In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

1st Lt George A. Behling,Jr. 362nd Sqn.
January 14th 1945, I remember as I climbed into my P-51 called "Chi Lassie"that my crew chief remarked that the spark plugs were leaded, but he believed they were good for one more mission.
All that morning as we awoke, dressed, ate breakfast and prepared for take off we heard the constant drone of B-17 bombers overhead, because the bombers flew slower we would take of later and catch them up. when we arrived at our designated escort position over the North sea the B-17's stretched in a continuous line for as far as you could see, all headed for Berlin. In order not to pass the planes we were to protect we flew above them and zig zagged. Several hours have passed since the rendezvous and we are approaching the target at about 30,000 feet. Berlin is easily discernible by the heavy flak smoke at our altitude, suddenly a maze of German pursuit planes come screaming down on us from above. The sky is filled with airplanes, B-17's begin to burst into flames,trail smoke and spin like toys as parachutes pop open. I jettison my wing tanks and take a bead on an enemy fighter. A fellow P-51 drifts across my bow at a 30 degree angle in slow motion, so close I still don't know why I didn't tear it's tail off with my propeller. I'm completely distracted and loose sight of the enemy fighter.
I bank to the left and look behind, there's a plane on my tail but it's not my wingman. It has a large radial engine and is easily identifiable as a Focke wulf 190. What happened to my wingman who was supposed to watch my tail, I still don't know to this day but I was on my own. With the 190 on my tail I turn hard to the left, left rudder, left stick, more throttle, I've got to out turn him. I see his cannon bursts but he can't get a hit. I wonder to myself, what am I doing here; a person could get killed. Why did I ever want to be a pilot? I am only 20 years old and should be at home, going to school and going home to my parents in the evening.
I pull into a tighter, tighter turn, feeling so many G's I can hardly turn my head. Then the stick goes limp, I'm spinning--but you should never spin a P-51 because it might not come out. My primary training kicks in, I put in hard right rudder, the plane stops spinning and I put the stick forward. I'm flying again at 20,000 feet.
This time I turn to the right and look behind, the son of a gun is still there. He followed me through the spin and 10,000 feet, it can't be, these German pilots are supposed to be undertrained.Tighter and tighter to the right,more cannon bursts. Another spin coming out at 10,000 feet and he's STILL THERE. Well if I can't out turn him, surely I can out run him. I shudder at the thought of one of those cannon shells tearing through my plane. In fact I'm utterly paralysed with fear.
I point the plane at an approximate 10 degree angle toward the ground and open the throttle fully, it's working, he's falling behind, out of range. Now I am at tree top level just West of Berlin passing over the Elbe River. My engine sputters, intermittently spewing white clouds, I cut back on the throttle and lean the mixture, but the sputtering gets worse. Suddenly the engine goes dead streaming two contrail like bands from each side,Hurriedly, I try the starting procedure several times to no avail.
I'm directly over a dense forest, no place to land. Pull up and bail out, but I am going at less than 200 mph and that's not enough speed to pull me up to a good altitude, It would not allow my chute time to open. Look for some place to put this baby down dead stick. Dead Stick! It was my worst thing in basic training. Without power I would have killed myself every time. There -- 20 degrees to the left is an open field running parallel to a railroad track. I'm barely flying so don't turn to sharply. The stick feels mushy,easy,easy! I'm lined up, 50 feet above the ground, wheels up, then, right in front of me are high tension wires, I close my eyes and pull back on the stick. Somehow( I don't know how,I was not looking!) I bounce over the wires and hit the ground with a thud. It's a frozen ploughed field and my plane skids along like a sled. Up ahead is a line of heavy trees and I'm zooming towards them with no way to stop,But I do stop about 50 feet short. I open the canopy, no one around. I hear the sound of an engine, look behind and there's that 190 coming right at me. Get out of this plane fast and get behind the trees,but I get tangled in my straps so I crouch down behind the armor plate in the back of my seat. The 190 does not strafe the plane and passes overhead. Now with him in sight I disentangle myself, get out of the plane and make for the trees. I make my way along the line of trees some 200 feet to the railroad embankment, go over it and head away. Up ahead is a bridge. But two figures are on the embankment coming toward me from the other direction. I STOP AND WAIT...

1st Lt Behling was captured that day and became a P.O.W

[bobbysocks]

...on the night in question, 12 FW109 A4's painted with lampblack were insinuated into the bomber stream returning from Germany. This squadron had previously made two very successful intruder attacks on London, but on THIS occasion although they all dropped their bombs, no casualties were caused, and only minor damage to.... a sewage works and a children's playground!

HOWEVER - they were VERY quickly painted on radar and nightfighters tasked to them, and in the ensuing melee over the captial, navigation suffered and a number who crossed the coast OF THE THAMES ESTUARY from North to South...thought they were actually crossing the CHANNEL!!! and found themselves flying over Kent with nearly empty tanks....

On that night the Watch Officer at West Malling, a Ft. Lt. Barry, heard a crash nearby as a first of these stragglers fell out of the sky into a nearby orchard - but this wasn't found until the next morning. While trying however to find out what the noise was, a single engined aircraft was heard approaching the field, and he ordered the runway lights on, as apart from the night fighters, West Malling was ready to receive damaged or low-on-fuel bombers returning from the continent. Instead, a black single-engined fighter rolled up RIGHT to the control block, under the apronm floods, and the pilot started shouting for "his" groundcrew....in German, which they couldn't hear over the noise of his engine. They shouted back, but HE couldn't hear THEM either!....

At this point a field patrol Beaverette armoured car approached, and seeing the German crosses faintly outlined under the paint, the 'car's gunner, A/C Sharlock, jumped out and pushed the rudder of the sircraft right over to stop the pilot making a run for it! The pilot got out of the cockpit....and finally realised where he was!

BUT....

"...Whilst those at the scene were digesting what had just happened, events began to take an even more dramatic, and just as unbelieveable, turn. As he was on the telephone making a further report to Group, Lt. Barry heard the sound of ANOTHER aircraft making a final approach. No sooner had this aircraft touched down, welcomed by the blazing flare path than he saw Williams and Sharlock once more gunning their Beaverette, racing into action.

As the armoured car dashed around the airfield perimeter to head off the new arrival Sharlock, still perched in the Beaverette's turret, realised when just 20 yards distant that indeed the unbelieveable was happening. In front of them was yet another FW190. This time there was no suprise, as the aircraft had already been given to Control as being a hostile.

Suddenly, and no dobt realising his error, and eager not to suffer the same fate as Bechtold, this pilot turned his aircraft and started to set off across the airfield pushing the throttles wide open. Williams took up the pursuit and at the same time Sharlock opened fire with the twin-mounted Vickers "K" type machineguns. Still standing in the distant Watch Office and watching with increasing awe, Lt. Barry could clearly hear the staccato bark of these light machineguns in action.

Sharlock's aim was dead on target. His long burst, fired from a range of 15 to 20 yards, poured into the German aircraft. He later recalled that he could see a small fire had broken out in the rear of the cockpit, but that despite this, the pilot refused to give up. As he seemed to be intent on escaping, Sharlock opened fire a second time. The Focke-Wulf immediately burst into flames and rolled to a halt.

As his plane was enveloped in flames the pilot was seen to more or less fall from the cockpit. With his clothes alight he staggered towards the Beaverette. Sharlock had climbed out of the armoured car and approached the pilot. Despite the fact that his uniform was on fire, a short striggle developed between the two, the German pulling free and turning to make a dash for it!

His moment of defiance was short-lived for the Station Commander - Wing Commander (later Group Captain) Peter Townsend - caught him. Once pulled to the ground the German gave up the struggle and, with the help of Sharlock, Townsend finally extinguished his burning clothes."

So that's the connection - in a VERY Holywood-style encounter, Townsend had to lay out the burning pilot!!! The aircraft was left to burn out, as it was well down to the frame by then.....

HOWEVER!!! As all hands were getting this second pilot into an ambulance....a FOURTH FW190 actually overshot the field, saw what was going on and attempted to get away....but was running on fumes and piled into the ground a mile away!

Sweetland and Muencheberg ( the spitfire hunter) - The Deadly Encounter

There are several versions of this event. First, in the combat reports of Ralph Keyes and of Norman McDonald. Then in the stories in FIGHTERS OVER TUNISIA (1975), McDonald's recollections in THE AMERICAN BEAGLE SQUADRON (1987), Keyes recollections, during a recent telephone interview (Nov.'94), and the recollections of a German pilot in GESCHICHTE DES JAGDGESCHWADERS 77 (1994).

Here are these versions:

KEYES: "At approximately 0950 hours 23 March, 1943 thirteen Spitfires on a reconnaissance mission near Y-6560 (GSGS 4175, Sheet N.I. 32 N.E.) were jumped by four or five ME 109s coming from out of the sun. I was flying Yellow 5 when someone called "break", whereupon I immediately broke to the right. A moment later I saw an ME 109 open up on a Spitfire from about 250 yards. Smoke began streaming from the Spitfire which continues on for a second or two, then turned sharply upward and to the left directly into the path of the oncoming ME 109. A crash occurred and both planes went down in flames from about 2,000 feet. Though I followed the descent of neither plane to the ground, I did see two flaming spots on the ground where the two planes had obviously just crashed. I saw these spots before the crash of Capt. Williamson's Spitfire, which had been hit and from which he had just bailed out. Whether the crash of Capt. Sweetland's plane -- I learned later that this Spitfire was Capt. Sweetland's -- with the ME 109 was owing to a deliberate action or a reflex action resulting from being hit, I do not know, but, knowing Capt. Sweetland, I believe he deliberately crashed into the ME 109 after having been, perhaps, fatally shot."

Theodore Sweetland, at Thelepte, in March 1943. Thelepte is in western central Tunisia and the 2nd Fighter Sq. operated from an airstrip there from 10 March until 9 April 1943.

MCDONALD: "Captain Sweetland was my #4 man in Yellow Section on a reconnaissance of Sened-Maknassy area taking off at 0915. We were traveling east in enemy territory into the sun at approximately 1,000 feet when the Squadron Commander called a 90 degree left turn in the area of T9505 and our section crossed over and became Blue Section. We were now flying with the sun at our backs, we had just straightened out when I heard over the R/T "Break". I broke violently to the left and up. On looking back I saw Capt. Sweetland's plane pull up and crash into an enemy fighter. Both planes exploded and fell in pieces to the ground."

FIGHTERS OVER TUNISIA by Chris Shores, Hans Ring and William Hess. London 1975. p. 261.: "Tuesday, 23 March 1943: Around 0930 Maj. Muencheberg of Stab/JG 77 took off from La Fauconnerie [a landing ground 36 miles northwest of Sfax, Tunisia] with his wingman, Lt. Strasen, and headed for the Mareth area to see "if there was something to shoot down". Strasen saw below some Spitfires of the 52nd Fighter Group near Sened, and both dived to attack, Muencheberg attacking Capt. Theodore Sweetland, whose aircraft began to pour smoke as it was hit in the engine. Muencheberg's speed was so great that he got too near to his 135th victim, and what happened next is not very clear. Strasen reported that Sweetland's Spitfire exploded and that debris fell on Muencheberg's wings, one of which snapped off; Capt. Hugh L. Williamson reported however, that Sweetland deliberately rammed the Messerschmitt with his burning Spitfire. Whatever the truth was, both aircraft fell to the ground in flames; at this moment Strasen shot down Williamson, who bailed out, all three aircraft crashing near kilometre stone No. 82 on the Gabes-Gafsa road, the wreckage of the Messerschmitt flanked by that of the two Spitfires. So died one of the Luftwaffe's most outstanding fighter pilots and leaders."

