Their Deeds of Valor

By Don Lasseter

Fly combat missions with the 8th air force in WWII! Feel the horror of being shot to pieces in mid-air, baling out or crash landing, then facing possible execution or imprisonment! Meet the french Samaritans, including many young women, who risked everything to hide, lodge, feed, and transport allied Airmen. Experience the constant danger of crisscrossing enemy occupied territory while trying to evade capture. Learn for the first time about a Top Secret effort called Project Patriotism to compensate European civilians for rescuing stranded airmen!These are the adventures of real heroes who Saved freedom for the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 18, 2002
• ISBN: 9781465329257

Don Lasseter

Don Lasseter has written five true crime books for Pinnacle, plus sixteen magazine articles that were reprinted in Pinnacle's anthology books about murders. In addition to being a crime writer, Mr. Lasseter is a WWII historian who frequently lectures on the subject in schools, at service clubs, and for veteran's groups. He accompanies his talks with slide packages entitled "WWII, Then and Now," consisting of photos he took while actually retracing most major battles in Western Europe and in the South Pacific. Taking black and white combat photos with him, Mr. Lasseter laboriously searched for the exact spots on which the photographers stood, and shot the same scenes as they look today. He accumulated over 1500 such pictures associated with various battles including the Normandy invasion, Battle of the Bulge, crossing the Rhine, taking Berlin, and other major engagements. A native Californian, Mr. Lasseter resides in Orange County. He has served as guest lecturer in criminology classes at California State University, Fullerton. Hollywood history is Mr. Lasseter's third major interest. His personal library includes an extensive collection of movie books, and he takes pride in being able to name hundreds of old character actors whose faces are often seen in classic films. One day, Lasseter says, he will write books, both fiction and non-fiction, about the golden era of film production and the people involved. If you would like more information about his books or his interests in WWII or Old Hollywood, please feel free to write him at 1215 S. Beach Blvd. #323, PMB, Anaheim, CA 92804.

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INTRODUCTION

A few years ago, I embarked on a WWII research project seeking information about the fates of American bomber crews and fighter pilots who baled out or crash landed in Europe. Questions had been raised in my mind by various books and by classic films such as the fictional Stalag 17 and The Great Escape, a story based on fact. Plenty of information seemed available about POWs, but I wanted to know what happened to the surviving men who were not captured.

Andy Rooney, commentator on CBS’s 60 Minutes and a former WWII correspondent, wrote in his book My War: Many of the best and most heroic stories of the war were told afterward by men who were lucky enough to avoid being captured when they landed in France and were absorbed into the French Underground. His observation added fuel to my drive.

Actor Clark Gable, after flying five missions in a B-17 bomber, put it even more succinctly. If you want a story, talk to these veterans. That’s exactly what I set out to do.

Searching for names of WWII Air Force veterans who had survived crashing or parachuting, I explored files stored in the National Archives, College Park, Maryland. I found excellent records recently declassified. Some of the documents were handwritten by repatriated airmen who had spent weeks and months evading capture in German-occupied Europe. Upon finally reaching England, they underwent extensive debriefing during which their adventures were recorded in detail. Afterwards, they swore an oath not to reveal anything about the help they had received from underground patriots.

A less extensive set of records in the archives revealed piecemeal information about underground assistance given to the airmen. In France, Holland, Belgium, and several other countries, individual civilians and members of organized groups rescued stranded aviators despite German warnings of severe punishment.

Hundreds of these helpers were betrayed by their countrymen or rooted out by German spies. They suffered savage treatment including torture, execution, and imprisonment. Many died in extermination camps.

Large gaps remained in the available information. It took extensive additional research and a stroke of good luck to fill in missing pieces of the puzzle.

By sheer chance, I stumbled into a meeting with Army Air Force veteran, Lewis Vic Goodwin. Shy and soft-spoken, he allowed me to read an unpublished personal memoir about his military service in France. The brief manuscript riveted me. It cast light into a dark portal of human drama that had been virtually ignored by other WWII historians.

In Goodwin’s memoir, he spoke of his participation in Project Patriotism, one of the most remarkable, yet obscure endeavors carried out near the end of World War II.

The fighting had ended by the time Goodwin arrived in Germany, so he expected to be sent home after a brief stay. Instead he received orders to join a mysterious secret mission.

In November 1945, after obtaining a French driver’s license, Corporal Goodwin and fourteen other enlisted men were escorted to a military facility storing rows of expensive civilian automobiles. Happy to get away from olive-drab jeeps and trucks, the men selected cars to use in the project. Goodwin settled for a black 1937 English Buick. Another soldier chose a massive black convertible, an eight-cylinder German Horch once owned by Hitler’s number two man, Rudolph Hess. When all fifteen men had made their picks, a sergeant ordered them to queue up in convoy and follow an ambulance. Twenty-four hours later they arrived at the Arch of Triumph in Paris.

