In their own words...
 

found this doing some reseach...some might find this intersting some may not. might give some perpective into tactics to attack and evade as told by those who lived thru it...and some of the greats are here.

http://www.wwiiaircraftperformance.o...t-reports.html

and for the performance junkies the home page might interest you.

http://www.wwiiaircraftperformance.org/

That's really neat, bobby. I had a read through Chuck Yeager's stuff. Forgot he had "5" in one day.

you are welcome. reading actual combat accounts are something i enjoy. however, i had the opportunity to attend the last and final official 357th FG reunion in dayton, oh in 01... got to rub elbows with yeager, anderson, and all the rest. my only regret was i didnt bug and record each table at the banquet. my god the STORIES. the entire room was a buzz as the skys over england, france, and germany for a few scant hours, once again roared with the engines of 'stangs, schmitts. and focks...boogies, gaggles, tangled luftberries... i was like a 5 year old kid at disney. one guy would start with do you remember when ... we jumped those 190s...or was over regensburg and...someone across the room would hear that and walk over and contribute. i realized 2 things that day.... #1 fighter pilots are some of the few who are willing to talk about their experiences. in a lot of ways there were in their own world...at the end of the day (if they made it back and they had a pretty good chance of that) they got a warm meal, a beer or 2, 3,... and soft bed. it wasnt like being in a frozen foxhole eating cold c-rats.... and they knew that. #2 was even tho they will share it isnt until you get 2 or 3 together that "the REAL" stories started to come out. it was an interesting and important part of my life......it gets me excited...haha as you can see.....sorry to be so long winded

Wow, awesome site, thanks for posting it, I think i'll spend a while on it lol

Thanks for posting bobbysocks! In a strange way it is nice reading...

ran into a bunch of these short quotes elsewhere...some words of wisdom, funny, interesting...

Harrison B. Tordoff, P-47 pilot, 353rd Fighter Group


We loved the P-47 for its toughness and reliability. It was heavy and looked cumbersome but in the hands of a good pilot it could turn and climb with an Me 109 or Fw 190. Nothing could outdive it. We had pilots bring back tree branches and tops of telephone poles in the wings of their '47s. A few even came home with top cylinders shot off. It could be belly landed in a forest, on an open field, it crash landed about as well as it landed on wheels. Pilots learned to appreciate that kind of toughness. The eight .50 caliber machine-guns were devastating on ground or air targets and the plane was a very stable gun platform. On the negative side, the '47 burned fuel at power at 450 gallons/hour. It only carried about 350 gallons internally. It got nose light in a stall and nose heavy in a dive. It had a very nasty spin, violent and hard to stop. I spun out of a slow turn at high altitude with full wing tanks once, by accident, while trying to keep in formation on a combat mission. It tore the wing tanks off and scared the Hell out of me. But the general way I felt in a P-47 was invincible.


Adolf Galland, Me 109 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 26
Galland was one of the top German aces of the war. Here, he describes the first time he was shot down


This was on June 21, 1941 when JG 26 was stationed at Pas de Calais. We had attacked some Bristol Blenheim bombers and I shot down two, but some Supermarine Spitfires were on me and they had shot my plane up. I had to belly land in a field until picked up later and I went on another mission after lunch. On this mission I shot down number 70, but I did something stupid. I was following the burning Spitfire down when I was bounced and shot up badly. My plane was on fire and I was wounded. I tried to bail out but the canopy was jammed shut from enemy bullets. So I tried to stand in the cockpit, forcing the canopy open with my back as the plane screamed toward the earth. I had opened it and almost cleared the 109 when my parachute harness became entangled on the radio aerial. I fought it with everything I had until I finally broke free, my parachute opening just before I hit the ground. I was bleeding from my head and arm plus I had damaged my ankle on landing. I was taken to safety by some Frenchmen.


Jack Lenox, P-38 pilot, 14th Fighter Group


I flew my third mission as wingman to Col. Taylor. During a dive onto a formation of Me 109s, I made a turn to the left, losing sight of my leader. I observed black smoke trailing from the Me 109 I was firing at but was unable to observe more as I continued to dive to outrun an Me 109 firing at me. Passing through about 15,000 ft I was able to pull out of my dive and blacked out in the dive recovery. The next thing I knew I was at 20,000 ft, alone, and trying to find someone to attach myself to. Seeing another P-38 in the same predicament, I joined formation with it as his wingman and discovered that it was the group commander. When we returned home, Col. Taylor commented on how we had become involved in the fight and although he was all over the sky I had followed him and remained on his wing.


Elmer W. O'Dell, P-51 pilot, 363rd Fighter Group


I destroyed an aircraft on my first mission. Unfortunately, it was a P-51. I was taking off on my leader's wing when I blew a tire and swerved to avoid him. Kicking opposite rudder, I avoided the collision but by the time I got straightened out I didn't have enough speed or runway to get airborne. I cut the switches, held the stick in my gut and closed my eyes. The plane ran off the field, across the sunken road which sheared off the gear, dropped on two full wing tanks, skidded across a field, tore off the left wing on a stump and wound up with its nose in a chicken coop. I was told later that I killed a crow in a hedge along the road and two chickens in the coop. The Mustang was rugged; I didn't even get a scratch


Erich Hartmann, Me 109 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 52
Highest scoring ace of WWII with 352 kills; shot down 16 times but never wounded


Once committed to an attack, fly in at full speed. After scoring crippling or disabling hits, I would clear myself and then repeat the process. I never pursued the enemy once they had eluded me. Better to break off and set up again for a new assault. I always began my attacks from full strength, if possible, my ideal flying height being 22,000 ft because at that altitude I could best utilize the performance of my aircraft. Combat flying is based on the slashing attack and rough maneuvering. In combat flying, fancy precision aerobatic work is really not of much use. Instead, it is the rough maneuver which succeeds.

Harry J Hayduff, P-47 pilot, 78th Fighter Group


If the Hun is right on your tail, do something quick and violent. As one of our pilots once said when the first he was aware of a Hun were the tracers coming over his shoulder, "I put the stick in one corner and the rudder in the other. I don't know what happened but when I came out the Hun wasn't there any longer". If the Hun is in shooting range, always keep the ball going in each corner, never give him an opportunity to line up his sights. Remember this slows you up though.


Avelin P. Tacon, Jr, P-51 pilot, CO, 359th Fighter Group


It is impossible to attack ground targets without having to pull up as the nose of the Mustang rides pretty well down at high speed. If the nose isn't far enough down, you can use 10 degrees of flaps, which is permissible up to 400 mph. This will bring your guns down on the ground right in front of you.


As for bombing, we much prefer dive bombing. Skip bombing is something we are not at all enthusiastic about, probably because we can't hit a damn thing that way. The only thing we consider a skip bomb target is a tunnel mouth. All of the bridges we have skip bombed have had low river banks and our bombs have just tumbled cross country for about a mile before exploding.


Dive bombing is something else. We've gotten pretty accurate with dive bombing since we'e had the Mustangs. By starting our dive from about 8,000 ft and releasing about 4,000 ft we can get pretty good results. Particularly on bridge approaches and marshalling yards. Flak doesn't bother us much dive bombing as we have plenty of speed. We like to dive bomb individually if there isn't any heavy flak bothering is.

As to the danger - everyone agrees that in strafing you're bound to get it in the end if you do enough of it, but that by being smart and taking every advantage, you can prolong it somewhat.


Ernst Schroeder, Fw 190 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 300


I catch sight of the glittering reflections of the sun on the uncamouflaged American bombers, off to the left and at the same altitude, about 25,000 ft. Still a long way away, the stately enemy formation crosses in front of us from left to right. I carefully search the sky for enemy escorts but I can make out only three or four condensation trails above the bombers. Curving around, the Sturmgruppe is now directly in front of me, about 150 yards below. I have a grandstand view of the attack as it unfolds. The bombers open up with a furious defensive fire, filling the sky with tracers as we move in at full throttle. At 300 yards, the main body of the Fw 190s open up with their 20 mm and 30 mm cannon, the murderous trains of high explosive shells streaking out towards the Liberators. Within seconds, two of the giant aircraft have exploded into great fireballs, while several others have caught fire and are falling out of formation. On either side of me my Schwarm comrades fire like mad and score hit after hit on their targets. Looking around, I see the sky is like a chaotic circus; whirling and fluttering pieces of aircraft, and entire wing falling complete with engines and propellers still turning, several parachutes and some of our aircraft battling with the few P-38 escort fighters that have reached us.

Duane W. Beeson, P-51 pilot, 4th Fighter Group


The most important thing to a fighter pilot is speed; the faster an aircraft is moving when he spots an enemy aircraft, the sooner he will be able to take the bounce and get to the Hun. If you have any advantage on him, keep it and use it. When attacking, plan to overshoot him if possible, hold fire until within range, then shoot and clobber him down to the last instant before breaking away. It's like sneaking up behind someone and hitting them with a baseball bat.


James H. Doolittle, Commander, 8th Air Force


Adolf Galland said that the day we took our fighters off the bombers and put them against the German fighters, that is, went from defensive to offsensive, Germany lost the air war. I made that decision and it was my most important decision during World War II. As you can imagine, the bomber crews were upset. The fighter pilots were ecstatic.


James Finnegan. P-47 pilot, 50th Fighter Group
Finnegan describes shooting down Adolf Galland's Me 262 in April 1945


I was leading the top flight cover of P-47s that was escorting B-26s to their target. As I gazed down, I saw two objects come zipping through the formation and two bombers blew up immediately. I watched the two objects go through the bomber formation and thought "That can't be a prop job, it's got to be one of those 262 jets". I was at about 13,000 ft and estimated them to be at about 9-10,000. They were climbing and I pulled a split-S towards the one that turned left and almost ended up right on top of him, about 75 yards away. I gave a three second burst and saw strikes on the right hand engine and wing root. I was going so fast I went right through everything and guessed my speed at about 550 mph. I recorded it as a probable. I was flying a D-model Thunderbolt with a bubble canopy, a natural metal finish and a black nose. The Me 262 had a green and brown mottled camouflage with some specks of yellow. That turned out to be my last flight in a P-47. My kills for the war were an Me 109 and a Fw 190, in addition to the Me 262.


Adolf Galland, describing the same incident:


I was shot down by a Republic P-47D flown by a man named James Finnegan, whom I met some years later and we became friends. We were intercepting bombers near Neuberg. I was leading a flight and I attacked from astern. My rockets did not fire but I poured 30 mm cannon shells into one bomber which fell in flames and flew right through the formation, hitting another. I could not tell if that bomber was finished off, so I banked around for another run, all the while my jet was receiving hits from the bomber's defensive fire. Suddenly my instrument panel disintegrated, my canopy was shattered and my right knee was struck. I was losing power and was in great pain. I thought about parachuting out but realized that might be dangerous as some of our pilots had been strafed upon exiting their jets. I flew for the deck and headed for this field at the air base, which was under attack. I cut the power to my good engine and thumped across the field. My nose wheel had been flattened, smoke was pouring from the plane. I climbed out to get away in case it should explode, only to find aircraft dropping bombs and firing rockets at me. Well, our mission netted five victories total and none of the pilots were killed.


Gilbert C. Burns, P-47 pilot, 50th Fighter Group


My fifth combat mission changed my viewpoint on combat flying in many ways. The first four missions I had flown mechanically, the hands and feet flew the plane, the finger squeezed the trigger, doing automatically all the things I had been taught. But this mission got me thinking. I thought about killing. I had killed the rear gunner of an Me 110 by rote, very nonchalantly, like brushing my teeth. However, when I killed three flak gunners, I was acutely aware of what had happened; I had seen their bodies being blown apart and was keenly concerned that I had done something serious. I though about being wounded. I heard a pilot say on radio after he had pulled up from an airfield that he was hit in the knee and that he could not stop the blood from flowing. He wanted to bail out and hoped he could find a German doctor. From that day onward, during every mission I wore four loose tourniquets around my upper arms and thighs. I thought that if I was hit I could just take up on the tourniquets as they were already in place.


Norman W. Jackson, P-38 pilot, 14th Fighter Group


By the time I had 30 hours of combat, I had bailed out, crash landed, come home on one engine and brought one more home so shot up that it was junked. There was talk of presenting me with the German Iron Cross.


Erich Hartmann, Me 109 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 52
Highest scoring ace of WWII with 352 kills; shot down 18 times but never wounded


The key to the approach was simple: Get in as close to the enemy as possible. Your windscreen has to be black with the image, the closer the better. In that position you could not miss and this was the essence of my attack. The farther you are from the enemy, the more chance your bullets have of missing the target, the less the impact. When you are close, and I mean very close, every shot hits home. The enemy absorbs it all. It doesn't matter what your angle is on him or what position you are firing from, it doesn't matter what he does. When you are that close, evasion is useless and too late. It matters not how good a pilot he is. All his skill is negated, you hit him and he goes down. I would say get in close, there is no guesswork.


Arthur L. Thorsen, P-38 pilot, 55th Fighter Group


I was turning tight with the German now and my ship trembled and buffeted slightly. I couldn't pull enough deflection on him, but I had him and he had no place to go. He couldn't dive and if he climbed, he was finished. All he could do was to try to out turn me. We could turn like this forever, I thought and quickly dumped ten percent flaps. My ship reared up and turned on its wingtip. I was out turning the Jerry. I opened fire and saw strikes around the cockpit and left wing root.


The German was not done yet and rolled out quickly to starboard, sucking in his stick and pulling vapour streamers from his wing tips. I rolled with him but he had me by a second and I lost my deflection. We were in a vertical turn now and the centrifugal force was pusing me hard into the seat. I was about 150 yards astern of him when his ship filled my gunsight. I pulled through and opened fire. I could see strikes on his engine and pieces flew off. Then a long stream of glycol poured from his engine and I knew he was finished. He suddenly pulled out of the turn, went into a steep climb, popped his canopy and bailed out. We were very low, almost too low for bailing out. I followed him down and his chute must have popped just as his feet hit the ground.

Franz Stigler, Fw 190 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 27


At first the unescorted bombers were relatively easy to destroy and suffered prohibitive losses. When the P-47s and P-38s began escorting them part way, early in 1944, we had to alter our method of attack, but as soon as they left due to lack of fuel, we pounded the bombers unmercifully. Our interception time was more limited than it had been in late 1943, but our technique had improved so that we were able to accomplish more in less time. Our ground control methods were also better and we could call in interceptors from a far larger area.


William J. Skinner, Spitfire pilot, 31st Fighter Group


Our Spitfires and the P-51Bs that replaced them had the same Rolls Royce Merlin engine, but the P-51 had the laminar flow wing which gave it 10 mph more speed straight and level and much greater fire power with .50 caliber machine-guns. When strafing a target with the Mustang it seemed like I'd never run out of ammunition while the Spitfire had 120 rounds each for the two cannon and 350 for each of the .303s, which was a good gun but didn't have much power. The Spit had excellent maneuverability and rate of climb and no restrictions on maneuvers performed. The British never gave us any flight manuals, just word of mouth. We'd ask them what we could and couldn't do and they'd say "Hell, you've got a fighter plane, you can do anything you want, straight down, full throttle, put your feet on the upper rudder pedals and pull back as hard as you can. Nothing's going to happen."


Barrie Davis, P-51 pilot, 325th Fighter Group


New pilots coming to our fighter group were invariably cocky to the point they were dangerous to themselves. They thought the Luftwaffe was finished and that the P-51 could quickly and easily kill anything else that flew. To modify the attitude of the newcomers, we used a war weary P-40 which our squadron somehow acquired. I was in charge of putting new pilots through a quick, intensive training program, and the final flight included a mock dogfight with the new pilot of a P-51 pitted against one of us flying a P-40. I can tell you that until a pilot knows the strengths and weaknesses of both airplanes, the P-40 can make the P-51 look outclassed. Using all of the P-40s strengths, an innovative pilot could outfly a P-51 at low altitudes until the P-51 jockey finally realized that there was something more to fighting in the air than simply having the best airplane. At that point the new pilot would become ready to listen to everything we had to say.


Walter Hagenah, Fw 190 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 3


To be sure of bringing down a bomber, it was essential that we held our fire until we were right up close against the bombers. We were to advance like Frederick the Great's infantrymen, holding our fire until we could see 'the white of the enemy's eyes'.


John B. Murphy, P-51 pilot, 359th Fighter Group


My first reaction when I saw the jet plane was that I was standing still. It seemed hopeless to try to attempt to overtake them, but my actions were prompted by a curiousity to get as close to them as possible. I believe that will be the reaction of every pilot that comes in contact with them.


Thomas H. Jones, P-38 pilot, 82nd Fighter Group

I well remember my first mission. After take-off and climb over the sea, some jock above and ahead of me cleared his four .50s with a burst of fire as we always did, and the empty casings rattled off my windscreen, scaring the Hell out of me. I thought the Jerries had zeroed in and I was going to be shot down.


Erwin Miller, P-47 pilot, 4th Fighter Group


When we strapped into a Spitfire we felt snug and part of the aircraft. The Thunderbolt cockpit, on the other hand, was so large that we felt if we slipped off the god damned seat we could break a leg. We were horrified at the thought of going to war in such a machine. We had enough trouble with the Focke Wulfs in our nimble Spitfire Mk Vs. This lumbering monster seemed infinitely worse.


Gradually however, we learned how to fight in the Thunderbolt. At high altitude she was a hot ship and very fast in a dive. If anyone thought to escape a Thunderbolt by diving we had him cold. Even more important, at last we had a fighter with the range to penetrate deep into enemy territory where the action was.


Reluctantly, we had to give up our little Spitires and convert to the new juggernauts. My heart remained with the Spitfire. The mere sight or sound of a Spitfire still brings deep feelings. She was such a gentle little airplane, without a trace of viciousness. She was a dream to handle in the air.


Arthur L. Thorsen, P-38 pilot, 55th Fighter Group


The thrill of the chase is hypnotic. Your body tingles. You feel you have wings of your own. You make funny noises to yourself. You strain against your shoulder straps as if that will give you more momentum. You begin to tremble with the knowledge that the German ship ahead of you is yours. You can take him. You don't think of shooting a human being, you just shoot at a machine. Air combat is strictly impersonal.


Erich Hartmann, Me 109 pilot, Jagdgeschwader 52
Highest scoring ace of WWII with 352 kills; shot down 18 times but never wounded


If taken by surprise, I would do one thing or another automatically, depending on conditions. If I had time and saw my attacker coming in, I would wait and see how close he would come before opening fire. If he began firing at long range, I could always turn in to him. If he held his fire, I got ready for a real battle. Even against good competition, you could always break away by using negative Gs. In a tight turning maneuver, the attacker must turn more tightly in order to pull lead on his quarry. For a split second you pass under his nose and his line of sight, as he tries to line his guns up ahead of you. It is precisely at that moment when he gets his gunnery angle on you that you push the nose forward, kick bottom rudder and are gone. Your attacker cannot see you. He is intent on pulling lead and is turning in the opposite direction, in an even tighter circle, even as you are diving and turning the other way. As I said before the use of the negative G is a last ditch measure. Frankly, I tried everything possible never to be placed in such a position because if your attacker had a good wingman, he could quickly pick up that maneuver. This is why I avoided dogfights. They were long and drawn out affairs, requiring all your attention, allowing another opponent to jump you. They were the longest and most difficult method of getting a kill, the expensive and most dangerous.

Up there the world is divided into bastards and suckers. Make your choice.
— Derek Robinson, 'Piece of Cake.'

The first time I ever saw a jet, I shot it down.
— General Chuck Yeager, USAF, describing his first confrontation with a Me262.

Of all my accomplishments I may have achieved during the war, I am proudest of the fact that I never lost a wingman...It was my view that no kill was worth the life of a wingman. . . . Pilots in my unit who lost wingmen on this basis were prohibited from leading a [section]. The[y] were made to fly as wingman, instead.
— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF.

The wingman is absolutely indispensable. I look after the wingman. The wingman looks after me. It's another set of eyes protecting you. That the defensive part. Offensively, it gives you a lot more firepower. We work together. We fight together. The wingman knows what his responsibilities are, and knows what mine are. Wars are not won by individuals. They're won by teams.
— Lt. Col. Francis S. "Gabby" Gabreski, USAF, 28 victories in WWII and 6.5 MiGs over Korea.

The duty of the fighter pilot is to patrol his area of the sky, and shoot down any enemy fighters in that area. Anything else is rubbish.
— Baron Manfred von Richthofen, 1917. Richtofen would not let members of his Staffel strafe troops in the trenches.

I had no system of shooting as such. It is definitely more in the feeling side of things that these skills develop. I was at the front five and a half years, and you just got a feeling for the right amount of lead.
— Lt. General Guenther Rall, GAF.

I am not a good shot. Few of us are. To make up for this I hold my fire until I have a shot of less than 20 degrees deflection and until I'm within 300 yards. Good discipline on this score can make up for a great deal.
— Lt. Colonel John C. Meyer, USAAF.

Go in close, and when you think you are too close, go in closer.
— Major Thomas B. 'Tommy' McGuire, USAAF.

On March 29 Korky [Koraleski] got credit for destroying a Focke-Wulf 190 without firing a shot. His encounter report is quoted in part:

"There were Me-109s and FW-190s all over the place. We were milling round like mad. I squirted at three or four, then chased one off my wingman's tail. I picked out another one and stayed with him, waiting to get in a good shot. He started to do snap-rolls, and the next thing I knew we were both spinning down through the clouds. We broke out at about 2000 feet, with me about 300 yards behind him, still spinning. Boy, I thought, it's too late. I stopped my ship from spinning and started my pullout.

The ground was staring me right in the face. I had grabbed the stick with both hands and hauled back as hard as I could, and the pressure caused me to black out. I remember thinking, "Well, at least you'll be unconscious when you hit."

When I recovered a few moments later the ship was cocked up on one wing, about fifty feet above the ground, and had just slid between two trees. I looked back and could see what was left of the Focke-Wulf 190 I had been chasing. Pieces of it were still bouncing along the ground and flames were all over the wreckage. I was plenty lucky!"

Norman "Bud" Fortier, "An Ace of the Eighth", Presidio Press 2003, p.143.

December 31st 1944; The 358th were escorting B17s to Misburg when FW190s were spotted:

"I managed to get right behind one of them. He was in a diving left turn, right in my gunsight. I pressed the trigger. To my consternation, only the right outboard gun fired.

That one gun popped away with no effect until I finally got a hit on his right wingtip. He straightened out and dove straight away from me, centered in my fixed gunsight. A perfect setup but I just couldn't hit him. Chuck Hauver was just off my right wing. He could see that I was having problems. "Let me have him," he said. I slid over to the left and watched him blow the FW out of the sky. Belatedly I turned on the gun heater switch. I felt foolish, frustrated and furious.

Chuck broke off to the right. Just as I turned to join him, I heard my wingman, Johnny Molnar, yell, "Bud! Get this sonofabitch off my ass!"

I racked into a hard left turn and saw Johnny about five hundred yards behind me with a Focke-Wulf about three hundred yards behind him. Molnar was turning that Mustang as tight as he could, and the FW was sticking with him, but it was unable to lead him enough for a shot. I joined the rat race.

Johnny kept yelling at me to "get this sonofabitch off my ass!" and I kept trying to assure him calmly that I would do just that. It wasn't that easy.

With Molnar leading the aerobatic display, we used up quite a bit of sky and soon found ourselves down to about seven thousand feet, just above a layer of clouds. There was neither sky nor airspeed enough left for anything but tight turns, and all three of us were doing the best we could in that department. I lowered a few degrees of wing flaps - I didn't dare look down at how many degrees. "Johnny" - I tried to sound calm but my blood pressure must have been sky-high - "did you lower your flaps a little?"
"Yeah."
"Keep the stick pressure you have now. He's not gaining on you at all but I'm gaining on him." I tried to sound confident.

I could see the vapour trails from the wingtips of the planes in front of me and I knew that my wingtips were producing the same pattern. All three of us were right on the edge of high-speed stalls. My Mustang kept giving me subtle clues, through the control column and the seat bottom, that it would be unwise to tighten the turn much more. If I stalled out of this turn, Molnar would be on his own. Every ten seconds or so, the wings of the 190 became blanketed very briefly with white vapour, an indication that the German pilot knew I was getting in position for a shot, that he was slipping closer to a stall. He couldn't increase his turn enough to get to a shooting position on Johnny and I sensed that he felt he was running out of time.

The 190 pilot pulled it in a little too tightly. Suddenly his plane snapped viciously to the right and spun down into the cloud layer. The FW had a reputation of snap-rolling out of very tight turns. I watched him spin into the clouds. "Man, that was close!" said Johnny as he raised his flaps and eased into his wingman position. It wasn't hot inside my cockpit but I had to wipe the sweat out of my eyes.

The terrain below the overcast was hilly, with some peaks rising to nearly three thousand feet, and I doubt that the German pilot had enough altitude to recover but I'll never know for sure - I wasn't about to follow him into that overcast. I was tempted to claim it as a probable but it was just as likely that he was "one that got away".

Norman "Bud" Fortier, "An Ace of the Eighth", Presidio Press 2003, pp.276-9.

This is from an article on Erich Hartmann, Germany's leading ace at 352 aerial victories, printed in the January 2006 issue of Aviation History magazine:

On October 14 (1942), Hartmann lifted off on his first-ever combat flight. It was almost his last. He was flying as wingman to Sergeant Eduard Rossmann, who had 80 victories. Rossmann was as competent a teacher as he was a fighter, and he had a reputation for always bringing his wingmen home. It would take all his ability to save this one.

Leveling off at 12,000 feet, the pair followed the Terek River until they were passing over Prokhladny. At this point Rossmann spotted a flight of Soviet aircraft strafing German traffic outside the city and radioed Hartmann to follow him as he dived to attack. After a 5,000-foot plunge, the green wingman finally caught sight of the enemy Rossmann had been tracking all along. Seeing the Russians sent Hartmann into a dither of excitement. Slamming his Messerschmitt to full power, he leapt ahead of Rossmann and impatiently lined up on the rearmost Russian, opening fire at 300 yards. He was dismayed to see his tracers whizzing over and to the left of his target. Unable to get the aircraft in his sights, he had to yank his own plane upward at the last moment to avoid a collision. Momentarily leveling off, he later recalled that he found himself "surrounded on all sides by dark green aircraft, all of them turning behind me for the kill ... ME!"

Frantically climbing into a layer of cloud, he lost his pursuers and was unspeakably relieved to hear Rossmann's calm voice over the radio: "Don't sweat it. I watched your tail. I've lost you now that you've climbed into the clouds. Come down through the layer so I can pick you up again."

When Hartmann dropped from the overcast, he saw a plane coming at him from straight ahead. Panicky, he dived to treetop level and hurtled westward, screaming into his microphone that he was being pursued. By then Rossmann's voice from the radio was so garbled that Hartmann could not make out his words, and the youngster countinued full-tilt to the east until he outdistanced his pursuer.

By the time he was free of being chased and had regained his orientation, his red fuel warning light was flashing. Twenty miles short of Soldatskaya his engine sputtered into thirsty silence. After belly-landing in a cloud of dust, he was quickly surrounded by a unit of amused German infantrymen, who gave him an armored car lift back to his base. Von Bonin was waiting.

Hartmann's "enemy" pursuer had actually been Rossmann, and bolting from his element leader was just one of seven serious combat flying infractions he had committed on his maiden flight. He had separated from his leader without orders, he had flown into his leader's line of fire, lost himself in the clouds, failed to obey Rossmann's order to rejoin, gotten lost and wrecked an expensive plane without damaging the enemy. Von Bonin banished the future supreme ace to three days with the ground crews, hoping to give him dirty hands and time to mull over his sins.




The 354th were returning from a very long escort mission to Poland on the 11th April 1944:

"Later Chuck Lenfest's microphone button became stuck in the on position and he began a long monologue. Since his transmitter was on, no one else could use that channel. Of course, Chuck didn't realise he was transmitting.

"Look at those poor $%^&*% bombers!" was his first observation. "I wonder if they know where the $%&^&*^% they're going. I sure as Hell don't."

There was no mistaking Chuck's slow Idaho drawl. It was useless to try to transmit to him, so Mendy eased in close and tried to signal with his hands that the mike button was stuck. Chuck looked at him and said, "Look at old Mendy! What does that silly sonofabitch think he's doing?" Mendy gave up.

The group was next treated to a few bawdy songs and more comments on the progress of the mission. "Why are we headed back? I don't want to go home yet!" and "Where in Hell is Jeeter? I hope they didn't shoot his ass off back there." And "What a long $^&^*&%&%& mission this is! My old ass is plenty sore!"

"I think I'll drop down to ten thousand so I can light up my old pipe."

He kept up his running commentary of the mission, his fellow pilots, the bombers, the Germans and the weather, and he had a captive audience throughout the performance, which went on for more than thirty minutes. When Chuck finally realised there was something wrong with his radio, he stopped talking. But the damage had already been done.

Jeeter's comment after the mission was typical. "I was laughing so hard, even the flak didn't bother me."

When Chuck entered Gremlin Villa [the name for the pilots' mess at Steeple Morden], red-faced and smiling sheepishly, he was greeted with a storm of good-natured heckling. For once he was speechless."

from: W. G. C. Duncan-Smith, "Spitfire into Battle"

[During the "Champagne Campaign", Invasion of Southern France August 1944 onwards]

"Continuing past Vienne, and on the open road, I spotted a Tiger tank going as hard as it could towards Lyons. More in hope than anger I gave it all my remaining ammunition. To my utter amazement it belched smoke and caught fire. When I gave my report to Tim Lucas, the senior Army Liaison Officer, he did not believe me, shaking his head and muttering that a Tiger was too tough for the shells of a Spitfire. I got my own back when I took him to the spot in my jeep, after we got to Lyons on 7th September, and showed him the tank. It was there I am pleased to say, burnt out, with 'Bravo RAF' painted on its blackened hull. To me the sight was worth a couple of Me109s. Apparently some armour piercing incendiary shells had ricocheted off the tarmac road into the oil tank and engine - pure luck but very satisfying."

a couple LW stories...
 

Not from Knoke this time but Oberleutnant Hans Hartigs, 4/JG26, 25th June 1944: "At this time I had a splendid wingman, Oberfahnrich Wolfgang Marx. The boy could fly but he couldn't stay with me. After each mission I came home alone. It was enough to make one vomit. One time I had had too much and I threatened to send him back to the Erganzungsgruppe (operational training unit). Flake off once more and the ticket was ready. He was flying with me again today. After a couple of hours at Sitzbereitschaft (cockpit readiness) we received the order to take off.

We sixteen Fockes were vectored perfectly to a Lightning formation 1000 meters [3300 feet] below us. We had obviously been reported to the Lightnings because they began to climb but our attack out of the sun was a complete surprise. Two fell away in flames. As my Gruppe climbed away from its attack, the sky was suddenly empty - no more Lightnings or Fockes. As I banked around to find my little brothers, I spotted two Thunderbolts, flying straight and level just above the clouds at 4000 meters [13,000 feet]. The wingman was too far behind - a perfect target. I closed on him and opened fire. His leader, 'an old hare' pulled up immediately. I lost sight of him and then, just behind me, there appeared a gigantic snout.

Badly frightened, I sought my salvation in a steep climbing turn. The boy was still there. I shoved the stick forward and to the left; all of the trash in my cockpit whirled around me as I dived for the ground, pulling out just above the trees... I saw an Allied airfield and raced across it at top speed, hoping that the gunners' late reaction would catch the fighter behind me. But nothing happened. I would have bailed out but he had not yet opened fire. Was his pepper mill empty? The fighter gradually gained on me and pulled alongside. Marx! It had been Marx all along! I waved at him and led him back to the field. After landing he came up to me and said, "Congratulations, Herr Oberleutnant, on your victory! That was the craziest mission I have ever flown. How many were there behind us? I never looked around. I was trying so hard to stay with you - and I did it!"

from: "The JG26 War Diary: Volume 2 1943-5", Donald Caldwell, Grub Street 1998, p.290.

"12th October 1940: I had hoped for a posting to an operational unit this month. Unfortunately, training is far behind schedule because of the bad autumn weather.

We have a rough time in training here also. There have been one or two fatal accidents every week for the past six week in our Course alone. Today Sergeant Schmidt crashed and was killed. He was one of our section of five.

We have spent several days on theoretical conversion training before flying the Messerschmitt 109, which is difficult to handle and dangerous at first. We can now go through every movement in our sleep.

This morning we brought out the first 109 and were ready to fly. Sergeant Schmidt was chosen as the first of us, by drawing lots. He took off without difficulty, which was something, as the aircraft will only too readily crash on take-off if one is not careful. A premature attempt to climb will cause it to whip over into a spin, swiftly and surely. I have seen that happen hundreds of times and it frequently means the death of the pilot.

Schmidt came in to land after making one circuit; but he misjudged the speed, which was higher than that to which he was accustomed, and so he overshot the runway. He came round again and the same thing happened. He began to worry; for Sergeant Schmidt had obviously lost his nerve. He was coming in and making a final turn before flattening out to touch down, when the aircraft suddenly stalled because of insufficient speed and spun out of control, crashing into the ground and exploding a few hundred feet short of the end of the runway. We all raced like madmen over to the scene of the crash. I was the first to arrive. Schmidt had been thrown clear and was lying several feet away from the flaming wreckage. He was screaming like an animal, covered in blood. I stooped down over the body of my comrade and saw that both legs were missing. I held his head. The scream were driving me insane. Blood poured over my hands. I have never felt so helpless in my life. The screaming finally stopped and became an even more terrible silence. Then Kuhl and the others arrived but by that time Schmidt was dead.

Major von Kornatzky ordered training to be resumed forthwith and less than an hour later the next 109 was brought out. This time it was my turn.

I went into the hangar and washed the blood off my hands. Then the mechanics tightened up my safety belt and I was taxiing off to the take-off point. My heart was madly thumping. Not even the deafening roar of the engine was loud enough to drown out of my ears the lingering screams of my comrade as he lay there dying like an animal. I was no sooner airborne than I noticed the stains on my flying-suit. They were great dark blood-stains and I was frightened. It was a horrible, paralysing fear. I could only be thankful there was no-one present to see how terrified I was.

I circled the field for several minutes and gradually recovered from the panic. At last I was sufficiently calm to come in for a landing. Everything was alright. I took off immediately and landed again. And a third time.

Tears were still in my eyes when I pushed open the canopy and removed my helmet. When I jumped down from the wing I found I could not control the shaking of my knees.

Suddenly I saw Kornatzky standing in front of me. Steely blue eyes seemed to be boring right through me.

"Were you frightened?"
"Yes, sir."
"Better get used to it if you hope to go on operations."

That really hurt. I was so ashamed I wished the ground would swallow me up.

14th October 1940: This morning I was one of the six N.C.O. officer candidates who acted as pallbearers at the funeral of Sergeant Schmidt.

Late this afternoon there was a mid-air collision over the field. Two pupils in No.2 Flight were killed instantly. Once again I was amongst the first to reach the crash and dragged one of the bodies out of the wreckage. The head was a shapeless pulp.

At this rate I shall soon become hardened to the not exactly pretty sight of the remains of an airman who has been killed in a crash."

From: Heinz Knoke, "I Flew for the Fuhrer", Corgi Books 1967.

It is estimated that 10% of 109s were destroyed in landing and take-off accidents, as well as many pilots, but despite its vices it was the favoured mount of most of the major aces of the Luftwaffe.


"I remember one occasion [in the Battle of Britain 1940] when a lad who hadn't, as we used to say, tasted much English air, lost sight of our formation after some frenzied twisting and turning about the sky; he had dived steeply and was over the outskirts of London. He should have stayed with the Staffel instead of chasing off on his own. When he grasped the situation he called for help: "Come quickly! I'm on my own over London."

He hadn't called in vain. By return post, as it were, his Schwarm leader, whom he couldn't see but who could see him clearly and had followed astern and above him, gave the comforting message: "Hang on a second and you'll have a couple of Spitfires behind, then you won't be alone any longer.""

Told by Pips Priller of JG51/JG26 and quoted in Mike Spick's very useful book, "Luftwaffe Fighter Aces: The Jagdflieger and their combat tactics and techniques" Ballantine Books 1996.

last one for today. BoB pilots speak
 

http://www.iwm.org.uk/upload/package...ound/intro.htm has extracts of interviews in RealPlayer format - you can download them or listen to them on the Net.

i've had more fun reading some of this stuff then i can ever remember getting out of reading anything

thanks Bobbysocks

you are welcome...i found crap loads of these stories. its interesting to get the perspective of those who were there. we see them in a different light sometimes...these show the not only the tactics but the fear, humor, horror, luck...that really was.

straffing a 262

On July 24th 1944 the 354th were part of a 3 squadron strafing mission designated to attack the airfield at Lechfeld, near Augsburg, Bavaria, Southern Germany, close to the Messerschmidt factory where 262s were being built. Their job was to destroy jet fighters parked on the airfield before they could be used against allied bombing raids. It seemed that it might be a wasted effort, as solid cloud covered the continent for the whole of the outward flight - until a hole appeared in the cloud near the target.

"One after another, six flights of four dove through the opening in the clouds. It was our turn. So much for the element of surprise. Even the lead flight could expect a warm reception. I turned on the windshield defroster, flipped the gun switch on and followed in a spiraling dive toward that thin ribbon below [the Lech River].

The Mustang seemed to come alive as the airspeed built up rapidly. Gone was the sensation of hanging motionless. We were moving! Streaking down the walls of cloud, my pulse quickened with the excitement of high-speed flight. Below I could see the lead flight level off above the river and head for the target, which was hidden by clouds.

We leveled off just above the trees and headed north, straddling the river. Almost immediately, we were beneath the overcast in a light drizzle that sharply restricted visibility.

With the throttle wide open, doing better than four hundred miles per hour, I was straining to find the airfield in the sunless gloom. I knew the field was west of the river, so if I held this heading...

A large hangar, dead ahead. Big brick buildings to the left. "There it is!"

I pulled up to about three hundred feet to get a better angle to fire the guns and find a good target. This also made us more vulnerable, because now the gunners could see us, and we had to maintain a steady shallow dive to the target - no evasive action; just like flying down somebody's gun barrel.

I spotted a row of hangars on the far side of the field and what looked like Me-262s scattered around in sandbagged revetments. Some were burning, the black oily smoke merging with the low clouds. |I picked out an airplane parked at an angle, half inside a small hangar, and lined it up carefully in my gunsight. There would be only one pass. It had to be good.

I was aware of small white puffs from exploding 20mm shells all around my aircraft. I could hear the soft pop of near misses. I forced myself to concentrate: Keep that pip steady on that airplane!

I squeezed the trigger on the stick. The four .50 calibre machine guns in the wings hammered, jarring the airplane as if it had been hit. Instantly, like a string of firecrackers, orange flashes appeared on the fuselage of the 262; then a small yellow flame licked up around the cockpit and flashed into a bright red-orange explosion as the fuel tank blew up.

Then I saw another airplane parked next to it. I fired a short burst and saw a few hits, but I realised I was getting damn close to that hangar.

I was almost too close. I pulled back on the stick and cleared the hangar roof by inches. As I did, a brilliant flash of light reflected off the clouds to my left, lighting up the whole area. Something had exploded. I banked left a few degrees to avoid flying over the airfield at Landsberg and skimmed the trees until well out of range of the airfield guns. I had seen enough of those for one day. Blue Flight finally caught up with us. They hadn't seen the airfield at all. I felt like saying, "You guys missed all the fun!"

I scanned the engine instruments and checked the plane over for damage. That's when I noticed the large chip in the "bulletproof" windshield. Apparently a shell had hit the windshield on a slant and been deflected off. Somewhere on that strafing run I had been only six inches from having my head blown off.

Red 3 and Red 4 both reported that they could see a few holes in their airplanes but everything seemed to be running all right. I looked to my left. There was no sign of my wingman. "Where's Red 2?" I asked.

"He went in - just off the airfield," answered Red 4 in a faltering voice. I knew they were roommates. I remembered that bright flash.

Of the last four aircraft on that strafing run, the German gunners had shot down one and hit the other three. I signalled both flights into a tight formation, and we started the long climb through the thick overcast.

It was a long and silent trip back to England. I kept staring at that chipped windshield and thinking about Red 2. The difference between life and death had been inches, or perhaps a few miles per hour one way or the other. This was my seventy-fourth mission, and his second.

Last mission for both."

Norman "Bud" Fortier, "An Ace of the Eighth", Presidio Press 2003, pp.233-235.


"the one that got away or perhaps not"

December 31st 1944; The 358th were escorting B17s to Misburg when FW190s were spotted:

"I managed to get right behind one of them. He was in a diving left turn, right in my gunsight. I pressed the trigger. To my consternation, only the right outboard gun fired.

That one gun popped away with no effect until I finally got a hit on his right wingtip. He straightened out and dove straight away from me, centered in my fixed gunsight. A perfect setup but I just couldn't hit him. Chuck Hauver was just off my right wing. He could see that I was having problems. "Let me have him," he said. I slid over to the left and watched him blow the FW out of the sky. Belatedly I turned on the gun heater switch. I felt foolish, frustrated and furious.

Chuck broke off to the right. Just as I turned to join him, I heard my wingman, Johnny Molnar, yell, "Bud! Get this sonofabitch off my ass!"

I racked into a hard left turn and saw Johnny about five hundred yards behind me with a Focke-Wulf about three hundred yards behind him. Molnar was turning that Mustang as tight as he could, and the FW was sticking with him, but it was unable to lead him enough for a shot. I joined the rat race.

Johnny kept yelling at me to "get this sonofabitch off my ass!" and I kept trying to assure him calmly that I would do just that. It wasn't that easy.

With Molnar leading the aerobatic display, we used up quite a bit of sky and soon found ourselves down to about seven thousand feet, just above a layer of clouds. There was neither sky nor airspeed enough left for anything but tight turns, and all three of us were doing the best we could in that department. I lowered a few degrees of wing flaps - I didn't dare look down at how many degrees. "Johnny" - I tried to sound calm but my blood pressure must have been sky-high - "did you lower your flaps a little?"
"Yeah."
"Keep the stick pressure you have now. He's not gaining on you at all but I'm gaining on him." I tried to sound confident.

I could see the vapour trails from the wingtips of the planes in front of me and I knew that my wingtips were producing the same pattern. All three of us were right on the edge of high-speed stalls. My Mustang kept giving me subtle clues, through the control column and the seat bottom, that it would be unwise to tighten the turn much more. If I stalled out of this turn, Molnar would be on his own. Every ten seconds or so, the wings of the 190 became blanketed very briefly with white vapour, an indication that the German pilot knew I was getting in position for a shot, that he was slipping closer to a stall. He couldn't increase his turn enough to get to a shooting position on Johnny and I sensed that he felt he was running out of time.

The 190 pilot pulled it in a little too tightly. Suddenly his plane snapped viciously to the right and spun down into the cloud layer. The FW had a reputation of snap-rolling out of very tight turns. I watched him spin into the clouds. "Man, that was close!" said Johnny as he raised his flaps and eased into his wingman position. It wasn't hot inside my cockpit but I had to wipe the sweat out of my eyes.

The terrain below the overcast was hilly, with some peaks rising to nearly three thousand feet, and I doubt that the German pilot had enough altitude to recover but I'll never know for sure - I wasn't about to follow him into that overcast. I was tempted to claim it as a probable but it was just as likely that he was "one that got away".

Norman "Bud" Fortier, "An Ace of the Eighth", Presidio Press 2003, pp.276-9.

"It was like a ritual. The last thing each pilot did before climbing into his plane to go off on a mission was to walk a discreet distance to the rear of the plane and take a "nervous pee". Given that there wouldn't be another opportunity to empty the bladder for five or even six hours, this was a prudent thing to do. While it is true that the Mustang was equipped with a "relief tube" (a funnel attached to a rubber hose), it was next to impossible to use because of the layers of clothing and parachute straps in the way. So the ritual was born of necessity.

Aside from being necessary, the nervous pee was a manifestation of underlying tension, which varied a great deal from pilot to pilot. There were a few among us who developed over time an aversion to combat flying. Initially I was unaware of this, naively believing that all fighter pilots were gung-ho. After all, they were all fighter pilots by choice. When push had come to shove, however, a few had found out that they had bitten off more than they could chew. For them it could be tough going. This was a sensitive subject that was never openly discussed - but should fear grab hold of a pilot, he could become a danger to himself and his comrades.

There were various tell-tale signs of aversion to combat flying: early return from missions with an airplane malfunction that could not be duplicated by the mechanics; hanging back when an engagment with enemy aircraft was imminent or in progress; unusual weight loss; heavy drinking; and physical ailments for which the doctor could find no cause.

I knew of only a couple of cases that required direct action. One pilot, after only a few missions, threw in the towel. It was too much for him to handle, he told Vic Warford. Vic didn't want to add to the poor fellow's shame and embarrassment, and was compassionate in dealing with him; he arranged for a transfer to an air transport outfit. The second case was handled in a similar manner.

Others who felt undue stress just toughed it out. I don't know how many there were in the squadron but I suspected that two or three were having a difficult time. I admired them for persevering but knew that this wasn't necessarily in the best interests of the other pilots. Years later one of them confirmed what I had suspected. He told me that he lost thirty pounds then, had recurring nightmares and didn't think he would make it to the end of his tour. He did make it and spent a long period afterward hospitalized for "combat fatigue". In looking back at his record, he was not an effective combat pilot despite his love of flying."


From: George Loving, "Woodbine Red Leader: A P51 Mustang Ace in the Mediterranean Theater

"You know, every time we take off on a combat mission, it is with mixed feelings, because it never turns out to be a pleasure trip. It is so depressing when one realises that our 'comrades from the other side' are far superior to oneself, and to know that when one engages the Viermots [4-motors, German name for B17s and B24s], sooner or later one gets shot down. During the only short period we've been here, our Staffel has already lost two pilots killed and two wounded. One had a hand shot clean off and from the other he lost a couple of fingers. The second injured pilot lost an eye. So, our Staffel, nominally on strength with 12 planes, has only four or five serviceable kites left. In the beginning, the Gruppe operated with 30 to 35 machines. Nowadays, only 10 to 15 can be scrambled at any one time.

On the other hand, we have gained fame here on the Channel coast. Not a single Gruppe has chalked up such great combat results in this theatre, and such a thing is simply impossible without incurring losses. All this results in our frame of mind being that of a lost bunch. We call ourselves 'The Last Knights' and indeed, it is a great thing to see how everyone gets at our adversary and fires doggedly. I do admire my 'Chief' who has already been shot down twice here, who almost always gets back to base with his machine shot up and still rushes in and, with his thick Westphalian skull, approaches his adversaries to point blank range to make sure of the kill. One can only say, 'Hats Off'. I am always satisfied with the hits I register and then make it back home. I must add that there is no choice but to get at them regardless of our losses, in an effort to prevent them from wreaking more destruction than they already do. One feels so impotent and can only watch powerless when facing such an opponent. In Russia, we would have completely destroyed any formation. Over here, any formation destroys us. How can you win! Sometimes, I fly as Schwarm (Flight ) leader. That usually is the task of a very experienced pilot but one has to have this first. I am responsible for the safety of three men, who I lead into combat behind me. How could I ever do that? A hundred or more enemy aircraft in the sky (I am not exaggerating) and I should cover my 4th man's tail? Only the other day, my wingman got shot down. You know, the most sacred commitment for a flight leader is the one to his wingman. I am hanging in the middle of a pulk [German for enemy squadron or formation] with my men behind me, enemy fighters appear, I look around and see my wingman but no angry enemy. When I finally believe to have got away reasonably unscathed, my wingman is gone. I assume he has fled from the scene one way or the other, but when I touch down at base some time later, he is missing. Only that night, whilst I have been reproaching myself severely, one reports that he is in hospital in Aachen. The poor fellow's eye has been removed. Things like that easily get on one's nerves.

Tonight we will celebrate 'Daddy's' birthday. 'Daddy' is our boss. There's only five of us pilots left now. Didn't we have a great time in the early days in Russia when there were still 16 of us. When I think of it, I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I never write such letters, but I have to get these thoughts off my chest and you are the only one I can confide in. Here, we don't discuss such things. The boss only talks about it in ruthless jokes, obviously trying suppress his weaker side and compassion. Still, he can't hide the fact that it has made a deep impression on him too, today he turned 27 but looks 37. It is a privilege to meet such men, who make one keen to get on with the job and who one admires.

But isn't being a fighter pilot a great thing? Speedily dashing through the skies and then plunging into the action. My dear, it makes one's heart shout with joy! Sometimes, it also trembles but only occasionally. Do you know the saying: "Enjoy the war, because the coming Peace will be dreadful!" Every day we repeat this with a sadistic pleasure. The boss is very good at it, which helps him to keep his bunch of men together as best he can."

Unteroffizier Uwe Michels, fighter pilot, II/JG3, 6th Staffel, at Schiphol, writing to his girlfriend Ilse, 11 October 1943. He was KIA one week later.

"Sometimes for reasons I don't know - probably an unseated gas cap - the P-38 would start syphoning out its gasoline. From the ground it looked like a long plume of mist coming from the wing.

One day as the planes were droning round the field getting into formation for a mission, a group of ground crew members were in the radio shack listening to the conversations of the pilots. Suddenly, they heard this: "Pete, you'll have to abort! You are syphoning fuel!" No answer. Then, a little more urgently, "Pete! Abort! Abort! You are syphoning fuel!" Finally a sheepish voice came on, "Aw Hell. No I'm not. I forgot to go to the bathroom and I'm just taking a leak."

Robert T. Sand, propellor shop, 55th Fighter Group from: "Fighter Command: American Fighters in Original WWII Color", Jeffrey L. Ethell and Robert T. Sand

Because of the losses in P38 units someone at Lockheed thought the pilots didn't know how to fly it so they sent Tony LeVier. As far as I was concerned, he did nothing that I couldn't do or nothing that I hadn't seen around the airfield by our own men. Had it been my choice of what he did, I would have had him fly some two hours at 28,000 feet, then tangle with me at 15,000 feet instantly. Then we would see how well he could fly when he was frozen.

As an example, Bushing, who did not like combat, was up leading the 338th Squadron and had to urinate. Well, by the time you got out of your shoulder harness, the parachute straps and through four more layers of clothes (tank suit, pinks, long johns and shorts) you found your peter was about one half inch long at that altitude. Well anyway, Bushing let go in the relief tube and at that very moment someone hollered, "Bogies on the right!" Bushing turned to the right and madly looked for the bogies and, though it was a false alarm, by the time his heart stopped pumping and he looked back at the dashboard, he could see only frosted instruments.

To be sure things were working properly, he had to take off his gloves and with his fingernails scrape off the frost on the important instruments. When he got back to the field the P38, once it got on the ground, turned into a hot box even in England. So by the time he taxied up to the hard stand and shut down the engines the urine had melted and heated up to probably 110 degrees. By tradition, the crew chief climbed on the aircraft as soon as you killed the engines and opened the canopy. In this case, just as he opened it, he slammed it down when he got a whiff of what was there. Bushing had not noticed it as he had been wearing his oxygen mask."

Chet A. Patterson, P38 pilot, 55th Fighter Group.

(from: "Fighter Command: American Fighters in Original WWII Color" by Jeff Ethell and Robert Sand

[Flight Lieutenant R. B. Hesselyn, MBE, DFC, DFM and bar; born Dunedin, 13 Mar 1920; apprentice machinist; joined RNZAF Nov 1940; prisoner of war, 3 Oct 1943]

[249 Squadron]"Here is an episode related by Hesselyn which may recapture for the reader some of the atmosphere of the air battles in which these men took part. It was an afternoon in mid-April [1942] and heavy raids were falling on the airfields. Pilots on their way to dispersal at Takali had to leap into a crater as bombs screamed down to crash nearby. The raiders passed over and the pilots reached their machines. A few moments later they were ordered off to meet another attack.

"We scrambled at three o'clock, climbing south of the island getting to 26,000 feet with the sun behind us. Wood [Woodhall, the Senior Controller] called up and said: ‘Hello Mac [Norman MacQueen]. There's a big plot building up but its taking time to come south. Keep your present angels and save your gravy. I will tell you when to come in.’ We stooged around until he gave us the word. Then we sailed in ….

Suddenly, glancing behind, I saw four 109s coming down on me. Three of them overshot. The fourth made his turn too wide and I got inside him. I was slightly below when I attacked from 200 yards, firing perhaps 20 feet ahead of him in the hope that his aircraft and my bullets would arrive at that spot simultaneously. They did. I kept on firing as I was determined to make certain of him. He caught fire. Black smoke poured out, he rolled on his back and went into a vertical dive and straight into the drink.

As he crashed it struck me suddenly that there might be something on my tail. In my excitement I had forgotten to look but luckily none of the other 109s had dived down on me. Wood now reported that the 88s were diving on Takali, and I pulled up to 10,000 feet. The next instant the 88s were diving past my nose and the other boys were coming down from above to attack them. I picked out one and went for him and as I pressed my gun button his rear gunner opened fire. I had fired for about a second when my port cannon packed up. Luckily I was travelling fast. This prevented my aircraft from slewing from the recoil of my starboard cannon as I was able to correct with rudder. I concentrated on the 88's starboard motor and wing root and could see my shells hitting. Bits were flying off him and flames began spreading as he continued in his dive; he was well ablaze when he crashed.

Returning to land I had my first experience of being beaten up in the circuit. A great pall of smoke and dust from the bombing was hanging over Takali. I made a couple of dummy runs over the airfield and could see that the landing path was well cratered. Just then I sighted six 109s above at 5,000 feet, waiting to pounce. The other boys were kicking about the circuit waiting to try and get in. I beetled up Imtafa valley, skipped round some windmills at the top and swung down a valley on the other side. Again and again the 109s dived down from above and attacked me. Again and again I thanked my stars that the ‘Spit’ was such a manoeuvreable aircraft. Each time I was attacked I turned violently and their shells and bullets whipped past behind me. It was a nerve-racking business. With all the violent turning and twisting I began to feel very sick. My neck ached from constantly twisting from side to side, looking back and from holding it up while doing tight turns against the extra gravity force. Eventually Mac said that we were to go in and he would cover us.

I started a normal circuit about 300 feet above the airfield, put my wheels and flaps down, did weaving approach and, as my wheels touched ground felt a sigh of relief. I taxied to my pen, forgetting to put up my flaps. All I could do when I got there was to lie back in the cockpit and gasp for breath. The ground crew had to help me out of my aircraft and, dazed and dizzy, I groped my way along the wing out of my pen.

I met Laddie [Lucas] as I was wandering over to dispersal. Both our tunics were soaked with perspiration. We looked up to see how Mac was getting on. He was making his approach about 50 feet up when suddenly two 109s darted out of the sun. Their shooting, however, was poor and whipping up his wheels Mac turned sharply into them. The 109s overshot him, carried on and beat up the aerodrome. Mac made a quick dart, put down his wheels and managed to get in. He landed with two gallons of petrol—at the pace we were using it, sufficient fuel for only another two minutes in the air. I had had five gallons; the others about the same."

After being processed, three of us were assigned to the 78th Fighter Group 1ocated at Duxford, England. The 78th formerly flew the P47, but now the fighter was the P51, which I had never seen or flown. Our only training in the P51 was to sit in the cockpit and familiarize ourselves with the instruments until we felt comfortable and then take it off.

The primary mission of the 78th was to escort the bombers into Germany, protecting them from enemy aircraft. After the bombers reached their target and were safely on their way back to their bases, we would remain and strafe enemy air fields, trains, German convoys, tanks - anything of the enemy that moved before returning to our base in Duxford, England. While escorting them to their targets, if any of the bombers werewounded by flack or enemy airplanes, but yet still able to fly, the flight leader of one of our flights of four would have one P51 on each side of the bomber plane escort the plane back to its base in England or to wherever it could land in friendly territory. We were known as their "little friends." I had this assignment once and I can't tell you how happy the pilots, bombardiers and gunners were to have us protect them. We flew close enough to see their faces.


It was my 18th flight into Germany on April 16, 1945. Our mission this day was to fly to the vicinity of Pilzen and Prague in search of air fields where the Germans had parked a number of their planes to hide them for lack of fuel to fly them and we were to destroy them, whether in air or on the ground. The 78th Fighter Group that day destroyed 135 German planes. You will note in the Squadron minutes that they gave me credit for one.


After reaching the area, the squadron broke into flights of four to search and destroy. Our flight had just strafed an airfield near "Marianbad." As I made my pass, I noticed a plane that had not been destroyed. I called on my radio to my Flight leader, Captain Hart, told him I had seen a plane we didn't get and that we should make another pass. He replied, "No, we've had enough. Let's get back to home base." This was the flight leader's last mission before returning to the U.S.A. (Our base was at Duxford, just outside of Cambridge, England). I replied that I was going down to get that plane and he said, "Go ahead. Get low. Get on the deck. They are shooting at us. We will rendezvous at 5,000 feet."


When I approached the city, I flew down the street at an altitude less than the height of some of the buildings to reach the airfield. My altitude was perhaps 50 feet. A bullet went through my canopy. The Plexiglas shattered and a piece of the Plexiglas hit my sunglasses, which broke them. While trying to remove my helmet and oxygen mask, so that I could take off the sunglasses and scrape the glass away from my eyes, I approached the airfield. There was a tall communication pole, possibly 250 to 300 feet in height, that was supported by guy wires. I pulled back on the stick and banked my P51, but I hit the communication pole about l0 feet from the top.

The pole broke off, smashing and tearing off my canopy and causing most of my instruments to become inoperable. The pole hit me on the head forcing pieces of the canopy into my scalp and forehead causing blood to run down my face and eyes, making it difficult to see. At the time I hit the pole, the plane was traveling at top speed -- approximately 450 mph.

The propeller was so damaged that it would not pull the plane. One wing was partially separated from the fuselage by about 8 inches. The other wing tip was shattered and I was pulling about ten feet of pole as one of the guy wires attached to the pole was wrapped around the tail of my plane.

I could only keep the plane flying right side up by cross-controlling. I didn't have enough altitude to bail out. I was flying over valleys and hillsides. To keep the plane in the air, I was flying at an attitude of a three point landing, so it was difficult to see ahead of the airplane. I was probably three hundred feet from the floor of the valley when the plane crash landed on the ground of a sloping hillside that had trees on it. I thought it would never stop hitting trees and demolishing more of the plane. The plane was also on fire before crash landing. There was gas on the floor of the cockpit.

I was unable to get out of the plane easily, as I had my G suit hooked in and each time I tried to raise myself, the G suit connection pulled me back down. After a couple of tries, I had enough brains to disconnect it. We were always to destroy our gun sight - it automatically centered on another plane and you didn't have to lead the plane to shoot it down. My gunsight was smashed by the pole. I didn't have to destroy it. I pulled out my .45 revolver, put a shell in the chamber and got out of the plane.

Not 100 feet away was an army soldier and an officer in a Jeep. The driver had his rifle pointed and me and said, "Hands up." My hands went up and the pistol flew out of my hands at the same time. I thought they might be Russians, so I waved my identity, at the same time asking, "Are you Ruskys?". We wore an American flag with writing in Russian so they would know we were not the enemy. They let me know very fast they were not Russians.

I was put in the front seat of the Jeep with the driver. The officer kept his gun on me. We drove a little ways and stopped. There were two or three civilians that had come up to the road -- I think they were farmers. We stopped and they talked with my captors. They started hitting me with the handles of their pitch forks. The officer could not control them, so we drove off.

We stopped at a city. The people gathered around. I was left in the Jeep with the driver. The officer went to what I believe was their headquarters. Somebody got a rope and they were going to hang me. The officer, along with others, came out with rifles and told the crowd to disperse. The officer and driver drove me out of the town to save me from hanging.

Other events that I experienced was being interrogated at several German headquarters and being stripped of my clothes, which were given back to me, but not my flight jacket, watch, ring or wallet. However, I was finally put in a dungeon, moved to a hospital in Tirschenreuth, Bavaria The Germans treated me very well and I demanded it as an officer. They respected rank.

The hospital was full of wounded German soldiers. I was put in a private room with two other German officers. The doctor at the hospital spoke perfect English. He had graduated from our Harvard Medical School. In fact the S.S. officer in charge of the area that I was in tried to put me with a group of other prisoners who were going through the town, but the doctor would not let me go advising the S.S. officer that I was too ill to travel.

After being liberated by the 90th Recon of the 3rd Army, I made my way back to Paris by bicycle, motorcycle, jeeps and airplanes. I arrived finally in Paris and was back under the good old 8th Air Force who in turn put me up in a hotel and arranged my trip back to England.

Because I was a repatriated Prisoner of War, I was shipped back to the U.S.A. I was slated to train in jets and head for the Pacific Theater at the time the war with Japan ended. "

Capt. Fred R. Swauger

Air Force Reserve Retired

"During the lengthy haul from our San Severo base across Italy and out over the Mediterranean, I trimmed my plane to fly hands off. And since our squadron and group was spread out in extended formation, I fumbled my big Zeiss camera from under my seat, unfolded it, slid the lens bellows forward to infinity focus and took several shots of our formations against the clouds. As we approached the French coast, we caught up with our designated bomber groups. I decided that vigilance took precedent over photography and managed to place the opened camera somewhere in my cockpit.

The haze of a summer noon made visibility less then perfect and it was difficult to make out the results of the bombs bursting 25,000 feet below us. I can't remember any radio chatter from our Playboy Squadron fighters, but apparently the Hun was up and about because an Me-109 popped up out of the haze not 50 feet from my right wingtip. We stared at each other in complete astonishment as I fumbled for my camera. Just as I raised it to snap his picture, he shoved the nose of his plane straight down and black smoke poured from his engine being fire-walled into full emergency boost. I dropped the camera somewhere in the cockpit and started down after him. But he was long gone and invisible in the haze. As quickly as possible I retrieved my camera, folded it up and stowed it back where I hoped it wouldn't jam any of my controls. Never again did I attempt anything so foolish. Later I asked my three other flight members if they had seen the enemy fighter. The reply was negative. I was lucky not to have become a casualty.

The date was April 28, 1944, and was my seventh mission as a fighter pilot with the 31st Fighter Group of the 15th Army Air force. The target was Piombino in the northwest of Italy and as usual I was flying as a wingman to my element leader, a boyish looking ex-Spitfire pilot named Junior Rostrom. As usual, we were providing escort to heavy bombers and were on our way back to base after an uneventful trip. As we neared the Adriatic on the East coast, the radio suddenly came to life announcing that enemy fighters were in the air from the numerous bases around the German stronghold at Ancona. With his experienced eyes Junior picked out a diving Me-109 and latched on behind although not yet in firing range. I was about 500 yards behind and slightly higher with my head on a constant swivel since I saw no other members of our flight or our squadron although the radio was busy with chatter indicating other contacts.

Everything seemed clear around us as Rostrom closed on his target. It was then that I spotted two Me-109's slanting down on me from my right. I was breaking into them as I punched my throttle radio button and told Junior I was leaving him. I'll never know whether he heard me or not. I had a fair amount of speed from our dive and as I turned up and around into the two Me's aiming for me, they sheared away into a climbing turn to port. With my speed and full throttle I rapidly closed on the inside wingman and fired from about 300 yards and all four of my .50s seemed to register. The German ship slowed quickly as black smoke and white coolant poured out in a blinding cloud. I kept firing until I couldn't wait any longer and broke sharply to starboard just in time to meet the other Me-109 who had been closing on me.

I didn't fire because my four-G turn had grayed my vision but I kept turning, easing enough for my vision to come back and found myself about 40 degrees angled off his right rear. He wasn't turning as sharply as I was and the angle decreased as I opened fire. Luckily I scored hits almost immediately and he slowed pouring coolant smoke as I slid through the smoke trail to his left. I was probably not more than fifty yards from him when his canopy came whizzing past me. I waited a few seconds getting the closest look I'd had at a 109 in my short tour. Impatiently I squeezed the trigger again just as a black clad figure climbed out on the left wing. It appeared as if he'd stepped right into my line of fire and I stopped firing. The figure slid off the wing of his ship trailing a long black tether. I watched fascinated as the strap yanked his parachute open. I had not known that the enemy had "static" lines to open their chutes. In fact, that was the first and only time that I actually saw one in action.

Realizing suddenly that I was alone in a hostile environment, a mild panic set in and I never looked to see if the German pilot was hanging limp from his shroud lines so I never knew if he'd stepped into one of my bullets or not. I headed for the Adriatic coast at a good rate of speed while I called on my radio for my element leader. The airwaves were as silent as the clear blue sky. Reaching the coast near Ancona Point I headed south sliding downhill all the time as I looked at the pastel colored houses climbing the cliffs along the seashore. Calling fruitlessly for my leader, I seemed to be the last or one of the last landing on our metal strip at San Severo, an occurrence that happened not infrequently during the rest of my tour. While elated at scoring my first victories my happiness was tempered with a sense of guilt that I had lost my leader. I drank a little more than usual that night with Prybilo, who had been Jr. Rostrom's best friend.

I was credited with one destroyed and one probably destroyed."

Extract from Robert E. Riddle, 31st Fighter Group memoir: http://www.31stfightergroup.com/31st...es/Riddle.html

Australian Sergeant Pilot Paul Brennan, 249 Squadron:

[4th May 1942]"Almos [Pilot Officer Fred Almos] and Linny [Pilot Officer Ossie Linton] were rather slow getting off the ground and when the fighter sweep came in we were only at 8,000 feet. The Huns caught us as we headed up sun, a little south of Gozo. The 109s were everywhere. Linny and I were at once separated from Mac and Almos. The two of us mixed it with eight 109s in a Hell of a dog-fight. We went into violent steep turns, dived down and pulled up again at them. But the Hun fighters came at us from every direction - from the beam, underneath, astern and head-on. We were separated in a twinkling. The last I saw of Linny was when he was in a vertical dive, skidding and twisting like blazes, with four 109s hotly pursuing him. It seemed to me as if I had been throwing my aircraft about for an hour, although probably it was less than five minutes, when a Hun blundered. He made a belly attack on me, missed and overshot. He pulled straight up ahead of me. He was a sitting target. I gave him four seconds. He went into a spin, pouring glycol. During the next few minutes, by manoeuvring violently, I succeded in shaking off the other 109s.

I called up Linny and learning he was over Ta-Kali, joined him there. Woody [Group Captain A. B. Woodhall, Senior Controller] reported that some 109s, low down, were off the harbour and we went out to meet them. As we crossed the coast, however, Almos called up that Mac was in trouble and wanted to land. Followed by Linny, I turned back to give Mac cover. We were approaching Ta-Kali when I saw him. He was gliding across the aerodrome at 5,000 feet and seemed to be under control. As I watched his aircraft gave a sudden lurch, side-slipped about 1,000 feet, and then seemed to come under control again. I did not like the look of things. I called up: 'Mac, if you're not okay, for God's sake bale out. I will cover you.' There was no reply. A couple of seconds later his aircraft gave another lurch, went into a vertical dive and crashed at Naxxar, a mile from the aerodrome. Almos and Linny landed while I covered them in but it was some time before I was able to get in myself.

Everybody was down in the dumps over Mac. We felt his loss very keenly. He was one of the finest pilots and had shot down at least eight Huns. He had been one of the first Spitfire pilots awarded the DFC for operations over Malta and he had richly earned his gong. At the time of his death he was acting CO of the squadron but neither that nor the fact that I was merely a sergeant-pilot had prevented us from being the best of cobbers. We had made many plans against our return to England."

"The Japanese aircraft were considerably more manoeuvrable than ours were. If we got down and mixed it with them at low altitude we were in trouble because we couldn't accelerate away from them unless we had a bit of height to dive away and they could run rings round us. The Japs at that stage were flying fixed-undercarriage monoplanes called Army 97s. They were extremely light and, for their weight, had very powerful engines but not much in the way of gunfire. They also didn't have any armour plating behind them. If you got a good squirt at them they used to fold up.

They really worked, those Japs. One Jap that I shot down had deliberately crash-landed, trying to dive into a revetment with a Blenheim there. We got the whole aircraft and body and everything else - he'd got 27 bullets in him and he was still flying that thing around the airfield looking for a target. They always used to try to dive into something. That was what we were up against. We also had to deal with an appalling lack of facilities - no spares, no tools, no equipment. Sometimes, to get an engine out, we wheeled a plane under a palm tree, pulled the tree down, tied it to the engine and slowly released it. Often we cannibalised one aircraft to keep others going.

When we made our first advance against the Japanese down the Arakan border with Burma, I flew to a recently repaired airfield at Cox's Bazaar to test its suitability for operations. On the return journey I had to refuel at Chittagong, which had only emergency fuel supplies on it. The refuelling party were in the process of finishing their job, and I was in the cockpit waiting to start up, when I noticed a number of fighter aircraft appear from behind a cloud - about 27 in all. I knew they must be Japanese because we didn't have that many aircraft in the place.

Being without radar cover or any other warning was always a hazard, and here it was in large lumps! I started my engine, yelled to the ground crew to get under cover, and then had to taxi a long way to get to the end of the runway. I opened up but long before I was airborne the bullets were flying and kicking up the dust around me. I got up in the air and immediately began to jink and skid to make myself an awkward target. I was helped by my own fury with myself for having been stupid enough to take off into such a suicidal position! However, luck was with me again and I led the Japs on my tail up the river at absolutely nought feet between the river boats, finally working my way up into the hills and leading them away from their own base at Akyab. Eventually they had to break off - I suppose their fuel was getting low. I thought I saw one of them crash behind me but that was never confirmed. I really lost a lot of weight on that sortie."

Frank Carey quoted in: "Forgotten Voices of the Second World War", Max Arthur, Ebury Press/IWM 2004.

"Gp Captain Frank Carey One of the highest scoring British fighter pilots of the 1939-45 War; entered the RAF in 1927 as a 15-year-old apprentice; earned 25 kills in the Battle of Britain and in Burma; was awarded the US Silver Star and appointed CBE in 1960; retired from the RAF in '62 and joined Rolls-Royce as its aero division representative in Australia, New Zealand and Fiji; retired to Britain in '74; died Dec. 6, 2004, aged 92.

http://www.battleofbritain.net/bobhsoc/obit-carey.html Obituary"

"Mechili was still in enemy hands and on the 18th I flew down the track once again to check on the situation with Masher as my cover... It was a long haul down the desert track and when I arrived at Mechili, being unfamiliar with the area, I blundered on the German landing ground. It was marked on my map and I had planned to give it a wide berth, but the country was so featureless that I couldn't check my position accurately. The field was crammed with aircraft of all kinds.

A twin-engined Me 110 was on the approach with its wheels down, a perfect sitter. I was at about the same height, 600 feet and so close that it would have been easy to shoot it down. We seem to have been unrecognised as British planes and there was no anti-aircraft fire. Mechili had been over a hundred miles behind the lines for the past six months and, apart from a few sneaky reconnaissance sorties, the people there had not seen much invasion of their airspace. The recent fighter sweeps and bomber attacks had all been concentrated in the Gazala region where the ground fighting was taking place.

"I'm going to get this one", I shouted to Masher.

Get close. One burst. Then disappear, I mutter to myself. I was almost within range, tense as a drum, leaning forward against my straps to peer through the sight.

"Three MEs overhead", Masher's voice crackled, spoiling my dreams.

I looked up. They were 3000 feet above us in loose line astern formation.

I cursed and turned steeply away, diving to ground level, watching with increasing bitterness as the fighters flew blandly north, ignoring us. Another thirty seconds and I could have pressed the tit on my spade stick and blown the Messerschmitt out of the sky.

Why didn't I hang on for a few extra ticks and finish the job? I was disgusted with myself. If the MEs had peeled off to attack us, it would have been a different matter. But they weren't even looking at us.

Ray Hudson would have shot the bugger down, I grumbled to myself, as I headed east along the Trigh Capuzzo toward the safety of our own lines. He'd have escaped in the confusion and chalked another one up. I've become too timid. A clapped out recce boy, an escape artist, a Houdini of the airways, a counter of tanks and transport for the army. It was my last chance. Damn those German fighters!

I glanced back at Masher's Hurricane, weaving steadily behind my tail. I pressed my speak button.

"Damn those German fighters", I said.

Masher didn't reply."

From: Wing Commander Geoffrey Morley-Mower DFC, AFC, "Messerschmitt Roulette: The Western Desert 1941-2", Phalanx Books 1993.

and last for the week....a really good story of uncommon compassion and chivalry from a Luftwaffe ace to the crew of a B17. its a long read with both sides of the story. the story is copyrighted so as to not subject this forum or myself to possible infringement i will simply post the link. but it is worth the time to read.

http://www.aviationartstore.com/chivalry_in_the_air.htm

Wow! Great stuff there Bobbysocks. Thank you for posting.

Yeah, good stuff as usual Dale..

Is the guy in your avatar pic your Father? Just noticed it.

thanks, i find the stuff facinating and hope others do. i even found some russian stuff...

yeah...that's me dad. my favorite pic of him from back then.

What's your dads name?

The russian stuff would go down well on here :)

Dale E. Karger 357th fighter group 364th squadron. yeah i figured there is enough russian fans here. but found a lot of brit, aussie, and nz stuff from early in the war. what i like about these stories is the humanity aspect. you read where they laughed, cried, were scared as hell, and felt sorry....things we tend to over look.

ok one more for the soviet boys here.

A 9th AF Group, identified as the 357th Fighter Group, was located at an airbase designated R-85 near Neubilburg, on the outskirts of Munich, Germany. This Group had been transferred out of the 8th AF into the 9th, to serve as a part of the Occupational Forces. The move from Leiston, England to Germany was made shortly after the surrender of The Third Reich in mid-1945. The 357th was equipped with P-51 planes.

On afternoon, without announcement, a strange aircraft approached R-85 to land. Capt. (Earl Duke) Botti, the control tower operator, attempted radio contact with it's pilot, but to no avail. As the plane passed the control tower, Earl Duke saw the Red Star on its fuselage and he realized that he had a problem on his hands. He immediately contacted Major Hunt for advice. The plane, a Yak 9, stopped down near the hanger area and a Jeep and an emergency vehicle closed off its escape. The battery was removed from the Russian plane and the pilot was placed under Base Arrest until Higher Headquarters could be contacted from instructions. The pilot may have been lost, low on fuel, or in an act of desertion or sent there for intelligence purposes by Russian Higher Command. There were many questions awaiting answers.

Each day one of our pilots were assigned to accompany the Russian pilot and to closely watch on his behavior and to prevent him from entering areas important to Base Operations.

An interpreter was located so some communication could be carried on with the Russian. Many questions were asked but little information was learned.

I was not on Base at the time of this excitement. I departed early the next morning on another duty assignment for the A-4 section. Most of my information had to come from others who were more directly involved in the events of the next few weeks. Lt. Lawrence Westphal of the 364th FS related to me the following, "We had a brief encounter with several replacement pilots who had recently transferred into the 357th from the ATC and had been flying C-47s. They were to be checked out in P-51s. Late one afternoon three or four of these ATC boys were watching a pilot above wring-out a P-51, I think the pilot doing the wringing was Major Bockay. Soon the replacement pilot and his escort joined the crowd. One of the replacement pilots, remarked, 'That looks to me like a good way to bust ones butt.' Immediately, thru an interpreter, the Russian Pilot replied, "What's the matter, you afraid to die?"

Lt. G. A. Robinson of the 362nd FS told me that he had two tours with the Russian. He learned that the Russian claimed to have a total of forty flying hours and only nine of actual combat. One time just at Retreat time, they were walking across the drill field and heard the Bugler blowing Taps; the Russian began to smile and finally broke out into a laugh at the sound of the Bugle. Lt. Robinson asked the interpreter, "Why such a strange reaction?" The Russian pilot only shook his head but gave no reply. This made Lt. Robinson wonder if the Russian Pilot had lost his marbles.

Finally word came down from Higher Headquarters to release the Russian. In refueling his plane and checking it over, it was discovered that most of the air, held in a compression tank in the fuselage, had leaked out. This was necessary to raise and lower the two main landing wheels. Capt Robert Lynch of the 469th Squadron and two of his men were called in to correct the problem. However, they found that their tools and fittings would not function with the metric connections of the Yak and no repair could be made.

Lt. Westphal asked me if I was on the flight line when the Russian took-off? I replied that I was away from the base at the time, he said, "You missed a good show, when the Yak left the runway one wheel was dangling and the other was only three quarters of the way up. He did a 180 and came back very low and did three rolls very low on the deck. I'm sure I would not attempt such a trick with one wheel hanging down like that."

The Yak turned toward the east and soon faded out of sight. That was the last known about the Russian Pilot however, many of our boys wondered what kind of a reception he received when he reached his home base.

this is a great thread,words from people who done it for real

raf combat reports seem to have no emotion
this is part of eric lock's report from september 14th 1940 ,flying from raf hornchurch ON HIS OWN on a spotter patrol.at 32.000 ft eric observes 12 109s below him at 25.000ft, allways the hunter .......

i attacked the last section of the formation,which were flying in a diamond shape.i was just about to close in,when i was attacked from above by some 109s .they pealed off from about 3,000 feet above and carried out a head on attack on me.i waited till one of them was in range,and gave him a long burst of fire.he passed a few feet above me i carried out a sharp turn to the right and saw him in flames.just then i was attacked again from head on.i waited till he was at point blank range.i saw my bullets go into the enemy aircraft ,and as he was about to go beneath me i gave me him another burst .
i then saw more enemy aircraft coming down on me ,so i half rolled and dived through the clouds.i had just passed through the clouds when i saw someone who had bailed out,i followed him down to the ground. i saw some of our troops rush up to him,and he appeared to be holding up his arms.i flew low over the field and he waved back.this was afterwards confirmed by the police.

i wonder how many 109s eric actually tangled with that day?

combat reports were very ...as Jack Webb used to say in the series Dragnet "just the facts, Mam." its their reminiscings ( sp ) from interviews or books where they let their hair down and convey feelings. it always amazed me how these guys would jump a numerically superior enemy without hesitation.

desert rescue

This incident happened on 21 December 1942, 150 miles south of Cirte, while Bobby Gibbes was leading six Kittyhawks on a reconnaissance over Hun, an Italian aerodrome.



Sergeant "Stuka" Bee's aircraft was set on fire by the aerodrome defence gunfire and at the same time, Pilot Officer Rex Bayly called up to say that his motor had been hit and that he was carrying out a forced landing. As Sergeant Bee had a lot of speed from his dive and was flaming badly, I advised him to climb up and bail out instead of trying to belly land his aircraft at high speed. He mightn't have heard me, or perhaps was badly wounded or even dead, as his speed had not decreased when he hit the ground. His aircraft rolled up into a ball, an inferno of flames. He didn't have a chance.

I circled and watched the Italians, showing great courage, send out an ambulance in an attempt to save him, but the outcome was obvious. It was later confirmed that he had been killed.

In the meantime, Rex Bayly crash landed his aircraft nearly a mile from the aerodrome, and on coming to a stop, called up on his radio to say that he was O.K. His aircraft did not burn. I asked him what the area was like for a landing to pick him up, and ordered the other three aircraft to keep me covered and to stop any ground forces coming out after him. He told me that the area was impossible, and asked me to leave him, but I flew down to look for myself. I found a suitable area about 3 miles further out and advised Bayly that I was landing, and to get weaving out to me.

I was nervous about this landing, in case shrapnel might have damaged my tyres, as on my first run through the aerodrome, my initial burst set an aircraft on fire. I had then flown across the aerodrome and fired from low level and at close range at a Savoia 79. It must have been loaded with ammunition as it blew up, hurling debris 500 feet into the air. I was too close to it to do anything about avoiding the blast and flew straight through the centre of the explosion at nought feet. On passing through, my aircraft dropped its nose, despite pulling my stick back, and for a terrifying moment, I thought that my tail plane had been blown off. On clearing the concussion area, I regained control, missing the ground by a matter of only a few feet. Quite a number of small holes had been punched right through my wings from below, but my aircraft appeared to be quite serviceable.

I touched down rather carefully in order to check that my tyres had not been punctured, and then taxied by a devious route for about a mile or more until I was stopped from getting closer to Bayly by a deep wadi. Realizing that I would have a long wait, and being in a state of sheer funk, I proceeded to take off my belly tank to lighten the aircraft. The weight of the partially full tank created great difficulty, and I needed all my strength in pulling it from below the aircraft and dragging it clear. I was not sure that I would be able to find my way back to the area where I had landed, so I stepped out the maximum run into wind from my present position. In all, I had just 300 yards before the ground dipped away into a wadi. I tied my handkerchief onto a small camel's thorn bush to mark the point of aim, and the limit of my available take off-run, and then returned to my aircraft, CV-V, and waited.

My aircraft continued to circle overhead, carrying out an occasional dive towards the town in order to discourage any attempt to pick us up. After what seemed like an age, sitting within gun range of Hun, Bayly at last appeared, puffing, and sweating profusely. He still managed a smile and a greeting.

I tossed away my parachute and Bayly climbed into the cockpit. I climbed in after him and using him as my seat, I proceeded to start my motor. It was with great relief that we heard the engine fire, and opening my throttle beyond all normal limits, I stood on the brakes until I had obtained full power, and then released them, and, as we surged forward, I extended a little flap. My handkerchief rushed up at an alarming rate, and we had not reached flying speed as we passed over it and down the slope of the wadi. Hauling the stick back a small fraction, I managed to ease the aircraft into the air, but we hit the other side of the wadi with a terrific thud. We were flung back into the air, still not really flying, and to my horror, I saw my port wheel rolling back below the trailing edge of the wing, in the dust stream. The next ridge loomed up and it looked as if it was to be curtains for us, as I could never clear it. I deliberately dropped my starboard wing to take the bounce on my remaining wheel, and eased the stick back just enough to avoid flicking. To my great relief we cleared the ridge and were flying.

Retracting my undercart and the small amount of take off flap, we climbed up. I was shaking like a leaf and tried to talk to Bayly but noise would not permit. The remaining three aircraft formed up alongside me and we hared for home, praying the while that we would not be intercepted by enemy fighters, who should by now, have been alerted. Luck remained with us, and we didn't see any enemy aircraft.

On nearing Marble Arch, I asked Squadron Leader Watt to fly beneath my aircraft to confirm that I had really lost a wheel and had not imagined it. He confirmed that my wheel had gone, but that the starboard wheel and undercart appeared to be intact. I then had to make up my mind as to whether to carry out a belly landing, thus damaging my aircraft further, or to try to attempt a one wheel landing, which I thought I could do. We were at the time very short of aircraft and every machine counted.

The latter, of course, could be dangerous, so before making a final decision, I wrote a message on my map asking Bayly if he minded if I carried out a one wheel landing. He read my message and nodded his agreement.

Calling up our ground control, I asked them to have an ambulance standing by, and told them that I intended coming in cross wind with my port wing up wind. Control queried my decision but accepted it.

I made a landing on my starboard wheel, keeping my wing up with aileron and, as I lost speed, I turned the aircraft slowly to the left throwing the weight out. When I neared a complete wing stall, I kicked on hard port rudder and the aircraft turned further to port. Luck was with me and the aircraft remained balanced until it lost almost all speed. The port oleo leg suddenly touched the ground, and the machine completed a ground loop. The port flap was slightly damaged as was the wingtip. The propeller and the rest of the aircraft sustained no further damage. The port undercart was changed, the flap repaired, the holes patched up and the aircraft was flying again on the 27th of the month, only six days after Hun.

Every enemy aircraft on Hun was either destroyed or damaged. Six aircraft and one glider were burnt, and five other aircraft were badly damaged. The bag included two JU52s, two Savoia 795, one JU88, one Messerschmitt 110, one CR42, one HS126 and two gliders. I was later to be awarded the DSO and this operation was mentioned as having a bearing on the award.

From Manston:

Johnny Kent, CO 92 Squadron, which was on "soul-destroying convoy patrol work"
from Manston, Kent from January-February 1941:

"On one of these patrols the formation leader was startled to see one of the ships explode; his first thought was that it must have struck a mine but then, to his amazement, he saw one lone Stuka low on the water heading for France. He and the other three dived to the attack and the German pilot, seeing the Spitfires after him, turned and made for Manston - presumably to give himself up, as he had no hope of survival in a fight.

The night before this episode some of the officers had been saying that if they brought down a German in one piece the thing to do would be to take him to the Mess and entertain him before bundling him off to a POW camp. I did not feel that there was any place for the chivalry displayed in the First World War and I gave the boys a little lecture on the reasons they were there, this boiled down to first defending the country and secondly to killing as many of the enemy as possible - and they had better get that firmly into their heads. They learned their lesson very well.

Having been on the first patrol of the morning, I had been back to the Mess for breakfast and was just returning to Dispersal when I heard gunfire. I stopped the car and got out to stare in amazement at the sight of one lone Stuka weaving madly in an attempt to avoid the attentions of four Spitfires. All five were coming straight towards me and it occurred to me that I was in the line of fire so I hid behind a vehicle that was handy. Then I saw a notice on it reading '100 Octane' - it was one of the refuelling bowsers. So I darted back to my car! Just as I reached it the Stuka reached the edge of the airfield almost directly above me at about a hundred feet. Here he was headed off by one of the Spitfires and I could clearly see both gunner and pilot in their cockpits with the De Wilde ammunition bursting around them.

The Spitfire overshot and pulled away and the German made another desperate attempt to land and turned violently to port but at this instant Pilot Officer Folkes, in my aeroplane, flashed past me and gave a short burst with the cannons. I can still hear the 'thump-thump-thump' of them followed by the terrific 'whoosh' as the Stuka blew up and crashed just outside the boundary of the airfield.

My words had been taken rather too literally as it would have been better to let him land; at that time we did not possess an intact Stuka and it would have been very useful, particularly in setting at rest the minds of those vociferous Members of Parliament who complained so long and so loudly about the fact that the RAF had no comparable dive-bomber and in so doing gave the Stuka an importance it did not deserve - certainly not in attacks on England.

The German crew, both of whom were killed, were a very brave, if foolhardy, pair. They had come over alone from their base in Belgium, bombed and sunk the ship right under the noses of the fighters while they must have known that their chances of getting home were practically non-existent."

From Johnny Kent, "One of the Few", Tempus Press 2000.

Tony Bartley, an officer in 92 Squadron, gives another view of the same incident:

"A week later [than January 10th] two sections of our team shot up a Ju87 who had been attacking one of our ships, a fishing trawler off Ramsgate. The pilot knew that his only escape route was to force land on our airfield and made a desperate attempt to do so. Sammy Saunders called off his section when he realised the scenario but suddenly a Spitfire zeroed in and shot the Junkers' wing off with a burst of cannon fire. We were horrified to see the enemy dive into the ground and burst into flames. Outraged that anyone could have shot a practically sitting bird. Not cricket. The culprit, a sergeant pilot, was less sympathetic. The Adjutant told us later that his wife and child had been killed in an air raid, the previous month."

From: Tony Bartley, "Smoke Trails in the Sky", Crecy Publishing 1997.

James MacLachlan, 261 Squadron, diary for 16 February 1941, on Malta:

"At about 9.15 we were ordered to scramble, and climbed to 20,000 feet. We were still climbing over Luqa when six Me 109s screamed down on us out of the sun. We immediately broke away and formed a rather wide circle. Just as I took my place in the circle I saw four more Messerschmitts coming down out of the sun. I turned back under them and they all overshot me. I looked round very carefully, but could see nothing, so turned back on to the tail of the nearest Hun who was chasing some Hurricanes in front of him. We were all turning gently to port, so I cut the corner and was slowly closing in on the Hun. I was determined to get him, and must have been concentrating so intently on his movements that, like a fool, I forgot to look in the mirror until it was too late. Suddenly there was a crash in my cockpit - bits and pieces seemed to fly everywhere.

Instinctively I went into a steep spiral dive, furiously angry that I had been beaten at my own game. My left arm was dripping with blood, and when I tried to raise it only the top part moved, the rest hung limply by my side. Everything happened so quickly that I have no very clear recollection of what actually took place. I remember opening my hood, disconnecting my oxygen and R/T connections and standing up in the cockpit. The next thing I saw was my kite diving away from me, the roar of its engine gradually fading as it plunged earthwards. It was a marvellous feeling to be safely out of it; everything seemed so quiet and peaceful. I could hear the roar of engines above me and distinctly heard one burst of cannon fire. I could not see what was happening as I was falling upside down and my legs obscured all view of the aircraft above me. My arm was beginning to hurt pretty badly, so I decided to pull my chute right away in case I fainted from loss of blood. I reached round for my ripcord but could not find it. For some unknown reason I thought my chute must have been torn off me while I was getting out of my kite and almost gave up making any further efforts to save myself. I remember thinking that the whole process of being shot down, and being killed, seemed very much simpler and less horrible than I had always imagined. There was just going to be a big thud when I hit the deck and all would be over - my arm would stop hurting and no more 109s could make dirty passes at me behind my back.

I think I must have been gradually going off into a faint when suddenly I thought of Mother reading the telegram saying that I had been killed in action. I made one last effort to see if my parachute was still there and to my amazement and relief found that it had not been torn off after all. With anoter suprheme effort I reached round and pulled the rip cord. There was a sickening lurch as my chute opened and my harness tightened round me so that I could hardly breathe. I felt horribly ill and faint. Blood from my arm came streaming back into my face, in spite of the fact that I was holding the stump as tightly as I could. I could only breathe with the utmost difficulty and my arm hurt like Hell. I could see Malta spread out like a map 15,000 ft below me and I longed to be down there - just to lie still and die peacefully. I was woken from this stupor by the roar of an engine and naturally thought some bloodthirsty Gerry had come to finish me off. I don't think I really minded what happened; certainly the thought of a few more cannon shells flying past me didn't exactly cheer me up. To my joy, however, I saw that my escort was a Hurricane piloted, as I learned later, by Eric Taylor.He ahd quite rightly decided that he could do no good by playing with the Huns at 20,000 ft, so came down to see that none of them got me.

For what seemed like hours I hung there, apparently motionless, with Malta still as far away as ever. Once or twice I started swinging very badly, but as I was using my only hand to stop myself bleeding to death, I was unable to do anything about it. At about 1,500 ft I opened my eyes again, and to my joy saw that I was very much lower down. For a little while I was afraid I was going to land in the middle of a town, but I mercifully drifted to the edge of this. For the last 100 ft I seemed to drop out of the sky - the flat roof of a house came rushing up at me, and just as I was about to land on it, it dodged to one side and I ended up in a little patch of green wheat. I hit the ground with a terrific thud, rolled over once or twice, and then lay back intending to die quietly. This, however, was not to be.

Scarcely had I got myself comfortable and closed my eyes, when I heard the sound of people running. I hurriedly tried to think up some famous last words to give my public but never had a chance to utter them. I was surrounded by a crowd of shouting, gesticulating Malts, who pulled at my parachute, lifted my head and drove me so furious that I had to give up the dying idea in order to concentrate completely on kicking every Malt who came within range. From what the pongos [army] told me after I believe I registered some rather effective shots.

Eventually two very dim army stretcher-bearers arrived with a first-aid outfit. I told them to put a tourniquet on my arm and give me some morphia, whereupon one of them started to bandage my wrist and the other went off to ask what morphia was. In the end I got them to give me the first-aid outfit and fixed myself up. At last a doctor arrived who actually knew what to do. He put me on a stretcher, had me carried about half a mile across fields to an ambulance, which in turn took me down to the local advanced field dressing station. Here they filled me with morphia, gave me ether, and put my arm in a rough splint. When I came round they gave me a large tot of whisky, another injection of morphia and sent me off to Imtarfa as drunk as a lord. When I eventually arrived at the hospital I was feeling in the best of spirits and apparently shook the sisters by asking them to have a drink with me."

[quoted in Antony Rogers, "Battle over Malta: Aircraft Losses and Crash Sites 1940-42", Sutton Publishing 2000]

prologue:

"James Archibald Findlay MacLachlan - known as "Jay" to his family, "Mac" to his friends and tagged "One-Armed Mac" by the press - is a true hero of World War II. Having lost his arm following combat over Malta, he was fitted with an artificial limb and continued to fight - way beyond the call of duty. It was perhaps inevitable that he would lose his life in action but along the way this modest man inspired other amputees who wanted to get back into the war. Mac flew Fairey Battle light bombers during the Battle of France, winning his first DFC. He then retrained on fighters and flew Hurricanes towards the end of the Battle of Britain. Having volunteered to go overseas, he led a formation of six Hurricanes from the deck of the aircraft carrier HMS Argus to the besieged island of Malta. Here, following several weeks of intense air combat during which he accounted for eight Italian and German aircraft, he was shot down by one of the Luftwaffe's top fighter aces, Oblt Joachim Muncheberg. Severely wounded in the left arm, he nonetheless parachuted over the island and was rushed to hospital. The arm could not be saved. However, within 16 days of the amputation, he persuaded his CO to allow him to fly a Magister two-seater, initially accompanied by another pilot, before going solo! On his return to England, where he was fitted with an artificial arm, Mac was soon given command of No1 Squadron equipped with Hurricane IICs for night intruder operations. By the end of 1942 he had accounted for five German night bombers and had been awarded the DSO and a Bar to his DFC, plus the Czech Military Cross. Following a six-month goodwill trip to the United States, where he was feted as a fighter pilot hero wherever he went, he returned to operations with the Air Fighting Development Unit. In company with Geoffrey Page, he participated in the destruction of six Luftwaffe training aircraft in one single sortie; but, on his next mission, his Mustang was hit by ground fire when crossing the French coast and crash-landed, with Mac critically injured. Taken prisoner, he died in captivity on 31 July 1943. Based on his diaries and letters, this is Mac's story, mainly told in his own words."

Dont visit the prisoners:

"When we shot the Germans and Italians down, we used to go and see them in hospital at Imtarfa - but one day I stopped the squadron from doing it. It was at the beginning of July [1942] and I was nearing the end of my time with the squadron. There was a raid and Woodhall was controlling it. He'd talked this raid through, giving us a brilliant running commentary. There were three Italian bombers in a tight V formation, with a great beehive of fighter escorts - about 80 plus Me109s and Macchi 202s - and the whole idea was that the bombers were decoys. There were ten of us - I had a four, Raoul Daddo-Langlois had a four and the New Zealander, Jack Rae, was leading his pair of two. We were flying in line-abreast, as we always did. Woodhall had got us into this marvellous position, up-sun, and at about 26,000 feet. I had pushed the thing up another 2000 because you never lost anything by having excess height. Bader always had this piece of doggerel that he used to recite, "He who has the sun creates surprise. He who has the height controls the battle. He who gets in close shoots them down."

We were now about 5,000 or 6,000 feet above these fellows, so I said to my guys, "Look we've got bags of height - we've got the sun but there are a lot of 109s about, so we'll go straight through the lot of them and have a go at the three bombers. After that, we go straight down to the deck." We went steaming into these bloody things. I had a go at the bomber on the left and saw it disintegrate, going down in flames. I saw Raoul's go falling away, and then Jack came through and knocked out the bomber in the middle. All three of them went down in flames, then I said, "Now roll on to your backs, fellers, and go down to the deck. There are far too many 109s about to stay and mix it." So we went down and landed at Takali.

The next day, I took two or three of the fellows who had been flying that day, plus one of the chaps from Headquarters who could speak Italian, to the hospital where all the Italians who had baled out were in bed. I walked across to the bed on the left of the ward and there was this good-looking young Italian with his arm all bandaged up. The interpreter said to him, "This is the CO of the squadron which shot your aeroplanes down, and these are some of the rest of the squadron." And this young Italian, who couldn't speak English, held up his hand and said, through the interpreter, "I have lost my hand." It made me feel terrible. Then the interpreter asked him, "What did you do in peacetime?" and the boy just said, "I was a professional violinist." I said to the chaps, "I'm going out now", and I waited for them until they had finished talking to the Italians. Then I said to them, "Look here, we are never going to visit these wounded prisoners in hospital again when there is an emotive injury or wound. It is so terrible and bad for morale. I can't stand it." For weeks after, long after I'd come back from Malta, I used to wake up in the middle of the night, thinking about it. It was a dreadful thing, because I had no feeling of hate for these people."

Squadron Leader "Laddie" Lucas, 249 Squadron (Later Wing Commander, CBE, DSO, DFC), quoted in "Forgotten Voices of the Second World War", Random House/Imperial War Museum 2004.

The young wounded Italian was the only survivor of his crew.

B17 stuff

Account of Maneuvers: B-17 (42-39957) Halberstadt, Germany on 11 JANUARY
1944.

1st Lt. JOHN W. RAEDEKE US Army Air Corp sends.....

Took off at 0745 o'clock with a load of 2300 gallons of gasoline, 6000
pounds of bombs, full load of ammunition, and the usual weight of men and
equipment. Everything on plane was in perfect working order. Joined the
group formation at 1010 and flew into target without incident but was forced
to use 2400 R.P.M. and 40" HG at times. Dropped our bombs at 11:52 o'clock,
everything still in good shape.

At 1200 o'clock we were hit by fighters which stayed with us for one hour
and fifty minutes. They attacked us from 5-7 o'clock position at first and
gradually as more enemy fighters joined they attacked us from 3-9 o'clock
positions. We were flying "Tail End Charlie", #7 position. The fighters
created much excitement among the squadron, resulting in more power being
applied to the engines. We were forced to use 2500 R.P.M. and 40"-46" almost
continuously.

About 1245 o'clock more enemy fighters joined the attack and finally we
were
being attacked from all positions on the clock, high and low. The plane was
vibrating and pitching unbelievably as a result of all guns firing, fighting
prop-wash, and evading collision with our own as well as enemy planes. Enemy
fighters would come through our formation from 1200 o'clock position, level
in groups of 20-40 at one time all shooting. The sky in front. of us was a
solid mass of exploding 20 M.M. shells, flak, rockets, burning aircraft, and
more enemy fighters. B-17's were going down in flames every 15 minutes and
enemy fighters seemed to explode or go down in smoke like flies dropping out
of the sky.

