Warbird Recovery: The Hunt for a Rare World War Ii Plane in Siberia, Russia

By Gordon R. Page

April Fool's Day, 1992. Author Gordon R. Page receives a call from a business associate offering him the chance to travel to Russia in hopes of acquiring a rare World War II fighter plane. He's waited for this call for years-and it's not a joke. Packed with action, intrigue, and danger, Warbird Recovery delivers Page's gripping true story of his journey to Russia to recover the aircraft and fulfill a lifelong dream.

In bitter winter conditions, Page journeys to St. Petersburg, Russia, in an attempt to recover a rare German Bf 109 fighter plane. But everything about traveling in the former Soviet Union only reinforces the vast differences between cultures. Placing a call, buying lunch, and even riding in a taxi-to say nothing of buying an aircraft-prove to be strange and dangerous.

Putting his life at risk, Page discovers that he must learn to negotiate and have plenty of cash on hand to ensure both his safety and his return to the United States. Yet nothing can compare to the excitement he experiences upon finding lost aircraft. Unfortunately, chasing a childhood dream just might cost him his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 23, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595864218

Gordon R. Page

Gordon R. Page is the host and producer of the television show Chasing Planes, founder of the Spirit of Flight Foundation, and is a Colorado Aviation Hall of Fame inductee. He lives with his family in Louisville, Colorado, where he owns and operates an aircraft sales and appraisal business.

Book preview

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

April Fools?

Chapter 2

Russian Fear

Chapter 3

In-Flight Interrogation

Chapter 4

The Hunt Begins

Chapter 5

Tugboat to Warbird Island

Chapter 6

The Quadralith

Chapter 7

Time to Negotiate

Chapter 8

KGB Shadows

Chapter 9

The Warehouse

Chapter 10

Snake

Chapter 11

To Deal or Not to Deal

Chapter 12

What Now?

Chapter 13

Risk in the Middle of Winter

Chapter 14

Freak Show

Chapter 15

Ten Minutes

Chapter 16

An Investment in Russia

Chapter 17

Oasis

Chapter 18

The Waiting Game

Chapter 19

Customs Calling

Chapter 20

Treasure Comes in a Box

Chapter 21

All We Need Is More Money

Epilogue

About the Messerschmitt Bf109

About the pilot of Messerschmitt Bf109 Wk. Nmr. 10256

Major Horst Carganico

Foreword

By John Penney

Since the early 1990s, many American, British, German, and other foreign entrepreneurs have attempted to do business in Russia, which had been nearly impossible until the fall of Communism in the late 1980s.

Most of the business opportunities that surfaced early in post-Communist Russia involved purchasing bulk items such as hardwood or vodka, but my friend and fellow pilot, Gordon Page hoped to find a business deal related to something different: an elusive Russian treasure in the form of a rare World War II aircraft. Many museums and private aviation collectors around the world believed that there were World War II era aircraft in Russia that had been flown by one of the historic Doolittle Raiders, who under the direction of General Jimmy Doolittle were the first U.S. group to bomb Tokyo in retaliation of the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941. Finding one of the Doolittle Raider aircraft would be priceless. Some believed that there were aircraft flown by the German Luftwaffe leader Adolph Galland, one of the most famous fighter pilots in aviation history. There were legends circulated around the world by history buffs that complete squadrons of former World War II Lend-Lease fighter aircraft were still sitting on remote runways in Siberia, Russia. The stories claimed that an unknown person was in Russia waiting for a buyer to pay a moderate sum of money and then simply fly the rare aircraft away.

After World War II, the Russians believed that many of the Lend-Lease aircraft the United States had sent to Siberia to help them in the war were little more than worthless hunks of scrap metal. In truth, a Lend-Lease plane that was still able to fly could be valued at up to millions of dollars in the United States. Needless to say, the idea of acquiring one or two of these planes would be financially motivating to almost anyone.

In the early 1990s, Gordon Page received the call he had been waiting for. A business associate offered him the chance to travel to Russia to acquire a rare World War II aircraft. He jumped at the chance. But the trip didn‘t quite work out as planned, mostly because the deal was not as advertised and ended in thievery. For many it would have been a first and final trip, but for Gordon the experience did little to dull the appeal of a second aircraft opportunity in Russia. Despite the risks, Gordon viewed Russia as a place to fulfill his lifelong dream.

