Downed Airman and The Maquis
by Mike Ruta
Gunner, 568th Squadron

I was shot down on 8 June 1944. Our assigned target was the German airport at Tours, France. The weather was very foul. After takeoff we could not see our wing tips at 50 feet. We had to climb to over 30,000 feet to break clear of the weather, upon doing so we were all alone. The pilot, Lt. Ed Sechrist, flew around for a time, all to no avail; the rest of the group was nowhere in sight.

We had exhausted much fuel in climbing to that altitude. At this point the pilot asked the navigator for a fix. The navigator, Lt. V. Turmenne reported our position, safe to let down. We saw a hole in the clouds. Ed the pilot let down to under the solid cloud formation to 2,200 feet. Upon doing so we were directly over the huge German airfield in northern France. They had us. Upon breaking clear they opened up with everything they had. They hit our 2 left engines and the pilot could not feather the props. Also a fire was licking its way along the wing to the mostly empty fuel tanks (100 octane vapors).

The pilot opened the bomb bay doors and pushed the ABANDON SHIP ALARM BUTTON. Upon hearing the alarm I pulled the emergency release handle for the rear door. The right waist gunner, Henry Ford, Jr., jumped. I was in position to jump, but before doing so glanced to my right and saw the tail gunner sitting down, feet dangling clear of his open hatch. I then jumped. I think that I assumed that the tail gunner, S/Sgt. David Helps, Golden, Colorado also jumped.

A short time after I jumped the Fort blew up! I have since learned that David Helps is listed as KIA.

I caught a piece of flak before clearing the Fort (left hand). I hit real hard upon landing, could not control my chute and was dragged along the ground. A sudden gust of wind flipped me backward on my head, back and right shoulder and I hit hard. I was bleeding from my hand, eyes and nose. I retained enough sense to realize I had to hide. I finally gathered my chute, started walking, came upon a path and followed it. It took me along and down the side of a crater. I spied a dark hole thru the vines, came upon a dugout section on the side of the crater and went in. I stayed inside for 4 days. I existed through the contents of the survival kits issued to the flight crews before each flight — concentrated malted milk tablets, Benzedrine tablets, water purification tablets, plastic water bag, etc.

Meantime the German troops were looking for me. I could hear them overhead and occasionally caught sight of some of them, looking over the edge of the crater.

After 4 days of this I came out of my hole, back to the top, and started walking. I was disoriented and frankly at this point I think I was ready to turn myself in! It was at this point that I heard chopping in the near distance. I approached the sounds, observed 4 Frenchmen chopping down trees and then cutting them into short sections. I learned later that wood was converted into charcoal which in turn was used to feed a converter, mounted atop the cab of their vehicles, heating a small boiler, producing steam to propel their vehicles (at very slow speed).

I approached this group very cautiously my hand near my .45 caliber automatic. They in turn were not very trustful of me. Through the aid of the language card (issued before flight) I made my predicament known to them. They in turn took me over to the dense brush to hide and wait. I observed a member of the group separate himself and walk rapidly away. About 1 hour later I heard the sounds of an approaching horse and buggy. It stopped nearby, I came out, walked to him. He then questioned me thoroughly. He spoke English very well. After awhile I was told to lie on the buggy floor, covered with a blanket. We proceeded along a dirt road. Along the way I spied wheat and rye fields. Shortly after I saw a small town. As we approached the town I saw a sentry post. We stopped, the driver showed proper credentials, and we were allowed to pass. (The driver was the head Maquis leader of the entire area, Mr. Lucien Ravel.)

We approached the first iron gate, it swung open, we proceeded to the barn. I was told to climb to the hay loft. Shortly after they came for me, I went into the house where their doctor (I think) stitched my left hand and attended to my head, shoulder and back injuries. To lessen the pain I was given some of their local liquor (later learned it was called calvados, about 150 proof aged in green walnut). They introduced me all around. I was embraced by all and made to feel welcomed.

 I was fed lamb chops, white bread, some fruit and drank their home made apple cider. After all of this I felt no pain. The next morning I was given French clothing, false identity papers and work permit (photo was taken in nearby woods using green blanket as a backdrop). I was now an active member of their organization.

Some nights we went to nearby fields awaiting drops by the British. Parachuted canisters containing explosives, mills bombs, grenades, medical supplies, radios, spare parts, etc. All supplies were hurriedly gathered. We then took them to their dump, a large half tube-like structure completely underground (like London tubes). The entire outer perimeter was mined, only one member knew the safe path thru the mine field to the dump. Once inside we unpacked the canisters, distributed the supplies to predesignated shelves, assembled all arms (I was the arms expert), Enfields, shotguns, mausers, burp guns and armed the mills bombs, making them ready for use. Some nights we harassed the Germans by fouling up their communications. Every operation was well planned!

The town of Noyon (I stayed with a family located about 7 kilometers away) was part of the main escape route from the north. Also some of the main tracks from Paris to the west led thru this town, which also contained marshalling yards. The area was a prime target for the Forts. I was on the top dropping them before, now was on the bottom, feeling the shock as the bombs exploded, and some of them were not on target. Meanwhile the P-51s, 47s and 38s were strafing every thing in sight. The Germans were in complete disorder. The site was total pandemonium.

The Maquis now gathered a group of about 20 of us. They had set up a camp where we stayed (cannot relate to time). Finally our area was taken over by a British armored column.

At this time I had developed a very serious case of bleeding hives. Very uncomfortable, messy, all due to fright, nervousness and stress. We finally came out of the woods in late September. We waited on the side of the road. The armored column came toward us, stopped. The commander questioned us, (there were British flyers in our group), was satisfied as to our authenticity, then fed us. Fortunately they had a doctor in the group and upon viewing my malady and discomfort, took me to a nearby structure, had me strip and coated my body with some solution he had. Almost immediately I felt relief. Upon returning, the Sgt. in the first armored car grouped us together and took a photo. After this we split up in groups of 3 or 4 and hit the road to Paris.

My group passed though the large town of Bouvais. It had just been liberated. The Maquis went around gathering all of the women that had collaborated with the Germans, shaved all of their hair, stripped them, painted swastikas on their heads and marched them down the main boulevard, jeering, spitting, and kicking them (outlet for their wounded pride, frustrations and deprivations).

After leaving Bouvais we were going down the hill on the road to Paris. I heard a vehicle coming down the road. I looked behind me, saw a U.S. Army recon. I managed to stop him (hollered at him in American) showed him my dog tags, was told to hop in the back. This recon was part of the Graves Registration outfit. They were bringing back 2 G.I.s picked off by German snipers.

This was how I reported back to active duty. I was taken under the direct care of G2 and S2, warned under threat of court martial I was not to divulge the background of the operations of the Maquis. I was isolated, given special privileges and ate in the officers mess. After they finished with me they trucked a group of us to an airstrip at Cherbourg for a flight back to London. In London we were again kept in isolation. Debriefed again, issued new uniforms, given a special pass, given most of my back pay, did the town (had much to make up for). I was the only American in London wearing a real Black French Beret.

It goes without saying that I was stopped many times by MPs questioning my uniform, but my special pass was equal to all occasions. I blew most of my money on London, wine, women and good food. I was then trained to Parham to collect my personal belongings. All I had left was my girl’s picture and 2 sets of G.I. underwear. Everything else was gone.

Let us not lose sight of the main purpose of this missive. I and many others like me owe our lives to that organization known as the Maquis.

Anthology I Page 211
Reprint