In their own words...

[_JIM_]

Love these postings and reading these first hand accounts from the pilots. Gives you some idea of what it must have been like.

[bobbysocks]

Three Squadron flew the last Kittyhawk operation of 1942 on 30 December, and it is reported in "Fighters Over The Desert" (by Shores and Ring) as follows:

"At 1350 hours seven aircraft of this unit patrolled over Bir el Zidan, refuelling at Alem el Gzina so that they were able to remain in the area until 1730 hours. During the afternoon, fifteen Bf 109's of 11 JG77 attacked, but the Australians were able to claim victories without losses, F/Lt Watt, F/Lt Bordman and Sgt Righetti each shooting down one fighter. Watts claiming a second probably destroyed. Oblt. Burchard Boker was killed, and Uffz. Gunter Mielenz became a POW."

My diary notes help reconstruct the scene that day:

We had flown to Gzina, a landing ground that had been found by Danny Boardman, and which we knew as "Danny's Acre", refuelled, and took off at about 3.15pm to patrol over our forward troops, who were south west of Buerat. Danny was leading, and the gaggle included Randall Watt, his No.2 Alan Righetti, and David Ritchie with me as his No.2. David had to return early.

Nearing the area, we saw trucks burning, where 109's had apparently been strafing. We were at 10,000ft when Danny reported 12 aircraft at 2 o'clock on the same level and ordered us to climb. Six 109's came out of the sun, two were behind us, and seven more were above. They attacked from all directions and split us up completely.

I was attacked by two of them, and in taking evasive action, spun from 8,000 to 1,500 ft; thought I’d "had it", not from the spin which I controlled OK, but from the 109's. Fortunately for some reason, they didn't follow me down.

I climbed back and was attacked by two more 109's who did very poor "head ons", which allowed me to get a quick shot at one, with no result. Pulled away and climbed up to 5,000ft where I saw a 109 sitting about 1,000ft above me. We watched each other for a while, and he was so intent on trying to get into position to lodge an attack, that he didn't see Watty who came in behind him. The next moment I saw the 109 simply disintegrate and catch fire, (on our return to base I was able to confirm this for him). Watty got so excited that he called to me to "come on up Russ and we'll get some more". I climbed as quickly as I could, but didn't get anywhere near him, because he had seen 4 more 109's west of him, engaged them and got a probable.

I was on my own now, saw another aircraft east of me, thought it may have been a 109, but it turned out to be Danny Boardman, and we came back to base together.

In his excellent book "Desert Warriors", Russell Brown includes reports from Danny, Watt and Alan Righetti. Each of those three destroyed a 109.

And so ended 1942.

January of 1943 was to be a time of conflicting emotions for us. On the morning of the 14th, we were excited because mail had come in, but the day was to end on a very distressing note: we were to have five aircraft shot down.

Our first job was to be top cover to 260 squadron, who was to strafe, but they couldn't find the target, so we returned to base. Late in the morning, 12 Kittys led by Bob Gibbes were to be close escort to Bostons, who were to bomb Bir Dufan airfield. 450 squadron was to be medium cover, 250 as top, and 260 had a roving commission; 48 Kittyhawks was thought to be impregnable.

However, a fair force of 109's from the ace Staffel 1/JG 77, led by Major Muncheberg (who just 8 days later was to shoot down Alan Righetti, who became a POW, and also do a fair bit of damage to my own aircraft). There were also some Macchi 202's in the enemy force. The 109's attacked and the result for 3 Squadron was five aircraft lost. Les Weatherburn became a POW, Norm Caldwell was found in a hospital as the Allies advanced, Bob Gibbes aircraft was hit, he belly landed and later returned to base. Sadly Bill Diehm and Allan Tonkin (on his first operation) were killed. 450 also lost two pilots.

In the afternoon conditions were very poor with sandstorms around, and only seven of us got off. Garth Clabburn was leading but was forced to return with engine problems, and Rex Bayly took over. We were to do a dive bombing job, and also act as top cover to 450 Squadron. Six 109's attacked us and I was lucky to be able to avoid one who was right on my tail. I saw a 109 closing in on Nev Austin's aircraft, and was making my way over to try and help, but before I could get there Nev was shot down. Rex Bayly had also seen Nev in trouble, was closer than me and able to get behind the 109 and shoot him down. When we left the area there were two fires on the ground. Ted Hankey was missing for a while, but it turned out he had put down at another landing ground. Rex Bayly’s account of this encounter is also reported in Russell Brown's book. While Gibby was missing, Randall Watt took over. On the 27th, Randall was the fourth pilot from the operations of the14th, to be killed. He was also one of four sons, all of whom who were lost to a mother, during the war.

Major Muncheberg was probably the top German pilot of this time, and at the time of his death was credited with 135 victories. He had done most of his fighting in the European theatre of war, and his score there was 124, plus 11 in North Africa. His death occurred in a bizarre manner, and is recorded in "Fighters Over Tunisia":

"Around 0930 on the 23rd March 1943, Major Muncheberg of Stab/JG 77 took off from La Fauconnerie with his wingman, Lt. Strasen, and headed for the Mareth area to see "if there was anything to shoot down". Strasen saw below some Spitfires of the 52nd Fighter Group near Sened, and both dived to attack, Muncheberg attacking Captain Theodore Sweetland, whose aircraft began to pour smoke as it was hit in the engine. Muncheberg's speed was so great that he got too near to his 135th victim, and what happened next is not very clear. Strasen reported that Sweetland's aircraft exploded and that debris fell on Muncheberg's wings, one of which snapped off. Captain Hugh L. Williamson reported however, that Sweetland deliberately rammed the Messerschmidt with his burning Spitfire. Whatever the truth was, both aircraft fell to the ground in flames; at this moment Strasen shot down Williamson, who baled out, all three aircraft crashing near kilometre stone No.82 on the Gabes-Gafsa road, the wreckage of the Messerschmidt flanked by that of the two Spitfires. So died one of the Luftwaffe's most outstanding fighter pilots and leader."

MOMENTS TO REMEMBER ... by BRUCE BURCHFIELD.



Momentous, indeed incredible, the might of Rommel's Army, which had almost cracked the gate to Egypt, the Suez and the Far East, was now, in August 1943, hell bent to get to Messina in the NE tip of Sicily and evacuate across the Straits of Messina to Regio on the Italian mainland.

We for our part, had to inflict as much damage as we could in daylight hours. In the closing days of August the narrow Straits of Messina and the air space above was an incredible sight. It was estimated that there was more AA fire concentrated in this tiny area than in the Ruhr valley.

88mm, 40mm and 20mm guns were spewing out metal, RN cruisers at a respectable distance were softening up the Regio area; Spitfires, Kittyhawks, Boston bombers and German FW190 s and JU88 s were in the melee.

We flew into this madness, dive bombing port installations and quite frankly we were very relieved to break away and head for home. Regrettably His Majesty's Kittyhawk CV-L was modestly holed.

Italy capitulated on 3/9/43, her navy went to Malta, her Axis partner Germany dug in and fought a tenacious retreat throughout Italy over many months.

On a more personal experience, my diary records 10th January 1944: our six aircraft were strafing German motor transport - I was 3rd down this valley, had some success and weaving along the valley. I passed over two armoured cars off the road and on a slope. Climbing away, bingo ... holes in starboard wing, two more through engine and plenty of wind behind my head - a shell had taken my radio right out - about 18" to the rear.

The motor was spluttering, engine gauges crazy, black smoke in abundance and I was too low to bail our. Undid my harness - mouth very dry and the landscape most inhospitable to crash land. Rocked the aircraft, jiggled the throttle and mixture controls - motor picked up in spasmodic bursts and air speed recorded a very slow 120 mph. Weaved along a valley to the Adriatic coast near city of Pescara and noticed that my landing flaps had dropped to about 30 degrees - no hydraulics.

The AA batteries on the coast gave me a warm welcome - a ponderous smoking aircraft but perhaps my laboured progress upset them for the "black stuff" was bursting well ahead. More splutters so down to water level to ditch - motor picked up - by this time I was on friendly waters and could see our coastal landing strip ahead. Coaxed the air craft to about 800ft, still barely airborne - a horrible smell of burning.

The duty pilot in the strip could see me - fired a green flare - a great sight. Stuffed the nose down and came into friendly territory, landed with a thump - too fast for landing flaps would not lower fully and at about 40mph the fire in the engine manifested itself.

I had switched off everything. pointed the plane to a sand dune on the beach and went out of the cockpit onto the wing and bingo, on to "terra firma" a great feeling. A momentous happening - maybe; but there are many other air crew who would have been less fortunate and I salute them.

Incidentally the aircraft was a Warhawk powered by a Packard manufactured "Rolls Royce" Merlin. There was a fist size hole in the super charger housing which exuded fuel mixture into the exhaust stack. Whilst the aircraft was moving at some speed the fire could not take control because of slip stream. One engine mounting and one ignition bank had been shot away as well ... but I will always have a soft spot for Packard Merlins.

Did a fighter pilot's Instructors' course at Point Cook and was posted to Mildura as an Instructor. It was here that I heard of the end of the war and in the celebrations that followed many of us paused to recall the mates that did not make it and also pay tribute to the efficiency of our ground staff both at home and abroad.

J.C.Waters tells the story of "BLACKIE and BLONDIE" in his book:

"VALIANT YOUTH"



This is a story of the remarkable parallels in the fighting life of "Blackie" - Wing Commander Alan Charles Rawlinson, D.F.C. and Bar, and of "Blondie" - Squadron Leader John Rowley Perrin, D.F.C.

They joined the R.A.A.F on the same day; they were cadet sergeants together; they were posted to the same squadron and were in the same flight; they left the Middle East, each with a bag of eight enemy planes destroyed; each shot down three on two occasions; they were flight commanders together; they were shot down within a week of each other in the same spot in the desert, and rescued by the same General. Back home they were together leading companion squadrons on the Advanced Air-line in New Guinea.

Rawlinson was 19 and Perrin 21 when they joined the R.A.A.F. on July 15 1938. That was Perrin's birthday. Both were clerks in Melbourne offices. They met that day for the first time. Both were State High School boys. Rawlinson, East Melbourne Harrier Club champion in 1935-36, dark, with high cheek-bones and the quick, flashing eyes of a Bedouin; Perrin, snowy-headed, light blue eyes in a smiling, hot-blooded, Huckleberry Finn face. They became Good Companions. It was not long before they were dubbed the Flying Twins, one called Blackie, the other Blondie.

They were together when they first drew enemy blood. It was over Bardia when the Italian armies were being routed by Wavell in the first big push of '41. They were leading sections when eight of their machines came up against 10 enemy bombers and 45 enemy fighters. Eight against 55. Giving away heavy odds - as they had to in those days - held no terrors for the Australians. Blondie, with "Woof" Arthur, belted a fighter into the sea, and Blackie, fighting from 17,000 feet down to 10,000, got a probable.

Not long after that, Blackie, through no fault of his own, broke away from the parallel line. Blondie was away collecting Hurricanes. Blackie, in a Gladiator, was forced out of a fight with Italians. His engine cut out and he force-landed in the desert. He got the engine going again and staggered off with dozens of shrapnel holes in wings and fuselage. A mile from the drome the engine gave up. He landed and walked in.

One day in February '41, Blondie went off leading three of the new Hurricanes. They were south of Benghazi. Wavell's army had travelled over 400 miles in 56 days. Blondie spotted nine German Stukas dive-bombing and strafing Australian troops. He could not see any fighter escort.

"Too good to miss," he said.

He dived to the attack, shot down a Stuka. Suddenly, out of the blue, swooped 15 Messerschmitt twin-engine fighters. It was the first time they had appeared in the desert. A few seconds, and Blondie was alone - one against 15.

Probably there was a smile on his stubborn lips. In the colourful jargon of the air, he "got stuck into them." He shot down one. Then a cannon shell burst in his petrol tank. Slightly wounded, soaked in petrol, and with the Hurricane afire, he turned furiously as a wasp on his assailant, pressed the button, and shot him down in flames. He tried to get still another German before he crash-landed. The Germans followed him down to strafe him. He dodged over the sand like a hare at a Plumpton and was picked up by Major-General Stan Savige of the 6th Australian Division.

In that fight Blondie won his D.F.C.

Seven days later, Blackie was doing a reconnaissance over the same area. He crash-landed in a mine-field and was picked up by the same general and staff. In April he caught up with Blondie's score. Eight Hurricanes took on 18 Stukas and Messerschmitts. They knocked out nine of them. Blackie bagged three Stukas one after the other. Two days later Blondie forged ahead again. A flight of eight mixed it with 15 of the enemy. They shot down eight. Blondie bagged three Stukas, too. One after the other, just like that.

After that they moved to Syria for the war against the Vichy French. They changed from Hurricanes to Tomahawks. Blackie became O.C. C Flight and Blondie O.C. B Flight. Peter Jeffrey, D.S.O., D.F.C., who had destroyed four German planes in single-handed combat, one in the air, three on the ground, was squadron C.O. He was their original instructor at Point Cook.

Over in Syria Blondie quickly added a Vichy French to his tally. It was in a fight over the oil pipe-line at Palmyra. Two days later Blackie's flight met up with six Vichy French light bombers over the same zone. The six were shot down in flames and Blackie got his second three in a row. For his leadership and courage in that operation, on top of his desert record, he won his D.F.C.

The partnership was broken then. The days of fighting against heavy odds and strafing in companionship ended. Blackie, with an ammunition train and several staff cars to his credit, Blondie wearing the scalps of despatch riders at his belt. Each had his own speciality when not in combat or beating up aerodromes, trains, and enemy dumps.

Blondie came home. Blackie, appointed C.O. of the famous No. 3 Squadron, went back to the desert. There, very soon, 22 Tomahawks were jumped by 25 Messerschmitt 109s, the new crack German fighter. The fight lasted for 65 minutes, one of the longest desert air battles on record. It was fairly even going, with the scale just slightly in our favour. Six Messerschmitts were destroyed. We lost five. Blackie added to his score one in flames, one probable, one damaged.

His last desert scrap was on November 30, a year after the first. Twenty-two Tomahawks took on a German-Italian circus of 60 to 70. The battle swirled from 10,000 feet down to ground level. When it ended 12 more enemy planes had been destroyed and the squadron's total pushed to 106. When Blackie left to join Blondie in Australia's fight against the Japanese, the aggregate was 135. Fifty had been shot down in ten weeks.

That is how Blackie won his Bar.

