The Girl Who Fell From the Sky Part II

The aircraft shuddered again as it pushed deeper into the storm.

Juliane squeezed her mother’s hand and glanced back toward the window. Thick gray clouds swallowed the wing and the sky beyond it.

Then the lightning struck.

A violent crack exploded through the aircraft as electricity tore across the wing. The plane jolted violently and dropped through the storm.

Passengers screamed. The aircraft shuddered again and something tore loose behind them with a deep metallic crack. The aircraft twisted sharply, and suddenly the cabin was gone.

Juliane was no longer inside the plane.

Still strapped to her seat, she tumbled through the clouds as the wreckage of the aircraft vanished into the storm around her.

Far below, the endless green canopy of the Amazon rainforest rushed upward.

The jungle was quiet when Juliane opened her eyes.



She stared upward through a haze of green light and shifting leaves, trying to understand what she was looking at. The sky above her was broken into small fragments by the canopy of tall trees. Sunlight filtered through the branches in thin pale shafts that drifted slowly across the forest floor.

Everything felt strangely distant.

Her ears were ringing. 

The forest smelled thick and damp. Wet leaves and soil and something sweet she could not quite identify. Insects buzzed lazily somewhere above her and the steady drip of water fell from the branches overhead.

“Mama?” she called weakly.

Her voice sounded small in the vast forest.

Juliane lay still for a long moment and stared into the trees. The forest stretched in every direction. Towering trunks stretched upward toward the canopy, their bark dark with moisture and wrapped in twisting vines. Ferns and broad jungle plants crowded the ground around her, their leaves slick with rain. Long strands of moss hung from the branches overhead like damp ropes. Somewhere far above, unseen birds moved through the canopy, their calls echoing faintly through the forest.

Humidity clung to her skin, and the smell of wet earth filled her lungs with every breath. Water dripped steadily from the leaves, striking the ground in slow rhythmic taps that blended with the constant buzz of insects.

Juliane in 1972 after the accident. Hans-Wilheim Koepcke collection.

Her shoulder throbbed sharply every time she tried to move it. One of her eyes felt swollen nearly shut and dried blood pulled tight across the skin of her arm. Mud clung to her clothes and the fabric of her dress was torn in several places.

Juliane turned her head and listened again.

Somewhere faint beneath the sound of insects she thought she could hear the sound of moving water.

The ground sloped gently downward through the trees. Ferns brushed against her legs as she pushed through the undergrowth, using the trunks of nearby trees to steady herself when the dizziness returned.

She pushed through a curtain of broad and saw a narrow stream winding through the jungle ahead of her, its water sliding quietly over dark stones before disappearing deeper into the forest.

After a short distance she noticed something bright caught in the undergrowth ahead.

A strip of metal.

It hung twisted around the trunk of a small tree, the aluminum skin torn open and folded back like paper. One edge had gouged deep into the bark where it had struck.

More pieces lay scattered through the trees. A torn section of insulation hung from a branch overhead. Bits of fabric were caught in the vines. Something that looked like a piece of luggage rested half buried in the leaves a few meters away.

She pushed forward through the brush.

Another section of the aircraft lay farther ahead, larger this time. A piece of the interior wall with several small oval windows still attached. The frame had slammed into the ground at an angle and now leaned against a fallen log.

Juliane returns to the crash site as an adult

Debris lay everywhere.

Juliane swallowed.

“Mama?” she called again. Her voice carried weakly through the trees.

The jungle gave no answer.

Juliane moved slowly through the debris. A torn suitcase lay open beneath a cluster of vines. Clothes spilled across the ground, soaked with rain and mud. A few sheets of paper drifted across the leaves whenever the wind stirred.

She stepped carefully around a bent section of metal and noticed something bright beside the trunk of a tree.

A small plastic bag. Juliane crouched beside it and opened it. There were several pieces of candy inside, the wrappers still bright and dry despite the rain. She slipped the candy carefully into her pocket and stood again.

She turned back toward the stream and continued walking.

The ground grew softer as the water widened and slowed. Mud clung to her shoes and the thick air pressed against her skin with every step. The jungle smelled of wet leaves and warm earth.

