In their own words...

[Rambo Rich 360]

This is good stuff! Thanks again for posting all this, it is greatly appreciated. Makes for a pretty awesome read.

[bobbysocks]

IT WAS A FORTRESS COMING HOME
They Could Hear It Before They Could See it
By Allen Ostrom

They could hear it before they could see it!

Not all that unusual in those days as the personnel at Station 131 gathered around the tower and scattered hardstands to await the return of the B-17’s sent out earlier that morning.

First comes the far off rumble and drone of the Cyclones. Then a spec on the East Anglia horizon. Soon a small cluster indicating the lead squadron. Finally, the group.

Then the counting. 1-2-3-4-5…..

But that would have been normal. Today was different! It was too early for the group to return.

“They’re 20 minutes early. Can’t be the 398th.”

They could hear it before they could see it! Something was coming home. But what?

All eyes turned toward the northeast, aligning with the main runway, each ground guy and stood-down airman straining to make out this “wail of a Banshee,” as one called it.

Not like a single B-17 with its characteristic deep roar of the engines blended with four thrashing propellers. This was a howl! Like a powerful wind blowing into a huge whistle.

Then it came into view. It WAS a B-17!

Low and pointing her nose at the 6,000 foot runway, it appeared for all the world to be crawling toward the earth, screaming in protest.

No need for the red flares. All who saw this Fort knew there was death aboard.

“Look at that nose!” they said as all eyes stared in amazement as this single, shattered remnant of a once beautiful airplane glided in for an unrealistic “hot” landing. She took all the runway as the “Banshee” noise finally abated, and came to an inglorious stop in the mud just beyond the concrete runway.

Men and machines raced to the now silent and lonely aircraft. The ambulance and medical staff were there first. The fire truck….ground and air personnel….jeeps, truck, bikes…..

Out came one of the crew members from the waist door, then another. Strangely quiet. The scene was almost weird. Men stood by as if in shock, not knowing whether to sing or cry.

Either would have been acceptable.

The medics quietly made their way to the nose by way of the waist door as the remainder of the crew began exiting. And to answer the obvious question, “what happened?”

“What happened?” was easy to see. The nose was a scene of utter destruction. It was as though some giant aerial can opener had peeled the nose like an orange, relocating shreads of metal, plexiglass, wires and tubes on the cockpit windshield and even up to the top turret. The left cheek gun hung limp, like a broken arm.

One man pointed to the crease in chin turret. No mistaking that mark! A German 88 anti-aircraft shell had exploded in the lap of the togglier.

This would be George Abbott of Mt. Labanon, PA. He had been a waist gunner before training to take over the bombardier’s role.

Still in the cockpit, physically and emotionally exhausted, were pilot Larry deLancey and co-pilot Phil Stahlman.

Navigator Ray LeDoux finally tapped deLancey on the shoulder and suggested they get out. Engineer turret gunner Ben Ruckel already had made his way to the waist was exiting along with radio operator Wendell Reed, ball turret gunner Al Albro, waist gunner Russell Lachman and tail gunner Herbert Guild.

Stahlman was flying his last scheduled mission as a replacement for regular co-pilot, Grady Cumbie. The latter had been hospitalized the day before with an ear problem. Lachman was also a “sub,” filling in for Abbott in the waist.

DeLancey made it as far as the end of the runway, where he sat down with knees drawn up, arms crossed and head down. The ordeal was over, and now the drama was beginning a mental re-play.

Then a strange scene took place.

Group CO Col. Frank P. Hunter had arrived after viewing the landing from the tower and was about to approach deLancey. He was physically restrained by flight surgeon Dr. Robert Sweet.

“Colonel, that young man doesn’t want to talk now. When he is ready you can talk to him, but for now leave him alone.”

Sweet handed pills out to each crew member and told them to go to their huts and sleep.

No dramatics, no cameras, no interviews. The crew would depart the next day for “flak leave” to shake off the stress. And then be expected back early in November. (Just in time to resume “normal” activities on a mission to Merseburg!)

Mission No. 98 from Nuthampstead had begun at 0400 that morning of October 15, 1944. It would be Cologne (again), led by CA pilots Robert Templeman of the 602nd, Frank Schofield of the 601st and Charles Khourie of the 603rd.

Tragedy and death appeared quickly and early that day. Templeman and pilot Bill Scott got the 602nd off at the scheduled 0630 hour, but at approximately 0645 Khouri and pilot Bill Meyran and their entire crew crashed on takeoff in the town of Anstey. All were killed. Schofield and Harold Stallcup followed successfully with the 601st, with deLancey flying on their left wing in the lead element.

The ride to the target was routine, until the flak started becoming “unroutinely” accurate.

“We were going through heavy flak on the bomb run,” remembered deLancey.

“I felt the plane begin to lift as the bombs were dropped, then all of a sudden we were rocked by a violent explosion. My first thought – ‘a bomb exploded in the bomb bay’ – was immediately discarded as the top of the nose section peeled back over the cockpit blocking the forward view.”

“It seemed like the whole world exploded in front of us,” added Stahlman. “The instrument panel all but disintegrated and layers of quilted batting exploded in a million pieces. It was like a momentary snowstorm in the cockpit.”

It had been a direct hit in the nose. Killed instantly was the togglier, Abbott. Navigator LeDoux, only three feet behind Abbott, was knocked unconscious for a moment, but was miraculously was alive.

Although stunned and bleeding, LeDoux made his way to the cockpit to find the two pilots struggling to maintain control of an airplane that by all rights should have been in its death plunge. LeDoux said there was nothing anyone could do for Abbott, while Ruckel opened the door to the bomb bay and signaled to the four crewman in the radio room that all was OK – for the time being.

The blast had torn away the top and much of the sides of the nose. Depositing enough of the metal on the windshield to make it difficult for either of the pilots to see.

“The instrument panel was torn loose and all the flight instruments were inoperative with the exception of the magnetic compass mounted in the panel above the windshield. And its accuracy was questionable. The radio and intercom were gone, the oxygen lines broken, and there was a ruptured hydraulic line under my rudder pedals,” said deLancey.

All this complicated by the sub-zero temperature at 27,000 feet blasting into the cockpit.

“It was apparent that the damage was severe enough that we could not continue to fly in formation or at high altitude. My first concern was to avoid the other aircraft in the formation, and to get clear of the other planes in case we had to bail out. We eased out of formation, and at the same time removed our oxygen masks as they were collapsing on our faces as the tanks were empty.”

At this point the formation continued on its prescribed course for home – a long, slow turn southeast of Cologne and finally westward.

DeLancey and Stahlman turned left, descending rapidly and hoping, they were heading west. (And also, not into the gun sights of German fighters.) Without maps and navigation aids, they had difficulty getting a fix. By this time they were down to 2,000 feet.

“We finally agreed that we were over Belgium and were flying in a southwesterly direction,” said the pilot.

“About this time a pair of P-51’s showed up and flew a loose formation on us across Belgium. I often wondered what they thought as they looked at the mess up front.”

“We hit the coast right along the Belgium-Holland border, a bit farther north than we had estimated. Ray said we were just south of Walcheren Island.”

Still in an area of ground fighting, the plane received some small arms fire. This gesture was returned in kind by Albro, shooting from one of the waist guns.

“We might have tried for one of the airfields in France, but having no maps this also was questionable. Besides, the controls and engines seemed to be OK, so I made the decision to try for home.”

“Once over England, LeDoux soon picked up landmarks and gave me course corrections taking us directly to Nuthampstead. It was just a great bit of navigation. Ray just stood there on the flight deck and gave us the headings from memory.”

Nearing the field, Stahlman let the landing gear down. That was an assurance. But a check of the hydraulic pump sent another spray of oil to the cockpit floor. Probably no brakes!

Nevertheless, a flare from Ruckel’s pistol had to announce the “ready or not” landing. No “downwind leg” and “final approach” this time. Straight in!

“The landing was strictly by guess and feel,” said DeLancey. “Without instruments, I suspect I came in a little hot. Also, I had to lean to the left to see straight ahead. The landing was satisfactory, and I had sufficient braking to slow the plane down some. However, as I neared the taxiway, I could feel the brakes getting ‘soft’. I felt that losing control and blocking the taxiway would cause more problems than leaving the plane at the end of the runway.”

That consideration was for the rest of the group. Soon three squadrons of B-17’s would be returning, and they didn’t need a derelict airplane blocking the way to their respective hardstands.

Stahlman, supremely thankful that his career with the 398th had come to an end, soon returned home and in due course became a captain with Eastern Airlines. Retired in 1984, Stahlman said his final Eastern flight “was a bit more routine” than the one 40 years before.

DeLancey and LeDoux received decorations on December 11, 1944 for their parts in the October 15 drama. DeLancey was awarded the Silver Star for his “miraculous feat of flying skill and ability” on behalf of General Doolittle, CO of the Eighth Air Force. LeDoux for his “extraordinary navigation skill”, received the Distinguished Flying Cross.




The following deLancey 1944 article was transcribed from the 398th BG Historical Microfilm. Note: due to wartime security, Nuthampstead is not mentioned, and the route deLancey flew home is referred to in general terms.

TO: STARS AND STRIPES
FOR GENERAL RELEASE

AN EIGHTH AIR FORCE BOMBER STATION, ENGLAND - After literally losing the nose of his B-17 Flying Fortress as the result of a direct hit by flak over Cologne, Germany on October 15, 1944, 1st Lt. Lawrence M. deLancey, 25, of Corvallis, Oregon returned to England and landed the crew safely at his home base. Each man walked away from the plane except the togglier, Staff Sergeant George E. Abbott, Mt. Lebanon, Pennsylvania, who was killed instantly when the flak struck.

It was only the combined skill and teamwork of Lt. deLancey and 2nd Lt. Raymond J. LeDoux, of Mt. Angel, Oregon, navigator, that enabled the plane and crew to return safely.

“Just after we dropped our bombs and started to turn away from the target”, Lt. deLancey explained, “a flak burst hit directly in the nose and blew practically the entire nose section to threads. Part of the nose peeled back and obstructed my vision and that of my co-pilot, 1st Lt. Phillip H. Stahlman of Shippenville, Pennsylvania. What little there was left in front of me looked like a scrap heap. The wind was rushing through. Our feet were exposed to the open air at nearly 30,000 feet above the ground the temperature was unbearable.

“There we were in a heavily defended flak area with no nose, and practically no instruments. The instrument panel was bent toward me as the result of the impact. My altimeter and magnetic compass were about the only instruments still operating and I couldn’t depend on their accuracy too well. Naturally I headed for home immediately. The hit which had killed S/Sgt. Abbott also knocked Lt. LeDoux back in the catwalk (just below where I was sitting). Our oxygen system also was out so I descended to a safe altitude.

“Lt. LeDoux who had lost all his instruments and maps in the nose did a superb piece of navigating to even find England.”

During the route home flak again was encountered but due to evasive action Lt. deLancey was able to return to friendly territory. Lt. LeDoux navigated the ship directly to his home field.

Although the plane was off balance without any nose section, without any brakes (there was no hydraulic pressure left), and with obstructed vision, Lt. deLancey made a beautiful landing to the complete amazement of all personnel at this field who still are wondering how the feat was accomplished.

The other members of the crew include:

Technical Sergeant Benjamin H. Ruckel, Roscoe, California, engineer top turret gunner;
Technical Sergeant Wendell A. Reed, Shelby, Michigan, radio operator gunner;
Technical Sergeant Russell A. Lachman, Rockport, Mass., waist gunner;
Staff Sergeant Albert Albro, Antioch, California, ball turret gunner and
Staff Sergeant Herbert D. Guild, Bronx, New York, tail gunner.

[bobbysocks]

you always wonder what its like to fly them for real...here a guy got to check out a rata and tells all about it.

Aircraft from the Spanish Civil War 1930’s have always had a special appeal to me. I was particularly intrigued by tales of violent, dangerous close-in dog-fights between early 109’s, Fiat CR32s and the Polikarpov series fighters, Ratas, Chatos and Chaikas.

Of course the pre-war types are impossibly rare. I remember talking with Robs Lamplough soon after one of his warbirds recovery coup’s of the late 1970’s and early 80’s and him telling me about a Rata which had reputedly been belly landed on a remote hillside in Spain and which was still lying there in dilapidated but complete condition. I felt almost desperate with excitement to attempt to retrieve and rebuild this aircraft.

Nearly fifteen reasonably maturing years later, how incredible then to arrive at a high, dusty, mountainous airfield to see a flight of Ratas sitting outside, cockpit doors opened and straps set as if they were ready to take off for one last duel. This was the remarkable and very exciting sight greeting my father and me when we arrived once more at Tim Wallis’ Alpine Fighter Collection in Wanaka, New Zealand.

Tim and his chief engineer, Ray Mulqueen, encountered a great deal of difficulty in fulfilling Tim’s objective in rebuilding six original Ratas and three Chaikas (the gull wing biplane comrade to the Rata) in Russia. But finally after five years of work, here at last were the first half of his Russian squadron.

The Rata looks extremely racy. It is very small and overpowered for its time. Russian pilots more used to biplanes, looked with horror at the tiny wings and lack of flaps (in the later variants). Modern pilots also look at the same features with raised eyebrows and a certain amount of trepidation. These features plus the almost full span ailerons ("must roll like hell"), lack of trimmers, an undercarriage retraction system looking like a winch from a boat, an appalling view forward in a three point attitude, plus not an English caption in sight, all promised a fairly exciting ride ahead.

