OPERATION BODENPLATTE

Flight Journal, Feb 2005 by Busha, James P

A LUFTWAFFE DISASTER

THE HARSH WEATHER THAT DESCENDED ON THE SCATTERED ALLIED lines stretched thinly across the Ardennes Forest in mid-December 1944 was a bittersweet triumph for Adolf Hitler. Although his ground troops used the horrible weather to their advaritage, concealing buildups for their eventual forward thrust into the overwhelmed GIs, his once vaulted, "blitzkrieging" Luftwaffe sat helpless on the fog-covered frozen ground as the Battle of the Bulge commenced. The original plan, code-named Wacht am Rhein (watch on the Rhine), called for coordinated ground and air attacks to cripple and destroy the Allied air power that had recently decimated the Luftwaffe. If this could be accomplished, the Allied ground push toward Germany would be halted, and without protective air cover, the Allies would be forced to the Channel. It was all wishful thinking on Hitler's part. He lived by the sword, and now he was about to die by it. He had to wait for something he had no control over: clear weather. By the time the fog and low clouds had lifted, the Germans were retreating with the Allied armies hot on their heels. As the new year approached, Hitler used his final trump card and unleashed more than 800 of his Luftwaffe fighters in a frantic act to save his homeland and himself

Operation Bodenplatte (ground plate) was a desperate attempt by a desperate man to change the course of the War. Convinced of their ultimate overwhelming success, Luftwaffe planners and pilots prepared for what they hoped would be their victorious start to the new year: a surprise attack by German fighters on Allied airfields in western Europe. Here are the stories of two fighter pilots who were thereone German and one American.

UNINVITED GUEST

by Feldwebel Oscar Boesch, Sturmnstaffel 1 JG 3 Udet

I had just flown my last mission of the year: a support sweep for our ground troops fighting in the Bulge area. Our Fw 190s had earned their keep once again, as evidenced by our blackened gun ports when we Staffel (squadron) pilots taxied in and shut down. As we entered the operations building, thoughts of celebrating on this New Year's Eve were short-lived.

"By order of the Geschwaderstab (commander), the pilots of Geschwader IV JG 3 Udet are restricted to base without alcohol or party and are to be in bed by 10 p.m. Do not talk to anyone, as a very important mission is planned for early tomorrow morning. Happy New Year, German fighter pilots! Dismissed!"

January 1, 1945. Our wake-up call came at 5:30 a.m. A top-secret mission, Operation Bodenplatte was laid out for us at the morning briefing. We pilots studied detailed maps of our route and target area-Eindhoven air base in Holland-and listened to last-minute instructions before we made the short walk to our Fw 190s.

I was surprised at how calm I felt and was somewhat refreshed knowing that it was now our turn to attack Allied aircraft that we hoped would still be on the ground. At last, I thought, some payback, and our day for revenge against the bothersome Allied escort fighters. They referred to us as "targets of opportunity," when they left their bombers and dropped to come looking for us. We were always out-numbered as we took our daily beatings.

Every day we endured attacks by Mustangs, Spitfires, Lightnings, Thunderbolts and Typhoons. They shot up everything they saw; even a man on a bicycle was not safe on the streets! As I strapped myself into the 190, I believed that this important mission would bring a much-needed reprieve from Allied superiority on the Western Front. I also understood, however, that if this mission failed, it would spell disaster for all of us and would mean the tactical end of the Luftwaffe.

Shortly after 8:20 a.m., our Staffel of 19 Fw 190s quickly lifted off from the snow-covered field at Gütersloh and disappeared into the western sky. We quickly rendezvoused with the rest of Geschwader Udet near Lippstadt and formed up with other 190s to become a strike force of 60 Fw 190s. To avoid detection by enemy radar, our flight level was on the deck; we flew between chimneys and around church steeples.

Leading us to Eindhoven was our "Mother Goose"-a Ju 88 that did all of the navigating and communicating; radio silence was mandatory until we reached the target. With good visibility and flat terrain, we flew over the frontlines undetected by antiaircraft guns. Fifty kilometers behind Allied lines, we dropped our belly tanks and charged our guns, and I tightened my straps as Eindhoven air base came into view.

In front of us was a huge parking lot filled with Spitfires and Typhoons. Hundreds of Allied aircraft were right before my eyes, and this time, they were all on the ground! I saw four Spitfires being fueled, and I aimed for the one in the center as my cannon rounds tore into them. Huge explosions ripped the Spitfires apart, and they all began to burn. Below me were black and red fireballs where Allied aircraft had once sat.

Cannon shells zipped through the snow and mud into burning aircraft as the base was chewed to bits by our Fw 190s. I made pass after pass on the fully engulfed field and saw Typhoons and Spitfires trying to taxi through the chaos. Other Fw 190s sealed their fate: their cannon shells found their marks and ignited the fighters before they could get airborne. Heavy antiaircraft fire arched in my direction as the British defensive gunners retaliated. It was like flying in a damn hornets' nest because tracer rounds flew everywhere!