Albanian Escape

The True Story of U.S. Army Nurses Behind Enemy Lines

Agnes Jensen Mangerich

• Publisher: The University Press of Kentucky
• Year: 2006
• Print ISBN: 9780813191577, 9780813121093
• eBook ISBN: 9780813137698
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World War II
• Index: History

On November 8, 1943, U.S. Army nurse Agnes Jensen stepped out of a cold rain in Catania, Sicily, into a C-53 transport plane. But she and twelve other nurses never arrived in Bari, Italy, where they were to transport wounded soldiers to hospitals farther from the front lines. A violent storm and pursuit by German Messerschmitts led to a crash landing in a remote part of Albania, leaving the nurses, their team of medics, and the flight crew stranded in Nazi-occupied territory. What followed was a dangerous nine-week game of hide-and-seek with the enemy, a situation President Roosevelt monitored daily. Albanian partisans aided the stranded Americans in the search for a British Intelligence Mission, and the group began a long and hazardous journey to the Adriatic coast. During the following weeks, they crossed Albania's second highest mountain in a blizzard, were strafed by German planes, managed to flee a town moments before it was bombed, and watched helplessly as an attempt to airlift them out was foiled by Nazi forces. Albanian Escape is the suspense-filled story of the only group of Army flight nurses to have spent any length of time in occupied territory during World War II. The nurses and flight crew endured frigid weather, survived on little food, and literally wore out their shoes trekking across the rugged countryside. Thrust into a perilous situation and determined to survive, these women found courage and strength in each other and in the kindness of Albanians and guerrillas who hid them from the Germans.

1 Crash Landing

8 November 1943, Monday—0745:
Catania, Sicily

A cold drizzle was falling when the jeeps carrying thirteen U.S. Army nurses and twelve medical technical sergeants of the 807th Medical Air Evacuation Squad (MAES), plus one young corporal with the 802d MAES who was catching a ride back to his assigned base, pulled onto the apron of a runway at Catania Main Airfield in Sicily. They stopped alongside a C-53, one of the three aircraft that would make up the flight scheduled to carry them the 260 miles to Bari, Italy, to pick up wounded and fly them to hospitals farther behind the lines.

Winter weather in the Mediterranean was frequently dangerous, and bad weather had canceled the flight twice in the last two days. Today’s weather report was predicting a serious storm moving in from the north, but all reasonable calculations said the flight would be in Bari at least two hours before the storm struck along their flight path.

Second Lieutenant Agnes A. Jensen was the first to board the plane. She walked forward, placed her musette bag in the first bucket seat and sat down in the second. The first seat on the right-hand side was not a good place to sit because several knobs connected to the radio protruded into the space at head level.

The other twelve nurses piled their gear in the front seat and sat down on the same side of the plane. Sergeant Paul Allen, a medic from her unit, sat opposite Lieutenant Jensen, and a young corporal she did not recognize took the seat diagonally across from her. The rest of the men filled in.

The pilots stepped through the door and stopped to talk with Captain Robert Simpson, a squadron doctor who had accompanied the nurses to the plane. Simpson was waiting for final word concerning the weather before he and the jeeps returned to the 807th billeting area.

In the two months the 807th had been overseas, they had flown with different pilots, on any plane they could catch, on their way to pick up wounded GIs. Medical Air Evacuation was so new that no planes were actually assigned to the medical squadrons. The 314th Troop Carrier Group ferried troops, medical personnel, and patients around the Mediterranean Theater of Operations, and within the group the Fifty-second Troop Carrier Wing made frequent trips through Catania Main to various locations in Italy. Nurses and medical technicians caught rides to collecting areas where they would be split into teams and assigned to various planes carrying patients to hospitals in the theater.

Lieutenant Jensen registered the fact that she and her squad had not previously flown with either of the two pilots standing in the aisle of the C-53. The senior pilot, a slim, dark-haired first lieutenant, was speaking to Captain Simpson.

“The weather report says there’s a cold front moving down from Naples, but we should be in Bari hours ahead of it. So, we’re on our way.”

He and the copilot, a second lieutenant with reddish blond hair, walked up the aisle and disappeared into the cockpit.

Jensen and the other nurses were getting magazines and hometown newspapers from coat pockets and fastening their seat belts when Captain Simpson paused at the door of the plane and called, “Good luck, gang!” With a playful smile he added, “Any last words, kids? Any messages you want sent home?”

Everyone laughed and someone called back, “Just spread the word—keep ’em flying!”

The door of the plane closed and it taxied to the runway. It was 0815 hours as the plane left the ground and began the journey that would carry those on board into one of the most remarkable experiences of World War II.

