As is always the case, there are people to thank.

James S. Featherston -- a Pulitzer Prize winner -- a friend of Barwick's since boyhood -- a long time member of the journalism department at Louisiana State University -- for his helpful advice and patience while dealing with an amateur writer.

Donna B. Ross for her assistance and good humor while spending many hours typing and retyping this story.

To all the POWs of World War II and especially those who did not make it home.

To my wife Marilee, Mother and Dad.

Days Not Forgotten

FOREWORD: I met Barwick O. "Bob" Barfield during March of 1943 when we was an aviation cadet at Ellington Field in Houston, Texas, my hometown. I was immediately attracted to the tall, slender, gentlemanly Mississippian, and we were married on September 28, 1943 in Dallas. A week earlier he had won his wings as an Army Air Force navigator and had been commissioned a second lieutenant. Over the years. Barwick has sometimes talked about his sometimes horrifying and heart-breaking war experiences. As our 50th wedding anniversary neared, I became determined his war stories should be put into writing. What follows are his experiences as told to me plus a few photographs about happenings on the home front and elsewhere.

Marilee Wilshire Barfield

Days Not Forgotten
By Barwick O. "Bob" Barfield

On May 24, 1944,1 was a B-17 navigator stationed in Thorpe Abbott, a small English farming village about 75 miles northeast of London. I was assigned to the 350th Squadron, one of the four squadrons comprising the 100th Bombardment Group, which became known as the "Bloody 100th" because of its heavy casualties during several years of daylight bombing. During World War II, 1,749 crewmen assigned to the "Bloody 100th" were killed, wounded, or listed as missing in action as the group flew 306 missions over Europe and lost 180 planes. The day of May 24,1944 is one I shall never forget because it was perhaps the worst of many bad days that followed. On that day, l was four days shy of turning 23 years old, and there were times that day I thought I would never make it.

I recently read that the Eighth Air Force flying out of England had more casualties than the entire Navy during World War 11.

At 2:30 a.m. an orderly, with a list of names came to awaken the officers that would fly that day. My barracks held 16 men, made up of the officers of four crews. Each B-17 Flying Fortress had 10 crewmen including a pilot, co-pilot, navigator, bombardier, radio gunner, two waist gunners, engineer gunner, ball turret gunner, and tail gunner. The six enlisted men were in another barracks.

I dressed in my government issue uniform of wool socks, pants, and shirt. The planes flew at 18,000 to 25,000 feet (four miles up) and were not pressurized, so it was cold, 20 to 30 degrees below zero.

After dressing we would walk or borrow a bike (each crew was issued two) to the mess hall (dining room) about a half mile away. I realized this would be my 13th mission, but don't recall being superstitious about the unlucky number.

After a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice (I didn't drink coffee) and doing some talking about our upcoming mission, we left for our briefing. (On days we didn't fly they gave us powdered eggs.) The men going to briefing now, were different than the young men on their first several missions. We had been excited and nxious to start doing a job we had been trained for -- to fight the war. We now made light conversation, where we would go on our next three day pass, how the weather looked, etc. But occasionally thoughts of the upcoming mission could cause someone to get upset and walk over to the side of the road and vomit. I was lucky I never did. If an airman became very emotional and upset, a physical exam would determine whether he should be given sick leave or relieved of his duties and given a ground job and transferred to another location.

The briefing took about an hour and all of the crew attended the first general briefing. Here we learned our target of the day was to be the main railroad station in the center of Berlin. This would be my fifth mission to Berlin. If a mission was to Northern France or Western Germany, a sigh of relief could be heard, but on this day it was far into the interior of Germany, and you could hear the groans. This was a longer, eight to 10 hour flight and we knew there would be a lot of flak (anti-aircraft artillery) and German fighters.

I later went to a special briefing for the navigators. Here I would learn our course to the target, weather, winds aloft, when we would take off and the schedule for the assembling with the planes from other bases in England. Also, we were given the time table of when we would leave the English coast and where.

While we were in specialized briefing the other crew members went to a building containing our 50 caliber machine guns. Here they cleaned and checked them out and later carried them to the plane. After briefing I put on my fleece-lined flight pants, jacket, boots, and a parachute harness.

