Flight Training and Combat
Robert A Vrilakas, Col. USAF (Ret)
This is an account of my P‑38 flight training and combat as a member of the 94th Fighter Squadron, lst Fighter Group during 1943‑44 WWII.
During advanced Army Aviation Cadet training (Class 43‑C) at Luke Field, Arizona a notice went up on the bulletin board asking for eighty volunteers to fly P‑38's after graduation as 2nd lts. The list filled up quickly and although there was always a certain amount of uncertainty connected with volunteering for anything in the Army the possibility of flying P‑38's met my fondest desire.
True to the Army's word following graduation on March l0, 1943 eighty of the graduating class who had volunteered for P‑38's were shipped to the Lockheed plant at
Another pilot, Dick Lee and I had been together since basic training and we became good friends. Dick was a classic fighter pilot. He loved flying and took to it like a duck to water. When he wasn't flying he was talking about it. Of a somewhat volatile nature, I may have been somewhat of a stabilizing influence on him and he in turn instilled a certain amount of aggressiveness in me. As a pilot he was aggressive, eager, and had all the "right stuff" as described later by some of the more publicized fighter pilots. We remained together on our assignments and during much of our flying for the next year. He became an ace during our combat tour together and after the war flew commercially over 30 years for TWA.
Muroc Air Base was a perfect place to fly out of and still is at this writing although it is now called Edwards AFB. It had a fairly long runway centered on the bed of a dry lake. There were no obstacles around the base and the dry lake bed provided excellent terrain for a crash, or forced, landing if it were necessary. The desert surrounding it was practically uninhabited by people and there was lots of airspace available. Living conditions were a bit primitive. Tar paper shacks provided our living quarters and other buildings. They were hot and uncomfortable but we were too busy to notice.
The P‑38 was an awesome sight to us. At that time as the Air Corps top high performance, high altitude fighter it was unique because of its speed and versatility. Numerous books have since been written about its performance and use during WWII. It played a major role in the air war. It was unique because of its two engines and twin tail, twin boom configuration. The booms being connected by the wing and cockpit up front and the horizontal stabilizer at the rear. It was rather large and heavy for a fighter of that day (approximately 15000 lbs.) but with its two in‑line liquid cooled, 1450 horsepower, supercharged engines it had much more power than other fighters of its day. Four 50 caliber machine guns with a 20 mm cannon centered in the nose of the cockpit provided tremendous concentrated fire power. Besides its capability to reach high altitudes it was a very stable platform for strafing ground targets or dive bombing. Like all high performance aircraft it had some characteristics that were less than desireable. To the inexperienced it was difficult to fly on single engine. Until later models were developed with dive brakes it had a tendency to lose elevator control in a high speed dive. The air passing over the wing would begin to burble and blank out the rear elevator, making it difficult to impossible at times to pull out. It also presented problems for bail‑out at certain speeds because of the position of the rear horizontal stabilizer. At low speeds one could drop off the wing and exit below the stabilizer. At very high speeds some pilots had exited over the top of it. In between those speeds there was a distinct possibility of being struck by the stabilizer. If sufficient control and optimum airspeed was available at bailout the best procedure was to roll it on its back and drop free.
We were put right to work checking out. First we went to ground school classes where all the various systems on the aircraft were explained. (Usually by a Lockheed Tech. rep.) We also spent hours sitting in the cockpit getting familiar with the location of all the instruments and controls.
We'd "play like" we started engines, taxied out, and took off. Finally we had to draw, from memory, a picture of the instrument panel showing the location of each instrument. Just before solo checkout we were given a "piggy back" ride in a P‑38 that had most of the radios removed from behind the pilot seat. There was just enough room behind the pilot for the piggyback pilot to squeeze in and observe how things were done on an actual flight. We came down from the flight cramped but very much impressed by the speed and performance of the aircraft.
Finally the day arrived to go it alone. Maintenance of the aircraft at Muroc was not the best and loss of an engine on a first flight, particularly on take off usually resulted in a crash or crash landing for the beginner. There were several crashes during which we lost some pilots and on one particular day there was a fire burning at each end of the runway from two almost simultaneous crashes.
To maintain hydraulic brake pressure while taxiing it was necessary to constantly pump the rudder pedals with your feet. By the time I had taxied out for takeoff my legs felt like lead weights. Everyone experienced it, but after several flights a persons leg muscles became conditioned sufficiently and it no longer presented a problem. (Later, as a P‑38 instructor, I used to watch students that I'd check out and notice the rudders flutter as they reached the runway for takeoff. The flutter was caused by their legs shaking from fatigue as they pumped the brake pedals. I'm sure my rudders were doing just that).
My instructor rode out to the end of the runway on the wing and after making sure all latches were secure, gave a thumbs up and slid to the ground to sweat me out. It was something like solo in primary again except that now my head was crammed with a thousand thoughts about systems operation, emergency procedures, various flap, throttle, tachometer, airspeed, and control settings plus endless advice on what to do and not to do. On top of that was the task of trying to guide and control something that would reach speeds I had never experienced. The moment of truth arrived as the tower in response to my request cleared me on to the runway and for takeoff. The final blow to the legs came when they had to pump up the brakes and hold the airplane back until it stabilized at takeoff power. Just when it seemed that the legs couldn't hold out another second everything was ready‑‑with the breaks released the P-38 shot forward like a drag racer. It accelerated rapidly to take off speed (about 90 mph) and responded beautifully to elevator control as it became airborne. I was so busy getting gear and flaps up, stabilizing power etc., that 4000 ft of altitude and an airspeed of about 260 mph was upon me before I knew it. It flew beautifully. Sitting in the center of the wing gave you the feeling of being part of the airplane, with the wings an extension of ones arms. Like everyone flying it for the first time there was a considerable amount of anxiety about the unknown, but it was love at "first flight" and a highly thrilling experience. After flying around a while getting the feel of it and practicing turns and stalls I went through an engine shut down and feathering procedure. The sight of a propellor sitting stock still and the amount of rudder required to offset the torque of the good engine was a shock, but also a great confidence builder as the airplane continued to fly beautifully. It could fly very well on one engine but there wasn't much room for error if your feathering procedures were faulty.