The "Luftwaffe" attacked us in ME 109's, ME 210's, FW 190's, JU 88's, and
some we couldn't identify. The enemy fighters made suicidal attacks at us
continuously, coming into about fifty feet before turning away. It seemed
that the greater part of the attack was aimed at our ship, perhaps for the
following reason. Our ship was the only one in the group that was not firing
tracer bullets and they apparently thought we had no guns or were out of
ammunition.

The heaviest assault and the one that damaged us happened as follows. At
approximately 1330 o'clock we were attacked by another group of enemy
fighters numbering about forty which came at us again from 1200 o'clock
position, level in formation pattern. Again, we saw that solid wall of
exploding shells and fighters. This time we were flying #3 position in the
second element of the lead squadron. As they came in the top turret gunner
of our ship nailed a FW 190 which burst into flames, nosed up and to its
left, thus colliding with the B-17 flying #2 position of the second element
on our right. Immediately upon colliding this B-17 burst into flames,
started into a loop but fell off on its left wing and across our tail. We
were really hit and we had "Had It". At the time we were thus stricken we
were using a full power setting of 2500 R.P.M. and 40"-46" Hg. Our I.A.S.
was approximately 165 M.P.H. and our altitude was 19,000 feet.

Immediately upon being hit by the falling B-17 we were nosed up and went
into a loop. Confusion, no less, and embarrassment. Pilot called crew at
once and ordered them to prepare to bail out. Response was instantaneous and
miraculously proficient. Not one crew member grew frantic or lost his head,
so to speak. All stood ready at their stations to abandon the ship. The
action of the Pilot regarding the handling of the ship was as follows. As
quickly as we were hit we engaged the A.F.C.E. which was set up for level
flying. Full power was applied with throttle and both Pilot and Co-Pilot
began the struggle with the manual controls.

It was noted at once that the rudder control was out because the rudder
pedals could not be moved. In only a fraction of a second the ship had
completed a beautiful loop and was now merrily spinning toward the ground,
with five enemy fighters following on the tail. Although the spin seemed
flat and rather slow it was vicious and we were losing altitude fast. As
soon as we had completed the loop and had fallen into a spin the Pilot,
having full confidence in a prayer, recalled the crew members and ordered
them to stand by for a little while longer.

"Guts" discipline, and confidence in their Pilot was certainly displayed by
the crew by the fact that they stayed with the ship. To return to the spin
and its final recovery. When the ship fell into a spin the Pilot after
determining its direction applied full inside throttle, retarded the other
two, used only aileron A.F.C.E. control, and applied it in full opposite
position, rolled elevator trim-tab fully forward, and in addition both
pilots applied full forward position on control column, plus full opposite
aileron. After making at least two or three complete 360-degree turns, the
ship finally swept into a clean dive at an angle of approximately 45 degrees
from level.

The I.A.S. at this time was approximately 280 M.P.H. The altitude was
approximately 12,000 feet. Power setting was reduced to about 2/3. At this
point it was noted that one enemy fighter was still following on our tail,
therefore seeing a solid undercast below we nosed the ship down and applied
additional power. We were heading for cloud cover at an angle of
approximately 75 degrees to 80 degrees from the level at a speed of about
400 M.P.H. indicated. All this while the aileron was clutched into A.F.C.E.
and was holding wings level. The elevators were controlled entirely by the
trim tab.

At 6000 feet we began easing back the elevator trim tab and slowly started
to level out. Finally leveled off in the clouds at 4000 feet, trimmed the
ship, and engaged elevator clutch of A.F.C.E. Disengaged this every few
seconds to re-trim ship, kept it perfectly level and flying smoothly. The
I.A.S. after leveling off in the clouds was still around 340 M.P.H. but was
dropping off quite rapidly until it reached 200 M.P.H. Maintained an I.A.S.
of 190-200 M.P.H. from then on with a power setting of 2100 R.P.M. and 31"
Hg.

Checked all engine instruments immediately after leveling off and found
everything functioning normally, except the Pilot's directional gyro which
apparently had tumbled. Flew in the cloud cover for about ten (10) minutes
then came out above to check for more enemy fighters. Saw one fighter after
several minutes at five (5) O'clock position high so we ducked back into the
clouds for about ten minutes longer. Came out again and found everything
clear.

Rode the top of the clouds all the way back across the North Sea. The point
where we first entered the cloud cover was about thirty (30) minutes flying
time (at our speed) from the enemy sea coast. An interesting point which
occurred was that we came out of our spin and dive on a heading of 270
degrees which fortunately was our heading home. Immediately after we had
leveled off in the clouds each crew member reported into the Co-Pilot that
he was back at his station and manning his guns. No particular excitement or
scare was apparent for the crew members started a merry chatter over the
interphone.

During the violent maneuvers of the loop the left waist gunner, S/Sgt.
Warren Carson, was thrown about in the waist of the ship resulting in a
fractured leg. However, he did remain at his guns until the chances of more
enemy attacks was nil. After we were well out over the North Sea the injured
waist gunner was moved to the radio room where he was treated and made
comfortable by the Bombardier who went back to assist.

At this time also the Co-Pilot went to the rear of the ship to examine the
Control cables and make a general survey of the damage to the tail section.
He reported that about 1/3 of the left horizontal stabilizer and elevator
were off and that almost the entire vertical stabilizer and rudder had been
sheared off but that all control cables were O.K. However, the ship was
functioning quite normally except for the fact that we had to make turns
with aileron only. It also seemed to fly quite smoothly in spite of the
missing vertical stabilizer and rudder. It was therefore decided by the
pilot that a normal landing could be attempted.

Reaching the English coast we headed for our home field but the weather had
closed in and the ceiling was getting lower as we neared our field.
'Finally, we were forced to fly at tree-top heights in order to stay out of
the clouds, thus getting lost. All radio equipment was out and we were not
sure where the field was. Finally it began to rain, besides our other
trouble, so we decided to land at the first field we found. Pilot ordered
all crew members to radio room to prepare for crash landing. However, the
Navigator volunteered to remain in the nose of the ship to direct the Pilot
and Co-Pilot in their approach to the field and a final landing.

The landing was accomplished in the normal manner, taking advantage of a
slightly longer approach. Picked the longest runway which suited the wind
direction but still had to contend with a cross wind. With the aid of the
Navigator's directions we made a low approach to the runway, correcting for
draft by holding the windward wing low and holding it straight by jockeying
the throttles. "No, your wrong", we greased it on.

Made a perfect landing. After setting it on the ground it was noted that
the
right tire was flat However, this did not trouble us because the ship was
stalled out at low speed and slowed down immediately by use of brakes. It
was noted that the ship was almost dry of fuel. Positively no stress was
placed on the ship in landing. It was a landing as any normal landing would
be.

We now know from experience that a B-17 will loop, spin, pull out of a dive
when indicating 400 M.P.H., fly without a rudder and very little horizontal
stabilizer, and will land normally without a rudder and a flat tire added.
The "guts", courage, and confidence displayed by the crew of this mission is
highly commendable. The navigator displayed extreme courage when he
volunteered to remain in the nose to direct the Pilot in landing in almost
zero weather. The Co-Pilot deserves special commendation for his capable
assistance in maneuvering this ship, guarding the engine, his careful survey
of the damage, his assistance in determining the possibility of a safe
landing and finally his reassuring words to the crew over the interphone
during the homeward journey.

The gunners shot down nine (9) enemy aircraft and claimed to have damaged
at
least ten (10) more.

PILOT 1st Lt. JOHN W. RAEDEKE CO-PILOT 2nd Lt. JOHN E. URBAN

THE MOST UNBELIEVABLE LANDING OF A B-17
by George Ureke, Lt. Colonel USAF (Ret.)

Flying a bombing mission out of Foggia, Italy, off of Tortorella US Army Air Field in Italy, during W.W.ll, our B-17 caught one Hell of a lot of flack. All four engines were still running, but ALL flight instruments failed. We had no airspeed indicator. Since we were returning from the bombing mission in formation we didn't really need flight instruments except for the approach and landing. When we arrived over the base at Tortorella, we peeled off, flying the landing pattern in trail formation. How to plan my approach with no air speed indicator? An idea came to me. We II drop behind the ship in front of us, so that on the final approach, we can establish a rate of closure to ensure that our approach would be above stall speed.

Well, in the morning, when we took off, the steel mat runway was covered with three inches of slimy mud.. It had been raining for weeks. Airplanes, taking off and landing just pushed the steel mat deeper into the mud. Every time an airplane took off or landed, more and more slimy mud had pushed up on top of the steel mat. So as we approached the mud-covered runway, there were three or four inches of slippery slime on top of the mat. But we were not worried (about coming in "hot"), until I called for flaps. Kenneth D. Goodwin, our copilot, replied, "We don't have any. They're not coming down". - And it was too late to crank them down by hand.

We weren't about to go around again without an airspeed indicator. Due to the "hot" approach speed we didn't touch down until we were half-way down the field. The airplane in front of us made a normal landing and turned off at a taxi-strip about five- hundred feet short of the end of the runway. That pilot managed to land short enough to turn to the left onto that first taxi strip. As he turned, he looked out his left window and saw that we were halfway down the field before we touched down. He turned to his co-pilot and says, "Look out that right window. George is going to crash into the gully at the end of the runway." (Several British bombers had hit that gully in the past, and they blew up).

We finally got the plane on the mud and I hit the brakes. no brakes! (in a B-17, the pilot and co-pilot can look out their window and see the wheel on their side). Every time I touched the brakes, the wheels would stop, lock, and we'd hydroplane over the mud. I had one choice, something we'd normally try to avoid. "Ground-loop" I pulled No. 3 and 4 engines all the way back. I pushed No. 1 and 2 throttles forward to take- off power, I called for "boosters" and started tapping the right brake (trying to ground loop to the right, and let centrifugal force tip the left wing into the ground). We'd damage the airplane but avoid crashing into the gully.

Normally, the plane would turn and leave the runway. But it was so slimy, the wheels had no friction to make it turn. The plane just kept sliding forward. No. 1 and 2 engines at full take-off power caused the airplane to spin around while sliding straight down the runway. As it approached 180 degrees, I pushed number 3 and 4 throttles full forward. Now we had "take off" power on all four engines. There we were, going backwards, toward the end of the runway with all four engines at full take-off power.

Well, we stopped right on the very end of the runway and immediately started to taxi back to the taxiway we just passed while we were sliding backwards.

You can imagine how scared our navigator, James W. Collier, and the bombardier, Lowell E. Clifton, were. Sitting in the nose of the airplane, as it approached the end of the runway and began to spin. This maneuver is one that I'm sure had never been done previously nor will it ever be done again. It isn't something anyone would want to practice. I can only say that on that landing, Ken Goodwin and I were both co-pilots. God was flying the airplane on that landing, which is why I call it the most unforgettable landing in a B-17.

And, you know, we never heard from anybody. Nobody ever came to ask what had caused us to land backward. All the medals we got were for far lesser accomplishments. That's why I say, it was God who made that most unbelievable landing in a B-17.

lancaster stuff

first this....newscaster edward r murrow goes on a bombing raid in a 'caster...and gives an account. 20 mins long actual broadcast.

http://www.otr.com/orch_hell.shtml

Here's a strange story about what happened to a Lancaster...

When something went wrong on take-off it could mean disaster for an aircraft laden with high-explosive and incendiary bombs.
In April 1944, P/O Jimmy Griffiths and his crew arrived at Elsham Wolds to join 576 Squadron as 'new boys'. To their dismay, they were allocated the oldest Lancaster on the station.

One week and three operations later, their Flight Commander, whose posting to PFF had just come through, yielded to their protests and let them have his new Lanc BIII, LM527 UL-U2. It was a decision which very nearly cost the crew their lives.

Following the abortive take-off described below, the young Scots skipper and his crew reverted to their original BIII, ED888 UL-M2, in which they went on to complete their tour. Indeed this veteran Lanc was later to become Bomber Command's top-scoring 'heavy', with 140 operational sorties to its credit.




Briefing was over, final checks had been made on the aircraft and the crews were relaxing in the few minutes left before take-off time, on a lovely spring evening, April 30, 1944 - target Maintenon.

I was thrilled at the prospect of flying one of the latest Lancasters, so much superior to old M2, the veteran aircraft I had flown on my first three operations. The runway in use was the shortest one on the 'drome and necessitated revving up aginst the brakes, almost to full power, before take-off, similar to the method employed on aircraft carriers.

Time to go - always a tense moment - and we are soon lined up on the runway making the last quick cockpit check. "Rich mixture", "Propellers in fine pitch", "Flaps up", "Fuel gauges OK". Ready to go! Throttles are opened slowly against the brakes until the aircraft throbs with power, straining and vibrating until the brakes can barely hold her. brakes are released and we leap forward. Keep straight by use of throttles and rudder and ease the control column forward to bring the tail up. "Full power!" the engineer takes over the throttles and opens them fully, locking them in that position. The tail is now off the ground, giving full control on the rudders for keeping straight, and the airspeed indicator is creeping slowly up towards the take-off speed.

Something's wrong! We are nearing the end of the runway and haven't yet reached take-off speed. We should be airborne by now! A glance at the instruments shows that, whilst all four engines are running smoothly, they are not giving maximum power. Too late to stop - the fence at the end of the runway is right under our nose - speed is dangerously low.

I yank back on the stick and the aircraft labours painfully off the ground. We are on the point of stalling and I have to level out, praying that I'll miss the small hill beyond the fence. I have just time to shout "Wheels up!" when - Crash!!!

The aircraft shudders violently; the nose kicks up at a dangerous angle and I instinctively push the stick forward to avoid stalling. I ease the stick back quickly, flying a matter of inches above the ground which, providentially, is sloping downards. I nurse the aircraft along, still hugging the grass. The speed slowly increases beyond the danger mark and very gradually the altimeter needle creeps away from ZERO in answer to a slight backwards pressure on the stick.

I start to breathe again, brushing the perspiration from my brow and feel a cold chill up my spine as I think of the load of high explosive bombs beneath my feet hanging on their inadequate-looking hooks. "A fine start to an operation," I was thinking; but more was to follow.

We were climbing very slowly and I realised from the sluggishness of the controls that all was not well. Charlie Bint, the bomb aimer, climbed down into his compartment in the nose and was able to inform me that the starboard wheel had not fully retracted! It must have taken the full force of impact into the hill. No amount of pumping would budge it either up or down, and I knew we would not be able to continue the mission as it was taking too much power and consequently too much fuel to overcome the drag of the damaged wheel.

I flew east, still climbing very slowly, meaning to jettison the bombload in the North Sea and return to make an emergency landing.

One hour after take-off we had reached 9000 feet and were circling a few miles east of Grimsby, the North Sea looking cold and deserted underneath. I depressed the lever which should have opened the bomb doors but no red warining light appeared! This was serious. I dived steeply and pulled out quickly in the hope of shaking the doors open, but to no avail. The flight engineer reported that the tank for the hydraulic fluid was completely dry. It was obvious that in our attempts to retract the damaged wheel we had pumped all the fluid into the atmospshere through a broken pipeline.

There was no alternative but to return to base for instructions. It was safe to break radio silence now that the rest of the squadron had been on their way for almost two hours. The WAAF radio telephonist lost no time at all in passing my message to the Flying Control Officer and very soon I was talking to the Station Engineering Officer and finally to the 'old man' himself.

We were ordered to make further experiments, but when we had tried everything it was finally apparent that we were saddled with a bomber fully laden with bombs which couldn't be released and a damaged undercarriage which would make landing a hazardous affair not to be contemplated when our bombload was enough to blow an aerodrome to pieces!

"Stand by," I was ordered and we circled round, wondering how long it would take them to reach a decision. Tommy Atherton, the navigator, brought me a cup of coffee out of his Thermos flask and we had a quiet crew conference. "What do you think they'll decide, Skip?" - this from Taffy, one of the gunners.

I spoke the thought that had been in my mind since the bomb doors had refused to budge. "How would you like to join the Caterpilliar Club?" (This is a Club consisting of airmen who have baled out to save their lives.) There was a bit of joking, but it sounded rather forced and I called up the 'drome to ask them to speed up their decision.

"Reduce height to 5000 feet and stand by!" I knew then that I had correctly assumed what the order would be - we were coming down to a level where a parachute wouldn't drift too far from the 'drome!

I reported again at 5000 feet and the next instruction produced a stir of activity. "Fly upwind and order crew to bale out one at a time. Remain at controls and stand by." The crew needed no second bidding. Through they filed - two gunners, wireless operator, navigator, and engineer, filling the confined space of the cockpit, their parachutes fixed firmly across their chests. Charlie was already in his compartment in the nose, opening the escape hatch in the floor. As they stepped quietly out of my sight to take their turn at jumping, each one shook my hand vigorously as he passed.

In a very short time I was left alone, and very much alone I felt. The roar of the engines seemed to grow louder, the controls seemed heavier and the aircraft seemed suddenly to be larger, more powerful, more sinister. "All out," I advised control.

"Circle and stand by," I was ordered. Then folled the loneliest few minutes of my life and I was glad to hear 'the voice' again. "Fly across the 'drome on an exact course of 080 degrees. Engage automatic pilot ('George'). When exact height and course being maintained - bale out!"

I welcomed the opportunity of having something to occupy my attention and spent quite a long time adjusting the controls until the aircraft was flying 'hands off' at exactly 5000 feet on an exact course of 080 degrees. I engaged the automatic pilot, made a few final adjustments and then, as the 'drome appeared ahead, I hurried down into the bomb aimers compartment where the escape hatch lay open, almost invitingly.

I was glad that I had taken the precaution of having my parachute hooked on before the crew had gone and, with a final quick check, I crouched beside the hatch, my hand already clutching the steel handle of the rip-cord. I sat on the edge of the hole and let my legs dangle. The rush of air immediately forced them against the underside of the aircraft and I allowed myself to roll out into space, head first.

I did four complete somersaults, seeing the four exhaust pipes of the aircraft glowing each time I turned over. I was counting one, two, three, four at each somersault and suddenly thought I must be near the ground. I pulled the ripcord handle and it came away so easily that I remember gazing at my hand, which was still holding the handle, and thinking, "It hasn't worked!" Before I could feel any panic there was a rush of silk past my face, followed by a not too violent jerk and I found myself dangling comfortably under the silken canopy.

I felt a surge of absoulte exhilaration and was grinning like a fool. I wish I could describe the feeling of power, of remoteness, of unreality, of sheer exuberance I felt. No wonder our paratroops are such grand fighters!

There was no rush of air to indicate downward speed and it came quite a shock, on looking down, to see a field rushing up to meet me out of the darkness and a few scattered houses taking shape around it. I had hardly time to brace myself when I hit the ground, heels first, travelling backward. I sat down with a bump, rolled over in a backwards somersault and pressed the release catch to prevent being hauled along the ground. There was no need: the parachute flopped lazily over me and I lay still for a few moments, not beliving this was reality.

I bundled the parachute under my arm and trudged across the field in unwieldy flying boots towards a large house about fifty yards distant. Fortunately there was a telephone in the house and the old couple, whom I eventually wakened, plied me with questions and cups of tea until the car arrived from the 'drome.

All the crew had reported safe landings and some had already been picked up by the time I returned. There were many theories put forward regarding the part failure of the engines and it was finally decided that they must have been running on 'hot' air, a device used under icing conditions, which reduced the amount of power to each engine.

All this time the aircraft was flying steadily onwards towards enemy territory and we learned later that the Observer Corps had plotted its journey more than half-way across the North Sea, maintaining the height and course I had set.

The Duty Naviagtor who had given me the course computed that the fuel supply would last until the aircraft was somewhere in the Hamburg area. We can only guess the outcome.

Before abandoning the aircraft I had switched on every available light, and I often wonder what the Luftwaffe and the German AA gunners must have thought when they saw a large bomber approaching from the direction of England, lit up like a Christmas tree, flying steadily on a fixed course and blithely ignoring flak, searchlights and fighter attacks.

I like to think that 'George', guided by his saintly namesake, would point the aircraft in its final dive towards some important military objective, the destruction of which may have contributed in some way to the dramatic collapse of the Reich war machine which was soon to follow.

some 262 stories....and part of the story is from 3 different perspectives.

first is an interview with Edward Haydon who was there when LW ace Nowotny ( 258 victories ) went down.

AH: Describe the events of November 8, 1944.

Haydon: Well, we had just finished a bad skirmish with a lot of German fighters, up in the middle part of Germany, and it was time to go home. I was at around 30,000 feet with the rest of the flight, watching for enemy fighters, which came up regularly. Since they were concentrating on the bombers, we were not expecting any trouble, and I was just daydreaming, thinking about what a bad day it had been. I was just glancing over the side when I saw this 262 jet below me at about 10,000 feet. Since there were not a lot of German planes around, I broke the loose formation after calling him out. I dropped the nose and slipped a bit, and I watched the jet as I descended, never taking my eyes off of him. My aircraft was faster than that of my leader, Captain Merle Allen, so I closed faster. I made almost no adjustments to get squarely on his tail, and he took no evasive action whatsoever, but stayed on that vector. I noticed that the 262 was not going as fast as it should have been, that there was a problem. I should not have been able to close on him so quickly. Well, the jet dropped to the deck on that same heading and leveled off, making no corrections, with me closing in with an altitude advantage. I was almost ready to fire, waiting to close in and shoot this sitting duck. Suddenly, off my right wing at great altitude I saw two Mustangs from the 20th Fighter Group that had arrived late but were diving, converting their altitude into speed. They were way out of range when the lead P-51 fired – I saw the tracers fall short as much as 60 percent to the target – and there was no way he could have hit it. That pilot was Captain Ernest Fiebelkorn, as I later discovered.

AH: What happened then?

Haydon: Well, the Germans were alerted, and I knew what was coming. So I called to the flight to break hard right and away to avoid the flak while I went hard left to the deck, which was safe to some degree because the larger guns could not depress elevation to hit you. They could only shoot below the horizon with small arms, but I slipped in anyways. Suddenly I flew into everything they had.

AH: Where was Nowotny?

Haydon: The jet pilot was good. He knew what he was doing. In case he had anyone on his tail, he would lure them into the flak zone, so he could drop to the flak-free zone and land. No one would have voluntarily flown through that to get down to the jet. But see, I was already below this height at his level and made the turn. I still had plenty of speed, and I thought for sure I would never see the jet again. I turned no more than 20 to 50 degrees, because I was receiving no fire, and rolled level. I was just trying to scoot across the field and either find a place to hide or rejoin the group. Well, directly in front of me appeared this 262 again, slowing down as if on a downwind leg, 180 degrees from his previous position, and he did not see me. I chopped the throttle, cutting power, sliding back to the right a bit. Remember that when you cut power on a propeller-driven plane, you lose speed quickly. I ended up in the perfect position, and let her drift right onto him, just like shooting a student out of the traffic pattern.

AH: What was your distance from Nowotny at that time?

Haydon: Below 200 yards and closing quickly, since he was slowing down. I was going faster, but I did not observe my airspeed, probably 300 knots or less and falling.

AH: What was your altitude?

Haydon: About 100 feet or so – I was right on him.

AH: Did you think he might have set her down in time?

Haydon: Well, he may have lost the other engine I don’t know, but it was at this time he saw me. I was so close I could see right into the cockpit; I could see his face clearly.

AH: Describe what you saw.

Haydon: Well, the moment he saw me had a startled look on his face. It was totally animated, as if he thought, “I have really screwed up.” He thrashed around in the cockpit, as the jet appeared to stall. Then he suddenly snapped right in, falling no more than a half rotation to the left, and I was so enchanted with what was happening I never fired a shot, which would have given me the kill by myself. I thought about that a lot later, knowing that if I had fire, the gun camera would have recorded it, but Merle was watching from higher altitude. The jet snap-rolled right in, with me following close behind, and I pulled up as he crashed into the ground. I thought that I had sufficiently stated [in my report] that I had run him into the ground without firing a shot, but I ended up sharing the kill with Fiebelkorn, who had earlier pulled up and away. He saw the jet crash and got credit for a half kill.

AH: So he claimed the kill?

Haydon: I don’t think he claimed it, but others saw the action and reported it. He was not even in the neighborhood. I am perfectly convinced that had I not arrived on the scene, Nowotny would have landed the jet. Even if he lost hydraulics, he could have landed on the nacelles, and the plane would have probably flown again the next day. Once in the late 1940s somebody handed me a Stars and Stripes or Air Force Times where someone had written that I had shot down the sixth 262 in the war, which I don’t think is correct. That was the first time it ever came up.

AH: How did you happen to become a prisoner of war?

Haydon: It was January 1945. On January 14 I shot up a couple of planes on the ground. On January 20 we ran into some 262s near Munich, and we got busted up pretty good trying to catch them. My flight included, I think, Dale Karger, who was in a Luftbery [circling formation] with a 262. The jet had higher speed, but the Mustang had a tighter turning radius. Each plane was trying to gain on the other without success. Well, I winged over and entered the chase, but from the opposite direction head on. I passed within inches of the 262, canopy to canopy, and this happened twice. I thought that it was crazy, but that I might hit him, bringing him down by guns or ramming him, and I might be able to bail out afterward. It was a stupid thought, and I woke up smartly after the second pass, but there was nothing I could do. I saw another 262 probably heading for home and decided he was going to get away. I firewalled the throttle and dropped altitude, and there was no flak at all. I closed with him, using altitude for speed, and opened fire. I was getting good strikes as he went in for a landing, with me screaming down on him at about 500 knots. He was touching down, and I had to pull up or crash.

AH: Did you ever get the probable or kill?

Haydon: No, I never got the chance, and the best I could have claimed was a damaged or probably anyway. As I pulled up from the airfield, something shook my aircraft – like something had punched it. Instantly I had fire in the cockpit, and smoke was pouring in, so I pulled straight up, using the high airspeed to gain altitude, and rolled the bird over and went out over the right side. Now I had another problem. My shoulder straps had become entangled around my waist somehow, pinning me to the plane, which was still trimmed for 450 to 500 mph. It nosed over and headed right for the ground, and here I was stuck to the side, but I was still not feeling panic.

AH: What was going through your mind?

Haydon: I was discussing this mentally, and I figured that due to the slipstream and pressure there was no way I was going to get loose, unless I broke loose from the stress. In fact, I decided at that time to go ahead and accept death. It was the most serene, inviting and calm decision or feeling I have ever had in my life. I felt that the war was over, and there was absolutely peace and there would be no more problems. All this time the plane was winding up, gathering speed and headed for the ground. Suddenly, I was able to sit up sufficiently against the force of the wind, and I broke free. I smacked the tail of the airplane with my back, a glancing blow as I few by, which put me in a spin. Without thinking, I pulled the ripcord on the parachute. I was then thinking that I would have a nice gentle trip down when I looked around and saw snow, sky, snow, sky and so on. I realized I had not pulled the cord out far enough, and that I was tumbling. The parachute was still in the container. I found the wire, and I can tell you that I pulled that sucker out by the root. I had no slowed down from the great speed imparted to me by the aircraft. The opening was violent, which stopped my tumble. However, I was thrown into a swing, which placed my body parallel to the ground, and I saw a telephone phone with two wires under me, then smacked face first right into the snow. I was stunned and not sure if I could move, but in minutes some Germans were there, and they were very excited.

AH: You had given them quite an airshow.

Haydon: Yes, I think they were amazed I was alive. They helped me up and wanted to know where my pistol was. The shoulder holster was empty, as was the sheath for my boot knife. I'’ sure they were ripped away during the adventure. Anyway, I was taken into the commander’s office by two German officers. They treated me as a gentleman warrior who was not a combatant but their prison. They did not interrogate me; they were just concerned how I felt. They gave me medical treatment, since I had burns on my face, eyes, hands and so forth. After this was all over they handed me over to a very young escort, an SS trooper. It was his job to get me to the main interrogation camp, which I think was Oberwesel. We went to the Bahnhof to begin this trip of several days. We finally pulled into Stuttgart, which had just only hours before been heavily bomber. The civilians were angry, as well as the troops from the front who were there. They had me backed up against the wall, and being a good old Southern boy, I saw a lynching coming. There was no way out, either. I figured that if this was it, I would stand my ground. Well, that 14- or 15- year old SS soldier lifted his Schmeisser, slammed a magazine into it and fired over the heads of the crowd. This dispersed the crowd, which consisted of not only soldiers but also old men, women and children. Here I was, an American airman, the reason for their misery. Well that SS trooper saved my life. He ad orders to follow, and despite his personal feelings he carried out those orders – that was discipline. He finally delivered me to Stalag Luft 13B, near Nuremberg. The city was wiped off the map by our bombings by the Eighth Air Force from England and Fifteenth Air Force from Italy, with the British bombing by night. It was hit pretty regularly.

AH: You had a pretty eventful journey as a POW.

Haydon: Yes, and it was not over yet. I was later placed in a camp farther to the east, which we then had to evacuate because the Russians were coming. We crossed the Danube at a bridge that Waffen SS troops were rigging for detonation with what looked to be 500-pound bombs and mines. We had to walk across, but before that we milled around while they decided our fate. The Volkssturm leader in charge of us convinced the SS men to let us cross. This was a nervous time for me. Now let me tell you, these SS soldiers were tough, hardened veterans. They were different from the rest. They had a mission to destroy that bridge and it must have been important, as there were many senior officers present. Then the situation got serious. Our guards began throwing their weapons over into the river, with us and them standing on top of tons of explosives, while the SS troops were watching. I knew we were done for. The SS would have been justified in dropping the plunger on us, and I don’t know why they didn’t. Well, after a couple of more days we were abandoned by our guards and left to ourselves. Later we saw General George S. Patton riding by on his tank at the head of a column, and he liberated us. That was on April 20, 1945.

AH: I understand there were some problems associated with your coming back from the dead, so to speak. Tell us about that.

Haydon: Well, when I was shot down, the other members of the flight saw my plane crash but did not see a parachute. The Germans returned my dog tags via the Red Cross, and I was labeled “missing in action” until the tags were received. Then the War Department classified me as “killed in action.” The word was that I had died of my wounds. I was awarded a posthumous Purple Heart, and they informed my wife that I was dead. They stopped all allotments and pay, and were going to pay her my serviceman’s life insurance. However, she knew that I was alive, since she received a letter from me – actually just a card from the POW camp. We still have that card today. She took it to the base and told them she was sure I was alive, because in it I talked about other people in the camp who were known to be POWs as well. They decided that I was still alive, although the governor was not informed, and he issued a death certificate in my honor.

AH: Why did you decide to stay in the military?

Haydon: Well, I had the chance to acquire a large ranch from a friend of mine in Montana, but I decided to stay in and get a regular commission. I went to military schools for tactics and strategy, then to the War College, and afterward I was given command of a Convair F-102 squadron at Goose Bay, Labrador. I retired about 30 years of service.

AH: Who were some of the notable personalities you knew?

Haydon: Well, Robin Olds and I are good friends, and I was also friends with the late Lt. Gen. John C. Meyer, who was my boss for a while – two guys with totally opposite personalities.

AH: Did you ever pursue any data on the pilots of the planes you fought against during the war?

Haydon: No I never did, like the 262 I was shooting up when I was shot down on January 20, 1945.

AH: That was Major Theodor Weissenberger, commander of Jagdgeschwader 7.

Haydon: I would like to know the names of the flak battery commander that nailed me and the officer who interrogated me.

Jan 20's mission....
On January 20th 1945, I was Red Flight leader and my wingman was Ernest Tiede. Lt Ed Haydon was my Element lead and his wingman was Lt Roland Wright,Lt Dale Karger was leading White Flight. I have forgotten what the original mission was, but about the time that we were to return home, we engaged 2 Me-262's near Brunswick(Germany). It appeared that one 262 pilot was checking the other one out in the jet.
They did not run away, but seemed to want to engage in a fight. We were at about 20,000 feet and the 262's split......one went down to about 18,000 feet and the other stayed at 22,000 feet. Both flew in a large lazy circle, one opposite the other with me and the flight in the middle.It looked to me that the upper jet was waiting for me to attack the lower one, I called Lt Karger to turn back as if he were going home and climb back to attack the high jet while we circled. Lt Karger and his flight did just that and the upper 262 never saw them return, they shot him down with out any trouble and then Lt Kargers flight headed for home.When the upper 262 was eliminated, the remaining jet headed down for home in a hurry. I rolled over, split S'ed and went to full power.In no time, I hit compressibility with loss of all control at speeds in excess of 650 mph. After finally getting control I pulled out in a wide sweeping arc and pulled up behind the jet for a perfect shot at 6 o'clock. Unfortunatly, I was out of trim and my tracers went right over the top of his canopy. He hit the throttle and left me in a cloud of kerosene exhaust as if I were standing still. My flight had caught up with me so we headed for Lechfeld airbase, this we thought would be were he was heading and maybe we would catch him on landing. We flew over Lechfeld at about 6,000 Ft, there were about 100 262's nose to tail parked on the inactive side of the field, this meant they were out of fuel, no pilots or both. We were not sure which way the jet would approach the runway, so Lt Tiede and myself cruised toward the South end.Lt Haydon and Lt Wright spotted him coming in from the North, so Lt Haydon went for the jet, but he was to high and made an easy target for the flak gunners. He was hit and on the R/T said he was on fire, he pulled up to 400 Ft and bailed out and landed on the airfield, he became a P.O.W. Lt Roland Wright, following Haydon, was at very low level and the flak missed him but he did not miss the 262, he shot it down on its approach to the field.

Bob Wink's 262

The very next day saw Winks achieve acedom in rare fashion. “We were on a sweep over southern Germany, in the Munich area,” he recalled. “The 364th Squadron was over to take pictures of a 262 airfield. Pete Peterson had a camera in his P-51 and we were flying escort. The Eighth Air Force had orders not to strafe those airfields—it had incurred too many losses. I was flying along when I saw a plane doing slow rolls on the deck, over patches of snow—it was an Me-262. I was following what he was doing and called him in to Peterson, who responded with an order to ‘Go down and get him.’ At that point the bogey was going back toward the airfield. I dropped my two tanks, cut my engine and went into a straight dive with 5 degrees of flaps. I was at about a 60-degree angle when I came at the jet and fired 240 rounds of .50-caliber into his cockpit and wing root. The German flipped over, caught on fire and banged in. Pete confirmed it.”

The identity of Winks’ quarry has only recently come to light. Although Schöngau was put under alert because of the Mustangs’ presence in its vicinity, Fähnrich (cadet trainee) Rudolf Rhode, either took off or was already airborne when Winks caught him. “We observed Me-262s taxiing toward protective abutments all over that airfield,” Winks recalled. “Whoever was piloting the Me-262 that I shot down must have had a military rank high enough to have been able to countermand the ‘alert.’ Or so I have always thought.” Killed at age 19, Rhode was buried in Schwabstadl, near Lechfeld. In regard to the trainee status of his last victim, Winks remarked: “I denied the Luftwaffe an Me-262 aircraft, and a pilot from attacking our bombers. That is what I was hired and trained to do. Speaking, perhaps, for both sides of the conflict...what a terrible waste of men, and the world’s wealth.”

No sooner had Winks shot down the jet then the anti-aircraft guns defending Schöngau airbase cut loose, literally with a vengeance. “Boy,” Winks said, “did they have flak coming at me! I went straight into the heavens and suddenly I realized that my engine had lost power, it was only wind milling. When I dropped my auxiliary fuel tanks, I had failed to turn the fuel selector switch on to the internal fuel tanks. I corrected the switch, and the speed gained in my dive on the Me-262 plus the speed of the wing milling prop sucked out any airlock in my fuel lines, and the engine roared back into full power and got me out of there, f-a-s-t!”

a few random words from LW pilot Hans Busch...

Hans stated that he was definitely not a fighter pilot, but rather a bomber pilot in the Me-262. Hitler's ridiculous utilization of many of these advanced aircraft as "bombers" proved futile, as this aircraft had no bomb sight at all and carried only a tiny ordnance load. Bombing with a 262 was totally a blind, hit or miss proposition, no technology involved.

Hans related an amusing story regarding routine fueling operations in the Me-262. An obvious late-war shortage of men to perform ground operation duties resulted in a number of German women assisting in these activities. One activity was the refueling of the advanced Me-262 jets. One day, Hans was having his Me-262 refueled (as he sat in the cockpit) by a particularly attractive, blonde, buxom, young Luftwaffe airwoman. The airwoman, per prescribed procedure, began the fueling of the aircraft with the forward fuselage tank and, at the same time, Hans and young airwoman making eyes at each other. When the forward fuselage tank was full, aforementioned blonde, buxom airwoman proceded to transfer the fueling hose nozzle to the rear fuselage tank, and due to not shutting off the fuel flow, soaked the following items in noxious German WWII jet fuel in this order: front fuselage, windscreen, Hans, rear cockpit, canopy and rear fuselage, all in one, smooth, fluid motion. Not one change in the airwoman's cheerful expression was noted by Hans during this wayward procedure.

Apparently, according to Hans, this German jet fuel was terribly noxious. You simply threw away any clothes that came in contact with it. Interestingly, Hans stated that there was NEVER a shortage of jet fuel, just a shortage of aircraft and pilots. Whatever hydrocarbon fuel cracking process being used by the Germans in late war (whether synthetic, coal-derived fuels or conventional), the process or processes yielded an abundant quantity of jet-suitable fuel.

Hans once experienced a right engine failure upon take-off. He was still on the runway, but had already past the "point of no return." He was veering to the right towards a building and had to make the decision whether to go through the building or over it. Hans chose to go over it, although he didn't have enough speed to maintain flight. He yanked the jet over the building, just clearing it, but the aircraft stalled, dropping the left wing. The jet impacted the ground really hard in a horrendous crash and cartwheeled through many revolutions. Parts of the aircraft were strewn over hundreds of yards. Basically, just the little cockpit section remained in one piece. Damage to Hans? Just a knocked-up kneecap; he was back on flight status in just a few weeks. The "meat wagon" arrived at the crash site, fully expecting to pick up the pieces of Hans. No such luck, Hans even insisted on sitting in the front seat of the meat wagon for the ride back. He attributes his survival to the fact that the Me-262 had a very strong cockpit section that was designed to be suitable for pressurization at a future date.

As with most all WWII tricycle landing gear aircraft, the nose wheel on the Me-262 was not at all steerable, but rather was just castoring. This proved problematical in some instances (U.S. P-38s, P-39s and P-63s shared in this problem). If the nose wheel on the Me-262 got cocked too much during ground maneuvering, the nose wheel had to be straightend out first or damage could occur from further taxiing.

This apparently occurred frequently in the Me-262. Hans related that he occasionally encountered this problem and had to climb out of the cockpit, engines running, and manually pull and pry the nose wheel back into alignment himself before proceeding!

and finally Hans Mutke story of white 3

"In the afternoon of April 24th I walked to the Me 262 that stood about 3km away from the airfield. In a barrack I met a few displaced persons hanging around, hands in their pockets and looking at me curiously. I called the 3 soldiers, but all the efforts to start the Me262 were in vain. So we decided to try it again next morning. In the morning of April 25th we succeeded in starting the Me. It was a high risk, because I didn't know, where the plane had come from and how long it had been standing there. We found out, that the fuel tanks were almost empty. We towed the Me262 to the gas station. In order to reduce the time of filling the fuel tanks, the pumps attendant put 2 fuel hoses into the plane, one in each of the 2 fuel tanks. I was sitting on the plane observing the sky. Suddenly 25-30 American Marauders approached the airfield."

"I shouted to the pump attendant and he pulled out the 2 hoses. I started the engines and tried to take off. For a fraction of seconds I could avoid running into a few bomb funnels before my Me262 took off finally. I accelerated to 500-600-700-800 km/h. When the enemy bombers saw, that I was in the air, they turned away into the clouds heading southwest for the Bodensee-Lake. In the meantime I found that the 262 was loaded with ammunition and I tried to follow the Marauders. So I flew over the clouds, but I couldn't find them. Finally I had time to study the Me 262. I found out I had not enough fuel to reach Bad Aibling. What should I do? I was over French occupied territory north of the Bodensee. I didn't want to become a prisoner of the French. Parachuting was a high risk at all. To ground the Me 262 was almost impossible because of the low hanging engines that would surely hit the ground and make the plane overturn. So I decided to go down on the Bodensee-Lake. "

" When I reached the Bodensee I thought I could try to land somewhere in Switzerland. But I didn't know Switzerland or towns there, nor had I a map. Switzerland was for me "terraincognita". When I reached the south coast of the Bodensee - the border to Switzerland- the fuel needle showed "0". In a distance of about 70km I saw a big town. That was Zürich, but at that time I didn't know it. I thought there should be an airfield at an big town. Otherwise I had to drop my Me into the Lake. I feared, the engines could fail each moment. There was another problem. I was over neutral territory, flying at a speed of 800-900km/h. My 262 could be mistaken for a V1 or V2 and be shot at by anti-aircraft guns. Ahead I saw the airfield of Dubendorf. At that time the landing strip was 800-900m long. This was too short. If I stopped the engines at the moment I was to touch down I had chance. Later the commander of the airfield told me, they thought a lost V1 or V2 was just coming. I feared Swiss antiaircraft guns would try to shoot me down. I climbed to 3000m and far away from the airfield I went down to 20m and flew over the airfield at full speed, so that the Swiss couldn't fire at me. I headed eastward, climbed vertically and made a turn of 180°. To make the Swiss realize there was an aircraft in the air, I lowered the undercarriage. When I slowed down to 260km/h 4 Swiss Morane fighters followed me and directed me to the landing strip. But I couldn't land the way they wanted me to do. I thought, they would open fire when I didn't do what they signaled me. In order to have a long runway I landed diagonally on the field. Like a madman I stepped on the brakes. About 30m in front of the American bomber-planes, that stood in the corner of the airfield, my Me 262 came to a stop."

(Author's note: Those were interned American bomber planes having made emergency landings in Switzerland.)

"A few cars came up to me among them a truck with a machine gun and 2 soldiers who elang to the gun because the ground was uneven. They signaled me to follow them and directed me to the tower where about 60-80 soldiers were waiting. One of the soldiers shouted a command where upon the others made a circle around the 262. I didn't know, what to do. I looked at pointed guns and waited, what would happen. I thought I would never again see my Me262. So I took my personal belongings and cleared the cockpit a little bit. In the meantime more and more people were coming up to see, what was going on. I stayed on the cockpit and waited for somebody to ask me to get out of my 262. But nobody did come. So I was waiting at lease for 5 minutes before I opened the cockpit and jumped to the ground. Now a captain came up to me, saluted and said to me "Come on, Mr. Courache." A big black car took us away, all the others followed."

Cadet Mutke was brought to the officers mess, they tried to make him drunken, to tell them his "secrets". Next day first lieutenant Locher continued the interrogation. It's understandable that Mutke gave a few false information's. Mutke was interned in the hotel "Frütsch" in Luzern after the procedure and the reason of his landing in Switzerland were cleared up. There were about 15-20 men interned at the same place. Later on for a short time he was brought to the hotel "Schweitzerhof", where he was to give advices to Swiss airforce personal to various matters. So he had to instruct the chief of the technical department Col. Högger how to fly the Me 262. Mutke urged Col. Högger not to fly the Me 262, because the runway was too short for a safe touch down. Col. Högger replied, he had flown all the confiscated aircrafts without a manual. The only long enough and firmed up runway for a Me 262 in Switzerland was in Bern. Therefore Col. Högger intended to bring the Me to Bern to test it there. The Swiss Parliament however didn't allow it, because Genf was near the French border and the Swiss authorities didn't want to risk a border violation with German aircraft. In Oct. 45 Mutke was transferred to Weesur at the lake Walensee. >From now on he was treated as an interned civilian. In Zürich and Bern the continued studying medicine for 2 1/2 years, which he began in Germany before his military service. In the following years he lived in Argentina and Bolivia, where he was employed by the Bolivian airlines and piloted D-3 Dakota planes. Later on Mutke returned to Germany. Now he lives in Germany and works as a gynecologist in Munich. He has a rank as a senior medical officer of the German Bundeswehr. The Me 262 was for the Swiss a desirable testing object. They found out, that in the fuel tanks were only 80 l fuel, enough for 3 minutes. After the Me had undergone various tests they placed it in a hangar. In 1957 the Me 262 was handed over to the Deutsches Museum in Munich, as a Contribution to the reconstruction of the aviation exhibition, that was destroyed during the war. For many years the Me 262 was shown with wrong colors. Not before 1984 the Me262 got the original colors of 1945, when the aviation exhibition was extended and located in a new hall.

Mosquito/bristol baufighter sorties

http://www.scotshistoryonline.co.uk/sorties.html

Mosquito jet encounters

An Me262 Attack
Lts. Richard M. Kenny/Arnold V. Kuehn (NS712) left 13 January for a Bluestocking weather reconnaissance flight over Germany.

Kenny: At 1516 while south of Berlin at 30,000 feet, I turned west and then decided to make a 360 degree orbit to obtain a better visual inspection of the Berlin area. As I made the turn, we spotted two Me262s approximately 4 to 5 miles behind and below the Mosquito. There was a low cloud layer extending westward from the Hanover area. I could not outrun the jet aircraft, so I prepared to make a dash for the clouds.

Just before starting my dive, I made another turn for a quick check of the rear, and to my surprise, there was an Me262 on my tail with his four nose guns flashing. The jet was quickly closing in at 500 mph, so I immediately applied full throttle and dove for the cloud layer. During the steepest part of the dive, we had a true ground speed well over 450 mph. The jet continued following close behind, repeatedly firing.

I rolled the Mosquito on its back, as if going into a `split-ess', and instead of heading straight down, I rolled over off my back, then jinking, turning from one side to the other, and then climbing. I avoided flying straight or making any turns to prevent him from obtaining a deflection shot. The jet did not fire any tracer rounds during his alternate passes, closing in from four to five hundred yards before firing. The jet kept firing below me and the cannon shells were exploding far in front of the Mosquito, as if they were time-fused rounds.

The '262 made repeated attacks from all quarters but I evaded his every move by weaving and performing extremely violent `corkscrew turns'. The attack began at 30,000 feet and wound down to 12,000 feet before the jet broke off his pursuit, either because of ammunition shortage or low fuel. The encountered lasted from 1516 to 1525 hours with the jet continually on my tail firing at me.

The Me262 then pulled along side on my right at a distance. The Luftwaffe pilot waved his hand, then turned around and headed for the Berlin area. The second '262 never made a pass and always remained off to the side, several hundred yards away.

The cloud tops near Hanover were at 12,000 feet and I continued the flight to England flying just above the clouds. Watton was closed due to inclement weather so I landed at Bradwell Bay at 1745. The RAF crews servicing the Mosquito claimed the wrong type of spark plugs were installed in the engines! That is one mission I will never forget.




A second account of multiple encounters with Me262s
Lt. Richard Geary flew the 21 January mission to the Politz Oil Refinery at Stettin, Poland with Lt. Floyd Mann as navigator.

They had been on standby for this particular mission waiting for the weather to clear. The operations room had an enormous map that covered 25 feet or better of one wall. The missions for the day, the next day or when weather permitted, were represented by colored yarn. A different color for each mission was stretched from Watton to the target area. The yarn for the Politz mission went all the way from one end of the map to the other. Geary recalls aircrew members asking, 'Who the hell is going to fly that mission?'

It was a cold winter morning when an orderly awakened Geary at 0400. The weather had cleared and the mission proceeded as scheduled. Geary went to the flight line and then to the parachute room to meet his navigator Floyd Mann.

Watton was covered with a thin layer of snow as they took off at 0920 in NS569. Prior arrangements were made to rendezvous at 0925 with four P-51s from 20th FG at 18,000 feet over Cromer. They would provide escort to Stettin and return.

The Mosquito met the fighter escort as planned; but now heavily loaded with l,000 gallons of fuel, flew at a severe speed disadvantage. Geary attempted to maintain economical cruising speed but outpaced the P-51s and was forced to throttle-back to continue flying formation with them. The Mustangs had long-range drop tanks and were also fully loaded. Once involved with enemy action, they would jettison their tanks, and therefore, were attempting to conserve and obtain maximum range from their fuel supply. This exacerbated the problem. It was a very-long flight to the Polish border, and on three occasions Geary throttled-back and did not receive the mileage planned.

The formation started out on a tough and difficult daylight mission. They flew across the North Sea, around the Frisian Islands, past Heligoland and over the neck of Denmark. While flying near Kiel at 1048 they encountered heavy flak as predicated, accurate for their altitude of 25,000 feet but not direction. A P-51 piloted by Lt. C.L. Huey developed engine trouble and returned to base.

After crossing Denmark, the four-plane formation flew over the Baltic Sea to avoid further flak areas. The sky was clear blue with unlimited visibility for miles around. Geary could see the long sinuous outline of the Swedish coast to the North. One Mustang flew 50 yards off on each wing, and the third lagged 100 yards behind and slightly higher. The P-51 pilots were Lts. Einhaus, Reynolds and King.

The formation flew along the German coast line to the Elbe River then turned southward towards Stettin and the Politz Oil Refinery. A large number of enemy aircraft, possibly seventy, were observed to their left several miles away flying parallel to the American formation.

Richard Geary recalls the events: A young `eager-beaver' P-51 pilot with a southern drawl broke radio silence and blurted, `Are we going to jump them?'

The flight leader replied, `No. Our obligation is to look after Big Boy'.

The young pilot responded, `If they jump us, we can sure give them hell.'

This display of bravado in such a dangerous situation was comforting. I wondered if the Germans on the ground heard the conversation. If so, did they marvel that someone was `cocky' enough to take on seventy airplanes?

At 1135 the alerted enemy defensive positions fired flak at us like you wouldn't believe. Their pattern included barrage flak, normally reserved for bomber formations, as well as predicted flak. In barrage flak, the antiaircraft guns fired at one time in a pattern. In predicated flak, antiaircraft guns aimed at and specifically followed a flight.

The intense flak was accurate at 27,000 feet. I was diving and corkscrewing at close to 400 mph and the flight leader was yelling over the radio that the predicted flak was right on my tail. Bursts trailed me by 150 feet or less. I dropped from 27,000 to 24,000 feet before getting some relief.
As we approached the refinery complex through all this flak, I instructed Lt. Mann to enter the nose and use the bombsight to take the necessary photographs. He discovered that a portable oxygen bottle required to enter the nose for photography had not been provided.

To make the best of our situation, I attempted to take photographs myself. I turned on the intervalometer which automatically started taking photos at timed intervals, then attempted to lineup the Mosquito with the refinery. I intermittently dipped the nose to note my position in relation to the target until it disappeared from my sight.

Unfortunately, the pictures stopped at the door to the refinery. We did obtain coverage of Ganserin-Janonitz, northeast of Politz and they served some value as targets of opportunity.
I started to climb back up to altitude leaving behind the heavy flak that followed us. At 1150 the young Mustang pilot with the drawl shouted, `Look at the SOB climb'.

I looked out to my left side and saw this object streaking up from the ground. There it was, an Me262 climbing like a `bat out of hell'. This was the first jet I had seen.

The fighters maneuvered in position to protect me. They wanted to position themselves with one Mustang below, one behind and one above me. I did not like this situation and attempted to fly below all three P-51s, using them as a shield.

The Me262 appeared head-on and began orbiting to get on my tail. I did not make a run for it, but remained with the fighters so they would have a chance at the jet. I looked back and all I could see was a small dot coming up fast. As I straightened my head again, the flight leader yelled, `Break 28,' my call sign.

I immediately placed the Mosquito in a steep bank and almost on its back. The flight leader yelled again with an urgency in his voice as if within any second I was to be blown out of the sky. The tone of his voice excited my navigator who also yelled, `Break, Dick, break'.

I was doing close to 400 mph in a left-breaking dive, a customary maneuver. What else was there to do? I had no chance to look back. In a flurry of desperation, I slammed on opposite rudder and aileron. The Mosquito cartwheeled 180 degrees across the sky in the opposite direction. I don't know what kind of maneuver this was, and it is a miracle the aircraft did not disintegrate. God must have been on my side. I didn't even have my lap belt on.

Dust flew up from the floor, emergency maps came off the wall and loose material floated in the cockpit. The Me262 hurtled directly over me, seemingly a few feet from the cockpit canopy. There was just one big flash of silver chrome as the uncamouflaged jet shot by. He had me in his sights but my unexpected action put us on a collision course. Instead of shooting at me, the jet pilot had to use all his talents to avoid a midair collision. That both the German pilot and myself lived through the encounter, I credit to his reflexes.

I lost visual contact with the jet and Mustangs at that moment but remained in radio contact with the escort pilots. I leveled off, pushed the throttles wide-open and headed for home. After experiencing the superior speed of the jet, I questioned if I would make it back. All manner of options went through my mind. And then I realized I would never make it home with the throttles wide open.

I was now east of Berlin, flying northwest at 27,000 feet when some strange looking objects appeared in the distance ahead. I could see four-black specks leaving intermittent contrails as they climbed swiftly toward me. After surviving the first attack, I dreaded being part of any further engagement. I called the fighters and they assured me they would be along quickly. I didn't know how far back they were.

The four objects streaked closer and closer, head on--four Me262 fighters. They swiftly flew past on my right at a distance of perhaps 50 yards. I didn't make a break for I was almost certain one of them would have tailed me. Assuming they would transfer attention to the fighters, I radioed the Mustangs to warn them. They acknowledged my call and that was the last I heard from my fighter escort.

Germany was covered with snow and enveloped by an immense blue dome of clear sky overhead. The atmosphere was crystal clear and immaculate, and ours the only contrail in the sky. Such weather was unbelievable! Fortunately, a towering range of clouds appeared as we approached Belgium. Two-single contrails we assumed to be fighters, approached us but we lost them in the clouds.

Now low on fuel, Mann provided a course for the shortest safe distance across the North Sea to England. Geary, now at 24,000 feet and turned towards the Schelde Estuary area of Belgium to reach Allied lines for safety. He radioed a `May Day' and received a vector to Calais. The fuel gauges read almost empty but he maintained altitude crossing the English Channel to Cromer. Throttling back even further, he banked for Watton and landed at 1410 with less than five minutes fuel remaining. The mission lasted five hours and fifty minutes. Both men expressed appreciation to be safely home.

According to the 77 Squadron, 20th FG debriefing report, the Me262 combat engagements ensued from 1140 to 1200. One of four Me262s attacked the formation over Politz, where the Mustangs chased the attacker and engaged the others in a dog fight. Meanwhile, the Mosquito now heading west on a withdrawal course encountered another four Me262s and radioed a warning to the Mustangs.

Lowell Einhous, the P-51 escort flight leader recalls the second encounter: While climbing for altitude we encountered the other four '262s flying our type of formation at our approximate altitude. We clashed with the jets in several 360 degree turns, firing at them on several occasions. Apparently the firing was without effect, and the jets broke off the engagement. While returning home north of Berlin, a single Me262 flew parallel to us while four others flew further south but none attacked.

We experienced trouble maintaining speed with the Mosquito because of our drop tanks. The distance covered required that we carry extra fuel. The Mosquito pilot says the mission was five hours and fifty minutes. The P-51 escort was airborne considerably longer than that. We were also short of fuel because of our engagement with the (eight) Me262s and because of trying to stay with the Mosquito. Though we encountered (thirteen) '262s, we did not shoot anything down that day. We tried but to no avail. Even so, someone from Watton called later and congratulated us for a job well done and for the safe return of the Mosquito crew.

Derived from Norman Malayney's copyright manuscript on the 25th BG history.
Courtesy Norman Malayney, March 2004.

The following passage is just one of many exciting extracts from the marvellous stories about 3 Squadron's people and their adventures contained in "YOU LIVE BUT ONCE", the classic autobiography of Wing Commander R.H. (Bobby) Gibbes, DSO, DFC and Bar.

This incident happened on 21 December 1942, 150 miles south of Cirte, while Bobby Gibbes was leading six Kittyhawks on a reconnaissance over Hun, an Italian aerodrome.



Sergeant "Stuka" Bee's aircraft was set on fire by the aerodrome defence gunfire and at the same time, Pilot Officer Rex Bayly called up to say that his motor had been hit and that he was carrying out a forced landing. As Sergeant Bee had a lot of speed from his dive and was flaming badly, I advised him to climb up and bail out instead of trying to belly land his aircraft at high speed. He mightn't have heard me, or perhaps was badly wounded or even dead, as his speed had not decreased when he hit the ground. His aircraft rolled up into a ball, an inferno of flames. He didn't have a chance.

I circled and watched the Italians, showing great courage, send out an ambulance in an attempt to save him, but the outcome was obvious. It was later confirmed that he had been killed.

In the meantime, Rex Bayly crash landed his aircraft nearly a mile from the aerodrome, and on coming to a stop, called up on his radio to say that he was O.K. His aircraft did not burn. I asked him what the area was like for a landing to pick him up, and ordered the other three aircraft to keep me covered and to stop any ground forces coming out after him. He told me that the area was impossible, and asked me to leave him, but I flew down to look for myself. I found a suitable area about 3 miles further out and advised Bayly that I was landing, and to get weaving out to me.

I was nervous about this landing, in case shrapnel might have damaged my tyres, as on my first run through the aerodrome, my initial burst set an aircraft on fire. I had then flown across the aerodrome and fired from low level and at close range at a Savoia 79. It must have been loaded with ammunition as it blew up, hurling debris 500 feet into the air. I was too close to it to do anything about avoiding the blast and flew straight through the centre of the explosion at nought feet. On passing through, my aircraft dropped its nose, despite pulling my stick back, and for a terrifying moment, I thought that my tail plane had been blown off. On clearing the concussion area, I regained control, missing the ground by a matter of only a few feet. Quite a number of small holes had been punched right through my wings from below, but my aircraft appeared to be quite serviceable.

I touched down rather carefully in order to check that my tyres had not been punctured, and then taxied by a devious route for about a mile or more until I was stopped from getting closer to Bayly by a deep wadi. Realizing that I would have a long wait, and being in a state of sheer funk, I proceeded to take off my belly tank to lighten the aircraft. The weight of the partially full tank created great difficulty, and I needed all my strength in pulling it from below the aircraft and dragging it clear. I was not sure that I would be able to find my way back to the area where I had landed, so I stepped out the maximum run into wind from my present position. In all, I had just 300 yards before the ground dipped away into a wadi. I tied my handkerchief onto a small camel's thorn bush to mark the point of aim, and the limit of my available take off-run, and then returned to my aircraft, CV-V, and waited.

My aircraft continued to circle overhead, carrying out an occasional dive towards the town in order to discourage any attempt to pick us up. After what seemed like an age, sitting within gun range of Hun, Bayly at last appeared, puffing, and sweating profusely. He still managed a smile and a greeting.

I tossed away my parachute and Bayly climbed into the cockpit. I climbed in after him and using him as my seat, I proceeded to start my motor. It was with great relief that we heard the engine fire, and opening my throttle beyond all normal limits, I stood on the brakes until I had obtained full power, and then released them, and, as we surged forward, I extended a little flap. My handkerchief rushed up at an alarming rate, and we had not reached flying speed as we passed over it and down the slope of the wadi. Hauling the stick back a small fraction, I managed to ease the aircraft into the air, but we hit the other side of the wadi with a terrific thud. We were flung back into the air, still not really flying, and to my horror, I saw my port wheel rolling back below the trailing edge of the wing, in the dust stream. The next ridge loomed up and it looked as if it was to be curtains for us, as I could never clear it. I deliberately dropped my starboard wing to take the bounce on my remaining wheel, and eased the stick back just enough to avoid flicking. To my great relief we cleared the ridge and were flying.

Retracting my undercart and the small amount of take off flap, we climbed up. I was shaking like a leaf and tried to talk to Bayly but noise would not permit. The remaining three aircraft formed up alongside me and we hared for home, praying the while that we would not be intercepted by enemy fighters, who should by now, have been alerted. Luck remained with us, and we didn't see any enemy aircraft.

On nearing Marble Arch, I asked Squadron Leader Watt to fly beneath my aircraft to confirm that I had really lost a wheel and had not imagined it. He confirmed that my wheel had gone, but that the starboard wheel and undercart appeared to be intact. I then had to make up my mind as to whether to carry out a belly landing, thus damaging my aircraft further, or to try to attempt a one wheel landing, which I thought I could do. We were at the time very short of aircraft and every machine counted.

The latter, of course, could be dangerous, so before making a final decision, I wrote a message on my map asking Bayly if he minded if I carried out a one wheel landing. He read my message and nodded his agreement.

Calling up our ground control, I asked them to have an ambulance standing by, and told them that I intended coming in cross wind with my port wing up wind. Control queried my decision but accepted it.

I made a landing on my starboard wheel, keeping my wing up with aileron and, as I lost speed, I turned the aircraft slowly to the left throwing the weight out. When I neared a complete wing stall, I kicked on hard port rudder and the aircraft turned further to port. Luck was with me and the aircraft remained balanced until it lost almost all speed. The port oleo leg suddenly touched the ground, and the machine completed a ground loop. The port flap was slightly damaged as was the wingtip. The propeller and the rest of the aircraft sustained no further damage. The port undercart was changed, the flap repaired, the holes patched up and the aircraft was flying again on the 27th of the month, only six days after Hun.

Every enemy aircraft on Hun was either destroyed or damaged. Six aircraft and one glider were burnt, and five other aircraft were badly damaged. The bag included two JU52s, two Savoia 795, one JU88, one Messerschmitt 110, one CR42, one HS126 and two gliders. I was later to be awarded the DSO and this operation was mentioned as having a bearing on the award.


From: Johnnie Johnson, "Wing Leader", 1956

In March 1943 Johnnie Johnson had taken over command of the Canadian Wing at Kenley (403 and 416 Squadrons) equipped with the then new Spitfire 9:

"Some three weeks passed and we had only flown together on two or three occasions. Once, well inside France, we saw a large gaggle of Focke-Wulfs in the far distance, but our petrol was running low and we had to return without firing a shot. My Canadians flew extremely well and their air discipline was excellent, better I thought than the average mixed squadron. But we wanted a full-blooded scrap with the Abbeville boys to weld the wing together. Our opportunity arrived on a Saturday afternoon in early April [1943].
We were having lunch when the Tannoy announced that the wing would come to readiness in one hour's time. I walked over to the ops. block to study the details so that I could brief the wing. It was only a small show, but far better than idling away the afternoon on the ground. Crow was to lead his squadron of Typhoons across the Channel at low level, dive-bomb the Abbeville airfield and then withdraw at a high rate of knots. Our job was to climb over France as the Typhoons came out and knock down any Messerschmitts or Focke-Wulfs flushed by the bombing. It was a simple little operation, just Crow's squadron and my wing. What really appealed to me was that we were operating in a free-lance role and were not confined to any particular area. The weather was perfect and we were to operate under the control of a new radar station in Kent which was rapidly acquiring a reputation for excellent long-distance controlling. It was a week-end, and there always seemed to be a stronger enemy reaction on Saturdays and Sundays than any other day.
I telephoned Squadron Leader Hunter, the senior controller of the new radar station, outlined my tactics and agreed that he would not break radio silence unless he had an enemy plot on his scopes.
Crossing the French coast just south of Le Touquet, I caught a glimpse of Crow's Typhoons well below and heading back towards England. Our superchargers cut in at 19,000 feet with
an unpleasant thump and die engines surged and we eased back our throttles. At 24,000 feet I levelled out and Bolton's squadron drew abreast of me in the finger-four formation. Ford's squadron were just beginning to make condensation trails and these could be seen from a great distance and would betray our position. But before I could call him he dropped his squadron a few hundred feet and the twelve conspicuous thin white banners ceased.
Hunter broke the silence:
"Greycap from Grass-seed.1 Twenty plus bandits climbing up inland. Steer 140."
"O.K., Grass-seed," I acknowledged. "Any height on the bandits?"
"Well below you, Greycap. They are approaching the coast and I'll try and bring you out of the sun. Continue on 140."
This was perfect teamwork between controller and wing leader. It was the first time we had worked with Hunter: he seemed to have something of Woodhall's ability to put his information across in a quiet, reassuring manner. The whole intricate mechanics of long-range radar interception seemed to be working perfectly. Suddenly I was brimming with confidence, for I knew that Hunter and I would pull this one off.
"Greycap. Bandits have crossed below you at 15,000 feet. Port on to 310. Buster."
"O.K., Grass-seed. Port on to 310," I replied.
"Greycap. Bandits now seven miles ahead. 5000 feet below. Gate."
I put the Spitfires into a shallow dive and scanned the area ahead. The sky seemed empty.
"Greycap. Another strong formation of bandits behind you. About five to eight miles. Exercise caution."
Here were the makings of a perfect shambles! We were almost on top of the first enemy formation with another gaggle not far behind. How far? Hunter had said between five and eight miles, but the radar was scanning at its maximum range and five miles could be one mile - or ten. Should I call the whole tiling off and set course for Dungeness now? The decision was mine. For a moment it seemed as if we were suspended and motionless in the high sky, with the Canadians clustered around me waiting for an order.
Then I saw our quarry. One bunk of twelve 190s just below us and a mile ahead, and a further ten 190s well out on the starboard side. It was too golden an opportunity to miss. Height, sun and surprise in our favour and I had to take a chance on how far behind the other enemy formation was.
"Greycap to wing. Twenty-plus Huns below from twelve to three o'clock. Syd, I'm taking the left-hand bunch. Come down and take the right-hand gaggle. Get in!"
I turned slightly to get directly behind the 190s and remembered to make the turn slow and easy so that our wingmen could keep well up. I put the nose down and had to fight back an instinct to slam die throttle wide open. We had to hit these brutes together.
My own 190 was flying on the extreme port side of the enemy formation. We came down on their tails in a long, slanting dive. Before I opened fire, I looked to the starboard, saw Bolton's boys fanning out alongside and Ford's arrowhead of Spitfires falling down on their prey about three miles away. The attack was coordinated, and my task of leading the wing was temporarily, suspended. Now it was up to the individual pilots to select their opponents and smack them down. I missed the 190 with my first short burst and steadied the gun platform with coarse stick and rudder. I fired again and hit him on the wing root and just behind the cockpit. The spot harmonization paid off and the cannon shells thudded into him in a deadly concentration of winking explosions. He started to burn, but before he fell on to his back I gave him another long burst. Then I broke away in a steep climbing turn and searched the sky behind. Still nothing there. Below me another 190 was falling in flames, and on the starboard a parachute had opened into full bloom. Hunter was still concerned for our safety:
"Greycap. Withdraw. Strong force of bandits approaching. Almost on top of you."
I spoke to the wing:
"All Greycap aircraft. Get out now! We won't re-form. And keep a sharp look-out behind!"
The pilots didn't need telling twice: we poured across the Channel at high speed in pairs and fours. My section was the first to land and when I climbed out of the cockpit I was met by a small posse of officers, for the good word that we had bounced the 190s soon spread. I lit a cigarette and counted the Spits as they joined the circuit over Kenley. Sixteen down, four on the circuit - twenty. A singleton - twenty-one. A long pause and a pair - twenty-three. One to come. It seemed very important that he should swing in over Caterham and land. But we had waited too long: he was either missing or at some other airfield.
The pilots walked into the briefing room still excited and full of the fight. We totted up the score with the Spies listening silently and ever ready to reduce a claim from a destroyed to a damaged or, if they had the chance, to nothing at all! The total came to six 190s destroyed for the loss of one of our pilots, who, we could only surmise, must have been clobbered by a 190 after our first attack.
I was delighted with our effort. The controlling had been superb and the Canadians had flown really well. I made out my report, called the radar station and thanked Hunter, and checked with our operations room for any news of our missing pilot. They had no information.
The next morning Syd Ford walked into my office. He laid a pair of blue Canada shoulder-flashes on my desk and said: "The boys would like you to wear these. After all, we're a Canadian wing and we've got to convert you. Better start this way."
"Thanks, Syd," I replied. "I'll get them sewn on today."
A simple gesture, but for me it had a deep significance. The flashes were sewn on and two years were to elapse before it was time to take them down. "

From: Johnny Johnson, "Wing Leader", 1956

"We had been in Normandy well over three weeks, but the German bastion at Caen still held firm and prevented our ground forces from breaking out into the open country south of the city. Our fighter-bombers and light bombers of the Second Tactical Air Force had attacked enemy strongpoints on the outskirts of Caen many times, but the well-disciplined, tough German troops continued to put up a most stubborn and effective resistance. Early in July it was decided, despite some stern opposition in high quarters, to reduce enemy ground opposition by saturating them with a heavy attack by Lancasters of Bomber Command. Would the fiasco of Cassino in Italy, when the bombing attacks had created impassable obstacles to our own advance, be repeated at Caen? Was not the condemnation to death of many innocent French civilians unnecessary and a basic contradiction of the very principles we fought for? Would not the heavy bombers be more suitably employed in their strategic role of reducing the industrial might of Germany? Despite the various military and moral considerations, and the conflict of opinion amongst our most experienced air commanders, the decision was made to attack Caen.

Late one fine July evening, as the sun dropped to the western horizon, the attack began. Although Spitfires provided a target-cover force for the hundreds of Lancasters and Halifaxes, our presence was un necessary, for the Luftwaffe did not react to the attack. As the bombers made their run-in from the sea, I positioned my Spitfire to the west of the town so that I could watch the progress of the attack from a down-sun position. Our own ground troops had been withdrawn to a line some distance from the target area so that they would be in little danger of bombs which fell short of the targets. We had been told that all the targets were contained in an area approximately two miles in length and just short of a mile in depth. But well before the smoke and debris from the first bombs which hung over Caen in the calm evening sky had obstructed the scene from our view, it was quite apparent that a number of bombs had fallen well outside the target area. As I watched the terrible destruction wrought on this French city I could not help but wonder whether we were using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. We were all aware of the military necessity to break the enemy at Caen so that our ground troops could eventually deploy into open country. But we were not so sure that this object could only be achieved by the wholesale destruction of Caen and the death of a great number of its inhabitants. Some of the bombs were fused to explode up to six hours after the attack, so that there would not be too large a time-lag before the ground forces went in early the next morning. Flying low on the fringe of the attack, I distinctly saw a German tank thrown into the air, like a child's toy, and turning over and over before it fell to the ground.

Instead of turning to the north to set course for England after dropping its load, one of the Lancasters came down in a fairly steep dive towards the strongly defended enemy-held territory south of the city. I watched this manoeuvre in some amazement as the Lancaster would soon find itself a solitary target for the German flak. Perhaps the aircraft had had its controls shot away or damaged and could only fly in this fashion. But wait, the bomber has now levelled out and is still flying due south only a few feet above the main Caen-Falaise road. Amazed, I watch its antics. What the Hell is the pilot up to? I soon discover the object of the low-level flight. This road, which is one of the enemy's main supply routes, is packed here and there with stationary tanks, armoured cars and vehicles. As it sweeps down the road, both front and rear turrets of the bomber are in action and the gunners are firing long bursts into the enemy vehicles. There is a considerable amount of light flak, but the pilot obviously scorns this small stuff, since he is accustomed to a nightly barrage of heavy flak over the industrial cities of Germany. For him this affair is a bit of a lark, and like a schoolboy away from the vigilance of his prefect he is making the most of his freedom. Now the Lancaster carries out a slow wide turn to re-trace its flight northwards to Caen. Majestically, it ploughs along over the straight road with rear and front guns blazing away. Enemy drivers and crews abandon their vehicles as the Lancaster pounds along and dive for the shelter of the hedgerows. But what is this? Another Lancaster has appeared on the scene and is carrying out similar tactics. The first Lancaster is flying north. The second is steaming south. Both are over the centre of the highway and both avoid each other with a careful little swerve. Speechless, I watch the role of fighter-bomber being carried out, and most effectively, by the four-engined heavies. But now it is all over. The original glamour boy has climbed away to the north for his homeward journey and the second is pulling up from his strafing run. I fly alongside the Lancaster as it settles down for the flight back to Lincolnshire and wave to the gay adventurers inside. We have seen two bomber missions this evening which will never be recorded in any official log! Long after the war I discovered that the pilot of the first bomber was an ex-bricklayer from Scotland called 'Jock' Shaw. At the time of my story he was the proud captain of his own Lancaster, and was to win the D.F.C. and bar. Later he served as my adjutant.

Two days after the bomber attack, Caen was in British hands. We decided to drive there and see the results of the bombardment at close quarters. The streets were still choked with rubble and we had the greatest difficulty in manoeuvring the versatile jeep past blocks of stone and gaping craters. We had been told that the original plan to send an armoured column through Caen on the morning following the attack had to be abandoned. We could fully understand the-reason. Bulldozers struggled to clear the blocked roads, and we had to stop the jeep and continue our journey on foot. Here and there fires still raged: pathetic groups of silent French folk struggled with the debris in a forlorn attempt to find the bodies of some of their friends and relatives. A sickening stench of death pervaded, and the people to whom we spoke said that few Germans were killed as there were no enemy positions in the bombed area. We had seen the destruction wrought by the Luftwaffe on London, Sheffield, Coventry, Liverpool and Manchester; but those scenes paled when compared to the magnitude of this disaster. We thought that the French had been made to suffer without sufficient justification. We cut short our visit, made our way back to the nearby beach, where we lay in the sunshine and swam in the stained waters in an endeavour to forget the broken bodies, the shattered homes and the brooding despair which lay heavily on Caen."

________________________

"Breakthrough! Finally the beachhead burst at its seams, and the Americans broke through to the west, followed later by the British and Polish forces who were up against the main German armoured divisions at Caen.

What are one's remembered impressions of this history-making breakout? Hundreds of burning vehicles that we had strafed and set on fire in the famous Falaise gap? Red Crosses tied across lifeless German tanks? The group of arrogant German soldiers sitting outside on the farmhouse steps, playing cards as their trucks burnt? I stopped their game with a few hundred rounds of bullets, and their arrogance disappeared rapidly. Wildly waving peasant children welcoming the conquerors little knowing what it was all about?

Probably as pilots we saw more than most but what we did see wasn't very attractive. Then I met the man who will haunt me until my dying day.

Including ground-strafing, dive bombing and air-to-air fights, I had probably by now killed several hundred people, but from the air it was completely impersonal and made no mental impact. This man was different.

I was out on another "cannon test" which was the usual thinly veiled excuse to look for trouble. None of the aircraft in the air had the slightest smell of the Luftwaffe, so I confined my searchings to objects on the ground many miles behind the enemy front. Suddenly I saw him!

His motorbike had caused a small cloud of dust to arise, giving away his position. Like a kestrel hawk pouncing, I wheeled my Spitfire and streaked towards the ground.

By now my man had stopped on the corner of a hairpin bend, and as the range closed rapidly, I guessed he was studying a map. His military camouflaged bike and his grey-green uniform spelt him out as a despatch rider, and therefore a legitimate military target. As I placed the orange reflected dot of my gunsight on the centre of his body, he looked up straight at me, and knew the moment of truth had arrived.

As I stabbed the gun button he threw up his left arm as if to shield his face from the impact. I cursed him with all my soul for making such a pathetic human gesture, and loathed myself as I saw man and bike disappear in a torrent of bullets.

I returned straight to base and found it difficult to talk to anyone for several days.

I can still see his face and the raised arm."

Wing Commander Geoffrey Page, DSO, OBE, DFC and Bar, "Shot Down in Flames", Grub Street reprint 1999, pp.149-150.

"WE began to carry out low-level flights over France. These
operations were known by the code name Rhubarb. The idea
was to take full advantage of low cloud and poor visibility and
slip sections of Spitfires across the coast and then let-down
below the cloud to search for opportunity targets, rolling-stock,
locomotives, aircraft on the ground, staff cars, enemy troops and
the like. They were usually arranged on a voluntary basis and a
few pilots seemed to prefer this type of individual, low-level work
to the clean, exhilarating team work of the dog-fight. But the
great majority of fighter pilots thought privately that the dividends
yielded by the numerous Rhubarb operations fell far short
of the cost in valuable aircraft and trained pilots.
First of all we had to contend with the weather. Usually the
cloud base was less than 1000 feet when we slipped our two
Spitfires into its concealing vapour. During the next few minutes
all our thoughts were concentrated on the likely height of the
cloud base over France. Our let-downs from the cloud were
usually made over reasonably flat countryside, but here and there
small hills rose a few hundred feet and presented serious hazards.
If we weren't in the clear when the altimeter recorded 500 feet,
then we climbed back into the cloud and called the show off.
So it was difficult to be cool and calculating when making our
let-downs on Rhubarb flights. Perhaps two of us had flown in
cloud, in tight formation, for a distance of fifty miles at 2000 feet.
Time to descend, for we are over the target area—or should be
if we have steered an accurate course and the wind hasn't changed.
We ease the throttle back and put the Spitfires into a gentle dive.
The engine note changes, but it seems strangely loud in the cloud
and the stick trembles in your hand. You flash a grin of encouragement
at your wingman who is only a few feet away, his
eyes and hands attuned to every movement of your Spitfire,
for if he loses you in this bumpy, swirling greyness there is
not enough height for him to make the difficult transition to
instrument flight. You ease her down slowly. Are we slightly
off course? Will the ground be higher than where we planned to
break out? And the flak? 600 feet on the altimeter and you
catch a sudden glimpse of a wet sombre landscape of
hedged fields and copses. Then you are at the bottom of a
sort of inverted bowl, whose translucent sides of falling rain
seem dangerously confining.
Then there was the light flak. Gibbs told us that once beyond
the heavily defended coastal belt we should be lightly opposed
from the ground, but it always seemed as if the enemy gunners
were ready and waiting. Airfields were always extremely well
defended and it was a dangerous business to try and make more
than one fast, low-level attack. Straight in and out was the only
method on these occasions.
The Germans prepared unpleasant counter-measures against
these low-level attacks. Here and there decoy targets were
established, and these sometimes took the form of stationary
locomotives heavily armoured and surrounded by numerous,
well-camouflaged light flak guns, arranged to provide a deadly
concentration of fire against air attack. Many pilots received the
shock of their lives when they streaked down upon what they
imagined to be a sitting duck.
Usually our Rhubarb efforts yielded little more than a staff car
(or was it a French civilian vehicle?) or some target ineffectively
sprayed with the puny bullets of our machine guns. Whenever
we went after bigger game on the airfields we took some bad
knocks, and our first losses were from such operations. The
engines of our Spitfires were cooled by a liquid called glycol,
which was held in a small tank just below the spinner. This
glycol tank and radiator were always exposed to ground fire,
and one machine-gun bullet through either meant that the
engine caught fire or seized up within a matter of minutes.
I loathed those Rhubarbs with a deep, dark hatred. Apart
from the flak, the hazards of making a let-down over unknown
territory and with no accurate knowledge of the cloud base
seemed far too great a risk for the damage we inflicted. During
the following three summers hundreds of fighter pilots were lost
on either small or mass Rhubarb operations. Towards the end of
1943, when I finished this tour of ops. and held an
appointment of some authority at 11 Group, my strong views
on this subject were given a sympathetic hearing and Rhubarbs
were discontinued over France, except on very special
occasions."

from: Johnny Johnson, "Wing Leader", 1956

more a facts and figs on a fighter ace for the luftwaffe ace ..........................

Walter Nowotny
German Luftwaffe Ace, Fw 190 and Me 262 pilot
JG 54 and Kommando Nowotny

One of the highest scoring German aces (an Austrian, actually) almost ended his flying career very early.
Flying a Bf 109 in July 19, 1941, he had shot down three Polikarpov I-153 biplanes (his first three kills), when he went down too. He ditched his Messerchmitt in the Gulf of Riga and clambered into his one-man survival raft. With no food or drink, he paddled southwards, towards land that he estimated to be about 40 miles away. A couple German fighters flew overhead, but didn't notice his Mauser pistol shots. Sunburn set in, waves splashed into his dinghy, and he became exausted from his paddling.

On his second night adrift, two Soviet destroyers passed close by, but didn't notice him either. He was somewhat heartened by the evidently-German artillery fire directed at the Russian warships. But by the second day, he became nearly suicidal, and even began writing a "farewell message." He fell asleep, and when he awoke on the third day, the currents had brought him close to shore. He paddled towards it, landed, and collapsed on the sandy beach. He awoke in a bed; two Latvian auxiliaries (collaborators?) had rescued him.

For many months, JG 54 remained at Krasnogvardeisk, as the northern front settled into a stalemate around besieged Leningrad.

Messerschmitt Bf 109
Nowotny achieved over 50 victories in this airplanes, from July 1941 through early 1943. He was appointed Staffelkapitän of 1./JG 54 on 25 October 1942.
Focke Wulf 190
In January and February of 1943, JG 54 transitioned to the Fw 190, a rugged aircraft that Nowotny and many othe experten would fly with great success. In August, Nowotny added 49 victories to his score and was promoted to Gruppenkommandeur of 1./JG 54. Heady stuff for a 22-year-old. But he hadn't yet been awarded the "Oak Leaves," and showed distinct signs of "throat-ache;" despite the fact that he had passed the 120-victory threshhold - no "Oak Leaves."
But he continued to excel in the air. On September 1, 1943 he downed ten Russian aircraft. On a morning bomber escort mission, he destroyed four attacking Soviet fighters. He noticed another group, and promptly got two of those. As the dogfight carried him 180 km over Russian lines, he closed in on a seventh victim, only to have his cannon jam. he closed in ever closer and finished it off with his machine guns. He made good his return by flying on the deck, right thru the flak thrown up from a large town. That afternoon, on another sortie, he got three more during an in-and-out duel in the clouds.

A few days later, he received his long-awaited Oak Leaves. "The Swords" followed three weeks later, awarded to him at a ceremony at Hitler's headquarters.

By September 14, his score stood at 203, just behind the Luftwaffe leader (Hans Phillipp?). At midday, on a clear, perfect day, Soviet bombers and their fighter escorts approached. Nowotny led his 4-plane Schwarm on a Freie Jagd (literally "free hunt," or in Allied aviation jargon, a "fighter sweep"). Soon, evryone in the ops room heard over the loudspeaker his radio call that he had achieved his 204th. He was then the top Luftwaffe experte. He kept flying and fighting and shooting down Soviet planes. Before the end of September, he had reached a total of 235. On afternoon, while patrolling south of Velikiye Luki, he shot down 3 of a group of 14 Airacobras. The next day, in the same area, a flight of 6 Airacobras fled as soon as they sighted the Fw 190's; perhaps they were survivors from the previous day's mission. Only two escaped.

Then he had a day ruined by jammed guns and an out-of-service aircraft. The following day, his aerial rampage continued: two P-40s, a P-39, and an LaGG-3. Nowotny was doing his part to reduce the American Lend-Lease equipment sent to Russia.

The Diamonds
On October 15, 1943, he destroyed a Curtiss P-40 - his 250th victory. He was the first pilot ever to achieve such a score. Back at his base, a wild celebration ensued. Nowotny took off to Vilna to celebrate in style. His wingman "Quax" Schnörrer stayed at the base and, with other pilots, got riotously drunk. Then General von Greim telephoned, to say that the Führer wanted to speak to Nowotny, to congratulate him personally. Understanding the situation, General Greim passed on the information that Nowotny was at the Ria Bar in Vilna, confident that Hitler's telephone operators wouldn't be able to get through to the partying Nowotny. But they did. Nowotny, stewed to the gills, surrounded by young lovelies in a noisy bar, managed to get through the conversation with the Führer. He had been awarded the "Diamonds," the Reich's highest military honor. The next day, von Greim, Schnörrer, and Nowotny flew to Hitler's HQ in East Prussia, for Nowotny to receive his "Diamonds."

But October, 1943 marked the end of Nowotny's famous schwarm (flgiht of four planes). Toni Döbele (96 victories) was killed. Lt. Karl "Quax" Schnörrer (35) was badly injured in a crash and hospitalized for a long time. Nowotny himself was made into a superhero by Goebbels propaganda machine and was withdrawn from the front.

Training Assignments
His career was temporarily halted because he was assigned command of the Schulegeschwader 101 (SJG 101). This was a training unit for new pilots, and was based in Palau. Even though it was an unpopular assignment for the veteran pilots, Nowotny once again brilliantly succeded, earning a reputation as a first class instructor.
Me 262 Jet
On September 26, 1944, he was appointed CO of Kommando Nowotny, the world's first jet fighter unit, based at Achmer and Hesepe
Kommando Nowotny became operational on the 3rd of October and claimed their first kill, a B-24, on October 7th. Nowotny began the practice of using prop-driven conventional fighters as cover against the roaming Allied fighters during the takeoffs and landings of the Me 262. The Me 262 was especially vulnerable as the turbojet's relatively low thrust resulted in slow acceleration. It took some time for the jet to get up to speed. But once there, no Allied aircraft could touch it.



November 8, 1944
Adolph Galland, Luftwaffe General of Fighters, visited Achmer for an inspection. Nowotny was going to give Galland his pilots' flight reports. A flight of B-17 bombers was reported, so the unit took off, about six jets in the first wave, then another. The Fw-190Ds were waiting on the runway cover their return of the jets. Galland was in the operations shack, monitoring the pilots' radio transmissions. Several bombers were called out as shot down, and Nowotny radioed that he was approaching. The flight leader on the ground, Hans Dortenmann, requested permission to take off to assist, but Nowotny said no, to wait. The defensive anti-aircraft battery opened fire on a few P-51 Mustangs that approached the field, but they were chased away. The jets were coming in.
One Me-262 had been shot down, and Nowotny reported an engine failure before making a garbled transmission referring to “burning”. Galland watched Nowi's approach, heard the sound of a jet engine, and saw his Me 262 A-1a (W.Nr. 110 400) “White 8” dive vertically out of the clouds and crash at Epe, 2.5 kilometres east of Hesepe. The explosions rocked the air, and only a column of black smoke rose from behind the trees. The wreckage was Nowotny's plane. After sifting through it, the only salvageable things found were his left hand and pieces of his Diamonds decoration.

The unit was disbanded shortly after Nowotny's death. It had claimed 22 aircraft with a loss of 26 Me 262s, eight of which were due to accidents and mechanical failures.

Recollections of a Corsair Pilot
By C. R. Cartledge

In March 1944 came my posting to the new 1842 Squadron of Corsairs to be formed up at Brunswick, Maine, USA. This new and powerful fighter aircraft was immediately distinguishable by its cranked "gull" wings. From head on, with its radial engine, it had an aggressive appearance, but was fast and nimble, its long and horizontal nose giving it an unmistakable profile. It was faster than the Hurricane on which I had trained and was very responsive and manoeuvrable, with formidable fire power.
For a crisis it could go into water injection mode for those extra knots, the water tank giving ten minutes of boost.




We spent two months working up the squadron under Lt. Cdr. (A) Tony Garland, RNVR, and by June we were ready to complete our preparations by a trip[ down to Norfolk, Virginia, where we achieved the standard three successful landings on a US carrier. The Corsair was particularly tricky to deck-land due to its long, straight nose, which blotted out the pilot's vision ahead when the aircraft was adopting the landing position with flaps down. The final approach had to be made while still turning in order to keep the deck and batsman in sight, straightening out at the last moment before touch down.

Coming back to the U.K. we were based briefly at RNAS Eglinton (where we lost Sub. Lt. (A) Wheway who flew into a mountain in the mist) before joining HMS Formidable (Capt. P. Ruck-Keene, RN) in the Irish Sea in August 1944. We were on our way to the arctic to attack the German battleship Tirpitz, which was sheltering in the Alta Fjord. Little did we know that some of us were to be used as dive-bombers. Corsair Squadrons 1841and 1842 were on board, plus 848 Avenger Squadron. Stopping briefly at Scapa Flow, we sailed northwards carrying out flying exercises whenever weather permitted. Those who had volunteered for dive-bombing, of which I was one, were given practise on towed targets. We lost another pilot in an air collision, the younger brother of our own ship's surgeon. As we neared the arctic, we ran into the roughest seas I had so far experienced. There was no possibility of flying. The huge seas were throwing the ship in all directions and breaking over the flight deck, drenching the lashed down aircraft with salty water.

As we drew nearer the target the weather improved, enabling four strikes to be carried out on August 22, 23, 24 and 29, involving Barracudas, Hellcats, Corsairs, Avengers and Seafires. These included some dare-devil attacks led by Lt. Cdr. R. H. Richardson RNZVR and Major V. B. G. Cheesman, Royal Marines, who screamed low over the Tirpitz, attempting to lob their bombs down the funnels. Richardson lost his life in an attack two days later. We simultaneously supported diversionary attacks on related coastal targets. These left a trail of damaged or destroyed tankers, airfields, radio stations, and three Narvik Class destroyers near the islands and neighbouring fjords. In one attack Richardson, having run out of ammunition, lowered his arrestor hook and tore away the station's radio mast and aerials from almost zero feet.

In the last strike, the 'dive-bombers' were told that a 1000-lb bomb would be fastened under the port wing, the central fuselage position being taken up by the extra fuel tank. We were advised to trim the aircraft to give maximum lift to the port wing in the hope that this would compensate for the bomb. We would only find out when the aircraft left the flight deck on take-off! As I am writing this article 57 years later the reader can conclude that all went well. It was a fine and beautiful morning and we approached the islands and main coast line as low as possible to avoid radar detection knowing the Germans would operate a smoke screen as soon as they received warning. We climbed as we hit the coast and gained height for the dive-bombing. The view over the mountains and fjords on this brilliant morning was breathtaking and I could see the whole party of Avengers and the escorting Corsairs of 1841 and 1842 Squadrons. As we approached the Tirpitz, the white puffs of A-A shells started to burst around us and I lost my No.2, Sub. Lt. (A) French, RNVR. The smoke screen was already across the fjord, but leaving the huge outline of the Tirpitz just visible through it. I turned, and as I dived, saw one bomb explode close to the outline of the battleship. I released my bomb and pulled away hard, partially blacking out. There was a lot of flack blazing away in all directions. I turned and fired into one of the gunnery positions, then broke away at low level along the fjord. Cruising along just above the water I was admiring the scenery when bullets kicked up the water just in front of me. My Corsair responded well to some violent turns and twists and I escaped. Several pilots did not return however, two of whom were from 1842 Squadron. Whilst waiting his turn to land, one pilot ran out of fuel and ditched alongside the fleet. He was quickly picked up from the icy water. Very few of our aircraft returned unscathed, causing the maintenance crews a busy time patching up the bullet holes. Although immediate observation was made impossible by the smoke, we learned as we withdrew southwards that the Tirpitz, such a menace to Atlantic shipping, was disabled but not sunk. At least it was put out of action until it could be finished off by RAF Lancasters operating from Russia. It had been a gallant operation and had served its purpose of preventing the German battleship from sailing out of the fjord on further deadly missions. Major V. B. G. Cheesman was awarded a D.S.O. and I believe, later, Lt. Cdr. Richardson a posthumous V.C. for their exceptional bravery and determination in the attacks. There were also twelve D.S.C.'s and a D.S.M. awarded to other squadron commanders and flight leaders of which I was privileged to be one, which I took as recognition of the gallantry of all the aircrew involved.

The Formidable then set sail for the Pacific. After three months delay at Gibraltar waiting for a new gear wheel to be sent out from the U.K. we sailed through the Med and on to Columbo, losing three pilots in flying accidents off Alexandria, Lt. (A) Dunkley, RNVR, Sub. Lts. (A) RNVR Chipperfield and Railton. We finally arrived in Sydney early in June 1945, and from there we headed north stopping in the Phillipines for provisions and briefing. We were to join the British Pacific Fleet (B.P.F.), operating on the right of the line of the U.S. fleet. On the way we carried out regular sorties in pairs, attacking targets on the Sakishima Gunto, a chain of islands between Formosa and Okinawa. Here we lost our squadron commander Lt. Cdr. (A) Tony Garland D.S.C., who did not return from one such sortie. It was a shattering blow to lose Tony, who had been such an inspiring and efficient commander since the squadron's formation. He was replaced by Lt. Cdr. (A) Douglas Parker, RN.

As we came within striking distance of Japan, the Formidable suffered a direct hit on its flight deck from a Kamikaze pilot, causing casualties around the control tower and killing one of our pilots, Sub. Lt. (A) Bell RNVR. My flight was airborne at the time, but we never saw the Jap plane. We landed on the Indefatigable for a three-day stay while Formidable's flight deck was repaired. Early in the morning of July 17 Douglas Parker led 1842 Squadron in the first British air attack against the Japanese mainland. We were to attack airfields and other targets at Matsushima, Sendai and Masuda on the East Coast, north of Tokyo.
We came in low through poor visibility, but the Japs were ready for us. As I came across Matsushima airfield targeting two planes on the ground, my aircraft was hit and its trimming went suddenly berserk as I zipped over the hangars. I had to apply full right rudder and pull hard on the stick in order to fly straight and level. I could not carry on with the others, and radioed that I was returning to the fleet. I suspected my hydraulics were damaged, so I decided to bail out on my return, as deck landing without operative flaps and arrestor hook would almost certainly be disastrous, especially if I couldn't jettison the extra fuel tank! I climbed painfully to a safe bail-out height of 5,000ft, and was later relieved to see the fleet coming into sight. The drill for bailing out is to eject the hood, for which there is a lever. I pulled it, but instead of ejecting the hood it jammed it shut! I would have to do a deck landing after all (I must have said a prayer or two). The fire appliances were all ready waiting for me should I crash the barrier. As I made my final approach the batsman waived me on and I received a radio message to wait while the fleet turned out of wind to regain its correct position. I circled the carrier, waiting for it to turn back into wind, at probably not more than 500ft, trying to free the hood. At each effort I had to let go of the stick, continuously losing height.

Then the miraculous happened. As I turned for another effort I flew into the sea. The next thing I knew I was floating, supported only by a Mae West, with the last piece of my Corsair's wing just disappearing into a wave about twenty yards away. The impact had knocked off the hood and thrown me out, breaking my safety straps and parachute harness, yet leaving me more or less unscathed. A friend watching from Formidable's bridge said that my aircraft exploded on impact and he was amazed that I survived. I was picked up by a destroyer, and was sent back to Australia for a rest and check-up. While in Sydney, news came through of the atom bombs and Japanese surrender.

Early in September, from the Botanical Gardens overlooking Sydney Harbour, I watched the triumphant return of the Formidable. Going on board I found many new faces but several old ones missing. 1842 Squadron had lost a further three pilots. These included Sub. Lt. (A) Jimmy Ross (Canadian), whose aircraft wings folded up on take-off. Of the eighteen pilots in the Brunswick photo only nine had survived. Total squadron losses were fourteen. Tragically, half these losses were non-operational and could to some extent have been caused by the Corsair's long, level nose, which restricted the pilot's view ahead.

more nowotny....but tomorrow...hot russian chicks we would all love to meet!!

The eager and fearless nature of "Nowi" soon became well-known among the other pilots of JG 54. This side of his personality almost cost him his life, as he was shot down by an I-153 over the Riga Bay, following his first three victories on 19 July 1941. After three days and nights (during which he was close to committing suicide out of pure desperation) in a rubber dinghy in the sea, he finally reached the shore. This first encounter with death changed young "Nowi". He became more careful - and superstitious, always carrying the trousers he had worn on this occasion, the Abschusshose, on all his combat missions.

Please hear his own vivid account from second mission over Leningrad on 4 August 1942 (the previous mission resulting in three kills) clearly pictures both the skill and character of this young Austrian fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe:
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"It was a clear blue sky, and it was filled with Soviet fighters attempting to attack our bombers. I picked an I-18 (MiG-1) and made a sharp turn, putting my Me 109 in a good position. A few bursts sent him burning to the ground. The remaining fighters tried to escape, but my Me was faster. Flying above the docks on the Neva mouth, I got the backboard plane in a finger-four formation into my gunsight. Two bursts of fire and the Rata blew up. Fuselage and wings tumbled down on fire. The Flak fired fiercely from below. I made a 180 degree turn and spotted four I-18s attacking our bombers from behind. Pulling up the nose of my plane, I made one of the Soviet fighters pass through my bullet tracers. The success stunned me. He immediately went into a steep dive, started spinning and left a thick black trail of smoke. This was my sixth victory today. Number seven didn't last long. I was just about to return home, as suddenly a Rata pulled up beneath me. I pushed my stick forward, and seconds later the enemy went down in spirals."
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This day, Tuesday 4 August 1942, he achieved his victories Nos. 48-54 - thus marking the beginning of his astonishing victory row. Fourteen months later, he reached the 250 victory mark (on 13th October 1943, his victim was a skillfully flown P-40) as the first fighter pilot of WW II.

During the following year, he managed to down another 40 Russian planes, but in majority these were rather "easy" victories, achieved with great care and mainly against aircraft much obsolete to his Messerschmitt Bf 109 F and Gs. The blow against Nowotny´s self-confidence was not fully repaired until that fateful day in August 1942. From then on, he felt absolutely secure in the air. Only on 4th August 1942 "Nowi" scored seven kils in three sorties. This is remarkable, since the bulk of his successes were scored after the recovery of the Soviet Air Force, when obsolete models such as the I-16 were exchanged for Yak-9s and La-5s equal to the Messerschmitt and Focke-Wulf fighters, and as aces such as Petr Pokryshev on the Leningrad front started emerging. Successes of Nowotny were awarded by Knight Cross on 4th September 1942. Soon, on 25 October 1942 he got command of 9./JG 54.

Roaming the skies over Leningrad in 1942/43, Nowotny definitely must have met Pokryshev in the air more than once. Flying over Staraya Russa, a skilful Soviet pilot once was close to putting an end to Nowotny´s deadly career. "The Russians have had me shot up! I've got 'blisters' on my wings!" Nowotny cried over the radio: "We desperately shook off the enemy and made a quick escape at low level", said his wing-man "Quax" Schnörrer. With smoke pouring out of the hit engine, Nowotny´s Messerschmitt 109 made a hastily landing at Tulebya airfield. Rushing on the landing strip at 100 mph, the engine suddenly burst into flames. At a speed of 60 mph, Nowotny blew off his and left his plane in a true do-or-die jump. The burning Messerschmitt continued rolling another 30 meters, and then exploded.

On 25 March 1943, Nowotny met the first Soviet Spitfires - belonging to Major Petrov´s 26 GvIAP of the Leningrad Air Defense - and shot down one of them, his 79th victory. On 15 June, he scored his 100th kill. Nine days later, he brought down 10 Soviet aircraft in one single day. That month, Walter Nowotny raised his score by no less than 41. Promoted to Oberleutnant and in charge of 1./JG 54 "Grünherz", he surpassed himself by downing 49 Soviet planes in August 1943, among them nine on the 13th and seven on the 21st. Claiming his 150th victory on 18 August, Nowotny stood as No 16 on the "Ace list".