I have personally traveled with my wife to Russia to visit with the family of our „Russian daughter, Galena. That simple jaunt gave me a great appreciation for the bureaucratic roadblocks facing Gordon, as I read his account of the search for the elusive aviation treasure. I was able to project myself right into his writings during my read, and afterward challenged him: „You really did all that?

Gordon‘s adventure brings to mind the well-worn phrases of our contemporary society: „You can do (be) anything you want, and „Chase your dreams. Reading his account also reminds us that we need to appreciate our own personal experiences.

Warbird Recovery seems as if it is right out of Hollywood, but takes on meaning when one thinks that this is a true story about a subject most have never known or read about.

John Penney

John Penney has been flying propeller and jet warbirds for over twenty-five years. After graduating from the U.S. Air Force Academy in 1970, and serving nine active duty years in the Air Force, John landed a job as a test pilot on the Lear Fan 2100 aircraft at Reno-Stead Airport, North of Reno, Nevada. There, he met Al Redick and Lyle Shelton who gave him the privilege of flying Russian MiG fighter jets and racing the „Rare Bear" F8F Bearcat to several Unlimited category Air Racing victories. Those early experiences have blossomed into opportunities to fly numerous surplus military jets and other World War II fighters.

Chapter 1

April Fools?

missing image file

Boulder, Colorado, 1972

Until the time my folks had told me that we would move from Missouri to Boulder, Colorado, the summer had been great; but the thought of moving away from my childhood friends and starting junior high on my own was devastating. It had been the second major piece of bad news I had received that summer.

The first piece came from Popsicle. The company had run a special, wherein avid Popsicle eaters could diligently save their wrappers and turn them in for a real one-person mini-submarine. I imagined the enormous pleasure I’d find conducting submarine war games against my defenseless little brother in the expanse of our grandmother’s swimming pool. With my appetite for Popsicles, the thirty-five wrappers the company was calling for had proven to be small potatoes to me. I stuffed my wrappers into an envelope, addressed it with care, and walked it to the mailbox.

I counted the days until I received my package.

When the box finally arrived, it was clear that, that summer, there had been many avid Popsicle eaters in the state of Missouri (and elsewhere, I imagined)—enough that Popsicle had run out of the advertised mini-subs and, therefore, had to send me a much less intriguing toy—a model airplane. The note in the box read, Hope you enjoy the enclosed model. Eat more Popsicles and try again. I was crushed. For the remainder of the summer, I boycotted Popsicle.

Despite my obvious disappointment—and my lack of paint to make the model plane look as cool as advertised—my mother somehow convinced me to construct the prize. I finished the model in a single afternoon and gave it to my brother. And despite my original disappointment at getting a model airplane instead of a submarine, it took me only three days to realize that I really did like the model Messerschmitt 109, and I wanted it back. My brother and I fought relentlessly over the model. Of course, my mother took his side, so for the remainder of the summer, I was subjected to my brother’s obvious attempts to annoy me by flying the plane in front of my face. My annoyance only worsened when I learned I’d soon be moving to Colorado.

Like most twelve-year-olds, I found moving to a new state difficult. Making friends was a daunting task. And though I had plenty of opportunities to meet friends—particularly at the baseball field—I just wasn’t ready. So I sought out the school library, turning first to the section of World War II books.

The first book I ever pulled out in that library was about the German Luftwaffe. Of course, any credible piece of literature covering the Luftwaffe would have gone into great detail on the famed Messerschmitt 109—but the foldout picture of the famous fighter plane did little to help me feel better; it reminded me, instead, of my torturous little brother. Regardless, I was enraptured with thoughts of how amazing it must have been to fly such an awesome machine. I studied the picture, imagining myself in the pilot seat, dodging bullets, and shooting down enemy fighters.

That was that day I discovered the power of my daydreams. It didn’t matter where I was; in my mind, I could leave the state and the school that seemed so foreign to me. I could find adventure, excitement, and, above all, comfort—anywhere in the world.

missing image file

One day, as I was reading, I was approached by an outgoing, young, blond boy, around my age.

„Hey, what‘s your favorite airplane?" he asked. I only knew two types of planes, the 109 and the P-51 Mustang, and since I happened to be reading a well-illustrated page about the 109

„The 109," I replied.

„The 109? he said. „That‘s German!

„Yeah, but look at all the victory markings on this plane, I said as I pointed at the more than forty kill marks prominently displayed on the tail. „The Germans had really cool painting on their planes too.

He looked at me and said that I was the only other person he knew that liked World War II planes. „Maybe we could get together and play with my models sometime, he said. „My name is Cliff, by the way.