Insects buzzed around her face and hands, drawn to the cuts along her arms and the dried blood on her clothes. Small flies settled on her skin whenever she paused to rest.

Juliane brushed them away and kept moving.

The stream twisted through the forest in long quiet bends. Fallen trees forced her to climb over slick trunks or push through thick curtains of vines that hung low over the water.

Her shoulder was throbbing.

Juliane stopped beside the stream and knelt carefully on the muddy bank. She dipped her hands into the cool water and drank.

Susan Penhaligon as Juliane Koepcke in the movie Miracles Still Happen (1974). Colorized.

For a few minutes she simply sat there, listening to the quiet movement of the stream and the endless hum of insects in the forest.

Juliane turned and continued walking along the water. The damp heat drained her strength and her legs trembled whenever she stopped to rest.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the candies she had found in the wreckage. The wrapper crinkled softly in her hands. Juliane unwrapped it and placed the sweet in her mouth. The sugar dissolved slowly and she let it sit on her tongue for as long as possible before swallowing. Then she wrapped the empty paper carefully and placed it back in her pocket.

The jungle closed in tightly along the bank and the air felt thicker now, heavy with heat and moisture. Small flies gathered around her face and hands whenever she slowed.

She stopped beside the stream and looked down at her injured arm. A long tear in the fabric of her dress exposed the wound beneath it. It was crusted over with dried blood and dirt from the fall, and flies crawled along the edges.

Juliane frowned and brushed them away. She crouched beside the water and rinsed the wound carefully. The cool water washed away some of the dried blood and mud.

Tiny fly larvae were writhing inside the wound.

Juliane stared at them.

There was nothing she could do about it now. She stood, slowly, and began walking again.

The creek curved through the forest and gradually widened again. The water deepened and the current grew stronger as more small streams joined it along the way.

Something floated along the edge of the water ahead of her.  

A narrow piece of wood. Not a fallen branch. A board. She followed the creek a little farther. 

To her surprise, there was a small wooden boat tied loosely along the muddy bank ahead of her. The wood was worn and scratched, the bottom stained dark from years of use along the river.

She moved along the bank and pushed through a wall of vines beside the boat. Beyond them stood a small shelter built from rough wooden boards and a sheet of corrugated metal that served as a roof. The structure leaned slightly to one side where the jungle had begun reclaiming it.

The ground was packed flat beneath the hut. Empty fuel cans and pieces of rope lay scattered beside a stack of cut logs.

“Hello?” She called. “Is anyone here?

There was no response. She opened the door and stepped inside the hut. The interior was simple. A wooden bench stood against one wall and a few tools lay scattered across the dirt floor. In one corner sat several metal containers.

The sharp smell reached her immediately. Gasoline.

She turned her arm slightly and looked again at the wound along her shoulder. The fabric of her dress had grown stiff around it. She removed it carefully. The larvae moved slowly beneath the skin.

She lifted one of the containers and splashed gasoline over the wound.

Juliane clenched her teeth as the fuel burned across the open flesh. The larvae began to wriggle violently and dropped free onto the dirt floor.

She lowered the container and wrapped the torn fabric back over the wound. Juliane sat on the edge of the wooden bench next to the hut and watched the river. 

The sun moved slowly across the narrow opening above the camp.

Late in the afternoon she heard something.

A few moments later a narrow canoe appeared around the bend in the river. Three men sat inside it, paddling slowly along the current. She was saved.

Juliane Koepcke had spent eleven days alone in the jungle.

She was seventeen years old.

And she had survived.

Dr. Juliane Koepcke at the Museum of Natural History in Lima. Hans-Wilheim Koepcke Collection


Read Our Lessons Learned in Part III of this series

Author: Byron Owen is a Reconnaissance Marine with tours as both a platoon commander and commanding officer at the elite 1st Force Reconnaissance Company. He also had the honor of commanding several intelligence and cyber units to include Cyberspace Warfare Task Group 1, and 3d Radio Battalion. He writes about leadership at www.rucksackleadership.com, information warfare at keyterraincyber.com, and is the author of the upcoming book Bury My Heart in Baghdad.