Quartered in the luxurious George V hotel nearby, the men were issued civilian clothing, then given crash courses in conversational French and map reading. Finally, they sat through lectures explaining the mission.

Officers explained that thousands of U.S. and British airmen had been shot down over Nazi occupied territory. The stranded airmen faced possible capture or execution by German forces and uncertain treatment by civilians. They became known as evaders. Nazi commanders, determined to prevent them from reaching England and flying more missions, offered cash rewards for information leading to their arrest. Widespread posters warned that anyone daring to help grounded aviators would be summarily shot or imprisoned in concentration camps.

In spite of threats, a number of Samaritans, in organized groups or as individuals, risked everything to assist evaders. Eventually known simply as helpers, they surreptitiously provided food, shelter, civilian clothing, forged documents, and various modes of transportation. The risk was increased by Nazi sympathizers, collaborators, and greedy neighbors who might, at any moment, betray helpers by informing Gestapo agents. In many cases, German spies dressed as Allied aviators infiltrated and destroyed escape lines.

While flames of war still engulfed Europe, General Dwight Eisenhower issued orders preventing the great majority of repatriated U.S. airmen from flying additional combat missions. He wished to avoid the risk of their falling into enemy hands where they might be forced to reveal secrets leading to underground patriots.

British and American military organizations provided Resistance forces with financial and logistical support to help funnel evaders out of Nazi-occupied territory. The American unit, Military Intelligence Service, formed a top-secret branch of their MISX agency for this express purpose.

Near the cessation of hostilities, the U.S., Britain, and France agreed on the need to identify civilian helpers not only in France, but in Belgium, Holland, Luxembourg, Denmark, Czechoslovakia, and elsewhere for the purpose of awarding appropriate compensation and medals. President Harry Truman, with Executive Order 9586, established the U.S. Medal of Freedom as the highest award to honor American and foreign civilians who had performed a meritorious act of service outside the United States in wartime. (It was replaced in 1963 by the Presidential Medal of Freedom as the highest non-military award.) Service by helpers to American aviators would be recognized in six grades:

Grade 1-Medal of Freedom with Gold Palm, awarded to chiefs of underground organizations who passed over 100 airmen to safety

Grade 2-Medal of Freedom with Silver Palm for chiefs or helpers who were successful in returning at least 40 to 100 evaders

Grade 3–Medal of Freedom with Bronze Palm, for helpers who sheltered or convoyed from 18 to 40 evaders, plus section heads or chiefs of smaller organizations

Grade 4-basic Medal of Freedom for helpers who sheltered or convoyed from 8 to 18 evaders Grade 5-Certificate signed by General Eisenhower for helpers who sheltered from 1 to 7 evaders Grade 6-Informal letter of thanks signed by a military attache.

Detachment 6801 of MIS-X set up headquarters in Paris to investigate over 20,000 cases involving French citizens. Many of them had lost homes, property, and the lives of loved ones as punishment for helping airmen. MIS-X staff gathered the facts then recommended financial compensation for the most deserving along with appropriate medals. They called the mission Project Patriotism. Corporal Vic Goodwin became a member of the top-secret organization.

Wondering why the activities must be covert, Goodwin learned of the evaders’ promises not to divulge names or locations of helpers. Each airman had signed a document stating, "information about your escape or evasion from capture would be useful to the enemy and a danger to your friends. It is therefore SECRET." Goodwin also heard that Axis fugitives still at large might be hiding among pro-German French citizens and collaborators. Publicly divulging information about payments to helpers could lead to vindictive murders and robbery. In order to protect the recipients, MIS-X commanders kept details under a strict veil of secrecy. Use of civilian clothing and automobiles by project members would dissociate investigators from the military, thereby easing concerns of French citizens who worried that German invaders still might return. Administrators hoped most people would interpret the project as bureaucratic U.S. State Department functions.

So Vic Goodwin spent six months driving the Buick along war-torn roads of France in search of helpers, conducting preliminary interviews, and transporting many of them back to Paris for investigation of their deeds. Thousands of French citizens had submitted oral and written reports describing assistance they gave and the consequences they had endured. Each petition for financial aid required careful examination. In Goodwin’s investigations, he came face to face with the vagaries of war and the resulting devastation of its victims. He met good people who, despite their generosity, suffered deprivation as well as mental and physical wounds. He learned of tragedies, sacrifices, romances, betrayals, and of too many lives wasted.

Not all of the incidents were sad. In one case, Goodwin drove a farmer, his wife, and teen-age daughter to a basilica in Toulouse. There, they reunited with a young Army Air Force lieutenant who, in 1944, had baled out of his flaming bomber. The family had risked their lives to help him evade Nazi capture. While being hidden in their attic, the lieutenant had been smitten with the daughter and in exchange for their generous help, had made certain promises.

