B17 Down

By Elizabeth Phillips Goehringer

B-17 Down is the true story of (my dad) Captain Charles R. Phillips's incredible jump through his B-17 bomb bay doors from two hundred feet (indicated) onto a Berlin field. As pilot, he was the last to jump, but he and his entire crew survived their bailout and thirteen months as German POWs. Ahead of the Russian advance, the prisoners were forced to march for six days in bitter cold then spent two days on unheated cattle cars traveling from Poland into Germany. Patton's army arrived just in time to free the starving men. At five feet eleven, Charles weighed less than ninety pounds.

Portrayed as historical fiction, much of the account is taken from a diary he wrote on the back of cigarette wrappers, flight log, letters, and from the memoirs of one of his crew. Charles's and his wife's war stories, historical research, and the author's imagination fill the gaps.

B-17 Down begins when Charles met his wife, Doris, at his father's stock brokerage office. Their unconventional courtship led to an unconventional wedding in November 1942. Before his deployment to Bassingbourn, England, in September 1943, Doris followed him from air base to air base while he trained. In April 1944, just two months after the birth of their daughter (me), Doris received the fateful "missing in action" telegram. For six weeks, she had no idea whether Charles lived or died, but she didn't sit at home. Instead, she aided the war effort as POW chairwoman for Waterbury, Connecticut.

When his B-17 went into a deadly spin, Charles said his life flashed before his eyes. The heavy bomber miraculously straightened after he prayed. He traced his salvation and strong faith in Jesus back to that moment, but his deprivations took a severe toll on his body. Rheumatoid arthritis froze his joints and shrank him to under five feet tall. All four of his children came to know the Lord in large measure because of his consistent walk with the Lord (three were born after he came home). He retired from the Air Force Reserve as lieutenant colonel and remained close friends with several of his crew throughout his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798885403566

Book preview

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B17 Down

Elizabeth Phillips Goehringer

ISBN 979-8-88540-355-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88540-356-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Phillips Goehringer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1940—War Changes Everything

1941

1942—Part I

1942—Part II

1943—Part III

1943—Part IV

October, 1943

November 1943

December 1943

1944—Part V

1944—Part VI

1944—Part VII

Chronology

High Flight

The Wire

Glossary

About the Author

You are keeping the memory alive.

—Woman in Gold, 2015

This is something that should not ever be forgotten…a part of my father's life which in turn is a part of mine.

—Virginia A. Reeves, Memories of the 91st, An Aviacam Production

1

1940—War Changes Everything

June 1940

Doris tossed the day-old newspaper onto her twin bed. French Sign Reich Truce—Rome Pact Next glared up at her. Would the surrender of France really bring an end to the war in Europe? Her forehead rippled. Was Italy next?

Skimming to the bottom of the page, she read, There is no indication to suggest that Germany is not grimly determined to prosecute her war on Britain with all possible speed.

Would Germany ever be satisfied? Two months earlier, the Third Reich added Norway and Denmark to its trail of conquests. They'd all hoped the Great War had put an end to the mountains of graves. Yet, twenty years later, Germany started it all again.

She yanked bobby pins from her hair and pulled a brush through the pin curls. Beginning the tedious process of rolling her thick locks into stylish victory rolls, she turned her thoughts to her boyfriend. Why did John want to meet today? His call was terse. No explanation. Meet him for breakfast this morning. That's all. On a workday, for goodness sake.

Doris glanced at her black hair rolls in the mirror, threw on her lightweight trench coat, and flew through the door. She ran down the steep hill to the bus stop. Climbing onto the bus, she blotted sweat from her upper lip and flopped onto an empty seat.

Why had she brought a coat? Shrugging out of it, she smoothed her plaid skirt and watched for the downtown stop. The bus screeched to a halt. She hurried down the steps and into the diner.

Sliding onto the bench across from John, Doris leaned forward for a kiss. He turned his face, and her lips met his cheek. Uh-oh, something is definitely up. She pushed away the eggs and toast he'd preordered and nodded when the waitress offered to fill her cup with hot coffee. Taking a sip, she studied his face.

Baby, we've got to talk. He blinked red-rimmed eyes.

I guess that's why we're here. The coffee sloshed as she placed the cup back on the saucer. She glanced at her watch. I have to be at work in forty-five minutes.

He looked sick…or miserable. Doris, I'm getting married.

A rock landed somewhere in her stomach. Those were the words she'd waited to hear, but not the way she'd wanted to hear them. What do you mean? It's been six months. I thought… She couldn't say more around the lump in her throat.

I'm sorry. I have to get married. Ginny's pregnant.

Your secretary? Doris picked up her purse. You've been seeing both of us?

She tricked me. Got pregnant on purpose. I told her this will be the only kid we'll ever have. His eyes watered. This doesn't have to mean an end to us.

Doris stood, glared at him, and threw her coat over her arm. She rushed from the diner before John could see the tears pouring down her cheeks.

