WAR STORIES
“As the pilot of a B-26 Marauder bomber, I never saw a good dogfight. When enemy fighters got through our fighter cover they flashed past the formation so fast we saw only fleeting glimpses of them—and even that was too much. Our tail gunners saw a few skirmishes but no sustained engagements. When I finally did see one, it was from the ground.
“While flying my thirty-fifth mission, with the 344th Bomb Group to attack bridges across the Seine River near Paris on 28 May 1944, I was shot down by German flak. The following day I contacted members of the Resistance. They took good care of me and for five days I was hidden in a small tavern where I ate well and was treated royally as the guest of a fine couple, Carlos and Maria. They spoke excellent English, having spent many years in New York City where Carlos had led a rhumba band at the Waldorf-Astoria, and were glad to aid an American.
“On Thursday, 2nd June, I was moved to an apartment on the top floor of a building on the ruede Chantier in Versailles. There I was the guest of Charles and Delise. From their windows I could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance to the northeast. Less than four miles to the east I could see German aircraft taking off from Villacoublay aerodrome. At first there was only moderate activity, but on D-Day things really picked up, reaching a peak which was sustained for several days.
“Flights began arriving at dawn to refuel and fly shuttle runs to the invasion beachhead throughout the day. Often they returned individually, badly battered and damaged. Just before dark, they would refuel and fly to the more remote fields of eastern France to escape the night-bombing RAF. I was always amazed to witness their mass departures because they were so unorthodox compared with American techniques. “Their take-off procedure seemed to consist solely of a left climbing turn at maximum climb after gear-up. There was no regular interval between take-offs. Each plane departed when it was ready, started the left climbing turn and merged with the swirl of snarling aircraft.
“The first big mission departure I saw was on D-Day, before I learned of the Normandy landing a hundred miles or so to the west. It was about seven o’clock in the morning, and when I heard the sound of so many engines I pulled a chair over to the window and waited for something to happen. The revving of the engines continued, then suddenly a red-nosed Me 109 with red wingtips leapt up in a very steep angle, starting a left climbing turn. Others followed immediately, and with each new launch the stack grew higher and higher, forming one great, ever enlarging corkscrew-shaped spiral. When the last plane was airborne there must have been at least fifty fighters involved, and the whole shebang just seemed to collapse as the leader nosed his plane down, accelerating as the others tagged along in a sort of indiscriminate mass, behind, alongside, underneath and above him. Without an apparent pattern, they looked like a swarm of bees—either there was no precision or the utmost precision possible.
“I couldn’t tell which was the case, but they never flew it any other way. I watched them many times and never saw them have any trouble, but I couldn’t figure out how they could keep everyone in sight.
“That morning they headed westwards, and I wondered why such a large flight was in the area. It was far and away the largest I had seen, for most of the previous flights had been only small patrols.
“About two hours later, I heard several aircraft coming in from the west and looked out the living room window. The red-nosed Messerschmitt slanted hurriedly in, knifing down for a landing. There was a sense of urgency about it because he made no attempt to set up a preliminary pattern but maintained airspeed all the way through a long, straight-in approach. Before he touched down, out of sight behind the trees ringing the field, others flew in from the same direction. Several trailed smoke, one badly. Then another group came in, milling about over the field as they set up a landing priority. Some were Focke-Wulf Fw 190s. There must have been nearly a hundred fighters althogether. I remember counting more than sixty, and I missed several flights.
“Throughout the next half hour they continued to straggle in, revving their engines, jazzing them like kids in hot rods. The jazzing bit made me cringe. In B-26s we wanted power all the way in.
“A neighbour on a nearby balcony excitedly called Delise over and told her about the invasion. Delise came running inside, calling me by the name on my forged identity card which had said that I was a forty-two-year-old merchant from Deurdan.
“ ‘Albert, Albert, Le debarquement. Le debarquement est ici.’ She was so excited I couldn’t get much information from her. We turned on the radio, but German-controlled French station had nothing so I switched to the Yankee Doodle network. They were playing music—Glenn Miller. After a pause abd the phrase of the sone which identified the station, the announcer gave the latest report on the invasion, with a detailed analysis of the whole story. Then I knew where the Jerries had been and why their numbers had increased after take-off. The Luftwaffe was probably being diverted from all over Europe to Normandy. It was tremendous news, and to me it was a real boost. I kept listening to the radio all day and telling Delise what was happening. The French radio stations told us nothing, but all morning cryptic messages were happening. The French radio stations told us nothing, but all morning cryptic messages were transmitted over both AFRS and the BBC. The BBC’s were delightful.
“ ‘Pierre, there is a red, red rose in the icebox for you.’
“ ‘Marcel, your interest will be due on the 12th.’
“I often tuned to the BBC after that to catch those messages and to get the news at dictation speed, which gave me a chance to take notes.
“Later, one of our own teams went into action. Charles learned that the marshalling yard was full of German tanks which were supposed to depart for Normandy that night. I wrote a note to an English agent who had contacted me, and he got the message off by portable radio units at about eight o’clock in the evening. Just before midnight it got results, for the RAF started a raid which lasted until one a.m. The marshalling yard was closer to our apartment than I had thought, and for the entire raid there were flashes from exploding bombs, crumbling buildings, the thudding wham of anti-aircraft batteries and the almost constant rocking of our building on its foundation. We finally went to bed about three a.m.
“The next morning I was still sleepy and stayed in bed, dozing until something awakened me. It as an unfamiliar sound, a sort of popping. Then came sounds I recognized—racing aircraft engines. I jumped out of bed and ran over to the window, dragging the sheet with me. Coming straight toward me at not more than fifty feet above the roof was an American P-51 Mustang, going flat out. Close behind it were five Fw 190s, sort of bunched together, flying like the bees again, and all of them were taking pot shots with their 20mm cannon at the poor old Yankee boy.
“I saw all this simultaneously, before the planes flashed by just over the rooftop. They were coming from the airfield towards the apartment, headed north-west. I could even see the pilot, tensely hunched over the controls. He was wearing a helmet and goggles and his chute straps showed plainly against the darker color of his A2 jacket; a patch of white scarf was visible at his throat. The checquered yellow, or maybe checquered yellow and white, nose of his plane was clear and distinct. The aircraft was unpainted, bright aluminum, and its marking—black letters and the national insignia—stood out. It had a bubble canopy, the first one I’d ever seen.
“As they passed overhead, I whirled and ran through the apartment, across the living room to the window at the balcony on the other side of the building. The fighters actually dipped lower going away, for our building stood on the side of a slope, and the terrain fell away toward the center of Versailles. They were soon out of sight, and I was sure the P-51 jockey was a goner. I turned away from the window and for the first time realized Delise was standing by my side and that I was wearing only a pair of shorts.
“She looked at me and said, ‘Albert, l’Américain?
