Chuteless Survivors (Feb 2017)
If, last month, you read the obituary for Vesna Vulović you might have thought that her remarkable experience must be unique. How many people can survive falling from the sky without a parachute? Well, a bit of research has found a surprising number.
Vesna worked as an air hostess for the Yugoslav airline JAT. She wasn’t supposed to be on Flight 367 from Copenhagen to Belgrade but there was a mix-up in the schedules with another girl called Vesna. It was 26th January, 1972 when the DC-9 took off from Copenhagen and climbed to its cruising altitude of 33,000 ft.
An hour into the flight a bomb exploded in the baggage hold and the aeroplane disintegrated. The wreckage was scattered over a hilly area of Czechoslovakia. Vesna was trapped in a part of the fuselage which fell onto a heavily wooded slope, crashing through pine trees into a thick coating of snow. Pinned down by a catering trolley and with a dead colleague lying on top of her, Vesna had survived the explosion, the sudden decompression and the deprivation of oxygen in the early part of the fall. Her screams were heard by Bruno Henke, who, luckily, had been trained as a medic during WWII. Taken to hospital, she was found to have a fractured skull, one crushed and two broken vertebrae, a broken pelvis and two broken legs. The other 27 people on board all died in the crash.
Vesna lay in a coma for 27 days, eventually waking to ask her mother for a cigarette. She was shocked to learn from the newspapers what had happened, having no memory of the incident since greeting the passengers when they boarded the DC-9. She was celebrated as a national heroine and duly entered in the Guinness Book of Records. She recovered to go back to work for JAT, at a desk job, though she had no fear of flying again.
Vesna lay in a coma for 27 days, eventually waking to ask her mother for a cigarette. She was shocked to learn from the newspapers what had happened, having no memory of the incident since greeting the passengers when they boarded the DC-9. She was celebrated as a national heroine and duly entered in the Guinness Book of Records. She recovered to go back to work for JAT, at a desk job, though she had no fear of flying again.
Vesna Vulović’s widely publicised story eclipsed that of a similar event which had happened just a month before.
The Peruvian airline, LANSA, operated Lockheed Electras. On Christmas Eve, 1971, Flight 508 left Lima to fly to Iquitos, in eastern Peru. They crossed the Andes at 21,000 ft and ran into an area of thunderstorms. In ‘pitch-black clouds’ and shaken by severe turbulence, luggage racks fell open and loose objects flew around the cabin. Then one of the Electra’s starboard engines was struck by lightning. The fuel tank burst into flame, the nose dropped and the aeroplane went into an increasingly steep dive.
Watching all this from a window seat was 17-year-old Juliane Koepcke. In the next seat was her mother who, with Juliane’s German father, ran a nature reserve in eastern Peru. The horrified passengers saw the burning wing begin to fold and then break off completely. Mrs Koepcke said calmly, ‘Now it’s all over’. The left wing cracked and fell away. The fuselage tore into pieces and the passengers spilled out. Julian felt herself spinning round and round. The tight seat belt forced the air from her lungs and she lost consciousness.
When she came to she found herself, still strapped in the seat, on the ground beneath the jungle canopy, somewhere in the headwaters of the Amazon. She had a swollen eye, a deep gash on her calf and soon realised that her collarbone was broken. But she could walk, although she’d lost one shoe. She looked around for other survivors. Her calls were unanswered.
When she came to she found herself, still strapped in the seat, on the ground beneath the jungle canopy, somewhere in the headwaters of the Amazon. She had a swollen eye, a deep gash on her calf and soon realised that her collarbone was broken. But she could walk, although she’d lost one shoe. She looked around for other survivors. Her calls were unanswered.
Scrambling in the wreckage, the only thing of any use that Juliane could find was a packet of sweets. Remembering her father’s advice on jungle survival she set off following a stream, knowing it would lead her to a river and eventually contact with people. At one point she came across three seats from the Electra with the passengers rammed head-first into the earth. It was not an encouraging discovery. It was the first time she’d seen a dead body.
Whilst Christmas was being celebrated across the world Juliane struggled on alone. During the day she was either burnt by the sun or soaked by rain and half swimming. At night she was unable to sleep because of the cold and insect bites. This harsh regime quickly sapped her strength and her progress became slower and more painful. She struggled on for ten long hard days before the stream joined a river. There was a boat moored to the bank. By now utterly exhausted and suffering from second degree burns on her sunburned back, she crawled along the path from the boat that led to a hut. It was deserted. There was no food and little else inside, but she did find a can of petrol. She poured the petrol on a bad wound on her arm which was infested by maggots. It was seriously painful but Juliane was happy to see 35 maggots wriggling away.