My instructions were, after getting the feel of the aircraft, to set up a landing pattern at 6000' and with gear and flaps down practice setting up an approach speed with flare out and stall at 5000' as if landing on a runway. The shut down engine unfeathered and started just as the book had said it would so after several simulated landings it was time to return to Muroc for the real thing. Everything went well and despite the unfamiliar high approach and landing speed it settled smoothly on the runway. Back at the parking space with legs again about to surrender I shut it down and climbed out of what was then the Air Corps hottest fighter plane about as proud of anything I'd ever done. As with most P‑38 pilots it was the beginning of a love affair never to end..
Muroc was a lonely outpost in the desert so since Dick Lee had obtained an old 1937 Ford V8. we would head for
Because of gas rationing for automobiles, having enough fuel to get back and forth was a problem. We solved that very neatly by drawing it from the drain chocks of a P‑38 on the ramp. The gasoline was about 110 octane and no doubt didn't do his Ford engine any good but it got us back and forth.
One night on our way back I was asleep on the back seat when awakened by a highway patrolman's flashlight. He was giving Dick a lecture for doing 90 mph and said "I'm getting dam tired of chasing you pilots who think you should fly on the ground". No ticket though, just the lecture.
We kept building up flying time and were beginning to feel more like we had control of the aircraft than vice versa. P‑38's were unique because of the counter rotating props which at equal power settings eliminated the torque problem experienced in single engine planes. We did not have to constantly apply rudder to compensate for speed or torque so it was possible to pull straight up in a climb until the airspeed indicator fell well below stalling speed. Instead of snapping into a spin condition, as a single engine aircraft would do because of engine torque, the P‑38 would slowly fall back into an attitude that would let it fly smoothly out of the stall condition. Of course if you lost an engine you had an entirely different situation. You then had a great amount of torque plus the pull of the good engine offset from the center of the aircraft. Improperly handled a violent spin was inevitable if the aircraft stalled. It was a must that we practice single engine operation on almost every flight. Occasionally we'd wheel over my old basic school at Lancaster to give the cadets a look at what a "real" airplane could do remembering how, not long before, we had been there marveling at the P‑38's performance and wondering if we'd ever make it through cadet flight training.
On run up the P‑38 put out a tremendous amount of prop wash which was demonstrated to me vividly while walking along the flight line one day. Someone had pulled up along the edge of the ramp in a P‑38, turned the tail out away from other airplanes. and started a power check. What the pilot had not noticed was that the tail of the aircraft was pointed right at one of the "one holer" toilets that had been set up off the paved area. As he advanced power the building begin to shake violently and rock in various directions like it was about to become airborne. At that moment the door flew open and someone with pants at half mast and a look of wild eyed horror made a do or die dash for safety. Within seconds the outhouse did a backflip and went cartwheeling and skipping out into the empty desert behind it. It was an amusing lesson to us (if not to the outhouse occupant) to always make sure the area was clear behind the aircraft before running the engines up.
After we had accumulated approximately 10 hours flying time we were divided into 3 groups and sent to what was called a P‑38 operational training unit. Dick and I were among those transferred to a unit at
We flew a lot of formation during which we often got into wild "dogfights" with other P‑38's or with any other type fighter that ventured into the area. Air to air and air to ground gunnery was also on the agenda. Air to air was usually conducted on a range west of
We worked hard and learned a lot from our instructors. Best of all we were beginning to feel very much at home in the P‑38. Each morning and evening there was a requirement to patrol the ocean off
The
We had built up over 85 hours of total P‑38 time when we were alerted to get ready for transfer overseas. This meant disposing of your car if you had one, sending your wife home if married and she were there, and getting all the necessary shots etc. We were briefed not to give any dates of departure to anyone. Our orders were classified and only directed us to proceed to an overseas debarkation center at Miami, Fla. by train.
I had gotten word home that overseas transfer was imminent so a few day before we left, Mom made a trip to Bellflower, Ca. where she stayed with friends and I was able to visit her for a few hours. I have often thought how difficult it must have been for her.
She knew that I was headed for combat, but not where or for how long. I remember her well intentioned words of advice "Bob, please don't fly too high or too fast." She was unaware that too low and too slow was the worst thing to do. I reassured her as best I could and left feeling depressed over the possibility that it might be the last time we ever saw each other.
About sixty five of the original eighty volunteers had successfully completed the training program and gathered at the Los Angeles train station on May l5, l943. We were put on a special train section of about 5 cars. The cars had been taken out of storage somewhere and were of an ancient variety with velvet covered seats and stained glass above the seat windows. The seats were hard and most of the windows were permanently stuck shut. One car had bunks so, except for a few hours leave in New Orleans, we lived, slept and ate on the train. Our route was the southern route all the way and was hot through Arizona, Texas and the southern states. We did manage to pry open a few windows. For reasons never explained, each of us had been issued a .45 caliber pistol with ammunition. A favorite pastime along the remote N.M. and Texas route was to shoot at posts or various railroad lights. A practice probably not much appreciated by the railroad.
