Early on May 8, 1945, the most decorated German soldier of World War II, Colonel Hans-Ulrich Rudel, wing commander of mann,” learned from the German high command that the war had ended. He was told to order his men to Schlachtgeschwader 2 “Immeltravel west to avoid being captured by the Russians. Some flew back to their hometowns rather than surrender, but for Rudel, whose home was near Russian-occupied Görlitz, that was out of the question. Considering his options, he decided to surrender to the Americans, in the hope that he would receive medical attention for his right leg, which had been amputated below the knee and was. still swollen and bleeding. After thanking his officers for their loyalty and courage, he said farewell to his ground personnel, who were leaving in trucks and other vehicles.
Later that morning, the remaining airworthy aircraft from II Gruppe, SG.2—three Junkers Ju-87 Stukas and four Focke Wulf Fw-190s—prepared to depart from their air base at Kummer am See, in Czechoslovakia. Rudel took off in his Ju-87G-2 “Cannon Bird,” equipped with a 37mm cannon under each wing, which had helped him destroy more than 500 Soviet tanks.
Rudel radioed the U.S. XIX Tactical Air Command of his intentions, and was directed to R-6 Kitzingen airfield, occupied by the Ninth Air Force’s 405th Fighter Group, under the command of Colonel J. Garrett Jackson. The XIX TAC contacted the anti-aircraft units at Kitzingen to let them know a group of Luftwaffe aircraft was inbound and the pilots wanted to surrender. Since there was a victory review in progress, however, the 405th Group headquarters did not receive the message. At the time all 2,500 men of the 405th were lined up in front of the hangars, in dress uniform, for a victory flyover. My grandfather Lt. Col. Edgar J. Loftus, the 405th’s executive officer, had ordered the review, complete with band, parade and fly-by. He was the highest-ranking officer on the field when Rudel’s planes approached. Two of the 405th’s squadron commanders and group commander Jackson were in the air with their P-47D Thunderbolts for the flyover.
Just as the men fell into position, Loftus received word that German fighters were heading to the field. With no more than two or three minutes until they arrived, his options were limited. The group’s 75 airplanes were unarmed and 10 to 15 miles away to the southwest, forming up for the fly-by. There was not enough time to break up the ranks and allow the men to seek cover before the Germans arrived overhead. Loftus decided to continue with the ceremony, hoping the Lufwaffe pilots did not intend to strafe the Americans in a final defiant gesture. When some nervous men started to break ranks, Loftus ordered them to stand at ease and not leave the formation. As the seven German planes flew in, they were so low to the ground that the Americans could see the pilots’ faces and insignia.
Rudel ordered his men to crash-land their airplanes so the enemy wouldn’t be able to use them. After circling the field, the Germans dropped flares to signal that they were landing. Rudel throttled back and circled the field again, then slipped into the landing pattern. Loftus recalled: “The first plane, a Stuka Ju-87, touched down in a three-point landing. I watched it roll down the strip slowly. Only slightly and still under power did the plane continue. The pilot made no effort to brake, causing the Stuka to run off the runway’s edge. As its wheels dug into the soft sod and its propeller beat itself into a crescent shape, the plane dug into the ground and nosed over into the grass.” One by one the six remaining German aircraft followed suit. Two of the Fw-190s and two Stukas successfully ground-looped or collapsed their landing gear.
Loftus and 510th Fighter Squadron commander Lt. Col. Ralph Jenkins approached the German airplanes. “I was amazed to see two Luftwaffe personnel leave each of the single seated Fw-190 fighter planes,” Jenkins remembered. “Some were airplane mechanics and a woman. The Stukas, as well, had German personnel stuffed into the radio and cargo compartments. A total of 21 left the seven German planes.”
As Loftus walked up to the first Stuka, he saw one of his men pointing his pistol at the cockpit. When the Luftwaffe pilot opened his canopy, the pistol-wielding American tried to take a medal from his neck, but the German pushed him back and closed the canopy. After Loftus told the soldier to move off, the pilot hopped out onto the wing and demanded to see the commanding officer. “When I approached the German pilot,” Loftus recounted, “he identified himself in English as Oberst Hans-Ulrich Rudel.” The Luftwaffe colonel announced that he was there because he had been ordered from the Eastern Front. Rudel said his instructions were to fly to an American base, land and surrender. He had no choice but to comply, he said, although he refused to surrender. He explained defiantly that he had crashed his plane so that it would be of no use to the enemy. If the Americans wanted to take them prisoner, that was their affair. But his six officers and NCO pilots would not surrender.
Then, with a gesture toward the 2,500 men still standing in formation, Rudel thanked Loftus for his courtesy. He was pleased that the review had been ordered. In other circumstances, such a conceit would have provoked laughter, but Loftus had to take Rudel for what he was, the ultimate German pilot and a loyal Nazi Party member. When the XO noticed Rudel’s bloody right stump and artificial leg, on which he limped with obvious pain, he offered him his jeep and escort to the aid station to have it rewrapped. Before that, though, the German colonel insisted on walking past the American ranks.
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