The RAF Airman Who Fell 18,000 Feet Without a Parachute and Survived: The Remarkable Story of Nicholas Alkemade
When you think of aerial combat, the first things that might come to mind are the dogfights of Spitfires and Messerschmitts or the heavy bombers lumbering across enemy skies under fire from below. But what’s often forgotten is just how far removed such combat is from anything resembling the natural human experience. Like sailors in naval battles, airmen operate in an environment wholly hostile to human survival. A few thousand feet up in the sky, or far out over the sea, even a small mistake — or a single bullet — can lead to catastrophe. And if your last resort, like a parachute or life raft, fails? The result is usually fatal.
Usually.
That’s what makes the story of Nicholas Alkemade so incredible. During the height of the Second World War, Alkemade was blown from his burning bomber at 18,000 feet — with no parachute. What happened next defied belief, baffled the Gestapo, and made him a quiet legend of WWII aviation history.
From Norfolk Gardener to RAF Air Gunner
Born in 1922 in Norfolk, England, Nicholas Stephen Alkemade had no grand designs for heroism. Before the war, he worked as a gardener, living a peaceful life rooted to the soil of East Anglia. But the outbreak of war in 1939 changed the course of millions of lives, and like many of his generation, Alkemade enlisted to serve. He joined the Royal Air Force and trained as an air gunner — one of the most dangerous roles in Bomber Command.
Air gunners, particularly tail gunners, were notoriously vulnerable in combat. Seated alone at the rear of heavy bombers like the Avro Lancaster, they had to keep watch for enemy fighters, often with minimal protection. Their life expectancy was low, and their isolation in the aircraft made escape during emergencies incredibly difficult.
After completing his training, Alkemade was assigned to 115 Squadron, a unit operating Avro Lancaster Mk II bombers. These aircraft were the heavy lifters of the RAF bombing campaign, capable of carrying the largest munitions used during the war. His crew nicknamed their aircraft Werewolf, a fitting name for a machine of war that flew mostly by night.
Alkemade flew fourteen successful missions as part of the Werewolf crew, taking part in the sustained bombing campaign over Nazi-occupied Europe. His final mission would be the fifteenth — the one that etched his name into history.
A Night Raid Over Berlin Turns Catastrophic
On 24 March 1944, Alkemade’s crew joined a large bombing raid over Berlin. The operation went as planned — their payload was successfully dropped on target — but their return journey was plagued by powerful winds that knocked them off course. Instead of heading safely back over the North Sea, Werewolf veered into the Ruhr, a heavily defended industrial region in western Germany.
The Ruhr was bristling with flak batteries and prowling night-fighters. As Werewolf crossed over this perilous airspace, a German night-fighter attacked from below. The Lancaster’s wing and fuselage were torn apart by cannon fire, and fire engulfed the rear of the aircraft. Flames surged through the bomber’s body, and it quickly became clear that Werewolf was beyond saving.
The pilot ordered the crew to bail out.
Fire or Fall: A Terrible Decision
Back in his tail turret, Alkemade was already in a nightmare. Trapped by flames, his oxygen mask began melting against his face, and his arms were scorched. He scrambled to grab his parachute — but when he found it, it too was on fire.
Faced with a horrific decision — to burn to death in the wreckage or leap from the aircraft without a parachute — Alkemade chose the fall. As he later explained, he preferred the thought of a quick end over the agony of burning alive.
He jumped.
From 18,000 feet.
Nicholas Alkemade's Miraculous Landing
Falling at an estimated 120mph, Alkemade looked up at the night sky and the burning wreck of Werewolf above. He lost consciousness during the descent. By every known measure of physics and biology, this should have been the end.
But astonishingly, it wasn’t.
He awoke three hours later, lying on his back in deep snow, beneath the canopy of a pine forest. The trees had slowed his fall, and the snow cushioned the impact. His injuries? A sprained knee, some superficial burns, and fragments of perspex from his shattered turret embedded in his skin.
He had survived the impossible.
Captivity and Interrogation
Unable to walk due to his sprained knee and suffering from the cold, Alkemade blew his RAF-issued distress whistle. German civilians found him and took him to Meschede Hospital, where his wounds were treated. When he was able to speak, he recounted his unbelievable story — and was met with scepticism.
The Gestapo, suspicious that he was a spy, refused to believe that he had jumped from a plane without a parachute. They accused him of hiding it and fabricating the story. But after sending a patrol to examine the wreckage of Werewolf, they were forced to concede the truth. Alkemade’s burnt parachute harness was still inside the remains of the bomber. His account had been true.
Ironically, the confirmation of his story turned him into a minor celebrity among the Luftwaffe, who were reportedly eager to meet the man who had survived what no one else ever had. Yet, this fame did not grant him clemency. He was sent to Stalag Luft III, the infamous POW camp best known for the “Great Escape.”
The War Ends, and Life Begins Again
Even in captivity, Alkemade’s extraordinary luck persisted. He survived the forced marches that took place as German forces evacuated POWs ahead of the advancing Allies. Temperatures dropped to -22°C, and many prisoners perished in the snow. Alkemade endured.
After the war, he returned home to Britain and found work in the chemical industry. He married, lived a quiet life, and remained humble about his miraculous survival.
Nicholas Alkemade passed away in June 1987, at the age of 64.
