War diaries: A 15-year-old German boy describes how he was spared by US fighter bombers in March 1945 (Published on 07/10/2025)
After having achieved air supremacy over the German Reich, the Allies began using their air forces to carry out low-level attacks even against individuals on the streets and in the fields. The US Airforce often used fighter-bombers for such attacks, known in Germany as “Jabos” (short for “Jagdbomber”, fighter bomber), e.g. those of the types P-38 “Lightning”, P-47 “Thunderbolt” and P-51 “Mustang”.
Rudi Brill, then 15 years old and a member of the “Hitler Youth”, described an experience with such US “Jabos”, which refrained from attacking, in his »Tagebuch 1944/45« (»Diary 1944/45«), p. 92 ff., as follows (translation from German language):
“3 March 1945.
With infinite gratitude, I can read Psalm 35 tonight, which is next in line. I owe it to God’s grace that I am still able to read it, for He allowed us to live on once more. How fitting are verses 3–9 for what we have experienced today: »But my soul shall rejoice in the Lord; it shall be joyful in His help.« What we have been through can hardly be put into words.
As usual, we marched to our construction site at elevation 393 between Fürth and Lautenbach. At the top of the mountain, we trudged across a wide stretch of open land. Suddenly, as always, a few Jabos appeared from behind a forest and fired at a car down in the valley. Then they were already above us and had spotted us.
»Take cover!« shouted Itze. That was well said: there was no cover here. No trees, no bushes, no ditches, no holes nearby. We threw ourselves flat on the ground.
The four planes dove lower and circled around us. We knew that they were shooting at individuals, at civilians, even at women and farmers in the fields. And we lay there like sitting ducks, like targets. No sooner had one passed than the next one was there. One flew so low that we could see the pilot’s face as he looked at us from the side of the cockpit window.
Every time one flew in, we thought, »Now he’s going to shoot«, and pressed ourselves against the cold ground. Thirty boys huddled together in a pile, crisscrossed over a few square meters. What a rewarding target that was!
Suddenly, one of the Thunderbolts [P-47 Thunderbolt] dove even lower and headed straight for us. It really was a »thunderbolt«. The roar of the engine was terrifying. We clung even tighter to the ground. A mouse hole to hide in!!! Someone shouted, drowning out the thunder: »It’s over now!« We all believed that it was over. A burst of machine gun or cannon fire, a small bomb in our dense mass – no one would have survived. And at 15, you don’t want to die!
A desperate, heartfelt prayer, more intense than ever before, passed through my heart: »Dear God, help us!« Or something like that, I don’t remember exactly.
An indescribable, never-before-experienced calm came over me. I could almost feel it physically: God is now holding his hand over us. Nothing can happen to us except what he wants.
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind in those seconds, which I thought would be our last. He has to shoot now, now, now! He roared overhead, passed us, and didn’t shoot. The plane pulled up with a screech, and the next one flew past. Half stunned by the noise, we marveled that we were still there.
We lifted our heads from the ground. They circled us a few more times, now higher up. They seemed undecided. What were they saying to each other on the radio?
When the planes took a slightly wider turn for a moment and were a little further away, we stumbled up, still half stunned, and raced down the hill toward the trench. We ran like no leader had ever made us run before; we ran for our lives, reached the trench, and fell into it, one on top of the other.
»The rotten bones tremble«, we often sang. We didn’t have rotten bones, but ours trembled for a long time. Our faces beamed, we fell into each other’s arms: »Man, we got away with it again!« A prayer of thanks like never before rose from my heart, which was about to burst. The world was new to us, life began again. There were trees, bushes, grass, earth, earth that you could grasp and let run through your fingers. Everything was back, we were still there! Something like this cannot be described with these dry words. You can experience something like this, but you cannot describe it.
From the safety of our cover, we watched somewhat cockily as the Jabos circled for a while longer.
»Why didn’t they shoot?« we asked ourselves.
»They must have thought we were prisoners of war in our gray-green suits«, one of them guessed.
This was certainly a plausible explanation. But to me it was clear: someone with the power to do so had held the pilot’s hands on the trigger of the onboard weapons so that he couldn’t fire.
When the machines had finally disappeared, we walked, this time at a leisurely pace, enjoying ourselves, even though our knees were still weak, up the mountain to the place where our lives had almost ended. We gathered up our scattered tools and set to work. All morning, we talked about what had happened.
I cannot express the feelings I have as I write this now, 12 hours later. But what I will certainly do is be grateful today and every day that my life still counts, for each new day and for the gift of life once again.”
(Head picture: Grave stone of a 16-year old German soldier
at the German military cemetery Brandau/Odenwald,
August 2025)
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