In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

The Battle of Britain, 1940

In the spring of 1940, Hitler's armies smashed across the borders of Holland and Belgium and streamed into the northern reaches of France. The German "Blitzkrieg" moved swiftly to the west and the south, splitting the British and French defenders, trapping the British army at Dunkirk and forcing its evacuation from continental Europe. The Germans entered Paris on June 14 and forced France's surrender on June 22. England now stood alone awaiting Hitler's inevitable attempt to invade and conquer the island.
Great Britain was in trouble. The soldiers rescued from Dunkirk were exhausted by their ordeal. Worse, most of their heavy armaments lay abandoned and rusting on the French beaches. After a short rest, the Germans began air attacks in early summer designed to seize mastery of the skies over England in preparation for invasion. All that stood between the British and defeat was a small force of RAF pilots outnumbered in the air by four to one.

Day after day the Germans sent armadas of bombers and fighters over England hoping to lure the RAF into battle and annihilate the defenders. Day after day the RAF scrambled their pilots into the sky to do battle often three, four or five times a day. England's air defense bent but did not break. By September, the Germans lost enthusiasm for the assault. Hitler postponed and then canceled invasion plans, turning his attention to the defeat of Russia. In appreciation of the RAF pilots' heroic effort, Winston Churchill declared: "Never before in human history was so much owed by so many to so few."

The "Few" in Their "Finest Hour"

In the summer of 1940, twenty-one-year-old Pilot Officer John Beard was a member of a squadron of Hurricanes based near London. Waiting on the airfield while his plane is rearmed and refueled, Beard receives word of a large German attack force making its way up the Thames River towards London. The afternoon sun illuminates a cloudless blue sky as Beard and his fellow pilots lift their planes off the grass airstrip and climb to meet the enemy. The defenders level off at 15,000 feet and wait for the attackers to appear:

"Minutes went by. Green fields and roads were now beneath us. I scanned the sky and the horizon for the first glimpse of the Germans. A new vector came through on the R.T. [radio telephone] and we swung round with the sun behind us. Swift on the heels of this I heard Yellow flight leader call through the earphones. I looked quickly toward Yellow's position, and there they were!

It was really a terrific sight and quite beautiful. First they seemed just a cloud of light as the sun caught the many glistening chromium parts of their engines, their windshields, and the spin of their airscrew discs. Then, as our squadron hurtled nearer, the details stood out. I could see the bright-yellow noses of Messerschmitt fighters sandwiching the bombers, and could even pick out some of the types. The sky seemed full of them, packed in layers thousands of feet deep. They came on steadily, wavering up and down along the horizon. 'Oh, golly,' I thought, 'golly, golly . . .'

And then any tension I had felt on the way suddenly left me. I was elated but very calm. I leaned over and switched on my reflector sight, flicked the catch on the gun button from 'Safe' to 'Fire,' and lowered my seat till the circle and dot on the reflector sight shone darkly red in front of my eyes.

The squadron leader's voice came through the earphones, giving tactical orders. We swung round in a great circle to attack on their beam-into the thick of them. Then, on the order, down we went. I took my hand from the throttle lever so as to get both hands on the stick, and my thumb played neatly across the gun button. You have to steady a fighter just as you have to steady a rifle before you fire it.

My Merlin [the airplane's engine] screamed as I went down in a steeply banked dive on to the tail of a forward line of Heinkels. I knew the air was full of aircraft flinging themselves about in all directions, but, hunched and snuggled down behind my sight, I was conscious only of the Heinkel I had picked out. As the angle of my dive increased, the enemy machine loomed larger in the sight field, heaved toward the red dot, and then he was there!

I had an instant's flash of amazement at the Heinkel proceeding so regularly on its way with a fighter on its tail. 'Why doesn't the fool move?' I thought, and actually caught myself flexing my muscles into the action I would have taken had I been he.

When he was square across the sight I pressed the button. There was a smooth trembling of my Hurricane as the eight-gun squirt shot out. I gave him a two-second burst and then another. Cordite fumes blew back into the cockpit, making an acrid mixture with the smell of hot oil and the air-compressors.

I saw my first burst go in and, just as I was on top of him and turning away, I noticed a red glow inside the bomber. I turned tightly into position again and now saw several short tongues of flame lick out along the fuselage. Then he went down in a spin, blanketed with smoke and with pieces flying off.

I left him plummeting down and, horsing back on my stick, climbed up again for more. The sky was clearing, but ahead toward London I saw a small, tight formation of bombers completely encircled by a ring of Messerschmitts. They were still heading north. As I raced forward, three flights of Spitfires came zooming up from beneath them in a sort of Prince-of -Wales's-feathers maneuver. They burst through upward and outward, their guns going all the time. They must have each got one, for an instant later I saw the most extraordinary sight of eight German bombers and fighters diving earthward together in flames.

I turned away again and streaked after some distant specks ahead. Diving down, I noticed that the running progress of the battle had brought me over London again. I could see the network of streets with the green space of Kensington Gardens, and I had an instant's glimpse of the Round Pond, where I sailed boats when I was a child. In that moment, and as I was rapidly overhauling the Germans ahead, a Dornier 17 sped right across my line of flight, closely pursued by a Hurricane. And behind the Hurricane came two Messerschmitts. He was too intent to have seen them and they had not seen me! They were coming slightly toward me. It was perfect. A kick at the rudder and I swung in toward them, thumbed the gun button, and let them have it. The first burst was placed just the right distance ahead of the leading Messerschmitt. He ran slap into it and he simply came to pieces in the air. His companion, with one of the speediest and most brilliant 'get-outs' I have ever seen, went right away in a half Immelmann turn. I missed him completely. He must almost have been hit by the pieces of the leader but he got away. I hand it to him.

At that moment some instinct made me glance up at my rear-view mirror and spot two Messerschmitts closing in on my tail. Instantly I hauled back on the stick and streaked upward. And just in time. For as I flicked into the climb, I saw, the tracer streaks pass beneath me. As I turned I had a quick look round the "office" [cockpit]. My fuel reserve was running out and I had only about a second's supply of ammunition left. I was certainly in no condition to take on two Messerschrnitts. But they seemed no more eager than I was. Perhaps they were in the same position, for they turned away for home. I put my nose down and did likewise."

"Battle of Britain, 1940," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2000).

[bobbysocks]

Bombing Raid on Ploesti, 1943

Ploesti was a vast complex of oil refinery facilities located some 30 miles north of Bucharest, Romania. It supplied an estimated sixty percent of the refined oil necessary to keep the German war machine running. In the words of Winston Churchill, Ploesti was “the taproot of German might.” It was a strategic target whose destruction allied planners hoped would deliver a severe blow to Germany’s ability to carry on the war.

The blow was to be delivered by American B-24 bombers flying out of the Libyan Desert, across the Mediterranean Sea to the target and return - a two thousand mile journey that would push the abilities of both planes and crews to their limits. This would not be the first raid on Ploesti - this had occurred in June 1942 -, nor the last, but it had the highest expectations. Five bombardment groups – two borrowed from the Eighth Air Force stationed in England – equipped with B-24 Liberator bombers began low-level flight training in the Libyan dessert. Flying in formation at altitudes of fifty feet or lower to avoid radar detection and impede enemy antiaircraft fire.

Loaded with extra fuel tanks, 178 attack planes struggled aloft from their Libyan airstrips early Sunday morning August 1, 1943. They flew into a fiery hell that would be remembered as "Black Sunday." Trouble began almost immediately. Unbeknownst to the air crews, the Germans had broken their communication code and monitored their flight almost as soon as they took off. As they approached their target, the lead flight made a wrong turn up a mountain valley taking one of the following flights with it. Detected by German radar, the attacking Americans had lost the element of surprise.

Arriving on target, the B-24's were confronted with one of the most heavily protected facilities the Germans had. Surrounded by hundreds of anti-aircraft emplacements, heavy-caliber machine guns and defending aircraft, Ploesti's defenses included a specially designed flak train made up of freight cars whose sides could drop revealing anti-aircraft artillery that spewed death from its guns as the train raced in tandem with attacking planes. Smoke stacks obscured by billowing smoke from exploding storage tanks also took their toll on the low-flying B-24s.

Fifty-three aircraft – each with a crew of ten – were lost in the attack. Later surveillance flights revealed that approximately forty-two percent of Ploesti’s refining capacity had been destroyed. However, it took only a few days for the Germans to bring the complex back to its previous fuel output.

"To the very end he gave the battle every once he had."

Captain Phillip Ardery was a squadron leader during the attack. We join his story as his B-24 approaches the target and he observes the action from the co-pilot's seat:

"We were very close behind the second flight of three ships. As their bombs were dropping we were on our run in. There in the center of the target was the big boiler house, just as in the pictures we had seen. As the first ships approached the target we could see them flying through a mass of ground fire. It was mostly coming from ground-placed 20 mm. automatic weapons, and it was as thick as hail. The first ships dropped their bombs squarely on the boiler house and immediately a series of explosions took place. They weren't the explosions of thousand pound bombs, but of boilers blowing up and fires of split-open firebanks touching off the volatile gases of the cracking plant. Bits of the roof of the house blew up, lifting to a level above the height of the chimneys, and the flames leaped high after the debris. The second three ships went over coming in from the left, and dropped partly on the boiler house and partly on the cracking plant beyond. More explosions and higher flames. Already the fires were leaping higher than the level of our approach. We had gauged ourselves to clear the tallest chimney in the plant by a few feet. Now there was a mass of flame and black smoke reaching much higher, and there were intermittent explosions lighting up the black pall.

Phifer, the bombardier, said over the interphone, 'Those damn bombs are going off. They ain't supposed to do that.'

'That ain't the bombs,' I answered, ..that's the gas they're cookin' with.'

We found ourselves at that moment running a gauntlet of tracers and cannon fire of all types that made me despair of ever covering those last few hundred yards to the point where we could let the bombs go. The antiaircraft defenses were literally throwing up a curtain of steel. From the target grew the column of Flames, smoke, and explosions, and we were headed straight into it. Suddenly Sergeant WeIls, our small, childlike radio operator who was in the waist compartment for the moment with a camera, called out, 'Lieutenant Hughes's ship is leaking gas. He's been hit hard in his left wing fuel section.'