[bobbysocks]

On the 14th January 1945 a messerschmitt pilot made a score,and 1st Lt Dunlop remembers it well.
"I was leading CEMENT Blue flight at 21,000 feet in the trail of White and Red flights, when a large gaggle of enemy aircraft were spotted at twelve o'clock heading for the bombers.I jettisoned my drop tanks and climbed at full throttle,reaching 30,000 ft just as the enemy made contact with the 363rd Sqn(CEMENT). Me 109's were in the sun above so I dived into the main gaggle below, I passed through two groups of 109's and 190's firing and being fired at. Then I tacked onto a gaggle of about thirty 109's at somewhere around 20,000 ft or lower. I had lost Blue three and four at the first gaggle of enemy aircraft but believed Blue two was still with me.
"I began firing at the apparent tail end charlie which was an Me 109, and he put his aircraft into a steep dive, kicking rudder violently. I had to cut my throttle to avoid over-running and I fired each time he passed through my sites. I hit him repeatedly from wing tip to wing tip, his canopy flew off to the right and the pilot flew out, and just missed my wing as I flew between him and his smoking Me 109. A fraction of a second later it felt like my guns were firing without me pressing the trigger, and then my controls went out, completely dead. I watched one of my left hand .50 caliber machine guns blow out through the wing skin and my fuselage fuel tank catch fire. The plane was in a drifting dive and going straight down, the pressure held me in the right of the cockpit and was powerful enough to stop me raising my hand to release the canopy. THEN EVERYTHING BLEW
Wings,canopy,tail section and fuselage separated and seemed to blow in different directions. The canopy must have left first as I felt the intence heat from the flames that were sucked into the cockpit, I was cooked on the forehead and then felt cool air as I was blown from what was left. I landed still in the bucket seat with the armour plate still attached and my shoulder straps still neatly in place." The engine and one wing lay together about fifty feet away and other pieces of my plane were still floating down all around. Another hundred yards away was the crashed Me 109, ammo still popping".
1st Lt Dunlop did bail out in a way, when his P-51 blew to pieces, throwing him clear, Dunlop thinks that he was at about 5,000 ft, although badly disorientated he finally was able to find and pull the rip cord after which he immediately hit the ground. The most amazing aspect of his escape was that, although still strapped in the seat, the back pack chute was able to deploy in the small space available and deposit him on the ground with no major injuries. Lt Dunlop got out of the wreckage of his aircraft and walked a short distance before he was captured, and was later sent to Stalag Luft XIII at Nuremburg.

Lt. Joe Black, 362nd Sqn.
On one of my early missions I was flying as Capt. Charles (Chuck) Weaver's
wing man. We were heading home to Leiston when we ran into four Me 109's, so our flight of four P51's dived down to intercept the enemy.Capt Weaver picked out one of the 109's with a yellow nose, and immediately the enemy aircraft headed straight down with 'Chuck' right behind it. At about 1500-2000ft he reached a cloud layer and we went in after him, Chuck and I went through the clouds and broke out below, we were alone! Suddenly the Me 109 dropped down behind Chuck and opened fire with a short burst, as I turned to get a shot at him he ducked back into the clouds. Over the radio Chuck told me to drop back further to see if we could mouse trap him using himself as bait. We flew above and below the cloud layer,trying our best to nail him, he would pop out of the cloud cover take a quick shot and be gone again, on one pass he made on Chuck I was able to get of a 2or3 second burst , but I doubt that I hit him. All told, the Me 109 got about six tries at us and we got only one quick shot at him. After his last attempt at adding a P51 to the tail markings on his plane he dissapeared, we hung around for a short while but he didn't return.
When we had got back to Leiston, Chuck said that he thought that the Me 109 must have run low on fuel and had to break off to get back to his base, We were rather clad that he did!. It was the first time I had fired my guns at an enemy aircraft, and it was to bad that I didn't see any hits. We disscussed the avent in the mess and we think the Me 109's were from JG 26, better known as the Abbeville boys.

The day the Germans blasted the 362nd over the Hague.

On many of the mission I flew on we would enter the continent over the Hague and always at about 18000 feet. This had become more or less routine, and we never expected the Germans to shoot at us. In fact I recall being told in Clobber College just that.

One morning though the Germans had apparently been observing our pattern, our air speed, etc and had polished the barrels of their 88 mm anti aircraft guns one last time before we flew over. There were probably 24 planes in the formation, 4 ship flights in trail and all tucked in nice and close. Guess we wanted to show the Germans what pretty formation we could fly.

Suddenly about a dozen rounds of 88’s exploded right at our altitude and right in the formation. I happened to be tail end Charlie and as I pealed off to the right sharply I looked back and you have never seen a bomb burst of planes the like of what I observed.

The old saying goes, “If you can see the flash and hear the noise, you’re dead.” Well that’s not true. I was at the rear of the formation but both saw the flash and heard the noise and I am sure the rest of the pilots saw and heard the same but we all formed back up and continued the mission. I guess the only casualties were the crew chiefs that had to patch up all the holes in the aircraft.

The moral of this story is to never get too cocky and let your guard down.

Joe B & Joe S got snookered.

Joe Shea was flying on the wing of Joe Broadhead one day and apparently there had been some action because we were down to a flight of 2 heading home when we came across a German airfield with 7 ME-109’s lined up along one side of the field and 6 on the opposite side. Col Broadhead elected to take the 7 and let me have the 6. As we approached from the east, suddenly the sides of the buildings along both sides of the field fell away revealing anti aircraft guns. Col Broadhead called break and I didn’t have to be told twice we both broke sharply to the right and down to tall grass levels and got out of there full speed.

Don’t know to this day if the planes were real or dummies but somehow feel like we were duped.

The urge to KILL.

During the spring of 1945 it was quite common to perform your escort duties and after returning the bombers to friendly territory, to turn tail and go back into Germany and search out targets of opportunity. On one such occasion, probably south of Hanover, we encountered an unusual cloud pattern. The clouds were in rows much the same as hay farmers roll up the hay into parallel rows across a field. We were flying up one clear space and finding nothing diving down under the cloud row to the next clear spot. On one such maneuver we flew, inadvertently for sure, right over a German airfield and all hell broke loose. I recall looking back and seeing a solid red stream of tracers directly behind my tail. Needless to say, I bent the throttle over the quadrant in an effort to get more speed and somehow managed to stay ahead of the stream of bullets.

End of story? No not quite. I have never been able to erase the memory of the almost overpowering urge to kill the gunners who were firing at me. I wanted to split “S” and blast the gun emplacement. To have done so at that altitude would have been suicidal. It’s the only time during my tour that I was truly insanely angry with the Germans. Since then I have rationalized and understand that they had every right to be shooting at me, after all I was invading their homeland. But at that moment all I could think of was “How dare you.” Guess you might say I took it personally.

2 for me and 2 for you.

Do not recall the name of the pilot I was flying with but apparently we had been in a clash with German planes because we were down to a 2 ship formation. We came across 4 ME-109’s flying along at our altitude and they had not seen us. My leader called out and said, You take the 2 on the right and I will take the two on the left. And be sure to shoot the one at the rear first so you don’t give yourself away. We were closing in nicely from about the 7 o’clock position. We were almost to the magic 250 yard place to open fire when 4 blue nosed P-51s came screaming over the top of us and in an instant the 4 ME-109’s were destroyed. Two burst into massive flames, one the wing was sawed off at the wing root and the other was sawed in half right behind the pilot. All 4 crashed in a field the size of a football field. None of the pilots escaped.

The thoughtless train engineer.

On one occasion where we had gone back into Germany to search out targets of opportunity we ran across a trainload of gasoline. The train was in a small German town and the engineer disconnected the engine from the rest of the train and high-tailed it to the south. Our leader dispatched a couple of 51’s to take out the engine and the rest of us stayed to work over the tank cars.

There was a huge lumber yard right next to the train tracks and our leader instructed us to drop our external fuel tanks on the lumber yard on the first pass and to fire into the lumber yard on the second pass. We then started working over the 20 or so cars of gasoline. On my first pass to fire on the train the tank car I was shooting at exploded and I had to fly through the huge fireball. My gun camera captured a beautiful shot of the top of the conning tower on the tank car spiraling up in front of my plane. Fortunately I missed all the pieces and burst out into the clear in a second or two. On my second pass I was relegated to the 2 cabooses which I managed to splinter quite well with the 6-50 cal guns..

The squadron destroyed all the cars of gasoline and made a proverbial mess of the town in the process.

The amazing part of this experience is that about one block beyond the railroad tracks was a road running parallel to the tracks. All the time we were beating up the place a little old German lady was walking along that road with a satchel over her arm, presumably on the way home from the market. When we left we could still see her walking along the road.

The ME-262 that got away.

It was close to the end of the war and one day while on the return home from a mission, someone shouted break and one of our pilots made a fast break, his guns accidentally fired, and one of our 51’s went down. That evening a TWX came down advising us to turn our guns off when we left the target area because, after all, the Germans never attack us on the way home anymore.

The next day or so we went to the Brunswick area and after we left the target area I turned my guns off as directed.

Apparently there was a ME-262 pilot that did not get the message that the Germans never attack us on the way home.

We were in a 4 ship formation heading home. I was on the flight leaders left wing and the 2 ship element was off a hundred yards to the right.

I had just checked my tail and swept my eyes around past the leader to check the elements tails. Saw nothing so started the return sweep. As my sight went past the leader I saw a small cloud like affair forming out ahead of us. I knew instantly that what I saw was a string of 20 mm shells exploding. My eyes darted to my tail and sure enough, there was a ME-262 firing at me. In a split second I observed that he was closing very fast and could not continue to fire much longer. I also rationalized that he’s missing me now and the present crop of German pilots are extremely poorly trained. I then made the command decision to not make any movement and take the chance of flying into his stream of bullets. I was correct because he stopped firing and started fish tailing in an effort to slow down to stay behind me. He was unsuccessful and slid up past me ever so slowly.

At this point I should have backed off and let the leader have him but my mind never thought of that. All I could think about was, You had your turn, now its mine.” I slid in on his tail but since I was probably less than 2 feet behind him I realized I could not fire because I would be flying through the pieces. I waited till he was out there a couple hundred yards and pressed the trigger. NOTHING HAPPENED. Oh my God, my guns are turned off. I dove for the gun switch and in the process banged my head on the gun sight and knocked myself out. I came to with the sound of spent casings from my leaders guns rattling off my plane. He knocked some pieces off but the 262 got away.

I did get some gun camera image since the camera works even when the guns are turned off.

Ever since the war ended I have wanted in the worst way to find out the name of the German pilot so I could make his acquaintance. I think it would be fun to hash over that day over north Germany.

[bobbysocks]

Hartmann gave this final interview before his death in 1993.

Q: Erich, when and where were you born?
A: I was born on 19 April 1922 in Weissach. This is near Wuerttemberg.

Q: What was your family like?
A: My father was a respected physician who had been a doctor in the Army in the
First War, and my mother was a licensed pilot. My brother later became a
doctor also.

Q: Tell about your youth in China.
A: My father’s cousin was a diplomat there, and he convinced father to move usto China since Germany was not exactly the best place to be economically. We lived in Changsha province, and I was young and Alfred was even younger, but I barely remember any of it. Father had gone ahead and we followed. Finally things became bad for foreigners and father sent us home. We relocated in Stuttgart and father came back later. This was where I lived until the war.

Q: What made you want to become a pilot?
A: Probably the same reason as most boys; the glory of the aces in the Great War, as well as the fact that my mother was a licensed pilot. Mother used to take us up and teach us things. That was perhaps the greatest factor. I knew I wanted to fly. I became a licensed glider pilot at fourteen, and flew as often as I could I became an instructor at age fifteen in the Hitler Youth. Alfred became a Stuka gunner and was captured in Tunisia. That was probably lucky for him and saved his life. My father was not pleased that I wanted to be a pilot, he wanted us to follow him in medicine, and this was also a dream that I had, but it would not be.

Q: When did you join the Luftwaffe?
A: I started military flight training in October 1940 in East Prussia. This lasted
until January 1942 when I went to Zerbst-Anhalt. I graduated as a leutnant in
March 1942. Later I went to advanced aerial gunnery school, where I got into
a little trouble. I was showing off, buzzing the airfield and was sentenced to house arrest. Ironically my roommate flew the same aircraft I had been in and it developed a technical problem, and he was killed in the crash. That was ironic. I arrived in Russia and reported to JG-52 in just before the winter, after a slight mishap.
Q: Was that when you crashed a Stuka?
A: Well, I would not say crashed, because I never got off the ground. We were supposed to fly them to Mariopol, but when I started the Stuka I realized that it had no brakes, and it reacted differently from a Messerschmitt 109. I crashed into he operations shack, and another man flipped his Ju-87 up over on it’s nose. They decided to send us in a Ju-52, since it was safer for us and the aircraft.

Q: Was this when you first met Dieter Hrabak?
A: Yes, who has been a good friend over the years, as you know. Dieter was the first person to tell me to talk to you, since he and the others trust you. I like you also. Dieter was a very understanding yet disciplined commander, and his experience showed. He taught us how not just to fly and fight, but how to work as a team and stay alive. That was his greatest gift. He was very open to discussing his own mistakes, and how he learned from them, hoping we would learn also. Hrabak assigned me to 7/III/JG-52 under Major Hubertus von Bonin, an old eagle from the Spanish Civil War and Battle of Britain. We learned a lot from him also. My first mission was on 14 October 1942.

Q: Your first mission was less than spectacular. What happened?
A: Well, Rossmann and I were in our flight, and Rossmann radioed that he
spotted ten enemy aircraft below us. We were at 12,000 feet and the enemy
was far below us. I could see nothing but followed Rossmann down, then we
came on them. I knew that I had to get my first kill, so I went full throttle and
left Rossmann to shoot at a plane. My shots missed and I almost collided into
him and had to pull up. Suddenly I was surrounded by the Soviets and I headed for low cloud cover to escape. All along Rossmann kept talking to me,
and I had a low fuel warning. Then the engine went dead and I bellied in,
destroying my fighter. I knew I was in trouble. I had violated every
commandment a fighter pilot lives by, and I expected to be thrown out.

Q: What was your fate?
A: I was sentenced by von Bonin to three days of working with the ground crews. It gave me time to think about what I had done. What I learned from
Rossmann and later Krupinski I later taught to new pilots when I became a
leader.

Q: When did you score your first kill?
A: That was a day I will never forget, 5 November 1942, a Shturmovik IL-2,
which was the toughest aircraft to bring down because of the heavy armor
plate. You had to shoot out the oil cooler underneath, otherwise it would not
go down. That was also the day of my second forced landing since I had flown into the debris of my kill. I learned two things that day; get in close and shoot and break away immediately after scoring the kill. The next kill came in February the following year. This was when Krupinski came to Taman and was my new squadron leader.

Q: Walter told me about the day he arrived, and his episode with the two fighters. What do you remember?
A: He came in, introduced himself, demanded a plane, went up, was hot down, and brought back by car. He then took another, scored two kills and returned, then wanted dinner. The whole event was treated as casually as a card game.

Q: How did you meet Gunther Rall?
A: Well, I know that Gunther had to have told you about this. He replaced von Bonin as Gruppenkommandeur and we were introduced. That was the
beginning. In August 1943 Rall made me kommandeur of the 9th squadron,
which had been Herman Graf’s command.

Q: You flew with Krupinski as his wingman often. What was that like, and how
different was it from flying with Rossmann?
A: Well, the partnership was a little uneasy at first, but we found that we worked well together. We both had strengths and weaknesses and managed to overcome these problems. It worked out well. Besides, I had to make sure that he came home due to his many girlfriends always waiting on him to come
down. I won the Iron Cross 2nd Class while flying with ‘Krupi’. The one thing
I learned from him was that the worst thing to do was to lose a wingman. Kills
were less important than survival. I only lost one wingman, Gunther Capito, a
former bomber pilot, but this was due to his inexperience with fighters, but he
survived.