There were a variety of experiences along the way. At one stop in a small town in Texas near the Mexican border one of the pilots volunteered to run over to a store we could see at a distance and bring back some much needed cold drinks. We watched him come out of the store, arms loaded with frosty looking, thirst quenching pop just as the train lurched forward to continue on its journey. Our benefactor quickened his pace to a fast walk, then a trot, then finally to a dead run as the train started to outdistance him. To gain speed he was forced to jettison a few bottles of the thirst quenching liquid every few steps, finally having to drop the last of his load in order to make a flying leap for the last car. We felt like someone who had crawled across the dessert only to find the oasis dry.
The trip seemed to go on forever but on our arrival in New Orleans we were permitted to go to a hotel where we got a bath, a good meal and a few hours to roam around the city. After a total of six or seven days the train trundled into Miami, and we begin processing for overseas at the Miami overseas replacement center. Within a few days we had finished getting the required additional shots, had our personal data updated and were ready to go. Our next set of orders were to proceed by air to an APO (Army Post Office) number and although that didn't specify our destination we began to strongly suspect that our destination was Africa.
We were manifested on cargo carrying C‑46's, usually in groups of four or five per aircraft. The C‑46's were filled with cargo so we found space where ever it was available. My transport carried a load of tires and tubes. Some of the tubes were inflated so they made a fairly comfortable bed. We headed down through South America and after several refueling stops arrived at Belem, Brazil‑‑the jumping off place for crossing the Pacific to Africa via Ascension Island.
The trip to Belem was mostly over jungles and followed the Amazon River part of the way. Since almost all of us had never been out of the U.S. it was quite a traveling experience. At Belem we stayed overnight and were fed pretty well. The mess hall was staffed by Brazilians whos English was limited. After a huge meal of meat, potatoes and vegetables one of the waiters kept coming over to me and saying "meish‑ meish"? Thinking it must mean are you finished I nodded yes. He then took my plate away and brought it back loaded again with another helping of everything. "Meish" must have meant "more".
The thing to buy in Belem was a kind of Chuka boot. They only cost about $5.00 per pair and were all leather, so each of us bought a pair or two. They served us all through out tour.
Our next leg of the trip was to Ascension Island by C‑54 air transport. The flight was long but quite comfortable compared to riding on cargo C‑46's. Our stop at Ascension was only long enough for refueling and a meal then we continued on. After another long flight we arrived overseas at Casablanca, French Morocco. It was early June 1943 and Rommel's German Army was just being pushed off the Bon Peninsula in Northern Tunisia.
Casablanca was a rear supply area and a bustle of activity. We were assigned a bunk in a large transient building called the Hotel De Gink. It was an open bay filled with Army cots. We welcomed the chance to get some sleep. It had been a long wearing trip to a place that seemed light years away from California. We were now in another world, filled with Arabs and some free French as they were called. There was a sense of urgency in the air as the army tried to set up a support complex. The city, not only jammed with people, camels, and carts now had military jeeps, truck, tanks and all the other military equipment added. The result was constant bedlam and confusion. The Moroccan French, who had had some difficulty deciding which side to be on when the invasion of Africa by allied troops began near Casablanca were obviously in control of the French Moroccan economy, what little was left of it. We were a bit awed by it all during the week we awaited further orders and had lots of time to visit the city. There was even a bar named "Rick's Place" after the movie Casablanca, so we got acquainted with that. About the only drinks available were triple sec and another they called peanut beer. Peanut beer was a washed out kind of swill served barely cool. It gave us something to do as we began to pick up a few words of French and become acclimated to a strange land and strange people.
Finally orders directed us to an airfield about 15 miles from Casablanca near a small village called Berchid. The Air Corp had hastily set up a combat training base for us and had directed some P‑38 pilots who had finished their combat tour to be our instructors. We now began living as we would for the rest of our tour‑‑ in tents and eating out of mess kits. The place was dusty, and drab so it acclimated us somewhat to what we would experience in the way of living conditions for the next year.
The P‑38's assigned for the training were war weary and out of commission most of the time, while the instructor pilots understandably were war weary and anxious to return stateside. The final battles in North Africa had taken a heavy toll of fighter pilots, particularly during the battle for Kasserine Pass. Most of the missions had been dive bombing and strafing‑‑ a particularly vulnerable type of combat for a fighter because you must operate in range of every gun the enemy has on the ground. The well‑intentioned program to give us a bit more combat training under experienced combat pilots never really got off the ground. During about 2 to three weeks there my flying time amounted to about 10 hours. On one simulated air to air gunnery mission my aircraft's radio was continuously emitting very loud static. On landing Dick Lee came up to say something to me and although I could see his lips moving there was no sound. It alarmed me to discover that I was almost totally deaf. The flight surgeon looked me over, determined that my eardrums were badly bruised and grounded me for 3 days. By that time hearing was returned and became normal shortly thereafter.