As you approach the aeroplane and begin a walk round, you immediately notice the ply/beech wooden fuselage which is very well finished and extremely strong. You also notice with some surprise, the fabric covered metal construction of the wings and again the huge ailerons (most Russian aeroplanes roll very well).

Other unusual features are the very delicate looking undercarriage complete with wire and cables for retraction leading up in to the guts of the aeroplane, numerous exhaust stubs emanating all around the cowling, big two bladed propeller with little ground clearance to absorb all the power from the ASh 62 IR 1,000 horsepower motor, cowl flaps are in the front of the cowlings (good for Russia but not needed in New Zealand in early summer). The cockpit is protected by a tiny windscreen and small side doors similar to the Spitfire but on both sides of the fuselage and of course, no canopy.

Climbing on board, the blended wood fuselage is very smooth and you need care to mount the aeroplane in a dignified manner. Once sat down, you are aware that the ground angle is extreme and that the view forwards is very poor. In comparison the visibility over the nose in a Spitfire or a P-51 is fantastic. In fact, in the Rata it is worse than the Me109. The next problem is that if you choose to sit high in order to see out, the small curved cockpit doors are so tight when you close them that you now almost have to sit sideways to fit in! In conclusion, you simply end up sitting low! Having said that, there is a quaint translated note from the Russian test pilot which states "do not be shy or embarrassed to open the side doors in flight prior to landings to help you see out".

Once finally settled in the aeroplane and looking around left to right you see in order, an emergency fuel shut-off cock, "wobble pump", throttle and mixture controls together both working in the conventional sense and a little further forward the carb heat and prop lever co-located.

The main instrument panel is well appointed with all the standard instruments (although there is no artificial horizon). As with most Russian aeroplanes, there are a bank of switches used to ’arm’ systems and to provide electrical power to them (such as fire system, turn and slip indicator, engine instruments etc.). In addition starter energiser and engage switches (on a fly wheel system a bit like the T6), plus primer, gear lights, fuel gauge and an odd pull push handle to make it read. Other peculiarities to Westerners include ASI in km/h, plus boost/manifold pressure in mm of mercury giving 0 boost at 760mm. The pilot’s straps are superb and really keep you firmly glued to the seat.

Starting the Rata is simple. Mixture on, throttle set, wobble a bit - get some fuel pressure, prime five or six shots, energise the fly wheel, noise builds to a high pitch - engage and mags on and she’ll fire. The noise from the multiple exhaust stacks is spectacular and very satisfying. In sympathy, white smoke coughs and belches randomly from the engine. The noise and vibration levels are very similar to the Yak 11. It’s good practice to warm up to 600 to 700 RPM for a minute and then gently increase to 1000 RPM.

The next parameters to look for are 120 degrees cylinder head temperature and 50 degrees in the oil, prior to checking the engine. Once the cylinder head and oil is increasing, you can start a gentle taxi - the brakes are not spectacularly good and taxying is best achieved by power, rudder and judicious amount of forward stick to turn. If you keep the stick back - the elevator grinds the tail wheel hard against the dirt and you will drive along in straight lines all day!

At the hold, with the temperatures and pressures in the green, you stand on the brakes and start to increase power, hoping to get 760mm and about 2000 / 2100 RPM. There is a good chance the brakes will start to slip beforehand - say at 1700 - 1800 RPM, so cycle the prop back and forth slowly once, twice and more quickly a third time. Check the mags - not less that 100 drop per side.

Next the simple pre take-off checks consist of Trim - N/A; Throttle Friction - tight; Mixture - rich; Pitch - full fine; Fuel contents, pressure, primer; Flaps - N/A; Gills - open; Oil cooler - open; Gyros - set; Instruments in the green; oxygen - N/A; Hood - N/A; Harness - tight and secure; Hydraulics - N/A (brakes holding?); Controls - full and free.

It’s time to go - the power can be applied quite aggressively and you can keep it coming to 820mm & 2250RPM. The increase in noise is fantastic and it is possible to lift the tail quickly to vaguely see where you’re going - you need to have the horizon cutting the 10.55 and 1.10 position on the forward cowling. There is very little tendency to swing and she runs pretty much straight as an arrow, although the rough Wanaka grass gives a harsh ride to the hard sprung oleos, the Rata and you!

If you have not figured it out before, it is now that you realise that excellent goggles are a must!! With a ground roll of about 400 yards and the smallest of rotations suddenly she’s airborne and with a quick glance down you see the speed very rapidly at 200 km/h which is both the best climb and gear up speed. The Russian test pilots recommend gear retraction not before 1000 metres!! This is rather conservative - but with good reason - getting the gear up is a bit of an epic.

Power back now to max continuous 2000 & 760mm and holding the nose up to contain the speed at 200 km/h. Holding it down low after take off and snappy gear retractions are not the Rata’s forte. There is warm buffeting air everywhere, but the aeroplane immediately feels right. With a positive rate of climb it is time to sort the gear out. Check the "brake spring" is set - check the handle lock is released (allows the retraction handle to rotate) select another handle for the "hoist" ratchet gear to the up position and then start to crank like mad!! 44 turns later you can see the wheels entering the belly of the aeroplane underneath you - suddenly the handle stiffens, a last turn or half turn and "hurrah" 2 red lights telling you the wheels are up.

By now we’re at 2000 feet and it is noticeably warmer in the cockpit. Power back to 1900 & 680 mm and the speed builds to 350-360km/h. Temperatures and pressures are good, with the oil temperature stable at 75 degrees and the cylinder head temperature at 180. How does she feel? We’re holding a slight push force on the stick (remember no elevator trim) - roll rate is excellent and very positive - about 100 -120 degrees per second. Pitch is also very effective and the Rata is delightful in aerobatics - although as speed increases in the dive, passing 400 km/h the push force on the stick reduces to 0 and then as 430 km/h is reached, a very slight pull force is required - something that needs a little care running in low level for the start of a display. The aeroplane accelerates very quickly in the dive and when seen from the ground, appears extremely fast. Stalling in manoeuvre gives plenty of warning with pronounced tail buffeting before she drops the left hand wing quite progressively and definitely not violently.

The aeroplane delights in reversing from a max. rate turn in one direction rapidly to the other. You can see that this is a superb close in dogfighter. The delightful handling characteristics, plus the open cockpit, vibrations and noise provide a very exciting ride. Rolling requires little rudder input to stay balanced. I have the feeling that you could snap roll the Rata deliberately very precisely. Vertical performance is excellent and with excess energy pulling up and unloading straight up in to the vertical produces spectacular performance.

Stalling clean and dirty, is an interesting experience - below 250 km/h you are holding a pull force which is slightly perturbing until you get used to it. She stalls slower clean than with the gear down! Stall is at about 135-140 km/h and again is very gentle power off with a gentle wing drop that stops immediately when back stick is released.

It is back in the circuit that the work load goes up again. You need to select the gear selector down, release the handle lock, grab hold of the gear crank handle very positively, select up slightly to release the up locks - then very carefully start to crank down. The handle will immediately start to try to run away and you must keep hold of it (it’s not that difficult) whilst the gear, aided by the airflow, comes down through the same 44 turns (only much easier than up).

As soon as the wheels break from the underside of the wings, the through draft of air up through the cockpit starts the same buffeting as before. Finally 2 greens and you are now down wind at 200 km/h, holding a pull force and starting to turn finals. I have to say that it is here that I least like the Rata - landing on Wanaka’s narrow grass, concentrates the mind and the problem is that if you three point the aeroplane - the view forwards is really terrible. It would be fine at Duxford or on a wide concrete strip - but otherwise I am sure you are better off wheel landing the Rata. Definitely not something I expected originally. Basically, you should fly a slightly power on "hot" approach speed bleeding through 180km/h to not less than 160 km/h on very short finals to touch for a tail down wheeler. This seems to cause fairly consistently reasonable landings and the landing roll out is still only 500 yards or so, even not using brake. I have to say that, after only 5 sorties, I’m not exactly the prophet when it comes to landing Ratas - it definitely needs a bit of practice.

How do they compare with other WW2 fighters? Well, I believe, very favourably with some of the other aeroplanes. I had just flown a Hurricane for the first time, a week before the Rata and sorry to Hurricane aficionados, but I was really surprised and disappointed in the aeroplane’s handling and performance (although very interesting and lovely to fly the type). I felt that you would be better off fighting in a Rata. At any rate I felt quickly far more comfortable in it. In air combat against early low powered 109’s, I would suspect that the two aircraft were very comparable. Later variants of the Messerschmitt would easily be able to dictate the fight against the Rata due to the 109’s superior speed and vertical performance.

Considering the Rata was in full squadron service by 1936 and was the first heavily armed, retractable gear, monoplane fighter in the world, it has many merits and surprisingly few vices. It is a real classic in its own right with a European connection and history beyond its combat on the Russian front. I would thoroughly recommend the aeroplane to anyone who would like to own a very reasonably priced exciting example of flying history.

I would like to thank Tim Wallis for letting me fly his Ratas and very much look forward to having a go in the Chaika.
Written by Mark Hanna.

[bobbysocks]

great aviation quotes about combat:

Good flying never killed [an enemy] yet.

— Major Edward 'Mick' Mannock, RAF, ranking British Empire fighter ace of W.W. I. 61 victories.

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

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF, aka Karaya One, worlds leading ace, with 352 victories in W.W.II.Jagdgeschwader 52.

Men were going to die in the air as they had for centuries on the ground and on the seas, by killing each other. The conquest of the air was truly accomplished.

— René Chambe, 'Au Temps des Carabines.'

Up there the world is divided into bastards and suckers. Make your choice.

— Derek Robinson, 'Piece of Cake.'

A top World War II ace once said that fighter pilots fall into two broad categories: those who go out to kill and those who, secretly, desperately, know they are going to get killed—the hunters and the hunted.

— General Nathan F. Twinning, USAF

I belong to a group of men who fly alone. There is only one seat in the cockpit of a fighter airplane. There is no space alotted for another pilot to tune the radios in the weather or make the calls to air traffic control centers or to help with the emergency procedures or to call off the airspeed down final approach. There is no one else to break the solitude of a long cross-country flight. There is no one else to make decisions.
I do everything myself, from engine start to engine shutdown. In a war, I will face alone the missiles and the flak and the small-arms fire over the front lines.
If I die, I will die alone.

— Richard Bach, 'Stranger to the Ground,' 1963.

The more mechanical becomes the weapons with which we fight, the less mechanical must be the spirit which controls them.

— Field Marshal Archibald P. Wavell.

I mean, I had fast motor cars and fast motor bikes, and when I wasn't crashing airplanes, I was crashing motor bikes. It's all part of the game.

— Sir Harry Broadhurst, RAF, 12 victories WWII.

I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast for I intend to go in harm's way.

— Captain John Paul Jones, in a letter to le Ray de Chaumont, 16 November 1778.

The hunters are the ones who go out and kill. Maybe one out of ten good fighter pilots will be one of the hunters.

— Jack Ilfrey, USAAF, 8 victories WWII.

To the aircraft I aim, not the man.

— Francesco Baracca, Italy's leading ace of WWI, in Italian "è all'apparecchio che io miro non all'uomo," the prancing horse emblem he sported on his aircraft was used by Enzo Ferrari on his cars. Corpo Aeronautico Militare, 34 victories WWI.

It was war. We were defending our country. We had a strict code of honor: you didn't shoot down a cripple and you kept it a fair fight.

— Captain Wilfrid Reid 'Wop' May, RFC, 13 victories WWI.

I hate to shoot a Hun down without him seeing me, for although this method is in accordance with my doctrine, it is against what little sporting instincts I have left.

— James McCudden, VC, RFC, 1917.

My habit of attacking Huns dangling from their parachutes led to many arguments in the mess. Some officers, of the Eton and Sandhurst type, thought it was 'unsportsmanlike' to do it. Never having been to a public school, I was unhampered by such considerations of form. I just pointed out that there was a bloody war on, and that I intended to avenge my pals.

— Captain James Ira Thomas 'Taffy' Jones, RFC, 37 victories in 3 months W.W.I.

Fight on and fly on to the last drop of blood and the last drop of fuel, to the last beat of the heart.

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen.

Fighting in the air is not sport. It is scientific murder.

— Captain Edward V. 'Eddie' Rickenbacker, USAS, 'Fighting the Flying Circus.'

The first time I ever saw a jet, I shot it down.

— General Chuck Yeager, USAF, describing his first confrontation with a Me262.

Of all my accomplishments I may have achieved during the war, I am proudest of the fact that I never lost a wingman.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF.

It was my view that no kill was worth the life of a wingman. . . . Pilots in my unit who lost wingmen on this basis were prohibited from leading a [section]. The were made to fly as wingman, instead.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF.

The wingman is absolutely indispensable. I look after the wingman. The wingman looks after me. It's another set of eyes protecting you. That the defensive part. Offensively, it gives you a lot more firepower. We work together. We fight together. The wingman knows what his responsibilities are, and knows what mine are. Wars are not won by individuals. They're won by teams.

— Lt. Col. Francis S. "Gabby" Gabreski, USAF, 28 victories in WWII and 6.5 MiGs over Korea.

There is a peculiar gratification on receiving congratulations from one's squadron for a victory in the air. It is worth more to a pilot than the applause of the whole outside world. It means that one has won the confidence of men who share the misgivings, the aspirations, the trials and the dangers of aeroplane fighting.

— Captain Edward V. 'Eddie' Rickenbacker, USAS.