I had noticed it just about that moment. I was tired of looking out the front at those German guns firing at us. I looked out to the right for a moment and saw a sheet of raw gasoline trailing Pete's left wing. He stuck right in formation with us. He must have known he was hard hit because the gas was coming out in such volume that it blinded the waist gunners in his ship from our view. Poor Petel Fine religious, conscientious boy with a young wife waiting for him back in Texas. He was holding his ship in formation to drop his bombs on the target, knowing if he didn't pull up he would have to fly through a solid room of fire with a tremendous stream of gasoline gushing from his ship. I flicked the switch intermittently to fire the remote-control, fixed fifty caliber machine guns specially installed for my use. I watched my tracers dig the ground. Poor Pete. How I wished he'd pull up a few hundred feet and drop from a higher altitude.

As we were going into the furnace, I said a quick prayer. During those moments I didn't think that I could possibly come out alive, and I knew Pete couldn't. Bombs were away. Everything was black for a few seconds. We must have cleared the chimneys by inches. We must have, for we kept flying - and as we passed over the boiler house another explosion kicked our tail high and our nose down. Fowble pulled back on the wheel and the Lib leveled out, almost clipping the tops off houses. We were through the impenetrable wall, but what of Pete? I looked out right. Still he was there in close formation, but he was on fire all around his left wing where it joined the fuselage.

I could feel tears come into my eyes and my throat clog up. Then I saw Pete pull up and out of formation. His bombs were laid squarely on the target along with ours. With his mission accomplished, he was making a valiant attempt to kill his excess speed and set the ship down in a little river valley south of the town before the whole business blew up. He was going about 210 miles per hour and had to slow up to about 110 to get the ship down. He was gliding without power, as it seemed, slowing up and pulling off to the right in the direction of a moderately flat valley: Pete was fighting now to save himself and his men. He was too low for any of them to jump and there was not time for the airplane to climb to a sufficient altitude to permit a chute to open. The lives of the crew were in their pilot's hands, and he gave it everything he had.

Wells, in our waist gun compartment, was taking pictures of the gruesome spectacle. Slowly the ship on our right lost speed and began to settle in a glide that looked like it might come to a reasonably good crash-landing. But flames were spreading furiously all over the left side of the ship. I could see it plainly, as it was on my side. Now it would touch down-but just before it did, the left wing came off. The flames had been too much and had literally burnt the wing off. The heavy ship cartwheeled and a great shower of flame and smoke appeared just ahead of the point where last we had seen a bomber. Pete had given his life and the lives of his crew to carry out his assigned task. To the very end he gave the battle every once he had.

The August 1 raid on Ploesti was code-named Tidal Wave.
Five Congressional Medals of Honor were awarded for the mission - three posthumously. This is the most awarded for a single combat mission.
Although further air raids were launched, the output of Ploesti refineries was not squelched until the Soviet Army overran the facility in August 1944.

"Bombing Raid on Ploesti, 1943," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (200.

[bobbysocks]

The Doolittle Raid, 1942
America Strikes Back

Once the shock of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor subsided, the focus of American military planners turned to retaliation - even if it was only symbolic. A few weeks after the attack, Lt. Colonel James H. Doolittle presented his superiors with a daring and unorthodox plan. B-25 bombers, normally land-based, would be transported by an aircraft carrier to within striking-distance of the Japanese mainland and launched to attack a number of cities.

A top-secret training program began immediately. The major problem was to learn how to force the bomber, which normally required a minimum of 1200 feet of runway for takeoff, to get airborne using the 450 feet of a carrier deck. After weeks of training, the volunteer crews flew to San Francisco where they boarded the USS Hornet and joined a small flotilla of ships headed for Japan.

The attack was launched on the morning of April 18, 1942, 150 miles further from Japan than planned out of fear that the task force had been spotted by the Japanese. Doolittle gunned the lead plane and lumbered successfully off the carrier's flight deck. Fifteen planes followed, each one skimming just above the waves and carrying a payload of four bombs. Thirteen bombers targeted Tokyo; the others struck Nagoya, Osaka and Kobe. Flying low, the planes were cheered by civilians who thought they were Japanese.

After dropping their bomb-loads on their assigned targets, the attackers flew on until they ran out of fuel. Fifteen of the crews landed in Japanese-occupied China and made it to friendly territory with the aid of Chinese peasants. One crew landed in the Soviet Union and was immediately interned. Eight airmen were captured by the Japanese, four of whom were later executed.

Although the raid was materially but a pin prick, its psychological impact was monumental. It elevated the flagging American moral and destroyed the Japanese conviction that they were invulnerable to air attack. The humiliated Japanese command hastily planned an attack on the American outpost at Midway - an attack whose failure would become the turning point of the war in the Pacific.

Takeoff:

Lt. Ted Lawson piloted one of the attacking bombers. We join his story as he watches the strike leader, Colonel James H. Doolittle, gun the engines of his B-25 and attempt to take off from the carrier deck:

"A Navy man stood at the bow of the ship, and off to the left, with a checkered flag in his hand. He gave Doolittle, who was at the controls, the signal to begin racing his engines again. He did it by swinging the flag in a circle and making it go faster and faster. Doolittle gave his engines more and more throttle until I was afraid that he'd burn them up. A wave crashed heavily at the bow and sprayed the deck.

Then I saw that the man with the flag was waiting, timing the dipping of the ship so that Doolittle's plane would get the benefit of a rising deck for its take-off. Then the man gave a new signal. Navy boys pulled the blocks from under Doolittle's wheels. Another signal and Doolittle released his brakes and the bomber moved forward.

With full flaps, engines at full throttle and his left wing far out over the port side of the Hornet, Doolittle's plane waddled and then lunged slowly into the teeth of the gale that swept down the deck. His left wheel stuck on the white line as if it were a track. His right wing, which had barely cleared the wall of the island as he taxied and was guided up to the starting line, extended nearly to the edge of the starboard side.

We watched him like hawks, wondering what the wind would do to him, and whether we could get off in that little run toward the bow. If he couldn't, we couldn't.

Doolittle picked up more speed and held to his line, and, just as the Hornet lifted itself up on the top of a wave and cut through it at full speed, Doolittle's plane took off. He had yards to spare. He hung his ship almost straight up on its props, until we could see the whole top of his B-25. Then he leveled off and I watched him come around in a tight circle and shoot low over our heads-straight down the line painted on the deck."

The Attack:

We rejoin Lawson's story as he pilot's his plane towards its bomb target in Tokyo:

"I was almost on the first of our objectives before I saw it. I gave the engines full throttle as Davenport [co-pilot] adjusted the prop pitch to get a better grip on the air. We climbed as quickly as possible to 1,500 feet, in the manner which we had practiced for a month and had discussed for three additional weeks.

There was just time to get up there, level off, attend to the routine of opening the bomb bay, make a short run and let fly with the first bomb. The red light blinked on my instrument board, and I knew the first 500-pounder had gone.

Our speed was picking up. The red light blinked again, and I knew Clever [bombardier] had let the second bomb go. Just as the light blinked, a black cloud appeared about 100 yards or so in front of us and rushed past at great speed. Two more appeared ahead of us, on about the line of our wingtips, and they too swept past. They had our altitude perfectly, but they were leading us too much.

The third red light flickered, and, since we were now over a flimsy area in the southern part of the city, the fourth light blinked. That was the incendiary, which I knew would separate as soon as it hit the wind and that dozens of small fire bombs would molt from it.

The moment the fourth red light showed I put the nose of the Ruptured Duck into a deep dive. I had changed the course somewhat for the short run leading up to the dropping of the incendiary. Now, as I dived, I looked back and out I got a quick, indelible vision of one of our 500-pounders as it hit our steel-smelter target. The plant seemed to puff out its walls and then subside and dissolve in a black-and-red cloud. . .

Our actual bombing operation, from the time the first one went until the dive, consumed not more than thirty seconds."

Crash Landing:

About 6 1/2 hours later, Lawson's plane is low on fuel as the crew spots the Chinese mainland and Lawson attempts to land on a beach in a driving rain:

"So I spoke into the inter-phone and told the boys we were going down. I told them to take off their chutes, but didn't have time to take off mine, and to be sure their life jackets were on, as mine was. I put the flaps down and also the landing wheels, and I remember thinking momentarily that if this was Japanese occupied land we could make a pretty good fight of it while we lasted. Our front machine gun was detachable.

. . . Davenport was calling off the airspeed. He had just said, 'One hundred and ten,' when, for some reason I'll never understand, both engines coughed and lost their power.

In the next split second my hands punched forward and with one motion I hit both throttles, trying to force life back into the engines, and both prop pitch controls. And I tried to pull back the stick to keep the nose up, so we could squash in. We were about a quarter of a mile off shore when we hit.

The two main landing wheels caught the top of a wave as the plane sagged. And the curse of desperation and disappointment that I instinctively uttered was drowned out by the most terrifying noise I ever heard.

It was as if some great hand had reached down through the storm, seized the plane and crunched it in a closing fist.

Then nothing. Nothing but peace. A strange, strange, peaceful feeling. There wasn't any pain. A great, restful quiet surrounded me.

Then I must have swallowed some water, or perhaps the initial shock was wearing off, for I realized vaguely but inescapably that I was sitting in my pilot's seat on the sand, under water.

I was in about ten or fifteen feet of water, I sensed remotely. I remember thinking: I'm dead. Then: No, I'm just hurt. Hurt bad. I couldn't move, but there was no feeling of being trapped, or of fighting for air.

I thought then of Ellen [Cpt. Lawson's wife] - strange thoughts filled with vague reasoning but little torment. A growing uneasiness came through my numb body. I wished I had left Ellen some money. I thought of money for my mother, too, in those disembodied seconds that seemed to have no beginning or end.

I guess I must have taken in more water, for suddenly I knew that the silence, the peace and the reverie were things to fight against. I could not feel my arms, yet I knew I reached down and unbuckled the seat strap that was holding me to the chair. I told myself that my guts were loose.

I came up into the driving rain that beat down out of the blackening sky. I couldn't swim. I was paralyzed. I couldn't think clearly, but I undid my chute.

The waves lifted me and dropped me. One wave washed me against a solid object, and, after I had stared at it in the gloom for a while, I realized that it was one of the wings of the plane. I noticed that the engine had been ripped off the wing, leaving only a tangle of broken wire and cable. And with the recognition came a surge of nausea and despair, for only now did I connect my condition with the condition of the plane.

Another wave took me away from the wing and when it turned me around I saw behind me the two tail rudders of the ship, sticking up out of the water like twin tombstones."

"The Doolittle Raid, 1942," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2007).