We hitched a jeep ride out to our plane. The ground crew had worked all night readying the plane for today's mission. We had flown the day before to bomb an airfield at Troyer, France.

When we returned from a mission, we would be offered a shot of Scotch at the debriefing to reduce the tension. The Scotch drinkers were all hustling the non-drinkers to get their shots. It was remarkable how after just one or two missions, the new flyers who drank knew who were their potential non-drinking prospects. When we calmed down some, the fatigue would set in, for we had been flying eight to 12 hours depending on the location of the target.

On days we did not fly, when it was time for the planes to return we gathered in groups around the field hoping all would return safely. When they were spotted, we would start counting. Some planes barely made it back, some would crash on landing. We helped get out the wounded and dead. I remember helping to get out a dead navigator (his head had been blown off, whose crew was in my barracks. We became like a family -- very protective of each other. All the men in the group had grown close and were concerned about each other.

This morning, as usual, the bombardier and I entered the plane through an escape hatch (an opening about 18 inches square) in the nose. We would reach up and pull ourselves into the plane. The others entered through a side entrance in the waist. I put my navigation supplies (compass and maps from the briefing that was marked for our mission) on my small table and my chest pack (parachute, which was cylinder shaped and about the size of a small fireplace log, with two stainless steel hooks to snap onto two similar hooks on the harness, weighing about 10

pounds) on the floor underneath the table. The harness was put on before getting on the plane for it was made up of straps over my shoulders and around my legs with a padded section on my back, and two hooks on the front that the chute hooked onto. I checked my two 50 caliber machine guns, one of which was on each side of the plane's nose.

We could not use our radios -- because the Germans were monitoring our messages. During the briefing we were told what color flares would be used to signal us to start our engines, and then when to taxi down the runway and to take off.

We couldn't take off before dawn, because of the close formations required to furnish the protective fire power necessary to ward off the enemy fighters. At 5:30 a.m., we were given the signal to take off. We taxied down the runway and took off with the dawn just breaking. I worked on my maps and "Gee" Box (a navigation instrument similar to radar; the box measured about the size of a ladies shoe box) making sure it was working as there were stations all over England and when you got a fix signal, your maps indicated exactly where you were. Even though I was not the navigator in the lead plane that day, all navigators had to be prepared to take over the lead position if the lead plane was shot down or had to drop out. We could use the "Gee" Box over the English Channel but as we neared the continent the Germans had it jammed and it was not operative. Coming home it would become workable again when we arrived over the channel. We began to assemble, climbing and circling all the time. with other planes joining the formation. This took several hours. By then we were about 12,000 to 16,000 feet up with approximately 1,000 planes in formation, stretching about a half mile wide and perhaps 100 miles long, heading northeast and climbing to 22,000 feet. From the first wave to the last, leaving the English coastline could take up to an hour. Over the English Channel we would check our machine guns, test firing them to be certain they were ready for action.

About 45 minutes later, we reached the German coast at the mouth of the Elbe River. Our flight plan was to follow the Elbe to Berlin. We were attacked immediately by Focke-Wulf-190 and Messerschmitt-109 German fighter planes. Their first pass wiped out the six planes of our low squadron. Sixty men went down. We fought our way down river under severe fighter attack for several hours.

The German fighter planes came in so fast and sometimes through the clouds or out of the sun so we had to be constantly on the alert. When we saw one, we would call out the fighter location using the positions on a clock (i.e. 10 O'clock High, etc.). We had to stay on course and keep our position in the formation through the flak and fighters. With 2,000 pounds of bombs we flew at an indicated air speed of 155 miles an hour to the target. Coming home, in order to allow any damaged planes to keep up, we slowed to 150 miles an hour. Stragglers were easy prey for the enemy fighter planes. It was a miracle how some of these damaged B-17s got home - with tails shot off, gaping holes in the fuselage, engines and electrical systems shot out, and with dead and wounded crew members. We could see planes going down, parachutes caught in the tails of planes with the men whipping along behind like kites and we knew for those men there was no hope for survival. There was always tension and some semi-shock, but no time to be frightened.

