Book: "Senta a Pua !" - Author: Cel Av Rui Moreira Lima - Copyright Rui Moreira Lima 1980Rui Moreira Lima, author of the book SENTA A PUA !
Copyright © Rui Moreira Lima 1980

EXCERPT, p. 395

The chosen route to the target was out of the routine because, instead of flying directly to the objective, Lagares, flew over our lines to Florence, going from there to Casarsa, to avoid the Flak of Bologna. On this occasion, part of the “Via 9” (Road 9) had fallen into the hands of the English 8th Army. As we made the crossing, we passed the city of Forli on our left, recently taken by the English, having been occupied by a squadron of A-20 attacking planes, composed of Polish airmen from RAF. For this story, this detail is important.
We arrived in Casarsa at the established hour and began the attack It was a railroad bridge over the Madunna River, that could only be considered as such during the rainy season. It looked like one of our Northeast rivers that turned into a road in the dry season. Lagares and the youth Tormin nose-dived and I followed them. In the moment that I initiated the dive, I discovered an 88 mm German battery located about 200 meters from the bridge. I advised on the radio: - “Jambock Green, from Jambock Green no.3, I found a battery, I’m going to attack it before I let loose my bombs.” - “Good luck,” Lagares replied.
As was to be expected, I was received with a “celebration,” not only by the battery that I was attacking, but by other weapons of smaller caliber, including anti-aircraft guns of 40 and 20mm. I left everything and concentrated on the battery. More or less at 300 ft, I was hit in the motor, losing 2 cylinders. The motor began to catch fire. New message to Lagares. - “Jambock Green, I was hit, the plane is on fire, I am going to continue the attack on the battery, parachuting soon after.” Without waiting for an answer, I descended more over the target, that only stopped to shoot at me when the last gunner was eliminated. May the memory of those brave Germans be honored. All this occurred in seconds. The speed of the nose-dive was about 420 mph I sent a new message: - “Jambock Green, I am on fire, now I am going to eject my bombs on the bridge, ‘delivering them to the door’, after that I will jump.”.
Luckily, as we flew over the target, a German train was standing still in the bridge. The bombs of the seven planes that preceded me caught the area but didn’t touch the bridge. As I was making my deliveries I hit the mark. It was an ammunition train. A pyrotechnical party. The explosions of the two 500lb bombs of my D-4 Thunderbolt, … combined with the explosions of the ammunition of the train.
Since I was attacking at a lower altitude, I was hit by the fragments. I brought 28 more holes in the plane, with two of them being big enough for a fulsal ball.
With the mission accomplished and with the bridge destroyed, I sent a new message: - “Jambock Green, this is Jambock Green 3, I am going to jump, the visibility is zero, since in addition to the fire, there is oil on the windshield wiper and covering the canopy and smoke in the cockpit.” With the excess of velocity, I raised the plane nose, reaching a level of 8000 ft. Now, just jump and see what card I can draw.
In this moment I heard the clear voice of Lagares – “No jumping, period, the antiaircraft fire will catch you in the fall, take the 150º route, and we will tell you when to jump”.
– (“E o fogo? Achas que devo virar churrasco ou explodir feito o trem embaixo?) “
-“And the fire? Do you think that I should turn into barbecue or explode like the train below?”.
– “This is an order, do not jump now, there is too much Flak around your plane, they are hunting you, it is stupidity to jump now.” Other voices came to my ears. The refrain was the same. – “Do not jump ‘Arataca’*.” The solidarity of my companions and the experienced voice of Lagares cleared my head. – “O.K., Jambock Green, take me to another place, because the canopy is beginning to melt and I’m seeing the hour of my last cry.”
I flew straight, always climbing, following Lagares’ instructions. Nothing could be seen outside. The flame that was coming from the motor licked the canopy’s left side. The oil, the smoke, everything got in the way so that I couldn’t see the blue outside. It was an instrument flight, a thing that, at that time, was not my strong point.
“Now bail out, you are over the Adriatic. I already requested aid. In two hours, you will have a Catalina that will get you. Use your head well and your emergency raft.”
It happened that at that moment, my impulse to jump was about gone. After all I was not a paratrooper. I would try a way to put out the fire. Taking care with my tone of voice, giving the impression that I was calm, I advised them, that I would not bail out until I tried a maneuver to put out the fire. My decision fell on them like a bomb. Among the words that came to my ears were things like: Jump you S.O.B., that I was going to turn into barbecue and that I was afraid to jump, etc. I heard the devil but didn’t give a damn. I took advantage of a break and went on air saying – “I’m at 12,000 ft. I am going to switch off the gas, batteries, generator and magnetos. Following that I will nose dive until I reach 350mph. The fire should go out. Then I will switch on the motor. If the fire comes back I will bail out. If not, I will fly to wherever I can get to.” They stopped talking to observe me. I executed the planned maneuver. The flame went out. Upon switching on the motor again, the flame didn’t come back The smoke increased, maybe because more oil was leaking.
With the fire extinguished, Lagares gave me the direct route to Forli, the Polish air base of RAF. Paying attention to the commands of Lagares, I was guided there. When I was at a convenient altitude, more or less within one minute of the threshold of the runway, Lagares told me that I was aligned with the runway, and so I should cut the motor on his order.
Right there my doubting Thomas took over. I wanted to check. I put on my goggles, opened the canopy and stretched my neck out. A hot jet of oil covered my goggles. In a dumb move, I removed the goggles and insisted. This time I paid a high price. I was hit in the left eye with hot oil. I was already almost on the ground. The order to cut the motor came fast. Having done this, the belly glide on the runway was a question of the blink of an eye. I made a landing without wheels, because, I, as much as Lagares, didn’t want the risk of overshooting the runway with a possible explosion. The plane went sufficiently far to stop about 10 meters from the end. After that hellish noise of the metal belly gliding in on an emergency runway made of iron strips and with the momentary scare over, I called Lagares, almost imploring him to not leave me on that unknown base…. The flights returned to Pisa. I was delivered to my own luck and wit.
... I left the plane in a hurry. There was still the danger of an explosion. I got as far away as I could. I sat on my parachute about 100 meters away, trembling, but really trembling, my left eye in the dark, waiting for help from a fire-fighting vehicle, an ambulance and a jeep. Who discovered me first was the jeep. A RAF official** was sitting on the hood. Blond, 1.88 meters tall, uniform in good shape, with some medals, who asked from some distance away:
“Brasileiro?” - “Brazilian?”
As I didn’t imagine at that moment I would meet a RAF Englishman speaking Portuguese, to appear intelligent, I answered: “Yes”.
(“Yes, coisa alguma, seu sacana.”)
(“Como vão as mulheres de Copacabana? Que é que houve contigo?”)
"Yes nothing, you son of a gun"
“How are the girls of Capacabana? What happened to you?”
I was in the clouds with joy. I answered him with another question:
“And you, what are you doing with that RAF uniform?”
“I am the son of an Englishman, I was born in Curitiba, and I’m here in this s... of this crazy war.”