And I have yet to find one single individual who has attained conspicuous success in bringing down enemy aeroplanes who can be said to be spoiled either by his successes or by the generous congratulations of his comrades. If he were capable of being spoiled he would not have had the character to have won continuous victories, for the smallest amount of vanity is fatal in aeroplane fighting. Self-distrust rather is the quality to which many a pilot owes his protracted existence.

— Captain Edward V. 'Eddie' Rickenbacker, USAS, 'Fighting the Flying Circus.'

Nothing makes a man more aware of his capabilities and of his limitations than those moments when he must push aside all the familiar defenses of ego and vanity, and accept reality by staring, with the fear that is normal to a man in combat, into the face of Death.

— Major Robert S. Johnson, USAAF.

The duty of the fighter pilot is to patrol his area of the sky, and shoot down any enemy fighters in that area. Anything else is rubbish.

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen, 1917. Richtofen would not let members of his Staffel strafe troops in the trenches.

Anybody who doesn't have fear is an idiot. It's just that you must make the fear work for you. Hell when somebody shot at me, it made me madder than hell, and all I wanted to do was shoot back.

— Brigadier General Robin Olds, USAF.

The most important thing in fighting was shooting, next the various tactics in coming into a fight and last of all flying ability itself.

— Lt. Colonel W. A. 'Billy' Bishop, RCAF.

In nearly all cases where machines have been downed, it was during a fight which had been very short, and the successful burst of fire had occurred within the space of a minute after the beginning of actual hostilities.

— Lt. Colonel W. A. 'Billy' Bishop, RCAF.

You must take the war to the enemy. You must attack and go on attacking all the time.

— Major Willy Omer François Jean Coppens de Houthulst, Belgian Air Service, 37 victories W.W.I..

I fly close to my man, aim well and then of course he falls down.

— Captain Oswald Boelcke, probably the world's first ace.

Aerial gunnery is 90 percent instinct and 10 percent aim.

— Captain Frederick C. Libby, RFC.

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

— Lt. General Guenther Rall, GAF.

When one has shot down one's first, second or third opponent, then one begins to find out how the trick is done.

— Baron Manfred von Richtofen.

I put my bullets into the target as if I placed them there by hand.

— Capitaine René Paul Fonck, French Air Service, 75 victories W.W.I..

You can have computer sights of anything you like, but I think you have to go to the enemy on the shortest distance and knock him down from point-blank range. You'll get him from in close. At long distance, it's questionable.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF.

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

— Lt. Colonel John C. Meyer, USAAF.

Go in close, and when you think you are too close, go in closer.

— Major Thomas B. 'Tommy' McGuire, USAAF.

I opened fire when the whole windshield was black with the enemy . . . at minimum range . . . it doesn't matter what your angle is to him or whether you are in a turn or any other maneuver.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF.

As long as I look into the muzzles, nothing can happen to me. Only if he pulls lead am I in danger.

— Captain Hans-Joachim Marseille, Luftwaffe.

Everything in the air that is beneath me, especially if it is a one-seater . . . is lost, for it cannot shoot to the rear.

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen

I started shooting when I was much too far away. That was merely a trick of mine. I did not mean so much as to hit him as to frighten him, and I succeeded in catching him. He began flying curves and this enabled me to draw near.

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen

A fighter without a gun . . . is like an airplane without a wing.

— Brigadier General Robin Olds, USAF.

See, decide, attack, reverse.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, GAF.

I'm waiting to be told how cobras, hooks, or vectored thrust help in combat. They're great at air shows, but zero energy is a fighter pilot's nightmare. Shoot your opponent down and his number two will be on your tail thinking it's his birthday — a target hanging there in the sky with zero energy.

— Ned Firth, Eurofighter

So it was that the war in the air began. Men rode upon the whirlwind that night and slew and fell like archangels. The sky rained heroes upon the astonished earth. Surely the last fights of mankind were the best. What was the heavy pounding of your Homeric swordsmen, what was the creaking charge of chariots, besides this swift rush, this crash, this giddy triumph, this headlong sweep to death?

— H. G. Wells, 'The World Set Free,' 1914.

I was a pilot flying an airplane and it just so happened that where I was flying made what I was doing spying.

— Francis Gary Power, U-2 reconnaissance pilot held by the Soviets for spying, in an interview after he was returned to the US.

The Yo-Yo is very difficult to explain. It was first perfected by the well-known Chinese fighter pilot Yo-Yo Noritake. He also found it difficult to explain, being quite devoid of English.

— Squadron Leader K. G. Holland, RAF.

. . . my pilot pointed to his left front and above, and looking in the direction he pointed, I saw a long dark brown form fairly streaking across the sky. We could see that it was a German machine, and when it got above and behind our middle machine, it dived on it for all the world like a huge hawk on a hapless sparrow.

— James McCudden, VC, RFC.

Fighting spirit one must have. Even if a man lacks some of the other qualifications, he can often make up for it in fighting spirit.

— Brigadier General Robin Olds, USAF.

I never went into the air thinking I would lose.

— Commander Randy 'Duke' Cunningham, USN.

Speed is life.

— Anon.

Speed is the cushion of sloppiness.

— Commander William P. 'Willie' Driscoll, USNR.

It is probable that future war will be conducted by a special class, the air force, as it was by the armored Knights of the Middle Ages.

— Brigadier General William 'Billy' Mitchell, 'Winged Defense,' 1924.

Most healthy young men or women from sixteen to forty years of age can be taught to fly an ordinary airplane. A great majority of these may become very good pilots for transport- or passenger-carrying machines in time of peace; but the requirements for a military aviator call for more concentrated physical and mental ability in the individual than has ever been necessary in any calling heretofore.

— Brigadier General William 'Billy' Mitchell, 'Skyways,' 1930.

Their element is to attack, to track, to hunt, and to destroy the enemy. Only in this way can the eager and skillful fighter pilot display his ability. Tie him to a narrow and confined task, rob him of his initiative, and you take away from him the best and most valuable qualities he posses: aggressive spirit, joy of action, and the passion of the hunter.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

Aggressiveness was a fundamental to success in air-to-air combat and if you ever caught a fighter pilot in a defensive mood you had him licked before you started shooting.

— Captain David McCampbell, USN, leading U.S. Navy ace in W.W.II.

The smallest amount of vanity is fatal in aeroplane fighting. Self-distrust rather is the quality to which many a pilot owes his protracted existence.

— Captain Edward V. 'Eddie' Rickenbacker.

Fly with the head and not with the muscles. That is the way to long life for a fighter pilot. The fighter pilot who is all muscle and no head will never live long enough for a pension.

— Colonel Willie Bats, GAF, 237 victories, W.W. II.

The air battle is not necessarily won at the time of the battle. The winner may have been determined by the amount of time, energy, thought and training an individual has previously accomplished in an effort to increase his ability as a fighter pilot.

— Colonel Gregory 'Pappy' Boyington, USMC, 26 victories, W.W. II.

The experienced fighting pilot does not take unnecessary risks. His business in to shoot down enemy planes, not to get shot down. His trained hand and eye and judgment are as much a part of his armament as his machine-gun, and a fifty-fifty chance is the worst he will take — or should take — except where the show is of the kind that . . . justifies the sacrifice of plane or pilot.

— Captain Edward V. 'Eddie' Rickenbacker.

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind . . . Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to.

— Joseph Heller, Catch 22, 1955.

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.

— Muhammad Ali (nee Cassius Clay).

A good fighter pilot, like a good boxer, should have a knockout punch . . . You will find one attack you prefer to all others. Work on it till you can do it to perfection . . . then use it whenever possible.

— Captain Reade Tilley, USAAF.

He must have a love of hunting, a great desire to be the top dog.

— Sergei Dolgushin, Russian Air Force, 24 victories WWII.

Know and use all the capabilities in your airplane. If you don't, sooner or later, some guy who does use them all will kick your ass.

— Dave 'Preacher' Pace, USN.



You fight like you train.

— U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School, TOPGUN.

Fight to fly, fly to fight, fight to win.

— U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School, TOPGUN.

The first rule of all air combat is to see the opponent first. Like the hunter who stalks his prey and maneuvers himself unnoticed into the most favourable position for the kill, the fighter in the opening of a dogfight must detect the opponent as early as possible in order to attain a superior position for the attack.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

If you're in a fair fight, you didn't plan it properly.

— Nick Lappos, Chief R&D Pilot, Sikorsky Aircraft.

The British were sporting. They would accept a fight under almost all conditions.

— Gunther Rall, Luftwaffe, 275 victories.

It's just like being in a knife fight in a dirt-floor bar. If you want to fix a fella, the best way to do it is to get behind him and stick him in the back. It's the same in an air fight. If you want to kill that guy, the best thing to do is get around behind him where he can't see you . . . . and shoot him.

— Captain William O'Brian, 357th Fighter Group, USAAF.

A squadron commander who sits in his tent and gives orders and does not fly, though he may have the brains of Soloman, will never get the results that a man will, who, day in and day out, leads his patrols over the line and infuses into his pilots the 'espirit de corps.'

— Brigadier General William 'Billy' Mitchell, USAS.

The greater issues were beyond us. We sat in a tiny cockpit, throttle lever in one hand, stick in the other. At the end of our right thumb was the firing button, and in each wing were four guns. We aimed through an optical gunsight, a red bead in the middle of a red ring. Our one concern was to boot out the enemy.

— Group Captain Peter Townsend, RAF.

Victory smiles upon those who anticipate the change in the character of war, not upon those who wait to adapt themselves after the changes occur.

— Giulio Douhet, 'The Command of the Air.'

I saw the lightnings gleaming rod.
Reach forth and write upon the sky
The awful autograph of God.

— Joaquin Miller, 'The Ship In The Desert.'


We were stripped down, even the turrets were removed. You were light and real fast, though. Our 12th squadron motto was 'Alone Unarmed Unafraid.' As you can imagine, this actually translated into something more like, 'Alone Unarmed and Scared Shitless.'

— Theodore R. 'Dick' Newell, Korean War pilot, 12th TAC Reconnaissance Squadron, on flying the reconnaissance version of the B-26.


Yea though I fly through the valley of the shadow of death... I fear no evil ... for I fly the biggest, baddest, meanest, fastest motherf***er in the whole damn valley.

— Anon.

In blossom today, then scattered:
Life is so like a delicate flower.
How can one expect the fragrance
To last forever?

— Vice Admiral Ohnishi, Kamikaze Special Attack Force

No guts, no glory. If you are going to shoot him down, you have to get in there and mix it up with him.

— General Frederick C. 'Boots' Blesse, USAF.

I don't mind being called tough, because in this racket it's the tough guys who lead the survivors.

— General Curtis LeMay, USAF.

Watching the Dallas Cowboys perform, it is not difficult to believe that coach Tom Landry flew four-engines bombers during World War II. He was in B-17 Flying Fortresses out of England, they say. His cautious, conservative approach to every situation and the complexity of the plays he sends in do seem to reflect the philosophy of a pilot trained to doggedly press on according to plans laid down before takeoff. I sometimes wonder how the Cowboys would have fared all this years had Tom flown fighters in combat situations which dictated continuously changing tactics.

— Len Morgan, 'View from the Cockpit.'

Everything I had ever learned about air fighting taught me that the man who is aggressive, who pushes a fight, is the pilot who is successful in combat and who has the best opportunity for surviving battle and coming home.

— Major Robert S. Johnson, USAAF.

I think that the most important features of a fighter pilot are aggressiveness and professionalism. They are both needed to achieve the fighter pilot's goal: the highest score within the shortest time, with the least risk to himself and his wingman.

— Colonel Gidi Livni, Israeli Air Force.

The aggressive spirit, the offensive, is the chief thing everywhere in war, and the air is no exception.

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen

Eyesight and seeing the enemy first, or at least in time to take correct tactical maneuvers was very important. However, most important is the guts to plough through an enemy or enemies, and fight it out. There are no foxholes to hide in . . . there is no surrendering. I know of no Navy fighter pilot in the war who turned tail and ran. If one did, he would lose his wings and be booted out of the service for cowardice.

— Richard H. May, USN

There are only two types of aircraft — fighters and targets.

— Doyle 'Wahoo' Nicholson, USMC.

Do unto the other feller the way he'd like to do unto you, an' do it fust [sic].

— E. N. Westcott, 'David Harum.'

The essence of leadership . . . was, and is, that every leader from flight commander to group commander should know and fly his airplanes.

— Air Vice-Marshal J. E. 'Johnnie' Johnson, RAF.

A speck of dirt on your windscreen could turn into an enemy fighter in the time it took to look round and back again. A little smear on your goggles might hide the plane that was coming in to kill you.

— Derek Robinson, 'Piece of Cake.'

There are pilots and there are pilots; with the good ones, it is inborn. You can't teach it. If you are a fighter pilot, you have to be willing to take risks.

— General Robin Olds, USAF.

Today it is even more important to dominate the . . . highly sophisticated weapon systems, perhaps even more important than being a good pilot; to make the best use of this system.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

An excellent weapon and luck had been on my side. To be successful, the best fighter pilot needs both.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

One of the secrets of air fighting was to see the other man first. Seeing airplanes from great distances was a question of experience and training, of knowing where to look and what to look for. Experienced pilots always saw more than the newcomers, because the later were more concerned with flying than fighting. . . . The novice had little idea of the situation, because his brain was bewildered by the shock and ferocity of the fight.

— Air Vice-Marshal J. E. 'Johnnie' Johnson, RAF.