One by one all but three of our original group (18 planes) was shot down. After a while the Germans withdrew as American P-51 Mustangs arrived to escort us to our target. Ahead we could see Berlin, and the sky was black with flak. We put on our flak helmets and jackets which were very heavy and covered us from shoulder to knees back and front. The P-51 s and the German fighters pulled away to keep from flying through the heavy anti-aircraft fire over the target. When flying into the flak it was so close and thick your first inclination was to shield yourself with your arm or hand, not that it would do any good. We flew over Berlin at about 24,000 feet. We had to keep straight and level so the bombardier could drop his bombs accurately. He dropped our bomb load about 11:20 a.m. and we climbed to 27,000 feet in order to get above the flak. We turned north then west to head back to England. We were attacked again by fighters and our right outside engine was hit and flames engulfed it. Our left inside engine was also hit and stopped. The plane was by now in flames and had gone into a dive. We left the formation about 35 miles north of Berlin. Over the intercom, Lt. Lin Williamson, our pilot, told us to get out as he had no control. This was about noon. The action was so fast you acted instinctively -- no time to think -- no time to be afraid. The adrenaline was pumping. I reached under my table, pulled out my chest pack, and snapped it onto my harness. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled onto the catwalk, between the nose and cockpit areas, to the emergency exit, the one I used to enter the plane back at the base in England. I pulled the exit escape handle but nothing happened.

As the navigator of a B- 17 I was interested in learning my chances of surviving my missions unscathed and also in-flight emergency operations. During my spare time I went to the base library to get information on these procedures. In reading I found navigators had a 50% chance of being captured and held as a POW (after being shot down or crash landing), a 30% chance of being killed, a 10% chance of being wounded so severely I would not be able to return to active duty, and a 10% chance of completing all myrequired missions. Also, I learned that the escape hatch did not open

easily because of the outside pressure and had to be forced open. I did not have any experience operating the escape hatch during flight or bailing out of a plane so I was glad I had read up on this.

I got on my knees and kicked out the escape hatch door with my foot, and my leg went through the opening up to my hip, I pulled it back and without looking I rolled out the opening. As the plane was in flames and had gone into a nose dive I was glad the bombs were gone.

I immediately grabbed the handle of my chute and jerked it. Time seemed to stand still, and the chute was not opening. But before my hand could reach to tear it open, out of the corner of my eye I saw a white flutter -- it was the pilot chute pulling out the main chute. Then I felt like I had run into a brick wall. As the harness was also strapped around my legs, it felt as though my legs were being pulled off. I placed my arms up through the chute shrouds in an attempt to take some of the weight off my legs. A few minutes later two German fighter planes flew by, but they ignored me. I had bailed out at about 30 degrees below zero. I could see some parachutes around me, but I couldn't see the ground below at first because of cloud cover. I was in the air about 15 minutes. During the first few minutes, I could not sense any movement. I gradually sensed some lateral movement and during the last 4,000 to 5,000 feet, I had an increasing sensation of falling. I was still surprised to hit the ground so fast. My chute hit some trees about 40 feet tall and I free fell to the ground. My face was the only thing not covered so it was scratched and bleeding. I landed on my heels with such force it caused my sewed in headset to pop out of my helmet and then fell over backwards. I tried to get up, but felt as though my back was broken (I remember thinking "Isn't this a heck of a note, I get out of that burning plane and break my back when I hit the ground"). However, I did manage to sit up and remove my fleece-lined jacket because of the 80 degree ground temperature, which was such a contrast with the 30 degrees below it had been in the plane. Within a few minutes a German Luger (pistol) was pointed at my head and I heard "raus" (get up and fast). I had not heard him coming. Not knowing German I nevertheless figured out what it meant. With that Luger at my temple, I found I could get up! He said "sphiechen sie Deutsch" (do you speak German?), I shook my head "no". Thinking Deutsch was Holland, I thought he might be friendly. I found out later Deutschland was Germany and he was not friendly. The soldier motioned for me to pick up my chute and jacket and we walked in heavy sand to a nearby dirt road where there was a bicycle, I was sweating profusely and my back was hurting terribly. He motioned to me and I thought he wanted me to get on, but he wanted me to push it. Although my back was hurting I was more concerned about what lay ahead of me. As we walked we came across a couple of older men in civilian clothing wearing Volksarmee" (people's army) arm bands and they were carrying shotguns. The German soldier and the civilians spoke briefly. I was glad the German soldier had found me first because I had been told many airmen had been lynched by infuriated civilians. I was forced to walk a couple of miles to a Polish work camp where they took my parachute and jacket. This camp had Polish prisoners who worked in the fields and were returned to this camp at night. I was put in a room with a couple of bunk beds. They let me lie down but I was so tense I could not relax. Still no sign of my crew, but I did see a few other airmen. I was in there for a couple of hours when three guards came in and interrogated me. They asked me my name, rank, and serial number, and searched me (made me strip down to my underwear). They took my watch, wedding ring, and a picture of my wife, but they gave my ring and picture back. They brought in my waist gunner, Sgt. Colbert Graham, who had been shot in the left knee with a 20 millimeter cannon before he bailed out. I was glad to see him. I helped him as we were forced to walk a couple of miles (we were not allowed to talk) to a small town, where we were put in a police station jail. There were 10 or 12 other downed airmen there, and I knew several of them. We talked a lot about what had happened to us and how we got out of our planes. The Germans searched us and asked again name, rank, and serial number; we were there a couple of hours. We were put in a truck with a covered top. Several guards climbed in and we rode several hours (it was dark and we were not able to see if there was any destruction along the way) before reaching Berlin where we were taken to Tempelhof Flughafen (in the southern part of the city), a large airport in Berlin (made famous after the war for the Berlin airlift). There was very little talking and we didn't know what was going to happen to us. We were put in a large dungeon like room where there were 75 or so men. That night we slept on a concrete floor. We were not interrogated as the guards had our papers from prior interrogations.

