was a lot of vehicular activity heading towards the aircraft as it came to a halt.

I was just a spectator to all this but an excellent account of this drama is given in a book called A Village Airfield At War by Ken Wells and published by Egon Publishers Ltd. of Baldock, Herts, who have kindly given me permission to reproduce here the photographs and extracts from the book, which I think makes interesting reading.

"On 16 February 1941 at approximately 4.25 am, Flight Lieutenant Bill Craigen, received a phone call from Bassingbourn to say that an unidentified aircraft had entered the zone, and appeared to be heading for Steeple Morden, and a Hurricane night fighter was being vectored to intercept it. The message was passed to the Armadillo to keep an eye out for the suspected enemy aircraft. All of a sudden the air raid siren sounded and all the airfield lights were extinguished. The unidentified aircraft appeared in the circuit. When challenged with the colours of the day, a double red Very light, the Hurricane following it replied correctly. The now identified German aircraft tried to escape by firing off two single red flares very quickly. The Armadillo crew, realizing by now it was a German Ju88, fired off a couple of rounds from their twin Lewis machine-guns, missing the Ju88 but hitting a parked Wellington in the tail. The order was then given to cease fire, and the German aircraft was given a green signal with an Aldis lamp denoting permission to land. The Ju88 continued to circle, putting on its navigation lights, then came in to land. As it touched down one wheel dropped into a deep trench left by some workmen. The Ju88 damaged its undercarriage and a propeller as it slewed across the grass before coming to rest.

Flight Lieutenant Bill Craigen, seeing the German aircraft landing, raced across the airfield in his car and clambered onto the wing. He covered the crew with a Browning automatic as they climbed out. Moments later the Armadillo and the crash tender arrived. Before being taken away, the pilot asked if he could look over his aircraft. Walking to the rear he swore very loudly in German, as he realised the damage to the tail, which was causing the Ju88 to judder, was minor, and that they< could have made it back home after all. With the prisoners safely on their way, Flight Lieutenant Craigen telephoned Bassingbourn operations room to report the incident. The Senior Duty Operations Officers reply was, Craigen, its very late and this is no time of the morning to be playing silly jokes and get on with the night flying. His face was a picture when the prisoners arrived.

Soon people were swarming all over the Ju88, some looking for a souvenir. Later, Geoff Whittle (who was left to guard the aeroplane with his mate) decided to get inside for a look around. Suddenly they heard a loud ticking sound. Thinking it was a time bomb, they jumped down and ran for cover, but after a while realized that the ticking was coming from the engines which were still cooling down.

The damage to the Ju88s undercarriage and starboard engine was such that it was of little use, so it was dismantled and taken to Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough for investigation of its equipment. Subsequently it was used as spares to keep other Ju88s flying with the RAFs Enemy Aircraft Flight.

On the 25th February 1941 a signal was received from the AOC-in-C Bomber Command which read, Please convey my congratulations to the Officer Commanding No 11 OTU and all concerned for the smart bit of work on the night of 15/16 February 1941, when the crew of a Ju88 were taken prisoner at Steeple Morden."

I was in the area in the late 70s and took the opportunity to visit Steeple Morden, but it was difficult to find any trace of the airfield which had long reverted to agriculture. I enquired at the village garage and was surprised to find the owner was the special constable on duty when the German aircraft landed subsequently revealed as John Savage in the book and we had an interesting chat.

I heard recently that the German pilot and his wife had also visited the village but I never found out whom he met or what he had to say. Maybe Part 2 of this book title, now in preparation, will give more information.