The next day she heard men’s voices and surprised them by crawling out of the hut. They were shocked by the state she was in, gave her what first aid they could and took her on a seven hour boat trip down river to a logging camp with an airstrip. She was flown to hospital where she was re-united with her father. Her survival in the crash was hailed as a miracle though many considered her survival was due to her courageous and determined trek through the hostile environment.
In the search that was mounted after the accident the bodies of the 91 passengers and crew who died were found. It appeared that 15 of them had survived the fall, including Maria, Juliane’s mother, but they were too badly injured to move far and all died before they were found. Happily, Juliane made a full recovery, though she suffered some years of nightmares, and went on to become a zoologist, like her father.
Whilst Christmas was being celebrated across the world Juliane struggled on alone. During the day she was either burnt by the sun or soaked by rain and half swimming. At night she was unable to sleep because of the cold and insect bites. This harsh regime quickly sapped her strength and her progress became slower and more painful. She struggled on for ten long hard days before the stream joined a river. There was a boat moored to the bank. By now utterly exhausted and suffering from second degree burns on her sunburned back, she crawled along the path from the boat that led to a hut. It was deserted. There was no food and little else inside, but she did find a can of petrol. She poured the petrol on a bad wound on her arm which was infested by maggots. It was seriously painful but Juliane was happy to see 35 maggots wriggling away.
The next day she heard men’s voices and surprised them by crawling out of the hut. They were shocked by the state she was in, gave her what first aid they could and took her on a seven hour boat trip down river to a logging camp with an airstrip. She was flown to hospital where she was re-united with her father. Her survival in the crash was hailed as a miracle though many considered her survival was due to her courageous and determined trek through the hostile environment.
In the search that was mounted after the accident the bodies of the 91 passengers and crew who died were found. It appeared that 15 of them had survived the fall, including Maria, Juliane’s mother, but they were too badly injured to move far and all died before they were found. Happily, Juliane made a full recovery, though she suffered some years of nightmares, and went on to become a zoologist, like her father.
Probably the best-known survivor of a fall without a parachute is Flt, Sgt. Nicholas Alkemade. On 24th March, 1944, he was in the tail turret of a Lancaster which was attacked by a night fighter. The fuel tanks were hit and soon the Lancaster was burning fiercely. Alkemade opened the turret door to get his parachute and was met by a wall of flame. Back in the turret, he swung it round through 90° and jumped out away from the fire and imminent expolsion. He said that his fall from 18,000 ft was ‘peaceful’ although he passed out.
He woke up sitting in a snowbank beneath a stand of pine trees. He had suffered a broken leg and wrist but he was able to light a cigarette before being captured.
The Germans believed his story only after examining his harness. The metal clips to which the parachute would be attached were still sown in place on his chest. They gave him a certificate and pointed out how lucky he was. The snow had melted everywhere apart from the area under the pine trees.
This picture was taken post-war at the actual site.
The Germans believed his story only after examining his harness. The metal clips to which the parachute would be attached were still sown in place on his chest. They gave him a certificate and pointed out how lucky he was. The snow had melted everywhere apart from the area under the pine trees.
This picture was taken post-war at the actual site.
A snow bank on a slope also saved the life of Lt Ivan Chisov. In January 1942 his Ilyushin bomber was attacked by German fighters and Chisov baled out at 23,000ft. He delayed opening his parachute. He didn’t want to be shot at as he floated down. Unfortunately, he lost consciousness and fell to the ground. Striking the edge of a snowy ravine he rolled to the bottom of the slope. He had a broken pelvis and spinal injuries but recovered quickly enough to be flying again within months.
There were other snowbank survivors. Olen Bryant was a navigator on a Liberator of 485th Bomb Group which collided with another B-24 over the mountains of northern Italy. He was thrown out and fell 10,000 ft into deep snow. He was rescued by two gunners from his crew who used their parachutes as a makeshift stretcher.
Arthur Frechette was blown out of his exploding B-17 and woke up, badly injured, lying in snow. His first automatic re-action was to try to open his parachute.
Survivors of ‘low’ jumps include Sgt Don Neville, a gunner of a B-24 which blew up shortly after take-off. He fell 200 ft into a clump of bushes. Fred Bist was the gunner in a Boston which was hit by flak over France. Fred was thrown out at 500 ft and landed in a ploughed field. He had a broken neck and wrist but lived to recover in hospital.
