The solitary Allied B-17 bomber was an easy target. Down to one working engine and riddled with flak and bullets, the aircraft would struggle to stay in the air over Germany let alone cover the 300 miles back to England.
Cannon fire had blasted away the aircraft’s nose cone, causing a 200mph wind to howl through the open fuselage of the plane.
The tail gunner’s lifeless body hung from his shattered turret, his blood frozen in icicles over the machine guns and all but one of the crew in the rear were incapacitated by wounds or exposure to the frigid air.
Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse for the plane’s 21-year-old pilot Charlie Brown, he noticed a Nazi fighter plane readying himself to deal the final, lethal blow to his crippled aircraft.
But what happened next is an extraordinary story of chivalry and mercy from World War II, providing a glimmer of humanitarian light amid the dark tragedy of the conflict.
The German pilot chose to spare his enemy by escorting the damaged plane to the safety of the English Channel.
Then against all odds, a half-century later, the two men became friends and remained close until their deaths less than six months apart.
Charles Brown (left) was an American pilot whose plane and crew were badly injured during a bombing run on Germany. Instead of dealing the final blow, Franz Stigler (right) a Nazi fighter pilot noticed the dead crewman, and blood-soaked interior of the plane through giant holes that had been blown through its fuselage and decided to escort the aircraft back to the safety of the English Channel. He saluted his Allied enemies and peeled off
Over forty years after the incident, the two pilots miraculously reunited and became friends for the remainder of their lives. Above, Charlie Brown (left), Franz Stigler (right)
The American crew of the B-17 – nicknamed ‘Ye Olde Pub’ – before taking off on a bombing mission of a Nazi aircraft factory in Bremen, Germany. It was Lt. Charles Brown’s (bottom row, far left) first combat mission as an aircraft commander with the 379th Bomb Group
It was five days before Christmas in 1943 when Charlie Brown, a 21-year-old B-17 pilot from West Virginia, took off on a cold, overcast winter day in Britain for his first combat mission over Germany.
The operation had practically been a suicide mission from the start as Brown’s unit faced heavy fire from 250 anti aircraft guns and shelling from 15 German fighter jets during the daylight bombing run of a Nazi munitions factory in Bremen.
Due to mechanical failures and damage to other aircraft, Brown’s plane, ‘Ye Olde Pub,’ had to move ahead in formation, making it a prime target for enemy counterattacks.
Before Brown had a chance to drop his payload, the plane was attacked by German anti-aircraft guns.
Cannon fire shattered the plane’s nose cone, damaging the oxygen and electrical systems and wiping out three of the four engines.
The tail gunner was killed and all but one of the crew in the rear was incapacitated.
Oxygen starved himself, Brown had been knocked out and regained consciousness just in time to level out his plane from a death spiral less than 1,000 feet from the ground.
By then, the German fighters had vanished. They likely observed the crippled plane belching smoke and flames – sputtering along at 135mph, barely above its stalling speed – and marked it as another kill before returning to base.
After inspecting the blood-spattered interior of the plane, the flight engineer reported, ‘we’re chewed to pieces, the hydraulics are bleeding, the left stabilizer is all but gone and there are holes in the fuselage big enough to climb through.’
Clinging to the last vestiges of hope, Brown realized his only option was to try and make the 300 mile journey back to England.
But he faced an even graver concern when he glanced out his cockpit and noticed his worst nightmare: a gray German Messerschmitt fighter hovering just three feet off their wingtip.
In the cockpit of the German fighter, his guns primed, was Lt Franz Stigler, a Luftwaffe ace with 29 kills under his belt.
With his leather-gloved hand on the trigger, he was just one kill away from achieving the Knight’s Cross, Germany’s highest award for valor.
Stigler, aged 28 at the time, was a veteran airman who had been flying since the start of the war. He on the ground refueling and reloading his guns when the lone B-17 had lumbered slowly overhead.
Within minutes, Stigler was up in the air to give chase, but as he drew closer, he noticed the rear gunner’s lifeless body hanging from his shattered turret. Another gunner was unconscious, his fleece collar soaked in red blood.