McDonald's recollections, pages 53-55 in THE AMERICAN BEAGLE SQUADRON, Lexington, MA 1987: "This action occurred during a fighter sweep over the front lines by twelve planes flying in the British box formation. It was a 5th Squadron mission but they were short of planes and pilots, so my flight from the 2nd Squadron joined them to make the necessary twelve planes.
Sweetland, known as "Sweetie", was flying number four in my flight. How come a Captain is flying number four position? He and I had flown together and raised a little hell together when we were both assigned to the 20th Pursuit Group in North Carolina during the spring of 1942.
After I was transferred back to the 52nd Group, I lost track of him. Then sometime in early March 1943, when sent to Algiers with other pilots to pick up new Spitfires, I bumped into him while walking down the street. He was a Captain and an Aide to some General in 12th Air Force HQ., a job he hated - safe but dullsville. He asked me to get him into the 2nd Squadron. I talked to "Windy" West, who remembered him very well, and we put the wheels into motion.
Sweetie was an excellent pilot, but had trouble in the beginning because he was a left-hander all the way. Nevertheless he really could handle a fighter plane. Back in the States, in P 40s, he and I and Jerry Simpson used to practise all our maneuvers to the right. We would do turns, rolls, including the roll at the top of the Immelman turn, to the right.
We thought that these unconventional maneuvers, opposite to the easier, engine-torque-assisted turns and rolls to the left might be a life saver some day. I'm sure they were for me, but in this particular encounter they may have cost Sweetie his.
Anyway, after he joined us and got some transition hours in the Spitfire, I took him on a couple of missions as my wingman. After these two missions he insisted that he fly tail-end-Charlie just like any other newcomer. During an engagement with enemy aircraft a day or so before this ill-fated mission he had gotten some strikes on an ME 109.
On this mission we were flying at four to five thousand feet, with the sun high and behind us. My flight was to the left of the leader's flight and Hugh "Wee Willie" Williamson was leading the flight on the right. Then we were jumped by a flight of four 109s.
They came in from above and slightly to our right, assuming, I'm sure, that if we saw them we would break to the left. Sweetie saw them at the last moment and yelled "break". I broke right and up and also saw Sweetie break right and hit the incoming 109 head on; perhaps he was trying to get a shot at it. The entangled planes fell quite close to me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Willie's plane get hit by fire from the wingman of the 109 that collided with Sweetie's plane.
At this point I was so enraged because I knew Sweetie had bought it, that I lost my cool and took off after the 3rd and 4th planes of the German flight without checking on where the number two plane had gone. These two planes were climbing away, presumably after having fired and missed.
I immediately realized that this would be a futile chase and made an angry, abrupt right turn for home - only to see the number two plane zoom by me. I had turned just in time, or he had waited just a little too long before firing - and, perhaps, blowing me out of the sky. He kept right on going and so did I - in opposite directions.
What surprises me about the results of this attack is that they only hit two of the twelve planes, one of them the hard way, by collision. I think that they may have been thrown off when Sweetie and I did the unexpected - broke right, up and over the other flights. The flights in the box formation were quite close and we usually all broke left together, which these experienced German fighter pilots may have been expecting."

McDonald recollections (reconstructions?) about himself and Sweetland breaking to the right are not corroborated by his, or by Keyes, combat report. Keyes recalled that there were 12 planes flying the British box of three 4-plane flights. He was flying on the mission as a spare and although his report states he was Yellow 5, he had by that time filled in as #4 in the right-hand flight when another Spitfire had to drop out for some reason. He recalls, contrary to McDonald, that Williamson was leading the formation, at the head of the middle flight. He also recalls that there were six ME 109s vs McDonald's recollection of four, and remembers being fired on, hearing and seeing the projectiles go by him. He also recalled that he broke to the right, away from the formation. He also recalls that there was a ball of fire when the two planes collided.

The recollections of the surviving German pilot, as given in GESCHICHTE DES JAGDGESCHWADERS 77, Teil 3. Eutin, Germany. 1994. Page 1484. Dienstag, 23 Marz 1943 (translation): "Tuesday, 23 March 1943
Hq. Gruppe 77 In the morning an element [two planes] of the Wing Hq., Maj. Muencheberg and Lt Strasen, flew a "free hunt" and front-reconnaissance in the Sened/El Guettar area; 50 Kilometer eastsoutheast of Gafsa the two Messerschmitts encountered several American Spitfires, who were forthwith attacked. On the further course of the air battle Gerhard Strasen recalls:

We flew at about 3 to 4,000 meters altitude over the frontal area, when we sighted, below us close to the ground, several Spitfires and Curtiss[es, P 40s]. Maj. Muencheberg leading, we attacked the enemy fighters from above; Muencheberg opened fire at close range and got direct hits on the Spitfire ahead of him. The machine became covered by his fire and simply exploded - the pilot of the Spitfire probably had not even noticed, until he was hit, that he was under attack. Through his pass Maj. Muencheberg had nevertheless become so close to the Spitfire that I am forced to conclude that his machine went through the "dirt" left behind by the disintegrating Spitfire. Also Muencheberg had no chance - critically damaged by the debris, his Messerschmitt crashed without his having any possibility of bailing out.

....

After separating from the remaining Spitfires, Lt. Strasen flew toward Fatnassa, where he landed at the I Gruppe field; on this matter Karl-Heinz Rentrop recalls:

One day Lt. Strasen from Wing Hq.landed at our field in Fatnassa and, with a stony face, climbed out of his Messerschmitt; zu Capt. Baer he said only: "Captain, Jochen is dead!" Immediately a Storch [Fiesler "Storch", observation plane] was on the way to the crash site; there the remains of Muencheberg's Me 109 were found - it had crashed just behind the Spitfire."

[Lost Apiarist]

Life and Death Aboard a B-17, 1944


America joined Britain's strategic air campaign designed to destroy Nazi Germany's industrial capacity soon after her entrance into World War Two. Launching Boeing B-17 "Flying Fortresses" and Consolidated B-24 "Liberators" from bases in England's eastern countryside, the Americans bombed their targets during the day while the British attacked at night.

Up to 1,000 of these heavy bombers would take part in a raid - the planes flying in a three dimensional formation in which boxes of aircraft were stacked one above the other to take full advantage of their combined defensive firepower. The early confidence that the bombers' defenses alone could repel enemy fighter attacks was quickly shattered. Losses were high. It was not until long-range fighter aircraft capable of escorting the bombers to and from their targets were made available that losses dropped to an acceptable level.

Manned by a crew of 10, the many heavy machine guns that bristled from the front, back, top, bottom and sides of the four-engine

B-17s fly in formation. Overhead, vapor trails
trace the weaving path of their fighter escort.
B-17 prompted its nickname, the "Flying Fortress." On days that a mission was planned, the airmen would be awakened in the early morning hours and fed a hearty breakfast followed by a briefing describing the mission. They would then be taken to their planes and await the signal to take off. Once aloft, brightly colored "lead-ships" would direct the bombers to pre-determined points where they would organize themselves into their attack formations.

Missions that penetrated deep into enemy territory could last up to eight hours and be filled with anxious anticipation as all eyes searched the skies for enemy defenders. They could expect attacks by fighters armed with machineguns, canon and rockets as well as heavy antiaircraft fire from the ground and even bombs dropped from above. The bombers were expected to maintain their positions at all costs - in order to provide the most effective defensive fire and to assure the most devastating results once their bombs were dropped.

The planes were unheated and open to the outside air. The crew wore electrically heated suits and heavy gloves that provided some protection against temperatures that could dip to 60 degrees below zero. Once above 10,000 feet they donned oxygen masks as the planes continued to climb to their operational level that could be as high as 29,000 feet. Nearing the target, each crew member would don a 30-pound flak suit and a steel helmet designed to protect against antiaircraft fire. Parachutes were too bulky to be worn all the time, but crewmen did wear a harness that allowed them to quickly clip on their parachute when needed.

Prior to 1944, a crewman's tour of duty was set at 25 missions. As a measure of the hazards they would encounter, it is estimated that the average crewman had only a one in four chance of actually completing his tour of duty.

"I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit..."

Joseph Hallock was a twenty-two-year-old first lieutenant serving as the bombardier aboard "Ginger" a B-17 flying out of its base north of London. Hallock dropped out of college to enlist in the Army Air Force in June 1942. After training as a bombardier, he arrived in England in November 1943 and began his combat career on the last day of the year:

"My first raid was on December thirty-first, over Ludwigshaven. Naturally, not knowing what it was going to be like, I didn't feel scared. A little sick, maybe, but not scared. That comes later, when you begin to understand what your chances of survival are. Once we'd crossed into Germany, we spotted some flak, but it was a good long distance below us and looked pretty and not dangerous: different-colored puffs making a soft, cushiony-looking pattern under our plane. A bombardier sits right in the plexiglas nose of a Fort, so he sees everything neatly laid out in front of him, like a living-room rug. It seemed to me at first that I'd simply moved in on a wonderful show.' I got over feeling sick, there was so much to watch.

We made our run over the target, got our bombs away, and apparently did a good job. Maybe it was the auto-pilot and bomb sight that saw to that, but I'm sure I was cool enough on that first raid to do my job without thinking too much about it. Then, on the

The B-17G
way home, some Focke-Wulfs showed up, armed with rockets, and I saw three B-I7s in the different groups around us suddenly blow up and drop through the sky. Just simply blow up and drop through the sky. Nowadays, if you come across something awful happening, you always think, 'My God, it's just like a movie,' and that's what I thought. I had a feeling that the planes weren't really falling and burning, the men inside them weren't really dying, and everything would turn out happily in the end. Then, very quietly through the interphone, our tail gunner said, 'I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit.'

I crawled back to him and found that he'd been wounded in the side of the head - not deeply but enough so he was bleeding pretty bad. Also, he'd got a lot of the plexiglas dust from his shattered turret in his eyes, so he was, at least for the time being, blind.Though he was blind, he was still able to use his hands, and I ordered him to fire his guns whenever he heard from me. I figured that a few bursts every so often from his fifties would keep the Germans off our tail, and I also figured that it would give the kid something to think about besides the fact that he'd been hit. When I got back to the nose, the pilot told me that our No. 4 engine had been shot out. Gradually we lost our place in the formation and flew nearly alone over France. That's about the most dangerous thing that can happen to a lame Fort, but the German fighters had luckily given up and we skimmed over the top of the flak all the way to the Channel."

"They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces..."

In early 1944 the number of missions required to complete his tour of duty was extended from 25 to 30. This meant that Lt. Hallock and his buddies, each of whom had been counting down each mission, now had five additional to fly. We pick up his story as he begins his 27th (and worst) mission:

"We had a feeling, though, that this Augsburg show was bound to be tough, and it was. We made our runs and got off our bombs in the midst of one hell of a dogfight. Our group leader was shot down and about a hundred and fifty or two hundred German fighters swarmed over us as we headed for home. Then, screaming in from someplace, a twenty millimeter cannon shell exploded in the nose of our Fort. It shattered the plexiglas, broke my interphone and oxygen connections, and a fragment of it cut through my heated suit and flak suit. I could feel it burning into my right shoulder and arm. My first reaction was to disconnect my heated suit. I had some idea that I might get electrocuted if I didn't.

I crawled back in the plane, wondering if anyone else needed first aid. I couldn't communicate with them, you see, with my phone

A B-17 succumbs to an attack.
dead. I found that two shells had hit in the waist of the plane, exploding the cartridge belts stored there, and that one waist gunner had been hit in the forehead and the other in the jugular vein. I thought, 'I'm wounded, but I'm the only man on the ship who can do this job right.' I placed my finger against the gunner's jugular vein, applied pressure bandages, and injected morphine into him. Then I sprinkled the other man's wound with sulfa powder. We had no plasma aboard, so there wasn't much of anything else I could do. When I told the pilot that my head set had been blown off, the tail gunner thought he'd heard someone say that my head had been blown off, and he yelled that he wanted to jump. The pilot assured him that I was only wounded. Then I crawled back to the nose of the ship to handle my gun, fussing with my wounds when I could and making use of an emergency bottle of oxygen.

The German fighters chased us for about forty-five minutes. They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces, and I fired so fast that my gun jammed. I went back to the left nose gun and fired that gun till it jammed. By that time we'd fallen behind the rest of the group, but the Germans were beginning to slack off. It was turning into a question of whether we could sneak home without having to bailout. The plane was pretty well shot up and the whole oxygen system had been cut to pieces. The pilot told us we had the choice of trying to get back to England, which would be next to impossible, or of flying to Switzerland and being interned, which would be fairly easy. He asked us what we wanted to do. I would have voted for Switzerland, but I was so busy handing out bottles of oxygen that before I had a chance to say anything the other men said, 'What the hell, let's try for England.' After a while, with the emergency oxygen running out, we had to come down to ten thousand feet, which is dangerously low. We saw four fighters dead ahead of us, somewhere over France, and we thought we were licked. After a minute or two we discovered that they were P-47s, more beautiful than any woman who ever lived. I said, 'I think now's the time for a short prayer, men. Thanks, God, for what you've done for us.'"

Last Mission: "One more, one more, one more."