… … The Polish doctor that attended to me was exceptionally kind and efficient. Right there he cleaned my left eye…. Before I could use my eye at all, he put an eye patch on it, with my face looking like Moshe Dayan.
***

* Arataca – one of the nicknames given to natives of northernBrazil.
** RAF Pilot - Frederick C. Tate, born in Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil

Note: The Brigadeiro (reserva) Rui Moreira LIma was born on June 14, 1919, now he is 92 years old
Note: The part about the vodka will continue later

Livro "Senta a Pua !" Author: Cel Av Rui Moreira Lima

Po Valley 1945
www.history.army/mil/brochures/po/72-73.htm

Immediately south of the Alps, the 1st Armored Division continued to drive westward on 27 April, meeting Italian partisans from Milan who reported that they had already liberated the city, a fact U.S. troops confirmed two days later. On the afternoon of 30 April General Crittenberger and a composite command representing the entire IV Corps entered Milan, the largest city in northern Italy. In the meantime, the 1st Armored Division had moved west and southwest of the city, clearing small pockets of resistance and reaching out twenty miles farther west to the Ticino River by 2 May. Behind it, the 34th Division continued its clearing operations until it relieved the 1st Armored Division north of Milan, sealing off any Axis elements still attempting to withdraw north. South of Milan, the Brazilian Expeditionary Force bottled up the 148th Grenadier and Italia Bersaglieri Divisions on 28 April. On the following day the German commander surrendered; during the next twenty-four hours the Brazilians collected over 13,500 prisoners.