Only the spirit of attack borne in a brave heart will bring success to any fighter aircraft, no matter how highly developed it may be.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

The man who enters combat encased in solid armor plate, but lacking the essential of self-confidence, is far more exposed and naked to death than the individual who subjects himself to battle shorn of any protection but his own skill, his own belief in himself and in his wingman. Righteousness is necessary for one's peace of mind, perhaps, but it is a poor substitute for agility . . . and a resolution to meet the enemy under any conditions and against any odds.

— Major Robert S. Johnson, USAAF.

To be a good fighter pilot, there is one prime requisite — think fast, and act faster.

— Major John T. Godfrey, USAAF.

Mark Twain said, "Courage is the mastery of fear, resistance to fear, not the absence of fear." At times the nearness of death brings an inexplicable exhilaration which starts the adrenaline flowing and results in instant action. The plane becomes an integral part of the pilot's body, it is strapped to his butt, and they become a single fighting machine.

— R. M. Littlefield, 'Double Nickel — Double Trouble.'

Being a stealth pilot is one of the most labor intensive and time constrained types of flying that I know. We have very strict timing constraints: to be where you are supposed to be all the time, exactly on time, and that has to be monitored by the pilot. For example, during a bomb competition in training in the US, I dropped a weapon that landed 0.02 seconds from the desired time, and finished third!

— Lt. Col. Miles Pound, USAF

Two phrases are stamped on the key ring that every new 'Bandit' (a pilot who has soloed in an F-117) receives:
Stealth Equals Death.
When it absolutely, positively has to be taken out overnight.

Ode To The P-38

Oh, Hedy Lamarr is a beautiful gal, and Madeleine Carroll is too,
But you'll find if you query, a different theory amongst any bomber crew
For the loveliest thing of which one could sing (this side of the pearly gates)
Is no blonde or brunette of the Hollywood set -
But an escort of P-38s.

Yes, in the days that have passed,
when the tables were massed with glasses of scotch and champagne,
It's quite true that the sight was a thing of delight us,
intent on feeling no pain.
But no longer the same, nowadays is this game
When we head north for Messina Straits
Take the sparkling wine-every time,
just make mine an escort of P-38s.

Byron, Shelley and Keats ran a dozen dead heats
Describing the views from the hills,
of the valleys in May when the winds gently sway
In the air it's a different story;
We sweat out our track through the fighters and flak
We're willing to split up the glory
Well, they wouldn't reject us, so heaven protect us
and, until all this shooting abates,
Give us courage to fight 'em - one other small item -
an escort of P-38s.

— Frederic Arnold, 'Kohn's War.'

I didn't turn with the enemy pilots as a rule. I might make one turn - to see what the situation was - but not often. It was too risky.

— General John C. Meyer, Vice-Chief of Staff, USAF.

It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed.

— USAF Manual

Nothing is true in tactics.

— Commander Randy 'Duke' Cunningham, USN, first American ace in Vietnam.

We were too busy fighting to worry about the business of clever tactics.

— Harold Balfour, RAF. W.W.I fighter pilot and British Under-Secretary of State for War.

Beware the lessons of a fighter pilot who would rather fly a slide rule than kick your ass!

— Commander Ron 'Mugs' McKeown, USN, Commander of the U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School.

For most of the time carrier aviation is more challenging than flying in a spacecraft

— Astronaut James Lovell

Fighter pilots, above all else, know who among their peers are hunters and who are hunted. They absolutely will not fly into a tough combat situation with a wingman they don’t trust and not all men make the cut. Where we work is a vicious place. I’ll attempt to describe it, but the full comprehension comes only in a sky full of hot metal and smart missiles that all seem to be looking at you. You’re in a machine that is so fast and powerful that you intuitively know that if death comes, it will be full of hot fire. Frail human that you are, you will be shredded to pieces. Worst of all, you’ll be alone in a fierce place where your comrades cannot hold you while you die. That is the real environment of a fighter pilot.

— Jerry R Caddick

The ordinary air fighter is an extraordinary man and the extraordinary air fighter stands as one in a million among his fellows.

— Theodore Roosevelt

... a fighter pilot must be free to propose improvements [in tactics] or he will get himself killed.

— Commander Randy 'Duke' Cunningham, USN.

When I took over my wing [in Vietnam], the big talk wasn't about the MIG's, but about the SAM's ... I'd seen enemy planes before, but those damn SAM's were something else. When I saw my first one, there were a few seconds of sheer panic, because that's a most impressive sight to see that thing coming at you. You feel like a fish about to be harpooned. There's something terribly personal about the SAM; it means to kill you and I'll tell you right now, it rearranges your priorities ... We had been told to keep our eyes on them and not to take any evasive move too soon, because they were heat-seeking and they, too would correct, so I waited until it was almost on me and then I rolled to the right and it went on by. It was awe inspiring ... The truth is you never do get used to the SAM's; I had about two hundred fifty shot at me and the last one was as inspiring as the first. Sure I got cagey, and I was able to wait longer and longer, but I never got overconfident. I mean, if you're one or two seconds too slow, you've had the schnitzel.

— General Robin Olds, USAF.

Every day kill just one, rather than today five, tomorrow ten . . . that is enough for you. Then your nerves are calm and you can sleep good, you have your drink in the evening and the next morning you are fit again.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' Hartmann, Luftwaffe.

The closest modern equivalent to the Homeric hero is the ace fighter pilot.

— W. H. Auden

To become an ace a fighter must have extraordinary eyesight, strength, and agility, a huntsman's eye, coolness in a pinch, calculated recklessness, a full measure of courage—and occasional luck!

— General Jimmy Doolittle

The most important thing for a fighter pilot is to get his first victory without too much shock.

— Colonel Werner Moelders, Luftwaffe. He got his first victory, and 114 others.

It is true to say that the first kill can influence the whole future career of a fighter pilot. Many to whom the first victory over the opponent has been long denied either by unfortunate circumstances or by bad luck can suffer from frustration or develop complexes they may never rid themselves of again.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

It is wonderful how cheered a pilot becomes after he shoots down his first machine; his morale increases by at least 100 percent.

— Captain James Ira Thomas 'Taffy' Jones, RFC, 37 victories in 3 months W.W.I..

I gained in experience with every plane shot down, and now was able to fire in a calm, deliberate manner. Each attack was made in a precise manner. Distance and deflection were carefully judged before firing. This is not something that comes by accident; only by experience can a pilot overcome feelings of panic. A thousand missions could be flown and be of no use if the pilot has not exchanged fire with the enemy.

— Major John T. Godfrey, USAAF.

As a fighter pilot I know from my own experiences how decisive surprise and luck can be for success, which in the long run comes only to the one who combines daring with cool thinking.

— General Adolf Galland, Luftwaffe.

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

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

Months of preparation, one of those few opportunities, and the judgment of a split second are what makes some pilot an ace, while others think back on what they could have done.

— Colonel Gregory 'Pappy' Boyington, USMC.

How this can happen is a mystery to us.

— Lieutenant-General Ray Henault, Canada's Chief of Defence staff, regards the friendly fire deaths of four Canadian soldiers by a USAF F-16 in Afghanistan, 18 April 2002.

Success flourishes only in perseverance — ceaseless, restless perseverance.

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen

If he is superior then I would go home, for another day that is better.

— Colonel Erich 'Bubi' hartmann, GAF.

If I should come out of this war alive, I will have more luck than brains.

— Captain Manfred Baron von Richtofen, in a letter to his mother upon being decorated with the Iron Cross.

I was struck by the joy of those pilots in committing cold-blooded murder . . . Frankly, this is not cojones. This is cowardice.

— Madeleine Albright, US Ambassador to the UN, 1996, regards Cuban fighters shooting down unarmed American Cessnas.

I scooted for our lines, sticky with fear. I vomited brandy-and-milk and bile all over my instrument panel. Yes, it was very romantic flying, people said later, like a knight errant in the clean blue sky of personal combat.

— attributed to W. W. Windstaff, an alleged pseudonym of an American pilot flying with the British RFC.

There’s something wonderfully exciting about the quiet sing song of an aeroplane overhead with all the guns in creation lighting out at it, and searchlights feeling their way across the sky like antennae, and the earth shaking snort of the bombs and the whimper of shrapnel pieces when they come down to patter on the roof.

— John Dos Passos, letter written in Bossano, Italy while serving in the American Red Cross Ambulance Service to his friend Rumsey Marvin. 18 February 1918.

It was no picnic despite what anyone might say later . . . . Most of us were pretty scared all the bloody time; you only felt happy when the battle was over and you were on your way home, then you were safe for a bit, anyway.

— Colin Gray, 54 Squadron RAF, W.W.II.

There is no question about the hereafter of men who give themselves in such a cause. If I am called upon to make it, I shall go with a grin of satisfaction and a smile.

— Lieutenant David Endicott Putnam, America's first 'Ace of Aces,' in a letter to his mother. He was shot down by German ace Georg von Hantelmann. 12 September 1918

Won't it be nice when all this beastly killing is over, and we can enjoy ourselves and not hurt anyone? I hate this game.

— Captain Albert Ball, RFC, in letters to his father and fiancée. Ball was the first British ace idolized by the public, 44 victories when killed in action. 6 May 1917.

After a scrap I usually drink my tea through a straw.

— Derek Robinson, 'Piece of Cake.'

The heavens were the grandstands and only the gods were spectators. The stake was the world, the forfeit was the player's place at the table, and the game had no recess. It was the most dangerous of all sports and the most fascinating. It got in the blood like wine. It aged men forty years in forty days. It ruined nervous systems in an hour.

— Elliott White Springs, 13 victories WWI.

. . . It is as though horror has frozen the blood in my veins, paralyzed my arms, and torn all thought from my brain with the swipe of a paw. I sit there, flying on, and continue to stare, as though mesmerised, at the Cauldron on my left.

— Ernst Udet, ‘My life as Aviator,’ 1935.

I counted them all out and I counted them all back.

— Brian Hanranan, carefully worded broadcast regards the number of British aeroplanes involved in (and potentially lost in) the raid on Port Stanley. BBC news, 1 May 1982.

I suppose I'm as good as the next guy, but that's about all. Only reason I'm still flying while a lot of other great guys are gone is because I've had the breaks so far. I believe though, that the breaks are going to continue my way. The minute a flyer gets the notion that his number is up, he's finished. I start out, and know I'm coming back, and that's all there is to it.
Fear? You bet your life. But it's always on the way up. Then you get to thinking about a lot of things, but that all leaves you as you reach combat. Then there's a sense of great excitement, a thrill you can't duplicate anywhere. Then there can be no fear, no thought of life or death, no dream of yesterday or tomorrow.
What you have at that moment is — well, it may sound strange, but it's actually fun. The other guy has his chance, too, and you've got to get him before he gets you. Yes, I think it is the most exciting fun in the world.

— Lt. Col. Robert B. "Westy" Westbrook, USAAF, one of the leading aces of the Pacific, 'Los Angeles Examiner,' 20 June 1944.

It got more exciting with each war. I mean the planes were going faster than hell when I was flying a Mustang, but by the time I got to Nam, it scared the piss out of a lot of guys just to fly the damn jets at full speed. Let alone do it in combat.

— Brigadier General Robin Olds, USAF.

He who has the height controls the battle.
He who has the sun achieves surprise.
He who gets in close shoots them down.

— anon.

Dicta Boelcke

Try to secure advantages before attacking. If possible, keep the sun behind you.

Always carry through an attack when you have started it.

Fire only at close range, and only when your opponent is properly in your sights.

Always keep your eye on your opponent, and never let yourself be deceived by ruses.

In any form of attack it is essential to assail your opponent from behind.

If your opponent dives on you, do not try to evade his onslaught, but fly to meet it.

When over the enemy's lines never forget your own line of retreat.

For the Staffel: attack on principle in groups of four or six. When the fight breaks up into a series of single combats, take care that several do not go for one opponent.

— Hauptmann Oswald Boelcke, 1916. Germany's first ace, died in 1916 with 40 victories.

Whatever Boelcke told us was taken as Gospel!

— Baron Manfred von Richthofen

I will be like Boelcke.

— German pilots' motto

Ten of My Rules for Air Fighting

Wait until you see the whites of his eyes.
Fire short bursts of 1 to 2 seconds and only when your sights are definitely 'ON.'

Whilst shooting think of nothing else; brace the whole of the body; have both hands on the stick; concentrate on your ring sight.

Always keep a sharp lookout. "Keep your finger out"!

Height gives you the initiative.

Always turn and face the attack.

Make your decisions promptly. It is better to act quickly even though your tactics are not the best.

Never fly straight and level for more than 30 seconds in the combat area.

When diving to attack always leave a proportion of your formation above to act as top guard.

INITIATIVE, AGGRESSION, AIR DISCIPLINE, and TEAM WORK are words that MEAN something in Air Fighting.

Go in quickly - Punch Hard - Get out!

— Flight Lieutenant Adolphus G. 'Sailor' Malan, RSAAF, August 1941.

Because operators are based thousands of miles away from the battlefield, and undertake operations entirely through computer screens and remote audio-feed, there is a risk of developing a 'PlayStation' mentality to killing.

— Philip Alston, United Nations special rapporteur on extrajudicial killings, report to the UN Human Rights Council, 2 June 2010.

[bobbysocks]

Dicta Boelcke ( expanded )


1. Try to secure advantages before attacking. If possible keep the sun behind you.


*'Advantages' for WWI aircraft included: speed, height, surprise, performance and numbers.

