At p.m.
the 4th of November 1944, First Lieutenant Bruce Carr watched his oil pressure needle drop to zero as black smoke erupted from his P-51 Mustangs cowling somewhere over Czechoslovakia.
20 years old, 172 combat hours with the 354th Fighter Group, zero experience in emergency bailouts.
30 seconds earlier, he’d been leading a ground attack against a Luwaffa airirstrip.
Now, an 88mm shell fragment had punched through his engine bay and severed the primary oil feed line.
Without lubrication, his Rolls-Royce Merlin V1650 would seize completely in approximately 75 seconds.
After that, his propeller becomes dead weight and his fighter becomes a falling brick with wings.
Carr had one choice.
Abandoned aircraft.
He slid back the canopy, rolled his dying Mustang inverted, and fell into frozen November air at 7,800 ft.
The parachute deployed at 6,200 ft.
Below him stretched 200 m of German occupied territory in every direction.
He carried a Colt M1911 pistol with seven rounds, no rations, no water, no radio.
November temperatures in central Europe dropped below freezing after sunset.
The survival statistics for down American pilots over occupied Europe were documented.
23% successfully evaded capture and reached Allied lines.
The remaining 77% spent the war in POW camps or died trying to escape.
Bruce Carr was about to rewrite those statistics because in 4 days he wouldn’t just evade capture.
He’d steal one of Germany’s most advanced fighters and fly it 200 miles back to his home base while every Allied gun in France tried to shoot him down.
This is the story of how desperation created the most audacious theft in aviation history.
How one pilot figured out German cockpit controls in darkness with no manual.
And how refusing to surrender sometimes means doing something nobody has ever attempted before.
Bruce Wardcar was born January 28th, 1924 in Union Springs, New York.
Nothing distinguished his childhood except one fact.
At 15, he learned to fly.
The year matters.
September 1939, Germany invaded Poland.
World War II started.
A 15-year-old farm kid couldn’t predict that within 5 years he’d be dogf fighting Messids over Berlin.
But somehow he understood that aviation was about to become critical.
A local crop duster named Earl let the teenager take controls of his biplane one summer afternoon.
Carr was hooked immediately.
By 16, he’d logged more flight time than most Army Airore cadets.
September 3rd, 1942.
Carr enlisted in the United States Army Air Forces at 18.
He entered the aviation cadet program.
His instructor was Earl, the same crop duster who taught him initially.
Earl had enlisted too.
He reviewed Carr’s application, saw 240 flight hours already documented, recommended him for accelerated training.
By August 1943, Carr held the rank of flight officer.
By February 1944, he arrived in England assigned to the 380th Fighter Squadron, 363rd Fighter Group, 9inth Air Force.
His aircraft was the North American P-51 Mustang.
The P-51D Mustang was the finest piston engine fighter ever manufactured.
The specifications tell the story.
Combat radius 750 mi with external fuel tanks sufficient to escort heavy bombers from English bases to Berlin and return.
Maximum velocity 437 mi at 25,000 ft.
Service ceiling 41,900 ft.
Armament consisted of six Browning M250 caliber machine guns with 1,880 rounds total capacity.
sufficient firepower to destroy a German bomber in a two-cond burst.
Before Mustangs arrived in quantity, American daylight bombing operations suffered catastrophic attrition.
The 8th Air Force lost 60 bombers during a single mission to Schwinfort in October 1943.
Without fighter escort, B17s and B-24s were vulnerable to Luwaffle interceptors.
The Mustang changed everything.
For the first time, American fighters could accompany bombers to distant targets and back.
German pilots called them Dang Nasi Bastard, the long-nosed bastards.
The Luwaffa began losing experienced aviators faster than training schools could replace them.
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Car developed an immediate connection with the aircraft.
The cockpit ergonomics suited him perfectly.
Control response was precise, visibility exceptional, power intoxicating.
He named his Mustang Angel’s Playmate.
He had no concept that within 8 months he’d occupy a very different cockpit with German instrumentation and a swastika painted on the tail.
March 8th, 1944.
Flight officer Carr engaged his first aerial target.
He spotted a Messershm BF-1009 over Germany and pursued.
