Background
The Luftwaffe Fighter Control in Deelen, The Netherlands scrambled up to 4 fighter wings (JG 1, JG 3, JG 11, and JG 25) on 18 October 1943 in response to reports of heavy bombers over the North Sea. Unbeknownst to the Germans at this time, the objective of the B-24 bomber formation was to draw up and occupy the German fighters so that they could not attack the B-17's headed to bomb Duren. Many of the fighters were unable to find the formation, however at least three or four of the Bf-109's from JG 3 made contact with the bomber stream. The B-24's of the 93rd Bomb Group reported that they engaged a few of the Bf-109's and FW-190's, but did not claim any aerial victories.
Jagdgeschwader 1
JG 1 was the fighter wing of the famed Red Barron of WWI. At this time of the second world war, they were based in Deelen, The Netherlands. The wing flew the Focke-Wulf 190, one of the best single engine fighters of the war. Two fighters were reported lost that day, one due to combat, and one due to an engine failure on the return flight (picture shown below).
Lt. Rudolf Piffer
|
Aircraft: Fw 190 A-5 WNr 410037 Pilot: Uknown Status: Shot down, pilot unhurt
Aircraft: Fw 190 A-6 WNr 530720 Pilot: R. Piffer Status: Crash landing due to engine failure, pilot wounded
Aircraft: Fw 190 A-6 WNr 530720 Pilot: R. Piffer Status: Crash landing due to engine failure, pilot wounded
Jagdgeschwader 3
October 18th would prove to be a disastrous day for JG 3. In the fall of 1943, the fighter wing was based out of Schiphol Airfield in the Netherlands. The 2nd fighter group, made up of squadrons (Staffel) 4, 5, and 6 were scrambled to intercept the bombers. Sixteen Bf-109's took off from the airfield, which was already starting to be become enveloped by fog. A portion of the fighters of JG 3 reported that after a long search over the North Sea, they were unable to make contact with the bomber formation. However, in a letter written by JG 3 pilot Robert Roller to the family of his wingman Rudolf Schroder, he indicates that he along with Rudolf, and their Squadron commander Paul Stolte, attacked a straggling B-24 (almost certainly Shoot Luke). Roller goes on to write that after their second attack, they were recalled by fighter control and the bomber descended into a layer of clouds. Roller's summary of the action matches almost exactly the reports of the 93rd Bomb Group crews during post-mission interrogation.
The issues for JG 3 continued on the way home. With fuel already running low, they were given the news that finding Schiphol would be impossible, as it was completely socked in by fog. As a result, JG 3 squadron commanders gave the order to spread out to avoid collision and attempt crash landings through the fog. As a result, all 16 aircraft were damaged (many never to fly again) and 4 pilots were killed, including Robert Roller's flight leader Paul Stolte and his wingman Rudolf Schroder.
The issues for JG 3 continued on the way home. With fuel already running low, they were given the news that finding Schiphol would be impossible, as it was completely socked in by fog. As a result, JG 3 squadron commanders gave the order to spread out to avoid collision and attempt crash landings through the fog. As a result, all 16 aircraft were damaged (many never to fly again) and 4 pilots were killed, including Robert Roller's flight leader Paul Stolte and his wingman Rudolf Schroder.
Ofw. Werner Kloss is pictured atop Bf 109 G-6 W.Nr. 18 802 "Schwarze 1" of Lt Joachim Kirschner, Staffelkapitän 5./JG 3, Amsterdam-Schipol, Autumn 1943. Kloss crashed into IJsselmeer (IJseel Lake) on 18 October 1943 and his body was later found by fishermen on 29 June 1944. The aircraft on which Kloss sits (flown by Hptm. H. Sannemann on 18 Oct 43) was one of 16 of JG 3 sent to intercept the formation of bombers of the 93rd Bomb Group over the North Sea. This aircraft was severely damaged due to the crash landing in Schokland, Netherlands, and never flew again. Sannemann was wounded, but survived. |
Locations of 17 Crash Landings of JG 1 and JG 3 Fighters
|
First Hand Account from a JG 3 Pilot
Gerhard Thyben was a pilot of 6./JG 3 and flew with the group to intercept the B-24 formation on 18 Oct 1943. He would survive the war and claim 157 victories. His recount of the day was published in Battles with the Luftwaffe by Theo Boiten and Martin Bowen, and is copied below.