Speed - the pilot with the faster of two machines has control over the combat. He has the choice to break off combat and retire. The slower machine can not catch him. The pilot of a slower machine must stay on the defense. He can not run to safety. A fast moving aircraft can perform elaborate manoeuvres, giving its pilot many options. A machine flying close to its stall speed can do little beyond wallowing in a more or less straight line. Aircraft engines available in 1914 and 1915 provided just enough thrust to keep machines airborne at 80 mph, and not much more. Level flight was fine, but climbing to a higher altitude took several minutes and cut air speed nearly in half. Diving, on the other hand, could add half again to a plane's top speed. By 1916, engine power and speed increased. By the end of the war, aircraft were operating regularly at speeds over 130 mph. Speed was critical.

Height - From the advantage of flying above his opponent, a pilot had more control over how and where the fight takes place. He could dive upon his opponent, gaining a sizable speed advantage for a hit and run attack. Or, if the enemy had too many advantages, numbers for instance, a pilot fly away with a good head start. On average, WWI aircraft climbed slowly. Altitude was a hard earned 'potential energy' store not to be given away capriciously.

Surprise - getting the first shot before one's opponent is prepared to return fire was the 'safest' and preferred method for attack. Most air victories were achieved in the first pass. Without all-seeing devices like radar, a pilot could approach his foe stealthily, using clouds, haze or even using the enemy aircraft's own wings or tail to conceal his approach. The glare of the sun, especially, provided an effective hiding spot.

Performance- Knowing the strengths, weakness and capabilities of your own aircraft, and that of your foe, was also critical. Who was faster, who could turn tighter, how many were there, etc.? He argued against foolish acts of 'heroism.' If he could not 'secure advantages,' he would not attack. One of Boelcke's pupils, Manfred von Richthofen, learned this rule very well and became the war's top scoring ace.

A documented example of Boelcke 'securing advantages' took place on 17 September 1916. Boelcke and his pilots intercepted a flight of bombers and fighters crossing the lines. He chose not to attack right away, but had his Jasta climb higher above the bombers, keeping themselves between the bombers and the sun. There they circled and waited. When the bomber pilots, observers and fighter escort pilots were preoccupied with the destruction they were causing on the ground, Boelcke signaled for his pilots to attack. Several enemy aircraft went down and Jasta 2 lost no one.*


2. Always carry through an attack when you have started it.


*Rookie pilots would start a fight, but instinct (fear) would convince them to break it off and run. This inevitably presented the rookie's tail to his opponent's guns, making the rookie an easy victory for his enemy. Boelcke learned that it was far better to stay and continue mixing it up -- waiting for his opponent to make mistakes or flee -- than to break and run. To turn tail and run was to surrender most, if not all, of the advantages a pilot might have had.

As an example, when Manfred von Richthofen met British ace Lanoe Hawker in November 1916, each persisted in trying to get on the other's tail. Both stuck to Boelcke's second dictum. When their endless circling had brought them down near the ground behind German lines, Hawker had to chose between landing and capture or fleeing. He chose to flee. Richthofen was then able to get behind him and shot him down.*


3. Fire only at close range and only when your opponent is properly in your sights.



*A common rookie's urge was to start blasting away upon sighting his first enemy machine. Shots taken at ranges of 1000 yards stood little chance of hitting their mark. The rattle of machine gun fire would alert the intended target and gave them time to react.

The machine guns available for aircraft during the Great War were not highly accurate at longer ranges. Add to that the difficulty of aiming from a moving, bouncing gun platform at a fast moving target and it is a marvel that anyone ever hit anything. Boelcke preferred to fly to within 100 yards or less before firing, to ensure hitting what he aimed at with his opening burst. Once the rattle of his guns was heard, the advantage of surprise was gone, so it was best to make that first shot most effective.

Another aspect of making each shot count was the limited supply of ammunition carried in WWI aircraft -- usually only several hundred rounds. This could amount to less than 60 seconds of sustained fire. Reloading in the air varied from dangerous to impossible. Spraying the sky with lead in hopes of hitting something, eventually, was not an option. Shots had to be chosen carefully. Early in the war, when a sense of chivalry still held sway, some men allowed their opponents to depart if they were out of ammunition or had jammed guns. Total war did not allow such courtesies to last for long.*


4. Always keep your eye on your opponent, and never let yourself be deceived by ruses.


*The first part, 'keeping your eye on your opponent,' sounds obvious enough, but it needed to be stated. In the hustle and bustle of an air fight it was easy to lose sight of your adversary. A restatement of this rule might be: never assume you know where your opponent is or will be. If a pilot 'lost' his foe, the advantage shifted to the foe. A successful pilot did not allow himself to be distracted from his opponent.

Ruses. It was not an uncommon practice for a pilot to feign being hit, going into a supposedly uncontrolled spin or dive, in order to exit a fight that was not going well. This practice traded on the chivalry of their opponents. To continue hammering a man who was already going down, was thought unsportsmanlike. Boelcke recognized that too many enemy were being allowed to escape and return to fight another day. War for national survival was not sport. He taught against the accepted notion that once a machine began to spin down, that one could move on. If it was a ruse, the enemy pilot would pull out at the last moment and either escape or return to attack, perhaps now having gained the advantage of surprise. Boelcke wanted his pupils to follow their opponent down. Make sure they were out of the fight or resume the fight if necessary.*


5. In any form of attack it is essential to assail your opponent from behind.


*Firing at a machine flying across one's path required 'leading' the shot -- aiming ahead of a moving target to compensate for its speed. While a few pilots were adept at the mental calculations necessary and good areal marksmen, most were much less adept. The velocity of a moving gun platform, the speed of bullets plus the speed and direction of a moving target could be a lot to consider in the heat of battle. Furthermore, in deflection firing, the target could cross the stream of fire whose bullets were 200 feet or more apart. Such crossing gave less exposure to the bullets.

Head-on attacks or head-to-tail attacks required little or no calculated deflection in aim. Head-on attack, however, exposed one directly to the enemy's guns. Far safer and more effective to have one's target and bullet stream all traveling in more or less the same direction. This required little or no 'leading,' and exposed the target to a greater concentration of fire.

Because of the prevalence of attack from the rear, aircraft design adapted to allow for rear firing guns in two-seaters and larger bombers.*


6. If your opponent dives on you, do not try to evade his onslaught, but fly to meet it.


*This rule is related to dictum #2 above. The instinctive reaction of many rookies was to turn and flee from an approaching attacker -- especially a diving one. This simply presented their tail to the attacker, usually with disastrous results. Boelcke taught that a pilot had to conquer that instinct. Turning to face the attack could force the attacker onto the defensive, or at least keep the situation unsettled, which was far better than presenting your tail. Even though climbing to meet an attack would reduce speed, it was better to try to bring one's own guns to bear than flee.*


7. When over the enemy's lines never forget your own line of retreat.


*If a pilot chose to flee a superior force, or was coming down with damaged machine, it was critical to spend what little time he might have going in the right direction. This rule sounds as though it is stating the obvious, but Boelcke found it necessary to include. More than a few pilots came down behind enemy lines because they got confused and lost their way. In WWI, areal navigation was done mostly by sight. Taking regular note of landmarks helped a pilot get his bearings quickly, perhaps making the difference between safety and captivity.*


8. For the Staffel: Attack on principle in groups of four or six. When the fight breaks up into a series of single combats, take care that several do not go for one opponent.


*In the first year or so of WWI, air combat was more of a one-on-one affair. The early aces, like Pegoud, Garros, Boelcke and Immelmann, hunted the skies alone. Later in the war the sheer number of machines in the sky increased. Several reconnaissance machines traveled together for mutual protection, further protected by escorting fighters. Boelcke recognized that the days of the lone hunter were over. Many young pilots, however, still came to the front expecting to dash valiantly into battle alone as an errant knight, only to be quickly overwhelmed by multiple enemies.

Boelcke tirelessly lectured his pupils on the need for teamwork -- sometimes scolding them for acting too independently. Attacking in a group allowed the leader to concentrate his attention exclusively on his target, while his 'wingmen' protected his tail.

Air battles later in the war could involve dozens of aircraft from each side at the same time. The sky could become a swirling tangle of machines. When 'your' side was at a numerical disadvantage, it was especially important not to double up on one opponent. The concentrated fire was of dubious value, since you were just as likely to get in each other's way as hit the enemy. Doubling up also left an enemy machine somewhere unbothered and free to tail one of your side's machines. Later in the war, teamwork became the primary key to success and survival.*

[bobbysocks]

Ilmari Juutilainen - Finland's Ace of Aces

In two wars, Ilmari Juutilainen and his fellow pilots helped preserve their country's independence and taught the Soviet Union a lesson: "If you threaten Finns, they do not become frightened--they become angry. And they never surrender."

Ilmari Juutilainen scored more than 94 victories in two wars, flying Fokker D.XXIs, Brewster B-239s and Messerschmitt Me-109Gs.

Neither Jossif Stalin nor Adolf Hitler regarded their nonaggression pact of August 1939 as anything more than a postponement of inevitable hostilities between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. After they had divided up Poland between themselves in September, Hitler became embroiled in a war against Britain and France, while Stalin grabbed what he considered strategic territories adjacent to Russia. One concession Stalin sought was part of Finland's Karelian Isthmus on which he wanted to build air and naval bases. (Stalin`s real plan was to occupy the entire Finland just like the Baltic countries, see Edvard Radzinski`s book "Stalin". FTA remark) When Finland refused to give up her lands the Soviets bombed Helsinki and launched and invasion on November 30, 1939.

The ensuing conflict, known as the Winter War, ended on March 13, 1940, with the Soviet occupation of 10 percent of Finnish land, but not before the Red Army had suffered several humiliating defeats at the hands of the Finns. The Voyenno Vozdushny Sily (Red Army air force, of VVS) had suffered even more disproportionate to the outnumbered but highly skilled pilots of the Suomen Ilmavoimat (the Finnish air force).

Epitomizing the elan and training that made the Ilmavoimat so formidable was Eino Ilmari Juutilainen, whose 94 official victories made him the Finnish ace of aces. In an exclusive interview with Military History editor Jon Guttman, "Illu" Juutilainen described his most notable exploits during the Winter War and in the Continuation War, as Finland called her participation in World War II as a co-belligerent rather than a formal ally of Germany.

Military History: Could you tell us about your prewar background?
Juutilainen: I was born in Lieksa on February 21, 1914, but I spent my childhood in Sortavala. As a teenager I was a member of the Volunteer Maritime Defense Association and we had a fine time sailing at the Laatokka Sea.

MH: What inspired you to take up flying?
Juutilainen: There was an Ilmavoimat base in the middle of our town, and it was a permanent source of interest for all of us youngsters. Many of us became pilots later - for example, my Winter War flight leader and Continuation War squadron commander, Eino "Eikka" Luukkanen. One important inspiration was a book about the Red Baron; Manfred von Richthofen, which my older brother gave me. I remember sitting by the upstairs window, dreaming about aerial maneuvers. I began my national service as an assistant mechanic in the 1st Separate Maritime Squadron from 1932 to 1933, then got a pilot's license in a civilian course. I then joined the Ilmavoimat as a noncommissioned officer and got my military pilot training in the Ilmasotakoulu (Air Force Academy) at Kauhava from 1935 to 1936. I had the opportunity to choose my first assignment, and on February 4, 1937, I went to LeLv (Lentolaivue, or air squadron) 12 at Suur-Merijoki Air Base near Viipuri. In 1938 I went to Utti Air Base and got one year of really tough fighter flying and shooting. Then, on March 3, 1939, I was assigned to LeLv 24, a fighter unit equipped with Dutch-built Fokker D.XXIs, at Utti Air Base.

MH: What was training like in the Ilmavoimat?
Juutilainen: The international trend in the early 1930's was to use a tight, three-plane formation, or "vic", as a basic fighter element. The fighter pilots in Finland knew that they would never get large numbers of fighters , and they considered the large tight formations ineffective. From studies conducted between 1934 - 1935, the Ilmavoimat developed a loose two-plane section as the basic fighter element. Divisions (four fighters) and flights (eight aircraft) were made of loose sections, but always maintaining the independence of the section. The distance between the fighters in the section was 150 - 200 meters, and the distance between sections in a division was 300 - 400 meters. The principle was always to attack, regardless of numbers; that way the larger enemy formation was broken up and combat became a sequence of section duels, in which the better pilots always won. Finnish fighter training heavily emphasized the complete handling of the fighter and shooting accuracy. Even basic training at the Air Force Academy included a lot of aerobatics with all the basic combat maneuvers and aerial gunnery.

MH: What were your feelings when the war broke out on November 30, 1939?
Juutilainen: I was mentally ready, because the signs had been so clear. Still, it was hard to believe that it was really true when we took off on our first intercept mission. I think in general the people were angry. We knew, of course, of Stalin's demands that we give the Soviet Union certain areas to improve Leningrad's security. And our answer was clear enough: No way! The nation's reaction to the war was not analytical - it was emotional. The feeling was, "When I die, there will be many enemies dying, too."

MH: What sort of preparation occurred?
Juutilainen: As the international situation worsened, our defense forces started so-called extra exercises in early October 1939. All fighters and weapons were checked, more ammunition belts loaded, and maintenance equipment and spare parts packed on the lorries to be ready to move. On October 11 we flew from Utti to Immola Air Base, which was nearer the border. Shelters were built for the fighters and we kept flying combat air patrols - careful to stay on our side, so that we didn't provoke the Soviets. The younger pilots got additional training in aerial combat and gunnery. During bad weather we indulged in sports, pistol shooting and discussions about fighter tactics. Our esprit de corps was high despite the fact that we would be up against heavy odds. We were ready.