Lieutenant Jensen loved being an army flight nurse. Takeoff was especially exciting to her. She liked the roar of the engines as the plane actually lifted off the runway and the ground slipped away beneath them. It was as if she were being freed from earthly matters and everyday routine. She watched out a window as the rugged Sicilian terrain flattened and was replaced by the Mediterranean Sea. But the usually brilliant blue water was an ominous dark green, flecked everywhere with frothy white. Ugly dark clouds loomed off to the left, and the air was becoming rougher with each passing minute.

Probably a local thunderstorm, Lieutenant Jensen thought. We should be able to skirt its edges. There was nothing unusual about a thunderstorm in this area, and the squad had flown around a dozen of them in the past two months.

Might as well read a little, Jensen thought. She picked up her magazine and tried to make out the words in the dim light filtering through the plane’s windows.

“Have you been to Naples yet?” Jensen looked up from her article and saw the round face and short hair of Elna Schwant, a twinkle in her green eyes. “That’s where I’d like to go next,” Elna said. “How about you, Jens?”

“Naples would be swell,” Jens said. “But I think the 802d considers it their territory. They’ve pretty much claimed the entire west coast.”

“Well, Ann Maness just got back from Naples recently,” Elna said. “She loved the place.”

“That was on a specially requested plane,” Jens said. “We don’t get too many requests like that. Besides, according to Ann, there was an air raid or two on the field every night. Not to mention that the dogfights seemed to take place exclusively over the nurses’ quarters. But she did manage to get to Pompeii in the one-day layover.” Jens felt her own excitement. As a child of Danish immigrant parents, she had dreamed of traveling to foreign places ever since she could remember. When she completed nursing school, she had applied for a nursing position with a Swedish-American steamship line, but her hopes were dashed with the application’s second question, “Which languages do you speak?” Her parents had never taught her their native tongue, and that job application caused her to regret the fact deeply. Her search for adventure in faraway places led her next to the U.S. Army Nurse Corps, which she joined in February 1941, before America entered World War II. “I can’t wait to see it for myself. Pompeii, Rome, Florence, Milan. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I was to get this assignment.”

“Lucky?” Elna demanded.

“Yeah. I just knew that our training in the heat of Louisville was to condition us for service on New Guinea.”

Without warning the plane was suddenly jolted by violent buffeting. It seemed to stand on end, then flip from side to side so quickly that Jens was surprised they were still right-side up. She pulled her seat belt tighter, looked out the window, and saw the wings flapping frantically, as if they were trying to get someone’s attention. Jens had never seen wings flap so hard and fast and silently said a prayer that they had been constructed with this kind of weather in mind. The planes were in the middle of the storm, and even a novice knew this was not a good place to be.

Jens turned her back to the window and opened her magazine. We’ll be through this soon, she assured herself. It was too dark to read so she turned her thoughts to Bari and tried to remember what her ninth-grade teacher of ancient history, Mr. DisBrow, had taught about it.

Certainly Bari, Brindisi, and all the east coast of Italy were very much a part of that old civilization. Her teacher had given her the impression that this part of Europe was not relevant in today’s world. It sure seems important at the moment, Jens told herself.

Lights came on in the plane, but they didn’t help reading one bit. The violent dropping and flopping were so constant and fierce that only their seat belts kept them from piling out into the aisle or hitting the ceiling.

Nurses and medics had been trained too well to allow what they felt internally to be reflected on their faces. Fear and panic were contagious, and medical personnel were determined not to start or feed either.

Tremendous drops were accompanied by horrendous cracking noises throughout the plane. Then the cabin would be filled with the sounds of sudden crashes as the floor caught up with loose equipment when they were suddenly thrust upward.

Jens tried to read again but was unable to form the separate words into intelligible sentences. I can’t do a thing about the weather, she told herself. I’ll just have to trust the two pilots, whoever they are!

0840: Cockpit of Lead Aircraft

First Lieutenant T.E. Yarbrough, pilot in the lead aircraft, remained in frequent contact with the two other planes in the flight. Visibility was deteriorating rapidly, and before ordering the flight to go on instruments Yarbrough radioed Lieutenant Charles B. Thrasher, flying off his right wing, to descend 500 feet, and Lieutenant Joseph Rogers, off his left wing, to climb 500 feet. Yarbrough ordered the planes to accomplish the separation by performing a 360-degree turn while changing altitude. The end result was a separation of five to ten miles between aircraft. Yarbrough’s plane continued at the planned altitude of 8,000 feet with Thrasher now at 7,500 feet and Rogers at 8,500.

The weather was continuing to worsen, and Yarbrough noticed he was picking up ice on his wings. He immediately radioed to Thrasher and Rogers to use their de-ice boots. The three planes maintained radio contact until they reached the outskirts of Bari.

