One particular mission comes to mind. This one stars a skinny little guy by the name of Steve Dostal. This was a strafing mission, a train yard near Varazdin, Yugoslavia. I remember making a run ninety degrees to a train that was stopped in a station, and soldiers were running every which way. As I was
making a turn away from the station, I saw a 38 gliding low over some trees, trailing smoke from the cockpit. There was a cleared field just past the trees, and the pilot was obviously heading for it. Several of us
circled the field as the 38 bellied in. It skidded to a stop straight ahead, fairly intact. The pilot popped the canopy jumped out and headed for the woods near the edge of the field. We flew cover for a while, even
after he disappeared, until Red Leader told us to form the hell up and get out of there. So much for that sortie!

Several weeks later some rather well-fed, slightly rotund fellow came into our squadron area. He had a beard, bandoliers crossing his chest, at least two automatic pistols strapped to his waist. He was obviously some Yugo Partisan, checking out our layout. He was, you guessed it, Steve Dostal,
returning to duty!!