Gerhard Thyben of JG 3 (Picture taken in December 1944)
One morning, on 18 October 1943, a thin layer of low cloud began to form over Schiphol when suddenly all three Staffel, including the staff flight, in other words, the entire Gruppe were ordered to take off. The last ones only just managed to get off the ground and the assembly became a problem because of the increasing fog. Well, with some difficulty we managed to line up and the fighter controller in Deelen (beneath more than a meter of reinforced concrete) directed us ‘most strategically’ northward over the good old North Sea towards a supposedly plotted US bomber formation of B-24 Liberators, which in spite of a long search we never found.
Time passed and our tanks got emptier. Auxiliary tanks (drop-shaped below the fuselage) had long been requested but had not yet turned up. Having achieved nothing, we were soon forced to turn back towards the coast and the picture which presented itself to us there was anything but encouraging. All of Holland, Belgium and northern Germany were covered in a continuous sheet of low cloud. As we crossed the coast according to our calculated timing, the red lamp (fuel warning: maximum remaining fuel for 20 minutes) had come on in almost all the aircraft. That can turn out to be fun, and it did, too.
Penetrating this fog in formation would be catastrophic. So the Staffelcommanders decided to give the pilots a free hand in the means of finding their way back to mother earth or as a last consequence, to use their parachutes.
What then occurred bordered onto despair, for no one was inclined to abandon his aircraft and bail out by parachute. As already remarked, some 10 minutes of the red light and no sign of mother earth! So, throttle closed and a first attempt to penetrate the clouds. Instrument flight down to zero on the altimeter. I had a horrid feeling in the pit of my stomach. I would have preferred the worst of dogfights!
Ease open the throttle again and up out of the murky fog. Then again in an other place where the clouds were a little lower, down in another attempt to get sight of the ground. Again at altimeter indication zero, up and close to despair, a final attempt. Now I was determined: either down to ground contact (including the possibility of a crash) or up again and the undesired bailing out by parachute.
The altimeter was already just below zero – when suddenly a cow rushed past my port wing. I was through – fog ceiling between 10 and 15 m! To my left a hill with houses, of which only the lowest were visible. Everything else completely flat. My engine was still running and with sight of the ground my normal attitude to life returned. White dots were visible on the completely flat plain. I assumed them to he stones and thought the ground would be firm. That was my mistake. I wanted to land my aircraft without damage and extended the undercarriage. To be on the safe side I landed not far from the houses.
It turned out to be a landing like on raw eggs. I thought to have saved my aircraft, when suddenly the undercarriage collapsed and the 109 made an elegant somersault, at which the fuselage broke off, just behind the cockpit. Complete silence around me. There I was, upside down and hanging in my straps. First thought: does it or doesn’t it catch fire. It didn’t, and that is why I can now write this account.
After about 20 minutes there was a knock on the cockpit window and I was asked how I was, to which I replied that I had fared better. They were two soldiers from the Wehrmacht air signals unit on the island of Urk. A doctor [Andriessen; HH] followed them who asked in the North German dialect if I was wounded.
“No. I am not, but get me down from here,” I replied in like jargon. The Me 109 weighs three or four tons and help was required to move this weight. After an hour enough help had collected and I was dragged out into the fresh air. The assumed stones turned out to be mussels from the shallows around Urk. Mussels lie on soft ground. A belly landing would have been much more elegant.
Followed by spectators, the Wehrmacht signalers took me to their quarters and Amsterdam-Schiphol was informed. In the evening, some sweet Urk maidens consoled me about my misfortune. A Boeing B-17 lay in the shallows. We inspected the big airship and I made comparisons between the armament of the American bomber and that of our Ju 88 or He 111. That made me thoughtful. How were we to confront the like in the long run? And that was only the beginning…
The following day a Fieseler Storch of the fighter Gruppe at Schiphol picked me up. We flew to Groningen where a comrade who had not fared so well lay in hospital. Result of the grandiose effort for my Staffel: three total losses, two wounded and only one pilot had landed by pure chance on an airfield. And all that without contact with the enemy. A total success for the other side!
Time passed and our tanks got emptier. Auxiliary tanks (drop-shaped below the fuselage) had long been requested but had not yet turned up. Having achieved nothing, we were soon forced to turn back towards the coast and the picture which presented itself to us there was anything but encouraging. All of Holland, Belgium and northern Germany were covered in a continuous sheet of low cloud. As we crossed the coast according to our calculated timing, the red lamp (fuel warning: maximum remaining fuel for 20 minutes) had come on in almost all the aircraft. That can turn out to be fun, and it did, too.
Penetrating this fog in formation would be catastrophic. So the Staffelcommanders decided to give the pilots a free hand in the means of finding their way back to mother earth or as a last consequence, to use their parachutes.