It had been exactly two years since the soldier slipped from the farmer’s cottage in the dark of night, into a waiting hay truck for transportation by a Resistance group. He’d been escorted across the Pyrenees to Spain and eventual escape to England. Now, he had returned to keep his commitments. Goodwin felt a deep sense of satisfaction when the group entered the basilica for a marriage ceremony.

When I read Vic Goodwin’s memoir, and chatted with him about his experiences, I knew I wanted to expand the research and bring these remarkable events to life in a book. By telling the stories of downed airmen, I could lead into accounts about their helpers and intertwine both narratives. During my own research, I encountered a wealth of astonishing tales. I felt a sense of awe while visiting the National Archives and actually holding in my hands the yellowed documents handwritten by young airmen more than a half-century ago when they’d been repatriated. I had admired those warriors for most of my life, and now felt a direct, tactile connection with them.

Most of the airmen who made home runs back to England received a great deal of help. Early in the game, small groups were guided through France to the shores of Brittany where they crossed the channel aboard fishing vessels or English gun boats. Some were even lucky enough to be evacuated by aircraft. More evaders were escorted to the Spanish border, made arduous treks over the Pyrenees, coped with treacherous treatment by Spanish police, and finally reached Gibraltar for subsequent flights across the channel. After D-Day, hundreds of evaders were liberated by advancing Allied troops, along with POWs who had been captured despite helpers’ efforts. Each one them experienced adventures that would be etched in memory the rest of their lives.

MIS-X unfortunately destroyed large segments of their records after the war. But not all of them. In reading French helper’s applications for compensation, I saw grievous accounts of lost relatives, betrayal, torture, and death. The narratives not only aroused an emotional response in me, but also a gnawing question. Why would these ordinary people; farmers, merchants, country folk and townsmen alike, risk the loss of everything including their lives, to help men who had been devastating their cities, destroying their farms, and delivering death from their bomb bays? Of course the strict, oppressive German occupation was difficult to endure, but overt resistance invited deprivation or death. Why would the civilians do it? It became a major priority to seek out the answers by interviewing as many surviving patriots as I could find.

Recently declassified accounts of the airmen’s adventures were more readily available. The records are filed by Escape and Evasion numbers (E&E # 1 to # 3,064) assigned to repatriated evaders upon their return to England, in order of arrival. I built on the base of these reports by conducting personal interviews with aging airmen and civilian helpers. Several Air Force veterans expressed surprise that it was no longer necessary to keep secret the names of their benefactors and the specifics of their escape stories. Some were amazed to learn that helpers had, indeed, been awarded financial compensation. On the other hand, they were saddened to hear that many had been killed for their kindness. Discussions with helpers provided compelling insights into their motivations. Many of the U.S. airmen had made return trips to Europe, located surviving helpers, and celebrated the renewal of life with them.

In conversations with the veterans, I began to see a distinct difference in personalities between bomber pilots and fighter pilots. Those officers sitting in the left seat of B-17s and B-24s, had accepted responsibility for safety of their crew members much as fathers might over their sons, even though age differences were negligible. The weight of such stress seemed to have infused them with quiet strength and dignity. In contrast, independent fighter jockeys still carried a hint of swagger in their strides along with irreverent humor in recalling the combat years. Emotional response to our conversations, in all of the men, varied as well. Many spoke with ease, dismissing the fear, danger, and tragic events while recalling the camaraderie, adventure, and lighter moments. Others dug deeper, revealing personal anguish. A few had trouble choking back the tears. I admired each and every one of them.

My contacts with the French helpers also touched me deeply. In Angoulême, France, while visiting the Museum of the Resistance And The Deportation, and chatting with patrons Herb and Millicent Brill (chapter 18) I stopped to examine a letter which Millicent translated into English for me. It had been written by a Resistance fighter, a young man facing execution by the Nazis.

Prison of Angoulême January 15, 1944

Dear Beloved Mother,

Please pardon your unfortunate son for the pain that I’m causing you, because when you read this letter, I will have ceased to live. I am leaving with the sweet memory of a beautiful mother who was always very good and whom I have greatly loved.

Help my dear Adrienne and my three dear children, whom I have so much loved. I will be calm knowing that you are together and living with my memory. My dearest wish is to know that you are all well. Goodbye, dearest mother. Your unfortunate son who embraces you very hard for the last time. Armand JEAN

Just after dawn on 16 January, a firing squad ended the young mans’ life.

In many years of nonfiction research and writing, I’ve never been so profoundly affected. These were the men and women who saved freedom for the world. Tom Brokaw accurately called them The Greatest Generation. Meeting survivors and hearing personal accounts of their exploits both saddened and exhilarated me.