During our stay at Berchid we roamed back into Casablanca a few more times, there being not much else to do. Since we were transient officers we found ourselves to be pretty much ostracized from the permanent party military around Casablanca. We were barred from all of the support unit clubs and got quite a bit of harassment for not saluting every lst Lt. and above we passed on the street. They just couldn't bring themselves to accept those "unmilitary" looking officers, wearing Brazilian boots, leather jackets, and crushed hats‑‑the distinguishing mark of a fighter pilot. Considering the quality of food and living conditions at Berchid we strongly suspected that anything other than C rations and spam was being siphoned off by the support personnel who lived in requisitioned hotels in Casablanca. We never found out because we were never allowed in their clubs or mess halls. In a short time those members of the Atlantic Base Section (ABS as it was called) had made themselves just about as popular with us as the enemy. For kicks we would sit at a sidewalk bar and sing, "Mother take down your service flag ‑ your son's in the ABS." This was not a positive contribution toward good relations with members of that organization and we were all but barred from the city.
Finally word came that we were being assigned to combat units. There were 3 groups (3 Squadrons each) of P‑38's in three different locations in North Africa. We were split up and shipped out as replacement pilots to all three of them. Dick Lee and I were assigned to the lst Fighter Group, then stationed at a field called Mateur Air Base in Tunisia. The base was on a dry lake about 15 miles east of the Port of Biserte. We were then further assigned to squadrons and as luck would have it Dick Lee and I were both assigned to the 94th Fighter Squadron. We were ecstatic. The 94th had a wealth of history. It had been Eddie Rickenbacker's squadron in WW I and remains active and famous as the "Hat in the Ring" squadron still. We felt that we couldn't have been better assigned if we had been allowed to choose any outfit in the Air Corp. Our only disappointment was that we had missed Eddie Rickenbacker who had visited the squadron a couple of weeks prior and had passed out Hat in the Ring pins to all the pilots. I now had 96 flying hours in the P-38 and a total flying time of 306 hours.
The group had been in Africa since the allied invasion and had been through a lot. We felt pretty green along‑side the older veteran combat pilots. They were most happy to see replacements though and to get the squadron back to full pilot strength again.
Living conditions at Mateur left much to be desired. We lived in 4 man tents on the dry lake bed and slept on folding cots. Each of us had a metal mess kit and cup that we washed after eating. Washing the kit meant scrubbing everything in a barrel of hot GI soap and water then rinsing in another barrel. By the end of a meal the water got like soup and it became impossible to get all the grease and soap off. As a result there was a continuous round of diarriah. We slept under mosquito netting and tucked it in pretty well because the dry cracked bed of the lake housed innumerable beetles and scorpions. It could be a painful mistake to put a boot on in the morning without first shaking it out good to make sure it wasn't already inhabited. A few makeshift showers had been rigged out of 50 gallon steel barrels‑‑the water heated by the dessert sun.
About the second day after arrival we were lined up with our mess kits for the evening meal when someone yelled "hey Smokey". I looked up to see an old high school friend, Jack Held, ahead of me in line. He had been with the Group since it had been in England, and served as an armorer. We saw each other often after that ‑‑ he would always be on the line to meet me when I returned from a mission. My nickname in high school had been "Smokey" and it became my name to all the pilots from then on. Summer had arrived and it was hot and dry with more than a little dust blowing about, although one gets used to it. The complete lack of color in an overseas combat outfit was at first a bit depressing. Everything, including our clothing was light tan or olive drab. Our aircraft were camouflage painted, of course, and any support equipment to include vehicles were likewise painted or under camouflage netting.
The first few days were spent getting settled in and drawing our combat flight gear. Besides flight clothing, flying helmet and stateside .45 caliber pistol we were issued a parachute, switch blade knife, Mae West, oxygen mask, dinghy, canteen and a survival kit. The knife was primarily for the purpose of stabbing the dinghy in the event it should get accidentally inflated in the cockpit. The survival kit, along with the dinghy was attached to the parachute pack and contained a machete, some hard chocolate, fishing line, pocket compass and other necessities. The dinghy made up the seat of the parachute and had cans of fresh water, flares, etc wrapped up in it. Very necessary items, but when you sat on them for hours they let you know they were there right through the protective cushion as they imprinted on your backsides.
We watched the squadrons take off and form up for missions and return. They were in the process of softening up the island of Panetelleria, which still was being stubbornly held by German and Italian troops, and wondered what it would feel like to be on a real combat mission. We found out soon enough.
Dick Lee and I were soon scheduled for a local flight with the Squadron commander (Major Wellenseck). He told us beforehand that we would just fly formation, but warned us that he might be pretty erratic so to be ready for quick turns etc. He obviously wanted to be sure we could stay in formation and handle the airplane. The flight went well with Dick and I glued to his wing all the way. We liked the landing pattern which involved flying low down the active runway at about 300 mph in echelon. The leader would peel up and around the landing pattern in a tight turn. The rest of the flight would peel off individually at about 4 second intervals, space themselves in the pattern at the proper interval and follow each other in for landing. Properly executed it made for a tight, pattern in a kind of oblong circle and got several flights down in minimum time. A good pattern required the flight leader to stay in a bank all the way around, rolling out just in time to flare for landing. A victory roll was allowed in the pattern if a victory had been obtained and the pilot felt like it. On landing Major Wellenseck said "o.k. we'll be scheduling you for a mission in the next day or two". I now had a total of about 90 P-38 hours and a grand total of just over 300 flying hours.
We had been assigned to tent quarters with a couple of the older pilots who we listened to with great awe and respect. There were a lot of combat stories and some good friendly advice most of which was to "stay in formation‑‑don't straggle because the enemy fighters will jump a straggler first". Plus, “Keep your eyes open and your head on a swivel because the Germans always come out of the sun and will be on you before you know it.”
D Day for the invasion of Sicily was the l0th of July, 1943 and the lst Fighter Group was detached to North African Tactical Air Forces (NATAF) experiencing along with it a rapid scale of operation not experienced before. The pilots were expected to make as many as 4 missions per day if necessary.