The following month was opened with another ten victories on the first day. Three days later, he was awarded with the Oak Leaves to the Knight's Cross, and on 9 September 1943, his victory tally reached the incredible "200 mark". During his last ten days on the Eastern Front, ending on 14 October 1943, Walter Nowotny blew 32 Russian aircraft out of the sky - pushing his total victory score to 255.

22-years-old Hauptmann Walter Nowotny by now stood on the top of the fighter aces. Desperate for anything that could give the German people any faith in the war, the Nazi propaganda machinery rapidly turned Nowotny into its foremost headline "superstar". Young Walter received all the highest military awards at hand: The Knight´s Cross with Oak Leaves, with Swords, and with Diamonds added. Afraid of losing such a "star", the High Command withdrew Nowotny from combat activity.

During the following year, his main role in the war was to serve as an object for propaganda and moral-boosting. But the winds of war eventually forced the High Command to call back Nowotny into active service. In the fall of 1944, he was put in charge of the first jet fighter unit, equipped with the Me 262, "Kommando Nowotny".

Nowotny was firstly reassigned to a training Geschwader in Pau. He also test flew the Me 262 - like most other Experten he was astonished. Since he was not employed to his full potential in the Defense of the Reich organization, he was given the command of the Me 262 test unit - Kommando Nowotny. In it's short history Ekdo 262 didn't live up to expectations of the High Command and the pilots themselves. Nowotny was to be the energy boast that the unit needed. He was to lead by example. When he arrived to Hesepe he was introduced to the Oberleutnant Hans Gunther Muller the Komandeur of the Hesepe detachment, Nowotny immediately reacted in his own fashion saying: ¨What? You are the Staffelkapitan and you haven't scored a kill on the Me 262??!! I suggest you find yourself a more suitable employment.¨ But he was to soon experience the real situation in the unit.

In the next few weeks the unit was plagued by the constant enemy action, the highly temperamental jet turbines and similar problems which were not solved till the end of the war, but eventually the catastrophic 8. November would dawn.

Galland and Keller were visiting the unit that day. Under the pressure to perform, and to rectify the unit in the eyes of the High Command, Komando Nowotny gave their best shot. Nowotny was among the pilots who were to fly that day. The Komando's all out effort turned out to be only 2 Me 262 in the first wave and the same in the second wave. The target was a large group of bombers heavily escorted who were targeted to bomb the marshalling yards at Rheine and the Nordhorn Canal. There were four FG on the lookout for rats coming from Hesepe and Achmer. Detecting the bombers two Rottes of Me 262 were prepared to take-off (one at Hesepe-Erich Buttner and Franz Schall, and at Achmer-Nowotny and Gunther Wegmann). But only two Me 262 managed to take-off. Buttner had a puncture during taxing and Nowotny's turbines refused to start-it was most likely an fuel-clog problem. But the two pilots airborne managed to bring down a Thunderbolt and a Mustang.

Galland: "I arrived on that day ( 7. November) to inspect the unit and write a report, plus I spoke with Nowotny that evening, and he was going to give me his pilots' reports concerning their actions. The next day, a flight of B-17 bombers was reported heading our way, so the unit took off, about six jets (note: some relations told about four), if I remember correctly, in the first wave, then another. The Fw-190Ds were waiting on the runway to take off and cover their return, engaging the Allied fighters that were sure to follow. I was in the operations shack, where we monitored the radio transmissions and could get an idea of what was happening."

Schall approached the formation but didn't make contact as he was intercepted by escorting Mustangs. In the following dogfight Schall reported a Mustang shot-down, but he suffered a flame-out at high altitude. He tried to start his turbines with a dive, but was caught-up by Mustangs, who made some really nice photos of the evacuated turbinen jager.

Galland: "Several bombers were called out as shot down, and Nowotny radioed that he was approaching. The flight leader on the ground, Hans Dortenmann, requested permission to take off to assist, but Nowotny said no, to wait. The defensive anti-aircraft battery opened fire on a few Mustangs that approached the field, but they were chased away, from what I could understand, and the jets were coming in. One Me-262 had been shot down (note: piloted by Franz Schall), and Nowotny reported one of his engines was damaged. He was flying on the right engine alone, which made him vulnerable. I stepped outside to watch his approach to the field, when an enemy fighter pulled (Nowotny's slayer) away not far from us."

At that very same moment Lt. RW. Stevens of the 364 FG which was patrolling the area, caught-up with a Me 262-flown by Nowotny who was returning to Hesepe. He knew the jet was approaching the field, and would shortly be in the Flak-alley. He swiftly closed in due to the Nowotny speed loss from the engine failure. When in the gun-range he opened fire. He recorded some hits on the jet, but sensing all that flak is just waiting for him to come in to range, he decide that he would be satisfied with a Me 262 - damaged. He put his trusty Mustang in a shallow dive to gain speed and he immediately went back to seek cover in those low hanging clouds. Meanwhile Major Nowotny was fighting a lost battle. His Me 262 was partly paralyzed from the engine loss, and he made one last radio transmission. Last words of Nowotny heard over the radio were: "I´m burning! My god, my god! I´m burning!". Then his fighter rolled and stalled-probably on the port side. His altitude was low, so when hitting the ground he briefly bounced back in the air losing one of the engines, and upon hitting the ground his Me 262 furiously exploded.

Galland: "I heard the sound of a jet engine, and we saw this 262 coming down through the light clouds at low altitude, rolling slightly and then hitting the ground. The explosions rocked the air, and only a column of black smoke rose from behind the trees. We took off in a car and reached the wreckage, and it was Nowotny's plane. After sifting through the wreckage, the only salvageable things found were his left hand and pieces of his Diamonds decoration."

The crash site at Epe (2.5 km east of Hesepe) is littered with the remains of the Meserschmitt scattered in an wide area. A local remembers that a engine was lying on the road beside the crash site. A small memorial was erected near the ¨grave¨ of this exceptional pilot. R. Stevens reported having chased and damaged a Me 262 at Epe.

as promised. the "ruskie' boys will especially love this one. and while its not in "their" words ( because many didnt make it back ) it is very much worth reading.

as we know...the soviet army was an equal opportunity employer. women did all the same jobs as men. some of their best snipers were female and as you will read....some of their aces and most feared fighter pilots were as well. let me introduce you first to Lilya Litvak, the "White Rose" of Stanilgrad.

Lidya Vladimirovna Litvak was born in Moscow in August 18, 1921. Lilya was her nickname. She was regarded by all as a "strikingly beautiful woman", which helped earn her public appreciation and, added to her success as a fighter pilot, served the propaganda ministry well.

Litvak's aviation adventure began when she was teenager. Having 14 years old she joined Aeroclub, and one year later she took off for her first a lone flight. Soon Lidya arrived to 'Khersonskoya' Aviation School. After finishing it she returned to 'Kalininskiy' Aeroclub, as a flight instructor. When the war began, Lidya's dream was join to the battle. The building of female units by Marina Raskova, was excellent occasion!

She began military service in the all-woman 586th IAP, where she flew mostly defense missions from January to August 1942. In August she was posted, with Katiya Budianova, Masha Kuznietzova and Raya Bieliayeva to 'male' squadrons because of her merits. They arrived to 6th IAD (after some sources it was 9th Guards IAP of 287 IAD), battling over Stalingrad front. With this unit she got her first 2 air victories in September 13, 1943. It was second combat sortie. Soviet pilots encountered formation of Ju 87s with cover of Bf 109s. In first attack Lidya killed a single 'Stuka'. Then she noticed a friend's plane in trouble - Raya Bielayeva dueled against very agressive 'Messer'. Help arrived just in time and the Bf 109 was downed. After Soviet's relations German fighter pilot (experienced ace, 'baron', and member of Richthofen unit) fell POW and this same day evening he meet his adversary. He was very surprised seeing young, beutiful, female pilot...

In the end of January, 1943, she was transferred with Yekaterina Budianova to the 296th IAP, stationed Kotiel'nikovo airfield near Stalingrad. On February 17, 1943, she was awarded the Order of the Red Banner. Two days later she was promoted to Junior Lieutenant and soon after to Senior Lieutenant.

On 22 March 6 Soviet fighters encountered formation of Ju 88s. Lidya just downed one of them when she noticed attacking 6 Bf 109s. She rapidly turned against Germans to cover other surprised Soviet fighters. After heavy, 15-minuts combat Litvak's Yak returned base, but plane took several hits while Lidya was wounded. After hospital's stay she went to Moscow with order of month rehibilitaion. But after next week, in first days of May, she arrived front unit...

When she came back, the 296th IAP had been renamed the 73 Guards IAP for their exploits in battle.

On 5 May 1943 Lilya, not fully healthy after injuring, took part in aerial combat, scoring 1 kill. Two days later another Bf 109 fell in her gunsight, escaping with dark smoke.

She was wounded again in combat on July 16. This day Soviets escorted Il -2s when they spotted 30 Ju 87s in cover of 6 Bf 109s. In dramatic combat Lidya downed Junkers and Messerschmitt, shared with her leader. She landed in German-ocuppied territory, but got back to base on foot. She din't permit for doctor's examine - saying: "I'm feeling enough good to fight!"

Three days later she again took off for combat mission. On 21 July Lida flew as a wingman of unit's commander - Ivan Golishev. The pair of Soviet fighters was attacked by 7 enemy Bf 109s. Lidya fufilled her duty covering the leader, she managed to shot down one of 'Messers' attacking Golishev, but her Yak was heavily hit. She belly-landed near Novikovka village.

There is no doubt, that heavy combats, wounds, the death of Katya Budyanova (in combat) and death of close friend Alieksiey Solomatin (in plane crash) exhaust Lilya both physically and mentally...

She was repeatedly successful in flying missions, although was finally killed while escorting a unit of Shturmoviks returning from an attack in August 1, 1943 (it was her third sortie this day!). Because of her notoriety amongst the Germans, eight Messerschmitt Bf 109's concentrated solely on Lilya's Yak-1 with number '23' on board, and it took all eight of them to finally shoot down the 'White Rose of Stalingrad'. Her body and aircraft were not found during the war, but a marble monument, with 12 gold stars—one for each enemy plane that she had shot down—was erected in her memory in Krasy Luch, in the Donetsk region. Litvyak had completed 168 missions, and had 3 shared victories in addition to her personal twelve. She was 22 years old when she died.

Her remains were found at last in 1979, buried under her fallen YaK-1's wing, near the village of Dmitriyevka. Ten years later her body was recovered for an official burial; and in May 5, 1990 she was posthumously conferred the title of Hero of the Soviet Union by then Premier Mikhail Gorbachov.

After some sources, on each side of her Yak-1's cockpit she painted a white lily, often confused for a rose—hence the nickname. She was so fond of flowers, that she often picked wildflowers and carried them aloft on her missions. According to her mechanic, Inna Pasportnikova, she had a postcard with yellow roses in her instrument panel. The white rose on the fuselage became famous among the Germans, who knew better than to try to dogfight the familiar Yak-1, and usually tried to make good their escape before Litvyak got too close. But there is no photography confirmation about 'white lilly' painting and I'm afraid that is only the legend...

and now Marina Raskova and other Soviet Female Pilots....

After Germany invaded the Soviet Union, between 22 June 1941 and 8 May 1945 there were nearly one million women who served in the Soviet Armed Forces, many of whom were at the front, enduring the harshness of frontline combat and fighting alongside their male counterparts for the very existence of their homeland. Soviet women's combat aviation regiments began to be formed in October 1941, after the Soviet high command authorized Marina Raskova to organize a female special Aviation Group No. 122.

A few words would be in order here about Marina Raskova, a very interesting personality. Besides establishing close relationships with everyone who had the pleasure of knowing her, Raskova also cared deeply for the people under her command. She was a very cheerful woman with a wide range of interests, including classical music (she attended the Pushkin School of Music, specializing in piano playing), who became fluent in French and Italian and studied chemistry as well as military subjects.

At the age of 19 Marina Raskova was hired by the Zhukovsky Aviation Engineering Academy as a laboratory technician. In 1934 she passed the aviation navigator's examination and in 1935 obtained her pilot's license. On 24 October 1937 Raskova and Valentina Grizodubova, while flying a Yak-12, scored the female world record in a long distance non-stop flight of 1,445 km. In 1938 Raskova took part in three record flights: on 24 May and 2 July in an MP-1 flying boat, covering 1,749 km and 2,241 km respectively and on 24-25 September with V. Grizodubova and P. Osipenko in an ANT-37 covering 6,450 km or 5,908 km as the crow flies in a pioneer non-stop flight from Moscow to the Pacific. At the age of 26 she was awarded the Gold Star of Hero of the Soviet Union, along with Grizodubova and Osipenko, for their flight to the Far East.

After the German-Soviet war broke out on 22 June 1941, Raskova used her personal influence with Joseph Stalin, and her position on the People's Defense Committee, to secure permission to form all-female combat units. This request was at the behest of many Soviet young women and girls who wished to fight their homeland's enemy. In the Soviet Union there were already some pre-war female pilots that had been trained in aeroclubs by the Osoaviakhim (Society for Assistance to Defense, Aviation and the Chemical Industry). With the official approval of Stavka (Shtab Glavnogo Verkhovnogo Komandovaniya = Headquarters/Supreme High Command) and assistance from the Komsomol (Young Communist League) in selecting training candidates, Raskova began forming three all-female aviation regiments in October 1941.

After their acceptance into this new program, the future airwomen were moved to the small city of Engels on the Volga River north of Saratov. While at Engels, the women were to finish most intensive flying and navigation courses in six months, which normally took about 18 months!

Raskova had of course "kept an eye" on the entire training process, deciding on the final posting of each airwomen. With the official Stavka approval, Marina Raskova eventually formed three women's aviation regiments: the 586 IAP (Fighter Aviation Regiment), the 587 BAP (Bomber Aviation Regiment) and the 588 NBAP (Night Bomber Aviation Regiment). The first regiment was initially assigned to air defense duties in Saratov, while the other two were eventually sent to the front. These three aviation regiments were numbered in the "500" series, which meant that they were of special interest to the GKO (Gosudarstvennyy Komitet Oborony= State Committee for Defense).

When the women of these three female combat units were completing their training at Engels, the military situation at and around Stalingrad had become critical for the Soviets. Allegedly, the 1st Squadron was transferred from the 586 IAP for duty at Stalingrad due to shortages of male pilots. This is not necessarily true; there is another explanation for the transfer, i.e. that Tamara Kazarinova, the Fighter Regiment's Commander, wished to get rid of some of her subordinates, whom she considered troublemakers, by sending them to Stalingrad. Among those sent to Stalingrad were future aces Senior Sergeants Lidya Litvyak and Yekaterina (Katya) Budanova, with 12 and 11 kills (the second figure unconfirmed) respectively. Assigned to front-line fighter regiments, Litvyak and Budanova were initially underestimated as to their combat effectiveness and flying skills.

Eventually, Litvyak and Budanova were assigned to the elite 73 IAP, 6 GvIAD, 8 VA (73th Fighter Aviation Regiment, 6th Guards Fighter Aviation Division, 8th Air Army). Fighting as free hunters in search of targets of opportunity against the very best German fighter pilots, and overcoming their own male comrades' prejudices, Litvyak and Budanova were soon able to exceed the three confirmed aerial victories needed to become fighter aces.

Here is small episode from the combat efforts of Lilya Litvyak. On 22 March 1943, Litvyak was attacked by four Messerschmitt Bf 109s over Khar'kov area. Litvyak managed to shoot down two of the German fighters, while driving off the rest. This aerial engagement coincided exactly with the only two German Bf 109s lost in the same area on this date. The two German fighter pilots shot down were Leutnant Franz Müller (Bf 109G-4, coded "BH + XB") and Unteroffizier Karl-Otto Harloff (Bf 109G-2, coded "yellow 2") of the 9th squadron, fighter wing 3 (9./JG 3). German records have each of these men, who both survived, being reported shot down by Russian fighters. Lilya Litvyak was killed on 1 August 1943.

Katya Budanova was killed earlier, on 18 July 1943. According to her mechanic, while escorting a group of Soviet dive bombers Budanova was attacked by three enemy fighters and managed to shoot down one of them. Villagers who witnessed this engagement from the ground reported seeing Budanova's aircraft make a very controlled landing, even though it had obviously been damaged in flight. When the villagers reached the aircraft they discovered that she was already dead.

The remainder of the 586 IAP, commanded by Major Tamara Kazarinova, assisted in the Soviet Operation Saturn and Uranus (the elimination of the German 6th Army at Stalingrad) during November 1942, at which time they flew Yak-1 fighters. After the successful destruction of German forces in the Stalingrad area, the 586 IAP was tasked with defending some important military logistical facilities and strategic locations.

Earlier, towards the end of September 1942, the 586 IAP's Valerya Khomyakova downed a Ju 99, becoming the first Soviet woman fighter pilot to shoot down a Soviet aircraft by night. In 1944 the unit was rearmed with Yak-9 fighters and took part in the Soviet offensive in Hungary. The 586 IAP finished the war on one of the captured airfields in Austria. During the war, the female fighter pilots of the 586 IAP flew 4419 sorties, and scored 38 victories. Losses have not been totalled.

This unit was officially declared combat ready in May 1942, and on 23 May 1942, led by Marina Raskova, reached Ukraine. Because of their performance these women soon won the respect of their adversaries, when the Germans started calling their female opponents of this regiment "Night Witches."

Hauptmann Johannes Steinhoff, the commander of II./JG 52 who was awarded the Oak Leaves to the Knight's Cross for 101 victories on 2 September 1942, wrote: "We simply couldn't grasp that the Soviet airmen that caused us the greatest trouble were in fact WOMEN. These women feared nothing. They came night after night in their very slow biplanes, and for some periods they wouldn't give us any sleep at all."

On most occasions, the poor bombing and navigational devices of the "Night Witches" prevented them from dealing any heavy material damage to the enemy. But on the night of 25 October 1942, a lucky bomb strike set a fuel depot at the airfield of Armavir ablaze. The fire spread, and six Ju 88s and He 111s of Stab and II./KG 51 were destroyed. Only one aircraft escaped damage. This led to the quick withdrawal of II./KG 51 to the Kerch Peninsula.

As a counter-measure, Fliegerkorps IV organized an improvised night-fighter unit of 10./ZG 1. Operating with the support of searchlights, the Bf 110s of this unit took a heavy toll of the slow and brittle Po-2 biplanes once they encountered them in the air. The Po-2 aircraft was easily set on fire by either the antiaircraft or machine-gun tracers, and the plane was almost always doomed. The crew could not escape, because parachutes were not provided until the summer of 1944.

The most successful night-fighter pilot of 10.(NJ)/ZG 1 during this period was Oberfeldwebel Josef Kociok, who was credited with 21 night kills. During a single night he destroyed four Po-2s in a row. Serafima Amosova witnessed this event: "One night, as our aircraft passed over the target, the searchlights came on, the antiaircraft guns were firing, and then a green rocket was fired from the ground. The antiaircraft guns stopped, and a German fighter plane came and shot down four of our aircraft as each one came over the target. Our planes were burning like candles. We all witnessed this scene. When we landed and reported that we were being attacked by German fighters, they would not let us fly again that night. We lived in a school building with folding wooden beds. You can imagine our feelings when we returned to our quarters and saw eight beds folded, and we knew they were the beds of our friends who perished a few hours ago."

Oberfeldwebel Josef Kociok was awarded the Knight's Cross. Later he was killed in action near Kerch when he collided with a crashing Russian aircraft and his parachute failed to open.

On 6 January 1943 the regiment received the coveted acknowledgment of its members'meritorious service and was awarded the new title of 46th Taman' Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment. Soviet statistics show this unit to have flown about 23,672 sorties and the unit was credited with dropping 3,000 tons of bombs. (Please note that the maximum bomb load of a Po-2 plane was only 300 kg!) Twenty-three airwomen of this regiment were awarded the Gold Star of Hero of the Soviet Union, and it was the most highly decorated regiment in the entire Soviet Air Force. (The 24th Hero of the Soviet Union was awarded to a former navigator in 1995.)

Maj Marina Raskova herself took command of the 587th Dive Bomber Aviation regiment. Her chief of staff was Capt Militsa Kazarinova, the sister of the infamous Tamara Kazarinova, first commander of the 586th Fighter Aviation Regiment. The 587th began training on Su-2 bombers, which became obsolete, so it soon was re-equipped with twin-engined Pe-2 dive bombers. On 22 November 1942 the regiment finished its training and was ordered to move to the Stalingrad Front. The points of battle "tour" of this unit were: Orel, Kursk, Smolensk, Vitebsk, Borisov, Mazurian Lakes. In May 1943, near Elblag, Poland, the dive bomber regiment finished its war operations, now designated as the 125th "M. M. Raskova" Borisov Guards Dive Bomber Aviation Regiment (after helping in the liberation of the town of Borisov). The unit's flag was decorated with the Orders of Suvorov and Kutuzov III Class. This Regiment's crews flew a total of 1134 combat missions, dropping 980 tons of bombs. The most unusual success of this unit was scored by Mariya Dolina. In her Pe-2 bomber she downed two enemy planes, a Bf 109 and Fw 190, at the same time.

A fitting tribute was made to the dedication of this unit's airwomen by the male Free-French pilots of the "Normandie-Niemen" Fighter Regiment who often fought next to these women: "Even if it were possible to gather and place at your feet all the flowers on earth, this would not constitute sufficient tribute to your valor."

Marina Raskova did not survive the war, having died in a plane crash. According to Capt Valentina Savitskaya-Kravchenko, the unit's chief navigator, in December 1942 there was an urgent need to transfer as many Pe-2s to the Stalingrad front as soon as possible. While leading a formation of three aircraft to the front on 4 January 1943 in a blinding snowstorm, Raskova crashed her aircraft into the high west bank wall of the Volga River north of Stalingrad. The entire crew were killed. Since this was a military mission, involving supply of the front with aircraft and their crews, Raskova was considered as being Killed in Action (KIA).

The 587 BAP and the 588 NBAP were employed in the intense fighting in the Kuban area of southern Russia. They flew their missions resisting the finest Jagd Gruppen (fighter group) of the German Luftwaffe, JG 54. This German fighter group included some of the world's highest ranking fighter aces in history, including Erich Harmann with 352 confirmed air combat kills.

At times suffering heavy losses, the women in the night bomber regiment received many decorations and flew as many as fifteen missions per night. Some of those who have never read these women's memoirs believe that the story of the female ground crews has never been adequately covered in print. True, these women had to drag 60 kg (124 pound) compressed air cylinders to the aircraft to be recharged, hauled ammunition cans, removed weapons, performed maintenance tasks, loaded bombs and carried out repairs, which was all done in the open in all kinds of weather. The female ground support personnel suffered from frost bite, sunburn, stress, anxiety, hunger and fatigue.

During the Battle of Kursk in the summer of 1943, which resulted in the collapse of any hope of German victory in the East, prior to the Soviet assault against Berlin in May 1945, the Soviet female combat units were engaged in some of the heaviest aerial combat operations in history. Among the airwomen who didn't serve in the women's regiments was Senior Lieutenant Anna Timofeyeva-Yegorova, Hero of the Soviet Union, who flew the IL-2 "flying tank," in Kuban and Crimea. Timofeyeva, regimental deputy commander and chief navigator of the 805 ShAP (Ground Attack Aviation Regiment), was the only female in her unit. This woman faced some of the fiercest aerial combat in recorded history against the Luftwaffe's J-54.

Some of the women of these female units that won distinction and held command posts were as follows:

Commanders - 586 IAP (Fighter Aviation Regiment): Lidya (Lilya) Litvyak, Hero of the Soviet Union (HSU) - Flight Commander; Raisa Belyayeva - Squadron Commander; Tamara Pamyatnykh - Squadron Commander.

Commanders - 587 BAP (Bomber Aviation Regiment): Klavdiya Fomicheva, HSU - Squadron Commander; Marina Raskova, HSU - Regimental Commander; Nadezhda Fedutenko, HSU- Squadron Commander.

Commanders - 588 NBAP (Night Bomber Aviation Regiment): Yevdokiya Bershanskaya - Regimental Commander; Yevgeniya Zhigulenko, HSU- Flight Commander; Tat'yana Makarova, HSU- Flight Commander; Nina Ul'yanenko, HSU, Flight Navigator.

"It must have been at the time Al [Deere] was hit that one of the other 109s joined our formation and took up his position as my number two! It was not until we were over Bethune that the leader of the section on my right suddenyl realised that my wingman was, in fact, a 109. He immediately opened fire and the enemmy aircraft dived away, which was when I saw it.

The distance from Hazebrouck to Bethune is quite considerable and all this time I had this German aircraft behind me, in fact, I was even looking back straight into its gun muzzles without recognising it! Just why he did not open fire I will never know but all I can think is that he was a new boy who joined our formation by mistake, thinking it was his own, or having found himself by accident in the midst of a whole wing of the much feared Spitfires he just did not know how to break away without being immediately shot down.

Although it still gives me the creeps, it is interesting to speculate on what would have happened if he had not been fired at - perhaps he might even have landed back at Kenley with us!

About a week later we carried out a sweep over Dunkirk, St Omer and Gravelines. We did not encounter anything until we were approaching the coast on our way then I noticed that the number three of a section on my left was intermittently "trailing". I thought it was strange, as no vapour trails were being formed by any of the other aircraft, so I had a closer look and to my horror realised that numbers three and four in the section were 109s and the "vapour trail" I had noticed against the briliant blue of the sky was, in fact, smoke from his guns as he fired at the number two of the section. He must have been a terribly bad shot as he failed to score a hit.

I called out a warning and climbed towards the 109s opening fire as I did so. The Germans dived away and I latched on to the tail of the leader, his number two latched on to me, and my number two on to him - and down we hurtled towards the beaches of Gravelines.

I was in the fortunate position of being the only one who could fire as the German number two could not fire at me for fear of hitting his leader and my number two could not shoot in case he hit me! As we got lower the 109 I was shooting at pulled out of its dive and started a climbing turn to starboard and I noticed that we were now about 3000 feet right over the flak batteries so, having failed to hit the 109, as I thought, I broke violently to port and dived away out to sea weaving gently. A certain amount of flak came up but it was very wide of the mark.

It was not until debriefing at Kenley that I learned from my number two that "my" 109 had continued its turn to starboard, rolling on to its back and diving straight into the sand dunes where it exploded."


From: Johnny Kent, "One of the Few", Tempus Publishing 2000 reprint.

[In 53 (Fighter) Operational Training Unit based at Heston, London]:"The accident rate during training was considerably higher than it was on an operational unit and, although always regrettable, some of them had their amusing side. One was the result of engine failure immediately after take-off and the pilot had no option but to come down in Osterley Park where he hit a tree and literally wrapped the aeroplane round it. When we got there we could not move the machine and had to wait for the Crash Crew; in the meantime we examined the wreckage and could see that the pilot was himself jammed tightly up against the tree. Judging from the angle of his head, his neck appeared to be broken and there was no sign of life at all.

On arrival, the Crash crew rapidly got a chain around the aeroplane and, using their lorry, quickly pulled it clear - as it did so the pilot's head snapped back into its normal position and he said: "Thank you very much!".

Apparently he had been so tightly jammed up against the tree that he could neither move nor speak, but he had been able to hear all the comments as we surveyed his "dead" body. Actually his injuries were confined to a few scratches and bruises."

From: Johnny Kent, "One of the Few", Tempus Publishing 2000 reprint.


[In Nicosia, Cyprus, 1944] "Some of the Hungarian cabaret girls were most attractive and some of the stories about them were very amusing - unfortunately most will not bear retelling here. One, I think, can be told as it illustrates the attitude to life and world affairs that most of them seemed to have. One of our officers was dancing with a particularly good-looking girl who asked why he had the top button of his tunic undone. He explained that this was because he was a fighter pilot. She said: "Oh, I like fightair pilotts - my brudder he is a fightair pilott."

Here was too good an opening to miss so our young hopeful asked what squadron the brother was in, to which she airily replied: "I don't know but he flies the Messerschmitt 109 on the Rossian front!""

Where the relationship went after that, we do not hear!

from: Johnny Kent, "One of the Few" (Tempus reprint 2000)


"Hornchurch was bombed again later that day [1st September]. Half asleep in my bed, having been doctored and doped, I was dimly aware of the air raid sirens blaring on the camp and decided that the air-raid shelter was the safest place to be as the chances were that Hornchurch would again be the target, and it was. I hastened to the shelter behind the mess which was for the use of the mess staff and the airwomen who slept in billets nearby. The civilian mess staff, headed by Sam our popular and bluff chef, were already safely installed and seated in two rows along either side of the shelter and engaged in the usual speculative conversation.

I had no sooner seated myself when a pair of female legs appeared unexpectedly on the top rung of the iron ladder which led into the air-raid shelter from the emergency escape exit at the far end. Shapely ankles were followed by a figure draped in a dressing gown and obviously in some haste. Having successfully negotiated the ascent, she jumped thankfully on the floor of the shelter and turned to face the audience to display all of mother nature's charms, so embarrassingly revealed through her dressing gown which had, unfortunately, become unfastened. The poor girl was covered in confusion and the situation made no less embarrassing by the ribald remarks which Sam tossed to the assembled company. The unfortunate airwoman, who was an operations-room plotter, had been caught in her bath when the sirens sounded and deemed it wise to make all haste to the shelter. A wise but, as it turned out, an emabarrassing decision, and one not made any easier to laugh down by her admission that she didn't know there was another entrance to the shelter. In the circumstances, the bombing attack which then developed was suffered rather lightheartedly."

From: Group Captain A. C. "Al" Deere, "Nine Lives", 1959. [Al Deere, 54 Squadron, had been blown up by a German bomb in his Spitfire when taking off the previous day in the middle of a German air raid, 31st August.]

from: W. G. C. Duncan-Smith, "Spitfire into Battle"

[During the "Champagne Campaign", Invasion of Southern France August 1944 onwards]

"On another sortie leading 93 Squadron, to my great regret I fired on an ambulance; however, the Germans themselves were to blame. Along a straight piece of road leading north from Annonay, I saw a long column of German transports. I swung the formation in a wide arc eastwards, with the intention of attacking across the road. The flak, I knew, would be pretty stiff, and I thought that by this tactic we could take the enemy by surprise in the initial attack.

Putting 93 into line abreast, I dived for a large vehicle dead ahead of me. My opening burst caught it squarely along its side enveloping it in dust and debris. As I pulled up I saw the Red Cross on the roof. Realising I had attacked an ambulance I called off the attack. However running my eye down the column as I swung round left in a climbing turn, I could see it was the only vehicle marked as an ambulance. The Germans did this quite often. They would put a few vehicles marked as ambulances in the midst of an armed convoy hoping we would not attack.

Later when I went down the same road with Tim Lucas to look at the Tiger tank I found this ambulance burnt out where I had strafed it, lying on its side in the ditch. Beside it was a communal grave with the names of twenty German soldiers fixed to the wooden cross. The spot where the petrol and ammunition trucks had blown up also had a communal grave with fifteen names. [This was on the same mission when he shot up the Tiger tank.] The ambulance incident was unfortunate but unavoidable. I remembered a morning in England, during the summer of 1942, when I saw an Fw190 fighter-bomber strafe the main shopping area of Folkestone, which at the time was full of women; I couldn't do anything about it as I was unable to catch him. Looking at the names on the cross, I reckoned it was a just retribution."

[November 1st 1940: 92 Squadron. Kent was CO.] "Kinder, a hefty New Zealander, was shooting at a second Stuka when he too was attacked. A few days later I received a letter from him written in hospital and I think it is one of the most perfect examples of unwitting understatement I have ever come across. The purpose of the letter was to lay claim to one Stuka destroyed and one probably destroyed and he followed up with a description of what had happened:

I was firing at the second Ju87 [he wrote], which began to smoke heavily at the starboard wing root, but at this point my attention was distracted by a cannon shell which entered the left wing and blew the end off. I turned and chased the 109 that had hit me and I last saw it going down smoking near Herne Bay. I did not feel very well so I decided to return to Biggin, but after a while I felt worse so I landed in a field, I regret to say, with my undercarriage retracted. After a little while I felt better so I phoned the nearest RAF Station and they came and collected me from the farmhouse from which I had phoned.

"Tiny" Kinder was not the sort of man to try to impress me with his coolness, he was just stating plain facts. He did not mention, because to him it had no bearing on the matter, that the shell that "blew the end off" had also badly wounded him in the left arm and leg. Despite this he clamped his arm on to his leg in an effort to stop the bleeding in both, turned his partly disabled aircraft and succeeded in out-manouevring the German and, I was able to establish later, shot it down. It was no wonder that he "felt ill" but again he did not mention that he had to walk nearly a mile from where he had landed to the farmhouse. A remarkable person."

From: Johnny Kent, "One of the Few", Tempus Press 2000


"I was by myself now and still in the battle area and I was weaving madly for I realised how vulnerable I was. I was easy meat to German fighters, just their cup of tea, particularly if there should be more than one of them, for the Germans always seemed to fancy themselves when the odds were in their favour, particularly numerical odds. It was past six o'clock now and the sun was getting lower in the west, the direction I was travelling in. I felt fairly secure from behind, provided I kept doing steep turns.

I could see a single Spitfire in front of me and a little lower. It must be Ferdie, I thought at once, and chased after it to catch up. It would be nice to go back to base together. When I got closer to it I noticed a white stream of Glycol coming away from underneath. There wasn't very much but it was enough to tell me that the machine had been hit in its radiator. It seemed to be going down on a straight course in a shallow dive. I got to within about three hundred yards of it and called up Ferdie to ask his position, feeling that he would be sure to tell me if he had been hit in the radiator, although he might not have wanted me to know in the first instance. I got no reply and for a second became convinced that he had been attacked since I had last spoken to him. I opened up my throttle, although I ought to have been conserving my fuel. From the direct rear all Spitfires look exactly the same and I had to get up close to it to read the lettering. I came up on its port side and at a distance of about twenty yards. It wsn't Ferdie. I felt relief. It didn't belong to Maida squadron at all. It was 'G' for George and belonged to some totally different squadron. I made a mental note of the lettering for 'Brain's' benefit. I closed in a bit to see what it was all about. The Glycol leak wasn't severe. I couldn't think what to make of it at all. Perhaps the pilot wasn't aware of the leak. Perhaps he had baled out already and the machine, as they have been known to, was carrying on alone, like the 'Marie Celeste'. Perhaps it was my imagination, an hallucination after the excitement and strain of the past hour. I came in very close to it as though I were in squadron formation and it no longer presented a mystery to me. The pilot was there, his head resting motionless against the side of the perspex hood. Where it was resting, and behind where it was resting, the perspex was coloured crimson. Now and then as the aircraft encountered a disturbance and bumped a little, the pilot's head moved forward and back a little. The hood was slightly open at the front, which gave me the impression that he had made an instinctive last minute bid to get out before he had died. The wind had blown into the cockpit and had blown the blood which must have gushed from his head, back along the entire length of the cockpit like scarlet rain. I became suddenly and painfully aware that I was being foolhardy to stay so close as this for a sudden reflex from the pilot, dead though he was, a sudden thrust of the rudder bar or a movement from the stick could hurl the aircraft at me. I swung out and left it. I didn't look back any more. Before I left it, it had started to dive more steeply, and the Glycol flowed more freely as the nose dipped and the speed increased."

Roger Hall, "Clouds of Fear", Bailey Brothers and Swinfen Ltd., 1975, pp.79-81.


Colonel Walker M. "Bud" Mahurin, 56th FG WW2 (20.75 kills Europe; 1 kill PTO; 3.5 Migs Korean War):

"The excitement and the thrill associated with shooting down an enemy airplane is indescribable. I always liken it to a big-game hunt, only here the quarry has the same advantage as you. Boy, it's touch and go, but Jesus, is it thrilling! I think the most fun and the most excitement I ever had was flying an F-86 in Korea against the Russians. That was just sheer delight and pleasure."

"In Europe though, we were bore-sighted for 300 yards, and at that range the pattern would be a square of about 12 feet. The natural tendency was to fire way out of range. With the first two airplanes I got, I came home with German oil on my airplane and on the windshield. But lots of times I fired out of range. Lots of times I took "snap shots" and didn't have the presence of mind to slow down and take things easy and really get things lined up. But the more experienced one became, the closer one got to the enemy airplane, and as more inexperienced German pilots were encountered, the easier it was."

"But the perspective - we just didn't have training aids that were good enough to simulate ranges as the range would look in the gunsight... to show, for example, what a 109 would look like out there at 600 yards, so you could get a perspective. In theory, we were supposed to be able to control the circle so you could set it for the wingspan of, say, a Focke Wulf Fw190, and if the airplane filled the circle, you were within range... except, how the Hell are you gonna do that when it went this way and that way and up and down and sideways? You just couldn't do it."

"I was in several dogfights. With the Me 110s, most of my kills were rear-quartering stern shots; most were real stern chases where they were wide open, and they knew we were behind them and we were closing very slowly. If you couldn't get into that kind of position, your chances of hitting the guy would be a question of how good you were at aerial combat, and most of us weren't that good."

from: Philip Kaplan, "Fighter Pilot: A history and a celebration", Aurum Press 1999, pp.145-6.


"I got chewed out by General Arnold when I came back to the States to help train and form up other groups to take over. He asked me, "What is the best bomber we have?" I looked him in the eye and said, "Sir, I think the P38 is the best bomber we have." God, he got mad! "Why do you say that?, he said. I said, "Well. it's got two engines instead of four. It carries two 1000-pounders, has only got one guy in it instead of ten, so, if you lose one, it's a lot cheaper on people. Also, when you send the fighter pilot in a P38 in to bomb something, he can probably hit the target most of the time and the bombers can't."

Major-General Carroll W. McColpin, USAF (Ret).

"When we strapped into a Spitfire we felt snug and part of the aircraft; the Thunderbolt cockpit, on the other hand, was so large that we felt if we slipped off the god damned seat we could break a leg! We were horrified at the thought of going to war in such a machine: we had enough trouble with the Focke-Wulfs in our nimble Spitfire Mk. Vs; now this lumbering seven-ton monster seemed infinitely worse.

Gradually, however, we learned how to fight in the Thunderbolt. At high altitude, she was a "hot ship" and very fast in a dive; if anyone tried to escape from a Thunderbolt by diving, we had him cold. Even more important, at last we had a fighter with the range to penetrate deeply into enemy territory - where the action was. So, reluctantly, we had to give up our beautiful little Spitfires and convert to the new juggernauts. The war was moving on and we had to move with it.

My heart remained with the Spitfire. The mere sound or sight of a Spitfire brings deep feelings. She was such a gentle little airplane, without a trace of viciousness. She was a dream to handle in the air."

Erwin Miller, P47 pilot, 4th Fighter Group.

"... I developed an enduring affection for the breed. Sure, there was that obvious obesity coupled with a drinking problem and the undeniable fact that she glided like a flat iron and looked - head on - like a flying toilet seat. Yet, I'm grateful for the chance I had to pilot the Thunderbolt. It was a mighty fine, mighty machine."

Phil Savides, P47 Pilot, 50th Fighter Group

Pilot: Lt. Alden P. Rigby
Aircraft: P-51d HO-R "Eleen & Jerry"
Y-29 Victories: 4
WWII Victories: 6
Final WWII Rank: 1st Lt.
Post WWII Service: 3 years active duty during the Korean conflict with the 33rd Air Division in the Air Defense Command. 25 years with the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration), Retired 1979. 25 years in the Utah Air National Guard, Retired in 1979 at the rank of Major. Decorations:
Silver Star
Air Medal with 7 oak leaf clusters.
Distinguished Unit Citation (487th Fighter Sqdn.)

Few of us were up and about, to even learn of a long escort mission to Berlin, scheduled for later in the day. I had gone to the briefing tent and learned from Col. Meyers that he had requested a short patrol mission before the Berlin run. Huston and I were requested to find a few more sober pilots, just in case. At about 9AM the fog and haze had thinned to a point of being able to see the trees at the end of the runway to the east. General Queseda had just given the ok for a short mission, using only part of our planes. Start engines at 9:00, take-off at 9:20, and be back on the ground at 10: 15. This would give us time to refuel, and meet the bombers overhead at noon.

A few P-47 pilots from across the field were given the same instructions. The briefing was the bare essentials, since we did not expect more than a look at the "bulge." Col. Meyers would lead the 12 planes, and I would be in his flight, as "white 4." This was New Year's Day, and we had not seen the "Hun" aircraft for 2 days. The German pilots could be celebrating a little also, WRONG!!!! Little did we know of their plans for exactly 9:20AM at Asch, and 15 other Allied bases.

I kicked the tires, and climbed aboard at 9:00. The plane had been warmed up, and the tanks -topped off. The cock-pit was warm, and I was ready for a comfortable ride, as I rolled into position behind the Col. The P-47s had taken off a few minutes earlier, and headed straight for the front lines below the clouds. We had just gotten the green light from the makeshift tower, when we noticed bursts of flak just East of the field.

Surprise, and even shock would be an understatement. We next saw what looked like at least 50 German fighter aircraft about to make their first pass on our field. We could not have been in a worse position, unless loaded with external fuel (or bombs). We were sitting ducks, and our chances were slim and none. It was not a difficult decision to take off, since that was the slim chance. The next 30 minutes were filled with action and anxiety, that perhaps had not been seen, or felt before or since. I had turned on my gun heater switch earlier, and now had the presence of mind (and prompting) to turn the main switch on.

The take-off roll was very close, rapid, and somewhat organized. We did not wait for help from the tower, or our own departure Control Officer. We just went. I am certain there were a few short prayers to just get off the ground. I had my own sort of set prayer, consisting of 6 words that had been used many times. Being caught on the ground was simply a fighter pilot's nightmare. We had made the situation even worse by having our fuselage tanks filled.

This would make a big difference in our maneuverability, until about 50 gallons could be burned off. This would be my first take-off ever with the gun sight illuminated on the windshield. Things were happening too fast to even be afraid, that could come later. There was no training to cover such a situation, instinct simply had to take over, and it would have to be an individual effort.

Getting off the ground was extremely difficult. I was fighting Meyers prop wash, so I had to keep the plane on the steel mat a little longer to establish better control. It was of some comfort to just get airborne. Our ground gunners were firing a lot of shells at the enemy, and in all of the confusion, were firing at us as well. This would have been their first test in anything near such conditions, so they were not hitting anyone, but it was a little disturbing.

My landing gear had just snapped into the up position, when I opened fire on an FW-190 which was on Littge's tail. I told him on the radio to "break left", this put the 190 right in my sight. I could see strikes from the tail up through the nose. The plane rolled over from about 300 ft., and went straight in. I then picked out another FW- 190 headed east. It appeared that he was headed for "the Fatherland." I dropped down on his tail and opened fire at a greater distance than was necessary, since I had the speed advantage.

During the chase my gun sight failed. The bulb had burned out, and I did not have the time to change it, even had I known where the spare was. I expended even more ammunition before enough hits brought the smoke and crash in the trees. I was now in very difficult position, no gun sight, low on ammunition, and high on fuel. I had my tracers loaded to show only when I had fired down to 300 rounds. I was now into that short supply, with still a lot of fighting to be done. I knew that mine would have to be at very close range without the sight.

There did not seem to be any over-excitement, or even caution. It was not just another day at the office, but more of a day that all of the training had led up to. The odds were getting better with each minute. And I did have reason to be even a little optimistic. Considering getting off the ground in the first place, and being over friendly territory was much more than could be hoped for a few minutes earlier. The friendly territory added another dimension, since bailing out (if necessary) meant friends on the ground for a change.

I did not have any trouble finding the field after the lengthy chase on the 2nd 190. The flak was still there, though not nearly as heavy, and I could see at least 2 dogfights. I could see a few fires on the ground, and wondered if any could be "ours?" I could see a P-47 in a turn with an ME- 109 at about 1000 ft. I knew that the "Jug" could not turn with the German at the low altitude, which left me with a bit of a problem.

I really needed what ammo I had left for self-preservation, but when the 109 had the advantage, I did not have a choice. As the P-47 mushed to the outside, I came up from beneath, and- from very close range fired enough rounds to see hits on the left wing, through the cock-pit, and right wing. The 109 went in from about 500 ft. Before joining the fight, I reasoned that only I would know of my ammo shortage, and gun sight problem. I thought perhaps sheer numbers would count for something. The fuselage tank would now permit reasonable maneuverability near the ground, and I would very soon need that. I knew that I Was now down to what could be my last burst, even if all 6 guns were working.

My last fight was with the best German pilot I had seen at any time. He could well have been their Group Commander. I would be the 2nd or 3rd P-51 pilot to try for a reasonable shot. He put the 109 through maneuvers that had us mostly watching, i.e. a "split-S" from about 1000 ft. I recall seeing the aircraft shudder, then pull wing tip streamers as his prop wash shook the treetops. He was then back in the fight and very aggressive. I was glad to have another P-51 in the vicinity, since my firepower could only be a bluff as far as I knew. I recall being very impressed by the way the 109 was being flown, and hoped that I could in some way get in a reasonable firing position. I knew that I would only have one chance, (if any) because of his ability, and my limited ammo.

After about 5 minutes, I did not see any more firing from the German. It could have been that his situation was as bad as mine. His maneuvers now seemed to be on the defensive side. It was what seemed like 10 minutes, (but was probably less) before the other P-51 turned the 109 in my direction, where he turned broad side to me from something less that 30-40 yards. It was close enough for me to see the pilot clearly, and what proved to be the last of my ammunition score a few hits on the left wing, the engine, and then shatter the canopy and cock- pit. I had again guessed right for the very close proximity, high deflection angle firing without the gun sight. Some might think in terms of being "lucky." That could well have been, but I am convinced of other factors being involved (help from above for one).

The fight was over, as well as any other that I could see anywhere near the field. I now had time to think, and wonder about what had happened. How had we been able to get airborne? What had happened to the field, and would it be suitable for landing? This would not be a problem, since I still had plenty of fuel to find a field on the Continent, or even get back to England. How many of our planes did not get off the ground? How many of ours lost in the air, or on the ground? What had happened to my gun sight, and could I have done much more with it? I was not happy about wasting so much time and ammo on the 2nd FW- 190.

I was not at all anxious to land, though I knew the fighting had to be over. I would take my chances without ammo in the air rather than be in any hurry to get back on the ground at Y-29, or any field to the west. I could see several fires burning near the field, and what looked like 2 or 3 on the field, but the runway looked good. I could see the rows of P-51's and P-47's, and could not believe the field could have gotten by with so little visible damage.

My fuselage tank was down to fighting weight, and the fight was over. Flying around the area at about 2,000 ft. with more airspeed than usual was a great feeling. I had not been able to use this much speed since chasing the 2nd FW-190. I also had the time and judgment to check to the rear, which I had not done much of before.

Things had happened so fast, and as far as I knew gone so well, that I was getting curious about what the others had been doing. I could see 3 other P-51's in the area, but did not join up. A check with the tower was not all that re-assuring about the condition of the field. After about 15 minutes of looking things over, I decided it would be safe to get back on the ground. I had clearance to land, and would follow the P-51 on what was to be his break on the 360-degree overhead pattern. Instead, he came in on the deck and pulled up in the frequently done victory roll over the runway, with a few flak bursts following him. The ground gunners were still on edge. I had thought of giving the ground troops a little thrill also, but suddenly changed my mind. They had probably had enough for one day anyway. The frost had melted on the steel mats, and the landing was a bit slippery. I was just happy to be back where it all started in one piece.

Landing to the west left only a short taxi to my parking place, and the foxhole used some during this mission by the crew. As I cut the engine, there was some emotion that I had not given any thought to. Sgt. Gillette knew something of what had happened, but of course did not know the numbers, my gun sight problem, or my ammo predicament. He was almost in tears as I made my account to him. I assured him that it was most probable that I had done better without the sight, because of the low altitude, and very close range. We had always had a close relationship, but the events of this day, and our visible emotions about what had happened, left us with even more common bond.

It was almost unbelievable that we had not lost any aircraft, or that damage on the ground was mini- mal. The only injury was almost humorous, a sprained ankle for Lt. Doleac, as he stumbled while running for a foxhole. I do not recall any celebrations. There was a lot of excitement, but nothing that was not rather subdued, or even "matter of fact."

We would be the only base out of 16 airfields attacked that morning to "survive." American and British losses at other bases totaled some 400 aircraft, with some estimates much higher. Some 1200 German planes were involved, departing several airfields, and timed to arrive at their target base at exactly 9:20AM. There could not be any manuals written, or even instructions given to cover the emergency we found ourselves in. At least 2 years of training, and considerable combat experience suggested (demanded) that we get airborne at any price. The timing of our take-off, however risky, had probably saved lives, and certainly saved the near 100-parked aircraft on the field. Another miracle, 9 of us had shot down 23 of the German fighters, without losing a plane or pilot. This encounter has been referred to as "The legend of Y-29." I would also add the word "miracle" in that title.

The Germans had suffered only minor losses, except at Asch, where almost half of the attacking force had been shot down. An ironic twist to the operation came as the Germans were returning to their bases. Their High Command had failed to notify the anti-aircraft unit guarding the well-defended V-2 launching site at Wilhelmshaven of their return route. Their gunners apparently did not know of the big morning operation, and the cloud cover prevented any visual recognition of the many aircraft seen on their radar screens headed toward the site. The officers in charge naturally assumed this to be an Allied raid on their most valuable V-2 rocket target. The very latest German radar guns, with the most experienced gunners opened fire on their own planes. German records revealed that some 140 planes were shot down before the firing could be stopped. Another 30 pilots had bailed out after getting lost, or running out of fuel. A very tragic end following a very successful earlier surprise mission.

I have re-lived that day many times over the years since. It had to be a once in a lifetime experience for any involved. We were in the right place at almost the wrong time. One minute, or even 30 seconds later, and the day would have been a total disaster. I would probably have been history, instead of writing it. Being in take-off position on the runway, we would have been the Germans' first targets.

My 2nd mission of the day was un-eventful, except for a rough engine. My landing was a little fast for the still wet runway. My brakes raised the tail wheel several times while trying to slow the bird down. Turning off the steel mat runway was also "hot", and I came very close to a twin-engine aircraft waiting to take off. I returned a friendly wave, and gave them a "thumbs-up." I learned a few minutes later that the 2 Generals on board were Spaatz and Doolettle. They had come to congratulate us on "the morning action."

The afternoon brought some anxiety as well. At a briefing following the 2nd mission, we were startled by a near-by bomb blast. We were all a little "jumpy", until we saw what had happened. A P-47 had to land with one 500 lb. bomb hanging under his left wing. The rough landing strip shook it loose, and the blast blew the aircraft apart right behind the cock- pit. The thick armor plate behind the seat had limited the pilot's injuries to nerves and scratches. Nerves and perhaps other unusual conditions contributed to another tragic afternoon accident. A flight of 4 British Typhoons, based about 30 miles west of us, were just south of our field when a P-51 from another Sqdn. in our Group mistook the flight for German. A gross error cost a British pilot's life (and plane). I was out over the front lines, some 20 miles to the east when this happened.

I begin the news part of my evening letter to Eleen; "Well darling, it is New Years night, and I may have started the year out right as far as flying and Uncle Sam are concerned. I've had quite a lot of action today, but there isn't much I can say about it right now. I feel that I could write a book about it, but tonight I can't even write a long letter. You might hear, or read about the day's action before this letter arrives. I will give you all of the details later, but for now I share only that I am an Ace." I knew she would know exactly what that meant, since that was the dream of every fighter pilot. I close my letter by telling her, "be real careful honey, and know that you are with me in all that I am doing, today was exciting, right?"

As the war related events of Christmas day were perhaps the kind to be forgotten, those of New Year's Day were to be remembered. Newspaper and other lengthy accounts of the battle were quite authentic, except for some of the loss reports. For our Squadron's part on this day, we were awarded the "Distinguished Unit Citation." We were the only Squadron to receive this award in the 8th AF during WWII. For my part, I was awarded the "Silver Star," the 3rd highest service medal.

Those reading this, and other accounts, should understand that it is impossible to express the feelings, and perhaps a lot of the action as it actually happened. Please understand also, that as an officer, I had made the commitment to fly and fight while defending this Country. I also had my personal reasons for wanting the War over with as soon as possible.

B26 vs Me262
 

The encounter was between an inbound flight of B-26 Marauders and the Me262 jet. What makes this even more interesting, is that the Me262 was the rare Me262A1/U4 "FlugPanzer" also referred to sometimes as the "Narwahl". The Me262A1/U4 was packing a 50 m/m anti-tank gun in it's nose in leu of the 4 30 m/m Mk108 "Air Hammers", and was remarkable for being both accurate and devestating in it's performance.

1st Lt. T.V.HARWOOD'S Mission 44, official 323rd Bomb Group, 456th Bomb Squad combat mission/target number #376 was flown on the afternoon of 4-20-45 and lasted 4:20 hours, the second mission of the day for Harwoods crew. 35 ships of the 323rd went up at 11,000 feet. Harwood’s plane, Martin B26 Marauder; 42-96090 WT-M (Bltitz Wagon), dropped 2 2000lbs bombs on the railroad yard at Memmingen, Germany.

Crew: Theodore V. Harwood (P) 2nd/1st Lt., Eugene T. Muszynski (CP) 2nd/1st Lt., Anthony B. Caezza (NB) S/SGT., James N. Night (?) T/Sgt., George W. Boyd (RG) S/Sgt., Raymond Deboer (TG) S/Sgt.

Base of operations; Denain/Prouvy, France. It was April 20th, 1945, in the afternoon. Thirty-five B-26 Marauders flew out toward Nordlingen, Germany to drop their bomb load from 10,000 feet in the sky to the railroad yard below. This was our next to the last mission of the war and like any mission, it could have been our last.

From the skies below came a vision of death, the foremost of the German Luftwaffe Jet, rocket aircraft, the ME-262 armed with a 50 mm cannon. It was only seconds before the ME-262 was upon us. I could see the 50 mm cannon of the ME-262 cut loose. It was very close. The whole ordeal was like watching it happen right in front of you in the fast lane of the freeway. The 50 mm cannon bursts hit the number two plane, right wing man, and sheered the nacelle door off. I could see it as clear as day.

We had no fighter escort on most missions and on this mission we were alone so we had to take care of the problem ourselves. The entire squadron opened up with everything we had. Quite possible it was out turret gunner, but someone found the target and the ME-262 went down. One of the first jets ever shot down in combat. That same ME-262 craft is now on display at the Air Force museum in Dayton, Ohio. This occurrence was accidentally misquoted by Major General John 0. Moench. He had documented the ME-262 attack on 4-25-45, which would have been the B-26 bombing raid on the German airfield at Erding. The mission that had the ME-262 attack was on 4/20/45 on the B-26 Nordlingen railroad yard bombing raid. This element is listed in the official mission folder.

The account documented by Major General Moench is as follows:
"Flying the left wing on the Box I, number four flight leader, Ist Lt. Theodore V. Harwood's postwar account of the ME-262 attack included an observation of fire from the attackers against the lead flight and the sudden loss of a nacelle door from Capt. Trostle's right wingman. "Our top turret was chattering like mad and the air in front of us was filled with 50 caliber casings."

This element of the attack was not noted in the mission folder." It appears the date here or in Meonch’s book may be off - 4-25-45 ---The 262 may have hit on both days! he was on both missions.

MEONCH RECORDING OF HARWOOD: “Ah the second question you have ah on the last mission April 25, 1945 to Arding, Germany of the 262s ah I was in ship 040 in the low flight ah, as I recall, according to your diagram everything was in the rear of the flight, however aha as I recall, I saw the Me262 come up from our right - position itself below us and shoot at the lead flight, as I recall, according to your diagram here number 969 which was on the right of 131 the lead ship, I don’t recall any other ship numbers except our own, ah however I could see the 37 MM. puffs of ah smoke from his cannon as he fired, and as I recall the right nacelle door flew off number 969 in your position ah, that was about all there was to that mission as I could see.

Our top turret gunner was firing which that was the first mission in my 45 mission that the gunners ever fired a shot and that was sort of startling because I didn’t know they were going to fire made considerable rattle, the whole sky in front of me was filled with 50 Caliber empties coming out of ah, I guess the lead flight there but I don’t know how they got back there because according to your diagram, this ME 262 was ah unless I got this thing reversed, but I wasn’t in the lead flight, but this trail you got here shows everything in the rear of the flight, but defiantly we saw the 262 and I saw it fire and saw the smoke from the, when the cannon went off you could see a little puff black smoke every time it fired.

Ah, our top turret gunner engineer was considerably ah -hepped up he thought he hit the thing (laughs) I don’t know there was so much brass in the air, that was my big problem worrying about the brass coming though the canopy or through the ah bombardier’s nose compartment.”

Love this read Bobby. Keep'em comin'!

And; Thanx!

heading to the mountains for a couple days to decompress...but found something good for you. you met the russians...well here's from the other side ...the pacific. again not their words but stories about 2 japanese pilots.

Like many other aces, Anabuki Satoru felt attraction for aviation since his early years. So, he entered in the Youth Preparatory Flight Program of the Japanese Army when he was still a teenager, and in 1938, at the age of 17, he passed the test of the Army Aviation School in Tokyo. After some more training, in March 1941 began his first duty tour in Formosa, where he was when the Japanese Navy attacked Pearl Harbour on December 7 1941.

That very day Sgt Anabuki flew combat sorties over the Philippines and met a lone B-17D, but due to he was flying an almost obsolete and very slightly armed Ki-27, he couldn't shot the bomber down, despite he ran out of ammo. But he had his chance on December 22 1941, when during a combat against USAAF Kittyhawks of the 17th Squadron over Lingayen Gulf, he managed to shot one P-40E down. That was the first victory out of 51 he would be credited with along WW2. Still flying the obsolete Ki-27, Anabuki shot down two P-40s on February 9 1942, and few months later his unit was sent home to be re-equipped with the much more powerfull Ki-43 Hayabusa.

His new destination was Mingaladon airbase in Rangoon outskirsts, Burma. Was there where he scored his greatest succeses against the Allied aircraft. On December 24 1942 the Japanese pilots in Mingaladon should scramble fast because the sudden raid of British Hurricanes against the airfield. During the take off, the nearby blast of a bomb caused a malfunction in the landing gear of this Ki-43, and Anabuki was forced to scramble with his landing gear extended. Despite that, Sgt Anabuki could fight, and he did it very well: three Hurricanes fell under the fire of his machineguns, including the one flown by Pilot Officer C. D. Fergusson.

Anabuki's greatest deed happened on October 8 1943, when at 12:10 hs four Hayabusas (one of them flown by Sgt Anabuki) taxied in Mingaladon airstrip to take off and intercepte several B-24s which were raiding against a Japanese convoy in Rangoon harbour. However, a fouled spark plug caused that Anabuki should delay his take off during 5 minutes. When he finally could scramble, was unable to find his three buddies and a second flight of four Ki-43s (which were also tasked to intercepte the bombers) because of the haze. Suddenly, when he got out of the hazy area, saw his target: 11 B-24s together with two escorting P-38s, which apparently did not notice him. Anabuki realized that -due to the hazy weather- none of his comrades had found the enemy and that he was completely alone. But Anabuki also noticed that he was in a perfect attack position against both the enemy fighters and bombers, and the surprise factor was at his side. Being a hunter by nature, Anabuki decided to take that chance despite the odds were against him.

So, Anabuki choose one of the unaware Lightnings, put it in the gunsight of his Ki-43 Hayabusa and badly shot it up (Anabuki saw the incendaries exploding around the P-38's cockpit), breaking his attack and diving only when he almost collide the American plane. As he turned to repeat his attack, saw the P-38 trying a loop while leaving a trail of black smoke. Suddenly the P-38 stalled and went downwards, crashing near Yangon river. Then Anabuki jumped the P-38 leader, but his adversary was an experienced pilot because it immediatelly rolled and steeply dove. Knowing that his Ki-43 Hayabusa was excellent in dogfighting and could out-turn the P-38, but could not compete with the Lightning in dive and climb rates, Anabuki did not even try to follow the American plane, instead he concentrated in the bombers.

Sgt Anabuki closed to 1200 mts to the right of the bombers and 500 meters above them (he was flying at 5500 mts and the Liberators at 5000) and then rolled and dove. Anabuki knew that to shot down one heavily defended and huge four-engine bomber like the B-24 with the relatively weak weaponry of his Ki-43 (12,7 mm machineguns, with no cannons) was a very hard task, but he had the experience and the determination to do so, as himself accounted:

"All I could see was the enemy. I'm diving straight down towards the dark jungle. Life or death didn't matter then. If the gods still need me they wouldn't let me die. I see an image of my mother's face. I think I heard her yelling `Go, Satoru,go!`. I think of what a strong woman my mother is. I think to myself I must be as strong. Distance closes further. 300, 200, I see my bullets get sucked into the gigantic B-24. Getting closer. 150, 100. I start firing my final burst.

The enemy's defensive fire is fierce. Their formation is trailing a lot of gun smoke, raining bullets in successive bursts, but I know as long as I'm at this angle, they can't hit me. My target starts smoking from the wing root. Even as I'm firing, the white smoke is getting bigger and bigger. I'm near collision and I break off to the left and to the rear of the enemy, diving vertically. Fifty some enemy machine guns are firing at me, but not a single bullet hit me as I speeded away out of their range. "

When Anabuki prepared himself for a second pass against the badly hit B-24, saw that it slipped at one side, the crew bailed out and the bomber began to spin. So, in few minutes he added one P-38 and one B-24 to his killboard.

But when he was ready to attack the bombers for the second time, suddenly saw tracers passing very close to his port wing. Anabuki sharply broke to starboard, avoiding the burst, but a second one struck his plane, being the Japanese pilot badly wounded in his left hand. Anabuki realised that the P-38 leader which had previously escaped was back, and it was willing to take him out. Despite the intense pain, Anabuki performed a series of the sharp turns, exploiting the superior turn capability of the Ki-43 Hayabusa and forcing the American pilot to gave up. When the P-38 pilot did so, Anabuki rolled his plane and reversed towards the Lightning. At point-blank range (about 30 mts) the Japanese ace fired and black smoke emerged from the P-38, together with oil which splattered over the windshield of the Ki-43 and temporarily blinded Anabuki. When he recover the sight, the P-38 was diving away again, this time definitively.

Despite he was wounded and his plane damaged (Anabuki noticed that at full throttle the engine airlocked), Anabuki made an provisional bandage with his muffler to stop the bleeding of his left hand, and performed his second pass against the B-24s. setting on fire one of them. When Anabuki climbed to began another pass saw that the crew of this Liberators could bail out (actually only 2 crewmembers). Then Anabuki began his third pass:

"At this point, the overwhelming thought in my mind was that today's combat was over. I was about to turn back to base, and threw a final glance at the B-24s, which I presumed were by now too far away to follow. But alas! The bombers had apparently slowed down to cover their damaged comrade during my attack and was still within my attack range!

Looking back, it was a foolish thing to do, but I started to position myself for another attack despite my injury and the plane's damages. The pain and the gas kept me hardly conscious, and my sight had deteriorated badly. My arm was hurting badly as the tightly wound muffler blocked blood circulation. But there was a thought that dominated my fading consciousness; if the enemy is within range, it was a fighter pilot's duty to attack. To do otherwise would disgrace my family blood. My mother's face flashes back. To go into combat now may mean my demise. Mother forgive me! But then I thought I heard her say 'Charge, Satoru, and the way will open.'. I had no regrets. The enemy was there. I will just charge.

I was slowly gaining altitude to attack position for the third time. I was hardly conscious. All I could think about was 'Charge, charge!' Call me a foolish rustic warrior, I couldn't have cared less. I was fighting to keep my consciousness and charging at the enemy at full throttle. The pain of my left hand was getting unbearable. I untied the muffler from my arm. As the blood started flowing, the pain went way, but the hand started bleeding like a dam burst open. "

So, Anabuki choose a third B-24 as his mark, and began his run against it. But as he was attacking it, suddenly ran out of ammo. In a normal situation, he would disengaged and headed home, but Anabuki took a very different decision: he would ramm the bomber:

"If I was my normal self, I would have banked my wings at the enemy and wished them luck and break away, but my mind was just obsessed with getting the enemy. My consciousness was nearly fading from the gasoline and the injury, my hand kept on bleeding, and I was out of ammunition. All these negative factors were piling up on me, but all I had in my mind was the existence of the powerful enemy in front of me. I was completely taken over by one of the fighter pilots' instincts; the fighting spirit.

At that moment I was, by chance, right above the enemy. Although I was out of ammo, reflexes got the better of me and I instinctively put my plane in a dive. However, to start your dive from directly above the enemy means that by the time you are actually shooting, your attack will be at a shallow angle, presenting an ideal target for the enemy's rear gunner. Just as the enemy started firing away, I maneuvered my plane to present the smallest possible target for the enemy, and charged on. Just as I expected, I found myself facing a wall of fire, and my plane shook as their bullets hit her. To makes matters worse, my engine output went down, and my angle was now so shallow that I was in their propeller wake and being thrown around wildly.

I was totally obsessed with getting the enemy. I decided to ram the bomber. 'Take this! Yankee!' I pulled up, but perhaps my action was too acute, and the next moment, my plane careened into the middle of the fuselage of the third plane of the left formation.

Although I had intended to ram her, I instinctively yanked my stick to evade the crash. The next moment a tremendous shock hit me with a thunderous roar and I just sat there dumbfounded watching my propeller eating away at the enemy's starboard rudder at full 1130HP. There was nothing I could do now. It was as if the plane was being controlled by some gigantic force from outside. And all the while, I just sat there with the throttle pinned open.

The next thing I knew, the port wing of the "Kimikaze" hit the enemy's elevator. With a great shock, the enemy's elevator broke upwards, and my plane was thrown around about 45 degrees to the left, bouncing on the stabilizer and crash -landed on the enemy's fuselage.

I would guess that the enemy was surprised, but so was I. In spite of my surprise, my plane proceeded to eat away at the fuselage of the B-24 and stopped at around the US insignia. I think it was just for a moment, but it felt like a long time, sitting on top of the enemy like that. While I was on top of the enemy, they didn't shoot at me. I saw them staring at this rude intruder from their turrets and windows. They were probably not firing because I was too close, but I also had a strange worry in myself. I was seriously worrying about being carried to their base like this!"

Fortunatelly for him, "Kimikaze" slid off bomber's back, and despite initially fell, later it began a controlled glide, and Anabuki was able to restart the engine, crash-landing in a beach shore near Rangoon, where he was rescued and cured, rejoining to active duty only 5 days later.

It was then, when he accounted this combat to the journalist Eiji Suzuki, that he became famous. Anabuki was even officially credited with five kills that day, including the second P-38 (which he considered only damaged). After that, the Japanese High Command grounded him with propaganda purposes and sent it home to train new students at Akeno Fighter School. In late October 1944 he was promoted to Master Sargeant and came back to action over the Philippines when he shot down six F6F Hellcats with his new tool, the Ki-84 Hayate. Anabuki scored the last victory over Japan, it was a B-29. In the 1950s he joined to the Japanese Self-Defense Air Force and became a helicopter pilot.

Saburo Sakai, a fighter pilot serving with the Japanese Naval Aviation Service from 1934 to 1945, was the top scoring ace in the Pacific theater of World War 2, with a final kill tally of 64 Chinese and other Allied aircraft destroyed. His battle mount of choice through most of the Pacific War was the A6M2 "Zero" fighter, arguably the most nimble dogfight machine to see action on either side of the conflict.

This charming little anecdote from Sakai's career came to light in the Japanese press several years ago. I have since tried to relocate some of the articles related to it, but have had no luck. I do, however, remember most of the details, so I will try to relate them here as best as memory serves:

Several years ago, a former Dutch military nurse -- now a retired woman in her 70's -- contacted the Japanese Red Cross (or some similar charitable organization), attempting to locate a Japanese fighter pilot who spared her life somewhere over Java (New Guinea?) one day in 1942. According to her account of the event, she was flying in a Dutch military DC-3 (C-47) air ambulance at low altitude over dense jungle. On board were wounded soldiers and several children who were being evacuated from a combat area. Suddenly, a Japanese "Zero" fighter appeared alongside the plane. The nurse could see the Japanese pilot's facial features clearly. She and some of the children (!) stood by the tiny cabin and cockpit windows of the DC-3 and began frantically trying to wave him off. It is not hard to imagination the panic they must have experienced while pantomiming as if their lives depended on it (and they DID!).

After a few eternal moments of what must have been sheer terror for the desperately pantomiming passengers, the "Zero" gave a quick, acknowledging wing wobble before peeling off and disappearing from sight. The cockpit and cabin of the DC-3 were filled with cheers and sobs of relief.

For fifty-odd years, the Dutch nurse had wanted to meet with the Japanese pilot who spared her life, as well as the lives of the wounded soldiers and children that day. With a stroke of sheer luck, the Japanese Red Cross was able to locate the pilot of the Zero plane, and it was none other than Saburo Sakai, who had been flying a sortie combat air patrol on the day in question. When asked if he remembered the incident, Sakai replied that he did, and that he had thought about downing the plane for a brief moment, as higher command had instructed fighter patrols to down any and all enemy aircraft encountered, armed or not. When he saw the waving hands and horror-stricken faces in the windows of the DC-3, however, he was moved to mercy, thinking that anyone who wanted to live that badly deserved to survive. Apparently, he did not experience similarly tender feelings for many an Allied military aviator who was to stray into his gunsights in the subsequent three years of aerial combat, but on that day over the Javan jungles, he showed mercy. It is an anecdote of a type that is sadly rare in the annals of Japanese WW2 military history, but one that, nonetheless, shows that even the fiercest of warriors can be capable of human compassion.

Soon after the war, appalled not only with the loss of life that his countrymen had suffered, but seeking atonement for the loss of life he had brought about peering through his own gunsights and squeezing a trigger, Sakai became a lay Buddhist acolyte, a devotion which he continues to this day. According to Sakai, he has not killed any creature, "not even a mosquito," since the last time he stepped from the cockpit of his A6M5 "Zero" one hot August day in 1945.

and not to leave the italian boys out...

With twenty-six individual victories in aerial fight, Cap. Franco Lucchini was the top Italian scorer by the first World War and one of the few ones to inscribe himself of the title of Ace (5 or more victories) both in the Spanish civil war and in the Second World War.

He was born on December 24th 1914 in Rome, and he entered well soon the Aviation, achieving the military brevet in July 1936 at the Air school of Foggia as Reserve Officer.

During the war in Spain, enlisted him voluntary with the rank of Sottotenente, he was assigned to the 19a Sq. 23° Gr. “Asso di Bastoni”, with which on October 12th 1937 got his first victory flying a CR 32 fighter; he will conclude the war with 122 war missions, 5 individual victories, one silver medal and seven months of imprisonment after having been shoot down on July 22nd 1938.

Foggia Air School 1936. Lucchini sat on a training airplane.

To the enter of Italy in the WW2 in June of 1940, he is regular to the 90a Sq. within the 4° Stormo whose badge was an rampant horse, inheritance of the Greatest Italian ace of the Great war Francesco Baracca; perhaps the 4° Stormo will be not by chance the more victorious Italian wing of the war with almost 600 aerial planes shoot down, and well 32 aces, among which the best three: Martinoli, Lucchini and Ferrulli.

The 90a Sq., equipped with the new CR 42, was soon moved to northern Africa, where on June 11th 1940 Lucchini flown his first mission of the war, a flight of protection over Tripoli. Three days later Lucchini and others two pilots intercepted a formation of Gloster Gladiators near Bug Bug; they are the first English planes met by the pilots of 4° Stormo, and in the fight that follows a Gladiator is shoot down. From the official documents, kept in the Historical Office of AMI, it's very difficult to establish to what pilot is had to attribute the victory, above all because in the first years of the conflict officially the Regia Aeronautica assigned only collective victories, perhaps for don't exasperate rivalries inside the same squadron; it is sure however that at the same time, unofficially, both the single pilots and their commanders well kept track of the individual victories, as it is for instance read in the motivations of the awards assigned to the pilots.

On June 20th Lucchini together with three others pilots, took off from Tobruk, where the 90a Sq was based., to intercept an English Sunderland: after a long pursuit and repeated attacks (the fighter CR 42 had a maximum speed of around 430 km/h and was armed with only two 12,7 machine guns) the Sunderland is forced to ditch near Bardia, where the pilot , the only survival, was captured. Once more in the squadron's log book was written “a shared victory” but from the description of the fight it's easy to realize that the English four-engines is Lucchini's first victory in the WW2.

The takes off on alarm followed the flight patrols for the whole months of June and July, and in one of these missions, on July 24th, Lucchini gained his second victory against a Gladiator. Four days later it is the turn of two Blenheims intercepted after a take off on alarm and shoot down with two other pilots.

In the months that follows the intensity of the missions which the whole 4° Stormo was submitted, doesn't change, but in December a new enemy makes appearance on the scene: it is the English Hurricane, a fighter with 8 machine guns able to reach 530 km/h. The Hurricane is not the best fighter of the RAF, even if in the just won battle of Britain it has gotten more victories than the noble Spitfire, but towards the biplanes CR 42 technical superiority is clean. Despite everything however Italians fought well and several victories are also claimed.

To the beginning of January of 1941, the 90a Sq. is moved back to Italy to re-equip with the new Macchi C 200; Lucchini closed so the first turn of operations in Africa, during which he flew 103 missions of war and claimed 3 individual victories.

In the middle of June the 4° Stormo moved to Sicily: objective the island-fortress of Malta.

Activity is soon frantic and the Italian pilots are continually employed in missions of escort to the Cant Z 1007, recognitions and free hunting (that they always ended with the strafing of the Maltese airports). The defense of the island is entrusted to 6 RAF Squadrons equipped with Hurricane Mk I; this time however there aren't the obsolete CR 42s and the struggle against the more powerful C 200s of the 10° Gruppo (formed by 84a, 90a and 91a Sq.) is without doubt less uneven.

Lucchini, promoted Capitano in May, gained his first victory against an Hurricane on June 27th, while on September 4th in the official bulletin he is quoted for having individually shoot down two enemy fighters and other 22 (!) shared during two missions; it is clear that the well-known phenomenon of the “over claiming” common to all the Air Forces that fought in all the wars, is decidedly present in the italian claims. I think however that, all things considered, there is good faith in the claims of the pilots as they are brought in the official documents, extraneous to any propagandist tie: after all we are not speaking of the calculation of the goals in football-match, but of men that among thousand difficulties they had the obligation to shoot each other; this doesn't remove of course the importance to reconstruct the events underlining the true facts.

On September 27th during an escort to the Italian bombers against an English convoy to Malta, some airplanes, among which that of Lucchini, after two hours of flight are forced for the bad weather, to effect an emergency landing of Ustica. In the ditch Lucchini badly wounded his face, and he immediately was transported in Sicily with an hospital ship; he will come back in action only two months later just to fly his last two missions with 90a Sq. on November 21st and 23rd.

In December Lucchini is promoted commander of the 84a Sq and few days later the unit was transferred to Udine, together with the whole 10° Gruppo, to re-equiping with the new C 202 “Folgore"

During the operations against Malta Lucchini collected 55 war missions and 5 individual victories.

The 4° Stormo returned to Sicily at the beginning of May of 1942 full equipped with the Macchi C 202;

Lucchini, commanding the 84a Sq., is again hocked in operations against Malta, that however in the meantime had seen his own squadrons change the Hurricanes with the more powerful Spitfires Mk V.

In barely twenty days Lucchini flown other 14 missions and above all added to his score two Spitfires and others two probably destroyed.

On May 22nd the whole 4° Stormo moved to Martuba in northern Africa where the offensive of Rommel against the English troops is became; the fights are soon harsh and Lucchini is almost daily engaged. On June 6th he shoot down a P-40 (an american production fighter in strength to some RAF Squadrons as N°112 and N°250) and damaged others four during an action of free hunting above Bir Hacheim; on June 11th he was awarded with the fifth silver medal for military merit.

On July 16th above the sky of El Alamein Lucchini, and 3 others pilots, shoot down a P-40 but also his plane was damaged and forced to land at Kotefia an airport used by the Germans; two days later he was again in action shooting down together with Serg. Buttazzi another enemy fighter.

On October 20th Lucchini destroyed another P-40 but in the afternoon, during a dogfight with Spitfires and P-40s he is forced to an emergency landing after a precise enemy burst took away a propeller blade of his plane. Four days later still a take off on alarm against a formation of 25 Mitchell bombers and 40 P-40 fighters; with two other pilots Lucchini shoot down a P-40, damaged two B-25s and one P-40, but he was also stricken and despite he had a bullet in an arm and another in a leg, he reached the base of El Daba where crash landed; later the day he come back to Fuka, where the unit was based, but he was immediately sent to Italy for a long convalescence. Lucchini ended his second African tour, where during five months he completed 94 war missions and gotten 10 individual victories.

1943 year saw the withdrawal of the Axis troops from their positions in Africa tightened by now by the vice of Montgomery's troops that went up from Libya and those Americans that advanced from west through Algeria.

The 4° Stormo returned in Italy by the beginning of January to be lined up in June in Sicily, that represented by now the first line of the front; the attacks to the island were more and more frequent in sight of the imminent Anglo-American landing.

Lucchini rejoined the unit in March of 1943, and by June 20th was appointed at the command of the 10° Gruppo partly equipped with the new Macchi C 205s.

On July 5th Lucchini after being taken off on alarm with six pilots, intercepted a large formation of USAAF B-17s at the height of 5000 meters, escorted by 50 Spitfires; after having shoot down a fighter, his victory number 26, he launched himself against the formation of B-17s; it is the first time he faced these powerful four-engines, everyone armed with 10 machine guns, all tightened one to the other close so much to represent a real wall of fire. Lucchini with his small C 202 and his only two 12,7 guns succeeded in damaging 3 bombers, then surely stricken he fell down crashing to dead near Catania.

As Group commander, Lucchini flown only 5 war missions; in his log book in date 5/7/1943 it is read, where the holder usually affixed his signature, a melancholic “not re-entered ”.

In February 1952 he was awarded with the highest italian honour the Medaglia d'oro al valor militare (M.O.V.M.)

Combat record of Capitano Franco Lucchini

According with official documents, Lucchini gained 5 individual victories during the Spanish Civil War, 21 individual and 52 shared victories during WW2. The latter figure however is very inflationated; it was common for the Regia Aeronautica credit shared claims every pilots involved in the action without any further details, even if some one didn't shoot a single bullet.
I quoted Lucchini's shared victories only when I can assume he surely shoot; all the other kills were in his log-book simple because he was in action.

and lastly...here's one of my favorite aces...Kit Carson.

I was leading Blue Flight of Dollar Squadron providing escort for the 353rd Fighter group enroute to strafe the oil reserve stores at Leipzig. We were in the vicinity of Magdeburg, Germany when two large formations of bandits were reported. One of the formations, still unidentified, made a complete turn from a head on position and made an initial attack on us from our 8 o'clock. We dropped our tanks, turned and met them head on. We wheeled again and tacked on to the rear of the formation which consisted of 50 to 75 Focke-Wulf 190's. I closed to about 300 yards to the nearest one and fired a medium burst with no lead, getting numerous strikes. He started to burn and went into a turning dive to the left.I believe the pilot must have been dead as he never recovered from the dive, crashed and exploded. I returned to the main part of the fight again closing on the one nearest to me.I opened fire once again at about 300 yards, firing two short bursts, getting strikes all over the cockpit and engine. He started to smoke and dropped out of the formation and rolled to the right until he was in a split-ess position, never recovering from this attitude.I saw the plane crash and burn, and the pilot did not get out.
Returning again to the scrap, I pulled into the nearest one at about 400 yards and fired a short burst, noting a few hits. He broke violently to the left and I broke with him.I pulled a lead on him and fired to long bursts getting strikes on the engine and cockpit. He started to smoke and burn badly, the pilot jettisoned his cockpit canopy and bailed out. I watched him fall for some distance but did not see a chute open, the FW 190 crashed about 50 yards from a house in a small town. I could still see the main battle about two miles ahead of me and as I started to catch them, I saw a straggler on the deck. I dropped down to engage him but he saw me coming and turned left away from me. I gave chase for about five minutes before I caught him. I opened fire at 400 yards getting strikes on the right side of the fuselage. He turned sharply to the right and I picked up a few degrees of lead on him, firing to more bursts getting more strikes on the fuselage, the pilot jettisoned his canopy and bailed out. As I was chasing this one, another formation of about 30 to 40 FW 190's passed about 500 feet above me and 1500 feet in front, but they made no attempt to engage me or help their fellow. They continued on a heading of 20 or 30 degrees.
I pulled up and set course for home-base when another Focke-Wulf 190 made an attack from 7 o'clock high. We broke into him and he wheeled into a zooming climb. I chased him gaining slowly. Suddenly he dropped his nose and headed for the deck, I gave chase and caught him in about five minutes. I opened fire at 400-450 yards but missed, I closed further and fired another short burst getting strikes on the fuselage. The plane started to smoke; I fired again as he made a hard turn to the right observing more hits on the fuselage. Then the pilot jettisoned his canopy and I broke off my attack to the right expecting him to bail out. I waited for him to bail but he didn't so I turned back to engage him again. I was still about 700 yards away when the pilot pulled the nose up sharply and left his ship; his chute opened a couple of seconds later. During the whole encounter my wing man, Flight Officer O.T.Ridley, remained with me. His performance as a wing man could not be surpassed.
I claim five(5) Focke-Wulf 190's destroyed in the air.

Great stuff, very interesting. Keep em coming :)

some epic reading there bobby .............. you're a rascle, i was going to put "the white rose" on lol

sorry scotty...had i know i would have surely let you post it...

On September 16, 1943, three days after arriving at Snetterton Heath, Nevin Beam, the bombardier, and I were awakened at 9:15 in the morning by an orderly, who told us we were needed at Operations to fly with a different crew, of the 413th squadron, on a raid that day. We had been sleeping very late that morning after having attended a late party the night before. We scarcely had time to dress when a truck arrived at our barracks to take us to Operations, where we arrived about 10:00. The 413th operations officer was in a panic. The briefing had just ended, and it was his responsibility to provide complete crews for the raid. We were his replacements for a navigator and a bombardier who had been injured on a mission a few days before. When I told him I had not yet been issued any cold-weather clothing or other equipment, he and another person gave me some of theirs, and the rest of the clothing and equipment were located somewhere. Because we had not had time for breakfast, he scrounged up some K-rations for us. He also handed me a stack of maps and charts, and told me only one thing about the mission: The target was Bordeaux, in southern France, for a late afternoon bombing, with the primary target being an air field and the secondary target being an aircraft assembly plant. So here I was, a green navigator in the European Theater of Operations, on his first raid, and knowing almost nothing about the mission except what was in the battle order.

When I told the crew's pilot, Lt. Tanner, at planeside of my total inexperience as a combat navigator, he told me not to worry, because we would be flying in formation all the way there and back. I thought to myself, "Yes, but what if we are damaged and have to leave the formation?" It was his crew's 21st mission, so they had a lot of combat experience. His regular bombardier, whom Beam was replacing, had been shot down off Heligoland (an island in the North Sea northwest of Germany) while flying as a substitute on another crew, and after floating for a considerable time was picked up by the British Air Sea Rescue team, and returned to England.

We took off around 12:00 in the second element of the low squadron (at "suicide corner"). Assembly was over the field, and the formation flew at very low level to Land's End at the southwest tip of England, to keep German radar from detecting the formation. Beyond that point, the course took us far enough out to sea to miss the Brest peninsula of France by a wide margin. Much of the flight, straight southward until even with Bordeaux, was spent by me in arranging maps and charts to make it easy to navigate by dead reckoning in order to cross-check the flight plan positions over water. This was difficult, because ammunition boxes piled on the navigator's table made it necessary for me to do my navigation on my lap.

At a point off Bordeaux, we made our turn toward the target and started a climb to a bombing altitude of 20,000 feet. I got my first view of enemy aircraft as we approached the French coast. Four ME-110s (Messerschmitt fighters) appeared at one o'clock just out of range. I also saw my first flak; it was fascinating to me because it looked like black pop-corn, and it sounded like pop-corn when it exploded close to us. At first the German fighters attacked only other groups in the 45th Combat Wing. We could see a B-17, in flames, go into a spin and dive toward the ground. Six parachutes came out of the airplane, and while they looked like white blossoms floating down, it was a real shocker to realize that those were living men going down into enemy-occupied territory. A layer of clouds formed underneath us before we reached Bordeaux, so a decision was made not to bomb either the primary or the first-alternate target. The policy established by the Eighth Air Force was that German-occupied friendly territory would not be bombed through an overcast, because a miss could result in tragedy among friendly civilians near the targets.

So the wing lead altered course toward a different alternate target, the submarine pens at La Pallice, where there was no overcast. On the way there, about ten more enemy fighters joined the two that were already there, and they came from every direction. Two more Forts were damaged and could not stay with the formation, and the Messerschmitts directed most attention to them. They both finally exploded, with no parachutes leaving either plane.

Between Bordeaux and La Pallice, I got my first taste of real aerial gunnery. The .50-caliber machine guns had been installed by the ground crew while I was preparing for takeoff. I had a problem keeping my oxygen hose connected, so I had to hold the hose with one hand and fire the gun with the other. Nevin Beam helped me look for enemy planes. One of them made a run on our group, hit a plane in our high squadron, and more parachutes appeared.

One thing happened that was extremely embarrassing to me. As I jumped up once to man the gun, the hand release of my parachute caught on something, and all of the silk of the chute spilled out onto the floor of the nose compartment. I gathered it into as tight a ball as I could, and placed it on the floor behind me, in case it became necessary to bail out. I'm not sure what would have happened if I had had to jump out into the 150 mile-an-hour wind with an armload of silk.

I saw a B-17 spinning at ten o'clock, pulling out of the spin into a dive, with a Jerry fighter on his tail. I got the fighter in my gun-sight, with the proper lead, as a veteran gunner would, and fired many rounds at the "bandit". The pilot congratulated me over the interphone, but added that the fighter was probably out of range when I fired at it. Ultimately, the Fort was knocked down by the fighter, with no parachutes in sight.

Finally, the target was reached, bomb-bay doors were opened, the lead bombardier released his bombs, and the other planes toggled their bombs on that signal. The formation headed out to sea, reducing altitude again, so as to fly back to England out of view of German radar on the French coast. The fighters deserted the formation, and headed back to their home bases. I navigated primarily by flight plan, calculating occasional dead-reckoning fixes for practice, and was pleased to find that these fixes agreed closely with the flight plan.

About 20 miles from the English coast, darkness was setting in, and we hit a bank of "soup". The formation had to split up, and each plane was on its own to return to its home base. We took a heading that would be certain to hit the coast of England, and not the Brest Peninsula. At one time in the past, the Eighth Air Force had lost a returning squadron by flak and fighters over the Brest Peninsula. I was now at the point I dreaded, being unfamiliar with navigating over England, particularly at night. In addition, it would have been helpful if I had had practice using the Gee box on board. However, at one point searchlights over a vast area on the ground lit up, and waved back and forth in the direction of the airbases of each group. With the help of the pilot, I found a pundit that was located on our home base, we landed, and that was the end of my first combat flight. On the raid, I had managed to record a considerable amount of data concerning the mission that may have done Intelligence some good.

I was quite shaken up by something I found out after returning from this first raid. It happened that planes on this mission had carried steel plating on the floor as a test by the Air Force for partial armor plating. (The idea was ultimately dropped because its weight reduced the bomb payload that could be carried.) I found out back home that a chunk of flak from a shell burst below us had bounced off the armor plate and lodged in the fuselage directly under me. Its direction was such that it would have hit the box of ammunition I had used as a seat. By the time I had decided to to recover the piece of flak as a souvenir, an anonymous ground crewman had already adopted it as his souvenir.

I'm afraid that my performance as a navigator on that mission was anything but exemplary. However, I didn't feel bad about it because, in my view, the 96th Group had sent me out to navigate long before they had trained me to navigate under combat conditions. The pilot told me that this was only a medium-rough mission compared with the many others he had already flown. But I later found out that this raid, at ten hours and 30 minutes, was the longest in the 8th Air Force up to that point in time. After this raid, the rest of our own crew hounded me and Beam, asking questions about "how combat was." They looked at us just as we had previously looked at other crews who had flown combat missions. But we managed to assume an air of nonchalance, as if there was nothing to it. One clear advantage of having been surprised by an unexpectedly early first mission was that there were not several weeks to look forward to it, nervous with expectancy.

George "Buzz" Beurling - The Top Scoring Canadian

On June 7, 1942 he boarded carrier Eagle in Gibraltar, with 32 brand new Spitfires Mk Vc destined for Malta.1 Two days later, Beurling took off from the deck of Eagle for dangerous and long flight over the Mediterranean. He arrived safely at Takali, a dusty piece of airstrip in the middle of the island. As soon as he stopped taxing, group of mechanics unceremoniously pulled him out of precious fighter, immediately starting to refuel it and load its guns. Disoriented, he glanced around and found only dust, ruins, craters and bunch of miserably looking people, with war written all over their faces. Finally, Beurling found his place.

The RAF pilots considered beleaguered island of Malta a damned place. Living conditions and food were very poor. There was short supply of everything, and the British desperately tried to provide Malta with necessities, to help defenders of this strategic island. Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica tried to blast it into oblivion. There were daily bombing raids, and badly outnumbered RAF pilots were fighting heroically. Beurling arrived in the middle of this, and he loved it; especially, since there was very little of a formality among squadrons. The place was made for Beurling. He did fit its historical image perfectly: island standing proudly with the sword in one hand and the cross in other; him flying a Spitfire with blazing guns and the Bible in a pocket. It was there where he finally spread his wings and really fulfilled himself.

He joined Squadron No.249, with S/L Stanley Grant as commanding officer and F/L P.B. "Laddie" Lucas his flight commander. Canadian Robert McNair(who was the other flight commander) did not want Beurling in his flight. He had a very firm, negative opinion about him. Other pilots described him to Lucas:

"...the chap's a loner. Can't be relied on. He will either shoot some down or 'buy it'."

After a straight talk with Beurling, Lucas decided to give him a chance. Later he recalled:

"I felt I was in the presence of a very unusual young man. He didn't give a damn for me. A youngster really, who was champing at the bit to get to it, to get an airplane and have a go."

Beurling was assigned to fly with Lucas' good friend: Raoul Daddo-Langlois. When asked his opinion about Beurling after couple of flights, the latter replied:

"God Almighty, he's quick and he's got the most marvelous eyes but, he's a hell of a chap at being able to keep with us."

After nearly a month on the island, Beurling had almost nothing to show for. In one of the six patrols he flew at that period, he shot down one Bf-109, which got its whole empennage blown off from a single burst of his guns. Since no one saw it crash; he was credited with only a damage.

The big day came on July 6th. Beurling flew in one of the eight Spitfires, intercepting three Cant bombers and thirty Macchi 202's escorting them. Spitfires dived on them from 22,000 feet, with sun in the back. Beurling sprayed one Italian bomber with bullets and went after the fighter, which plunged down trying to escape. Beurling caught up with it at 5,000 feet, and with two short bursts of fire scored a perfect hit. At Takali, he found his Spit full of bullets holes. Since it was his flying day, for next sortie he took off in another aircraft. On his third fly that day - a patrol with three other pilots - he split the formation of two Ju-88 and twenty Bf-109F's. Typically for him, he "yahooed" through the opposition and went after the lonely prey. During this lone-wolf performance, he easily finished one Bf-109. Thus, he achieved a status of an ace. However, he was snubbed by his fellow pilots for individualistic performance, and celebrated alone.

After every successful sortie, Beurling promptly recorded all the data of his victories in his black notebook. He analyzed it and invented a set of formulas and graphs, which involved speed of aircrafts and angles. This served him to become (in opinion of many of his contemporaries) the best "deflection shooter can be." This mathematical calculations, together with lizard-practice-shooting, showed his great devotion to the science of killing. He was a zealot when it came to aircraft's guns, and had stuck to his armourers rather than his squadron mates. Since he did not drink and constantly talked about shooting and killing - occasionally adorning it with the Bible verse - the other pilots withdrew from him. When waiting for combat flying, he always checked all the guns in aircraft designated to him. He was obsessive about it. The same time George was completely unconcerned about his tidiness and exceptionally imprecise in his discipline. He was also very eager to fly missions. Unlike many others, he never complained about having to sit in the cockpit while being in readiness. He seemed to be indifferent to scourging sun and foul smell of cordite, glycol, grease, sometimes even vomit and urine.

Around that time he got his first nickname: "Screwball." In his book Malta, Laddie Lucas recalled: "He possessed a penchant for calling everything and everyone - the Maltese, the Bf-109s, the flies - those goddam screwballs.... His desire to exterminate was first made manifest in a curious way. One morning, we were on readiness at Takali, sitting in our dispersal hut in the southeast corner of the airfield. The remains of a slice of bully-beef which had been left over from breakfast lay on the floor. Flies by the dozen were settling on it ... Beurling pulled up a chair. He sat there, bent over this moving mass of activity, his eyes riveted on it, preparing for the kill. Every few minutes he would slowly lift his foot, taking particular care not to frighten the multitude, pause and - thump! Down would go his flying boot to crush another hundred or so flies to death. Those bright eyes sparkled with delight at the extent of the destruction. Each time he stamped his foot to swell the total destroyed, a satisfied transatlantic voice would be heard to mutter "the goddam screwballs!"

By July 11, Beurling had shot down two Bf-109s, three Macchi 202s, had a probable kill on a 109 and a few other aircraft damaged. On July 14, when flying alone(!) at 30,000 feet, Buerling attacked a group of Me-109s and Macchi 202s. During his dive he was spotted, and enemy aircraft, split its formation, let him go through, and closed after him. Starboard were Macchis, and Beurling turned toward them, trying to avoid Messerschmitts. Somebody got him anyway. He was flying for his life, using all helpful maneuvers. When being riddled with bullets directly from behind, he resorted to certain Spitfire advantage. If jumped from behind, the Spitfire, if its stick pulled too hard - 60 lb.. of torque was exerted on it (40 lb.. of shorter stick in Bf-109) - would enter a violent stall, flick over and spin. The maneuver was so quick and rough, that it proved to be an excellent escape. Another trick he often used was: "an aileron turn where you kick everything (the stick and the rudder) into corner." Aircraft flips over and drops like a rock.

"Screwball" landed at Takali in a shot-up aircraft, with bullet fragments in his heel. Doctor took it out, and Beurling was back in dogfighting business very next morning, littering St.Paul's Bay with two Macchi-202.

Next big day came on July 27. Beurling was part of a interception of the major attack on Malta, involving Ju-88s escorted by Messerschmitts and Macchis. He shot down 25 year old Faliero Gelli, who survived by pancaking his Macchi into a rocky field, and being found by merciful Maltese who did not battered him to bloody pulp, like they often did. Supposedly, Gelli is (he lives in New Jersey) the only man who survived Beurling's attack. After trouncing Gelli, Beurling destroyed another Macchi and one Bf-109. He also got probable second Messerschmitt. Since Takali airstrip was full of bomb craters, Beurling's squadron landed in nearby Luqa. After quick re-arming and refueling, they took off again, this time to meet a party of 20 Bf-109s. George went after separated rotte, and finished both of them. Two days later he victimized yet another German fighter. Thus after nearly two month on the island, his score was 16 destroyed, one probably destroyed, and four damaged.

Then Beurling got very sick. Lack of proper diet, strain of combat and severe case of Dog (form of dysentery) left him barely able to walk and weighting only 125 pounds. During this sickness he was ordered to accept an officer's commission. Sniffing a hero, the press wanted to interview him; and that had to be an officer. This time, he was too weak to protest. Once officer, Beurling moved from a dusty shanty to a charming villa in the hilltop Mdina. From its terrace he could watch the airfield located immediately below and all the drama of bombing and strafing.

On August 8, "Screwball" got shot down by a German, and crash-landed in a field. That was his third crash, and third without a scratch. Next few weeks were uneventful except, of a dramatic arrival of bits of convoy (operation "Pedestal") with desperately needed supplies. Among them was crippled tanker Ohio, and to salute her, Beurling did some stunt flying over Valetta's main street. By the end of August he collected a shared victory over a Ju-88 that had been separated from it's fighter escort.

October 14 was another of his flying days. Fifty fighters and eight bombers were heading toward the island. This time two whole squadrons of Spitfires scrambled. In the melee, Beurling snared one Ju-88 and two Bf-109s. But he forgot about his own tail, while going after his next victim. His Spit got peppered with cannon shells and plunged 16,000 feet down. Wounded in chest, leg and heel again.(he never even met Achilles!) Semiconscious, he managed to escape from burning cockpit and pulled the ripcord. Thus, he barely survived his fourth crash. Next two weeks he spent in hospital. He received another "gong": Distinguished Service Order, and was also told to pack up and get ready to go home for a bond tour. He was extremely agitated by this, since he would do anything for flying. During the farewell party, he said that he would fly even for Germans, rather then be a prisoner or not being able to fly at all.
Thus, his carreer at Malta came to a halt, with 27 enemy aircraft shot down. Also worth mentioning is (but can not be document) that, for almost every victory achieved, Beurling lost a wingman - or so is belived - and experienced pilots refused to fly with him. (Many veteran would confirm this. The fact however, is always omitted in every publication I have seen so far.) Later he openly admitted shooting a pilot in the parachute, during his days in Mlata. Annihilation of a Ju-88 crew in a floating dinghy, was also attributed to him.

Around that time the press started to call him "Buzz" and he was eagerly expected in Canada. On his way home, he survived yet another crash. This time it was a Liberator, which was taking him to Gibraltar. Only him, another ex-Malta pilot and one of the passengers survived. In England he was hospitalized for shock and wound infection.

At home he got a really big hero welcome, and media had their go with him. He gave many interviews, and that is where we learn a lot abount Beurling.