The twenty-eighth [mission]was on Berlin, and I was scared damn near to death. It was getting close to the end and my luck was bound to be running out faster and faster. The raid wasn't too bad, though, and we got back safe. The twenty-ninth mission was to Thionville, in France, and all I thought about on that mission was 'One more, one more, one more.' My last mission was to Saarbriicken. One of the waist gunners was new, a young kid like the kid I'd been six months before. He wasn't a bit scared - just cocky and excited. Over Saarbriicken he was wounded in the foot by a shell, and I had to give him first aid. He acted more surprised than hurt. He had a look on his face like a child who's been cheated by grownups.

That was only the beginning for him, but it was the end for me."

[bobbysocks]

Dogfights over Belgrade - The last free days

8. April (day 3)

The weather was very bad on this day. Clouds and light rain. The 2 surviving IK-3’s on Veliki Radinci are joined by the prototype of the IK-3 series II. This airplane had the oil coller reshaped and modified, so it was 25% smaller as the ones on the series I aircraft. The prototype also had the modified exhaust stubs with propulsion effect. This two changes helped to increase the airspeed to 582km/h.

The day also prevented the top Yugoslav bomber ace Karl Murko to get to Zadar. His CO ordered him to take the squadron’s liason bucker jungman and to reconitre if there are any Italian targets worth destroying. About halfway there he turned back due to bad weather.

An IK-2 from Bosanski Aleksandrovac chased what seem to be a reconnissance aircraft but to no avail. One IK-2 crash landed on the same day leaving only 7 IK-2 servicable.

A very sucesfull mission was flown by 66. and 67. skupina from Mostar flying the heavy S-79 bombers. They set off in formations of three planes. One three plane element was leading an S-79 flown by Viktor Kiauta, the gunner was Ivan Mazej and bombardier was Terček a native of Ljubljana.

Soon after the element overflew Uroševec, Mazej noticed 5 Me 109’s closing in on the rear quadrant. The element tightned the formation and this fire power preveneted the Emils to get any hits. After a few attacks, they returned to their previous direction.

The flew in the valley of Kačinska klisura, where a large amount of troops and vehicles were situated preventing the retreat of the Yugoslav forces into Crna Gora (Montenegro). Terček began releasing the bombs in steady intervales. And so did the other two aircraft in the element. Despite heavy AAA the combined effort of the three planes, resulted in a desctruction of 10km long column of vehicles and infrantry, two bridges and a section of a railway track. This action prevented the advance of the Germans into Kosovo polje. They had to took a more safer route over Kraljevo and Čačak.

This little known action is regarded as the most sucesfull mission flown by JKVR during the April war.


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9.April (day 4)

The airfield that was ocupied by the Blenheims from 3. Bombarderskog puka suffered heavy strafing by Me 109’s even in the most disastruss weather. The secret of such a sucesfull navigational feat of German fighters was soon revealed since they found a radio-navigational device in a neighbouring monestary that was leading the German fighters.

At about 2 o’clock in the afternoon IK-2’s from Bosanski Aleksandrovac took off chasing a few observation machines. Later on 27 Luftwaffe Me 109 straffed the airfield. Eight Huricanes and five IK-2s took off to intercept the German raiders.

Poručnik Branko Jovanović was now confronted with nine Me 109’s around him. Skilfully using the extreme manouerabiltiy of IK-2 fighter managed to stay out of German gunsights. After the battle two German fighter were found burning on the ground along with two Hurricanes and one IK-2.

The bulk of the fighter force now stationed at Veliki Radinci was still grounded due to bad weather.

The weather prevented any further flying untill 11. April


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11 April (day 6)

Milislav Semiz now flying the new and fast 2nd series IK-3 caught up and shot down a Me 110C-4b over Fruška Gora.

Aroud 2 o’clock in the afternoon 20 Me 110 strafed Veliki Radinci. Two IK-3 flown by Gogić and Vujičić with four or five Me 109’s took off and in the short fight shot down two German planes. The victors over the Me 110 seem to be the two IK-3 pilots.


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12 April (day 7)

Before the war the main figter school was based in Mostar, and the planes were of mixed type.

After the first few days of the war only two were left, a Me 109 and a Hurricane.

A infrantry colonel asked if someone from fighter school could fly over to Imotski and find out if the Germans are already there. Two pilots Franjo Godec and Stipčič took off. Godec was flying the hurricane this time. Half way there Godec spoted three Me 110’s below heading towards Mostar. Fliping vre his wing hoping Stipčić would notce the Germans too, Godec attacked the Me 110 now flying in the Mostar valley. Even though his bursts met their target, the Me 110 just kept flying. In the heat of the battle Godec didn’t notice that the other Zerstorers were gaining on him. He wanted to fire another burst, but he ran out of ammo. Exactly in this moment he was hit by a ignition cannon shell. The cockpit was immediately filled with thick black smoke, preventing Godec to breath. But he was determined to get that Me 110. He tried to cut off the tail of the fighter with his airscrew, but luckily the Me 110 started spinig before Godec reached ramming ditance (this type of the attack was latter known as Taran). He slamed the Me 109 in half loop opening the cockpit at the same time. He bailed out, only to be slamed with his back to the tail surfaces of his fighter. After buncing off the aircraft he opened his parachute. The strong wind was now carring toward Mostar city. He touched down at Jasenica village, but was dragged for a long distance before being able to cut off his parachute. He had a broken leg and a spoiled flying day, but was othervise OK.

Yugoslavia was in it's Extremis. Like a mortally wounded quarry set upon by a pack of hunting dogs , she was now under attack from all sides. The weather deteriorated during these days there was almost constant rain snow and strong wind. There was a number of aircraft that tried to get airborne, and there was a large number of accidents too. The Germans that had little to stand in their way now, eased off the air-pressure on the Yugoslavian soil. The Stuka Jagd units wit fresh instructions from the C-in-C General Lorh diverted their attention to Greece.

Mile Curgus describes the last free days best: "That days the situation was unclear. We transferred to Radinci. Chaos in Mitrovica, rain, light snow, cars, wagons, trucks, horses, shouting screaming, real war situation! I arrive on the airport, then I find out that our borders were crossed. In the morning, it was maybe April 12, rain-we can't fly. There is nothing left to do for us, but to burn the planes. Djordje Keseljević shouts;Who's got a match? Nobody but me has it, but I cannot be the godfather of this fire. In the end I gave my match after all, which set our fighter, our pride, our possession afire. When we were watching them burning, we were relived of our flying duties. The retreat has begun, the Germans were advancing very fast, and we were on our own. Sooner or later we found ourselves on the German war transports going to prison camps."

But there was one more action for the airman to execute, before they fell into enemy hands. After the separate piece talks fell through, the King and his was in the danger of being captured. The only way out of the country was by air. Onlooking that goal the rest of bombers, transports and fighter were directed, to the Niksic region. On 14. April the evacuation begun. First a Savoia bomber took-off with the King Peter II, on the next day the government and some organizers of the uprising were transported to safety. The only fighter umbrella for this airlift was a sole Hurricane making a race-track pattern to cover take-offs, and 7 Hawker Furys on standby. After all the airlift was efficient enough to get the most important persons out of the country.

A line about the April war and the participating Yugoslav pilots goes:

On 27. April 1941 the fallen heroes shouted:

BETTER WAR THEN THE PACT.

Falling from the skies ten days latter they whispered with their last breath:

BETTER DO DIE THEN TO BE A SLAVE.

They did lose, but they fought for their country-and so did the Germans, and that makes them heroes, every one off them who dared to take-off on a bright April day...



A rare photo of Hurricane in Yugoslovian markings. This snap was made during last Hawker air tests in England, before delivery. 38 JKRV's Hurricanes were ready on line in 1941.

[bobbysocks]

some 357th stuff ( since that is what i mostly have )

Capt Harvey F. Mace, P51-D "Sweet Helen II"

The German Flak battery was often very good, but on this day their aim was not so accurate, and Harvey Mace was very pleased.

For the bulk of my combat missions while Based at Leiston I flew a P51 that I had named "SWEET HELEN" after my wife, I was in the 362nd Sqn and the code was G4-B. I had a really great ground crew that looked after her for me, the crew chief was Ray Smith from Arkansas, he was a very quiet and reserved and never really showed any emotion.
We had started early and the plane was running sweet, off to Germany we went once again. I was leading my flight to a target deep into Germany this day, we ran into some anti aircraft fire and my element leader and his wingman became separated, leaving me with only my wingman to continue with. We carried on and when the bombers had finished their job they, and the rest of our fighters headed for home. Normally I would have been very happy to have stuck with them, but I was on the far side of the target at the time and had just spotted the unmistakable smoke trail of a climbing ME 163 Komet(LINK) a little deeper in
Germany. The ME 163 was of no threat to anyone, but I was young and thought it would make a good trophy if I could spot it on it's glide back down to it's airfield. I rushed to the spot I estimated to be the area where it would be, but I think it was wishful thinking as I searched for some time and found nothing, so I turned back and headed for home.
Very shortly I must have passed over the most experienced Flak battery in the whole of Germany, the noise of the explosions rang loudly in my ears and all of the twisting, turning, climbing manoeuvres I could muster just could not shake them off. I was in a bad position that seemed to go on for a long time, eventually I escaped their crasp and was so lucky not to have been hit, from then on I carefully changed course every few seconds to avoid a similar experience. The rest of the group had long since disappeared in the distance and there was no chance for me to catch them, although it was not long before I came up on a badly damaged B-17, he was limping home on considerably less than four engines. The pilot of the B-17 reported that he had injured on board and that his instrument panel had been shot up, he was unable to tell if he was heading in the right direction. I got him on the right heading and gave him close escort until we were over friendly territory, but then I had to get myself back to Leiston with the remaining fuel I had left. All the extra activity of avoiding the Flak and helping the crippled B-17 had really used up a whole lot of time and my fuel reserves, as a result of all this I landed back at Leiston some 45 minutes after everyone else. For a ground crew that is a very worrying time, as on many occasions it would mean your pilot has been lost. As I was taxing to my hardstand I could see my crew chief Ray Smith sitting with his head in his hands, as I drew into my spot he looked up and broke into the biggest smile I have ever seen. The smile and relief on his face has stayed in my memory ever since........


Lt Raymond T.Conlin, 362nd Sqn.
"Memories of a Wingman"

The date was July 25th, 1944- the time was around 11:30 am and the 357th Fighter Group were on the prowl. Dollar Blue flight and Green flights were enjoying one of those rare, "Frele Jagd" missions, in English a free hunt or fighter sweep as our enemies would call it. We had made landfall near the invasion beaches of France in the Northern Normandy Peninsula and were ranging South down near Kennes.
Capt Becker was leading Blue flight and Capt Carson, Green flights. Capt Carson maintained about six hundred yards between the two flights to give us all maneuvering room. After about 15 minutes, Capt Becker began a Sweeping left turn to head back North. Capt Carson then executed his easy left bank to follow in trail. As I recall Green flight was slightly higher than Blue as we approached the famous Paris, the glamour city of all Europe.
The two flights arrived on the western edges of the City, in this area are the large railroad marshalling yards. It was noon when one of our guys called in that P-38's were bombing and strafing below. We all looked down, at that moment a gaggle of Focke-Wulf 190's and Me 109's appeared dead ahead of us and at our level. I do not think that they could have seen us because they rolled over and started an attack on the P-38's below. I was flying as #2 on Capt "Kit" Carsons wing, He rolled over and I followed him down as he tacked on to the rear of a Fw 190. The element leader and the #3 man in Green Flight, Capt John Pugh broke away and jumped on the tail of a Me-109 that was heading down, the game was on and I was in a wild ride earthward trying to stay in position on Capt Carson. At the time, it seemed that we were almost vertical chasing the 190, the pilot was doing big barrel rolls downward trying to get us off his tail, but we were right with him. As Capt Carson closed into range he started to get strikes on the other ship. This and the ground coming up rather rapidly caused the German pilot to flare out and level off. We were now at approx 300 feet and "Kit" was getting hits all over the Fw 190 when the Germans engine failed. We were heading east just above the Grand Armee-Champs Ellysees Blvd. It looked like the Fw was going to crash into the Arch de Triumph, the pilot must have been dead because he did not try to bail out.
Capt Carson broke away and I was fascinated watching the prop windmilling as the Fw 190 headed towards its fatal end, all of a sudden I realized that Capt carson was goneand there I was at 300 feet and every soldier with a weapon was firing at me.The Germans also had Anti Aircraft guns on the roofs of the buildings and in the parks and they were all concentrating on me. I saw the river Seine off to my right so I swung over and down into it as low as I could without becoming a boat, hugging the North bank which is about 50 feet high.The guns could not lower down enough to get at me there, so I flew about two miles along the river until it looked safe for me to break out and head for home. I came up from the river and started a gradual climb for the French coast and then on to Leiston. When I arrived at home Base I found that Capt Carson had taken the same route out.
In summing up, I had a new appreciation of the daring and flying skills of the man who would become the leading "ACE" of the 357th Fighter Group, Captain Leonard "Kit" Carson..

