By Dan Ryniker, and Kyle Bradford and Cyril Smith

Bob Rudkin during World War II We all have heard war stories of soldiers separated from the others and forced to fend for themselves in an enemy country. Perhaps we have seen a movie like "Behind Enemy Lines," detailing such a tribulation. But to Bob Rudkin of Cedar Place in Garden City, this was no Hollywood-embellished story. For Bob, it was a life-altering experience.

As an 18-year-old boy during WWII, Bob ached to serve his country; for him the only choice was what part of the military he would join. In the funny way of life that big decisions are often made on little factors, the happenstance of hearing the U.S Army Air Force Song played on the radio made up his mind. Bob Rudkin would become a fighter pilot. Something about that "Wild Blue Yonder" appealed to him, but that song would also portent the most intense and unforgettable period of his life.

Military training was tough, especially pilot school. It had to be, because the German air defenses were brutal and Allied aircraft losses were substantial. But after three years of rigorous training, Bob was a crack pilot and his chariot was the hottest Allied fighter, the P51 Mustang. It was to be his ticket to combat in the skies over Germany.

By December 1944, Bob was flying out of a forward field in liberated France. With the Luftwaffe mostly gone, his fighter group was assigned to ground strafing, taking our German gun positions, which is the toughest assignment any pilot can be given. At those low altitudes, every German gun big and small could be brought to bear. This German flak had become very efficient. The gunners wanted desperately to bring down the feared flyboys and bring death and destruction to their countryside.

There was little height to allow for bailing out if the aircraft was hit. There were also other things to contend with: Electrical lines, towers and other hard-to-see things that, flying at close to 500 mph, could destroy an airplane in a nanosecond. There were also German fighters looking to pounce, including the first jet, the ME 262, which no one wanted to tangle with.

On Bob's day of destiny, he was assigned to a two plane reconnaissance mission. A huge bomber stream was due to attack Mannheim, a major industrial city in Germany. It was important to know the cloud cover over the target prior to the bomber arrival, so that they could be diverted if necessary.

On that very cold morning, just as the dawn came, Bob's preflight check showed his gyros to be out of alignment. So, Lt. Rudkin had to borrow his commander's plane. Bob still remembers the crew chief saying, "Don't get it dirty, Lieutenant."

Preflight finished, the aircraft took off with a roar and crossed into Germany. Outbound was easy; and once over Mannheim, they radioed in that it was clear of cloud cover and headed home, looking for targets of opportunity. After eight missions, Bob was savvy on searching out ground targets.

As they flashed over the countryside and the dawn was brightening into a beautiful day, they spotted movement. In the distance, almost like a mouse scurrying away after losing the darkness of night, a German train could be seen highlighting for the protection of a tunnel. As Bob and his wingman swooped, low and very fast, to gain the best deflection shot at the locomotive, suddenly those early morning skies were filled with death and destruction. The black flower-like explosions and tracer rounds of German flak hosed up to greet them.

Bob's Mustang shuddered as it was hit. He immediately pulled hard on the yoke, seeking altitude to escape the flak. Within moments, the first whiffs of smoke were visible on his wing and in his facemask, which were soon followed by heavy smoke, then flame pouring from his left wing. That powerful Rolls Royce engine responded, and in mere moments he had reached several thousand feet of height. He had escaped the flak but the flames had rapidly spread, slipstreaming in at 450+ mph into the cockpit. His legs were being blowtorched. There is a reason hell is described as fire, burning is the worse of fates.

Bob jettisoned his canopy and bailed out with his legs literally on fire and praying the tailfin would not clip him. In a moment, he was falling to earth and pulling the ripcord. The rush of air had smothered the flames on his legs. He could see his borrowed chariot go into a flaming dive, extinguished only when it plunged into the countryside.

Now he was a puppet to the freezing wind, and its icy blasts aggravated the pain of his legs. Fortunately, the zephyrs put him down on some frozen farm soil with nary a person in sight.

Burying his chute and wrapping his legs as best he could, he headed off in the direction of France and friendly lines. Moving across enemy territory is a lesson in constant fear. German civilians could as soon stick a pitchfork in him as report him to the authorities.

On his burnt legs, travel was tough. For three days, he wearily traveled the land, sticking to rutted paths less likely to encounter Germans. His meager survival supplies soon ran out and he could not locate any of the landmarks his silk escape map showed. With no food or water, he used his penknife to pick off the dew on the plants for what little moisture that would provide to his parched throat.

Limping along, he was seen and captured by some German farmers. Placed in a woodshed, Bob saw them run off to alert some German soldiers a distance away. Bob climbed out of the shed and slipped into the nearby forest. As Bob maneuvered through the thick woods, he could hear the soldiers searching for him. Eventually the woods thinned out and Bob was discovered by a German police officer who took him into custody. It was then off to several German hospitals for medical attention. Once the burns were treated, Bob was taken to a rail station. Placed into a small guarded shed, he was joined by another American, Tom Eastling, a P47 Thunderbolt pilot from Mississippi shot down over Mannheim a few weeks after Bob. Easting was injured even more severely and was a stretcher case.

Due to more strafing runs by American fighters, train service was erratic and slow. Bob and Tom realized that they could easily be shot up by their countrymen. The wait was long and hunger had become a major concern. But Rudkin had always been resourceful. Seeing some German youngsters nearby, Bob (who spoke some German) devised a plan to have them give up some of their apples for a close-up view of the captured pilots.

Eventually, a train took them to a large POW camp near Stuttgart that housed some American pilots, British paratroopers captured at in the defeat at Arnhem (A Bridge Too Far) and a great number of Russian POWs. As the war came to a close, it was the Free French forces that liberated their camp and who alerted the nearby American forces that they had freed the prisoners.

It was with great excitement that Bob and Tom saw the American jeep and U.S. Army officer arrive later that day. This officer brought them back to the American forces. After some medical care and processing, Rudkin was flown back to the United States. He arrived at Mitchel Field and was met by his family. After some more time in a Staten Island military hospital, Bob came home to Garden City where he and his wife have resided since the war.

Bob's legs healed with scarring but Eastling's travails with injury were more intense. Tom published his memoirs, "Ticket to Hell - Two Minutes over Mannheim," that describes the lifetime of pain he endured from his ordeal. While Eastling died a few years ago, they remained close friends and Eastling came to visit in Garden City.

Bob Rudkin was awarded a Purple Heart, among other medals, for his service in the war. One of the medals he received was presented to him at West Point during halftime of their football game. As with many combat veterans, Bob values the experience he has had; he served his nation in its time of need. He is the bedrock that this community and that this nation is built upon.