.
My first mission was on July 15, 1943 a day or two after the flight with the squadron
commander. Scheduled pilots were notified the night before and given the time for mission briefing the next day (usually early in the a.m.). Either the squadron intelligence officer or the flight surgeon would awaken you in time for breakfast etc. I don't think I slept well that night and breakfast of powdered eggs wasn't very appetizing.
Pilots from all the squadrons scheduled on the mission gathered at the Group briefing tent for the mission briefing. The mission operations briefing consisted of the designated target, en route time, routes, altitudes, alternate target, anticipated enemy ground and air opposition plus expected weather en route and over target and back at home base. Other information included meeting time and rendezvous point with bombers when applicable, radio frequencies, call signs, form up procedures, and armament to be carried. Intelligence briefed on known enemy aircraft and anti‑aircraft en route and in the target area plus escape and evasion routes or tactics if we should go down over enemy territory. On occasion a special briefing by the Group commander, would follow.
The first thing that everyone looked at upon entering the briefing tent was a large aerial map of Southern Europe and Mediterranean Sea. A string running from home base to the target gave an immediate indication of where and how rough the mission might be. When the string ran up to Munich or to the Ploesti Oil Fields, which happened later on, there would be an audible grown from the pilots. The briefings were generally conducted by the Group operations officer, intelligence officer, and weather forecaster with occasional special briefings if necessary.
The mission was to dive bomb a target in support of American army ground troops. The target which was a German motor park, was near Randazzo, Sicily. Because of possible compromise of classified information we couldn't write much on paper. We often wrote essential info. like start times, take off and target times on the back of our hands since that could easily be smudged or rubbed off if necessary. Finally we were given a time hack and issued escape packets. These were sealed and carried in a flight suit pocket. They contained foreign money for the country(s) we would traverse plus a small U.S. flag and a map of the area. Not to be left out, the group Chaplin would ask a blessing and we would be on our way to the flightline‑‑usually by jeep. The trip also took us by personal equipment storage to pick up our parachutes and oxygen equipment then to our respective aircraft.
It was a general rule that a new pilot flew his first few missions as wingman to the assigned squadron flight commander for that mission. That was the most protected position and the easiest to fly. From there he would be assigned to element wing man ("tail end Charlie")‑‑the most vulnerable position because you were the farthest back in the formation. The squadron operations officer (Capt. Hagenback) told me that day to just fly good formation on the leader and do everything he did to include dropping my bombs when he dropped his. We had to maintain strict radio silence even for take‑off so as not to compromise the mission. Generally there would be little or no radio transmissions between aircraft until we sighted enemy aircraft or had reached the target area. On the return from the target it was a different story. The enemy knew we were there and had us on their radar so there wasn't anything to compromise by using the radio.
Each aircraft had an assigned crew chief and each pilot was assigned his own aircraft and crew chief. My crew chief was a young Staff Sgt. from Ohio named Chet Bala. He was very conscientious and serious about his job and I had immediate confidence and respect for him. We all knew and appreciated how much our crew chief meant to us. How well he maintained the aircraft meant life or death and we knew he worked under extremely difficult conditions‑‑often having to scrounge parts or work long hours to get the aircraft ready on time for a mission. Chet Bala was a modest individual who took a lot of pride in maintaining his airplane and was always totally honest and forthright in keeping me posted on anything about the plane that wasn't up to snuff. I have regretted that I lost track of him after the war and that we have not been able to contact him for group or squadron re‑unions.
An armorer also attended the plane and would install whatever armament was scheduled for the mission plus load the four 50 cal machine guns and 20 mm cannon. They would paste a patch over the end of each gun barrel. This served to keep dirt. rain or ice out of the barrel prior to use. It was also the first thing the crew chief looked at on your return to tell whether or not you had experienced combat on that mission. I probably enjoyed a bit of extra attention from the armorers because Jack Held always gave my aircraft a second check from the armament standpoint.
Two 500 lb bombs (one under each wing) were set up for my first mission. I had never dropped a live bomb before. When attached they added an element of risk in that they could be inadvertently dropped during taxi or take‑off. They were designed so that they would not be armed until dropped a certain distance, however. The first experience of watching an armament crew kick a couple of them off the back of their truck on to some rubber tires at the airplane gave me a bit of a shock. But it was routinely done without serious incident even though not a recommended practice.
After preflight inspection of the aircraft it was time to get set in the cockpit and be ready to start engines exactly on the time briefed. Chet Bala always climbed up on the wing and helped me get settled. The Mae west, unlike later styles was bulky and made of stiff rubberized canvas that managed to rub your neck raw before the completion of a mission. Between it, the parachute with dinghy and survival kit attached, the .45 pistol and water canteen, it was awkward getting in and strapped down. Something was always catching on part of the aircraft. There's always a feeling of mounting nervous tension too at that point and it seemed easy to fumble at every latch or snap that had to be attended to. It's particularly worse on your first mission, but is always there. Fortunately, once off the ground things improve immensely‑‑but anyone who says there isn't a scare factor present is kidding himself as well as the person he's trying to convince.
Chet crouched on the wing and talked to me about the airplane and I could tell he knew it intimately. It helped to fill the time of growing tension and he stayed there until both engines were started and running smoothly. He did that on every mission and at the last moment would slide off the wing, latch the ladder, and go out front waiting for my signal to marshall me out of the revetment to the taxiway. He would always be there to meet me on my return‑‑"sweating me out" as it was called.