Lt Al Boch. 362nd Sqn, P-51 "Gash Hound" G4-D.
What sticks in my mind is my second mission. It was a radio relay mission, my element leader was on one of his last sorties before going home. We were supposed to loiter over Brussels while the rest of the Group went deep into Germany or Czechoslovakia.
After takeoff we entered overcast at 500 feet and we kept on climbing, at 37,000 feet we reached the top of the clouds. The Mustang was indicating 150 mph and that was at full rpm and manifold pressure with a very severe angle of attack just to maintain altitude. It was very cold at that hight but otherwise comfortable, without pressurization, when speaking to our "mission control only about two words would come out before you would need a deep breath again.We flew for half an hour in one direction and then did a 180 and flew half an hour in the other, after 5 hours of this you would think that we knew what we were doing and were great navigators, Oh no, there was a jet stream of 100 to 150 mph that had blown us of course to the south. As it was not a good day, the bombers and fighters that had strayed were all trying to contact Colegate, the fixing station in England that could more or less pinpoint your position through triangulation, I finally reached Colegate and they gave me heading of 355 degrees and 95 miles to base. Several minutes before we got under the clouds, the DFat Leiston had given us a heading of 355 degrees. Yes we had drifted south.After what we calculated to be 95 miles we broke out of the cloud at 500 feet, there was the shoreline and the North sea, but it looked different. After flying up the coast line and seeing strange territory and an airfield full of bomb craters we were still unsure of our position, by now we were down at 300 feet because of the weather, I looked over at my element leader and for an instant I thought I saw flames coming from his engine, but I Immediatly realized that there were tracer bullets and other nasty things flying around. I yelled to my partner to hit the deck,which we both did wondering who in England was shooting at us, were we flying up the Thames estuary?.Getting low on fuel at this point, made the bombed out airfield we had seen earlier seam pretty good. We now flew North still pondering when I saw a large billboard advertising Dubonnet wine, well this gave us a big clue to where we were, FRANCE. The call sign for the emergency field in France was either "Domestic" or "Messenger" and I remember that it would be shear luck to be able to contact them at 300 feet. Much to my surprise they came booming through giving us a heading of 90 degrees left. I was a bit wary as I had heard that German controllers had talked enemy planes into landing and then being captured. I looked to my left and they were firing morters from the emergency field so that we could find them in the bad weather. A few B17s and B24s were in the landing pattern so that reassured us a bit.
We were at Merville and it hadn't been terribly long since the field was occupied by the Germans, there were graphics on all the walls all in Deutsche. With such a large amount of aircraft using the emergency field, it took 3 days before our home base at Leiston was reached to inform them of our status. Just as soon as they would let us go we were off , back to Leiston making a detour around the bad guy's at Dunkirk, that would have liked to have another shot at us for sure.When we arrived back at Leiston the guys were not too happy to see me, as they had to give me back some of my uniforms and my mattress which were a rare commodity. Our Intelligence Officer didn't rest until he raised a Colgate contoller from bed to find out what had happened, it was here that we found the discrepancy, he claimed that he told us 95 miles from the French coast. WHICH NEVER HAPPENED...

[bobbysocks]

Hugh Godefroy - Dutch Ace.

The only Dutch ace in WWII was Hugh Godefroy. He was born in the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia) on 28 October 1919. His father was a Dutch mining engineer and his mother was Canadian. In 1925 the Godefroys moved to Canada and at the start of WWII Hugh was a student at university. A turning point came whenhe learned of the death of his girlfriend. The ship she was traveling onwas torpedoed by a German submarine, which made Hugh decide to join the RCAF to fight the Germans.

After completing flight training in Canada Godefroy was shipped to the UK where he joined No. 56 OTU at Suttonbridge, together with Poles, Czechs, Free French and Americans. In the spring of1941 Godefroy arrived to start operational duty in 11 Group, 401 Squadron RCAF at Digby. This squadron, equipped with the Hawker "Hurricane", was tasked with defense of the UK, with occasional offensive actions over France. In September 1941 the Squadron received the "Spitfire" Mk V and shortly afterwards 401 Sqn was moved to Biggin Hill. Although Hugh had flown anumber of operational sorties he was still considered a 'sprog' (greenhorn) by the veterans, having claimed no aerial victories. It seemed as if all his skills were needed just to stay out of the sights of Bf 109s and Fw 190s.

In 1942 Hugh was transferred to the Air Fighting Development Unit (AFDU) at Duxford. Initially he regarded his transition to a test unit as a demotion. But he learned to appreciate his new posting when he had the time to improve his deflection shooting and experiment with new escort tactics.

Near the end of 1942 Godefroy asked for andgot a posting at 403 Squadron RCAF. Shortly thereafter, he made his firstkill: a Fw 190. In June of 1943 he was promoted to 403's Squadron Leader. After some more kills he was promoted to Commander of 127 Wing.

In April 1944 Godefroy's second tour of duty ended. He received the DSO and became a staff officer to the HQ of AVM Sir Harry Broadhurst, advising in tactical and personal affairs. He still flew frequently, but not in combat operations. On one of his flights during this period, the engine of his "Spitfire" stopped and he bailed out over the English Channel. Luckily he was rescued, and he spent some time recuperating in a hospital. The resigned and went back to Canada. By the summer of 1944 his war was over. During his career, Hugh Godefroy was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, Distinguished Service Order and the Croix the Guerre.

Source: Onze Luchtmacht, December 1995

Constantin "Bâzu" Cantacuzino - The prince of aces. (romania)

He was born on 11 November 1905 in Bucharest. His father was Mihai Cantacuzino and his mother Maria Rosetti. There were both from old noble families and very, very rich. For example, after 1921, when many lands were expropriated and given to the peasants, his estate in Jilavele, still had 1172 ha(1ha=100 mx100 m), a huge surface of high quality agricultural land. His mother married for the second time with George Enescu (Romania's best composer and a world class violinist; he was Yehudi Menuhin's teacher). He went to high-school in Bucharest. He loved motor sports and he could afford to practice them all the time. He was an excellent biker (won some races) and driver (he set a new record on the Paris-Bucharest race). He played tennis and was the captain of the Romanian ice hockey team at the World Championship in 1933.

That year he attended the "Mircea Cantacuzino" Flight School (the fee was 30000 lei, which was a considerable sum, the leu was equal to the French franc). He flew a lot around Europe until the beginning of the war and sometimes in very difficult conditions. He was the pilot of the prince G. V. Bibescu, the president of the International Aviation Federation. Until the beginning of the war he had already over 2000 hours of flights all across Europe. In 1939 he won the national aerial acrobatics contest with his Bücker Bü-133 Jungmeister.

In 1941 was named chief-pilot of the Romanian national air transport company LARES. Even though this was a comfortable and cozy job, he managed to get in the front line as a fighter pilot in the 53rd Squadron (equipped with Hurricane Mk. I). From 5 July, when he started flying war missions, until 31 October 1941, when he was demobilized, he claimed 4 victories (3xDB-3 and 1xI-16) and 2 probable (1xDB-2 and 1xI-16).

After the capture of Odessa, the Romanian armed forces reduced the number of front line troops, because the main objectives were achieved (Bessarabia was liberated and the Soviets were pushed away the frontiers).

"Bâzu" was one of the reservists who were sent home. He retook his position at LARES.

But he managed to return to active duty in 1943. On 26 April 1943 he was remobilized and assigned to the 7th Fighter Group, which was equipped with the new Me-109 G. On 5 May he arrived on the front line and was named commander of the 58th Squadron. On 29 June, he and his wingman engaged 4xYaks, 2xLa-5s and 4xSpitfires, while trying to protect 3 Romanian Ju-88s His wingman was badly hit and forced to return to base. He continued the fight and shot down 2 Spits. He was also damaged, but managed to escape. Unfortunately, two of the bombers were destroyed. In July he flown both day and night missions, even though his "Gustav" was not equipped for that kind of flying. He tried to stop the Soviet night bombings of his airfield. The Germans protested and considered him mad. He finally gave up these missions.

On 27 July 1943, his wing was suppose to escort a German recon plane. But because of technical problems, only "Bâzu’s" airplane could be fueled in time. When he reached the rendezvous point, the German plane was already under attack by a Yak with a red engine hood (that meant over 25 kills). There were another two Yaks which were protecting the other one. He fired from distance and the Soviets turned on him. After 2 minutes he managed to get behind the Soviet ace and shot him down, before the wingmen could intervene. They ran away after seeing what happened to their leader. On his way back to the airfield "Bâzu" also sent a Pe-2 to the ground.

Between 2 and 5 August he shot down 9 planes (4xYaks and 5xIl-2s), raising his score to 27. On 5 August he was alone on patrol and he encountered a Soviet formation about 40-50 planes strong (Il-2s and Yaks). He realized that he couldn't have obtained outstanding results, but he could try to create them some problems. He dove into the Il-2 formation and shot down 2 of them, but he was immediately attacked by the Soviet fighters. He managed to shake them off, only one remained, but soon he joined Cantacuzino's kill collection.

The day of 16 August was an excellent day for the pilots of the 7th Fighter Group. They claimed 22 kills and 5 probable. First was Slt. Ion Milu with 5, then came Cpt. av. Cantacuzino with 3 (2xLa-5s and 1xIl-2) and Cpt. av. Alexandru Şerbănescu (2xIl-2s and 1xIl-2 probable). On 28 August he also received the Iron Cross, 1st class (Şerbănescu got his on 17).

In the autumn of 1943 "Bâzu" got sick and was interned to a hospital and then had to stay a while away from the front to rest.

On 10 February 1944 he returned to active duty in the 7th Fighter Group, which was sent to the front with the Soviets in Moldavia. On 15 April, there was an American raid and Cpt. av. Cantacuzino and his wingmen attacked the bomber formations and shot down 6 Liberators (the prince got one himself). He continued flying missions against the VVS and had a few victories.

On 31 May the 7th Fighter Group was pulled out of the first line and assigned to home defense. Cantacuzino remained in the 9th Fighter Group. He had 36 kills.

"Bâzu" was the first Romanian pilot to send a Mustang to the ground on 6 June. He shot down another one on 15 July and started August with 2xP-38s. After the death of Cpt. av. Alexandru Şerbănescu, he was named commander of the 9th Fighter Group.

After 23 August 1944, when Romania quit the Axis and joined the Allies, the Germans started bombing Bucharest, from airfields close to the capital, which were still in their hands. The 7th and 9th Fighter Group were brought in to protect the city. "Bâzu" shot down 3xHe-111 with this occasion.

He was then given a special mission: to transport Lt. Col. James Gunn III, the American highest ranking POW in Romania, to the airbase in Foggia and then to lead back the USAAF airplanes that were coming to take the POWs back.

He flew in the Gustav nr. 31, which was in the best condition, because it had only 7.5 hours of use. The American was put in the place of the radio and an extra fuel tank was added. He landed after two hours and 5 minutes of flight. First the Americans were suspicious, even though he spoke fluent English. But the colonel got out of the fuselage, everything was OK. He returned with a Mustang, because the Gustav couldn't be fueled. He needed only a flight to get used to it and dazzled the Americans with his acrobatics, which he couldn't help himself not to execute. Until 25 September he made several flights to Italy. Then he returned to his Group, which was engaged in the fights with the Germans and Hungarians in Transylvania. The Gustav was destroyed by the Americans, when they tried to fly it and were "stolen away" by it (the all known Me-109 characteristic).

Even though the ARR was facing many supplying difficulties, because the Soviets were requisitioning all the airplanes that were produced or repaired, the 9th Fighter Group did its best to carry out the orders.

On 25 February 1945, Cpt. av. Cantacuzino and his wingman Adj. Av. Traian Dârjan (11 kills), engaged 8xFw-190Fs. In the dogfight that followed, "Bâzu" got one of the Germans. While they were looking for the crash site in order to validate the victory claim, they failed to see the two German Gustavs. They jumped the careless Romanian pilots and shot them down very quickly. Dârjan died.