The Stars & Stripes (a daily newspaper of U.S. Armed Forces in the European Theater of Operations then printed in New York and London in it's May 25, 1944 edition reported "\on the previous day 4,000 American war planes spread across Europe in daylight yesterday to bomb the three key cities of Hitler's enslaved continent-- Paris, Berlin, and Vienna. The Nazis officially declared this marked

'The eve of decisive operations against the Continent'. ETO (European Theater of Operation) based formations came home with reported losses of 32heavies and 13 fighters. For battered Berlin it was the 11th daylight pounding, the fourth this month and its 113th night or day bombing since the war began four years and eight months ago. A total of 29 enemy aircraft were reported shot down in combat and two destroyed on ground. "

The next morning they gave us something like oatmeal to eat, but I was not hungry. A guard came in and got me to help my waist gunner, who was in a lot of pain but had stopped bleeding, to the airport hospital. I told him "good luck" and he said "thanks" (I ran into him later at Moosburg and his knee was all right). They took me back to where the others were. Later in the morning they came and got us and we were herded into several covered trucks, and driven into the center of Berlin. A block from the railroad station, we got out and walked the rest of the way. As we passed, the local people spat, threw rocks, and called us "Luftgangsters" (air gangsters) and "terrenfleigers" (terror flyers). Bombed-out buildings could be seen along the way. We arrived at the station around noon. Civilians and military men were waiting for trains. The station was very large with a glass arched dome ceiling, but all the glass had been blown out. Damage could be seen -- probably caused by the bombing we had done the day before. I was put on a passenger train with five or more to a seat, so we were very crowded. Everyone felt isolated and wondered what was going to happen. No one was allowed to get up except to go to the toilet. We did as we were told and thought they might shoot us. Everyone was very nervous as this was the time of day the Allies bombed Berlin. We did not encounter any bombing (strafing had not begun at this time because the fighters were not equipped for long range flying) along the way. Out of the windows the countryside didn't seem to have much destruction. In the larger cities you could see bombed-out factories and buildings. I noticed things had been cleaned, except places which had been bombed recently, perhaps for morale purposes. There wasn't much talking. We slept some as we were on the train three days. Our captors did give us some black bread and sausage (the black bread was soggy, very heavy, and tasted like I imagine sawdust would). The days ran together so I didn't realize May 28th (my 23rd birthday) had come and gone. Our destination was Frankfurt-am-Main (River), which is in western Germany. There we got off the train, climbed on a trolley and rode about 15 miles to Dulag Luft (air camp), an Air Force interrogation center. Hundreds of downed Allied airmen were there. I was put into solitary confinement for three days. The room was small with a cot and small overhead light. Bailing out of the plane, having a gun pointed at me, the interrogations, my back hurting from the long three day ride on the train, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. The guards had to awaken me each time they interrogated me. I only wanted to sleep, but did eat a little of the food they pushed through the door for me. Under the Geneva Convention Agreement, which defines the required treatment of POWs, the only information you are required to give your captors is name, rank, and serial number. This had been emphasized to us by the intelligence officers back at the base. They still asked where I was from, the name of the base, my commanding officer's name (I didn't know -- at this point in the war the turnover was so frequent, I couldn't have told even if I wanted to), what kind of plane I was flying, was I a fighter pilot out of Italy, how many missions I had flown, how long I had been in Europe. Looking back over some interrogation papers, I now know they knew I was not a fighter pilot but were probably trying to trick me. Then they would say "We know your family is worried about you, if you give us this information we can send a message through the International Red Cross to inform them you are alive and a prisoner of war." This was very tempting. They already knew some details about me (their spy system in the U.S. was very thorough) -- such as when I received my wings and bars, and when I married. I was surprised how much they knew (they knew even more about some of the other men). I had a small picture of my wife. They again took it but returned it later. They were not very interested in me, being a second lieutenant, because there were captains, majors, colonels, and possibly generals, and they were more interested in interrogating them. The fourth day we were taken from the interrogation center outside to a barbed wire enclosed compound with barracks, where there were about 500 men. I was glad to get back with people, and felt a little more relaxed (I guess I believed the old saying about there being safety in numbers). I remember seeing many officers bent over searching the ground looking for cigarette butts -- I sure was glad I didn't smoke. That day the International Red Cross sent in prisoner supplies and a German Red Cross man handed some packages out. We received one pair of wool pants and shirt, and a couple of changes of underwear and a Kreege kit which included a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, razor, and comb (Kreegegefan means prisoner of war, we called each other Kreegies, thus the Kreege kit). We stood in line to get these (I never saw a Red Cross woman). I had lived in my clothes for eight days so I'm sure the smell was not very pleasant but I didn't really think much about it. The

