A
Sad Happenstance of War--
Two Stories Become One
PART
1:
On November 17, 1944, the 391st Fighter Squadron of the 366th Fighter
Group flew what was perhaps our worst mission of the war. A major
ground offensive had begun the day before along the Western Front from
the northwest edge of the Hurtgen Forest up through Eschweiler,
Germany. The weather was terrible with low hanging clouds and light
rain, but we were able to take off with each plane loaded with two 500
pound bombs and a 150 gallon belly tank. Sixteen planes from the 391st
were involved in the mission.
When
we reached the target area, we had to come in under the overcast at
4,500 feet. Everything was dark and eerie – we could see
flashes of the big guns on the ground and the flak explosions in the
air. Light from the exploding shells was reflecting off the clouds --
it was as if we were looking into a segment of hell.
Dive
bombing starting from such a low altitude is a challenge in itself, but
each of us in turn did our best to hit our target. I was hit in the
canopy right behind my head just as I rolled over to start my dive and
was hit again as I pulled out of my dive. It was apparent I was in deep
trouble as I fought to keep my plane in the air. In the meantime, the
other 391st pilots were fighting for their lives. Lt. Rufus Barkley
dived to strafe a German vehicle, and flew into the ground and
exploded. Two of my tent mates, Lt. Richard "Red" Alderman and Lt. Gus
Girlinghouse attacked a column of tanks and trucks along a road near a
castle on the edge of the Hurtgen Forest, and both were shot down
within seconds of each other.
My
radio was out of commission, my controls were damaged, and the engine
was barely generating enough power to keep me in the air. When I had
crossed the front lines, I kept my eyes open looking for some clear
space where I could belly in, if the engine gave out. By pure luck I
came upon an American landing strip that was under construction, and
was able to get my damaged bird down on the partially built runway.
When I got back to my base several hours later, I was listed on the
pilots' board as "Missing In Action."
The
loss of my two tent mates was devastating. "Red" Alderman and I had
gone through all our training together, and were very close friends. He
had given me the farewell letters he had written to his wife and his
mother – I was to mail them if he were killed. Lt. Gus
Girlinghouse had just moved into our tent, so I was just getting to
know him. The night of November 17, 1944, was the worst night of the
war for me.
 "Red"
Alderman  Gus
Girlinghouse
PART
2:
On December
16, 1944, heavily reinforced and upgraded German Armies attacked the
American lines from the Ardennes, and the biggest battle of the war on
the Western Front began, "The Battle of The Bulge." The weather was so
bad that most of our planes were grounded for about a week, and the
Germans were able to advance about 40 miles into Belgium. On December
24th we were briefed for a mission and sitting in our planes waiting
for the weather to improve, when our Operations Officer pulled up to my
plane in a jeep. He told me orders had just come in for me to report to
the Headquarters of the VII Corps, and that a staff car was coming to
pick me up. Within a few hours I was on my way to this new assignment.
My new job
was to coordinate all fighter-bomber attacks in front of the Divisions
of the VII Corps. This was a major change for me; instead of doing my
fighting from the air, I was now on the ground, and very near the front
lines. Ground fire, such as artillery barrages, mortar fire, rifle and
machine gun fire were now part of my life, instead of flak and the
normal high risk of flying a fighter plane. As our armies advanced,
pushing the Germans back, we moved our headquarters frequently to stay
close to the front.
Around
February 18, 1945, we moved into Merode Castle, about three or four
miles from the town of Duren on the Roer River. The castle had been
built in the Middle Ages. It was surrounded by a moat, and had several
staircases leading up the circular towers to the ramparts, where
archers in centuries past had defended the castle. Nothing about the
area seemed particularly familiar to me, except that I knew I had flown
several missions to attack German targets in this vicinity, especially
during November. We were there now making preparations for a major
attack to cross the Roer River, capture the town of Duren, and reach
the open plains leading up to the Rhine River. The photograph below
shows me in front of the main entrance to the heavily damaged castle
about two days before the battle was to began. When this photograph was
taken, I had made no specific connection with the events of our combat
mission flown by the 391st Fighter Squadron on November 17, 1944.
 Quent
at Merode Castle
Then in 1995, Robert V. Brulle, who was also a member of the 366th
Fighter Group, wrote a story describing the terrible mission we flew on
November 17, 1944. It was published in "World War II" magazine, and
included vital new information that Bob had secured from German
sources, some of it from a German officer who had been involved in the
battle that day, and actually commanded the flak guns that shot down
Lt. Alderman and Lt. Girlinghouse. He had seen their planes crash, and
was able to mark the exact location of impact. Before he moved his men
and their flak guns out of the area, he ordered other German soldiers
who were at the site of the crashes to bury the American pilots.
It
is difficult to conceive that the machinations of war had placed me at
Merode Castle three months after that terrible mission, and that my
good friend, Lt. "Red" Alderman, was buried about 100 yards in front of
where I am standing in the photograph above! It is equally unbelievable
that one of the German guns that shot him down was firing from the
drawbridge of the castle shown behind me in the photograph. Had I known
at the time that he was buried there, and that my other tent mate, Lt.
Girlinghouse, was buried about 800 yards farther out in the fields, it
would have torn me apart. And
to think that this information was not known by me until 50 years after
these events took place.
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EPILOGUE
Even though
the German soldiers had buried Lt. Alderman at the site of his crashed
plane, his body was never recovered. About ten days after he was buried
a tank battle took place on the same ground, and all markings of a
grave site were destroyed. His name is listed on the "Wall of The
Missing" at the Netherlands American Cemetery near Maastricht, Holland.
I visited this cemetery a few years ago, and touched the place on the
wall where his name is engraved.
Several
times over the years since the war ended, I had tried to locate "Red"
Alderman's children, but without success. When he was killed, his
daughter, Lynn, was 15 months old. Then three weeks after his death,
his second daughter was born, Cecilia Ann. I thought they would like to
know something about their father -- what a fine man he was, and what
an excellent fighter pilot he was. I had no luck in my search until the
film I wrote and produced, "A Fighter Pilot's Story," was shown in the
area where they live near Seattle.
Since then I have communicated with them, and have met and had an
extensive personal visit with Cecilia Ann. I have been able to fill in
some of the blank spaces, and help the Alderman girls know more about
their father.
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