"Lest They Forget Freedom's Price," is the fascinating story of B-17 bomber pilot Edward M. Bender (USAFR, retired), who describes his flight training, bomber missions, capture, and time as a POW in Europe during World War II. When a fire forces the crew of his Flying Fortress down in enemy-occupied France, Lt. Bender is captured by a unit of teenage NAZI recruits from Adolph Hitler’s youth corps. He describes his year as a prisoner of the Third Reich at camps in Sagan, Nurnberg, and Moosburg, and the bitterly cold forced march of Winter 1945, when the Germans and POWs evacuated the Stalag Luft III prison camp in anticipation of the advancing Russian army. Finally, Lt. Bender is liberated by Gen. George Patton’s army and returns home to adapt to the challenges of life in post-war America. Filled with humor and pathos, this narrative provides a portrait of life in war-time Europe and America, and the challenges faced by an American airman and POW.
Lt. Col. Edward M. Bender (USAFR, retired) joined the Army Air Corps Reserves in 1942 and after the war, continued to be active in the Reserves until his retirement in 1972. He worked for the US postal service for a total of 20 years before and after World War II. Later, he was a speech writer and Editor of Printed Media for the US Department of the Interior, working 18 years for what was then the Bureau of Mines in Rolla, Missouri, and Washington, D.C. He retired from government work in 1979 and returned to Cape Girardeau, where he and his wife, Kay, do volunteer work and enjoy being near family and friends.
Excerpt from Chapter 8 of Lest They Forget Freedom’s Price: Memoirs of a World War II Bomber Pilot:
“FIRE IN THE NUMBER-FOUR ENGINE! ABANDON SHIP!”
I yelled, “Pilot to crew, wait till I get clear of the formation.” I hit the switch to lower the wheels and gave the signal for the deputy lead to take over the formation – a three “nose-down nose-up” maneuver. I next put the nose down and began a drift to the right under the high box, to clear the way for the jumping men, and then reached for the red ball control to salvo the bombs unarmed. Having never used this release before, I was surprised at the lack of resistance and I gave the ball a second pull to be sure I had activated it properly. Then, holding the wheel with my left hand, I reached for the chest pack of my parachute with my right. I pulled it from its place under my seat, but when I tried to bring it between the seats and into my lap, my arm encountered the Group Commander on his way out.
I flipped the chest pack into the seat he had vacated and jerked my arm out of the way to keep it from being broken. After he went by, Sgt. Free shouted in my ear that the fire had gotten into the bomb bay and was out of control. He hadn’t heard the bail out order, so I told him “Go!” If I could have seen what the commander had evidently seen from his window, I would have left the plane right then and there.
In the distance, I could see the English Channel and delayed a few moments as I considered trying to “ditch” the plane in water. I turned in that direction and punched the IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) button to notify the British Air/Sea Rescue radar that I was in trouble. I set a rate of descent I hoped would get me to the Channel.
The draft created from the open forward escape hatch to the open bomb bay caused papers and dust to swirl and eddy in the cockpit and upper turret. I thought everyone had left the ship. The formation had been at 23,500 feet when the fire started. The altimeter now read 19,500 feet. Suddenly, the control column went slack and the nose slowly began to go up, suggesting to me that the control cables must have burned in two where they went through the bomb bay fire. While reducing power to bring the nose back down, I decided it was past the time to get out, and pushed the button that would destroy the bomb sight and any other secret equipment on board.
I now unplugged from the oxygen system and reached under my seat for my chest pack – it wasn’t there! MAJOR PANIC! I WOULD HAVE TO GO TO THE TAIL OF THE PLANE WHERE A SPARE ’CHUTE WAS KEPT! I looked toward the tail as I popped my safety belt. The bomb bay looked like the end of a blow torch. Could I get through that fire on a beam less than six inches wide, and with arming wires whipping around in the wind above the open bomb bay doors?
Arming wires?!! What were they doing there, weren’t they supposed to go out with the bomb shackles in an unarmed salvo? I didn’t have time to ponder that long when I was thrown into the co-pilot’s seat as the right wing dropped, the nose went up sharply and the plane went into a stall. At that moment I saw my parachute on the seat where I had thrown it. THANK GOD! Grabbing it with both hands, I snapped the hooks onto the rings as I slid past the upper turret and down to the escape hatch. Sitting on the edge of the hatch with my feet extended, I could feel the slipstream straining to suck me from the ship. I bent my head as near my knees as the chest pack would allow and let myself be pulled into the sky. Had I remembered to feather the number-two propeller, a prescribed safety precaution when a B-17 was stalling or spinning? Before I could worry about this, I was out in the air. Immediately, the engine noise was gone and so was the sound of the wind whistling through the escape hatch and bomb bay. Where was the formation? Where was the burning plane? I could see nothing!