Q: How many kills did you have before you won the Knight’s Cross?
A: I had scored 148 kills by 29 October 1943. My award was sort of late I guess. There were many men who had more than fifty kills who did not receive the Knight’s Cross, which I think was unfair. I also thought it unfair that men like Rall, Barkhorn, Kittel, Baer and Rudorffer did not receive higher decorations. They deserved them.

Q: Tell about your first meeting with Krupinski. I have heard his version from
Walter, but I would like your version..
A: I was being addressed by my new Wing Commander (Hrabak) when a fighter came in smoking, and suddenly landed, flipped over and exploded. We knew the pilot was dead. One of the men said that ‘it is Krupinski’, and out of the blinding smoke this man walked out of the wreckage with a singed uniform, but no other damage. He was smiling and complained about the flak over the Caucasus, but without any real surprise on his face. This was my first meeting with “The Count.”

Q: Who were you first assigned to as wingman?
A: Feldwebel Eduard ‘Paule’ Rossmann, who took me under his wing.

Q: Was it typical that an officer would be assigned to a non-commissioned officer?
A: It was for us, since he was a seasoned combat veteran. Rank meant little over experience, and that was why we were so successful I think.

Q: Who was your best friend during those days?
A: There were so many, most of whom are still alive, but my closest relationship was with Heinz Mertens, my crew chief. You rely upon your wingmen to cover you in the air, and your team mates in aerial battle, but the man who keeps your machine flying and safe is the most important man you know. We became best of friends, and none of my success would have been possible if not for Mertens.

Q: The bond you two had is also legendary. Why the closeness?
A: I can’t explain it. When I went missing on the mission where I was captured and escaped, Mertens had taken a rifle and went looking for me. He would not give up. That is a loyalty you never find outside the military.

Q: Describe the that time you were captured.
A: The Russians were attacking in our area and Hrabak gave us our orders. This was in August 1943, and our mission was to support the Stukas of Hans-Ulrich Ruedel in a counterattack. Then things changed. The Red Air Force was
bombing German ground positions in support of their offensive, so my flight
of eight fighters located and attacked the enemy, about forty Laggs and Yaks
with another forty or so Shturmovik ground attack aircraft. I shot down two
when something hit my plane. I made a forced landing and was captured by
Soviet soldiers. I faked that I was injured as they approached the plane. The
believed me and took me to their HQ and their doctor examined me, and he
even believed me. They placed me back in the truck (which was German) on a
stretcher, and as Stukas made their attacks I rushed the one guard in the truck. He went down and I left out the back. As soon as I did that I heard the truck stop, so I had to keep moving. I found myself in a great field of very tall sunflowers where I tried to hide as I ran, all the while the men chasing me were firing wildly in my direction. I found a small village occupied by Russians, and decided to return to the area I had just come from and wait for nightfall. [It was during this time that Mertens took it upon himself to take off and find Hartmann, armed with only a rifle and water, being concerned when his friend had not returned]. I reached my secure area and took a nap, and later I awoke and took off again headed west. I passed a patrol of Russians, about ten I think, so I decided to follow them. Then the patrol disappeared over a small hill, and then there was a firefight. I knew that that must be the German lines, since the men of the patrol came flying back over on my side. I then walked to the other side and was challenged by a German sentry who also fired a bullet at me, which ripped open my trouser leg. I was pretty upset, but this man was in complete fear. I was welcomed into their position, given an interrogation and was asked to prepare for contact. Another group of Russians, obviously drunk walked towards our trenches, and the leutnant gave the order to fire when they came within about twenty meters. They were all destroyed. I was later told that a group of Russians had entered their perimeter speaking fluent German, claiming to be escaped POWs, and when they came in they pulled out some Tommy guns and killed some men. This explained their caution over accepting me on face value, as I had no identification on me. Everything had been taken when I was captured.

Q: What happened to Mertens? How did you get back?
A: The infantry commander contacted Hrabak and who I was confirmed. They
sent me back by car, and I was met by Krupi who had just come back from the hospital. I was also informed about what Bimmel had gone and done, and I
was very upset. The next day Bimmel came back and we saw each other, and
we had a ‘birthday party.’

Q: Explain was a ‘birthday party’ is?
A: That is a party that is thrown in honor of a pilot who survived a situation that should have killed him. We had a lot of those.

Q: Perhaps the greatest legend surrounding your life was the time you first met Ushi, and the love that endured through the years. Describe that first meeting.
A: We were in the same school, and finally I decided to track her down. I caught up with her and a girlfriend and stopped my bicycle, and introduced myself. I knew that she was the one for me, although I was only seventeen and she was two years younger. Our parents were none too thrilled about it, I can tell you, but they came around.

Q: You had competition for her didn’t you?
A: Yes, but I resolved that problem, it was nothing. Ushi and I were destined to be together, that was fate. And she waited a long time, even after the war. We were married in 1944, but still had little time to spend together.[Actually Erich warned the much older boy away from her, and when Ushi told him that he was harassing her, Erich beat him up, ending the problem]. We were married after I had the Diamonds, and Gerd {Barkhorn] was my best man, with Willi Batz and Krupi as witnesses. We could not marry in a church due to the logistical problems. That would have to wait until 1956

A: Tell about the time you received the Oak Leaves from Hitler.
Q: That was a strange time. First, most of us were drunk. Gerd Barkhorn, Walter Krupinski, Johannes Wiese and I were to report to Berchtesgaden. All of us except Gerd were getting the Oak Leaves, he was getting the Swords. By the time we got their we were trying to sober up. Walter always stated years later that we had to hold each other up. We had been drinking cognac and champagne, a deadly combination when you have not eaten in a couple of days. The first person we met off the train was Hitler’s Luftwaffe adjutant,
Major von Below, who was I think in a state of shock at our condition. Were
to meet Hitler in a couple of hours, and we could hardly stand. This was in
March 1944, and there was a lot of snow at that time at that altitude.

Q: I spoke to Walter Krupinski and read about the ‘hat event’ in your biography by Ray Toliver and Trevor Constable. What was that about?
A: I could not find my hat, and my vision was not the best, so I took a hat on a stand and put it on, and it was too large. I knew it was not mine at that time. Below became upset and told me it was Hitler’s, and to put it back. Everyone was laughing about it except Below. I made some joke about Hitler having a big head, and that it ‘must go with the job,’ which created even more laughter.

Q: What was your impression of Hitler?
A: I found him a little disappointing, although very interested in the war at the
front and extremely well informed on events as I knew them. However, he had
a tendency to drone on about minor things that I found boring. I found him
interesting yet not that imposing. I also found him lacking in sufficient know-
ledge about the air war in the east. He was more concerned with the Western
Front’s air war and the bombing of cities. Of course the Eastern Front ground
war was his area of most interest. This was evident. Hitler listened to the men
from the Western Front, and assured them that weapons and fighter roduction were increasing, and history proved this to be correct. Then he went into the U-boat war, how we were going to decidedly destroy maritime commerce, and all of that. I found him an isolated and disturbed man.

Q: What was the feeling about the war in your unit at this time?
A: I don’t recall anyone talking of defeat, but I do know that we talked about
some of the great pilots killed already, and the news of the American
Mustangs reaching deep into Germany, and even farther. Few of us had any
experience against the Americans, although many old timers had fought the
British. Those who fought Americans had done so in North Africa, and their
insights proved interesting.

Q: What was the atmosphere like when you won the Swords?
A: I had just landed after a successful mission when I was told that I had been awarded the Swords. This was June 1944. I arrived on 3 August 1944 to visit Hitler again for the award ceremony, and there were ten of us Luftwaffe guys in all. Hitler was not the same man. This was just after the bomb plot to kill him, and his right arm was shaking, and he looked exhausted. He had to turn to his left ear to hear anyone speak because he was deaf in the other one from the blast. Hitler discussed the cowardly act to kill him, and attacked the quality of his generals, with a few exceptions. He also stated that God had spared his life so that he may deliver Germany from destruction, and that the Western Allies would be thrown back inevitably. I was very surprised at all of this. I wanted to leave and see my Ushi, and I did.

Q: How was the meeting with Hitler and receiving the Diamonds different from
the previous two encounters?
A: Well Dieter Hrabak and the rest threw a party before I left, and I was so drunk I could not stand the next day. It sounds like we were all alcoholics, but this was not the case. We lived and played hard. You never knew what the next day would bring. I few my 109 to Insterburg, and JG-52 gave me an escort. When I arrived at the Wolfschanze the world had changed. Hitler had already begun the trials and executions of those involved and everyone was under suspicion. You had to enter three areas of security, and no one was allowed to carry a weapon into the last section. I told Hitler’s SS guard to tell the Fuehrer that I would not receive the Diamonds if I were not trusted to carry my Walther pistol. The guy looked like I had just married his mother. He went to speak with von Below, who was a Colonel then, and Below came out said it was all right. I hung my cap and pistol belt on the stand and Hitler came to me, and said, “I wish we had more like you and Ruedel,” and he gave me the Diamonds, which were encrusted upon another set of Oak Leaves and Swords. We had coffee and lunch, and he confided in me, saying ‘militarily the war is lost,’ and that I must already know this, and that if we waited the Western Allies and Soviets would be at war with each other. He also spoke about the partisan problem and he asked me of my experience. Hitler asked me my opinion of the tactics used in fighting the American and British bombers. Since I did not have a lot of experience with this, I simply stated what I thought was a fact. Goering’s orders to combat them and the method employed was in error. I also informed him of the deficiencies in pilot training; too many minimally trained men were simply throwing their lives
away. He also spoke about the new weapons and tactics, and then we parted. That was the last time I saw him, 25 August 1944. I flew back to the unit, where an order for ten days leave waited. I also had to report to Galland, where we discussed the Me-262 situation. I went back to marry my Ushi, that was all that mattered to me.

Q: During the war what were your worst fears?
A: Well, I feared capture in Russia, that was a very eye-opening prospect. The bombing of our cities also worried us, as our families were very dear to us. I suppose I was most worried that Ushi would not wait, so I always tried to see her whenever I was on leave. Medals meant leave, and that was an incentive. I had the choice of losing her or returning all the decorations, I would send the medals back. She was too important to me, and always has been. It was later learned that the Soviets knew exactly who I was and Stalin placed a 10,000 ruble price on my head. This was later increased, and Ruedel and I had the highest bounties of any Germans during the war, probably with exception to Hitler and a few of the Nazi elite. Every time I went up I knew that someone would be looking for me. I had thoughts of the American western films, where the top gunfighter is called out into the street; another person wanting to make his mark. I felt marked, so I had to change my aircraft occasionally. I found that when I used the black tulip I had more difficulty in finding opponents, who avoided me for the most part. I needed camouflage.

Q: What were conditions like in Russia?
A: Well, in the winter you can imagine. We seldom had hard shelter, living in
tents. The lice were the worst, and there was little you could but hold your
clothes to a fire and listen to them pop. We had DDT and bathed when we
could. Illness, especially pneumonia and trench foot were bad, especially
among the ground crews. Food was always a concern, especially later in the
war, and fuel restrictions made every mission count. We always flew from grass strips and we were often bombed. These strips were easy to repair, although the terrain made every take off and landing an adventure. Sometimes fighters would snap their landing gear, or just dig in and topple over. Mainten-ance was another nightmare, as supplies and parts were difficult to get to, especially when we were moving around all the time. Despite these problems we were very successful in the Crimea through 1943-44.

Q: I know that JG-52 as well as other units flew with foreign air forces. What
was your experience with this?
A: We had a Royal Hungarian unit assigned to us, as well as Croats. They were good pilots and fearless in many ways. Good men. We had even more contact especially with the Romanians when we were stationed there, and this was where we engaged both the Americans and Soviets; a very trying time. We were flying in Russia against twenty to one. In Romania it was thirty to one.

Q: The evacuation from the Crimea was described to me by Hrabak. How was it for you?
A: Well, I would not call it an evacuation, but a full retreat. We had to move, and I discovered that when the radio, armor plate and rear wall, you could stack four men in the tail, but three was about the most I would try. We managed to save many of our precious ground crew from capture using this method.

Q: What were the Soviets like that you captured? Was there any open racism
among your men towards these people?
A: Not at all. In fact I would say that in our group there were the majority who found all the National Socialist idiocy a little sickening. Hrabak made it a
point to explain to the new young pilots that if they thought they were fighting for National Socialism and the Fuehrer they needed to transfer to the Waffen SS or something. He had no time for political types. He was fighting a war against a superb enemy, not holding a political rally. I think this approach
damaged Hrabak in the eyes of Goering and others, but he was a real man and
did not care about anything but his men. Hannes Trautloft was the same way,
as was Galland. All the greats with a few exceptions were like that. We even
had a Russian prisoner show us how to start our engines in the sub-zero cold
by mixing gasoline into the oil crankcase. This was unheard of to us and we
were sure we would lose a fighter in the explosion. It worked, because the fuel thinned out the congealed oil, and evaporated as the starter engaged. It was wonderful. Another guy showed us how to start a fire under the cowling and start the engine, another helpful hint. This same guy showed us how to keep the weapons firing by dipping them in boiling water removing the lubricants which froze the mechanisms shut. Without the oils they worked fine. I felt sad for these men, who hated no one and were forced to fight a war they would rather have avoided.

Q: What were some of your more memorable combat experiences in fighting
enemy aircraft?
A: One situation comes to mind. I was in a duel with a Red Banner flown Yak-9, and this guy was good, and absolutely insane. He tried and tried to get in
behind me, and every time he went to open fire I would jerk out of the way of
his rounds. Then he pulled up and rolled, and we approached each other head
on, firing, with no hits either way. This happened two times. Finally I rolled
into a negative G dive, out of his line of sight, and rolled out to chase him at
full throttle. I came in from below in a shallow climb and flamed him. The
pilot bailed out and was later captured. I met and spoke with this man, a
captain, who was a likeable guy. We gave him some food and allowed him to
roam the base after having his word that he would not escape. He was happy
to be alive, but he was very confused, since his superiors told him that Soviet
pilots would be shot immediately upon capture. This guy had just had one of
the best meals of the war and had made new friends. I like to think that people like that went back home and told their countrymen the truth about us, not the propaganda that erupted after the war, although there were some terrible things that happened, no doubt. Once I attacked a flight of four IL-2s and shot one up. All four tried to roll out in formation at low altitude, and all four crashed into the ground, unable to recover since their bomb loads reduced their maneuverability. Those were the easiest four kills I ever had. However, I remember the time I saw over 20,000 dead Germans littering a valley where the Soviet tank and Cossacks had attacked a trapped unit, and that sight, even from the air was perhaps the most memorable of my life. I can close my eyes and see this even now. Such a tragedy. I remember that I cried as I flew low over the scene; I could not believe my eyes. Another time was in May 1944 near Jassy, my wingman Blessin and I were jumped by fighters, he broke right and the enemy followed him down. I rolled and followed the enemy fighter down to the deck. I radioed to my wingman to pull up and slip right in a shallow turn so I could get a good shot. I told him to look back, and see what happens when you do not watch your tail, and I fired. The fighter blew apart and fell like confetti. However, separate from Krupinski’s crash the day I met him, one event is clear and comical. My wingman on many missions was Carl Junger. He came in for a landing and a Polish farmer with horse cart crossed his path. He crashed into it, killing the horse and the fighter was nothing but twisted wreckage. We all saw it and began thinking about the funeral, when suddenly the debris moved and he climbed out without a scratch, still wearing his sunglasses. He was ready to go up again. Amazing! Then there was the American Mustangs that we both dreaded and anticipated meeting. We knew that they were a much better aircraft than ours; newer and faster, and with a great range. Once in Romania we had an interesting experience with both Russians and Americans.