“ ‘I think so, Delise, yes.’
“ ‘Ah . . . pas bon,’
“I went back into the bedroom and put on my pants and uppers. Then suddenly, Delise opened the door, shouting,
“ ‘Albert, ici, ici!’
“I followed her quickly into the living room and on to the tiny balcony. A couple of minutes had passed, with the battle unexpectedly continuing, but the tide had changed. Coming toward us from the south-west, still at roof-top level, were the six fighters, but leading the pack was a lonesome Fw 190, frantically trying to escape the P-51 pilot who was relentlessly hosing him with .50 caliber slugs in short, accurate bursts. Behind were the other four Jerries, holding their fire for fear of hitting the first Fw 190. Not more than 300 yards separated the first plane from the last.
“I began to really sweat out the American, though, because the Jerry was playing it cosy by heading straight for an anti-aircraft battery in a patch of woods. Sure enough, it opened fire. The Fw waggled his wing and the ground fire stopped, but the P-51 did the same thing and they didn’t shoot at him either. Its pilot continued firing, and the law of averages caught up with the German plane. It exploded in a great, angry, red and black and orange burst.
“The Mustang pilot flew through the debris, but he was again the hunted and being shot at, so he banked toward Villacoublay a mile or so away. As he started a low pass over the field, all the ack-ack in the base opened up, even on their own planes. The three on the left, nearest Paris, turned left to avoid the flak, but the other one was too far to the right and had to turn to the right to stay clear. The Mustang turned also, heading for the lone Fw which apparently lost sight of him momentarily. Within thirty seconds the Yank was sitting on his tail, taking pot shots at the Luftwaffe again. The two planes were now heading toward me, almost on the same track they had flown on their first pass over the house earlier. The other three were completing a wider turn and were grouped some distance behind, and even though no physical change had occurred, they didn’t seem to have the pouncing snarl or the look of the hunter so apparent in their first low-level pass. They straggled, trying to catch up, but they were too far back to save their buddy.
“Again I raced through the apartment to the other window. As the two planes came over, the thunder of their engines was punctuated by the short, ammo-saving bursts of the .50 calibers. Then, scraping over the rooftops, twisting and yawing, they crossed the city, and finally the Fw began to trail smoke. It nosed down into the horizon to merge with the red flame and black smoke-cloud of impact just west of town. (We learned later that the pilot got out alive but was badly injured.)
“The Yank racked the 51 around in a steep chandelle, right off the deck, almost reversing course. Two of the other 190s flashed past and pulled up also, but the third was a little further back and turned north, away from the tiger who continued his turn, diving a little now. With the height advantage for the first time, the Yank began firing on a dead pigeon. Smoke immediately trailed from the Fw, but the 51 pilot had to turn away as the other two planes closed in on him. The distressed Fw 190 limped away, trying to get back to Villacoublay, but crashed north of town several miles from the base. Now only two Germans were left, and the American had put a little distance between their planes and his.
“By this time I was absolutely going nuts. It was all I could to keep from shouting in English. Everybody else was excited too. People had come out on the rooftops of nearby apartments, and the balconies were full of men and women silently cheering for the crazy, lone American. I knew he would have a rough time from here on out. The last two wouldn’t give him any breaks. On the other hand, they were wary, which might be in his favor. They flew out of sight on the deck south-west of the city. It was quiet for a minute or two and the rooftop audience became restless, frustrated.
“They they returned, still on the deck, and the Yank was miraculously in the middle. They made a long pass across town while the Mustang closed to a range from which he couldn’t miss—I figured he was very low on ammunition. The 190 was trying to outrun him this time, but when he saw his nemisis so close behind, the pilot pulled up frantically. The .50s cut loose in a brief, shattering blast. The 190 nosed straight up and its engine died. As the prop windmilled almost to a stop, the plane began to stall about 1,000 to 1,500 feet off the deck, and the pilot bailed out, opening his parachute immediately. At first its slow, billowing trail made me think it would never open, but it blossomed full and white only a few feet above the trees between me and the Eiffel Tower, standing very tiny in the distance.
“Now the odds were even-up, and what had seemed an eternity to me had really happened in just a few minutes. I began to worry about other German fighters getting airborne to aid their shot-up air patrol, but they were either engaged elsewhere or were unable to fuel up, fearing attack from other aircraft.
“In the distance I could see the last two planes in another long, low arc. The American had started a gradual swing to the west, but he was not about to leave the deck. The Jerry was still behind him, but his guns were silent now, indicating he might also be low on ammunition. When they disappeared over the rim of the rolling hills west of the city the Mustang was taking evasive action, and I was sure the dogfight was almost over. The Jerry had the advantage and was sure to hold it. A moment later, a black, blotchy mushroom of smoke billowed upwards.
“I knew then that one hell of a good pilot had bought the farm. He had given it everything he had and reduced the odds from five to one to even before the end, and I wondered what he had thought when only that one Fw remained. Just a few pilots had ever shot down five German aircraft in one day.
“I noted the time and tried to fix the approximate location of the action and also made a mental note of the aircraft markings, determined to confirm the four victories if I ever got back to England. I just couldn’t forget the way the man had flown, dreaming up tactics as he went along, playing it by ear, only to have his luck run out a little too soon.
“The spectators on the rooftops felt as I did. They stood up slowly, gestured with their hands and went back inside. They seemed to feel a personal loss, almost as if they had been with the pilot themselves, pushing him on to victory with their will alone. They had prayed for his survival, now they prayed for his soul.
“Delise said nothing but went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a bottle of Armagnac. She filled the glasses, raised hers and said, ‘Le pilote Américain.’ Her voice was soft and her eyes brimmed.
“I nodded and we drank.
“I had a couple more—alone.
“I sat there thinking about the pilot and the action-packed few minutes just passed. Suddenly, after three weeks of almost no war at all, it was back with me again and then suddenly gone. All I could do was sit there and think.
“Twenty minutes later, Charles, Delise’s husband, came home. He was very excited and laughed as he asked if we’d seen the fight.
“ ‘Did you see the American kill those Germans?’
“ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘We saw. He got four of them. Four out of five.’
He looked at me and grinned, taking another sip of brandy, and suddenly I wanted to hit him, he looked so smug.
“ ‘Non. No, no! He got five. He got them all. I see . . . everything. Especially the last. It was magnificent.’
“He said this in a mixture of French and English, the way was always conversed. I wasn’t sure I understood. He launched into a stream of French I couldn’t understand, but it didn’t make any difference because I could tell he was certain the Yank had gotten all five. We had several more brandies before Charles calmed down enough to explain what had happened.
“ ‘Charles, how do you know he got them all?’