[bobbysocks]

The Battle of Midway, 1942

The Doolittle Raid on Japan in April 1942 demolished the Japanese military's perception that their homeland was immune from air attack. They realized that in order to protect Japan, their defensive perimeter had to be extended eastward. Midway, a tiny island a thousand miles from Hawaii became the target.
The Japanese threw almost the entire Imperial Fleet into the battle - six aircraft carriers, eleven battleships, thirteen cruisers, forty-five destroyers, assorted submarines, transports and mine sweepers. The Americans had cracked the Japanese code and knew something was up. The thin American defense consisted of three aircraft carriers (Hornet, Enterprise and Yorktown), eight cruisers, fourteen destroyers, and the aircraft stationed on Midway itself. The Yorktown, mauled in the Battle of the Coral Sea, limped into battle after band-aid repairs at Pearl Harbor.

The Americans had surprise on their side, and luck. On June 4, they discovered the Japanese fleet northeast of Midway. An air battle quickly developed. The turning point came at mid-morning. The Japanese fighters were drawn down to sea level by attacking American torpedo bombers, the vast majority of which were destroyed. Their sacrifice cleared the skies above for the American dive-bombers. Within minutes three Japanese carriers were ablaze. Hiryu, the fourth Japanese carrier retaliated with an air attack sinking the Yorktown. That afternoon American aircraft caught the Hiryu, inflicting serious damage. The Japanese fleet retreated. The one-day battle reversed the tide of war in the Pacific, six months after Pearl Harbor. From that point on, Japan would be on the defensive.

Under Attack

Alerted of Japanese plans through intercepted messages, an American Task Force awaited the enemy steaming towards Midway. The Japanese struck first with an attack on the island. The Americans located the Japanese fleet in the early morning and commenced a costly air strike that only 6 of the attacking 41 torpedo bombers survived. Mitsuo Fuchida witnessed the battle from the deck of the aircraft carrier Akagi:

"The first enemy carrier planes to attack were 15 torpedo bombers. When first spotted by our screening ships and combat air patrol, they were still not visible from the carriers, but they soon appeared as tiny dark specks in the blue sky, a little above the horizon, on Akagi's starboard bow. The distant wings flashed in the sun. Occasionally one of the specks burst into a spark of flame and trailed black smoke as it fell into the water. Our fighters were on the job, and the enemy again seemed to be without fighter protection.

Presently a report came in from a Zero group leader: 'All 15 enemy torpedo bombers shot down.' Nearly 50 Zeros had gone to intercept the unprotected enemy formation! Small wonder that it did not get through.

Again at 0930 a lookout atop the bridge yelled: 'Enemy torpedo bombers, 30 degrees to starboard, coming in low!' This was followed by another cry from a port lookout forward: 'Enemy torpedo planes approaching 40 degrees to port!'

The raiders closed in from both sides, barely skimming over the water. Flying in single columns, they were within five miles and seemed to be aiming straight for Akagi. I watched in breathless suspense, thinking how impossible it would be to dodge all their torpedoes. But these raiders, too, without protective escorts, were already being engaged by our fighters. On Akagi's flight deck all attention was fixed on the dramatic scene unfolding before us, and there was wild cheering and whistling as the raiders went down one after another.

Of the 14 enemy torpedo bombers which came in from starboard, half were shot down, and only 5 remained of the original 12 planes to port. The survivors kept charging in as Akagi's opened fire with antiaircraft machine guns.

Both enemy groups reached their release points, and we watched for the splash of torpedoes aimed at Akagi. But, to our surprise, no drops were made. At the last moment the planes appeared to forsake Akagi, zoomed overhead, and made for Hiryu to port and astern of us. As the enemy planes passed Akagi, her gunners regained their composure and opened a sweeping fire, in which Hiryu joined. Through all this deadly gunfire the Zeros kept after the Americans, continually reducing their number.

Seven enemy planes finally succeeded in launching their torpedoes at Hiryu, five from her starboard side and two from port. Our Zeros tenaciously pursued the retiring attackers as far as they could. Hiryu turned sharply to starboard to evade the torpedoes, and we watched anxiously to see if any would find their mark. A deep sigh of relief went up when no explosion occurred, and Hiryu soon turned her head to port and resumed her original course. A total of more than 40 enemy torpedo planes had been thrown against us in these attacks, but only seven American planes had survived long enough to release their missiles, and not a single hit had been scored. Nearly all of the raiding enemy planes were brought down."

Five Minutes That Changed The War

The Japanese were now caught in a logistical nightmare. Wanting to follow up on their earlier attack on Midway, they armed their bombers with bombs. However, in the midst of battle, scouts spotted the American Fleet, so the bombers were ordered refitted with torpedoes. Simultaneously, the Zeros defending the Fleet returned to their carriers for rearming and refueling. At this moment, more American attackers appeared, Commander Fuchida continues his story:

"Preparations for a counter-strike against the enemy had continued on board our four carriers throughout the enemy torpedo attacks. One after another, planes were hoisted from the hangar and quickly arranged on the flight deck. There was no time to lose. At 1020 Admiral Nagumo gave the order to launch when ready. On Akagi's flight deck all planes were in position with engines warming up. The big ship began turning into the wind. Within five minutes all her planes would be launched.

Five minutes! Who would have dreamed that the tide of battle would shift completely in that brief interval of time?

Visibility was good. Clouds were gathering at about 3,000 meters, however, and though there were occasional breaks, they afforded good concealment for approaching enemy planes. At 1024 the order to start launching came from the bridge by voice-tube. The Air Officer flapped a white flag, and the first Zero fighter gathered speed and whizzed off the deck. At that instant a lookout screamed: 'Hell-divers!' I looked up to see three black enemy planes plummeting toward our ship. Some of our machine guns managed to fire a few frantic bursts at them, but it was too late. The plump silhouettes of the American 'Dauntless' dive-bombers quickly grew larger, and then a number of black objects suddenly floated eerily from their wings. Bombs! Down they came straight toward me! I fell intuitively to the deck and crawled behind a command post mantelet [rolled mattresses providing protection from shrapnel].

The terrifying scream of the dive-bombers reached me first, followed by the crashing explosion of a direct hit. There was a blinding flash and then a second explosion, much louder than the first. I was shaken by a weird blast of warm air. There was still another shock, but less severe, apparently a near miss. Then followed a startling quiet as the barking of guns suddenly ceased. I got up and looked at the sky. The enemy planes were already gone from sight.

The attackers had gotten in unimpeded because our fighters, which had engaged the preceding wave of torpedo planes only a few moments earlier, had not yet had time to regain altitude.

Consequently, it may be said that the American dive-bombers' success was made possible by the earlier martyrdom of their torpedo planes. Also, our carriers had no time to evade because clouds hid the enemy's approach until he dove down to the attack. We had been caught flatfooted in the most vulnerable condition possible - decks loaded with planes armed and fueled for attack.

Looking about, I was horrified at the destruction that had been wrought in a matter of seconds. There was a huge hole in the flight deck just behind the amidship elevator. The elevator itself, twisted like molten glass, was drooping into the hangar. Deck plates reeled upward in grotesque configurations. Planes stood tail up, belching livid flame and jet-black smoke. Reluctant tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched the fires spread, and I was terrified at the prospect of induced explosions which would surely doom the ship."

"The Battle of Midway, 1942" EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2001).

[bobbysocks]

Edward Gignac

Leading Purple Flight shortly after rendezvous with bombers, I saw a straggling B-17 at about 5,000 or 6,000 feet. At approximately 1530 I saw an E/A** approaching the B-17 from 6 o'clock. I immediately called in the bounce and started down. The E/A scored several hits on the B-17 before I could get to it. As I closed in on the E/A he broke off his attack on the bomber with what appeared to be a violent aileron roll. The E/A then pulled up in a vertical climb. I reefed back violently and took a short burst. My closing speed was very high so I could not follow him up. Even though my burst was very short and at a great deflection, I claim destruction of this Me 109 as Lt. Heller, flying Green 2 saw the pilot bail out just after I fired at him, and he also saw the E/A explode as it hit the ground."
** Enemy Aircraft

These are the words of Captain Edward Joseph Gignac, USAAF describing one of the high points of his outstanding flying career on March 8, 1944. An excellent Flight Leader and pilot, Gignac never attained the exalted title of 'ace' with the Army Air Forces. However, his awards, accomplishments, and the respect garnered from his peers clearly marked him as an outstanding pilot.

This All-American flyer 's love of the air , competitiveness, and daring mainfested itself in another way early in life: on skis.

'Eddie' Gignac, was born on West Street in Lebanon, New Hampshire on September 7th, 1918. A quiet boy from prime skiing country, Eddie was on skis by the age of three wearing boots tailored to fit his diminutive feet. "Rather on the short side", as a friend later described, Gignac's stature grew slowly, as his skiing prowess advanced rapidly.

Around age nine 'Eddie' tried leaping from the ski jump in his home town, and found it to his liking. With encouragement from the local ski coach, jumping became his serious avocation by 7th grade. Soon, a high school aged Gignac was making his presence felt in Northeastern competitions, winning several prominent winter meets and perfecting a somersault leap off of ski jumps.

Gignac entered Kimball Union Academy on scholarship in 1936, and gave notice of arrival to the ski world. After major Class B skiing victories in 1936, 'Ed' qualified for Class A (top level) ski jumping competitions with a second place at Brattleboro VT during the '37 season (in February of 193. This set up one of the biggest upsets in ski jumping to that date.

One week later, on February 27, 1938, Gignac ran away with all of the marbles at the U.S. Eastern Amateur Ski Jumping Championships at Gilford New Hampshire. His unprecedented debut in Class A was marked by outjumping the top Olympic, National and Eastern title holders of the day, giving him the Eastern U.S. jump title.

In the fall of '38, he entered Middlebury College in Vermont and continued his winning ways despite a college football related knee injury. During the '39 ski season, he joined a national invitational exhibition tour with other top U.S. ski jumping stars, and claimed Lake Placid's Ski Meister Trophy for all-around skiing prowess. Though his nagging knee injury cost Gignac a place on the '40 Winter Olympic team, he bounced back to take the College Class jump title at the Nationals held in Berlin N.H. An ace jumper and competitor in anyone's book, 'Ed' began looking for another challenge for his considerable talents.

With enough college credits under his belt and rumors of war about, Edward Gignac enlisted in the US Army Air Corps in the spring of 1941 after his mother's death from cancer. Technically too short to qualify, 5'-3" Gignac wrangled himself into flight training, starting at Darr Aerotech in Albany, Georgia. Surviving upperclassmen, washout checks, poor food, and scrubbing the wind tee for an improper takeoff at Augusta, Georgia, he was soon off to Pursuit School at Craig Field. "Learning how to effectively take lives and destroy property" was his joking description of this last stop before graduating Class 41-I as 2nd Lieutenant Edward J. Gignac. This was December 12, 1941, and America had been at war for five days.