Q: What happened on that mission?
A: We took off on a mission to intercept Soviet bombers attacking Prague, and we counted many American made aircraft with Red Stars, part of your Lend Lease. But then there were American fighters also nearby, and I was above them all by a thousand meters. It seemed that the Americans and Russians were busy examining each other and were unaware that we were around. I gave the order to drop down through the Mustangs, then the Russian fighters, and through the bombers in just one hit and run attack, then we would get the hell out of there, since there were only the two of us. I shot down two P-51s quickly in my dive, and I then fired on a Boston bomber, scored good hits but it was not a kill. The second element also scored a kill against the Mustangs, and my wingman and I were all right. Suddenly the most amazing thing happened. The Soviet fighters and Americans began fighting each other, and the confusion worked for us. They must have not realized that it was a schwarm of Germans that started the whole thing! The Russian bombers dropped their bombs in panic and turned away. I saw three Yaks get shot down and a Mustang damaged trailing white smoke. That was my last fight against the Americans.

Q: When did you first encounter the American pilots?
A: This was in the defense of Ploesti and Bucharest, and also over Hungary when the bombers came in and they had heavy fighter escort. I was recalled to take over the command I/JG-52, and this was 23 June 1944. B-17s were attacking the railroad junction, and we were formed up. We did not see the Mustangs at first and prepared to attack the bombers. Suddenly four of them flew across us and below, so I gave the order to attack the fighters. I closed in on one and fired, his fighter coming apart and some pieces hit my wings, and I immediately found myself behind another and I fired, and he flipped in. My second flight shot down the other two fighters. But then we saw others and again attacked. I shot down another and saw that the leader still had his drop tanks, which limited his ability to turn. I was very relieved that this pilot was able to successfully bail out. I was out of ammunition after the fight. But this success was not to be repeated, because the Americans learned and they were not to be ambushed again. They protected the bombers very well, and we were never able to get close enough to do any damage. I did have the opportunity to engage the Mustangs again when a flight was being pursued from the rear and I tried to warn them on the radio, but they could not hear. I dived down and closed on a P-51 that was shooting up an 109, and I blew him up. I half rolled and recovered to fire on another of the three remaining enemy planes and flamed him as well. As soon as that happened I was warned that I had several on my tail so I headed for the deck, a swarm of eight Americans behind me. That is a very uncomfortable feeling I can tell you! I made jerking turns left and right as they fired, but they fired from too far away to be effective. I was headed for the base so the defensive guns would help me, but I ran out of fuel and had to bail out. I was certain that this one pilot was lining me up for a strafe, but he banked away and looked at me, waving. I landed four miles from the base; I almost made it. That day we lost half our aircraft; we were too outnumbered and many of the young pilots were inexperienced.

end pt 1

[bobbysocks]

Q: How did you assess your enemy in the air?
A: I knew that if an enemy pilot started firing early, well outside the maximum
effective range of his guns then he was an easy kill. But, if a pilot closed in
and held his fire, and seemed to be watching the situation, then you knew that an experienced pilot was on you. Also, I developed different tactics for various conditions, such as always turning into the guns of an approaching enemy, or rolling into a negative G dive forcing him to follow or break off, then rolling out and sometimes reducing air speed to allow him to over commit. That was when you took advantage of his failing.

Q: There were some skeptics who questioned your kills. Tell about that, and how high did it go?
A: Well, this happened to a few of us. Goering could not believe the staggering kills being recorded from 1941 on. I even had a man in my unit, someone you also know, Fritz Oblesser, who questioned my kills. I asked Rall to have him transferred from the 8th Squadron to be my wingman for a while. Oblesser became a believer and signed off on some kills as a witness, and we became friends after that.

Q: Adolf Galland told me of how he tried to get you into his JV-44 in 1945. Why did you not take him up on the offer, like Krupi and Barkhorn?
A: I did qualify in the Me-262, but my heart and friends were in JG-52, and I felt that was where I belonged. Unit loyalty to me was important. Plus I had many new pilots who needed guidance and instruction. They were getting younger all the time and had fewer and fewer hours of flight instruction before they were thrown into battle. I was needed and that was where I stayed. Rall, Krupinski, Steinhoff and others were transferred to the Reich Defense, where they ended their war. I was torn between these facts, but I felt that I made the right decision at the time. In later years I realized that my life would have been very different if I had stayed with JV-44.

Q: How did you end up in Soviet custody?
A: On 8 May 1945 I took off at around 0800 hours from my field in Czechoslo-
vakia going to Bruenn. My wingman and I saw eight Yaks below us. I shot one
down and that was my last victory. I decided not to attack the others once I
saw that there were twelve Mustangs on the scene above me. My wingman
and I headed for the deck where the smoke of the bombing could hide us. We
pulled through the smoke and saw once again the two allies fighting each
other above us. Incredible! Well we landed at the field and were told that the
war was over.I must say that during the war I never disobeyed an order, but
when General Seidemann ordered me and Graf to fly to the British sector and
surrender to avoid the Russians, with the rest of the wing to surrender to the
Soviets. I could not leave my men. That would have been bad leadership.
There was a large bounty on my head, much like Ruedel. I was well known
and everyone knew that Stalin would like to get me. I was marching with my
unit through Czechoslovakia when we surrendered to an American armored
unit. They handed all of us over to the Soviets. I remember Graf telling me
that, as Diamonds winners the Soviets would probably execute us if they got
us. I had no doubt he was right at the time. Graf also mentioned the women,
children and ground personnel who would have no one to help them; they
would be at the mercy of the Red Army, and we all knew what that meant.
Well, we destroyed the aircraft and all munitions, everything. I sat in my
fighter and fired the guns into the woods where all the fuel had been dropped,
and then jumped out. We destroyed twenty-five perfectly good fighters. They
would be nice to have in museums now.

Q: What was it like for you when you surrendered?
A: Graf, Grasser and I surrendered to the 90th Infantry Division, and we were
placed in a barbed wire camp. The conditions were terrible. Many men
decided to escape, and some were assisted by the guards. We went eight days without any food, and then were told we were to be moved. All of us, even women and children were taken to an open field. The trucks stopped and there were Soviet troops there waiting for us. The Russians then separated the women and girls from the men, and the most horrible things happened, which you know and I cannot say here. We saw this; the Americans saw this, and we could do nothing to stop it. Men who fought like lions cried like babies at the sight of complete strangers being raped repeatedly. A couple of girls managed to run to a truck and the Americans pulled them in, but the Russians, most were drunk pointed their guns at the allies and fired a few shots. Then the truck drivers decided to drive away quickly. Some women were shot after the rapes. Others were not so lucky. I remember a twelve year old girl whose mother had been raped and shot being raped by several soldiers. She died from these acts soon afterward. Then more Russians came, and it began all over again and lasted through the night. During the night entire families committed suicide, men killing their wives and daughters, then themselves. I still cannot believe these things as I speak now. I know many will never believe this story, but it is true. Soon a Russian general came and issued orders for all of this to stop. He was serious, because some of the Russians who did not stay away and came to rape were executed on the spot by their own men by hanging.

Q: What was your internment like in Russia?
A: Well, I was somewhat famous, or infamous, depending upon your perspective, and the Soviets were very interested in making an example of me. I was never badly beaten and tortured, but I was starved and threatened for several years. The interrogations were the worst. I know that you have interviewed several Germans who experienced the same thing. The stories are pretty much the same, so I won’t go into details. The first thing they did was give us physical exams to determine how fit we were for hard labor. Then they put us on a train which was diverted from Vienna to the Carpathians in Romania. We were placed in another wired prison with Romanian Communist guards. This lasted a week and then we boarded another train. There was no room in these small train cars, so not all could sit, so we took turns. Finally we arrived near Kirov and disembarked in a swamp. This was our home for a while. Of the 1,500 POWs who were dropped at this place about 200 lived through the first winter. This I know from some who survived. They were not fed, just worked to death. I was sent to Gryazovets where Assi Hahn was already. He had been a POW since 1943.

Q: Which camp were you in as a POW?
A: I was in several camps, Shakhty, Novocherkassk, where they kept me in
solitary confinement, and Diaterka. I had gone on a hunger strike to protest the slave labor conditions and the fact that the Soviets were simply working men to death out of spite. I was ironically placed in a camp at Kuteynikovo where my squadron had been based in 1943.

Q: Which camp had the revolt?
A: That was Shakhty. This was when I and others refused to work, invoking the Geneva Convention. They placed me back in solitary. This was a work camp for mining and many men were tired of it, and I think my being gone started the problem. Within a few days the POWs jumped the guards, cornered the camp commandant and freed me. It was quite exciting. Then they sent me to the other camps, and at Diaterka there 4,000 men there.

Q: Describe a camp, how was it laid out?
A: A fine example was Diaterka. There was a high fence, then a dead zone with a walkway for guards and dogs, then another fence with watch towers with more guards and machine guns. There were long rows of barracks which were not insulated against the cold, and the winters were quite cold I can tell you. Each barrack held between 200 and 400 prisoners depending on its size, and there were rows of wooden bunks in tiers of three to four. The camp was divided into maximum and minimum security sections, with us being in the most secure section. The ultra maximum security section housed elite members of the Third Reich and special Soviet political prisoners, which was another section even within our part within its own wired enclosure. This was where Hitler’s SS adjutant Otto Gunsche and Count von der Schulenburg were held, among others. I stayed there until 1954 when I was sent back to Novocher-kassk. This was my last camp.

Q: Did the Soviets try and recruit you, as they did others?
A: Yes, they offered me the opportunity to return home if I worked as an agent for them, which was out of the question. They did not like this either. I was assigned kitchen duties as an inducement to become a converted Communist. I think that if they could get us high ranking and highly decorated officers to convert their job would be made much easier. They converted Graf, which was a shame, but he did not embrace Communism. He looked at it as a pragmatist-it was either the western way or Soviet way, and he was already there. They did release him in 1950, but I would not be so lucky. Those of us who resisted were punished much longer. They wanted me as an informer and even gave me a list of names of officers they wanted information on. They promised me early release if I did this. I refused. They placed me in solitary a few times, for a long time.

Q: How did you maintain your sanity when others did not?
A: I thought of my Ushi. She kept me going, and the thought of my family
waiting for me. They threatened to kill my wife and son, or forcibly bring
them to Russia, and they spoke about doing terrible things. All of this was to
break you down.

Q: Did you have mail or communication with Germany?
A: We were allowed only twenty-five words on a post card to send out, some-times a lot less, and this was not often. The letters I smuggled out with
returning POWs provided the information they needed. I received about fifty
letters from Ushi in the ten and a half years, but she wrote over 400. Getting
a letter was the greatest morale boost you could imagine.

Q: You and Graf had a parting in Russia. Why was that?
A: Well, we had agreed never to surrender our Diamonds to the Soviets. My
originals were with Ushi, and a copy was taken by an American, and another
copy I had also. I threw them away, although they were worthless, rather than surrender the, Graf and had given his, and they were on the table of the NKVD officer when I was called in. He wanted mine also. He did not get them. They also wanted detailed information on the Me-262, which they had several captured machines they wanted to evaluate. I did not help them.

Q: What separated the Germans from the rest of the international prisoners; how did all of you manage to survive when so many perished?
A: I would have to say our discipline; we never lost our military bearing and our rigid system and mutual respect for our own authority maintained us. We had the rank structure and presence of mind to form our own leadership
committees. Even though we wore no rank everyone understood their place
and all worked within the system. That was our strength, as well as many of us having our faith in God. I thought of my faith and my Ushi, and that got me
through. Many men found it difficult when word would come that their wives
had divorced them, or that a relative, such as a parent had died. My son Peter died while I was a POW but I only learned of this much later, a year or more, as with my father. I learned more when I was repatriated in 1955 along with Hans Baur, Ferdinand Schoerner, Hajo Herrmann, Herman Graf, Johannes
Wiese, and several others. Assi Hahn was released earlier than the rest of us,
as was Walter Wolfram who had been badly wounded before our capture.
Wolfram smuggled a private letter to Usch for me, which let he know I was
still alive.

Q: You did receive Red Cross packages available to all prisoners didn’t you?
A: Yes, sometimes, but these were often rifled through and delayed so long the food contents were worthless. Those packages that did arrive well were very helpful, especially when it came to trading with the local civilians. We made many friends with the local peasants, and they had no ill will towards us, nor we them.

Q: How many missions did you fly in the war?
A: I flew around 1,456 I think, but I am not sure of the exact number.

Q: What was you favorite method of attack?
A: Coming out of the sun and getting close; dog-fighting was a waste of time.
The hit and run with the element of surprise served me well, as with most of
the high scoring pilots. Once a Russian was shot down, especially the leader
they became disorganized and easy to attack. This was not always the case,
especially later in the war, and there were special units of highly skilled and
disciplined pilots, such as the Red Banner units who would make life difficult.

Q: You were never wounded were you?
A: No. I was very lucky, unlike Rall and Krupinski, and especially Steinhoff who
was almost burned alive. I was almost killed by a German sentry once returning from a brief period of captivity. That was too close for me.

Q: Were you ever shot down?
A: No, never by an enemy plane, but I had to crash land fourteen times due to damage from my victories or mechanical failure, but I never took to the
parachute. I never became another pilot’s victory.

Q; As far as we know you were the youngest recipients of the Diamonds, at
twenty-two. Did you find that distinction problematic?
A: I think that being a captain and a Diamonds winner at that age forced a lot of responsibility upon me. I think that I was able to handle all of that
responsibility because of the strength and friendship of my comrades. I would
say that I was ambitious and eager; I can’t think of any fighter pilot who
would not have those qualities. Becoming a hero is not always easy, as you
find yourself living up to the expectations of others. I would have preferred to
just do my job and finish the war anonymously. It would have made life as a
Soviet POW much easier.

Q: What events secured your release?
A: Chancellor Konrad Adenauer was very crucial in this. My mother had written Stalin and Molotov on my behalf without any response. She wrote to Adenauer and he replied personally that he was working on the problem. The
Soviets wanted a trade agreement with the west, especially West Germany, and part of this deal was the release of all the POWs. I knew something was going on when we were allowed to go to the cinema and were issued new clothes, suits of a kind, and not prison issue. We boarded a bus to Rostov where we boarded a train in October 1955. Other trains would follow with the
last coming in December. As soon as the train stopped at Herleshausen I was able to send a telegram to my Ushi.

Q: What would you say were the greatest highs and lows of coming home in
1955?
A: I learned that my son Peter Erich and father had died while I was in prison,
and that was a hard thing for me, and I will say no more. But my mother and
lovely Ushi were there waiting for me. They never gave up hope, and I think
that my belief in their strength was what got me through the most terrible
torture or starvation. Whatever the NKVD did to me, I just thought about my
family, and focused upon that. Another sad thing was that when the train
stopped and we got out, hundreds of women and men were holding
photographs of sons, brothers, husbands and fathers, all asking everyone hey
saw if they knew of their love one. Many thousands had died and there was
rarely any communication back home to anyone as to what had happened, so
many never returned and the families knew nothing. They were simply ghosts
who vanished. I find that very sad.