The German pilot attempted escape by descending to treetop altitude, flying barely above the forest canopy.
Carr followed.
The pursuit covered 40 m at velocities exceeding 400 m per hour.
Both aircraft clearing German woodlands by mere feet.
Carr fired, his rounds missed.
He fired again.
One projectile clipped the 109’s left wing panel.
The German pilot panicked, pulled up sharply, ejected, but altitude was insufficient.
The parachute never fully deployed.
The pilot impacted ground at approximately 60 mi per hour.
The 109 crashed into a hillside moments later.
Carr returned to base expecting congratulations.
Instead, his commanding officer summoned him.
That was the most aggressive flying I’ve witnessed.
You nearly killed yourself pursuing that German into the trees.
You are being transferred.
The kill didn’t count officially.
Technically, Carr hadn’t destroyed the aircraft.
The pilot killed himself attempting evasion.
It was the first indication that Bruce Carr thought differently than other pilots.
Where others saw recklessness, he saw opportunity.
Where others saw boundaries, he saw suggestions.
May 1944, car transferred to the 353rd Fighter Squadron, 354th Fighter Group, the Pioneer Mustang Group, the first Army Air Force’s unit in Europe to operate P-51s in combat.
These were the premier Mustang pilots in the war.
Car fit immediately.
June 17th, 1944.
11 days after D-Day, Carr scored his first official kill, sharing credit for an FW190 destroyed over Normandy.
2 months later, promotion to second lieutenant.
September 12th, 1944, Carr’s flight strafed a German airfield, destroying several junkers due 88 bombers on the ground.
During the return flight, they spotted 30FW 190s 2,000 ft below.
Carr didn’t hesitate.
He dove immediately.
In the next three minutes, he destroyed three German fighters.
When his wingman sustained damage, Carr escorted him completely back to friendly territory, forgoing additional kills to protect his squadron mate.
The action earned him the Silver Star, second highest military decoration for Valor.
October 29th, 1944.
Carr shot down two BF-9s over Germany.
Total confirmed kills reached 7.5.
Official a status.
Four days later, his fortune reversed.
November 2nd, 1944.
Carr impacted frozen Czechoslovakian ground hard.
The parachute landing wasn’t gentle.
His ankle twisted on contact.
Not fractured, but severely sprained.
He gathered the silk canopy and concealed it beneath forest debris.
German patrols would search for him.
They always searched.
He had perhaps 20 minutes before they arrived.
Carr knew the airfield he’d attacked.
Sat approximately 5 mi north.
He knew Germans would anticipate him moving south or west toward Allied territory.
He knew survival required doing something unexpected.
He moved north toward the enemy.
The logic seemed counterintuitive, but was sound.
Germans would search outward from his landing site, assuming he fled away from them.
They wouldn’t expect him to advance closer to their base.
And if survival was possible, he needed supplies.
Food, water, possibly weapons.
The airfield contained all three.
Day one.
Carr moved through forest terrain, avoiding roads, traveling during darkness.
His flight suit provided minimal thermal protection.
His ankle throbbed with each step.
He hadn’t eaten in 18 hours.
Day two.
He located a stream and drank.
The water was cold enough to numb his throat.
He spotted a German patrol 200 yd distant and remained motionless in a drainage ditch for 2 hours while they passed.
Day three, hunger became unbearable.
Carr was burning approximately 4,000 calories daily, just maintaining body temperature.
He’d consumed zero calories.
His body began metabolizing muscle tissue for energy.
He made a decision tomorrow he would surrender.
Luwaffa treatment of captured pilots exceeded that of Vermach or SS forces.
Aviators maintained a code.
They respected fellow flyers, even enemy ones.
Car knew pilots who’d spent time in Stalagluff III.
They described conditions as tedious but survivable.
Three meals daily.
Red Cross packages.
Correspondence from home.
Better than starving in a Czechoslovakian forest.
Day four.
Late afternoon.
Carr reached the perimeter of the German airfield.
He positioned himself in a treeine overlooking the eastern boundary.
Through the branches, he observed hangers, fuel trucks, aircraft, FW90s, mostly a few BF 109.
He planned to wait until dawn, then approached the main gate with hands raised.
But as darkness fell, Carr noticed something.