MH: What was the Fokker D.XXI like to fly?
Juutilainen: It was our best fighter in 1939, but the Soviet Polikarpov I-16 was faster, had better agility and also had protective armor for the pilot. I flew later a war booty I-16, and it did 215 knots at low level and turned around a dime. I liked that plane. In comparison, the Fokker could make about 175. The D.XXI also lacked armor, but it had good diving characteristics and it was a steady shooting platform. I think that our gunnery training made the Fokker a winner in the Winter War.

MH: Can you describe your first fight?
Juutilainen: December 19, 1939, was the first real combat day after a long period of bad weather. I had some trouble starting my engine, and so I got a little behind the rest of my flight. When I was close to Antrea, I got a message of three enemy bombers approaching. After about half a minute, I saw three Ilyushin DB-3s approaching. I was about 1,500 feet above them and started the attack turn just like in gunnery camp at Käkisalmi. The DB-3s immediately dropped their bomb loads in the forest and turned back. I shot the three rear gunners, one by one. Then I started to shoot the engines. I followed them a long way and kept on shooting. One of them nosed over and crashed. The two others were holed like cheese graters but continued in a shallow, smoking descent. I had spent all of my ammunition, so I turned back. There was no special feeling of real combat. Everything went exactly like training.

MH: What were the circumstances of your 1/6 shared victory on December 23?
Juutilainen: At that time, Soviet bombers flew without fighter escort, and that was a typical situation when our flight attacked a formation of Tupolev SB-2s. Several of us shot at several targets, and the kills were then shared, because it was impossible to distinguish a decisive attack. Later, I stopped counting those shared cases and always gave my share to the younger pilot.

MH: What about your first encounter with an I-16 on December 31?
Juutilainen: That was a classic, old time aerial duel. I was initially in a very good position behind that Red pilot, but he saw me and started a hard left turn. I followed, shooting occasionally, testing his nerves. Our speed decreased as we circled tightly under the cloud deck, which was as low as 600 feet. My opponent's fighter was much more agile than mine, and he was gradually gaining the advantage, so I decided to pull a tactical trick on him. As he was getting into my rear sector, I pulled into the cloud, continuing my hard left turn. Once inside it, I rolled to the right and down, out of the cloud. I had estimated right - I was again behind my opponent. When he next saw me, I had already closed to a range of about 100 yards. He apparently decided to outturn me, as he had done before. I put the sight on him and squeezed the trigger. My tracers passed a few yards in front of him, and I eased the stick pressure to adjust my aiming point. My next burst struck his engine, which began to belch smoke. I continued firing, letting the tracers walk along the fuselage. Then once more I pulled hard, taking a proper deflection and shot again. There was a continuous stream of black smoke as the target pitched over and went into the forest.

MH: What other missions did you carry out besides interception?
Juutilainen: Our reconnaissance aircraft were obsolete, so they had to carry out their missions at night or in bad weather, while we flew many daytime reconnaissance missions in our fighters. We also occasionally carried out some ground-attack missions until the last days of the war, when the enemy tried a flanking offensive over the ice of the Gulf of Finland at Viipuri Bay. Those were decisive operations, but for us fighter pilots they were also the most miserable missions of the war, for the Soviets massed their fighters to cover the ground troops. We could achieve surprise by using the weather conditions and coming from different directions every time, quickly attacking over the ice, then fighting our way back to base to rearm and refuel for a new mission. During those missions, I personally fired some 25,000 rounds into the Red Army.

MH: What were your feelings when Finland was forced to accept Soviet terms in the end?
Juutilainen: I was disappointed. We had been able to stop the Soviet offensive, they had gained only a limited land area, and we had inflicted heavy losses on them. Thanks to small losses and deliveries of new Gloster Gladiators, Fiat G.50s and Morane-Saulnier MS 406s, our fighter force was stronger than it had been at the beginning of the war. We felt ourselves winners, but now we had to give them some areas that were firmly in our hands. Later, when the economic situation became clearer, the decision was more understandable. Sweden was neutral, Germany was hostile and support from France and Britain proved to be inadequate. Finland simply did not have enough resources to continue a prolonged campaign alone. Ultimately, the important thing was Finland's independence. We had been fighting to save that, and we had indeed saved it. I think we also taught a lesson to Stalin and company: If you threaten Finns, they do not become frightened - they become angry. And they never surrender.

MH: What did you do between March 1940 and June 1941?
Juutilainen: At the end of March 1940 we flew from our last wartime base, Lemi (which was on the ice of a lake) to Joroinen, where our fighters were overhauled. Then we gave our Fokkers away and began to familiarize ourselves with a new fighter, the Brewster B-239. Some of those planes had already arrived in the last days of the Winter War ( see Brewsters to Finland), and now they were picked up from Trollhättan, Sweden, where Norwegian mechanics were assembling them after sea transport. American test pilot Robert Winston acted as his company's representative in that process. The Brewsters were flown to Malmi Air Base near Helsinki, and our squadron started to operate there. On June 14, 1940, two Soviet bombers shot down one of our airliners over the Gulf of Finland, shortly after it had taken off from Tallinn, Estonia. I was searching for the plane with my Brewster, and I found a Soviet submarine in the middle of aircraft debris, obviously looking for diplomatic mail. In August 1940, we moved to a new base at Vesivehmaa, north of Lahti. There, we tested the Brewster's performance and gunnery characteristics and found both to be quite good. Many pilots put all their bullets in the target. On June 17, we got and order to stay at the base, in continuous readiness, so we guessed that we would be at war rather soon.

MH: What were your impressions of the B-239?
Juutilainen: I started my Brewster flights in the beginning of April 1940, doing all the aerobatics maneuvers, stall and dive tests. I was happy with my Brewster. It was agile, it had 4,5 hours endurance, good weaponry - one 7,62 mm and three 12,7 machine guns - and an armored pilot's seat. It was so much better than the Fokker that it was in another category. If we had had Brewsters during the Winter War, the Russians would have been unable to fly over Finland. It was also a "gentleman's traveling plane", for it had a roomy cockpit and room in the fuselage, as we used to say, for a poker gang. We unofficially transported mechanics, spare parts, oil canisters etc. in our Brewsters. Once, though two pilots went a little too far - a flight sergeant was flying, and in the fuselage was a second lieutenant, his friend, his dog and a lot of baggage. Upon landing the plane went off the runway and the suitcase came out. Both pilots were punished. Humorously, the lieutenant's sentence started with:"As the commander of the crew of a single-seat fighter.."

MH: What was the situation in Finland at the time of the German invasion of the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941?
Juutilainen: It was rather problematic after the Winter War. The Soviet Union continued its pressure, and Vyacheslav Molotov (Soviet commissar for foreign affairs) during his visit to Germany in November 1940 demanded Finland as Russia's share of their 1939 pact. France and Britain were at war, and it was very difficult for Finland to improve her defenses. Then, rather unexpectedly, Germany's hostile attitude toward Finland changed. During its preparations to invade the Soviet Union, Germany saw Finland as a useful partner. Finland did not like a political alliance with Nazis, but military cooperation with Germany was the only option to counter the Soviet threat and it presented an opportunity to get back the stolen land areas. Preparations for war were complete when Germany invaded Russia, but Finland joined the war only after the Soviets had made several air raids against Finnish targets on June 25, 1941.

MH: Can you describe your first victory of the Continuation War?
Juutilainen: We were at Rantasalmi Air Base on July 9, 1941, and we received information that Soviet aircraft were coming to attack our army troops early in the morning. We took off at 4 a.m. and after about half an hour's waiting, we saw the first enemy aircraft - Polikarpov I-153 "Chaika" (gull) biplane fighters. The battle started at 13,000 feet, just west of Huuhanmäki railway station. I had already made a couple of attacks when I saw some movement below, against the surface of the lake. There were enemy fighters trying to escape. I dove after them and quickly caught up with one of the Russians, who was flying right at treetop level and who obviously thought he was safe down there. At a range of about 20 yards I squeezed the trigger. I had to pull my plane up to avoid a collision, and the Chaika crashed right into the forest. At that point, my engine started to sputter, while at the same time a Chaika was approaching me from directly ahead and above. I set up for an emergency landing in a small field near the village of Miinala. Just as I was about to land, my engine came back to life. The Chaika apparently didn't see me and passed directly overhead. I turned quickly after it.

After a while, I saw a new target, which seemed to be joining the plane I was chasing. They flew over Sorola Island and, after getting to the Laatokka Sea, turned and headed for their home base. At that point, I rammed the throttle full power and went for them. Aiming carefully at the wingman, I fired. Maybe the enemy pilot suspected danger, because he broke away at the same moment. But it was too late - my bullets had done their work. I had no time to fire at the other airplane because he broke away at the same time and disappeared among the small islands. I was tempted to go after him, but my rough-running engine deterred such thoughts. Partly unsatisfied about the unfinished work, I flew home. Esprit de corps at the base was high. This had been the first real, large aerial engagement of the war, and our squadron had destroyed nine enemy aircraft

MH: What about the circumstances of your downing three I-16s on August 18, 1942?
Juutilainen: We had come to the Gulf of Finland area. On the evening of August 18, an alarm came in, and the entire flight hurried into a big air battle near the Soviet Island of Kronstadt. Planes were coming from all directions - I-16 "Ratas" (rats), Hawker Hurricanes and even a Petlyakov Pe-2 was dashing into the fray. I got one Rata in my sights, approaching it from above and behind. I put some metal into his fuselage. The airplane went down and very nearly took a comrade with it. I pulled up in a very tight turn to keep my back clear. I flew amid the anti-aircraft fire of eight guard ships, which happened to be on the sea below me, until I got back in the melee. I had time to notice more enemy fighters taking off from Kronstadt to join our merry-go-round.

At one point we estimated that there were about 60 enemy planes in the furball. One Rata attacked me from straight ahead and below. I rolled inverted and simultaneously pulled back hard on the stick. I aimed quickly, fired into his fuselage and his airplane spun, crashing into the sea. Again I had to climb in that anti-aircraft fire. I was dodging one diving enemy fighter when another flew right in front of me. Staying tightly behind the target, I fired a long burst and began to think I would run out of ammunition. Finally, it fell in flames into the sea. By then it was becoming so dark that it was very difficult to determine friend from foe, so both sides began to retire. One of our pilots, 2nd Lt. Aarno Raitio, had bailed out and died in the stormy sea that night. The enemy lost 16 aircraft.

MH: Do you recall any other memorable combats in the B-239?
Juutilainen: Yes, there was another engagement over the Gulf of Finland that was rather peculiar. We had just attacked a formation of MiGs and Supermarine Spitfires on September 20, and I was just about to shoot a Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-3 when my propeller transmission broke and my engine power decreased. I reported my status and asked for help, if anybody could afford to do so. One of the enemy fighters was moving into a good firing position a little below me. I quickly rolled my fighter inverted above him. My unexpected maneuver apparently frightened him, because he broke off and dove away. I sighed with relief, then tried to make my way back to base while carefully watching the enemy aircraft above me. Sure enough, a Spitfire came in from behind and above, expecting an easy kill. I tried to look as though I didn't see him.

cont...

[bobbysocks]

pt 2...

When the Spitfire came into firing range, I made a quick, controlled roll, stamping heavily on my rudder bar. My fighter slid heavily sideways, and I continued with a hard level turn of about 90 degrees. The enemy couldn't keep me in his gunsight, and at the end of the maneuver he was so close that he actually slid past me. I quickly turned back to my original heading and the Spitfire was in front of me, pulling up to the right. My speed was gone, but the range was short, about 70 yards. I aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger. The tracers hit the target like a whip, and the plane started to smoke heavily. Almost vertically and slightly inverted, it crashed into the sea. Then, almost immediately, another Spitfire arrived to avenge his comrade. I pushed the throttle open and the engine stopped! It was a really nasty feeling. The enemy plane came in above and behind at high speed, so I made a tight turn under its nose. The Spitfire couldn't turn with me and after a failed attack, continued its dive toward Lavansaari. I turned my plane toward the Estonian coast, intending to make an emergency landing. Then I noticed that when I didn't put the throttle in a full-power setting, the engine would cough back to life. I had again begun to climb toward my flight when a MiG attacked me at an impossible deflection angle. There was no need to even dodge. Then I saw a MiG-1 dive steeply toward the water, but it pulled up at the last moment. Now it was my turn to do the attacking. The MiG didn't seem to notice me at all and pulled up right in front of me. I had only to change my nose position slightly to line up the target, then I squeezed the trigger. The plane rolled over and went into the sea. When I again began my climb, I found our pilots controlling the area, and I joined them.

MH: Did you have any general impressions of the Soviet airmen?
Juutilainen: There were very good Soviet pilots, and then there were those who were not so good. They usually handled their airplanes quite well, but I think their shooting accuracy was not as good as ours. Maybe they didn't emphasize individual pilot skills as much as we did, counting more on numbers.

MH: What about their aircraft, including Western Allied Lend-Lease planes like the Hawker Hurricane, Supermarine Spitfire or Curtiss Tomahawk?
Juutilainen: The I-16 was in the same category as the B-239. The Lavochkin-Gorbunov-Gudkov LaGG-3 was faster but not very agile. The Lavochkin La-5 and Yakolev Yak-9 were clearly better than the Brewster. The Hurricane was a rather easy opponent to deal with, especially at low level. No problems with the Tomahawk, either. The Spitfire, of course, was superior to the Brewster.