"I came right up underneath his tail. I was going faster than he was; about fifty yards behind. I was tending to overshoot. I weaved off to the right, and he looked out to his left. I weaved to the left and he looked out to his right. So, he still didn't know I was there. About this time I closed up to about thirty yards, and I was on his portside coming in at about a fifteen-degree angle. Well, twenty-five to thirty yards in the air looks as if you're right on top of him because there is no background, no perspective there and it looks pretty close. I could see all the details in his face because he turned and looked at me just as I had a bead on him. One of my can shells caught him in the face and blew his head right off. The body slumped and the slipstream caught the neck, the stub of the neck, and the blood streamed down the side of the cockpit. It was a great sight anyway. The red blood down the white fuselage. I must say it gives you a feeling of satisfaction when you actually blow their brains out." Brian Nolan: "Hero"

In another interview he referred to the Italians as "ice-cream merchants", saying:

"The Eyeties are comparatively easy to shoot down. Oh, they're brave enough. In fact, I think the Eyeties have more courage than the Germans, but their tactics aren't so good. They are very good gliders, but they try to do clever acrobatics and looping. But they will stick it even if things are going against them, whereas the Jerries will run."

Here is a small, but most vivid and full of WW II air combat spirit, describe - excerpt from "Bud" Anderson book:

"He Was Someone Who Was Trying to Kill Me, Is All"

"The sky above was a bright crystal blue, and the land below a green-on-green checkerboard divided by a silver-blue ribbon. Below was occupied France, beyond the river lay Germany, and it all looked the same, rolling and peaceful and bursting with spring.

... The day was unusually, incredibly clear. In better times, it would have been a day for splashing through trout streams with fly rods, or driving so fast that some giggling girl would beg you to slow. But these weren't those kinds of times. These were the worst times God ever let happen. And so the trout streams were left to the fish, gasoline was a thing you used sparingly, and it was just one more day for flying and fighting and staying alive, if you could, six miles high over Germany.

... This particular day, out of the year I flew combat in Europe, is the one I have thought of on a thousand days since, sometimes on purpose and sometimes in spite of myself. Sometimes it's in cameo glimpses, other times in slow motion stop action, but always, in Technicolor. I sit on my porch, nearly a half-century and half-world removed from that awful business, looking out over a deep, green, river-cut canyon to the snow-capped Sierra, thinking about getting tires for the Blazer or mowing the lawn or, more likely, the next backpacking trip . . . and suddenly May 27, 1944, elbows its way to the front of my thoughts like a drunk to a bar. The projectionist inside my head who chooses the films seems to love this one rerun.

We were high over a bomber stream in our P-51B Mustangs, escorting the heavies to the Ludwigsbafen-Mannbeim area. For the past several weeks the Eighth Air Force had been targeting oil, and Ludwigshafen was a center for synthetic fuels. Oil was everything, the lifeblood of war.

... We'd picked up the bombers at 27,000 feet, assumed the right flank, and almost immediately all hell began breaking loose up ahead of us. This was early, still over France, long before we'd expected the German fighters to come up in force. You maintained radio silence until you engaged the enemy, and after that it didn't much matter since they knew you were there, and so people would chatter. They were chattering now, up ahead, and my earphones were crackling with loud, frantic calls: "Bandits, eleven o'clock low! . . . Two o'clock high, pick him up! . . . Blue leader break left!" It sounded as though the Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfs were everywhere.

You knew how it was up ahead, and you knew it would be like that for you any minute now, the German single-seat Fw 190s and Me 109s coming straight through the bombers, mixing it up with the Mustangs, the hundreds of four-engined heavies and the hundreds of fighters scoring the crystal blue sky with their persistent white contrails.

The Germans liked to roar through the bombers head-on, firing long bursts, and then roll and go down. They would circle around to get ahead of the bomber stream, groping for altitude, avoiding the escorts if possible, then reassemble and come through head-on again. When their fuel or ammunition was exhausted, they would land and refuel and take off again, flying mission after mission, for as long as there were bombers to shoot at. They seldom came after us. Normally, they would skirmish the escorts only out of necessity. We were an inconvenience, best avoided. It was the bombers they wanted, and the German pilots threw themselves at them smartly and bravely. It was our job to stop them.

It seemed we were always outnumbered. We had more fighters than they did, but what mattered was how many they could put up in one area. They would concentrate in huge numbers, by the hundreds at times. They would assemble way up ahead, pick a section of the bomber formation, and then come in head-on, their guns blazing, sometimes biting the bombers below us before we knew what was happening.

In the distance, a red and black smear marked the spot where a B-17 and its 10 men had been. Planes still bearing their bomb loads erupted and fell, trailing flame, streaking the sky, leaving gaps in the bomber formation that were quickly closed up.

Through our headsets we could hear the war, working its way back toward us, coming straight at us at hundreds of miles per hour. The adrenaline began gushing, and I scanned the sky frantically, trying to pick out the fly-speck against the horizon that might have been somebody coming to kill us, trying to see him before be saw me, looking, squinting, breathless . . .

Over the radio: "Here they come!"

They'd worked over the bombers up ahead and now it was our turn.

Things happen quickly. We get rid of our drop tanks, slam the power up, and make a sweeping left turn to engage. My flight of four Mustangs is on the outside of the turn, a wingman close behind to my left, my element leader and his wingman behind to my right, all in finger formation. Open your right hand, tuck the thumb under, put the fingers together, and check the fingernails. That's how we flew, and fought. Two shooters, and two men to cover their tails. The Luftwaffe flew that way, too. German ace Werner Molders is generally credited with inventing the tactic during the Spanish Civil War.

Being on the outside of the turn, we are vulnerable to attack from the rear. I look over my right shoulder and, sure enough, I see four dots above us, way back, no threat at the moment, but coming hard down the chute. I start to call out, but . . .

"Four bogeys, five o'clock high!" My element leader, Eddie Simpson, has already seen them. Bogeys are unknowns and bandits are hostile. Quickly, the dots close and take shape. They're hostile, all right. They're Messerschmitts.

We turn hard to the right, pulling up into a tight string formation, spoiling their angle, and we try to come around and go at them head on. The Me 109s change course, charge past, and continue on down, and we wheel and give chase. There are four of them, single-seat fighters, and they pull up, turn hard, and we begin turning with them. We are circling now, tighter and tighter, chasing each other's tails, and I'm sitting there wondering what the hell's happening. These guys want to hang around. Curious. I'm wondering why they aren't after the bombers, why they're messing with us, whether they're simply creating some kind of a diversion or what. I would fly 116 combat missions, engage the enemy perhaps 40 times, shoot down 16 fighters, share in the destruction of a bomber, destroy another fighter on the ground, have a couple of aerial probables, and over that span it would be us bouncing them far more often than not. This was a switch.

We're flying tighter circles, gaining a little each turn, our throttles wide open, 30,000 feet up. The Mustang is a wonderful airplane, 37 feet wingtip to wingtip, just a little faster than the smaller German fighters, and also just a little more nimble. Suddenly the 109s, sensing things are not going well, roll out and run, turning east, flying level. Then one lifts up his nose and climbs away from the rest.

We roll out and go after them. They're flying full power, the black smoke pouring out their exhaust stacks. I'm looking at the one who is climbing, wondering what he is up to, and I'm thinking that if we stay with the other three, this guy will wind up above us. I send Simpson up after him. He and his wingman break off. My wingman, John Skara, and I chase the other three fighters, throttles all the way forward, and I can see that we're gaining.

I close to within 250 yards of the nearest Messerschmitt--dead astern, 6 o'clock, no maneuvering, no nothing--and squeeze the trigger on the control stick between my knees gently. Bambambambambam! The sound is loud in the cockpit in spite of the wind shriek and engine roar. And the vibration of the Mustang's four. 50-caliber machine guns, two in each wing, weighing 60-odd pounds apiece, is pronounced. In fact, you had to be careful in dogfights when you were turning hard, flying on the brink of a stall, because the buck of the guns was enough to peel off a few critical miles per hour and make the Mustang simply stop flying. That could prove downright embarrassing.

But I'm going like hell now, and I can see the bullets tearing at the Messerschmitt's wing root and fuselage. The armor-piercing ammunition we used was also incendiary, and hits were easily visible, making a bright flash and puff. Now the 109's trailing smoke thickens, and it's something more than exhaust smoke. He slows, and then suddenly rolls over. But the plane doesn't fall. It continues on, upside down, straight and level! What the hell . . . ?

The pilot can't be dead. It takes considerable effort to fly one of these fighter planes upside down. You have to push hard on the controls. Flying upside down isn't easy. It isn't something that happens all by itself, or that you do accidentally. So what in the world is be doing?

Well. It's an academic question, because I haven't the time to wait and find out. I pour another burst into him, pieces start flying off, I see flame, and the 109 plummets and falls into a spin, belching smoke. My sixth kill.

The other two Messerschmitt pilots have pulled away now, and they're nervous. Their airplanes are twitching, the fliers obviously straining to look over their shoulders and see what is happening. As we take up the chase again, two against two now, the trailing 109 peels away and dives for home, and the leader pulls up into a sharp climbing turn to the left. This one can fly, and he obviously has no thought of running. I'm thinking this one could be trouble.

We turn inside him, my wingman and I, still at long range, and he pulls around harder, passing in front of us right-to-left at an impossible angle. I want to swing in behind him, but I'm going too fast, and figure I would only go skidding on past. A Mustang at speed simply can't make a square corner. And in a dogfight you don't want to surrender your airspeed. I decide to overshoot him and climb.

He reverses his turn, trying to fall in behind us. My wingman is vulnerable now. I tell Skara, "Break off!" and be peels away. The German goes after him, and I go after the German, closing on his tail before he can close on my wingman. He sees me coming and dives away with me after him, then makes a climbing left turn. I go screaming by, pull up, and he's reversing his turn--man, be can fly!--and be comes crawling right up behind me, close enough that I can see him distinctly. He's bringing his nose up for a shot, and I haul back on the stick and climb even harder. I keep going up, because I'm out of alternatives.

This is what I see all these years later. If I were the sort to be troubled with nightmares, this is what would shock me awake. I am in this steep climb, pulling the stick into my navel, making it steeper, steeper . . . and I am looking back down, over my shoulder, at this classic gray Me 109 with black crosses that is pulling up, too, steeper, steeper, the pilot trying to get his nose up just a little bit more and bring me into his sights.

There is nothing distinctive about the aircraft, no fancy markings, nothing to identify it as the plane of an ace, as one of the "dreaded yellow-noses" like you see in the movies. Some of them did that, I know, but I never saw one. And in any event, all of their aces weren't flamboyant types who splashed paint on their airplanes to show who they were. I suppose I could go look it up in the archives. There's the chance I could find him in some gruppe's log book, having flown on this particular day, in this particular place, a few miles northwest of the French town of Strasbourg that sits on the Rhine. There are fellows who've done that, gone back and looked up their opponents. I never have. I never saw any point.

He was someone who was trying to kill me, is all.

So I'm looking back, almost straight down now, and I can see this 20-millimeter cannon sticking through the middle of the fighter's propeller hub. In the theater of my memory, it is enormous. An elephant gun. And that isn't far wrong. It is a gun designed to bring down a bomber, one that fires shells as long as your hand, shells that explode and tear big holes in metal. It is the single most frightening thing I have seen in my life, then and now.

But I'm too busy to be frightened. Later on, you might sit back and perspire about it, maybe 40-50 years later, say, sitting on your porch 7,000 miles away, but while it is happening you are just too damn busy. And I am extremely busy up here, hanging by my propeller, going almost straight up, full emergency power, which a Mustang could do for only so long before losing speed, shuddering, stalling, and falling back down; and I am thinking that if the Mustang stalls before the Messerschmitt stalls, I have had it.

I look back, and I can see that he's shuddering, on the verge of a stall. He hasn't been able to get his nose up enough, hasn't been able to bring that big gun to bear. Almost, but not quite. I'm a fallen-down-dead man almost, but not quite. His nose begins dropping just as my airplane, too, begins shuddering. He stalls a second or two before I stall, drops away before I do.

Good old Mustang.

He is falling away now, and I flop the nose over and go after him hard. We are very high by this time, six miles and then some, and falling very, very fast. The Messerschmitt had a head start, plummeting out of my range, but I'm closing up quickly. Then he flattens out and comes around hard to the left and starts climbing again, as if he wants to come at me head on. Suddenly we're right back where we started.

A lot of this is just instinct now. Things are happening too fast to think everything out. You steer with your right hand and feet. The right hand also triggers the guns. With your left, you work the throttle, and keep the airplane in trim, which is easier to do than describe.

Any airplane with a single propeller produces torque. The more horsepower you have, the more the prop will pull you off to one side. The Mustangs I flew used a 12-cylinder Packard Merlin engine that displaced 1,649 cubic inches. That is 10 times the size of the engine that powers an Indy car. It developed power enough that you never applied full power sitting still on the ground because it would pull the plane's tail up off the runway and the propeller would chew up the concrete. With so much power, you were continually making minor adjustments on the controls to keep the Mustang and its wing-mounted guns pointed straight.

There were three little palm-sized wheels you had to keep fiddling with. They trimmed you up for hands-off level flight. One was for the little trim tab on the tail's rudder, the vertical slab which moves the plane left or right. Another adjusted the tab on the tail's horizontal elevators that raise or lower the nose and help reduce the force you had to apply for hard turning. The third was for aileron trim, to keep your wings level, although you didn't have to fuss much with that one. Your left hand was down there a lot if you were changing speeds, as in combat . . . while at the same time you were making minor adjustments with your feet on the rudder pedals and your hand on the stick. At first it was awkward. But, with experience, it was something you did without thinking, like driving a car and twirling the radio dial.

It's a little unnerving to think about how many things you have to deal with all at once to fly combat.

So the Messerschmitt is coming around again, climbing hard to his left, and I've had about enough of this. My angle is a little bit better this time. So I roll the dice. Instead of cobbing it like before and sailing on by him, I decide to turn hard left inside him, knowing that if I lose speed and don't make it I probably won't get home. I pull back on the throttle slightly, put down 10 degrees of flaps, and haul back on the stick just as hard as I can. And the nose begins coming up and around, slowly, slowly. . .

Hot damn! I'm going to make it! I'm inside him, pulling my sights up to him. And the German pilot can see this. This time, it's the Messerschmitt that breaks away and goes zooming straight up, engine at maximum power, without much alternative. I come in with full power and follow him up, and the gap narrows swiftly. He is hanging by his prop, not quite vertically, and I am right there behind him, and it is terribly clear, having tested the theory less than a minute ago, that he is going to stall and fall away before I do.

I have him. He must know that I have him.

I bring my nose up, he comes into my sights, and from less than 300 yards I trigger a long, merciless burst from my Brownings. Every fifth bullet or so is a tracer, leaving a thin trail of smoke, marking the path of the bullet stream. The tracers race upward and find him. The bullets chew at the wing root, the cockpit, the engine, making bright little flashes. I hose the Messerschmitt down the way you'd hose down a campfire, methodically, from one end to the other, not wanting to make a mistake here. The 109 shakes like a retriever coming out of the water, throwing off pieces. He slows, almost stops, as if parked in the sky, his propeller just windmilling, and he begins smoking heavily.

My momentum carries me to him. I throttle back to ease my plane alongside, just off his right wing. Have I killed him? I do not particularly want to fight this man again. I am coming up even with the cockpit, and although I figure the less I know about him the better, I find myself looking in spite of myself. There is smoke in the cockpit. I can see that, nothing more. Another few feet. . . .

And then he falls away suddenly, left wing down, right wing rising up, obscuring my view. I am looking at the 109's sky blue belly, the wheel wells, twin radiators, grease marks, streaks from the guns, the black crosses. I am close enough to make out the rivets. The Messerschmitt is right there and then it is gone, just like that, rolling away and dropping its nose and falling (flying?) almost straight down, leaking coolant and trailing flame and smoke so black and thick that it has to be oil smoke. It simply plunges, heading straight for the deck. No spin, not even a wobble, no parachute, and now I am wondering. His ship seems a death ship--but is it?

Undecided, I peel off and begin chasing him down. Did I squander a chance here? Have I let him escape? He is diving hard enough to be shedding his wings, harder than anyone designed those airplanes to dive, 500 miles an hour and more, and if 109s will stall sooner than Mustangs going straight up, now I am worrying that maybe their wings stay on longer. At 25,000 feet I begin to grow nervous. I pull back on the throttle, ease out of the dive, and watch him go down. I have no more stomach for this kind of thing, not right now, not with this guy. Enough. Let him go and to hell with him.

Straight down be plunges, from as high as 35,000 feet, through this beautiful, crystal clear May morning toward the green-on-green checkerboard fields, leaving a wake of black smoke. From four miles straight up I watch as the Messerschmitt and the shadow it makes on the ground rush toward one another . . . . . and then, finally, silently, merge.

Eddie Simpson joins up with me. Both wingmen, too. Simpson, my old wingman and friend, had gotten the one who'd climbed out. We'd bagged three of the four. We were very excited. It had been a good day.

I had lived and my opponent had died. But it was a near thing. It could have been the other way around just as easily, and what probably made the difference was the airplane I flew. Made in America. I would live to see the day when people would try to tell me the United States can't make cars like some other folks do. What a laugh. ..."

Sergeant Kristian Fredrik Schye

At dawn on 9 April 1940, the Norwegian Jagevingen at Fornebu, Oslo, had seven of the ten available Gladiators serviceable, while the unit had ten officers and sergeants available to fly them, three of them under training. The serviceable Gladiators were 413, 419, 421, 425, 427, 429 and 433.

In the morning of 9 April 1940 Sergeant Kristian Fredrik Schye (Gladiator 427) attacked what he took to be a bomber, but was unable to continue due to ice forming on the windscreen of his Gladiator. He then saw what he identified as a Dornier Do17 – almost certain Unteroffizier Helmut Mütschele’s (with gunner Gefreiter Karl Lorey) Bf110 – 1000 feet below him over Kolsås, and gave chase. The aircraft crash-landed at Vøyen with both engines dead after he had attacked. The German aviators became POW’s. He was then attacked by three aircraft which he identified as He111s, but which were undoubtedly Bf110s; he avoided two but the third got onto his tail and he was hit in the left upper arm by two shells. Unable to move the throttle he tried to crash-land his damaged fighter on Lake Dælivannet, east of Kolsås, but could not get his flaps down and overshot, hitting a high-voltage cable; this broke, but he crashed at Braatenjordet near Valler station. Schye got out of his aircraft and was taken to Bærum hospital. It is likely that he fell victim to Leutnant Helmut Lent of 1./ZG 76, who was certainly credited with this victory as his fifth of the war. Schye later reported:

“It was starting to get more and more of German aircraft. There were plenty of targets, but at the same time I was forced to manoeuvre to not get an enemy behind me. During the dogfight I came closer and closer to Fornebu…
Suddenly I saw a German on contra-course 4-500 meters below me. I cut back the throttle, made a half-roll and dived straight down on him. I opened fire at a good shooting distance and kept him in my aim until only 50 meters separated us. Then he rolled over and disappeared downwards in a spin – later it was showed that he made a force-landing at Wöyenfjordene at Kolsås with both engines out of order.
When I took up my machine from the dive, three German aircraft attacked me. I managed to shake off two of them, but the third closed in very close from behind. My left lower wing was hit, the wing was perforated and the fabric on the left side of the cockpit was shot trough by splinters. One of these hit me in my left upper arm and paralysed it. This meant that I couldn’t operate the throttle.
Because of the damage, both on me and my aircraft, I didn’t see any other way out than to trying to make an emergency landing after a couple of minutes. I was continuously attacked by German aircraft and in an attempt to get away from them, I span down and made a forced landing in a clearing with small woods, after tearing down a high-voltage cable.”
Schye was taken to the Bærum hospital were he stayed for a couple of days before being released.
He was never captured by the Germans and continued with his medical studies but was later forced to escape abroad.

Schye ended the war with one biplane victory, this one being claimed while flying Gloster Gladiator.

After the war he finished his medical studies and worked as head physician at Drammen hospital. He was still alive in the beginning of the 1980’s

THE STORY OF SQUADRON LEADER HICKEY

To my mind, no-one could fail to be thrilled by the heroism shown by an Australian pilot, Squadron Leader William Joseph Hickey, who was killed in action on the day following an outstanding act of bravery.

During December, when the fighting on the northern front was particularly fierce, Squadron Leader Hickey was leading a detachment of aircraft on patrol, when they came across a formation of some ten Italian fighters and bombers. During the air battle that followed one member of the squadron - "Sammy" Cooper, had to bale out after being severely wounded. On his way down, this officer was being machine gunned by Italian aircraft and Squadron Leader Hickey, seeing what was taking place, immediately began to circle round and round in the vicinity of his colleague, in order to attract the attention of Greek troops on the ground. At the same time he was able to keep at bay the Italian aircraft which were making repeated and determined attacks on the helpless man descending by parachute.

When Cooper had landed near a Greek advanced post, which was itself under heavy shell fire, Squadron Leader Hickey made off to find assistance. He made a successful landing in a field near Argyrocastron, which was then only a short distance behind the front line, and immediately organised a relief party. Having secured an ambulance, he drove back towards the mountain post near to which Cooper had come down. Stopped eventually by an impassable river, Squadron Leader Hickey secured the loan of a horse, forded the stream and rode up to the Greek advanced post. Greek soldiers constructed a wooden stretcher and , under the supervision of the squadron leader, the badly wounded pilot was carried for miles, over difficult mountainous country and frequently under fire from the Italians, back to the ambulance.

The ordeal was not, however, over. The squadron leader drove Cooper back to Argyrocastron but there, unfortunately, the Greeks had little medical equipment, no drugs and no anesthetics. Undeterred by this unexpected set-back, the squadron leader had Cooper put back into the ambulance and began the drive to Yannina, where he knew that better facilities would be available.

Early next morning, still on the way to hospital, Cooper died and Squadron Leader Hickey, in spite of many hours of continued activity, returned to his squadron. A few hours later he was again in action with the enemy and, in the course of this combat he himself had to bale out.

By a tragic repetition of events the Squadron Leader came under fire from an Italian aircraft as he floated slowly down to the ground. On landing he was found to be dead.

I need hardly tell you that the other members of the squadron saw to it that the Italian pilot who had gunned the defenceless Squadron Leader was himself shot down in flames.

Hickey was a great type of Australian. Seconded from the Royal Australian Air Force on a five year's attachment , under the pre-war scheme for the interchange of pilots, he had proved an outstanding success when given command of a squadron in the Middle East. His concern for his pilots, which found so magnificent a climax in the heroic deed of which I've just told you will long be remembered as one of the most gallant episodes of the war in Greece.

He had already been recommended for the Distinguished Flying Cross and it was subsequently awarded to him but he did not live to learn of this honour.

NEVER A BRAVER MORE UNSELFISH MAN DIED IN GREECE.

THIS EXTRACT FROM 3 SQUADRON'S ACE BOBBY GIBBES'S BOOK (Pages 95 to 98) DESCRIBES TYPICAL EVERY-DAY FEARS AND THOUGHTS THAT HE, LIKE MOST 3 SQUADRON PILOTS, EXPERIENCED DURING ACTION AGAINST A FIERCE ENEMY

On Saturday, the 13th of December 1941, we spent most of the morning on standby without being given a job but during the afternoon we carried out a patrol in the Martuba area, led by Ed Jackson.

We approached over Derna from the sea, below a layer of cloud at about 5,000 feet heading south. As we crossed the coast we saw six 110s escorted by 109s, and we gave chase. The enemy pilots saw us before we could close, and the 109s turned around to attack. Due to the low cloud base, they were not able to make use of the superior performance of their aircraft and could not employ their pick and zoom tactics. However, the cloud made it easier for them to take evasive action, and every aircraft which I attacked was able to pull up into the cloud. We also were not loath to make use of the cloud ourselves, and whenever I was in any danger, I would climb up into it for shelter.

The squadron soon became split up and I found myself stooging around in company with a single Tomahawk and two 109s. One of these109s was at this point, engaged in attacking the Tomahawk, and as it took evasive action and the attacking 109 dived past and continued down, some couple of thousand feet or more below its level, I saw my chance and dived onto the second 109, carrying out a deflection shot at it from the port side, and following it around until my attack was from line astern. The 109 flicked and spun, with a whisp of smoke trailing in its wake. The Tomahawk was now on fire and going down, and its attacker started to climb up after me. If I had tried to turn into its attack, I might not have been able to get around in time, and this would leave my body exposed to its fire. If I did manage to turn in time, another head on attack would result. (These head on attacks always frightened hell out of me as I could never be sure of the enemy's method of passing. It was strange that I never was hit in these attacks, as both aircraft presented non deflection targets to each other. When crouching low in the cockpit, watching the black smoke from the attacking aircraft guns spewing lead, and almost mesmerised by the ugly air intake of the 109 protruding from the port side of its sleek nose, I would feel the size of a house while waiting until the last second, before pushing the stick violently forward, bunting beneath it, and would breathe again, when the enemy passed close above.)

I decided that I could climb up into the cloud before it could get into range, and I pulled up steeply at high boost. The cloud did not seem to be getting any closer; the climbing 109 was rapidly growing larger, but at last I made it just as the German pilot started to shoot. I disappeared into its friendly concealing grayness with a shower of tracer going past me and I turned hard to port in case I was still being shot at.

I then settled onto instruments and circled within the cloud for a short period before poking my nose out below to survey the scene, fully expecting to see the fire of a burning 109 below, as the aircraft which I had attacked, was still spinning when last seen, but I could only see one fire some distance away which must have been Tommy Trimble's aircraft. The second 109 had disappeared. I have since learnt that it was flown by Marseille*, who had added Tommy's aircraft to his tally that day.

Being now alone, I decided to make inland, hoping to find some other targets and having the cloud cover just above my level, my morale was high. I saw twelve Stukas, flying line abreast, coming towards me with their legs hanging down like eagles' reaching for their prey. These were just made for me, and I sped towards them feeling jubilant, anticipating a number of easy victories, when I suddenly saw nine 109s stalling along in line abreast at the base of the clouds, behind and above the Stukas. My plan was instantly abandoned, and I nosed up into the cloud, thinking that I hadn't been seen. I did a slow one hundred and eighty degree turn and when I calculated that the enemy aircraft would have passed below me, I dived down hoping that I would now be just behind them, and with luck, would be able to bag a 109 or two before retreating back into the cloud. I emerged amidst a milling mass of twisting and turning fighter aircraft looking for me. My guess had been wrong and I had been seen, and now, thoroughly frightened, I rapidly pulled back into the shelter of the cloud having decided to leave this little bunch well alone.

Having regained my composure, I again dived just below the cloud and with a wild weave, made sure that I was not in a position of any danger. Directly in front of me, heading east, were three 109s, flying away with their tails towards me. This time, I was sure that I could not have been seen and climbing back into the cloud, I pursued them at full power. When I judged that I must be in range, I eased out of cloud and had another look. I was right behind them, but they were still out of range. I re-entered the cloud and repeated the performance. After three false attempts, and being very careful not to emerge ahead of them, I finally emerged and was in close range, but I suddenly saw that there were now only two aircraft. In a panic, I turned violently to port and was only just in time. The third aircraft was coming up at me from below and I scuttled back into cloud, almost blacking out under the high "G" force, just as he was about in range to start shooting. With my heart beating overtime, I decided that I had had enough, and would return home. Remaining in the cloud layer, I turned onto a westerly heading. After a couple of confused minutes trying to orientate myself, I calmed down sufficiently to realize my mistake and turned back, flying east.

The cloud started to break up a little and I suddenly emerged from cloud, into a large bubble of clear air, surrounded by cloud above, below and all around, and flying sedately in this strange world, just ahead of me, was a lovely little 109. The pilot unfortunately saw me, and started climbing in a bid to escape as I closed on him and started firing, with about a forty five degree deflection, following around into a close line astern, giving him quite a hammering as he made the cloud above, and disappeared from view. I continued to spray the cloud area where he had disappeared, then I circled below waiting for him to come spinning down, but to no avail. I was sure that he must have been destroyed, so I dived below the cloud looking for his funeral pyre of black smoke, but there was no smoke. Terribly disappointed, I again turned for home remaining in cloud.

Suddenly, I remembered the twelve Stukas, and wondered where they had been bound. It had to be near Gazala, as that was the area of our front line. I knew that I could not return home knowing about this attack, so I made towards the area. The cloud was thinning and breaking up as I approached, and on arrival, I was flying under a clear sky.

Four Stukas were circling above the Indian troops, and about 3000 feet above were three 109s circling. I weighed up my chances of not being seen by the three fighters, and when the Stukas started into their dive, surrounded by a dense array of black puffs from exploding shells from the Bofor guns, I dived down to attack, looking up to make sure that I had not been seen by their escort. When I started to close on the Stukas, the Indians must have preferred my aircraft as their target and it seemed that every gun focussed their fire on me. Perhaps this put me off as my first attack was too steep and my speed too high for accurate shooting, and my attack was abortive. I turned away, and as the three top cover aircraft were not taking any notice, I carried out a further attack on two Stukas, which had by now formed up after dropping their bombs, and I attempted to take them from abeam. As I drew into range, both aircraft turned away and their rear gunners started shooting.

I carried out two or three attacks, but on each occasion the pilots turned their tails to me and I knew that I wouldn't be able to get the pilots who were well protected by heavy armour plate behind their seats. I saw the rear gun of one aircraft, suddenly swing up during an attack and I knew that I must have wounded or killed the gunner, but when I attacked again, the gunner in the other Stuka managed to hit my armour plate glass. There suddenly appeared a vicious looking little inner circle with spider web cracks radiating out from it, and small particles of glass came into the cockpit half blinding me. I pulled away shaking, and relieved that the glass had stopped the bullet which had been coming straight for my face. If it had been two inches to the left, there was no protective glass, and it would have been curtains for me.

After I calmed down a little, I dived down again in search of my Stukas, but they had disappeared. I looked above and saw that the three 109s were now only little dots, heading west, out towards the Martuba aerodromes. I dived low across the front lines of our troops knowing that they must have appreciated my intervention, and I then returned to El Aden with my petrol tanks nearly empty and my ammunition almost expended. I hadn't achieved much, and all I could claim were three aircraft damaged. Others in the squadron, without having spent the hectic period that I had, had achieved better results. Tiny Cameron got one 109F confirmed and shared a second with Tommy Briggs and Nicky Barr got two, a 109 and a JU88.

Tommy Trimble arrived back a couple of days later, badly burnt about the face and hands. He had been shot down in flames and had crash-landed near Martuba. Luckily, he was able to get away from his aircraft without being captured and eventually given help by a Bedouin who fed him and tended his burns with native herbs. At night, he slept in the chief's tent, and much to Tommy's amusement, he would be put over on one side of the tent, and the arab's wife would be installed on the other side. The old chieftain would lie down in the middle of the tent with a rifle. Tommy said that he was not tempted to seduce the wife who was not very attractive and whose lack of hygiene acted as a deterrent to a 20 year old, badly burned, young man. He was in quite a mess, and was packed off to hospital with a posting back to Australia as soon as he was fit to travel. As one of the original pilots, he had more than earned his release from the war, even if it was to be for a short break only.

I had hoped that he would have been able to confirm my 109 for me, but he had not even been aware that I had gone down to help him. The only other item in my diary was to record the arrival of Dixie Chapman who was to take over command of the squadron from Al Rawlinson.

REPORT by KEN McRAE on the recovery of his Bf 109G

During the successful advance of 1942 in the Western Desert, the Wing was returning to Gambut Satellite where we had operated from prior to the retreat. My co-driver and myself were ahead of the convoy and when we had arrived at our Satellite, the only aircraft there was a 3 Sqn. Kittyhawk on jacks. It had been under repair when we retreated and our orders were not to destroy aircraft that couldn’t be flown out as we'd probably be returning within a few days. The aircraft appeared to be OK and it was obvious no enemy had operated from the airfield.

Our main object was to find an enemy aircraft that could be flown by our C.O. Bobby Gibbes - so we went to see if there were abandoned aircraft at Gambut Main, several miles away.

There were lots of damaged aircraft and we were delighted to find an almost new silver-grey 109. On examination the damage was slight - mainly no canopy - which must have been jettisoned in flight for the tail plane was damaged where hit by the canopy.

I wrote CV on the fuselage and then realised if we left it unguarded someone else would grab it. I sent Rex back to the Squadron to notify Bobby what had happened and we would return the following morning. A team of airmen and a truck was organised to come to Gambut Main early next morning.

In the meantime three army officers appeared and wanted to know what I was doing with the 109. I told them that I was taking it back to the squadron for the C.O. to fly and evaluate its capabilities. They informed me that they were Intelligence and I couldn’t take it - they wanted to evaluate it. I told them ‘no way’. I had the aircraft and was going to keep it. Outranked (I was an F/O) and outnumbered, I did well to convince them the prize was going to 3 Sqn.

We finally compromised … they'd take the name plates from various places on the aircraft - which would allow them to find out where the bits and pieces had been manufactured. On departing their final remark was "We’ll get it anyway". "Maybe" I said "but not before we’ve flown it."

When Sergeant Palmer returned we parked the vehicle against the fuselage and that night slept under the mainplane. No one was going to get the 109 which we now knew to be a 109G.

The ground staff arrived early the next morning and the aircraft was towed back to the Sqn. I imagined the look in the eyes of the C.O.. to see such a prize and in such good condition.

Three or four days later the aircraft was repaired and the C.O. test flew it and later made more flights.

Eventually the Intelligence people did get the aircraft and Bobby Gibbes flew it back to the Delta area. Much later we heard that they had pranged it.

Philip Wright in Mission 59 1/2.

March 10, '45 was my sixtieth mission. From now on I'd be eligible for rotation home. It was a happy prospect. What wasn't was a 2,000' ceiling and 5,000' thick cloud cover by no means great weather to be flying combat in.

Since I'd joined the 36th Fighter Group on August 1, 1944, a lot of good friends in the Group hadn't made it as far as I had. They'd either been killed or were missing in action. Among them were pals I'd had gone to flying school with: Jack Wyand, Harry Vibert, and Joe Schultis. Others I recall missing from the pilot's roster of the 23 Fighter Squadron were Don Smollen (K.I.A.), Pit Cole (K.I.A.), Jack Teagarden (K.I.A.), and Don Dreifke (M.I.A.).

But the biggest loss for all of us was Major Albert E. "Easy" Miles, our squadron commander. His chute caught on the tail of his plane when he had to bail out. He went in with his plane. "Easy" Miles was one of the bravest men I have ever known.

The mission today is an armed reconnaissance in an area north of Frankfurt, Germany. My friend and roommate, "Maggie" Magnuson, will lead the squadron of two flights of four P-47 Thunderbolts. I'm to lead the second flight of four.

"Stay the hell away from the Remagen Bridge!" the briefing officer had told us.

The capture of the Remagan Bridge three days earlier had been unbelievably good fortune, and 1st Army was doing everything possible to protect this first bridgehead over the Rhine.

"There is a 15 mile no-fly zone around the bridge and any plane, and I mean any plane-Allied or German, that comes into this zone, is going to be shot down. So stay the hell out of there," he had repeated.

We took off from our Belgian base, and flew east-south-east over cloud cover. Not until we were well into Germany could we see ground through occasional holes in the overcast. In one of these, Maggie spotted a marshaling yard. He radioed the rest of us that he and his wingman were going down and take a look. The two planes of his second element tacked on to the four in my flight. We circled overhead at 10,000 feet and watched Maggie and his wingman dive down and disappear through the hole. Shortly, Maggie radioed up that he'd spotted some locomotives and that the rest of us should come on down.

I radioed my strung-out bunch to follow me and dove down through the hole and pulled out at 1,500' heading north. I saw the marshaling yard and lined up on it, made my bomb run, and released my two 500 pounders, then broke away in a steep 90° left-hand climbing turn. I looked back to see the havoc I'd wrought.

Terrible! My bombs had landed in some peasant's field and blasted a nice big hole in it.

In order that I wouldn't get run into by the planes following me, I climbed back up into the clouds again, made a 180° turn, and came back down out of the clouds and tried to find the locomotives.

I was flying was a brand spanking new P-47D30RA - my plane had been grounded for maintenance. A new plane has the smell of a new car, and I babied this cream-puff along like an old man out for a Sunday drive while I looked for the locomotives. At the same time I was thinking about the marvelous rest leave I'd just returned from in Cannes on the Riviera.

"Ker-thunk." The plane was hit! I didn't even know I was being fired at. No flak, no tracers, no indication of any enemy fire at all.

Aluminum skin over the wheel well on left wing was buckled up. Inside was a raging fire. Every pilot's reaction to such an emergency is to check his controls, and I kicked the rudder pedals. WOW-the fire just spread the length of the wing.

What to do? I could fire-wall the throttle and try to go back on the deck and pray the fire wouldn't get so bad I'd have to bail out. If it did, there wouldn't be time to gain enough altitude to jump. Another problem was, I couldn't remember if there was a bulkhead between the wing root and gas tank under the seat. If I guessed wrong-Blooey!

Then there was the Ramagen Bridge. I guessed it was about 70 miles due west of my position, and if I made, it I'd be shot down by our own people.

My next option was to go up through the 5,000' of cloud cover on instruments, then head for the lines. At least I'd be able to jump, if the plane didn't blow up first. But I was a lousy instrument pilot, and with the plane on fire, I would be watching the fire and not my instruments. No way.

The next choice-jump! The decisions took less than 10 seconds before I started my bailout procedure. I ripped off my oxygen mask, ejected the canopy, and rolled the plane upside down, ready to drop out, exactly as the book said.

Problems: First, I hadn't rolled the trim tabs forward to keep the nose up, when the plane was upside down, and it kept diving towards the ground. Second, you just doesn't "drop" out of a plane going 150 miles an hour. That's no gentle zephyr, and it keeps you jammed in the cockpit. Third, upside down, I was kicking at the stick to keep the nose up, while struggling to get out against slipstream, and I saw I was still hooked to the radio umbilical.

Then pow! Out I went, like a cork from a champagne bottle. I had wriggled out just far enough for the slipstream to grab me instead of holding me in. It was the fastest I've ever gone anywhere, anytime - the radio umbilical didn't slow me down one whit. Forever etched in my memory is the image of the vertical stabilizer going right between my legs. The thought still makes me cringe.

Flight school didn't include practice jumps; from now on it would be on-the-job-training. At best, I was at 1200' and didn't dare observe the nicety of counting to ten before pulling the rip cord. I yanked it. The chute serpentined out and opened with a lovely "WHOOMPH." and had he been there I would have kissed Sergeant McElroy, our parachute rigger.

As the plane flew away-engine roaring-I suddenly felt like two people. One, a stranger, parachuting into Nazi Germany. The other, who was going to get back into plane and fly back safely to the base. This horror just couldn't be happening to me! When the plane crashed into the ground in a huge explosion, I knew I wasn't going back to the base-and I became one person.

Suddenly, everything became quiet-even serene. The first sounds to filter into my consciousness were of the birds singing beneath me. It was eerily disorienting, but beautiful. As I drifted down, Hollywood images of Germans machine-gunning defenseless Allied pilots in parachutes flashed into my mind- I waited?

I pulled on the parachute shroud lines, to control my descent, but I feared if I pulled too hard I'd dump the air from the chute and crash to the ground so I gave it up.

The ground was coming up faster, and I saw a barbed wire fence I might straddle. Then the ground blurred, and I was on it in a heap. I looked around to see that I was in the back yard of a large house on top of a knoll. The six foot hurricane fence that surrounded the property was ample proof that the best way into this place was through the top. Down the knoll I saw a small town.

We had been told in Escape & Evasion lectures that the first thing to do is to hide your parachute. If the Germans found it, they would have a place to start tracking you from. Okay, I gathered up the chute, took it into a shed near the back of the house, and crammed it down behind a woodpile. Outside again, I went around to the east side of the house and looked for a gate-no gate. I hurried back around the house to the west side to see if there was a gate there and came face to face with, what else, eight or ten German civilians on the opposite side of the fence.

Their leader was a wild-eyed string bean of a guy that had a Luger pointed straight at me. My arms shot up in surrender. We stared at each other, wondering who was going to do what next. They seemed as surprised as I was and nearly as scared.

They motioned me to go back around the house. I did, and when I was screened from them by the house, I took out my 45 Cal. automatic, threw a shell into the chamber, left the safe off, and shoved it back into my holster. I would go down with all guns firing!. When I rounded the east side of the house, where I had looked the first time, there was a gate big as life and the Germans waiting for me. Again, my arms flew up in surrender, and they took the forty-five.

We started down the knoll towards the town, with me out front like The Pied Piper of Hamlin with a gun in his back, I think every kid in town showed up. They hooted and hollered at me in the German equivalent of, "We gotcha, We gotcha!" Kids are are kids. In my best military manner-head up chin in-I tried to ignore them and the dour stares of the adults that had joined the parade.

That morning I'd given extra care to my uniform-boots and brass polished. I even wore a tie. If I was going to be their prisoner, at least I could be a proud officer and gentleman of the U.S. Army Air Force.

There was a a small factory at the edge of the town, where they led me down into a basement office. The room was maybe eighteen by eighteen feet with solid concrete walls. The first thing they did was make me strip off every stitch of clothing. They must have thought I was hiding secret papers or weapons. I did as ordered. However, standing stark naked in front of a bunch of people, to whom I'd not been properly introduced, lacked a certain propriety. But I didn't have much choice.

About now, they decided to unload my forty-five. This set off the damnedest brouhaha and commotion among them as none of them knew beans about unloading a Browning 45 Cal. automatic. I was the only person in the room who knew there was a shell in the chamber and that the safety was off. If that forty five went off, in this eighteen foot square concrete room, the carnage would be unbelievable. I wouldn't die with my boots on; I'd die with nothin' on.

Naked as I was, I desperately pantomimed how to unload the piece. They thought I was trying to get the thing back and yelled and cursed me. But I kept at it, and it finally dawned on them I was trying to help, and "we" unloaded the forty-five. It was a scene right out of a Three Stooges comedy.

When they found I didn't have any hidden weapons or secret documents on me, they let me get dressed and marched me over to the burgermeister's office. The kids of course, tagged along and continued badgering me. They were no longer amusing.

Of the four or so Germans in the burgermeister's office the Burgermeister was the kindest. If he hadn't been there, I believe the others would have made short work of me because of the devastation and civilian deaths that resulted from Allied bombing.

Two self-important uniformed officials came in and took over. I had no idea who they were or could I understand a word they were saying. But I got the feeling they weren't sure what to do with me, and I began saying, "Luftwaffe, Luftwaffe."

If captured, we had been told to try to get in the hands of the Luftwaffe-comrades-in-arms, that sort of thing. The next choice was the Wehrmacht, and most of all try to stay out of the hands of the Gestapo, SS, and the civilians. At least these weren't the Gestapo or SS, and the "Luftwaffe" suggestion might work. I must have said the right thing, for the leader quickly started to telephone.

He greeted the person at the other end of the line with a loud, "Heil Hitler," at the same time his arm shot up in the Nazi salute. I couldn't believe it. I thought this only happened in Charlie Chaplin movies. Whatever he said was Greek to me, as I spoke no German. But it seemed to have solved the problem.

I was dying for a cigarette, and with a lot of gestures was able to persuade them to let me have one. I sat ramrod stiff in the straight backed chair, and puffed away "by the numbers" in my best officer and gentleman pose.

The moment didn't last. A man in peasant clothing stormed into the room and began screaming and hollering at me. Then he smashed the cigarette from my hand. I had no idea what was going on. Through a little French, I finally realized he thought I had killed his wife and children. I couldn't have, unless they had been out in the middle of the field where my bombs had landed. No doubt his family had been killed at some point, and, for that, he was taking out his rage on me.

In French he yelled, "Pourquoi? Pourquoi?" (For why? For why?)

My only answer was, "C'est la guerre." (It is war.)

It was the wrong thing to say. He jumped on me, and beat on me with his fists. I didn't dare fight back and just curled up in a ball. The other Germans finally pulled him off and shoved him out of the room. I was damned lucky he hadn't captured me first.

The situation calmed down after he left, and I was turned over to an older man in uniform. I thought he was the town constable. He took me outside, picked up his bicycle and motioned me to come with him. The kids were still with us but had stopped their antics. We walked through the town, until he stopped at a house in the middle of a block. He leaned his bicycle against a low brick fence and went up the walk to a side entrance.

What followed was the greatest pantomime I have ever seen. The constable stood outside the door in profile to me, apparently telling an unseen wife that he had to take this vicious "Terraflieger" to the airfield in Giessen, and that he would be late coming home for supper. But it was just as obvious from the look on his face and the lecture he was receiving that she didn't believe one word of it. She must have yelled that all he wanted to do was to go to Giessen, get drunk and chase girls.

He argued back furiously, while pointing down the walk at me, but staring straight ahead at her. Didn't she realize the importance of his mission and what a hero he was? Finally this shrew's face pops out from behind the door, like a Jack-In-The-Box, she craned her head to see the "Terraflieger." Pop-eyed he'd been telling the truth, she jerked her head back into the house as quickly as it came out. The constable turned and strutted back down the walk full of himself, muttering, "Boy-did I ever tell her!" I didn't understand a word of what they said, but I didn't have to.

The constable shoved the kids aside. He mounted his bicycle and motioned me to get going. I trotted along slowly, as he did S-turns to keep from falling off the bike. The kids had tired of the game and quit. I said the hell with running and slowed to a walk. The constable got off his bicycle, and we walked out into the beautiful German countryside-alone.

The constable was an older man, and I gave a thought to overpowering him and escaping. But he kept the bicycle between us and his Luger on the far side. He knew what I was thinking and was prepared for any tricks I might pull. If I tried it one of us was certain to be killed. If I did escape, I had no food or anything else I would need to survive. It was seventy mile trek to our lines. The risk wasn't worth it.

We plodded along silently into the late afternoon sun. Each deep in his own thoughts. In about an hour I guessed, my watch and all my other possessions had been liberated back at the factory-we came to an airfield in Giessen.

The constable turned me over to the Luftwaffe and without ceremony they dumped me into a cell. My sixtieth mission was incomplete and all hopes for rotation home- shattered.

EPILOGUE

Greycliff, Montana is a quintessential wide spot in the road. No post office, one retail store, and a few occupied houses. Greycliff is not a place to expect extraordinary coincidences to take place.

In the summer of 1992 my wife, Joan, and I were playing tennis at a friends ranch outside of Greycliff. One of our doubles opponents was Martin Siebert, a native of Germany, and pastor of the Congregational Church in nearby Big Timber. After the match, I mentioned to Martin that I had been a fighter pilot and P.O.W. in Germany at the end of World War-II.

"Where were you shot down?" Martin inquired.

"Near Giessen," I told him.

"That's not far from where I was brought up," he answered.

I told Martin in 1984 that. we'd tried to locate the town (I never knew the name of it) where I'd been shot down, but we were unsuccessful. I believed it was about five miles northeast of Giessen.

Two weeks later Martin introduced me to a visiting young German couple who lived very near the place of my capture. I told them how I had parachuted into the back yard of a house on top of a knoll, and about my capture, and trip to Giessen. I believed the town was roughly 5 miles northeast of Giessen.

A month later a letter arrived from my new German friends. In it were photos of "my house" exactly as I remembered. Included was the current owner's name and address, Prof./Dr. Albert Spitznagel of Staufenberg-Mainzlar, plus names of several people who remembered the incident.

In response to my letter, relating the events of that day and my excitement at discovering the site of my "downfall," Prof. Spitznagel invited my wife and myself to spend a weekend with him and his wife, Gisella, at the "house on top of a knoll." We could not refuse and in February of 1994 we went.

Their hospitality was fabulous and included a reception for us to meet many of those who remembered that March day in 1945. They included the burgermeister's son, Willie Krieling, one of my "kids," Friedrich Zecker and the current deputy burgermeister, Reiner Mehler, and a reporter from the Giessen newspaper to record the events.

But the belle of the ball was Hilde Schmitt. Hilde was then the twenty-one year old housekeeper/governess for the family of "the house on the knoll" and told the following,

"...I don't know why I didn't go back into the house with the rest of the family, when the 'all clear' sounded. Suddenly, I saw a man - bent over running - along the fence and hedge. It was clear he was the shot-down pilot, and I ran up behind him with a pick-axe! Then other people came up the hill and captured you."

At the reception, Hilde and I discussed how fortunate it was I didn't see her, when she followed me with the pick-axe. I had my forty-five, and if she had threatened me, I might have shot her. That would surely have been curtains for me when I was captured. The next day Hilde invited us to her home for champagne and cake. We continue to exchange Christmas cards.

The story was published in the Giessen newspaper on Monday morning and was read by a young man, Andreas Dort. He immediately called the Spitznagels, missing us by 15 minutes. He was livid.

Andreas' grandfather had retrieved a section of my plane using it to cover a wood pile. His grandmother had made underwear from my parachute.

Andreas had grown up obsessed with the plane and its pilot. Over the years he had collected many parts of my plane from the crash site. Now his pilot had come to Mainzlar and he had missed him! Andreas' story also became a feature article in the Giessen paper.

He wrote me that he wanted to send me pieces of my plane and parachute. After a lot of bureaucratic haggling with the customs department, the package arrived with the cherished mementos.

In his covering letter Andreas wrote, "Please don't be angry because the pieces are in bad shape. They are very old. And only you know, what a sh*t big crash you've done."

Another letter from Andreas told about how he found out who the constable was:

"Dear Phil,

"On Tuesday Sept. 5th a man from Staufenberg visit me in the Burgermeisterei. We talk about some official things. Then he said: are you the man, who found some plane-pieces? I said: of course, what's happened?

"He like to hear our story, because he was a 10 year old boy from Daubringen, than you have been going like a POW across Daubringen behind a bike!

"Then he said: in front of the pilot was the police-officer, Mr. Hahn from Lollar. I thought, whom the (to f*ck) is Mr. Hahn? So I call the son from Mr. Hahn at that same minute. I explain him the problem and he said, it's real possible, that his father was the right man. He knows by himself (1945 = 13 years old) a story like this. I demand from him a picture from his father and told him, that you will be crazy, if you can see the man in uniform and he was the right one. He will call me at the weekend, then I get the photo. The house where they are live in 1945 is real like this today. I take some pictures from it and send them prompt to you."

In March of 1997 we visited Andreas and his wife, Claudia. They gave us a super time and we have become great friends. In addition to visiting the crash site and finding some more small parts of my plane, we met a neighbor of Mr. Hahn's. He remembered my being at the Hahn house and confirmed that Mrs. Hahn was a real, "battle-axe."

All this is a tale the result of a tennis game at that "wide spot in the road," Greycliff, Mont.

part of the war we never think about but should

Dogfights over Belgrade - The First Day. Pt1 yugo pilots stories

Furious because a small nation resisted the almighty German war machine Hitler ordered the attack on Yugoslavia. In Hitler's 'Order 25' the role for Luftwaffe was clear: the destruction of JKRV (Jugoslovensko Kraljevsko Ratno Vazduhoplovstvo - Yugoslovian Royal Air Force) and the bombardment of Belgrade.

For Operation 'MARITA', against Yugoslavia and Greece, the Luftwaffe dropped 1090 aircrafts (Luftflotte 4) and Germans were supported also by additinal 660 Italian and some Hungarian planes. JKRV was able to resist by totally 470 first line aircrafts, but only 269 planes were airworthy modern types. In first day of attack Luftwaffe concentrated mostly on Yugoslavian airbases, destroying a part of JKRV force before take off. But soon Yugoslavian pilots appeared in air...

The German attack came at the wrong time for the 102 eskadilju, 32 vazduhoplovne grupe as witnessed by its CO Mihajlo Nikolic:

".....In Mostar we were supposed to be relived by the Fighter Scholl from Nis. While waiting for them our planes were turning ready for their 100hrs check, because they all had from 110-130hrs flying time. The Me 109E had the Daimler Benz 601 engine, and the only repair shop for these engines was in Zemun. So on Saturday 5. April in the evening we landed on the Zemun airfield. The airplane of August Kovac engine failed while still on the runway, and the others were practically unflyable. But we were immediately included in the 51. vazduhoplovna grupa, which flew IK-3, but only had six of them-three each squadron. That night we were called by the CO of the unit Rupcic and gave as the following order:

- At dawn tomorrow morning you will patrol over the border part Vrsac-Bela Crkva where German tank units from Romunia are anticipated."

A member of these tank units, a tank gunner, describes the Major Diner StG 2 attack on a mountain pass fortification:

"A fine coating of dew covered the vehicles. Only a thin strip of slowly lightening sky above the mountains heralded the start of a new day. It was 5 am on the morning of 6 April. We looked at our watches. Fifteen minutes to go. As we adjusted our binocular, a pale dawn light started to seep down the hillside in front of us. The mountains behind rose out of a milky white morning mist. One more minute. There! To the west a machine gun rattled briefly. Then a muffled explosion. A few seconds of complete silence, then the whole front erupted into noise. Our own light flak units added to the din of the artillery.

Despite the racket, my ears picked up the thin drone of aircraft engines, growing louder every second. I knew from experience what it was, and pointed the glasses upwards. Sure enough, the dim shapes of approaching Stukas. Now they were circling above us, the dark red pin-points of their position lights plainly visible beneath the shadows of their wings.

They slowly began to climb, breaking into the clear light of the new day. More and more aircraft joined them as they headed towards the ridge of the mountains immediately to our front. One last circle, as it to make double sure of the target below, and then the first Ketten went into their dives. Even from here we could hear the familiar nerve-shattering howl of their sirens. And then the first bombs fell. The tiny black specs rained down on the enemy positions. The noise of the explosions echoed back unseen clefts in the mountains as Staffel after Staffel attacked. Soon pillars of yellow-brown smoke were staining the pristine whiteness of the high snowfields."

While Stukas of StG2 were attacking enemy positions and Me 110 were attacking all airfields in the general direction of the attack, a large formation of bombers from II./KG 4, KG 2 and KG 3 was joined by the fighters from II/JG 77, III/JG 77 and III/JG 54. A Yugoslav fighter-pilot during the Zerstorer run said: "When we were watching, almost all, of our fighter airplanes burning our CO said:

- It really is war. We will get paid double".

The approach of the bomber formation to Belgrade went really quiet, and only when the noise of multiple aircraft engines was reported from the hills surrounding Belgrade JKRV's response late due to the failure of the early warning system.

Kapetan 2. klase Mihajlo Nikolic:

"In the morning 6. April 1941 I took-off as first, with my wingman Milodrag Boskovic to follow the order. We returned after 50 min, when we landed we started to eat some sandwiches when from the office burst our CO giving us the sign to take-off. When we were strapping in he radioed us that German airplanes crossed the border at Subotica and were flying from South to Belgrade.

The officer ordering Nikolic to take-off was the CO at Zemun-Adum Romeo. 16 planes took-off.

The first was the IK 3 squardon of kapetan 1. Klase, who was escorted by narednik Dusan Vujicic. The second pair consisted of kapetan 1. razreda Todor Gojic his wingman was narednik Milislav Semiz. Dusan Borcic was leading the third pair and his wingan was Bamfic.

Mihajlo Nikolic continues

The IK-3s flew first because they got the information earlier, we followed them with seven Me 109E (there were ten, but one was unserviceable, and two were on patrol).

It was a clear day with a bit of haze and scattered clouds so we flew towards Sava river. When we were in the air, I looked back from habit and I saw that my wingman Milodrag Boskovic in confusion forgot to pull in his landing gear. I called him via radio but to no success, and only when I opened my landing gear, he cleaned out his gears and joined fighting formation. At first we saw nothing, then we spotted our planes diving into something. When we got closer, the sky immediately went black from German airplanes, and we flew into this turmoil not ever dreaming that Germans had an umbrella of fighters above us. First we saw the Stukas flying in groups of seven. There were so much targets that we didn't have to chose anything. I attacked one group from the left and bellow, but immediately the right side of the group descended for the gunners to have a clear shot. This was a trained tactic, but the group didn't break. We made a couple of runs, but didn't pay attention if there was any results. A little later I noticed that a Stuka was starting to burn, The group immediately-as being ordered-broke fearing an explosion.

Then I noticed that the He 111 were coming. I made a turn and told Boskovic that we are going for a group from behind because they are defended from the top and bellow. I started my attack carefully choosing my position, all concentrated in aiming...from nowhere a blast in the cabin and a German fighter almost rammed me with his wing, coming from the left.

My wingman didn't even saw him. That fighter got a good shot in me, but I to squeezing the trigger gave full left rudder and fired at him. The cabin was already filled with smoke. The fuel tanks are behind us and they could catch fire, we were told to put the fire out with a quick dive, I managed to do that, but when I wanted to apply throttle the engine did not respond. I don't see or hear Boskovic (I never saw him again). I started to chose where I will land, and between the villages Sakule and Baranda I notice a clearance with some stock on the left and right a field. I chose the field and I belly-land. I open the cabin and I notice there is blood on my flying suit, I got shot in my left leg."

In fact Boskovic wasn't found until 1955, when he and he's Me 109 were recovered from Dunav river near the village of Kovilj which is about 2min flying time in general heading towards Belgrade to the place that Nikloic crash-landed his Messerschmitt. Some parts of his Messerschmitt are kept in the Yugoslav air force museum, including the DB 601 engine.

The other pair of JKRV Me 109’s were Miloš Žunič and Džordžem Stojanoćem.

The pair closed in on the He 111’s, one bomber was shot down by Žunič. The pair quickly turned to the fighters and defended themself untill they ran out of ammo. Me 109 flown by Žunič was hit a couple of times, and he bailed out. He came to earth dead. His wingman survived.

The flight of IK-3’s lead by the talented aerobatic champion and flight instructor Savo Poljanec from Maribor soon reached the first wave of enemy bombers.

Poljanec lead the group on to the bombers but they were seperated because of the German Me 109 diving on them. Poljanec was now alone and fighting with the guns of 27 bombers. The experienced aerobatic pilot made an immelman turn and came back down the side of the formation concentrating on the right bomber of the last three. Just before the bomber was engulfed in fire the tail gunner watched the victorious Poljanec climb over the formation. Then on the alititude of 6000m Poljanec noticed that a formation of German Me 109 fighters were preparing an attack on him. Poljanec evaded the first fighter, and then started a high speed pursuit, with a couple of short bursts from Poljanec the Me 109 began lossing altitude and was aparently out of control. His joy was to be shortlived because in the next moment, he was attacked by the next fighter who was following him closely all this time. Poljanec felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder and his engine started to quit. Seeing there was no point of proceding, he shut off his engine and started spinnig. The trick worked since the enemy fighters sure of their kills started climb again. His spin became uncontrolled now and only his great experience as an aerobatic pilot enabled him to exit this spin, and this only at minimal altitude. Poljanec was now flying his bullet ridden IK 3 towards Zemun trailing a glycol trail behind him. Just before landing he was strafed by a Me 110 and one of his shell exploded behind the seat that Poljanec was ocupaying. But all in all he managed to land safely and was immediately put in hospital.

Worth mentioning here is that Poljanec in a IK-3 flew a lot of mock dogfights against Yugoslavian Me 109E usually flown by Boris Cijan.

Over another part of Belgrade, over Senjak the second pair consisting of podporočnik Borčič and Bamfič, was looking for a good fight, but they didn’t find any enemies, so they separetad to increase their chances.

Borčič flew toward the Rumanian border and then returned to Belgrade. Over Zvezdara he caught up with 20 Do 17’s enemy bombers that was heading towards the centre of the capital. He attacked the last three and sent one Do 17 in the Danube river. The same scenario as happaned again as with the Poljanec. The German Me 109’s were diving on him, but Borcic gained just a spot of advatage, so he could shot down a Me 109E. Now he was alone, and German fighters were trying to encircle him, but they weren’t suceding untill Borcic run out of ammo. He was shot down on the banks od Danube 15km nort of Belgrade. His last fight was observed by a lot of spectators in Belgrade city. After the war the remains of his IK 3 was lifted from the river, and it revealed that no big ‘white 10’ was worn on the fusleage, but just a little ‘black 10’ on the rudder.

His wingman Bamfić was also fighting with the Me 109s over Batajnica. His IK 3 was alo badly damaged, and he was coming in for landing, but was bounced by two Me 109s. To avoid certain death Bamfic was forced into a series of steep turns, with his wingtips almost touching the ground. He crash-landed near the airfield. His IK 3 was completly destroyed during the landing, but Bamfić was not hurt.

Vujičić had to return to the airfield due to cooling problems.

The pair Gogić and Semiz shot down a Stuka.

A pilot of the bomber stream piloting one of StG 77 Stukas was lucky to avoid Yugoslav fighters:

"After the Green hedgerows of the Normandy countryside, the warm browns and greys of the local landscape were still unfamiliar to our eyes. The morning sun was glinting off the peaks of the Transylvanian Alps at our backs as we were approaching the unmistakable silver ribbonod the Dunav, the frontier between Rumania and Yugoslavia. The hazy outlines of a large city appeared in the distance-Belgrade!

Below us the first few burst of enemy flak. But nothing to worry about. Those of us who'd been through Poland and France had seen much worse. The city is much clearer now. The white tower-like buildings bright in the morning sun. The Staffeln opens up as pilots prepare to dive. Our target is a the fortress which gave the city it's name. Perched high above the promontory where the Sava joins Dunav, it couldn't be missed.

I felt the jolt as our bomb was released. We leveled out and turned back for base at high speed, ready to prepare for the next mission. As we retired I saw the fortress ringed in smoke and flames. Fires had also been started in the royal palace and the nearby main railway station. Soon smoke hung over the whole city like a great grey shroud.

On 6 April 1941, during the first mission of Luftwaffe's I.(J)/LG 2 - low-level attack against the base of the 36th Fighter Group base at Rezanovacka Kosa at Kumanovo shortly after 6:00 am - the Bf 109s of this unit got involved in a dogfight with the Hawker Fury biplanes of 36th FG above this airfield. Without any reported losses, I.(J)/LG 2 (equipped with Bf 109 E-7) made the following claims of Hawker Furys: Lt. Geisshardt - 4 Furys (victories Nos 14-17), Olt. Clausen - 3 Furys (Nos 6-8) and Gefr. Quatember - 1 Fury (No 3).

During the first mission of JG 77 - escort to the raid against Belgrade - between 07.30 and 08.40, 56 Bf 109 of JG 77 were involved in furious dogfights with Yugoslav fighters. Oberleutnant Erich Friedrich of Stab/JG 77 claimed a Yugoslav Bf 109 as his third victory. In II./JG 77, the following pilots claimed one Bf 109 each: Olt. Jung (his victory No. 3), Ofw. Petermann (7), Lt. Zuzic (1), Fw. Ftröba (3), Olt. Patz (1), Fw. Köhler (2), Ofw. Petermann (8). And - in III./JG 77 - Olt. Schmidt one Bf 109 (No 1) and Ofw. Riehl one Ikarus IK-2 (No 2). No losses were reported by JG 77 during this mission.

After a short brake with some refreshments Yugoslav pilots, anticipated the next raid on Belgrade between 10 and 11am.

Under the command of Gogić now six planes took off. They attacked the bomber formation, but the resistance was much better then during the first raid. The Me 109E flown by Karl Štrebenk a native of Zagorje on Sava river, was badly damaged, but Štrebenk was able to land safely. After landing he discovered that his airplane was had 80 bullet holes. Determined to get his revange, he begged the CO which was Rubčić at the time, to let him use his plane to go and pursue the Germans. After a short argumnet since Rubčić said that it was no point as the Germans are already attacked by the fighters from Prnjavor, but all in all Rubčić allowed Šterbenk to use his plane. Štrbenk flew right in the gagle of German and Yugoslav fighters. The Germans noticed the special marking carried on the CO’s plane so they concentrated all the eforts on Štrbenk. With the combined efforts of the pilots with well over a year of constant fighting. Šterbenk stood no chance. He crashed on the Glogonjski rt.

During the second mission of JG 77 - low-level attacks against the Belgrade area - Lt. Omert claimed a Bf 109 (No 1), while another eight Yugoslav aircraft were claimed destroyed on the ground. During the same mission, Olt. Hans-Ekkehard Bob of 8./JG 54 claimed the only victory by that unit - a Bf 109. During this mission, Olt. Heinz Duschle was shot down by ground fire and crash-landed in Yugoslav territory. He was hidden by German Yugoslavs and later returned to his unit. No other German BF 109 was reported lost during this mission.

I.(J)/LG 2 flew another five low-level attacks against airfields in the Niš area during the day. Three of its Bf 109 E-7 were repotted shot down by ground fire.

During one low-level attack against the Yugoslav airfield at Laibach, the Bf 109 piloted by Oberfähnrich Hans-Joachim Marseille was hit by AAA, but Marseille managed to return the aircraft to base.

The CO of the 142 eskadrile 32. vazduhoplovne grupe 6. lovackoga puka Milutin Grozdanovic also took-off from Prnjavor airfield with his Me 109 with code number 52 that morning:

"At 6.30 we were overflown by a large formation of German bombers. There was more then hundred of them. When we saw this we immediately jumped in our aircraft which were ready from three o'clock in the morning. We took-off and followed the German formation in pairs. We caught up with the German formation in 2 -3 minutes. Me and komandant grupe Danilo Djordjevic, Bozidar Ercigo and Radoslav Stamekovic attacked the bombers. There was so much bombers that we attacked a bomber each. We had two cannons and two machine guns.

We flew over them then we dived and tried to get as many hits as possible in the bombers cabin. We attacked one bomber after another until we spent all of our ammo. Then we dived to the treetops and escaping enemy fighters and one by one returned to the airfield. We didn't even pay attention if we had shot-down somebody and after the attack we didn't have any losses.

After a short break at about 10 o'clock we flew again and again attacked the bombers. There were so much bombers some returning from Belgrade some flying to,my god there were so much bombers. When I was returning I saw a group of 60 - 70 Stukas. I separated from my group and attacked them because I was faster and had more ammo. I closed in to 20 - 30 meters so I didn't even have to use my gunsight. We had so high goals we didn't even watch if we shot-down somebody, we just kept attacking till our ammo ran out. When I run out of ammo I made a low-level escape to the airfield to reload the airplane and to give others a chance to fly."

The JKRV's communication system was insufficient so that some squadrons didn't even know about the war. Blenheim's pilot Ivan Miklavec, a member of 8. bombardeski pulk 215. eskadrile stationed at Topoli explains:

"A solider slams opens the door and starts screaming at us: - Did you hear? Belgarde was bombed...The Germans attacked us!

I stood up and asked: - Who told you that?

- Radio Belgrede we heard it on the Caproni ( the only radio was in one of our school Caproni).

Then in a second the airfield came alive. Alarm! Airman in readiness, mechanics, bombs, ammunition!!! Short commands resounded. I look up in the clear Sunday sky, in to the sun-the blood is boiling in our vanes. After the first salvo of orders and news there is silence. Everybody is doing their work and preparations without much speaking.

Sunday, the first war day passed in take-off readiness just in case we were attacked. We loaded our planes with 100 kg bombs and with machine gun ammo. In the afternoon the first two machines took-off at 13.30 with a recon mission over Graz. They bombed a station in the way back and returned safely.

At 5 o'clock in the afternoon we received the order for take-off, but regretfully for tomorrow. Komandir Jovičić explained the mission for us, we were to bomb road and railway bridges around Klagenfurt. Jovičić surprised us by saying: We don't have much ammunition, but we will use the one we got the best we can. To make sure the bombing is accurate and to avoid enemy fighters I suggest that we attack at 300m. Do you agree? We all accepted the dare suggestion. At 20.30 we were surprised by another mission order, the first was called off. We were to bomb the a railway section and station Feldbach in Austria. Take off before dawn, we were to meet at the airfield at 3 o'clock in the morning. So tomorrow is the day..."

Ivan Miklavec describes his story later on, but for most of the pilots 6. April was the day.

The mission against Graz railway station was executed by the best JKRV bomber pilot Karl Murko.

The group commander ordered Murko to head straight to Maribor on the altitude of 2500m, then follow the railtracks to Graz. From the height of 300m he should drop his four 100kg bombs onto the railway station.

His mechanics checked his Blenheim and loaded it with bombs and amunititon.

The Blenheim was piloted by Murko, his gunner was Malešić and the bombardier was Pandža. They took off at 13.30 in the afternoon.

Murko didn’t agree with the route he was ordered. He flew towards Maribor at the height of about 300m, He then turned towards Austria and then proceded uo the valley of the river Raba. When he overflew the railway crossing Gleisdorf, he descended even lower, so he was virtually huging the ground. He was sure that if he was higher he would be spotted by the AAA and fighters from Thalerhof (Miklavec proved this was right-see the second day). Without any resitance he closed into the suburbs of Graz and climbed to 700m. With the railway station in sight, he put his Blenheim in a shallow dive to increase his get-away speed. He released the bombs hitting the tracks with two bombs, the third demolished a building with food suplies and the fourth one missed. Just before reaching Maribor Murko was attacked by a German Me 109E, but the shots from the gunner Malešić and the low flying by experienced Murko prevented the Me 109E to get any real hits. The Me 109E probably low on fuel turned for home. Later mehanics discovered only 2 7.7mm holes in the tail of the Blenheim.

Another known pilot was shot-down that day. Knight cross holder Oblt. Herbert Ihlefeld was brought down by Yugoslavian AA. The pilot landed near Nis, and got slight head injuries.

The Germans continued their attacks against Belgrade through the day and till about 11 o'clock in the evening. Four hours later narednik Miklavec woke up.

Dogfights over Belgrade - The Second Day. ( of 3 )

Bristol Blenheim was the most modern bomber of JKRV. That type was build under licence in Ikarus factory. At moment of German attack in 1941 in line duty was ready totally 56 Blenheims, in bomber and recon versions.

"7. April 1941. We all woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning. In the dark backyard splashes of water were heard, the well pump was quickly filling the buckets with water for refreshment. A bus drove as from the village to the airfield in pitch darkness carefully following the blackout regulations. At the airfield komandir Jovovic repeated the mission, refreshed all agreements and we all started to dress for the flight. We didn't get any meteorological report. At 4 o'clock in the morning we were ordered: To positions! Start the engines! A quick salute to the CO. His last words were: The time has came, either to strike as warriors or to die! We all separated into the night each in the general direction of his aircraft.

The mechanic with his soldiers was already there. The formation was starting their engines, the noise was tremendous. I checked my aircraft, walking around it with a flashlight. I was stunned, the lower wing surface had multiple bayonet-made holes. So, sabotage... I didn't notice any other damage, so I didn't report it. I thought that I could do it after the mission. I also checked the four bombs and unscrewed the igniter half a turn each. I presumed we would have to fly low. When I entered the cockpit I found out that somebody broke the clock in the aircraft. I didn't have the time to find out who did it so I borrowed a wrist watch from the first man who walked past. The crew included a pilot, mechanic/gunner, and bombardier/navigator/aircraft leader (me), we didn't have any radio operator because we didn't have the radios installed yet. One by one all of our 28 aircraft took-off in pitch dark, only a small signal light blinked the take-off command in one minute intervals. I counted the take-offs ...five ...six ...seven ...we were number ten. But where is my pilot? I am waiting, he should be here minutes ago. Mechanic leans out of the cockpit and asks the closest solider if he has seen him. Nothing... number eight is already rolling... I order the mechanic to close the cabin, we will fly alone. I check both engines again, everything is OK. Then I hear knocking on the cabin. The pilot boards the plane in the nick of time. The cabin is closed again. I am looking for the light signal. Here it is! Let's go.

A unpleasant felling of dampness surrounds us at 700m. I quickly notice the first meteorological information-clouds. I order the pilot to climb, because we are flying above 600m high mountains, and my map is telling me we are flying towards even higher mountains. My pencil marks the already flown path of our Blenheim. The pilot asks me where we are. I answer him: Varazdin is to the right. Our altitude is 1500m. It will be dawn soon, and I think we are flying in upper cloud levels so I order to climb to 1700m. The success is obvious as we brake the clouds. I am scanning the sky to spot the others who took-off before us. Far below us I spot a white dot-it's a plane. We are quickly catching him, I recognize him he is one of ours! We are closing in, I want to see the commander, but the airplane signals us the sign.

Watch it! it waggles its wings and makes a U-turn and flies back from where it came from. When he disappears I start to wonder. Did they receive the command for return, was it the whether. Without the radio receiver I didn't get the answer to any of those questions. Soon after we cross the border my mechanic shakes my shoulder and screams There are two fighters in combat above us, one of them is ours. In a moment we lose sight of them (that could be the two JKRV's Me 109 in combat with a German one above Maribor). We have reached our target, far below us, in the valley surrounded by hills we don't see it, it is hidden by the cloud base, our recon won't do us much good. I calculated another 6min before we make the U-turn. We start to sink in the clouds, we are waiting for results of our cloud braking, if I miscalculated...we dive to only 400m. Then we brake through, firs we see something dark brown, then fields, than houses. We fly over a road at 300m. Raindrops are banging on the windshield and are obscuring my sight. I notice some dark transport vehicles driving south, we are going that way too. Feldbach must be somewhere on the right side. I am looking for the railway. I set the bombsight, triggers, electric button. We passed over the road again, we still don't see the railway, then a bright line flashes-a river, a bridge bonds both sides with a road. I show the bridge to the pilot. We fly over the river and make a turn.

Another glance to the bombsight, I press the button, the plane climbs a little and makes the turn. The old bridge is gone only a couple of beams are left. 100m ahead two transport cars stopped, they won't get over the bridge! Then the valley closes in, then opens-up again. Look there is the Feldbach station, we fly over the station at 200m, no traffic, no defense, they even removed the stations name. I press the button and the second bomb parts from the aircraft. After the turn we notice a full hit on the tracks an railway crossing. After a while my mechanic screams: Airplane! and shows me a little dot on the right. When we close in to 300m a recognize the shape, the yellow band, the black cross...no doubt Stuka!!! Machinegun! a yell to the mechanic who is already in the machinegun turret. We close in to 30m and they spot us. In that moment our machine gun sings it's mortal song three salvos 50 bullets each, and the Stuka rolls over an disappears in the clouds. First victory...We won't be taken easily. We fly over a 900m high hill, then we spot barracks lots of them then a warehouse then a railway more barracks. I drop the fourth bomb on this establishment. I latter found out I bombed the wings assembly plant in Wiener Neustadt.

When I was ready to order the plane back I saw a main road leading to Vienna. I dropped my last bomb there.

Then my mechanic screams: - Enemy fighters!

... I turn around, yes four fighters on our tail. I order the pilot to climb into the clouds a turn right then after a minute a turn left to previous direction. I quickly calculate the heading from Vienna to Maribor. We turn our trusty Blenheim in that direction. Then we literally fall out of a cloud and we see the Wiener Neustadt airfield full of aircraft!! The temptation was just too big so we made a low pass our machineguns spiting death. Then came the Flak... But the worst was yet too come we had to fly over a hill 900m high we were flying at 300m. We have to make a circle to gain height over the airfield, the flak was ready for us. We took multiple hits and escaped in the clouds. It is getting lighter, I suddenly hear the engines coughing and spiting, I check the gasoline level...30 liters...the pilot immediately cuts down the throttle to save gas. What now? We had 400 liters seven minutes ago, the fuel tanks must be hit. The pilot and mechanic ask me:

- Shall we jump?

- No! Steer 30° to the left!

(I choose to crash-land because our Yugoslavian made Blenheims didn't have the emergency hatch, our CO had a simple explanation: No jumping. These machines cost 5 million dinars each.) We gave up hope to reach Yugoslavian soil. Only 400m left we brake the cloud base and start looking for a place to land. There on the left below that hill, the crash-land is possible only there. We will plug our nose in, but we have no choice, pilot pulls out the flaps, and I the gears. We are flying with speed 230km/h. The wheels absorb a strong blow, full throttle, the earth bounces, I am not strapped in so I grab for my harness at the last second, a nose blow, the cabin crashes, I am thrown out of the seat...over.

I don't know how long we just lay there, not unconscious but we just lay there. We crawl from our positions and we check if everybody is all right. We climb on the wing and we pet our giant Blenheim N°25 who saved our lives with his destruction.

This is the start of the story about a Yugoslavian war captive Ivan Miklavec, who latter wrote a book "Skozi deset taborišč". ("Through ten prison camps").

While Miklavec was laying in Austria, the Belgrade defenders had their hand full.

After a early morning briefing it was decided that the JKRV pilots would fly in five plane formation, since the pairs didn’t enable to act more agressive.

The first group of five Me 109 scrambeld and attacked a small group of Stukas.

The group lead Grozdanović acompanied with Ercigoj, Grozdanović, shot down the leader of the Stukas while other fighters protected them. The Stukas droped their bombs and ran for the border. A group of German fighters apeared, but they didn’t attack.

In the morning Karl Murko tried his luck again with the target of Segedin airport in Hungary. The 68. Vazdušna skupina this time flew in formation and was intercepted soon after crossing the border. Murko was leading a element of three planes and sucesfully evaded the fighter ambush. But latter on when he was returning from the mission his plane now alone was attacked by a pair of Me 109’s. They scored a lot of hits, but didn’t hit any important parts of the aircraft. Then a cannon shell bounced off the cockpit greenhouse and exploded only meters away shatering the greenhouse. Murko now had a tough time controlling the aircraft, and set it on a glide-like path towards Romunia. The trick worked since the fighters changed course.

After a few minutes murko set course again for Yugoslavia. Over Bosanski brod, he was almost shot down by Yugoslav AAA. Murko managed to land safely though.

In the afternoon the Me 109’s again acted in the five planes formation. Again a small group of Stuka overflew Fruška Gora, they reportedly shot down two Stukas, but then the escorting fighters started to apear in great numbers. The fivesom, had a tough time defending themselves. They were low on ammo, so they started to head back to the airfield. The first to land was poročnik Kešeljević. Just about then the asistant CO of 103. eskadrilje Miha Klavora from Maribor was preparing to take-off he exchanged a few words with Kešeljević about the situation in the air, and immediately after that Klavora and his wingman took off to aid their friends.

The sun started to set, and two more fighters came in for landing with Vilim Acinger and Ivo Novak.

Then the voice of Klavora resounded over the speaker.

This is Klavora. I am out of ammo.

He shot down an enemy fighter, but was still fighting with two other. Now out of ammo, he fought a desperate batle with time, hoping at the same time that someone from the airfield would come to his aid.

The only aircraft ready for combat was CO’s Džordževič’s machine. He walked very slowly toward his aircraft, stood on the wing and then turned back to the barracks, explaning that the parachute wasn’t ready. It was obvoius he had no intention to fly.

One of the attackers over flew the airfield strafing, Klavora tried to take his chance to land, but the other fighter caught up with Klavor and poured a steady stream of fire into the aircraft of brave Miha Klavora. He crashed on the Sremska ravnica.

Just after that one of the enemy fighter with his pilot was obviously wounded and crashed into Fruska gora.

All in the field knew very well, who was to blame for the death of the brave native of Maribor.

Milislav Semiz didn’t have a peacefull day since he around 17.00pm attacked a formation of three bombers, in this attack his IK-3 took 56 hits, 20 among them in the engine and airscrew, but as Poljanec the previous day he managed to land safely at Zemun airfield.

The second day brought a little pause in fighting, so the chain of command and organization recuperated after the first shock, Mile Curgus explains:

I was more a spectator then an actor in the April war. I was a kapetan 2. klase, fighter-pilot 2. lovackog puka. On 2. or 3. April I was given an order to go to the Knic airfield and to prepare all necessary for the arrival of the puk from the Kraljevo airfield. When I arrived at Knic I was notified that I was transferred to Belgrade to help defend it. When I was travelling we were told that the Germans attacked Yugoslavia. The train stopped and we didn't start to move till 7. April in the morning. The first train from Nis to Belgrade got to the city at about 7 o'clock in the evening, the train wasn't able to get in the station so it was redirected over the bridge to Zemun. I immediately went to the JKRV's command, and there I find only two artillery soldiers guarding the building. I walk a couple of kilometers to the Zemun airfield. I ask somebody about the location of the command, and he shows me a bunker, a large cement pipe. There was the Stab brigade and komandant, pukovnik Rupcic. I reported to him and he ordered me to remain at the airfield (it was the same Rupcic that ordered Nikolic and Boskovic the unsuccessful border dawn patrol two days earlier).

The 7. April battle report came with a special message. Today at about 11 o'clock in the morning one of our pilots in Me 109E chased a group of 18 Stukas, and managed to get two. But he to fell in flames at Krcedin in Srem. We found a watch on the hand of the pilot on which there was a special engraved message: For the champion of the First pilot school in 1939 vazdusnim purucniku Zivici Mitrovicu-the Rogozarski factory."

The second day of the war wasn't so active because the Germans didn't continue so strong bomber offensive, their goal was achieved. German reconisance planes discovered the 32. group airfield, and airfield Belgrade was constantly under attack, it was decided that all fighters should transfer to Radinci airfield. If all fighters weren't able to follow the command, they should join the main bulk at Radinci on 8. April in the morning.

Komandir Milutin Grozdanovic had a definitely spoiled day:

"In the afternoon I was given an order from the komandant Bozidar Kostic to transfer to an airfield near the village Radinci, because he feared that our airfield was discovered by the Germans. I was very tired, and when we got over Radinci, I tried to land first, I lost too much speed, stalled, flipped my wing, and crashed. I turned over and got serious injuries. Unconscious I was transported to a hospital in Sremska Mitrovica, after 7-8 days the Germans came and treated me. When they found out that I was an officer and that I put up a brave fight, they treated me with respect, and after 15 days I was accompanied by two medicals to Belgrade, where I finished my treatment."

Between 09.15 and 10.40, JG 77 flew low-level attack missions against airfields to the south of Belgrade and escort to Stukas. Two aircraft were reported destroyed on the ground. No losses were reported by JG 77 on this day.

1st Lt George A. Behling,Jr. 362nd Sqn.
January 14th 1945, I remember as I climbed into my P-51 called "Chi Lassie"that my crew chief remarked that the spark plugs were leaded, but he believed they were good for one more mission.
All that morning as we awoke, dressed, ate breakfast and prepared for take off we heard the constant drone of B-17 bombers overhead, because the bombers flew slower we would take of later and catch them up. when we arrived at our designated escort position over the North sea the B-17's stretched in a continuous line for as far as you could see, all headed for Berlin. In order not to pass the planes we were to protect we flew above them and zig zagged. Several hours have passed since the rendezvous and we are approaching the target at about 30,000 feet. Berlin is easily discernible by the heavy flak smoke at our altitude, suddenly a maze of German pursuit planes come screaming down on us from above. The sky is filled with airplanes, B-17's begin to burst into flames,trail smoke and spin like toys as parachutes pop open. I jettison my wing tanks and take a bead on an enemy fighter. A fellow P-51 drifts across my bow at a 30 degree angle in slow motion, so close I still don't know why I didn't tear it's tail off with my propeller. I'm completely distracted and loose sight of the enemy fighter.
I bank to the left and look behind, there's a plane on my tail but it's not my wingman. It has a large radial engine and is easily identifiable as a Focke wulf 190. What happened to my wingman who was supposed to watch my tail, I still don't know to this day but I was on my own. With the 190 on my tail I turn hard to the left, left rudder, left stick, more throttle, I've got to out turn him. I see his cannon bursts but he can't get a hit. I wonder to myself, what am I doing here; a person could get killed. Why did I ever want to be a pilot? I am only 20 years old and should be at home, going to school and going home to my parents in the evening.
I pull into a tighter, tighter turn, feeling so many G's I can hardly turn my head. Then the stick goes limp, I'm spinning--but you should never spin a P-51 because it might not come out. My primary training kicks in, I put in hard right rudder, the plane stops spinning and I put the stick forward. I'm flying again at 20,000 feet.
This time I turn to the right and look behind, the son of a gun is still there. He followed me through the spin and 10,000 feet, it can't be, these German pilots are supposed to be undertrained.Tighter and tighter to the right,more cannon bursts. Another spin coming out at 10,000 feet and he's STILL THERE. Well if I can't out turn him, surely I can out run him. I shudder at the thought of one of those cannon shells tearing through my plane. In fact I'm utterly paralysed with fear.
I point the plane at an approximate 10 degree angle toward the ground and open the throttle fully, it's working, he's falling behind, out of range. Now I am at tree top level just West of Berlin passing over the Elbe River. My engine sputters, intermittently spewing white clouds, I cut back on the throttle and lean the mixture, but the sputtering gets worse. Suddenly the engine goes dead streaming two contrail like bands from each side,Hurriedly, I try the starting procedure several times to no avail.
I'm directly over a dense forest, no place to land. Pull up and bail out, but I am going at less than 200 mph and that's not enough speed to pull me up to a good altitude, It would not allow my chute time to open. Look for some place to put this baby down dead stick. Dead Stick! It was my worst thing in basic training. Without power I would have killed myself every time. There -- 20 degrees to the left is an open field running parallel to a railroad track. I'm barely flying so don't turn to sharply. The stick feels mushy,easy,easy! I'm lined up, 50 feet above the ground, wheels up, then, right in front of me are high tension wires, I close my eyes and pull back on the stick. Somehow( I don't know how,I was not looking!) I bounce over the wires and hit the ground with a thud. It's a frozen ploughed field and my plane skids along like a sled. Up ahead is a line of heavy trees and I'm zooming towards them with no way to stop,But I do stop about 50 feet short. I open the canopy, no one around. I hear the sound of an engine, look behind and there's that 190 coming right at me. Get out of this plane fast and get behind the trees,but I get tangled in my straps so I crouch down behind the armor plate in the back of my seat. The 190 does not strafe the plane and passes overhead. Now with him in sight I disentangle myself, get out of the plane and make for the trees. I make my way along the line of trees some 200 feet to the railroad embankment, go over it and head away. Up ahead is a bridge. But two figures are on the embankment coming toward me from the other direction. I STOP AND WAIT...

1st Lt Behling was captured that day and became a P.O.W

...on the night in question, 12 FW109 A4's painted with lampblack were insinuated into the bomber stream returning from Germany. This squadron had previously made two very successful intruder attacks on London, but on THIS occasion although they all dropped their bombs, no casualties were caused, and only minor damage to.... a sewage works and a children's playground!

HOWEVER - they were VERY quickly painted on radar and nightfighters tasked to them, and in the ensuing melee over the captial, navigation suffered and a number who crossed the coast OF THE THAMES ESTUARY from North to South...thought they were actually crossing the CHANNEL!!! and found themselves flying over Kent with nearly empty tanks....

On that night the Watch Officer at West Malling, a Ft. Lt. Barry, heard a crash nearby as a first of these stragglers fell out of the sky into a nearby orchard - but this wasn't found until the next morning. While trying however to find out what the noise was, a single engined aircraft was heard approaching the field, and he ordered the runway lights on, as apart from the night fighters, West Malling was ready to receive damaged or low-on-fuel bombers returning from the continent. Instead, a black single-engined fighter rolled up RIGHT to the control block, under the apronm floods, and the pilot started shouting for "his" groundcrew....in German, which they couldn't hear over the noise of his engine. They shouted back, but HE couldn't hear THEM either!....

At this point a field patrol Beaverette armoured car approached, and seeing the German crosses faintly outlined under the paint, the 'car's gunner, A/C Sharlock, jumped out and pushed the rudder of the sircraft right over to stop the pilot making a run for it! The pilot got out of the cockpit....and finally realised where he was!

BUT....

"...Whilst those at the scene were digesting what had just happened, events began to take an even more dramatic, and just as unbelieveable, turn. As he was on the telephone making a further report to Group, Lt. Barry heard the sound of ANOTHER aircraft making a final approach. No sooner had this aircraft touched down, welcomed by the blazing flare path than he saw Williams and Sharlock once more gunning their Beaverette, racing into action.

As the armoured car dashed around the airfield perimeter to head off the new arrival Sharlock, still perched in the Beaverette's turret, realised when just 20 yards distant that indeed the unbelieveable was happening. In front of them was yet another FW190. This time there was no suprise, as the aircraft had already been given to Control as being a hostile.

Suddenly, and no dobt realising his error, and eager not to suffer the same fate as Bechtold, this pilot turned his aircraft and started to set off across the airfield pushing the throttles wide open. Williams took up the pursuit and at the same time Sharlock opened fire with the twin-mounted Vickers "K" type machineguns. Still standing in the distant Watch Office and watching with increasing awe, Lt. Barry could clearly hear the staccato bark of these light machineguns in action.

Sharlock's aim was dead on target. His long burst, fired from a range of 15 to 20 yards, poured into the German aircraft. He later recalled that he could see a small fire had broken out in the rear of the cockpit, but that despite this, the pilot refused to give up. As he seemed to be intent on escaping, Sharlock opened fire a second time. The Focke-Wulf immediately burst into flames and rolled to a halt.

As his plane was enveloped in flames the pilot was seen to more or less fall from the cockpit. With his clothes alight he staggered towards the Beaverette. Sharlock had climbed out of the armoured car and approached the pilot. Despite the fact that his uniform was on fire, a short striggle developed between the two, the German pulling free and turning to make a dash for it!

His moment of defiance was short-lived for the Station Commander - Wing Commander (later Group Captain) Peter Townsend - caught him. Once pulled to the ground the German gave up the struggle and, with the help of Sharlock, Townsend finally extinguished his burning clothes."

So that's the connection - in a VERY Holywood-style encounter, Townsend had to lay out the burning pilot!!! The aircraft was left to burn out, as it was well down to the frame by then.....

HOWEVER!!! As all hands were getting this second pilot into an ambulance....a FOURTH FW190 actually overshot the field, saw what was going on and attempted to get away....but was running on fumes and piled into the ground a mile away!

Sweetland and Muencheberg ( the spitfire hunter) - The Deadly Encounter

There are several versions of this event. First, in the combat reports of Ralph Keyes and of Norman McDonald. Then in the stories in FIGHTERS OVER TUNISIA (1975), McDonald's recollections in THE AMERICAN BEAGLE SQUADRON (1987), Keyes recollections, during a recent telephone interview (Nov.'94), and the recollections of a German pilot in GESCHICHTE DES JAGDGESCHWADERS 77 (1994).

Here are these versions:

KEYES: "At approximately 0950 hours 23 March, 1943 thirteen Spitfires on a reconnaissance mission near Y-6560 (GSGS 4175, Sheet N.I. 32 N.E.) were jumped by four or five ME 109s coming from out of the sun. I was flying Yellow 5 when someone called "break", whereupon I immediately broke to the right. A moment later I saw an ME 109 open up on a Spitfire from about 250 yards. Smoke began streaming from the Spitfire which continues on for a second or two, then turned sharply upward and to the left directly into the path of the oncoming ME 109. A crash occurred and both planes went down in flames from about 2,000 feet. Though I followed the descent of neither plane to the ground, I did see two flaming spots on the ground where the two planes had obviously just crashed. I saw these spots before the crash of Capt. Williamson's Spitfire, which had been hit and from which he had just bailed out. Whether the crash of Capt. Sweetland's plane -- I learned later that this Spitfire was Capt. Sweetland's -- with the ME 109 was owing to a deliberate action or a reflex action resulting from being hit, I do not know, but, knowing Capt. Sweetland, I believe he deliberately crashed into the ME 109 after having been, perhaps, fatally shot."

Theodore Sweetland, at Thelepte, in March 1943. Thelepte is in western central Tunisia and the 2nd Fighter Sq. operated from an airstrip there from 10 March until 9 April 1943.

MCDONALD: "Captain Sweetland was my #4 man in Yellow Section on a reconnaissance of Sened-Maknassy area taking off at 0915. We were traveling east in enemy territory into the sun at approximately 1,000 feet when the Squadron Commander called a 90 degree left turn in the area of T9505 and our section crossed over and became Blue Section. We were now flying with the sun at our backs, we had just straightened out when I heard over the R/T "Break". I broke violently to the left and up. On looking back I saw Capt. Sweetland's plane pull up and crash into an enemy fighter. Both planes exploded and fell in pieces to the ground."

FIGHTERS OVER TUNISIA by Chris Shores, Hans Ring and William Hess. London 1975. p. 261.: "Tuesday, 23 March 1943: Around 0930 Maj. Muencheberg of Stab/JG 77 took off from La Fauconnerie [a landing ground 36 miles northwest of Sfax, Tunisia] with his wingman, Lt. Strasen, and headed for the Mareth area to see "if there was something to shoot down". Strasen saw below some Spitfires of the 52nd Fighter Group near Sened, and both dived to attack, Muencheberg attacking Capt. Theodore Sweetland, whose aircraft began to pour smoke as it was hit in the engine. Muencheberg's speed was so great that he got too near to his 135th victim, and what happened next is not very clear. Strasen reported that Sweetland's Spitfire exploded and that debris fell on Muencheberg's wings, one of which snapped off; Capt. Hugh L. Williamson reported however, that Sweetland deliberately rammed the Messerschmitt with his burning Spitfire. Whatever the truth was, both aircraft fell to the ground in flames; at this moment Strasen shot down Williamson, who bailed out, all three aircraft crashing near kilometre stone No. 82 on the Gabes-Gafsa road, the wreckage of the Messerschmitt flanked by that of the two Spitfires. So died one of the Luftwaffe's most outstanding fighter pilots and leaders."

McDonald's recollections, pages 53-55 in THE AMERICAN BEAGLE SQUADRON, Lexington, MA 1987: "This action occurred during a fighter sweep over the front lines by twelve planes flying in the British box formation. It was a 5th Squadron mission but they were short of planes and pilots, so my flight from the 2nd Squadron joined them to make the necessary twelve planes.
Sweetland, known as "Sweetie", was flying number four in my flight. How come a Captain is flying number four position? He and I had flown together and raised a little hell together when we were both assigned to the 20th Pursuit Group in North Carolina during the spring of 1942.
After I was transferred back to the 52nd Group, I lost track of him. Then sometime in early March 1943, when sent to Algiers with other pilots to pick up new Spitfires, I bumped into him while walking down the street. He was a Captain and an Aide to some General in 12th Air Force HQ., a job he hated - safe but dullsville. He asked me to get him into the 2nd Squadron. I talked to "Windy" West, who remembered him very well, and we put the wheels into motion.
Sweetie was an excellent pilot, but had trouble in the beginning because he was a left-hander all the way. Nevertheless he really could handle a fighter plane. Back in the States, in P 40s, he and I and Jerry Simpson used to practise all our maneuvers to the right. We would do turns, rolls, including the roll at the top of the Immelman turn, to the right.
We thought that these unconventional maneuvers, opposite to the easier, engine-torque-assisted turns and rolls to the left might be a life saver some day. I'm sure they were for me, but in this particular encounter they may have cost Sweetie his.
Anyway, after he joined us and got some transition hours in the Spitfire, I took him on a couple of missions as my wingman. After these two missions he insisted that he fly tail-end-Charlie just like any other newcomer. During an engagement with enemy aircraft a day or so before this ill-fated mission he had gotten some strikes on an ME 109.
On this mission we were flying at four to five thousand feet, with the sun high and behind us. My flight was to the left of the leader's flight and Hugh "Wee Willie" Williamson was leading the flight on the right. Then we were jumped by a flight of four 109s.
They came in from above and slightly to our right, assuming, I'm sure, that if we saw them we would break to the left. Sweetie saw them at the last moment and yelled "break". I broke right and up and also saw Sweetie break right and hit the incoming 109 head on; perhaps he was trying to get a shot at it. The entangled planes fell quite close to me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Willie's plane get hit by fire from the wingman of the 109 that collided with Sweetie's plane.
At this point I was so enraged because I knew Sweetie had bought it, that I lost my cool and took off after the 3rd and 4th planes of the German flight without checking on where the number two plane had gone. These two planes were climbing away, presumably after having fired and missed.
I immediately realized that this would be a futile chase and made an angry, abrupt right turn for home - only to see the number two plane zoom by me. I had turned just in time, or he had waited just a little too long before firing - and, perhaps, blowing me out of the sky. He kept right on going and so did I - in opposite directions.
What surprises me about the results of this attack is that they only hit two of the twelve planes, one of them the hard way, by collision. I think that they may have been thrown off when Sweetie and I did the unexpected - broke right, up and over the other flights. The flights in the box formation were quite close and we usually all broke left together, which these experienced German fighter pilots may have been expecting."

McDonald recollections (reconstructions?) about himself and Sweetland breaking to the right are not corroborated by his, or by Keyes, combat report. Keyes recalled that there were 12 planes flying the British box of three 4-plane flights. He was flying on the mission as a spare and although his report states he was Yellow 5, he had by that time filled in as #4 in the right-hand flight when another Spitfire had to drop out for some reason. He recalls, contrary to McDonald, that Williamson was leading the formation, at the head of the middle flight. He also recalls that there were six ME 109s vs McDonald's recollection of four, and remembers being fired on, hearing and seeing the projectiles go by him. He also recalled that he broke to the right, away from the formation. He also recalls that there was a ball of fire when the two planes collided.

The recollections of the surviving German pilot, as given in GESCHICHTE DES JAGDGESCHWADERS 77, Teil 3. Eutin, Germany. 1994. Page 1484. Dienstag, 23 Marz 1943 (translation): "Tuesday, 23 March 1943
Hq. Gruppe 77 In the morning an element [two planes] of the Wing Hq., Maj. Muencheberg and Lt Strasen, flew a "free hunt" and front-reconnaissance in the Sened/El Guettar area; 50 Kilometer eastsoutheast of Gafsa the two Messerschmitts encountered several American Spitfires, who were forthwith attacked. On the further course of the air battle Gerhard Strasen recalls:

We flew at about 3 to 4,000 meters altitude over the frontal area, when we sighted, below us close to the ground, several Spitfires and Curtiss[es, P 40s]. Maj. Muencheberg leading, we attacked the enemy fighters from above; Muencheberg opened fire at close range and got direct hits on the Spitfire ahead of him. The machine became covered by his fire and simply exploded - the pilot of the Spitfire probably had not even noticed, until he was hit, that he was under attack. Through his pass Maj. Muencheberg had nevertheless become so close to the Spitfire that I am forced to conclude that his machine went through the "dirt" left behind by the disintegrating Spitfire. Also Muencheberg had no chance - critically damaged by the debris, his Messerschmitt crashed without his having any possibility of bailing out.