“ ‘Because I saw. Especially the second, third, and fifth, you know? The last was near me. I was at the garden. I have to rake—to hoe, you see? The last one he did not even shoot—much. They came near, so fast. There is this little hill, with woods. The planes almost skim the ground. The American goes zip, like so, around the hill once, and the German follows, but in a greater circle. It is like the cat and mouse. Then the second time the American plane slows—abruptly—its wheels drop out, you know? The German goes in, towards the American, now so much slower, and they are almost sideways, but he loses control of his machine. Only a kilometre or so from where I was standing he crashes into the woods. I jump up and down and wave my hoe and everybody does the same, but then the Germans come and we hide our smiles and I come home fast.’
“I thought about what must have happened. The American pilot was out of ammunition and had dropped his flaps and gear—everything—chopped his throttle, to slow down, forcing the German to turn in, risking a stall to make the German stall. The German didn’t have much choice. If he didn’t make one last try he would have wound up in front of the Mustang anyway—so he had made the try.
“Everybody I saw for the next few days talked about the dogfight. And coming so soon after D-Day, it gave all of us, me especially, a tremendous boost in morale.
“The plans to get me out of France by a night pick-up from a wheatfield didn’t materialize, and it was early September before I reached London. I reported the dogfight during my debriefing, but by that time I had forgotten a key factor—the aircraft marking, including the squadron code.
“Many years later, I spent several days in the Air Force Historical section at Maxwell Field, Alabama, trying to learn the name of the pilot by reading all operational reports submitted by Mustang pilots for the period. (Now I do not even remember the exact date.) I narrowed it down to twenty-one pilots. Several were killed on the missions involved and others had been killed later in Germany. One noted ‘confused fighting at house-top level in the Paris area’ but claimed no victories.
“As of now, the identity of the American pilot has never been verified, and it’s too bad. But there’s one thing I know. Even if I never find out who he was—it was the best damned dogfight I’ll ever see!”
—1st Lieutenant Henry C. Woodrum, formerly with the 344th Bomb Group (M), 9th USAAF
The black pilots of the 332nd Fighter Group, Eighth USAAF in the Second World War had shared a common experience with their white counterparts of the 4th Fighter Group. Both groups had been relatively rapidly transitioned from the plane they had been flying, to the new, very promising, very challenging P-51 Mustang. With the men of the 4th, it had been a matter of “You can learn to fly ’em on the way to the target”, as their group commander, Colonel Don Blakeslee had told his boys the day they had flown their Thunderbolts over from Debden to the Steeple Morden base and traded them for the hot new fighter from North American Aviation. Blakeslee, when pleading with VIII Fighter Command chief General Bill Kepner to re-equip the 4th with Mustangs, had said, “Most of my boys flew liquid-cooled types in the RAF. It won’t take them long [to transition.] As for the mechanics, don’t forget they worked on Spitfires when the group first started to operate. Don’t worry about them. General, give me those Mustangs and I give you my word—I’ll have ’em in combat in twenty-four hours.” Normally, pilots were given at least 200 hours of flying time in the Mustang before being sent into combat in the plane. The pilots of the 4th had been given on average just forty minutes each in the Mustang before flying their first combat mission in it. In his fine book 1,000 Destroyed, former 4th Fighter Group public relations officer Grover Hall wrote: “Unfamiliarity with the plane and engine failures, chiefly overheating through coolant leaks, caused some pilots to be lost over enemy territory or to have narrow squeaks in emergency landings. But Don Blakeslee had willed it and the fact was he was right up there with them taking precisely the same risks. Otherwise, some probably would have refused to go. The P-51 was Seven League Boots: the Luftwaffe was presently to find that there was no such thing as recoiling beyond American fighter range anymore. The Mustang had a relatively low fuel consumption and the engineering resource had packed it with extraordinary capacity in the wings and fuselage. In addition, it carried not only one belly tank, but two wing tanks which were jettison-able. It was, moreover, a fighter which fought at both high and low altitudes. No other air force had anything comparable with the Mustang.”
Still, the 4th FG paid a price for its move into Mustangs, suffering the loss of some of its finest and most promising young pilots in the change. So too, did the 332nd, the Red Tails, or Tuskegee Airmen as they were known. The pilots of the 99th Fighter Squadron of the 332nd FG, also paid a similar price in the summer of 1944 when they began flying their first Mustang missions, escorting bombers of the Fifteenth USAAF to Mediterranean targets. Mac Ross, who had been operations officer for the 99th, was killed on 10 July when the P-51B he was checking out fell into a descent and seemingly inexplicably went into the side of a hill. An apparent failure of his oxygen system was blamed for the crash. The following day brought the loss of Captain Leon Roberts whose P-51C plunged into the sea from high altitude, an event also attributed to possible hypoxia.
The world in the 1930s and 1940s faced the spreading threat of fascism as Japan and Nazi Germany went on the march to gain living space, resources, in fluence and domination. The self image of the American people in those days was one of free-spirited tolerance and equality, freedom and liberty for all. The contrast between that perception and reality, however, was stark. Certainly, for most black Americans, especially in the American south, reality was a very different thing. Racial segregation dominated life there as it always had. The rule was separate facilities and a separate way of life for all blacks. And among the most flagrant examples of this discriminatory attitude and behaviour was that of the American military and in particular the U.S. Army. Blacks in the army had long been, and continued to be, positioned in what were established as service units where they were wholly engaged in maintenance and basic labour activity. As for the navy, the only rate available to them then was that of mess attendant.
As organizational policy and attitudes trickle down from the top, and the views of many top officials of the American military establishment were, in racial matters, something less than enlightened, progress and tolerance for the black serviceman in the U.S. Army and Navy were all but non-existent. However, that began to shift very slightly in 1938 with the announcement by President Franklin D. Roosevelt of the formation of the Civilian Pilot Training Program in which more than 20,000 American college students were to be trained to fly every year. Students attending black schools were not included in the program initially. In the spring of the following year, though, an event occurred that changed the course of aspiring black airmen in the U.S. military. Two black fliers, Chauncey Spencer and Dale White, took off on a promotional flight from Chicago to Washington DC in their well-worn biplane to drum up interest in aviation for black Americans. Their arrival in the capital was noted by Harry S. Truman, a relatively unknown senator from Missouri who one day would become the U.S. president. Truman was intrigued by the fliers’ effort and arrange to meet with them. He is reputed to have told them: “If you guys had guts enough to fly that thing from Chicago, I’ve got guts enough to do all I can to help you.” Soon after that the U.S. congress appropriated funding to extend the Civilian Pilot Training Program, opening it up to students at black universities as well as to black students in white colleges. Through the course of the Second World War, 2,700 black pilots were trained in the CPTP program. A later addition to the program was the Tuskegee Institute, a black school near Montgomery, Alabama.
By early 1940, with the help and labour of students from Tuskegee Institute, a small airfield was constructed on a plot of land about forty miles from Montgomery. The program was up and running successfully at the airfield, leading to the beginning of a second course of aviation instruction for black pilots at another Alabama airfield, that of Alabama Polytechnic Institute in Auburn.