The following Silver Star Medal writeup describes what June 18th, 1942 held in store for him:

"For gallantry in action over New Guinea, on June 18, 1942. This officer was flying a P-39 type aircraft as part of a flight of three, which intercepted nine enemy bombers and eight enemy fighter planes. The enemy fighters were at a considerable height above the bombers, and when our planes attacked the bombers, they were met by a diving head-on attack by the Zeros. Lt. Gignac selected one of the bombers and continued to press the attack in spite of the fact that a number of Zeros were firing bursts into his plane. After the first pass, he chandelled in front of the bombers and, though slightly wounded, he managed to damage another bomber. After the encounter, Lt. Gignac succeeded in flying his crippled plane back to the home base and landing it. His persistence and fearlessness are highly commendable and are in keeping with the best fighting traditions of the U.S. Army Air Corps."

July 11, 1942 brought a winning day for the embattled 40th Pursuit Squadron home team, with five hard fought victories over the Japanese. 'Gig' was not so fortunate however, as he experienced an engine failure just prior to the attack on the enemy formation. Fellow Airacobra handler Philip K. Shriver remembers, "From 15,000 feet with a glide angle of a flat rock, he managed to cover a considerable distance and crash land alive on a makeshift strip. From that day forward, he carried the mark of every pilot that crash landed a P-39...an imprint of the gunsight on his forehead."

Though carried on the 40th Squadron's roster, extended recuperation from his injuries prevented further combat flying before rotation home in the late Fall of '42.

Gignac, promoted to 1st Lieutenant, arrived home for a well- deserved leave in November. Posted stateside to the 320th Squadron of the 326th FG (an OTU or Operation Training Unit for P-47 Thunderbolts), Edward noted that, he "wanted a crack at the Germans next." This OTU Provided the original cadre of pilots that formed the 352nd. Fidgeting at the lack of combat activity, Gignac took a Thunderbolt home for a memorable 'buzz' of Lebanon and Kimball Union Academy before being assigned to the 21st Squadron of the 352nd Fighter Group.

Attaining Captain rank in March of 1943, Gignac's experience found him well suited to Flight Leader status in the 486th (as the 21st was renamed in May). The 352nd shipped for England on the Queen Elizabeth, and arrived at their Bodney airbase home in July. Operating from this base, the 352nd produced some of the top scoring ETO aces, and later boasted the nickname 'The Bluenosed Bastards of Bodney' for their blue painted cowlings.

Adapting to ETO missions pounding the Luftwaffe's fighters, 'Pappy' Gignac put his first mark in the victory column with a shared kill over an Me 110 January 30th, 1944 while flying his P-47D-2 Thunderbolt (aptly named 'GIG'S-UP'). While the nickname 'Pappy' was commonly applied to older experienced pilots, Assistant Crew Chief Art Nellen remembers that Gignac's sobriquet was from his chin's resemblance to the Lil' Abner character Pappy Yokum's chin. Only war could advance 'Little Eddie' to 'Pappy' in a few short years.

Undoubtedly this chin was carried high as Gignac was awarded the DFC in February, less than a month before the March 8th Me 109 victory described at the start of this article. This victory was the first using a P-51 Mustang for the Group, which was transitioning from the shorter-legged P-47s in early spring (see the chapter entitled "Raining Thunderbolts" for more on this eventful mission). Though people close to 'Pappy' noted that combat was taking its toll on him, he was advanced to Assistant Group Operations Officer in April. Promotion to the rank of Major in May prompted another new job, acting Group Operations Officer. Gignac proudly wrote in a letter home, "I'm no longer a mere cog, I'm a wheel."

June 6, 1944 is a date that Americans remember with pride. D-Day! The 352nd FG was busy shaking the earth bombing and strafing in France to prevent movement behind the beaches. The following day brought more of the same, as the Luftwaffe was not able to contest the skies.

The second mission of June 7th found Gignac leading a tactical assault flight of Mustangs over France. 'Pappy's' Mustang, 'GIG'S-UP II', wasn't available for this mission, so he was flying his CO Willie O. Jackson's P-51B 'Hot Stuff'. After bombing a marshalling yard at Trappe, a group of prime movers, fueling trucks, and personnel carriers, were spotted near Voisin-le-Bretonneux at 1400 hours. Quickly setting up a 'race-track' strafing pattern to prevent mid-air collisions, gunnery passes began. After the second set of passes, a large amount of light flak began reaching for the 486th pilots. Asked if he was going to make another pass, Gignac radioed, "I can't, I'm on fire." The Mustang, hit in the right wing ammo bay and streaming smoke, pulled up to 2000 feet as Pappy tried to gain altitude for bailing out. The plane was then seen to nose down sharply, and explode in mid-air as the right wing fuel tank exploded. "Pappy" was killed instantly.

The Germans in the area removed his dog tags and ordered the French Mayor of Voisin-le-Bretonneux to bury his body, and assist in salvaging pieces of the aircraft. While at first blush the removal of the tags sounds barbaric, in fact this was common practice as the Germans forwarded dog tags to the Red Cross for notification. Sadly, "Pappy's" tags never made it to the Red Cross, causing him to be listed as Missing In Action (MIA) until much later. It is presumed the Germans with the tags were later killed in the hedgerow fighting in France.

At great risk to himself, the Mayor secretly recorded the remnants of the aircraft's serial number on the fin as well as the "Hot Stuff" nose art during the salvage operation. As the graves registration personnel moved into the Voisin area later in the war, the Mayor came forth with this crucial information he had recorded, allowing "Pappy's" identification to be established later when lost-aircraft records were researched in 1945.

An interesting fact to note is that the French citizens of Voisin-le-Bretonneux never knew the identity of the heroic American aviator that was briefly interred in their cemetery in 1944. In 1999 Gignac's sister Marilyn, using the author's research records, walked into the Mayor's office in Voisin-le-Bretonneux to inquire about her brother. Now a French-speaking Catholic nun, she was greeted with welcoming arms once the official realized that "Pappy" was their "unknown hero". On June 7th, 2000, the Town of Voisin-le-Bretonneux dedicated a permanent memorial to Gignac, recognizing the sacrifice he made to the liberation of their country from Nazi oppression.

The author Brewster, writing for the Kimball Union Academy Alumni Bulletin in 1947 eloquently remembered Gignac:

"He was a great little guy; his heart as large as his body was small, and his physical courage was boundless. He flew, wearing the colors of Uncle Sam in his last great event with the same fullness of endeavor that so marked his life. After a desperate losing battle in which his body was riddled and scarred by the bullets of the Japanese, he returned as indomitable as ever to go forth to the European front and there in his last great contest, ride his last plane with its symbolic name, 'GIG'S-UP'."

Fellow flyers and friends contributing to this article remember Edward as, "rather quiet, unassuming, a rock of stability, well liked, respected, a fine man, excellent pilot, peerless leader, fair, trustworthy, decent, a great gentleman, and one Hell of a man." While a man could have much worse words said of him, they also miss the slightly wild edge that led this All American to fly from ski jumps and airfields around the world. A great remembrance from his home town sums this up well: "He was a hellion, in the nicest possible way."

Edward Joseph Gignac is buried in the American Military Cemetery located in Epinal, France overlooking the Moselle River. His awards include the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross with one Oak Leaf Cluster, the Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters, and the Purple Heart.

[bobbysocks]

Raining Thunderbolts

The 352nd Fighter Group flew an unusual mission out of its Bodney airfield in England on March 8, 1944. It was unusual not in its intended bomber escort goal, but rather in the composition of the Group on the mission. Using a mixture of seven P-51 B/C's and fifty P-47D's, Mission 69 was a success in one respect for the 352nd, and an unexpected, hair-raising tragedy in another. Victories over the Luftwaffe were chalked in the win column, though these were tempered by foul weather and falling fighters.

The 8th Fighter Command began taking delivery of the Merlin-powered P-51 B's and C's in early 1944. Groups such as the 4th FG (with their hard-lobbying and respected boss Don Blakeslee) received the first Mustangs, and the 352nd had to wait a few weeks before a Merlin-powered mount nosed its way onto the field. March 1st saw the arrival of seven Mustangs, including the first two aircraft which were assigned to Group C.O. Col. Joe L. Mason ("This Is It" s/n 43-6776, code PZ-M) and 486th FS CO Lt. Col. Luther H. Richmond (s/n 43-7196, code PZ-R). The 486th was the first squadron to receive the Mustangs as Mason stabled his mount with that unit. Using a loaner P-51B for training in late February, the efficient Col. Richmond had his transitioned squadron pilots ready for action in early March. The 486th would fly the March 8th mission with seven Mustangs and 16 Thunderbolts - a very unusual occurrence due to differing performance and fuel economy profiles.

March 8th dawned ominously with typical English winter weather - full overcast from 700 feet to 3500 feet. The pilot's briefing revealed the 352nd was to provide withdrawal support for a mixed force of Second Air Division B-24's and First & Third Air Division B-17's. This comprised an aerial armada of some 600+ bombers which would be returning from the Berlin VKF Ball Bearing Factory (near the Spree river in the heart of Germany). This was a "maximum effort" for the 352nd FG, with the 328th and 487th Squadrons each launching seventeen P-47's into the gloom along with the 486th FS's twenty-three mixed birds. The 486th Mustangs lifted off first in view of their increased endurance over the P-47's. The Thunderbolts soon followed, and formed up into their typical flights of four planes and headed into the "soup" (dense cloud overcast) in trail.

As was common during the war, only the flight leader would fly by instruments through this overcast. He would maintain the flight path by careful attention to his instruments, as he had no visual clue of attitude in the dense fog. The other members of the flight would maintain visual contact with the leader, and fly formation on him (as close as possible in very bad conditions). All of this could become very hairy if vertigo reared its ugly head. Vertigo is a sense of disorientation and dizziness brought on by the inner ear sensing false movement of an aircraft when the eyes have no visual reference. This is common when flying in overcast or dark conditions. In other words, the pilot can be flying straight and level in dense clouds, but his inner ear may be telling him that he is out of control in a spiral. This is combated through attention to, and belief in, the flight instruments and what they reveal. Of course, if a pilot is not flying on instruments but rather his leader, it is easy to become disoriented.

