The crew of the B-24D Liberator bomber, named, Iron Ass, with the nose art of a kicking mule and its name, Iron Ass, a wartime expression denoting a hard nosed commanding officer, left America and flew from the USA to England, early in 1943 where it was assigned to the 8th Air Force and 93rd Bomb Group, based at Hardwick, Britain, about 56 miles north of London.



Iron Ass, flew nine combat missions, some from Benghazi, North Africa, and, later, some from England, including a harrowing sortie over Austria in which several bombers in their group were shot down, one exploding a hundred yards ahead of them in a huge ball of flame and debris.



Early in the morning of Dec 1, 1943, the 93rd Bomb Group’s combat crews rose in the drizzly predawn darkness for a mission briefing. The target was Solingen, Germany, a transportation hub in the Ruhr Valley, Germany’s industrial heartland, heavily defended by flak guns and fighters. The group had gone there the day before but had to abort due to cloud cover over the target. Now it was on again.



After breakfast, a visit to the chaplain, and briefings by intelligence and weather officers, the crews manned their bombers and began the dangerous takeoff procedure. One by one, the big ships roared down the runways and vanished into the clouds.



On emerging above the cloud deck in brilliant sunshine, the group’s 17 B-24Ds assembled in combat formation behind their lead ship. Then, they joined the other groups in the strike force of 293 heavy bombers and set a course for Germany, climbing slowly to their assigned altitude. As the long bomber stream passed over Holland, escorting American fighter planes joined them, weaving white condensation trails above them in sky. Soon, the fighters reached the limits of their range and turned back to Britain. The bombers were immediately attacked by German fighter planes. The bombers’ defensive guns opened fire, starting a running battle. Iron Ass, remained undamaged for awhile, until the formation neared the target at Solingen, Germany, when the propeller on it's number three engine ran away suddenly and was quickly shut down. Now, the heavily loaded plane was unable to maintain formation and began to lose altitude and fall behind.



Now, alone deep in Germany at 23,000 feet, the crew was in danger. As they fell away from the formation, another crippled B-24D pulled in close for mutual protection. Iron Ass's Copilot, 1st Lt. Clinton Gruber, could see a lovely pinup girl painted on its fuselage and read her name : Nana. “I vividly remember the plane’s name…” he wrote later, “…how could I forget it ?” Soon, enemy fighters pounced on, Nana, sending her down in flames as the crew of, Iron Ass, watched in horror, as ten crewmen in, Nana, were incinerated. The fighters above them pulled into overhead diving passes, head on, and also from the rear of their ships. Iron Ass was shaking from the impact of the German 20 mm. explosive shells, and the vibrations from her own guns, as the crew fought for their lives. Tail gunner, Staff Sgt. Harry Byerman, kept firing his twin .50 caliber machine guns until he was shot and killed by a fighter that shredded the plane's tail section. The waist gunner was also wounded in his leg from that pass, as the two pilots fought to control their plane. Another flak shell exploded in their left wing, peeling the aluminum skin right off the top of it. Another flak round wrecked the left inboard engine. Ketch’s window imploded, scattering metal and plexiglass fragments into the cockpit. Now, with their plane down to 18,000 feet, the pilots knew it was time to bail out and fight another day. Gruber grabbed his chest pack chute, ripped his oxygen mask and intercom connections out of their sockets and squeezed down into the bomb bay, his only exit. More bad luck, the bomb bay doors were closed, and he was trapped.



Somehow, Lt. Gruber found and pulled the bomb bay door emergency lever, and the big doors slowly rolled open, revealing solid white clouds far below. Looking up into the cockpit Gruber saw his pilot, "Ketch", grab his chute. Then, having done everything he could do for himself and "Ketch", Gruber pushed off into the empty sky.



The 160 mph slipstream slammed him hard, as he pulled his D-ring. The chute popped open, knocking the wind out of him. But, suddenly, all was quiet. Gone were the roaring engines, the men screaming on the intercom, and the guns blasting in his ears. Lt. Gruber hung, seemingly suspended in relative silence in space, over a cloud deck three miles below him.



His saw his crippled bomber, with only two propellers on two of its four engines, still turning, as it began it's long fall into Germany, pursued by German fighters. Then, it disappeared into the cloud layer.



As Gruber drifted out beneath the bottom of the low cloud bank, a snowy landscape rushed up to greet him, and he hit the ground with a tremendous impact, fracturing an ankle. Though hobbled, he managed to escape capture until, climbing a ridge, he ran into an open field, face to face with a German civilian, who aimed a shotgun at him with the, “Hands-up!” order in German, which needed no translation.



Gruber’s flight mates bailed out successfully and were also captured. The group was sent to Stalag 1, a prison compound of barracks surrounded by barbed wire fences and watch towers. Eventually, in the last days of the war, the American flyers were liberated by Russian troops, who kept them prisoner until a U.S. Army medical team arrived with the news that they would airlift the Americans out in U.S. aircraft.