D-Ring, Americanski, and a Nunnery

How Oregon veteran Jack Ferris, who recently received France’s highest honor for heroic and courageous acts during World War II, tells the story of that time in history

By Kathie Dalton, Oregon Veterans News Magazine

Captain Jack Ferris returned from the European Theater of WWII with a D-Ring in his pocket. Not the usual souvenir, but it had special meaning.

Ferris arrived in Foggia, Italy, in July 1944. East of Naples, this complex of about a dozen air bases was home to the 15th Air Force under Major General Nathan Twining and General Jimmy Doolittle.

As part of the 848th Bombardment Squadron tasked with targeting oil refineries, oil storage plants, aircraft factories, heavy industry and communications, Ferris’ 10-man crew had flown 21 successful missions.

Ferris posing alone.

Bombing runs for the group were planned in a five to six hundred mile radius which made for a 6-to-8-hour round trip. On Feb 1, 1945, the pilot’s flimsy for the 484th Bombardment Group detailed a mission for 300-plus B-17s and B-24s to bomb the oil refinery at Moosbierbaum, Austria. The Moosbierbaum/ Vienna area was heavily defended. It was the Germans’ fuel source, second only to Ploesti.

By early 1945, nearby Vienna had already faced 1,800 bombs and both Vienna and Moosbierbaum had flak towers and antiaircraft batteries set up around the cities.

“They had us bracketed,” said Ferris. “They knew we would come in at 22,000-24,000 feet and followed us in to the target. There is not a lot of evasive action you can take.”

That day was the third opportunity for the 484th. They flew the typical route, saw no fighters and had a good flight in, according to Ferris. Once there, though, the German 88-mm shells turned the sky black.

The plane maintained the altitude, course and airspeed for the 20 minutes or so the bombardier had the plane.

The 20-pound shells blew out the No. 2 engine, then the No. 3 engine. The bombardier dropped the bombs and the pilot peeled off the target. Normally they stay with the group to protect against fighter intercept. This time though, they knew they were out of commission.

As navigator, Ferris quickly plotted a course past Lake Balaton where the Russians were far enough west to provide some degree of safety.

“We set on a 135-degree heading,” remembered Ferris. “We transferred fuel from the No. 2 and No. 3 engines. We were losing altitude and our fuel and oxygen lines were damaged. We repaired what we could.”

They were fortunate to have no injuries. Once at 3,500 feet, the pilot put the plane on auto pilot and got ready to bail out. The guys in the back bailed out at regular intervals. Then, the six in the front got ready.

Ferris posing with a crew mate while on leave.

“The catwalk in a B-24 is about eight inches wide,” said Ferris “We had to go sideways with our chutes in one hand and oxygen bottles in the other.”

O’Sullivan, the crew’s dead reckoning officer, sat in the hatch and put his legs out in the air. The wind was ferocious.

“I helped him a little,” smiles Ferris. “Then I went. I pulled that D-ring. As I looked down, I was glad to see the snow. It should be soft. I thought I’d float down gracefully in all that softness, but saw the plane coming back at me. I tried to spill the chute which may have been dumb, but we had no practice jumps. I didn’t know what to do.”

Ferris landed on a trail with an incline and a westerly path. The crew was all spread out. As Ferris detached from his chute a farmer driving a horse drawn sled approached him and began asking questions in Russian.

“Americanski,” Ferris replied to the Russian farmer.

Ferris had dinner with the family, and the next day, the farmer took him into the village, where the entire crew reunited.

The B-24 originally depicted an hourglass showing Hitler's time was running out: the hourglass became known as a bow tie when it had to be set on its side in order to fit on the aileron. Ferris' daughter Susan had red bow ties created to symbolize the red "bow ties" on the squadron's tail fin, which nearly 30 family members wore to witness him receiving France's highest honor for heroic and courageous acts during WWII.

“I met some lovely people,” said Ferris. “We had noodles three times a day and were shipped out on an old school bus. Then, we were loaded into a boxcar with three other crews and went to Bucharest. It took seven days to go 300 miles. We stayed in a nunnery for two more weeks. It was a marvelous experience.

“We had bombed all the bridges on the Danube, so we had to cross in these little wooden boxes strung on a cable across the river they used to shuttle supplies. They gave us a new plane — not the shiny silver plane delivered by a WASP, but almost a brand-new B-24 — and were told not to lose this one. Then we got to fly some more!”

In addition to the D-ring, Ferris still has the map he used to navigate in 1944-45 marked with the placement of German anti-craft installations between the eastern and western fronts of the European theater. At the top left of the map is the area covered by Ferris' B-24 on the way to the Russian front.

Ferris flew several more missions as radar navigator with the lead crews before he and his crew were sent to Provence and Estre to support Patton’s drive across France. There they flew one to two missions daily for about three weeks. Ferris would later be awarded France’s highest honor — Knight in the National Order of the Legion of Honour — in recognition of heroic and courageous acts in France during World War II.

On May 9, 1945, the crew returned their plane to the states safely. Upon their arrival in Bradley, Conn., at 4 p.m., they heard horns honking and headlights flashing all around. It was Memorial Day. And they were home.