Gradually, I accumulated a collection of more than 300 files on airmen and about 100 reports concerning the remarkable people who aided them. Then the problem became apparent. How could I choose which ones to include in this book and which ones to leave out? Every one of the adventures is worth telling.

Vic Goodwin had opened the door and invited me into a panorama of human conflict and courage that cries out for recital to the world.

In the following chapters, I have selected what I think are some of the best examples of these stories. Because Goodwin’s work took place in France, I narrowed the scope of my research to the adventures of evaders and helpers in that country.

It is my sincere hope that I’ve chosen narratives honoring all of the men and women whose courage saved freedom for the world.

CHAPTER 1

RESEAUX, RESISTANCE, AND BETRAYAL

ORIGINS OF UNDERGROUND ESCAPE LINES

In June 1940, Nazi invaders stunned France with a humiliating defeat and installed oppressive rule under the terms of an armistice which split the country into two regions. Germans occupied and governed the north and west, including Paris, while allowing a provisional French government to administer the southern sector. The new President, Marshal Henri Phillipe Pétain, 86, believing that Great Britain would lose the war, ran a pro-German regime in Vichy, 180 miles south of Paris.

General Charles De Gaulle, adamantly opposed to German domination, had fled to England, planning to rally his countryman into a force called the Free French. He delivered an eloquent radio speech in which he exhorted, . . . Whatever happens, the flame of French resistance must not and shall not die. According to several historians, this inaugurated the use of Resistance to describe underground guerilla forces. Soon, British Intelligence units began contributing logistical support in the form of advisors, money, weapons, and supplies dropped in by parachute. The United States later followed suit.

Early in the conflict, Allied airmen baled out of crippled planes or crash landed in conquered territories. Ensuing heavy bomber raids over occupied countries substantially swelled the ranks of downed fliers. When the trickle of stranded evaders became a torrent, needs for shelter, food, clothing, counterfeit identifications papers, and transportation grew proportionately.

Resistance groups, ignoring risks of extreme punishment, at first conducted sabotage raids against the enemy. Recognizing the plight of stranded airmen, they expanded operations to include development of evasion reseaux (underground transportation networks) to help evaders reach England for repatriation.

Such unselfish generosity was, of course, not universal. Large contingents of French citizens thought it imprudent to agitate their conquerors, while a few others passionately welcomed them.

As the underground movement intensified, internal conflicts flared between collaborateurs who aided the Germans, and French maquis (partisan fighters) who supported the Allies. Infiltration efforts by Nazi spies, often pretending to be Allied evaders, plus betrayals and denouncements by German sympathizers, created the need for maquisards and reseaux officers to enforce maximum security measures. This included intensive questioning of evaders, and making difficult decisions regarding their authenticity. If suspects failed to satisfactorily answer interrogators, they risked being taken to a secluded place and summarily executed. There is no reliable way to tell how many who met this fate were actually enemy agents or genuine evaders whose foolish acts raised suspicion. In war, expedient decisions must be made even if innocents die as a result.

Danger reached critical levels when the German military governor of occupied France, General Karl von Stülpnagel ordered the posting of warnings throughout France.

NOTICE

Any male who would aid, directly or indirectly, enemy air troops coming down in parachutes, or having made a forced landing, would facilitate their escape, would hide them, or would come to their aid in any manner whatsoever, will be shot on the spot. Women guilty of the same offense will be sent to concentration camps located in Germany.

People who seize crews forced to land, or parachutists, or who contribute, by their behavior to their capture, will receive an award of 10,000 francs. In certain particular cases, this reward will be further increased.

Paris, September 22, 1941 The Millitsarbefahlahaber in France, Signed: von STULPNAGLE General of the Infantry

Ironically, von Stülpnagel, whose orders led to widespread betrayals of helpers, and countless executions, was later accused of complicity in the 20 July, 1944 plot to assassinate Hitler. Summoned to Berlin to face charges, he shot himself, but survived only to be tried with other conspirators and hanged.

Underground operatives learned to be wary of acquaintances, neighbors, and even relatives who might betray them, driven by misplaced loyalty, fear, or simple greed. Such betrayals became known as denouncements.

Nevertheless, scores of reseau escape lines sprang up all over Europe. In France, they took on esoteric and romantic code names such as Comète, Burgundy, Shelburne, Oaktree, Francoise, and many others. Because so many men among the French patriots had been arrested and deported to Germany, a disproportionate number of women participated in the covert operations.

One of the first and most effective lines originated in Belgium, pioneered by a vivacious 24-year-old blue-eyed blonde artist and nurse, the daughter of a school headmaster. Petite, in her mid-twenties, slim, energetic, with large liquid eyes and pretty feminine features suggesting innocence, Andrée de Jongh surprised a number of people with her inner strength. She hated the invaders for deporting and imprisoning her sister. Seeking retribution, she recognized the need for soldiers or refugees to be returned to England as quickly as possible, where they might rejoin units and fight again, rather than languish in hiding or in prison camps for the duration. It became her obsession to help these men.