He saw the rest of the terrified 10-man crew, battered and wounded, desperately tending to one another’s injuries.
As Stigler pulled alongside the plane, he was shocked that he could see clean through the middle, where the fuselage had been bombarded by artillery. The tale and the rudder had also been shot off with giant holes on the wings.
It was ‘the most heavily damaged aircraft I ever saw that was still flying,’ he recalled years later.
In that moment, he remembered the words of and old commanding officer. ‘Honor is everything here,’ he had told a young Stigler before his first mission.
‘If I ever see or hear of you shooting at a man in a parachute. I will shoot you down myself. You follow the rules of war for you — not for your enemy. You fight by rules to keep your humanity.’
To Stigler, the defenseless plane was a parachute, and he was determined to save the men on board.
Believing they had no chance of surviving all the way back to England, Stigler tried to convince Brown to land at a German airfield by frantically gesturing and mouthing words. But their radio had been shot and they could not understand Stigler’s signals.
Brown could clearly see the pilot’s face, the whites of his eyes. ‘What was the bastard up to? He must be toying with them,’ he thought.
Finally Brown and his co-pilot shook their heads. They’d rather die in flames than be taken prisoner by the Nazis.
Then to no avail, Stigler motioned to the enemy crew to change course and head east toward neutral Sweden, a 30-minute flight away. They could crash-land there and spend the rest of the war as internees but alive.
Stigler was frustrated. He was already risking his own life as his decision to not finish off the aircraft was a court-martial offense in Nazi Germany and if revealed, could have led to his execution.
If a civilian spotted Stigler’s plane next to a B-17 and reported its tail number, he would be in grave danger.
With his attempts at signaling to Ye Olde Pub unsuccessful, Stigler took formation close to the battered bomber, escorting them for several miles back to the English Channel.
In doing so, Stigler stopped anti-aircraft guns from targeting the Allied plane, but he also feared that if he was spotted flying so close to the enemy without engaging, he could be accused — and doubtless found guilty — of treason.
‘Ye Olde Pub’ sustained heavy damage during the suicide mission. Cannon fire shattered the plane’s nose cone, causing 200mph wind to hurtle through the fuselage, ruining the oxygen and electrical systems, and wiping out three of the four engines. The tail gunner was killed, his blood frozen in icicles over the machine guns and all but one of the crew in the rear incapacitated by wounds or exposure to the frigid air
Nazi pilot, Franz Stigler tried to convince the crippled American plane to land, or divert to neutral territory in Sweden through frantic hand gestures. When Brown refused to listen, Stigler took formation with the plane and escorted it to safety, by doing so he stopped anti-aircraft guns from targeting the bomber, and also risked being accused of treason by the Third Reich
Meanwhile, Lt. Brown remained confused by the situation and instructed his gunners to aim their damaged weapons at the German fighter jet.
In response, Stigler took one final look, mouthed ‘Good luck,’ saluted the Americans, and peeled away.
‘You’re in God’s hands,’ Stigler thought to himself.
Miraculously, the stricken B-17 made it across 250 miles of the North Sea and landed at Seething in Norfolk.
As soon as he landed, Brown told his commanding officer that he and his crew owed their lives to the unknown Luftwaffe pilot. He was ordered to never to speak of the incident for fear that it would humanize the enemy.
For more than 40 years, Brown kept the secret but he never forgot.
Likewise, the memory of that B-17 stayed with Stigler. He always wondered if the crew he had risked himself to save actually survived? He had no way of knowing.
In the years following, Stigler became disillusioned by what his country had turned into under Hitler, and lost any desire for the Knight’s Cross.
Though he flew close to 500 combat missions, he simply failed to register his ‘victories’ and claim what he viewed as a worthless piece of metal.
He emigrated to Canada in 1953 to work as a mechanic in a logging camp.
In time, he bought his own Messerschmitt and would fly in air shows reenactments as the evil Nazi being pursued by vintage American fighters.