Success in the program at Tuskegee and soon donations by alumni led to construction of a larger, far more capable airfield facility on the Tuskegee site. With the participation of charitable organizations, including the Julius Rosenwald Fund, the progress of the program at Tuskegee was growing, and advanced more with the interest of one of the fund’s board members, Mrs Eleanor Roosevelt, the wife of the president.
According to one account of the events of 29 March 1941, when the First Lady visited the airfield at Tuskegee, she allegedly asked the chief flight instructor “Can negroes really fly airplanes?” “Certainly we can; as a matter of fact, would you like to take an airplane ride?” he replied.
Much to the concern of her Secret Service protectors, Mrs Roosevelt requested and was taken on a flight by the chief flight instructor at Tuskegee, C. Alfred Anderson. Thereafter she remained a staunch supporter of black pilots in American aviation, a cause to which the Rosenwald Fund contributed generously. And Eleanor wasn’t the only Roosevelt to come to the aid of the current and would-be black airmen. The president himself got involved in their cause in October 1940, prior to the presidential election. With an eye towards the support of black voters, and a shared interest with his wife in the development of aviation for black Americans in the period leading up to the virtually inevitable world war, he declared that “black Americans would serve in numbers proportionate to their representation in the U.S. population, in combat and non-combat roles alike.”
In a truly bizarre example of military double-think, the U.S. Army Air Corps came up with a plan to develop an all-black air pursuit squadron together with the necessary units for its support. At the same time, the Air Corps continued its strict policy of rejecting the applications of black candidates for aviation training. The reason given by the service for the denial of these applications was invariably that there were no black units to which the men could be assigned. Eventually, a Howard University student, Yancey Williams, brought a law suit against the Army and forced it to admit him as a student pilot. The action caused the Army to implement its scheme for an all-black squadron, triggering the appropriation of $1 million for the construction of the ultimate Tuskegee Army Air Field. Additionally, the Army decided it was time to promote one of its better officers, Benjamin O. Davis, Snr., who happened to be black, to brigadier general, the first black American to be elevated to flag rank. Six months later, in July 1941, Davis’ son, U.S. Army Captain Benjamin O. Davis, Jnr., together with eleven black cadets, was admitted to Class 42-C at Tuskegee for military aviation training. Davis, Jnr. was, at that time, one of only two black, non-chaplain officers in the entire U.S. Army.
Benjamin O. Davis, Jnr. had attended the United States Military Academy at West Point. There he had become used to the racial discrimination in vogue at the time, having been given the formal ‘silent treatment’ throughout his four year military education. Outside of official duties, no one spoke to him, and in all that time he was issued enough demerits for imaginary infractions for him to be dismissed from the Cadet Corps. However, the Commandant of Cadets interceded on Davis’ behalf, voiding many of the demerits and enabling him to graduate.
In his final year at West Point, Davis had become interested in the possibility of army aviation and applied for flight training. His application was denied. Later, though, when the Army went ahead with its plans for development of an all-black squadron, Army officials realized that in Davis they had a perfect candidate to command the new unit.
That choice, however, did not alter the views of many at the top of the service who were determined that no black officer would ever command white men. And when Davis was given his initial flight physical examination at Fort Riley, Kansas: “The flight surgeon who gave me the exam did what all flight surgeons were doing when they had black applicants’, he wrote down that I had epilepsy, and I was not qualified for flying training.” Once again the Army double-think intervened and Davis was flown down to Maxwell Army Air Base, Alabama, where he underwent a second physical exam which countermanded the result of the first exam, and the captain was soon under training at Tuskegee.
The Army’s selection of Captain Davis to command the 99th Fighter Squadron was a logical and appropriate one, but Davis was not a natural pilot. The Tuskegee director of flight instruction, Noel Parrish, was required to devote extra time with the officer to bring his flying skills up to an acceptable level. His other skills, though, including his leadership capability, left little to be desired.
The 99th Pursuit Squadron was activated on 19 March 1941 at Chanute Field, Rantoul, Illinois, with an initial cadre of 271 enlisted men training in aircraft ground support trades. It was to be the core of the black squadrons to be formed at Maxwell and Tuskegee airfields. Benjamin O. Davis, Jnr: “In organizing the 99th Pursuit Squadron, the Air Corps made a positive effort to avoid the worst aspects of segregation by creating an authentic and highly professional flying unit, similar in all respects to white pursuit squadrons except for the color of its personnel. In March 1941 the Army called for volunteers on a first-come, first-serve basis for the squadron, which was to be composed of 35 pilots and a ground crew of 278 men . . .
“Looking back, it seems clear to me that the Air Corps set and maintained high qualification requirements for the 99th. The corps made a conscious effort to select the best black aircraft maintenance, armament, communications, and supply people that the basic training centers could produce. Black enlisted people already in the service were undoubtedly selected because of their high qualifications and expressed desire. The cream of the crop of black enlisted personnel was available at the time, and from personal experience I can attest that the people assigned to the squadron were highly qualified. The requirement for two years of college was later eased as we approached Pearl Harbor and the Air Corps tried to find qualified applicants for pilot training who had not been to college.
“I was convinced that my professional future in the Air Corps would have to be based upon my own qualification as a pilot and assuming command of the 99th. On 19 July 1941, General Weaver addressed us at a ceremony at Tuskegee Institute inaugurating the flying training of blacks. ‘The eyes of your country and the eyes of your people are upon you,’ he said. ‘The success of the venture depends upon you . . . You cannot be inoculated with the ability to fly . . . The life of a flying student is no bed of roses . . .’ ”
When flying training began for the new students at Tuskegee, the living conditions were something less than ideal. They were housed in tents and their mess hall had a dirt floor that became mud when it rained. The separately-quartered white personnel at the Tuskegee Field base dined in a mess hall withtablecloths and uniformed black waitresses served them. It was the American south in the 1940s, the American Army of the time, and segregation was still the way of life in that context.
The training experience at Tuskegee was not without racial incident. The initial base commander, Major James Ellison, believed strongly in the black airmen project, determined to do all he could to make it work. At one point, though, an event occurred in the town of Tuskegee requiring a black military policeman to take custody of a black enlisted man who was under arrest in the town jail. In the incident, the MP and his driver were also arrested, requiring the intervention of Major Ellison to arrange their release by the town authorities. The incident enraged the local residents, who were already angry about the presence of “armed negroes” on the nearby base. Soon Major Ellison was relieved of his command and quickly replaced by Colonel Frederick von Kimble, who dealt with the situation by segregating the base. He had signs posted labelling the facilities for ‘white’ or ‘colored’ use. Captain Davis reflected on von Kimble’s period in command as “turning the base into a prison camp, with the students frightened of the prevailing racial climate on the base.”