showers were very busy that day, and the clean clothes -- what a treat! We were given a little food. We were there one night. We still didn't know our destiny -- guards with guns were everywhere.

We left the next morning around 9 on the trolley back to Frankfurt-am-Main, and then on to the train for three days back across Germany to Sagan (now in Poland). The shock was wearing off and w heard rumors of a Stalag Luft 111. We were taken off the train and walked about three or four abreast with guards all around for several miles through woods. There were trees but no underbrush. I remember thinking it was a beautiful day. I was glad to get to Stalag Luft 111, thinking this would be m final camp. Ahead was a very large clearing, I could see guard towers and tall barbed wire fences all around. Inside a fence about 20 or 30 feet high was a guard rail about a foot high. If a POW was found in between the fence and the rail he was instantly shot. This was Stalag Luft 111 (air cam three), about 75 miles southeast of Berlin and southeast of Sagan. This would be my home behind barb wire for how long? What lay ahead?

On August 27, 1993, I received a package from my pilot Lindley Williamson, who had gotten copies of official interrogation papers from Mrs. Mae Sewell, widow of Tech Sgt. Sewell (who had passed away several years ago). Sewell had been our flight engineer. These documents were copies of interrogations at Camp Lucky Strike in LeHavre, France, after being liberated at Moosburg, Germany. Each member of the crew gave his account on the "individual casualty questionnaire" and "casualty questionnaire". There were also German reports on "capture of members of Enemy Air Force" made in Brandenburg - Briest, Neurippin - small towns near Berlin. The report of "captured aircraft" states the plane went down at Buechkwitzerf three kilometer southeast of Wusterbausen, about 30 miles north of Berlin. Two dead had been recovered at the crash site and were buried May 24, 1944 in the village cemetery in Kampehl in district Ruppin. These were 2nd Lt. James Dennis, our co-pilot, and Tech Sgt. Lloyd Kouns, our radio operator. These reports look like they were sent to England. The reports say all of the crew thought that all had bailed out If so, two were killed on the ground, maybe lynched by civilians. There were reports from other planes reporting planes downed, and a number of parachutes were seen. The package also included a note I had handwritten and forgotten about. These papers were upsetting to my wife as she had heard these events told many times over the years, but these were in writing, putting these stories in a clearer perspective. She also thought about how her life would have been had things turned out differently on that day 50 years ago.