Q: What was one of the first things you wanted when you came home?
A: Well, a good meal, and a hot bath! But to see my Ushi was the greatest dream. I also read everything I could find; newspapers, books and magazines, I wanted information. I had been in an intellectual vacuum for so long, I wanted knowledge. Of course Ushi and I had our church wedding, long overdue.

Q: Was there any celebration for your return?
A: Yes, a big party was planned but I declined it. I did not feel that it was
appropriate until everyone was home who was still alive. I also could not
believe the rebuilt areas and numbers of new cars, the airplanes in the peaceful sky. The clothes style was new, all of it was new. One of the first people to meet me was Assi Hahn, who had been home five years before.

Q: Why did you join the Bundesluftwaffe. Was there anything in your mind that would have prevented you from wearing a uniform again?
A: There is always the thought that you may once again be in the same situation again. I was thirty-three when I came home, and that is late in life to start a career. I had lost touch with much of the world, but the one thing I knew was flying and the military. That was a safe call to make. The thought of fighting another war also frightened me. But I also thought about the needs of my country, and my old comrades had joined and were pressuring me to do the same. Krupi called and wanted me to join he and Gerd Barkhorn on a flying trip to England. Dieter Hrabak even came and talked to me at the house. I joined in 1956. The old boys were back.

Q: How did you get back into flying?
A: I had a friend who let me fly his light plane, and I certified as a private pilot. Heinz Baer was also a great help, as were others. I took refresher and conversion training in Germany, England and the United States on the newer models. I was made the first Kommodore of the new JG-71 “Richthofen” and I was very proud.

Q: I know that you and Steinhoff, among others warned the German government off the F-104 program, and that this was a very sensitive issue. What do you say about that today?
A: Yes. Well, the Starfighter was a great plane, but it had problems, and I did not feel that Germany needed, or that our pilots could even handle this machine without a lot more experience. Many higher up felt that I was out of line, but I stated what I thought was accurate, and I was proven correct, but this made me enemies. I also did other things that were considered criminal, such as having the unit’s F-86s painted with my old tulip patter, and I created the squadron bars, like in the old days, and this raised eyebrows. I felt that morale was important and camaraderie through a unique and distinguishing emblem was needed. The bars were killed under superior directives, although today all squadrons have them. I did have supporters, such as General Kammhuber, but he was a rare breed from the old days.

Q: What did you do after retirement?
A: I instructed and flew at a few air clubs, and flew in an aerobatics team with Dolfo Galland. Later I just decided to relax and enjoy life. I have my family and friends, and am always meeting new ones, like you Colin. We have
spoken often for many years, but I feel that now is the time to say some of the things I never really spoke about. There is always a time for everything.

Q: One question many people may have is how can you not have hatred for the Russians after your experiences with them?
A: One thing I learned is this: Never allow yourself to hate a people because of the actions of a few. Hatred and bigotry destroyed my nation, and millions
died. I would hope that most people did not hate Germans because of the
Nazis, or Americans because of slaves. Never hate, it only eats you alive.
Keep an open mind and always look for the good in people. You may be
surprised at what you find.

[bobbysocks]

Lawrence Thompson meets Hartmann's G-14

Take notice: the concensus on this story seems to be that it is not authentic. If the story is real, it was not Hartmann that Thompson met. It is a good read, neverthless.

".... this was my first major dogfight I had in the war, in January 1945. I was flying a P-51D and we were supposed to meet with bombers over Romania. Well, the bombers never showed up! And we kept circling and wasting our fuel. When we were low on fuel the squadron leader orders us back to base, with the top group at 24,000 feet and the four bait Mustangs ordered to 15,000 feet. Now you might not really think about it, but the difference in altitude, 9,000 feet, is almost two miles, and assuming that the top flight could dive and rescue the 'bait' airplanes, it might take a full sixty seconds or more for the top group to come to the rescue. A heck of alot can happen in sixty seconds. Earlier, I requested to fly in the bait section believing that I'd have a better chance to get some scores (at that time I had no victories either) and this was my seventh mission. I have to say now that I grew up in Kansas City, Kansas, and my older brother flew a Jenny biplane in the late 1930s, so I learned the basics of flying even before joining the Army.

So we're all heading back to Italy when, all of a sudden, a dozen or so Me109's bounce us. From one moment it's a clear blue sky, next moment there are dozens' of tracers passing my cockpit. I'm hit several times and I roll over to the right, and below me is an P-51, heading for the deck, with an Me109 chasing him. I begin to chase the Me109. All this time I believe there was another Me109 chasing me! It was a racetrack, all four of us were racing for the finish line! Eventually I caught up with the first Me109 and I fired a long burst at about 1,000 yards, to no effect. Then I waited until about 600 yards, I fired two very long bursts, probably five seconds each (P-51 has ammo for about 18 seconds of continuous bursts for four machine guns, the remaining two machine guns will shoot for about 24 seconds). I noticed that part of his engine cowling flew off and he immediately broke off his attack on the lead P-51. I check my rear view mirrors and there's nothing behind me now; somehow, I have managed to lose the Me109 following me, probably because the diving speed of the P-51 is sixty mph faster than the Me109. So I pull up on the yoke and level out; suddenly a Me109 loomes about as large as a barn door right in front of me! And he fires his guns at me, and he rolls to the right, in a Lufberry circle. I peel off, following this Me109. I can see silver P-51s and black nosed camouflaged painted Me109s everywhere I look, there's Me109 or P-51 everywhere! At this time I cannot get on the transmitter and talk, everyone else in the squadron is yelling and talking, and there's nothing but yelling, screaming, and incoherent interference as everyone presses their mike buttons at the same time. I can smell something in the cockpit. Hydraulic fluid! I knew I got hit earlier.

.... I'm still following this Me109. I just got my first confirmed kill of my tour, and now I'm really hot. I believe that I am the hottest pilot in the USAAF! And now I'm thinking to myself: am I going to shoot this Me109 down too?! He rolls and we turn, and turn; somehow, I cannot catch up with him in the Lufberry circle, we just keep circling. About the third 360 degree turn he and I must have spotted two Mustangs flying below us, about 2,000 feet below, and he dives for the two P-51s.

Now I'm about 150 yards from him, and I get my gunsight on his tail, but I cannot shoot, because if I shoot wide, or my bullets pass through him, I might shoot down one or both P-51s, so I get a front seat, watching, fearful that this guy will shoot down a P-51 we're approaching at about 390 mph. There's so much interference on the R/T I cannot warn the two Mustangs, I fire one very long burst of about seven or eight seconds purposely wide, so it misses the Mustangs, and the Me109 pilot can see the tracers. None of the Mustang pilots see the tracers either! I was half hoping expecting that they'd see my tracers and turn out of the way of the diving Me109. But no such luck. I quit firing. The Me109 still dives, and as he approaches the two P-51s he holds his fire, and as the gap closes, two hundred yards, one hundred yards, fifty yards the Hun does not fire a shot. No tracers, nothing! At less than ten yards, it looks like he's going to ram the lead P-51 and the Hun fires one single shot from his 20mm cannon! And Bang! Engine parts, white smoke, glycol, whatnot from the lead P-51 is everywhere, and that unfortunate Mustang begins a gentle roll to the right.

I try to watch the Mustang down, but cannot, Now my full attention is on the Hun! Zoom. We fly through the two Mustangs (he was taken POW). Now the advantage of the P-51 is really apparent, as in a dive I am catching up to the Me109 faster than a runaway freight train. I press the trigger for only a second then I let up on the trigger, I believe at that time I was about 250 yards distant, but the Hun was really pulling lots' of negative and positive g's and pulling up to the horizon. He levels out and then does a vertical tail stand! And next thing I know, he's using his built up velocity from the dive to make a vertical ninety degree climb. This guy is really an experienced pilot. I'm in a vertical climb, and my P-51 begins to roll clockwise violently, only by pushing my left rudder almost through the floor can I stop my P-51 from turning. We climb for altitude; in the straight climb that Me109 begins to out distance me, though my built up diving speed makes us about equal in the climb. We climb one thousand fifteen hundred feet, and at eighteen hundred feet, the hun levels his aircraft out. A vertical climb of 1,800 feet! I've never heard of a piston aircraft climbing more than 1,000 feet in a tail stand. At this time we're both down to stall speed, and he levels out. My airspeed indicator reads less than 90 mph! So we level out. I'm really close now to the Me109, less than twenty five yards! Now if I can get my guns on him.........

At this range, the gunsight is more of nuisance than a help. Next thing, he dumps his flaps fast and I begin to overshoot him! That's not what I want to do, because then he can bear his guns on me. The P-51 has good armor, but not good enough to stop 20mm cannon hits. This Luftwaffe pilot must be one heck of a marksman, I just witnessed him shooting down a P-51 with a single 20mm cannon shot! So I do the same thing, I dump my flaps, and as I start to overshoot him, I pull my nose up, this really slows me down; S-T-A-L-L warning comes on! and I can't see anything ahead of me nor in the rear view mirror. Now I'm sweating everywhere. My eyes are burning because salty sweat keeps blinding me: 'Where is He!?!' I shout to myself. I level out to prevent from stalling. And there he is. Flying on my right side. We are flying side to side, less than twenty feet separates our wingtips. He's smiling and laughing at himself. I notice that he has a red heart painted on his aircraft, just below the cockpit. The nose and spinner are painted black. It's my guess that he's a very experienced ace from the Russian front. His tail has a number painted on it: "200". I wonder: what the "two hundred" means!? Now I began to examine his airplane for any bullet hits, afterall, I estimate that I just fired 1,600 rounds at the hun. I cannot see a single bullet hole in his aircraft! I could swear that I must have gotten at least a dozen hits! I keep inspecting his aircraft for any damage. One time, he even lifts his left wing about 15 degrees, to let me see the underside, still no hits! That's impossible I tell myself. Totally impossible. Then I turn my attention back to the "200" which is painted on the tail rudder. German aces normally paint a marker for each victory on their tail. It dawns on me that quick: TWO HUNDRED KILLS !! We fly side by side for five minutes. Those five minutes take centuries to pass. Less than twenty five feet away from me is a Luftwaffe ace, with over two hundred kills. We had been in a slow gradual dive now, my altitude indicates 8,000 feet. I'm panicking now, even my socks are soaked in sweat. The German pilot points at his tail, obviously meaning the "200" victories, and then very slowly and dramatically makes a knife-cutting motion across his throat, and points at me. He's telling me in sign language that I'm going to be his 201 kill! Panic! I'm breathing so hard, it sounds like a wind tunnel with my mask on. My heart rate must have doubled to 170 beats per minute; I can feel my chest, thump-thump and so.

This goes on for centuries, and centuries. The two of us flying at stall speed, wingtip to wingtip. I think more than once of simply ramming him. He keeps watching my ailerons, maybe that's what he expects me to do. We had heard of desperate pilots who, after running out of ammunition, would commit suicide by ramming an enemy plane. Then I decide that I can Immelmann out of the situation, and I began to climb, but because my flaps are down, my Mustang only climbs about one hundred feet, pitches over violently to the right and stalls. The next instant I'm dangerously spinning, heading ninety degrees vertically down! And the IAS reads 300 mph! My P-51 just falls like a rock to the earth! I hold the yoke in the lower left corner and sit on the left rudder, flaps up, and apply FULL POWER! I pull out of the dive at about 500 feet, level out, (I began to black out so with my left hand I pinch my veins in my neck to stop blackout). I scan the sky for anything! There's not a plane in the sky, I dive to about fifty feet elevation, heading towards Italy. I fly at maximum power for about ten minutes, and then reduce my rpm (to save gasoline), otherwise the P-51 has very limited range at full power. I fly like this for maybe an hour, no planes in the vicinity; all the time I scan the sky, check my rear view mirrors.

I never saw the Me109 with the red heart again. At the mess I mention the Me109 with the red heart and "200" written on the tail. That's when the whole room, I mean everybody, gets instantly quiet. Like you could hear a pin drop. Two weeks later the base commander shows me a telex: "....according to intelligence, the German pilot with a red heart is Eric Hartmann who has downed 250 aircraft and there is a reward of fifty thousand dollars offered by Stalin for shooting him down. I've never before heard of a cash reward for shooting down an enemy ace ... "

[bobbysocks]

Philip Wright and Pickle Barrel Bombing

Mid-February of 1945 Major General Elwood "Pete" Quesada, the legendary commanding general of IX Tactical Air Command 9th Air Force, zipped on to our field, A-89, at the village of Le Culot, Belgium - trailed by a host of aides and staff members.

He had come to fly a mission with our 36th Fighter Group to check out why the new "Pickle Barrel Bombing" technique wasn't living up to expectations.

"Pete" Quesada's fame stemmed from his daring and "can do" spirit. On D-Day + 1 he flew a P-38 into the beachhead to establish his own headquarters next to General Bradley's. He often visited the front to check on how his fighter-bombers were doing. On one trip his jeep took a direct hit from a German Panther tank's 75mm. shell, smashing the jeep to smithereens and wounding the driver. The General spent the next twenty minutes ignominiously crawling away under small-arms fire.

But his most famous exploit had raised all kinds of hullabaloo in high places. During a visit by General Eisenhower to Normandy in mid-June '45, Quesada left a staff meeting to go on a fighter sweep.
Eisenhower asked, "Can I come?"
"Sure." Quesada answered.
Eisenhower was crammed into the rear seat of a P-51 and they flew a few miles over the lines, before Quesada thought better of the idea and aborted the flight. Both Eisenhower and Quesada received holy hell from the big-wigs in Washington for this nutty escapade.

Now, "Pete" Quesada was here in Le Culot to fly a Pickle Barrel Bombing mission with us. The us being: 1st Lt. Robert "Red" Ferris, 2nd Lt. Clyde Hartszelle, and me, 1st Lt. Philip N. Wright, Jr., better known as "Junior," because I was always the youngest officer in the Group the entire time I was there.*

Pickle Barrel Bombing was a spin-off from a new radar system, touted to be accurate within fifty feet from a distance of fifty miles. They thought the idea was simple. Send a bunch of P-47s out over solid cloud cover at 10,000 ft. and 250 mph. in tight formation. Guide them to the target with the new radar, and tell them exactly when to drop their bombs. Bingo! It was a great idea, but it wasn't working.

The operation was run out of a site well back of the lines. A Norden Bombsight was hooked up to the new radar, and specially trained bombardiers that gave the order to drop the bombs. We bellyached that these guys were probably yelling, "Bombs Away!" and rushing out for a shot and a beer to ease their "combat fatigue." They probably even expected D.F.C.s for heroism. Damn it, they weren't the ones getting shot at - we were!

At 10,000 ft. and 250 mph., flying straight and level in tight formation, we were sitting ducks for the German radar controlled 88mm flak. Pickle Barrel Bombing missions had turned us into a bunch of lousy bomber pilots. We hated these missions.

On this mission there would be one critical difference- there would be no cloud cover. With clear skies the General hoped to find out why "Pickle Barrel" wasn't working. The idea was nuts! Cloud cover was the only protection we had. If we'd been sitting ducks before, we'd be dead ducks now. Our only hope was we'd be flying behind a two star general's skirts. The Germans wouldn't dare shoot him down!

Why the 36th Fighter Group was chosen for this mission, I have no idea - even more why the 23rd Fighter Squadron was selected, and even more than that why we three were picked.