Von Kimble is alleged to have believed that the blacks at Tuskegee lacked leadership ability and that while he was in command there, no black would achieve a rank higher than captain. Following a War Department investigation into von Kimble’s conduct, he too was relieved of command and was replaced by Colonel Noel Parrish, the base director of flight instruction. Parrish, unlike von Kimble, was totally devoted to achieving success in the training of the black pilots there at Tuskegee, working hard to moderate and resolve tensions between the town residents and the base personnel and making great strides to improve the situation. Sensitive to the difficulties faced daily by the men under his command, Parrish did what he could to minimize if not entirely eliminate the segregation on the base and to raise morale by arranging for entertainment visits by Louis Armstrong, Lena Horne, Ella Fitzgerald, Joe Louis, and others. He also did his best to contain the efforts of those in Washington who were determined to bring an end to the black pilot training program. Parrish instead petitioned Washington officials to allow his Tuskegee airmen to serve in combat.
Davis: “Parrish is the man who proved that blacks could fly an aeroplane. In those days, to whites, blacks couldn’t do anything very well, except dance and sing. Blacks supposedly couldn’g fly aeroplanes because that was too technical, and Parrish proved they could. He held the future of blacks in the Army Air Corps in his own little hands. Anybody, everybody should be extremely grateful to Parrish for his performance of duty. He wasn’t doing anybody any favors—he was performing his duty conscientiously in a way that benefited everybody, to include the United States Army Air Force.”
Progress for the Tuskegee airmen continued, but at a slow pace. The persistent double-think policies allowed racial segregation went on despite a pressing need to modify them in the face of technical training demands. One example was the process of developing separate African-American flight surgeons to support the operations and flight training of the Tuskegee airmen. Prior to the development of this unit, there were no black flight surgeons in the U.S. Army. Black Army medical examiners had previously been trained via correspondence courses. Then, in 1943, two black physicians were finally admitted to the U.S. Army School of Aviation Medicine located at Randolph Field, Texas. From 1941 through 1949, a total of seventeen flight surgeons served with the Tuskegee airmen in a typical four-year tour of duty in Alabama, North Africa, Italy, and Sicily. Vance Marchbanks, Jr. was the chief flight surgeon to the Tuskegee airmen. He had been a childhood friend of Benjamin O. Davis, Jr.
The combat-ready 99th Fighter Squadron shipped out of Tuskegee on 2 April 1943, bound for North Africa. There it was to join the 33rd Fighter Group under the command of Colonel William Momyer. Their first actual combat mission was an attack on the strategic volcanic island of Pantellaria in the Mediterranean, a part of the Allied effort to clear the sea lanes for the invasion of Sicily in July, the air assault for which began on 30 May 1943. That initial mission of the 99th was flown on 2 June. At that early stage, the men of the 99th were assigned to a basic ground attack role, which while important, did prevent their engagement in aerial combat activity for the time being.
In late February, the pilots of the all-black 332nd Fighter Group had been ordered overseas with their three squadrons, the 100th, 301st and 302nd, all under command of the now Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jnr. The 332nd was then based on mainland Italy at Ramitelli Airfield, near Termoli on the Adriatic coast. There they were joined by the 99th Fighter Squadron. The bulk of their new role would be to escort the heavy bombers of the Fifteenth Air Force on their lengthy strategic bombing raids against enemy targets in Poland, Austria, Hungary, Germany, and Czechoslovakia. The pilots and the P-51 Mustang aircraft of the 332nd became known as the “Red Tails” for the bright crimson of their fighter’s tail sections.
The 332nd Fighter Group and the 99 Fighter Squadron were the only black air corps organizations to fly in combat during the Second World War. The 99th Pursuit Squadron had been re-named the 99th Fighter Squadron in May 1942 and during its wartime service it earned three Distinguished Unit Citations, for its air operations over Sicily, 30 May to 11 June 1943, Monastery Hill near Monte Cassino, 12 May to 14 May, 1944, and for its successful air action against Me 262 jet fighters on 24 March 1945. This last was the longest bomber escort mission of the Fifteenth Air Force of the war.
Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jnr: “[The] Army Air Forces had dodged the deployment decision for many months. Under the original plan, the 99th would have been sent to Roberts Field, Liberia, as part of a task force providing air defense to an important point on our line of communications to North Africa, the Middle East, and China. Apparently, AAF thought that it would be appropriate to assign its black fighter squadron to black Liberia to minimize racial troubles . . . But with the success of the Allied landings in North Africa in November 1942, the need for the air defense of Roberts Field was eliminated . . . Finally, but also within the bounds of segregation, it was decided to move the 99th to North Africa in the spring of 1943 as a separate squadron in the Mediterranean theater.
“While no AAF unit had gone into combat better trained or better equipped than the 99th Fighter Squadron, we lacked actual combat experience. So as we approached our first missions, my own inexperience and that of my flight commanders was a major source of concern. On the other hand, we had averaged about 250 hours per man in the P-40 (quite a lot for pilots who had not yet flown their first missions), and we possessed an unusually strong sense of purpose and solidarity.
When the pilots of the 99th Fighter Squadron were upgraded from the P-40 fighters they had long been flying, to the new, highly-rated P-51 Mustang, they liked the distinctive look of their new planes with their red tails and prop spinners. To the question of whether or not the bright red identity colour would actually make them easier targets for enemy aircraft, the response was a definite no. In fact, the majority of the new Mustang pilots believed that the red markings on their planes simply made their recognition easier for the friendly gunners in the bombers they were escorting.
The melding of the 99th into the 332nd group was not free of friction. By the time that occurred, the 99th had accrued considerable air combat experience, far more than the largely inexperienced men of the 332nd. The pilots of the 99th deeply resented the possibility that they would be ordered to fly as wingmen to the men of the 332nd. The pilots of the 332nd, on the other hand, tended to be resentful of the fame and achievements of the men of the 99th, and were concerned that assignment of the better missions scheduled would go to the 99th pilots. Fortunately, for all concerned, Colonel Davis was probably the ideal command personality to successfully join these slightly hostile forces and mold them into a really effective fighting unit.
One factor soon began to outweigh all others in the rapidly spreading reputation of the Tuskegee airmen. They quickly became known throughout the Fifteenth Air Force for the extremely high quality of the protection they provided when escorting the heavy bombers on their long, demanding raids. The safe escort they offered was revered by the grateful crews of the heavy and medium bombers they shepherded daily.