When the war finished, Cpt. av. Cantacuzino was demobilized and returned to LARES. He had 60 victories and was the highest ranking Romanian ace. He is probably one of the few pilots, if not the only one, that shot down Soviet, US and German airplanes, ranging from the I-16, the Yak-1,3,7,9, the La-3,5, the Spitfire, the P-38 and P-51 to the Fw-190F.

After the war, times changed. The USSR imposed a communist regime that started confiscating private properties and imprisoning the old elite and all those who dared not to think like them. "Bâzu" lost all its land and soon his wife left him. He managed to escape to Italy in 1947 and then he settled down in Spain. There he was helped by the Romanian community to buy himself an airplane, in order to earn his living at air shows. He died on 26 May 1958. There are two versions of how he died: one is after an unsuccessful surgical operation and the second when he crashed with his airplane.

His wife (the fourth one) was an actress. She emigrated to the USA and settled down at Hollywood and married there. She had a daughter which later became Miss America and stared in the "Dallas" show as JR's wife: the name was Linda Grey.

[bobbysocks]

Robert S. Johnson survived an awful beating one day in June, 1943, when a Luftwaffe pilot shot up his helpless (but very rugged) P-47 Thunderbolt.
If that German pilot ever knew whom he hadn't killed, he surely lived to regret it. Bob Johnson would go on to score 27 aerial victories in his time with the 56th Ftr. Grp., one of the top scoring groups in the ETO, under its great leader, Col. Hub Zemke. The top two aces of the 8th AF, Johnson and Gabby Gabreski, both flew P-47s with "Zemke's Wolfpack."

On April 17th, the 56th was scheduled for a "rodeo" (fighter sweep) over Walcheren, a large Dutch island; German opposition was questionable. Just like in the movies, they synchronized watches at 10:01. Despite his excitement at his first combat mission, Johnson was determined to stay in formation, as ordered. His crew chief, Pappy Gould, had tuned the engine perfectly, and even sanded and waxed the Thunderbolt's aluminum skin, to lessen air resistance and add a few MPH that might make the difference. Everything went perfectly: run-up, take-off, climb to 31,000 foot altitude, the formation flying over the target. Except for one minor detail - the Germans neglected to show up. Johnson's long-awaited first combat mission was a non-event. After all the preparation and hype, he "felt like an idiot".
Later that month, he and several other pilots who had not completed the fighter pilot's gunnery requirement, went to Goxhill (a miserable place, full of coal dust) for gunnery instruction. They practiced shooting at a towed target sleeve, but he never "got the hang of it," achieving a high score (against the sleeve) of 4.5%, below the requirement of 5%. Thus, the second highest scoring ace of the ETO never actually qualified as a fighter pilot! (And the top ace, Gabreski, had almost washed out of flight training in 1941.)

The days and missions passed, but Johnson didn't see any Germans for a while.

But on May 14th, he received his baptism of fire, a "ramrod" (bomber escort) over Antwerp, which the Germans usually defended. Three 16-plane squadrons of the 56th went up that day, to help shepherd a force of about thirty B-17s. As they flew over the Dutch coast, heavy flak opened up, ripping into the bombers flying at lower altitude. Hub Zemke, leading the flight, plunged after some bandits, with Johnson and the other two members of the flight "glued to his tail." Eight more German planes came after Zemke's flight, and the four Thunderbolts turned to meet them head on. The antagonists flashed by each other, firing, and Johnson's guns stuck in the 'ON' position despite his repeated flicking of the arming switch. As he hammered on the trigger and switches, trying to shut off his guns, two Focke-Wulfs passed through his bullet stream and were damaged. When Johnson finally got his guns off, he was alone. He had been constantly warned against this exact predicament, a novice pilot alone and at low altitude to boot.
Looking for friendly aircraft, he spotted eight blunt-nosed fighters and sped towards them, in hopes of joining up. His recognition skills needed work, because they were FW-190s. he firewalled the throttle and headed the other way. Keeping maximum speed all the way across the Channel, he gratefully landed, only to have Hub Zemke chew him out for undisciplined flying. It hadn't been Johnson's intention, but this mission began his reputation in the Group as a 'wild flier.'

June 26, 1943 mission details:
Early in the morning forty-eight Thunderbolts took off from the advanced base at Manston. Having previously been criticized for going off on his own, this morning Johnson resolved to stay in formation. The three squadrons of the 56th Fighter Group were all up: the 61st (Johnson's), 62nd, and 63rd. Before the mission, Johnson felt the cold fear that he always felt, and which he was able to channel into higher alertness. They flew up, over the Channel, into France, and soon spotted sixteen Fw-190s. Before Johnson could communicate or coordinate with his flight, he was hit. 20mm cannon shells ripped through his plane, smashing the canopy, punching holes in the plane, and inspiring in Johnson an overwhelming urge to bail out. More explosions smashed the plane, and Johnson's frantic "Mayday!" calls drew no response. Fire began to envelope the cockpit.

The Thunderbolt spun crazily out of his control and the twisted and jammed canopy frame resisted his repeated, superhuman, full-body efforts to open it. As he struggled vainly with the canopy, the engine fire miraculously went out, but he could hardly see, as oil spewed back from the battered engine. He tried to squeeze out through the broken glass of the canopy, but the opening was just too small for both him and his chute. Trapped inside the P-47, he next decided to try to crash-land and evade. He turned the plane south, toward Spain - the recommended evasion route. After struggling with hypoxia and hallucinations(?), his thoughts came back into focus and he realized that the aircraft was still flying fairly well. He headed back for England, counting on his high altitude to help him make a long, partially-powered glide back home.

The instrument panel was shattered. The wind constantly blew more oil and hydraulic fluid into his cut up face and eyes. He had neglected to wear his goggles that morning, and any attempt to rub his eyes burned worse than ever. He and his plane were horribly shot up, but incredibly he was still alive. He made for the Channel, desperate to escape the heavily defended enemy territory.

Swiveling constantly, he froze in horror as he spotted a plane approaching him, an Fw-190, beautifully painted in blue with a yellow cowling. Johnson was totally helpless, and just had to wait for the German to get him in his sights and open up. The German closed in, taking his time with the crippled American fighter. Johnson hunched down behind his armor-plated seat, to await the inevitable. The German opened up, spraying the plane with 30-caliber machine gun fire, not missing, just pouring lead into the battered Thunderbolt. Johnson kicked his rudder left and right, slowing his plane to a crawl, and fired back as the German sped out in front of him.

The Focke-Wulf easily avoided the gunfire from the half-blinded Johnson, and circled back, this time pulling level with him. The pilot examined the shattered Thunderbolt all over, looking it up and down, and shook his head in mystification. He banked, pulled up behind Johnson again, and opened up with another burst. Somehow the rugged Republic-built aircraft stayed in the air. The German pulled alongside again, as they approached the southern coast of the Channel. Still flying, Johnson realized how fortunate it was that the German found him after his heavy 20mm cannons were empty.

As they went out over the Channel, the German get behind and opened up again, but the P-47 kept flying. Then he pulled up alongside, rocked his wings in salute, and flew off, before they reached the English coast. Johnson had survived the incredible, point-blank machine gun fire, but still had to land the plane. He contacted Mayday Control by radio, who instructed him to climb if he can. The battered plane climbed, and after more communication, headed for his base at Manston. Landing was touch and go, as he had no idea if the landing gear would work. The wheels dropped down and locked and he landed safely.

Egon Mayer
Johnsonn's opponent that day was the Luftwaffe Ace Egon Mayer: his rank was Oberstleutnant (Lt.Col). My friend, Diego Zampini, supplied the following details on Mayer:
He started to score victories in June 1940 (during the French campaign) with the famous JG 2 "Richthofen," and participated in the Battle of Britain, scoring several kills but being also downed four times. In July 1941 his tally increased to 20, and during only 21 days in the summer of 1942 he shot down 16 British fighters, being promoted to Gruppenkommandeur of III/JG 2. He was a Major when he met Robert Johnson’s P-47 on June 26 1943 and damaged it very seriously (Mayer at that flew time a Fw 190A-5). On this day the 61st and 56th FG were flying escort for 250 B-17s against Villacoublay airfield, being intercepted by Mayer’s unit, which shot down three B-17s of the 384th BG in head-on attacks. About that time when Mayer and Georg-Peter Eder created the deadly head-on attacks against the B-17s. On September 16 1943, the recently promoted Oberstleutnant Egon Mayer (now Kommodore of JG 2) shot down three Flying Fortresses in less than 20 minutes. He achieved his 100th kill in February 1944, but he was shot down and killed by a Thunderbolt on March 2 1944 over France while he was trying to attack an Allied bomber. Mayer was only 27 years old. (Source: Microsoft Flight Combat Simulator: in the section "Luftwaffe Aces.").
Not long before he passed away in December, 1998, Robert S. Johnson was interviewed by Colin D. Heaton, of Military History magazine. Excerpts of that interview follow:

Military History: Tell us about some of the types of missions that the 56th Fighter Group performed.

Johnson: We started flying bomber escort. The first missions were just flights over the coastline into France to get a feel for the terrain and the enemy-controlled area. We occasionally met the enemy over the North Sea, and sometimes they came over to visit us. They would strafe the fields and that type of thing. As time went on, we pushed them back from the coastline, but that comes later in the story. That was where I received my combat and aerial gunnery training, against the best the Germans had.

MH: That's true, you were flying against Jagdgeschwader 2 (JG.2) and JG.26 a lot--and they were definitely a sharp group of pilots.

Johnson: Yes, that's correct. They were at Abbeville and along the coast, right across from us.

MH: I understand that Oberstleutnant Hans Philipp, leader of JG.1, was one of your victories?

Johnson: That was on October 8, 1943. My wingman and I had become separated, as sometimes happens in combat. We were trying to find some friendly airplanes to fly home with. I had just shot down a Messerschmitt Bf-110, which was my fourth kill. As I pulled up from that dive I saw four FW-190s attacking the bombers. I rolled over until I was upside down so I could watch them, as they were some 5,000 feet below me. I was inverted and continued my dive, shooting while pushing the nose forward to give the necessary lead for my bullets to intercept one of the planes. I was shooting at the leader, and his number three or four man pulled his nose up, shooting at me as I was coming down. I continued the attack, and just as I hit the leader, knocking him down, I felt a thump in my airplane. How badly I was hit I didn't know, as I was very busy. I leveled out after that, and I found out 50 years later that my fifth victory was Hans Philipp, a 206-victory ace from the Russian Front. I pulled up right in the path of a group of Bf-110s and FW-190s coming in behind the four I had engaged. I immediately threw the stick left and dropped the nose. Nothing happened when I hit left rudder, and then I knew that my rudder cable was shot away. I had no rudder control at all, only trim tabs.

MH: What went through your mind at that time?

Johnson: Well, the main thing was to get clear of that cluster of enemy fighters. I dived away with the throttle wide open, and I saw some friendly P-47s and joined up with them. My first thought was to bail out, but I pulled up alongside them and found I could still fly, even with 35 feet of rudder cable piled up in the cockpit. Those planes were from the 62nd Squadron, part of our group. They said, "Sure, come aboard." Ralph Johnson turned out to be leading the flight. I still had the throttle wide open, and he said, "Jesus Christ, Johnson, cut it back!" I was running away from them. Well, I chopped the throttle back and we returned to England, landing at Boxted, which was the first base we came to. Ironically, we were later stationed there as a group. There was one little opening in the clouds below, and I saw there were some runways. At the time, we had a bomber and a Piper Cub*type airplane ahead of us, and we let them land first. They said, "Bob, since you're banged up, you go in first." I told them: "No, I have plenty of fuel, and if I mess it up none of you could get in. I'll just stay up here and come in last." They all landed and got out of the way. I came in a little hot, but I still had aileron control--no problem there. I came in, touched the wheels first, then the tail wheel dropped. I had to hold the left rudder cable in my hand so that I could get to my brakes. The minute I touched down I was pulling on the cable, using the brakes, and was able to stop. I pulled off the runway in case anyone had to come in behind me. I climbed out and walked the entire perimeter of that base; I could not see due to the foggy weather. I later found the other guys at the control tower, waiting on me. The next morning we looked at the airplane, which was only 50 yards from the tower, but I had walked in the opposite direction for about 2.5 miles to get to that point. We had some guys come over and put a new rudder cable in.

MH: Tell us about some of your most memorable combat missions.

