Willis Jones' leap of faith

Willis Jones, of McCook, has never been superstitious, or particularly interested in signs. Certainly, he never was afflicted with Triskaidekaphobia (fear of the number 13), but now, looking back over his career in the Army Air Corps during World War II, Willis believes that the number 13 did have a significance in his life. Consider this:

1. On Willis' 13th bombing mission his plane was badly shot up -- two members of his crew killed. The plane and remaining crew barely made it back to England.

2. On April 13, 1944 Willis embarked on his 26th (2 X 13), (and last) bombing mission over Germany, when he was shot down and taken captive.

3. He spent 13 months in a German POW camp.

4. On May 13, 1945 he was liberated by American troops.

Willis was raised on a farm near Bloomfield (north of Plainview, in Northeast Nebraska). Graduating from high school in the Depression '30s, he headed for California to seek his fortune -- in his case working for the railroad.

With the advent of World War II, Willis joined the Army, and served first with an Armored Unit as a clerk. Wanting to be more involved with the actual fighting of the War, he applied for and was accepted as a Cadet in the Army Air Corps. He received his flight training at San Antonio, Texas, was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant, became the co-pilot of a B-17 crew, and headed to a base in England.

Willis and his crew were engaged in bombing missions of targets throughout Germany during the months leading up to the Normandy invasion, June 4, 1944. During those months they had no idea of just where or when the invasion would occur, though rumors were so strong that they knew it was imminent, and they were pleased that they were having a role in preparing for that invasion.

On April 12, Willis was scheduled to make his 26th bombing run, which would have qualified him to return to the U.S. To help a friend who needed one more mission before transferring to another unit, Willis agreed to switch flights, and take his 26th mission on the 13th. He thought little about the switch, though a member of his crew was incensed -- believing that it was a bad omen for Willis. He was right.

On the 13th, Jones' target was a marshalling yard at Augsburg, Germany, near the Swiss border. Willis' plane was assigned the spot of Deputy Leader of the Group of 16 bombers. Weather conditions were favorable and the bombing run was successfully completed, despite heavy enemy anti-aircraft flak.

It was after hitting their target that they were struck with still more flak. Some of this flak struck Willis in the leg, painful and troublesome, but not debilitating. (It did qualify him for a Purple Heart medal.) A more serious injury was incurred by the Navigator of their flight. He had anticipated heavy fire and had a steel plate floor cover installed at his station. Trouble came when he stepped part way off the plate during the attack, allowing a shell to nearly sever the foot that was exposed.

The ultimate problem for the crew was that the heavy flak took out one of the engines of their B-17, causing them to fall behind the main group of bombers, now headed home to England. Urgent calls to P-51 fighters, who were escorting the group, went unanswered, and Jones' plane soon found itself alone, to fend for itself.

A lone Nazi fighter quickly overtook the wounded B-17, and after a spirited battle, knocked out another engine. Jones' pilot gave the order to bail out. All the crew members, four officers and six enlisted men, managed to reach the escape hatches and make their jumps safely. Jones was one of the last to leave the plane. As he reached for his parachute, located underneath his seat, he somehow tripped the release mechanism on the chute, causing it to billow out inside the cockpit. There were no other chutes, so there was nothing that Jones could do except gather the chute in his arms, attach it to his harness and head for the escape hatch.

Willis remembers waiting for a long moment at the escape hatch. He thought about the meticulous care that the parachute packers took in getting the chutes ready for the men. Now he was left with what seemed to be an acre of material attached to yards and yards of string, which stood a great chance of becoming entangled.

He realized that his fate was out of his hands. Then he made his leap of faith. When his "gathered up parachute" opened above him (with no problems) it was a feeling of great relief and thanksgiving that overcame him, as he glided safely to earth.

Once on the ground Willis was faced with a decision. He could run and try to hide from the enemy, or he could go to the aid of the wounded Navigator, who had landed a few hundred yards away. He decided upon the latter, but no sooner did he reach his friend than they were taken captive. The navigator was taken to a hospital, Willis to Stalag Luft I (prison camp).

(Note: By a quirk of fate, the Navigator and the pilot of the plane that had shot them down were taken to the same hospital. The two became acquainted and the German revealed that it was he who had shot down their B-17 and gave the news that he in turn had been shot down by the gunners of Jones' plane.)

The 13 months that Willis Jones spent as a POW were long. Their camp was dismal, with rough wood slatted bunks, with straw-filled burlap sacks for mattresses. Food rations were meager, though Red Cross Care packages kept them from starving. As an officer he was not allowed to work, and boredom, mixed with uncertainty of their fate was a definite problem for the 9,000 officers in his prison. When he finally got a letter from his wife, Lucille, telling about their baby daughter, it made the days and weeks to the end of the war, and a reunion with his little family seem longer still.

Prisoners coped with the boredom in various ways. Some played cards all day, day after day. Some read, and re-read the few paperback books that were available. Willis wrote letters home and devoured the letters from Lucille, which came not nearly often enough. Some others planned and dug tunnels for escape (to no avail).

One of the prisoners in Willis' compound was a pilot from Minnesota, Clair (Red) Cline, who carved models of U.S. bombers and fighter planes.

After months of carving model planes, Cline began carving a violin out of bed slats, as a means of connecting with his musical past. Using considerable ingenuity, and bribing guards with cigarettes for cat gut strings, Cline was able to finish his violin by Christmas Eve, 1944, when he played Silent Night and other carols for his mates (even prison guards), with a make-shift bow. (When the Commandant of the camp heard about the violin he unexpectedly gave Cline a real bow for his violin.) That violin now resides at the World War II museum aboard the Aircraft Carrier USS Intrepid in New York.

Willis was discharged from the service with the Air Medal with 3 Oakleaf Clusters, a Distinguished Flying Cross, a POW Medal, and a Purple Heart. He has managed to keep in touch with members of his crew through numerous reunions over the years, but only once did the entire crew reunite. He thinks back often on his war experiences -- his capture, the POW Camp, his B-17, his fellow airmen -- his rescue. So many memories to relive -- but he sure hasn't made any more parachute jumps.