Arthur Frechette was blown out of his exploding B-17 and woke up, badly injured, lying in snow. His first automatic re-action was to try to open his parachute.
Survivors of ‘low’ jumps include Sgt Don Neville, a gunner of a B-24 which blew up shortly after take-off. He fell 200 ft into a clump of bushes. Fred Bist was the gunner in a Boston which was hit by flak over France. Fred was thrown out at 500 ft and landed in a ploughed field. He had a broken neck and wrist but lived to recover in hospital.
This is Alan McGee, demonstrating one way to get into the ball turret of his B-17, ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’. (As an interesting aside, post-war statistical analysis showed that the ball turret was the B-17’s safest crew position although, at the time, the cramped and exposed gunners thought otherwise).
On 3rd January, 1943, McGee was on his seventh operation, attacking the U-boat pens at St Nazaire. At 20,000 ft over the heavily defended target, ‘Snap, C and P’ was badly hit in the right wing. McGee had suffered too, with no fewer than 28 shrapnel wounds. He managed to climb out of his turret to look for his chute in the fuselage but fell out of the spinning bomber. As he tumbled out, he passed out.
On 3rd January, 1943, McGee was on his seventh operation, attacking the U-boat pens at St Nazaire. At 20,000 ft over the heavily defended target, ‘Snap, C and P’ was badly hit in the right wing. McGee had suffered too, with no fewer than 28 shrapnel wounds. He managed to climb out of his turret to look for his chute in the fuselage but fell out of the spinning bomber. As he tumbled out, he passed out.
His body crashed through the roof of the St Nazaire main railway station and fell to the platform. Rescuers were surprised to find him still alive, though his right arm was almost severed. He had other broken bones and severe damage to his face, lung and kidney. By the time of his release in May 1945, he had largely recovered from his injuries and was awarded the Air Medal as well as the Purple Heart. On the 50th anniversary of the raid, the people of St Nazaire erected a memorial to the crew of Snap, Crackle and Pop. Alan was there with his wife, Helen.
St Nazaire now has a flash new railway station. Hence the somewhat dated picture.
St Nazaire now has a flash new railway station. Hence the somewhat dated picture.
[Author’s aside: When I came across this next story, I was taken aback by realising that I had a connection with it. As a keen young ATC cadet I travelled to RAF Dishforth in 1944 for the squadron’s summer camp. When we got off the train it was a beautiful clear evening and the sky was filled with bombers, mostly Halifaxes, climbing away on a raid. In every direction we could see aeroplanes, most low, some much higher, many quite close, some just tiny specks in the distance. There were far too many to even think of counting. It was a sobering sight and we were sure it must have been another 1,000 bomber effort. It took some time to persuade everyone to climb into the waiting lorries to take us to the camp.
Although it must have been a real nuisance to have dozens of cadets scrabbling about we were welcomed by the friendly Australians of 466 Squadron RAAF and had an enjoyable and busy week, sometimes even being helpful in the menial jobs we were given in the hangars. I managed to get two flights in Halifaxes on extended air tests and I suppose it is just feasible that one of them was still on operations three months later.]
Although it must have been a real nuisance to have dozens of cadets scrabbling about we were welcomed by the friendly Australians of 466 Squadron RAAF and had an enjoyable and busy week, sometimes even being helpful in the menial jobs we were given in the hangars. I managed to get two flights in Halifaxes on extended air tests and I suppose it is just feasible that one of them was still on operations three months later.]
Getting out of a doomed bomber is seldom easy. Crew members have to work their way through the cramped interior of the bomber, avoiding the many obstructions which could snag their harness. They must find their parachutes, normally stowed on the wall of the fuselage and clip them onto the hooks on the front of the harness before getting to the escape hatch and diving through it. And all this must be done under the urgent threat of the probable explosion of the burning bomber. The pilot is usually last to jump after trying to keep the aeroplane flying until the last crew member has gone.
Joe Herman did exactly that. The Halifaxes of 466 Sqn attacked Bochum, in the Ruhr, on the night of 4th November 1944. Twice coned by searchlights over the target Joe told his crew to clip on their parachutes. However, they escaped from the blinding lights and their bombs were successfully dropped on target. They had just turned for home and were beginning their descent when three flak shells struck the Halifax. Both wings burst into flames.
Joe gave the order to bale out and the crew responded quickly, apart from John Vivash, the mid-upper gunner. He said he thought his leg was broken and crawled towards the hatch. Joe left his seat and reached for his parachute. At this point, one wing broke off, the Halifax lurched, flicked onto its back and began to spin. Joe was pinned to the roof of the cockpit. He was released by the explosion of the Halifax and he found himself falling through the air.