....

After separating from the remaining Spitfires, Lt. Strasen flew toward Fatnassa, where he landed at the I Gruppe field; on this matter Karl-Heinz Rentrop recalls:

One day Lt. Strasen from Wing Hq.landed at our field in Fatnassa and, with a stony face, climbed out of his Messerschmitt; zu Capt. Baer he said only: "Captain, Jochen is dead!" Immediately a Storch [Fiesler "Storch", observation plane] was on the way to the crash site; there the remains of Muencheberg's Me 109 were found - it had crashed just behind the Spitfire."

Life and Death Aboard a B-17, 1944


America joined Britain's strategic air campaign designed to destroy Nazi Germany's industrial capacity soon after her entrance into World War Two. Launching Boeing B-17 "Flying Fortresses" and Consolidated B-24 "Liberators" from bases in England's eastern countryside, the Americans bombed their targets during the day while the British attacked at night.

Up to 1,000 of these heavy bombers would take part in a raid - the planes flying in a three dimensional formation in which boxes of aircraft were stacked one above the other to take full advantage of their combined defensive firepower. The early confidence that the bombers' defenses alone could repel enemy fighter attacks was quickly shattered. Losses were high. It was not until long-range fighter aircraft capable of escorting the bombers to and from their targets were made available that losses dropped to an acceptable level.

Manned by a crew of 10, the many heavy machine guns that bristled from the front, back, top, bottom and sides of the four-engine

B-17s fly in formation. Overhead, vapor trails
trace the weaving path of their fighter escort.
B-17 prompted its nickname, the "Flying Fortress." On days that a mission was planned, the airmen would be awakened in the early morning hours and fed a hearty breakfast followed by a briefing describing the mission. They would then be taken to their planes and await the signal to take off. Once aloft, brightly colored "lead-ships" would direct the bombers to pre-determined points where they would organize themselves into their attack formations.

Missions that penetrated deep into enemy territory could last up to eight hours and be filled with anxious anticipation as all eyes searched the skies for enemy defenders. They could expect attacks by fighters armed with machineguns, canon and rockets as well as heavy antiaircraft fire from the ground and even bombs dropped from above. The bombers were expected to maintain their positions at all costs - in order to provide the most effective defensive fire and to assure the most devastating results once their bombs were dropped.

The planes were unheated and open to the outside air. The crew wore electrically heated suits and heavy gloves that provided some protection against temperatures that could dip to 60 degrees below zero. Once above 10,000 feet they donned oxygen masks as the planes continued to climb to their operational level that could be as high as 29,000 feet. Nearing the target, each crew member would don a 30-pound flak suit and a steel helmet designed to protect against antiaircraft fire. Parachutes were too bulky to be worn all the time, but crewmen did wear a harness that allowed them to quickly clip on their parachute when needed.

Prior to 1944, a crewman's tour of duty was set at 25 missions. As a measure of the hazards they would encounter, it is estimated that the average crewman had only a one in four chance of actually completing his tour of duty.

"I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit..."

Joseph Hallock was a twenty-two-year-old first lieutenant serving as the bombardier aboard "Ginger" a B-17 flying out of its base north of London. Hallock dropped out of college to enlist in the Army Air Force in June 1942. After training as a bombardier, he arrived in England in November 1943 and began his combat career on the last day of the year:

"My first raid was on December thirty-first, over Ludwigshaven. Naturally, not knowing what it was going to be like, I didn't feel scared. A little sick, maybe, but not scared. That comes later, when you begin to understand what your chances of survival are. Once we'd crossed into Germany, we spotted some flak, but it was a good long distance below us and looked pretty and not dangerous: different-colored puffs making a soft, cushiony-looking pattern under our plane. A bombardier sits right in the plexiglas nose of a Fort, so he sees everything neatly laid out in front of him, like a living-room rug. It seemed to me at first that I'd simply moved in on a wonderful show.' I got over feeling sick, there was so much to watch.

We made our run over the target, got our bombs away, and apparently did a good job. Maybe it was the auto-pilot and bomb sight that saw to that, but I'm sure I was cool enough on that first raid to do my job without thinking too much about it. Then, on the

The B-17G
way home, some Focke-Wulfs showed up, armed with rockets, and I saw three B-I7s in the different groups around us suddenly blow up and drop through the sky. Just simply blow up and drop through the sky. Nowadays, if you come across something awful happening, you always think, 'My God, it's just like a movie,' and that's what I thought. I had a feeling that the planes weren't really falling and burning, the men inside them weren't really dying, and everything would turn out happily in the end. Then, very quietly through the interphone, our tail gunner said, 'I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit.'

I crawled back to him and found that he'd been wounded in the side of the head - not deeply but enough so he was bleeding pretty bad. Also, he'd got a lot of the plexiglas dust from his shattered turret in his eyes, so he was, at least for the time being, blind.Though he was blind, he was still able to use his hands, and I ordered him to fire his guns whenever he heard from me. I figured that a few bursts every so often from his fifties would keep the Germans off our tail, and I also figured that it would give the kid something to think about besides the fact that he'd been hit. When I got back to the nose, the pilot told me that our No. 4 engine had been shot out. Gradually we lost our place in the formation and flew nearly alone over France. That's about the most dangerous thing that can happen to a lame Fort, but the German fighters had luckily given up and we skimmed over the top of the flak all the way to the Channel."

"They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces..."

In early 1944 the number of missions required to complete his tour of duty was extended from 25 to 30. This meant that Lt. Hallock and his buddies, each of whom had been counting down each mission, now had five additional to fly. We pick up his story as he begins his 27th (and worst) mission:

"We had a feeling, though, that this Augsburg show was bound to be tough, and it was. We made our runs and got off our bombs in the midst of one hell of a dogfight. Our group leader was shot down and about a hundred and fifty or two hundred German fighters swarmed over us as we headed for home. Then, screaming in from someplace, a twenty millimeter cannon shell exploded in the nose of our Fort. It shattered the plexiglas, broke my interphone and oxygen connections, and a fragment of it cut through my heated suit and flak suit. I could feel it burning into my right shoulder and arm. My first reaction was to disconnect my heated suit. I had some idea that I might get electrocuted if I didn't.

I crawled back in the plane, wondering if anyone else needed first aid. I couldn't communicate with them, you see, with my phone

A B-17 succumbs to an attack.
dead. I found that two shells had hit in the waist of the plane, exploding the cartridge belts stored there, and that one waist gunner had been hit in the forehead and the other in the jugular vein. I thought, 'I'm wounded, but I'm the only man on the ship who can do this job right.' I placed my finger against the gunner's jugular vein, applied pressure bandages, and injected morphine into him. Then I sprinkled the other man's wound with sulfa powder. We had no plasma aboard, so there wasn't much of anything else I could do. When I told the pilot that my head set had been blown off, the tail gunner thought he'd heard someone say that my head had been blown off, and he yelled that he wanted to jump. The pilot assured him that I was only wounded. Then I crawled back to the nose of the ship to handle my gun, fussing with my wounds when I could and making use of an emergency bottle of oxygen.

The German fighters chased us for about forty-five minutes. They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces, and I fired so fast that my gun jammed. I went back to the left nose gun and fired that gun till it jammed. By that time we'd fallen behind the rest of the group, but the Germans were beginning to slack off. It was turning into a question of whether we could sneak home without having to bailout. The plane was pretty well shot up and the whole oxygen system had been cut to pieces. The pilot told us we had the choice of trying to get back to England, which would be next to impossible, or of flying to Switzerland and being interned, which would be fairly easy. He asked us what we wanted to do. I would have voted for Switzerland, but I was so busy handing out bottles of oxygen that before I had a chance to say anything the other men said, 'What the hell, let's try for England.' After a while, with the emergency oxygen running out, we had to come down to ten thousand feet, which is dangerously low. We saw four fighters dead ahead of us, somewhere over France, and we thought we were licked. After a minute or two we discovered that they were P-47s, more beautiful than any woman who ever lived. I said, 'I think now's the time for a short prayer, men. Thanks, God, for what you've done for us.'"

Last Mission: "One more, one more, one more."

The twenty-eighth [mission]was on Berlin, and I was scared damn near to death. It was getting close to the end and my luck was bound to be running out faster and faster. The raid wasn't too bad, though, and we got back safe. The twenty-ninth mission was to Thionville, in France, and all I thought about on that mission was 'One more, one more, one more.' My last mission was to Saarbriicken. One of the waist gunners was new, a young kid like the kid I'd been six months before. He wasn't a bit scared - just cocky and excited. Over Saarbriicken he was wounded in the foot by a shell, and I had to give him first aid. He acted more surprised than hurt. He had a look on his face like a child who's been cheated by grownups.

That was only the beginning for him, but it was the end for me."

Dogfights over Belgrade - The last free days

8. April (day 3)

The weather was very bad on this day. Clouds and light rain. The 2 surviving IK-3’s on Veliki Radinci are joined by the prototype of the IK-3 series II. This airplane had the oil coller reshaped and modified, so it was 25% smaller as the ones on the series I aircraft. The prototype also had the modified exhaust stubs with propulsion effect. This two changes helped to increase the airspeed to 582km/h.

The day also prevented the top Yugoslav bomber ace Karl Murko to get to Zadar. His CO ordered him to take the squadron’s liason bucker jungman and to reconitre if there are any Italian targets worth destroying. About halfway there he turned back due to bad weather.

An IK-2 from Bosanski Aleksandrovac chased what seem to be a reconnissance aircraft but to no avail. One IK-2 crash landed on the same day leaving only 7 IK-2 servicable.

A very sucesfull mission was flown by 66. and 67. skupina from Mostar flying the heavy S-79 bombers. They set off in formations of three planes. One three plane element was leading an S-79 flown by Viktor Kiauta, the gunner was Ivan Mazej and bombardier was Terček a native of Ljubljana.

Soon after the element overflew Uroševec, Mazej noticed 5 Me 109’s closing in on the rear quadrant. The element tightned the formation and this fire power preveneted the Emils to get any hits. After a few attacks, they returned to their previous direction.

The flew in the valley of Kačinska klisura, where a large amount of troops and vehicles were situated preventing the retreat of the Yugoslav forces into Crna Gora (Montenegro). Terček began releasing the bombs in steady intervales. And so did the other two aircraft in the element. Despite heavy AAA the combined effort of the three planes, resulted in a desctruction of 10km long column of vehicles and infrantry, two bridges and a section of a railway track. This action prevented the advance of the Germans into Kosovo polje. They had to took a more safer route over Kraljevo and Čačak.

This little known action is regarded as the most sucesfull mission flown by JKVR during the April war.


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9.April (day 4)

The airfield that was ocupied by the Blenheims from 3. Bombarderskog puka suffered heavy strafing by Me 109’s even in the most disastruss weather. The secret of such a sucesfull navigational feat of German fighters was soon revealed since they found a radio-navigational device in a neighbouring monestary that was leading the German fighters.

At about 2 o’clock in the afternoon IK-2’s from Bosanski Aleksandrovac took off chasing a few observation machines. Later on 27 Luftwaffe Me 109 straffed the airfield. Eight Huricanes and five IK-2s took off to intercept the German raiders.

Poručnik Branko Jovanović was now confronted with nine Me 109’s around him. Skilfully using the extreme manouerabiltiy of IK-2 fighter managed to stay out of German gunsights. After the battle two German fighter were found burning on the ground along with two Hurricanes and one IK-2.

The bulk of the fighter force now stationed at Veliki Radinci was still grounded due to bad weather.

The weather prevented any further flying untill 11. April


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11 April (day 6)

Milislav Semiz now flying the new and fast 2nd series IK-3 caught up and shot down a Me 110C-4b over Fruška Gora.

Aroud 2 o’clock in the afternoon 20 Me 110 strafed Veliki Radinci. Two IK-3 flown by Gogić and Vujičić with four or five Me 109’s took off and in the short fight shot down two German planes. The victors over the Me 110 seem to be the two IK-3 pilots.


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12 April (day 7)

Before the war the main figter school was based in Mostar, and the planes were of mixed type.

After the first few days of the war only two were left, a Me 109 and a Hurricane.

A infrantry colonel asked if someone from fighter school could fly over to Imotski and find out if the Germans are already there. Two pilots Franjo Godec and Stipčič took off. Godec was flying the hurricane this time. Half way there Godec spoted three Me 110’s below heading towards Mostar. Fliping vre his wing hoping Stipčić would notce the Germans too, Godec attacked the Me 110 now flying in the Mostar valley. Even though his bursts met their target, the Me 110 just kept flying. In the heat of the battle Godec didn’t notice that the other Zerstorers were gaining on him. He wanted to fire another burst, but he ran out of ammo. Exactly in this moment he was hit by a ignition cannon shell. The cockpit was immediately filled with thick black smoke, preventing Godec to breath. But he was determined to get that Me 110. He tried to cut off the tail of the fighter with his airscrew, but luckily the Me 110 started spinig before Godec reached ramming ditance (this type of the attack was latter known as Taran). He slamed the Me 109 in half loop opening the cockpit at the same time. He bailed out, only to be slamed with his back to the tail surfaces of his fighter. After buncing off the aircraft he opened his parachute. The strong wind was now carring toward Mostar city. He touched down at Jasenica village, but was dragged for a long distance before being able to cut off his parachute. He had a broken leg and a spoiled flying day, but was othervise OK.

Yugoslavia was in it's Extremis. Like a mortally wounded quarry set upon by a pack of hunting dogs , she was now under attack from all sides. The weather deteriorated during these days there was almost constant rain snow and strong wind. There was a number of aircraft that tried to get airborne, and there was a large number of accidents too. The Germans that had little to stand in their way now, eased off the air-pressure on the Yugoslavian soil. The Stuka Jagd units wit fresh instructions from the C-in-C General Lorh diverted their attention to Greece.

Mile Curgus describes the last free days best: "That days the situation was unclear. We transferred to Radinci. Chaos in Mitrovica, rain, light snow, cars, wagons, trucks, horses, shouting screaming, real war situation! I arrive on the airport, then I find out that our borders were crossed. In the morning, it was maybe April 12, rain-we can't fly. There is nothing left to do for us, but to burn the planes. Djordje Keseljević shouts;Who's got a match? Nobody but me has it, but I cannot be the godfather of this fire. In the end I gave my match after all, which set our fighter, our pride, our possession afire. When we were watching them burning, we were relived of our flying duties. The retreat has begun, the Germans were advancing very fast, and we were on our own. Sooner or later we found ourselves on the German war transports going to prison camps."

But there was one more action for the airman to execute, before they fell into enemy hands. After the separate piece talks fell through, the King and his was in the danger of being captured. The only way out of the country was by air. Onlooking that goal the rest of bombers, transports and fighter were directed, to the Niksic region. On 14. April the evacuation begun. First a Savoia bomber took-off with the King Peter II, on the next day the government and some organizers of the uprising were transported to safety. The only fighter umbrella for this airlift was a sole Hurricane making a race-track pattern to cover take-offs, and 7 Hawker Furys on standby. After all the airlift was efficient enough to get the most important persons out of the country.

A line about the April war and the participating Yugoslav pilots goes:

On 27. April 1941 the fallen heroes shouted:

BETTER WAR THEN THE PACT.

Falling from the skies ten days latter they whispered with their last breath:

BETTER DO DIE THEN TO BE A SLAVE.

They did lose, but they fought for their country-and so did the Germans, and that makes them heroes, every one off them who dared to take-off on a bright April day...



A rare photo of Hurricane in Yugoslovian markings. This snap was made during last Hawker air tests in England, before delivery. 38 JKRV's Hurricanes were ready on line in 1941.

some 357th stuff ( since that is what i mostly have )

Capt Harvey F. Mace, P51-D "Sweet Helen II"

The German Flak battery was often very good, but on this day their aim was not so accurate, and Harvey Mace was very pleased.

For the bulk of my combat missions while Based at Leiston I flew a P51 that I had named "SWEET HELEN" after my wife, I was in the 362nd Sqn and the code was G4-B. I had a really great ground crew that looked after her for me, the crew chief was Ray Smith from Arkansas, he was a very quiet and reserved and never really showed any emotion.
We had started early and the plane was running sweet, off to Germany we went once again. I was leading my flight to a target deep into Germany this day, we ran into some anti aircraft fire and my element leader and his wingman became separated, leaving me with only my wingman to continue with. We carried on and when the bombers had finished their job they, and the rest of our fighters headed for home. Normally I would have been very happy to have stuck with them, but I was on the far side of the target at the time and had just spotted the unmistakable smoke trail of a climbing ME 163 Komet(LINK) a little deeper in
Germany. The ME 163 was of no threat to anyone, but I was young and thought it would make a good trophy if I could spot it on it's glide back down to it's airfield. I rushed to the spot I estimated to be the area where it would be, but I think it was wishful thinking as I searched for some time and found nothing, so I turned back and headed for home.
Very shortly I must have passed over the most experienced Flak battery in the whole of Germany, the noise of the explosions rang loudly in my ears and all of the twisting, turning, climbing manoeuvres I could muster just could not shake them off. I was in a bad position that seemed to go on for a long time, eventually I escaped their crasp and was so lucky not to have been hit, from then on I carefully changed course every few seconds to avoid a similar experience. The rest of the group had long since disappeared in the distance and there was no chance for me to catch them, although it was not long before I came up on a badly damaged B-17, he was limping home on considerably less than four engines. The pilot of the B-17 reported that he had injured on board and that his instrument panel had been shot up, he was unable to tell if he was heading in the right direction. I got him on the right heading and gave him close escort until we were over friendly territory, but then I had to get myself back to Leiston with the remaining fuel I had left. All the extra activity of avoiding the Flak and helping the crippled B-17 had really used up a whole lot of time and my fuel reserves, as a result of all this I landed back at Leiston some 45 minutes after everyone else. For a ground crew that is a very worrying time, as on many occasions it would mean your pilot has been lost. As I was taxing to my hardstand I could see my crew chief Ray Smith sitting with his head in his hands, as I drew into my spot he looked up and broke into the biggest smile I have ever seen. The smile and relief on his face has stayed in my memory ever since........


Lt Raymond T.Conlin, 362nd Sqn.
"Memories of a Wingman"

The date was July 25th, 1944- the time was around 11:30 am and the 357th Fighter Group were on the prowl. Dollar Blue flight and Green flights were enjoying one of those rare, "Frele Jagd" missions, in English a free hunt or fighter sweep as our enemies would call it. We had made landfall near the invasion beaches of France in the Northern Normandy Peninsula and were ranging South down near Kennes.
Capt Becker was leading Blue flight and Capt Carson, Green flights. Capt Carson maintained about six hundred yards between the two flights to give us all maneuvering room. After about 15 minutes, Capt Becker began a Sweeping left turn to head back North. Capt Carson then executed his easy left bank to follow in trail. As I recall Green flight was slightly higher than Blue as we approached the famous Paris, the glamour city of all Europe.
The two flights arrived on the western edges of the City, in this area are the large railroad marshalling yards. It was noon when one of our guys called in that P-38's were bombing and strafing below. We all looked down, at that moment a gaggle of Focke-Wulf 190's and Me 109's appeared dead ahead of us and at our level. I do not think that they could have seen us because they rolled over and started an attack on the P-38's below. I was flying as #2 on Capt "Kit" Carsons wing, He rolled over and I followed him down as he tacked on to the rear of a Fw 190. The element leader and the #3 man in Green Flight, Capt John Pugh broke away and jumped on the tail of a Me-109 that was heading down, the game was on and I was in a wild ride earthward trying to stay in position on Capt Carson. At the time, it seemed that we were almost vertical chasing the 190, the pilot was doing big barrel rolls downward trying to get us off his tail, but we were right with him. As Capt Carson closed into range he started to get strikes on the other ship. This and the ground coming up rather rapidly caused the German pilot to flare out and level off. We were now at approx 300 feet and "Kit" was getting hits all over the Fw 190 when the Germans engine failed. We were heading east just above the Grand Armee-Champs Ellysees Blvd. It looked like the Fw was going to crash into the Arch de Triumph, the pilot must have been dead because he did not try to bail out.
Capt Carson broke away and I was fascinated watching the prop windmilling as the Fw 190 headed towards its fatal end, all of a sudden I realized that Capt carson was goneand there I was at 300 feet and every soldier with a weapon was firing at me.The Germans also had Anti Aircraft guns on the roofs of the buildings and in the parks and they were all concentrating on me. I saw the river Seine off to my right so I swung over and down into it as low as I could without becoming a boat, hugging the North bank which is about 50 feet high.The guns could not lower down enough to get at me there, so I flew about two miles along the river until it looked safe for me to break out and head for home. I came up from the river and started a gradual climb for the French coast and then on to Leiston. When I arrived at home Base I found that Capt Carson had taken the same route out.
In summing up, I had a new appreciation of the daring and flying skills of the man who would become the leading "ACE" of the 357th Fighter Group, Captain Leonard "Kit" Carson..

Lt Al Boch. 362nd Sqn, P-51 "Gash Hound" G4-D.
What sticks in my mind is my second mission. It was a radio relay mission, my element leader was on one of his last sorties before going home. We were supposed to loiter over Brussels while the rest of the Group went deep into Germany or Czechoslovakia.
After takeoff we entered overcast at 500 feet and we kept on climbing, at 37,000 feet we reached the top of the clouds. The Mustang was indicating 150 mph and that was at full rpm and manifold pressure with a very severe angle of attack just to maintain altitude. It was very cold at that hight but otherwise comfortable, without pressurization, when speaking to our "mission control only about two words would come out before you would need a deep breath again.We flew for half an hour in one direction and then did a 180 and flew half an hour in the other, after 5 hours of this you would think that we knew what we were doing and were great navigators, Oh no, there was a jet stream of 100 to 150 mph that had blown us of course to the south. As it was not a good day, the bombers and fighters that had strayed were all trying to contact Colegate, the fixing station in England that could more or less pinpoint your position through triangulation, I finally reached Colegate and they gave me heading of 355 degrees and 95 miles to base. Several minutes before we got under the clouds, the DFat Leiston had given us a heading of 355 degrees. Yes we had drifted south.After what we calculated to be 95 miles we broke out of the cloud at 500 feet, there was the shoreline and the North sea, but it looked different. After flying up the coast line and seeing strange territory and an airfield full of bomb craters we were still unsure of our position, by now we were down at 300 feet because of the weather, I looked over at my element leader and for an instant I thought I saw flames coming from his engine, but I Immediatly realized that there were tracer bullets and other nasty things flying around. I yelled to my partner to hit the deck,which we both did wondering who in England was shooting at us, were we flying up the Thames estuary?.Getting low on fuel at this point, made the bombed out airfield we had seen earlier seam pretty good. We now flew North still pondering when I saw a large billboard advertising Dubonnet wine, well this gave us a big clue to where we were, FRANCE. The call sign for the emergency field in France was either "Domestic" or "Messenger" and I remember that it would be shear luck to be able to contact them at 300 feet. Much to my surprise they came booming through giving us a heading of 90 degrees left. I was a bit wary as I had heard that German controllers had talked enemy planes into landing and then being captured. I looked to my left and they were firing morters from the emergency field so that we could find them in the bad weather. A few B17s and B24s were in the landing pattern so that reassured us a bit.
We were at Merville and it hadn't been terribly long since the field was occupied by the Germans, there were graphics on all the walls all in Deutsche. With such a large amount of aircraft using the emergency field, it took 3 days before our home base at Leiston was reached to inform them of our status. Just as soon as they would let us go we were off , back to Leiston making a detour around the bad guy's at Dunkirk, that would have liked to have another shot at us for sure.When we arrived back at Leiston the guys were not too happy to see me, as they had to give me back some of my uniforms and my mattress which were a rare commodity. Our Intelligence Officer didn't rest until he raised a Colgate contoller from bed to find out what had happened, it was here that we found the discrepancy, he claimed that he told us 95 miles from the French coast. WHICH NEVER HAPPENED...

Hugh Godefroy - Dutch Ace.

The only Dutch ace in WWII was Hugh Godefroy. He was born in the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia) on 28 October 1919. His father was a Dutch mining engineer and his mother was Canadian. In 1925 the Godefroys moved to Canada and at the start of WWII Hugh was a student at university. A turning point came whenhe learned of the death of his girlfriend. The ship she was traveling onwas torpedoed by a German submarine, which made Hugh decide to join the RCAF to fight the Germans.

After completing flight training in Canada Godefroy was shipped to the UK where he joined No. 56 OTU at Suttonbridge, together with Poles, Czechs, Free French and Americans. In the spring of1941 Godefroy arrived to start operational duty in 11 Group, 401 Squadron RCAF at Digby. This squadron, equipped with the Hawker "Hurricane", was tasked with defense of the UK, with occasional offensive actions over France. In September 1941 the Squadron received the "Spitfire" Mk V and shortly afterwards 401 Sqn was moved to Biggin Hill. Although Hugh had flown anumber of operational sorties he was still considered a 'sprog' (greenhorn) by the veterans, having claimed no aerial victories. It seemed as if all his skills were needed just to stay out of the sights of Bf 109s and Fw 190s.

In 1942 Hugh was transferred to the Air Fighting Development Unit (AFDU) at Duxford. Initially he regarded his transition to a test unit as a demotion. But he learned to appreciate his new posting when he had the time to improve his deflection shooting and experiment with new escort tactics.

Near the end of 1942 Godefroy asked for andgot a posting at 403 Squadron RCAF. Shortly thereafter, he made his firstkill: a Fw 190. In June of 1943 he was promoted to 403's Squadron Leader. After some more kills he was promoted to Commander of 127 Wing.

In April 1944 Godefroy's second tour of duty ended. He received the DSO and became a staff officer to the HQ of AVM Sir Harry Broadhurst, advising in tactical and personal affairs. He still flew frequently, but not in combat operations. On one of his flights during this period, the engine of his "Spitfire" stopped and he bailed out over the English Channel. Luckily he was rescued, and he spent some time recuperating in a hospital. The resigned and went back to Canada. By the summer of 1944 his war was over. During his career, Hugh Godefroy was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, Distinguished Service Order and the Croix the Guerre.

Source: Onze Luchtmacht, December 1995

Constantin "Bâzu" Cantacuzino - The prince of aces. (romania)

He was born on 11 November 1905 in Bucharest. His father was Mihai Cantacuzino and his mother Maria Rosetti. There were both from old noble families and very, very rich. For example, after 1921, when many lands were expropriated and given to the peasants, his estate in Jilavele, still had 1172 ha(1ha=100 mx100 m), a huge surface of high quality agricultural land. His mother married for the second time with George Enescu (Romania's best composer and a world class violinist; he was Yehudi Menuhin's teacher). He went to high-school in Bucharest. He loved motor sports and he could afford to practice them all the time. He was an excellent biker (won some races) and driver (he set a new record on the Paris-Bucharest race). He played tennis and was the captain of the Romanian ice hockey team at the World Championship in 1933.

That year he attended the "Mircea Cantacuzino" Flight School (the fee was 30000 lei, which was a considerable sum, the leu was equal to the French franc). He flew a lot around Europe until the beginning of the war and sometimes in very difficult conditions. He was the pilot of the prince G. V. Bibescu, the president of the International Aviation Federation. Until the beginning of the war he had already over 2000 hours of flights all across Europe. In 1939 he won the national aerial acrobatics contest with his Bücker Bü-133 Jungmeister.

In 1941 was named chief-pilot of the Romanian national air transport company LARES. Even though this was a comfortable and cozy job, he managed to get in the front line as a fighter pilot in the 53rd Squadron (equipped with Hurricane Mk. I). From 5 July, when he started flying war missions, until 31 October 1941, when he was demobilized, he claimed 4 victories (3xDB-3 and 1xI-16) and 2 probable (1xDB-2 and 1xI-16).

After the capture of Odessa, the Romanian armed forces reduced the number of front line troops, because the main objectives were achieved (Bessarabia was liberated and the Soviets were pushed away the frontiers).

"Bâzu" was one of the reservists who were sent home. He retook his position at LARES.

But he managed to return to active duty in 1943. On 26 April 1943 he was remobilized and assigned to the 7th Fighter Group, which was equipped with the new Me-109 G. On 5 May he arrived on the front line and was named commander of the 58th Squadron. On 29 June, he and his wingman engaged 4xYaks, 2xLa-5s and 4xSpitfires, while trying to protect 3 Romanian Ju-88s His wingman was badly hit and forced to return to base. He continued the fight and shot down 2 Spits. He was also damaged, but managed to escape. Unfortunately, two of the bombers were destroyed. In July he flown both day and night missions, even though his "Gustav" was not equipped for that kind of flying. He tried to stop the Soviet night bombings of his airfield. The Germans protested and considered him mad. He finally gave up these missions.

On 27 July 1943, his wing was suppose to escort a German recon plane. But because of technical problems, only "Bâzu’s" airplane could be fueled in time. When he reached the rendezvous point, the German plane was already under attack by a Yak with a red engine hood (that meant over 25 kills). There were another two Yaks which were protecting the other one. He fired from distance and the Soviets turned on him. After 2 minutes he managed to get behind the Soviet ace and shot him down, before the wingmen could intervene. They ran away after seeing what happened to their leader. On his way back to the airfield "Bâzu" also sent a Pe-2 to the ground.

Between 2 and 5 August he shot down 9 planes (4xYaks and 5xIl-2s), raising his score to 27. On 5 August he was alone on patrol and he encountered a Soviet formation about 40-50 planes strong (Il-2s and Yaks). He realized that he couldn't have obtained outstanding results, but he could try to create them some problems. He dove into the Il-2 formation and shot down 2 of them, but he was immediately attacked by the Soviet fighters. He managed to shake them off, only one remained, but soon he joined Cantacuzino's kill collection.

The day of 16 August was an excellent day for the pilots of the 7th Fighter Group. They claimed 22 kills and 5 probable. First was Slt. Ion Milu with 5, then came Cpt. av. Cantacuzino with 3 (2xLa-5s and 1xIl-2) and Cpt. av. Alexandru Şerbănescu (2xIl-2s and 1xIl-2 probable). On 28 August he also received the Iron Cross, 1st class (Şerbănescu got his on 17).

In the autumn of 1943 "Bâzu" got sick and was interned to a hospital and then had to stay a while away from the front to rest.

On 10 February 1944 he returned to active duty in the 7th Fighter Group, which was sent to the front with the Soviets in Moldavia. On 15 April, there was an American raid and Cpt. av. Cantacuzino and his wingmen attacked the bomber formations and shot down 6 Liberators (the prince got one himself). He continued flying missions against the VVS and had a few victories.

On 31 May the 7th Fighter Group was pulled out of the first line and assigned to home defense. Cantacuzino remained in the 9th Fighter Group. He had 36 kills.

"Bâzu" was the first Romanian pilot to send a Mustang to the ground on 6 June. He shot down another one on 15 July and started August with 2xP-38s. After the death of Cpt. av. Alexandru Şerbănescu, he was named commander of the 9th Fighter Group.

After 23 August 1944, when Romania quit the Axis and joined the Allies, the Germans started bombing Bucharest, from airfields close to the capital, which were still in their hands. The 7th and 9th Fighter Group were brought in to protect the city. "Bâzu" shot down 3xHe-111 with this occasion.

He was then given a special mission: to transport Lt. Col. James Gunn III, the American highest ranking POW in Romania, to the airbase in Foggia and then to lead back the USAAF airplanes that were coming to take the POWs back.

He flew in the Gustav nr. 31, which was in the best condition, because it had only 7.5 hours of use. The American was put in the place of the radio and an extra fuel tank was added. He landed after two hours and 5 minutes of flight. First the Americans were suspicious, even though he spoke fluent English. But the colonel got out of the fuselage, everything was OK. He returned with a Mustang, because the Gustav couldn't be fueled. He needed only a flight to get used to it and dazzled the Americans with his acrobatics, which he couldn't help himself not to execute. Until 25 September he made several flights to Italy. Then he returned to his Group, which was engaged in the fights with the Germans and Hungarians in Transylvania. The Gustav was destroyed by the Americans, when they tried to fly it and were "stolen away" by it (the all known Me-109 characteristic).

Even though the ARR was facing many supplying difficulties, because the Soviets were requisitioning all the airplanes that were produced or repaired, the 9th Fighter Group did its best to carry out the orders.

On 25 February 1945, Cpt. av. Cantacuzino and his wingman Adj. Av. Traian Dârjan (11 kills), engaged 8xFw-190Fs. In the dogfight that followed, "Bâzu" got one of the Germans. While they were looking for the crash site in order to validate the victory claim, they failed to see the two German Gustavs. They jumped the careless Romanian pilots and shot them down very quickly. Dârjan died.

When the war finished, Cpt. av. Cantacuzino was demobilized and returned to LARES. He had 60 victories and was the highest ranking Romanian ace. He is probably one of the few pilots, if not the only one, that shot down Soviet, US and German airplanes, ranging from the I-16, the Yak-1,3,7,9, the La-3,5, the Spitfire, the P-38 and P-51 to the Fw-190F.

After the war, times changed. The USSR imposed a communist regime that started confiscating private properties and imprisoning the old elite and all those who dared not to think like them. "Bâzu" lost all its land and soon his wife left him. He managed to escape to Italy in 1947 and then he settled down in Spain. There he was helped by the Romanian community to buy himself an airplane, in order to earn his living at air shows. He died on 26 May 1958. There are two versions of how he died: one is after an unsuccessful surgical operation and the second when he crashed with his airplane.

His wife (the fourth one) was an actress. She emigrated to the USA and settled down at Hollywood and married there. She had a daughter which later became Miss America and stared in the "Dallas" show as JR's wife: the name was Linda Grey.

Josef Frantisek was born a carpenter's son in Otaslavice near Prostejov on 7 October 1913. After his initial trainingas a locksmith, Josef volunteered for the air force, and went through the VLU Flying School in Prostejov in 1934-1936. He was then assigned to the 2nd "Dr. Edvard Benes" regiment in Olomouc. He was with the 5th observation flight flying the Aero A-11, and Letov S-328 biplanes.

It was during this time Josef's individualistic attitude first showed. He never had a sense of disciplineon the ground. Demoted from the rank of Lance Corporal to Private for late returns to his unit, pub fights and other incidents, Frantisek faced the prospect of being released from service. As an exceptionally talented pilot he was chosen for a fighter course with the 4th regiment, and he stayed with this regiment after completing training. In June, 1938 he was assigned to the 40th Fighter Flight in Praha-Kbely. He was under the command of Staff Captain Korcak, and the pre-war Czechoslovak "king of the air" - Lieutenant Frantisek Novak. Frantisek perfected his flying and shooting skills here, flying Avia B-534 and Bk-534 fighters. During the dramatic events of 1938, the 40th flight was dispatched to several airports around Prague to defend the capital. After the Munich agreement, the flight had to return to Kbely, where it stayed until 15 March 1939, when Czechoslovakia was taken by Germany without a fight. Josef Frantisek wasted no time escaping to neighboring Poland.
On 29 July 1939, preparing to travel to France, Frantisek received a offer to join the Polish Air Force. He arrived at Deblin airbase, and after retraining with Polish equipment, became an instructor with the Observation Training Squadron under the Air Force Officers Training Centre Nr 1. He flew PotezXXV, Breguet XIX, PWS 26, RWD 8, RWD 14 Czapla, Lublin R XIII and other aircraft. On 2 September 1939, Deblin was the target of a huge Luftwaffeair raid. Frantisek had no time to take off with his Potez XXV among the falling bombs. He saw 88 Heinkel He 111s from KG 4 "General Wever" turning the largest Polish airbase into a heap of rubble.

Frantisek then left for Gora Pulawska airfield, where, under the command of Captain Jan Hryniewicz, he helped fly the remaining airplanes away from the advancing Wehrmacht. On 7 September 1939, Frantisek and some other Czech pilots were assigned to an observation training squadron at the Sosnowice Wielkie airfield near Parczewo. The unit, commanded by Lieutenant Zbigniew Osuchowski, had fifteen RWD 8 and PWS 25 trainers. On 16 September 1939, after further retreat, the unit was assigned to General of Brigade Skuratowicz to defend the city of Luck. On 18-22 September 1939, they flew reconnaissance and communication flights.

For all their bravery and determination, Polish resistance was coming to an end. On 22 September 1939, the remaining six planes flew from Kamionka Strumilowa airfield to Romania. Three of these machines were flown by Czechs. Frantisek flew General Strzeminski in his machine. They landed at the Ispas airfield, and went on through Cernovici and Jassa to Pipera. They were interned, but escaped on 26 September. They got to Bucharest, obtained documents and on 3 October 1939, boarded the steamer "Dacia" leaving Constanta for Beirut. They continued to Marseilles on board the "Theophile Gautier", entering France on 20 October 1940.

Frantisek stayed with the Polish Air Force in France, which was part of L'Armee de l'Air. He was retrained at Lyon-Bronand Clermont-Ferrand, where he reportedly test-flew aircraft after repairs. There are conflicting reports regarding his combat activities. Some witnesses claimed Frantisek shot down 10 or 11 enemy aircraft flying with the French. These published reports havenever been disproved; yet official French and Polish documents have neither confirmed the claims. Some witnesses recall that Frantisek changed his name temporarily in April, 1940 to protect his family in Otaslavice from persecution by the Gestapo. His cover name is unknown. As long as this question remains unanswered, Frantisek's French period cannot be closed.

On 18 June 1940, after the fall of France, Frantisek took a Polish ship from Bordeaux to England. He arrived at Falmouth on 21 June. Frantisek was sent to a Polish aviation depot in Blackpool, and on 2 August 1940 left for Northolt airfield, where the 303rd Polish Fighter Squadron was being formed. The squadron was equipped with "Hurricane" Mk. I fighters and coded with the letters "RF". In one of first training flights on 8 August Frantisek belly landed - he forgot to open the gear in his Hurricane before landing... Luckily the pilot was untouched and his fighter (RF-M V7245) got only light damage.
Frantisek scored his first kill under British skies on 2 September 1940. This was very busy day for the 303rd - flying three sorties. In the last one, at 16:35, the Squadron took off with orders to encounter a formation of 'bandits' at 20,000 feet over Dover. In the combat, Frantisek and Sgt. Rogowski scored one confirmed Bf 109 each. The next day, the Squadron took off (at 14:45) and was vectored to Dover, where Frantisek again shot down an enemy fighter for his second kill in the "Battle of Britain". On 6 September 1940, in heavy combat, the 303rd downed 5 Bf 109s, but Polish losses this day were serious: both Squadron leaders (Polish - Mjr. Krasnodebski, British - S/Ldr Kellet) and 2 other pilots were shot down, Frantisek luckily returning in his damaged fighter to Northolt. Three days later, Frantisek was forced to land with a badly damaged "Hurricane". The plane was totally destroyed, but Frantisek got out of it, unscathed. 15th September 1940, was a great day for the 303rd, when its pilots tallied 16 victories against the Luftwaffe, and Frantisek downed one Bf 110 in that action.
In only four weeks, from September 2nd through the 30th, Frantisek achieved 17 certain kills and 1 probable . This was a unique achievement in the RAF for this period - bettered only by F/Lt. A.A. McKellar and W/O E.S. Lock. Each of them both had 20 victories, yet both were killed in the "Battle of Britain".

It is often mentioned that Frantisek's excellent results were due to his lack of discipline in the air. He often left the formation and hunted for the enemy on his own. He also waited over the Channel for returning German planes, who were often flying without ammo, with limited fuel, sometimes damaged, and with tired crews. This was a usual tactic for Allied pilots, but only after completing all mission objectives. After Polish pilot mission briefings, Frantisek often disapeared from 303rd formations just after take-off. Despite higher command warnings, for Frantisek lone-wolf missions were like drugs - and his number of kills grew quickly. As the squadron leader, Witold Urbanowicz was facing an almost insoluble dilemma: either discipline Frantisek (which he attempted several times without success), or have him transferred at the expense of losing squadron pride.

Urbanowicz dealt with this cunningly: unofficially declaring Frantisek a squadron guest, which was acceptable due to his Czech origin. The Poles called his tactics "metoda Frantiszka" (method of Frantisek) while the British spoke of the lone wolf tactics. It is by no means true that Frantisek gained all his victories in individual actions - many kills were scored in group missions.

The 303rd squadron had 126 confirmed kills in the Battle of Britain - the most successful record for a RAF squadron in this period. Frantisek, with his 17 kills was not only the best pilot of the squadron, but also among the elite of the RAF.
Frantisek's sudden death in an 8 October 1940 accident remains incomprehensible, as is the casewith some other excellent pilots. Squadron 303 was flying a routine patrol that morning. Frantisek's machine disappeared from the view of his fellow pilots, and he was never again seen alive. At 9:40 a.m. his "Hurricane" Mk.I R4175 (RF-R) crashed on Cuddington Way in Ewell, Surrey. Frantisek was thrown from the cockpit and his body was found in a hedge nearby. At first glance he had only scratches on his face, and his uniform was slightly charred. But Frantisek's neck had been broken in the impact and he died immediately. There has been no definitive cause in the crach of his plane. Some sources say he failed an acrobatic exhibition in front of his girlfriend's house, other witnesses mentionhis absolute exhaustion from previous fighting. A combination of these two factors is a possibility.

His Polish friends buried Frantisek at the Polish Airforce Cemetery in Northolt on October 10, 1940, where he isstill resting. He stayed with the Poles forever.

Frantisek's 17 kills rank him second among the best Czech aces, right after Karel Miroslav Kuttelwascher's 20 victories.


Here is a left side, color profile, of "Hurricane" Mk Ia "RF-U" P3975 flown by Sgt. Josef Frantisek in the hottest time of Battle of Britan. Note the Czechoslovak national insignia under the cockpit, and that Polish 303rd aircraft during that period were not painted with the white & red checkboards that adorned aircraft later in the war. Instead, planes had only the Squadron insignia, visible on the '126' kill score photo. In my opinon Frantisek's "Hurricane" should carry the typical "Kosciuszko Eskadrille" insignia.

Traian Dârjan - the last to fall.

I first heard of Traian Dârjan when I was about five or six years old. It was also the first name of a Romanian WWII aviator I knew. It was a story about his last mission and dogfight. It was part of a pseudo-historical short stories book published before 1989 (when Romania was under a communist regime). Of course the only true things in it where the fact that Traian Dârjan flew with his unit commander on that last day of his life and that one German airplane was shot down. In rest, pure inventions.

He was born in the Someseni village, close to Cluj (in Transylvania) on 18 November 1920. Traian was the fourth child of the Dârjan family, but all previous ones died very young. His father, who had lost a leg in the Great War, fell sick and died in 1923. Traian remained alone with his mother. In 1934 he finished elementary school in his village and was admitted with a partial scholarship to a high-school in Cluj. But he also had to work in a factory's shop for the extra money he needed for school. In 1939 he couldn't find a job anymore and had to quit high-school and return to Someseni where he worked on the small piece of land they had. Near the village was a military air base and Traian had a passion for airplanes since he was a young boy. So in October 1939 he started flight school at ARPA Cluj and received his license in December. He then applied for the Military Flight School at Tecuci and was admitted in July 1940. He graduated on 11 April 1942 and promoted to the rank of adjutant stagiar (staff sergeant).
Adj. stg. Traian Dârjan remained at the school as an instructor until October 1942, when he was transferred to the 9th Fighter Group, equipped with IAR-80s. During 1943, the group changed to the Bf-109G and was sent to the the front on 23 October of the same year to replace the exhausted 7th Fighter Group. He soon started flying in different missions, but the poor weather didn't allow too much activity. On 20 November, the conditions weren't to good ( clouds at 100 m and a powerful wind), but they flew. Adj. stg. Traian Dârjan, while coming in for a landing, capsized and slid off the runaway into a Ju-52 which was parked on the airfield. However he escaped almost without a scratch.

His first victory, a Yak, came on 22 February 1944 when he was flying as cpt. Popescu-Ciocanel's wingman in a free hunting mission and the second one on 10 March, also a Yak. by this time the front line was on Romanian soil, so air activity intensified in a effort to stop the Soviet advance. On 17 April, cpt. Av. Gheorghe Popescu-Ciocanel was escorting a Romanian Ju-88A formation together adj. stg. Traian Dârjan, when they were attacked by La-5s. In the following dogfight, both Romanian pilots managed to shoot down one VVS fighter each. Traian Dârjan added a Yak-9 to his score on 28 April.

While the 9th Fighter Group was engaged in the bloody air battles on the front with the Soviets in Moldavia, other Romanian fighter units were fighting the USAAF raids, which started on 4 April. They were only allowed to intercept the Americans that were flying in their sector towards airbases in the Soviet Union, until 19 June, when the Luftflotte IV devised the "Sternflug" plan to counter the American attacks. When the enemy formations were detected on radar, the 6 German fighter groups and the 7th and 9th Romanian Fighter Groups (Bf-109G) were all assembled and directed against the attacking force. The Fw-190s were suppose to engage the bombers, while the Bf-109Gs protected them from American fighters. The plan was good in theory, but it did not work very well in practice. One such occasions was on 24 June, when 20 of the group's Bf-109Gs were sent to engage the USAAF aircraft. They stumbled upon a formation of 13 Liberators. In the following attack, three B-24s were shot down, one of which belonged to Traian Dârjan. Thus he became an ace with 7 victories.

The 9th Group continued to carry out missions on the front in Moldavia and also against the 15th Air Force's raids. Adj. stg. Traian Dârjan achieved his next victory on 9 July during an escort mission. He and adj. Constantin Nicoara were protecting a Romanian Stuka formation, when they were attacked by 4 Yaks. These were soon joined by 2 La-5s. The Romanian pilots shot down a Yak each during that dogfight. However, Nicoara's victory remained probable.

The day of 26 July 1944 remained in the group's history as "Black Sunday". 18 Gustavs from the 9th Fighter Group took off to engage a formation of 20 unescorted bombers, as the radar station reported. In fact there were more bombers, which were protected by over 100 P-38s and P-51s. The Romanian pilots scored 11 victories, but the price was very high: 7 airplanes, four dead pilots and two wounded. During the battle, Traian Dârjan joined adj. Iosif Moraru, who had just shot down a P-38 in his attempt to locate his victim (for confirmation of the victory). They were attacked by other Lightnings and adj. Dârjan shot down one of them.

The fights with the USAAF continued until 18 August, when cpt. Serbanescu was shot down. Adj. Traian Dârjan tried to warn him that there were Mustangs on his tail, but it seems the captain's radio wasn't working. He watched with horror how Alexandru Serbanescu was going down and then crashed.

On 20 August 1944 the Red Army launched the Iasi -Chisinau (Jassy-Kishinev) Operation and the air activity on the Moldavian front boomed. On 21, adj. Dârjan was part of a patrol (Schwarm) lead by cpt. Constantin Cantacuzino which was on a free-hunting mission. They encountered a formation of 24 Il-7s escorted by 6 Yaks. They engaged the fighters and shot down three of them. Traian Dârjan got one them. This was his last kill. The second day he was shot down in a dogfight with several La-5s. His radiator was hit, the windscreen was covered with oil and the cockpit filed with smoke. Lt. Gavriliu guided him through radio and he managed to crash land. Here's the rest of the story from lt. Ion Dobran's diary:

"I opened the cockpit and jumped out. Near the crash site there were some trees and I tried to hide there. i didn't have time to because at about 100 m there was a Soviet armored column. Bullets passed near me... I raised my hands and walked towards them...soldiers with submachine-guns were coming after me. They encircled me and wanted to shoot me on the spot. I was covered with mud from head to toe. I had fallen into a swampy field. They took some of my clothes and my boots. Suddenly the circle opened and an officer came there. He started to hit me with his fists and feet. My luck was that at 200 m it was a major tank unit's command post and the general wanted to see me. I was called to him and, with the help of a translator, he started to question me. he asks me to respond to his questions and he will let me go. I replied as well as I could. He ordered to give my clothes back to me and I remained there. The general had a map on which the city Vaslui didn't appear, so he wanted my map. I told him I don't have it (and it was the truth), because we don't take them for such a small sector. He got very angry and threatened to shoot me if I didn't give him the map in 3 minutes. I think my face changed dramatically. I told him again that I don't have it. The seconds passed very slow, like years, and the 3 minutes were up. A soldier stuck a gun to my head. I closed my eyes and waited for the shot. The general shouted: "Give me the map!!!" and I replied that I don't have it. He left me alone and then asked how many victories I had and I answered:"12". "You are good", he said. "There are many others better than me in my group". I asked for permission to smoke and got it and then for some water. A soldier brought it swearing. The general asked me if I didn't want to go with him. Of course I said yes... what I suppose to do... We jumped into a car and headed for Vaslui. North of the city there was an air alarm. We ran into a corn field for cover. There were Romanian Stukas which rained havoc on the armor and troop concentration. [Ironically, lt. Ion Dobran was escorting the Stukas that day] The Russians turned their guns on me and asked if those were Romanian airplanes. They swear. I was lucky that the translator (a nice guy from Odessa) put himself between them and me. After two minutes came German Fw-190s, which continued the Stukas' attack. What can I say? It was horrible! I have never seen or think such a "show". Tanks thrown off the road, overturned, burning... broken hands and feet... the Russians were mad. The General, as he had promised, saved me and set me free. I was forced, however, to go north towards Iasi. I was thinking to go to Nicoara's village. [adj. stg. Nicoara was a comrade from the 9th Fighter Group] On the road I met other Romanian soldiers. A peasant gave us to eat, but was too afraid to take us in and we had to walk on.[...] When we approached Iasi we were stopped by Russian soldiers, arrested and sent to a prison camp north of the city. We were about 4,000 there. They gave one loaf of bread to six men and soup, but I never got to the boiler, because there was a big squash. To make room around it, two Russians whipped the crowd without mercy. After ten days there I was so thin that I could barely walk. We slept on the ground, when we could find a place. Together with two soldiers, I took advantage of the fact that they were moving us to Botosani (and then to Russia) and fled. The guards were few and careless and didn't see us. I got to to Nicoara's village traveling cross-country. His mother took me in for 4 days, until I recovered. She gave me peasant clothes and I left for Tecuci [it was the group's base when he was shot down in August] where I arrived a few days later. There I was well received by my Jews. The Russians treated them as bad as they treated us. Generally, the city hadn't been robbed more than others. Ignatyi Semionovich's family was still there and were concerned because they didn't know what to do: go back to Odessa or stay there. They have heard that there were heavy punishments for the ones that left willingly. They gave a note for you [lt. Dobran], but I lost it. I took a train to Bucharest and went to the Flotilla." He was then sent to the front again and joined his comrades on 30 September, on the Turnisor airfield in Transylvania, were the 9th Fighter Group was deployed in the new anti-Axis campaign.

The weather didn't allow very much activity during late autumn and winter of 1944, but every effort was made to help the ground troops in need of assistance. The Luftwaffe wasn't a very common sight in this period, because of the little importance given to this part of the front. Most of the Romanian losses in Hungary and Czechoslovakia were due to the AA artillery and accidents.

On 25 February 1945, the last major ARR (Eronautica Regala Romana=Royal Romanian Aeronautics) offensive of the war was launched. It was aimed at supporting the ground forces which were attacking in the Zvolen area. On his fifth mission that day, cpt. Cantacuzino took off with adj. Traian Dârjan. They encountered 8 Fw-190Fs which were attacking Soviet troops. and engaged. The captain, ARR's top scoring ace of the war, shot down one of them and the others fled. In order to validate the kill, the two Romanian pilots got careless and started to look for the wreck. They failed to see the approaching Rotte of German Bf-109Gs, lead by Helmut Lipfert. Adj. Traian Dârjan failed victim to the Luftwaffe ace, his former instructor at Tiraspol. A 13 mm bullet almost beheaded him. He crashed near the Romanian lines. Cpt. Cantacuzino didn't even notice that his wingman was in trouble. He was also surprised by Lipfert's comrade and shot down. He escaped and returned to the 9th Fighter Group's base with a car from a Romanian division. He told what happened and concluded: "Adj. Dârjan must be dead."

Lt. Dobran remembered, in his diary, that in the moment they left for Hungary, Dârjan's mother started to cry, probably knowing that he may not come back.

Traian Dârjan was the last of the 16 pilots of the 9th Fighter Group to die during WWII. He had scored 11 confirmed and one probable victory and had flown 176 missions.

A note from moderator. I'm trying to avoid portraiting ONLY the brave pilots, aces, heroes of that time - so from time to time in WW II Ace Stories appeard some most controversion pieces of text (see also Poland 1939 - The Diary of Luftwaffe Atrocities). For some, unknown for me, reason, a lot of people don't like to remember about all atrocities of war, but I would like to clearly show also the dark side of war...

The Winter War started on the 30th Nov 1939 as Stalin decided to enforce his will on Finland with force as Finland could not be intimidated into submission. At 06.00 the Red Army crossed the border and Soviet aircraft took off as soon as it was enough light. Soviet Union deployed against Finland 1500 to 3200 aircraft, the sources give different numbers. The Finnish Air Force had initially 36 Fokker D.XXI fighters, 17 Blenheim Mk.I bombers and 31 Fokker C.X dive-bombers. The Anti-aircraft artillery comprised initially 38 pcs 75mm guns, 30 pcs 40mm guns, 49 pcs 20mm guns and 125 pcs 7,62mm machine-guns. The number of guns was roughly tripled by the end of the war.

On the very first day of the war 16 cities and towns in Southern Finland were bombarded by 200 bombers of the Soviet Air Force (VVS). A particularly murderous surprise raid was carried out against Helsinki whose inhabitants did not yet comprehend that they were in war. Nine Soviet SB-2 had according to Soviet sources been searching for the two Finnish Navy monitors "Vainamoinen" and "Ilmarinen", but failing to find them attacked the spare target: the Presidential Palace in Helsinki near the Market Square. The enemy airmen failed to locate that target, too, and the bombs fell in the center of the city near the bus terminal at 14.50 hours, more than one kilometer from the target, causing panic and destruction. 91 people, mainly women and children, were killed and 36 seriously plus 200 slightly wounded. Several houses were destroyed. The anti-aircraft guns shot down three of the SB's, that had been able to surprise the air defence by making use of the cloud cover.

(However, some questions remain. If the Soviet bombers were to attack armoured ships, they should have been loaded with heavy armour piercing bombs. According to Finnish sources, 133 high explosive bombs and 60 incendiary bombs had been deployed. Secondly, the Presidential Palace is prominently situated near the Market Square. Even when disturbed by AA, trained bomber-navigators should have been able to locate it. Suspicion of a purposeful terror attack is strong!)

The strategic objective of the Soviet bombing campaign was to persuade the Finnish government to give up resistance and surrender, maybe even to make the resistance collapse physically, and plain terrorise the civilian population into submission. Strategic raids were carried out against harbours and railways. Tactical raids were carried out in the immediately vicinity of the front line and against air bases.

The result of the strategic raids, however, was counterproductive.

Firstly, the Finnish people did not feel any wish to surrender to a brutal enemy but instead they began to hate Soviet Union even more and hope for a revenge on the enemy. The civilians in the air raid shelters felt that they, too, were fighting for their country.

Secondly, the world's opinion in 1939 was not yet dulled by massive air bombardment of cities, and attacking civilian targets was considered an outrage. U.S. president Roosevelt sent a message to Moscow wishing that Soviet bombers should not be allowed to bomb Finnish cities. Comrade Molotov, the People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs, answered in the honest Soviet style that Soviet bombers have not bombed and shall not bomb Finnish cities, but only air bases, which cannot be seen from America which is 8000 km away. The Soviet propaganda claimed indeed, that the photos of burning houses and killed civilians were taken in 1918. Also, the Soviet Aircraft were said to drop bread for the starving Finnish people, absolutely no bombs. Soon the Soviet fire bomb dispenser pod was nicknamed "Molotov's bread basket".

Stalin had planned to occupy Finland in two weeks, whereafter Molotov's lies would soon be forgotten. The Soviet Union had already set up a puppet government, "the People's Government of Finland" (made up of Finnish -born Soviet Communist party functionaries surviving the purges of '37) and claimed that all military action was only to help that government. There was no war, just action against the "armed bands" of the Helsinki government to help the oppressed people of Finland: this was the official line of the Kreml. The Finnish people, however, tenaciously refused to be liberated by Stalin.

The Soviet commanders learned from their mistakes and in February 1940 concentrated the air raids on the railroad system to disrupt the Finnish army supplies of war material to the front. That was a fairly successful strategy, the trains could run only in the night, and due to te massive schale of the raids the Finnish railway system was on the verge of collapse as the war ended. The repair crews could not keep pace with the damage inflicted at the rolling stock and the rail network. But it was not the VVS that decided the outcome of the war but the masses of the Red Army.

By the end of the 105 day war the 13th of March 1940 the Soviet Air Force (VVS) according to Finnish statistics had raided 690 cities, towns and villages. The Soviet sources state that the Army bombers flew 44041 missions and the Navy bombers some 8000 more. 25000 tons of bombs were dropped.

According to Finnish statistics the VVS bombers had dropped 55000 pieces bombs and 41000 pcs incendiary bombs and the enemy fighters had carried out 440 ground strafing raids against civilians. There may have been some incidents when infuriated civilian mob attacked captured Soviet airmen and lynched them... But these are only rumours. Dead Soviet airmen were unceremoniously buried by local people where found and no questions asked.

The VVS lost 207 aircraft shot down by FAF fighters and 314 to Finnish AA. The share of bombers is not known.

The casualties of Finland's civilian population were - 956 killed, 540 badly wounded and 1300 lightly wounded.

Material losses included (industrial and military excluded) - 157 town houses and 1800 wooden houses destroyed - 99 stone houses burnt out, - 600 town houses and 4100 wooden houses damaged

The Soviet Air Force bombing campaign is best summed up by the following anecdote:

The town of Porvoo was bombarded heavily three times (a fact), and one Soviet airman was taken prisoner as his bomber had been shot down. He was asked why they attacked Porvoo, an undefended small town without any military significance: there was but a shallow harbour and no rail link. The Soviet airman answered:

- Vot, the infamous agitator Runeberg is living there ! (J.L.Runeberg, born 1804, died 1877. He is the national poet of Finland.)

The Soviet airmen were insufficiently and often unsuitably trained, inexpertly led and their morale was not very high. Also the defender had enough AA artillery in the most important targets to force the attacker to bomb from high altitude (about 7000m) resulting in reduced accuracy. Moreover, the bombs were stowed in the SB-2 tail down, and after release the bombs developed an oscillation further reducing accuracy.

From the point of view of modern international law the Soviet attack on Finland was a crime, air raids at civilian targets likewise. But since these deeds and people who committed them have never been tried in court, nobody has any legal right to call them the crimes that they are...

pic 1 This is the famous Molotov's Bread Basket. It has been delivered, there is visible the dent at the bottom. The soldier supporting it is a FAF Lance Corporal. There is one sample "buhanka" inside! When dropped, the winglets in the top folded out and made the "basket" rotate and the centrifugal force scattered the incendiary "loaves".

"Illu" Juutilanen - the Top Ace. (Finnish)

Born on the 21 February 1914 at Lieksa, Finnish Carelia. Later the family moved to Sortavala. The father was a railway worker who lost both legs in an accident.

As a boy Juutilainen read the book by Manfred von Richthofen, "The Red Fighter Pilot" which made him dream about becoming a pilot. (the book in English: http://www.wtj.com/pl/pages/greatwar.htm). Also the vicinity of the Kasinhanta Air Base with its seaplanes and pilots added to the appeal of aviation.

Juutilainen did his military service in Signal Corpsduring 1932-1933 and was trained as a telegraphist.

After having fulfilled his compulsory service Juutilainen acquired a private pilote's licence from the Karhumaki Brothers' Flying School. Then, in 1935, he became an enlisted NCO in the Armed Forces.

Finally, in 1936 he applied for an Air Force NCO pilot course. He was accepted and due to his pilot's licence and telegraphist's skill he was made the elder of the course. Juutilainen did very well, but he spent a lot of time in custody - 27 days in a four-month course. The reason was that as the elder he was responsible for the misdeeds of his course - mostly excessive drinking. Personally he earned only one week for flying too low. After the course was completed, "Illu" had to sit in the "jug" for another week to serve the custody ordered to him.

Juutilainen started his career as a NCO pilot in a Reconnaisance Squadron in Suur-Merijoki in May 1937. He was considered a good and reliable pilot, much liked by the officer-observers. He was married in the same year with Miss Anni Nurmi, and their first son was born in 1938.

Sgt. Juutilainen was transferred to Sqn.24 to fly the Fokker D XXI's in March 1939. In a few weeks he became a good fighter pilot: his shooting skill was excellent. No wonder, hunting with dog and shotgun was his favourite hobby when the season was in. Juutilainen was fit as a professional athlete, he was also a teetotaller and non-smoker, staying like that during the whole of the war and also afterwards.

In the Winter War he flew as the wingman of the 3rd flight commander, Lt. Eino Luukkanen. He scored two proven victories. However, he fired his first angry shots with a pole-mounted Lewis gun from the ground against SB-2 bombers attacking the Immola Air Base on the 1st of December 1939.

The 3rd Flight was commanded to defend the area NE of the lake Ladoga. There, at the front section Kollaa, was fighting "Illu"'s brother, res. Lt.Aarne Juutilainen as a distinghuised infantry company commander. (This other Juutilainen was nationally known as the "Terror of Morocco" because he had served in the French Foreign Legion in N. Africa.)

The Fokker squadron carried out ground strafing raids on the ice covering the Bay of Viipuri against the Red Army columns the 1. to 12. March 1940. Those missions were hard for the Finnish fighter pilots because they really saw the lethal effect of their bullets. The enemy columns were initially without white camouflage clothing, and always marching in tight file formations. Shooting at aircraft was in a sense symbolic, a fighter pilot mostly did not see what happens to the crew of the victim aircraft. Illu did not feel good to see in his sighting scope how defenseless Red Army infantrymen flopped in the snow upon impact of his bullets. But he had to do his duty, the pilots knew that every enemy soldier left on the ice as casualty would relieve the pressure of the Finnish infantrymen defending the coastline. He flew eleven ground attack sorties.

In the Winter War Juutilainen scored two confirmed victories.

When the war against Soviet Union started again on 25 June 1941, Juutilainen was flying a Brewster in the 3st flight of LeLv 24 (Sqn.24). The 3rd Flight became later known as the "Knight Flight" because of the three holders of the Mannerheim Cross serving in it.

In 1941 he scored 13 confirmed victories and in 1942 next 21 victories.

In March 1943 Juutilainen was transferred to a new unit, Fighter Squadron 34, which was equipped with new Messerschmitt 109 G2 fighters. The Me with its 20 mm gun became his efficient tool and now he really began to excel. Less experienced or careless Soviet pilots had little chance when engaged by "Illu". The Soviet intelligence knew him well enough to once contact him via radio...

Finally in 1943 he scored 'only' 19 victories, but the 1944 was most successful recording additional 40 kills!

Illu shared von Richthofen's view: the task of a fighter pilot is to take his guns to an advantageous position in relation to the enemy and shoot him down. For Illu a fighter plane was a flying gun platform, nothing else. If Hasse Wind could be compared with Réné Fonck, so Illu Juutilainen was Georges Guynemer - the calculating tactician. A good example of this is what happened on early March 1944 (the story is in the second file). He attacked alone four La-5 led by Soviet Hero Medvetyev above Suulajarvi AB, despite low fuel.

He always looked back before opening fire, and if the enemy was approaching, he abandoned the target and prepared to meet the new challenge. Never was Juutilainen's fighter hit by enemy fighter fire during his 437 missions. (Once, flying a crucially important reconnaisance mission in June 1944, he was very nearly shot down as the oil tank of his Me was holed by the enemy AA. ) Yet he was an aggressive pilot, but never foolhardy. He had good luck, too. In his memoirs he conveys the impression that he really enjoyed aerial dogfights when flying a BW or a MT, sometimes he even was dissatisfied as an unskillful enemy succumbed too easily.

Illu Juutilainen had a matter-of-factly and professional attitude to war and fighting. He did not hate the enemy. For example on 14th March 1942 he shot up the engine of a MiG-3 at Karkijarvi, Eastern Carelia. The enemy pilot belly-landed on a bush-covered marsh. Juutilainen flew over to check, and saw the Soviet pilot standing at his MiG, waving his hand. The Finnish pilot made another pass and rocked his wings in salute before retreating.

Another time, on 23 September 1943 there was a hard battle over the Sepeleva Lighthouse, 10 Me's against a number of Yak-1, LaGG-3 and La-5. Juutilainen had shot down one of each kind and his 20mm ammo was spent as he was attacked by another La-5 at a low altitude. The Finnish pilot did his standard trick: he pulled his fighter into a tight climbing turn, and kept climbing and waiting until the over-eager enemy pilot would stall his fighter in an futile attept to pull the correct deflection. When the La-5 had stalled and dived to recover manouverability, Juutilainen was already 20 m behind his tail. Both fighters recovered from the dive at wavetops. Juutilainen fired at the enemy, saw holes appear in the fuselage of the La-5 but the 7.9 mm bullets had no other effect. Suddenly the La-5 pulled up, the Me followed but the pilot blacked out. As he recovered, he found himself wingtip to wingtip with the enemy. The two pilots looked each other in the eye. Juutilainen found the situation amusing, he smiled and waved his hand. The Soviet pilot responded and rocked his wings as a sign of truce. The Finnish pilot responed. Again the Soviet pilot waved his hand and flew his fighter below the Me toward Kronstadt. Juutilainen also turned toward Suulajarvi.

In July 1941 he saw his house in the Soviet-occupied town of Sortavala from the air, but as the Finnish troops took the town 24 hours later the retreating Soviets had burnt the house down, among many others. But Illu was not bitter. He told, chuckling, in an televised interview in 1997 : "It is war: if the enemy burns your house down, you go and burn one of the enemy's houses!" He did not burn down any houses, but shot down enemy aircraft. His official score is 94 confirmed victories, but he believes he shot down a total of 120 enemies.

He was decorated with the Mannerheim Cross twice, on 26 April 1942 and on 28 June 1944. He is one of the two pilots thus honoured. (Hans Wind was the other one). Citation in 1942: "Flight Master Juutilainen has displayed exemplary bravery and indomitable battle spirit with excellent skill and resourcefulness in several air battles." In 1944 the citation was " Flight Master Juutilainen's offensive spirit and skill has earned him 73 victories, 15 of which during the present enemy offensive. This is in our circumstances a brilliant military achievement, taking into account that most of the victories have been gained in battle against numerically great enemy superiority".

Juutilainen was promoted as Sr. Sgt. on 31 December 1939 and less than one month later to the rank of Sergeant-Major. He reached the top of his military career on the 1 March 1941, as he became Flight Master (the rank is also known as Air Master Sergeant or Warrant Officer.)

Juutilainen concentrated on flying instead of career. He was offered a chance to study in the Cadet School and become a commissioned officer, but he declined, explaining that during the year spent in studies he would lose his touch in flying. Then any enemy could shoot him down before he would have relearned his skill. Juutilainen loved flying and air battles, and being a husband and father of three sons did not slow him down the least. He was also an outdoorsman, his favourite hobbies were hunting and fishing. His character was extroverted and he was popular with the other pilots due to his witty humour and willingness to give advice. He was radiating vitality and self-confidence, which also rubbed on other pilots thus improving the general feeling in the unit. When "Illu" was asked after the war whether he ever feared, he said that he never felt fear, just urge for action.

For his squadron leader and flight commander he was an exemplary soldier with his good behaviour and high fighting spirit. However, there was one thing that Maj. Luukkanen had to turn a blind eye to: Juutilainen did not obey the standing order to avoid battle during a reconnaisance mission. "Illu" rationalized this by maintaining that the delay in providing the recce data was small (less than half an hour) and the "dual mission" made better use of the limited number of fighters... It did not occur to him that he could have been shot down and the data would be totally lost ! For example...

In the afternoon of the 1st July 1944 as Juutilainen was preparing for a recce mission on the Western side of the Carelian Isthmus with Sgt.-Maj. Antti Tani, they decided that they would meet the enemy during the sortie. Juutilainen flew his trusted MT-457, but Tani's fighter was the new MT-453 that still retained her 20mm wing cannons, and the pilot was most eager to test the triple-cannon firepower.

They carried out their mission, Juutilainen observed the ground and made notes about road and rail traffic and tank, artillery and troop concentrations while Tani covered him. They saw enemy aircraft but Juutilainen ignored them. In the return leg of the mission they flew towards Tali, where heavy ground battle was being fought. To their great satisfaction they found about 40 Il-2's - unescorted! Juutilainen told his wingman to roll his battery in position, and they attacked the rearmost wave of the Stormovik formation. Juutilainen shot down one near Juustila, and Tani wrecked two thanks to his firepower. Then they attacked the following wave ahead, the Stormoviks behind fired at them with their wing guns, but without result. Both pilots shot down one enemy more each at Pakkainen, then they were out of ammo and short on fuel after 10 minutes of engagement. They landed at Lappeenranta and gave their raport to the intelligence officer.

What kind of a man becomes a good fighter pilot? "Eikka" Luukkanen has listed some characteristics:
- Physical: good eyesight, good physical condition, rapid reactions
- Mental: excellent situational awareness, adventurousness

He may have had his top ace Illu Juutilainen in mind when making that list. A good fighter pilot never really grows up, Luukkanen wrote. Illu was one of these happy men. Consider the following incidents:

As Juutilainen was decorated with the Mannerheim Cross in April 1942, the reporter of the Aunus (Olonez) radio came to interview him in the base. The natinonally famous reporter, Pekka Tiilikainen asked in a magnificent voice vibrant with patriotism:

- Tell us, Illu, about your feelings at this great moment?

Juutilainen answered - in a live transmission:

- Well, at the moment I am thinking about the delicious cabbage casserole that my mother used to make.

Humour and practical jokes had a serious purpose. The major part of a fighter pilot's life consisted of waiting for a scramble alarm - life in constant nervous tension. In addition to chatting, reading or card playing practical jokes (for example rigging a tripping wire across the path to the canteen or booby-trapping a toilet door) were a way to relieve stress and think of something else than the next sortie.

Whenever there was a special mission for Juutilainen, the young replacement pilots would literally crowd around him, each one begging: "Illu, take me with you!" They knew: when flying as his wingman they would find action. Moreover, they were sure that the enemy was not able to surprise Illu, and in a dogfight he would save you in case you got in trouble. Consider the following:

On the 1st of June 1944 the 1st flight of Squadron 34 led by Lt. Pokela was scrambled to Teikari Island to intercept enemy ground attack planes. Juutilainen's wingman was Lt. "Saku" Heiskanen, a young pilot. At Teikari the first division (4 Me's) attacked the Stormoviks, and as the escorting six Yak-9's intervened, Pokela ordered the 2nd division at them. The Yak's dispersed, some dived on, others pulled up. Lt. Heiskanen was careless and got one Yak behind his tail. Juutilainen came to rescue, but another Yak was just closing on him. Fortunately for Heiskanen, Sgt. Leino engaged the Yak, allowing Juutilainen to continue his rescue operation. Heiskanen kept climbing and curving, seeing that "white zero"(MT-457) was approaching the enemy. When in close range, Juutilainen fired a burst, and the Yak dived, trailing heavy smoke from her engine...

After the war

In late September 1944 a rare visitor, Soviet Air Force Col.Lt. V.F. Golubev, the commander of 4.GIAP (Guards' Fighter Regiment) came to see the pilots of the Squadron 34 at Utti Air Base.

According to the conditions of the ceasefire treaty Golubev's unit had been stationed for a while at Malmi, the airport of Helsinki. He decided to make use of the opportunity and meet the men he had fought against - with a risk to himself.

When Illu Juutilainen was introduced to Golubev, the Soviet officer said nothing, just shook his hand longer than anybody elses. 60 years later "Illu" said in an interview that the greatest decoration a soldier can get is an acknowlegment given by his enemy.

In May 1947 Juutilainen resigned from the FAF service and bought an old DH Moth from the Air Force surplus stock. Then he had the plane repaired and entered in civilian register. Finally he hired a mechanic and became a self-employed pilot. He toured with his Moth and mechanic around Finland, offering ten-minute flights at rural fairs and small towns. There always were people who wanted to be flown around by the famous ex-fighter pilot, a double holder of the Mannerheim Cross, providing Illu and his family with income.

Juutilainen was selected as one of the six pall-bearers at Marshal Mannerheim's burial on the 4th February 1951. (Four of the men were generals, Juutilainen represented the NCO's and the rank and file were represented by L.-Cpl. Seppanen, a "tank killer". All men were holders of the Mannerheim Cross.) In 1956 Juutilainen's war memoirs were published. The publisher was a small company, and nowadays the original edition is a rarity, but a reprint has been published recently. The author chose to name his opus "As a Nuisance to Red Pilots" which in those days was not p.c. The book was translated in English by a FAF General and a USN Admiral, then published as "Double Fighter Knight" in 1997. (You can check the book review at this site: http://www.hkkk.fi/~yrjola/war/refs/refs.htm/#faf)

Illu Juutilainen is now living on pension in his home, in reasonable good health so far.

Trivia

Winter War planes: FR-106 and FR-108 (one victory with each)
1941-1943 he flew mostly the BW-364 (29 victories)
1943-1944 he flew first mostly the MT-222 (16 victories), then MT-426 (9 victories) and finally MT-457 (18 victories). He did not allow his ground crew paint any "personal emblems" on his fighter, except the victory bars on the BW-364 vertical stabilizer

Victim list:
I-153 -13; I-16 -11; SB-2 -2; DB-3/-3F -5; MiG-1/-3 -5; Hurricane -4; Spitfire -2; LaGG-3 -5; Tomahawk P-40 -1; Lightning P-38 -1; Pe-2 -4; Airacobra P-39 -4; La-5 -11; La-7 -1; Yak-1/-7 -2; Yak-9 -12; IL-2 -7; Mustang P-51 -2; He-111 -1; Li-2 -1.

Sad epilouge...
In end of February 1999, almost at the same moment, when his story landed in Ace Stories, "Illu" Juutilainen 'took off for his last flight' without return... He shall be buried on the 13th March 1999. It's strange, but it's the anniversary of the day the Winter War ended in 1940...

1. Opening of Score

The 3rd Flight of Fighter Squdron 24 was scrambled about 08.00 on the 19th Dec.1939 at the Immola Air Base. Sgt. Juutilainen, flying the FR-108, took off after the others had gone, due to a minor problem in starting his engine. When he was at Antrea he heard a radio report: Three enemy bombers flying from Heinjoki to Antrea. The Finnish pilot looked around, and 30 seconds later he saw three DB-3 bombers with red stars on the wings and fuselage sides flying 500 m below, unescorted as they used to be in the early war.

Juutilainen was in an ideal starting position as he dived to attack. Having seen the Fokker the bombers released their bomb loads in the forest below and turned to South, further enabling the attacker to gain on them.

Juutilainen acted methodically as he had been trained to do. He opened fire at a range of 100 m, killing the gunner of the left wing bomber, then he elimininated the gunner of the leading bomber and finally the one of the right wing bomber. Now he did not have to worry about being shot at anymore.

He approached the leading bomber and fired at the left engine at a range of 20 m. The bomber's engine began to trail smoke, then he fired at the right engine of the same bomber. Next he dealt with each engine of the wing bombers.

But the three DB-3's continued flying, though with slow speed, engines trailing smoke, and Juutilainen had spent all his 2200 cartridges. He followed his targets up to front line, where the leading bomber suddenly went in nosedive and crashed. The wing bombers continued their flight, slowly losing altitude...

Juutilainen had to return, there was nothing more to be done. Thinking about the battle he did not feel anything special, except frustration that he felt seeing another bomber formation while returning to the base... Everything had been like another aerial shooting training mission.

2. Chasing, being chased...

28th Sept. 1941. The 1st Flight of Squadron 24 took off at 0800hrs from the Mantsi Temporary Air Base on the coastline of Lake Ladoga with six Brewsters. Their mission was to cover five Blenheims on their raid against the Suoju river railway bridge. The mission was uneventful until the bombers turned back after dropping their bombs.

Illu Juutilainen saw a MiG-1 approach from below, turned at the attacker and gave her a brief chase. He disengaged having seen that the Soviet fighter was faster. He began to climb to join the rest of the convoy.

Suddenly he felt that something was wrong - he looked back and there the MiG was just behind his tail! The enemy opened fire, Juutilainen dived to the treetops to shake the enemy off. But the enemy pilot was very good at low level flying, carefully avoiding every obstacle.

The engine of the BW-364 began to warn about overstrain. The pilot pulled his fighter gradually to 600m and then took a risk. He pulled a tight curve that the less manouverable MiG could not follow. When the MiG pilot saw that the BW was getting behind his tail, he panicked and committed the error of his life. Instead of using his superior speed he continued to turn.

Now the Finnish pilot had the upper hand. He was flying so close to the enemy that he could actually throttle back, making use of the "draught" of the MiG. Juutilainen checked first his instruments, all the temperatures and pressures of the Wright Cyclone were within normal. The two fighters kept circling a small village at a speed of 240 kmh at treetops. The pursuer fired but the MiG's armour admirably withstood the 0.5" projectiles.

The enemy tightened his curve until he was in the verge of stalling, then he in turn resorted to low-level flight at 400 kmh . Juutilainen followed easily, only at times the backwash of the enemy hit his wingtips, making the BW bank involuntarily. He had no chance to shoot, however, jumping trees, houses and other obstacles, twice even flying under power lines. He had his next chance to fire as they flew over the enemy base at Viitana, but again it was as if the BW's guns had been loaded with wooden bullets.

Now a water tower made of bricks was ahead. The MiG passed it, the BW pulled up. The Soviet pilot lost his pursuer from his view, but the Finnish pilot kept observing his target.

The MiG turned back to the base, banking in the curve. Juutilainen made use of his chance to fire in the cockpit of the enemy from the inside of the curve at a range of 50 m. The pilot was hit and the enemy fighter crashed in the middle of the airfield, disintegrating totally. The victorious Finnish pilot continued over the enemy base in low level flight and took a shot at the enemy personnell before departing.

It was not until he was back in the base, describing the incident to his ground crew, that Juutilainen found that his arms and legs were shaking. His victory was confirmed.

3. Calculated Risk-taking

March 1944, date 7th , 8th or 9th , exactly not mentioned. Flt.Mstr. Juutilainen was on a recce mission in the middle of the day with his wingman Sr.Sgt. Peltola. Their task was to count the number of the enemy aircraft in the airbases of Gorskaya, Levachovo and Kasimovo plus monitor the road and railway traffic North of Leningrad. At Levachovo the enemy had put the fighters in covered bunkers. Defying the enemy AA Juutilainen flew across the base at such a low altitude that he could look inside the bunkers. The aircraft were La-5 fighters.

The two pilots were returning to the base as they heard a report: Four enemy fighters over Perkjarvi at 4500 m - that meant next door to the Suulajarvi base, deep behind Finnish lines. Peltola landed due to engine problem... Juutilainen pulled the stick and let his MT-222 climb. He was not ordered to engage the enemy, actually he should have landed to delivered the reconnaisance data. But his battle spirit, egged by the buzzing of the enemy base, was too strong.

At 5500 m, about six minutes later, he saw four La-5 fighters 500 m below. He dived to approach them from behind.

He just had the enemy leader in his gunsight as the enemy formation dispersed and each La-5 began to climb and turn to get behind the Me. So they had seen him coming all the time! The enemy fighters had white rudders, meaning they belonged to the 10. Gv.IAP, and now Juutilainen heard from his headphones that the enemy leader was Squadron Leader Medvetjev, a double Soviet Hero. - As if that piece of information had helped the lone Finnish pilot!

Now Juutilainen decided to keep the enemy engaged until some Me's would arrive to deal with them. Quckly he considered his chances: His fuel was low, down to 20 mins at cruise speed, but he was above his own base. Whatever would happen, he would not be taken prisoner.

The MT-222 still had more speed than the enemy, and she was able to out-climb the La-5's. Only now, at 6500 m, Juutilainen put on his oxygen mask, but he could only bite the rib to hold it on his face. The result was that the humidity of his breathing escaped, condensed and began to frost the cockpit canopy matt white. Meanwhile Comrade Medvetjev called for reinforcements.

The Soviet pilots knew their job. One of them was always behind the Me, and if the Finnish pilot turned to attack, another La would be in a position to shoot. Juutilainen kept dodging, soaking wet of sweat despite the cold air.

As the dogfight had climbed to 8700 m, one more La-5 arrived to the scene, shooting at an hopelessy long range. Juutilainen saw her tracers, turned and dived under the new enemy, then pulled a tight climbing curve. He scraped frantically a peephole in the frost covering the cockpit canopy to see the enemy, now only his windshield was clear.

Juutilainen had a hard time in keeping all his five enemies in sight, but he saw snow swirling about 9 km below: some Me's were just taking off. It would take them ten minutes to climb to his altitude... Now he was told that the 6th La-5 was about to arrive in the scene. The battle had lasted almost 15 minutes now.

He dodged a La-5 attacking at a high speed from above, pushing under her nose, then he dodged another and had a third nearly in his gunsight !

At the same moment his engine coughed and stopped. He was out of fuel. Tracers flew past - one of the enemies was shooting at the "glider".

With is remaining speed Juutilainen dodged and pushed the Me in vertical dive. It was the only thing to do. He hoped that the enemy would not follow him if he exceeded the 950kmh limit - neither the Me nor the La were designed to withstand higher speed. He let the MT-222 fall vertically for 6500 m. The pilot's ears were buzzing like telephone wires, the speed was over 1000 kmh at 2000m altitude. The Me flew rock-steady.

He pulled the stick, which was nearly immobile and used the trim wheel. The Me returned to level flight at the altitude of 150 m, the speed was 900 kmh. No enemies were in sight. The pilot pulled the stick and converted his speed to altitude, then proceeded to make a "normal" landing without power.

The Me had not been damaged, neither in the battle nor in the dive. The enemy retreated before the other Finnish pilots had any chance to engage them.

4. Six-Victory Morning

30 June 1944, Carelian Isthmus, Ihantala Front Section. Finnish Army was fighting a heavy defensive battle against attacking Red Army. The 1st Flight of Fighter Squadron 34 (eight Me 109 G6 led by Maj. Luukkanen) arrived over the battlefield and met an equal number of Soviet P-39 Airacobras. The fighters engaged each other at 10.15 hrs and the Soviet AA stopped firing as a "furball" developed at 3000 m.

Flight Master "Illu" Juutilainen's MT-457 slipped behind a pair of P-39's, which immediately tried to escape by a steep dive. Juutilainen followed and fired in dive at the enemy leader. The taill control surfaces of the P-39 were ripped off and almost hit the Me. The P-39 crashed in the marketplace of Viipuri. The wingman tried to escape towards his base with the MT-457 in hot pursuit. As the Soviet pilot saw that he was in the shooting range of the gray Me behind his tail, he tried to make a tight turn. But Juutilainen's very first salvo turned the enemy plane into a flaming torch which crashed at Sainio.

Juutilainen took altitude and watched how his wingman Sgt. Frantila shot down another P-39, then he saw in the eastern sky something like a black cloud. It was not a cloud but an enemy formation of 100 Pe-2 bombers escorted by at least 100 La-5 and Yak-9. Juutilainen sent a radio message to the combat control center and asked for reinforcements, promising ample targets for everyone.

Five Me's regrouped and began to climb. At 6000 m they were attacked by Yak-9s which prevented them from getting at the bombers. Soviet aircraft could be seen in great numbers in every altitude.

Juutilainen and Frantila engaged the nearest 2 Yaks. The enemies turned toward the Me's, then dived. The Finnish pilots followed 50 m behind the enemy tails. They dived at a speed of 800 kmh, consequently Juutilainen did not fire for fear of colliding with eventual debris. As the Yaks began to pull out of the dive, exposing the vulnerable fuel tank, engine and cockpit, was the ideal moment to shoot. Juutilainen fired at the leader. The Yak-9 took hits and under the strain of the G force her right wing broke off. The enemy dived in a wild spin and crashed at Juustila. His wingman escaped.

The two Me's were climbing to rejoin the battle as a burning Yak passed them in her last dive, then they were attacked by four Yak-9. Due to their lower speed the Me pilots easily manouvered themselves behind the enemy. Again the enemy tried to break off by diving, and the same thing happened as some minutes before. Juutilainen fired at his target as it was pulling out of dive, this time the Yak caught fire before crashing near the previous victim.

Again the MT-457 climbed, this time alone. The Soviet bombers had released their loads at the Finnish positions, nothing could be done about it anymore. The air battle was over for now, but the pilots of the 1st flight saw 12 FAF Ju-88 bombers arrive, escorted by a Messerschmitt flight. The bombers penetrated the AA fire and dive-bombed the Red Army troop and material concentration with 1000 and 500 kg bombs. No Soviet fighters were there to stop the Junkerses, which retreated unpunished. This raid also illustrated the difference of the resources of the two adversaries... But the Soviet Air Force was not able to control the airspace totally.

The smoke and dust of the dual bombardment was still hanging in the air as another hundred -plane Soviet formation arrived over the battlefield. This time the enemies were Pe-2's and IL-2m's escorted by La-5's.

Juutilainen was flying at 5000 m as he saw 5 Pe-2 below. He dived at them, but a La-5 approached him at high speed . firing wildly. Juutilainen pulled a steep climbing curve, the enemy fighter swished past and disappeared. The bombers had escaped, but there was now an escadrille of 9 IL-2M below, busy strafing the Juustila-Tali road with guns and rockets.

Juutilainen attacked the enemy from side and fired at the nearest Il-2 , hitting the cockpit area. The Stormovik crashed in the forest. Again a La-5 attacked the Me. The Finnish pilot evaded the enemy fire by pulling into a tight climbing left-hand turn, well knowing that his MT-457 would out-climb the La-5. The enemy fighter followed, trying to get enough deflection to hit the Me. But the best the Soviet pilot could achieve was to make the nose of his fighter point at the Me. He fired anyway, and saw the Finnish pilot wave his hand. "You missed!"

The two fighters continued climbing, the Me gaining steadily. About four minutes later at 4000 m Juutilainen found himself 100m above the La-5. He half-rolled, flying upside down above the La-5. The Soviet pilot panicked and turned his fighter to a vertical dive to retreat. The Me followed less than 100m behind. After diving 2000 m the enemy pulled up so hard that Juutilainen did not get any chance to aim, then he blacked out. As he regained vision, he found his fighter in a vertical climb behind the La-5 which immediately half-rolled and dived again.

This manouver was repeated several times. Finally Juutilainen took a risk and at the final phase of a pull-up nearly stalled his fighter to shoot at the La-5. His 20mm shells must have hit the enemy fuel tank, because the Soviet fighter dived in flames, trailing black smoke, soon crashing on the coastline N of Viipuri.

The low fuel warning light of the MT-457 was blinking. Juutilainen again took the initiative and called the other pilots of the flight reminding them of the impending fuel shortage. Fortunately seven Me's of the Squadron 24 led by Lt. Karhila just arrived, enabling the 1st flight to disengage the enemy. It was about 11.00 hours.

It was only now that Juutilainen realised he had gained six victories. He landed at Taipalsaari with empty fuel tank and ammunition magazine. He had spent in average about 22 pcs of 20mm shells at each of his victims. He could prove each kill.

In this battle the Finnish pilots scored 17 victories without losses. (Maj.Luukkanen shot down one P-39 and one La-5, so he was busy and not neglecting his duties.)

5. Good shots

31st August 1943. Three Me's of the 1st Flight of Squadron 34 had been alerted to Koivisto to support the Brewsters of Squadron 24 in an air battle. By the time Lt. Pekuri, Ft.Mstr. Juutilainen and Sr.Sgt. Lehto arrived on the scene, the battle was over. Only oil slicks were seen on the surface of the Gulf of Finland.

The enemy sent two speedboats to search for survivors. Juutilainen suggested that they should take altitude and check whether the boats had any air cover. The Me's turned South and began to climb.

Indeed, at 4500 m the Finnish pilots spotted two La-5 below. Pekuri and Lehto attacked, Juutilainen covered them. But Lehto hesitated a second before diving. Pekuri bounced the enemy leader and shot up his engine, then pulled up. Now the enemy wingman got behind his tail. Juutilainen had dived immediately having realised the situation, but due to his high speed he could not shoot the La-5 threatening Pekuri, 50 m behind his tail and gaining. "Illu" pulled a tight curve to decelerate, then approached the enemy again. The Soviet pilot saw the threatening-looking "Messer" as she was 100 m away. Immediately the La-5 pulled up and rolled into a steep dive, in a very quick manouver.

Juutilainen fired a brief burst "off the hip" at the very same moment. The first tracer passed ahead of the spinner of the La-5 but the rest of the projectiles were hits. The enemy continued his dive and crashed in the sea. Pekuri's victim had belly landed in the sea, and the Finnish pilots saw how one of the speedboats picked up the pilot.

Back in the base the armourers found six pieces 20mm cases and 23 pieces 7,9mm cases in the spent case container of the MT-207. It was not worthwhile to reload the magazines...

4th November 1943. Three Me's intercepted a formation of three IL-2m escorted by five La-5 on a Southeastern course over the Gulf of Finland between Seiskari Island and Sepeleva Lighthouse. Juutilainen told the other pilots - Lt. Valli and Sr.Sgt. Lonnfors - to attack the Stormoviks while he would tie the escort fighters.

As Juutilainen approached in climb the five enemy fighters, they retreated by a steep dive. He looked down - the two Finnish pilots had not attacked. They wanted to see whether "Illu" would need help against the La-5's. Illu dived after the Stormoviks, passing his friends in a high speed. The enemy was about to get within the cover of the Soviet AA guns.

Juutilainen approached the three Il-2 from the side at a speed of 600 kmh, which was too much for accurate shooting. He passed them, then pulled a 180 degree turn at wavetops and then began to close in for a firing run. The Finnish pilot approached his targets at a 90 degree angle. He aimed at the wing plane, the range was less than 100m. He also had to bank hard to keep the enemy in his gunsight, and as he pulled the stick for deflection, the engine of his fighter blocked his line of sight to the target completely. Yet he fired.

Valli and Lonnfors saw how the Il-2 dived and crashed on the shoreline, catching fire. With the target out of sight, " Illu" had estimated correctly the deflection and the moment of shooting - the Me109G did not have a gyroscopic gunsight. Moreover, he had hit the vulnerable spot of the IL-2M , which was two square meters in size seen from above. He had spent 10 pcs of his 20mm ammunition.


The Fokker D.XXI fighter of 3./LLv 24, flown by Sgt. Juutilainen in March of 1940.

György Debrődy - The Survivor. (Hungary)

He was born on 1st January, 1921 in Lajoskomárom. Since his young age he was a keen boyscout and he was very interested in flying. After his high school graduation in 1939 he continued his studies at the Hungarian Military Flying Academy in Kassa, and graduated as a 2nd Lt on 18th June, 1942. After his graduation Debrődy was relocated to the 5/I Fighter Group’s 5/2. Fighter Squadron and in December he went to the Eastern Front. At first he flew fighter-bomber missions, and didn’t meet Soviet planes, but this situation changed the next summer: during the battle of Kursk he claimed 6 victories and became ace.

On 25th September,1943 he had a dangerous affair. In that morning he was downed by a Soviet Yak-9 15 km behind the enemy lines. Debrődy had to make an emergency landing near a Soviet AA battery. After an adventurous escape, the next day he dissolved the River Dniepr and achieved the German lines.

On 1st February, 1944 his swarm had a fierce dogfight against 5 GvIAP’s La-5’s, led by Witalii Popkov over the Korssun kettle. One La-5 hit his plane, and the Messer’s engine failed. Debrődy had to make his second belly-landing behind the enemy lines! His best friend, 2nd Lt. Miklós Kenyeres with 19 air victories, downed Debrődy’s attacker, and landed near the dead Messer on the snowy and icy unknown field. Some Soviet soldiers were running towards the Messers, but Kenyeres managed to take off with some PPS machine-pistol hits in his plane. Unfortunately, two days later the Soviet AA fire downed Kenyeres’ plane behind the enemy lines and this brave pilot had to bail out over a forest. Debrődy was desperately circling around his parachute, but he was not able to help his friend, Kenyeres taken POW.

From the 3th of April, 1944 the American 15th AAF attacked Hungary, and the Hungarian military high command ordered home some veteran fighter pilots, including György Debrődy and László Molnár. At tis time Debrődy had 173 combat missions and claimed 18 confirmed air victories on the Eastern Front. 2nd Lt György Debrődy was relocated to the Hungarian 101/3. “Puma” Squadron, based in Veszprém.

His first fight against the Americans was on 14th June 1944. On that day the Hungarian 101th “Puma” Group attacked the 94th Squadron of the 14th FG. The Hungarian fighters downed 5 P-38’s and damaged two of them seriously, and the others minorly while they lost two planes and a pilot, 2nd Lt. Gyula Király, was killed. In this fierce dogfight Debrődy downed 1st Lt Louis Benne’s P-38J (Wr. Nr: 42-104229). The American pilot, who was an ace with 5 kills, got wounded and had to bail out. Benne was taken POW, his plane crashed near Dudar. Two days later Debrődy claimed another P-38J: his victim was 2nd Lt George F. Loughmiller. The American’s plane (Wr.Nr:43-28665) crashed near Kapoly, the pilot was killed. On 2nd July, 1944 18 Hungarian and approx. 80 German fighters attacked the American planes over Budapest. After this fight Debrődy claimed a P-51D over Pilisvörösvár. It was 1st Lt George Stanford, the Assistant Squadron Operations Officer of the 335th FS of 4th FG with 4 air victories. The American pilot taken POW.

Five days later he downed a B-17G (2nd BG, 20BS, W. Nr. 42-97351) near Megyercs, assisted by Ensign András Huszár. Later he flew some unsuccesful sorties and on 27th July, 1944 he downed a B-24 near Mór. This Liberator was one of the 455th BG’s lost planes.

Later the Hungarian fighters reserved their forces against the Red Army, because the Soviet forces appeared near the Hungarian border. On 1st November Debrődy was promoted to 1st Lt. Three days later his Squadron leader, Captain József Bejczy (5 confirmed kills) was killed by Soviet AA fire, and Debrődy was promoted to the new Squadron leader. On the next day, on 5th November, 1944 the last big “Puma” grouped sortie against the 15th AF took place. During this combat mission Debrődy claimed one B-24 (451st BG) shot down.

On 16th November, 1944 he took off his last combat mission as a squadron commander. The 101/3. Squadron attacked SE of Jászberény some La-5’s of the 5th Vozdushnaja Armija (5th Soviet Air Army) and Debrődy downed one Lavochkin. Later he made a frontal attack against a Soviet Yak-9, north of Nagykáta. His series hit the Soviet plane and theYak exploded, but meanwhile some of the Yak’s bullet hit Debrődy’s Messer. The Hungarian pilot get a serious wound: one 20 mm shell punched his belly near his spine, but despite of his terrible wound this tough guy made a successful emergency landing near Hatvan and the doctors rescued his life, but it was his last, 203rd combat mission. Later he was awarded with the Tiszti Arany Vitézségi Érem (Officers’ Gold Medal For Bravery), the highest Hungarian decoration. After the war he emigrated to Spain with his friend, Miklós Kenyeres, and later to Canada, and to the USA. In 1967 the doctors operated him again and eliminated from his body, near his spine a Soviet 12,7 mm bullet – it was a “souvenir” from his last combat.

He passed away on 2rd February, 1982 in Cortland, USA.

Clive "Killer" Caldwell - Stuka Party

Clive Robertson Caldwell was born in Lewisham, Sydney on the 28th of July, 1911. Pre war he trained for his civil pilot's licence whilst a member of the Royal Aero Club. He joined the RAAF at the beginning of the war in 1939 and was commissioned as a Pilot Officer in 1940. As he was destined to become an instructor after completing his training, he resigned and re-applied as an air-crew trainee. His commission was reinstated in January 1941, and he was sent to the Middle East where he took up flying duties in Tomahawks with 250 Squadron RAF. Following a short period of operations in Syria and Cyprus, Caldwell and the squadron were relocated to the Western Desert. It was in this theatre that he achieved great success during intensive operations.

By mid-1941, Caldwell had flown about 40 operational sorties, but had only one confirmed kill - a Bf 109. He was perplexed by the fact that he had trouble scoring hits on enemy aircraft. Whilst returning to base one day, he noted his squadron's aircraft casting shadows on the desert below. He fired a burst of his guns and noted the fall of shot relative to his shadow. He realised this method allowed for the assessment of required deflection to hit moving targets. Further experimentation lead him to acquire the knowledge to assess deflection needed for a range of speeds. Within a couple of weeks he had attained four further kills and a half share. Caldwell's method of "shadow shooting" became a standard method of gunnery practice in the Middle East.

On 29 August 1941 Clive Caldwell was attacked by two Bf 109s North-West of Sidi Barrani. One of his attackers was the Bf 109 E-7 "black 8" of 2./JG 27 piloted by one of Germany's top aces, Leutnant Werner Schroer who was credited with 114 Allied planes in only 197 combat missions. Caldwell's P-40 "Tomahawk" of 250 Squadron was riddled with more than 100 rounds of 7.9 mm slugs, plus five 20 mm cannon strikes which punctured a tyre and rendered the flaps inoperative. In the first attack Caldwell suffered bullet wounds to the back, left shoulder, and leg. In the next pass one shot slammed through the canopy, causing splinters which wounded him with perspex in the face and shrapnel in the neck. Two cannon shells also punched their way through the rear fuselage just behind him and the starboard wing was badly damaged. Despite damage to both himself and the aircraft, Caldwell, feeling, as he remembers, "quite hostile" turned on his attackers and sent down one of the Bf 109s in flames. The pilot of the second Messerschmitt, the renowned Leutnant Schroer, shocked by this turn of events, evidently made off in some haste. Caldwell's engine had caught fire, however he managed to extinguish the flames with a violent slip. He then nursed his flying wreck back to base at Sidi Haneish.