Escape across the English Channel would be extremely dangerous due to fleets of German patrol boats and heavily fortified shores under constant surveillance. Using the code name Dédée, de Jongh recruited helpers and scouted hiking trails across the Pyrenees over which evaders could reach neutral Spain, British Gibraltar, and finally make the home run to England. Her organization became known as "Cométe" or Comet.

A brush with disaster in mid 1942 forced her and her father, Frédéric, to relocate their headquarters to Paris. He became an operative alongside his daughter, who dyed her hair black to confuse the Germans. Their success in rescuing airmen became legendary. One of their Basque smuggler guides escorted 227 evaders and refugees across the mountains in 66 trips. Dédée personally led fugitives in 20 hikes over the formidable trail.

In January 1943, a Spanish farmer in Dédée’s group betrayed her to the Gestapo. They seized her, along with several evaders and colleagues, subjected her to brutal interrogation, and eventually sent her to Ravensbruck, a hideous concentration camp for women located 50 miles north of Berlin. There she found her sister. Both women survived. The King of England later decorated her with the George medal, and the United States bestowed on her the highest recognition given to civilians, the Medal of Freedom with Gold Palm.

After de Jongh’s loss, Cométe operations carried on under the direction of Dédée’s top lieutenant, Baron Jean-Francois Nothomb, just 23 years old.

Dédée’s bespectacled and soft-spoken father, Frédéric de Jongh, ordinarily a cautious man, was grief stricken at the imprisonment of his two daughters. Yet he continued helping evaders, assisted by neighbor and colleague Robert Ayle.

De Jongh recruited a Paris woman, Alice Goret, to provide lodging for him and for stranded airmen. She and her 17-year-old son, Francis, eagerly accepted. Within weeks, though, Gestapo agents arrested Francis and deported him to a concentration camp. Devastated, Madame Goret remained loyal to the underground and continued convoying evaders. A report on her activities noted, Her house seems to have been used as a meeting place for a great many of the organization. She also made a number of identity cards and food tickets. In addition she was able to obtain clothes for the aviators.

When Robert Ayle received an urgent warning through the organization’s intelligence branch, he called on Mme Goret with a special request. He asked her to contact a Mme Verdain and find out if she would be willing to accept aviators in her home. Ayle explained the possible need to use an important password. If Verdain refused to take the aviators, then Goret should work into their conversation the phrase, "le loup et l’agneau," meaning the wolf and the lamb.

Goret visited Mme Verdain and made the proposal to harbor aviators. The woman refused, and continued rejection of the idea despite repeated appeals. Finally, Goret mentioned the magic words. Verdain’s reply made it clear that she didn’t personallylook after aviators but friends of hers would. She volunteered to introduce Goret to them and arranged a rendezvous to be held eight days hence.

On the appointed day, Goret returned and found Verdain wasn’t home. Verdain’s mother, however, gave Goret the address of a disreputable hotel and instructions to contact a Mme Carrion.

Goret knocked on the door at which Carrion was registered and found three women inside. She felt her flesh crawl. In describing Carrion, Goret said, She was tall, fat, with black hair, vulgar, about 40 years old.

According to Goret, She accepted straight away to receive aviators, and she said that for each airmen, she would pay 20,000 francs. After a few minutes of discussion, it became obvious to Goret the woman intended to sell airmen to the Gestapo for 30,000 francs each. Carrion also asked Goret to provide a list of people from whom she received the evaders. The men were to be delivered to a hotel in the Montmartre section of Paris.

When Mme Goret reported the plot to Ayle, and gave him names of women involved, he immediately snapped, They must be liquidated.

An investigator later reported, According to plan, the women were knocked over the head and thrown into the Seine. All their handbags were kept and their papers were brought to de Jongh and Ayle who examined them and said, ‘We have done a good job.’ In those papers were discovered details of a German organization with agents in several French cities. Arrangements were made to liquidate all of them.

Ayle issued instructions to bring Mme Verdain in for questioning but she managed to hide in northern France. When Gestapo agents cut a devastating swath through Comet, the pursuit was dropped.

Frederic de Jongh, perhaps a little too reckless in his sorrow over the deportation of his daughters, placed his trust in a helper. Jacques Desoubrie, a.k.a. Jean Masson (and several other aliases), a small man in his mid twenties with a mop of dirty blonde hair and blue eyes as round as ping-pong balls, had ingratiated himself in the organization. On 7 June, 1943 he escorted seven airmen from Brussels to a railroad terminal in Paris, the Gare du Nord. Frédéric de Jongh, accompanied by Ayle and his wife, greeted them. Gestapo agents suddenly appeared and surrounded the entire party.

Ayle was later shot to death, and Frédéric DeJongh died while imprisoned in Germany.

