William Miller
Age: 87
Born: March 9, 1924
Hometown: Glendale
Residence: Palm Springs
Military branch: U.S. Army Air Corps; 8th Air Force; 385th Bomb Group
Years served: January 1943 - December 1945
Rank: First lieutenant
Family: Wife Patricia; three children, Douglas Miller of La Crescenta, Michael Miller of Salem, Ore., and Mark Miller of Santa Clarita; seven grandchildren; three great-grandchildren.
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It's difficult for U.S. Army Air Corps veteran William Miller to talk about the events of April 29, 1944 — the day his B-17 was shot down by enemy fighters over Berlin.
“I lost four guys,” out of the 10-man crew, said Miller, who was flying co-pilot that day. “Two waist gunners, the ball turret gunner, tail gunner.”
The men who didn't die were wounded in the attack.
“Everybody got hit except me,” he said.
“We were flying tail-end Charlie,” Miller said, meaning his B-17 was flying at the back of the formation. “The fighters came in the back way ... we never dropped the bombs, we were hit so hard.”
“The Me-109s shot us down. They'd circle, come around and shoot you again.”
When the fighting started, Miller slipped on his flak helmet. An unused parachute resting behind his back provided additional protection.
The enemy fighters, equipped with 40mm cannons, blasted away at the bombers, and the B-17 eventually caught fire.
The plane dropped quickly from the sky, and at 12,000 feet, the pilots helped their wounded navigator get out first. They jumped right behind him — into enemy territory.
Miller was captured and taken to be interrogated — but he didn't cooperate. He only gave his captors his name, rank and serial number.
Miller was eventually sent by train to Stuttgart for more interrogation — and solitary confinement.
For four days and four nights, Miller was forced to stand up in a narrow, vertical cell. He could lean up against the back wall, but only about 8 inches separated the front of his body from the electrically charged wall facing him. He couldn't move much, let alone sit down, or he'd get a 110-volt shock.
After about 10 days, he was sent to Stalag Luft III, a German prison camp for British and American air force officers in the town of Sagan, now Zagan in Poland.
As the Soviet Red Army began closing in on the Germans, Adolf Hitler ordered the 8,000 prisoners to move to Stalag Luft XIII D in Nuremberg.
“We walked in 40-degree-below weather,” he said. After a while, the men were loaded on boxcars, 50 men to a car, for the rest of the trip — a miserable, five-day journey to camp.
In early April 1945, the prisoners were on the march again — this time to Stalag VII A in Moosburg — as the Russians moved closer.
One rainy day, Miller and a friend made a break for it.
“We escaped. When it rains, the dogs can't smell you ... They caught us the next day.”
But that didn't stop them.
“We took off again,” he said. This time, they took side roads and ended up in a little farming community. They convinced a German family to let them stay in their home.
“They gave us a little feather bed and meals three times a day.”
When the German army could be heard nearby, the men went into the family's barn and hid in the hayloft. They were soon joined by the enemy, who decided to bunk down in the barn.
“There were 20 SS guys below us,” Miller said.
They tried to keep as quiet as possible, but Miller slipped through an opening where hay is pushed through the loft.
“I fell through that dadgum loft right into the SS guys,” he said.
Miller, who had broken both of his wrists in the fall, yelled up to his friend, who spoke German, to get down there to talk to the men.
Again, the men were returned to the POW camp.
“A Polish doctor set both of my wrists,” Miller said.
Then on April 29, 1945 — a year to the day after Miller's plane was shot down — “Patton came and liberated us.”
Staff writer Denise Goolsby will profile desert veterans from World War II on Sundays. Contact her at (760) 778-4587 or via email at denise.goolsby@thedesertsun.com