He was quite conscious and even checked the pieces of debris falling around him in case his parachute was there. It takes a long time to fall from 17,000 ft and Joe watched the waving searchlights in the distance and the moonlight glinting off a river below - waiting for his inevitable death when he hit the ground. Suddenly, he crashed into something. Winded by the collision he hung on tightly - to a pair of legs.
Joe gave the order to bale out and the crew responded quickly, apart from John Vivash, the mid-upper gunner. He said he thought his leg was broken and crawled towards the hatch. Joe left his seat and reached for his parachute. At this point, one wing broke off, the Halifax lurched, flicked onto its back and began to spin. Joe was pinned to the roof of the cockpit. He was released by the explosion of the Halifax and he found himself falling through the air.
He was quite conscious and even checked the pieces of debris falling around him in case his parachute was there. It takes a long time to fall from 17,000 ft and Joe watched the waving searchlights in the distance and the moonlight glinting off a river below - waiting for his inevitable death when he hit the ground. Suddenly, he crashed into something. Winded by the collision he hung on tightly - to a pair of legs.
It was John Vivash. The explosion had knocked him senseless and he remained so as he fell over 10,000’. When he did regain consciousness, he pulled the ripcord and the opening parachute swung him to one side. At a moment of miraculous timing, Joe Herman fell against him. ‘Be careful of my right leg’ said John. ‘I think it’s broken’.
Their plan for Joe to drop off at the last second before hitting the ground was foiled when they fell through the branches of a pine wood. John landed on top of Joe, breaking two of his ribs. With wounds to his face and leg, bruises everywhere and one boot missing, Herman was thankful that he was in a better state than he had been expecting. John Vivash’s leg wasn’t broken. It was badly cut up by seven pieces of shrapnel. Joe stemmed the bleeding and wrapped strips of parachute silk around it. Though their wounds hampered their movement they managed to evade capture for four days. Both survived imprisonment and returned to Australia after the war.
In the hostile environment of enemy skies, flak, fighters and collisions took their toll. Disintegrating bombers scattered pieces which fell, fluttered or flew to earth. The flying bits might have had the aerodynamics of broken shuttlecocks but it was sufficient to save the lives of many aircrew unable to use their parachutes.
Eugene Moran was a tail gunner in a B-17. With his parachute shot to pieces he rode the tail section to earth and to four months in a German hospital. S/Sgt. Erwin Koszyczarek’s B-17 collided with another at 28,000’. He emerged from his tail ‘plane’ unhurt. What a long ride that was. The large tail section of a 392nd BG B-24 had three trapped crew members in when it broke up at 18,000’. Only Merle Hasenfratz, strapped in the tail turret, survived. R B Reed had sundry burns and bruises but walked away from the flying tail of his B-24 in northern Italy. William Stannard flew in an RAF Lockheed Ventura. The prominent upper turret of this twin-engined bomber was close enough to the tail for Stannard to survive when the front part of the Ventura was shot away.
Frederico Gonzales showed that tail section wasn’t the only part that ‘flew’. He was a pilot of a 398th BG B-17 which had a wing shot off at 27,000’. Trapped in his seat he survived the fluttering, erratic spin to earth. On the way to Koblenz, a B-17 of the 447th BG was hit and fell from the formation. It crashed into the bomber below, removing its tail section behind the ball turret. The rest of the crew were able to get out, apart from Edmond Shibble who was trapped in the turret. He was still there when the unstable tailless B-17, with engines still running, hit the ground. Shibble’s back was broken, but he lived.
A month after the end of the war aeroplanes weren’t being shot down any more. Ken Wright was flying an RAF Mustang and he and a colleague were enjoying a mock dogfight. Somehow, he lost control of the Mustang which went into a steepening dive. With the airspeed ‘off the clock’ the tail broke off, then the wings. By now unconscious, and close to the ground, Wright was flung out. Something had caught his ripcord because the first steams of silk were appearing when Ken’s body crashed through the top of an oak tree, burst through a hedge and left a trail of flattened oats 200 yards long. The pilot of the other Mustang watched all this and was amazed to see Ken sitting up. He was out of hospital in three weeks.
Thousands of people fall out of aeroplane deliberately – parachuting is a popular sport. Inevitably, there are hundreds of tales of partially opened parachutes saving lives. However, there’s always an urge to go one step further and in parachuting, ironically, it leads to doing without a parachute. The fall can be delayed, and to a certain extent, controlled, by wearing a wing suit.