Forty-two Mustangs of the 100th, 301st, and 302nd Fighter Squadrons took off at 8:30 a.m. on 6 July 1944 from the air strip at Ramatelli; their mission that day to provide penetration, target cover and withdrawal cover for the bombers of the 47th Bomb Wing on their mission to Tagliamento, Latisana, and Casarsa. Of the forty-two fighters, four spares, one escort, and two mechanical failures returned early to Ramatelli. Two additional Mustangs made it as far as landfall on the Italian coast before having to turn back, and were given the mission credit. At just after 9:33 a.m., the remaining thirty-seven P-51s rendezvoused with the bomber force at various altitudes. The first two groups of bombers were covered by the fighters of the 100th at 22,000 feet. Responsibility for middle cover of the four bomb groups flying at 24,000 feet fell to the Mustangs of the 301st Squadron, with the fighters of the 302nd picking up the rear of the bomber formation at 29,000 feet. The raid went off largely without incident, though the formations were considered to have been too wide, making bomber wing recognition all but impossible. Lessons learned.
On 12 July the squadrons of the 332nd were briefed to fly an escort mission for the B-24 Liberators of the 49th Bomb Wing to a target in France. Their assignment was to provide close cover, escort penetration, target cover, and withdrawal cover for the bombers. The forty-two Mustangs lifted off from the Ramatelli base at 7:45 a.m. Six spare fighters and two suffering mechanical failures returned to base early. Rendezvous with the bombers took place at 10:11 a.m. in heavy overcast at 23,000 feet. By the time the bombers and their escorts reached the target area, the Mustangs of the 301st FS were in the lead, with those of the 100th in the middle, and the planes of the 302nd as the high squadron. Suddenly, as the force approached the target, approximately twenty-five German fighters were sighted near the French coast.
Several direct hits were noted by bomber crewmen as the big planes achieved a good bombing pattern on the target. At least twelve Fw 190 fighters were observed and more than thirty German ships were seen in the harbour at Toulon as the bomber and fighter force passed. As it neared the airdrome at Toulon, upwards of sixty enemy fighters were observed in the revetments around the airfield. Now, a half dozen Fw 190s were spotted peeling off from the ten o’clock position to the bombers. The German fighters slowly formed a line and dived down into and through the bomber formation, reaching a high speed of descent before entering a split “S” and going into a tight left turn followed by a second split “S”. One of the 190s was hit by gunfire from one of the Mustang. Meanwhile, in the midst of the bomber force, a second Fw was hit and destroyed by the Mustang of Lieutenant Harold Sawyer of the 301st Fighter Squadron.
Another 301st Fighter Squadron pilot, flight leader Joseph Elsberry, caught sight of a flight of sixteen Fw-190s as they lined up to launch an attack on the bomber formation from the nine o’clock position. He ordered his pilots to drop their belly tanks and attack the 190s. On seeing the approaching P-51s, the German pilots chose not to fight, but Elsberry caught up with one of them and managed a quick deflection shot that found its mark on the left wing root of the Fw, which lost the wing immediately and began trailing thick black oily smoke from the the wound. The kill, though, went unobserved by the other American pilots, who were otherwise occupied with their own Focke-Wulfs. Elsberry would only be credited with a probable for the effort. Just then he saw another Fw slide into his sights and he opened fire, scoring hits in the left wing of the German plane which entered a roll followed by a split “S” as the American pilot continuted firing short bursts at him. In his effort to elude Elsberry, the German soon lost the battle and ploughed into the ground, becoming the first definite kill of the day for Joe.
Less than one minute passed before Elsberry was again in position to strike at another of the Focke-Wulfs that had got within firing range of the American. This time there could be no doubt about the fate of the enemy fighter. Two of Elsberry’s associates witnessed his .50 caliber bursts finding vital bits of the Fw and sending it down to crash and burn. Mustang pilots Robert Friend and Charles Dunne saw and confirmed Joe Elsberry’s second kill of the engagement.
Now as he watched, Elsberry noticed another Focke-Wulf passing in a forty-five degree descent to his right. Elsberry threw the Mustang into a hard right turn in an effort to keep the German in his sights. By this point, only his left wing guns were useable, but he got off a few brief, effective bursts that struck the enemy plane in the left wing. The German pilot tried to escape by putting his Fw into a tight spiral dive but was unable to pull out and went into the ground for Elsberry’s third of the day. He became the first black American fighter pilot to be credited with three enemy aircraft downed in one day.
Despite a bright and impressive war record, controversy came along to dog the Tuskegee airmen many years after the end of the war. It actually began the prominent African-American weekly newspaper, the Chicago Defender, in its edition of 24 March 1945, while the Second World War still raged in both Europe and the Far East, published an article stating that no bomber escorted by the Tuskegee Airmen had ever been lost to enemy fire. The piece appeared under the headline: 332nd Flies its 200th Mission Without Loss. The information for the article had been supplied by the Fifteenth U.S. Army Air Force. For several years thereafter that statement about the record of the Tuskegee pilots was repeated, unchallenged, until various researchers took an interest in the claim and began looking into it.
Subsequent research has established that, of the 179 bomber escort missions flown by the 332nd Fighter Group in support of the bombers of the Fifteenth Air Force, only seven of those missions resulted in bomber losses for the Americans, for a total loss of twenty-five bombers, a figure far lower than that of the average number of bombers lost while under the escort of other Fifteenth Air Force fighter groups in that same period.
Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jnr: “On 2 July I led a twelve-plane escort of twelve B-25 [medium bombers] to Castel-vetrano in wouthwest Sicily. It was on this mission that I saw my first enemy aircraft, an element of two Fw-190s and a flight of four Me-109s, far above my part of our formation, which was flying close escort to the B-25s. When the enemy planes dove on the bombers, our top cover turned into them and kept them out of range. During this mission we had our first pilot losses: Lts. Sherman White and James McCullin. We believed at the time that both these pilots had made forced landings along the Sicilian coast, but regrettably, it did not turn out that way. The loss of fighter pilots was like a loss in the family. On each combat mission, members of the squadron watched the take-off and were always on hand in large numbers to count the planes as they returned and greet the pilots. On the brighter side of that mission, Lieutenant Hall shot down an Fw-190, the first time a black pilot had downed an Axis plane, and damaged an Me-109. All our other pilots returned to base.”
In January 2010, a ninety-year-old American fighter pilot, Lee A. Archer, Jnr., died in New Rochelle, New York. In the Second World War, Archer had been a pioneering member of the famous Tuskegee Airmen, the first black Ameican fighter pilots. Perhaps his greatest combat achievement took place on 12 October 1944 when he was involved in a furious series of dogfights over German-occupied Hungary. Within only a few minutes, Lieutenant Archer, flying one of his group’s distinctive red-tailed P-51 Mustang fighters, engaged and shot down three German fighter planes. From his obituary in the New York Times, 3 February 2010: “At a time when the armed forces were segregated and the military brass was reluctant to give blacks combat responsibilities, the four squadrons of the Tuskegee unit proved time and time again that black pilots had the bravery and skills to escort American bombers to their targets and blow enemy planes out of the sky.