0855: Cabin of Lieutenant Thrasher’s Aircraft

Despite the downdrafts, it was evident from the increasing cold that they were gaining altitude. The metal bucket seats transferred the cold with a vengeance. Jens raised up slightly and slid a magazine between herself and the seat. The plane was uninsulated, and the cabin was fast becoming like the inside of a refrigerator. The turbulence was growing worse. The plane lurched, stood on end for a second, then plummeted downward, bucking all the way. Suddenly it was much warmer and brighter inside the cabin, and Jens thought the worst was over. That happy thought lasted only long enough for her to glance out the window and see that they were nearly skimming the water. A frightening thought flashed across her mind. My God! Are they ditching without a word of warning? We must be in real trouble. What about life rafts and life jackets? She couldn’t remember seeing any rafts on board, but she had spotted about ten Mae Wests swinging from a cable in the rear of the plane. She did a little math in her head: ten Mae Wests, twenty-six people in the cabin and four flight crew in the cockpit.

Jens’s eyes remained frozen on the water as Elna looked out the same window. Neither betrayed in word or gesture what they were feeling. Their training as flight nurses had taken over automatically.

Suddenly they were climbing again, and Jens felt relieved that they weren’t ditching—not yet anyway.

She thought of her previous two flights. Both had taken place in clear weather and had terminated on the airfield at Grottaglie. Today they were to overfly Grottaglie and go straight to Bari. They would probably be a little late, Jens told herself; after all, the head winds are pretty strong.

The plane banked sharply, and Jens realized they were flying in circles. She looked at her watch. It was 1000 hours, and she reasoned that they must be over Bari, but it would take some time to let down in this murky weather. The circling continued and so did the violent downdrafts. Another downdraft like that last one, and we’ll be on the ground faster than anyone hoped.

The door to the cockpit popped open, and the radio operator walked directly to the first bucket seat. He gave the protruding radio knobs a turn or two, took some equipment from the bulkhead next to Jens, and returned to the cockpit. The door didn’t close completely, and the passengers could see him working frantically with the radio.

That’s all we need in this weather—no radio, Jens told herself. One of the cockpit crew pulled the door closed. They continued to fly in circles.

We’re already overdue, Jens thought. We must be over Bari. Maybe they’re having trouble contacting the ground at the base. They continued to fly in circles.

1031: Cockpit of Thrasher’s Aircraft

At 1031 Thrasher contacted the base station at Bari and asked for the weather report. The station challenged Thrasher, requesting the password of the day, but he was unable to provide it. Consequendy the information he requested was not given to him.

At 1050 he made contact again and asked that the beacon be turned on. Again he was unable to answer the challenge, and the beacon was not turned on. At 1100 Thrasher asked for the beacon again, and for the third time was unable to provide the password. The beacon was not turned on. At 1135 he asked to be given a radio fix, but the station did not have the necessary equipment. At 1145 the radio beacon was turned on for ten minutes even though Thrasher was still unable to identify himself with the password. After 1155 the radio station in Bari was unable to make contact with Thrasher.

1156: Cabin of Thrasher’s Aircraft

The plane had stopped flying in circles and was flying straight again. Jens hoped the pilots knew what they were doing—had they missed Bari? Were they unable to make contact because the radio wasn’t working? Were they headed for an alternate airfield? But there were no other airfields available to them in southern Italy

The plane flew on for a long time. For a moment the air cleared, and Jens could see that they were high above water. Elna nudged her and pointed to two water spouts skipping over the surface. The two watched until lack of visibility sealed them inside the plane again.

The turbulence had let up considerably, and the plane flew in and out of clouds, every now and then allowing them a glimpse of the sea beneath.

The cabin temperature had dropped further, and Jens slid a second magazine between herself and the metal seat. She glanced at the other passengers in the cabin. Most were watching intently out their windows; others were attempting to read, trying to close out the reality of the situation.

“Mountains?” Elna asked, and pointed out the window. Her bright green eyes and smile said she was happy with the world.

She can’t be that happy about being over mountains, Jens thought. In an instant she remembered that Elna smiled almost perpetually, no matter what reality she was facing.

Jens looked out the window. There were mountains all right. Rugged, jagged peaks sticking up out of the clouds.

“Where do you think we are?” Elna asked.

“There are mountains in southern Italy at the toe, but there are also mountains in northern Italy,” Jens said.

“Maybe they’re returning to Sicily,” Elna said.

“I don’t know,” Jens said. She shrugged. “About the only thing I do know is that I’m freezing.” She pulled her feet up, wrapped her coat around her legs, and sat huddled with her chin on her knees.

Suddenly she was very aware of the young sergeant seated across from h...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Author's Note
• Preface
• Introduction
• 1 Crash Landing
• 2 On the Ground in Enemy Territory
• 3 Which Way Is Home?
• 4 Germans Attack
• 5 Separated and Lost
• 6 The Enemy Closes In
• 7 Blizzard on the Mountain
• 8 The British Captain Smith
• 9 Lieutenant Duffy Leads the Way
• 10 Germans Strike Again
• 11 By Air or by Sea?
• 12 Marathon March
• 13 The American Captain Smith
• 14 Smith to the Rescue
• Epilogue
• Glossary
• Bibliography