The squadron leader started taxiing out so I moved out to follow him to the end of the runway. At the end of the runway we both went through our individual pre-takeoff engine checks and procedures, than on a green light from the tower lined up on the runway in much the same position as we would be in flight. The runway was too narrow to permit takeoff together so as soon as he applied power I did also, holding the aircraft with the brakes until he started to rotate for lift‑off. Once in the air he would then start a slow turn while I followed in a sharper turn inside to catch up. The turn would be continued until the rest of his flight joined up and eventually the other 2 flights. Once the squadron formed he would then continue in a turn to join up with the lead squadron or to allow the other squadrons to join up as required. This mission required only one squadron, the 94th.
The squadron in flight normally consisted of 3 flights of 4 aircraft each. The flight consisted of the flight leader and wingman, an element leader and wingman all in close formation (3 or 4 ft. wing side clearance and about l0 ft. interval.) Each squadron had a call sign (The 94th at the time was Springcap, the 27th was Petdog, and the 71st was Cragmore) and each flight was designated red, white or blue flight. The call sign of any member of the squadron was determined by his flight color designation and assigned position . For example Red l would be the leader, Red 2 his wingman, Red 3 the element leader and Red 4 the element leader's wingman.
I closed in tightly on Red l and immediately after the squadron form up was completed we turned north climbing en route to about 8000 ft. We passed over Tunis and then continued out to sea over the Mediterranean. The island of Panatelleria appeared, but I was too busy keeping tight formation to watch the scenery. After about an hour and a half flight time there was a glimpse of land in the distance and for the first time I saw enemy territory. Radio silence prevailed as the squadron leader began a descent toward the shore and the target. His job was much more complicated as he had to navigate very accurately and position the squadron so that we could dive bomb without having made our position known to the enemy any sooner than necessary. At the last moment he broke radio silence, telling us to arm our bombs (an arming wire controlled from the cockpit readied the bomb for release) and echelon to the right. An echelon formation made it possible to follow into the target on pretty much the same path.
There was obviously a heavy battle in progress on the ground as we could see numerous fires and smoke and haze in the target area was heavy. I heard my flight leader announce the start of his run and followed slightly in trail as we heeled over and started a steep dive. At his command to "drop bombs‑‑now" I pressed the bomb release button. They were on the way and I had fired my first shot. The radio was then filled with indistinguishable chatter between aircraft as we started our climb back up, reformed and head back home. There were a few black puffs of flak appearing, but surprise had been on our side so that we were in and out before the ground fire could get very organized. (The German 88mm cannon was an excellent weapon. Unlike our 90 mm at the time the 88mm could fire horizontally at ground targets and/or vertically at aircraft. When concentrated for air defense it could be devastating, particularly to bombers since they couldn't maneuver enough to provide effective countermeasures. Fighters could lessen the threat considerably by changing course and altitude rapidly.)
We proceeded directly back to base, relaxing by flying a loose formation then tightening up on approach to the base for landing. (it was a morale boost to the ground troops and a matter of pride to the pilots to look as sharp as possible at that point). We always approached the runway echeloned to the right at an altitude of about 100 ft. over the runway, then did a "peel up" and landing pattern as previously described. Sgt. Bala was there to marshal me into the respective parking spot and was on the wing as soon as the engines were shut down helping me get unstrapped and out of the cockpit.
We were picked up in jeeps and taken directly to the group de‑briefing tent where the group and squadron intelligence officers wanted to know everything about the mission. It wasn't until then that I learned 2 of our pilots (Boggess & Holcomb) in another flight had collided over the target and gone straight in with their bombs. I was a bit chagrined that it had escaped my notice but the squadron commander assured me I had done exactly as he had wanted me to do‑‑stay right in formation and concentrate only on that. So much for the first mission, but I told myself from thereon I was going to take in more of the big picture. The mission lasted 3 hours.
My second mission was a fighter sweep off the coast of Italy and the type the pilots liked to fly. It meant that rather than be on the defensive protecting bombers we could be looking for the enemy on our own terms‑‑maybe even having the advantage of surprise and altitude for a change. This time I was assigned as Blue 2. Major Otto Wellenseck led the squadron that day and we were only one squadron in strength for the mission. After take off and form up we headed out across the Mediterranean at about 500' to avoid enemy radar detection flying past Sicily toward the Bay of Naples,. We stayed off the coast of Italy looking for anything flying. It wasn't long until someone called in a "bogie" low and at 12 o'clock to us. Sure enough there was a 2 engine Italian transport (SM 82) lumbering along below. It was considered "meat on the table", but our flight met with disappointment when we were ordered to climb to 3000' and provide top cover. We watched enviously as Red flight pulled up behind it and started firing. You could see the tracers and puffs of smoke from the guns of the P‑38's as they fired. Miraculously the SM82 continued on its course as if oblivious to it all. After a couple of more passes by Red flight (while the rest of us yearned for a piece of the action) the SM82 started a descent toward the water, finally flaring out and belly landing in the Med. Either they had been hit or got a strong message. That comprised a "destroyed" so we proceeded on up the coast for another l5 or 20 minutes looking for more with no success. On the way back some time later we were surprised to see the transport still afloat in the water with 3 or 4 Italians standing on the wings. We buzzed them and they waved as we went over‑‑no doubt immensely relieved that they hadn't been strafed. We never knew whether or not they were rescued, but they had a good chance since they weren't far off shore. The mission took 4 hours 10 minutes. With over 8 hours of combat time I began to feel less like a raw recruit, but that had only been the beginning.