MH: Didn't you also shoot down a captured Heinkel He-111 that the Soviets tried to use for a clandestine mission?
Juutilainen: The He-111 incident happened on October 20, 1942. I was chasing a Pe-2 into a cloud over the Gulf of Finland when I suddenly came up behind a Heinkel. Of course, at first I thought it was a German plane, and I decided to let him be, but when the rear gunner began to fire at me, I decided to shoot back. It was then that I noticed there were no national emblems anywhere on the plane. After shooting the rear gunner I set both of its engines on fire. Three men bailed out of the plane's belly, but they all died in the cold water of the Gulf of Finland.

MH: When did your unit receive Messerschmitt Me-109Gs?
Juutilainen: On February 8, 1943, I joined the newly formed LeLv 34, and on February 10 we flew to Germany to get our new Me-109G-2 fighters (see Messerschmitt Me-109s to Finland). We flew familiarization flights in the German fighter school at Werneuchen. The Germans had prepared a rather extensive course for us, but our leaders told them that we had come to pick up our fighters and not to learn how to fly. I flew once in an Me-109E and two flights in the Me-109G, testing its performance and maneuverability. I would say that whereas the Brewster was a gentleman's airplane, the Messerschmitt was a killing machine.

MH: On August 31, 1943, you downed your first La-5. Was the appearance of that new Soviet fighter disturbing to you and your colleagues?
Juutilainen: The La-5 was more agile than the Me-109G but otherwise in the same category. We Messerschmitt pilots had no special problems with La-5s, but Brewster pilots had to use tactics in which they flew in several divisions - one above the other, with a great height difference - to cover each other. I often used one tactical trick against the La-5 that worked every time. When a La-5 pilot got behind me, I started a climbing turn, so that the enemy pilot would point his guns at me but could not take the proper deflection. Usually he fired and, of course, missed. I gradually tightened my turn, and the enemy pilot tried to pull more and more deflection. If we started at low level, it took me some 13,000 feet before the enemy began to lose his speed and turned down. Then I just rolled after him and shot him down.

MH: Your score includes seven Ilyushin Il-2s. How did you manage to bring down those armored ground-attack planes?
Juutilainen: The Il-2 had really tough armor, and from directly behind you could only eliminate the rear gunner. There were three separate armor plates behind the pilot and the engine. The aircraft flew usually at low level, so the only approach was from above. We attacked their formations from both sides to disperse their defensive fire. From the side and above, one could shoot at a place in the armpit of the Il-2's wing, which normally caught fire.

MH: You are also credited with a Lockheed P-38 Lightning on July 10, 1943 - along with two I-153s. What was a P-38 doing over Finland at that time?
Juutilainen: Our squadron's intelligence officer identified it only after I described it to him. Our radio intelligence guys told us later that the enemies we met that day were ferrying new fighters to Lavansaari and bringing old planes out. Maybe the Lightning's visit had something to do with that exchange. We didn't see them later.

MH: Another unusual plane on your victory list is the North American P-51 Mustang of which the Soviets received only 10. Could you describe your two encounters with the Mustangs?
Juutilainen: The only time we saw Mustangs was during the peak of the Soviet summer offensive of 1944. The Mustangs we met were older models, with Allison engines. On June 26 we had just been escorting Bristol Blenheim bombers and were returning over the front line when I saw a Mustang approaching me from my right side in a right turn with his belly toward me. I yanked the throttle to idle to let it slide past me. The Mustang pilot, however, recovered his turn and then saw me. He also pulled his throttle back, and I saw long flames backfiring from his exhaust pipes. He also kicked his rudder to slow down, but I was doing the same thing, and because I had started sooner than he, the Mustang slid right out in front of me. The Mustang pilot then went to full power and tried to shake me off his tail with a climbing turn. In so doing he made his last mistake and flew directly in front of my gunsight. I fired, and soon the Mustang was burning in the forest near Tammisuo. Two days later my section was returning from a reconnaissance mission and made the usual detour to have an aerial engagement before returning to base. Soon we saw an Il-2 formation coming toward us escorted by three Mustangs. One of them pulled left and the other two went into a dive. In a tight diving turn I went after the airplane that had broken left, firing short bursts to break the pilot's mental backbone. It worked, for he apparently got nervous and went into a dive. The pilot kicked his rudder, but much too rapidly, only causing the tail to waggle while his plane stayed rather comfortably in the middle of my sight. The target was at an altitude of about 150 feet when it caught fire and crashed into the tall pine trees.

****side note. it has been verified later that there were no 51s in finland at that time. it is a case of misidentification by 2 fin pilots who had claims of 51s. these kills were infact yaks. the p38 was probably a fw 189. bobby
http://www.sci.fi/~ambush/faf/juutilainen.html
**********

MH: On June 30, 1944 you tied Jorma Sarvanto's one-mission record of six victories. Was yours also in a single mission?
Juutilainen: It was during one mission, but in three separate engagements. The first started when our four sections met about the same number of Bell P-39 Airacobras, during which I shot down two in the Viipuri area. Next I thought there was a dark cloud in the eastern sky, then looked again and realized that it was an enormous formation of enemy planes heading for Tali. We regrouped, climbed and called more fighters to the scene, then we attacked. In that battle I shot down two Yak-9s over Juustila. When the fight was over, we continued our patrol, and the next enemy formation came from the direction of Viipuri, including Pe-2 dive-bombers, Il-2 ground-attack planes and La-5 fighters. We attacked, and I first shot down an Il-2 between Juustila and Tali and then got an La-5 near Viipuri. My fuel-level warning light had been blinking for quite a while, and I called the other guys to break off. Only during the flight home did I realize that I had shot down six enemy planes. After landing our fuel was practically gone. Also, all of the ammunition was gone.

MH: What were the circumstances of you last confirmed victory?
Juutilainen: On September 3, 1944, my section was on a reconnaissance mission, and I was flying at 1,600 feet when a Yak dashed toward me from directly ahead. I shot in his face and he dove under me. I turned around but couldn't see him anymore. After a while, I noticed a twin-engine airplane in front of me. I identified it as a Douglas DC-3 transport, having the Soviet designation Lisunov Li-2. I looked around suspiciously while I sneaked up behind it. I fired first at the fuselage, then at an engine, which started to burn. Then I fired again at the fuselage. The plane crashed in a field near Nurmijärvi.

MH: Where there any other combats in the Continuation War that particularly stand out in your mind?
Juutilainen: Well, there was one combat during which I didn't fire a shot. On March 8, 1944, I was returning from a reconnaissance mission and approaching Suulajärvi when our control center reported four enemy fighters very near our base at an altitude of 13,000 feet. I began to climb, hoping ardently that the enemy would wait for me, because it was a rare opportunity to fight this deep in our own territory. I was already at 12,500 feet when I saw four La-5s in a nice formation about 1,500 feet below me, between Perkjärvi railway station and our base. As I approached from behind and above, I found myself admiring their sleek forms and beautiful camouflage paint job. I got the leader in my sight, sure of achieving surprise. I was just about to press the trigger when, like an explosion, they broke away in different directions and tried to climb above me. They had seen my approach and waited for just the right moment. That was no wonder, for my radio intelligence controller informed me that the leader of my adversaries was an ace named Medvetjev (probably colonel Aleksandr A. Matveyev, the commander of the 275th Fighter Division, who would survive the war with 15 victories).

I had more speed than my adversaries, so I pulled off and above them. They kept on climbing, and whenever I tried to turn into one of them, he would dive and the rest would pile in behind me. At the very moment the battle began, my fuel warning light blinked on. That meant I still had enough fuel for 20 minutes of cruise power. Unfortunately, it was much less time if I had to stay at maximum power, which was now the case. Our radio intelligence controller told me that Medvetjev had requested more fighters into the battle, so during every turn I squinted toward the sun from where the additional force would surely come. Our altitude was then about 20,000 feet and I had not yet put on my oxygen mask. I grabbed it from my side, turned the valve open and without time to properly snap it on to my helmet, jammed it on to my face gripping the middle rib of the mask with my teeth.

There was a nasty consequence to that makeshift arrangement. I was breathing heavily, and my humid breath was escaping out of the side of the mask and frosting up the inside of the canopy, except for the bulletproof windshield directly in front. Then the first reinforcement arrived, another La-5 whose cannon flashes I could see from long range. I pulled steeply under his nose and immediately after that pulled my plane up into a tight climbing turn, simultaneously using my thumbnail to scrape a small area of frost off the panel on the side where the enemy ought to be. Just as I had expected, there was the nose of an enemy fighter visible through the peephole. It was firing and the burst passed so close underneath my plane that I was tempted to rise up in my seat. It was very hard to keep all five of my opponents in sight especially when some started climbing to attack me from above and behind while the others were forcing me to turn. I caught a brief glimpse of swirling snow at our base 26,000 feet below, indicating that our fighters were taking off to help me. It was a comforting sight! I only wished I could hold those wolves for the time it would take them to climb to our altitude. The radio intelligence controller told me that a sixth fighter had joined Medvetjev's group. We had been dogfighting for 15 minutes, and I was soaked with sweat. I dodged another attack by pushing under the enemy's nose, turned into another plane attacking from above, then got the enemy in front of me in turn and had an opportunity to shoot. I frantically scraped another peephole and was following the enemy tightly when my engine coughed and quit from fuel starvation.

I made a diving turn under another enemy fighter that was firing at me, continuing in a vertical dive. It was now my only salvation. I knew that the La-5 had the same diving speed limit as the Messerschmitt - 513 knots - so I let my Me-109 fall vertically for 20,000 feet, and the speed rose to 595 knots. The controls seemed to be fixed in cement, and my ears were buzzing like telephone lines. At 6,500 feet, I started a slow pullout and turned the trim wheel. The nose began to rise slowly, but the ground was rushing up at me. Anytime now, I expected the wings to break off. As speed began to decrease, my elevator response increased and I was able to apply more and more back stick. The airplane achieved level flight at a height of 500 feet and my speed was down to 485 knots. The danger was over. I converted my speed to altitude and circled the base preparatory to an engine-off landing, lowering my gear and flaps and making and otherwise uneventful recovery. Our base personnel told me that two enemy planes followed me down, but broke off their pursuit after descending about 5,000 feet.

MH: How did you react to the second armistice on September 4, 1944?
Juutilainen: Personally, I was so used to the fighter pilot's life that I really had bittersweet feelings when we stopped combat flying. The Continuation War ended very much like the Winter War. We were able to stop the Soviet offensive, and again our fighter force, thanks to the small losses and continuous deliveries of aircraft, was stronger than it had been at the beginning of the war. During July, we noticed that Soviet pilots began to avoid aerial combat, and at the end of that month, they fled when they saw us. During our reconnaissance missions, we also saw that the Soviets had started to remove troops from the Karelian Front. This had been the only Soviet offensive to fail during their advance westward. On the other hand as in the Winter War, Finland did not have the resources to continue the fight alone when Germany was collapsing. So we gave the Soviet Union some areas that were in our hands when the war ended. Again, the independence of Finland was the most important thing. We had saved it again and thus made one interesting point. Of all the countries in the European theater that participated in World War II, there were only two that were never occupied: Finland and Great Britain. We developed quite civilized relations with the Soviet Union after the war and benefited economically by importing oil and raw materials while exporting industrial equipment and products. But every time they tried some of their political tricks, our leaders firmly said no. And they retreated each time.

MH: Did you fight the Germans after the armistice?
Juutilainen: There was a plan for our squadron to participate in operations against the Germans in Lapland, but it was then canceled.

MH: What decorations did you receive from your government?
Juutilainen: I was one of only four people - two of whom were fighter pilots - to receive Finland's highest medal, the Cross of the Mannerheim Order, twice. (The other was Hans Henrik Wind, the second-ranking Finnish ace with 75 victories.) I got my first Mannerheim Cross on April 26, 1942, and became a "double knight" on June 28, 1944. In addition, I received the Medal of Freedom, the Cross of Freedom 4th Class with Oak Leaves, and the Cross of Freedom 3rd Class with Oak Leaves.

MH: In retrospect, which wartime role did you prefer when you were in the air - lone wolf, team player or leader?
Juutilainen: I guess I was each one of those, depending on the situation. I tried always to carry out my mission completely, so I often chased the enemy long distances and stayed in the arena as long as possible. Therefore, there were many occasions when I found myself alone, although it was not planned to be so. I lost almost 30 kills from my score because of that. In the Ilmavoimat, we had a rule that to confirm a victory, either the wreck of the downed plane had to be found, or some eyewitnesses had to see it fall. Many times I asked for cameras for our fighters, but we didn't get them. Most of the time, I was a team player, since that was the way we had been trained. Quite often I flew as top cover, and it was a respected position in our formations. I was also a leader in section and division formations, and I often was an instructor, too.

MH: Were there any fellow Finnish airmen whom you particularly admired?
Juutilainen: I considered all my colleagues top guys. If I had to pick just one, it would be Oiva Tuominen. He was a brilliant pilot and an exemplary combatant, with 44 victories. When he saw an opponent, which he usually did before anyone else in the flight, he had already formulated a strategy and proceeded to implement it

MH: What of your postwar aviation career?
Juutilainen: I stayed in the Ilmavoimat until May 17, 1947, when I retired. I then continued flying in general and commercial aviation. I also had my own de Havilland Tiger Moth, which I could fly on wheels, pontoons or skis. I have flown only occasionally since the mid-50's.