Our briefing was like no other we'd had before one major general and three lowly pilots, hovered over by a bunch of brass. The target selected was a German Panzer division headquarters, because it was close to the lines. If anyone got hit, he'd have a better chance to make it back before going down.

"Red" Ferris was picked to lead the mission, with General Quesada flying his wing as Vibrate Red Two. I would lead the second element, with Clyde Hartszelle as my wing-man. On the way out to our Thunderbolts, armed with two 500 lb. bombs and full loads of ammunition, General Quesada grinned and said, "Gentlemen, just forget I'm a general," then wryly added, "If you can?" We laughed but knew there wasn't a chance in hell we would.

We took-off, formed up, and it was immediately apparent our new colleague wasn't used to flying our combat formation of low and forward, but instead, he flew the old training command formation of level and back. How was "Red" Ferris going to radio him, "Damn it, Vibrate Red Two, close it up, and get in formation!" So much for forgetting who was what.

Ten minutes out a call came in, "Vibrate Red Two to Vibrate Red Leader, my engine is cutting out when I switch fuel tanks, but I'll keep going." We didn't know what to do about this- and did nothing.

Pickle Barrel Control took over before we reached the target area, and gave us our heading. We snugged up tight and flew straight and level at 10,000 ft. and 250 mph. towards the target, sweating out the inevitable bursts of 88mm. flak. Then "Pickle Barrel" radioed up, "Our radar is acting up, and you'll have start over."

We went through this, on again - off again thing several more times, sweating out the flak each time. Finally, the controllers called and said, "Our radar still isn't working, and we have to scrub the mission. Out."
"Okay. Roger and out." "Red" Ferris responded.
We spread out - "Whoosh." I looked back- "WHOOMPH," six bursts of "88" went off right where we had been. It never fails that the sight of those orange-red fireballs inside the black bursts, turns courage to mush. Without knowing it the Germans had come within a gnat's eyebrow of bagging a renowned two star general. Maybe, those controllers weren't so
dumb after all.

"Vibrate Red Leader, this is Vibrate Red Two. We still have all of our bombs and ammunition. Let's dive-bomb and strafe the target.
Out," the General urged.
"Roger, Vibrate Red Two." Ferris came back.

We dove down on the Panzer division headquarters, each of us firing bursts from our eight 50cal. machine guns, in hopes of shaking up the German gunners firing 20 and 40 millimeter flak at us. We lined up on the target, and let fly. For once, my bombs made a terrific hit, and I hoped Vibrate Red Two was as impressed with me as I was. One run was
enough, and we headed home, happy to be in one piece.

Back at the field, we were de-briefed, then stood around bragging about what hot shot pilots we were. The General's P.R. photographer snapped away, as the rest of the squadron gawked in envy. We played our parts to the hilt.

It turned out the reason General Quesada's engine kept cutting out was that he was turning his fuel tank selector valve through "Off" when he changed tanks a big No-No. But he had a lot of guts and had flown the entire mission on one tank of gas. He was a good sport about his boo-boo. On the other hand, our sympathy towards him was shamefully condescending. We owed him better.

With all the hoopla and good-byes over, the General and his staff took off for IX TAC Headquarters. We continued to carry on in our self-anointed glory. But it didn't last. The next day we were back to where we were- three not so hot-shot fighter-pilots. But thanks to General Quesada and the good Lord, there were no more "Pickle Barrel" bombing missions.

In Aspen, Colorado in the late 1960s, Aspen resident and friend, former Secretary of the Navy, Jim Smith, came into our store with a familiar figure. I approached him and asked, "Are you General Quesada?"
"Yes, I am" he replied.
I reminded him of the mission we'd flown together, which he remembered. I took him into my office and showed him the picture of the four of us of on that long ago day. We went across the street to the Red Onion saloon, downed a couple of beers, and laughed over the great "Pickle Barrel Bombing" fiasco. We agreed it was just another of those great ideas... that didn't work.

At a marvelous party in Vail, Colorado in the 1980s, that Mrs. Quesada also attended, she told me the General was nearly blind and unable to travel, or he would have come.
"Please, say, 'Hi' to him for me, and give him my very, very best," I asked her. She thanked me and said she would be happy to pass along my message.
General Quesada passed away several years later.

* To this day, whenever I attend a 36th Ftr. Grp. reunion, someone always comes up to me and says, "Hi 'Junior.' How are ya?" Despite the incongruity of my bald pate and a more rotund figure, I consider it a compliment.



a story of years later and a reunion of sorts...( by philip wright)

While on a 1986 sojourn in southwest France, a love of fine wine put me in touch with Monsieur Guy Schyler, a distinguished Bordeaux wine négociant and consultant to Chateau Lafite-Rothchild, arguably, the greatest vineyard of the Medoc. Kindly, Guy had arranged a private tour of Lafite for my wife and myself.

Traveling through the famous vineyard towns of Margaux, Beychevelle, St. Julien, and Pauillac, it was a treat for me to see the renowned chateaux, so often read about - but whose product was so less often savored.

Schylers have been prominent members of the Bordeaux wine trade since 1739, and along the way Guy stopped at Chateau Beychevelle, with its lovely filigreed iron gates hinged to massive stone pillars. Gazing wistfully down the long gravel drive to the magnificent 18th century Chateau, he revealed his great grandfather had once owned this renowned estate and contemplated what might have been.

Learning Madame Schyler was a member of the prestigious Pol-Roger champagne family of Épernay, made it even more intriguing. Pol Roger champagne was Winston Churchill's favorite. Once, in a gesture of appreciation, he named one of his race horses for his friend, Odette Pol-Roger. Sadly, the filly was not a speedster.

My enthusiasm for fine wine does not translate to profound knowledge, and I hoped not to make a fool of myself while discussing it with Guy. However, my stock soared, when he learned I had been a sixty-mission P-47 pilot and a P.O.W. in Germany. He had been a fighter pilot in the French Air Force until France's fall in 1940, and following the war he had served with distinction as French liaison to the U.S.A.F. in Bordeaux. It was the start of a lifelong fondness for American airmen. I count myself fortunate, he calls me - "tres cher ami."

In February 1990 my wife and I arrived in Bordeaux on the way to Biarritz for several months stay. Later we would join the 36th Fighter Group tour of our wartime airfields. While lunching with Guy, he told us of two P-51s that had recently emerged from the sand on the beach near Arcachon, west of Bordeaux. They had belly landed in 1944, and wind and sea had buried them. Now, forty-six years later, the same elements had brought these phantom aircraft back to view and memory.


He related how on August 26, 1944 three P-51s were seen by members of the Marquis or French Resistance cruising around Arcachon Bay, then up and down the coast, as if lost. One flew out to sea and disappeared; the other two landed at a spot known as Truc Vert.

Responding to the request of the head of the local Marquis to investigate, Schyler contacted his friend and neighbor, Prince Stanislav Poniatowski, and the two set out by sail across the bay to aid the downed fliers.

Prince Stanislav was a remarkable gentleman. Though a descendant of the royal family of Poland and a pretender to that throne, he was an astute businessman who suffered badly under the Germans. As C.E.O. of the renowned aircraft engine manufacturer, Hispano-Suiza, he was jailed in Paris, then Berlin, for refusing to produce engines for the Nazis. During his military court trial, he escaped severe punishment only through a remarkable bit of luck.* He was freed on condition that he cease all industrial activities, and went to Arcachon in November 1940 under house arrest. Nevertheless, in spite of the risk of deportation and worse for himself and family, he joined the underground.

Reaching the downed planes, Schyler and Poniatowski took the two pilots, Lieutenants Sam Gevorkian and John Kester, in hand, and together they scrambled up and over the dunes. There they were met by the Marquisards and loaded into a truck for the ride back to the boat. The four sailed back to Arcachon, where Prince Stanislav hid Gevorkian and Kester in his home for twelve days.

Guy then took them to his grandmother's, Mme. Guestier of the renowned house of Barton & Guestier [B&G], home in Bordeaux. There they stayed several days making plans for their escape through Spain, to Portugal,
and back to England.

The pilots related the circumstances of their forced landings as follows: Returning from an escort mission to Ludwigshafen in bad weather, the three P-51s became separated from the main formation. Lost, they mistook the Gironde estuary for the Loire, and could not locate themselves. Low on fuel, Gevorkian and Kester opted to belly land on the beach at Truc Vert. The third pilot, 1st Lieutenant Sam Hansard, mistaking the Bay of Biscay for the English Channel, headed out over the open Atlantic. He was not heard from again. One can only shudder at the horror he felt, upon discovering his error.
Completing the saga, Guy showed me the extraordinary photographs he had taken in 1944 of the downed planes and the pilots' rescue. Examining them, it occurred, if I could learn the squadron's designation from the plane's ''CL" markings in the photo, we could contact the Group veterans' organization. Perhaps, Gevorkian and Kester were members? The prospect was exciting.

From our villa in Biarritz, I called Colonel Lewis "Bull" Curry, former C.O. of my 36th Fighter Group, for help. He succeeded, advising that Gevorkian and Kester had been members of the 55th Fighter Group, 338 Fighter Squadron of 8th Air Force. Further, he had contacted Bob Littlefield in Carmel, Ca., who headed the Group veterans' organization. I passed the information on to Guy and told him I'd follow up with Littlefield when I returned home.

Later, when the 36th Fighter Group tour reached Épernay, near one of our old fields, we were met by Christian and Danielle Pol-Roger, and their British friend, Richard Dumbrill. What a day was planned for us! First, a champagne reception, Vin d'Honneur, at Chateau Pol Roger.

Next, we were taken by a grand convoy of French Army armored personnel carriers to a small airport for a magnificent champagne luncheon. With sommelier, Odil Girardin, pouring, there wasn't a dry glass in the house!

Following the luncheon French Air Force Raphaels performed a spectacular fly-by for us. Then we went on in the APCs to the site of our old strip for dedication ceremonies and then to Tour-sur-Marne for more ceremonies and a final glass of champagne for "Auld Lang Syne." It was a never-to-be-forgotten day for the anciens warriors of the 36th Fighter Group.

Without the friendship of Guy and Nicole Schyler, it could never have happened!

Back in Montana, a letter from Bob Littlefield revealed that both Sam Gevorkian and John Kester had later been killed. However, he did have good news. Sam's sister, Alice Davey, lived in California. He thought a letter from Guy, along with the long ago photographs, would be a wonderful surprise. I forwarded his suggestion on to Guy, hoping he would respond. Of course, he did.

It was sometime before we heard from Mrs. Davey, but when her response came it was all we could have hoped for. She was astonished and grateful for what we had done, particularly for the photos and fascinating detail of her brother's 1944 rescue.

For Guy and myself, when we next meet, over a bottle of Ch. Lafite-Rothschild, we shall raise our glasses in tribute:
"Salut! pilotes du chasses, Sam Gevorkian et John Kester - and your 'Phantoms in the Sand.'"

[bobbysocks]

Joy Ride

The department head's meeting was over, and Major Broadhead, our CO, said the only fair way was to choose numbers. I guessed number one; it turned out to be the lucky one. I had won a ride in a piggyback Mustang!

I suppose there have been piggyback P-51's converted before, but some ingenious mechanic in our top-scoring 357th Fighter Group had dreamed this one up by himself. The radio was taken out, the guns were taken out, and an extra seat complete with air speed indicator and altimeter was directly behind the pilot. As a "paddlefoot" usually on friendly relations with pilots, I had gotten quite a few rides, but never in an operational, single-seater fighter aircraft. I've always wanted to ride in one - but I was a little bit scared, too. Major Broadhead, on his second tour and with eight ME 109s to his credit, didn't make me any more at ease by explaining how difficult it would be to bail out. The make-shift canopy may stick, and things happen awfully fast.

It seemed that at least half the GI's in the squadron were watching me climb into the ship - secretly hoping I'd get the hell scared out of me. Which - I did.

Bob taxied to 06 (the long runway), and before I knew it we were airborne. It was a beautiful day, with a layer of white baby wool clouds at 5,000 feet. Bob climbed up slowly through a hole, although to me the altimeter seemed to be spinning like the second hand of a watch. Then before I knew what was happening, the nose of the ship dropped and the plane seemed to be falling right out of the sky. The aie speed rose..200..250..300..350...and the nose came up again. All the weight of my body seemed to be directly against the seat. Ice water was flowing through my legs instead of blood. My jaw had involuntarily dropped, and I could feel my cheeks and eyes sag like an old man's. I tried to lift my arms; they seemed glued to my lap. This, then, was G strain. Approximately four G's, Bob said later.

Now the nose was going straight up. If the altimeter had looked like a second hand before, it looked like a Ferris Wheel now. Before I knew it, we had looped. Not being satisfied with a gentle pullout, Broadhead dropped her on one wing, and did a barrel roll.

After a few minutes of straight and level flying (while I got my breath back), Bob decided to hedgehop some clouds. A beautiful layer of white fleece stretched, endless as earth, as far as the eye could see. Toward it we dived, 300 miles per hour. For five minutes Bob indulged in his favorite relaxation of clipping the tops off clouds and turning on one wing. Occasionally the earth would wink at us, or clouds would engulf us from every direction.

"Now what would you like to do?" Bob seemed to signal from his cockpit. Ther was nothing I would rather do at the moment than get out and walk home - but that seemed a little impractical. Bob seemed to be making all sorts of "hangar flying" motions with his hand. In my brief experience, that hinted of violent maneuvers to come. Happily, I pointed to a lone fortress at seven o'clock. I thought we might fly alongside and wave at the pilot. Instead, we peeled off and made a pass at him.

There turned out to be two forts, and two mustangs were already giving them a bad time. It wasn't long until a flight of four more arrived from nowhere and joined in the fun. It was about that thime that everything from nowhere I had ever heard about "ratraces" was completely forgotten; I was learning from scratch. For a while I kept my eyes on two 51's directly overhead. I looked straight down, and there was the sun. We were up, down and around the bombers - right on the tail of a 51 - on our side, upside down, in a dive, in a pullout, I lost all trace of horizon, airspeed, ground...my head was spinning...the prop was spinning... I was conscious only of the throb of the engine and the occasional flash of an airplane overhead.

After a king-size eternity, the ratrace was over, and although I could not see Bob's face, I knew he was grinning from ear to ear. We had been up about thirty minutes. Seeing nothing else of interest, Bob headed "Eager Beaver" for 373. we flew straight and level, on a compass heading, all the way home. I saw a town of around 90,000 from the air, but I couldn't get very interested in it. I felt dead tired, as if I had worked a week without resting and had suddenly stopped. I had the thought that I was dead weight as much as a sack of flour. I wanted to collapse.

By the time we arrived at the station I felt much better. The field looked like three toothpicks touching, with the ends overlapping. The altimeter read 8,500 feet.

"Fifteen minutes more, and we'll be landing," I thought. bob grinned back at me. More maneuvers with his left had. I nodded agreement, and wondered what would come next.

One wing suddenly slipped out from under us, and we were upside down. Little pieces of mud an debris went past my eyes and hit the canopy, I remember thinking they were falling upside down. Then the nose dropped, and we split-essed out, going straight for the ground. The airspeed increased; the earth grew larger. The huge prop was spinning like a man gone mad. I watched the airspeed: 350...400...425. The altimeter was spinning backward like a watch going the wrong way...6,000...5,000...4,000. The earth had never looked so hard. At 2,000 we leveled out, with the airspeed indication 450.