Taking off in the first flight of P-47's, Stanley G. "Stan" Miles of the 486th (flying his "Bundle of Joy", P-47D-5, s/n 42-8490, code PZ-S) found himself flying in extremely poor visibility conditions. At times his leader and other members of his flight disappeared from view even though they were just off his wingtip. The 486th flight led by Henry Miklajcyk was following close behind in near-zero visibility too. "Mike" Miklajcyk was piloting borrowed a 353rd Fighter Group P-47D-10, s/n 42-75157, coded LH-Y. It is not currently known why "Mike" was not flying his regular steed, "The Syracusan", code PZ-K, serial number 41-6531, a updated P-47C-5RE that was the oldest 'Bolt in the outfit. However, it was not unusual for a pilot with an assigned aircraft to fly whatever aircraft was serviceable on any given day.

"Mac"

In Miklajcyk's flight, Donald "Mac" McKibben flying his "Sneezy" (P-47D-15RE, s/n 42-76323, code PZ-Y) takes us back to what he experienced, "Our Squadron (486th), comprised of multiple flights of four aircraft, was ascending through the thick overcast. Following the usual procedure, the flights entered the overcast one after the other. Our Red Flight had the Number One pilot, Miklajcyk, flying on instruments. Numbers Two and Three (Bond and myself) flew visual formation on Number One, and Number Four was flying visual formation on me. I did not know it at the time (due to poor visibility and my concentration on flying formation on Miklajcyk), but my wingman in the Number Four position had to leave the formation and fly on instruments due to a bad case of vertigo. Therefore, he was not
involved in the ensuing incident.

Apparently, Lt. Miles inadvertently became separated from his flight while trying to fly visual on his leader. Suddenly, I became aware of the form of an airplane where it shouldn't be (above and to my left), and numerous pieces of aircraft tumbling about.

I reacted with a violent move up and to the right. Normally I would have recovered and continued on instruments. However, my gyro horizon instrument was tumbling uselessly due to my sharp maneuver, and I knew there wasn't enough room under the overcast in which to recover visually. I opened the canopy and started out on the wing. Halfway out, I discovered that I was still attached to the plane by my oxygen hose. I tore off the mask, got out onto the wing and jumped.

I tumbled through the air for a second and pulled the ripcord. It turns out that I was upside down when the chute opened. The opening shock dislodged my escape pack from the pocket inside my flight jacket. It came up and hit me in the face, resulting in a little 'shiner' later. I didn't have much time to look around as I floated down in my parachute, due to the low overcast bottom that day. I tugged the risers a little to maneuver into a plowed field instead of a road, and saw the flaming wreckage of my plane nearby. On the same side of the road as my plane crash was a little house and a nice lady came out and offered me some tea. On the other side of the road was a thatched roof house that had been set alight by the burning gasoline thrown from the wreckage, as well as some smoldering trees in a churchyard. Somewhere around here I still have a pin and a certificate from the 'Caterpillar Club' for using my chute."

To observers on the ground, it seemed to be raining Thunderbolts. Mr. and Mrs. Lemon lived near the site where "Sneezy" plummeted from the sky and exploded. Mrs. Lemon recalled, "We heard a loud clattering noise, and then there was silence." Mr. Lemon adds, "I was working at Hapton Hall, heard the noise, and knew something was wrong. Seconds later a plane came hurtling earthwards, so I grabbed my bicycle and headed to the scene of the crash. A few moments later a pilot parachuted down and landed approximately 100 yards away from the wreck. Debris and burning fuel was flung towards a thatched cottage which eventually burned down, and the elderly lady owner Daisy Moss was trapped in the toilet outside by the propeller. My wife eventually removed it so she could escape. Ten or so fire engines from Hethel and Hardwick came to fight the fire, but a strawstack near the wreck also caught fire and eventually burnt out as well. A sycamore tree in the churchyard 250 yards away was also badly scorched." The gas-filled "Sneezy" certainly created a stir when it returned to earth.

Back at Bodney that evening "Mac" stopped in at the Officer's Club. Mac's friend and fellow pilot Ted Fahrenwald was there and recalls, "I was in the Officer's Club that evening at Bodney when Mac came in for a few drinks. After he relaxed, the delayed shock hit him and he turned white as a sheet. I ended up escorting him back to his bunk".

No "Bundle of Joy"

Stan Miles confirms this traumatic incident with, "The day was solid overcast. I am not sure if it was raining, but I estimate the ceiling at 700 feet, though others may have differing estimates. I was not flying on instruments that day as we climbed into the overcast, as I was flying visual on my flight leader. I lost sight of my leader and was soon hit from underneath and behind by Henry Miklajcyk, flight leader of the flight following mine. I was pushed over into a dive as a result of the collision. My engine was knocked out and hydraulic fluid and oil came back all over the windscreen so I couldn't see in front of me. I pulled out of the dive right at the tree tops, and out of my side window I spotted a large base with a beautiful runway below. I dropped the gear, as it did not depend on the hydraulic system to be lowered, and landed on that base. I rolled to a stop and it turned out to be the bomber base at Hethel. It had an exceptionally long and wide runway, not like the grass field at Bodney. Fortunately I did not try to bail out, as when I got on the ground, I discovered the canopy was stuck shut from the mid-air collision.

I recall seeing a couple of columns of smoke at the time, which presumably were Bond, Miklajcyk and McKibben's crash sites. A lot of Hethel's personnel met my plane as I stopped. They got me out and took me to base operations. I waited there for a while until someone from Bodney came over and gave me a ride back. I never went to the hospital, and I certainly didn't visit the Officer's Club as I was greatly saddened and depressed by the events of the day. I was actually in a state of shock for several days."

The USAAF "Report of Aircraft Accident" details the damage to "Bundle of Joy" as, "Cowling torn up, Engine oil cooler line broken and further damage, and Prop tips bent." The plane was left at the 389th BG's base at Hethel and sent off for scrap (see accompanying photograph). Stans adds, "I believe I got a temporary plane upon my return to base, before I was assigned one of the new P-51s."

"The Syracusan" Jumps Too

Miklajcyk was intently flying by his instruments when the collision occurred, undoubtedly preventing him from seeing Miles' aircraft. "Mike" (with a now-crippled P-47 at low altitude) quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valor as well, and took to his chute. The "Report of Aircraft Accident" flatly describes the P-47 as, "Completely Demolished". This a simple way of saying that the big Thunderbolt augered into a hedgerow between Wreningham and Flordon, almost completely burying the aircraft.

A piece of "Mike's" aircraft landed just a few feet from farm worker Philip Taylor from Flordon, "I was busy muck-spreading some 500 yards away from the crash site, and the exploding shell noise startled my horse. My brother Leslie was working in the field nearest the crash and rushed to the scene. He was also scared by the exploding shells and beat a hasty retreat. He then watched the fire burn up the plane from a safe distance, but he did not know what happened to the pilot." Miklajcyk soon landed safely in his parachute without any injuries, thus also joining the "Caterpillar Club". Upon hitting the ground and gathering up his parachute, he was greeted by a forward young lad from Flordon who asked, "Can I have your parachute mister?" (This is believed to be John Griffiths, of an East London family of who had moved to Flordon to escape the Blitz of 1940).

Earl Bond

The report for Lt. Earl H. Bond recounts, "Lt. Bond was flying Red Two when his flight leader collided with another ship in the overcast. It is believed that in pulling away from the debris of the collision, Lt. Bond lost his orientation and spun in." It also states that this aircraft was "Completely Demolished". At 1425 hours the aircraft impacted at the edge of a wood one half mile from Mergate Hall, Bracon Ash. Earl Bond was killed instantly, and his Thunderbolt burned out completely. After the recovery of Bond's body, the remains of "The Bid" (P-47D-5, s/n 42-8652. Code PZ-O) rested undisturbed for 46 years, partially hidden by a bean crop, dense woodland and ground ivy. The boundary hedge still bears the scars of the crash, and a large oak tree remains blackened and malformed in the upper branches.

Local English farmer Rex Webster recalls the collision, "I remember it being around lunch time and hearing what sounded like aircraft in the clouds fooling around, then some noise, followed by three aircraft diving out from the cloud in violent spins. Seconds later there were three separate explosions as they hit the ground, one on the boundary of my Father's land in Braconash." Another similar account from Philip Taylor adds "I had just returned from dinner at about 13:30 and was muckspreading that afternoon on a horse drawn wagon when incident occurred. I could hear the noise of aircraft above, but could not see them as they were flying in the clouds. Then all of a sudden there was a sound like smashing crockery, and the planes came diving out of the clouds. One crashed at Hapton up by the houses, another came down up near the "Sheds" at the back of John Bett's Land in Braconash, and one landed just across the field from me on Webster's Meadow. I think another came down on the airfield at Hethel. I remember seeing the pilot floating down up there at Hapton, he looked a bit like one of them Thistle down seeds. Now the pilot of the one on the low meadow, I don't know where he came down, the wind must have carried him away from the crash because I never saw him."

The remaining 352nd FG fighters assembled on top of the overcast and proceeded on their mission to escort the withdrawing bombers after their attack on Berlin.

Great credit is due to parachute rigger Michael Sandorse of the 486th Squadron. Known to the pilots as "Sandy", he was lauded for his fanatical attention to detail, and a perfect record of 25 out of 25 chutes performing when called upon during the war. The pilots had every confidence that if they had to take to their chute, it would operate as advertised. Each pilot had two or more parachutes fitted to them, and these were unpacked, dried, and repacked every two weeks, or sooner if there was any unusual use or humid weather. This presented Sandorse with an unrelenting and tedious job. Pilots such as Luther Richmond, Henry Miklajcyk, Stephen Andrew, "Gus" Lundquist, "Mac" McKibben, Ted Fahrenwald, "Jim" Gremaux and many others owed their lives to his capable hands. March 8th proved yet again the value of a well-packed and maintained parachute. As an aside, in his rare "spare time" Sandorse sewed pockets into the inside of pilot's leather A-2 flight jackets to house their escape maps and escape pack (as described by McKibben earlier in this article).

Over in the 487th Squadron, things were little better on March 8th as the aircraft ascended into the overcast. William "Flaps" Fowler tells us his experience, "You asked me if I recall that mission. How could I forget it! It nearly scared the life out of me. In those days, I could pull back the blackout curtains in the morning and tell instantly whether I was going to have a good or a bad day. The weather was almost always bad, and that constant threat was what worried me.

March 8th, 1944 was my first combat mission. While waiting in our pilot's ready room over in the 487th area that morning, Colonel J.C. Meyer (487th CO) said to me, 'Fowler, how are you on instruments?' I replied that I hadn't thought much about it, but I'd had the usual training. This query put me on guard I guess because I thought, 'They'll never lose me in the overcast." "Flaps" was piloting P-47D-2, s/n 42-22492, code HO-F.