*****

Friday, December 20, 1940

Doris's fingers raced across the keyboard. The clacking typewriter keys reminded her of the wheels of a train and her last trip with John. Why had she started seeing him again? So what if he'd said she was the one he really loved. He was a father now. She refused to be the other woman. What a fool she'd been.

Pounding the keys, Doris forced her mind along a happier track. She loved this new job. Quite a feather in her cap to become executive secretary to Francis T. Phillips. In October, the successful Connecticut stockbroker asked her to join him when he opened his Waterbury firm. Now she had a real career.

Best of all, John didn't know anything about it—out of her life for good. And to think she'd hoped to tie the knot with that cad.

Doris looked up when the door to the office opened. A lanky youth strolled in with a newspaper rolled under his left arm. He brushed snow from his shoulders. She'd almost figured who he was when he tipped his head toward her. He pinched the rim of his fedora and yanked the hat off. Snowflakes powdered the carpet. Unruly blond waves popped into sight.

Nodding toward the mahogany door with F. T. Phillips embossed in gilded letters, he asked, My father in?

With a client. You must be Charles. Mr. Phillips had blustered about his son's dismal grades after the boy's first semester at Princeton, the older man's alma mater.

I guess you're the new secretary. Miss Palmer? He dragged a heavy chair across the Persian carpet to her desk and sank into it.

Right. You look like you're expecting a chewing out. Something about the kid's tousled hair and the apprehension in his blue eyes made her want to help. She smiled. It can't be that bad. Your father knows you were sick.

Yeah, I guess. Charles dropped the December 16 NY Daily Magazine on her desk. Bad news from overseas.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but Mr. Phillips's door opened. A paunchy man in a tweed topcoat nodded toward Doris and Charles before exiting through the front door.

Doris watched the boy's Adam's apple bob up and down as he turned toward his father's office.

Moving the newspaper out of the way, her gaze swept across the headlines: British Enter Libya, RAF Bombs Berlin Subway. Her chest tightened.

She tossed the paper into a drawer. Europe and Africa engulfed in flames. Charles was right—bad news. How long before the United States entered the fray to help stop Hitler?

She turned back to her typewriter to finish the letter Mr. Phillips had dictated that morning.

Exiting the boss's office a few minutes later, the kid waved an acrid trail of smoke at her and said, See you around. He sailed through the doorway.

Doris opened her mouth to ask if he wanted his paper, but the door clicked shut behind him.

She guessed Charles' meeting with his father didn't go so badly after all.

*****

Charles snuggled under a warm quilt, but sleep wouldn't come. He twisted from one side of his bed to the other. The woman with the big brown eyes and amazing brows swirled through his thoughts. She was a knockout. He wondered how old. Older than me to snag that job. Maybe twenty-two or three.

He forced himself to wait a couple of days before finding an excuse to head back to his father's office. Doris looked surprised to see him so soon, but he noticed dimples twinkling as she smiled.

*****

Monday, December 30, 1940

A week later on his way downtown, Charles passed a candy store. He took three steps back. Hmm, chocolate. He ordered a box of chocolates, had it wrapped with a big bow, then plunked an extra nickel on the counter for the New York Times. The cash register bell chimed, and the sales clerk handed him two cents change. Five minutes later, he sauntered into F. T. Phillips Company.

Doris had her back to him, shuffling some papers. She turned around, rubbing her upper arms. Brr. The outside walked in with you, Charles. Must be cold. A red-ribboned box sat precariously balanced on top of her typewriter. She turned away from it.

Actually, it's forty something. Kind of warm for December. He pulled a chair over. I brought you a present.

She glanced at the box. You didn't need to do that.

Heat slid up his face. Well, I figured the news from Europe isn't so good so I'd sweeten it up. Besides it's Christmas. He frowned. You do like chocolates, don't you?

Doris sighed. Unfortunately. She moved the candy to her desk. I see you've brought a newspaper too.

He grimaced as he opened the paper to the front page. Second Great Fire of London splashed across the top. Christmas 1940 Blitz followed.

Charles leaned beside her to flip the pages to the photo section. A gentle perfume rose from her neck. He gazed at her profile.

Doris smoothed out the paper. He stared at her dainty fingers and perfectly shaped nails as she traced the captions: Smoke-shrouded St. Paul's Cathedral; Flames Lick Skeletal Apartments; Mother and Child Search Through Rubble.

Charles straightened up. I don't see how the Germans can bomb civilians. Those poor people. I can't imagine living in London.

It's horrible. I was only five or six, but I remember stories from the Great War. Supposed to be the war to end all wars. She folded the paper in half and handed it back to him. I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the candy, Charles. Your dad's in his office.

2

1941

Early January, 1941

Christmas break flew by too fast for Charles. He didn't know how Doris felt. Probably nothing special…or worse. She'd seemed to give him a brush off at Christmas, but he couldn't stay away from her.

She wasn't twenty-two or three either if she'd been five or six during the last war. She sure didn't look it, but he figured maybe twenty-nine. Almost ten years between them. Didn't matter to him, but would it to her?