A revetment sat 80 yards from his position.
A fuckwolf.
90 occupied that revetment partially concealed by camouflage netting.
Two German mechanics worked on the aircraft under portable lighting.
Car watched.
The mechanics checked fuel quantity.
Full tanks.
They ran up the engine.
The distinctive sound of the BMW 8001 radio roared to life.
They cycled the propeller, checked magnetos, performed what appeared to be a complete pre-flight inspection.
Then they shut down, covered the cockpit, and returned toward the main hangers.
The FW90 was flight ready.
Car’s mind began calculating.
He’d never flown a German aircraft.
He spoke no German.
He had no knowledge of control locations, engine starting procedures, or landing gear operation.
But he understood flight.
He’d logged over 500 combat hours.
Every aircraft possessed a throttle, control stick, and rudder pedals.
Physics didn’t change because labels were German, and he was observing a fully fueled fighter with no guard posted.
The surrender plan evaporated.
Carr waited until a.m.
The airfield was quiet.
Skeleton crew on night duty.
No activity near the revetment.
He moved 80 yards of open ground.
Zero cover.
If anyone looked his direction, execution was certain.
Carr covered the distance in 40 seconds, staying low, his damaged ankle screaming with each step.
The FW90 appeared larger than anticipated.
Wingspan 34 ft, length 29 ft, empty weight 7,000 lb, nearly a ton heavier than the P-51.
The cockpit sat elevated, protected by 30 mm armored glass.
The BMW 8001 engine dominated the nose section.
A 14cylinder air cooled radial producing,700 horsepower.
The Faul Wolf FW190 was Germany’s premier fighter aircraft.
First deployed in 1941, it outperformed the Spitfire so decisively that the British accelerated development of improved variants just to compete.
German pilots called it Werger, the Butcher Bird.
Allied pilots called it trouble.
The aircraft car had just approached was likely an A8 variant.
The most common model in late 1944.
Standard armament consisted of two 13 mm MG131 machine guns in the cowling.
Four 20 mm MG-151 cannons in the wings.
Maximum velocity 48 m per hour.
Range 500 m.
Deadly in experienced hands.
Carr was not an experienced FW190 pilot.
He’d never occupied one.
He’d never examined the interior.
Everything he knew about this aircraft came from gun camera footage of them exploding.
Car climbed onto the wing.
The canopy was unlocked.
He slid it rearward and dropped into the cockpit.
First observation, he couldn’t read anything.
Every label, every gauge, every switch displayed German text.
The instrument panel presented a wall of incomprehensible Gothic script.
Second observation.
The cockpit was more confined than the P-51.
His knees pressed against the instrument panel.
The control stick fell naturally to his right hand.
Throttle positioned left, same as American aircraft.
Some principles were universal.
Car had approximately 4 hours until sunrise.
He utilized every minute.
He traced wiring.
He identified gauges by position.
Air speed typically mounted top left.
Altimeter top center.
Engine instruments clustered right.
He located the fuel selector, magneto switches, propeller control.
The starter was critical.
In the P-51, it was electrical.
In the FW90, he had no reference.
On the right cockpit side, he discovered a T-shaped handle with German text.
The word resembled starter phonetically.
He pulled it.
Nothing occurred.
He pushed it.
A mechanical wine filled the cockpit.
An inertia starter winding up like a spring-loaded mechanism.
He allowed it to spin for 10 seconds, 20 seconds.
Then he pulled the handle.
The BMW 8001 coughed.
Caught roared to full life.
The noise was apocalyptic.
1700 horsepower at idle still generated thunder.
Every German on the airfield would hear this.
Car had seconds.
He lacked time to locate the runway.
No time to check brakes, flaps, or radio equipment.
He shoved the throttle forward.
The FW90 lurched, the tail lifted almost instantly.
This aircraft was nose heavy, eager to fly.
Through pre-dawn darkness, car aimed between two hangers.
Ground crew were emerging, shouting, gesturing.
60 m per hour, 70.
The hangers rushed toward him.
and 90 miles per hour.
Carr pulled back on the stick.
The FW190 leaped airborne, clearing hanger roofs by what felt like inches.
He was airborne in a stolen German fighter 200 m behind enemy lines.