"Well it turns out I was assigned Crowned Prince Red Two position as wingman for Major John C. 'Curly' Edwards, who was leading the 487th Squadron that morning. This meant we were at the front of the entire squadron, and it is a wonder that it didn't turn out tragic with all of those P-47's following us. After takeoff we entered the overcast, and the flying game changed. Visibility went from bad to worse. At times I couldn't see Edwards at all, and it was like flying formation in a milk bottle. Most of the time all I could see was his wingtip, but as I said this would sometimes vanish. I eased over towards Edwards to try to keep his plane in sight, as I was supposed to be flying visual on him, and didn't want to lose him. My Lord, it turns out I was already close enough!

I ended up with my right wingtip resting on top of Edward's left elevator, though for a while neither of us knew this. You see the downward slipstream from his wing tended to securely hold my wing on his elevator. Of course, this blocked the control of Major Edward's elevators, and eventually he felt his plane not responding. He tried to move his controls several times but couldn't. He then in desperation gave his stick a big tug back to break it loose, and his plane shot straight up out of formation. Thinking about the three flights directly behind me, I eased back too and we both popped out of the overcast around 4000 feet or so. We realized that our aircraft had sustained some damage in the mishap and were not fit for combat, so we aborted and returned to base. We landed our planes, went our separate ways, and surprisingly I have never talked to him about it since the event.

Thinking back on it now, I shudder to think how close my Thunderbolt's big prop was to Edward's cockpit for my wingtip to have been overlapping his elevator. However in that overcast, there was just no visibility. We were fortunate that it did not turn out worse in our squadron."

"Curly" Edwards recalls, "We were flying fairly close formation shortly after takeoff on that mission, and I do not recall it being all that unusual that we got fouled in the overcast. I remember that a wingtip was pushed up a little bit, but not much else. Of course, we were fortunate to be flying P-47's, because they were pretty hard to damage." "Curly" was flying P-47D-11, serial number 42-75523.

"Pappy" Scores

The remainder of the day went considerably better for the pilots of the 352nd, with an eventual 2-0-0 scoreboard. Edward "Pappy" Gignac, flying P-51B-7NA s/n 43-7022, code PZ-W (Al Wallace's aircraft "Little Rebel"), was first to score that day. Over Dummer Lake he saw a lone B-17 being attacked by a Messerschmitt Me109. His Encounter Report fills in the action for us:

"Leading Purple Flight shortly after rendezvous with bombers, I saw a straggling B-17 at about 5,000 or 6,000 feet. At approximately 1530 I saw an E/A approaching the B-17 from 6 o'clock. I immediately called in the bounce and started down. The E/A scored several hits on the B-17 before I could get to it. As I closed in on the E/A he broke off his attack on the bomber with what appeared to be a violent aileron roll. The E/A then pulled up in a vertical climb. I reefed back violently and took a short burst. My closing speed was very high so I could not follow him up. Even though my burst was very short and at a great deflection, I claim destruction of this Me 109 as Lt. Heller, flying Green 2 saw the pilot bail out just after I fired at him, and he also saw the E/A explode as it hit the ground." Obviously, this was the first victory using a Mustang for the 352nd FG.

Edwin "Ed" Heller, flying his P-51B-7NA number 43-6704, code PZ-Hbar (later the famous "HELL-ER-BUST"), confirmed the victory with: "Purple Leader saw the bomber being attacked and said he was going down for a bounce. Green Flight gave cover. Right after he made his pass I saw a parachute open at about 6,000 feet, looked around for the enemy plane, and saw it going down in flames. I followed it down and saw an Me-109 explode as it hit the ground. I confirm the destruction of this aircraft."

Sharpshooting Meroney

The other victory scored that day was credited to the highly talented and aggressive Virgil Meroney of the 487th FS. Over Meppen a few minutes after Gignac's victory, Meroney spied three enemy aircraft attacking the rear of the bomber formation. His Encounter Report allows, "I was leading Blue Flight. We made rendezvous with the bombers on time and conducted our escort without incident. No attacks were made until after the Group leader ordered everybody out, at which time out squadron was at the rear of the bombers and on the same level - about 20,000 feet. The Me-109s came out of the sun with a lot of speed and made a 90 degree attack on the rear bombers, breaking away in rolls. I called them in and went after the lead two as they stayed together, the third having broken in a different direction. Our speed was not great as we had been escorting at reduced throttle, so it took me some time to close on the E/A's. When I was still about a 1000 yards away, two other P-47s came in very fast from my left, but the leader of the E/A's chandelled and I followed him as the other two P-47s continued chasing his wingman. I made an attack, firing a short burst at 400 yards and 90 degrees, trying to make him break, as he was trying to get in position on the two P-47's chasing his wingman. I was successful, for he broke for the deck and I was able to close to 300 yards. I fired several bursts at him at tree top level. When I got some hits he pulled straight up, and by cutting my throttle I stayed with him and fired another burst at 100 yards, getting many hits. Big pieces fell off of the E/A, and it was covered in flames. I overtook him and as I pulled up on his right wing he jettisoned his canopy. I was sitting right on his wing and got a good look at him.

The nose was extra long, and big, so it may have been an Me-209. It was painted in the usual colors with a dark slate top and light underside, with crosses on both wings and fuselage. In front of the cross on the fuselage was a dash and then some black chevrons pointing towards the nose.

The pilot was trying to get out of the burning plane. As he was still alive I skidded underneath to give him another burst. But before I got my sights on him he bailed out and immediately opened his chute. The burning plane spun down and crashed. My wing man, Lt. Ross, had been with me the whole time, and we climbed back up with full throttle and joined our squadron at 21,000 feet and continued home." Luckily, Meroney was flying his assigned P-47D; the meticulously maintained "Sweet Louise/Josephine", code HO-V, serial number 42-8473, crewed by Bronze Star winner S/Sgt. Al Giesting.

The Luftwaffe Viewpoint

Artist Troy White located a fascinating tie-up while doing some research in noted Luftwaffe researcher Donald Caldwell's book "The JG 26 War Diary Volume Two 1943-1945", and also in his earlier tome "JG 26 Top Guns of the Luftwaffe". In a rare case of German and USAAF reports corresponding, it details Meroney's encounter from the German perspective.

"At the time Hptm. Meitusch was Commanding Officer of III./JG 26 and was flying a Bf 109G-6, WNr: 162032, code Black 21 with the cause of loss listed as P-47s from the 352 FG. The location was North of Meppen.. Also lost was Uffz. Emil Kampen who was KIA in Bf 109G-6 WNr: 410743, code White 5, cause of loss listed as 352 FG. The location was Steinhunder Lake".

The narrative reads: "Hptm Mietusch did reach the heavy bomber stream but with only a handful of his Messerchmits. His first attempt to close with the bombers was fended off by the escort, which shot down Uffz Kampen, who crashed with his plane.

Meitusch and two other pilots made a beam attack on the rear of the bombers of a combat wing and then rolled away. A flight of P-47s from the 352nd FG went after the three Messerchmits. Two got on the tail of Meitusch's wingman. When Meitusch went to his aid , the leader of the P-47 flight was able to damage the German plane with a burst of fire at high deflection. Meitusch broke for the deck and the Thunderbolt pilot was able to close on him easily, firing down to a range of 100 yds. Large pieces flew off the 109, which was a mass of flames. Meitusch jettisoned his canopy and jumped out. His chute opened immediately, and he landed safely but with injuries severe enough to keep him in the hospital for the next few weeks. Hptm. Staiger took comand of the Gruppe until Meitusch's return.."

The pilots of the 352nd pilots have differing opinions of the merits of the P-47 versus the P-51. All agree however that the increased range of the Mustang at that time was a distinct advantage in covering the bombers. Lt. Col. (later Major General) Richmond relates, "I recall that March 8th was the withdrawl escort mission from Berlin, when the bombers were badly shot up over the target by flak and then encountered severe and unforecast headwinds going home. I remember breaking up our squadron, as the P-47s had to leave due to fuel as we neared the German border. I assigned each element to escort the B-17s that had fallen below the formation that were obviously in trouble due to feathered engines and such. I mention that mission in my log as I was greatly impressed that we were able to stick with the bombers so much longer than the P-47s could. I did not see any enemy aircraft on the mission, just a lot of flak over Holland. My wingman aborted somewhere along the line, and I escorted a B-17 to a successful ditching in the middle of the North Sea. All 10 of the bomber's crewmen were picked up by two British flying boats. The greatly increased range of the P-51 over the P-47 really made a lasting impression on me. For example, on a later mission, I logged 7:15 hours in my aircraft."

Simon and the "Digs"

"Digs", or the excavation of wartime aircraft crash sites, are very popular in England and Europe. This amounts to historic archaeology, as often the remains of the aircraft (such as the engine) are 15 feet or more below the surface. Simon Dunham, in conjunction with other "diggers" in his area, began researching USAAF crash sites near his home in the late 1980's. He has graciously provided an accounting of what was recovered at each crash location.

The first of the three lost Thunderbolts to be excavated was Earl Bond's "The Bid". The first review of the site on September 13th, 1990 brought to light the impact crater and small pieces of metal including an aileron trim tab still painted olive and grey, and parts of the Pratt & Whitney engine. A week later a large metal detector located more wreckage, which was excavated and identified. These remains include manufacturer's plates, .50 calibre ammunition, pieces of wheel rim, more engines pieces, an elevator counterweight, the propeller boss, pieces of canopy plexiglass, and sections of ammunition chute. As is usual in the case of an aircraft crash, many unidentifiable small pieces of aluminum and steel also surfaced.

On August 15th, 1992, the crash site of "Mac" McKibben's "Sneezy" was pinpointed and excavated. Due to the hard, flinty ground, the aircraft basically shattered upon impact, spreading itself around the surrounding countryside. From this site was recovered remains of the instrument panel, more .50 calibre ammo, remains of the gunsight, pieces of the Pratt & Whitney engine, the prop feathering gear, the undercarriage lever and knob, and a seat harness buckle. Also included was a folded section of cowl panel, which when opened revealed a portion of a yellow handpainted letter on olive background; the nose art from "Sneezy". This is now in the collection of pilot "Mac" McKibben.

The last of the Thunderbolts, Miklajcyks's "loaner" P-47, was located on September 1, 1999 by Simon Dunham and Nigel Beckett. It was pinpointed by Rex Webster of Flordon Hall Farm, near Mulbarton, in a narrow water meadow next to fields in the Tas River Valley. The remains of the aircraft were exhumed on September 12, 1999. Engine cylinder heads, valves, wheel rim sections, .50 calibre ammunition, spark plugs, a .50 calibre machine gun barrel, and numerous other small bits were excavated and cataloged.