He'd learned she liked plants. Took after her father, she said. So he bought a glazed pot planted with Lily of the Valley. The closer he got to the office, the more his palms sweated.

He leaned against the side of a building to tap a Chesterfield out of the pack. His hand shook as he held a match to the cigarette.

For goodness sake, I'm not asking the girl to marry me. Just bringing her a plant. He inhaled and blew a puff of smoke into the chilly air. It mingled with the fog from his breath. He closed his eyes. That felt better.

*****

Busy at the filing cabinet with her back to the door, Doris knew the boss's kid had entered before she turned around. The scent of tobacco infused the room, but there was a sweet scent along with it. Lily of the Valley? A strange cologne for a man. She stuffed the last folder into the drawer and turned around.

I knew I smelled perfume. The potted plant sat on her desk. She slid onto her chair and leaned forward. Mmm, love that aroma…and those little white bells. How did you know? She gave him a hard stare. And why? You already gave me chocolates.

I didn't know, but you told me you love plants. He plopped into the chair she'd left by her desk. I'm heading back to Princeton tomorrow. I guess the lily is so you think of me sometimes. Maybe you can plant it in the spring?

She leaned against the springy back of her typing chair. Planting can wait till late summer or early fall. She brushed a flower with a red polished fingernail. I think indoors will be nice. Brighten the winter. Just look at those beautiful blossoms. That's really thoughtful of you, but I've got a ton of work to get out. You're going to get me fired.

He stood. Not a chance. Father likes you.

I'm glad of that, but since you won't be home till spring break, do you think you could put the chair back where it was before you moved it?

Sure. He blushed and stuttered. Just easier to leave it there. Besides… He seemed like he wanted to say more, but she didn't want to encourage any more conversation. Instead, he picked up the heavy chair and set it back next to the door.

Thank you again, Charles. Study hard.

He had barely left when his mother and sister breezed in. Doris smiled. It's good to see you, Ruth. You just missed Charles.

Ruth lifted her brows. He bring you the lily?

Ah-huh. He said it's a going away present. What brings you downtown? She stood and offered a hand to the pretty young lady. I'm guessing you're Betty?

Yup, I'm the baby sister.

Doris looked up at the two women. And as tall as your mother.

So, Ruth interjected, Betty's going to be a bridesmaid and needs a dress. You're always so stylish, we thought we'd steal you from Fran, if it's okay with you.

Frowning toward the boss's door, Doris said, Lots to do. Still, she enjoyed Ruth's company, and it would be fun to shop with them. She swiveled her chair back toward the women. I guess I can make it up by staying late and coming in early. It's up to Mr. Phillips.

Betty flashed a smile and burst into her father's office.

*****

Arm in arm, the three women strolled toward the exit of the Howland-Hughes Company. The four-story brick block-long department store on Bank Street had been an iconic Waterbury landmark since 1890. Clutching shopping bags and chattering to each other, they passed through the sheltered doors onto the sidewalk. A cold blast of winter wind slammed their faces. They grabbed onto their hats and bags.

Whew! Where did that come from? Doris pushed a long hat pin deeper into her wool pillbox.

Ruth's voice carried above the howl of an icy gust. Let's pop into the bank. Betty just about broke me. Do you mind? The two younger women shook their heads.

Doris chuckled. Ruth had outfitted Betty like she was the bride. I spent a few bucks too. Love that store.

Betty grabbed her arm and leaned toward her ear. You looked so sophisticated in that beige tweed suit. I'm glad you got it.

Holding their packages a little tighter, they hurried around the corner, passed Ruth's car parked in front of the F. T. Phillips Company, and turned right on Leavenworth. A two-story Greek revival dominated the corner. Doris glanced up at the American flag waving above the main entrance with the gold embossed Citizens & Manufacturers National Bank sign. Ruth's low heels clicked against the tile floor as she headed toward the nearest teller's window.

Lagging behind, Betty said to Doris, Don't you love the smell of money? Plus the fancy grill around the door is the cat's meow. I wish we had something like that.

Doris turned around to take another look at the hanging lantern and the elaborate swirling design around the entrance. Her eyes opened wide. Charles? Yes, it was Charles heading toward the exit.

Betty heard her and yelled, Charles!

He spun back toward the lobby. In three wide steps, he reached them and plunked a kiss on Betty's cheek. A blush climbed over his cheeks as he looked at Doris. I wasn't going to say anything, but I suspect I won't be staying at Princeton. Grades too low, so I've applied for a job here. Hope Dad isn't too disappointed.

Her forehead wrinkling, Ruth hurried over.

Charles wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. Betty will fill you in, Mom. Gotta go pack. He smiled at Doris and rushed toward the door.

Doris frowned. He told me the flowers were because he was leaving…

*****

April 1941

Charles sank into one of the deep leather chairs in the dining room of the Country Club of Waterbury. Large windows looked out on plush rolling greens dotted with graceful