“Lee Andrew Archer, Jnr. was born in Yonkers on Sept. 6, 1919. He became enthralled with aviation as a youngster in Harlem Joining the Army out of New York University, hoping to become a pilot, he was assigned to a communications job at a post in Georgia because the Army did not want any black fliers. But when it began training black servicement to fly at its Tuskegee airfield in Alabama, Mr Archer joined the program and won his wings in the summer of 1943.
“When he returned home in 1945, a recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross, he found that nothing seemed to have changed in American society.
“ ‘I flew 169 combat missions when most pilots were flying 50’, Mr Archer told the Chicago Tribune in 2004. ‘When I came back to the U.S. and down that gangplank, there was a sign at the bottom: ‘Colored Troops to the Right, White Troops to the Left.’
“But he remained in the armed forces, which were desegregated by President Harry S. Truman in 1948, and retired as a lieutenant colonel in 1970.
“In October 2005, Mr Archer and two fellow Tuskegee veterans visited an air base at Balad, Iraq, to meet with 700 servicemen from a successor unit to his all-black outfit. ‘This is the new Air Force,’ he told The Associated Press. In the dining room, he said, he saw ‘black, white, Asian, Pacific Islanders, people from different parts of Europe.’ ‘This,’ he said, ‘is what American is.’ ”
In their World War II combat history, the Tuskegee Airmen achieved the following: more than 15,000 combat sorties flown; 111 enemy aircraft destroyed in the air; 150 destroyed on the ground; 950 railcars, trucks and other motor vehicles destroyed; one destroyer sunk. Their losses included sixty-six pilots killed in action and accidents; thirty-two pilots downed and captured to become prisoners of war. Awards numbered 150 Distinguished Flying Crosses, 744 Air Medals, eight Purple Hearts, and four Bronze Stars.
Master Sergeant Merle C. Olmsted, died in January 2008. He was a member of the 357th Fighter Group of the Eighth Air Force, and a crew chief for the P-51 Mustangs flying out of Leiston Airfield, Suffolk, England in the Second World War. He very kindly permitted me to reprint portions of his article, Last Seen in Combat Area: “The 14th of January 1945 is a date that has received little attention from aviation historians, but it was, in fact, a major event in the history of aerial combat—one of the largest fighter vs. fighter air battles, in a war already heavily laden with such occasions, and one unlikely to be approached on such a scale again. For months, during that fall and winter, the Luftwaffe had been semi-dormant, occasionally reacting with vigor, and on other days, virtually ignoring the swards of allied warplanes. The magnet that drew them into battle this day was a force of B-17s bound for targets in the Berlin area, and although several Eighth Air Force fighter groups were involved in the battle, the 357th Group was first to engage and was to score the heaviest—their ‘big day’ as it is still called.
“On the evening of that day, as claims filtered in to 66th Fighter Wing (the 357th’s parent unit), they generated considerable astonishment, and not a little skepticism. By the next day, however, the claim of 56 1/2 enemy aircraft destroyed was generally accepted as rechecks had failed to reduce the number, and it stands today as the largest number of victories scored by one group in Air Force history. Luftwaffe records tend to agree, and show very heavy losses, with JG 300 and JG301 (home defense units) reporting 78 aircraft lost in one battle that day.
“There was, however, another side of the story. Statistically, it had been overwhelmingly in the Yoxford Boys’ favor, 56.5 victories for three pilots lost. Statistics, though, are of little comfort if you are one of those on the debit side, and it is these three, listed on the mission report as ‘Last seen in combat area,’ whose story we will tell here. Ultimately, all three of these men were among the fortunate—they survived their often hair-raising adventures, and two are still with us today, with the whereabouts of the third unknown. We will not attempt to relate the story of this vast air battle, except as background for one of our three ‘Missing in Action’ of the 357th Fighter Group, Lt George Behling, Jr.
“Fighter Station 373, which sprawled across the county of Suffolk, near the villages of Therbeton, Yoxford, and Leiston, had been occupied by the 357th Group and its supporting units since January of the previous year. Its nominal strength of 75 red-and-yellow-nose P-51s, about which all base activities centered, were scattered around the perimeter taxi strip on hardstands and revetments, some of which remain today, as the only reminder of station F-373.
“The 14th of January began as most other days had for the preceding year, with preparations in hand for mission No. 253, an escort to 3rd Division B-17s scheduled to bomb oil targets at Derben, in the Berlin area.
“Weather conditions at home station that morning were not ideal, with early morning fog giving way to low clouds, its base at about 1500 feet, with tops at between 3000 and 4000. Even so, it was one of the better days of the month of January, which saw a mean temperature of 33 degrees F., and runways either frozen or covered with snow 18 days. There was rain, drizzle or snow on 21 days of the month, providing very poor conditions for the maintenance or operation of fighters of that period.
“Despite the long period of poor weather, Eighth Air Force forecasters had been watching with considerable interest two high-pressure areas, one over the North Atlantic west of Ireland, the other over the northern part of Sweden and Finland, which provided hope of good weather over north-west Germany. The two eventually merged, forming a ridge of high pressure extending from the North Atlantic into Russia. By the 14th the ridge had begun to dissipate with cloud cover over Britain, with France and Belgium under patchy clouds. Over northwest Germany and the target area, however, there was only a trace of clouds with excellent visibility. It was this generally favorable weather which provided the backdrop for the great air battle of January the 14th, 1945.
“On the 17 days of the month when it had been possible to operate, takeoff time had been in midmorning, as it was on this day, the 66 Mustangs departing 1010 hours. There were, however, 10 aborts for various reasons, leaving Colonel Irwin Dregne with only 56 P-51s. Dregne, the Group Commander, was leading both the mission and the 364th Squadron (code name Greenhouse), which was to emerge from the day’s action with claims of 21 1/2-0-2 and no pilot losses. Chester Maxwell, however, came home late and without his airplane.
“Major John England led the 362nd (Dollar) Squadron, reduced to 20 aircraft soon after landfall in which the seven-victory ace ‘Dittie’ Jenkins turned back with a rough engine, taking his wingman with him.
“Element leader in John Kirla’s Dollar Green Flight was 1st Lt. George A. Behling, Jr., and his wingman, Green 4, was 2nd Lt. Jim Gasser. Green 2 on Kirla’s wing was Lt. J.W. Dunn. George Behling was to be one of those ‘Last seen in combat area.’