I couldn‘t tell him that the only model I had was in the hands of my little brother, so I told him that I didn‘t play with model planes. Then I said, „Someday I‘m going to have me a real Messerschmitt—not just a model."

„Well, you‘re dreaming! No one has a real Messerschmitt, Cliff said. „So you‘ll just have to come play with my model ones.

Of course, I was thrilled that someone was interested in being my friend. It was even better that someone liked some of the same things I did. I agreed to meet him after school to plan our weekend, but in the back of my mind I secretly dreamed that one day I would fly my own Messerschmitt.

Maybe Cliff was right. Maybe it was just a crazy dream.

missing image file

Twenty-one years later ...

It was April 1, and it had been a long day of sales training at a small hotel just off the Lincoln, Nebraska, airport. I really didn‘t want to be in Lincoln (Husker country), mostly because I had eventually gotten used to life in Boulder, Colorado, though it seemed the Golden Buffaloes never had been able to beat the Huskers in football while I was growing up. Needless to say, the words „Lincoln and „Cornhuskers never quite sat well with me. But, there I was in Lincoln, finally on a break from training salespeople for a Nebraska-based business in which I was somehow involved.

Deciding to take advantage of this short free time, I checked my voice-mail. There was a message from Daryl, owner of the Cass County Cellular telephone market and my employer. I was certain that he was calling to talk about the new Democratic president, Bill Clinton—again. Daryl, it seemed, couldn‘t get over the fact that Clinton had won the presidency and thought it was necessary to remind me of his lack of support for the man every chance he got. Daryl and I had been big fans of the incumbent candidate, President George Bush, a man who had suffered greatly in the polls over opposition to his direction of Operation Desert Storm in Iraq. Now we had a president who wowed the public by playing a saxophone on national television.

But Daryl‘s message wasn‘t about „Bubba." For what seemed like the first time in a month, Daryl was interested in something other than politics. It was a welcome change, and the subject of his message—war-planes—was much more intriguing than the training class I would soon be forced to return to. So, instead of having a donut and drinking bad coffee, I returned his call.

It occurred to me as I dialed that I had made the drive from Boulder to Lincoln only once in my life. Throughout that nine-hour drive, I had done nothing but worry about what the people of Lincoln were going to do to me, the guy from Boulder. So, in an effort to combine my passion for flying with my strong desire to eliminate as much of my Nebraska-phobia as possible, I bought private plane—a single-engine Cessna T-210—which enabled me to cut my commuting time (as well as my worrying time) considerably. What a difference a plane makes.

Of course, the people of Lincoln, and most Nebraskans, ended up being incredibly friendly. They didn‘t even mind that I was from Boulder. As it turns out, I made some of my greatest friends there, in a state I had once feared. I was twelve years old all over again.

Another advantage of owning the Cessna was that when I had a business trip, I could jump into the small plane in the morning, visit all of the offices in Nebraska, and still be at home in Colorado in time for dinner, saving me a nine-hour drive each way.

As my call went through to Daryl‘s office in Birmingham, Alabama, I thought about my upcoming flight home (but mostly about dinner). Knowing my affection for aviation, Daryl got my attention immediately by asking whether I knew anything about the Japanese Zero fighter plane. It was a ridiculous question; I‘d studied them for years, and he knew it.

He then asked, „How about the King Cobra?" I began to wonder what the hell he had up his sleeve.

„Do you think that if we could get these planes, they‘d be worth anything?" he asked.

These two planes were known as warbirds, and I had followed them for a long time, paying close attention to their values. Because I had a dream to own a North American P-51 Mustang, I told Daryl that if he had a remote chance to get either of those aircraft, he had better jump on it.

„More importantly, I asked, „how can I get in on the deal? Then, I learned the catch.

„All we have to do is raise a couple hundred thousand dollars, fly to a remote part of Siberia, pay off a bunch of Russians, and load up the planes," he said, tearing my heart clean in half.

And then it hit me: it was April Fools‘ Day. Daryl was a great aficionado of April Fools‘ Day jokes. I had heard a lot about his ability to pull off impressive pranks on friends of mine who worked with Daryl, not to mention that I had played a joke on him the year before. I was convinced I had been duped, so, naturally, I laughed.

„This is no joke, he told me. „Really.

„Okay, okay, you got me," I said at least three times before it began to sink in that maybe this was a real deal. Hopeful, I asked for the details:

„Where are the planes? How many? What shape are they in? Can I fly one, please?"