We could see prisoners of war already there coming toward the gate to see if they knew anyone and to ask us the latest news from outside. Oddly enough they knew of the upcoming invasion (we didn't). They wanted to know when it was to take place and when they could expect to get out. As we walked through the gates someone called out "Bob", I turned and saw a navigator, Lt. John "Bill" Frey, of Canton, Ohio, whom I knew in Pyote and Dalhart, Texas. At about the same time, someone cried out "Barfield, what the hell are you doing here". It was Lt. Jack Viets, of Cleveland, Ohio, with a big grin on his face. This was June 4, 1944, and Viets said he "sure was glad to see someone" he knew. (Viets was my original pilot and when I had arrived in England I had tried to look him up and found out he was missing in action. The reason I did not stay on his crew, is that back in the States I had contracted scarlet fever in Dalhart, and was put in the hospital. My original crew was shipped out before I was released. I was later assigned to Lt. Williamson's crew.)

On June 6, 1944 we were told by the Germans of the Allied invasion. It was "D Day" at Normandy, and we were very excited. A German officer took a stick and drew in the sand a map of where it had taken place. He told us that the Allies would be pushed back into the sea.

Back in the States on June 6, 1944, a very different kind of message was delivered to Marilee Barfield by a Western Union messenger. She recalls:

"June 6, 1944, a Tuesday, my family was invited out to a luncheon and had not turned on the radio, but I remember there was a premonition of something going to happen or had happened. When we arrived at the home of our hostess, she told us of the invasion. Everyone was excited."

"Later on in the afternoon when we arrived home, there was a note on the door saying 'call Western Union' I had a telegram. I became very upset and called and was told the messenger was on his way with the telegram. Our neighbors had seen him come earlier and were concerned for me because of Barwick and also my stepfather was fighting in the Pacific. Two young men in our neighborhood had already been killed in the war. Neighbors were very close in those days. I still can see the messenger walking up the walkway, it seemed to take him forever. "

"The Secretary of War desires me to express his deep regret that your husband 2nd Lt. Barwick 0. Barfield has been reported missing in action since 24 May over Germany. If further details or other information are received you will be promptly notified. The Adjutant General. "The American Red Cross told me it was usually six weeks or longer before I could expect word of the whereabouts of my husband. I became very ill, but with the prayers of family and friends I soon felt he was alive and well.

Marilee received each month a bulletin from the American Red Cross. She looked forward to these informative bulletins. "On June 26, 1944, I received word via Western Union telegram he had been captured and was now a POW."

WAR DEPARTMENT
IN REPLY REFER TO: THE ADJUTANT GENERAL'S OFFICE
WASHINGTON 25D. C

AC 201 Barfield Barwick 0.8 June 1944.

PC-N ST0 085
Mrs. Marilee W. Barfield
187 Harvard Street
Houston Texas.

Dear Mrs. Barfield:

This letter is to confirm my recent telegram in which you were regretfully informed that your husband, Second Lieutenant Barwick 0. Barfield, 0-691,680, Air Corps, has been reported missing in action over Germany since 24 May 1944.

I know that added distress is caused by failure to receive more information or details. Therefore, I wish to assure you that at any time additional information is received it will be transmitted to you without delay, and, if in the meantime no additional information is received, I will again communicate with you at the expiration of three months. Also, it is the policy of the Commanding General of the Army Air Forces upon receipt of the "Missing Air Crew Report" to convey to you any details that might be contained in that report.

The term "missing in action" is used only to indicate that the whereabouts or status of an individual is not immediately known. It is not intended to convey the impression that the case is closed. I wish to emphasize that every effort is exerted continuously to clear up the status of our personnel. Under war conditions this is a difficult task as you must readily realize. Experience has shown that many persons reported missing in action are subsequently reported as prisoners of war but as this information is furnished by countries with which we are at war, the War Department is helpless to expedite such reports. However, in order to relieve financial worry, Congress has enacted legislation which continues in force the pay, allowances and allotments to dependents of personnel being carried in a missing status.

Permit me to extend to you my heartfelt sympathy during this period of uncertainty.

Sincerely yours,
J. A. ULIO
Major General
The Adjutant General

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