What then occurred bordered onto despair, for no one was inclined to abandon his aircraft and bail out by parachute. As already remarked, some 10 minutes of the red light and no sign of mother earth! So, throttle closed and a first attempt to penetrate the clouds. Instrument flight down to zero on the altimeter. I had a horrid feeling in the pit of my stomach. I would have preferred the worst of dogfights!
Ease open the throttle again and up out of the murky fog. Then again in an other place where the clouds were a little lower, down in another attempt to get sight of the ground. Again at altimeter indication zero, up and close to despair, a final attempt. Now I was determined: either down to ground contact (including the possibility of a crash) or up again and the undesired bailing out by parachute.
The altimeter was already just below zero – when suddenly a cow rushed past my port wing. I was through – fog ceiling between 10 and 15 m! To my left a hill with houses, of which only the lowest were visible. Everything else completely flat. My engine was still running and with sight of the ground my normal attitude to life returned. White dots were visible on the completely flat plain. I assumed them to he stones and thought the ground would be firm. That was my mistake. I wanted to land my aircraft without damage and extended the undercarriage. To be on the safe side I landed not far from the houses.
It turned out to be a landing like on raw eggs. I thought to have saved my aircraft, when suddenly the undercarriage collapsed and the 109 made an elegant somersault, at which the fuselage broke off, just behind the cockpit. Complete silence around me. There I was, upside down and hanging in my straps. First thought: does it or doesn’t it catch fire. It didn’t, and that is why I can now write this account.
After about 20 minutes there was a knock on the cockpit window and I was asked how I was, to which I replied that I had fared better. They were two soldiers from the Wehrmacht air signals unit on the island of Urk. A doctor [Andriessen; HH] followed them who asked in the North German dialect if I was wounded.
“No. I am not, but get me down from here,” I replied in like jargon. The Me 109 weighs three or four tons and help was required to move this weight. After an hour enough help had collected and I was dragged out into the fresh air. The assumed stones turned out to be mussels from the shallows around Urk. Mussels lie on soft ground. A belly landing would have been much more elegant.
Followed by spectators, the Wehrmacht signalers took me to their quarters and Amsterdam-Schiphol was informed. In the evening, some sweet Urk maidens consoled me about my misfortune. A Boeing B-17 lay in the shallows. We inspected the big airship and I made comparisons between the armament of the American bomber and that of our Ju 88 or He 111. That made me thoughtful. How were we to confront the like in the long run? And that was only the beginning…
The following day a Fieseler Storch of the fighter Gruppe at Schiphol picked me up. We flew to Groningen where a comrade who had not fared so well lay in hospital. Result of the grandiose effort for my Staffel: three total losses, two wounded and only one pilot had landed by pure chance on an airfield. And all that without contact with the enemy. A total success for the other side!
Local Police Reports from Dutch Authorities
Two police reports regarding the crash landings, one from Schokland and one from Urk, are shown below. English translations are directly beneath each image.
Report from Schokland - 4 Crash Landings
Here I have the honor to report the following.
After I had learned on the 18th of October 1943 that in the vicinity of the former island Schokland, in the public body the Northeast Polder, 4 aircraft had made an emergency landing, I immediately went to the scene and started an investigation. Upon investigation, it appeared to me that the aircraft had landed at about 2 pm and at the time all German fighter planes were involved. Personal accidents did not occur. The aircraft were immediately placed under guard by the detachment staff and by a few workers from the Schokland labor camp, who had been appointed for this purpose by order of Mr. Ortscommandant in Zwolle. At around midnight the surveillance was taken over by members of the German army. The necessary notifications have been made. Guardian, H. Bick |
Report from Urk - Gerhard Thyben's crash landing.
On the eighteenth October, 1943, around 1.45 pm, I found myself, Johannes Faber, Supreme Guard, living in Urk and belonging to the group mentioned, by bicycle for surveillance on the clear road the Harbor, within the municipality of Urk, then I learned that a German military fighter, east of Urk, had crashed into the Public Body "The Northeast Polder?".