“Here is a portion of Colonel Dregne’s mission report: ‘R/V 1150 N. Cuxhaven 25,000 ft with 1st 3 combat groups of 1st force. L/F in 1201 N. Cuxhaven 26,000 ft. L/F out 1420 the Hague 20,000 ft. Group leader observed two gaggles of S/E E/A approaching bombers from southeast about 20 miles north of Brandenburg. Low gaggle at 28,000 ft consisting of 70-plus Fw 190s, with a top cover of 60-plus Me-109s at 32,000. Fw 190s were in company front approaching in waves of eight A/C. Our group intercepted, attacked, and in a 30-minute battle destroyed E/A listed above. [56 1/2-0-5 S/E air, 1-0-0 S/E ground, 2-0-0 locomotives. Author.] Combat was from 30,000 to deck. None of the formation of E/A attacked believed to have reached the bombers, although some may have filtered through. E/A were very aggressive when intercepted and fought it out. Engagement began at 1245 and continued until group had to leave for lack of fuel. Part of group reformed providing withdrawal support to bombers, leaving bombers 1350 north of Dummer Lake, 18,000 ft. During engagement another group of about 30 S/E E/A attacked bombers believed to be 5th or 6th C Grp. Several other P-51 groups seem to engage these E/A/’
“The day before Christmas saw the 357th flying two separate missions, both resulting in extensive combat with Luftwaffe fighters, and combined claims of 31 S/E E/A shot down. As they would on the 14th of January, Luftwaffe home defense unit JG300 suffered severely losing 18 pilots, one of whom was the leader of 5/JG300, a 31-victory ace Ritterkreuztrager Leutnant Klaus Bretschneider. During this melee west of the city of Fulda, George Behling shot down an Fw 190 and in light of this victory, his experience on 14 January was, he says, ‘poetic justice.’
“The instrument clock on the escorting Mustangs was approaching 1240 hours as the force closed on the target area. Behling remembered: ‘Berlin is easily discernible by the heavy black flak smoke at our altitude. Suddenly a maze of German pursuit planes came screaming down on us from above. The sky is filled with airplanes. I jettison my wing tanks and take a bead on an enemy fighter. A fellow P-51 drifts across my bow at a 30-degree angle in slow motion, so close I still don’t know why I didn’t tear off his tail with my propeller. I’m completely distracted and lose sight of my quarry.
“ ‘I bank to the left and look behind. There is a plane on my tail but it isn’t my wingman. It has a large radial engine and is easily identifiable as an Fw 190. What happened to my wingman who was supposed to cover my tail in such a short period of time, to this day I have no idea.’
“Behling’s wingman, Jim Gasser’s mission report: ‘When our squadron sighted a large gaggle of enemy fighters preparing to attack the bombers, we dropped tanks and started a diving turn to the left. In the pull-out I blacked out and when I recovered I found that my ‘G’ suit rubber hose connection had come loose. I also found myself alone. Lt. Behling was nowhere in sight. I called him over R/T and told him that he wasn’t covered, but received no reply, for the radio was rather congested. In a few minutes I joined up with Lt. Kirla, who was leading our flight, and remained with him the remainder of the battle. I did not see nor hear Lt. Behling again.’
“Jim Gasser does not mention his encounter with an Fw 190 as it was not pertinent to Behling’s loss, but his encounter report provides details of that action. When he recovered from his blackout, he spotted the skyblue 190 off to his left and immediately shot it down, the pilot bailing out. Gasser recalls: ‘I was no doubt startled as to this dumb maneuver by the Kraut, but was awed at the beauty of his aircraft as well. There was no skill in his destruction.’
“With his wingman now gone due to a disconnected G suit, and an Fw 190 on his tail, we return to George Behling’s own words to describe the traumatic events . . . that followed. ‘Now I turn to the left. Left rudder, left stick, more throttle. I’ve got to outrun him. I see his cannon bursts but apparently he can’t lead me enough. I wonder what I’m doing here; a person could get killed. Why did I ever want to be pilot? I’m only 20 years old and should be home, going to school and returning in the evening to my parents’ comfortable home.’
“ ‘I pull into a tighter, tighter turn, feeling so many Gs I can hardly turn my head. Then the stick goes limp. I’m spinning—but you never, never spin a P-51 because it might not come out. My primary training instinctively takes over. I kick the right rudder hard. The plane stops spinning and I pop the stick forward. I’m flying again at 20,000 feet.’
“ ‘This time I turn to the right and look behind. The son of a bitch is still there. He followed me through a spin and 10,000 feet. It can’t be. These German pilots are supposed to be undertrained, wet-behind-the-ears kids.’
“ ‘Same scenario. Tighter and tighter to the right. More cannon bursts. Another spin, coming out at 10,000 feet. He’s still there.’
“ ‘Well, if I can’t outturn him, surely I can outrun him. I shudder at the thought of one of those cannon shells tearing through my plane. In fact, I’m utterly paralyzed with fear. I point the plane at an approximated ten-degree angle toward the ground and open the throttle full. It’s working, he’s falling behind, out of range. Now I’m at treetop level west of Berlin passing over the Elbe River. My engine sputters, intermittently spewing white clouds. I cut back on the throttle and lean the mixture, but the sputtering gets worse. Suddenly the engine goes dead streaming two contrail-like bands from each side. Hurriedly, I try the starting procedure several times to no avail.’
“ ‘I’m directly over a dense forest. No place to land. Pull up and bail out. But I’m now going less than 200 mph. Not enough speed to pull up to an altitude that will give my chute time to open. Look for a place to put this baby down dead stick. Dead Stick! It was my worst thing in basic training. Without power I would have killed myself every time.’
“ ‘There—twenty degrees to the left is an open field running parallel to a railroad track. I’m barely flying so don’t turn too sharply. The stick feels mushy. Easy, easy! I’m lined up, fifty feet above the ground, wheels up. Then, right in front of me high-tension wires. I close my eyes and pull back on the stick. Somehow (I don’t know how, I wasn’t looking, but perhaps the downwind landing helped!), I bounce over the wires and hit the ground with a thud. It’s a frozen plowed field and my plane skids along like a sled. Up ahead is a line of heavy trees and I’m zooming towards them with no way to stop. But I do stop fifty feet short. Open the canopy. No one around. I hear the clickety-clank of an engine Look behind. There’s the 190 coming right at me. Get out of this plane and get behind one of those trees. I get tangled in the straps so I crouch down behind the armorplate in back of my seat. The 190 doesn’t strafe and passes overhead. Now, with him in full sight, I disentangle myself, get out of the plane and run for the trees. I make my way along the line of trees some 200 feet to the railroad embankment, go over it and head away. Up ahead is a bridge. But two figures on the bridge are coming toward me from the other direction. I stop and wait.’
“ ‘An officer approached me. He was a German colonel, home on leave from the Russian front, and spoke English. He said, ‘For you the war is over. I bet when you took off this morning you didn’t think you would be here this afternoon.’ I replied with true survival instinct. ‘Don’t let those children in the cockpit; the guns are alive.’ He shrugged and began marching me across a field toward a ditch. ‘Okay, they’ll just shoot me and lay me in the ditch.’ How long could my luck hold out? But we went through the ditch and to a farmhouse where the colonel left me in charge of a farmer, his wife and their teenage daughter.’ ”