Except for certain special occasions, mission scheduling provided each pilot a 2 to 4 day break between missions, although the squadron fielded one mission or more almost every day. Weather if bad at home base or the target could cause the whole Sqdn. or Group to stand down but during the summer weather was not a factor. Between missions, our time was pretty much our own. We played volley ball occasionally, wrote letters home, played cards or just had flying talk sessions with each other. Occasionally we would be required to test hop a P‑38 for maintenance or "slow fly" an airplane to break in a new replacement engine. As commissioned officers we also had the job of censoring outgoing personal mail of the enlisted men. It was a tedious and boring job and one we didn't particularly like, since we felt we were put in the undesirable position of snooping into their personal life. Despite continual cautions from security officials, some of the letters would divulge our location or strengths and losses so when that occurred the scissors were applied leaving gaping holes in the middle of a piece of correspondence. It was necessary but had to have been disconcerting to the recipient of a such a letter.
The coastal town of Biserte was about l5 miles west of us so on occasion when a jeep, command car, or truck could be spared we'd go in for Post Exchange supplies and a look around. Biserte was a very active port for military logistics and was covered with barrage balloons. It was bombed occasionally at night by German bombers. Each tent at our base had a foxhole for such an event so when an air raid warning sounded we sat beside our respective diggings in a total blackout while the bombers passed directly overhead on their bomb run. They blasted the port quite heavily a few times and we could see the bomb strikes and some large fires. The British put up some night fighters and a lot of ground fire with some success. The Germans apparently were aware of the anti-aircraft barrage balloons and kept their altitude above them. On one such attack we learned that a ship carrying a number of nurses (there was an Army Hospital in Biserte) was hit in the harbor and that there had been numerous casualties among them.
Mission #3 July 23 was to escort a rescue flying boat (PBY) to the Bay of Naples. There were some downed crew members believed to be in the vicinity of the Isle of Capri. Although we entered an area heavily defended by enemy fighters and anti‑aircraft guns we didn't encounter either. No downed airmen were located so it was concluded they had been picked up by the Germans or Italians‑‑a very likely possibility considering the proximity to shore. The mission turned out to be a "milk run" but it provided good training for those of us that were somewhat new to the game.
Mission #4 on August l was also an air‑sea rescue on which we escorted a PBY to the southern coast of Sardinia. I had now permanently left the wing of the squadron leader and graduated to White 2 position. (element leader's wingman) The 94th was the only squadron assigned to the mission. The PBY (2 engine pontoon equipped air rescue aircraft) was very slow so we had to do a lot of weaving over it to keep it ahead of us. We approached to about a mile off the coast of Sardinia where the PBY spotted two airmen in dinghies on the water. The PBY dropped smoke flares to get wind direction and mark their position, then set up a pattern, and landed near them. As they taxied toward the dinghies several shore batteries opened up and spouts of water erupted near the PBY and downed flyers.
About the same time someone called out enemy fighters (bogies) above us and toward the sun. The squadron leader ordered, "drop belly tanks" to provide needed maneuverability and lessen fire hazard. After pressing the release button for the belly tanks there was an immediate difference in aircraft handling. Within seconds however, both of the engines quit and I started dropping out of formation. My first thought was that I'd been hit by the enemy fighters, but then the realization came that in the excitement of seeing enemy fighters for the first time a very important procedure had been overlooked. That was to switch the fuel selectors to main aircraft fuel tanks before dropping the belly tanks. Not having done that the fuel source to both engines had been cut off. After quickly selecting main tanks and switching on the fuel boost pumps, the engines restarted immediately and as I headed back into the formation the flight leader called "White 2, what’s wrong"? By this time the German fighters (Me109's) had started their passes at us. Generally they would split S from one to two thousand feet above and onto the last aircraft of one of the flights. This gave them plenty of speed and if not challenged they would continue the attack from the rear firing until the last second, then pull straight back up to get set for another pass. Normally if our flights were all intact we "broke" (sharp turn into the attacking aircraft) on the command of the squadron leader (e.g. "flights break left‑‑now"). In a heavy battle where the squadron and flights might get broken up or when simultaneous enemy attacks were made we would break on our own depending on a particular circumstance. Generally, once one or more of our aircraft faced the German fighter he would roll over and split S into a dive down and away from us. They had the greatest respect for the four 50 caliber machine guns and 20 mm cannon mounted in the nose of a P‑38. It was tempting to follow but that could mean leaving the bombers, or whoever you were escorting, vulnerable to other enemy fighters. On this mission there were only three of the enemy and their purpose seemed mostly to harass us in the hope that they might pick off a straggler. (Had the fuel situation not been straightened out quickly they may not have been disappointed.) After several passes at us during which we kept turning into them they turned and headed back inland‑‑probably getting low on fuel. Our flight did not get a shot at them, and if there were any taken by the other flights they were not effective
About the time our fracas broke up the PBY called to say they had the two men in the water aboard, were airborne, and heading back to base. We then picked up the PBY and escorted it out of danger. I kept thinking how grateful those two airmen must have felt having been picked out of the water just off the enemy's shore. The stature of air‑sea rescue has always remained high with me. In all conflicts they have made some remarkable rescues under extremely dangerous conditions, often with little fanfare or recognition for some very heroic efforts.