Immediately afterwards I entered the aforementioned polder a distance of about 2 K.M. from Urk, I saw, in the above-mentioned polder a German hunter, who had been beaten upside down. As I came to the scene, already there was the Commander of the German Air Force with two soldiers at the place and the Head of the Air Protection Board in Urk. When I arrived at the plane, it appeared to me that the pilot of the plane was still on the plane and still alive. By breaking the window of the cabin and sawing off the connecting piece, the driver of the plane, who later proved to be the only occupant, succeeded in freeing himself from the plane. In the meantime Dr Andriessen from Urk had also arrived on the spot, but his help turned out to be unnecessary, since the driver referred to was completely unharmed. The Commander of the German Air Force immediately placed soldiers for the surveillance of the aircraft. The driver has lifted himself to Urk with the Commander of the German Air Force. During the emergency landing, the aircraft was presumably overrun, as a result of which the tail of the aircraft was broken. On the hunter there was the number 11 in yellow. The people who had gathered around the plane in the polder, I removed from the polder. No abnormalities have occurred in this. By the Lord of Urk, the official secretary in Urk, reports were sent as representative of the Landdrost. I am told by the reporter that I was on the spot at about 2.25 pm and the driver was released around 2.45 pm. Of which, by me, Supreme Guardian, this report was made in Urk, on October 18, 1943. |
Eyewitness Report
Adriaan Vermuë was a laborer working the local fields in Noordoostpolder on Monday the 18th of October. He describes what he saw in a letter dated 24 October 1943. Some of the translation is below.
"Last Monday 5 German hunters have landed in the polder, I don't know the reason. People said that it is sabbotage of those pilots, but you do not hear the truth. The first one touched the ground about 300 m from me, so pretty close, at least I was shocked. First he released his landing gear, a little bit in front of me and then he flew low overhead and 300 m further the landing gear hit the ground. He immediately turned over, but did not catch fire. I just left my horses and I walked over there. I was just about the first one. The pilot was stuck in his plane and we pulled him out with about 5 people, with seats and all. There was nothing wrong with him, only he had a color like a pumpkin. He was the commander, still a boy of 21 years old. The others meanwhile also had landed with the landing gear up and that went better, they slid nicely over the ground, on the belly of the plane. All close by."
Source: https://www.flevolanderfgoed.nl/home/erfgoed/noordoostpolder-2/vliegtuigwrakken-3/messerschmitt-bf-109g-5-18802.html
"Last Monday 5 German hunters have landed in the polder, I don't know the reason. People said that it is sabbotage of those pilots, but you do not hear the truth. The first one touched the ground about 300 m from me, so pretty close, at least I was shocked. First he released his landing gear, a little bit in front of me and then he flew low overhead and 300 m further the landing gear hit the ground. He immediately turned over, but did not catch fire. I just left my horses and I walked over there. I was just about the first one. The pilot was stuck in his plane and we pulled him out with about 5 people, with seats and all. There was nothing wrong with him, only he had a color like a pumpkin. He was the commander, still a boy of 21 years old. The others meanwhile also had landed with the landing gear up and that went better, they slid nicely over the ground, on the belly of the plane. All close by."
Source: https://www.flevolanderfgoed.nl/home/erfgoed/noordoostpolder-2/vliegtuigwrakken-3/messerschmitt-bf-109g-5-18802.html
Fw. Uwe Micheels
The following is a letter that Fw. Micheels wrote to his girlfriend, Ilse Haerter, on the 11th of October, only 1 week before he would be killed in a crash landing on the 18th. He was 21 years young.
You know, every time we take off on a combat mission, it is with mixed feelings, because it never turns out to be a pleasure trip. It is so depressing when one realizes that our “comrades from the other side” are far superior to oneself, and to know that when one engages the Viermots (four motors), sooner or later one gets shot down. During the only short period we’ve been here, our Staffel (squadron) has already lost two pilots killed and two wounded. One had a hand shot clean off and from the other he lost a couple of fingers. The second injured pilot lost an eye. So, our Staffel, nominally on strength with 12 planes, has only four or five serviceable kites left. In the beginning, the Gruppe operated with 30 to 35 machines. Nowadays, only 10 to 15 can be scrambled at any one time.
On the other hand, we have gained fame here on the Channel coast. Not a single Gruppe has chalked up such great combat results in this theatre, and such a thing simply is impossible without incurring losses. All this results in our frame of mind being that of a lost bunch. We call ourselves “Last Knights” and indeed, it is a great thing to see how everyone gets at our adversary and fires doggedly. I do admire my “Chief”, who has already been shot down twice here, who almost always gets back to base with his machine shot up and still rushes in and, with his thick Westphalian skull, approaches his adversary to point blank range to make sure of the kill. One can only say, “Hats off”. I am always satisfied with the hits I register and then make it back home. I must add that there is no choice but to get at them regardless of own losses, in an effort to prevent them from wreaking more destruction than they already do. One feels so impotent and can only watch powerless when facing such an opponent. In Russia, we would have completely destroyed any formation. Over here, any formation destroys us. How can you win! Sometimes, I fly as Schwarm (Flight) leader. That usually is the task of a very experienced pilot, but one has to have this first. I am responsible for the safety of three men, who I lead into combat behind me. How could I ever do that? A hundred or more enemy aircraft in the sky (I am not exaggerating) and I should cover my 4th man’s tail? Only the other day, my wingman got shot down. You know, the most sacred commitment for a flight leader is the one to his wingman. I am hanging in the middle of a Pulk with my men behind me, enemy fighters appear, I look around and see my wingman, but no angry enemy. When I Finally believe to have got away reasonably unscathed, my wingman is gone. I assume he has fled from the scene one way or the other, but when I touch down at base some time later, he is missing. Only that night, whilst I have been reproaching myself severely, one reports that he is in hospital in Aachen. The poor fellow’s eye has been removed. Things like that easily get on one’s nerves.