Now came the difficult part.
The FW190 cockpit was a maze of unfamiliar systems.
But Carr solved problems sequentially.
Landing gear.
He located a lever on the left console, pulled it.
A satisfying mechanical thunk.
The gear retracted.
The aircraft accelerated compass.
He identified the gyro compass, oriented himself west toward France, toward Allied territory.
Altitude, he climbed to 500 ft.
Reconsidered.
At altitude, he was visible to German radar, to German fighters, to German anti-aircraft batteries tracking everything airborne.
He descended to treetop level, 50 ft above terrain, 280 m per hour.
The Czechoslovakian forest became a green blur beneath his wings.
This was insane flying.
One error, one moment of distraction.
The fuel gauge indicated full tanks.
The FW90 possessed approximately 500 m range.
France was 200 mi distant.
He had margin for miscalculation for 45 minutes.
Carr flew west.
The sun rose behind him.
Terrain transformed from forest to farmland to the scarred battlefields of eastern France.
He crossed the front lines.
That is when his problems intensified.
Allied anti-aircraft gunners observed what they expected.
A German FW90 flying low altitude toward Allied positions.
They opened fire.
50 caliber tracers arked toward car from every direction.
He was taking fire from his own side.
He possessed no radio to identify himself.
No method to signal friendly status.
The FW90 still displayed German markings, black crosses on wings, swastika on tail.
Carr executed the only option available.
Fly lower and faster.
He dropped to 20 ft.
Hedgehopping.
Propeller wash kicked up dust from roads below.
French civilians dove into ditches as he screamed overhead at 300 m per hour.
American soldiers fired rifles at him.
Every gun in France was shooting at Bruce Carr.
He later estimated every 50 caliber machine gun in existence engaged him during that 30-mile sprint to his home base.
The FW90 sustained hits.
He heard impacts, felt shutters, but German engineering held.
The aircraft continued flying ahead.
He recognized the airfield.
A 66 at Oranti, France, home of the 354th Fighter Group.
He lined up for approach.
No time for standard traffic pattern.
No time for radio calls.
Anti-aircraft batteries were already tracking him.
That is when he discovered the final problem.
Landing gear wouldn’t extend.
Car pulled the lever.
Nothing.
He pumped it repeatedly.
Nothing.
He searched for a backup system.
Emergency release.
Anything.
The FW190 landing gear operated on hydraulic pressure.
A selector valve directed pressure either to retraction or extension.
Carr didn’t know this.
He didn’t know which lever controlled the valve.
He didn’t know he’d been pulling the incorrect handle for 5 minutes.
Below the 354ths anti-aircraft crews were loading their 40 mm buffer guns.
A German fighter was circling their field.
They prepared to destroy him.
Car made a decision.
Belly landing.
He lined up with grass beside the main runway.
Lowered flaps that lever at least he’d identified and reduced throttle.
The FW 190 descended 100 ft, 50 ft, 20 ft.
The aircraft impacted grass at 90 m per hour, slid 300 yd, threw up a massive spray of mud and debris, ground to a halt.
car was alive.
Within seconds, the FW90 was surrounded.
Military police rifles raised, screaming at the pilot to exit the cockpit.
They expected a German.
They expected a prisoner.
The canopy slid back.
A mudcovered American in torn flight suit climbed onto the wing.
I am Lieutenant Carr from this squadron.
Nobody believed him.
He’d been missing 4 days.
He was supposed to be dead or captured and he just belly landed a German fighter on their airfield.
MPs kept rifles trained on him until a staff car arrived.
Colonel George Bickl, commanding officer of the 354th fighter group, stepped out and observed the scene.
The destroyed FW90, the mudcovered pilot.
The bewildered military police car, Bickl said.
Where have you been and what have you been doing now? The story spread through the Army Air Forces like wildfire.
The pilot who stole a German aircraft.
The only American in the European theater to depart in a P-51 and return in an FW90.
But Carr’s war wasn’t finished.
5 months later, the 2nd of April 1945 near Schwinford, Germany.
First Lieutenant Carr was leading four P-51s on reconnaissance.
They were at 15,000 ft when Carr spotted movement above.
German fighters, more than he could count.