„Don‘t you have to get back to training? he said. „We‘ll discuss this later. Talk about bringing a warbird-lover down hard!

I returned to an afternoon of sales training, in boring Lincoln, Nebraska, but my thoughts remained in the clouds, flying the Zero.

The following day, I was back in Denver. My first stop was to Maps Unlimited, an incredible store that offered anything and everything related to maps and globes. If a map of Siberia existed, I was sure to find it at Maps Unlimited. The problem was that the only information I had from Daryl was that the planes were somewhere north of Japan. Therefore, I bought every map that showed that region and began my study. Since I had previously read in my extensive aviation collection about Japanese naval and army air forces, I had a vague idea of where we might be headed.

Despite the extent of my study, however, I needed more information, so I called Daryl the next day. Much to my dismay, all he told me was that we were going to have to pay off a Russian admiral to get permission to enter the „island."

Island.

With that clue I was able to narrow down the potential locations of the warbirds. After evaluating the possibilities, I made an educated guess that the plane existed in one particular location. However, there was only so much guesswork an adventurer could perform without more information, so I called Daryl back and asked him, point blank, if I had guessed correctly. My suspicions were confirmed.

missing image file

Finally, Daryl decided to supply me with the information I had been waiting for. „Did I mention that no Americans have ever been to this part of the world and that the locals don’t really like Americanskis?" he asked with a little mystery in his tone.

I had no idea how to respond—this information was too troubling—but in the back of my mind I was still imagining how great it would be to fly a Zero or a P-63 King Cobra. Daryl, what kind of shape are these things in? I asked, setting my concerns aside.

All I know is that they say we can put in fuel and fly them away, he said. What a dream of an answer! He told me that I needed to start thinking about how to get the money together for this project. Now that I knew where we were going, there would be no stopping my fund-raising efforts.

Throughout the previous two years, I had been raising money to buy FCC licenses that allowed my employer to build cellular telephone systems. In that time, I learned that often, when raising money, the process goes more smoothly if the contributor is already in a position to trust you—often they will understand and identify with the goals and causes to which you are asking them to donate. Those requests for donations had been fairly straightforward and easy to secure since everyone we solicited knew how to use a phone.

This time, I knew the average investor wouldn’t know much about airplanes besides how to buy a ticket to fly on United. I did my best to put a small book together that explained our intentions—preparing myself with the little information that I could gather from Daryl—and started making calls. In addition to the people I had done business with on the cellular telephone systems, I talked to many of my acquaintances who were aircraft owners. I was certain that they would leap at the opportunity to be part of a warbird deal.

Much to my surprise, none of my aviator friends were interested in our adventure—mostly because they were all familiar with the fallacy of treasures in Russia. Good luck. Let me know what that leprechaun at the end of the rainbow looks like! was the standard response.

As it turned out, my acquaintances in the cellular phone industry were the ones who supported us—and when they did, the money poured in. I had meeting after meeting, educating others about our goals, showing pictures, and telling stories of World War II. I even found a book that listed warbird monetary values. According to the book, the aircraft we were going to bring back had five-star value, meaning they had a potential worth of over a million dollars. Needless to say, the return on our investment looked impressive—just what we needed to win over any potential investor.

Daryl had structured the deal so that he, Terry (his partner), and I would be the general partners. We would also be limited partners along with the other investors. The purpose of this structure was to show the investors that we were willing to bear an equal level of risk on the deal. Little did we know just how much risk that would involve.

As I continued to collect checks to finance the recovery, Daryl started to arrange the travel plans. It was roughly at this point that Daryl introduced me to a mysterious gentleman named Dick. Dick was from the Northeast and was a dealer of exotic cars who became acquainted with Daryl during an earlier transaction involving a Ferrari. Dick was extremely interested in rare cars from Russia and the Baltic region in addition to the extraordinary business he had already completed in Tallinn, Estonia, where he had recovered a rare Mercedes-Benz that had been specially made for one of Adolph Hitler’s advisors. Before Dick recovered this car from Estonia, only one had been known to exist in the world. Dick seemed to be the perfect person to help us with our venture, especially because, as I was just then learning, in a roundabout way, Dick was the original source of our warbird recovery project: While in Russia, Dick had met a blond Indiana Jones type from Sweden, referred to only as Peter the Swede. The driving force behind Dick’s Mercedes recovery, Peter apparently had more of a passion for warbirds.