This last dig brings closure to this unusual and tragic, though ultimately successful mission for the famed 352nd Fighter Group.

[bobbysocks]

20,000 feet without a chute...
( he actually had a chute but it didnt open )

Alan Magee

On January 3, 1943, in the midst of a bombing raid on German torpedo stores at St Nazaire, France, a miracle took place that is still remembered 50 years after.

Snap!Crackle!Pop! Nose Art S/Sgt. Alan Magee, from the 360th Sqdn. a gunner in B-17 #41-24620, aptly named Snap! Crackle! Pop! was tossed out of his burning aircraft at 20,000 feet. Unfortunately, he was not wearing a parachute. As he fell from the plane, he asked God to save his life. "I don't wish to die because I know nothing of life" was his appeal to The Almighty." Then he lost consciousness and crashed through the glass roof of the St. Nazaire railroad station.

He regained consciousness in the first aid station where he was carried before he was taken to a hospital. "I owe the German military doctor who treated me a debt of gratitude," said Magee. "He told me, 'we are enemies, but I am first a doctor and I will do my best to save your arm.'" The doctor, whose name he never found out, saved his arm and also took care of his multitude of injuries.

All this action took place on the 303rd Bomb Group's ninth bombing mission and fifth to St. Nazaire. It proved to be a costly mission. The group lost four aircraft to enemy air action, one carried Major C. C. Sheridan, the 427th Squadron Commander.

Magee at his crew's monument On the 23rd of September 1995 Alan E. Magee, accompanied by his wife Helen, returned to St Nazaire to take part in a ceremony sponsored by French citizens, dedicating a memorial to his seven fellow crewmen killed in the crash of Snap! Crackle! Pop! in the forest at La Baule Escoublac on Jan. 3, 1943.

The Magee's were welcomed to France by Michel Lugez, American Memorial Association President. who greeted them at the Nantes/Atlantique Airport and acted as their escort throughout the various ceremonies.

On Saturday, September 23rd, after a mass in memory of the seven killed aviators, the entourage proceeded to the crash site where the memorial was uncovered and dedicated. This was followed by the planting of "a tree of peace" by Magee.

The following day the Magees, accompanied by Michel Lugez, visited the U.S. Military Cemetery of St. James in Normandie, where Alan paid his respects at the graves of his crewmates: Lt. G. Wintersetter, T/Sgt. Dennis C. Hart, T/Sgt. A.M. Union, Sgt. M.L. Milam and S/Sgt. E.W. Durant.

During his visit to St. Nazaire, Alan visited the Hermitage Hotel, where he was treated by the German doctor, also the harbor and the submarine pens and also the ancient railroad station with its glass roof that cushioned his fall 50 years before.

As he looked at the railroad station with its glass roof, he said, "l thought it was much smaller." Actually he had never seen the railroad station before because he was unconscious when he hit it on his fall from 20,000 feet.

Alan was also named "Citizen of Honor" of the St. Nazaire town by its Mayor. "It should be repeated that St. Nazaire was 90 percent destroyed," said Michel Lugez. "Also numerous Nazarians were deported to the concentration camps or shot while helping U.S. aviators evade the enemy in their efforts to get to Spain to rejoin their units back in England; also the landing in Normandy and our liberation by the U.S. Army and Allied Troops was very much appreciated by the local population."

Lt. Glen M. Herrington, the navigator of the crew lost his leg to enemy gunfire. He was captured upon landing. He later became one of the first AAF men to be repatriated. He died in 1987. S/Sgt. J.l. Gordon who also bailed out and became a POW is still among the unknown number of people we have never located.

The 303rd Bomb Group's B-17 41-24620 Snap! Crackle! Pop! was named by Capt. Jacob Fredericks, 360th BS, who flew the ship from the U.S. to England.

Before entering the USAAF, he had worked for Kellogg Co., the creators of Rice Krispies cereal and its "Snap! Crackle! Pop!" promotional slogan.

According to Michel Lugez, "This aircraft's fragment comes from the right forepart of an American B-17 bomber (Flying Fortress) shot down the 3rd of January 1943 in the forest of La Baule-Escoublac.

The section containing the slogan was cut from the fuselage by the Germans. It became a 'war trophy.' It decorated the wall of a villa called 'Georama,' an important property next to St. Marc sur mer/ St. Nazaire which looks down upon the sea, opposite the Loire's estuary and of course occupied by the Germans.

At the end of the war, before they were captured, the occupying enemy threw the trophy 'Snap! Crackle! Pop!' off the cliff along with an RAF aircraft bomber's company crest. They were recovered in the rocks bordering the sea by Michel Harouet. On the left side of the aircraft there was a signature: Clinton H. Dole restored in August 1989."

In spite of being shot down 50 years ago, the spirit of Snap! Crackle! Pop! still lives on.

[themeistor1]

Thanks for the great stories man.

[bobbysocks]

AN INTERVIEW WITH
CAPT. ARTHUR HEIDEN

Q.: Your aircraft, "Lucky Lady" (P-38-J10-LO serial #42-67427, squadron code MC-H) was chosen by Bill Phillips as the P-38 to be portrayed in the "Classic American Aircraft Series" of stamps for the USPS. What was your reaction when you first heard about this?
AWH: The S/N and J model has never really been resolved as it is. For some reason the serial number had been scrubbed from the area on the gondola, just below the left wing leading edge. The S/N that has been used is really From my old painted P-38 that crashed on 4-23-44 by either Vernon Beasley or Al Learned trying to get home after being badly shot up.

Q.:I have seen records that the aircraft was #42-104086, originally coded MC-F while Maj. Franklin was the pilot. There are pictures showing clearly that the serial number was missing while he was still flying her. David Knight, of the 20th. Fighter Group Historical Society seems to agree with this info.

AWHavid has most of that stuff right-on. You are right about the Sq. letters for MC-F = Franklin. Both the P-38 and P-51s I flew were coded MC-H.

Q.:What was your reaction when you first saw the stamp?

AWH: Jack Ilfrey called and told me about it -- I thought he was pulling my leg! I had seen the panel of stamps mentioned in magazines like "Air & Space", but had not paid close attention that the P-38 was of Lucky Lady. Was a very nice feeling, but I started worrying about the flak I would get from all the other P-38 drivers. However they have been kind. Still would like to know how it happened? First, I have to blame Jack as he knew Phillips and have always been happy with the art work and that something vulgar hadn't been chosen.

Q.: "Lucky Lady carried a picture of actress Laraine Day on the nose, was this a decision you or the crew made?

AWH: Lt. Pierson & I had played around with naming our A/C the "Lonesome Pole Cat" and the "Shiftless Skunk", but my old A/C crashed and Pierson moved over to 55thFS and was later lost. I was reassigned Franklin's A/C and Ground crew. Max had mentioned that we should rename this A/C something other than "Strictly Stella's Baby". So one day we were all at the A/C and Max sets us down under the R/Wing and asks me what should be the new name. I asked if anyone had a good name, but no one came up with one. I had been playing around with an inspiration, "Lucky Lady" so we would not be held down to only one girl friend and could be related to by all the crew and no tattoo to be embarrassed by later. The crew were quick to approve so that was decided.

Q.: Who wrote her for the photograph?

AWH: Laraine Day was very popular, at that time with lonesome GI's, so Max asked us what we would think if he should write her and ask for a photo. Miss Day promptly answered with a nice letter and a beautiful negligee photo.It was promptly attached to the L/gun door.

Q.: So was the actual picture itself placed on the aircraft or did someone paint her likeness on it?

AWH: I have recently asked Max how they did this so well and protected it from condensation and other moisture, but he doesn't remember. As Bong had done this I guess the technique was well known. He remembers a compound that was in use at that time called "Water Glass". He remembers it being used to waterproof canvas like tents and Jeep tops. Sounds like the wood glue that people use for art work (decoupage) that dries clear. Plexiglas cover and frame with some type of rubberized sealing. Max and the crew wrote back and forth with Miss Day and she seemed very proud and interested in all events her airplane was involved in.

Q.: You have been quoted as saying that a pilot's heroes were his ground crew, and you are still close with T/Sgt. Max Pyles, your crew chief during the war, tell me alittle about Max and your crew...

AWH: Max Pyles is gifted with a superhuman mechanical ability and insite. This he demonstrated in WWII, Korean War, and Cold War in all types of aircraft, P-26's to B-36's to Jet's to ICBM's. Many times, I've asked him how on earth he came up with answers and perceptions to things that stooped others cold. He just Grins and says it's like a flash bulb going off in his head. Dead serious, he believs that the Lord tells him. I would not believe any other man telling me that, but I sure won't argue with him.

When I started flying with the 79thFS, Max and his crew had just started crewing Maj. R. C. Franklin's new airplane. Parked directly in front of the SQ. Operations building he was handy and always willing to answer any and all questions I might ask him. There I spent most of my time. I'm sure we were observed by Franklin and he had asked Max if he should run me off. However, when Franklin finished his combat tour, Max asked him to assign me as his replacement since my old plane had just been destroyed.

P-38's were having all kinds of mechanical problems that no one except Max had an answer. Max had been saying that this situation was ridiculous and if I would listen to him and do as he said we were going to get through this without all those problems. I had listened to him for several months and was convinced that Max Pyles knew what he was talking about. Besides being very proud of the opportunity of this assignment, I was determined to do my part. Strong willed as could be, Max had no trouble expressing or letting anyone know how it should be. Max would be delighted to help anyone or answer there questions, but Private or Field Grade better not come around with Mickey Mouse or they had down-the-road directions. My contributions were to listen, ask questions, and try to build on what I had learned in Aircraft Mechanics School and in Flying School. What better world could you have with such as Max Pyles, R.C.Franklin, Mark Hubbard, and Harold Rau as superb teachers?

Q.: In the past we have talked about the discrepancies in records that have led up to many arguments over many pilots confirmed number of air victories, what is your take on all of this?

AWH: The whole subject of confirmed victories is a mess. God only knows. As an example, I seriously question victory records, especially Rau, Bradshaw and Wilson's. As to the two I got in Lucky Lady, I really don't have a comment.

I am guessing here, that the Claims Review Office was confronted with the problem of comparing the claims, from day to day, with the intelligence gathering of Luftwaffe combat capabilities. These would differ as much as 100%. Reality had to prevail. I could see Rau & Wilson telling Claims Review to deduct from their claims before those of the line pilots. Also, there was the fact that they were busy leading and distracted from trying to make certain of their gunnery.

Q.: What were the requirements, as you remember them, for a confirmed victory?