Caldwell's most successful day was the 5th of December 1941 when he shot down five Ju 87s in a single engagement during operation "Crusader". Here is the combat report of that action: "I received radio warning that a large enemy formation was approaching from the North-West. No. 250 Squadron went into line astern behind me and as No. 112 Squadron engaged the escorting enemy fighters we attacked the JUs from the rear quarter. At 300 yards I opened fire with all my guns at the leader of one of the rear sections of three, allowing too little deflection, and hit No. 2 and No. 3, one of which burst into flames immediately, the other going down smoking and went into flames after losing about 1000 feet. I then attacked the leader of the rear section...from below and behind, opening fire with all guns at very close range. The enemy aircraft turned over and dived steeply...opened fire [at another Ju 87] again at close range, the enemy caught fire...and crashed in flames. I was able to pull up under the belly of one of the rear, holding the burst until very close range. The enemy...caught fire and dived into the ground." Due to his aggressiveness, exceptional combat skills, and determination to strafe ground targets, Caldwell soon acquired the nickname "Killer" which he apparently was not particularly proud of. The name however stuck and was commonly used in referring to Caldwell. In opinion of Wing Commander R.H. "Bobby" Gibbes (he battled in 3 Sqdn RAAF in North Africa and in the SW Pacific under Caldwell's command): "Clive Caldwell was given the name "Killer" (a name which was not of his choosing or liking) due to his habit of shooting up any enemy vehicle which he saw below when returning from a sortie. Invariably he landed back at his base with almost no ammunition left."

Caldwell was promoted to flight commander in November 1941 and received the DFC and Bar simultaneously on December 26 by which time he had 17 victories. He was promoted to Squadron Leader in January 1942 and took command of 112 Squadron RAF flying Kittyhawks. It was due to his leadership, confidence and daring, his work with a contingent of Polish pilots attached to 112 Squadron, and continued success with this squadron that he received the Polish Cross of Valour (Krzyz Walecznych).

In contrast with the great successes of Skalski's Circus , Polish pilots' endeavours with 112 Squadron weren't as fruitful. A group of 12 Polish ferry-transport pilots volunteered for RAF service on 29 August 1941 and after training they joined "Shark" squadron in February 1942. On 14 February, 1942 the patrolling 112 Sqn RAF and 3 Sqn RAAF encountered a formation of 32 enemy aircraft and Sec.Ltn. Dula downed an MC 200. In combat with 6 Bf 109 fighters from I/JG 27 on 21 February 1942 three "Kittyhawks" of 112 Sqn were downed, two of them piloted by Polish pilots: Sgt. Derma and Ltn. Jander. On 13 March 1942 pilots P/O Bartle (English) and Sgt. Rozanski (Polish) left a formation of 12 "Sharks" in the Tobruk area and they were caught by surprise and attacked by Oberfeldtwebel Otto Schulz (4./JG 27, MIA on 17 June 1942, 42 victories). Both were downed, but Rozanski luckily escaped his crashed, burning aircraft. On the following day Sgt. Urbanczyk together with S/L Caldwell got one Bf 109. On 15 March 1942 112 Squadron was moved from the front line to Sidi Haneish for replacements. Polish pilots didn't return to duty in this unit from 16 April 1942.

Whilst with 112 Squadron, the Australian government asked that he be released to return to Australia to command a Wing in the defence of Australia. This Wing was to consist of 3 Squadrons of "Spitfires", and Caldwell spent some time with the Kenley Wing before returning home to acquaint himself with the new aircraft. The Japanese were threatening Northern Australia, and several Australian towns were regularly being bombed. Caldwell left the Middle East with nineteen individual and three shared confirmed enemy kills, six probables, and fifteen damaged.

On his departure from the Middle East, the Marshall of the RAF Lord Tedder wrote of Caldwell: 'An excellent leader - and a first class shot.'

On taking up his command of No. 1 Fighter Wing based in Darwin, Caldwell again showed his outstanding fighting abilities and claimed a further eight Japanese aircraft by August 1943. Caldwell's tally was twenty-eight and a half by the time he left the Wing in August and for this feat he received a DSO to add to his DFC and Bar and Polish Cross of Valour.

Caldwell returned to operations in April 1944 (after a period commanding an OTU) commanding 80 Wing out of Darwin and Morotai. By this time opposition in the air from the Japanese had waned, and the role of the RAAF in the South-West Pacific had been relegated to a supporting role. 80 Wing was confined to strafing and bombing ground targets which Caldwell and his pilots found wasteful and frustrating. These targets were isolated from the main Japanese forces and the pilots resented being risked in tasks whose results were making no contribution towards winning the war. In April 1945, Caldwell and seven other officers tended their resignations in protest (the so-called Morotai mutiny) against the RAAF's role in the latter stages of the war. This action lead to a command crisis in the RAAF where three senior officers including Air Commodore Cobby (WW1 ace) were relieved of their duties. Caldwell finished the war attached to HQ, 1st TAF, RAAF, based in Melbourne. He resigned from the RAAF in 1946 and was a successful businessman until his death on 5th of August, 1994.

im really trying hard not to duplicate forgive me if i do per chance.

The first aerial combat on the Eastern Front.

Flying an obsolete I-153 biplane in the hazy morning sky over Ukraine on 22 June 1941, Soviet Air Force Lieutenant Rubstov probably claimed the first aerial victory in the war between Germany and the Soviet Union. In connection with the text are shown a few images from the results of the devastating German air raids on Russian airfields on 22 June 1941: MiG-3's, I-16 and Uti-4 (that last two from 122nd IAP, on Lida airfield)
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n the early hours of 22 June 1941, the Soviet Air Force was totally caught by surprise by the Luftwaffe attack against their airbase system. During the first hours, around 1,200 Russian aircraft were destroyed, more than 800 of them on the ground, according to Soviet figures. But despite the surprise attack and the lacking communications, Russian pilots scrambled at several places. At one airfield, a formation of Russian fighters attempted to take off in the midst of a raid. The bombs fell upon the starting planes and they were all left destroyed, in perfect take-off formation, at the end of the runway. At another airfield, Sergei Dolgushin and his comrades ran towards their I-16 fighters. 'At three o´clock, the alarm went off,' he recalled. 'We all ran towards our airplanes. At 4:20, when the Messerschmitts appeared over the air field, I had to take off. While I was taking off, during that first dogfight, I was hit 16 times.' Quite contrary to the general belief, bitter dogfights raged in the skies all along the front during these early morning hours. In general, the Soviet fighter pilots managed surprisingly well on this first day.

At Kurovitsa airbase, the units under command of the Air Force of Kiev Special Military District (VVS KOVO), were alarmed even before the German bombers had reached this target. However, the pilots of the ground-attack regiment 66 ShAP (Shturmovyi Aviapolk) figured it was a training alarm, and came too late - which resulted in 34 of the regiment´s Polikarpov I-153s and I-15bis being bombed to pieces by the Ju 88s of Kampfgeschwader KG 51 'Edelweiss'. As the bombs fell, the fighter pilots of 164 IAP, who had arrived at Kurovitsa airfield in due time, were airborne, climbing after the enemy in their small I-16s.

In general, the Soviet Air Force material was of terribly low technical quality. The main Soviet fighter aircraft, the Polikarpov I-16 monoplane - the plane with the many names: called Ishak ('Jackass') or Jastrebok ('Young Eagle') by the Russian pilots who flew it, and Rata ('Rat') by the Germans who had adopted this from their allies in the Spanish Civil War, the men on the Republican side in the latter conflict named it Mosca ('Fly'), while it was called Abu ('Gadfly') by the Japanese airmen who met this type over China and Khalkhin-Gol - was inferior to the standard Messerschmitt Bf 109 F fighter in all aspects except maneuverability. According to German fighter pilots´ reports, 'the plane easily caught fire if struck from above or from the side'. Regarding the biplane fighter I-15bis, 'a few rounds fired into the sides were often enough to set them on fire'. (However, it is worth noting that the Polikarpov fighters held one important advantage over the Bf 109: their engines were air cooled. Once the Bf 109 was liquid cooled, a hit in the radiator was enough to send a Messerschmitt down to the ground. Frequently, Messerschmitt 109s hit in the radiator force-landed and were only slightly damaged, not appearing in the German loss lists; this isone of the main reasons to the gap between Soviet victory claims and Luftwaffe loss figures.)


Air-to-air radio - a standard equipment in all German aircraft types - was something of a luxury to Russian airmen; only the unit commanders´aircraft were equipped with radioes, and these were very unreliable, which naturally made cooperation in the air difficult and on several occasions enabled German fighters to sneek behind a Soviet formation and shoot down one plane after another, the last one caught by the same surprise as the first one. But notwithstanding their inferior equipment, once in the air, the Red fighter pilots put up a stiff fight. The I-16 Ishaks of 164 IAP were followed by some of the remaining biplanes of 66 ShAP.

'Skilful and aggressive attacks by Russian fighter units', Wolfgang Dierich´s chronicle of KG 51 comments, 'ensured that the struggle for air supremacy was no easy game.' The first attack was made by Lieutenant P. N. Rubstov of 66 ShAP. He sprayed a Ju 88 with machine gun bullets until it finally caught fire and went down and crashed within sight of the Kurovitsa airfield. Thus, Lieutenant Rubstov probably achieved the first aerial victory in the Russo-German war.

The Polikarpov fighters kept pursuing the Junkers bombers on their return flight to the west. In a matter of minutes, one bomber after another was shot down. The Germans left a trail of white parachutes and blazing flames in the hazy sky. Out of 28 Ju 88s dispatched by IIIrd Gruppe/KG 51, 7 were shot down during this first mission - five of them from the 9th Staffel.


In the middle of all this, the German fighter escort appeared. The fast Messerschmitt 109s came shooting down from above with hammering cannons and machine guns. The first I-16 was shot down by Oberleutnant Robert Oljenik of 1st Staffel, Jagdgeschwader JG 3. As it buried itself into the ground, Oljenik had achieved his sixth out of totally 41 confirmed victories in World War 2 - and probably the first German aerial kill in this conflict. At 04:30, Feldwebel Ernst Heesen of 2./JG 3 destroyed a second I-16 Ishak / Rata. As it went down, the glow from the raging fires at Kurovitsa airfield, 20 miles further to the east, could still be seen in the darkness. A third I-16 fell victim to Feldwebel Detlev Lüth of 1./JG 3.

Even if compared with the number of sorties flown, the losses sustained by the Luftwaffe on the forst day of the war with the USSR were very heavy: 78 combat aircraft were listed as totall losses, with a further 89 damaged. This in fact was an even higher figure than that of the fateful so-called 'Battle of Britain Day', 15 September 1940, when the Germans lost 61 planes destroyed and 11 damaged.

Of the German aircraft destroyed, 24 were fighters, 35 bombers, 7 Zerstörern (Messerschmitt Bf 110), 2 Stukas and 10 of miscellaneous types. Added to these losses were the Rumanian aircraft shot down on this day: 4 Bristol Blenheims, 2 PZL P-37 Los, 2 Savoia-Marchetti S.M. 79B, 1 Potez 633, 1 IAR 37 and 1 IAR 39.

The German bomber pilot Wolfgang Dierich later wrote of the sentiments among the Luftwaffe fliers that evening: 'At midnight, the men went to bed, half-dead of fatigue. Their last thoughts before they fell a sleep were: "What may have happened to our missing comrades? Are they still alive? What will the next day bring us? How will this all end?"'

Douglas Bader - "personification of RAF heroism during the Second World War."

Few men become legends in their lifetime. Douglas Bader was one of these men. Fighter ace, international sportsman, constant rule-breaker and incorrigible escaper, he spread exasperation and irritation wherever he went. Yet his courage and determination in the face of crippling injuries continue to inspire people all over the world to this day.

Douglas Robert Steuart Bader was born on February 10, 1910, in London, England, son of Frederick Roberts Bader and Jessie Bader. From the start, his life followed no placid pattern. When Douglas was a few months old, his family returned to India, where his father worked as a civil engineer. Young Douglas was left behind because his family thought him too young for India's harsh climate. He did not rejoin them until he was 2 years old, beginning a long life as a loner. The Bader family returned to England in 1913. The following year, when World War I began, Frederick Bader went with the British army into France. It was the last time Douglas saw his father, who died in France of complications from a shrapnel wound in 1922 and was buried near the town of St. Omer. Twenty-one years later, his son would be held prisoner in a hospital not far from where his father was buried. Jessie Bader later married a mild Yorkshire clergyman, Reverend William Hobbs. Throughout his early years, Douglas showed a fierce spirit of independence and nonconformity. He excelled in sports such as rugby football; when he was captain of the rugby team, his natural leadership abilities became apparent.

In 1923, Douglas stayed with his aunt Hazel Bader and her husband, Flight Lieutenant Cyril Burge, who at the time was adjutant at the Royal Air Force (RAF) college in Cranwell. That's when he first became interested in airplanes. In 1927, Douglas decided he wanted to fly in the RAF, despite disapproval of his family. In the summer of 1928 he had won his cadetship. Bader reported to Cranwell in September 1928, and his flight training went satisfactorily. Not all of his flying was regulation and his superiors did not like his rebellious nature. Halfway through the two-year course, when the cadets took progress exams, Bader came out 18th out of 21 cadets. Cranwell's commandant, Air Vice Marshal Halahan , warned him: "You're young, I can understand your trouble, but the air force won't go on understanding. They want men here, not school boys." Bader emerged from Halahan's tirade considerably shaken, knowing the commandant was right. He studied harder, and his flying became better than ever. Bader missed being awarded the sword of honor, which was given to the top graduating cadet, but he came in a close second.

After graduating from Cranwell in 1930, Bader was commissioned a pilot officer and posted to No. 23 Squadron at Kenley Airfield, flying tubby Gloster Gamecock biplane fighters. Soon afterward, 23 Squadron was reequipped with Bristol Bulldog fighters. The Bulldogs were faster than the Gamecocks but heavier and liable to loose height rapidly in low-altitude maneuvers.

On Monday, December 14, 1931, Douglas Bader flew from Kenley to Woodley airfield along with two other pilots from his squadron. In the Woodley clubhouse a young pilot was discussing acrobatics with Bader, the Hendon star, and suggested that he give a demonstration of low flying. Bader refused, citing his inexperience flying acrobatics in a Bulldog. The matter was dropped until Bader and the other pilots were leaving. Someone dared him to do it. In some agitation Bader took off, then turned back toward the field. Flying low and fast across the field, Bader began a slow roll, but in his inexperience with the Bulldog he flew too low. The Bulldog's left wing struck the ground, and the plane cartwheeled quickly into a tangle of wreckage. Both of Bader's legs were crushed, his left leg under the seat, his right tom by the rudder pedal. Bader was pulled from the Bulldog's wreckage by shocked onlookers and taken immediately to the Royal Berkshire Hospital, where he was placed in the care of Dr. Leonard Joyce, one of England's best surgeons. Joyce immediately amputated Bader's right leg above the smashed knee and, several days later, the left leg six inches below the knee. After his second amputation, Bader's condition worsened. None of the doctors expected the 21-year-old pilot to survive. But Bader had great will to live.

After a long, painful recovery, Bader was transferred to the RAF Hospital in Uxbridge in 1932. While there, he became acquainted with the Dessoutter brothers. Marcel Dessoutter had been an aircraft designer until he, too, lost a leg in an air crash. Afterward he started a firm that made artificial legs of light metal alloys like aluminum. Douglas Bader was the first customer to require two artificial legs. Despite the physical impediment, Bader began to remake his life both physically and mentally. After several months of agonizing and determined effort, Bader learned to walk on both "tin" legs. He refused to use a walking stick, saying, "I'm going to start the way I mean to go on." He soon began driving a car again, with the pedals modified to accommodate his tin legs. Bader's thoughts then returned to flying. After a weekend spent with the Under-secretary of State for Air, Sir Phillip Sasson, in June 1932, Bader's desire to fly reached fever pitch. His host, who lived near Lympe airfield, arranged a flight for him in an Avro 504 trainer. Bader's handling of the Avro left nothing to be desired. Later, an RAF medical board found him fit for restricted flying duties. Soon afterward, in April 1933, Bader was informed by the air force that he was to be retired on grounds of ill health, which left him feeling shocked and numb. Within weeks, Bader left the RAF on a total disability pension.

For six years following his retirement from the RAF, Bader worked at a desk job with the Asiatic (now Shell) Petroleum com- pany. His future, at least at the beginning, looked bleak, but he was lucky in his marriage to Thelma Edwards, whom he met while at Uxbridge when she was working as a waitress at a pub called the Pantiles. They married in 1935, and she was devoted to him for 37 years. Once asked how he survived, Bader replied, "I wouldn't have stuck it out without Thelma."

Despite his new life, however, Bader longed to fly again. In September 1939, after the start of World War II, Bader again applied to the RAF for flight duties and was helped in his quest by an old squadron friend, Geoffrey Stephenson, who was posted to the Air Ministry. He attended a selection board headed by his old Cranwell commanding officer, Air Vice Marshal Halahan, who suggested to "give him A1B (flying duties) category and leave it to the Central Flying School to assess his flying abilities." Bader walked out of the Air Ministry feeling that he was picking up life again from the moment he had crashed. Bader's acceptance was conditional on his passing a flying test at the RAF's Central Flying School (CFS) in Upavon.

On November 27, 1939, eight years after his accident, Douglas Bader flew solo again at the controls of Avro Tudor K-3242. Once airborne, he could not resist the temptation to turn the Tudor biplane upside down at 600 feet inside the circuit area. Bader soon moved up into the Fairey Battle, a single-engine, two- seater day bomber, then to the Miles Master, the last step an RAF pilot took before going on to Supermarine Spitfires and Hawker Hurricanes. Two weeks after flying the Master, Bader was delighted to get his chance inside the cockpit of a Hurricane. From the start he felt a part of the Hurricane, which was the most responsive aircraft he had yet flown; after 20 minutes in the air, he made a smooth landing. In February 1940, Bader joined No. 19 Squadron at Duxford. At age 29 he was older than most of the other pilots in the squadron. Two months later he was appointed flight commander in 222 Squadron, another Duxford-based unit, reequipping from Blenheim bombers to Spitfires. Before he took up the appointment, Bader carelessly took off with his section with his Spitfire's propeller set to coarse pitch (used for low rpm cruise) instead of fine pitch that gave high rpm for takeoff power, and he crashed. Bader was uninjured, except for bent legs and a badly dented ego. Shocked by his stupidity, Bader freely admitted his mistake to 12 Group's commander, Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh Mallory, who saw it as a one-time mistake and did not cancel Bader's appointment to 222 Squadron as flight commander, or his promotion to flight lieutenant. Bader immediately began training his 222 flight pilots in his own style of fighting, quick to see that the standard Fighter Command tactics were a waste of time. Afterward came hours of dogfighting practice and convoy patrols. Yet nothing happened at Duxford for 222 Squadron until June 1940. The squadron was sent, along with other RAF squadrons, to cover the British and French evacuation from Dunkirk. On one mission over Dunkirk, while leading his flight after some fleeing Messerschmitt Me-110s, Bader sighted four Me-109s approaching his flight. Bader went after the German fighters. "A 109 shot up in front; his thumb jabbed the firing button and the guns in the wings squirted with a shocking noise," wrote Brickhill, Bader's biographer. The 109 burst into flames and spun into the ground - Bader's first kill.

In June 1940, Bader was given command of 242 Squadron. A Canadian unit, the only one in the RAF at the time, 242 had been badly mauled in France, and its morale was low. When Bader first arrived at the squadron's headquarters at Coltishall airfield, most of the squadron's pilots were skeptical of their new legless squadron leader, who, they thought, would lead them from his desk. Bader quickly dispelled the idea by taking one of 242's Hurricane fighters and performing acrobatics over Coltishall for a half hour, deeply impressing 242's pilots. Bader quickly transformed 242 into a tight, tough squadron through his courage, leadership and uncompromising attitude toward his pilots, ground crews and the RAF high command, with whom he soon had a major brush. After taking charge of 242 Squadron, Bader soon discovered that the unit did not have the spare parts or tools to keep its 18 Hurricane fighters operational. After trying to sort out the problem through official channels, Bader signaled 12th Group Headquarters: "242 Squadron operational as regards pilots but non-operational as regards equipment." And he refused to announce his squadron as operational until its lack of tools and spares was rectified. Within 24 hours, 242 Squadron had all the tools and spares it needed, and Bader signaled 12th Group: "242 Squadron now fully operational."

The squadron, however, took little part in the early stages of the Battle of Britain, flying only convoy patrols and going after occasional high-flying Dornier bombers. Bader shot down one of these on July 11 during a rainstorm that prevented him from getting a section of fighters off the ground. Bader took off alone in a Hurricane, found the Dornier despite the bad weather, and attacked it. He killed its tail gunner and saw it disappear into a cloud. Certain it had gotten away, Bader returned to base. Five minutes after he landed, Bader was informed that a ground observer had seen the Dornier crash into the sea. On August 30, 242 Squadron intercepted a group of 30 German bombers and fighters attacking North Weald airfield. Bader shot down an Me-110, and the rest of his squadron claimed 11 kills. It was a respectable total, but Bader believed that if they had had three or more squadrons attacking the huge German formation, all of the attacking planes would have been shot down. Thus, the "Big Wing" concept was born. Supported by Leigh Mallory, Bader was convinced that launching a large number of fighter squadrons against the Luftwaffe armadas was essential for the RAF's success in the battle. Leigh Mallory decided to try Bader's wing in action. He grouped 242 with two other fighter squadrons - 19 Squadron and the Czech 310 Squadron - at Duxford.

Bader led the wing into action for the first time on September 7, 1940, against a large German formation heading for London. "We had been greatly looking forward to our first formation of 36 fighters going into action together," Bader wrote years later, "but we were unlucky." Having been scrambled late, the wing was underneath the bombers and their fighter escorts when they intercepted them north of the Thames. All 242 and 310 could do was attack as best they could while 19 Squadron's Spitfires tried to hold off the attacking Me-109s. The wing managed to destroy 11 aircraft, with only two Hurricanes shot down. Bader himself got a cockpit full of bullets and the right aileron shot off his Hurricane. After several sorties with three squadrons, two more - the Polish 302 Hurricane Squadron and Auxiliary 601 Spitfire Squadron - were added to the so-called Duxford Wing, giving it five squadrons and 60 fighters. "We thus had three Hurricane Squadrons which flew together at the lower level (20,000 feet if we were called in time) with the Spitfires protecting us 5,000 feet higher," Bader said. "It worked like a charm once or twice, and the arrival of this large formation in support of hard-pressed 11 Group squadrons was highly satisfactory." The tactic really paid off on September 15, 1940, when Bader's Duxford Wing helped 11 Group to break up a massed Luftwaffe attack on London.

When the Battle of Britain ended, Bader was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) and Distinguished Service Order (DSO) for gallantry and leadership of the highest order and became commander of the Duxford Wing, which was later credited with destroying 152 German aircraft with the loss of 30 pilots. The Big Wing's effectiveness became controversial - but not Douglas Bader's leadership of it. In March 1941, Bader, now a wing commander, left 242 Squadron and took over the "Tangmere Wing." Consisting of three Spitfire Squadrons - 145, 610 and 616 - plus a Beaufighter squadron, the wing began a series of air attacks against targets in northern France and the Low Countries. While commanding the wing, Bader introduced the so-called "finger four" formation, where the two pairs of fighters flew beside each other, scrapping forever the unwieldy three-aircraft section. Based on the Luftwaffe's Schwarm formation, the finger four later became standard throughout both the British and American air forces. Bader really came into his own commanding the Tangmere Wing. His teamwork with Wing Commander A.G. Woodhall, the ground controller during the wing's raids, was exceptional. Receiving the broad picture from the ground controller, Bader handled his three squadrons with remarkable dexterity, seemingly able to foresee the critical points in an upcoming engagement. He was able to keep track of events around him to a remarkable degree. "Dogsbody" (the call sign for Bader's wing) became an unwelcome and frequent visitor to the other side of the English Channel. Often, coming back across the Channel after a mission, Bader would flip back the canopy of his Spitfire, unclip his oxygen mask and, while holding the stick between his good knee and his tin knee, light up his pipe. Pilots flying alongside Spitfire DB would sheer off, half in jest and half in earnest, in case Bader's plane blew up. For his brilliant and inspiring leadership of the Tangmere Wing - which he christened "The Bee Line Bus Service. The prompt and regular service. Return tickets only" - Bader was awarded a bar to his DSO.

Bader seemed invincible - but he was not. While leading his wing over France on August 9, 1941, he suffered a mid-air collision with a Messerschmitt Me-109 and captured by the Germans. He would spend most of the war in captivity, including time at the castle-prison Colditz for his escape attempts. Finally, in the spring of 1945, the American First Army took Colditz, liberating its prisoners, including Bader. Once released, he rushed to Paris demanding a Spitfire for one last fling before the war ended. Permission was refused; Bader's personal tally would stand at 22.5 German aircraft destroyed. Bader returned to England and took command of the Fighter Leader School at Tangmere, where he was promoted to group captain. Later that year he commanded the Essex sector of 11th Group at North Weald, and on September 15, he personally led the victory flypast of 300 RAF planes over London. The RAF offered him the rank and seniority he would have enjoyed if he had not been shot down, but Bader felt the peacetime air force would be anticlimactic after his wartime experiences. Shell Oil Company offered him a job in its aviation department, with his own airplane. Bader thought about it for four months, then resigned from the Royal Air Force for the last time.

After leaving the RAF in late February 1946, Bader flew all over the world, often with Thelma, touring Europe, Africa and America. He spent many hours visiting veterans hospitals. In 1976 Bader was knighted by Queen Elizabeth for his services to amputees, "so many of whom he had helped and inspired by his example and character." After Thelma's death, he married Joan Murray, who shared his interest in public work for the disabled. His workload would have been exhausting for anyone, let alone a legless man with a worsening heart condition, but iron willpower drove him on until August 1982, when he suffered a mild heart attack after a golf tournament in Ayrshire.

Three weeks later, on September 5, 1982, after serving as guest speaker at a London Guildhall dinner honoring the 90th birthday of the Marshal of the Royal Air Force, Sir Arthur "Bomber" Harris, Douglas Bader died of a heart attack. He was 72 years old. "He became a legend at first in the personification of RAF heroism during the Second World War," the London Times obituary said.

Michał Cwynar - from the Pilots Diary. (Poland)

My flying adventure started in 1934 during elementary (eliminating) gliding course at Ustjanowa in the Carpathian mount.

For a young beginner, a gliding course was quite a dramatic experience. Never having been in the air before, you were catapuled from the top of the mountain with instructions to glide down into the valley, to land anywhere, meadows or cornfields, but at all costs to avoid electric cables and dwellings.

The glider construction, was basically similar to the craft pioneer Otto Lilientahl had flown almost two hundred years before. The glider's tail was anchored to the ground, the nose’s hook attached to two partly elasticated ropes with rings, four labourers to each rope ran down the hill pulling outwards, diagonally, from the direction of the glider's f1ightpath.

At certain point, the instructor released the tail's anchorqge and one was shot out into the air while the labourers, losing momentum, tumbled down the slopes. The experience is one never forgotten- complete silence with only a slight breeze against one's face, one was gliding like seagull. Gliding course was a most effective way to eliminate those who had no ability or zest for flying.

There were some fatalities.

In the Spring 1935, I went to Elementary Flying School at Sadkow-Radom. In the Autumn moved to No 1 Air Force Base at Okecie, Warsaw. In the training squadron, we were flying Potez XV, Potez XXV, Breguet XIX and reconnaisance aeroplane , the Lublin.R.XIII, adapted for blind flying.

In the Spring 1936, I went to the Advanced Flying School at Grudziadz, where we were segregated to become fighter, bobmber or reconnaisance pilots. We were flying dual fighter trainer P.W.S. 26, single seater, first world war fighters , "Moran Saulnier Spad 6l",o~cL wonderful biplane for aerobatics, the Avia, and finall, a Polish fighter, the P.7.

In the Autumn, back in Warsaw, 113 Fighter Squadron, Warsaw Fighter Brigade comprise of 111, 112, 113 and 114 squadrons. 1938. May to December - flying the PFL XIC, as a member of the select fighter unit comprising seven pilots and machines, to a landing ground at Sarny, on the Polish/Soviet border to guard the Polish eastern fortifications (being built). From the high life of Warsaw to the Godforsaken outback.

The Commanding Officer of the group was Wladyslaw Szczesniewski, who became the Commanding Officer of 315 squadron at RAF Northolt, England, in 1941. His deputy from 114 squadron was A. Gabszewicz, who again, later became Commanding Officer of 3~6 Squadron at Northolt.

1939. End of August. Four squadrons of Warsaw Fighter Brigade were dispersed to advance landing ground near the Polish capital.

September 1. I shot down one JU 87 Stuka on the west side of Warsaw. The Junkers 87 were dive bombing our permanent air base at Okecie.

September 4. I engaged a Messerschmitt 110 or rather was attacked by him, from the sun. Tracer bullets from his two cannons passed my starboard side. The way he pulled up, climbing to line up for a second attack, emphasised the frightening disparity of our comparative speeds. Instinctively I decided to stay put and defend myself using the agility of the PZL by turning into his diving path, under him.

As the Me110 began to dive and fire from too far away, again I turned under him and then, as he started to climb, turned, starting to fire at him. I was on the tail of my "gegner" (enemy).

Unfortunately, the increasing distance between us allowed him to pull up again to repeat the attack.

Emboldened that I had a chance, I flew at right angles to his dive and then, again under him and up giving long bursts of machine gun fire.

His port engine started to smoke and he went into a dive towards intermittent clouds in a northerly direction towards the East Prussian border. I started to dive after him, his port engine now belching smoke. Again the disaprity in speed between us was so great he pulled away between the clouds.

Years later, at Northolt, while studying the performance of German machines, I realised why I had survived that encounter and managed to get some hits. The Messerschmitt 110 had good fire power but very poor manoeuvrability. There was no comparison with the British Mosquito or the French Potez 63.

September 10-12. With a German Panzer Division advancing on Warsaw we flew to a landing ground near Mlynow in the south-east of Poland.

September 17. We left Poland and landed at Bucharest airport in Romania. I was interned at a place called Urziceni, north of Bucharest.

Those days everybody in Romania could be bribed and our internment barracks Romanian police chief received a present - a pair of first class riding boots.

With his tacit agreement, every morning about thirty of us internees left by local bus for Romania's capital. To avoid the risk of being discovered with firearms in my possession, shortly before the coach left I went into a nearby hayfield, slipped behind a haystack and pretending to satisfy my physiological needs, pushed an empty Polish pilot's revolver, the "VLS", deep in into the hay.

There was, however, one item I was not going to part with, whatever the risk, my Polish fighter pilot's insignia, wings - original "Knedler's" of Warsaw. A flying Eagle carrying a green wreath in his beak, a symbolic tribute to fallen colleagues.

Then it was back to Bucharest and the Polish Embassy. With false passports - mine as a civilian mechanic - we travelled by train to Romania's Black Sea port of Constancia.

We boarded an overcrowded Greek boat, the Patria, luckily had a calm sea crossing to what was then French Syria and Beirut (now the Lebanon). We were sent to an army barracks with Senegalese soldiers, deloused, and the next day were put on a French boat, the Strasbourg bound for Marseilles.

1939. December. Arrived at Armee de L'Air base at Bron, near Lyon.

1940. January - March. We converted to French fighters, the Caudron 714 C. and the Morane-Saulnier 406.

In April Polish fighters were posted to various French fighter groups in sections of three pilots. Our section - W Baranski, our C/O from 113 squadron Warsaw, his deputy J. Borowski and myself, were posted to 3/6 Grouppe de Chasse station at Le Luc, south of Dranguignan. The Grouppe were flying Morane Saulnier 406's.

Within one week of our arrival at Le Luc, all pilots of this Grouppe, thirty-six of us, were sent by train to Toulouse. At the south aerodrome nearby, hundreds of the latest French fighters, Devoitine 520's, were ready to be collected.

We took off singly and landed on the north side of Tou louse Armee de L'Air base). At the south aerodeome where the Devoitines has been assembled, "Concorde" was to be built three decades later in the Seventies.

The following day we flew back to Le Luc. Within a week or so I had done lots of flying in this wonderful aircraft.

What happened one day, only Kafka could have dreamed up, it was such a missed chances scenario.

3/6 Grouppe was a very friendly, democratic set up. All the pilots were billeted in private homes at Le Luc and our C/U had commandeered the town's best restaurant for our dining. With long, rectangualr tables, the C/O at the top and the pilots, officers and non- commissioned officers mixed around, we indulged in traditional French style two hour lunches and evening meals.

My section leader, Pierre, a reservist more interested in fishing the nearby river than warfare, and I were in "readiness" to take off in the event of an emergency to defend our airfield and the nearby naval base of Toulon.

When on "readiness" duty the section remained at the aerodrome whilst the others climbed into a lorry and travelled the five kilometres to Le Luc for lunch. On this particular occasion, section leader Pierre convinced out group's CO there was no point in him staying on dutry because one Warrant Officer from "A" eskadrille was at that time patrolling in a Devoitine near Toulon.

When reminded that there were over seventy aircraft scattered around the airfield (including the now de-commissioned Morans 406), Pierre shrugged his shoulders and said: "Ca va!" The Commanding Officer told him so.

Meanwhile at a restaurant in Le Luc, we sat around a table. Before the C/O had a chance to stand up and raise a toast to the "Republique" we heard the noise of aircraft, in fact an Italian Fiat CR42 biplane of twelve, lining up in echelon starboard to strafe our base. We ran out into the garden and stood watching in disbelief at what was happening.

There was no point scrambling into our truck to drive back to the base. It was too late.

However, French honour was, to a degree, preserved. As the Italians started the first round of straffing, our W/O Pierre, le Gloan "A”, made a timely return to the base. As he approached the last bi-plane in the Italian formation began to open fire. He came in so fast he almost overshot the Italian and had to "kick" left and right on the Devoitine's rudder to slow down and place himself behind, “line astern”.

Right on the Italian's tail, he first short burst of 20mm cannon and the small bi-plane, presumably mainly a wooden structure, blew up, the pilot bailing out.

One by one was attacked by our W/O P. le Gloan.

He had downed six before the other Italians realised what was happened and scattered, fleeing towards the Italian border.

Back at the restaurant we were agonising over what damage the Italians had managed to inflict on our brand new Devoitines.

But when we arrived at the airfield we were pleasantly surprised. All the Devoitines were intact. Only three de-commissioned Morans 406 had been slightly damaged.

In April, before we had left Lyons for Le Luc, having learned that I no longer had a guitar having lost one back in Poland, my section colleagues, Baranski and Borowski, helped financially to procure a new one. They bought a nice "Selmer", the same model used by my idol, Django Reinhardt.

Now we were told we were to fly the next day to Perpignan and then on to Algiers. I decided to fly my precious possession in the Devoitine's fuselage right across the Mediterranean.

Behind the pilot's seat space, I took off a side panel and carefully tied the guitar to the longitudinal spars on the upper fuselage with string. Absorbed in my taks it was a short time before I noticed my section leader Pierre, watching as he puffed away on his pipe. I shrugged my shoulders and with an innocent smile, asked: "Ca va?" Without saying a word he walked away.

He was soon back carrying a largish bundle wrapped in black cloth and asked if I could fit his fishing equipment in to his Devoitine's fuselage. Fishing in Algiers City? Maybe in the Casbah!

The following day, 3/6 Grouppe flew to Perpignan near the Franco- Spanish border at the foot of the Pyrennes.

It was a muddy landing ground, cluttered with French machines -Morrans, Blochs, Potez light bombers and many other types. Only the landing slip was clear and we came down in single file. The Grouppe Commander summoned all the pilots together and said:

"Michal! You are in charge and responsbile for turning all thirty six aircraft fuselage tanks 'on' (the one's behind the pilot's armoured plate) and supervising re-fuelling for tomorrow's long flight across the Mediterranean."

The other pilots left for Perpignan's bistros.

Why me? Ah Yes! Pierre must have told our CO about the flying guitar.

Back in 1933, at Bydgoczcz Flying School, I had met my guitar partner, Jan Musial. He was born only twelve kilometres from my native village; he was tall and handsome, of gypsy stock. In that region there were many Hungarian gypsies.

We were both influenced by their music, their zest for life that poured from their violins and guitars. Jan was the Polish incarnation of Django Reinhardt. At the end of three years we asked to be posted to the same Air Force base at Warsaw, Jasio with 112 Squadron and I with 113.

Mustang Mk III and pilots of 315th in spring of 1944. From left: Haczkiewicz, Cwynar, Schmidt (Stefankiewicz?), Sztramko, ? on wheel, Wunsche.

At night, glued to the radio with music sheets beside us to copy certain phrases, we listened to Django Reinhardt and Stephane Grappelli's Quintet de France, on English radio broadcasting from Daventry, Peter Kreuder from Hamburg, Helmut Zacharias from Bremmen and Georges Boulanger from Bucharest.

We were completely taken, enthralled by the innovate improvisations of Django.

He once told an American visitor to Paris who tried to impress him with elaborate improvisation: "You are farting too many notes."

In Romania and France, Jasio and I lost touch. Later, in England at Northolt, when he was with 316 and I with 315, we resumed our musical partnership.

At the Sergeant's Mess dances we played with sergeant Reginald Dickson who was at the piano. (He later went on to thrill millions of visitors to Blackpool with his skilful mastery on the Tower Organ.

On the 13th of February, 1942, Jan was leading a section of three in a squadron of Spitfires climbing through the clouds to attain rendezvous height with a bomber formation. He was hit on the back of the head by his wingman's wing tip.

He, Jasio, must have remained conscious because his Spitfire was found in a field, neatly landed with the undercarriage "up". My dear friend was sitting in the cabin as if he was asleep.

In my flying album, I have a photograph with the caption: "Michael after the religious ceremony at Northolt's hangar, carrying Jasio's coffin on to the lorry's platform and then to Northwood Cemetery, GB, Grave No. H-21O"

The following day, Jasio's squadron commander A. Gabszewicz came to 315 dispersal and gave me my dear colleague's guitar…

At Perpignan the following morning we were briefed before flying to Algiers.

We had only one map of North Africa between us and it was in the possession of one of the Grouppe's pilots who had flown for a French civil airline between Marseilles and Algiers before the war.

We took off singly from the muddy airfield, Pierre one before last, and I following. He was in a left hahd circle but could not "lock" the Devoitine's undercarraige "up" because of mud on the wheels. He kept trying the undercarraige lever, "up and down11, "up and down", circling round Perpignan airfield.

I noticed that the rest of our Grouppe had flown away but I stuck with him.

Eventually Pierre managed to "clear" the mud and the Devoitine's undercarriage "locked up".

For a few minutes we flew along the Spanish coast then turned south towards the Balearic Island of Ibiza. As we approached at a height of about 1,500 metres, the Spaniards greeted us with artillery fire. We turned south on course 170~ on our estimated two hour flight to Algiers. We did not have any "MaeWests".

The Devoitine's engine, a 12Y Hispano-Suiza, purred nicely as we flew into the unknown. I was aware that it would be my last flight in this wonderful machine. It was comfortable and spacious inside, smooth in aerobatics and had first class armaments with a propeller synchronised 20 mm cannon and four 75 mm machine guns but we had no chance to take on the Germans. If only we had had a chance to fly Devoitine 's over Warsaw the previous September.

Weather conditions were very good with puffed cumulus clouds indicating high pressure in the region. After one and a half hours flying, we spotted dark land at "eleven o'clock" and changed course to about 1600 only to find it was a cloud, darkened by the reflection of a westerly sun.

We went back to 1700 and after two hours and fifteen minutes flying, we reached the North African coast. Pierre, rightly turned to starboard and soon, following the coast, we reached Algiers air base.

Once again there were so many aircraft on the airfield, there was hardly any space to land. After coming down singly, at the end of outrun, we had to year left then right, to avoid hitting parked aircraft.

I took out my small personal belongings, extracted my guitar, and stroked the Devoitine's fuselage, as if it were a living creature. To me-it was!

For most of our French colleagues, the war was over. My section leader went back to his beloved France to fish in the Garonne and Dordogne rivers near Bordeaux.

For we Poles, our tortuous quest to regain our country was to continue from the only free country left in Europe, Great Britain. Free French Forces were going to fight on against tyranny. Our brave and sagacious W/O Le Gloan, who had shot down six Italian Fiats CR42, along with another young officer, did not want to have anything to do with the Vichy Government. They refuelled their Devoitines and planned ostensibly to fly to Malta! It was a deliberate deception! French did not want us, Poles, to know theirs real intentions.

Our Polish Commanding Officer, W. Baranski, located us in hotels in the town. From there, with other fellow countrymen already in Algiers who had arrived by boat from Marseilles and Toulon, we organised our journey to Casablanca and from there on to Gibraltar.

In oppressively hot weather, it took two days by train through Oran and Fez to reach Casablanca.

There, in North Africa as a young man, I could not stand the hot, oppressive climate. That's why, now on Albion's soil, I have never complained about the British weather. As far as I am concerned, English and Scottish dampness suits me fine.

We spent the few days waiting on our boat for Gibraltar lounging in the room of our suburban Casablanca lodgings because of the heat. I shared the room with a colleague from Warsaw's 113 squadron, Kazik Sztramko.

One cool night we went into Casablanca, a modern town, and met our CO and his deputy in unexpected - or rather "expected" - places. We pretended not to notice each other.

Returning to our lodgings, Kazik, a harbinger of bad tidings, entered our room first and said: "Michael. I've got bad news for you. Your guitar has been stolen."

From Gibraltar, in a large convoy of merchant boats and a British Navy escort, we sailed wet into the Atlantic.

After nine days we landed at Liverpool. We boarded a train and sped off somewhere during the night. At dawn, we stopped at a large railway junction. It turned out to be Carlisle. We were travelling north, to Scotland.

We arrived in Glasgow and were accommodated in Kelvinhall church halls. There was a friendly gesture from the Lord Provost of Glasgow, Patrick Dollad. We Poles were allowed to travel free of charge on the City's tram network.

From Scotland we went south again to Blackpool's Polish depot, under British jurisdiction.

I was hoping to be posted to the South of England to take part in the Battle of Britain but, instead, after a number of weeks with many other experienced pilots, I went to N15FTS, Carlisle.

In town, I was accommodated with a charming, retired English couple, Mrs and Mrs McCubbing.

And with a bit of financial help from my flying colleagues, I bought a new guitar.

At 15FT5, our instructor was, to we Poles, a God-like figure, a Polish chief test pilot from PZL Warsaw, Kpt Orlinski. At the end of a short course, flying Fairey-Battles, I decided to try some aerobatics.

In the safest place, not to be seen by anyone including the Observor Corps, was way out west over the Solway Firth. To execute a straight slow roll on that ungainly light-bomber, one had to work very hard.

On the return flight to Carlisle, I crossed.to the Scottish side of the Firth flying along the Galloway Hills. Flying east I passed the majestic mountain, Criffel, on my left but hardly glanced at the town nestling farther north by the river's meandering estuary.

After four years of hostilities and 123 operational flights across the English Channel, it was in that town, Dumfries, which I had just perfunctorily looked on from above, I was to settle. Amongst the solid, pragmatic Scots, found personal happiness: "All this and heaven too!"

From Carlisle, I was posted to No 10 Bomber & Gunnery School RAF Unit at Heathhall, Dumfries. For a short time I was flying Fairey-Battle, two seater light bombers, towing drogues along the Solway coast.

The two hourly flights were monotonous so once the operator had retracted the drogue into' the aircraft~ fuselage, I indulged in some low flying - "cutting the grass" - to the south side of Criffell, skirting the trees and buzzing the train in the glen.

Soon after I was posted to the newly formed 315 Polish fighter squadron to RAF Speke. Later, South of England 11th Fighter Group "real" flying took place. I was to fly Hurricanes, Spitfires II, V and IX and Mustangs until the end of hostilities in Europe in 1945.

In 1945, while I was CO of 316 City of Warsaw Fighter Squadron flying Mustangs out of RAF Coltishall, one pilot told me that, when on antidiver patrol he ran out of ammunition. To bring down a flying bomb, he flew close to the VI and with his Mustang's wingtip, lifted - "tapped" -its wing upwards. The gyroscope, the main instrument that kept it flying, went haywire and the doodlebug dived into the ground.

Having some personal experience of "tapping" colleagues' wings while in formation aerobatics, I thought to touch a vibrating, jerky flying bomb was indeed a courageous thing to do....

In the early spring of 1938, while I was with 113 squadron, Warsaw Fighter Brigade, flying PZL X1/2's, news circulated amongst the pilots that a unit of seven aircraft was going to be sent for a period of at least six months to the Polish/Soviet border. Operating from a prepared landing ground, the unit's task would

be to guard the fortifications being built along the Soviet border. The unit would patrol along the northern side of the river Pripiec, near Pinsk, to the south of the ancient Polish Podole town of Krzemieniec Podolski.

From the high night-life of Warsaw, we were being sent to the God forsaken outback of the Polish eastern border. With trepidation we awaited our sentence.

Wladek Szczesniewski, CO of 113 squadron was to lead the unit; his deputy, from '114 squadron, Aleksander Gabszewicz; and the other pilots, Jan Borowski, Hieronim Dudwal, Mietek Kazmierczak, Kazik Sztramko and Michal Cwynar.

On the 6th of May we landed on s sandy strip in a clearing in a pine forest near the smalltown of Sarny.

During the following months, patrolling along the border in sections of two aircraft, we occasionally "strayed" into Soviet territory for ten to fifteen minutes, flying low, to have a look at the Soviet huge, expansive rectangular fields were under cultivation. Groups of men and women toiled away, never looking up, when we flew over. We saw tractors and cultivators, sometimes sitting in the middle of fields, covered in rust, seemingly abandoned after breaking down.

"Kulaks" - dispossessed Russian farmers now working on collective farms - seemed to have ploughed those huge fields in circles, ignoring the corners. Back in the Carpathian foothills where I came from, every stretch of field that a spade's blade could dig was tenderly cultivated. Flying over that waste I though of my second brother, Franek, a farmer who could make a few hectares of precious arable ground from just the four wasted corners in one field.

In that forgotten outback, apart from flying, there wasn't much else to do. Our CO Szczesniewski, a brilliant aerobatic pilot, decided we should regularly train in formation aerobatics. He alloted the six of us permanent (in an inverted "V" shape) positions. Mine was last on the port side or, to use the old football vernacular, outside left!

Upside down in zenith position, to counter-act the downward speed lag, one tended to overtake the colleague in front, trying to maintain close formation. On one occasion there was a hell of a bang. I had "tapped" my colleague's outer wing and his radio antenae mount had made a round hole in my wing!

I could see him in the PZL Xl's open cockpit angrily gesturing, his head left-right-left. He broke off formation; I followed; we both landed.

"It-was your fault." "Oh No. It was your fault.” CO Szczesniewski: "Both of you are to blame. Three days confinement to quarters. Both." It was only a token gesture, there was nowhere to go anyway!

Our sojourn on the eastern border was to end with the first snows in early December. On our return to civilisation, over our Warsaw base, we planned to demonstrate formation aerobatics, first with the most difficult manoeuvre, looping in line-abreast", then in a "V" shape, and third with an "arrow”.

On the 6th December, with the ground already covered by the first winter snow, we left Sarny. But for the past seven months during which there were many flying hours, our Bristol-Mercury VIS2 engines (built under licence in Poland) had not had a major service. They had had enough.

On the return flight, four pilots landed with engine failure. Only three of us landed at Okecie base in Warsaw.

This is what happened to the "Banished Seven".

Wladek Szczesniewski, the second commanding officer of 315 Polish fighter squadron, flying out of Northolt in late 1941, was shot down over northern France. He spent most of the wartime years in the notorious Stalag Luft III prisoner of war camp along with the first and third 315 squadron commanders Pietraszkiewicz and Janus, and B Flight commander Mickiewicz. After the war Szczesniewski returned to Warsaw where he was arrested by the Communists. Later released, he bought a dilapidated lorry and scratched a living on the east bank of the Warsaw-Praga. He died in the late Seventies.

Aleksander Gabszewicz became commanding officer of 316 Polish fighter squadron at Northolt in 1942. Later he became a wing commander and station commander and settled in England where he died in the late Eighties. His wish to return to a free Poland came true. During the week the Polish Air Force Standards were returned to Warsaw from London, on 9th September, 1992, Aleksander's ashes were scattered over Poniatow, 113 and 114 squadron's landing ground during the first days of the 1939 September campaign. The Gabszewicz family and a Guard of Honour were on board the Polish Air Force Helicopter at the time.

Jan Borowski; mathematician; ballistics expert; our "intellectual" from Sarny, who, following orders from "on high", always led our "excursions" into Soviet territory, was in England in 1941 with 302 Polish fighter squadron as a flight commander. Returning from an operational mission over France, he hit London's balloon barrage in bad weather and was killed.

Hieronim Dudwal, 113 and 114 squadrons' most successful pilot during the September, 1939, campaign, shot down four German aircraft - an ME11O, He 111, JU 86 and an HES. 126. He was killed in action in the spring of 1940 while flying with a French Grouppe de Chase.

Mietek Kazmierczak, my "wing tapping" colleague, was killed in action during the 1939 September campaign. 113 and 114 squadrons were flying west to attack a German panzer unit near the town of Sochaczew, outside Warsaw, when we intercepted a large formation of JU 52 bombers. Kazmierczak dived under the formation attacking the leading bomber and shot it down in flames. He kept firing on other 30 52's and then, sudenly, dived into the ground himself. Later, he was found to be shot. Presumably by air gunners. He rests near Warsaw.

Kazik Sztramko, my dear friend, a flying colleague for so many years and at times the harbinger of bad news, taught me in Sarny how to drink 90% proof spirit, yet to avoid setting ones gullet on fire. In France, 1940, we were separated flyoing with different Grouppe. Both of us had flown across Mediteranean, and met again in Algiers-Casbah! In 1944, strafing airbase hangars near Hannover, I was “shot-up” and slightly wounded. Kazik escorted me “tenderly” back to safety od our base in Brenzett. With his charming Polish wife Wanda, settled in Hamilton, Ontario, and raised a family. Died ion December 1995.

Six of “Banished Seven” formation have flown to eternity. Outside-left (the seventh) is bracing himself up to cross the river Styx.


Spring 1944. Pilots of 315th are 'riding' on "Mustang"... ;-) Second from left Michał Cwynar.

Heinz "Pritzl" Bär in competition with Gollob.

Heinz Bär was born on 21 March 1913 in Sommerfeld near Lipsk. By 1935, he had been trained to fly Luftwaffe bombers and then was posted to transport duty, flying Ju 52/3m. In the beginning of 1939 Heinz completed fighter training and was posted to JG 51. On 25 September of that year, Bär opened his killboard, shooting down a French Curtiss H-75 A-2 of GC I/4. During the French campaign of 1940, he scored seven more kills: 3 French and 4 British planes. In the Battle of Britain, while ten enemy fighters fell prey to his guns, Bär's Bf 109 returned to base heavily damaged a few times. On 2 September 1940 he experienced 'swimming' in the Channel's cold water, having been shot down himself...

1941 brought the relocation of JG 51 to the Eastern Front. Here Bär's score rose quickly. On 2 July 1941 he was promoted to Leutnant and awarded the Knight's Cross, having totalled 27 kills. When he reached 60 victories, on 14 August 1941, Bär was decorated with the Oak Leaves. On one day, 30 August 1941, Bär scored 6 Soviet planes. From the beginning of 1942 Bär took command of IV/JG 51, and in mid-February he was awarded by Swords, having achieved 90 kills. In the spring of 1942, Bär was to face significant new challenges - - the heavy air battles in the southern part of the Russo-German Front, the Kerch Peninsula area.

"In these days, two of the Luftwaffe 's top aces arrived to command positions in JG 77 in the Crimea: Hauptmann Gordon Gollob, whose score stood at 86, was sent from the Test Centre at Rechlinto take over as Geschwaderkommodore , and Hauptmann Heinz Bär with 91 victories to his credit was sent from IV./JG 51 on the Moscow front to take charge of I./JG 77. Both were highly awarded - Bär with the Swords to the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves while Gollob carried the Oak Leaves. These two men were however had diametrically opposed personalities. "Pritzl" Bär, the notoriously undisciplined Lepiziger who simply refused to fly on combat missions whenever he didn't feel 'inspired' and the harsh Nazi follower MacGollob of old Prussian military style definitely would have clashed, had not Bär's I./JG 77 hastily been transferred to the Mediterranean area a few weeks later. However, during the last two weeks of May 1942, Bär and Gollob practically 'took over' the air over the Kerch - Taman area.

On 16 May, Heinz Bär proved his skills by shooting down two LaGG-3s - his 92nd and 93rd victories. Next day, Gollob followed by destroying three R-5 light bombers. He there after attacked a Yak-1 piloted by Sergeant N. K. Chayka. He hit the Yakovlev, saw it go down and returned home, reporting it as his 93rd victory (claiming it as a LaGG-3). Not caring much about the war in general, Gollob started competing with his subordinate in the cynical manner that characterized many of the Luftwaffe fighter aces during World War II. The fate of his last victim didn't bother the ambitious Gollob the slightest. Having suffered severe wounds from the machine guns and automatic cannon in Gollob's Messerschmitt Bf 109 F, the young Sergeant Chayka struggled at the controls of his damaged Yakovlev fighter. He managed to bring it back to the Khersones airfield, but lost control of it during landing and crashed into another Yak-1. Both planes were destroyed and Chayka was killed.

Having returned to base, Gollob learned that Bär meanwhile had bagged three MiG-3s. Hauptmann Gollob continued to strive for successes, picking easy targets during the following days. In contrast to the common fighter tactic of attacking from above, Gollob preferred to sneak up from ground-level, to be surethat no-one tried to attack him from the blind spot beneath. An anonymous pilot of JG 77 wrote the following account of Gollob's way of fighting:

'Gollob flew from Kerch together with his wingman. They positioned themselves at a low altitude beneath a Russian formation. Then they started climbing in spirals, carefully maintaining their position beneath the enemy formation. Before the peacefully flying Russians had even suspected any mischief, the two planes at the bottom of their formation had been shot down and the two Germans were gone.' (Prien: JG 77, p. 1018.)

On 18 May, another three obsolete R-5 bombers fell prey to Gollob's private ambitions, raising his kill score to 96. Yet again he was surpassed by Bär, who got involved in a combat with twelve Soviet fighters over the Tamanskaya Sound and shot down two LaGG-3s. The same day, Heinz Bär's I./JG 77 was visitedby his personal friend, Jagfliegergeneral Adolf Galland . A detail in this context is that a deep animosity eventually would develop between Galland and Gollob. Having sacked Gollob from his post as fighter plane expert due to lacking competence in 1944, Galland as Jagdfliegergeneral soon found himself targeted by Gollob's plotting (in house arrest early in 1945, Galland was informed that Gollob collected material against him regarding his private use of Luftwaffe cars, his gambling and his notorious womanizing).

On 19 May, Gollob and Bär both were in action. The former managed to bring down three R-5s again, but the magical '100th victory' slipped away. Meanwhile, Heinz Bär shot five Ishak fighters from the sky, for which he was mentioned in the OKW bulletin on the following day:

' Hauptmann Bär, the Gruppenkommandeur in a Jagdgeschwader, achieved his 99th to 103rd aerial victories yesterday. The total victory tally of Jagdgeschwader 77 has increased to 2,011.'

Next day, Gollob lurked along the Caucasus coast and managed to bring down a DB-3 bomber - being the tenth German fighter pilot to surpass the 100th victory score - followed by an unhappy LaGG-3."

This text is an excerpt from the manuscript of a book "Black Cross/Red Star; German and Russian Fighter Pilots in Combat 1941-1945" dealing with the air war on the Eastern Front 1941-1945, which Christer Bergström is working on at the present. This book will give the most thorough-going account so far presented of aerial combat between the Luftwaffe and the Soviet Air Force during World War II. By carefully comparing German and Russian sources, Christer Bergström has arrived at many astonishing and hitherto unknown facts.

Soon after this exciting point in the irrivalry, in June of 1942, Bär's JG 77 was moved to MTO area. While leading I./JG 77, 'Pritzl' downed several British fighters over Malta . On 13 October 1942 his victims were three "Spitfires" (two of 185 Sgn and one of 1435 Sqn RAF). Another "Spitfire" was shot down four days later (17 October 1942) near La Valetta. Then Heinz Bär took part in combat missions in the hot African sky. In Tunisia, he scored his next 61 Allied aircraft victories (Nos 118-179). But the density of air activity from the start of the war combined with the hard battle conditions in Africa to seriously undermine Bär's fighting spirit, and exhaust him both physically and mentally. In effect, this famous ace was removed from command and sent back to Germany for 'rehabilitation'.

The spring of 1944 saw Major Heinz Bär back in active duty as commander of the II./JG 1 in defense of the Reich. His first victory after so long a break, Bär's 200th, was scored flying FW 190A-7 'red 23' on 22 April 1944. A week later, on 29 April 1944, he took off with another personal FW 190 A-7, WNr 431007 'red 13' (see profile bottom). On this morning 28 fighters from his II./JG 1 were vectored against a USAAF bombers. "Pritzl" shot down a P-47 "Thunderbolt", for victory No. 201, and a few minutes later flamed a B-24 "Liberator" for No. 202. In 1944, he downed three Allied planes more, achieving 205 kills.

In the beginning of 1945 Heinz Bär was moved to command the jet fighter school III./EJG 2 ( Lechfeld Schule ). In March of 1945 this school was reformed to an operational unit equipped with Me 262s. On 19 March 1945 'Pritzl' scored his first 'jet' victory - a P-51 "Mustang". In the hands of an expert the Me 262 proved it self a most deadly weapon: on 21 March "Pritzl" claimed a B-24, and three days later his victims were another B-24 and a P-51 (Nos 208-209). Until 23 April 1944, when Bär arrived at Galland's JV 44 he was credited with 13 'jet' victories. With the "jet experten" of JV 44, Bär downed two P-47s on 27 April. The final victory of "Pritzl" Bär in WW II was a P-47, downed over Bad Aibiling on 29 April 1945.

With total of 221 victories Heinz Bär is ranked 8th among the Luftwaffe's top guns and with 16 Me 262 kills, he's the 3rd ranking 'jet' fighter ace of WW II.

It's interesting to note that Bär was very fortunate - while achieving those victories, he was shot down 18 times himself! Bär's good fortune in the air left him on 28 April 1957, when he was killed in light plane accident in Braunschweig, Germany.

Love these postings and reading these first hand accounts from the pilots. Gives you some idea of what it must have been like.

Three Squadron flew the last Kittyhawk operation of 1942 on 30 December, and it is reported in "Fighters Over The Desert" (by Shores and Ring) as follows:

"At 1350 hours seven aircraft of this unit patrolled over Bir el Zidan, refuelling at Alem el Gzina so that they were able to remain in the area until 1730 hours. During the afternoon, fifteen Bf 109's of 11 JG77 attacked, but the Australians were able to claim victories without losses, F/Lt Watt, F/Lt Bordman and Sgt Righetti each shooting down one fighter. Watts claiming a second probably destroyed. Oblt. Burchard Boker was killed, and Uffz. Gunter Mielenz became a POW."

My diary notes help reconstruct the scene that day:

We had flown to Gzina, a landing ground that had been found by Danny Boardman, and which we knew as "Danny's Acre", refuelled, and took off at about 3.15pm to patrol over our forward troops, who were south west of Buerat. Danny was leading, and the gaggle included Randall Watt, his No.2 Alan Righetti, and David Ritchie with me as his No.2. David had to return early.

Nearing the area, we saw trucks burning, where 109's had apparently been strafing. We were at 10,000ft when Danny reported 12 aircraft at 2 o'clock on the same level and ordered us to climb. Six 109's came out of the sun, two were behind us, and seven more were above. They attacked from all directions and split us up completely.

I was attacked by two of them, and in taking evasive action, spun from 8,000 to 1,500 ft; thought I’d "had it", not from the spin which I controlled OK, but from the 109's. Fortunately for some reason, they didn't follow me down.

I climbed back and was attacked by two more 109's who did very poor "head ons", which allowed me to get a quick shot at one, with no result. Pulled away and climbed up to 5,000ft where I saw a 109 sitting about 1,000ft above me. We watched each other for a while, and he was so intent on trying to get into position to lodge an attack, that he didn't see Watty who came in behind him. The next moment I saw the 109 simply disintegrate and catch fire, (on our return to base I was able to confirm this for him). Watty got so excited that he called to me to "come on up Russ and we'll get some more". I climbed as quickly as I could, but didn't get anywhere near him, because he had seen 4 more 109's west of him, engaged them and got a probable.

I was on my own now, saw another aircraft east of me, thought it may have been a 109, but it turned out to be Danny Boardman, and we came back to base together.

In his excellent book "Desert Warriors", Russell Brown includes reports from Danny, Watt and Alan Righetti. Each of those three destroyed a 109.

And so ended 1942.

January of 1943 was to be a time of conflicting emotions for us. On the morning of the 14th, we were excited because mail had come in, but the day was to end on a very distressing note: we were to have five aircraft shot down.

Our first job was to be top cover to 260 squadron, who was to strafe, but they couldn't find the target, so we returned to base. Late in the morning, 12 Kittys led by Bob Gibbes were to be close escort to Bostons, who were to bomb Bir Dufan airfield. 450 squadron was to be medium cover, 250 as top, and 260 had a roving commission; 48 Kittyhawks was thought to be impregnable.

However, a fair force of 109's from the ace Staffel 1/JG 77, led by Major Muncheberg (who just 8 days later was to shoot down Alan Righetti, who became a POW, and also do a fair bit of damage to my own aircraft). There were also some Macchi 202's in the enemy force. The 109's attacked and the result for 3 Squadron was five aircraft lost. Les Weatherburn became a POW, Norm Caldwell was found in a hospital as the Allies advanced, Bob Gibbes aircraft was hit, he belly landed and later returned to base. Sadly Bill Diehm and Allan Tonkin (on his first operation) were killed. 450 also lost two pilots.

In the afternoon conditions were very poor with sandstorms around, and only seven of us got off. Garth Clabburn was leading but was forced to return with engine problems, and Rex Bayly took over. We were to do a dive bombing job, and also act as top cover to 450 Squadron. Six 109's attacked us and I was lucky to be able to avoid one who was right on my tail. I saw a 109 closing in on Nev Austin's aircraft, and was making my way over to try and help, but before I could get there Nev was shot down. Rex Bayly had also seen Nev in trouble, was closer than me and able to get behind the 109 and shoot him down. When we left the area there were two fires on the ground. Ted Hankey was missing for a while, but it turned out he had put down at another landing ground. Rex Bayly’s account of this encounter is also reported in Russell Brown's book. While Gibby was missing, Randall Watt took over. On the 27th, Randall was the fourth pilot from the operations of the14th, to be killed. He was also one of four sons, all of whom who were lost to a mother, during the war.

Major Muncheberg was probably the top German pilot of this time, and at the time of his death was credited with 135 victories. He had done most of his fighting in the European theatre of war, and his score there was 124, plus 11 in North Africa. His death occurred in a bizarre manner, and is recorded in "Fighters Over Tunisia":

"Around 0930 on the 23rd March 1943, Major Muncheberg of Stab/JG 77 took off from La Fauconnerie with his wingman, Lt. Strasen, and headed for the Mareth area to see "if there was anything to shoot down". Strasen saw below some Spitfires of the 52nd Fighter Group near Sened, and both dived to attack, Muncheberg attacking Captain Theodore Sweetland, whose aircraft began to pour smoke as it was hit in the engine. Muncheberg's speed was so great that he got too near to his 135th victim, and what happened next is not very clear. Strasen reported that Sweetland's aircraft exploded and that debris fell on Muncheberg's wings, one of which snapped off. Captain Hugh L. Williamson reported however, that Sweetland deliberately rammed the Messerschmidt with his burning Spitfire. Whatever the truth was, both aircraft fell to the ground in flames; at this moment Strasen shot down Williamson, who baled out, all three aircraft crashing near kilometre stone No.82 on the Gabes-Gafsa road, the wreckage of the Messerschmidt flanked by that of the two Spitfires. So died one of the Luftwaffe's most outstanding fighter pilots and leader."

MOMENTS TO REMEMBER ... by BRUCE BURCHFIELD.



Momentous, indeed incredible, the might of Rommel's Army, which had almost cracked the gate to Egypt, the Suez and the Far East, was now, in August 1943, hell bent to get to Messina in the NE tip of Sicily and evacuate across the Straits of Messina to Regio on the Italian mainland.

We for our part, had to inflict as much damage as we could in daylight hours. In the closing days of August the narrow Straits of Messina and the air space above was an incredible sight. It was estimated that there was more AA fire concentrated in this tiny area than in the Ruhr valley.

88mm, 40mm and 20mm guns were spewing out metal, RN cruisers at a respectable distance were softening up the Regio area; Spitfires, Kittyhawks, Boston bombers and German FW190 s and JU88 s were in the melee.

We flew into this madness, dive bombing port installations and quite frankly we were very relieved to break away and head for home. Regrettably His Majesty's Kittyhawk CV-L was modestly holed.

Italy capitulated on 3/9/43, her navy went to Malta, her Axis partner Germany dug in and fought a tenacious retreat throughout Italy over many months.

On a more personal experience, my diary records 10th January 1944: our six aircraft were strafing German motor transport - I was 3rd down this valley, had some success and weaving along the valley. I passed over two armoured cars off the road and on a slope. Climbing away, bingo ... holes in starboard wing, two more through engine and plenty of wind behind my head - a shell had taken my radio right out - about 18" to the rear.

The motor was spluttering, engine gauges crazy, black smoke in abundance and I was too low to bail our. Undid my harness - mouth very dry and the landscape most inhospitable to crash land. Rocked the aircraft, jiggled the throttle and mixture controls - motor picked up in spasmodic bursts and air speed recorded a very slow 120 mph. Weaved along a valley to the Adriatic coast near city of Pescara and noticed that my landing flaps had dropped to about 30 degrees - no hydraulics.

The AA batteries on the coast gave me a warm welcome - a ponderous smoking aircraft but perhaps my laboured progress upset them for the "black stuff" was bursting well ahead. More splutters so down to water level to ditch - motor picked up - by this time I was on friendly waters and could see our coastal landing strip ahead. Coaxed the air craft to about 800ft, still barely airborne - a horrible smell of burning.

The duty pilot in the strip could see me - fired a green flare - a great sight. Stuffed the nose down and came into friendly territory, landed with a thump - too fast for landing flaps would not lower fully and at about 40mph the fire in the engine manifested itself.

I had switched off everything. pointed the plane to a sand dune on the beach and went out of the cockpit onto the wing and bingo, on to "terra firma" a great feeling. A momentous happening - maybe; but there are many other air crew who would have been less fortunate and I salute them.

Incidentally the aircraft was a Warhawk powered by a Packard manufactured "Rolls Royce" Merlin. There was a fist size hole in the super charger housing which exuded fuel mixture into the exhaust stack. Whilst the aircraft was moving at some speed the fire could not take control because of slip stream. One engine mounting and one ignition bank had been shot away as well ... but I will always have a soft spot for Packard Merlins.

Did a fighter pilot's Instructors' course at Point Cook and was posted to Mildura as an Instructor. It was here that I heard of the end of the war and in the celebrations that followed many of us paused to recall the mates that did not make it and also pay tribute to the efficiency of our ground staff both at home and abroad.

J.C.Waters tells the story of "BLACKIE and BLONDIE" in his book:

"VALIANT YOUTH"



This is a story of the remarkable parallels in the fighting life of "Blackie" - Wing Commander Alan Charles Rawlinson, D.F.C. and Bar, and of "Blondie" - Squadron Leader John Rowley Perrin, D.F.C.

They joined the R.A.A.F on the same day; they were cadet sergeants together; they were posted to the same squadron and were in the same flight; they left the Middle East, each with a bag of eight enemy planes destroyed; each shot down three on two occasions; they were flight commanders together; they were shot down within a week of each other in the same spot in the desert, and rescued by the same General. Back home they were together leading companion squadrons on the Advanced Air-line in New Guinea.

Rawlinson was 19 and Perrin 21 when they joined the R.A.A.F. on July 15 1938. That was Perrin's birthday. Both were clerks in Melbourne offices. They met that day for the first time. Both were State High School boys. Rawlinson, East Melbourne Harrier Club champion in 1935-36, dark, with high cheek-bones and the quick, flashing eyes of a Bedouin; Perrin, snowy-headed, light blue eyes in a smiling, hot-blooded, Huckleberry Finn face. They became Good Companions. It was not long before they were dubbed the Flying Twins, one called Blackie, the other Blondie.

They were together when they first drew enemy blood. It was over Bardia when the Italian armies were being routed by Wavell in the first big push of '41. They were leading sections when eight of their machines came up against 10 enemy bombers and 45 enemy fighters. Eight against 55. Giving away heavy odds - as they had to in those days - held no terrors for the Australians. Blondie, with "Woof" Arthur, belted a fighter into the sea, and Blackie, fighting from 17,000 feet down to 10,000, got a probable.

Not long after that, Blackie, through no fault of his own, broke away from the parallel line. Blondie was away collecting Hurricanes. Blackie, in a Gladiator, was forced out of a fight with Italians. His engine cut out and he force-landed in the desert. He got the engine going again and staggered off with dozens of shrapnel holes in wings and fuselage. A mile from the drome the engine gave up. He landed and walked in.

One day in February '41, Blondie went off leading three of the new Hurricanes. They were south of Benghazi. Wavell's army had travelled over 400 miles in 56 days. Blondie spotted nine German Stukas dive-bombing and strafing Australian troops. He could not see any fighter escort.

"Too good to miss," he said.

He dived to the attack, shot down a Stuka. Suddenly, out of the blue, swooped 15 Messerschmitt twin-engine fighters. It was the first time they had appeared in the desert. A few seconds, and Blondie was alone - one against 15.

Probably there was a smile on his stubborn lips. In the colourful jargon of the air, he "got stuck into them." He shot down one. Then a cannon shell burst in his petrol tank. Slightly wounded, soaked in petrol, and with the Hurricane afire, he turned furiously as a wasp on his assailant, pressed the button, and shot him down in flames. He tried to get still another German before he crash-landed. The Germans followed him down to strafe him. He dodged over the sand like a hare at a Plumpton and was picked up by Major-General Stan Savige of the 6th Australian Division.

In that fight Blondie won his D.F.C.

Seven days later, Blackie was doing a reconnaissance over the same area. He crash-landed in a mine-field and was picked up by the same general and staff. In April he caught up with Blondie's score. Eight Hurricanes took on 18 Stukas and Messerschmitts. They knocked out nine of them. Blackie bagged three Stukas one after the other. Two days later Blondie forged ahead again. A flight of eight mixed it with 15 of the enemy. They shot down eight. Blondie bagged three Stukas, too. One after the other, just like that.

After that they moved to Syria for the war against the Vichy French. They changed from Hurricanes to Tomahawks. Blackie became O.C. C Flight and Blondie O.C. B Flight. Peter Jeffrey, D.S.O., D.F.C., who had destroyed four German planes in single-handed combat, one in the air, three on the ground, was squadron C.O. He was their original instructor at Point Cook.

Over in Syria Blondie quickly added a Vichy French to his tally. It was in a fight over the oil pipe-line at Palmyra. Two days later Blackie's flight met up with six Vichy French light bombers over the same zone. The six were shot down in flames and Blackie got his second three in a row. For his leadership and courage in that operation, on top of his desert record, he won his D.F.C.

The partnership was broken then. The days of fighting against heavy odds and strafing in companionship ended. Blackie, with an ammunition train and several staff cars to his credit, Blondie wearing the scalps of despatch riders at his belt. Each had his own speciality when not in combat or beating up aerodromes, trains, and enemy dumps.

Blondie came home. Blackie, appointed C.O. of the famous No. 3 Squadron, went back to the desert. There, very soon, 22 Tomahawks were jumped by 25 Messerschmitt 109s, the new crack German fighter. The fight lasted for 65 minutes, one of the longest desert air battles on record. It was fairly even going, with the scale just slightly in our favour. Six Messerschmitts were destroyed. We lost five. Blackie added to his score one in flames, one probable, one damaged.

His last desert scrap was on November 30, a year after the first. Twenty-two Tomahawks took on a German-Italian circus of 60 to 70. The battle swirled from 10,000 feet down to ground level. When it ended 12 more enemy planes had been destroyed and the squadron's total pushed to 106. When Blackie left to join Blondie in Australia's fight against the Japanese, the aggregate was 135. Fifty had been shot down in ten weeks.

That is how Blackie won his Bar.

On the 14th January 1945 a messerschmitt pilot made a score,and 1st Lt Dunlop remembers it well.
"I was leading CEMENT Blue flight at 21,000 feet in the trail of White and Red flights, when a large gaggle of enemy aircraft were spotted at twelve o'clock heading for the bombers.I jettisoned my drop tanks and climbed at full throttle,reaching 30,000 ft just as the enemy made contact with the 363rd Sqn(CEMENT). Me 109's were in the sun above so I dived into the main gaggle below, I passed through two groups of 109's and 190's firing and being fired at. Then I tacked onto a gaggle of about thirty 109's at somewhere around 20,000 ft or lower. I had lost Blue three and four at the first gaggle of enemy aircraft but believed Blue two was still with me.
"I began firing at the apparent tail end charlie which was an Me 109, and he put his aircraft into a steep dive, kicking rudder violently. I had to cut my throttle to avoid over-running and I fired each time he passed through my sites. I hit him repeatedly from wing tip to wing tip, his canopy flew off to the right and the pilot flew out, and just missed my wing as I flew between him and his smoking Me 109. A fraction of a second later it felt like my guns were firing without me pressing the trigger, and then my controls went out, completely dead. I watched one of my left hand .50 caliber machine guns blow out through the wing skin and my fuselage fuel tank catch fire. The plane was in a drifting dive and going straight down, the pressure held me in the right of the cockpit and was powerful enough to stop me raising my hand to release the canopy. THEN EVERYTHING BLEW
Wings,canopy,tail section and fuselage separated and seemed to blow in different directions. The canopy must have left first as I felt the intence heat from the flames that were sucked into the cockpit, I was cooked on the forehead and then felt cool air as I was blown from what was left. I landed still in the bucket seat with the armour plate still attached and my shoulder straps still neatly in place." The engine and one wing lay together about fifty feet away and other pieces of my plane were still floating down all around. Another hundred yards away was the crashed Me 109, ammo still popping".
1st Lt Dunlop did bail out in a way, when his P-51 blew to pieces, throwing him clear, Dunlop thinks that he was at about 5,000 ft, although badly disorientated he finally was able to find and pull the rip cord after which he immediately hit the ground. The most amazing aspect of his escape was that, although still strapped in the seat, the back pack chute was able to deploy in the small space available and deposit him on the ground with no major injuries. Lt Dunlop got out of the wreckage of his aircraft and walked a short distance before he was captured, and was later sent to Stalag Luft XIII at Nuremburg.

Lt. Joe Black, 362nd Sqn.
On one of my early missions I was flying as Capt. Charles (Chuck) Weaver's
wing man. We were heading home to Leiston when we ran into four Me 109's, so our flight of four P51's dived down to intercept the enemy.Capt Weaver picked out one of the 109's with a yellow nose, and immediately the enemy aircraft headed straight down with 'Chuck' right behind it. At about 1500-2000ft he reached a cloud layer and we went in after him, Chuck and I went through the clouds and broke out below, we were alone! Suddenly the Me 109 dropped down behind Chuck and opened fire with a short burst, as I turned to get a shot at him he ducked back into the clouds. Over the radio Chuck told me to drop back further to see if we could mouse trap him using himself as bait. We flew above and below the cloud layer,trying our best to nail him, he would pop out of the cloud cover take a quick shot and be gone again, on one pass he made on Chuck I was able to get of a 2or3 second burst , but I doubt that I hit him. All told, the Me 109 got about six tries at us and we got only one quick shot at him. After his last attempt at adding a P51 to the tail markings on his plane he dissapeared, we hung around for a short while but he didn't return.
When we had got back to Leiston, Chuck said that he thought that the Me 109 must have run low on fuel and had to break off to get back to his base, We were rather clad that he did!. It was the first time I had fired my guns at an enemy aircraft, and it was to bad that I didn't see any hits. We disscussed the avent in the mess and we think the Me 109's were from JG 26, better known as the Abbeville boys.

The day the Germans blasted the 362nd over the Hague.

On many of the mission I flew on we would enter the continent over the Hague and always at about 18000 feet. This had become more or less routine, and we never expected the Germans to shoot at us. In fact I recall being told in Clobber College just that.

One morning though the Germans had apparently been observing our pattern, our air speed, etc and had polished the barrels of their 88 mm anti aircraft guns one last time before we flew over. There were probably 24 planes in the formation, 4 ship flights in trail and all tucked in nice and close. Guess we wanted to show the Germans what pretty formation we could fly.

Suddenly about a dozen rounds of 88’s exploded right at our altitude and right in the formation. I happened to be tail end Charlie and as I pealed off to the right sharply I looked back and you have never seen a bomb burst of planes the like of what I observed.

The old saying goes, “If you can see the flash and hear the noise, you’re dead.” Well that’s not true. I was at the rear of the formation but both saw the flash and heard the noise and I am sure the rest of the pilots saw and heard the same but we all formed back up and continued the mission. I guess the only casualties were the crew chiefs that had to patch up all the holes in the aircraft.

The moral of this story is to never get too cocky and let your guard down.

Joe B & Joe S got snookered.

Joe Shea was flying on the wing of Joe Broadhead one day and apparently there had been some action because we were down to a flight of 2 heading home when we came across a German airfield with 7 ME-109’s lined up along one side of the field and 6 on the opposite side. Col Broadhead elected to take the 7 and let me have the 6. As we approached from the east, suddenly the sides of the buildings along both sides of the field fell away revealing anti aircraft guns. Col Broadhead called break and I didn’t have to be told twice we both broke sharply to the right and down to tall grass levels and got out of there full speed.

Don’t know to this day if the planes were real or dummies but somehow feel like we were duped.

The urge to KILL.

During the spring of 1945 it was quite common to perform your escort duties and after returning the bombers to friendly territory, to turn tail and go back into Germany and search out targets of opportunity. On one such occasion, probably south of Hanover, we encountered an unusual cloud pattern. The clouds were in rows much the same as hay farmers roll up the hay into parallel rows across a field. We were flying up one clear space and finding nothing diving down under the cloud row to the next clear spot. On one such maneuver we flew, inadvertently for sure, right over a German airfield and all hell broke loose. I recall looking back and seeing a solid red stream of tracers directly behind my tail. Needless to say, I bent the throttle over the quadrant in an effort to get more speed and somehow managed to stay ahead of the stream of bullets.

End of story? No not quite. I have never been able to erase the memory of the almost overpowering urge to kill the gunners who were firing at me. I wanted to split “S” and blast the gun emplacement. To have done so at that altitude would have been suicidal. It’s the only time during my tour that I was truly insanely angry with the Germans. Since then I have rationalized and understand that they had every right to be shooting at me, after all I was invading their homeland. But at that moment all I could think of was “How dare you.” Guess you might say I took it personally.

2 for me and 2 for you.

Do not recall the name of the pilot I was flying with but apparently we had been in a clash with German planes because we were down to a 2 ship formation. We came across 4 ME-109’s flying along at our altitude and they had not seen us. My leader called out and said, You take the 2 on the right and I will take the two on the left. And be sure to shoot the one at the rear first so you don’t give yourself away. We were closing in nicely from about the 7 o’clock position. We were almost to the magic 250 yard place to open fire when 4 blue nosed P-51s came screaming over the top of us and in an instant the 4 ME-109’s were destroyed. Two burst into massive flames, one the wing was sawed off at the wing root and the other was sawed in half right behind the pilot. All 4 crashed in a field the size of a football field. None of the pilots escaped.

The thoughtless train engineer.

On one occasion where we had gone back into Germany to search out targets of opportunity we ran across a trainload of gasoline. The train was in a small German town and the engineer disconnected the engine from the rest of the train and high-tailed it to the south. Our leader dispatched a couple of 51’s to take out the engine and the rest of us stayed to work over the tank cars.

There was a huge lumber yard right next to the train tracks and our leader instructed us to drop our external fuel tanks on the lumber yard on the first pass and to fire into the lumber yard on the second pass. We then started working over the 20 or so cars of gasoline. On my first pass to fire on the train the tank car I was shooting at exploded and I had to fly through the huge fireball. My gun camera captured a beautiful shot of the top of the conning tower on the tank car spiraling up in front of my plane. Fortunately I missed all the pieces and burst out into the clear in a second or two. On my second pass I was relegated to the 2 cabooses which I managed to splinter quite well with the 6-50 cal guns..

The squadron destroyed all the cars of gasoline and made a proverbial mess of the town in the process.

The amazing part of this experience is that about one block beyond the railroad tracks was a road running parallel to the tracks. All the time we were beating up the place a little old German lady was walking along that road with a satchel over her arm, presumably on the way home from the market. When we left we could still see her walking along the road.

The ME-262 that got away.

It was close to the end of the war and one day while on the return home from a mission, someone shouted break and one of our pilots made a fast break, his guns accidentally fired, and one of our 51’s went down. That evening a TWX came down advising us to turn our guns off when we left the target area because, after all, the Germans never attack us on the way home anymore.

The next day or so we went to the Brunswick area and after we left the target area I turned my guns off as directed.

Apparently there was a ME-262 pilot that did not get the message that the Germans never attack us on the way home.

We were in a 4 ship formation heading home. I was on the flight leaders left wing and the 2 ship element was off a hundred yards to the right.

I had just checked my tail and swept my eyes around past the leader to check the elements tails. Saw nothing so started the return sweep. As my sight went past the leader I saw a small cloud like affair forming out ahead of us. I knew instantly that what I saw was a string of 20 mm shells exploding. My eyes darted to my tail and sure enough, there was a ME-262 firing at me. In a split second I observed that he was closing very fast and could not continue to fire much longer. I also rationalized that he’s missing me now and the present crop of German pilots are extremely poorly trained. I then made the command decision to not make any movement and take the chance of flying into his stream of bullets. I was correct because he stopped firing and started fish tailing in an effort to slow down to stay behind me. He was unsuccessful and slid up past me ever so slowly.

At this point I should have backed off and let the leader have him but my mind never thought of that. All I could think about was, You had your turn, now its mine.” I slid in on his tail but since I was probably less than 2 feet behind him I realized I could not fire because I would be flying through the pieces. I waited till he was out there a couple hundred yards and pressed the trigger. NOTHING HAPPENED. Oh my God, my guns are turned off. I dove for the gun switch and in the process banged my head on the gun sight and knocked myself out. I came to with the sound of spent casings from my leaders guns rattling off my plane. He knocked some pieces off but the 262 got away.

I did get some gun camera image since the camera works even when the guns are turned off.

Ever since the war ended I have wanted in the worst way to find out the name of the German pilot so I could make his acquaintance. I think it would be fun to hash over that day over north Germany.

last interview with Erich Hartmann
 

Hartmann gave this final interview before his death in 1993.

Q: Erich, when and where were you born?
A: I was born on 19 April 1922 in Weissach. This is near Wuerttemberg.

Q: What was your family like?
A: My father was a respected physician who had been a doctor in the Army in the
First War, and my mother was a licensed pilot. My brother later became a
doctor also.

Q: Tell about your youth in China.
A: My father’s cousin was a diplomat there, and he convinced father to move usto China since Germany was not exactly the best place to be economically. We lived in Changsha province, and I was young and Alfred was even younger, but I barely remember any of it. Father had gone ahead and we followed. Finally things became bad for foreigners and father sent us home. We relocated in Stuttgart and father came back later. This was where I lived until the war.

Q: What made you want to become a pilot?
A: Probably the same reason as most boys; the glory of the aces in the Great War, as well as the fact that my mother was a licensed pilot. Mother used to take us up and teach us things. That was perhaps the greatest factor. I knew I wanted to fly. I became a licensed glider pilot at fourteen, and flew as often as I could I became an instructor at age fifteen in the Hitler Youth. Alfred became a Stuka gunner and was captured in Tunisia. That was probably lucky for him and saved his life. My father was not pleased that I wanted to be a pilot, he wanted us to follow him in medicine, and this was also a dream that I had, but it would not be.

Q: When did you join the Luftwaffe?
A: I started military flight training in October 1940 in East Prussia. This lasted
until January 1942 when I went to Zerbst-Anhalt. I graduated as a leutnant in
March 1942. Later I went to advanced aerial gunnery school, where I got into
a little trouble. I was showing off, buzzing the airfield and was sentenced to house arrest. Ironically my roommate flew the same aircraft I had been in and it developed a technical problem, and he was killed in the crash. That was ironic. I arrived in Russia and reported to JG-52 in just before the winter, after a slight mishap.
Q: Was that when you crashed a Stuka?
A: Well, I would not say crashed, because I never got off the ground. We were supposed to fly them to Mariopol, but when I started the Stuka I realized that it had no brakes, and it reacted differently from a Messerschmitt 109. I crashed into he operations shack, and another man flipped his Ju-87 up over on it’s nose. They decided to send us in a Ju-52, since it was safer for us and the aircraft.

Q: Was this when you first met Dieter Hrabak?
A: Yes, who has been a good friend over the years, as you know. Dieter was the first person to tell me to talk to you, since he and the others trust you. I like you also. Dieter was a very understanding yet disciplined commander, and his experience showed. He taught us how not just to fly and fight, but how to work as a team and stay alive. That was his greatest gift. He was very open to discussing his own mistakes, and how he learned from them, hoping we would learn also. Hrabak assigned me to 7/III/JG-52 under Major Hubertus von Bonin, an old eagle from the Spanish Civil War and Battle of Britain. We learned a lot from him also. My first mission was on 14 October 1942.

Q: Your first mission was less than spectacular. What happened?
A: Well, Rossmann and I were in our flight, and Rossmann radioed that he
spotted ten enemy aircraft below us. We were at 12,000 feet and the enemy
was far below us. I could see nothing but followed Rossmann down, then we
came on them. I knew that I had to get my first kill, so I went full throttle and
left Rossmann to shoot at a plane. My shots missed and I almost collided into
him and had to pull up. Suddenly I was surrounded by the Soviets and I headed for low cloud cover to escape. All along Rossmann kept talking to me,
and I had a low fuel warning. Then the engine went dead and I bellied in,
destroying my fighter. I knew I was in trouble. I had violated every
commandment a fighter pilot lives by, and I expected to be thrown out.

Q: What was your fate?
A: I was sentenced by von Bonin to three days of working with the ground crews. It gave me time to think about what I had done. What I learned from
Rossmann and later Krupinski I later taught to new pilots when I became a
leader.

Q: When did you score your first kill?
A: That was a day I will never forget, 5 November 1942, a Shturmovik IL-2,
which was the toughest aircraft to bring down because of the heavy armor
plate. You had to shoot out the oil cooler underneath, otherwise it would not
go down. That was also the day of my second forced landing since I had flown into the debris of my kill. I learned two things that day; get in close and shoot and break away immediately after scoring the kill. The next kill came in February the following year. This was when Krupinski came to Taman and was my new squadron leader.

Q: Walter told me about the day he arrived, and his episode with the two fighters. What do you remember?
A: He came in, introduced himself, demanded a plane, went up, was hot down, and brought back by car. He then took another, scored two kills and returned, then wanted dinner. The whole event was treated as casually as a card game.

Q: How did you meet Gunther Rall?
A: Well, I know that Gunther had to have told you about this. He replaced von Bonin as Gruppenkommandeur and we were introduced. That was the
beginning. In August 1943 Rall made me kommandeur of the 9th squadron,
which had been Herman Graf’s command.

Q: You flew with Krupinski as his wingman often. What was that like, and how
different was it from flying with Rossmann?
A: Well, the partnership was a little uneasy at first, but we found that we worked well together. We both had strengths and weaknesses and managed to overcome these problems. It worked out well. Besides, I had to make sure that he came home due to his many girlfriends always waiting on him to come
down. I won the Iron Cross 2nd Class while flying with ‘Krupi’. The one thing
I learned from him was that the worst thing to do was to lose a wingman. Kills
were less important than survival. I only lost one wingman, Gunther Capito, a
former bomber pilot, but this was due to his inexperience with fighters, but he
survived.

Q: How many kills did you have before you won the Knight’s Cross?
A: I had scored 148 kills by 29 October 1943. My award was sort of late I guess. There were many men who had more than fifty kills who did not receive the Knight’s Cross, which I think was unfair. I also thought it unfair that men like Rall, Barkhorn, Kittel, Baer and Rudorffer did not receive higher decorations. They deserved them.

Q: Tell about your first meeting with Krupinski. I have heard his version from
Walter, but I would like your version..
A: I was being addressed by my new Wing Commander (Hrabak) when a fighter came in smoking, and suddenly landed, flipped over and exploded. We knew the pilot was dead. One of the men said that ‘it is Krupinski’, and out of the blinding smoke this man walked out of the wreckage with a singed uniform, but no other damage. He was smiling and complained about the flak over the Caucasus, but without any real surprise on his face. This was my first meeting with “The Count.”

Q: Who were you first assigned to as wingman?
A: Feldwebel Eduard ‘Paule’ Rossmann, who took me under his wing.

Q: Was it typical that an officer would be assigned to a non-commissioned officer?
A: It was for us, since he was a seasoned combat veteran. Rank meant little over experience, and that was why we were so successful I think.

Q: Who was your best friend during those days?
A: There were so many, most of whom are still alive, but my closest relationship was with Heinz Mertens, my crew chief. You rely upon your wingmen to cover you in the air, and your team mates in aerial battle, but the man who keeps your machine flying and safe is the most important man you know. We became best of friends, and none of my success would have been possible if not for Mertens.

Q: The bond you two had is also legendary. Why the closeness?
A: I can’t explain it. When I went missing on the mission where I was captured and escaped, Mertens had taken a rifle and went looking for me. He would not give up. That is a loyalty you never find outside the military.

Q: Describe the that time you were captured.
A: The Russians were attacking in our area and Hrabak gave us our orders. This was in August 1943, and our mission was to support the Stukas of Hans-Ulrich Ruedel in a counterattack. Then things changed. The Red Air Force was
bombing German ground positions in support of their offensive, so my flight
of eight fighters located and attacked the enemy, about forty Laggs and Yaks
with another forty or so Shturmovik ground attack aircraft. I shot down two
when something hit my plane. I made a forced landing and was captured by
Soviet soldiers. I faked that I was injured as they approached the plane. The
believed me and took me to their HQ and their doctor examined me, and he
even believed me. They placed me back in the truck (which was German) on a
stretcher, and as Stukas made their attacks I rushed the one guard in the truck. He went down and I left out the back. As soon as I did that I heard the truck stop, so I had to keep moving. I found myself in a great field of very tall sunflowers where I tried to hide as I ran, all the while the men chasing me were firing wildly in my direction. I found a small village occupied by Russians, and decided to return to the area I had just come from and wait for nightfall. [It was during this time that Mertens took it upon himself to take off and find Hartmann, armed with only a rifle and water, being concerned when his friend had not returned]. I reached my secure area and took a nap, and later I awoke and took off again headed west. I passed a patrol of Russians, about ten I think, so I decided to follow them. Then the patrol disappeared over a small hill, and then there was a firefight. I knew that that must be the German lines, since the men of the patrol came flying back over on my side. I then walked to the other side and was challenged by a German sentry who also fired a bullet at me, which ripped open my trouser leg. I was pretty upset, but this man was in complete fear. I was welcomed into their position, given an interrogation and was asked to prepare for contact. Another group of Russians, obviously drunk walked towards our trenches, and the leutnant gave the order to fire when they came within about twenty meters. They were all destroyed. I was later told that a group of Russians had entered their perimeter speaking fluent German, claiming to be escaped POWs, and when they came in they pulled out some Tommy guns and killed some men. This explained their caution over accepting me on face value, as I had no identification on me. Everything had been taken when I was captured.

Q: What happened to Mertens? How did you get back?
A: The infantry commander contacted Hrabak and who I was confirmed. They
sent me back by car, and I was met by Krupi who had just come back from the hospital. I was also informed about what Bimmel had gone and done, and I
was very upset. The next day Bimmel came back and we saw each other, and
we had a ‘birthday party.’

Q: Explain was a ‘birthday party’ is?
A: That is a party that is thrown in honor of a pilot who survived a situation that should have killed him. We had a lot of those.

Q: Perhaps the greatest legend surrounding your life was the time you first met Ushi, and the love that endured through the years. Describe that first meeting.
A: We were in the same school, and finally I decided to track her down. I caught up with her and a girlfriend and stopped my bicycle, and introduced myself. I knew that she was the one for me, although I was only seventeen and she was two years younger. Our parents were none too thrilled about it, I can tell you, but they came around.

Q: You had competition for her didn’t you?
A: Yes, but I resolved that problem, it was nothing. Ushi and I were destined to be together, that was fate. And she waited a long time, even after the war. We were married in 1944, but still had little time to spend together.[Actually Erich warned the much older boy away from her, and when Ushi told him that he was harassing her, Erich beat him up, ending the problem]. We were married after I had the Diamonds, and Gerd {Barkhorn] was my best man, with Willi Batz and Krupi as witnesses. We could not marry in a church due to the logistical problems. That would have to wait until 1956

A: Tell about the time you received the Oak Leaves from Hitler.
Q: That was a strange time. First, most of us were drunk. Gerd Barkhorn, Walter Krupinski, Johannes Wiese and I were to report to Berchtesgaden. All of us except Gerd were getting the Oak Leaves, he was getting the Swords. By the time we got their we were trying to sober up. Walter always stated years later that we had to hold each other up. We had been drinking cognac and champagne, a deadly combination when you have not eaten in a couple of days. The first person we met off the train was Hitler’s Luftwaffe adjutant,
Major von Below, who was I think in a state of shock at our condition. Were
to meet Hitler in a couple of hours, and we could hardly stand. This was in
March 1944, and there was a lot of snow at that time at that altitude.

Q: I spoke to Walter Krupinski and read about the ‘hat event’ in your biography by Ray Toliver and Trevor Constable. What was that about?
A: I could not find my hat, and my vision was not the best, so I took a hat on a stand and put it on, and it was too large. I knew it was not mine at that time. Below became upset and told me it was Hitler’s, and to put it back. Everyone was laughing about it except Below. I made some joke about Hitler having a big head, and that it ‘must go with the job,’ which created even more laughter.

Q: What was your impression of Hitler?
A: I found him a little disappointing, although very interested in the war at the
front and extremely well informed on events as I knew them. However, he had
a tendency to drone on about minor things that I found boring. I found him
interesting yet not that imposing. I also found him lacking in sufficient know-
ledge about the air war in the east. He was more concerned with the Western
Front’s air war and the bombing of cities. Of course the Eastern Front ground
war was his area of most interest. This was evident. Hitler listened to the men
from the Western Front, and assured them that weapons and fighter roduction were increasing, and history proved this to be correct. Then he went into the U-boat war, how we were going to decidedly destroy maritime commerce, and all of that. I found him an isolated and disturbed man.

Q: What was the feeling about the war in your unit at this time?
A: I don’t recall anyone talking of defeat, but I do know that we talked about
some of the great pilots killed already, and the news of the American
Mustangs reaching deep into Germany, and even farther. Few of us had any
experience against the Americans, although many old timers had fought the
British. Those who fought Americans had done so in North Africa, and their
insights proved interesting.

Q: What was the atmosphere like when you won the Swords?
A: I had just landed after a successful mission when I was told that I had been awarded the Swords. This was June 1944. I arrived on 3 August 1944 to visit Hitler again for the award ceremony, and there were ten of us Luftwaffe guys in all. Hitler was not the same man. This was just after the bomb plot to kill him, and his right arm was shaking, and he looked exhausted. He had to turn to his left ear to hear anyone speak because he was deaf in the other one from the blast. Hitler discussed the cowardly act to kill him, and attacked the quality of his generals, with a few exceptions. He also stated that God had spared his life so that he may deliver Germany from destruction, and that the Western Allies would be thrown back inevitably. I was very surprised at all of this. I wanted to leave and see my Ushi, and I did.

Q: How was the meeting with Hitler and receiving the Diamonds different from
the previous two encounters?
A: Well Dieter Hrabak and the rest threw a party before I left, and I was so drunk I could not stand the next day. It sounds like we were all alcoholics, but this was not the case. We lived and played hard. You never knew what the next day would bring. I few my 109 to Insterburg, and JG-52 gave me an escort. When I arrived at the Wolfschanze the world had changed. Hitler had already begun the trials and executions of those involved and everyone was under suspicion. You had to enter three areas of security, and no one was allowed to carry a weapon into the last section. I told Hitler’s SS guard to tell the Fuehrer that I would not receive the Diamonds if I were not trusted to carry my Walther pistol. The guy looked like I had just married his mother. He went to speak with von Below, who was a Colonel then, and Below came out said it was all right. I hung my cap and pistol belt on the stand and Hitler came to me, and said, “I wish we had more like you and Ruedel,” and he gave me the Diamonds, which were encrusted upon another set of Oak Leaves and Swords. We had coffee and lunch, and he confided in me, saying ‘militarily the war is lost,’ and that I must already know this, and that if we waited the Western Allies and Soviets would be at war with each other. He also spoke about the partisan problem and he asked me of my experience. Hitler asked me my opinion of the tactics used in fighting the American and British bombers. Since I did not have a lot of experience with this, I simply stated what I thought was a fact. Goering’s orders to combat them and the method employed was in error. I also informed him of the deficiencies in pilot training; too many minimally trained men were simply throwing their lives
away. He also spoke about the new weapons and tactics, and then we parted. That was the last time I saw him, 25 August 1944. I flew back to the unit, where an order for ten days leave waited. I also had to report to Galland, where we discussed the Me-262 situation. I went back to marry my Ushi, that was all that mattered to me.