The traitor, Desoubrie, over a period of several months, delivered approximately 50 Resistance members to the Nazis. After the war, French courts tried and executed him.

*

Eventually Alice Goret’s son, Francis, returned from a concentration camp, his health permanently ruined. Project Patriotism arranged for a deportee payment of 26,000 francs in recognition of his work prior to being captured.

*

The Comète organization and its network of helpers continued channeling evaders to freedom during the remainder of 1943 despite being periodically broken and restored. It would be credited with protecting more than 700 British and American airmen from German capture, and returning most of them to their units.

Lessons learned from Comète helped guide other fledgling escape lines, but the path to success grew increasingly treacherous. Even though organizers and helpers suffered constant threats from Germans, often with tragic consequences, they persevered.

CHAPTER 2

THE WOMAN IN RED

MADAME GABRIELLE WIAME

I myself assisted in three executions; two who announced themselves as aviators but who were really Gestapo, said Madame Gabrielle Wiame. It is I who conducted them to the spot where they were executed. The third victim was a young Frenchman who had stolen money destined for the families sheltering aviators. (See chapter 6)

One of the most remarkable operatives in the Cométe line, Gabrielle Wiame, code named Marie, willingly handled the difficult aspects of her duties as well as those more satisfying. She would be credited with helping more than 100 stranded airmen.

Belgian by birth, she married a French policeman, Charles Wiame. Their one child, Robert, had turned 15 by the time Gabrielle was recruited for underground work.

Wiame’s earliest participation with the underground stemmed from her brother’s activities. He had been hiding a Canadian aviator, Elmer Bulman, in preparation for moving him to a different safehouse. Frederic de Jongh’s friend, Robert Ayle, whom Gabrielle had met through mutual Belgian friends, asked if she would escort Bulman to the home of Comtesse de Suzanette. An eccentric aristocrat, the countess had recently fired all of her servants except an elderly maid, in a effort to assure that no one leaked her secret occupation. Wiame not only brought Bulman to the house, but voluntarily made follow-up visits to help cook and clean for de Suzanette and her wards.

Wiame soon began hiding evaders in her Paris home situated near a large park and close to the Gare d´Austerlitz railroad station. It was a perfect location. When time came for airmen to depart, disguised in civilian clothing, they could easily melt into foot traffic along park paths, then casually saunter to the station to catch a train. The men she aided described Wiame as blonde, wearing thick glasses, and often dressed in red clothing.

Cométe’s leaders recognized Wiame’s resourcefulness and made her chief coordinator for evader lodging with duties of establishing safe houses throughout Paris. It was not uncommon for her to personally escort airmen from one hideout to another. Wiame also actively participated in the vital task of procuring food and clothing for the evaders, on one occasion managing to obtain 100 overcoats for the men. She arranged for false identification papers as well, often doing the forging herself.

Ayle, impressed with Wiame’s dedication, arranged for her to meet Val Williams (real name Vladimir Bouryschkine) the leader of a new organization. Born in Russia, and a former champion basketball player in the U.S. and France, Williams had been instrumental in helping British survivors of Dunkirk and the disastrous raid on Dieppe escape to England, and had been rescued himself. After being trained by British Intelligence (MI9) to help establish a transportation pipeline from Paris to Brittany with the goal of evacuating evaders across the channel by boat, he parachuted back into France. A series of obstacles confronted him immediately.

Williams had planned to link up with a reseau called Pat O’Leary, a pseudonym used by one of its founders. But a traitor known as Roger le Legionnaire destroyed the organization before contact could be made. So Williams, with radio operator Raymond Labrosse, began building a new operation labeled Oaktree.

Robert Ayle, notified in advance that Williams and Labrosse were coming to Paris, welcomed them, hoping their links with MI9 would help provide needed financial support for Cométe. He arranged for the men to lodge in the home of Gabrielle Wiame’s brother.

Oaktree seemed doomed from the beginning. In mid June 1943, at about the same time Ayle and deJongh were arrested, misfortune struck again. Williams, while traveling by train, also fell into Gestapo hands. He would endure six months of torture, then miraculously escape and return to England (chapters 15 & 16) via a British MGB, motor gun boat. His usefulness as an intelligence agent had ended. Francois Campinchi, a Paris lawyer who had been assisting Williams, took over the group and renamed it after himself.

Gabrielle Wiame, barely eluding the spate of arrests, was left with 17 evaders stranded in her home. Fortunately, she met another reseau chief, Georges Broussine of the Bourgogne, or Burgundy line. His Jewish origins forced him to be doubly cautious in avoiding seizure by the Gestapo. With Broussine’s help, Wiame not only managed to evacuate the men, but became a major link in his group. She later wrote in a postwar statement to Project Patriotism investigators, "When the Cométe organization broke up, I was abandoned for almost three weeks with 17 boys and [Ray] Labrosse, the Canadian. We got in contact with the Bourgogne line, and worked with them until the end of 1943."

