July 15th, 1940
Rhone Valley - The bulk of the German divisions reach the Drôme.
The Luftwaffe has overall control of the air, which does not prevent the best from having certain mishaps...
Abgeschossen ! (extract from Die Ersten und die Letzten, by General Adolf Galland)
"After the conquest of Paris, the pace of the group's operations slowed down. We only stayed at Villacoublay for a few days. It must be said that, if the terrain was practicable, the French had removed everything they could from the many hangars around, and tried to demolish the rest! We were sent back to Moenchengladbach for a few days to rest, where we received new Emils, as well as young people from the flying schools to replace our wounded comrades, prisoners or missing persons.
But this respite was short-lived. On July 10th, the group returned to France, this time to Lyon, a city that the Wehrmacht had conquered a few days earlier. There too, the Bron airfield was in a sad state. Our own bombings and the demolitions of the French had left only one hangar in good condition, which was already occupied by a group of Ju-87 that had arrived the day before. Our mechanics set up as best they could and I sent the 7th and 8th squadrons to some roughly equipped fields about ten kilometers
from there. I was well served! Indeed, as I was returning to the field after a tour in town, a formation of twin-engine English planes dropped their bombs on Bron, rather haphazardly. The light Flak shot with joy, but the English were flying too high for it to be effective.
The result: a few holes in the grass runway, but above all three Ju 52s, which had arrived shortly before with our equipment, destroyed before they could be unloaded. Luckily, neither our Messerschmitt nor the Ju 87 were hit. But all this delayed for a few days the actual resumption of operations.
I was anxious to get back in the air, and I decided to take some new people with me to reconnoiter our zone of action, mainly the Rhone valley, where the Wehrmacht was still
was still advancing.
On the afternoon of July 15th, I was on my third familiarization flight of the day, and I decided to push on to Avignon, with Sergeant Pfeiffer as wingman. Not a Frenchman in the sky! On the way back, Pfeiffer called me to report a problem with hisbinhaler. I told him to descend to 3,000 meters and go ahead, I would cover him from higher up. A minute later, while I still had my eye (the right eye!) on Pfeiffer, what I thought was a Morane swooped down on Pfeiffer. I yelled at him to get out of the way, and,
instinctively took the Morane in pursuit. Pfeiffer escaped the Frenchman's bursts of fire, but I could not get him in my sights. Worse, he was diving faster than I was! A glance behind me, another Frenchman! And at the same time, a violent blow under the engine immediately followed by a cloud of smoke. No time to lose! Jettison the canopy, unbuckle the harness, and, quickly, out! While I was descending under my parachute, I told myself that rest was not only good for the warrior: I had forgotten to watch my back, at first too preoccupied with the fate of my wingman, then because the instinct of the hunter frustrated for too long had been the strongest! And then I had to deal with the new French planes, the Dewoitine, which were going to be tougher than the old Morane [1].
But the ground was getting closer, it was not a question of breaking wood on landing! I landed in a dry riverbed, and while I was gathering my parachute as fast as I could, a snake that I must have awakened passed between my legs. That's two for the day! If I wasn't more careful, I would soon share the fate of my friend Mölders!
But nothing more happened: no peasants with pitchforks, no policemen. Far enough, just a column of smoke, probably my Emil. But the urgent thing was to find a place to hide.
A half-ruined building did the trick. Between some rotten hay and an old cart, I took stock of my situation: I was in the middle of a plain, bordered to the north and east by mountains, a few hills to the west, and more open to the south. I had two solutions: try to join the front line, almost 50 kilometers further north, avoiding the French in their retreat, or wait quietly for the Wehrmacht to catch up with me... The second solution was obviously my preference, as a self-respecting aviator does not walk on foot! But with the heat that reigned, I had to find something to drink and also to eat, and here was not where I was that I could do it.
I waited for nightfall and headed west, avoiding two villages. But at the third village, thirst being the strongest, I wove my way between houses that seemed deserted
and found a fountain where I could quench my thirst. On a signpost pointing south, I could read "Montélimar 10 km". I rinsed and filled with water an empty wine bottle that was lying on the ground not far from the fountain and, with my bottle in hand, I left the village to a wooded hill. There, tired, I fell asleep at the foot of a tree."
[1] It is interesting to note that the French Air Force did not have any D-520s in service in France at that time, except for the Toulouse area and the main Mediterranean ports. As French archives were lacking for this period, it is impossible to know what really happened.
Galland's probable error is perhaps deliberate, to embellish the account of an inglorious misadventure...