Q: During the war what were your worst fears?
A: Well, I feared capture in Russia, that was a very eye-opening prospect. The bombing of our cities also worried us, as our families were very dear to us. I suppose I was most worried that Ushi would not wait, so I always tried to see her whenever I was on leave. Medals meant leave, and that was an incentive. I had the choice of losing her or returning all the decorations, I would send the medals back. She was too important to me, and always has been. It was later learned that the Soviets knew exactly who I was and Stalin placed a 10,000 ruble price on my head. This was later increased, and Ruedel and I had the highest bounties of any Germans during the war, probably with exception to Hitler and a few of the Nazi elite. Every time I went up I knew that someone would be looking for me. I had thoughts of the American western films, where the top gunfighter is called out into the street; another person wanting to make his mark. I felt marked, so I had to change my aircraft occasionally. I found that when I used the black tulip I had more difficulty in finding opponents, who avoided me for the most part. I needed camouflage.

Q: What were conditions like in Russia?
A: Well, in the winter you can imagine. We seldom had hard shelter, living in
tents. The lice were the worst, and there was little you could but hold your
clothes to a fire and listen to them pop. We had DDT and bathed when we
could. Illness, especially pneumonia and trench foot were bad, especially
among the ground crews. Food was always a concern, especially later in the
war, and fuel restrictions made every mission count. We always flew from grass strips and we were often bombed. These strips were easy to repair, although the terrain made every take off and landing an adventure. Sometimes fighters would snap their landing gear, or just dig in and topple over. Mainten-ance was another nightmare, as supplies and parts were difficult to get to, especially when we were moving around all the time. Despite these problems we were very successful in the Crimea through 1943-44.

Q: I know that JG-52 as well as other units flew with foreign air forces. What
was your experience with this?
A: We had a Royal Hungarian unit assigned to us, as well as Croats. They were good pilots and fearless in many ways. Good men. We had even more contact especially with the Romanians when we were stationed there, and this was where we engaged both the Americans and Soviets; a very trying time. We were flying in Russia against twenty to one. In Romania it was thirty to one.

Q: The evacuation from the Crimea was described to me by Hrabak. How was it for you?
A: Well, I would not call it an evacuation, but a full retreat. We had to move, and I discovered that when the radio, armor plate and rear wall, you could stack four men in the tail, but three was about the most I would try. We managed to save many of our precious ground crew from capture using this method.

Q: What were the Soviets like that you captured? Was there any open racism
among your men towards these people?
A: Not at all. In fact I would say that in our group there were the majority who found all the National Socialist idiocy a little sickening. Hrabak made it a
point to explain to the new young pilots that if they thought they were fighting for National Socialism and the Fuehrer they needed to transfer to the Waffen SS or something. He had no time for political types. He was fighting a war against a superb enemy, not holding a political rally. I think this approach
damaged Hrabak in the eyes of Goering and others, but he was a real man and
did not care about anything but his men. Hannes Trautloft was the same way,
as was Galland. All the greats with a few exceptions were like that. We even
had a Russian prisoner show us how to start our engines in the sub-zero cold
by mixing gasoline into the oil crankcase. This was unheard of to us and we
were sure we would lose a fighter in the explosion. It worked, because the fuel thinned out the congealed oil, and evaporated as the starter engaged. It was wonderful. Another guy showed us how to start a fire under the cowling and start the engine, another helpful hint. This same guy showed us how to keep the weapons firing by dipping them in boiling water removing the lubricants which froze the mechanisms shut. Without the oils they worked fine. I felt sad for these men, who hated no one and were forced to fight a war they would rather have avoided.

Q: What were some of your more memorable combat experiences in fighting
enemy aircraft?
A: One situation comes to mind. I was in a duel with a Red Banner flown Yak-9, and this guy was good, and absolutely insane. He tried and tried to get in
behind me, and every time he went to open fire I would jerk out of the way of
his rounds. Then he pulled up and rolled, and we approached each other head
on, firing, with no hits either way. This happened two times. Finally I rolled
into a negative G dive, out of his line of sight, and rolled out to chase him at
full throttle. I came in from below in a shallow climb and flamed him. The
pilot bailed out and was later captured. I met and spoke with this man, a
captain, who was a likeable guy. We gave him some food and allowed him to
roam the base after having his word that he would not escape. He was happy
to be alive, but he was very confused, since his superiors told him that Soviet
pilots would be shot immediately upon capture. This guy had just had one of
the best meals of the war and had made new friends. I like to think that people like that went back home and told their countrymen the truth about us, not the propaganda that erupted after the war, although there were some terrible things that happened, no doubt. Once I attacked a flight of four IL-2s and shot one up. All four tried to roll out in formation at low altitude, and all four crashed into the ground, unable to recover since their bomb loads reduced their maneuverability. Those were the easiest four kills I ever had. However, I remember the time I saw over 20,000 dead Germans littering a valley where the Soviet tank and Cossacks had attacked a trapped unit, and that sight, even from the air was perhaps the most memorable of my life. I can close my eyes and see this even now. Such a tragedy. I remember that I cried as I flew low over the scene; I could not believe my eyes. Another time was in May 1944 near Jassy, my wingman Blessin and I were jumped by fighters, he broke right and the enemy followed him down. I rolled and followed the enemy fighter down to the deck. I radioed to my wingman to pull up and slip right in a shallow turn so I could get a good shot. I told him to look back, and see what happens when you do not watch your tail, and I fired. The fighter blew apart and fell like confetti. However, separate from Krupinski’s crash the day I met him, one event is clear and comical. My wingman on many missions was Carl Junger. He came in for a landing and a Polish farmer with horse cart crossed his path. He crashed into it, killing the horse and the fighter was nothing but twisted wreckage. We all saw it and began thinking about the funeral, when suddenly the debris moved and he climbed out without a scratch, still wearing his sunglasses. He was ready to go up again. Amazing! Then there was the American Mustangs that we both dreaded and anticipated meeting. We knew that they were a much better aircraft than ours; newer and faster, and with a great range. Once in Romania we had an interesting experience with both Russians and Americans.

Q: What happened on that mission?
A: We took off on a mission to intercept Soviet bombers attacking Prague, and we counted many American made aircraft with Red Stars, part of your Lend Lease. But then there were American fighters also nearby, and I was above them all by a thousand meters. It seemed that the Americans and Russians were busy examining each other and were unaware that we were around. I gave the order to drop down through the Mustangs, then the Russian fighters, and through the bombers in just one hit and run attack, then we would get the hell out of there, since there were only the two of us. I shot down two P-51s quickly in my dive, and I then fired on a Boston bomber, scored good hits but it was not a kill. The second element also scored a kill against the Mustangs, and my wingman and I were all right. Suddenly the most amazing thing happened. The Soviet fighters and Americans began fighting each other, and the confusion worked for us. They must have not realized that it was a schwarm of Germans that started the whole thing! The Russian bombers dropped their bombs in panic and turned away. I saw three Yaks get shot down and a Mustang damaged trailing white smoke. That was my last fight against the Americans.

Q: When did you first encounter the American pilots?
A: This was in the defense of Ploesti and Bucharest, and also over Hungary when the bombers came in and they had heavy fighter escort. I was recalled to take over the command I/JG-52, and this was 23 June 1944. B-17s were attacking the railroad junction, and we were formed up. We did not see the Mustangs at first and prepared to attack the bombers. Suddenly four of them flew across us and below, so I gave the order to attack the fighters. I closed in on one and fired, his fighter coming apart and some pieces hit my wings, and I immediately found myself behind another and I fired, and he flipped in. My second flight shot down the other two fighters. But then we saw others and again attacked. I shot down another and saw that the leader still had his drop tanks, which limited his ability to turn. I was very relieved that this pilot was able to successfully bail out. I was out of ammunition after the fight. But this success was not to be repeated, because the Americans learned and they were not to be ambushed again. They protected the bombers very well, and we were never able to get close enough to do any damage. I did have the opportunity to engage the Mustangs again when a flight was being pursued from the rear and I tried to warn them on the radio, but they could not hear. I dived down and closed on a P-51 that was shooting up an 109, and I blew him up. I half rolled and recovered to fire on another of the three remaining enemy planes and flamed him as well. As soon as that happened I was warned that I had several on my tail so I headed for the deck, a swarm of eight Americans behind me. That is a very uncomfortable feeling I can tell you! I made jerking turns left and right as they fired, but they fired from too far away to be effective. I was headed for the base so the defensive guns would help me, but I ran out of fuel and had to bail out. I was certain that this one pilot was lining me up for a strafe, but he banked away and looked at me, waving. I landed four miles from the base; I almost made it. That day we lost half our aircraft; we were too outnumbered and many of the young pilots were inexperienced.

end pt 1

pt 2
 

Q: How did you assess your enemy in the air?
A: I knew that if an enemy pilot started firing early, well outside the maximum
effective range of his guns then he was an easy kill. But, if a pilot closed in
and held his fire, and seemed to be watching the situation, then you knew that an experienced pilot was on you. Also, I developed different tactics for various conditions, such as always turning into the guns of an approaching enemy, or rolling into a negative G dive forcing him to follow or break off, then rolling out and sometimes reducing air speed to allow him to over commit. That was when you took advantage of his failing.

Q: There were some skeptics who questioned your kills. Tell about that, and how high did it go?
A: Well, this happened to a few of us. Goering could not believe the staggering kills being recorded from 1941 on. I even had a man in my unit, someone you also know, Fritz Oblesser, who questioned my kills. I asked Rall to have him transferred from the 8th Squadron to be my wingman for a while. Oblesser became a believer and signed off on some kills as a witness, and we became friends after that.

Q: Adolf Galland told me of how he tried to get you into his JV-44 in 1945. Why did you not take him up on the offer, like Krupi and Barkhorn?
A: I did qualify in the Me-262, but my heart and friends were in JG-52, and I felt that was where I belonged. Unit loyalty to me was important. Plus I had many new pilots who needed guidance and instruction. They were getting younger all the time and had fewer and fewer hours of flight instruction before they were thrown into battle. I was needed and that was where I stayed. Rall, Krupinski, Steinhoff and others were transferred to the Reich Defense, where they ended their war. I was torn between these facts, but I felt that I made the right decision at the time. In later years I realized that my life would have been very different if I had stayed with JV-44.

Q: How did you end up in Soviet custody?
A: On 8 May 1945 I took off at around 0800 hours from my field in Czechoslo-
vakia going to Bruenn. My wingman and I saw eight Yaks below us. I shot one
down and that was my last victory. I decided not to attack the others once I
saw that there were twelve Mustangs on the scene above me. My wingman
and I headed for the deck where the smoke of the bombing could hide us. We
pulled through the smoke and saw once again the two allies fighting each
other above us. Incredible! Well we landed at the field and were told that the
war was over.I must say that during the war I never disobeyed an order, but
when General Seidemann ordered me and Graf to fly to the British sector and
surrender to avoid the Russians, with the rest of the wing to surrender to the
Soviets. I could not leave my men. That would have been bad leadership.
There was a large bounty on my head, much like Ruedel. I was well known
and everyone knew that Stalin would like to get me. I was marching with my
unit through Czechoslovakia when we surrendered to an American armored
unit. They handed all of us over to the Soviets. I remember Graf telling me
that, as Diamonds winners the Soviets would probably execute us if they got
us. I had no doubt he was right at the time. Graf also mentioned the women,
children and ground personnel who would have no one to help them; they
would be at the mercy of the Red Army, and we all knew what that meant.
Well, we destroyed the aircraft and all munitions, everything. I sat in my
fighter and fired the guns into the woods where all the fuel had been dropped,
and then jumped out. We destroyed twenty-five perfectly good fighters. They
would be nice to have in museums now.

Q: What was it like for you when you surrendered?
A: Graf, Grasser and I surrendered to the 90th Infantry Division, and we were
placed in a barbed wire camp. The conditions were terrible. Many men
decided to escape, and some were assisted by the guards. We went eight days without any food, and then were told we were to be moved. All of us, even women and children were taken to an open field. The trucks stopped and there were Soviet troops there waiting for us. The Russians then separated the women and girls from the men, and the most horrible things happened, which you know and I cannot say here. We saw this; the Americans saw this, and we could do nothing to stop it. Men who fought like lions cried like babies at the sight of complete strangers being raped repeatedly. A couple of girls managed to run to a truck and the Americans pulled them in, but the Russians, most were drunk pointed their guns at the allies and fired a few shots. Then the truck drivers decided to drive away quickly. Some women were shot after the rapes. Others were not so lucky. I remember a twelve year old girl whose mother had been raped and shot being raped by several soldiers. She died from these acts soon afterward. Then more Russians came, and it began all over again and lasted through the night. During the night entire families committed suicide, men killing their wives and daughters, then themselves. I still cannot believe these things as I speak now. I know many will never believe this story, but it is true. Soon a Russian general came and issued orders for all of this to stop. He was serious, because some of the Russians who did not stay away and came to rape were executed on the spot by their own men by hanging.

Q: What was your internment like in Russia?
A: Well, I was somewhat famous, or infamous, depending upon your perspective, and the Soviets were very interested in making an example of me. I was never badly beaten and tortured, but I was starved and threatened for several years. The interrogations were the worst. I know that you have interviewed several Germans who experienced the same thing. The stories are pretty much the same, so I won’t go into details. The first thing they did was give us physical exams to determine how fit we were for hard labor. Then they put us on a train which was diverted from Vienna to the Carpathians in Romania. We were placed in another wired prison with Romanian Communist guards. This lasted a week and then we boarded another train. There was no room in these small train cars, so not all could sit, so we took turns. Finally we arrived near Kirov and disembarked in a swamp. This was our home for a while. Of the 1,500 POWs who were dropped at this place about 200 lived through the first winter. This I know from some who survived. They were not fed, just worked to death. I was sent to Gryazovets where Assi Hahn was already. He had been a POW since 1943.

Q: Which camp were you in as a POW?
A: I was in several camps, Shakhty, Novocherkassk, where they kept me in
solitary confinement, and Diaterka. I had gone on a hunger strike to protest the slave labor conditions and the fact that the Soviets were simply working men to death out of spite. I was ironically placed in a camp at Kuteynikovo where my squadron had been based in 1943.

Q: Which camp had the revolt?
A: That was Shakhty. This was when I and others refused to work, invoking the Geneva Convention. They placed me back in solitary. This was a work camp for mining and many men were tired of it, and I think my being gone started the problem. Within a few days the POWs jumped the guards, cornered the camp commandant and freed me. It was quite exciting. Then they sent me to the other camps, and at Diaterka there 4,000 men there.

Q: Describe a camp, how was it laid out?
A: A fine example was Diaterka. There was a high fence, then a dead zone with a walkway for guards and dogs, then another fence with watch towers with more guards and machine guns. There were long rows of barracks which were not insulated against the cold, and the winters were quite cold I can tell you. Each barrack held between 200 and 400 prisoners depending on its size, and there were rows of wooden bunks in tiers of three to four. The camp was divided into maximum and minimum security sections, with us being in the most secure section. The ultra maximum security section housed elite members of the Third Reich and special Soviet political prisoners, which was another section even within our part within its own wired enclosure. This was where Hitler’s SS adjutant Otto Gunsche and Count von der Schulenburg were held, among others. I stayed there until 1954 when I was sent back to Novocher-kassk. This was my last camp.

Q: Did the Soviets try and recruit you, as they did others?
A: Yes, they offered me the opportunity to return home if I worked as an agent for them, which was out of the question. They did not like this either. I was assigned kitchen duties as an inducement to become a converted Communist. I think that if they could get us high ranking and highly decorated officers to convert their job would be made much easier. They converted Graf, which was a shame, but he did not embrace Communism. He looked at it as a pragmatist-it was either the western way or Soviet way, and he was already there. They did release him in 1950, but I would not be so lucky. Those of us who resisted were punished much longer. They wanted me as an informer and even gave me a list of names of officers they wanted information on. They promised me early release if I did this. I refused. They placed me in solitary a few times, for a long time.

Q: How did you maintain your sanity when others did not?
A: I thought of my Ushi. She kept me going, and the thought of my family
waiting for me. They threatened to kill my wife and son, or forcibly bring
them to Russia, and they spoke about doing terrible things. All of this was to
break you down.

Q: Did you have mail or communication with Germany?
A: We were allowed only twenty-five words on a post card to send out, some-times a lot less, and this was not often. The letters I smuggled out with
returning POWs provided the information they needed. I received about fifty
letters from Ushi in the ten and a half years, but she wrote over 400. Getting
a letter was the greatest morale boost you could imagine.

Q: You and Graf had a parting in Russia. Why was that?
A: Well, we had agreed never to surrender our Diamonds to the Soviets. My
originals were with Ushi, and a copy was taken by an American, and another
copy I had also. I threw them away, although they were worthless, rather than surrender the, Graf and had given his, and they were on the table of the NKVD officer when I was called in. He wanted mine also. He did not get them. They also wanted detailed information on the Me-262, which they had several captured machines they wanted to evaluate. I did not help them.

Q: What separated the Germans from the rest of the international prisoners; how did all of you manage to survive when so many perished?
A: I would have to say our discipline; we never lost our military bearing and our rigid system and mutual respect for our own authority maintained us. We had the rank structure and presence of mind to form our own leadership
committees. Even though we wore no rank everyone understood their place
and all worked within the system. That was our strength, as well as many of us having our faith in God. I thought of my faith and my Ushi, and that got me
through. Many men found it difficult when word would come that their wives
had divorced them, or that a relative, such as a parent had died. My son Peter died while I was a POW but I only learned of this much later, a year or more, as with my father. I learned more when I was repatriated in 1955 along with Hans Baur, Ferdinand Schoerner, Hajo Herrmann, Herman Graf, Johannes
Wiese, and several others. Assi Hahn was released earlier than the rest of us,
as was Walter Wolfram who had been badly wounded before our capture.
Wolfram smuggled a private letter to Usch for me, which let he know I was
still alive.

Q: You did receive Red Cross packages available to all prisoners didn’t you?
A: Yes, sometimes, but these were often rifled through and delayed so long the food contents were worthless. Those packages that did arrive well were very helpful, especially when it came to trading with the local civilians. We made many friends with the local peasants, and they had no ill will towards us, nor we them.

Q: How many missions did you fly in the war?
A: I flew around 1,456 I think, but I am not sure of the exact number.

Q: What was you favorite method of attack?
A: Coming out of the sun and getting close; dog-fighting was a waste of time.
The hit and run with the element of surprise served me well, as with most of
the high scoring pilots. Once a Russian was shot down, especially the leader
they became disorganized and easy to attack. This was not always the case,
especially later in the war, and there were special units of highly skilled and
disciplined pilots, such as the Red Banner units who would make life difficult.

Q: You were never wounded were you?
A: No. I was very lucky, unlike Rall and Krupinski, and especially Steinhoff who
was almost burned alive. I was almost killed by a German sentry once returning from a brief period of captivity. That was too close for me.

Q: Were you ever shot down?
A: No, never by an enemy plane, but I had to crash land fourteen times due to damage from my victories or mechanical failure, but I never took to the
parachute. I never became another pilot’s victory.

Q; As far as we know you were the youngest recipients of the Diamonds, at
twenty-two. Did you find that distinction problematic?
A: I think that being a captain and a Diamonds winner at that age forced a lot of responsibility upon me. I think that I was able to handle all of that
responsibility because of the strength and friendship of my comrades. I would
say that I was ambitious and eager; I can’t think of any fighter pilot who
would not have those qualities. Becoming a hero is not always easy, as you
find yourself living up to the expectations of others. I would have preferred to
just do my job and finish the war anonymously. It would have made life as a
Soviet POW much easier.

Q: What events secured your release?
A: Chancellor Konrad Adenauer was very crucial in this. My mother had written Stalin and Molotov on my behalf without any response. She wrote to Adenauer and he replied personally that he was working on the problem. The
Soviets wanted a trade agreement with the west, especially West Germany, and part of this deal was the release of all the POWs. I knew something was going on when we were allowed to go to the cinema and were issued new clothes, suits of a kind, and not prison issue. We boarded a bus to Rostov where we boarded a train in October 1955. Other trains would follow with the
last coming in December. As soon as the train stopped at Herleshausen I was able to send a telegram to my Ushi.

Q: What would you say were the greatest highs and lows of coming home in
1955?
A: I learned that my son Peter Erich and father had died while I was in prison,
and that was a hard thing for me, and I will say no more. But my mother and
lovely Ushi were there waiting for me. They never gave up hope, and I think
that my belief in their strength was what got me through the most terrible
torture or starvation. Whatever the NKVD did to me, I just thought about my
family, and focused upon that. Another sad thing was that when the train
stopped and we got out, hundreds of women and men were holding
photographs of sons, brothers, husbands and fathers, all asking everyone hey
saw if they knew of their love one. Many thousands had died and there was
rarely any communication back home to anyone as to what had happened, so
many never returned and the families knew nothing. They were simply ghosts
who vanished. I find that very sad.

Q: What was one of the first things you wanted when you came home?
A: Well, a good meal, and a hot bath! But to see my Ushi was the greatest dream. I also read everything I could find; newspapers, books and magazines, I wanted information. I had been in an intellectual vacuum for so long, I wanted knowledge. Of course Ushi and I had our church wedding, long overdue.

Q: Was there any celebration for your return?
A: Yes, a big party was planned but I declined it. I did not feel that it was
appropriate until everyone was home who was still alive. I also could not
believe the rebuilt areas and numbers of new cars, the airplanes in the peaceful sky. The clothes style was new, all of it was new. One of the first people to meet me was Assi Hahn, who had been home five years before.

Q: Why did you join the Bundesluftwaffe. Was there anything in your mind that would have prevented you from wearing a uniform again?
A: There is always the thought that you may once again be in the same situation again. I was thirty-three when I came home, and that is late in life to start a career. I had lost touch with much of the world, but the one thing I knew was flying and the military. That was a safe call to make. The thought of fighting another war also frightened me. But I also thought about the needs of my country, and my old comrades had joined and were pressuring me to do the same. Krupi called and wanted me to join he and Gerd Barkhorn on a flying trip to England. Dieter Hrabak even came and talked to me at the house. I joined in 1956. The old boys were back.

Q: How did you get back into flying?
A: I had a friend who let me fly his light plane, and I certified as a private pilot. Heinz Baer was also a great help, as were others. I took refresher and conversion training in Germany, England and the United States on the newer models. I was made the first Kommodore of the new JG-71 “Richthofen” and I was very proud.

Q: I know that you and Steinhoff, among others warned the German government off the F-104 program, and that this was a very sensitive issue. What do you say about that today?
A: Yes. Well, the Starfighter was a great plane, but it had problems, and I did not feel that Germany needed, or that our pilots could even handle this machine without a lot more experience. Many higher up felt that I was out of line, but I stated what I thought was accurate, and I was proven correct, but this made me enemies. I also did other things that were considered criminal, such as having the unit’s F-86s painted with my old tulip patter, and I created the squadron bars, like in the old days, and this raised eyebrows. I felt that morale was important and camaraderie through a unique and distinguishing emblem was needed. The bars were killed under superior directives, although today all squadrons have them. I did have supporters, such as General Kammhuber, but he was a rare breed from the old days.

Q: What did you do after retirement?
A: I instructed and flew at a few air clubs, and flew in an aerobatics team with Dolfo Galland. Later I just decided to relax and enjoy life. I have my family and friends, and am always meeting new ones, like you Colin. We have
spoken often for many years, but I feel that now is the time to say some of the things I never really spoke about. There is always a time for everything.

Q: One question many people may have is how can you not have hatred for the Russians after your experiences with them?
A: One thing I learned is this: Never allow yourself to hate a people because of the actions of a few. Hatred and bigotry destroyed my nation, and millions
died. I would hope that most people did not hate Germans because of the
Nazis, or Americans because of slaves. Never hate, it only eats you alive.
Keep an open mind and always look for the good in people. You may be
surprised at what you find.

Lawrence Thompson meets Hartmann's G-14

Take notice: the concensus on this story seems to be that it is not authentic. If the story is real, it was not Hartmann that Thompson met. It is a good read, neverthless.

".... this was my first major dogfight I had in the war, in January 1945. I was flying a P-51D and we were supposed to meet with bombers over Romania. Well, the bombers never showed up! And we kept circling and wasting our fuel. When we were low on fuel the squadron leader orders us back to base, with the top group at 24,000 feet and the four bait Mustangs ordered to 15,000 feet. Now you might not really think about it, but the difference in altitude, 9,000 feet, is almost two miles, and assuming that the top flight could dive and rescue the 'bait' airplanes, it might take a full sixty seconds or more for the top group to come to the rescue. A heck of alot can happen in sixty seconds. Earlier, I requested to fly in the bait section believing that I'd have a better chance to get some scores (at that time I had no victories either) and this was my seventh mission. I have to say now that I grew up in Kansas City, Kansas, and my older brother flew a Jenny biplane in the late 1930s, so I learned the basics of flying even before joining the Army.

So we're all heading back to Italy when, all of a sudden, a dozen or so Me109's bounce us. From one moment it's a clear blue sky, next moment there are dozens' of tracers passing my cockpit. I'm hit several times and I roll over to the right, and below me is an P-51, heading for the deck, with an Me109 chasing him. I begin to chase the Me109. All this time I believe there was another Me109 chasing me! It was a racetrack, all four of us were racing for the finish line! Eventually I caught up with the first Me109 and I fired a long burst at about 1,000 yards, to no effect. Then I waited until about 600 yards, I fired two very long bursts, probably five seconds each (P-51 has ammo for about 18 seconds of continuous bursts for four machine guns, the remaining two machine guns will shoot for about 24 seconds). I noticed that part of his engine cowling flew off and he immediately broke off his attack on the lead P-51. I check my rear view mirrors and there's nothing behind me now; somehow, I have managed to lose the Me109 following me, probably because the diving speed of the P-51 is sixty mph faster than the Me109. So I pull up on the yoke and level out; suddenly a Me109 loomes about as large as a barn door right in front of me! And he fires his guns at me, and he rolls to the right, in a Lufberry circle. I peel off, following this Me109. I can see silver P-51s and black nosed camouflaged painted Me109s everywhere I look, there's Me109 or P-51 everywhere! At this time I cannot get on the transmitter and talk, everyone else in the squadron is yelling and talking, and there's nothing but yelling, screaming, and incoherent interference as everyone presses their mike buttons at the same time. I can smell something in the cockpit. Hydraulic fluid! I knew I got hit earlier.

.... I'm still following this Me109. I just got my first confirmed kill of my tour, and now I'm really hot. I believe that I am the hottest pilot in the USAAF! And now I'm thinking to myself: am I going to shoot this Me109 down too?! He rolls and we turn, and turn; somehow, I cannot catch up with him in the Lufberry circle, we just keep circling. About the third 360 degree turn he and I must have spotted two Mustangs flying below us, about 2,000 feet below, and he dives for the two P-51s.

Now I'm about 150 yards from him, and I get my gunsight on his tail, but I cannot shoot, because if I shoot wide, or my bullets pass through him, I might shoot down one or both P-51s, so I get a front seat, watching, fearful that this guy will shoot down a P-51 we're approaching at about 390 mph. There's so much interference on the R/T I cannot warn the two Mustangs, I fire one very long burst of about seven or eight seconds purposely wide, so it misses the Mustangs, and the Me109 pilot can see the tracers. None of the Mustang pilots see the tracers either! I was half hoping expecting that they'd see my tracers and turn out of the way of the diving Me109. But no such luck. I quit firing. The Me109 still dives, and as he approaches the two P-51s he holds his fire, and as the gap closes, two hundred yards, one hundred yards, fifty yards the Hun does not fire a shot. No tracers, nothing! At less than ten yards, it looks like he's going to ram the lead P-51 and the Hun fires one single shot from his 20mm cannon! And Bang! Engine parts, white smoke, glycol, whatnot from the lead P-51 is everywhere, and that unfortunate Mustang begins a gentle roll to the right.

I try to watch the Mustang down, but cannot, Now my full attention is on the Hun! Zoom. We fly through the two Mustangs (he was taken POW). Now the advantage of the P-51 is really apparent, as in a dive I am catching up to the Me109 faster than a runaway freight train. I press the trigger for only a second then I let up on the trigger, I believe at that time I was about 250 yards distant, but the Hun was really pulling lots' of negative and positive g's and pulling up to the horizon. He levels out and then does a vertical tail stand! And next thing I know, he's using his built up velocity from the dive to make a vertical ninety degree climb. This guy is really an experienced pilot. I'm in a vertical climb, and my P-51 begins to roll clockwise violently, only by pushing my left rudder almost through the floor can I stop my P-51 from turning. We climb for altitude; in the straight climb that Me109 begins to out distance me, though my built up diving speed makes us about equal in the climb. We climb one thousand fifteen hundred feet, and at eighteen hundred feet, the hun levels his aircraft out. A vertical climb of 1,800 feet! I've never heard of a piston aircraft climbing more than 1,000 feet in a tail stand. At this time we're both down to stall speed, and he levels out. My airspeed indicator reads less than 90 mph! So we level out. I'm really close now to the Me109, less than twenty five yards! Now if I can get my guns on him.........

At this range, the gunsight is more of nuisance than a help. Next thing, he dumps his flaps fast and I begin to overshoot him! That's not what I want to do, because then he can bear his guns on me. The P-51 has good armor, but not good enough to stop 20mm cannon hits. This Luftwaffe pilot must be one heck of a marksman, I just witnessed him shooting down a P-51 with a single 20mm cannon shot! So I do the same thing, I dump my flaps, and as I start to overshoot him, I pull my nose up, this really slows me down; S-T-A-L-L warning comes on! and I can't see anything ahead of me nor in the rear view mirror. Now I'm sweating everywhere. My eyes are burning because salty sweat keeps blinding me: 'Where is He!?!' I shout to myself. I level out to prevent from stalling. And there he is. Flying on my right side. We are flying side to side, less than twenty feet separates our wingtips. He's smiling and laughing at himself. I notice that he has a red heart painted on his aircraft, just below the cockpit. The nose and spinner are painted black. It's my guess that he's a very experienced ace from the Russian front. His tail has a number painted on it: "200". I wonder: what the "two hundred" means!? Now I began to examine his airplane for any bullet hits, afterall, I estimate that I just fired 1,600 rounds at the hun. I cannot see a single bullet hole in his aircraft! I could swear that I must have gotten at least a dozen hits! I keep inspecting his aircraft for any damage. One time, he even lifts his left wing about 15 degrees, to let me see the underside, still no hits! That's impossible I tell myself. Totally impossible. Then I turn my attention back to the "200" which is painted on the tail rudder. German aces normally paint a marker for each victory on their tail. It dawns on me that quick: TWO HUNDRED KILLS !! We fly side by side for five minutes. Those five minutes take centuries to pass. Less than twenty five feet away from me is a Luftwaffe ace, with over two hundred kills. We had been in a slow gradual dive now, my altitude indicates 8,000 feet. I'm panicking now, even my socks are soaked in sweat. The German pilot points at his tail, obviously meaning the "200" victories, and then very slowly and dramatically makes a knife-cutting motion across his throat, and points at me. He's telling me in sign language that I'm going to be his 201 kill! Panic! I'm breathing so hard, it sounds like a wind tunnel with my mask on. My heart rate must have doubled to 170 beats per minute; I can feel my chest, thump-thump and so.

This goes on for centuries, and centuries. The two of us flying at stall speed, wingtip to wingtip. I think more than once of simply ramming him. He keeps watching my ailerons, maybe that's what he expects me to do. We had heard of desperate pilots who, after running out of ammunition, would commit suicide by ramming an enemy plane. Then I decide that I can Immelmann out of the situation, and I began to climb, but because my flaps are down, my Mustang only climbs about one hundred feet, pitches over violently to the right and stalls. The next instant I'm dangerously spinning, heading ninety degrees vertically down! And the IAS reads 300 mph! My P-51 just falls like a rock to the earth! I hold the yoke in the lower left corner and sit on the left rudder, flaps up, and apply FULL POWER! I pull out of the dive at about 500 feet, level out, (I began to black out so with my left hand I pinch my veins in my neck to stop blackout). I scan the sky for anything! There's not a plane in the sky, I dive to about fifty feet elevation, heading towards Italy. I fly at maximum power for about ten minutes, and then reduce my rpm (to save gasoline), otherwise the P-51 has very limited range at full power. I fly like this for maybe an hour, no planes in the vicinity; all the time I scan the sky, check my rear view mirrors.

I never saw the Me109 with the red heart again. At the mess I mention the Me109 with the red heart and "200" written on the tail. That's when the whole room, I mean everybody, gets instantly quiet. Like you could hear a pin drop. Two weeks later the base commander shows me a telex: "....according to intelligence, the German pilot with a red heart is Eric Hartmann who has downed 250 aircraft and there is a reward of fifty thousand dollars offered by Stalin for shooting him down. I've never before heard of a cash reward for shooting down an enemy ace ... "

Philip Wright and Pickle Barrel Bombing

Mid-February of 1945 Major General Elwood "Pete" Quesada, the legendary commanding general of IX Tactical Air Command 9th Air Force, zipped on to our field, A-89, at the village of Le Culot, Belgium - trailed by a host of aides and staff members.

He had come to fly a mission with our 36th Fighter Group to check out why the new "Pickle Barrel Bombing" technique wasn't living up to expectations.

"Pete" Quesada's fame stemmed from his daring and "can do" spirit. On D-Day + 1 he flew a P-38 into the beachhead to establish his own headquarters next to General Bradley's. He often visited the front to check on how his fighter-bombers were doing. On one trip his jeep took a direct hit from a German Panther tank's 75mm. shell, smashing the jeep to smithereens and wounding the driver. The General spent the next twenty minutes ignominiously crawling away under small-arms fire.

But his most famous exploit had raised all kinds of hullabaloo in high places. During a visit by General Eisenhower to Normandy in mid-June '45, Quesada left a staff meeting to go on a fighter sweep.
Eisenhower asked, "Can I come?"
"Sure." Quesada answered.
Eisenhower was crammed into the rear seat of a P-51 and they flew a few miles over the lines, before Quesada thought better of the idea and aborted the flight. Both Eisenhower and Quesada received holy hell from the big-wigs in Washington for this nutty escapade.

Now, "Pete" Quesada was here in Le Culot to fly a Pickle Barrel Bombing mission with us. The us being: 1st Lt. Robert "Red" Ferris, 2nd Lt. Clyde Hartszelle, and me, 1st Lt. Philip N. Wright, Jr., better known as "Junior," because I was always the youngest officer in the Group the entire time I was there.*

Pickle Barrel Bombing was a spin-off from a new radar system, touted to be accurate within fifty feet from a distance of fifty miles. They thought the idea was simple. Send a bunch of P-47s out over solid cloud cover at 10,000 ft. and 250 mph. in tight formation. Guide them to the target with the new radar, and tell them exactly when to drop their bombs. Bingo! It was a great idea, but it wasn't working.

The operation was run out of a site well back of the lines. A Norden Bombsight was hooked up to the new radar, and specially trained bombardiers that gave the order to drop the bombs. We bellyached that these guys were probably yelling, "Bombs Away!" and rushing out for a shot and a beer to ease their "combat fatigue." They probably even expected D.F.C.s for heroism. Damn it, they weren't the ones getting shot at - we were!

At 10,000 ft. and 250 mph., flying straight and level in tight formation, we were sitting ducks for the German radar controlled 88mm flak. Pickle Barrel Bombing missions had turned us into a bunch of lousy bomber pilots. We hated these missions.

On this mission there would be one critical difference- there would be no cloud cover. With clear skies the General hoped to find out why "Pickle Barrel" wasn't working. The idea was nuts! Cloud cover was the only protection we had. If we'd been sitting ducks before, we'd be dead ducks now. Our only hope was we'd be flying behind a two star general's skirts. The Germans wouldn't dare shoot him down!

Why the 36th Fighter Group was chosen for this mission, I have no idea - even more why the 23rd Fighter Squadron was selected, and even more than that why we three were picked.

Our briefing was like no other we'd had before one major general and three lowly pilots, hovered over by a bunch of brass. The target selected was a German Panzer division headquarters, because it was close to the lines. If anyone got hit, he'd have a better chance to make it back before going down.

"Red" Ferris was picked to lead the mission, with General Quesada flying his wing as Vibrate Red Two. I would lead the second element, with Clyde Hartszelle as my wing-man. On the way out to our Thunderbolts, armed with two 500 lb. bombs and full loads of ammunition, General Quesada grinned and said, "Gentlemen, just forget I'm a general," then wryly added, "If you can?" We laughed but knew there wasn't a chance in hell we would.

We took-off, formed up, and it was immediately apparent our new colleague wasn't used to flying our combat formation of low and forward, but instead, he flew the old training command formation of level and back. How was "Red" Ferris going to radio him, "Damn it, Vibrate Red Two, close it up, and get in formation!" So much for forgetting who was what.

Ten minutes out a call came in, "Vibrate Red Two to Vibrate Red Leader, my engine is cutting out when I switch fuel tanks, but I'll keep going." We didn't know what to do about this- and did nothing.

Pickle Barrel Control took over before we reached the target area, and gave us our heading. We snugged up tight and flew straight and level at 10,000 ft. and 250 mph. towards the target, sweating out the inevitable bursts of 88mm. flak. Then "Pickle Barrel" radioed up, "Our radar is acting up, and you'll have start over."

We went through this, on again - off again thing several more times, sweating out the flak each time. Finally, the controllers called and said, "Our radar still isn't working, and we have to scrub the mission. Out."
"Okay. Roger and out." "Red" Ferris responded.
We spread out - "Whoosh." I looked back- "WHOOMPH," six bursts of "88" went off right where we had been. It never fails that the sight of those orange-red fireballs inside the black bursts, turns courage to mush. Without knowing it the Germans had come within a gnat's eyebrow of bagging a renowned two star general. Maybe, those controllers weren't so
dumb after all.

"Vibrate Red Leader, this is Vibrate Red Two. We still have all of our bombs and ammunition. Let's dive-bomb and strafe the target.
Out," the General urged.
"Roger, Vibrate Red Two." Ferris came back.

We dove down on the Panzer division headquarters, each of us firing bursts from our eight 50cal. machine guns, in hopes of shaking up the German gunners firing 20 and 40 millimeter flak at us. We lined up on the target, and let fly. For once, my bombs made a terrific hit, and I hoped Vibrate Red Two was as impressed with me as I was. One run was
enough, and we headed home, happy to be in one piece.

Back at the field, we were de-briefed, then stood around bragging about what hot shot pilots we were. The General's P.R. photographer snapped away, as the rest of the squadron gawked in envy. We played our parts to the hilt.

It turned out the reason General Quesada's engine kept cutting out was that he was turning his fuel tank selector valve through "Off" when he changed tanks a big No-No. But he had a lot of guts and had flown the entire mission on one tank of gas. He was a good sport about his boo-boo. On the other hand, our sympathy towards him was shamefully condescending. We owed him better.

With all the hoopla and good-byes over, the General and his staff took off for IX TAC Headquarters. We continued to carry on in our self-anointed glory. But it didn't last. The next day we were back to where we were- three not so hot-shot fighter-pilots. But thanks to General Quesada and the good Lord, there were no more "Pickle Barrel" bombing missions.

In Aspen, Colorado in the late 1960s, Aspen resident and friend, former Secretary of the Navy, Jim Smith, came into our store with a familiar figure. I approached him and asked, "Are you General Quesada?"
"Yes, I am" he replied.
I reminded him of the mission we'd flown together, which he remembered. I took him into my office and showed him the picture of the four of us of on that long ago day. We went across the street to the Red Onion saloon, downed a couple of beers, and laughed over the great "Pickle Barrel Bombing" fiasco. We agreed it was just another of those great ideas... that didn't work.

At a marvelous party in Vail, Colorado in the 1980s, that Mrs. Quesada also attended, she told me the General was nearly blind and unable to travel, or he would have come.
"Please, say, 'Hi' to him for me, and give him my very, very best," I asked her. She thanked me and said she would be happy to pass along my message.
General Quesada passed away several years later.

* To this day, whenever I attend a 36th Ftr. Grp. reunion, someone always comes up to me and says, "Hi 'Junior.' How are ya?" Despite the incongruity of my bald pate and a more rotund figure, I consider it a compliment.



a story of years later and a reunion of sorts...( by philip wright)

While on a 1986 sojourn in southwest France, a love of fine wine put me in touch with Monsieur Guy Schyler, a distinguished Bordeaux wine négociant and consultant to Chateau Lafite-Rothchild, arguably, the greatest vineyard of the Medoc. Kindly, Guy had arranged a private tour of Lafite for my wife and myself.

Traveling through the famous vineyard towns of Margaux, Beychevelle, St. Julien, and Pauillac, it was a treat for me to see the renowned chateaux, so often read about - but whose product was so less often savored.

Schylers have been prominent members of the Bordeaux wine trade since 1739, and along the way Guy stopped at Chateau Beychevelle, with its lovely filigreed iron gates hinged to massive stone pillars. Gazing wistfully down the long gravel drive to the magnificent 18th century Chateau, he revealed his great grandfather had once owned this renowned estate and contemplated what might have been.

Learning Madame Schyler was a member of the prestigious Pol-Roger champagne family of Épernay, made it even more intriguing. Pol Roger champagne was Winston Churchill's favorite. Once, in a gesture of appreciation, he named one of his race horses for his friend, Odette Pol-Roger. Sadly, the filly was not a speedster.

My enthusiasm for fine wine does not translate to profound knowledge, and I hoped not to make a fool of myself while discussing it with Guy. However, my stock soared, when he learned I had been a sixty-mission P-47 pilot and a P.O.W. in Germany. He had been a fighter pilot in the French Air Force until France's fall in 1940, and following the war he had served with distinction as French liaison to the U.S.A.F. in Bordeaux. It was the start of a lifelong fondness for American airmen. I count myself fortunate, he calls me - "tres cher ami."

In February 1990 my wife and I arrived in Bordeaux on the way to Biarritz for several months stay. Later we would join the 36th Fighter Group tour of our wartime airfields. While lunching with Guy, he told us of two P-51s that had recently emerged from the sand on the beach near Arcachon, west of Bordeaux. They had belly landed in 1944, and wind and sea had buried them. Now, forty-six years later, the same elements had brought these phantom aircraft back to view and memory.


He related how on August 26, 1944 three P-51s were seen by members of the Marquis or French Resistance cruising around Arcachon Bay, then up and down the coast, as if lost. One flew out to sea and disappeared; the other two landed at a spot known as Truc Vert.

Responding to the request of the head of the local Marquis to investigate, Schyler contacted his friend and neighbor, Prince Stanislav Poniatowski, and the two set out by sail across the bay to aid the downed fliers.

Prince Stanislav was a remarkable gentleman. Though a descendant of the royal family of Poland and a pretender to that throne, he was an astute businessman who suffered badly under the Germans. As C.E.O. of the renowned aircraft engine manufacturer, Hispano-Suiza, he was jailed in Paris, then Berlin, for refusing to produce engines for the Nazis. During his military court trial, he escaped severe punishment only through a remarkable bit of luck.* He was freed on condition that he cease all industrial activities, and went to Arcachon in November 1940 under house arrest. Nevertheless, in spite of the risk of deportation and worse for himself and family, he joined the underground.

Reaching the downed planes, Schyler and Poniatowski took the two pilots, Lieutenants Sam Gevorkian and John Kester, in hand, and together they scrambled up and over the dunes. There they were met by the Marquisards and loaded into a truck for the ride back to the boat. The four sailed back to Arcachon, where Prince Stanislav hid Gevorkian and Kester in his home for twelve days.

Guy then took them to his grandmother's, Mme. Guestier of the renowned house of Barton & Guestier [B&G], home in Bordeaux. There they stayed several days making plans for their escape through Spain, to Portugal,
and back to England.

The pilots related the circumstances of their forced landings as follows: Returning from an escort mission to Ludwigshafen in bad weather, the three P-51s became separated from the main formation. Lost, they mistook the Gironde estuary for the Loire, and could not locate themselves. Low on fuel, Gevorkian and Kester opted to belly land on the beach at Truc Vert. The third pilot, 1st Lieutenant Sam Hansard, mistaking the Bay of Biscay for the English Channel, headed out over the open Atlantic. He was not heard from again. One can only shudder at the horror he felt, upon discovering his error.
Completing the saga, Guy showed me the extraordinary photographs he had taken in 1944 of the downed planes and the pilots' rescue. Examining them, it occurred, if I could learn the squadron's designation from the plane's ''CL" markings in the photo, we could contact the Group veterans' organization. Perhaps, Gevorkian and Kester were members? The prospect was exciting.

From our villa in Biarritz, I called Colonel Lewis "Bull" Curry, former C.O. of my 36th Fighter Group, for help. He succeeded, advising that Gevorkian and Kester had been members of the 55th Fighter Group, 338 Fighter Squadron of 8th Air Force. Further, he had contacted Bob Littlefield in Carmel, Ca., who headed the Group veterans' organization. I passed the information on to Guy and told him I'd follow up with Littlefield when I returned home.

Later, when the 36th Fighter Group tour reached Épernay, near one of our old fields, we were met by Christian and Danielle Pol-Roger, and their British friend, Richard Dumbrill. What a day was planned for us! First, a champagne reception, Vin d'Honneur, at Chateau Pol Roger.

Next, we were taken by a grand convoy of French Army armored personnel carriers to a small airport for a magnificent champagne luncheon. With sommelier, Odil Girardin, pouring, there wasn't a dry glass in the house!

Following the luncheon French Air Force Raphaels performed a spectacular fly-by for us. Then we went on in the APCs to the site of our old strip for dedication ceremonies and then to Tour-sur-Marne for more ceremonies and a final glass of champagne for "Auld Lang Syne." It was a never-to-be-forgotten day for the anciens warriors of the 36th Fighter Group.

Without the friendship of Guy and Nicole Schyler, it could never have happened!

Back in Montana, a letter from Bob Littlefield revealed that both Sam Gevorkian and John Kester had later been killed. However, he did have good news. Sam's sister, Alice Davey, lived in California. He thought a letter from Guy, along with the long ago photographs, would be a wonderful surprise. I forwarded his suggestion on to Guy, hoping he would respond. Of course, he did.

It was sometime before we heard from Mrs. Davey, but when her response came it was all we could have hoped for. She was astonished and grateful for what we had done, particularly for the photos and fascinating detail of her brother's 1944 rescue.

For Guy and myself, when we next meet, over a bottle of Ch. Lafite-Rothschild, we shall raise our glasses in tribute:
"Salut! pilotes du chasses, Sam Gevorkian et John Kester - and your 'Phantoms in the Sand.'"

Joy Ride

The department head's meeting was over, and Major Broadhead, our CO, said the only fair way was to choose numbers. I guessed number one; it turned out to be the lucky one. I had won a ride in a piggyback Mustang!

I suppose there have been piggyback P-51's converted before, but some ingenious mechanic in our top-scoring 357th Fighter Group had dreamed this one up by himself. The radio was taken out, the guns were taken out, and an extra seat complete with air speed indicator and altimeter was directly behind the pilot. As a "paddlefoot" usually on friendly relations with pilots, I had gotten quite a few rides, but never in an operational, single-seater fighter aircraft. I've always wanted to ride in one - but I was a little bit scared, too. Major Broadhead, on his second tour and with eight ME 109s to his credit, didn't make me any more at ease by explaining how difficult it would be to bail out. The make-shift canopy may stick, and things happen awfully fast.

It seemed that at least half the GI's in the squadron were watching me climb into the ship - secretly hoping I'd get the hell scared out of me. Which - I did.

Bob taxied to 06 (the long runway), and before I knew it we were airborne. It was a beautiful day, with a layer of white baby wool clouds at 5,000 feet. Bob climbed up slowly through a hole, although to me the altimeter seemed to be spinning like the second hand of a watch. Then before I knew what was happening, the nose of the ship dropped and the plane seemed to be falling right out of the sky. The aie speed rose..200..250..300..350...and the nose came up again. All the weight of my body seemed to be directly against the seat. Ice water was flowing through my legs instead of blood. My jaw had involuntarily dropped, and I could feel my cheeks and eyes sag like an old man's. I tried to lift my arms; they seemed glued to my lap. This, then, was G strain. Approximately four G's, Bob said later.

Now the nose was going straight up. If the altimeter had looked like a second hand before, it looked like a Ferris Wheel now. Before I knew it, we had looped. Not being satisfied with a gentle pullout, Broadhead dropped her on one wing, and did a barrel roll.

After a few minutes of straight and level flying (while I got my breath back), Bob decided to hedgehop some clouds. A beautiful layer of white fleece stretched, endless as earth, as far as the eye could see. Toward it we dived, 300 miles per hour. For five minutes Bob indulged in his favorite relaxation of clipping the tops off clouds and turning on one wing. Occasionally the earth would wink at us, or clouds would engulf us from every direction.

"Now what would you like to do?" Bob seemed to signal from his cockpit. Ther was nothing I would rather do at the moment than get out and walk home - but that seemed a little impractical. Bob seemed to be making all sorts of "hangar flying" motions with his hand. In my brief experience, that hinted of violent maneuvers to come. Happily, I pointed to a lone fortress at seven o'clock. I thought we might fly alongside and wave at the pilot. Instead, we peeled off and made a pass at him.

There turned out to be two forts, and two mustangs were already giving them a bad time. It wasn't long until a flight of four more arrived from nowhere and joined in the fun. It was about that thime that everything from nowhere I had ever heard about "ratraces" was completely forgotten; I was learning from scratch. For a while I kept my eyes on two 51's directly overhead. I looked straight down, and there was the sun. We were up, down and around the bombers - right on the tail of a 51 - on our side, upside down, in a dive, in a pullout, I lost all trace of horizon, airspeed, ground...my head was spinning...the prop was spinning... I was conscious only of the throb of the engine and the occasional flash of an airplane overhead.

After a king-size eternity, the ratrace was over, and although I could not see Bob's face, I knew he was grinning from ear to ear. We had been up about thirty minutes. Seeing nothing else of interest, Bob headed "Eager Beaver" for 373. we flew straight and level, on a compass heading, all the way home. I saw a town of around 90,000 from the air, but I couldn't get very interested in it. I felt dead tired, as if I had worked a week without resting and had suddenly stopped. I had the thought that I was dead weight as much as a sack of flour. I wanted to collapse.

By the time we arrived at the station I felt much better. The field looked like three toothpicks touching, with the ends overlapping. The altimeter read 8,500 feet.

"Fifteen minutes more, and we'll be landing," I thought. bob grinned back at me. More maneuvers with his left had. I nodded agreement, and wondered what would come next.

One wing suddenly slipped out from under us, and we were upside down. Little pieces of mud an debris went past my eyes and hit the canopy, I remember thinking they were falling upside down. Then the nose dropped, and we split-essed out, going straight for the ground. The airspeed increased; the earth grew larger. The huge prop was spinning like a man gone mad. I watched the airspeed: 350...400...425. The altimeter was spinning backward like a watch going the wrong way...6,000...5,000...4,000. The earth had never looked so hard. At 2,000 we leveled out, with the airspeed indication 450.

After that, the peeloff and landing seemed dull. We had traveled a vertical mile in a matter of seconds, and had reached approximately 550 miles pre hour ground speed. The landing was rough. I tried to swallow, and couldn't. My throat was dry. My hair was tousled, my legs were cold, my face was white, and I was glad to be on the ground.

Thanks to Major Broadhead, that was forty-five minutes of my life I'll never forget. And each time I remember it, the more I enjoy it!

By Paul Henslee, 362nd FS Adjutant and Executive Officer



The Norwegian Odyssey of Bill Dunlop

By Merle Olmsted

As the 357th FG Historian, the name of William Dunlop was familiar to me because of a brief note in the group records for September 1944. An added paragraph to the mission report for 15 September has to say: "Lt. W.R. Dunlop, spare on mission separated from group on West Frisian Islands. With his gyro out, Lt. Dunlop got lost in the clouds and when he finally found his bearings, he was over Christiansand harbor in Norway. He strafed three seaplanes at 1045 anchored in the harbor, damaged a DO 24. He then took heading for nearest land and landed at Crail, Scotland at 1630."

I had often wished I could ask him about that adventure but Dunlop was listed as a lost sheep. In mid 1972, by a stroke of luck, I found him, now a Psychiatrist living nearby in the San Francisco Bay area. Subsequently, he and his sons and later he and his wife, came to visit us and they also attended the Long Beach Reunion. During these visits, I asked Bill about the long ride to Norway and asked him to write it up for the newsletter. Following is the story of Bill Dunlop's Scandinavian adventure on the 15th of Sept, 1944. Merle Olmsted

I did preplan going to Norway. For the trip, I could only procure maps of the nearest Norwegian coast. The night before, I asked to be put on spare. The next morning we were briefed for a mission to the Stettin area via the Frisian Chain and Denmark. We took off as low squadron, me with the second spare on my wing. After a non-eventful takeoff and assembly, we began the long climb to the enemy coast. Five to ten minutes from the first of the Frisians, we suddenly ran into a solid front. Trying to get through, the entire squadron split up. Just before entering the soup, I told my wingman to return to base. He had lost one of his drop tanks and had insufficient fuel to make the long trip ahead. Once in and split up, I was alone and spotting one of the islands thru a temporary break, I felt my responsibilities to the mission were over. A spare is only requited to accompany to the coast. I began a tight spiral in an attempt to stay in the hole. At 3000 ft., I had built up 300-350 mph airspeed and couldn't keep it tight enough with a full gas load. Entering the stuff half ready to spin, I barely gained straight and level at 500 ft. still on instruments edging down to 200 ft., I broke out in a driving rain storm and over a high running sea. Turning to my heading and setting the airspeed and mentally noting the time so as to make a bend into the Skatterak, I snuggled down to 50 ft. over the North Sea. I switched to channel B, Air Sea Rescue and hoped I was low enough and far enough away from the Danish coast to elude the radar sweep. I had computed an 1 hr steady course prior to the turn. As the first hr. passed, it was only with great concentration that I kept from hitting the wave tops. The water had a disillusioning effect on depth perception and it seemed to draw me like a magnet. Somewhere enroute I passed over a drifting mine. From my low altitude it looked huge and it's protrusions very deadly. I contemplated exploding it with the 50s, but thought better and let it alone. After approximately one and three quarters hrs. of this mist flying, I had the surprise of my life. The mist and rain ended suddenly in a wall just as it had begun. Bathed in sunlight and framed by pearl-like clouds, the mountains of Norway rose straight out of the sea. For a moment, it took my breath away. I almost went into the water again. There was no doubt I had overshot and come upon the south coast somewhere in the vicinity of Lister. I decided to parallel the coastline hoping to pick up a plane or a transport a few minutes after climbing up over the mountains from the sea. The country is wild and rugged in terrain almost beyond imagination. The mountain ridges and ranges run into the North Sea to make contact perpendicularly, the dividing valleys with rushing rivers, hurdled cliffs to form water falls of great violence. The only agriculture seemed to lie along the narrow space between the river bank and the valley walls. There was however an abundance of lumbering. The streams were choked with logs and great floats lined the edges of the Fiords. Still attempting to elude German Radar, I would dive down into the valleys and zoom up the other side flat on the deck in a porpoising motion. Perhaps due to the kick I was getting out of it or the maps, I never did locate myself. Off the coast several miles, there was considerable shipping. In each of the larger Fiords, there seemed to be at least one fair sized town usually one half on the mountain side. The houses were always wood, generally white, sometimes red or unpainted. Everything seemed extremely neat and gave the impression of a hardy civilization below.

At first I contented myself staying away from built-up areas, but attracted by a wood church, beautifully and massively built and receiving no flak, I flew over everything from then on. I never tired of flipping over a ridge and diving down the next valley. Each time there was a new and awesome sight. Finally I came on a Fiord which dwarfed the others with a lush green, well planned countryside, extending 5 to 10 miles along either side. I later learned this was Oslo Fiord. Here I notice my first railroad and partly looking for something German to shoot at, but also just curious, I followed it flying about 50 ft. above the tracks. I had been over Norway for one hour and was about to retrace my flight when I stumbled across the German Seaplane Base at Horten, just south of Oslo. It was in a cavity in the Fiord with bordering hills and an Island in the harbor, making it an ideal spot to defend and providing smooth water for takeoff and landings. On the island, a half-moon affair, stood a powerhouse and I was soon to learn 20 or 40 mm flak guns. In the town of Horten due south, several ocean going vessels were docked, perhaps transporting aircraft parts that a factory nearby produced to Germany. What particularly interested me and had me excited were a HE 115 and two large Dornier Flying Boats floating serenely in the center of the bay. (Journal lost, from this point on, the rest from memory 48 yrs later.)

I remember popping over hills on the west side of the small harbor, firing at one of the Dorniers most of the fire missing, kicking rudder to bring the fire back, but getting only a few hits on one wing. Later I found all the guns on the left side had not fired. I could not let the fat target go, circled low and made another pass from the west. All hell broke loose with AAA from a number of locations around the harbor. I can't remember if I fired again, but I do remember the AAA was heavy and I took off south down the Fiord full throttle, little balls of fire floating by on all sides. I remember feeling amazed that nothing had hit me. Out of range, I briefly considered going to Sweden, which was in plain view to my left. I knew I had used too much gas and could not get back to England. I decided I might be able to make it to Scotland. I remember thinning the mixture, lowering the RPMs and climbing back into the clouds to approximately 10,000 ft. I set a course for what I thought was the nearest part of Scotland. Now that radar could pick me up, I wondered if the Germans would send up fighters? I flew instruments all the way west. I tried to make some kind of radio contact but couldn't. As the gas gauge became near empty, I descended gradually wondering if I could make it to the coast. I had it in my mind that the Scottish coastal range was 1000-2000 ft. high. As I got down to that altitude, the visibility was still zero. I thought about bailing out at the end of the gas, but that was an unattractive option at best. Finally, I decided to inch down hoping to come out over the sea near land. I broke out at no more that 100 ft., not over the sea, but miraculously over an airfield. I dumped it in without ground contact, I couldn't wait and taxied to an apron. A British officer, probably the C.O., met me in a jeep. He seemed irritated by my unexpected arrival. I don't think he believed my story, that I had been lost in Norway, more like I was another crazy Yank. Finally he became a little more friendly, promised to put me up and service my airplane. We did have a momentary run-in. He wanted me to give him my gun camera film. I refused saying it was US property. Later I hid it under the cockpit seat. The airfield was the British Naval Airbase at Crail, Scotland. I was shown to the mess and later to the Officers Club. It was a scene hard to believe. Not a sober citizen to be found, everyone was smashed, singing and shouting. It seemed they had sunk the German pocket battleship Tirpitz earlier that day, of all places in a Norwegian Fiord. I remember talking to a flying officer from Ceylon. The pilots were from countries all over the world. The next day I checked my airplane, it had been serviced as promised. The line mechanic told me I had landed with 4 gallons of gas. I made a hot takeoff wanting to show the British what a P51 could do, pulling it off quickly and as straight up as it would go. At something like 500ft. over the end of the runway, it started to fall off in a stall, but I was able to get the nose down and steady it with the rudder and regain flying speed. I remember thinking how foolish I was, but also happy that the British could see what our plane could do. The trip south was uneventful except for some Spits and Hurricanes that wanted to dogfight. I left them behind. The hills in southern Scotland and northern England were rose colored and quite beautiful at that time of year.

Further Note by Merle Olmsted:

Although Bill remembers that the escapade caused him to be grounded for a week, the grounding did not "take", as two days later, he was aloft with the rest of the group over the airborne landing at Arnhem. Here he shot down an ME 109 and another the next day. He scored a total of four victories before he was shot down on "The Big Day" - 14 January, 1945, and spent the remaining few months of the war in a Stalag Luft.

Joaquin Garcia-Morato - Best Ace of Spanish Civil War.

Born in Melilla in 1904. At 19 he was called up and posted to the Infantry. In April 1925 he enrolled in the civil flying school, and on 6th August received his F.A.I. pilot's license. Subsequently he took a course on the Avro 504 biplane and obtained the corresponding military qualification, on completion of which he was sent to a reconnaissance and bombing unit equipped with the DH9A. When the unit was sent to Morocco he took part in actions against the insurgents. He volunteered for the Bristol fighter squadron at Nador (Melilla), where in 57 missions he logged over 100 hours' flying, for which he was commended.After that he was posted to the float-plane base at Mar Chica, and later transferred to a reconnaissance group at Getafe.

In 1929 he was appointed flying instructor at the pilot Conversion School. He qualified as an observer, and in 1930 as a wireless telegraphist. He learned to fly multi-engined aircraft, fighters and float-planes, and he was an outstanding aerobatic pilot. In 1932 he added aircraft mechanic to his other qualifications. He took part in many aerobatic competitions, winning several. Among other aircraft he flew a Consolidated Fleet 2. In 1934 he saw action in the Asturias campaign.He taught blind flying at the Aereo-Club of Madrid. In 1935 Morato organized the air section of the General Directorate of Safety.

The Civil War found him on holiday (vacation) in Great Britain, from where he flew across France to Burgos and Cordoba. His part in the war started with the defense of Cordoba. Over that city on 3rd August, at the controls of a Nieuport 52, he threw an enemy formation into total confusion and forced it to withdraw. On the 12th Morato had his first victory when he shot down a Vickers Vildebeest bomber over Antequera.

Garcia-Morato was one of the first Spanish pilots to fly the He-51 biplanes when they became available, and on 18th August he shot down a Potez 54 and a Nieuport while flying one. He shot down another Nieuport on 2nd September. He also piloted Ju-52s on bombing missions.

When the Fiat CR-32 fighters arrived in Spain he was the first Spanish pilot to try them out, having been posted with two comrades to one of the Italian units. On 11th September he scored his fifth victory, and his first with the CR-32, achieving three more by the end of the month. He shot down three more aircraft in October, and in November he tangled over Madrid with Russian-made I-15 aircraft, shooting down three of them - and a Potez 54 into the bargain.

In December the Nationalist air force had sufficient Fiats to constitute an independent group, whose command went to Garcia-Morato. Dubbed Blue Patrol, it operated in the south flying cover for the Nationalist Breguets. The Cordoba zone was being targeted by Soviet SB-2 bombers, modern, fast and hard to intercept. On 3rd January 1937, attacking from high altitude, he pounced on a pair of them and shot them down. In February he returned to the Madrid front to support the Jarama offensive.

On the 18th, acting with other Italian CR-32 fighters, the Blue Patrol took off on a sortie to escort Ju-52 bombers. Because of losses they had sustained the Italians were forbidden to cross the front line. When the bombers crossed the front line with no escort a large number of enemy fighters pounced on them. Morato and his comrades Salvador and Berm?dez de Castro gave fight, which persuaded the Italians to disobey orders and join them. That day, at the cost of the loss of one of their own aircraft, the Nationalist fliers inflicted several losses on the enemy and redressed the balance of mastery of the air in the sector.

On 17 th May, 1937 he was decorated with the Cruz Laureada de San Fernando for his actions until 18th February, 1937. Until the latter date he had made 150 sorties and participated in 46 combats, achieving 18 victories.

Blue Patrol was upgraded to a full squadron and later a group of two squadrons, designated 2G3. In September 1937, with a total of 27 victories, Garcia-Morato was sent to Italy, from where he returned in December that year. He was appointed Commander of the Hispana Air Brigade, embracing all air units in the north. In July 1938 he was given command of a new fighter group, 3G3, in which he increased his tally of victories to 35.

On 3 rd October neither Salvador not Morato returned to base: the former had been shot down and taken prisoner and Garc?a-Morato, shot up by Third "Mosca" Squadron's Lt. Luis Sirvent Cerrillo, had made a forced landing.

On 24th December his unit, Fontllonga, 20 km. north of Balaguer (Lerida), shot down nine enemy R-5 bombers, three of which were attributed to Morato. Of the 9 Natashas, 3 returned to their own side's airfields, (2 to La Garriga and 1 to Vic). Six were shot down, of which 3 were lost, while the remainder managed to land with varying fortune inside their own lines.

Overall the Natasha squadron suffered 3 dead, 8 wounded and 2 taken prisoner. Garcha Morato's unit suffered the shooting down and taking prisoner of captain Rafael de Mendiz?bal Am?zaga, while another Fiat had to land because of damage at Almenar (Lerida). His last victory, number 40, was an I-15 shot down on 19th January 1939.

At the end of the war he was Chief of Operations of the Nationalist fighter force. His log book showed 1,012 hours flown on 511 sorties, of which 56 were in aerial combat, with 40 aircraft shot down.

On 4th April 1939 he was putting his Fiat CR-32 (3-51) through various maneuvers over Gri??n airfield when, during low-level inverted flight, the engine failed. The aircraft crashed, killing the pilot. He was posthumously awarded the Individual Medal and promoted to substantive major for meritorious war service.

In 1950 he was given the noble title of Count of the Jarama, also posthumously.

Morato's emblem is currently worn by Ala de Caza No 11 (No 11 Fighter Wing), based at Mor?n de la Frontera and equipped with the F-18. This will be the first Spanish unit to receive the Eurofighter. This Air Force unit has inherited the weapons and ancient tradition of Spanish fighter aviation which belonged to Ala 11 (11 Wing) based at Manises, Valencia until its disbandment in 1999.

Angel Salas Larrazabal - A Fighter Ace in Two Wars.

DURING World War II, the Nationalist government of General Francisco Franco Bahanmonde decided to send a volunteer force to fight on the Russian front in a way to repay the assistance that Germany and Italy had given him during the Spanish Civil War 1936-1939.

A complete infantry division was raised with a fighter squadron “Escuadrilla” to provide protection to the “Division Azul”. But in the actual fighting the division and the squadrons would fight in different areas of the Russian front. The Spanish pilots would even had encounters with the Free French pilots, of the “Normandie-Niemen” fighter regiment.

A total of five “Escuadrillas” would fly on the Russian front being relieved every six month with a Junkers Ju-52 flight, that flew mail to the “Division Azul”. By 1944 Franco seeing the writing on the wall and under pressure by the US government, decided to pull the Division and by the 5/o. Escuadrilla Azul out of Russia and declare Spain a “Neutral” country.

A Spanish Legion was formed in place of the Division to continue the fight against the Russians, but even this Legion was eventually recalled home, leaving a number of Spanish volunteers that fought in the German SS until the end of the war.

As for the Spanish squadrons, they received their training in Germany and later in France, they would first fly the BF-109E, F and G models and the FW-190A-3. These Spanish “Escuadrillas” would fly as part of the JG27 and JG51 in Russia. A total of 659 Spanish air force personnel would serve in these units.

During the course of their stay in Russia the Spanish pilots would claim the destruction of about 163 Russian aircraft and 12 pilots scoring 5 or more victories. On the debit side a total of between 24-25 pilots including ground personnel would lose their lives, some posted as missing in action, while one pilot was taken POW, only to return back to Spain in April 1954.

Among the notable Spanish fighter pilots only one would become an “Ace” not only in the Spanish Civil war but in Russia as well, this honor fell upon Cmdte. Angel Salas Larrazabal who had shot-down 17 Republican aircraft over Spain and would add 7 more Russian aircraft to his score.

Angel Salas was born on October 10, 1906 in Orduna, Viscaya Spain. He joined the army in 1921. Later in 1927 he joined the military aviation, graduating as a aerial observer, in 1929 he undertook pilot training to receive his pilot wings in 1930.

At the start of the Civil War, now Captain Salas, defected to the Nationalist side in a Breguet XIX general purpose biplane. During the course of the civil was, he flew the De Havilland Dragoon, and later fighters like the Nieuport Ni-52, Heinkel He-51 and the Fiat CR-32 biplane fighters.

He became one of the original members of the “Patrulla Azul” led by Joaquin Garcia Morato ( who finnish the war as the top scoring pilot with 40 claimed victories). Salas flew Fiat CR.32 No. 3-61 (c/n.111) he later became commander of 2-G-3 in September 1937.

His most notable combat came on September 2, 1938, during the battle of Ebro, when in a single pass he shot-down 3 SB-2 bombers of the 4o.Escuadrilla de “Katiuskas” of Grupo 24 and one Polikarpov I-16 of the 1o.Escuadrilla de Moscas, it pilot Tte. Jose Martin Redondo managing to bailed out.

Salas was one of two pilots who would claim four kills in a single combat, the other was the German Oblt. Wilhelm Balthasar of 2./J88 claimed four SB-2’s on February 7, 1938.

At the end of the war Salas had flown 618 missions, 1,215 fight hours, was involved in 49 aerial combats, he was shot-down four times. But to his credit he had destroyed 48 vehicules and was credited with shooting down 16 Republican aircraft and shared one.

After the war he served in the following positions commander of the 21st fighter regiment and chief of the 4th section of the Estado Mayor.

He volunteer and was designated as the commander of the 1a. Escuadrilla Azul, (Escuadrilla Expedicionaria) that was formed with 17 pilots, some veterans of the civil war, with thier combined score totaled 79 aerial victories.

The unit crossed into France on July 24, 1941, later arriving in Germany in late part of the month, they were assigned to training at the Jagdfliegerrschule 1 at Werneuchen near Berlin, after completing their training on the BF-109E’s, the 1o.Escuadrilla left for Russia on September 26, 1941. At first the Spanish pilots were worried that they would arrive late to see any action, since they were kept informed of the progress of the German advance towards Moscu.

Celebration of Azul Escuadrilla's welcoming on East Front, Moschna airfield, September 1941.

The 1/o.Escuadrilla received a total of 12 BF-109E-4 and –7’s’s and they were assigned to JG 27 VIII FliegerKorps of LuftFlotte 2. They were known as the “15 Spanische Staffel”, and they started to fly their first combat operations October 2nd , 1941 and suffering its first pilot in that same day. Escorting German bombers and reconnaissance aircraft, they operated from 12 different airfields, On October 4th, the Escuadrilla Azul score its first aerial victories, when Cmdte. Salas opens the score board with the destruction of one I-16 fighter and a Pe-2 as he described in his after combat report:

I saw coming 6 Pe-2 and I went after them, cutting the distance between us I found myself below I opened fire from 150 meters with my small machine and much closer with my canons, I saw pieces jump from the aircraft after the second burst, it occupant taking to his parachute. Later I continue towards Cholm to join up with the group and see a “Rata” I attack him in a turn while trying to flee in a fast dive that rips his left wing and he crashes near the confluence between Dnieper and Wjasna. Later I attack twice another “Rata” with no effects.

On October 7th, the Escuadrilla undertakes 42 sorties and in the course of the day Cmdte. Salas shot-down an “I-18” for his third personal and unit victory. Days later on the 13th, two of Salas pilots shoot-down a Biplane and another “I-18” fighter. On the next day Salas in the company with three other pilots in a “free hunt” near Kalinin surprise three DB-3 bombers in the resulting combat Salas downs two, while Capt. Carlos Bayo Alessandri destroys the third DB-3, but during the heat of the combat Salas and Bayo collide resulting in Salas BF-109’s rudder being partially destroyed but he made back to base. But during this combat Cmdte.

Salas became the first Spanish pilot to become an “Ace” in the skies of Russia.

On the 25th,Salas with two other pilots destroyed on the ground three “I-18” Soviet fighters at the airfield of Klin. On the 27th, Salas during an combat between five Spanish pilot and reportedly 10 “I-18” fighters shot-down another “DB-3” bomber for his sixth personal and the 10th victory for the Spanish squadron.

On November 4th, Cmdte. Salas is force to land between German and Russian lines during an aerial combat, he was rescued the next day by German troops and returned to the squadron.

In the later part of November Cmdte. Salas reportedly shot-down an Russian biplane for his 7th personal victory, but there is some confusion, as his this kill was actually a ground victory, since in the listing of victories by the Escuadrilla Salas is listed with 6 aerial and 2 ground victories. That would end the score card for the 1/o.Escuadrilla Azul. For the remainder of their stay in Russia, they would continue fighting, flying escort mission, ground attacks etc, etc. but sustaining losses to it pilots.

The 1/o.Escuadrilla Azul receive the orders to return to Spain on January 6th, 1942. during their time in Russia the unit flew a total of 460 missions, engaged in 94 aerial combats and destroyed 10 enemy aircraft plus four on the ground, for the lost of 5 pilots (one KIFA, three WIA and one KIA) plus one wounded in action. Of the three missing in action, one is reported to have been taken POW by the Russians, but stayed in Russia and married a Russian woman and reportedly was living South of Moscu.

As for Comandate Salas he received the German Iron Cross .

After his return from Russia Cmdte. Salas served as a Air attaché in Rome, Berlin and Lisboa Portugal and during the 1950’s he was posted to Paris France. In 1956 he undertook training to become a jet pilot, he would retire from the Air Force in 1972 with the rank of Capitan General and his last post was Chief of Tactical Aviation and the commander of a Air Region.

He passed away on April 26, 1991.

Siergiey Luganski - Master of 'Taran' Attack.

Siergiey Luganski (1918-1977) was one of the best Soviet pilots. He achieved a total of 37 kills during the Great Patriotic War (1941-1945) - two of these kills were by "Taran" attacks (air-to-air ramming). He was highly awarded, twice appointed Hero of the Soviet Union.

Born in Alma Ata, Kazakhstan, he was facinated by aviation since early ages. In 1936 he joined the Military Aviation school in Orienbursk. In 1938, Luganski completed the Pilot’s School with the award of Best Student. Next, he went to a fighter regiment, first as an ordinary pilot, next - as leader of a section, and finally as deputy regimental commander. In 1939, he completed the Military Aviation Academy.

During the Soviet-Finnish War (1939-40) he flew 59 combat missions, downing one enemy aircraft. Luganski's Squadron (25 IAP), commanded by Ivan Ivanovich Popov, part of the 14th Soviet Fighter Corps, operated from the frozen lake Karchu-Lampi. The main task for this unit was ground-attack sorties against Finnish troops. During one of these sorties, on 28 February 1940, Luganski’s plane was hit by artillery shell (probably Soviet!), and he was forced to bail out, despite the fact that he was flying at a very low altitude. His parachute developed only a few metres above the ground. During the jump he lost his flying boots - which was some quite serious business at 40 Centigrades below zero. But the front line was close. Luganski, running only in his socks, was lucky to reach the Soviet positions. Next day he was airborne again, scoring his first aerial victory against a less fortunate Finnish aircrew. Flying together with his commander, Sen.Lt. Vladimir Nikolayevich Pieshkov (who was appointed Hero of the Soviet Union on 20 September 1940, after 3 kills in Winter War), he managed to down a Finnish reconnaissance biplane.

Luganski’s next kill almost finished his career: By mistake he destroyed a Soviet R-5 reconn-bomber. But Luganski was lucky again, escaping with only a few days in confinement. Following the Finnish surrender in the Winter War, all pilots were awarded, and Luganski received the Red Star Order. The combat missions he had flown during the war with Finland provided him with experience which would prove very useful in the coming years.

In beginning of the Great Patriotic War, Luganski flew a LaGG-3 fighter, and downed a few enemies. The squadron, commanded by Ivan Gluhih, was re-equipped with old I-16s. In air combat over Bataysk on 9 September 1941, two sections (6 planes) of Soviet fighters encountered 18 Germans. A German (whom Luganski assumed must have been an ace) shot down Vladimir Pieshkov. Luganski followed German in a long persuit, to revenge himself for his friend's death, but instead he got himself shot down. But once again, luck had not completely deserted him, as he managed to bail out and survive.

While covering Soviet Army’s river crossings, he downed enemy aircraft through ramming attacks twice. The first occasion was on September 14th, 1942. Having run out of ammunition, Luganski decided to perform a "Taran" attack against an enemy formation, which was approaching River Volga in the air above General Rodimtsev's division. He knocked down a Romanian He 112 with a damaged wing. Next time, the "Taran" attack was accomplished while flying cover over the Dnepr River - this time the victim was an He 111. And luck stayed with Luganski, who in both cases came out of the ramming attacks alive (unlike most Soviet pilots, who performed this type of attack). On the same day as he scored his second ”Taran” kill, he was awarded with the Alexander Nevski Medal.

In June 1943, Luganski’s squadron (12 aircraft) was engaged in a famous battle. Over the front lines, they spotted about 80 German bombers, from which they bagged 12. Several pilots scored multiple victories in this melee). One month later, Luganski's squadron came across 30 Bf 109's. During a prolonged and stiff battle, the Soviets managed to shoot down 8 enemies. On 12 September 1943, acting as squadron commander in the 270th Guards Regiment, Sergeiy Luganski was appointed Hero of the Soviet Union. At this moment he had 18 kills to his credit.

In another aerial combat, Luganski was seriously injured. Still not completely recovered, he returned to Alma Ata in the end of December 1943. The people of the city welcomed him with great enthusiasm, and raised funds which bought him a new Yak-1M. In May 1944, Luganski was put in charge of a Guards Fighter aviation Regiment in the 1st Guards Ground-attack Aviation Corps (1 GvShAK, commanded by V. G. Ryazanov), supporting the 1st Ukrainian Front. At this moment he had 18 kills to his credit. Shortly after taking command of this crack unit, Luganski downed a German fighter ace. In his memoirs 'Glubokiye Wirazhi' (Deep Turns), Luganski describes this event with the following words: In one of the days of May 1944 , Sergiey Luganski and his wingman took off on an important reconnaissance mission. While Viktor Usov accomplished his task of covering his commander, Luganski discovered some German tanks and armoured columns. They flew at low altitude in order to avoid enemy fighters. Having fulfilled their mission, the two Soviets entered their return flight. What they didn't notice was that a 'hidden' pair of Bf 109s followed them. Later, Luganski assumed they must have noticed the rich ace 'ornaments' on his Yakovlev, which made them decide to avoid an open confrontation, and instead seeking the chance in a surprise attack. They waited patiently, and when Luganski, having reduced the speed of his aircraft, started landing - they decided to hit.

The Ground control noticed the danger and warned both pilots by R/T. Viktor Usov turned sharply to defend his leader and soon he had shot the German wingman in flames. But just in that moment, the leader of the German section hit Usov's plane and he was forced to bail out. Now only the two leaders, the Russian and the German, remained in the air. The German pilot turned against Luganski. The Soviet ace was just come in to land. A small touch down with lowered landing gears probably saved his life. A stream of enemy rounds passed slightly above his plane. While closing his landing gears, Luganski entered combat. Following his first run, the German climbed to make his next attack. He had the advantage - Luganski was flying slowly at deck. The Bf 109 came after him again and opened fire. Several shells slammed into Luganski's Yak. The canopy and instruments panel were damaged, but the plane still was able to fight.

Luganski, noticing the top class of his adversary and aware that his own aircraft was almost out of fuel, realized that he had only one chance of surviving - to use the Yak's superior horizontal. The German pilot, obviously certain of his success, entered a turn fight. After few very sharp rounds, Luganski had the Bf 109 in his gun sight. A fire burst shattered the German’s cockpit hood, injured the pilot and cut the engine power off. The German aircraft slid in the air for a moment, then it made a belly-landing 3 kms from the Soviet airfield. Soviet soldier rushed to capture him and suddenly the hunter had become the prey. Luganski saw this and a few minutes later he landed on nothing but fuel fumes. The duel had lasted no more than 7 minuts long, but it was enough to completely exhaust Luganski. The German pilot was captured: It turned out that his name was Otto. On his killboard were 70 victories, including 30 on Eastern Front. He had just been appointed for the Oak Leaves to his Knight’s Cross. Next day the commander of the 1st Ukrainian Front, Marshal I.S. Koniev arrived at airfield. He inspected the wreck of the German ace’s Bf 109, and decided to award Luganski a second Golden Star, so Luganski received his second Soviet Hero title on 1 July 1944. By that time, his victory score had rosen to 33, achieved during 335 combat sorties.

During the battle of Lvov, Luganski often flew on free hunting missions with the Soviet Hero Yewgeniy Mienshutin acting as wing man. Once, they encountered a pair of Bf 109, one of them with a bright red nose, over the front line Mienshutin soon downed the leader of the pair, while Luganski hit the 'red-nosed' wingman with a long burst from a very short distance. The enemy plane hit the ground, but did not explode. The Soviets 'investigated' the body of this Bf 109’s pilot - it turned out to be an Italian pilot named Gibelli, credited with 50 (!? - after Luganski relation) kills.

In that period, the people of Alma Ata decided to raise funds to equip Luganski’s whole squadron with twelve of the brand new Yak-3 fighters! The 'Komsomolec Kazakhstana' squadron was included to Luganski's 157th GvIAP. Shortly afterwards, the regimment recived the name-of-honour 'Sandomirskiy' after its great achievements in the air over the city of Sandomierz (Poland). Unit also was awarded with the Bohdan Chmielnickiy and Alexander Nevski Medals.

Luganski finished the war with the rank of Major. His final score was 37 personal and 6 shared victories, on a total of 390 combat missions. Luganski's Fighter Aviation Regiment was credited with the destruction of 245 enemy aircraft in the air. In 1957 Luganski was promoted to Major-General, and in 1964 he retired. He passed away in 1977, in Alma Ata.

Stanislaw Skalski and His "African Circus

Stanislaw Skalski was born on 27 October 1915 in the country village of Kodyma. Completing Pilot Training School in 1938, Stanislaw was ordered to the 142nd Fighter Squadron in Torun. On 1 September 1939 he downed a German Hs 126 reconnaissance aircraft at 5:32 a.m (after his own interview's relation). A note of interest - - if Wladyslaw Gnys had not destroyed two Do-17s at 5:30 a.m. (as some sources claim), but instead at 7:00 a.m. (as Gnys himself reported), this would mean, that Skalski scored the FIRST victory of WWII! In September 1939, Skalski reached "ace status", by personally downing 6 German aircraft (1 Ju 86, 2 Do 17, 1 Ju 87, 2 Hs 126), plus 1 Hs 126 shared with another pilot. Furthermore, he damaged another three planes (1 Bf 109, 1 Hs 126, 1 Ju 87). Skalski flew his last sortie with his P-11c on 16 September. The next day he fled the country, as did several other Polish pilots, to Rumania, and from there to fight in France and England.

On 12 August 1940, 2/Lt Skalski joined 501st Squadron RAF (commander S/Ldr H.A.V. Hogan) and took part in the "Battle of Britain". Stanislaw Skalski's part in the combat of 5 September 1940, was very dramatic. Early in the morning, 501 Squadron took off to attack a large group of German aircraft. In first attack Skalski managed to hit an He 111 bomber, and set its right engine on fire. Following this, the Polish pilot shot down one of the escorting Bf 109s. The pilot of the Bf 109 bailed out. A few minutes later, as Skalski flew alone at 8000 meters altitude, he made a surprise attack on another Messerschmitt. With success! But in turning to his map to note the area of the victory, his own aircraft was hit by a well-aimed burst of fire. The shells slammed into the fuel tanks and the "Hurricane" immediately caught fire. Skalski bailed out from his diving fighter and parachuted to the ground. Severe burns kept him in a hospital for six weeks. During the Battle of Britain, Skalski shot down a total of six German planes.

Following the combat death of Capt. Ozyra on 29 April 1942 (in the same battle, Maj. Marian Pisarek was also killed), Capt. Skalski was given the command of the Polish 317 Squadron for five months. On 1 October 1942 317 Sqn was given a new commander, Capt. Zbigniew Czajkowski, and Skalski's African career began.

The Polish Fighting Team (PFT), popularly called "Skalski's Circus", was made up of the best Polish fighter pilots. All fifteen of them volunteered and Capt. Stanislaw Skalski was their commander. After a month«s transition, the Polish pilots arrived at Bu Grara airfield (250 km west of Tripoli) on 13 March 1943. They at first became part of 145 RAF Squadron (commanded by S/Ldr Lance Wade) as the "C" Flight. The call code of 145 Squadron was "ZX" and the aircraft of the Polish Flight received the individual code numbers "1" to "9".

Operational duty for the PFT began 17 March 1943. The first combat missions were in "Spitfire" Mk Vc trop fighters, but after a week the unit was re-equipped with new "Spitfire" Mk IX (while other flights of the 145th still flew the Mk V!). On 28 March 1943, the PFT drew its first blood. The flight led by Skalski encountered a group of Ju 88's escorted by Bf 109Gs of II./JG 77. No fighter planes were shot down on either side, but Skalski and Lt. Horbaczewski claimed killings of two Ju 88s.

On 2 April 1943, four Polish "Spitfire" pilots from 145 Squadron attacked 16 Bf 109s of II./JG 77 and claimed three Messerschmitt 109s shot down, one of them by Skalski. The record of II./JG 77 'Herzas' shows: the Bf 109s attacked a formation of Douglas Bostons escorted by "Spitfires", and Feldwebel Alexander Preinfalk claimed one Boston shot down (his 64th victory). Oberleutnant Heinz Dudeck's Bf 109 G-6 was the only German loss. Dudeck belly-landed and escaped the wreck unhurt. He was taken care of by some local Tunisians who fed him milk and ten raw eggs! On the Polish side the "Spitfire" piloted by Lt. Arct was damaged, but he was able return to base.

Two days later, the Polish fighters attacked a group of Ju 88s accompanied by Bf 109s. The German escort prevented them from attacking the bombers, but Skalski and Capt. Krol each downed one Bf 109. Lt. Martel claimed one 109 damaged. Next day, Lt. Horbaczewski scored a single Bf 109, but his "Spitfire" was heavily damaged on the mission. On the afternoon of 6 April, Lt. Sporny and Sgt. Malinowski destroyed two Bf 109s.

On 18 April 1943, the Polish Team of 145 Sqn ('C' Flight) sustained its only loss, as F/Lt Wyszkowski, lagging behind a formation, was bounced from the sun by a Messerschmitt Bf 109 - Rotte of 7./JG 53 'Pik As'. Unteroffizier Georg Amon shot down the "Spitfire". Wyszkowski crash-landed in enemy territory and was taken prisoner by the Germans. This was Amon«s first victory. Two months later (on 25 June 1943, vividly accounted in Johannes Steinhoff's book 'Die Strasse von Messina'), when JG 53 was based in Sicily, the Luftwaffe's Fighter General Adolf Galland (visiting Sicily at that time) personally ordered Amon to be court-martialled for 'cowardness'; Galland claimed that Amon had deliberately turned away from combat to avoid confrontation with B-17s. However, the general confusion on Sicily at that time saved Amon from the court-martial. With a total of nine victories, Amon was shot down by AA over Germany on 2 April 1945 and was taken prisoner by the Allies.

On 20 April 1943, the "Spitfires" of 145 Squadron made a surprise attack on a mixed formation of German and Italian fighters and claimed to have shot down nine, of which the Polish pilots claimed three Bf 109s and three Macchi Mc-202 "Folgores". That day, I. and II./JG 53 'Pik As' lost a total of five Bf 109 Gs in aerial combat. At least one - piloted by Leutnant Rolf Schlegel - was shot down by Spitfires.

On 22 April 1943, the entire 244 Fighter Wing with 145 Squadron acting as top cover attacked a formation of six-engine Me 323 Gigant of TG 5 escorted by Italian fighters and the Messerschmitt 109s of JG 27, JG 53 and JG 77. The P-40s of 7 Wing, SAAF, also took part in the attack, claiming the destruction of 31 Me 323s! Transportgeschwader 5 lost sixteen Me 323s. The Polish fighter pilots, led by F/Lt. Pniak, engaged the escort and claimed five Bf 109s and one Mc-202 shot down. In II./JG 27, three Bf 109s were lost: Leutnant Schlechter was shot down over sea and was saved by air-sea rescue, while Feldwebel Rudolf Lenz and Unteroffizier Heinz Golletz were missing. The only claims by II./JG 27 were made by Leutnant Schneider - two P-40s (his first and only victories in the war). JG 53 'Pik As' had one Bf 109 shot down: Leutnant Friedrich Fiebig of 6. Staffel bailed out with injuries. I./JG 77 'Herzas' suffered no losses, while one of its pilots - Leutnant Heinz-Edgar Berres claimed one "Spitfire" (his 43rd victory).

On 6 May 1943, "Skalski Circus" fought its last aerial combat. On this occasion, Skalski and Sgt. Sztramko downed 2 Bf 109s. On 13 May 1943 the war in Africa was over. During two months, the Polish pilots had shot down a total of 26 German and Italian planes. Capt. Skalski scored 4 aircraft, but the most successful of the unit had been Lt. Eugeniusz Horbaczewski been, with 5 confirmed victories.

After the Flight was disbanded, Capt. Skalski did not leave this theatre of war. As commander of 601 Squadron RAF "County of London", he took part in the invasions of Sicily and Italy. He returned to England in the end of 1943.

During period 13 December 1943 - 3 April 1944, Major Skalski commanded the 131 Fighter Wing (Polish Squadrons: 302nd, 308th, 317th, till October 15th, 1944 - Ist Polish Fighter Wing). On 4 April 1944 (remaining in this position until 3 August 1944) he was appointed commander of the other Polish Fighter Wing - the 133th (Polish Squadrons: 306th, 315th and British 129th). On 24 June 1944 Skalski, leaded the whole Wing, scored two air victories in a battle over Rouen. Altogether, Polish fighters claimed 6-1-4 enemy planes in this action, but unfortunatelly they lost Sgt. Adamiak from the 315th Squadron, when his "Mustang", FZ157, crashed in the St. Croix/Beaux area (north-west of Dreux).

Stanislaw Skalski was the most successful Polish ace of WW II, with a record of 22 confirmed victories, 1 probable, and 1 damaged enemy aircraft. Three times he was awarded the British DFC, and he received many other medals. Following his return to Poland after the war, he was imprisoned by the Communist regime in 1949, on a charge of espionage for the West. He spent 6 long years in a jail, waiting for execution. That was his "reward" from the communists, a fate he shared with many other Polish soldiers returning from the West for their heroic and sacrificing duty. In 1956, Skalski was finally released from prison.

Jan Dzwonek - Within an Ace of Death

The 161st Fighter Escadrille (consisting of III/6 Squadron), commanded by Cpt. Wladyslaw Szczesniewski, was assigned after the mobilization order to the "Lodz" Army. On 1 September 1939, despite being vectored many times against enemy planes, the pilots of the unit were unable to contact or engage the Luftwaffe. The next day, Squadron leader Mjr. Stanislaw Morawski assigned four pilots (Sec.Lt. Szubert, Sec.Lt. Dzwonek, cadet Kremarski, Sgt. Pretkiewicz) to fly a sunrise mission to ambush the enemy. During darkness, the four-plane formation was moved to a secondary airfield in Wola Wezykowa near Zdunska Wola. Dzwonek, together with Kremarski, downed a Henschel 126 on a reconnaissance mission. About 16:00 hours the same pair took off again to intercept Heinkel 111's. But the Polish pilots were surprised by Bf 109's - - Cadet Kremarski, was hit in the head and killed, his plane crashing in the forest near Sedziejowice, and Sec.Lt. Dzwonek was wounded in his left arm and leg. Dzwonek describes what happened next:

In a bleak mood I returned to the field airfield of our squadron. The plane had a lot of bullet holes. The cockpit instrument panel was almost all destroyed by Bf 109 shells. The only instrument untouched was the compass, and it showed me right way. Over Lask, our AA, defending a rail station, 'welcomed' me with gunfire. Luckily, they missed.

Suddenly, I noticed an unusual show. A few Bf 110's battled with our aircraft. The Germans had a great advantage. I had to decide whether to help my colleagues or safely land on the airfield. Without hesitating, I pulled full throttle. I moved my injured leg to avoid disturbing my steering. My left hand, sticky with blood, I laid on my thigh. I wedged my healthy leg into the rudder pedals for sure steering. Then, I flew away from the dogfighting planes to climb. Under me was Lodz city. Soon I reached a 500 meter altitude advantage over the swarm of clashing aircraft; I then trimmed the aircraft to a "nose-heavy" position to keep the P.11 better stabilized when diving.

I chose as a target the nearest Bf 110 and dropped my machine towards him. From the nearest distance I opened fire, the stream of bullets hitting the fuselage. High speed didn't permit me to open fire again. Black crosses passed nearby as I pulled up to avoid crashing with the Bf 110. I was again higher and turned to a second attack. After the second pass, the German slipped from my gunsight in a sharp turn. I wasn't able to follow him, because in diving the speed could reach 700 km/h. I flew down near the German and to drop him from my backside, I pulled the stick sharply. The inertial energy squeezed me into the seat. At the same time I blacked- out. Completing the pull-out, I was flying directly into the center of the dogfight. In my gunsight I caught one Bf 110, but the pass was too short. He banked right and escaped. I tired to follow him by banking inside his turn, but then I discovered another German sliding onto my tail. In some kind of unusual half turn I slipped under his gunfire, yet still received a few hits in my left wingtip. Again I encountered another Bf 110, and after a short pass, had to dodge again...

All the time I tried to join to my battling colleagues, without success. I attacked the next fighter. After a good targeting pass, the Bf 110 disengaged. He was damaged. Following the attack I noticed other Bf 11O's. One of them escorted the damaged plane and they left combat. I turned back to main arena and noticed a Bf 110 under fire by two P.11's. I shot a short burst at him. After our pair of 'Pezetel' fighters followed another Bf 110, I caught him in my crosshairs. German pilot discovered me and left our pair, who just burned first one Bf 110.

With the engine of my plane still at full throttle, I climbed up over the battling machines to begin my next attack. A German in a left turn tried to dip under my stream of bullets. Then we flew head to head, the Bf 110 growing to fill my gunsight. I pressed the trigger, sending a long burst into the Bf 110 and immediately pulled the stick back to avoid a crash. My fire was well targeted and effective, but my P.11 was being attacked from behind by another Bf 110 and in seconds my machine was on fire. Flames reached the cockpit and burned my face. I had to bail out.

I began to fry in the cockpit. My struggle with the seat belt and shoulder harness was so long, that I was almost resigned to my fate. Covering my face and eyes against the fire with my left hand, I opened the belts and with a great heave, bailed out the port side. We had had instructions to only open our parachute near the ground (after incidents of airmen being strafed in their chutes on 1st September, Polish HQ ordered pilots to open their parachute as low as possible). I looked at my hands - - they were white, simply fried, and I thought that 2000 meters lower they might be totally useless. I pulled the handle, and the pain was like holding molten metal. A moment later I felt the jerk - - the parachute was open.

I was hanging in the chute at about 2000 meters altitude when I noticed tracers passing near to me. They missed, but this pirate of the Third Reich not give up and attacked me again. This second time the wave of bullets also spared me. Shells passed to the left and right of my body. The German didn't get a third chance to kill me because my friend Jan Malinowski from 162nd Escadrille (flew on P.7a !) successfully attacked the German. On the first attack he set the right engine of the Bf 110 on fire, and on the second pass killed the pilot. The aircraft fell, crashing in pieces.

During my landing I damaged my backbone. I was transported to the hospital in Pabianice, where I heard someone say I had no chance to see next sunrise. I did go into a coma for 20 hours. When I awakened, the doctor told me, that in the same hospital was a Bf 110 pilot - - the one I downed."

The adversaries of eight PZL fighters of Polish Squadron III/6 were a formation of 23 Messerschmitt Bf 110's of I./ZG76. German pilots that day reported 2 victories (Leutnant Helmuth Lent and Oberleutnant Nagel), at the loss of three aircraft. Polish pilots claimed 2 kills: one shared by Sec.Lt. Koc and Sec.Lt. Glowczynski (the Bf 110 fell on a field in the village of Sladkowice, near Pabianice). The second victory was by Corp. Jan Malinowski of 162. Eskadrille. The third victory should probably be added to score of brave Sec.Lt. Dzwonek. Because he wasn't able to report his Bf 110 kill, his official victory score was only 1/2 of a Hs 126.

Besides the death of Sec.Lt. Edward Kremarski in further combat and the shooting down of Dzwonek, Squadron losses included one P.11c, piloted by Wieslaw Choms. He crashed while landing after combat. With Polish victories matching the number of Polish aircraft lost in this battle, you can appreciate the great effort of the Polish pilots, outnumbered 3-1 by enemy aircraft of far more modern design as was the Bf 110 C-1.

As he recovered form his burns, Jan Dzwonek changed hospitals several times to avoid German arrest. In December of 1939 he changed his name to Jan Jasinski (he used this name also in post-war period). After the war he flew as a glider pilot in the Polish Aeroclub. Jan Dzwonek-Jasinski died in Warsaw on 13 May 1982.

Eugeniusz "Dziubek" Horbaczewski and his Last Battle.

Eugeniusz Horbaczewski was born in 1917 in Kiev, but spent his childhood in Poland. His family moved to Brzesc over the Bug river. Since his early years Horbaczewski was fascinated by aviation. First, he built flying models, but as he matured, he started glider courses, quickly earning his class A and B ratings. On 14 August, 1935 he received his Bezmiechowa glider C rating. Next, he went to Officer Flying School in Deblin, where under the instructor Witold Urbanowicz he was awarded the rank of Pilot, Second Leutnant.

In September of 1939 Horbaczewski did not take part in any aerial battles against the Luftwaffe. On September 17th, with a large group of Polish aviators, he crossed the Romanian border and via Yugoslavia, Greece and France, arrived in Britain. After completing fighter training in British aircraft he was assigned to fly "Spitfires" with the Polish 303rd Squadron. To his squadron mates, Horbaczewski was also known as "Dziubek".

Horbaczewski first met with enemy planes on 6 October 1941, when the 303 Squadron escorted bombers over France. He came up empty on his first attack on three Bf 109s. Noticing a formation of eight Bf 109s, "Dziubek" decided not to attack, but soon saw a lone Messerschmitt which he jumped and put several bursts into. The German began burning, but the victim's wingmen forced Horbaczewski to disengage into the clouds. He landed on fuel fumes at West Malling, the first British airfield he spotted. The German aircraft was claimed as a probable.

During a ground strike on 13 December 1941 "Dziubek's" "Spitfire" was lightly damaged by flak. On 13 March 1942 the tail of his plane was riddled by much more threatening bullet holes. This day, during "Operation Circus" 303 Squadron's "Spitfires" covered "Bostons" attacking targets near Hazebrouck. From the sun suddenly appeared a gaggle of Bf 109s. In the ensuing combat, 303th Squadrons pilots claimed 2 enemy fighters destroyed by Cpt. Kolaczkowski, Cpt. Drobinski, and 1 probable by Lt. Lipinski. But the victories came at the loss of "Dziubek's" Flight "A" leader - the veteran pilot Lokuciewski parachuted down but broke his leg and was captured.

