This Freedom

Heinrich Himmler's lieutenants were cracking down on all Germans of mixed ancestry, no matter how great their skills. At an aircraft factory outside Leipzig was a ground mechanic, half Jewish, whose father had been killed by the Nazis, and whose mother had died of shock. Now he knew he faced a concentration camp. When he was ordered to taxi a new Junkers 188 twin-engined reconnaissance bomber down the factory field, he saw his chance and took it.

He had never flown a plane. For the first time in his life he opened the throttles wide, took off, somehow managed to get headed west. Two hours and 400 miles later he was over an advanced field of the U.S. Ninth Air Force on the French-Belgian border. With no idea of how to land, he circled and circled. U.S. gunners trained on him, set his left engine afire and solved his landing problem.

The disabled Junkers lost altitude, skidded across the field on its belly and groundlooped. U.S. ground crewmen helped the grinning refugee, unhurt, from the cockpit. U.S. authorities withheld his name, placed him under technical arrest. By his standards, this was freedom.

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