MH: Have you met any Axis colleagues or former Allied opponents since the war?
Juutilainen: After the war, I met a very interesting old French pilot, Robert LePetit, who had been a squadron commander in World War I. He told many interesting stories about the French ace of aces, René Fonck. I also met a Russian general. He told me that he had heard about me almost every day during the war and now he wanted to meet me. We discussed all kinds of things, and then I offered him a flight in the Messerschmitt. He just smiled - he was already so fat that we would have needed a shoehorn to get him into the tiny cockpit of the Messerschmitt. I also met some Allied airmen. One of them, an American, had been in Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses and flew 33 missions over Germany. It was interesting to hear about those operations. In Finland, we have a brotherhood of wartime pilots. We meet once a month and enjoy the friendship that is refined by hard times.

MH: Do you have any additional comments on any aspect of your career in aviation?
Juutilainen: I think that history has shown the value of air power. If a nation wants to be free and independent, it has to invest in the fighter force. In those investments, quality is much more important than quantity. And the quality of the personnel is more important than the quality of the materiel. Well-trained, first-class fighter pilots are a nation's strategic asset, which must be kept in good shape.


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Military History editor Jon Guttman would like to thank Lt. Gen. Heikki Nikunen (Finnish Air Force, ret.) for his help in translating and preparing this interview. Recommended reading: Finnish Fighter Aces, by Kalevi Keskinen, Kari Stenman and Klaus Niska; and Juutilainen's autobiography, Double Fighter Knight.

[chromehead]

Found that fasanating,makes me feel rather humble really,we have such a easy life compared to those hero's and what they did for a safer world..they put their life on the line everyday,nowdays people dont realise how brave those pilots were.we need to remember them,thanks for posting that bobbysocks.

[bobbysocks]

a little more on marseille. one of the things that dawned on me was a great many top LW aces out lived early F' ups and near misses with death...

Hans Joachim Marseille
The most amazing fighter pilot of World War 2

Hans Joachim Marseille, a young German fighter pilot, was the most amazing, unique, and lethal ace of World War 2. A non-conformist and brilliant innovator, he developed his own personal training program and combat tactics, and achieved amazing results, including 17 victories in one day, and an average lethality ratio of just 15 gun rounds per victory. Marseille was described by Adolf Galland, the most senior German ace, with these words : "He was the unrivaled virtuoso among the fighter pilots of World War 2. His achievements were previously considered impossible."

Marseille, who later became one of the ten most highly decorated German pilots of World War 2 and was nicknamed "The Star of Africa" by the German propaganda, ("Jochen" by his friends), had a very unpromising and problematic start. At age 20 he graduated the Luftwaffe's fighter pilot school just in time to participate in the Battle Of Britain in the summer of 1940. He initially served in fighter wing 52 under Johannes Steinhoff (176 victories). In his third combat sortie he shot down a Spitfire and by the end of the Battle Of Britain he had seven victories, but he was also shot down four times, and his behavior on the ground got him into trouble. A charming person, he had such busy night life that sometimes he was too tired to be allowed to fly the next morning. He also loved American Jazz music, which was very politically incorrect in the Nazi military. As a result, he was transferred to another unit as a punishment for "Insubordination". His new unit, fighter wing 27, was relocated in April 1941 to the hot desert of North Africa, where he quickly achieved two more victories but was also shot down again and still had disciplinary problems.

Luckily for him, his new Wing Commander, Eduard Neumann, recognized that there might be a hidden potential in the unusual young pilot and helped him get on the right track. With his problems on the ground finally over, Marseille began to deeply analyze his combat activity, and started to improve his abilities as a fighter pilot with an intense self-training program, both physical and professional, that he developed for himself.

Marseille's self-training program
Vision - Marseille decided to adapt his eyes to the powerful desert sun and the dry desert atmosphere and to adapt his body to the desert's conditions. He stopped wearing sun glasses, deliberately exposed his eyes to the desert sun, and shifted from alcohol to milk. He also noticed that in the intensely lit dry desert atmosphere, aircraft can be detected from greater distances than over Europe and deduced that hiding and surprise are less practical over the desert than in the cloudy sky over Europe.
G-Force - Marseille worked endlessly to strengthen his abdominal and leg muscles in order to enhance his ability to sustain higher G-Force and for longer durations during dogfights better than the average fighter pilot. G-Force is the enormous centrifugal force experienced when a fighter aircraft makes sharp turns during dogfight. The modern G-suit that helps pilots sustain it was not yet invented in World War 2.
Aerobatics - Marseille used every opportunity to perform breathtaking aerobatics. In addition to free entertainment to his friends on the ground, this also gave him an outstanding control and confidence in extremely maneuvering his Messerschmitt 109 aircraft.
Marksmanship - Marseille spent his unused ammunition practicing firing at ground objects and trained a lot not just in plain strafing but also in high deflection shooting while in a sharp turn, which is much harder.
Intelligence - he began to read every possible intelligence information he could find in order to maximize his knowledge and understanding of the enemy.
Tactics - That's where Marseille marked himself as a great innovator of air warfare, and he kept improving. He claimed that in the perfect visual conditions over the desert, large formations are in a visual disadvantage against highly maneuvering single aircraft. He preferred to fight alone, with a single wingman providing warnings from a safe distance. He claimed that when fighting alone in a short range dogfight, he could quickly fire at anything he saw, while the attacked formation's pilots were confused, hesitated, and switched to a defensive position that further increased the lone attacker's chances. He also claimed that fighting alone eliminates the high risk of firing at or colliding with a wingman in such extreme maneuvering. Marseille said that in such conditions, there's a lower chance and too little time for the usual chase attack method, and preferred to use high angle deflection firing from short range while making a sharp turn. In doing so, he never used his gun sight and instead fired a very short burst at the passing target in the split second when its leading edge, its propeller, disappeared from his eyes behind his aircraft's nose. He calculated that when firing a short burst at this position, his gun rounds will hit the target's engine and cockpit, and he trained in this unorthodox aiming method on his friends (without firing) many times and perfected his ability to use it. He deduced that over the desert, a fighter pilot can become "invisible" only by extreme maneuvers at close range, and that the intensity of the maneuvering was more important than the speed of flying.
The Hans Joachim Marseille that emerged from this self-training program was a fighter pilot with superior abilities. He saw enemy aircraft before others did and from greater distances, he could sustain higher G-Force and for longer durations, he made unbelievably sharp turns and generally achieved better performance with the Me-109 than others. He greatly outmaneuvered his enemies, nullifying the significant numerical advantage they had, often becoming "invisible" to the enemy pilots by maneuvering so fast, and using his high-deflection short range firing method he achieved an amazing record of lethality, shooting down enemy aircraft with just 15 gun rounds on average.
The Star Of Africa
He first demonstrated his new abilities on Sept. 24, 1941. During a fighter sweep, he suddenly broke formation and hurried to a direction where no one saw anything. When the formation caught up with him, he already shot down a bomber. Later the same day, his formation of six Me-109s met a formation of 16 Hurricanes. Marseille and his wingman were ordered to provide cover to the other four Me-109s which attacked the Hurricanes, but after three Hurricanes were shot down, Marseille told his wingman to cover him and attacked a formation of four Hurricanes. He dived at them, leveled at their altitude, and shot down two Hurricanes in a single burst while in a sharp turn. He then dived below the Hurricanes to gather some speed again, and then climbed back to them and shot down a third Hurricane. At that stage, the two formations disengaged each other, but Marseille climbed alone to a higher altitude and later dived at the retreating Hurricanes and shot down a 4th Hurricane, his 5th victory that day, and only then flew alone back to base. "I believe now I got it" he said to a friend.
This was the beginning of his amazing series of dogfight victories, which lasted a year until his death in an accident. His most "classic" combat, by some analysts, was on June 6, 1942 at noon. While in a bomber escort mission, he saw a formation of 16 P-40 Tomahawk fighter and ground attack aircraft, but initially remained with his formation, escorting the German bombers. After ten minutes, he left his formation with the escorted bombers and flew alone to attack the 16 Tomahawks, but his faithful wingman followed him. Marseille climbed above a tight formation of four, then dived at them. From a range of just 200ft he selected his first victim and turned at him. From a very short range of just 150ft he fired and shot it down. He then pulled up, turned, and dived at his 2nd victim, shooting it down from a range of 150ft. The others began to dive, but Marseille dived at them, turned at his 3rd victim and shot it down at altitude of about 3500ft (1km). He passed thru the smoke from his 3rd victim and leveled at low altitude, and then climbed again. He then dived again, at his 4th victim. He fired from just 100ft, but his guns didn't fire, so he fired his machine guns from very short range and passed thru the debris from his 4th victim. At the moment he hit his 4th victim, his 3rd victim hit the ground after falling 3500ft, approximately 15 seconds between victories, an indication of Marseille's speed. The remaining Tomahawks were now all at very low altitude. He leveled at them and quickly closed distance. He found himself beside one of the Tomahawks, he turned at him and fired, hitting his 5th victim in the engine and the cockpit. He climbed again, watched the remaining Tomahawks, selected a target, dived, levelled, and fired, and passed just above his 6th victim. He then climbed to his wingman which observed the battle from 7500ft above, and then, short of fuel and ammunition, flew back to base.

In 11 minutes of combat, fighting practically alone against a large enemy formation, he shot down six victims, five of them in the first six minutes. He was the only attacker in the battle, and not a single round was fired at him. The surviving Tomahawk pilots said in their debriefing that they were attacked "by a numerically superior German formation which made one formation attack at them, shot down six of their friends, and disengaged". In a post-war analysis of this dogfight these pilots testified the same.

The fatal accident
The 22 years old Hans Joachim Marseille became a star, and he kept improving with experience. On Sept. 1, 1942, a month before his death, he shot down 17 enemies in one day, including 8 victories in 10 minutes, in his 2nd sortie that day. During this month he shot down 54 enemy aircraft. Already the youngest Captain in the German Air Force, he was promoted to Major. He taught his methods to his friends, but none of them was able to match his level of achievements in using these methods.
On Sept. 26, he shot down his last victims, making a total of 158 confirmed air victories. He received a new Me-109 aircraft but refused to replace his faithful aircraft. His status was such that only an order by Fieldmarshal Kesselring, the supreme commander of the German forces in the southern front, convinced him three days later to use the new aircraft.

The next morning, Sept. 30, 1942, he flew his 382nd combat mission, a fighter sweep over British territory. They met no enemies, and turned back towards the German lines. Marseille then had a technical problem. His new aircraft's engine cooling system failed, the engine caught fire, and his cockpit was full of smoke. Encouraged by his fellows, Marseille flew his burning new Me-109 three more minutes until he was again over German held territory. He then turned his aircraft upside down, jettisoned the canopy, and then released himself and fell outside of the burning fighter. Bailing out is not always safe, and Marseille was hit in the chest by the rudder of his Me-109 and lost consciousness, so he did not open his parachute, and fell down to the ground and died.

Already highly decorated, he was posthumously awarded the highest German medal, the Knights Cross with Oak leaves, Swords, and Diamonds. Only 9 other German aces were awarded this medal. On his grave, his comrades wrote his name and rank, and added just one word: undefeated.

[bobbysocks]

Last moments of hero World War II pilot's life revealed in letter from German witness to his fiancée By David Wilkes

They were arch enemies, fighting each other for their very survival. But five years after bomber pilot William Ross was shot down and killed in the Second World War, it was a German soldier who showed compassion to the fiancee left behind.
Gernot Knop had witnessed the 28-year-old RAF sergeant’s death in anti-aircraft fire as he attacked a Nazi fuel ship.
And writing in English to Dorothy Bird, he told her of Sergeant Ross’s heroic last mission and returned to her the few possessions he had with him when he died at a seaport in eastern Libya in 1941.

Killed in action: William Ross with fiancee Dorothy Bird before the war
Showing the respect troops on opposing sides had for each other, the letter told how he was buried by his enemies with ‘military honours’ and was saluted for his bravery by Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, leader of the German forces in the North Africa campaign.
The letter began: ‘This war being finished, I feel myself obliged to send you these things, which I found by the Sgt W A Ross...’
Herr Knop’s letter was sent from Hamburg on June 3, 1946. And although Miss Bird had already been officially informed of Sergeant Ross’s death, relatives said it was a comfort to her to know all she could about her ‘darling Bill’s’ death.
Herr Knop, an engineer, said of the pilot’s final seconds: ‘He flew over the rock and rushed towards the ship, but the bombs plunged into the water, and then he came in about 10m’s hight(sic) over us trying to escape.
‘I saw how one of his motors got hit and stopped. The pilot pointed at our anti-aircraft cannon to show it to his shooter.
‘In that moment the fate of the Bristol Blenheim was made sure.

Series of projectiles smashed into the bomber, the pilot was killed and the bomber was smashed against a house where several of our soldiers were killed too.’
He enclosed a photograph marked with an ‘X’ showing where the plane crashed at Porto Bardia. We laid Sergeant Ross and his comrades into coffins and buried them all military honours.’
Sergeant Ross, an accountant, played rugby for Scotland beforethe war. The possessions sent to Miss Bird included a photograph of him in the team that faced England in 1937, banknotes and stamps.
All will be sold with the letter at auction in Devon on Saturday, for an estimate of £100.
Miss Bird lived in Renfrewshire, Scotland, during the war, but the letter was addressed to her on the Isle of Bute.
It is believed she and Sergeant Ross had holidayed there and that was the address he had with him.
She went on to marry Alan Cooper, a solicitor who had been an anti-aircraft gunner. They had two children. She died in 2001 at 86.
Her daughter, Sheena Cooper, an artist from Exeter,said: ‘Mum and Bill had grown up together. She was devastated to have lost him. She treasured the letters the German sent her.’