After that, the peeloff and landing seemed dull. We had traveled a vertical mile in a matter of seconds, and had reached approximately 550 miles pre hour ground speed. The landing was rough. I tried to swallow, and couldn't. My throat was dry. My hair was tousled, my legs were cold, my face was white, and I was glad to be on the ground.

Thanks to Major Broadhead, that was forty-five minutes of my life I'll never forget. And each time I remember it, the more I enjoy it!

By Paul Henslee, 362nd FS Adjutant and Executive Officer



The Norwegian Odyssey of Bill Dunlop

By Merle Olmsted

As the 357th FG Historian, the name of William Dunlop was familiar to me because of a brief note in the group records for September 1944. An added paragraph to the mission report for 15 September has to say: "Lt. W.R. Dunlop, spare on mission separated from group on West Frisian Islands. With his gyro out, Lt. Dunlop got lost in the clouds and when he finally found his bearings, he was over Christiansand harbor in Norway. He strafed three seaplanes at 1045 anchored in the harbor, damaged a DO 24. He then took heading for nearest land and landed at Crail, Scotland at 1630."

I had often wished I could ask him about that adventure but Dunlop was listed as a lost sheep. In mid 1972, by a stroke of luck, I found him, now a Psychiatrist living nearby in the San Francisco Bay area. Subsequently, he and his sons and later he and his wife, came to visit us and they also attended the Long Beach Reunion. During these visits, I asked Bill about the long ride to Norway and asked him to write it up for the newsletter. Following is the story of Bill Dunlop's Scandinavian adventure on the 15th of Sept, 1944. Merle Olmsted

I did preplan going to Norway. For the trip, I could only procure maps of the nearest Norwegian coast. The night before, I asked to be put on spare. The next morning we were briefed for a mission to the Stettin area via the Frisian Chain and Denmark. We took off as low squadron, me with the second spare on my wing. After a non-eventful takeoff and assembly, we began the long climb to the enemy coast. Five to ten minutes from the first of the Frisians, we suddenly ran into a solid front. Trying to get through, the entire squadron split up. Just before entering the soup, I told my wingman to return to base. He had lost one of his drop tanks and had insufficient fuel to make the long trip ahead. Once in and split up, I was alone and spotting one of the islands thru a temporary break, I felt my responsibilities to the mission were over. A spare is only requited to accompany to the coast. I began a tight spiral in an attempt to stay in the hole. At 3000 ft., I had built up 300-350 mph airspeed and couldn't keep it tight enough with a full gas load. Entering the stuff half ready to spin, I barely gained straight and level at 500 ft. still on instruments edging down to 200 ft., I broke out in a driving rain storm and over a high running sea. Turning to my heading and setting the airspeed and mentally noting the time so as to make a bend into the Skatterak, I snuggled down to 50 ft. over the North Sea. I switched to channel B, Air Sea Rescue and hoped I was low enough and far enough away from the Danish coast to elude the radar sweep. I had computed an 1 hr steady course prior to the turn. As the first hr. passed, it was only with great concentration that I kept from hitting the wave tops. The water had a disillusioning effect on depth perception and it seemed to draw me like a magnet. Somewhere enroute I passed over a drifting mine. From my low altitude it looked huge and it's protrusions very deadly. I contemplated exploding it with the 50s, but thought better and let it alone. After approximately one and three quarters hrs. of this mist flying, I had the surprise of my life. The mist and rain ended suddenly in a wall just as it had begun. Bathed in sunlight and framed by pearl-like clouds, the mountains of Norway rose straight out of the sea. For a moment, it took my breath away. I almost went into the water again. There was no doubt I had overshot and come upon the south coast somewhere in the vicinity of Lister. I decided to parallel the coastline hoping to pick up a plane or a transport a few minutes after climbing up over the mountains from the sea. The country is wild and rugged in terrain almost beyond imagination. The mountain ridges and ranges run into the North Sea to make contact perpendicularly, the dividing valleys with rushing rivers, hurdled cliffs to form water falls of great violence. The only agriculture seemed to lie along the narrow space between the river bank and the valley walls. There was however an abundance of lumbering. The streams were choked with logs and great floats lined the edges of the Fiords. Still attempting to elude German Radar, I would dive down into the valleys and zoom up the other side flat on the deck in a porpoising motion. Perhaps due to the kick I was getting out of it or the maps, I never did locate myself. Off the coast several miles, there was considerable shipping. In each of the larger Fiords, there seemed to be at least one fair sized town usually one half on the mountain side. The houses were always wood, generally white, sometimes red or unpainted. Everything seemed extremely neat and gave the impression of a hardy civilization below.

At first I contented myself staying away from built-up areas, but attracted by a wood church, beautifully and massively built and receiving no flak, I flew over everything from then on. I never tired of flipping over a ridge and diving down the next valley. Each time there was a new and awesome sight. Finally I came on a Fiord which dwarfed the others with a lush green, well planned countryside, extending 5 to 10 miles along either side. I later learned this was Oslo Fiord. Here I notice my first railroad and partly looking for something German to shoot at, but also just curious, I followed it flying about 50 ft. above the tracks. I had been over Norway for one hour and was about to retrace my flight when I stumbled across the German Seaplane Base at Horten, just south of Oslo. It was in a cavity in the Fiord with bordering hills and an Island in the harbor, making it an ideal spot to defend and providing smooth water for takeoff and landings. On the island, a half-moon affair, stood a powerhouse and I was soon to learn 20 or 40 mm flak guns. In the town of Horten due south, several ocean going vessels were docked, perhaps transporting aircraft parts that a factory nearby produced to Germany. What particularly interested me and had me excited were a HE 115 and two large Dornier Flying Boats floating serenely in the center of the bay. (Journal lost, from this point on, the rest from memory 48 yrs later.)

I remember popping over hills on the west side of the small harbor, firing at one of the Dorniers most of the fire missing, kicking rudder to bring the fire back, but getting only a few hits on one wing. Later I found all the guns on the left side had not fired. I could not let the fat target go, circled low and made another pass from the west. All hell broke loose with AAA from a number of locations around the harbor. I can't remember if I fired again, but I do remember the AAA was heavy and I took off south down the Fiord full throttle, little balls of fire floating by on all sides. I remember feeling amazed that nothing had hit me. Out of range, I briefly considered going to Sweden, which was in plain view to my left. I knew I had used too much gas and could not get back to England. I decided I might be able to make it to Scotland. I remember thinning the mixture, lowering the RPMs and climbing back into the clouds to approximately 10,000 ft. I set a course for what I thought was the nearest part of Scotland. Now that radar could pick me up, I wondered if the Germans would send up fighters? I flew instruments all the way west. I tried to make some kind of radio contact but couldn't. As the gas gauge became near empty, I descended gradually wondering if I could make it to the coast. I had it in my mind that the Scottish coastal range was 1000-2000 ft. high. As I got down to that altitude, the visibility was still zero. I thought about bailing out at the end of the gas, but that was an unattractive option at best. Finally, I decided to inch down hoping to come out over the sea near land. I broke out at no more that 100 ft., not over the sea, but miraculously over an airfield. I dumped it in without ground contact, I couldn't wait and taxied to an apron. A British officer, probably the C.O., met me in a jeep. He seemed irritated by my unexpected arrival. I don't think he believed my story, that I had been lost in Norway, more like I was another crazy Yank. Finally he became a little more friendly, promised to put me up and service my airplane. We did have a momentary run-in. He wanted me to give him my gun camera film. I refused saying it was US property. Later I hid it under the cockpit seat. The airfield was the British Naval Airbase at Crail, Scotland. I was shown to the mess and later to the Officers Club. It was a scene hard to believe. Not a sober citizen to be found, everyone was smashed, singing and shouting. It seemed they had sunk the German pocket battleship Tirpitz earlier that day, of all places in a Norwegian Fiord. I remember talking to a flying officer from Ceylon. The pilots were from countries all over the world. The next day I checked my airplane, it had been serviced as promised. The line mechanic told me I had landed with 4 gallons of gas. I made a hot takeoff wanting to show the British what a P51 could do, pulling it off quickly and as straight up as it would go. At something like 500ft. over the end of the runway, it started to fall off in a stall, but I was able to get the nose down and steady it with the rudder and regain flying speed. I remember thinking how foolish I was, but also happy that the British could see what our plane could do. The trip south was uneventful except for some Spits and Hurricanes that wanted to dogfight. I left them behind. The hills in southern Scotland and northern England were rose colored and quite beautiful at that time of year.

Further Note by Merle Olmsted:

Although Bill remembers that the escapade caused him to be grounded for a week, the grounding did not "take", as two days later, he was aloft with the rest of the group over the airborne landing at Arnhem. Here he shot down an ME 109 and another the next day. He scored a total of four victories before he was shot down on "The Big Day" - 14 January, 1945, and spent the remaining few months of the war in a Stalag Luft.

[bobbysocks]

Joaquin Garcia-Morato - Best Ace of Spanish Civil War.

Born in Melilla in 1904. At 19 he was called up and posted to the Infantry. In April 1925 he enrolled in the civil flying school, and on 6th August received his F.A.I. pilot's license. Subsequently he took a course on the Avro 504 biplane and obtained the corresponding military qualification, on completion of which he was sent to a reconnaissance and bombing unit equipped with the DH9A. When the unit was sent to Morocco he took part in actions against the insurgents. He volunteered for the Bristol fighter squadron at Nador (Melilla), where in 57 missions he logged over 100 hours' flying, for which he was commended.After that he was posted to the float-plane base at Mar Chica, and later transferred to a reconnaissance group at Getafe.

In 1929 he was appointed flying instructor at the pilot Conversion School. He qualified as an observer, and in 1930 as a wireless telegraphist. He learned to fly multi-engined aircraft, fighters and float-planes, and he was an outstanding aerobatic pilot. In 1932 he added aircraft mechanic to his other qualifications. He took part in many aerobatic competitions, winning several. Among other aircraft he flew a Consolidated Fleet 2. In 1934 he saw action in the Asturias campaign.He taught blind flying at the Aereo-Club of Madrid. In 1935 Morato organized the air section of the General Directorate of Safety.

The Civil War found him on holiday (vacation) in Great Britain, from where he flew across France to Burgos and Cordoba. His part in the war started with the defense of Cordoba. Over that city on 3rd August, at the controls of a Nieuport 52, he threw an enemy formation into total confusion and forced it to withdraw. On the 12th Morato had his first victory when he shot down a Vickers Vildebeest bomber over Antequera.

Garcia-Morato was one of the first Spanish pilots to fly the He-51 biplanes when they became available, and on 18th August he shot down a Potez 54 and a Nieuport while flying one. He shot down another Nieuport on 2nd September. He also piloted Ju-52s on bombing missions.

When the Fiat CR-32 fighters arrived in Spain he was the first Spanish pilot to try them out, having been posted with two comrades to one of the Italian units. On 11th September he scored his fifth victory, and his first with the CR-32, achieving three more by the end of the month. He shot down three more aircraft in October, and in November he tangled over Madrid with Russian-made I-15 aircraft, shooting down three of them - and a Potez 54 into the bargain.

In December the Nationalist air force had sufficient Fiats to constitute an independent group, whose command went to Garcia-Morato. Dubbed Blue Patrol, it operated in the south flying cover for the Nationalist Breguets. The Cordoba zone was being targeted by Soviet SB-2 bombers, modern, fast and hard to intercept. On 3rd January 1937, attacking from high altitude, he pounced on a pair of them and shot them down. In February he returned to the Madrid front to support the Jarama offensive.

On the 18th, acting with other Italian CR-32 fighters, the Blue Patrol took off on a sortie to escort Ju-52 bombers. Because of losses they had sustained the Italians were forbidden to cross the front line. When the bombers crossed the front line with no escort a large number of enemy fighters pounced on them. Morato and his comrades Salvador and Berm?dez de Castro gave fight, which persuaded the Italians to disobey orders and join them. That day, at the cost of the loss of one of their own aircraft, the Nationalist fliers inflicted several losses on the enemy and redressed the balance of mastery of the air in the sector.

On 17 th May, 1937 he was decorated with the Cruz Laureada de San Fernando for his actions until 18th February, 1937. Until the latter date he had made 150 sorties and participated in 46 combats, achieving 18 victories.

Blue Patrol was upgraded to a full squadron and later a group of two squadrons, designated 2G3. In September 1937, with a total of 27 victories, Garcia-Morato was sent to Italy, from where he returned in December that year. He was appointed Commander of the Hispana Air Brigade, embracing all air units in the north. In July 1938 he was given command of a new fighter group, 3G3, in which he increased his tally of victories to 35.

On 3 rd October neither Salvador not Morato returned to base: the former had been shot down and taken prisoner and Garc?a-Morato, shot up by Third "Mosca" Squadron's Lt. Luis Sirvent Cerrillo, had made a forced landing.

On 24th December his unit, Fontllonga, 20 km. north of Balaguer (Lerida), shot down nine enemy R-5 bombers, three of which were attributed to Morato. Of the 9 Natashas, 3 returned to their own side's airfields, (2 to La Garriga and 1 to Vic). Six were shot down, of which 3 were lost, while the remainder managed to land with varying fortune inside their own lines.

Overall the Natasha squadron suffered 3 dead, 8 wounded and 2 taken prisoner. Garcha Morato's unit suffered the shooting down and taking prisoner of captain Rafael de Mendiz?bal Am?zaga, while another Fiat had to land because of damage at Almenar (Lerida). His last victory, number 40, was an I-15 shot down on 19th January 1939.

At the end of the war he was Chief of Operations of the Nationalist fighter force. His log book showed 1,012 hours flown on 511 sorties, of which 56 were in aerial combat, with 40 aircraft shot down.

On 4th April 1939 he was putting his Fiat CR-32 (3-51) through various maneuvers over Gri??n airfield when, during low-level inverted flight, the engine failed. The aircraft crashed, killing the pilot. He was posthumously awarded the Individual Medal and promoted to substantive major for meritorious war service.

In 1950 he was given the noble title of Count of the Jarama, also posthumously.

Morato's emblem is currently worn by Ala de Caza No 11 (No 11 Fighter Wing), based at Mor?n de la Frontera and equipped with the F-18. This will be the first Spanish unit to receive the Eurofighter. This Air Force unit has inherited the weapons and ancient tradition of Spanish fighter aviation which belonged to Ala 11 (11 Wing) based at Manises, Valencia until its disbandment in 1999.

Angel Salas Larrazabal - A Fighter Ace in Two Wars.

DURING World War II, the Nationalist government of General Francisco Franco Bahanmonde decided to send a volunteer force to fight on the Russian front in a way to repay the assistance that Germany and Italy had given him during the Spanish Civil War 1936-1939.

A complete infantry division was raised with a fighter squadron “Escuadrilla” to provide protection to the “Division Azul”. But in the actual fighting the division and the squadrons would fight in different areas of the Russian front. The Spanish pilots would even had encounters with the Free French pilots, of the “Normandie-Niemen” fighter regiment.