Johnson: Well, four P-47 groups pushed the Germans back from the French and Dutch coasts to about a north-south line from Kiel to Hanover. They knew what our range was because they had captured a couple of P-47s and they knew it was a big gas eater. They set their defensive line at the limit of our operational range, where we had to turn back. On March 6, however, we had one of the biggest aerial battles right over Dümmer Lake. They attacked the bombers, and about 69 of the heavies were shot down. I had eight guys to protect the bombers against about 150 German fighters, so we were not very effective at that time. We were split into groups A and B, spreading ourselves thin since the Germans had not come up to fight. They showed up then on March 6, 8 and 15, and I was on all three missions. I was in Group B on March 8 and Group A on the other days, which was right up in front. I was the lead plane on those occasions. We lost 34 bombers on March 8, and on the 15th I was the lead plane moving north trying to find the Germans. Well, I found them. There were three groups of Germans with about 50 planes per group, and the eight of us went right into them head on. Two groups were level, coming horizontally, and the third was up high as top cover. We went in, since we had no choice, and fired line abreast. That stalled them a little bit. I was pushing every button I could find on my radio, including SOS. I gave the location where I found the Germans and what they were. In just a matter of minutes we had scores of planes--P-47s, North American P-51s and Lockheed P-38s. It was a big turmoil, but we lost only one bomber that day, due to flak. Usually when we could find no Germans in the air on the way home, we would drop down near the treetops and strafe anything of military value--airfields, marshaling yards, trains, boats, anything like that. Later, the Ninth Air Force took that up as they pushed ahead of our ground forces.

MH: I know that ground attack was not considered a choice assignment.

Johnson: I think that is another good reason why I'm still alive. An awful lot of guys who flew aerial combat with me ended up either as POWs or badly shot up doing that kind of business. Also, after my first victory I had a reputation as a sort of a wild man, and other pilots would say, "Don't fly with Johnson, he'll get you killed." Later they decided to make me a flight leader and then a squadron leader. I felt that even though I was a leader, the other guys were as good as I was, and we decided that if they were in a good firing position, they should have the lead. In our one flight of eight boys we had the four leading aces in Europe. Then we got aggressive, and everyone became competitive. We were competing not only against the guys in our squadron but also against other squadrons. Later, it was our group against other groups, that kind of thing. We had "Gabby" Gabreski, myself, Jerry Johnson, Bud Mahurin and Joe Powers, who was one of our leaders at that time. He was killed in Korea when his engine was hit as he was trying to make it back across Inchon Bay on January 18, 1951. He went down with his plane.

MH: Pilots generally swear by their aircraft. Günther Rall and Erich Hartmann praised the Messerschmitt Bf-109, Erich Rudorffer and Johannes Steinhoff the Me-262, and Buddy Haydon the P-51 Mustang. I have to say after seeing all of the old photos of the various Thunderbolts and others that were shot up, I can't imagine any other plane absorbing that much damage and still flying. What is your opinion of your aircraft?

Johnson: This is very similar to the German debate. As far as the 109, all of the German pilots loved that plane, but the FW-190 was harder to shoot down. Just like the controversy over the P-51 and P-47. The P-47 was faster; it just did not have the climb and range the Mustang did. But it had speed, roll, dive and the necessary ruggedness that allowed it to do such a great job in the Ninth Air Force. As far as aerial kills go, we met and beat the best the Luftwaffe had when we first got there. It was the P-47 groups that pushed them back, as I said before. The P-51s had the advantage of longer range, and they were able to hit even the training schools, hitting boys just learning to fly. As the war dragged on, many of the old German veterans had been killed--so much of the experience was gone. As far as the 109 versus 190 argument, the 109 had the liquid-cooled engine whereas the 190 had an air-cooled radial engine, much like ours. One hit in the cooling system of a Messerschmitt and he was going down. Also, none of the German fighters were as rugged as a P-47. When I was badly shot up on June 26, 1943, I had twenty-one 20mm cannon shells in that airplane, and more than 200 7.92mm machine-gun bullets. One nicked my nose and another entered my right leg, where the bullet split in half. I still have those two little pieces, by the way; they went in just under the skin. I had been hurt worse playing football and boxing. However, I had never been that scared, I'll tell you that. I was always scared--that was what made me move quick. "Hub" Zemke liked the P-51 because it had great range, but he put one in a dive and when he pulled out he ripped the wings off that airplane--that was how he became a POW. Adolf Galland, who was a very good friend of mine and who I had known since 1949, flew the Me-262 and loved it, but he still swore by the 109, although it was still easier to shoot down.

When his combat tours were finished, he returned Stateside, to a hero's welcome, and to PR roles like War Bond tours. Johnson enjoyed these pubilicity jobs, unlike his quiet, reserved friend, Dick Bong, America's "Ace of Aces," who had just come back from the Pacific.
After the war, Johnson went to work for Republic Aircraft, and spent some time in Korea, in a split role as a civilian observer and as a USAF Lieutenant Colonel. He wrote his autobiography in 1958, and later moved to South Carolina, where he ran a successful insurance business. He remained active on the lecture circuit and in military aviation circles under his death in December, 1998.

[bobbysocks]

First 8th AF Piggy Back Rescue


Colonel Royce Priest USAF (retired)in a letter to Bill Marshall dated December 2002

I ran away from school before I graduated, and lied about my age to enlist in the Army Air Corps. I wanted to fly more than anything else in the world but pilots weren’t being accepted into the Air Corps unless they had at least a couple of years in college. I couldn’t afford college and my current employer (United States Army) didn’t see anything extraordinary in a wet behind the ears enlisted man to cause them to break the rules and send me to flight school. But I had a dream. My first Sergeant and my CO took a liking to me and let me know that United States Military Academy took one or two qualified enlisted men from the ranks based on passing the Entrance Exam – and informed me they would help me prep for it.

Two years and two failures later, I took the exam one more time and volunteered for Glider School, thinking it would bring me one step closer to my dream. At the time I was a Non Commissioned Officer. I graduated from Glider School at the top of my class, and learned at the same time that the Army had enough and probably would not form another squadron or fill replacements any time soon. My Colonel at the school asked “Would you be interested in going to Flight School as a Pilot Candidate?”. What a question!

I had just graduated, been commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Class of 43-J at Craig Field, Alabama, when another piece of good news came my way. I had just been accepted to West Point as a cadet! I looked at the Gold Wings, looked at the appointment and realized that the Gold Wings outweighed the Point.! Maybe, someday..

I went to advanced Fighter Training and then on to Steeple Morden, England and the Mighty Eighth. I was assigned to the 355th Fighter Group, 354FS, on June 2nd or 3rd a day before your father, Captain Bert Marshall, Jr.

Bert was my personal hero from his days as a star quarterback with the Greenville Lions, and the only quarterback in Texas to ever make All State three years in a row (I suspect you know this). I even followed his career when he went to Vanderbilt. That record holds to this day. Now here I was with this kind, gentle warrior as my leader!

Anyway, it was obvious that Bert Marshall brought a lot of talent and charisma to the 354th.He also brought a lot of experience, having logged over 2200 single engine time while stuck in Training Command.

As a new fighter pilot he shot his first German down on his second total mission, on D-Day, then shot down two more two weeks later, saving two of our own pilots from being shot down. He became Squadron Ops officer before the end of the month, bypassing many seasoned combat veterans in the squadron. Nobody was displeased – it was the nature of the man he was, that enlisted men and officers alike had a deep affection and respect for him.

By the time August 18th rolled around, Captain Bert Marshall had become Major Bert Marshall, and 354 Fighter Squadron Commander and an ace fighter pilot. He was already getting a well deserved reputation for not matching wheels down landings with take-offs. He had already bellied two Mustangs in with severe damage, the last one just a couple of days before.

As a side foot note, he would bend two more (with German help) before I rotated home. I was flying his wing on one of the times just before the end of his first tour…and I heard he had another during his second tour. Getting shot up so badly you have to crash land the airplane worries most people when it happens ONCE!

The mission on The Day was a low level Fighter Sweep to attack German rail and marshalling yard targets northeast of Paris in the Soissons area. Our job was to disrupt the flow of men and supplies to the front and raise as much hell as we could.

I was in Red Flight of the 354th Squadron with Bert as the Squadron Commander and overall mission commander for the 355th . I was flying number three with Woolard was my wingman and Wood was Bert’s wingman as number two.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when we arrived at our primary target, a large marshalling yard at Soissons, loaded with targets. It was loaded, but quite a few of the rail cars had red crosses on the roof so Bert took us further east to see what we could find, just following the tracks.

Pretty shortly we came upon another rather large concentration. I can’t recall for sure but I think it was near St. Etienne, maybe 20 miles further east. Standard operating procedure for us in a situation like this was for the leader to dispatch a flight for a closer look – but not Bert, he designated himself and told the rest of the group to orbit out of range while we checked it (flak defenses) out.

As we made our first pass on the rail traffic my particular target car and locomotive dropped side doors and we were staring at very ugly 20mm and 40mm snouts. I saw a flash to one side and looked over towards Bert’s ship.

Bert took one hit under the exhaust stack and a big hit behind the radiator scoop, apparently just missing the fuselage fuel tank, because he didn’t blow up… but he was burning and smoking heavily and I knew for sure that P-51 wouldn’t come home.

I called the damage in to him and heard him edly tell us to wave off while he looked for a place to belly it in. I got back on the radio and suggested that he head for a field about a mile away and I would land nearby to pick him up. He told me in very clear and concise language that I was to take the squadron and get the hell out of there.

While I observed Bert’s Mustang limping away, still badly smoking I could see his prop rpm slow even further and knew it was just a matter of minutes or most before he went in. As he flared out over a plowed field by a tree lined road, I told Woolard that I was going to land in a wheat field next to Bert. Bert heard the R/T traffic and immediately and profanely told me ‘to NOT land nearby – and that is a Direct Order!”. There were a few more adjectives that I can’t remember, but I did understand what he said..

Using some observational skills that I learned as a glider pilot trainee (see, I told you it was important) I could see the plowed field was too soft but the wheat field about 600-800 yards away was big enough. I made one pass length wise to size the field up for a possible landing.

It was a large wheat field about half a mile away from Bert's crash., which was occupied and being worked by a number of people, along with a team and wagon and some pieces of heavy equipment. Much of the field was still uncut, waist high wheat, and most of the remainder consisted of shocked wheat bundles sitting in geometrically precise rows, but in one corner there was a small cleared area where men with pitch forks were loading shocks onto the wagon. I reasoned if I could full stall the airplane into that small clearing and then keep it aimed between two rows of shocks, along with fair braking action, the combined effect would not only get me down safely, it would also clear a runway for takeoff

As I passed overhead I could see Bert had gotten out and was tossing a thermite grenade into his Mustang to finish it off.

I waggled my wings in the direction of the field and proceeded to set up for the tight landing, noticing that he was shedding equipment and then started to run in my direction when he saw what I was doing. The farmers scattered as I made my final approach.

Just before I brought it down I thought I could see Bert about a quarter mile away coming my way.

The landing worked out fine. With full flaps, minimum airspeed, nose high, and power on, the airplane was sort of hanging on its propeller as it came over the field boundary. As I eased power all the way back, while holding the nose up, the Mustang gently whomped down and went clattering off between the neatly stacked rows of wheat shocks. In fact, natures arresting gear was so effective that I decided to lengthen my "runway" a little before turning back to look for Bert. I could now see that a haystack I had all but ignored in the air was somewhat larger than I had perceived it to be and, indeed, could in fact become a factor on takeoff. (In fact, it did become a factor during the takeoff roll, when cockpit overcrowding had limited my ability to move my legs far enough to apply adequate rudder correction to overcome the full effect of torque buildup during engine acceleration on the initial segment of the takeoff roll.) . Then I swung it around facing back down the ‘runway’ with the haystacks behind me

I stood up in the cockpit to see if I could spot Bert and was shocked to see a truckload of German infantry coming my way about a half mile away to the north west. I got Woolard and Wood on the horn and told ‘em to “kill the truck” They replied that they were already swinging in bound to shoot them up

Simultaneously Woolard and Wood flew low over my head to hit the tree lined dirt road., shooting at the truck and let me know there were more about a mile further north on the main road. All I could see where the truck once was, was a hunk of burning metal and a cloud of dust where the .50’s were chewing up the dirt road. Vaguely, I was speculating that they (survivors, if any) were going to be in an ugly mood if I was still around.