One of the evaders she helped, Jefferson D. Polk from the 94th Bomb Group, E&E #109, would encounter Marie again long after the war.

Official records note, Mme Wiame also assisted in the liquidation of two Gestapo agents who, in the guise of Allied aviators, had infiltrated the organization. Wiame confirmed the incident in her own report.

By the end of 1943, under constant Gestapo surveillance, Wiame felt obliged to protect other members by severing her ties with Burgundy. She fled her home, but continued independent underground work with an acquaintance, Madame Jacqueline Périne. Once again, though, an unknown traitor worked evil. Wiame recalled,I was with Périne when she was arrested 19 November, 1943. Naturally, the Gestapo questioned me, but I managed to fool them. By telephone, I warned all my friends in the organization. I also worked with Campinchi to whom I turned over information, helped the aviators, and did missions for him.

At last, under intense pressure by the Gestapo, Wiame moved to the eastern suburbs of Paris, where she lived with friends, and continued to help evaders until the arrival of Allied liberators.

In late 1945 Project Patriotism investigated Gabrielle Wiame’s astonishing record, and paid her 60,000 French francs as reimbursement for personal funds used to pay evader expenses. Having helped more than 100 Allied airmen, 19 of whom lodged in her home, she was awarded the American Medal of Freedom with Gold Palm. Her husband Charles and her son Robert also received Medals of Freedom.

*

Forty five years after the war’s end, Herb and Millicent Brill (chapter 18) hosted a reunion of AFEES (Air Force Escape & Evasion Society) in Irvine, California. Herb met a few arrivals at Los Angeles International Airport. When he arrived home, he said, Millicent, I picked up a very interesting woman and I know you’ll like her very much.

Millicent later recalled, "The next morning, as I helped fellow organizer Dorothy Kenney register arrivals at a hotel, in walked an elderly woman who started talking rapidly in French and waving small slips of paper around. I asked her to sit down and introduce herself, and learned this was the first time she had ever been out of France. I asked about the slips of paper and her story. She told me she had been in charge of a reseau in Paris and had helped scores of airmen get out of France. Her policeman husband had assisted by obtaining false identity cards. She had used several aliases because every time the Gestapo posted notices about her on Paris billboards, she changed her name. But she was usually known as ‘Marie.’ She was proud of her efforts which included getting the men into safehouses and escorting them to train stations. She had also supplied food, clothing, and lodging."

Marie explained the slips of paper she had saved. On each one, she had recorded the name of an airman and his hometown and had kept them concealed in heels of her shoes. Said Millicent, "I asked to see one and thought the name sounded familiar. I asked Dorothy Kenney, ‘Didn’t we register this man this morning?’ She said, ‘It’s Jefferson Polk, and he’s sitting right over there.’

Millicent stepped over to the veteran and asked, Jeff, do you remember a young Frenchwoman in Paris called Marie who was with the Resistance and who helped you get out?

Polk nodded, Yes, I do.

Delighted, Millicent said, Well, she’s sitting right over there.

Polk glanced at the elderly woman, shook his head, and said, Oh no, that’s not Marie. She was blonde and beautiful.

Millicent, wondering if all AFEES members still saw themselves as young and vibrant while others around them grew old, walked over to Marie. Madame Wiame, she asked, When you were young, were you blonde?

Of course, she replied, as I am now.

To Millicent, the graying hair didn’t look exactly blonde. Oh, it’s a pity you don’t have a picture taken of you in 1944.

But I do, said Marie. She produced a lovely old miniature in a small gold frame."

Millicent took it to Jeff Polk and asked, Do you recognize this?

Polk held it close and uttered one word. Marie! His eyes filled with tears. And so did Millicent’s. She led Polk to Gabrielle Wiame’s chair, and acted as interpreter while they traveled backward in time, happily reminiscing. It was an emotional meeting, Millicent recalled.

Next day, as other members gathered, Marie met six other men she had helped. Millicent invited her to the Podium to tell her story. After the war, she and her husband had left Paris and lost contact with their Resistance friends and workers. But at that reunion, she was an exhilarated woman with a gathering of grateful men she had helped. They were so happy to see each other, the first time since 1945.

A number of evaders would fondly remember Madame Marie, the woman in red, and her gallant colleagues. One of them was a B-17 radio operator/top turret gunner named Frank W. Greene.