A total of five “Escuadrillas” would fly on the Russian front being relieved every six month with a Junkers Ju-52 flight, that flew mail to the “Division Azul”. By 1944 Franco seeing the writing on the wall and under pressure by the US government, decided to pull the Division and by the 5/o. Escuadrilla Azul out of Russia and declare Spain a “Neutral” country.

A Spanish Legion was formed in place of the Division to continue the fight against the Russians, but even this Legion was eventually recalled home, leaving a number of Spanish volunteers that fought in the German SS until the end of the war.

As for the Spanish squadrons, they received their training in Germany and later in France, they would first fly the BF-109E, F and G models and the FW-190A-3. These Spanish “Escuadrillas” would fly as part of the JG27 and JG51 in Russia. A total of 659 Spanish air force personnel would serve in these units.

During the course of their stay in Russia the Spanish pilots would claim the destruction of about 163 Russian aircraft and 12 pilots scoring 5 or more victories. On the debit side a total of between 24-25 pilots including ground personnel would lose their lives, some posted as missing in action, while one pilot was taken POW, only to return back to Spain in April 1954.

Among the notable Spanish fighter pilots only one would become an “Ace” not only in the Spanish Civil war but in Russia as well, this honor fell upon Cmdte. Angel Salas Larrazabal who had shot-down 17 Republican aircraft over Spain and would add 7 more Russian aircraft to his score.

Angel Salas was born on October 10, 1906 in Orduna, Viscaya Spain. He joined the army in 1921. Later in 1927 he joined the military aviation, graduating as a aerial observer, in 1929 he undertook pilot training to receive his pilot wings in 1930.

At the start of the Civil War, now Captain Salas, defected to the Nationalist side in a Breguet XIX general purpose biplane. During the course of the civil was, he flew the De Havilland Dragoon, and later fighters like the Nieuport Ni-52, Heinkel He-51 and the Fiat CR-32 biplane fighters.

He became one of the original members of the “Patrulla Azul” led by Joaquin Garcia Morato ( who finnish the war as the top scoring pilot with 40 claimed victories). Salas flew Fiat CR.32 No. 3-61 (c/n.111) he later became commander of 2-G-3 in September 1937.

His most notable combat came on September 2, 1938, during the battle of Ebro, when in a single pass he shot-down 3 SB-2 bombers of the 4o.Escuadrilla de “Katiuskas” of Grupo 24 and one Polikarpov I-16 of the 1o.Escuadrilla de Moscas, it pilot Tte. Jose Martin Redondo managing to bailed out.

Salas was one of two pilots who would claim four kills in a single combat, the other was the German Oblt. Wilhelm Balthasar of 2./J88 claimed four SB-2’s on February 7, 1938.

At the end of the war Salas had flown 618 missions, 1,215 fight hours, was involved in 49 aerial combats, he was shot-down four times. But to his credit he had destroyed 48 vehicules and was credited with shooting down 16 Republican aircraft and shared one.

After the war he served in the following positions commander of the 21st fighter regiment and chief of the 4th section of the Estado Mayor.

He volunteer and was designated as the commander of the 1a. Escuadrilla Azul, (Escuadrilla Expedicionaria) that was formed with 17 pilots, some veterans of the civil war, with thier combined score totaled 79 aerial victories.

The unit crossed into France on July 24, 1941, later arriving in Germany in late part of the month, they were assigned to training at the Jagdfliegerrschule 1 at Werneuchen near Berlin, after completing their training on the BF-109E’s, the 1o.Escuadrilla left for Russia on September 26, 1941. At first the Spanish pilots were worried that they would arrive late to see any action, since they were kept informed of the progress of the German advance towards Moscu.

Celebration of Azul Escuadrilla's welcoming on East Front, Moschna airfield, September 1941.

The 1/o.Escuadrilla received a total of 12 BF-109E-4 and –7’s’s and they were assigned to JG 27 VIII FliegerKorps of LuftFlotte 2. They were known as the “15 Spanische Staffel”, and they started to fly their first combat operations October 2nd , 1941 and suffering its first pilot in that same day. Escorting German bombers and reconnaissance aircraft, they operated from 12 different airfields, On October 4th, the Escuadrilla Azul score its first aerial victories, when Cmdte. Salas opens the score board with the destruction of one I-16 fighter and a Pe-2 as he described in his after combat report:

I saw coming 6 Pe-2 and I went after them, cutting the distance between us I found myself below I opened fire from 150 meters with my small machine and much closer with my canons, I saw pieces jump from the aircraft after the second burst, it occupant taking to his parachute. Later I continue towards Cholm to join up with the group and see a “Rata” I attack him in a turn while trying to flee in a fast dive that rips his left wing and he crashes near the confluence between Dnieper and Wjasna. Later I attack twice another “Rata” with no effects.

On October 7th, the Escuadrilla undertakes 42 sorties and in the course of the day Cmdte. Salas shot-down an “I-18” for his third personal and unit victory. Days later on the 13th, two of Salas pilots shoot-down a Biplane and another “I-18” fighter. On the next day Salas in the company with three other pilots in a “free hunt” near Kalinin surprise three DB-3 bombers in the resulting combat Salas downs two, while Capt. Carlos Bayo Alessandri destroys the third DB-3, but during the heat of the combat Salas and Bayo collide resulting in Salas BF-109’s rudder being partially destroyed but he made back to base. But during this combat Cmdte.

Salas became the first Spanish pilot to become an “Ace” in the skies of Russia.

On the 25th,Salas with two other pilots destroyed on the ground three “I-18” Soviet fighters at the airfield of Klin. On the 27th, Salas during an combat between five Spanish pilot and reportedly 10 “I-18” fighters shot-down another “DB-3” bomber for his sixth personal and the 10th victory for the Spanish squadron.

On November 4th, Cmdte. Salas is force to land between German and Russian lines during an aerial combat, he was rescued the next day by German troops and returned to the squadron.

In the later part of November Cmdte. Salas reportedly shot-down an Russian biplane for his 7th personal victory, but there is some confusion, as his this kill was actually a ground victory, since in the listing of victories by the Escuadrilla Salas is listed with 6 aerial and 2 ground victories. That would end the score card for the 1/o.Escuadrilla Azul. For the remainder of their stay in Russia, they would continue fighting, flying escort mission, ground attacks etc, etc. but sustaining losses to it pilots.

The 1/o.Escuadrilla Azul receive the orders to return to Spain on January 6th, 1942. during their time in Russia the unit flew a total of 460 missions, engaged in 94 aerial combats and destroyed 10 enemy aircraft plus four on the ground, for the lost of 5 pilots (one KIFA, three WIA and one KIA) plus one wounded in action. Of the three missing in action, one is reported to have been taken POW by the Russians, but stayed in Russia and married a Russian woman and reportedly was living South of Moscu.

As for Comandate Salas he received the German Iron Cross .

After his return from Russia Cmdte. Salas served as a Air attaché in Rome, Berlin and Lisboa Portugal and during the 1950’s he was posted to Paris France. In 1956 he undertook training to become a jet pilot, he would retire from the Air Force in 1972 with the rank of Capitan General and his last post was Chief of Tactical Aviation and the commander of a Air Region.

He passed away on April 26, 1991.

[bobbysocks]

Siergiey Luganski - Master of 'Taran' Attack.

Siergiey Luganski (1918-1977) was one of the best Soviet pilots. He achieved a total of 37 kills during the Great Patriotic War (1941-1945) - two of these kills were by "Taran" attacks (air-to-air ramming). He was highly awarded, twice appointed Hero of the Soviet Union.

Born in Alma Ata, Kazakhstan, he was facinated by aviation since early ages. In 1936 he joined the Military Aviation school in Orienbursk. In 1938, Luganski completed the Pilot’s School with the award of Best Student. Next, he went to a fighter regiment, first as an ordinary pilot, next - as leader of a section, and finally as deputy regimental commander. In 1939, he completed the Military Aviation Academy.

During the Soviet-Finnish War (1939-40) he flew 59 combat missions, downing one enemy aircraft. Luganski's Squadron (25 IAP), commanded by Ivan Ivanovich Popov, part of the 14th Soviet Fighter Corps, operated from the frozen lake Karchu-Lampi. The main task for this unit was ground-attack sorties against Finnish troops. During one of these sorties, on 28 February 1940, Luganski’s plane was hit by artillery shell (probably Soviet!), and he was forced to bail out, despite the fact that he was flying at a very low altitude. His parachute developed only a few metres above the ground. During the jump he lost his flying boots - which was some quite serious business at 40 Centigrades below zero. But the front line was close. Luganski, running only in his socks, was lucky to reach the Soviet positions. Next day he was airborne again, scoring his first aerial victory against a less fortunate Finnish aircrew. Flying together with his commander, Sen.Lt. Vladimir Nikolayevich Pieshkov (who was appointed Hero of the Soviet Union on 20 September 1940, after 3 kills in Winter War), he managed to down a Finnish reconnaissance biplane.

Luganski’s next kill almost finished his career: By mistake he destroyed a Soviet R-5 reconn-bomber. But Luganski was lucky again, escaping with only a few days in confinement. Following the Finnish surrender in the Winter War, all pilots were awarded, and Luganski received the Red Star Order. The combat missions he had flown during the war with Finland provided him with experience which would prove very useful in the coming years.

In beginning of the Great Patriotic War, Luganski flew a LaGG-3 fighter, and downed a few enemies. The squadron, commanded by Ivan Gluhih, was re-equipped with old I-16s. In air combat over Bataysk on 9 September 1941, two sections (6 planes) of Soviet fighters encountered 18 Germans. A German (whom Luganski assumed must have been an ace) shot down Vladimir Pieshkov. Luganski followed German in a long persuit, to revenge himself for his friend's death, but instead he got himself shot down. But once again, luck had not completely deserted him, as he managed to bail out and survive.

While covering Soviet Army’s river crossings, he downed enemy aircraft through ramming attacks twice. The first occasion was on September 14th, 1942. Having run out of ammunition, Luganski decided to perform a "Taran" attack against an enemy formation, which was approaching River Volga in the air above General Rodimtsev's division. He knocked down a Romanian He 112 with a damaged wing. Next time, the "Taran" attack was accomplished while flying cover over the Dnepr River - this time the victim was an He 111. And luck stayed with Luganski, who in both cases came out of the ramming attacks alive (unlike most Soviet pilots, who performed this type of attack). On the same day as he scored his second ”Taran” kill, he was awarded with the Alexander Nevski Medal.

In June 1943, Luganski’s squadron (12 aircraft) was engaged in a famous battle. Over the front lines, they spotted about 80 German bombers, from which they bagged 12. Several pilots scored multiple victories in this melee). One month later, Luganski's squadron came across 30 Bf 109's. During a prolonged and stiff battle, the Soviets managed to shoot down 8 enemies. On 12 September 1943, acting as squadron commander in the 270th Guards Regiment, Sergeiy Luganski was appointed Hero of the Soviet Union. At this moment he had 18 kills to his credit.

In another aerial combat, Luganski was seriously injured. Still not completely recovered, he returned to Alma Ata in the end of December 1943. The people of the city welcomed him with great enthusiasm, and raised funds which bought him a new Yak-1M. In May 1944, Luganski was put in charge of a Guards Fighter aviation Regiment in the 1st Guards Ground-attack Aviation Corps (1 GvShAK, commanded by V. G. Ryazanov), supporting the 1st Ukrainian Front. At this moment he had 18 kills to his credit. Shortly after taking command of this crack unit, Luganski downed a German fighter ace. In his memoirs 'Glubokiye Wirazhi' (Deep Turns), Luganski describes this event with the following words: In one of the days of May 1944 , Sergiey Luganski and his wingman took off on an important reconnaissance mission. While Viktor Usov accomplished his task of covering his commander, Luganski discovered some German tanks and armoured columns. They flew at low altitude in order to avoid enemy fighters. Having fulfilled their mission, the two Soviets entered their return flight. What they didn't notice was that a 'hidden' pair of Bf 109s followed them. Later, Luganski assumed they must have noticed the rich ace 'ornaments' on his Yakovlev, which made them decide to avoid an open confrontation, and instead seeking the chance in a surprise attack. They waited patiently, and when Luganski, having reduced the speed of his aircraft, started landing - they decided to hit.

The Ground control noticed the danger and warned both pilots by R/T. Viktor Usov turned sharply to defend his leader and soon he had shot the German wingman in flames. But just in that moment, the leader of the German section hit Usov's plane and he was forced to bail out. Now only the two leaders, the Russian and the German, remained in the air. The German pilot turned against Luganski. The Soviet ace was just come in to land. A small touch down with lowered landing gears probably saved his life. A stream of enemy rounds passed slightly above his plane. While closing his landing gears, Luganski entered combat. Following his first run, the German climbed to make his next attack. He had the advantage - Luganski was flying slowly at deck. The Bf 109 came after him again and opened fire. Several shells slammed into Luganski's Yak. The canopy and instruments panel were damaged, but the plane still was able to fight.

Luganski, noticing the top class of his adversary and aware that his own aircraft was almost out of fuel, realized that he had only one chance of surviving - to use the Yak's superior horizontal. The German pilot, obviously certain of his success, entered a turn fight. After few very sharp rounds, Luganski had the Bf 109 in his gun sight. A fire burst shattered the German’s cockpit hood, injured the pilot and cut the engine power off. The German aircraft slid in the air for a moment, then it made a belly-landing 3 kms from the Soviet airfield. Soviet soldier rushed to capture him and suddenly the hunter had become the prey. Luganski saw this and a few minutes later he landed on nothing but fuel fumes. The duel had lasted no more than 7 minuts long, but it was enough to completely exhaust Luganski. The German pilot was captured: It turned out that his name was Otto. On his killboard were 70 victories, including 30 on Eastern Front. He had just been appointed for the Oak Leaves to his Knight’s Cross. Next day the commander of the 1st Ukrainian Front, Marshal I.S. Koniev arrived at airfield. He inspected the wreck of the German ace’s Bf 109, and decided to award Luganski a second Golden Star, so Luganski received his second Soviet Hero title on 1 July 1944. By that time, his victory score had rosen to 33, achieved during 335 combat sorties.

During the battle of Lvov, Luganski often flew on free hunting missions with the Soviet Hero Yewgeniy Mienshutin acting as wing man. Once, they encountered a pair of Bf 109, one of them with a bright red nose, over the front line Mienshutin soon downed the leader of the pair, while Luganski hit the 'red-nosed' wingman with a long burst from a very short distance. The enemy plane hit the ground, but did not explode. The Soviets 'investigated' the body of this Bf 109’s pilot - it turned out to be an Italian pilot named Gibelli, credited with 50 (!? - after Luganski relation) kills.

In that period, the people of Alma Ata decided to raise funds to equip Luganski’s whole squadron with twelve of the brand new Yak-3 fighters! The 'Komsomolec Kazakhstana' squadron was included to Luganski's 157th GvIAP. Shortly afterwards, the regimment recived the name-of-honour 'Sandomirskiy' after its great achievements in the air over the city of Sandomierz (Poland). Unit also was awarded with the Bohdan Chmielnickiy and Alexander Nevski Medals.

Luganski finished the war with the rank of Major. His final score was 37 personal and 6 shared victories, on a total of 390 combat missions. Luganski's Fighter Aviation Regiment was credited with the destruction of 245 enemy aircraft in the air. In 1957 Luganski was promoted to Major-General, and in 1964 he retired. He passed away in 1977, in Alma Ata.