In the meantime, I still had not spotted Bert, but the farm laborers were moving toward me with farm implements in hand, my coolant temperature was in the red and I knew I couldn’t just shoot at the farmers with my sidearm, I couldn’t wait much longer, and I couldn’t leave unless I knew Bert was incapacitated for sure, and last but not least I would have to leave if the larger main road force remained unscathed.

While these thoughts were passing through my head, I pushed throttle forward to get some high speed airflow going to try to cool off and kicked the rudder so that the prop wash blew rocks and dirt at the farmers. That did the trick as they backed away quickly

I had gunned the engine fairly hard to get the airplane rolling fast toward Bert's crash site in the adjoining muddy plowed field, in the direction from where I thought Bert should show up. Deliberately taxiing the airplane at high speed on the surface of the wheat almost turned out to be disastrous! As I approached the wheat field's northwestertern boundary, rolling at a fairly high rate, I barely discerned a wide, deep ditch. It was almost totally concealed by a heavy growth of brush and vegetation, and rapidly coming up directly ahead of me. Heavy braking only seemed to make me go faster on the ice-slick wheat stubble. Instinctively, I slammed full rudder and stood on the brake, which broke the tail wheel out of its centering detent and sent the airplane into a wide skidding turn. It came to lurching stop just feet short of putting a wheel over the edge of the ditch, which would have put an end to the affair.

Just about this time, I spotted Bert, he disappeared in the deep ditch I had just avoided, then re-appeared running for me. I taxied over to meet him. He was red faced, streaming sweat, livid that I had disobeyed his direct order, and repeated the order “Go home now, before you get us both killed or captured”, then refused to climb on. Many vituperative words were sliced out of the recollected tirade!

I didn’t know what to do or say, so I got out on the wing with parking brake locked, pulled off my parachute and dingy pack and just stood there, then I pulled the ripcord spilling the chute. Bert then just shook his head and climbed up on the wing. He insisted I fly, I insisted he had more experience and he should fly, so he ended the argument and sat in the seat, forcing me to do most of the flying!

It was incredibly cramped, my head was just above the gun sight and pressed forward to allow the canopy to close and very awkward to manage the throttles and rudders. I could just press far enough back to enable me to get enough stick control to lift us out of here. I couldn’t see the instrument panel and probably for the best – as I really didn’t want to know that my coolant was dead, if it was, at this late stage of the game.

My recollection of my orientation for take off places me on a southerly heading, at the northern boundary of the wheat field, at about 500 feet or so to the east of the field's western boundary. The enemy vehicle had been attacked by the wingmen as it was proceeding south along the road/ditch at the wheat field's western boundary. (For your information, five members of my family have visited the Wheatfield during recent times, and have been royally greeted by the local citizenry, some of whom witnessed the entire event back in 1944. One of them, currently a local senior citizen, was then a 14 year old boy who was hiding in the mentioned haystack during the happening, wrote and asked me whether I had been aware of a number of German soldiers who were hiding in the road. I was, after they started shooting at us!)

Just after starting the take off , the canopy flew back and clonked me on the forehead.

When the canopy slid back, I had just started applying takeoff power and we were just barely into the roll. As the canopy struck my head, I immediately retarded power and started braking to a stop, at which time Bert said, "I got it, Coach", then reached around me and closed/locked the canopy, after which I resumed the takeoff roll. As I recall, at this point in the adventure, there were a few farmers now standing some 25-50 yards off at about my 8:30-9 o'clock. The Germans were some several hundred feet behind me at about my 4-5 o'clock, at the start of takeoff

While I clearly recall the loud noise of hitting wheat shocks on the landing roll (a real clatter!) I don't recall hitting wheat on takeoff -- just the sheer damned panic of trying to get enough rudder/aileron travel in to avoid hitting the haystack. Cockpit crowding limited my ability to extend my leg enough to suffficiently override takeoff torque was a problem. My lower leg was hitting the bottom edge of the forward panel until increasing speed required less rudder offset for directional control. Bless the Mustang's sweet heart!

Just after we got off the ground I had just enough control to dip my left wing and miss the haystack – just barely.

In the meanwhile, while we were blissfully worrying about getting the Mustang off the ground, several German soldiers from the shot up truck were firing at us from behind me as we climbed out. Red Flight had thoroughly chewed up the second convoy. I made a full power climb out to get some distance from any more flak that might be in the area.

With no oxygen equipment, we flew back to Steeple Morden at 12-14,000 feet, Bert managing the trim and then the landing gear controls when we got back to the base. I radioed in an emergency landing. The tower responded by asking the nature of the emergency and I responded “We have two on board and it’s a little cramped for a safe landing”. They responded “Say AGAIN?” to which I repeated the situation.

When we landed I pulled off the runway short of the assigned parking revetment for WR-E Eaglebeak, to give both Bert and me a moment to collect our thoughts. As we got out to stretch, he shook my hand and quietly but sincerely expressed his thanks, as well as his feeling for me.

I took that opportunity to tell him what a great inspiration he had been for me, personally, and what an inspiration he was for the Squadron, as a leader and a man. I told him he was too important to the Group to not take a chance on getting him back.

I must admit that I was very concerned regarding my own fate, having disobeyed a direct order, in combat – twice. I wondered if I would be transferred out, taken off combat operation, etc. I did not expect to be decorated.

I found out later that I was recommended for the Medal of Honor, but when news of the DSC came, I was simply delighted with the Distinguished Service Cross. When General Doolittle presented me with the medal he looked me in the eye and told me he struggled with his decision but downgraded the award to a DSC, simply because he didn’t want to set a precedent that would risk more pilots and aircraft.

He went on to say that he “had never thought about issuing a regulation to ‘Not land behind enemy lines to attempt a rescue’… “Who would be that stupid,” he grinned., “because what you just did was just crazy to even think about!”

But, shortly afterwards Lieutenant General James Doolittle issued a sternly worded order prohibiting any more such attempts.

[bobbysocks]

Josef Frantisek was born a carpenter's son in Otaslavice near Prostejov on 7 October 1913. After his initial trainingas a locksmith, Josef volunteered for the air force, and went through the VLU Flying School in Prostejov in 1934-1936. He was then assigned to the 2nd "Dr. Edvard Benes" regiment in Olomouc. He was with the 5th observation flight flying the Aero A-11, and Letov S-328 biplanes.

It was during this time Josef's individualistic attitude first showed. He never had a sense of disciplineon the ground. Demoted from the rank of Lance Corporal to Private for late returns to his unit, pub fights and other incidents, Frantisek faced the prospect of being released from service. As an exceptionally talented pilot he was chosen for a fighter course with the 4th regiment, and he stayed with this regiment after completing training. In June, 1938 he was assigned to the 40th Fighter Flight in Praha-Kbely. He was under the command of Staff Captain Korcak, and the pre-war Czechoslovak "king of the air" - Lieutenant Frantisek Novak. Frantisek perfected his flying and shooting skills here, flying Avia B-534 and Bk-534 fighters. During the dramatic events of 1938, the 40th flight was dispatched to several airports around Prague to defend the capital. After the Munich agreement, the flight had to return to Kbely, where it stayed until 15 March 1939, when Czechoslovakia was taken by Germany without a fight. Josef Frantisek wasted no time escaping to neighboring Poland.
On 29 July 1939, preparing to travel to France, Frantisek received a offer to join the Polish Air Force. He arrived at Deblin airbase, and after retraining with Polish equipment, became an instructor with the Observation Training Squadron under the Air Force Officers Training Centre Nr 1. He flew PotezXXV, Breguet XIX, PWS 26, RWD 8, RWD 14 Czapla, Lublin R XIII and other aircraft. On 2 September 1939, Deblin was the target of a huge Luftwaffeair raid. Frantisek had no time to take off with his Potez XXV among the falling bombs. He saw 88 Heinkel He 111s from KG 4 "General Wever" turning the largest Polish airbase into a heap of rubble.

Frantisek then left for Gora Pulawska airfield, where, under the command of Captain Jan Hryniewicz, he helped fly the remaining airplanes away from the advancing Wehrmacht. On 7 September 1939, Frantisek and some other Czech pilots were assigned to an observation training squadron at the Sosnowice Wielkie airfield near Parczewo. The unit, commanded by Lieutenant Zbigniew Osuchowski, had fifteen RWD 8 and PWS 25 trainers. On 16 September 1939, after further retreat, the unit was assigned to General of Brigade Skuratowicz to defend the city of Luck. On 18-22 September 1939, they flew reconnaissance and communication flights.

For all their bravery and determination, Polish resistance was coming to an end. On 22 September 1939, the remaining six planes flew from Kamionka Strumilowa airfield to Romania. Three of these machines were flown by Czechs. Frantisek flew General Strzeminski in his machine. They landed at the Ispas airfield, and went on through Cernovici and Jassa to Pipera. They were interned, but escaped on 26 September. They got to Bucharest, obtained documents and on 3 October 1939, boarded the steamer "Dacia" leaving Constanta for Beirut. They continued to Marseilles on board the "Theophile Gautier", entering France on 20 October 1940.

Frantisek stayed with the Polish Air Force in France, which was part of L'Armee de l'Air. He was retrained at Lyon-Bronand Clermont-Ferrand, where he reportedly test-flew aircraft after repairs. There are conflicting reports regarding his combat activities. Some witnesses claimed Frantisek shot down 10 or 11 enemy aircraft flying with the French. These published reports havenever been disproved; yet official French and Polish documents have neither confirmed the claims. Some witnesses recall that Frantisek changed his name temporarily in April, 1940 to protect his family in Otaslavice from persecution by the Gestapo. His cover name is unknown. As long as this question remains unanswered, Frantisek's French period cannot be closed.

On 18 June 1940, after the fall of France, Frantisek took a Polish ship from Bordeaux to England. He arrived at Falmouth on 21 June. Frantisek was sent to a Polish aviation depot in Blackpool, and on 2 August 1940 left for Northolt airfield, where the 303rd Polish Fighter Squadron was being formed. The squadron was equipped with "Hurricane" Mk. I fighters and coded with the letters "RF". In one of first training flights on 8 August Frantisek belly landed - he forgot to open the gear in his Hurricane before landing... Luckily the pilot was untouched and his fighter (RF-M V7245) got only light damage.
Frantisek scored his first kill under British skies on 2 September 1940. This was very busy day for the 303rd - flying three sorties. In the last one, at 16:35, the Squadron took off with orders to encounter a formation of 'bandits' at 20,000 feet over Dover. In the combat, Frantisek and Sgt. Rogowski scored one confirmed Bf 109 each. The next day, the Squadron took off (at 14:45) and was vectored to Dover, where Frantisek again shot down an enemy fighter for his second kill in the "Battle of Britain". On 6 September 1940, in heavy combat, the 303rd downed 5 Bf 109s, but Polish losses this day were serious: both Squadron leaders (Polish - Mjr. Krasnodebski, British - S/Ldr Kellet) and 2 other pilots were shot down, Frantisek luckily returning in his damaged fighter to Northolt. Three days later, Frantisek was forced to land with a badly damaged "Hurricane". The plane was totally destroyed, but Frantisek got out of it, unscathed. 15th September 1940, was a great day for the 303rd, when its pilots tallied 16 victories against the Luftwaffe, and Frantisek downed one Bf 110 in that action.
In only four weeks, from September 2nd through the 30th, Frantisek achieved 17 certain kills and 1 probable . This was a unique achievement in the RAF for this period - bettered only by F/Lt. A.A. McKellar and W/O E.S. Lock. Each of them both had 20 victories, yet both were killed in the "Battle of Britain".

It is often mentioned that Frantisek's excellent results were due to his lack of discipline in the air. He often left the formation and hunted for the enemy on his own. He also waited over the Channel for returning German planes, who were often flying without ammo, with limited fuel, sometimes damaged, and with tired crews. This was a usual tactic for Allied pilots, but only after completing all mission objectives. After Polish pilot mission briefings, Frantisek often disapeared from 303rd formations just after take-off. Despite higher command warnings, for Frantisek lone-wolf missions were like drugs - and his number of kills grew quickly. As the squadron leader, Witold Urbanowicz was facing an almost insoluble dilemma: either discipline Frantisek (which he attempted several times without success), or have him transferred at the expense of losing squadron pride.

Urbanowicz dealt with this cunningly: unofficially declaring Frantisek a squadron guest, which was acceptable due to his Czech origin. The Poles called his tactics "metoda Frantiszka" (method of Frantisek) while the British spoke of the lone wolf tactics. It is by no means true that Frantisek gained all his victories in individual actions - many kills were scored in group missions.