AWH: Victory claims requirements were to have seen the enemy aircraft on fire, or crash, or pilot bailout, or disintegrate. Best to have another witness. A big problem was smoke as an engine at full throttle could lay down lots of smoke. Obliviously, a "smoker" was generally claimed and that was the problem and others that appeared out of control. Rau and Wilson would not have had time to follow any cripples to confirm that they crashed. At debriefings, a pilot had no real proof other than to let the gun-camera be the witness. Even then, the P-38 gun camera film was so bad that it was next to useless because the camera was mounted in the nose with the guns. On P-38L's the camera was relocated to the external mounts pylon.

Q.: There are pictures of you and the crew with "Lucky Lady" that show three kills on her, but they appear to be left over from when Maj. Franklin flew the aircraft as they are situated differently than the two shown in later pictures of the aircraftwhen you flew it. I know that has led to some confusion among us enthusiasts...

AWH: That sounds logical. Painting Swastikas on the airplanes were left to the ground crews. For their entertainment, they would get the film as soon as they could and make their own determinations on what they would paint on the A/C.

Q.: In retrospect do you remember any specific missions as being very rough?

AWH: Toughest missions? Early escort missions were extremely tough. With Spring of '44, we started strafing heavily defended airfields. These could generally be murderous, especially if multiple passes were carried out. I have strafed where there was no return fire and others where the smoke was so thick you nearly had to go on instruments and every A/C was hit. With these, simple deduction, told you that survival was next to nil. With Escort missions and Air to Air Combat most would stay in combat for the duration -- A fighter pilots dream. Of course, that was from the Spring of '44 on when the 10 to 1 ratio had been reduced and also the Luftwaffe pilot quality.

Q.: You have told me about some eight-plane missions that were flown that there aren't alot of mention of. Were these primarily bomb runs, escorts of recon. planes or strafing missions?

AWH: Note that some 8-plane missions are not recorded in King's Cliffe"(the book which Chronicles the 20th.FG History). As you state these were as you guessed, bombing, escort of other low level missions for CAP or diversion, escorting weather or recon and such. I recall being sent out on the deck (very low) to skip bomb bridges. One I remember, Capt. W. W. Smith & I with a two-flight section were sent after a rail-bridge in the low country North of Paris. We used heading changes and other formations for diversion, picked up our nav brackets and headed for the bridge. Reaching the river, just a big ditch, with a bridge without superstructure, W. W. reported that he didn't have it in view at about the time it came up on my side. I told him that I had it and to follow me. With delayed bomb fuses, all four of us stuck our bombs into the embankments. With the four 1000 pounders that bridge disentragated and rose way up in the air -- right into W. W.'s face. He survived, but talk about upset! We considered these missions fun and welcomed the freedom to freelance as we did when we were sent out as spares for escort missions.

Q.: We spoken before about the differences between the Lightning and the Mustang, is it true that many pilots were really gung ho about the Mustang and it helped to boost morale...

AWH: For most of us, the P-38 was our first love and in many ways a test of our manhood. To most of us, the P-51 transition was just something new and exciting. Col. Wilson gave us a good sales job and it was a modern aircraft, modern systems, and a new challenge. It had gained a great reputation by the time we got them. All the conversation was just so much BS that floats around. Doubt that anyone realized how the flood of P-51's and pilots would become so significant. The thoughtless crap we endured in print, after the war, was what stirred up old P-38 pilots. You, Corey, Carlo and JJ (members of a e-mail list that features several webmasters, aviation writers and USAAF/USAF veterans, including Capt. Heiden) have forced a reanalysis that even we were not getting deep enough into. I am excited about this and am impatiently waiting on the things in the works.

Q.: Did you have any time to get acquainted with the P-51 when the transition happened? Was there any apprehension about going from the added safety margin of a twin-engined aircraft to a single?

AWH: We did have a short time to get familiar with the P-51, but it was fun. We liked the Merlin engine and its ability to take 61"HG for extended periods, the new K-14 "no miss um" gun sight grew on us, the comfort, 7 hour missions were hard on the rear but extended our world and feeling of usefulness. The one engine business crossed our minds, especially over the North Sea, but wasn't a big deal. The accusation that the 51 had more range, well, countered with the fact of not having 38L's and 300gal tanks (3 hours more) in the ETO made that argument stupid.

Q.: You have stated you thought that training in the early part of the war was "ridiculous" and lacked alot of the necessary seat time. Did you get any assistance from the squadron's vets?

AWH: Training and transition were anything but optimum during all of WWII. We just had to figure it out -- study the manuals, learn the numbers and quirks from any available source. When we transitioned to 51's we had one per Sq. and were directed to get 5hrs, we did a lot of take-offs and landings. Not enough time to mix it up with each other. The new aircraft was starting to come in, and were prepped. We probably flew them once or twice. No gunnery, we hadn't got to use that new gyro gun sight(K-14) before combat. That was troubling, for it had to be set up for combat. Set in the wing span and the turn the motorcycle grip on the throttle to capture the target. We were surprised it worked great. It wasn't till well into '45 that replacements had any 51 time and then only 10hrs transition, no gunnery in it, even up to VE-Day.

Q.: Was there a period where you had to grow used to the difference in having the firepower out in front of you, as in the P-38, to the three-to-a-side configuration of the P-51?

AWH:38/51 guns were of no problem, another bunch of BS. K-14 gun sight and an emphasis on gunnery training in RTU's was a tremendous improvement.

Q.: When you and the other replacement pilots arrived did you receive any training or help from the veteran pilots there?

AWH: Veteran pilots did try to help us new replacements as best they could. Most important was that Col Hubbard set up several training/engineering flights. Weather was a bit of a problem and they wanted to get us as comfortable as possible before sending us out in bad weather. They took us on a milk-run mission out over the French Coast and waited for another good day to take us on a real mission. Formation climb-outs and mission returns in bad weather was a scarry thing for us and for the older guys with a bunch of people who had never had the expierence.

Q.:It has been said that many of the losses of USAAF pilots in the ETO can directly be attributed to mechanical problems...

AWH: Mechanical loses were the predominate factor. However, most losess can be atributed to training in full or in part especially with the season/weather factors. Lack of individual combat training would be telling also. Remember being up on a slow-time flight. Out of boredom, I bounced Capt. Bob Meyers as he was on take off. He proceded to give me a terrible working over and chewing out. It gave a valuable lesson and change of attitude. Embarassed, I vowed I would never let that happen to me again.

Q.: What was the Group's reaction to Arch Whitehouse's story, "The Loco Boys Go Wild"?

AWH: It came out in November 0f 1944, so it was on the stands after I had returned Z of I. Hence, I don't know if anyone got to see it while in Combat.

Q.: After your combat tour with the 20th.FG where you assigned next?

AWH: After returning to the States I was assigned to a single-engine RTU at Tallahassee, FL. Of course there, they were flooded with military, but always treated exceptionaly well.

Q.: Looking back now what do remember the morale being during your time in the ETO?

AWH: At first, no one was telling us that we were winning any war. We did what we could and we are all proud of our effort. It would have been nice to have received two or three times as many pilots and airplanes and been able to make some flashy records. However, King's Cliffe was a very small field and had trouble getting all three Squadrons on it. I hope we gave some comfort to many bomber crews.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[bobbysocks]

heres one for buzz bomb about buzz bombs...

The buzz bomb season settled down late that afternoon. I was on the street, walking around aimlessly, when I heard a loud putter like a motorcycle. Suddenly the putter coughed and died. I had heard all about the V-1 buzz bombs from the pilot who had brought me over from France and I knew this buzz bomb was going to hit somewhere pretty close. You could sense that.
People stopped walking and stood rooted in their tracks. There came a kind of boom, then an ear-splitting roar. I felt the sidewalk beneath me move. Two blocks away I saw a building, lighted by fire, crumple into the street, and it seemed to me that tons of glass were crashing everywhere. There was something more terrifying about the robot pilot in a V-1 than there was when bombers came over with live pilots in them.There was an awful uncertainty...

An Englishman, who was standing mear me, said it was a good thing that D-Day came when it did of the Germans might have wiped London off the map with their buzz bombs. He said when the buzz bombs first started coming over, all the anti-aircraft guns in London would open upon them but after a week of this, the military decided not to shoot at them and maybe some of the bombs would go on past London, which they did. I was astonished at the casual way the Britisher talked. From his tone of voice, we might have been in the Savoy-Plaza Bar, having a Scotch-and-soda, and I wondered if we Americans would have stood up as well if the tables had been turned.

By this time the fire fighters, rescue squads, and the Home Guard were on the scene, and they all swept into action. I tried to do what I could to help but the English moved too swiftly for me. I walked back to my room at the hotel but not to sleep.

It didn't take London long to set up a good defense against the robot enemy. On later missions I saw great masses of balloons several thousand feet high in the air. These balloon barrages were centered southeast of London - between London and the Channel- and there was also a large concentration of guns placed in this area, which was known as "Flak Alley." This stretegy greatly eliminated the number of bombs that got over London.

The People were taking to the air raid shelters, as they had done during the blitz. In the early part of the afternoon the Londoners would begin making their makeshift beds in the shelters and in the corridors and stations of the subways. By 11:00P.M. one could hardly get on and off the subways for all the sleepers around.

We Americans tried to be pretty fatalistic about the buzz bombs. We wouldn't go to the air raid shelters. We figured sort of foolishly if our time had come, the bomb with our number on it would find us whereever we were - in the American Melody Bar or in the air raid shelter.

The night before I left London I had gone to bed early. I had spent hours at headquarters that day waiting to see the Colonel, only to be told nothing save to come back the following day. I was mortally knocking it off when the next thing I knew I was sitting squarely on my behind on the floor and there was the most awful rocking you've ever felt. For my money, the hotel was doing a Betty grable rhumba, and I clipped it down to the air raid shelter and spent the rest of the night there- to he**, with that stuff about your number being on it...

The buzz bombs seemed to pursue me. The next morning on my way to headquarters I could tell we were going to have an unwelcomed visitor. The people on the street were freezing up and waiting to see if they were going to have to fall flat on the sidewalk. Sure enough we had to fall flat, and it would have to be raining that morning.

The English showed a courageousness during the buzz bomb season that was unequaled by anyone else so far as my personal knowledge went. They'd go to work in the morning, not knowing if they'd have an office to work in, and in the evening when they started home they'd never know whether they had a wife or a home to come back to.

The uncertainty was far worse than when the bombers came over. The Britishers had warning then, but the buzz bomb was right there --bringing sudden slaughter, ravaged homes and buildings, and anguish and sorrow.