Their plan for Joe to drop off at the last second before hitting the ground was foiled when they fell through the branches of a pine wood. John landed on top of Joe, breaking two of his ribs. With wounds to his face and leg, bruises everywhere and one boot missing, Herman was thankful that he was in a better state than he had been expecting. John Vivash’s leg wasn’t broken. It was badly cut up by seven pieces of shrapnel. Joe stemmed the bleeding and wrapped strips of parachute silk around it. Though their wounds hampered their movement they managed to evade capture for four days. Both survived imprisonment and returned to Australia after the war.
In the hostile environment of enemy skies, flak, fighters and collisions took their toll. Disintegrating bombers scattered pieces which fell, fluttered or flew to earth. The flying bits might have had the aerodynamics of broken shuttlecocks but it was sufficient to save the lives of many aircrew unable to use their parachutes.
Eugene Moran was a tail gunner in a B-17. With his parachute shot to pieces he rode the tail section to earth and to four months in a German hospital. S/Sgt. Erwin Koszyczarek’s B-17 collided with another at 28,000’. He emerged from his tail ‘plane’ unhurt. What a long ride that was. The large tail section of a 392nd BG B-24 had three trapped crew members in when it broke up at 18,000’. Only Merle Hasenfratz, strapped in the tail turret, survived. R B Reed had sundry burns and bruises but walked away from the flying tail of his B-24 in northern Italy. William Stannard flew in an RAF Lockheed Ventura. The prominent upper turret of this twin-engined bomber was close enough to the tail for Stannard to survive when the front part of the Ventura was shot away.
Frederico Gonzales showed that tail section wasn’t the only part that ‘flew’. He was a pilot of a 398th BG B-17 which had a wing shot off at 27,000’. Trapped in his seat he survived the fluttering, erratic spin to earth. On the way to Koblenz, a B-17 of the 447th BG was hit and fell from the formation. It crashed into the bomber below, removing its tail section behind the ball turret. The rest of the crew were able to get out, apart from Edmond Shibble who was trapped in the turret. He was still there when the unstable tailless B-17, with engines still running, hit the ground. Shibble’s back was broken, but he lived.
A month after the end of the war aeroplanes weren’t being shot down any more. Ken Wright was flying an RAF Mustang and he and a colleague were enjoying a mock dogfight. Somehow, he lost control of the Mustang which went into a steepening dive. With the airspeed ‘off the clock’ the tail broke off, then the wings. By now unconscious, and close to the ground, Wright was flung out. Something had caught his ripcord because the first steams of silk were appearing when Ken’s body crashed through the top of an oak tree, burst through a hedge and left a trail of flattened oats 200 yards long. The pilot of the other Mustang watched all this and was amazed to see Ken sitting up. He was out of hospital in three weeks.
Thousands of people fall out of aeroplane deliberately – parachuting is a popular sport. Inevitably, there are hundreds of tales of partially opened parachutes saving lives. However, there’s always an urge to go one step further and in parachuting, ironically, it leads to doing without a parachute. The fall can be delayed, and to a certain extent, controlled, by wearing a wing suit.
Gary Connery is an experienced skydiver and stunt double (you saw him dressed as the Queen arriving at the London Olympics). He has a wing suit which works well although every jump ends by opening a parachute. Gary wanted to eliminate this stage by landing on something soft. So he used the stuntman’s trick of falling into cardboard boxes. His friends assembled 1600 boxes to make a ‘runway’ 350’ long and 12’ deep, which you can see in the picture behind Gary. On 23rd May 2012 he jumped out of a helicopter at 2,400’ near Henley on Thames. Happily it all went well.
Luke Aikins began parachuting when he was just 12 years old. After 18,000 parachute jumps he decided to jump without one and without a wing suit. It would be a record, so to make it a good one he planned to dive from 25,000’. On 30th July 2016 he and four other skydivers jumped together. On the way down Luke practised flipping over so that he would land on his back. He handed over his oxygen mask to a friend and, at 5,000 ft the others opened their chutes. Luke plummeted into a 100’ square net, suspended from four tall poles. It was indeed a record and one which is likely to stand for some time.
And finally, here’s another chuteless – and shirtless jumper. This is Antti Pendikainen, a Finnish stuntman, leaving a perfectly serviceable balloon.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lq-54gox6-kk
All right, before he gets to ground he does a Joe Herman. You can decide for yourself what he really meant when he said it was ‘cool’.