The 303rd squadron had 126 confirmed kills in the Battle of Britain - the most successful record for a RAF squadron in this period. Frantisek, with his 17 kills was not only the best pilot of the squadron, but also among the elite of the RAF.
Frantisek's sudden death in an 8 October 1940 accident remains incomprehensible, as is the casewith some other excellent pilots. Squadron 303 was flying a routine patrol that morning. Frantisek's machine disappeared from the view of his fellow pilots, and he was never again seen alive. At 9:40 a.m. his "Hurricane" Mk.I R4175 (RF-R) crashed on Cuddington Way in Ewell, Surrey. Frantisek was thrown from the cockpit and his body was found in a hedge nearby. At first glance he had only scratches on his face, and his uniform was slightly charred. But Frantisek's neck had been broken in the impact and he died immediately. There has been no definitive cause in the crach of his plane. Some sources say he failed an acrobatic exhibition in front of his girlfriend's house, other witnesses mentionhis absolute exhaustion from previous fighting. A combination of these two factors is a possibility.

His Polish friends buried Frantisek at the Polish Airforce Cemetery in Northolt on October 10, 1940, where he isstill resting. He stayed with the Poles forever.

Frantisek's 17 kills rank him second among the best Czech aces, right after Karel Miroslav Kuttelwascher's 20 victories.


Here is a left side, color profile, of "Hurricane" Mk Ia "RF-U" P3975 flown by Sgt. Josef Frantisek in the hottest time of Battle of Britan. Note the Czechoslovak national insignia under the cockpit, and that Polish 303rd aircraft during that period were not painted with the white & red checkboards that adorned aircraft later in the war. Instead, planes had only the Squadron insignia, visible on the '126' kill score photo. In my opinon Frantisek's "Hurricane" should carry the typical "Kosciuszko Eskadrille" insignia.

[bobbysocks]

Traian Dârjan - the last to fall.

I first heard of Traian Dârjan when I was about five or six years old. It was also the first name of a Romanian WWII aviator I knew. It was a story about his last mission and dogfight. It was part of a pseudo-historical short stories book published before 1989 (when Romania was under a communist regime). Of course the only true things in it where the fact that Traian Dârjan flew with his unit commander on that last day of his life and that one German airplane was shot down. In rest, pure inventions.

He was born in the Someseni village, close to Cluj (in Transylvania) on 18 November 1920. Traian was the fourth child of the Dârjan family, but all previous ones died very young. His father, who had lost a leg in the Great War, fell sick and died in 1923. Traian remained alone with his mother. In 1934 he finished elementary school in his village and was admitted with a partial scholarship to a high-school in Cluj. But he also had to work in a factory's shop for the extra money he needed for school. In 1939 he couldn't find a job anymore and had to quit high-school and return to Someseni where he worked on the small piece of land they had. Near the village was a military air base and Traian had a passion for airplanes since he was a young boy. So in October 1939 he started flight school at ARPA Cluj and received his license in December. He then applied for the Military Flight School at Tecuci and was admitted in July 1940. He graduated on 11 April 1942 and promoted to the rank of adjutant stagiar (staff sergeant).
Adj. stg. Traian Dârjan remained at the school as an instructor until October 1942, when he was transferred to the 9th Fighter Group, equipped with IAR-80s. During 1943, the group changed to the Bf-109G and was sent to the the front on 23 October of the same year to replace the exhausted 7th Fighter Group. He soon started flying in different missions, but the poor weather didn't allow too much activity. On 20 November, the conditions weren't to good ( clouds at 100 m and a powerful wind), but they flew. Adj. stg. Traian Dârjan, while coming in for a landing, capsized and slid off the runaway into a Ju-52 which was parked on the airfield. However he escaped almost without a scratch.

His first victory, a Yak, came on 22 February 1944 when he was flying as cpt. Popescu-Ciocanel's wingman in a free hunting mission and the second one on 10 March, also a Yak. by this time the front line was on Romanian soil, so air activity intensified in a effort to stop the Soviet advance. On 17 April, cpt. Av. Gheorghe Popescu-Ciocanel was escorting a Romanian Ju-88A formation together adj. stg. Traian Dârjan, when they were attacked by La-5s. In the following dogfight, both Romanian pilots managed to shoot down one VVS fighter each. Traian Dârjan added a Yak-9 to his score on 28 April.

While the 9th Fighter Group was engaged in the bloody air battles on the front with the Soviets in Moldavia, other Romanian fighter units were fighting the USAAF raids, which started on 4 April. They were only allowed to intercept the Americans that were flying in their sector towards airbases in the Soviet Union, until 19 June, when the Luftflotte IV devised the "Sternflug" plan to counter the American attacks. When the enemy formations were detected on radar, the 6 German fighter groups and the 7th and 9th Romanian Fighter Groups (Bf-109G) were all assembled and directed against the attacking force. The Fw-190s were suppose to engage the bombers, while the Bf-109Gs protected them from American fighters. The plan was good in theory, but it did not work very well in practice. One such occasions was on 24 June, when 20 of the group's Bf-109Gs were sent to engage the USAAF aircraft. They stumbled upon a formation of 13 Liberators. In the following attack, three B-24s were shot down, one of which belonged to Traian Dârjan. Thus he became an ace with 7 victories.

The 9th Group continued to carry out missions on the front in Moldavia and also against the 15th Air Force's raids. Adj. stg. Traian Dârjan achieved his next victory on 9 July during an escort mission. He and adj. Constantin Nicoara were protecting a Romanian Stuka formation, when they were attacked by 4 Yaks. These were soon joined by 2 La-5s. The Romanian pilots shot down a Yak each during that dogfight. However, Nicoara's victory remained probable.

The day of 26 July 1944 remained in the group's history as "Black Sunday". 18 Gustavs from the 9th Fighter Group took off to engage a formation of 20 unescorted bombers, as the radar station reported. In fact there were more bombers, which were protected by over 100 P-38s and P-51s. The Romanian pilots scored 11 victories, but the price was very high: 7 airplanes, four dead pilots and two wounded. During the battle, Traian Dârjan joined adj. Iosif Moraru, who had just shot down a P-38 in his attempt to locate his victim (for confirmation of the victory). They were attacked by other Lightnings and adj. Dârjan shot down one of them.

The fights with the USAAF continued until 18 August, when cpt. Serbanescu was shot down. Adj. Traian Dârjan tried to warn him that there were Mustangs on his tail, but it seems the captain's radio wasn't working. He watched with horror how Alexandru Serbanescu was going down and then crashed.

On 20 August 1944 the Red Army launched the Iasi -Chisinau (Jassy-Kishinev) Operation and the air activity on the Moldavian front boomed. On 21, adj. Dârjan was part of a patrol (Schwarm) lead by cpt. Constantin Cantacuzino which was on a free-hunting mission. They encountered a formation of 24 Il-7s escorted by 6 Yaks. They engaged the fighters and shot down three of them. Traian Dârjan got one them. This was his last kill. The second day he was shot down in a dogfight with several La-5s. His radiator was hit, the windscreen was covered with oil and the cockpit filed with smoke. Lt. Gavriliu guided him through radio and he managed to crash land. Here's the rest of the story from lt. Ion Dobran's diary:

"I opened the cockpit and jumped out. Near the crash site there were some trees and I tried to hide there. i didn't have time to because at about 100 m there was a Soviet armored column. Bullets passed near me... I raised my hands and walked towards them...soldiers with submachine-guns were coming after me. They encircled me and wanted to shoot me on the spot. I was covered with mud from head to toe. I had fallen into a swampy field. They took some of my clothes and my boots. Suddenly the circle opened and an officer came there. He started to hit me with his fists and feet. My luck was that at 200 m it was a major tank unit's command post and the general wanted to see me. I was called to him and, with the help of a translator, he started to question me. he asks me to respond to his questions and he will let me go. I replied as well as I could. He ordered to give my clothes back to me and I remained there. The general had a map on which the city Vaslui didn't appear, so he wanted my map. I told him I don't have it (and it was the truth), because we don't take them for such a small sector. He got very angry and threatened to shoot me if I didn't give him the map in 3 minutes. I think my face changed dramatically. I told him again that I don't have it. The seconds passed very slow, like years, and the 3 minutes were up. A soldier stuck a gun to my head. I closed my eyes and waited for the shot. The general shouted: "Give me the map!!!" and I replied that I don't have it. He left me alone and then asked how many victories I had and I answered:"12". "You are good", he said. "There are many others better than me in my group". I asked for permission to smoke and got it and then for some water. A soldier brought it swearing. The general asked me if I didn't want to go with him. Of course I said yes... what I suppose to do... We jumped into a car and headed for Vaslui. North of the city there was an air alarm. We ran into a corn field for cover. There were Romanian Stukas which rained havoc on the armor and troop concentration. [Ironically, lt. Ion Dobran was escorting the Stukas that day] The Russians turned their guns on me and asked if those were Romanian airplanes. They swear. I was lucky that the translator (a nice guy from Odessa) put himself between them and me. After two minutes came German Fw-190s, which continued the Stukas' attack. What can I say? It was horrible! I have never seen or think such a "show". Tanks thrown off the road, overturned, burning... broken hands and feet... the Russians were mad. The General, as he had promised, saved me and set me free. I was forced, however, to go north towards Iasi. I was thinking to go to Nicoara's village. [adj. stg. Nicoara was a comrade from the 9th Fighter Group] On the road I met other Romanian soldiers. A peasant gave us to eat, but was too afraid to take us in and we had to walk on.[...] When we approached Iasi we were stopped by Russian soldiers, arrested and sent to a prison camp north of the city. We were about 4,000 there. They gave one loaf of bread to six men and soup, but I never got to the boiler, because there was a big squash. To make room around it, two Russians whipped the crowd without mercy. After ten days there I was so thin that I could barely walk. We slept on the ground, when we could find a place. Together with two soldiers, I took advantage of the fact that they were moving us to Botosani (and then to Russia) and fled. The guards were few and careless and didn't see us. I got to to Nicoara's village traveling cross-country. His mother took me in for 4 days, until I recovered. She gave me peasant clothes and I left for Tecuci [it was the group's base when he was shot down in August] where I arrived a few days later. There I was well received by my Jews. The Russians treated them as bad as they treated us. Generally, the city hadn't been robbed more than others. Ignatyi Semionovich's family was still there and were concerned because they didn't know what to do: go back to Odessa or stay there. They have heard that there were heavy punishments for the ones that left willingly. They gave a note for you [lt. Dobran], but I lost it. I took a train to Bucharest and went to the Flotilla." He was then sent to the front again and joined his comrades on 30 September, on the Turnisor airfield in Transylvania, were the 9th Fighter Group was deployed in the new anti-Axis campaign.

The weather didn't allow very much activity during late autumn and winter of 1944, but every effort was made to help the ground troops in need of assistance. The Luftwaffe wasn't a very common sight in this period, because of the little importance given to this part of the front. Most of the Romanian losses in Hungary and Czechoslovakia were due to the AA artillery and accidents.

On 25 February 1945, the last major ARR (Eronautica Regala Romana=Royal Romanian Aeronautics) offensive of the war was launched. It was aimed at supporting the ground forces which were attacking in the Zvolen area. On his fifth mission that day, cpt. Cantacuzino took off with adj. Traian Dârjan. They encountered 8 Fw-190Fs which were attacking Soviet troops. and engaged. The captain, ARR's top scoring ace of the war, shot down one of them and the others fled. In order to validate the kill, the two Romanian pilots got careless and started to look for the wreck. They failed to see the approaching Rotte of German Bf-109Gs, lead by Helmut Lipfert. Adj. Traian Dârjan failed victim to the Luftwaffe ace, his former instructor at Tiraspol. A 13 mm bullet almost beheaded him. He crashed near the Romanian lines. Cpt. Cantacuzino didn't even notice that his wingman was in trouble. He was also surprised by Lipfert's comrade and shot down. He escaped and returned to the 9th Fighter Group's base with a car from a Romanian division. He told what happened and concluded: "Adj. Dârjan must be dead."

Lt. Dobran remembered, in his diary, that in the moment they left for Hungary, Dârjan's mother started to cry, probably knowing that he may not come back.

Traian Dârjan was the last of the 16 pilots of the 9th Fighter Group to die during WWII. He had scored 11 confirmed and one probable victory and had flown 176 missions.