A massive formation stacked from 18,000 to 25,000 ft.
Carr estimated quickly.
60 aircraft minimum.
BF-9 and FW90s mixed.
The largest concentration of German fighters he’d encountered.
He commanded four P-51s.
The German formation was enormous.
BF-19 G10s and FW190D9s, latest variants of both aircraft, fresh pilots, relatively speaking.
The Luftwaffa had been hemorrhaging experienced aviators since early 1944, but 60 aircraft remained 60 aircraft.
Standard doctrine dictated immediate disengagement.
Four against 60 was suicide.
Germans possessed altitude advantage, numerical advantage, positional advantage.
Every manual ever written stated disengage and report, alert bomber, escort squadrons, survive.
Bruce Carr had never been particularly concerned with manual recommendations.
He keyed his radio.
Engaging.
His wingmen didn’t hesitate.
They’d flown with Carr previously.
They understood his capabilities.
They knew when Carr said engaging, he meant it.
The four Mustangs climbed into the German formation.
What occurred next was one of the most remarkable air battles of World War II.
Germans didn’t anticipate attack.
They flew in loose defensive formation, conserving fuel, probably heading to intercept a bomber stream.
Four American fighters climbing directly into their midst made zero tactical sense.
Carr exploited the confusion.
He slipped into the formation’s rear, positioned behind a BF- 109, fired.
The German pilot never detected him.
The 109 exploded.
Car shifted to another target, an FW90.
3 seconds of 50 caliber fire.
The Fwolf rolled inverted and plummeted earthward.
The German formation began scattering.
They couldn’t determine how many Americans were attacking.
couldn’t identify where fire originated.
Carr moved through them systematically, selecting targets, firing, advancing, third kill, fourth kill, fifth kill.
In 3 minutes, First Lieutenant Bruce Carr destroyed five German aircraft.
His wingmen accounted for 10 additional four American pilots, 15 German aircraft destroyed, zero American losses.
When ammunition depleted, Carr led his flight home.
The surviving Germans, 45 of them, scattered across the German countryside.
The 9th of April 1945, Bruce Carr promoted to captain, distinguished service cross awarded, second only to Medal of Honor for actions on the 2nd of April.
The citation stated, completely disregarding personal safety and the enemy’s overwhelming numerical superiority and tactical advantage of altitude, he led his element in direct attack on hostile forces, personally destroying five enemy aircraft and damaging another.
Carr became the last ace in a day in the European theater.
No American pilot would match this achievement before Germany surrendered.
By war’s end, he’d flown 172 combat missions, accumulated 14 to 15 confirmed aerial victories.
Records differ, plus numerous ground kills.
He was 21 years old.
The war ended.
Bruce Carr remained in uniform.
He joined the Acrojets, America’s first jet aerobatic demonstration team, flying F80 shooting stars.
then Korea where he flew 57 combat missions in F86 Sabers with the 336th Fighter Interceptor Squadron.
He commanded the 336th from 1955 to 1956.
Colonel’s Eagles on his shoulders.
The kid from Union Springs, New York, commanding a fighter squadron.
Then Vietnam, Colonel Carr, now 44, flew 286 combat missions in F-100 Super Sabers.
Close air support, bombing runs, strafing missions, same work he performed 24 years earlier in a different war, different aircraft, three wars, three aircraft generations, 515 total combat missions.
He retired in 1973.
The 25th of April 1998, St.
Cloud, Florida.
Bruce Ward Carr died of prostate cancer.
He was 74.
They buried him in Arlington National Cemetery, section 64, grave 6,922.
Among heroes from every American war since the Revolution within sight of the tomb of the unknown soldier across the river from the Lincoln Memorial, the headstone lists his rank.
Colonel United States Air Force lists his decorations.
Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star, Legion of Merit, Distinguished Flying Cross with clusters, Air Medal with clusters, Purple Heart, lists his wars.
World War II, Korea, Vietnam.
It doesn’t mention the faulk wolf.
Doesn’t mention four days in Czechoslovakian forest.
Doesn’t mention the belly landing with no gear extended.
MPs pointing rifles at his face.
The commanding officer asking where the hell have you been.
Some stories don’t fit on headstones.
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