Brown continued to serve in the military up until the start of the Vietnam War and eventually settled in Miami, Florida, where he got married and founded an energy and environmental research center.
Then, in 1985, the retired American solider mentioned the story of the mysterious Messerschmitt pilot at a veterans’ reunion. ‘I still don’t know who that German was and why he let us go,’ he declared, determined now to find out.
Long and fruitless enquiries over the next five years eventually led him to the newsletter of an association of German fighter pilots.
In January 1990, knowing the odds were against him, Brown took out an ad in a newsletter looking for the one ‘who saved my life on Dec. 20, 1943.’
He deliberately omitted one crucial detail: the location where the German pilot had abandoned his B-17.
Brown (right) was ordered by his commanding officer to never to speak of the incident for fear that it would humanize the enemy, but he never forgot. In 1990, against all odds, he took out an ad in a pilots newsletter looking for the one ‘who saved my life on Dec. 20, 1943’ and the two former enemies were reunited in an emotional gathering
From 1990 until their deaths in 2008, Brown (left) and Stigler (right) were best friends. They went on fishing trips together, flew across the country to visit each other’s homes, and took road trips to share their story at schools and veterans’ reunions. Their wives, Jackie Brown and Hiya Stigler, also became friends
In 1990, Brown (left) and Stigler (right) met for the second time in a Florida hotel lobby. They spoke about their encounter in a light-hearted manner. ‘I was too stupid to surrender, and Franz Stigler was too much of a gentleman to destroy us,’ Brown recalled in YouTube footage from the gathering
‘I thought there was more chance of winning the lottery than finding him alive,’ Brown later said to CNN.
In Vancouver, where he had lived for 37 years, Franz Stigler opened his regular association newsletter, and could not believe his eyes. Suddenly, the missing piece of his life’s puzzle was right in front of him.
He responded to Brown with a letter, that read: ‘Dear Charles, All these years I wondered what happened to the B-17, did she make it or not?’
Brown was so thrilled that he immediately contacted directory assistance in Vancouver to find a number for Franz Stigler. After dialing the number, Stigler answered.
‘My God, it’s you!’ Brown exclaimed, with tears streaming down his face.
The men arranged a reunion at a hotel lobby in Florida. They spoke about their encounter in a light-hearted manner.
‘I was too stupid to surrender, and Franz Stigler was too much of a gentleman to destroy us,’ Brown recalled in YouTube footage from the gathering.
When someone asked Stigler what he thought about Brown, Stigler began to fight back tears before he said in heavily accented English: ‘I love you, Charlie.’
The war had cost Stigler everything. He lost his brother, his friends and his country – virtually exiled by his own countryman after the conflict. Out of 28,000 pilots who fought in the Wehrmacht, only 1,200 survived.
For Stigler, Charlie Brown was the only good thing that came out of World War II, and was the one thing he could be proud of.
From then on until their deaths, Brown and Stigler became the best of friends.
They went on fishing trips together, flew across the country to visit each other’s homes and took road trips to share their story at schools and veterans’ reunions. Their wives, Jackie Brown and Hiya Stigler, also became friends.
To express his deep gratitude, Brown organized a reunion for his surviving crew members and their extended families, inviting Stigler as the guest of honor.
A video was played during the event, showing all the faces of the people who now lived – children, grandchildren, relatives – because of Stigler’s act of chivalry.
The two men died within six months of each other in 2008, both from heart attacks. Stigler was 92, and Brown was 87.
In 2012, Adam Makos wrote a book detailing their incredible story, titled, ‘A Higher Calling.’
Makos told CNN that he first learned of their friendship while rifling through Brown’s home library and came across a book on German fighter jets.
Inside was an inscription Stigler had written to Brown: ‘In 1940, I lost my only brother as a night fighter. On the 20th of December, 4 days before Christmas, I had the chance to save a B-17 from her destruction, a plane so badly it was wonder that she was still flying.
The pilot, Charlie Brown, is for me, as precious as my brother was.
Thanks Charlie.
Your Brother,
Franz.’