Horbaczewski's first confirmed victory was 4 April 1942, over France in the area of St. Omer. Squadron 303 was escorting a formation of twelve British "Boston's", when "Dziubek" noticed a Focke Wulf 190 opening fire at another "Spitfire", probably piloted by Lt. Daszewski. He attacked at full speed, and from 25 meters distance opened fire. The Fw 190 followed the smoke column of its victim "Spitfire", but too late to prevent the death of Lt. Daszewski, a veteran of "Battle of Britan".

On 16 April 1942, 303 Squadron again covered "Bostons" as they attacked Le Havre in "Operation Ramrod No. 20". Horbaczewski spotted a lone German fighter preparing to jump Polish Wing Commander Mjr. Tadeusz Rolski. From 100 meters Horbaczewski fired a burst, unfortunately missing. His second burst was devastating - the Bf 109 was nearly cut in two by the shells - and the German pilot bailed out.

On 19 August 1942 saw the invasion of Dieppe. When the Polish Squadron encountered a group of fifteen Fw-190s loaded with bombs, Horbaczewski and his wingman Sgt. Stasik attacked the last pair of Germans. Dziubek's first burst started one Focke Wulf smoking, the second burst totally destroyed the fighter. It was a good day for pilots of Squadron 303 - - they downed eight German planes and claimed another five as probables. That brought Horbaczewski victories to 3-1-0.

At the end of 1942 Horbaczewski joined a group of selected Polish pilots in North Africa under the command Stanislaw Skalski . After spectacular successes, they received the nickname of "Skalski's Circus". On 28 March 1943 Horbaczewski downed a Ju 88 near Sfax 1. On April 2nd his victim was a Bf 109.

6 April 1943 proved to be a very dramatic day. Spotting a formation of five Bf 109s, Dziubek left his flight and attacked alone. In first run he scored one "Messer" when its pilot bailed out. But 'Kameraden' soon hit the lone "Spitfire" ("ZX-1" EN 459). Horbaczewski dived with his flaming plane but as he was getting ready to jump, the fire suddenly stopped. He was able to coax the damaged plane to glider land at the nearest Allied airfield - Gabes. The next day he got a Jeep ride back to his home base, but his aircraft was written off. On 22 April 1943, in a major air battle over the Bay of Tunis, Horbaczewski shot down two Bf 109s. He had become the most successful pilot in the Polish Fighting Team, with five confirmed kills.

After the North African campaign, Horbaczewski took command of the RAF 43rd Squadron, 324th Fighter Wing. They flew the "Spitfire" Mk Vc, with squadron codes of "FT". In combat over Sicily and southern Italy, Horbaczewski added three victories to his scoreboard, two of which were Bf 109s he downed within 40 seconds!

On 16 February 1944 Horbaczewski took command of Polish 315 Fighter Squadron "City of Deblin," with squadron codes "PK". In March of1944, the Squadron was re-equipped, from "Spitfire" Mk Vs to "Mustang" Mk IIIs. On June 22, 1944 "Dziubek" had a performance of remarkable courage. During a ground attack on German units near Cherbourg, the aircraft piloted by Lt. Tadeusz Tamowicz was damaged and forced to land. Horbaczewski skillfully landed nearby on an airstrip just built by Americans. He found Tamowicz, who had injuries to both legs, and brought him back to "Dziubek's" P-51. Horbaczewski flew the two of them across the Channel to the home base of Coolham.

In the summer of 1944 the 315 Fighter Squadron took part in special missions to hunt V-1 flying bombs, Horbaczewski knocking down four of the squadron's total of 53 V-1s. On 30 June 1944 the 315th squadron escorted "Beaufighters" on a long mission to Norway. In combat, about 50 km off Norway's coast, "Dziubek" scored a single Bf 109 kill. He shared another one when his guns jammed. Squadron victories for that battle were: six Bf 109s, one Fw 190, and one Bf 110, without any losses

On 18 August 1944, at 7:20 a.m., a dozen "Mustangs" under Horbaczewski's lead took off from Branzett airbase, on fighter sweep "Rodeo 385". The mission target was in the area of Cormeilles-Romilly. When the Squadron was 13 km on north-east of Beauvais, Polish pilots noticed a group of sixty Fw 190 fighters of II./JG 26 taking off and landing.

The Polish pilots had the advantage of altitude and surprise. In 10 minutes of heated battle, the 315th claimed 16 kills, 1 probable, and 3 damaged, while the II./JG 26 pilots claimed 6 (of which 3 were officially confirmed). Amazingly, none of the Polish "Mustangs" were hit by a single German bullet, except for the P-51 flown by the Squadron Leader.

"Dziubek" destroyed three German fighters, but in the process, was shot down himself. His wingman, Lt. Bozydar Nowosielski, witnessed "Dziubek's" victories, but none of 315's pilots saw the moment "Dziubek" was shot down. When Lt. Eugeniusz Horbaczewski's "Mustang" crashed near the village of Vellennes, the pilot's final kill board read: 16 1/2 - 1 - 1.

Below are tables data about claimed victories and real losses by pilots for both sides in the battle over Beauvais on 18 August 1944. Note: it's higly possible that in that area flew and got losses also few FW 190's of JG 2, and becouse the log book of JG 2 is missed till present day, we cannot be certain of real number Luftwaffe's destroyed fighters. Interestingly, a P-38 "Lightning" appears as a confirmed kill for a Luftwaffe pilot.

Hannes Gentzen - first Luftwaffe ace in WW2.

When at the end of the September Campaign the Luftwaffe counted the successes of the German fighter units it appeared that in the air battles 90 Polish aircraft were shot down. In the second place in respect of the air wins was Jagdgruppe 102, the leader of which, Hauptmann Johannes Gentzen, claimed shooting down of as many as seven opponents. Altogether, his unit claimed the destruction of 78 Polish planes, of which 28 were destroyed in the air, and Gentzen appeared at the top of Luftwaffe shooters in the new conflict.

Hannes Gentzen was born in 1906 and succeeded in obtaining full training in the pre-war Germany, and at the end of the 20’s in the area of the USSR in Lipeck to the south west of Moscow. On Hitler’s seizure of powers, for people such as him the green light turned on and as a proffessional officer he undertook the training and organizing of new units. On the 1st of May 1939, in the rank of Hauptmann, he takes charge of Jagdgruppe 102 equipped with one-seated Messerschmitts Bf109D, which stayed at Bernberg airfield. At the end of August the unit was moved to Gross Stein (Kamień Wielki) near Opole (Opeln), from where it made attack on Poland.

For the first three days of the war the Jagdgruppe 102 pilots had no luck and they failed to meet Polish aircraft despite their performing of many flights to the close support of German bombers and Stukas’s. However, on the 4th of September the account of the unit was opened by Hauptmann Gentzen, who at about 9.30 a.m. shot down a lone Polish bomber PZL P37B Łoś (factory number 72.18). It was a machine of the 211th Eskadra Bombowa (211th Bomb Squadron) pursuing a reconaissance flight, and its crew was por. obs. Górniak, sierż. strz. Zejdler, plut. pil. Bonkowski, and kpr. strz. Puchała. And the crew fell down in flames around the mansion Gieczno near Rychłocice. Then Górniak and Puchała died.

It was not the end of the lucky day of Gentzen. Just after noon he led to ‘Freie Jagd’ in Lodz region the 1st Staffel of his unit and he succeeded one more time. Here is how he later remembered the flight:

“The Polish fighters were not tracked down without problems. However, bringing them to the ground is extremely important. Every Polish pilot is a master of acrobatics, and the green-brown color of their airplanes is an ideal camouflage. The Poles flying in their machines often were able to so color-wise remind a burning forest that it was very difficult to spot them.

However, in the first air fight my Staffel had a great success. We were flying over Lodz in the ‘stairway’ formation at the height of about 1000 meters, when we saw two Polish fighters climbing up in our direction. A part of the Staffel at once began the diver’s flight. I myself attacked one of the two Poles. My missiles must have hit in the engine because he immediately went down in the slide fight. We went after him, and to our surprise we saw that the field he wanted to land on was a perfectly disguised airfield. What a surprise! We would have certainly not found their hiding place were it not for the escaping pilot who led us to the airfield. During landing the shot down aircraft stood ‘on its head’ and then caught fire. The pilot jumped out of the machine and hid very quickly. Of the nine Polish aircraft that we discovered on the airfield, five stood in a row. We flew right above the ground and we shot them all and burned. Four others were standing with their ‘mouths’ in haystacks. It was not difficult – after a few machine gun series into the stacks they caught fire and four planes burned.

Meanwhile another Pole appeared above us. My friend jumped on him but he slid away and escaped. Anyway, he was attacked by another one and shot down.

The airfield Widzew near Lodz, base III/6 of Fighter Division belonging to the ‘Lodz’ Army Air Force fell victim to Jagdgruppe 102. Five fighters PZL P11 and P7 burned on land and further three were damaged. The unlucky pilot shot by Gentzen was ppor. Zadrozinski of 161th Fighter Squadron, and another Pole shot down was por. Jeziorowski. However, for Gentzen the day was not over. He keeps on saying this way:

“During our return flight we met three Polish bombers, of which two were sent to the ground by us, and the third found refuge high in the sky. Three flyers jumped out in parachutes. Unfortunately, one of them touched the fin and fell down with the plane. Another one was soaring right behind him and landed slightly aside.’’

The flight of the three Los’s belonged to the 212th Bomber Squadron and all of them were shot down by Jagdgruppe 102 pilots. Among them, one of the shot down was taken by Hauptmann Gentzen. During that flight the Jagdgruppe 102 pilots claimed destroying of four Los’s and two P24’s in the air as well as destroying nine further Polish planes on the ground. In this way Gentzen gained during one day three victories in two fighting flights.

For the two following days Jagdgruppe 102 fought Polish airplanes claiming victories almost everyday. The unit moved to Krakow on 9th September, but only two days later it seized the airfield in Dębica. Another Gentzen’s great day came on the 14th September, when a German reconaissance aircraft discovered in Hutniki near Brody (40 miles from the Russian border) the airfield of the VIth (Light) Bomber Squadron of Bomber Brigade. Knowing the moveability of the Polish fighting units the Germans decided to immediately force an attack expecting a strong defense of the Polish fighters. They decided to direct the first Jagdgruppe 102 before Heinkel He111 of KG 4, and the first Jagdgruppe 102 dispatched to flight its 1 Staffel of eight planes Bf1109D. When the Germans were approaching the airfield a group of light bombers PZL P23 Karaś appeared, which group was immediately attacked. Johannes Gentzen remembered the flight this way:

“One time, near Brody, as far as I remember we met Polish two-seated ground attack planes, where the shooter sits at the back. Of fourteen enemy airplanes, against our eight, only one escaped.’’

The pilots of 1st Staffel stopped air fight at the news of the closing bombers, claiming to have shot down five Karaś’s, of which Gentzen shot four in only ten minutes. It should be mentioned that the Polish planes flying on the remaining amount of fuel sat down on the ground where they could as they had not enough fuel to escape or defend from the attacks. As a result four PZL P23’s were shot down – two of them of the 64th Bomber Squadron as well as two of Reserve Reconaissance Squadron SPL Dęblin. On the ground were destroyed seven Karaś’s and two unarmed Los’s, and all the remaining P23 were damaged as well as one high-wing monoplane R.XIII. Gentzen enriched his account to seven shot downs and took lead among the German pilots in the September Campaign. As soon as the next day he received at the hands of Hermann Göring the Eisern Kreuzen First Class.

No later than 18 September Jagdgruppe 102 moved to Breslau (Wrocław), to quickly take the airfield Lachen/Speyerdorf near the western German border. Its Bf109D appeared to be obsolete against the modern allied fighters, which was confirmed on the 6th November, when in fight against Curtiss H75A’s of GC II/5’s, in spite of a great advantage numberwise the Germans lost four aircrafts and four others were seriously damaged. Gentzen alone shot down one of the opponents, and he was threatened by court martial for such high losses of his unit. However, he defended himself, and in February 1940 Jagdgruppe 102 was moved to Bonn, where it was given new two-engine aircraft Messerschmitt Bf110C as well as a new mark I/ZG 2. Gentzen was granted with a promotion to a Major’s rank, which he celebrated as well as he could by shooting one more Curtiss H75A on 7th April, this time together with a GC I/5.

After starting the offensive in the West, Major Hannes Gentzen in less than two weeks made his account of shot downs amount to 18. That successful career began in the Polish sky was suddenly abrupted on the 26th May 1940. During the takeoff from Neuchateau airfield to take over a group of British light bombers Battle his Bf110C crashed as a result of loss of power in one of the engines. Both Gentzen and his shooter, Oberleutenant Domeier, died. Gentzen was at that time the most efficient pilot of Luftwaffe.

Jorma Sarvanto and six kills in five minutes. (Finland)

The 'Winter War' was being fought and it was on 6 January 1940 in. At dawn (about 8:30) the weather in Southern Finland was fairly favourable to enemy bombers. The cloud cover at 300 to 400 m was patchy, providing enough visibility for orientation, but also protecting bombers from surveillance and interceptors, and then haze up to 4000m.

Four Fokker D-XXI fighters with ski undercarrige of the 4th flight of the 24th Squadron were located in the Utti air base. The reason that the Flight was there was that during the first days of the year Finnish intelligence had intercepted radio messages from Soviet weather recce a/c flying over Jyväskylä and Kuopio. This indicated that the enemy had targeted these towns. Col.Lt Lorenz, the commander of the 2nd Wing, instructed Maj Magnusson to place his fighters accordingly.

At 9:30 the air surveillance reported enemy planes. The Fokkers were sent in pairs to intercept, but due to poor visibility the enemies could be encountered by chance only.

At the same time Lieutenant Pehr-Erik "Pelle" (his nickname is shortened from the original, as “Bob” from “Robert”) Sovelius was ferrying FR-92 to Utti from Lappeenranta where the fighter had been undergoing periodic major maintenance in one of the few warm hangars of the FAF. As usual the machine guns of the Fokker were loaded even though it was to be a ferrying mission.

Sovelius was near the base as at 10.10 hrs he heard in his headphones: - 'Enemy planes north of Hamina at 3000m!'.

He saw eight DB-3 bombers flying in an abreast formation right in his direction.

Sovelus’ battle report of the engagement:

Place of the aerial battle: “Northern edge of the Utti airfield.”

Enemy a/c: “ DB”

Fate of the enemy a/c: “Dived burning to the ground between Utti and Kaipiainen, North of the railway line.”

Course of the aerial battle: “On a ferrying flight Lappeenranta-Utti I was informed by radio about the movement of enemy a/c at the Southern fringe of the Haukkasuo swamp, eight a/c, on a course to North from Kotka, flying altitude 3000 m. I intercepted the formation on “collision course”. Having climbed above the enemy I half-rolled my Fokker at the left wing a/c. I shot the gunner at 300m and then approached to a distance of 100m. At that moment the third a/c from the left fired at me, so I gave her a brief burst and the gunner fell silent.

Then I fired brief bursts (at the bomber) and the a/c caught fire. The left engine and wing were burning. The a/c crashed.”

Ammunition consumption: “500 pcs.”

Eventual evidence: “A/c found between Utti and Kaipiainen near the railway line.”

Other obervations: “The enemy a/c supported each other by flanking fire. My fighter took 8 hits.”

Signed by : Lt. P.-E. Sovelius Aircraft: FR-92

The other seven bombers continued northwards, and being almost as fast as the Fokker D.XXI they escaped among the clouds and haze. The enemy must have had intelligence information about the Utti base, the “home” of the Finnish fighter aviation, yet these bombers flew almost over it.

The enemy bombing target was Kuopio, population 22000, situated 400 km from the Southern coast at the railway line, which made the navigation easier.

Air raid alert was sounded in Kuopio at 10.52 hours. The town, totally lacking AA defence, was shrouded in frosty mist. The population hurried to take cover in hastily dug splinter shelters, cellars, holes in the ground or in the surrounding forest. Nine two-enigined Soviet bombers flew over the town, failing to spot it. The enemy flew to the North, then turned and dropped 7 high explosive (HE) bombs and fired with machine guns. No actual damage was caused.

Immediately another enemy escadrille was spotted. It was recorded to comprise 6 twin-engined bombers. (This was the 6. DBAP intercepted by Sovelius.) They also at first flew over the town and turned back at Siilinjärvi about 15 km to N. Now unfortunately wind had rosen and scattered the mist. The enemy approached at an altitude of 1000 m, dropped 54 HE bombs and fired with machine guns. 35 houses were damaged, but only one person was killed – by heart attack. ( Three ore lethal air raids followed later in January and February: 42 people were killed, hundreds wounded, 200 houses damaged or destroyed.) It was a terror raid, pure and simple.

The Fokker pilots at Utti kept their flying gear on and waited for the returning bombers. Lt. Sarvanto ordered his ground crew to keep his "FR-97", "white 2" warm (see profile in page bottom).

Message was received at 11:50 - '7 bombers flying south following the northern railway!'. The pilots of 4./LLv 24 climbed in their fighters, warmed up the engines and turned their radios on. Lieutenant Jorma Sarvanto listened to the radio traffic, soon he and his wingman (constituting one patrol) were ordered to take off. After take-off the wingman found that he had an engine problem (snow had clogged the engine air intake during take off) and he had to return. Lt. Sarvanto continued alone at the optimum rate of climb, direction N to meet the enemy.

The second pair (Lt. Sovelius and Sgt. Ikonen) took off after noticing that Lieutenant Sarvanto had to go alone, but Sarvanto had a good head start. Now the clouds had disappeared from the sky at Utti, and Sarvanto discovered the handsome formation of DB bomber bellies lit by dim sun shining through the haze. He counted seven silver coloured DB-3 bombers. To the left - a wedge of three, to the right - four abreast, all no farther than one plane length from each other. There was no fighter escort.

Sarvanto continued climbing, turning south by a right curve. For a moment he was within the range and sector of the bomber nose gunners, but remained unnoticed due to sun glare. When he was at the same altitude of 3000 m with the bombers, he was about 500m behind them. Sarvanto pursued the enemy at full power. He decided to attack the leftmost wing bomber, although the third from left was closest to him, to avoid getting into cross-fire from the rear gunners. At a distance of 300 m his plane vibrated unpleasantly - he had flown in a bomber gunner MG salvo.

The fighter pilot kept on approaching the bombers. At a distance of 20 (twenty) meters he aimed at the fuselage of his victim, the left wing bomber, and pressed the trigger briefly. The tracers hit the target. Next, he shifted his aim at the rear gunner of the tail bomber, and killed him. Lt. Sarvanto then carefully aimed at the right engine of the first bomber and fired a brief burst. The bomber's engine caught fire. He repeated the same maneuvre at the tail bomber with similar result. Two burning DB-3 bombers were leaving the formation.

Jorma Sarvanto cheered aloud and attacked the right wing of the formation while the bomber rear gunners blazed at his Fokker. He fired at each engine of the nearest bomber, making them smoke and forcing the bomber to leave the formation. Then he engaged the other bombers at a very close range. Each victim caught fire after two to three brief bursts of MG fire. Sarvanto glanced back - the latest smoking bomber was now in flames and diving to the ground.

Now Sarvanto decided to destroy every one of the DB-3 formation. Some burning bombers made a slow half-roll before diving down, another pulled up before diving down. All the time they were flying south, the sun shone red through the haze low in southern horizon unless dimmed by smoke from a burning enemy plane.

Bomber no.6 was much more resistant to his bullets. The Fokker wing guns were out of ammo by now, but finally the DB-3 caught fire, and Finnish pilot could engage the last bomber. He already had eliminated the rear gunner, so he could fly close to the target. He aimed at one engine and pressed the trigger. Not a single shot. Sarvanto pulled the loading lever and retried shooting, but again in vain. He had spent his ammunition. There was nothing to do but leave the bomber alone and return to the base.

Columns of black smoke hung in the air and burning bomber wrecks could be seen on the ground. Sarvanto checked his instruments, there was no damage to vital parts, but his radio was dead and the Fokker's wings resembled Swiss cheese When preparing for landing he found that the hydraulic pump for the landing flaps did not work, but he landed successfully despite that...

Luutnantti Sarvanto felt very satisified as he parked his Fokker, but he did not quite get out of the cockpit before his cheering ground crew grabbed him and threw him in the air. The flight lasted 25 minutes and the actual battle 5 minutes, during which he shot down 6 DB-3 bombers belonging to the 6th DBAP of the Soviet Air Force. Two Soviet airmen bailed out and were taken prisoners, but the sources do not mention their names. The mechanics counted 23 hits from the bomber rear gunners in FR-97, some of them near the cockpit, necessitating several weeks' repairs at the State Aircraft Factory.

The patrol that took off afterwards pursued the surviving bomber.

The second battle report by Lt. Sovelius:

Date and time: 6.1. 1940 12.30 hrs

Place of the aerial battle: “Gulf of Finland South of Kotka between Suursaari and Lavansaari”

Enemy a/c: “DB”

Fate of the enemy a/c: “Left engine burning, dived in the sea. Air surveillance center reported 12.25 hrs at map square 32C6.”

Course of the aerial battle: “This a/c belonged to the formation of seven of which Sarvanto shot down 6. This a/c continued flying. I pursued her with Sgt. Ikonen. Sgt. Ikonen ran out of ammo South of Haapasaari (rem: he kept firing at a long range) and he turned back. I continued still for a while and finally reached the range of 200 m. I fired a long burst whereby the enemy left engine caught fire and the a/c began to descend toward the sea. Dense fog made pursuit difficult.”

Ammunition consumption: “1000 pcs”

Evidence : “Air surveillance center report.”

Other obervations: -

Signed by : Lt. P.-E. Sovelius Aircraft: FR-92

Next night Sarvanto visited the local Air Defence Center in Kouvola. He was presented to an enemy Sr. Lieutenant who had parachuted out of one of the bombers, and he also was shown war booty found in the wrecks: Field manuals, training manuals, pistols. Another POW, a Captain, was in hospital with a broken leg.

The Finnish radio surveillance found that the enemy stations kept calling the destroyed escadrille far beyond the theoretical maximum flying time, late in the night.

This feat by Sarvanto received tremendous publicity in the word press, who considered it a world record at the time. Many major Western newspapers published a photo of Lt. Sarvanto holding a large creased sheet of aluminium with a big "5" on it, a trophy from one of the victims. The hero himself was rather embarrassed by his unexpected fame, he said that any of his fellow pilots could have shot down those six bombers if they had had equal opportunity.

The town council of Kuopio donated silver candlesticks for Sarvanto, Sovelius and Ikonen as a token of gratitude.

The reasons for this unusual success were the following:

Approaching at a close range and shooting accurately
The bombers flew passively and lacked fighter escort.
The half-empty bomber fuel tanks were vulnerable due to accumulated fumes.
It is no wonder that the enemy flew “passively”. Finnish pilots flying captured DB-3s found that she simply could not be coaxed by her pilot to do any reasonable evasive action, such as sideslipping. The DB-3 was very stable, a virtue during a bomb run but vice when under attack by fighters. But directing the bombers to fly next to a known fighter base is more difficult to understand.

It is also rumoured that the armourers had disregarded the regulations and had loaded the Fokker's MG belts with a larger proportion of scarce and expensive incendiary and armour piercing ammunition. Some Soviet sources imply that the bombers were lacking defensive armament but this is not true, both FR-92 and FR-97 were damaged by enemy machine gunners during the action .

This day also proved the VVS that bombers penetrating deep in the enemy airspace without fighter escort are bound to take heavy losses.

Finally, the actual battle report by Lt. Jorma Sarvanto:

Report of Air Battle

(about enemy a/c that have been damaged or shot down)

Date and time: “6.1. 1940 12.03 – 12.07 hrs”

Place of the aerial battle: “Utti-Tavastila (altitude omitted)”

Enemy a/c: “DB a/c (radial engines)”

Fate of the enemy a/c: “6 a/c caught fire in the air, one continued her course but the gunner was silent. A/c found.”

Course of the aerial battle: “I approached alone from ahead and below. I changed my course to parallel so that they flew over me and I got behind and below them. I shot the a/c in flames from right behind about in the numbered sequence (sketch below). In the beginning the gunners flank-fired but I suppressed their fire with brief bursts. My range varied from 20 to 150m.

I fired minimal bursts at the engines and each a/c caught fire at the 2nd or 3rd burst. Ammunition consumption about 2000 pcs.”

The highest scoring Fw 190 ace, Oberfeldwebel Otto Kittel, began his career on the Bf 109, but started slowly. An NCO pilot with the famed JG 54 Grünherz, the "Green Hearts," Kittel found the range once his unit converted to the Focke-Wulf in early 1943.

He was born on 21 Feb.1917 in Kronsdorf (in the Sudeten region of the present Czech Republic), and joined the 2.Staffel of JG 54 in February 1941. On 31.May 1941, due to engine trouble, he bailed out of his Bf 109 F-2, and landed at Spikeroog, only lightly injured. In June of 1941, with the start of Operation Barbarossa, he shot down a Yak-1 fighter, an SB-2 bomber and an IL-2. By the end of 1941, he had achieved 17 victories (not a very impressive number, considering the relatively easy time that the Luftwaffe had in those early days). JG 54 was based at Krasnogvardeisk.

In July, 1942, he was married, by means of a long-distance ceremony Fertrauung, a German wartime policy. On 19.Feb.1943 he shot down his 39th plane, which also was the 4000th victory of JG 54.

After achieving his 47th victory on 15 March 1943 (while flying FW 190A-4, serial number 2481), Kittel made an emergency landing 60 kilometers (37 miles) behind Russian lines. After landing on an open icy field, he immediately set out for some woods he saw at 2 kilometers distance. Sitting in the woods for a short break, he searched his pockets and found three "Drops" and two cigarette packets, but no matches. He also had a gun, a clock and a compass. In his haste to leave his landing site, he had forgotten his supplies and his gloves. Bitterly cold and underclothed, he crossed the frozen Ilmen Lake and after 3 days without food, reached the German troops. After he returned to his Group, 18.March 1943, he was promoted to Oberfeldwebel and got the German Cross in gold.

He received the Ritterkreuz des Eisernen Kreuzes (Knight`s Cross to the Iron Cross) on 29 Oct. 1943 upon achieving his 123rd victory. And he got the "Oak Leaves" in April, 1944.

From November 1943 through January 1944, he was Instructor of the EJGr.Ost, in Biarritz, France. 31.December 1943 , Kittel started to attack American bombers, but didn't get involved in a dogfight. Some of his EJGr.Ost comrades were upset because of that.

In March 1944, Kittel returned to JG 54 on the Russian Front, but after just two months was transfered to the western front, the Normandy invasion area, to help III./JG 54.

He earned his Schwerter (Swords) on 25 November 1944 after achieving 239th victory.

Kittel was killed on February 14, 1945 (his 583rd mission), over Courland by an Il-2 Stormovik.


Erich Rudorffer
Leading Bf 109 Ace

He flew over 1,000 missions, with 222 aerial victories, and was shot down 16 times, including 9 bailouts. He flew the Bf.109 in the Battle of Britain in late 1940.

He went to Tunisia in late 1942 when the Luftwaffe sought to check the American advances in North Africa. In February, 1943, he was flying the Fw.190 with J.G. 2 against the Americans. On the 9th, while based at Kairouan, his unit got word of an attack by dozens of USAAF bombers and fighters. They attacked the B-17s, as the P-40s, P-38s, Spitfires and Hurricanes came to defend them. In the ensuing dogfight, the P-40s went into a defensive Lufbery. But Rudorffer repeatedly penetrated it, and shot down six of the Curtiss fighters in a few minutes. As the dogfight broke up, he spotted some P-38s below, and destroyed two of them. Eight in one day! One of his best days ever.

He was sent to Russia in August, and achieved great success on that fronat as well, downing eleven Russian machines on two different occasions.

In 1944, he flew the Me.262 jet against the U.S. bombers that were attacking Germany. While the Me.262 was very fast,it had a lot of bugs, and there were simply too many Allied aircraft by that time.

Rudorffer also survived the war.

Gerhard Barkhorn
Second-highest scoring ace of all time

Gerhard Barkhorn scored 301 victories, achieved in 1,104 missions; all his victories were won on the Russian Front.

He was born on 20 May 1919 at Königsberg in East Prussia. In 1937, he joined the Luftwaffe, and began flight training in March 1938. After initial posting to 3./JG 2, Leutnant Barkhorn was transferred to 6./JG 52 on 1 August 1940. He flew his first missions during the Battle of Britain but did not shoot down any aircraft at this time. He was shot down over the Channel, and was rescued.

JG 52 transferred to the East just before Operation Barbarossa, and Barkhorn was soon flying ten sorties a day. Barkhorn achieved his first victory during his 120th mission on 2 July 1941 over the Eastern Front. Thereafter he was to score steadily, if relatively unspectacularly, in comparison to other Eastern Front Luftwaffe aces. On his best single mission he scored four victories, on his best day seven.

Highlights of Barkhorn's career include:

5 January 1942 - his 30th victory
1 March - Staffelkapitän of 4./JG 52
25 July - wounded while flying Bf 109 F-4 (# 13388) 'White 5'
23 August - awarded the Ritterkreuz, with 64 victories
19 December - his 100th victory

11 January 1943 - awarded the Oak Leaves, with 105 victories
8 August - his 150th victory
1 September - Gruppenkommandeur of II./JG 52
30 November - his 200th victory

23 January 1944 - 1,000 combat missions (the first fighter pilot in history to do so)
13 February - his 250th victory
2 March - awarded the Swords

5 January 1945 - his 301st, and last, victory
In the month of May, 1942 he recorded seven victories, 16 in June, and 31 in July. After a two month break, he recorded 14 victories in October, 7 in November, and 17 in December.
He claimed 24 victories in August, 1943, 15 in September, 23 in November, and 28 in December, including seven on 28 December (his best day of combat). His success did not come without cost. He was shot down many times (some source say 7, some 9), he bailed out once, and was wounded twice. On 31 May 1944, Barkhorn was flying his sixth mission of the day in Bf 109 G-6 (WNr 163195) 'Black 5,' when he was bounced by a Russian Airacobra and shot down. He received severe wounds to his right arm and leg which put him out of action for four months. He returned to combat duty at the end of October.

On 16 January 1945, Major Barkhorn was transferred to take command of JG 6 serving on Reichsverteidigung duties based at Posen. He led the unit until 10 April 1945 but was still suffering the effects of his wounds and eventually relinquished command for another spell in hospital. On recovery he joined JV 44. On 21 April 1945, flying an Me 262 jet fighter, an engine failed. He broke off his attack on some American bombers and returned to base at Riem. Pursued by the Mustang fighter escort he crash-landed his crippled machine in a clearing. The cockpit canopy, which he had opened to enable a quick escape, slammed shut on his neck. This put him back in hospital and out of the war.

After the war Barkhorn became a Generalleutnant in the Bundesluftwaffe. He retired in 1976. He died, with his wife Christl, in an automobile accident on 6 January 1983.

more on Hans-Joachim "Jochen" Marseille
The Star of Africa
One of the real playboys among the Experten was Hans-Joachim Marseille. Fighter pilots have always had an eye for the ladies, but Marseille, with his striking good looks and fame as the "Star of Africa," really indulged in exra-curricular activities. At 158 aerial victories, he was the leading Luftwaffe ace against Western fliers, and one of the nine aces to earn the "Diamonds."

Born in 1919, the son of an Army officer, Marseille joined the Luftwaffe in 1938. He qualified as a fighter pilot and was selected as an officer candidate, but, due to his lack of discipline and irresponsibility, was the last of his cadet class to earn his commission. Assigned to I/JG 2 in August 1940, he shot down his first enemy airplane, a Hawker Hurricane that month. His undisciplined attitude extended to his flying, as he would plunge into any dogfight, regardless of the tactical situation. During the Battle of Britain, he claimed five more victories, and was himself, shot down four times over the Channel.

He partied so hard that he frequently was unfit to fly, so that his commander, Macky Steinhoff, wanted him out, and he was transferred to I/JG 27 by the end of the year. The commander of that unit was considerably more flexible, and when they were transferred to Libya in April, 1941, the dearth of women helped Marseille focus on his work.

Marseille increased his skills gradually, learning to get close, close, close to his targets. By getting close and developing his deflection shooting, he minimized the amount of ammunition used to shoot down each victim, averaging just fifteen bullets each! His victories and medals mounted up: by February 1942, he had 50 and the Ritterkreuz; by June 6, 75 and the Eichenlaub. In the summer of 1942, he really hit his stride, and in just twelve days in June, shot down another twenty-six, for a total of 101, earning the Schwerter. On one day, September 2, he shot down seventeen aircraft in three sorties, bringing his total to 126, and earning him the Billanten.

September would see him score 54 kills, his most productive month. The 17 enemy aircraft shot down included eight in 10 minutes, as a result of this feat he was presented with a type 82 Volkswagen Kübelwagen by an Italian Regia Aeronautica squadron. This was the most aircraft from Western Allied air forces shot down by a single pilot in one day. Meeting Rommel, on 16 September, "The Desert Fox" congratulated Marseille on becoming the youngest Hauptmann in the Luftwaffe.

Marseille continued scoring multiple kills throughout September, including seven on 15 September. Between 16-25 September Marseille failed to increase his score due to a fractured arm. As a result he had been forbidden from flying by Eduard Neumann. Marseille had borrowed a Macchi C.205 from neighbouring Italian Squadron to test fly. The aircaft was the personal "mount" of Italian ace Lt Emanuele Annoni. Marseille crashed the aircraft on landing, highlighting his deficiencies in Marseille's flying skills. Marseille was becoming physically exhausted by the frenetic pace of combat. After his last combat on the 26 September, Marseille was reportedly on the verge of collapse after a 15-minute battle with a formation of Spitfires, during which he scored his seventh victory of that day.

Death
The two missions of 26 September 1942 had been flown in Bf 109G-2/Trops, in one of which Marseille had shot down seven enemy aircraft. Over the next three days Marseille's Staffel was rested and taken off flying duties. On 28 September Marseille received a telephone call from Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel asking to return with him to Berlin, but Marseille declined for personal reasons. In a 1955 biographical movie, it was intimated that he had become aware of the Holocaust and disdained meeting Hitler on that account, but, there's no real evidence of this.

On 30 September 1942, Marseille was leading his Staffel on a Stuka escort mission, during which no contact with enemy fighters was made. While returning to base, his new Bf 109G-2/Trop's cockpit began to fill with smoke; blinded and half asphyxiated, he was guided back to German lines by his wingmen. Upon reaching friendly lines, "Yellow 14" had lost power and was drifting lower and lower. Marseille deemed his aircraft no longer flyable and decided to bail out, his last words being "I've got to get out now, I can't stand it any longer".

His Staffel, which had been flying a tight formation around him, peeled away to give him the necessary room to maneuver. Marseille rolled his aircraft onto its back, the standard procedure for bail out, but due to the smoke and slight disorientation, he failed to notice that the aircraft had entered a steep dive and was now travelling at a considerably faster speed. He worked his way out of the cockpit and into the rushing air only to be carried backwards by the slipstream, the left side of his chest striking the vertical stabiliser of his fighter, either killing him instantly or rendering him unconscious to the point that he could not deploy his parachute. He fell almost vertically, hitting the desert floor seven km south of Sidi Abdel Rahman. He had not even attempted to open his parachute, and was dead by the time he hit the ground.

His death, along with two other aces, severely affected morale in JG 27, and the unit was shortly withdrawn from North Africa. Many authorities regard Marseille as the best marksman and the best fighter pilot of WW2. The rudder of his last airplane, marked with his 158 victories, is in the Luftwaffe museum in Berlin.

Rudy Augarten - avenging the Holocaust
Written by Eric Bogomolny.

i see some irony that isreal uses former nazi ac for its defense...anyway

Rudy Augarten was in his early 20s when he flew P-47 Thunderbolts for the US Airforce. On June 10, 1944, soon after D-Day, Augarten left from a base in southern England for a search-and-destroy patrol in a flight of four P-47. The sky was overcast, and the planes came down through the clouds over the French town of Caen. Below, a battle raged between the Germans and the Allies. Caen was well defended by the Germans, and anti-aircraft fire started to rock the planes. The pilots quickly pulled up to avoid the German flak. Suddenly, smoke began to fill the cockpit of Augarten-s P-47. He had been hit. "You-re on fire!" one of the other pilots radioed to Augarten. Augarten-s situation was critical. By now, the patrol had drifted further inland over German-occupied France, and Augarten needed to bail out. He opened the plane-s canopy and dove over the side. The bailout did not go smoothly. Augarten had forgotten to take off his oxygen mask, and it hit him in the face. As he plummeted toward the ground, he groped for his parachute cord. It took a few moments, but he finally found it and pulled. Augarten landed in back of a French farmhouse. As Augarten hit the ground, he had with him only the uniform on his back and an escape kit that contained some food and a little bit of money v but no gun. The farmer in whose field Augarten came down had seen the plane crash. The Frenchman ran out to give the pilot a pair of overalls, but, apparently fearing the Germans might come at any moment, quickly sent Augarten on his way. Augarten started walking and, after about a mile or so, came to another farmhouse. He knocked on the door, and a farmer answered. Augarten knew only a few phrases of French, and he used one then: "Je suis American" ("I-m an American"). The farmer and his wife decided to hide Rudy. But he stilt wasn't safe. German troops came by the farmhouse regularly, and each time Augarten hid in the attic while they searched the area. After two weeks, Augarten felt he could no longer endanger his French hosts. He left early one evening and wandered through the countryside. He tried to work his way toward the front, hoping to sneak past the Germans and back to the American lines. As he walked, he was constantly on the lookout for German patrols. After hiking all night, he came upon another farmhouse, but this one looked strangely familiar. Augarten couldn't believe it v he had walked in a giant circle, and was right back where he started. He stayed for another week, but grew increasingly concerned about the harm to his hosts if the Germans found him. Augarten was also desperate to get back into action. There were railroad tracks a few hundred yards from the farm, and this time he decided to follow the tracks toward the front line. After walking for a while, he came upon some Frenchmen, and again identified himself as an American GI. One of the men led Augarten to a ditch, where a group of British paratroopers who had been dropped off-course were already hiding. Augarten and the other soldiers stayed in the ditch for about a week. Each day, a Frenchman brought food. One day, however, he told the men he had seen Germans in the nearby fields. With danger so close by, he could not continue to help them. The men decided to break up into pairs and leave the area. Most decided to go to Spain, about five hundred miles away. But Rudy and one of the paratroopers decided to try to get through the front lines. Before going their separate ways, they divided up their weapons, and Augarten ended up with a pistol and a grenade. That first night, Augarten and his partner encountered a group of German soldiers. From a distance, one of the Germans called out in Augarten-s direction, "Sind sie das, Karl?" ("Is that you, Karl?"). There was no time to think. "Ja", Rudy answered the soldier, using his scant knowledge of German to maximum effect, and walked away. Apparently convinced that he was another member of their unit, the Germans did not follow. Augarten and the British paratrooper continued walking through the night. Several times they crept past German soldiers sleeping in foxholes, as the two moved closer and closer to the front. As day broke, however, their luck finally ran out. They were walking down a road bordered on both sides by hedgerows when Augarten saw a German soldier a short distance away. "Halt!" - the soldier shouted. "I-m going to give up," - whispered Rudy-s partner. Augarten had other plans. He threw the grenade at the German and then scurried behind one of the hedgerows on the side of the road, finding shelter in a ditch. All hell broke loose. The grenade exploded. The Germans began firing their machine guns wildly, raking the hedgerows. They were trying to get him to fire back and give away his position. Augarten kept still. The Germans stopped shooting and started to search the area. Finally, after about half an hour, they spotted him. This time, Augarten had no choice. He surrendered, and was taken prisoner along with the British paratrooper. Augarten was relieved to discover that the Germans who captured him were not from the SS. Like all Jewish servicemen in the American military, his dogtags identified his religious faith with the letter "H" for "Hebrew." Augarten knew that, as a Jew, he would not have had much hope of surviving capture by the SS. But Augarten-s captors were not interested in his religion or ethnic origin. They took him and the paratrooper to an abandoned brick factory, where two captured Canadian pilots were also being held. After three days, the prisoners were moved to a horse farm, which had been converted by the Germans to serve as a POW camp. The farm had a U-shaped building with nearly two dozen stables surrounding an open courtyard. In each stable, the Germans placed ten-to-fifteen Allied soldiers, separated by rank. Augarten, a second lieutenant, found himself in a stable with thirteen other officers. Each morning, the Germans lined up the prisoners in the courtyard and counted them. Afterward, Augarten and the others were free to wander in and out of the stables, and talk to other prisoners. Soon after arriving at the farmhouse, Augarten met Gerald Gordon, a British paratrooper. Gordon worked in the farmhouse kitchen making food for the prisoners. Several days after the two men first met, Gordon smuggled a knife from the kitchen back into the stables and gave it to Augarten-s group of officers. With the knife in their possession, the men began to discuss a possible escape attempt. Augarten wanted to go, as did Gordon, the two Canadian pilots from the brick factory, and two British officers. The rest decided to stay. A few nights later, the six escapees gathered in Augarten-s stall. Using the knife, they cut an opening in the stable's soft wood ceiling. One by one, each man climbed through to the attic above. After a short search of the attic, they found a window. They realized their plans had not gone unnoticed. Someone, probably the wife of the stable owner, had left a large dish of butter by the window. None of the six had eaten butter for weeks. The two British officers quickly dug in with their bare hands. Augarten and the others grew impatient. They wanted to move on as quickly as possible. The British finally finished eating, and the men huddled around the window. Looking out, they spied a guard making a pass every quarter hour. The window was about fifteen feet above the ground, and the men knew they risked injury if they tried jumping. Moving quickly, they fastened a rope from some extra clothes and, timing the guard's passes, lowered themselves to the ground. The men went down in groups of two. Augarten watched as the two Canadian pilots lowered themselves down and ran across a street adjoining the stable. Augarten and Gordon went next. After sliding down to the ground, the two made their way across the street and into the woods. They hiked for a while, before running into a Frenchman who gave them some civilian clothes. But the two soon realized that the woods were slowing them down, and decided to try their luck on the roads instead. German tanks and trucks and refugees escaping the fighting choked the roads. Augarten and Gordon walked with the refugees, using them as cover. Suddenly, Augarten heard a shout. "Halt!" He turned and saw two German SS officers motioning for him and Gordon to come over. Wearing French civilian clothing and carrying their uniforms in bundles under their arms, Augarten and Gordon walked over to the Germans. Augarten tried to remain calm, but he was gripped with fear. The SS officers began asking the men questions in German. Augarten responded in his broken French. Luckily, the Germans knew even less French than Augarten, and didn't realize the American barely spoke the language. The officers motioned for the two men to continue on their way. The road became more and more clogged with Germans. Augarten and Gordon reluctantly decided it was too dangerous to continue walking out in the open. They found a farm and, after identifying themselves as Allied soldiers, asked if they could stay. The owner was too fearful to allow them to stay in the house. However, he agreed to let Augarten and Gordon hide in a little shack on his property, about a half-mile away from the main house. They remained there for three weeks, receiving food twice a day from the farmer's young daughter, Madeline. Then, one day, Madeline told the two men that the Germans were growing suspicious. They were coming over to the house frequently, making it too dangerous for Augarten and Gordon to stay. The family directed the escapees to another area where some other soldiers were hiding. A few miles away, Rudy and Gordon found half-dozen black Senegalese troops in hiding. They had hooked up with members of the French underground. The group told the two that the Germans were retreating from the area. The Senegalese were thinking of more than simple escape from the retreating Germans. They were armed, and hoped to pick off some of the Germans. With Augarten and Gordon in tow, the Senegalese and their underground comrades positioned themselves along a road bounded on both sides by a ditch and a hedgerow. The men split up into two groups and hid behind the hedgerows. As dusk approached, a German soldier riding a motorcycle came speeding down the road. The men held their fire, and the motorcycle passed quickly and without incident. About five minutes later, the same motorcyclist came back from the op- opposite direction. This time, one of the men squeezed off a round. The shot missed, and the German sped off into the distance, About an hour later, Augarten heard something coming up the road. He looked in the direction of the sound, and saw a group of soldiers marching alongside a tank. In the twilight, Augarten couldn't see the soldiers very well. All of a sudden, shots were fired from down the road toward the men and their tank. The tank stopped and the soldiers dove into the ditches sandwiched between the road and the hedgerows, only a few feet away from Augarten-s group. Augarten held his breath, straining not to make any noise. Just then, one of the soldiers who had jumped into the ditch whispered loudly, "For Christ's sake, McCarthy, get off my foot!" Augarten couldn't believe his luck. "Are you Americans?" he asked the men. "Yes. Who are you?" came the reply. The soldiers took Augarten and the others to the company commander, who arranged for the group to be driven to Allied lines, about fifteen miles away. The American's two-month adventure through German-occupied France had finally come to an end. Considering the ordeal Augarten had just been through, the army felt it appropriate to send him home instead of back into combat. But Augarten refused. He had pulled a lot of strings to get into the fighting in the first place, and had flown only ten missions before being shot down. Augarten formally requested permission to remain in Europe with his unit, and his request was granted. He telegraphed his parents to tell them he had survived, and went back to flying. During the remainder of his tour, Augarten flew over ninety missions. One of these stood out from the rest. During that flight, Rudy engaged several Messerschmitts, shooting down two. That feat earned him the Distinguished Flying Cross.

After the war, the twenty-three-year-old Augarten returned to the States and began his university studies. He was studying International Relations at Harvard, as events were heating up in Palestine in early 1948. On the suggestion of a friend, Augarten attended a lecture at the Harvard Library given by a young Palestinian diplomat, who turned out to be Abba Eban, then a diplomat and representative of the new State of Israel and, much later, Israel's foreign minister. After the lecture, Augarten told a friend active in a local Zionist group that he wanted to do something for his fellow Jews in Palestine. The friend gave him the address of someone to see in New York. On his spring vacation, Augarten visited the offices of Land and Labor for Palestine, a front organization recruiting volunteers to fight for Israel, in Manhattan and told them about his background. At that time, the Israelis had been able to recruit only a handful of pilots, and they were very impressed with his war record. They asked if he could go to Palestine immediately. Augarten agreed, and went to tell his parents about his decision. Augarten-s parents were bitterly opposed to his returning to flying. The strain of having a son missing in action for more than two months had taken its toll. They were not prepared for Augarten to return to the dangers of combat. Deferring to his parents, Augarten decided not to do anything immediately. He returned to his studies at Harvard. As reports of the fighting in Palestine got worse, however, Augarten could not stay away any longer. He got back in touch with Land and Labor and arranged to fly out as soon as exams were over. To avoid another confrontation with his parents, he sent them a letter, timed to arrive after his departure. Rudy arrived in Israel shortly before the second truce, after receiving his Messerschmitt training in Czechoslovakia.

A few words needs to be said about the main fighter plane of the Sherut Avir v Air Service, as the Israeli Air force was called in the beginning of the War for Independence. I personally consider the fact that this plane was Israel's first fighter one of the biggest ironies of history. The correct name of this plane is Avia S-199. After World War 2 a large number of Messerschmitt BF-109G airframes was left at the Czechoslovakian Avia factory, which was building planes for the Germans during the occupation. But the Daimler-Benz DB-605 engines used on the real Messerschmitts were not available. However, Junkers Jumo-211 engines were. These Jumo-211 engines were fitted to the Me-109 airframes. This resulted in the plane that was extremely cheap to produce, but with such flight characteristics, that the pilots, who flew it for Israel, nicknamed it "Nazi Revenge". The plane was called Me-109 out of habit, or, maybe, out of wishful thinking. Unfortunately, it was very far from the vaunted Messerschmitt flown by many German aces during World War 2. The engine switch caused the plane to pull left on take-off and right on landing, sometimes so violently that the Me-109 actually flipped over. Another problem was that its two nose machine guns had a tendency to go out of sync, causing several pilots to literally shoot themselves down. In addition to this, the 20 mm cannon that was firing through the propeller hub in the original Me-109 had to be removed. To increase the firepower two 20 mm cannons were added in the underwing pods, causing additional drag and weight increase. Nevertheless, the Israelis were happy to get any fighters, and even with all these problems, the Me-109 was still fighter plane enough for the veteran pilots of the new Israeli Air Force to hold their own against the superior Spitfires flown by the Egyptians.

Israel was in short supply of almost everything, and with less than ten serviceable fighter planes in the entire country, the 101st, the only fighter squadron in the country, was particularly afflicted. It didn't have enough planes for the two dozen pilots who were capable of flying them, and there was competition for each flight. On October 16, 1948, one day into the first major Israeli offensive against the Egyptians called Operation Yoav, Augarten-s turn had finally arrived. Egypt's air base at El Arish had been one of the sites of the previous day's raid by Israel's only fighter squadron, the 101st. Augarten was on a photo-reconnaissance mission to determine what targets the air force had destroyed, and what it needed to finish off. Although his assignment was simple, he was happy for the chance to be flying at all. Rudy flew southwest toward the coast. Suddenly, in the distance, he spotted two Spitfires flying in formation. Augarten could tell by their shape that they were not Me-109s, like the plane he was flying. Rudy was too far away to make out their markings, but it didn't matter. Even though the Israeli Air Force had several Spitfires in its arsenal, he knew immediately that the two Spits were Egyptian. Because mechanical problems and fuel shortages limited the Israeli Air Force to only a few planes in the air at any one time, the pilots were always confident when they saw another plane that it was not one of their own. Augarten carefully got into position behind the two Egyptians, hoping they wouldn't detect his approach. Just then, fellow 101 pilot Leon Frankel, who was patrolling in the area, saw Augarten beginning to engage the Spits. Trying to come to Augarten-s aid, Frankel rolled his plane over and dove toward the combatants. But before he reached the scene, Augarten lined up one of the Spits in his gunsight, and fired a burst from the Me-109-s two 7.92 millimeter machine guns. Pieces of the Spitfire flew off as the bullets pierced its thin aluminum body. The Egyptian plane plummeted toward Israeli lines, leaving a trail of black smoke. The other Spit fled the battle scene. With no other enemy planes in sight, Frankel and Augarten fell into formation for the trip back to the base. A few days later, Augarten got a treat few fighter pilots ever receive. An army unit took him by jeep to see firsthand the wreckage of the plane he had downed. Smiling broadly, he posed for a photograph in front of what remained of the Spit. With that victory, Augarten had experienced the Czech version of the Me-109 at its best.

His victory at the beginning of Operation Yoav was his first as a pilot in the Israeli Air Force, but it would not be his last. The next day after the capture of Beersheba, Rudy Augarten was again in the air over the Negev. This time, Augarten was in one of the squadron's new Spitfires. He was not alone on this flight. Canadian Jack Doyle flew the other Spit at Augarten-s side. As the two patrolled, they spotted four Egyptian Spitfires. Veteran pilots, Doyle and Augarten turned to come out of the sun at the enemy planes. They each picked a target, coming in with their guns blazing. Augarten recorded his second kill of the war, Doyle his first. The two pilots also damaged the other two Egyptian planes before returning home.

On November 11, Rudy Augarten left Kastina for a two-plane patrol near Egypt's El Arish air base. Augarten-s wingman, a South African named Boris Senior, noticed an Egyptian Dakota lining up to land. He dove down to attack. "What are you doing? This is a truce," Augarten radioed to Senior. But by then it was too late, Senior had already fired on the Egyptian. The Dakota kept flying, though, and it was clear that Senior had missed. With his wingman having already fired his guns, Augarten felt the fallout would be no greater if the Dakota was brought down. He maneuvered behind the Dakota and fired. His bullets found their mark, and the Egyptian plane crashed just before the airfield. Rudy Augarten was particularly adept at this, as his performance in the first four days of Operation Horev showed. On December 22, he climbed into a Spitfire in response to a report of Egyptian planes in the area, and damaged a Macchi that was about to land at the El Arish air- field. Two days later, he flew a P-51 Mustang on a fighter patrol. Later that same day, he escorted a bomber on an attack on the El Arish airfield, this time flying an Me-109. The next day, he was back in the Spitfire for a photo-reconnaissance mission over Egyptian positions. During the course of the war, he would shoot down four Egyptian planes, a total matched only by Jack Doyle. Augarten, who had flown a P-47 Thunderbolt during World War II, made his four kills from an Me-109, a P-51 Mustang and twice from a Spitfire. It was a remarkable display of flying skill. Many stayed on for at least a few months to help train young Israelis to fill the void created by the departing volunteers. This was particularly the case in the air force. In the 101 Squadron, Rudy Augarten and some other pilots remained in Israel to train the first class of Israeli fighter pilots. Augarten then returned to his studies at Harvard to complete his degree. He then came back to Israel, where he served for two years as the commander of the air base at Ramat David. When he resigned from the air force, he did so with the rank of lieutenant colonel.



Strange Encounter" by Roy Grinnel is depicting Rudy Augarten-s 1st victory for the Israeli Air Force. On the right - emblem of 101st

Anecdotes from Glatton

a collection of short anecdotes by various former members of the 457th Bomb Group. (from the 457th bg site )

British courtesy a la hospitality"

Returning from a mission in the Fall of 1944 in early evening on a fog bound night, we were short of gas and not certain of our position; searched for any likely landing spot. At a very low altitude we passed a stirp of concrete that appeared to be an acceptable solution to our problem. Following a sharp 360 degree turn we made an unapproved landing which ended with the plane coming to a halt abruptly at the end of a runway. An unfamiliar "jeep" escorted us to a parking space where we were greeted by several British combat bomber crew members.

We were taken to the clubhouse where "HIGH SPIRITS" were in hot demand. It appeared that every person in the bar demanded that he buy each of us a drink..........glass after glass became a milk shake glass filled with booze..........milkshake glass after milkshake glass continued.............to the dismal distress of a potted plant in the bar which was the recipient of the contents of the milkshalke glasses.

Then came dinner. We were served a hearty meal which include REAL EGGS. Apparently eggs were a real shortage in England and were served only to combat crews returning from a mission. (The American version of WWII eggs was a powdered version of a substance mentally described as a egg).......catsup useage received a huge boost during this period.

Later we were deposited at a billet for the night. All was well as the billet was a very comfortable place with good furnishings. The next morning we were a bit surprised to be watching a female service gal (Wren) ironing our uniforms & polishing our shoes.

Our many attempts to convince our American superiors to adopt the "in bed service" was never successful.
Frank Foster

Two Momentous Days
Two of the most momentous days of my entire life were Aug 6, 1944 and Mar 24, 1945. August 6, 1944 was my first mission, and Mar 24, 1945, was my 35th and last.

The story I'm about to relate happened on my last mission to a town called Hopsten in Germany. My job was to toggle the bombs, which I did successfully.

The flak was quite heavy over the target and after bombing we headed toward our base. The navigator had to relieve himself and he did so in his flak helmet. A short time later we ran into flak which was close......so close we could see the orange centers when the flak burst. The Navigator grabbed his helmet and put it on, and even the seriousness of the moment, was allayed by the look of this poor guy's appearence with urine running over his flak vest and flight suit. This, by the way, was his first mission and my last. I couldn't contain my laughter at his bedragled appearance.

He took it well, as he even gave me his whiskey ration when we got back to the base.
John Kearney

Dive Bombing in a B-17
There were times during our tour of duty when we managed to have some fun, even though it was not always approved by the field commander. I don't remember what date or time of year this was but it was a time of very bad weather in England in 1944.

We had prepared for a mission and had taken off with a full load of 500 pound bombs. After only a few of the Group's planes were airborn there was a mission recall. This meant that the mission was scrubbed, probably because of very bad weather over Germany. We were told via radio that we were to dispose of our bombs and return to our field.

Our Group's procedure for disposing of our bombs was to arm them and drop them in an area of the North Sea that cuts into the side of England known as "The Wash". The Wash was perhaps a hundred miles Northwest of Glatton airfield. The other primary rule for bomb disposal was to be sure that the visibility was good. We must also be out of site of land, and we were to drop our bombs only when we were sure no English fishing vessels or military boats were anywhere near the area.

We proceeded to the Wash only to find that there was a low thin cover of clouds whose top was perhaps 400 feet above the water and extending as far as we could see. There was never any thought of returning to the field with the bombs. Landing with a load of bombs and full gas tanks was too risky.
What to do?

We decided to go down to determine how low the cloud layer actually was. We made a slow instrument descent through the clouds. When we broke through at about 200 feet we found the visibility to be clear and we could readily see for a considerable distance over the water . A suggestion from our bombardier (Joel Lester) and with gleeful agreement from the rest of the crew, we decided that we would rise above the cloud layer, which was only a few hundred feet thick, arm a bomb, then dive down through the cloud layer, level off, observe that no ships were in the area, quickly release one bomb, pull up as quickly as possible and get as much distance between us and the bomb before it exploded.
We did not know how close we could be to an exploding 500 pound bomb without sustaining damage.

We first made a dry run or two before Joel finally armed one of the bombs. Then, down we went. We started at about 1000 ft altitude and dove down with engines at full throttle, broke through the clouds, "bombs away" came over the intercom from Joel, and up we went as fast as a B-17 could climb at full throttle. Just before we broke out of the cloud layer we heard the bomb explode with a loud 'WOOMMP'. Hearing the bomb explode surprised me since I had never experienced that before.

A check of the crew and the plane determined that there was no sign of damage and no one in the crew observed the bomb exploding through the clouds. We continued this bombing, one at a time, until we had exhausted our supply of bombs. Everyone seemed to enjoy this adventure and I kinda wished that we could do this with some of the Group's targets in Germany. Bad, bad, bad idea. This may be the only B-17 in the 8th Air Force to practice dive bombing.

As we returned to our home field there was much chatter on the intercom about the incident and the fun we had had dive bombing in a B-17G.
Willard (Hap) Reese


Isolation
After flying overseas from Kearney, Nebraska to England, we were assigned to a temporary facility near the "Wash" for about a week or more of training, mostly in aircraft identification. Then on to "Stone" to be assigned to a bomb group. We took a train to Peterborough and the standard GI truck from Peterborough to the 457th Bomb Group at Glatton.

Upon arrival at the 749th Squadron in May 1944, we immediately noticed something different from anything we had experienced before.......the men wore all types of outifits. Most wore A2 jackets as the outer cover. These A2 jackets were painted with all kinds of things......bombs on the front of jacket, and pictures of a airplanes or perhaps a girl on the back. We immediately felt a little out of place with our shiny new A2 jackets that had just been issued in Kearney Nebraska a couple weeks before.
As we got out of the truck we immediately noticed something even more unusual.......these veteran crews ignored us completely and went on about their business. There were no welcome shouts of "You won't like it here" or "You'll be sorry", that we experienced in the past at training fields when we first arrived. No one came over to see if they happened to know any of this new crew just arriving. Just nothing...... We were ignored. It was just as if we were invisible.

It did not take long for us to adjust and become just like the men that we had seen upon our arrival.
I was to spend 8 months in this squadron without knowing anyone who did not live in our quonset hut. The crew was everything, in our life. We worked with our crew and we played with our crew. No exceptions. Several other crews came to live in our hut along with us, but we stayed aloof from them. One crew came to our hut and was missing two days later. It simply did not pay to enlarge the friendship scene.

I flew 10 missions as a spare gunner with a different crew each mission. I did not learn a single name of any of them. I was told to report to a certain aircraft number and was given the pilots name after the briefing was over. Upon arrival at the aircraft and introducing myself, the pilot assigned me my gun position for the day. Never saw the crew before or after that mission.

I left the 457th on January 3, 1945 after having lived there for almost 8 months. When I left, there were three of my crew members still waiting to finish their missions. They were the only ones to wish me luck upon my departure. It was almost as a dream, I came in with a replacement crew and left alone. It was almost as if I had never been there.
Richard Gibbs

( side note from BS: a guy in my fathers group had a buddy in a bomber sq not too far away. so one afternoon they took a couple ac for "test rides" and landed at this bomber outfits base. my dad pretty much confirmed with that story was saying. it was far from the life on a fighter base. no one was friendly..no one made eye contact. he said it was like walking into a morgue...but couldnt blame them because they were constantly getting the crap kicked out of them. )

"Here's a different type of war story that I often tell but never bothered to write about:" - Murray Swerdlove

We got a week's R&R and went up to Edinborough, Scotland where we were able to stay with a delightful Scottish family whose name, I am ashamed to say escapes me. (At my age many names escape me!) We were treated royally and each night after we returned from "doing the pubs and the town" our host's two bonny daughters would bring us a platter of sandwiches for our midnight snack. With food so scarce, it was quite a sacrifice for them.

One highlight of our leave was a visit to a pub called The Green Parrot, where we had the best Scotch Whisky we ever had poured from an unlabeled bottle! While there a Mrs. Duncan dragged us into a small mini-bar and as a former American married to the Duncans of chocolate fame insisted, were given some very interesting alcoholic concotions.

Perhaps one of the warmest of memorable events of the entire war took place during our visit in Edinborough. When on leave away from our base in Glatton we were generally hungry as you were only allowed to get a meal costing no more than one pound and generally we would hunt up a Chinese restaurant as you got more food there. While on leave in Edinborough one day we took a taxi and asked the cabbie where we might be able to get a good meal. He drove us to a small fish and chips place called the Atlantic Cafeteria and ran in to speak to the manager. We hesitated to go is as we had hoped for a better choice of food. But he came out and told us to come with him, assuring us that we would be pleased with our meal.

We entered and were led by the proprietor back through the shop and down a flight of stairs to a lovely dining room where we were seated. No one came to bring any menu or take an order but after a bit a waiter came bearing plates of steak, potatoes and salad of highest quality and most generous portions. With no comment the waiter left. When we had finished this fine meal he came back with a great layer cake and coffee for dessert, again without us asking for it. We decided then that we were hooked into some black market operation and were waiting for the bill to come for this Lucullan feast. Finally the proprietor arrived and when we asked for the damages we paid just the one-pound as required. Unbelievable! We asked him how and why this was done and his answer was to the effect that you chaps came here and are fighting for us. We appreciate it more than you can imagine and it is our pleasure and honor to do this. He did add though, that we should come again but next time we'd have to settle for a chicken dinner!
Lovely folks, the Scotch!

Murray (Morris) Swerdlove - Bombardier
748th Squadron - Dave Summerville's Crew

Dogfight over Vlissingen


This short story is taken from the upcoming book, "Finn Thorsager – fighter pilot in combat", written in Norwegian language. This piece has been translated into English for you all to (hopefully) enjoy.

The book is written based on the memoirs of the first Norwegian fighter pilot ever to be involved in combat.

This specific piece is based on Finn Thorsagers own combat report from a dogfight over Vlissingen in 1943 flying with 332 squadron. At this point during the war they were flying Spitfire MkIX.

The translators first language is not English and therefore the text might not be as good and correct grammatically as it should.


Finn sits in the cockpit and tries to think a little before they take off for the mission. It seems that the Germans isn't as eager to meet them in combat as before. It had been a little increase of activity this spring, and he clearly remembers the german he had shot down a few months ago. The enemy plane had spun down with a tail of fire behind it. After those missions it had gotten more quiet again. Just as much flying, but more the routine type of missions – escorting the Americans into France and then meeting up with them again on their way home.

The bombers keeps pounding the German industry. Maybe the decrease in german activity means that the bombing is working? He's not sure, but he hope he's right. Finn gets the feeling that the war now finally have turned around for the allies. Thoughts of survival starts to sneak up on him. In the start of it all, the idea of surviving seemed almost unreal to him. It now seems to be a fair chance he can get out of if alive. By each mission he puts down in his logbook, the more days go by. It's still important to keep the lads on their toes. It's dangerous if they get apathetic and isn't concentrating to their fullest when they're out flying. A pair of Focke Wulf 190 might suddenly attack out of the sun and send two-three Spitfires into the ground before the Norwegians even understands what happening. It has happened before, and it can happen again.

Finn pulls the hood over his head. He feels tired when he does it. The sound of the Rolls Royce Merlin engine reminds him that yet again he's going out with the Wing on a mission. Where's Red 2? There, Finn sees him straight ahead. He pulls the stick a little back and the throttle forward. The Spitfire happily respons to his orders. Finn gets himself in position behind Red 2. He's Red 3 today. Helge Mehre, the Wing Commander at North Weald, is leading 332 on this mission. They will act as support of bombers and fighters now coming out of Belgium. They've taken the route several times before. The formation looks to be tidy and the altimeter shows 14.000 feet. They continue to go upwards to 26.000. Summer has arrived a long time ago already. Much earlier than what Finn is used to from back home.

«Tally Ho, tally ho!» And observant and excited pilot reports 25 bandits about 10.000 feet below them. Mehre knows his stuff and leads the Wing even higher before he pulls them into a turn which puts them directly against the Germans from above. The enemy is there under them. Still in formation. If they don't see the Spitfires soon, they will be in for a big surprise when the combat-hungry Norwegians from North Weald comes down on them.

«Going down, now!» Wing Co. Mehre calls the boys up on the radio and Finn pushes his Spitfire downwards with Mehre leading. He tightens his grip on the stick and tries to keep up with the leading Spitfires. The ailerons gets heavier the faster the Spitfire dives. Finn is fully aware of it. It's one of the few little problems the Spitfire got. The faster it dives, the heavier it gets on the controls. Finn checks his refleksmessigst. It's on. Canons ready to fire as well. Everything in order. Where's Sandvik who is supposed to be covering him? Finn takes a short glimpse behind. The wingman is right where he should be. Good. This attack looks to be going very well. Finn stares at the formation of Germans straight ahead. Pick one of them! He lets his eyes scan the dots of airplanes. The one to the left seems to be the perfect target. Don't fire too soon, wait for the bandit to be close enough. Now!

The Spitfire shakes brutally from the firing canons but keeps flying dead ahead. Finn's target, a shiny, silver Fw 190, gets taken completely by surprise by the attack. It takes several hits from Finn's guns. Two black puffs of smoke emerges from the engine before it stops dead. Second later black smoke gushes out from it. Violently the Fw 190 flicks over to the left. Finn pulls hard on his stick to avoid crashing with the stricken enemy plane. His arms feels like led, the oxygen-mask lets go of his nose is pressed down from his face by the gravitational forces. Far down to the left the Fw 190 explodes in a giant ball of fire after Sandvik gives him a final salute from the boys from Norway.

Finn pulls his Spitfire on to its back and pulls down and to the right. Filth from the floor hits him in his face while he's upside down. Where's Sandvik? Not in his mirror? Not good, he should be there! The kid must have lost him when Finn pulled away from the German after his attack.

Something silverish in color passes Finn on his left side. Another 190! He rolls the Spitfire over and goes after the it. It's one-on-one now, no help from either of their wingmen!

The 190 keeps jumping around in his gunsight. Finn fires, but the deflection-shot misses it's target. The damn Hun is too far away! The 190 keeps diving towards the earth. Finn thinks for a fraction of a second before he decides to go after the lone enemy pilot. He keeps track of the plane ahead while he presses the Spitfire into a hell-rising dive. This is absolutely not the place to be for long. How many times have he told unexperienced pilots about how dangerous it is to be alone in the sky? Way too many times.

Now, where did the German go? He was ahead a second ago! Finn sees something a bit to the left of him. Something grey is coming straight at him! Finn just manages to fire his guns before the German passes him in terrific speed. He saw hits around the cockpit area just before the enemy plane disappeared. Now he's gone and Finn is alone. A really close shave. His altimeter shows 8000 feet. He's not staying here a second longer. The area is probably swarming with enemy planes and being alone he's no match for them.

Finn presses the throttle forward as far as it goes, and heads for the coast. It doesn't seem to be too far. He can't have flown as far east as he first thought he did.

Sandvik appears over the channel and waves his wings at Finn. He can see him sitting there, in his cockpit, showing Finn thumbs up. Finn lifts his hand and waves back at him. It feels numb and a little shaky. It had been quite a fight!

Safely back at North Weald they round up the numbers. It had been a good day. 13 shot down and no losses. In a couple of days the King and Crown Prince of Norway will arrive at North Weald. This would really be something to tell them!

With a cigarette hanging from his lips, Finn reports one 190 destroyed and one 190 damaged. He could easily have been sitting in a Belgian field right now, his ass covered with dirt and a parachute he's desperately trying to hide before the Germans arrive. He's been lucky. Lucky and skilled? He hopes it to be both.

from: http://www.spitfirepilots.com/

adolf galland

Adolf Galland - Fighter General.
Written by Dariusz Tyminski .

Adolf Galland is probably the most known Luftwaffe pilot of WWII. Not because of number of his kills, but special kind of charisma , a characteristic for all great aces. He was the youngest general grade officer of either side in World War II, and at age 29, he was more competent in aerial combat, strategy and tactics than many of the experts nearly twice his age. As a fighter pilot he was credited with 104 aerial victories. He was also famous for making a lot of modifications to his Bf 109 fighters. He enhanced their fire power, installed better pilot armour and, a cockpit cigar lighter!

He was born in Westerholt, a small village in Westphalia on 19 March 1912. His father was an administrator of private lands and properties. Adolf was the second son, after Fritz. His younger brothers were Wilhelm and Paul. These two younger brothers followed Adolf into the Luftwaffe fighter forces. However they were not as lucky in combat. Paul (17 victories) was killed on 31 October 1943, mistakenly shot down by another pilot of JG26. Wilhelm (54 victories, Knight's Cross) was shot down a year later. Since childhood Adolf Galland was fascinated by aviation. He started building model aircraft when he was 12 years old. When he was 16, he began glider flights. In 1933 Galland realized a dream when he received his first pilot's license. During training in 1935, he crashed in a Focke-Wulf Fw-44 biplane and he was in a coma for three days. He had serious skull fractures, a broken nose, and a partially blinded left eye from glass fragments. His commander, Major Rheitel, an aviator from the First World War, assisted him during his recovery and getting back into flying. He returned to air duty, but a year later he crashed again, this time on Arado Ar-68. Galland again spent a lot of time in the hospital.

In 1937 he volunteered to go with a group of German pilots for service in the Spanish Civil War. In this group were other future aces like Hannes Trautloft, Wilhelm Balthasar, Günther Lützow, Eduard Neumann and Hajo Herrmann. They arrived in El Ferrol on 7 May 1937. Galland became a squadron leader in the Legion Fighter Group, equipped with Heinkel He-51 biplane fighters. Lützow led a squadron of the newest Messerschmitt Bf 109Bs. Galland entered action over Brunete in July 1937. He flew over 300 missions as a leader and he was awarded the Spanish Cross in Gold with Diamonds, only awarded 12 times in Spanish history. In 1938 he returned to Germany. Having great experience, was ordered to begin the organization of Luftwaffe ground attack units.

At the beginning of WW II, Galland flew in Poland in the Henschel Hs 123, until October 1, 1939, performing ground attack missions and proving the dive-bombing concept. For his efforts Galland was awarded by Iron Cross. Next, he was assigned to JG 27, commanded by Oberst Max Ibel. During the French campaign Adolf Galland scored his first kills on 12 May 1940, when he went with Gustav Rödel on a mission. Galland shot down two "Hurricanes" from 87th Squadron in two sorties. He had 12 victories by 9 June 1940.

When "Battle of Britain" started, Galland was assigned to JG26 Schlageter as Gruppenkommandeur of III/JG26. His debut in that unit was very successful: he shot down two fighters on his first mission. On 18 July 1940, he was promoted to Major and a month later (on 22 August) he received the Ritterkreuz (Knights Cross) after his 17th victory. During the "Battle of Britain" his score increased rapidly, and on 25 September he was decorated with the Oak Leaves (for 40 kills) by Hitler. Galland also succeeded Gotthard Handrick as Kommodore of JG26. On 1 November 1940, he scored his 50th victory and was promoted to Oberstleutnant (lieutenant colonel). One month later he became a full colonel.

Galland experienced being shot down himself on 21 June 1941, when JG26 was stationed at Pas de Calais. The Germans attacked Bristol "Blenheim" bombers and Galland downed two of them. However, some escorting "Spitfires" shot up his plane. He was forced to belly-land in a field. This same day, after lunch, he went on his next sortie. On that mission he shot down his number 70, but when following the burning "Spitfire", he was bounced and shot up badly. His plane caught fire, and he was wounded. He tried to bail out, but the canopy was jammed. After a dramatic struggle with the canopy, he was able to bail out at the last moment. His parachute opened just as he hit the ground. He was bleeding from his head and arm and he had damaged his ankle on landing. On 2 July 1941 Galland again was in trouble, but that is another story. Please check the text: Adolf Galland and the dramatic air combat July of 1941. On 9 August 1941 Galland 'welcomed' the famous Douglas Bader, who was just shot down by JG26 fighters.

At the end of 1941 Galland become General der Jagdflieger ("commander of fighter forces"), and went to Berlin. Gerhard Schoepfel became Kommodore of Galland's beloved JG26. On 28 January 1942, Hitler awarded him again, this time with the Brillanten (Diamonds). Galland still was at the rank of Colonel, but in 1942 he was promoted to General, then General Leutnant. He was enthusiastic about the new jet fighter project, and he gave great support to the Me 262 program. However, the protracted development time and Hitler's idea to turn the aircraft into a bomber "Schwalbe" slowed the entrance of this revolutionary fighter by a year.

In January of 1945 Galland and other officers (Lützow, Johannes, Steinhoff) had a notorious confrontation with Göring over the performance and future of the Fighter Arm. Galland was removed from his position and even arrested and threatened with a court-martial. Eventually he was allowed to organize a special jet unit using the Me 262. He created Jagdverband 44 a unit with most experienced pilots. His 'recruiting' officer, Steinhoff, traveled to all of the major bases, selecting pilots who wanted join to new adventure. Some very famous pilots joined over a period of weeks: Gerhard Barkhorn, Walter Krupinski, Heinz Bär , Erich Hohagen, Günther Lützow, Wilhelm Herget.

The newly organized unit flew several missions with varying success. Some aircraft used the anti-bomber R4M rockets. During his first attack with rockets Galland, with Walter Krupinski as a wingman, attacked a group of American B-26 "Marauders". Galland's rocket attack knocked down two of them.

In his last aerial combat in WWII, Adolf Galland took off on 26 April 1945. During an attack against Marauders his rockets would not fire, so he had use the 30 mm cannons. His Me 262 was hit by return fire from a rear gunner. The Allied bomber withstood Galland's fire. When Galland turned to finish the bomber, he was surprised by a P-47D flown by James Finnegan. Shells from the P-47's eight 12,7 mm guns destroyed Galland's instrument panel, shattered the jet's canopy, and struck his right knee. With his plane losing power and in great pain, Galland returned to his base, arriving just at the moment when a strafing attack by enemy fighters was underway. He successfully landed and escaped the wreck of his Me 262, avoiding the fire of the straffing attackers.

After war Galland was invited by Juan Perón to help build Argentinian Air Forces. Here he established a training and operations school, developed tactical training program. In 1955 he returned to Germany. Adolf Galland, a holder of the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds, died in 1996.

Adolf Galland and the dramatic air combat July of 1941.
Written by Christer Bergström .

The short biography of Adolf Galland is described in story: Adolf Galland - Fighter General. . Here I decided to describe a small, but very dramatic episode dated July 2nd, 1941. This day JG 26 "Schlageter" spotted probably Polish fighters from 308th "City of Krakow" Squadron under command of Cpt. Marian Pisarek (details from Polish side on Pisarek's page!). Polish pilots claimed 5 destroyed "Messers'", but Germans from JG 26 lost at least 2 Bf 109s. One of them, piloted by Oberleutnant Martin Rysavy (8 kills) of 2./JG 26, was reportedly shot down by "friendly Flak". Rysavy was killed. But probably 308th Squadron can add him to score board.

On this day, Oberleutnant Josef "Pips" Priller (who at that time served as Staffelkapitän 1./JG 26) shot down his 29th enemy.

The Geschwaderkommodore Oberstleutnant Adolf Galland took off, despite wounds he had received when he was shot down on 21 June, and despite the fact that he had received orders that forbade him to take part in air combat since he was decorated with the Swords to the Knight´s Cross with Oak Leaves. He led the whole JG 26 in an attack against the formation of "Blenheim's" and escort fighters - probably of 308th Squadron, they just covered that bombers... Galland shot down one "Blenheim" (it was not confirmed, because he didn´t see the crash). As he was involved in a whirling dogfight with one "Spitfire", another "Spitfire" attacked his Bf 109F from behind.

The cockpit hub of Galland´s plane was hit by a 20 mm shell. But the armor plate which Galland´s mechanic Unteroffizier Meyer coincidentally had mounted on the Kommodore´s aircraft that same morning, saved Galland´s life. Adolf Galland managed to escape and landed at base, where he was hospitalized again - for the second time in twelve days. As a reward, he paid Uffz. Meyer 100 Mark.

"So viel war mein Kopf wert (so much was my head worth)...", Galland ironically commented later.

On the following day, 3 July 1941, one of the greatest German fighter aces on the "Channel Front" was killed: During aerial combat near Aire, the Geschwaderkommodore of JG 2 "Richthofen", Major Wilhelm Balthasar, was killed when one wing broke off his Bf 109. Balthasar had achieved a total of 40 victories in WW II and 7 in Spain. Only on the previous day, he was awarded the Oak Leaves to the Knight´s Cross.

During July 1941, the RAF reported that they lost 75 bombers and 120 fighters in daylight missions over the "Channel". According to German reports, JG 2 and JG 26 lost 77 fighters on the "Channel front" during the period 22 June - 31 October 1941.

One of the most successful pilots in JG 26 during the summer of 1941 was Hauptmann Johann Schmid of 8./JG 26. On 7 August 1941, he achieved his victories Nos. 11-13. On 9 August he achieved another three victories (Nos. 14-16). On 10 August, he shot down three RAF aircraft in three minutes time. On both 12 and 19 August he shot down another three RAF aircraft on each day. On 21 August he was appointed Staffelkapitän 8./JG 26 and was awarded the Knight´s Cross. During the following two months, he downed another 20 RAF planes. On 6 Nov 1941, he crashed into the Channel as he was following a Spitfire, and got killed. During the same period, Adolf Galland shot down 21 "Spitfires", 3 "Blenheims" and 1 "Hurricane".

JG 26 claimed more than 900 victories from 1939 to 31 Dec 1941 (including 400 since 1 May 1941), and lost 95 pilots killed and 34 POW during the same period (including 61 pilots killed or POW since 1 May 1941). Most successful pilots of JG 26 on 31 Dec 1941 were: Galland (94 victories), Hptm Müncheberg (62) and Hptm Josef "Pips" Priller (58).

Additional note.

On 21 June 1941, Galland was shoot down twice. At 12:30 JG 26 took off against Blenheims from 21 Sq RAF, covered by famous Polish 303 Fighter Squadron, flying as a part Circus 17 operation . After successful attack on Blenheims (1 confirmed kill) "Dolfo" fell under guns of young and not so experienced Polish pilot, P/O Boleslaw Drobinski. The right wing and cooling system Bf 109 F-2 WNr 5776 was heavily damaged, and German famous ace was forced to immediately belly landing. So, it looks that Galland experienced really bedluck, fighting against Polish fighter pilots... This same day, few hours later, commander of JG 26 was shot down by Sgt Grant from 145 Squadron RAF.

Marian Pisarek - one of most effective Polish aces.
Written by Dariusz Tyminski .

Marian Pisarek belonged to the most experienced group of Polish fighter pilots. In 1939, he was a Second Commander of 141st Fighter Squadron (and flew P-11c's). On September 1st, 1939, he shot down a German Hs 126 (after some sources this kill was shared with Stanislaw Skalski ). On the next day, he took part in a tragic attack on a German armored column, where a few pilots were killed. This same day, in the evening, Pisarek downed - by mistake - a Polish recon-bomber, a P-23 "Karas" (which looked very similar to a Ju 87). On September 4th, there was no mistake, he killed personally one Ju 87.

After receiving evacuation orders, he moved through Romania to France. Here, Pisarek came into the newly organised kpt. Tadeusz Rolski Squadron, but this unit was not combat ready till the end of the war in France. After France's capitulation, the Polish aviators, who had been at Gaillac Airfield, took French Caudron Goeland aircraft and flew to Oran. They next, by way of Casablanca, arrived in Great Britain.

After August 2nd, Lt. Marian Pisarek was a member of the 303rd "Kosciuszko" Squadron. He took part in the Battle of Britain. On September 7th, 1940, at 16:35, he started a sortie, with all 11 aircraft in his squadron, to catch a German bomber group. A Quarter of an hour later, the air combat began. The Polish fighters scored 14 confirmed victories (12 Do 215's and 2 Bf 109's) and 4 others, that were probably 2 additional Do 215's and 2 more Bf 109's. But unfortunately Pisarek, after shooting down one Bf 109, had to bail out in his parachute, and Second Lieutenant Kaszewski was gravely injured.

Mr Dennis Barnes, who was a witness of that epizode, remembers:

"During the battle of britian in 1940 I was a young lad living in Loughton in Essex close to London. On the afternoon of Sept 7th a great air battle was in progress above us. at about 4.56 pm a plane crashed not far away from us, and very soon after my mother, 2 sisters and I observed a parachutist who appeared to be coming to land at the end of our long back garden. Thinking it must be a german, I went into the house to get my father's 12 bore shotgun. Just then, much to my disappointment, or (relief) a gust of wind caught the chute and it was taken over some houses and into a field. A pilot who have bailed out of his hurricane after trying (typically) to steer it away from the houses and into a field was captain Marian Pisarek.

He had infact almost suceeded in doing this, but unfortunately the aircraft crashed in the garden of a house next to the field and killed 3civil defence personnel in an air raid shelter there. Pilot who landed in that field was given a rather rough handling.first by the local defence volenteers who thought he was a german and the aircraft that had crashed was german. Marian who i think could speak little english at that time was able to remove part of his flying overall and show the 'Poland' flashes on his uniform tunic to them. There were then frofuse apologies all round and i understand that soon after that the pilots of 303 squadron at Northolt were invited to a dinner at the Loughton town hall by the mayor in order to make ammends for this mistakes!

So I dont get to meet this great ace personally. After all I did get to meet his 303 Squadron pal. Canadian ace John Kent 12 years later as Wing Commander Kent DFC when I was introduce to him as a young airman at the end of the war, I was also able to sit in the cockpit of Douglas Baders personal Spitfire as an air cadet when he was the co at Northweald. i still remenber his mascot (a Scottish kilted doll) hanging from the windscreen.years later, I got to meet and speak to him when he came to British Airways h.q. to give a lecture to raes.the subject was 'THE BIG WINGS IN THE BATTLE OF BRITIAN'.

3 years ago i did visit the crash site of Hurricane R4173 at 40 Roding Rd Loughton. The owner told me that the site was excavated by an A/C PRESAVATION SOCIETY 4 years previously the engine had gone down deep. Even after all this time corroded .303 mg rounds are still found and he had to give up using a rotivator to till the soil as it was too dangerous still..."

(The autor of this recollection, Mr Barnes, in1945 joined 12 f squadron ATC attached RAF Northweald. In 1949 he joined RAF and became an engineer. After this he joined BOAC as an engineer staying till retirement in 1991. As a member of British Airways flying club and later Booker Gliding CLUB his favorite pastime was flying sailplanes. He had now been living in Malasia with his wife for the last 8 years. He still had an interest in the RMAF museum at Kuala Lumpur.)

Another very busy day for the 303rd Squadron was the 15th of September, 1940. Polish fighter pilots took part in two hard and great air battles, where they achieved 16 confirmed kills. Pisarek led a section with wingmen Sgt. Brzezowski and Sgt. Josef Frantisek (the later of the two a Czech pilot). Pisarek's victim, this day, was again one Bf 109.

On June 23rd, 1941, Captain Marian Pisarek was ordered to command the Polish 308th "City of Krakow" Squadron. The squadrons code letters were "ZF". Flight leaders were, at that time, Lt. Stefan Janus ("A" flight), and Lt. Erwin Kawnik ("B" flight). On June 27th, 1941, Polish fighters claimed 4 destroyed Bf 109's, one of them was by Pisarek. On that day, JG 26 only reported 2 Bf 109's destroyed and one damaged. In 4/JG 26, Unteroffizier Otto Friedrich was killed.

On July 2nd, 1941, the squadron escorted 12 "Blenheim's" on a mission to attack the electric facility at Lille. During the return, they were attacked by a big group, about 60, of German fighters from JG 26. The Polish fighters claimed 5 Bf 109's (one of them again personally by Pisarek) destroyed, 2 probables, and one damaged. But, in the battle 2 "Spitfires" crashed. Lt. Erwin Kawnik was killed, and Sgt. Pawel Kowala became a prisoner of war. Sec. Lt. Budrewicz luckily returned to the airfield with a heavily damaged aircraft. JG 26 lost, at least, 2 Bf 109's. One of them was piloted by Oberleutnant Martin Rysavy (who had 8 kills) from 2/JG 26. Also, in that battle, a Messerschmitt belonging to Adolf Galland (more details on German Ace page) was heavily damaged.

On July 17th, 1941, the 308th Squdron, under command of Captain Pisarek, was ordered to a recon flight over France, in the Bolougne-Calais area. A dozen Polish "Spitfire's" were attacked by a big group of Bf 109's. The leader decided to make a defence circle (ring) of fighters, were each plane covered an aircraft before it. The formation all slowly rotated to the Channel direction. The Germans, sure of their advantage, furiously attacked. The Polish formation defended itself well. Sec. Lt. Witold Retinger downed one Bf 109, next was one destroyed by Capt. Pisarek and Sec. Lt. Taeusz Schiele. During that battle, Sec. Lt. Tadeusz Hegenbarth was killed, and Sec. Ltn. Maciejewski had to parachute and was taken prisoner of war. On the German side, Unteroffizier Gerhard Oemler, of 9./JG 26, was killed.

On July 22nd, 1941, over German airfields in the area of St. Omer, Polish fighters had a lot of combat with Messerschmitts at low altitude. They scored 4 victories (one by Pisarek). Unfortunatelly, 2 pilots were killed -Sec. Lt. Wladyslaw Bozek and Sec. Lt. Miroslaw Orzechowski.

On 14 August 1941 Pisarek claimed a Bf 109F as destroyed. Here is his official combat report:

"Leading 308 (polish) Squadron N.W. of St. Omer, I saw 30-35 Me. 109E's & F's flying in formation at about 15,000 ft, above them and ahead. I ordered 308 and 315 Squadrons to attack, and 306 to give cover. The two Squadrons attacking, dived on the enemies out of the sun.

I attacked a Me. 109F firing three short bursts. After the third burst the enemy machine cought fire, and pieces fall off. It dived vertically towards the ground and disappeard in cloud. I attacked it from above and astern, firing the first burst from about 200 yds, and closing to about 50 yds.

My No. 2 (P/O Budzalek) saw this Me, dived vertically in flames. I claim this Me. 109F as destroyed"

In September 1941 Squadron 308 flew few dangerous Circus operations, and Pisarek added new kills for his score.

His combat report from 20 September 1941 describes dramatic dogfight: "On the way back to the Channel flying at 20,000 ft. I was leading the Squadron - the whole formation was retiring. I saw an Me. attacking P/O Zbierzchowski from close range - He was flying in my group of four. I warned Zbierzchowski to turn to the left - As he did so, I approached the Me. giving 5 short bursts from 100 yds, closing to 50 yds, from behind, to port, and above - The Me. broke away sharply - Later the same Me. attacked me from above and a dog fight ensued - I lost height in tight turns, and then suddenly shot up so that the Me., overshot me and found itself below me. I then got on his tail, and putting my nose down gave a long burstfrom 50 yds. The e/a belchced smoke and getting into a steep dive, plunged into Channel. I was then at 3000 feet. I claim this Me.109F as destroyed."

Next day - next combat (21 September 1941): "Circus 104. I was leading 308 Sqdn. which was supposed to be middle Sqdn. of the Northolt Wing. As I could not see any of our a/c above, I decided to increase height to 30,000 ft. After crossing the French Coast south of Le Touqet, I saw at the same altitude 8 Me.'s ahead and to port and 7 ahead and to starboard.

I gave order to attack the 7 that were closest. A number of dog-fights started. I attacked an Me. 109F from astern on the port side, but could not get close enough to fire - as a result of numerous dog-fights we found ourselves over Channel, and the Me.'s vanished.

I reformed the Sqdn. and once more flew into France. And we were again engaged by a group of eight or more Me.'s, probably the same we had previously seen on our port side - I attacked an Me. 109F from astern, the first burst was from 250 yds. I kept on his tail getting closer and from 200 yds. gave a second longer burst, and then a third burst from 150 yds. The me. started to smoke, I got to within 100 yds., and gave another burst, flames appeard, the E/A turned on it's back and went into a spin, with clouds of smoke and flames pouring out. As I saw three other E/A above me, and had no more ammunition, besides which my R/T was u/s, I dived down and flying low, returned to base"

Pisarek got his last kill, Bf 109, on 13 October 1941.

On December 10th, 1941, Capt. Marian Pisarek ended his tour of battle duty, and the new 308th Squadron Leader, Capt. Marian Wesolowski arrived. The 308th Squdron achieved, in 1941, mostly under Pisarek's command, the highest number of victories in all the Polish Air Forces: 52 confirmed victories, 10 probables, and 13 damaged enemy planes.

After April 19th, 1942, Major Marian Pisarek received command of the 1st Polish Fighter Wing (303rd, 316th, and 317th Squadrons). Ten days later, the wing had a fighter sweep in the Hardelot-Desrves-Marck area. Over Le Treport (other sources say Le Touquet or Bologne) the wing was surprised by an attack by 15 FW 190's. This strike hit the 317th Squadron. They lost, unfortunately, the Squadron Leader; Capt. Piotr Ozyra, and Wing Commander Major Marian Pisarek. The Germans, after rapidly attacking, disengaged from the battle. 303rd Squdron simply did not manage to enter into this combat. Pisarek was probably shot down by the famous German ace, Commander of the II/JG 26, Htpm. Joachim Muncheberg , or Obfw. H. Hoffman from the 4./JG 26.

Major Pisarek is ranked in 7th position on the list of best Polish aces, with a record of 12 confirmed, 1 probable, and 2 demaged enemy aircraft.

Urho Lehtovaara in Two Exciting Combats. (Finland)
Written by Ossi Juntunen .

Battle of Moranes

It was the 9th of August 1941 in Eastern Carelia, Olonez. Early in the morning 8 about 06.00) four MS-406 fighters of FAF HLeLv 28 were covering the advancing Finnish troops. The division was led by Sr.Sgt. Urho Lehtovaara flying the MS-304.

The Finnish pilots saw an approaching formation of 18 I-16 fighters: Lehtovaara gave order to attack the enemy. A "furball" ensued. The Soviet pilots were disturbed by their own numeric superiority, they were constantly in danger of colliding with each other, thus they had to watch each other as much as the Moranes. Also they were tempted to open fire at a long range in competition for targets.

The Finnish pilots knew what to do: they kept curving in one direction only and fired upon opportunity at a close range. Lehtovaara scored the first victory, but immediately a section of three I-16 managed to get behind his tail. But the stiff three-plane formation prevented the enemy wingmen making use of their superiority, the wing planes fired in the thin air as the leader fired at the Morane. After a while Lehtovaara managed to out-turn the three I-16 and he fired in the engine of the leader. The I-16 engine began to smoke, the fighter stalled and dived, the pilot bailed out.

Lehtovaara disengaged from the leaderless wingmen and checked the general situation. The other three Moranes were each fighting three to four enemies, without apparent problem.

Then Lehtovaara saw one I-16 that tried to disengage and dived after him. Lehtovaara fired, but the salvo hit the enemy armour, just alerting the pilot. The two fighters entered into dogfight, trying to out-curve each other. The I-16 pilot was very skillful, Lehtovaara begin to consider disengaging. None of his hits had had any effect on the rear armour of the enemy. Then the I-16 pilot for some reason pulled a slow vertical roll, exposing the vulnerable belly of his fighter. Lehtovaara was prepared and his salvo hit the enemy's engine. The enemy fighter caught an explosive fire and nosedived to the ground with its pilot.

Now Lehtovaara called his scattered pilots and ordered an assembly. All three responded. Their total score was seven I-16, three of which claimed by Lehtovaara. This battle was exceptionally successful for Moranes, planes often considered inferior due to its weak armament.
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Memorable battle

In 1946 Jorma Karhunen, a fellow pilot and Knight of the Mannerheim Cross, met Urho Lehtovaara and asked him what had been the most memorable of his air battles. Lehtovaara declined to answer at first, but as Karhunen told that he was collecting history, not personal glorification of anyone, "Jatti" told about the 6th of March 1943 at Kotka.

The Kymi air base had been made inoperational by a snowstorm on the 4th March and it took two days to clear the snow completely from the runway. The 3rd flight of the Squadron 34 had nine Bf 109 of which five were airworthy.

On the 5th March a ship convoy had arrived through the ice in Kotka harbour and it was spotted there early next day by a reconnoitring Soviet Pe-2 before two Me's chased her away. Next day, in the afternoon of the 6th the enemy sent 27 Pe-2 escorted by 12 La-5 fighters to destroy the ships in the harbour.

The available Messerschmitts were scrambled at 14:00 hrs. Major Luukkanen took off first, after him Sgt.Maj. Tani, then Flight Mstr. Lehtonen. Sgt.Maj. Lehtovaara (he flew the MT-235) and Sgt. Lyly could start only a couple of minutes later since their fighters were not prepared for immediate take off.

Luukkanen and Lehtonen intercepted the first wave of nine Pe-2 and shot down two before the escorting La-5's intervened. The defensive AA guns fired indiscriminately at the aircraft, and the Soviet bombers released hastily their loads and turned away. Tani received one wave of the returning bombers heads-on and fired at each one he passed. He once was so close that saw how exploding 20mm shells ripped holes in the fuselage of a Pe-2. Tani damaged five and shot down one. Lehtovaara chased the bombers that had been scattered by the defence, and shot down two stragglers at Someri Island before retuning back to base to avoid contact with La-5's. The total score for the five pilots was five Pe-2 and three La-5. Major Luukkanen's MT-201 had been badly damaged in the fuselage by a La-5. There were no other losses. No ships were hit.

The enemy made a new surprise attack three hours later with 12 Pe-2 escorted by 17 La-5. The base was alerted by Sr. Sgt. Lansivaara who was on an ice reconnaisance mission. Again four Me's took off to intercept. This time the escort fighters were doing their duty better and prevented the Messerschmitt pilots from getting more than one of the bombers. The Finnish fighters were soon dispersed and each pilot had to fight for himself without help from the others.

Lehtovaara was engaged by a good La-5 pilot, who kept his altitude and speed advantage by doing "pendulum" attacks at the low-flying MT-235. Only the enemy's shooting skill was not equal to his flying skill. The Soviet pilot did not spare ammunition - the La-5 had 200 rounds for each of her 20mm guns against 135 rounds of the single Me cannon. The Soviet pilot fired at a too long range, and Lehtovaara kept evading quite easily. Staying calm and ready for counterstrike the Finnish pilot noticed that the enemy pilot was losing his temper after ten minutes. Finally the enemy failed to pull up with full speed after a firing pass, allowing Lehtovaara to get behind the La-5 in good range. One salvo from the cannon of the Me, and the La-5 dived in flames toward the Baltic ice.

Immediately four more La-5 attacked, and the pilots were equal to the first opponent. Lehtovaara was in great trouble now, because whenever he had dodged one attack, another enemy was already aiming at him. The Finnish pilot could not fly straight long enough to aim and shoot. Slowly the dogfighting fighters took altitude in the course of the battle. Finally three of the enemies retreated, probably due to fuel shortage, but the fourth was hanging behind the tail of Lehtovaara's Me. The altitude was now about 3000 m.

Lehtovaara was getting exhausted and he felt he could not shake the enemy off without doing something unusual. So he half-rolled and nosedived - the La-5 followed. Lehtovaara turned the Me with ailerons so that the setting sun shone him in the face and its glare combined with reflection from the ice impaired his vision. He dived as low as he dared at a final speed of nearly 900 kmh, then pulled out of the dive with two hands on the stick, blacking out.

As the Finnish pilot regained his vision, he was flying a few meters over the rough Baltic ice. He curved and looked back to see the enemy - but all he could see was a column of smoke over the ice. Lehtovaara flew closer to inspect. His adversary had not pulled out of the dive in time, the La-5 had touched the ice three times before the final impact.

Lehtovaara tested his guns - they were jammed. His radio was dead, and he felt great weariness when taking direction to the base. After landing he felt as if he were on a foreign planet, where he had no right to be. But for the mercy of God he and the MT-235 would have been a heap of rubble on the Baltic ice. However, this victory was not credited to him because later the wreck of the La-5 could not be found on the ice - it had been snowed over.

That day the 3rd Flight had scored thirteen proven victories at the cost of two damaged, repairable Me's. Three dead and two living Soviet airmen were found on the ice. The men taken prisoners were Lt. Seraphin Pimenow, 20 years in age and Sgt.Maj. Vladimir Varschidskiy, 23 years, both of the 12. Guards' Dive-bombing Regiment (12.Gv.PBAP). A dozen bombs had hit the town, destroying several houses and killing 6 civilians and five soldiers. The ships in the harbour had not been damaged in either attack.

The same action has been described in the official history of the Aviatsiya VMF (Moskva, 1983). We are told that on 6 March 1944 Kotka harbour was attacked once by 20 Pe-2 escorted by 18 Yak-9. The defence sent six Bf 109 and four FW 190 to intercept. In the ensuing battle the Soviets shot down five Bf 109 and one FW 190. One Pe-2 and three Yak-9 were damaged by defenders. (That is, no actual losses.) Several ships were sunk ...

You may notice some differences between the Soviet and Finnish stories. The Soviet story version of the day might not have been properly researched, and facts from an attack on an harbour defended by Luftwaffe on the southern coast of the Gulf of Finland may have been introduced in the story.