Tonight, we celebrate “Daddy’s” birthday. “Daddy” is our boss. (My remarks: He refers to Hptm. Paul Stolte who would also die on the same day as Uwe Micheels on 18 October 1943.) There’s only five of us pilots left now. Didn’t we have a great time in the early days in Russia when there were still 16 of us. When I think of it, I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I never write such letters, but I have to get these thoughts off my chest and you are the only one I can confide in. Here, we don’t discuss such things. The boss only talks about it in ruthless jokes, obviously trying to suppress his weaker side and his compassion. Still, he can’t hide the fact that it has made a deep impression on him too, today he turned 27, but looks 37. It is a privilege to meet such men, who make one keen to get on with the job and who one admires.
But isn’t being a fighter pilot a great thing! Speedily dashing through the skies and then plunging into the action. My dear, it makes one’s heart shout with joy! Sometimes, it also trembles, but only occasionally. Do you know the saying: “Enjoy the war, because the coming Peace will be dreadfull!” Every day, we repeat this with a sadistic pleasure. The boss is very good at it, which helps him to keep his bunch of men together as best he can.
On the other hand, we have gained fame here on the Channel coast. Not a single Gruppe has chalked up such great combat results in this theatre, and such a thing simply is impossible without incurring losses. All this results in our frame of mind being that of a lost bunch. We call ourselves “Last Knights” and indeed, it is a great thing to see how everyone gets at our adversary and fires doggedly. I do admire my “Chief”, who has already been shot down twice here, who almost always gets back to base with his machine shot up and still rushes in and, with his thick Westphalian skull, approaches his adversary to point blank range to make sure of the kill. One can only say, “Hats off”. I am always satisfied with the hits I register and then make it back home. I must add that there is no choice but to get at them regardless of own losses, in an effort to prevent them from wreaking more destruction than they already do. One feels so impotent and can only watch powerless when facing such an opponent. In Russia, we would have completely destroyed any formation. Over here, any formation destroys us. How can you win! Sometimes, I fly as Schwarm (Flight) leader. That usually is the task of a very experienced pilot, but one has to have this first. I am responsible for the safety of three men, who I lead into combat behind me. How could I ever do that? A hundred or more enemy aircraft in the sky (I am not exaggerating) and I should cover my 4th man’s tail? Only the other day, my wingman got shot down. You know, the most sacred commitment for a flight leader is the one to his wingman. I am hanging in the middle of a Pulk with my men behind me, enemy fighters appear, I look around and see my wingman, but no angry enemy. When I Finally believe to have got away reasonably unscathed, my wingman is gone. I assume he has fled from the scene one way or the other, but when I touch down at base some time later, he is missing. Only that night, whilst I have been reproaching myself severely, one reports that he is in hospital in Aachen. The poor fellow’s eye has been removed. Things like that easily get on one’s nerves.
Tonight, we celebrate “Daddy’s” birthday. “Daddy” is our boss. (My remarks: He refers to Hptm. Paul Stolte who would also die on the same day as Uwe Micheels on 18 October 1943.) There’s only five of us pilots left now. Didn’t we have a great time in the early days in Russia when there were still 16 of us. When I think of it, I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I never write such letters, but I have to get these thoughts off my chest and you are the only one I can confide in. Here, we don’t discuss such things. The boss only talks about it in ruthless jokes, obviously trying to suppress his weaker side and his compassion. Still, he can’t hide the fact that it has made a deep impression on him too, today he turned 27, but looks 37. It is a privilege to meet such men, who make one keen to get on with the job and who one admires.
But isn’t being a fighter pilot a great thing! Speedily dashing through the skies and then plunging into the action. My dear, it makes one’s heart shout with joy! Sometimes, it also trembles, but only occasionally. Do you know the saying: “Enjoy the war, because the coming Peace will be dreadfull!” Every day, we repeat this with a sadistic pleasure. The boss is very good at it, which helps him to keep his bunch of men together as best he can.