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(L) Baron Jean-Francis Nothomb replaced de Jongh as Chief of Comet (Courtesy National Archives). (R) Madame Gabrielle Wiame at AFEES Meeting, 1990 (Courtesy AFEES)

CHAPTER 3

NARROWEST OF MARGINS

SGT. FRANK GREENE & CREW; ARMAND & ANDRE LEBEQUE

Several months before Gestapo officers destroyed Comet and Oaktree, an American ball turret gunner found himself caught up in the organizations’ Resistance struggle. S/Sgt. Frank W. Greene, of the 303rd Bomb Group nicknamed Hell’s Angels, had completed six missions from Molesworth air base in England. His seventh plummeted him into chaos.

Lining up with 20 other B-17 flying fortresses,Green Hornet taxied along the rain-soaked east/west runway at Molesworth one hour before noon on Saturday, 23 January, 1943, took its place in a formation, and roared off toward the English channel. Target for the day; German submarine pens at Lorient, on the lower jaw of France’s dragon-head shaped Brittany peninsula. Repeated assaults on the massive concrete structures, designed for harboring and maintaining parts of the German sub fleet, had been like gnat bites on an elephant. But persistent intelligence experts regarded it as a critical target for strategic bombing and insisted on launching even more attacks.

Ball turret gunner Staff Sergeant Frank W. Greene, from Maywood, Illinois, felt like the old man of the Hornet’s crew, having recently celebrated his 26th birthday. Only one other man had reached 24. The mission appeared to be routine until dense clouds rolled in from the coast, obscuring the target below. Greene recalled, This caused the planes to break formation. But we dropped our bombs, made a wide sweep to the right, and were returning when our number two engine was hit by flak. A thin stream of smoke poured from it. From his cramped seat in the plexiglass bubble under the B-17 fuselage, Greene had a bird’s eye view.

To make matters worse, a swarm of enemy fighters screamed out of the clouds with cannons chattering. Greene heard his pilot, Lt. Ellis Sanderson, speaking on the intercom to bombardier Lt. Grady B. Ward, who sat in the plane’s nose, One’s coming in at 12 o’clock – get him, Grady B.

Greene’s own guns jammed at that instant. Unable to repair them, he climbed out of the ball turret into the fuselage where he saw the waist gunners, Sergeants Carlos Silva and Harry Swanson, strapping on their parachutes. Tail gunner, S/Sgt. Joseph L. Markiewicz stood by the escape hatch, apparently wounded. Greene recalled, Sgt Silva pulled the emergency release on the waist door, but couldn’t push it away. Eventually, we managed to kick it out into the slipstream.

As the bomber tilted into a steep dive, Greene struggled against the G-forces, but managed to clip on his own chute and prepared to jump. Silva was hit in his back by machine gun bullets, but went out anyway with Markiewicz right behind him. I was next, and saw Swanson jump right behind me. I leaped out of the craft at 15,000 feet, with an FW190 [German fighter] following me, but he didn’t shoot.

Tumbling awkwardly though space, Greene delayed pulling the ripcord. I went into such a violent spin that I thought I might not be able to pull the release. At 12,000 feet he popped the canopy into an open blossom of white nylon. Off to one side, Greene caught sight of the smoking plane as it leveled off in a struggle to survive.

The engineer, Technical Sergeant Sidney Devers, recalled his breathless experience before baling out.Flak punched a large hole, about two feet in diameter near the end of our right wing. The enemy fighters seemed thicker than usual. While I was firing a machine gun, a Focke-Wulf came in at one o’clock and burst into flames. I believe I got him. The left waist gunner told me on the intercom that another fighter was approaching, but by the time I swung around, it was going down in flames too. I think Sergeant Silva got him. I could see a huge hole in our vertical stabilizer, and smoke pouring out of engines three and four. More fighters zoomed at us head on. We took lots of evasive action, but several of our guns jammed. Just before I jumped, I saw the pilot and copilot sweating it out, really working hard to keep the big ship under control.

Eight men had jumped leaving only pilot Sanderson and copilot Lt. Horace Bowman Jr. inside Hornet’s Nest. Reaching for their parachutes, they found only one! Neither of them would take it and leave the other man to die, so they agreed to stay with the ship and try a crash landing. It worked! Sanderson skidded her belly-down in a clearing between trees, but lost two fingers in the wreckage. Both men, having faced the specter of death, felt thankful to have survived, even though German troops surrounded them and shouted "Hande hoch!(hands high). Sanderson and Bowman raised their arms. As was the custom, a German officer announced, For you, the war is over." The two Americans became POWs until May, 1945.

Markiewicz, also captured after baling out, and severely wounded, succumbed to his injuries three weeks later.

Frank Greene, after floating down through high clouds, realized he was headed for the center of a town, Plouray, so worked the lines to maneuver himself to a spot one-quarter mile away. "Immediately, about 40 or 50 Frenchmen surrounded me. I was busy getting out of my chute while some of the people were trying to tell me what to do. They motioned and talked to me, but I grabbed up the canopy and ran through rain into a nearby farmhouse. The farmer took my chute and his wife hid it in a barrel of potatoes. I