As we approached the coast of Africa there was a sudden loss of oil from the left engine. It was only a matter of seconds before the oil pressure would go completely so rather than run the risk of ruining an engine and possible fire I shut it down. It was the first actual loss of an engine I'd experienced. The landing went fine and served as a great confidence builder concerning the capability of the aircraft to fly on single engine. At debriefing I had to (with a certain amount of embarrassment) explain the sudden fall out of formation. It was a valuable lesson and that mistake was never repeated.
At about this time word was passed down from group Hq. that maintenance was having a difficult time due to low manning. All the pilots were directed to go down to the flight line during non-flight days and help their crew chief in any way possible. Sgt. Bala looked at me somewhat dubiously when I "reported for duty" and after some thought (and probably no little concern for the welfare of the airplane) said, "Well you could clean the landing gear oleo struts". Since they collapsed much like a shock absorber and were subject to a lot of flying dirt during take‑off and landings it was necessary to clean them often. So with a bucket of solvent and rag I went to work. The crew chiefs no doubt got a kick out of putting all those officers to work, but that kind of teamwork was good for morale and to get the job done. We did that for a week or two then fell back into our old routine.
Mission #5, Aug 5, in blue 2 position was my first B‑17 bomber escort. It was to Catania, Sicily to attack bridges near that city where the 8th Army was temporarily stalled. After take‑off and form up we joined the bombers near Tunis and flew about 1000' above them. We had to continually criss‑cross since the B‑17 were considerably slower. We could also get a better view of the sky above them by weaving back and forth over their formation. As the bombers reached the shore and started the bomb run we encountered very heavy flak. Flak was simply a bursting anti-aircraft artillery shell. It would explode in a puff of black smoke and when concentrated would seem to cover the entire sky around the bombers. You could see the bursts tracking the bomber formation and the adjustments being made in altitude and azimuth or lead. Occasionally the bursts would be directed at us at which time we'd abruptly change direction. The bombers couldn't do that unfortunately, when on their bomb run, so they were particularly vulnerable. Fortunately we couldn't hear the bursts unless they were very close. If one survived an audible burst a shell fragment hit could be very well expected somewhere on the aircraft. Had we not been spared the noise of all those shells exploding we'd probably have suffered the same shock effects that ground troops experienced during heavy artillery attacks. No enemy fighters appeared so we could watch the bombs hitting the harbor below. The target area seemed to erupt with smoke, fire, and dust. It wasn't possible to assess the damage fully until later when reconnaissance photo aircraft took pictures. We were bounced by enemy fighters and in the ensuing action Lt. Herr from the 94th was shot down. He bailed out, landed safely on the ground, but was captured. He was taken to Italy where he finally escaped and returned to the Group almost a year later. Mission #6 as White 2 was to Andicola, Italy to strafe trains and installations August 8. We flew low over the Mediterranean to avoid enemy radar. At Andicola we came in over the rail yard with complete surprise and staffed railroad cars‑‑some of which exploded, indicating they were carrying ammunition. Surprise on such a mission was all important because if the enemy were aware they could put up a wall of ground fire. The Germans had special cars on most of their military trains, which were heavily armed with anti‑aircraft weapons. They looked like any other rail car but on attack the car siding could be dropped to permit some very concentrated and effective fire. A cardinal rule was that you made one pass only at a ground target then went on to the next. To pull up, go around and attack the same target a second time was to invite disaster, because the element of surprise would be gone and the enemy would be waiting with everything he had.
Mission #7, Aug 9 was a B‑26 bomber escort to Naples, Italy and my first assignment as "tail end Charlie"‑‑the number 4 man in a flight and the most vulnerable position. My assigned position was White 4. The B‑26's were low altitude twin engine bombers. They were slow and usually went into the target area at 8000 to 12000 feet. They always seemed to just hang in the sky, particularly in the target area and were very vulnerable to anti‑aircraft fire and enemy fighters. Anticipating an invasion of the Italian mainland, the Naples area was heavily fortified by the Germans and Italians and we encountered considerable flak going in. As the bombers made their run we were jumped by a fairly large number of German fighters and a very active air battle ensued. The B‑26's made it in and out without a loss so we had done our job. My record does not show any claims for damaged or destroyed enemy aircraft although we all got some shots.
Mission #8 on Aug. l. was a dive bombing and strafing mission to East Italy around the Messina area. I did not record what we dive bombed, but it was probably a railroad bridge. After dive bombing we followed the railroad tracks looking for trains and depots to strafe. My position was White 4. We approached a small railroad depot and strafed several cars on a siding plus the depot itself. Pieces flew off the box cars and depot as my 50 calibers hit. About this time Lt. Terry who was flying in an adjoining flight went into his strafing run but never pulled out. We watched helplessly as his plane hit the tracks and exploded into a fireball. He had no chance to get out of it at that altitude and we surmised later that he must have taken a direct hit in the cockpit and was killed or rendered unconscious before crashing. There was no indication of his trying to pull up. Lt. Terry from Seaside, Oregon was a very popular member of my cadet class and an excellent pilot. He was red haired, freckle faced, and typified an All‑American boy. We felt particularly bad about his loss. Lt. Greishaber met a similar fate on the same mission. He was hit, caught fire, and crashed. He was one of the older, more experienced pilots in the squadron. I did not know him well. We concluded afterward that some of the rail cars on the siding had been anti‑aircraft cars and had possibly gotten advanced warning that we were en route.
Mission #9, Aug 12 was an air sea rescue mission off Sardinia. I flew Red 2 position. We were briefed that the mission would be a long one so carried belly tanks and a canteen of water. It was a very hot day and we flew at 300 to 500' off the water following a PBY. in a search pattern. It was hot in the cockpit and my canteen of water was gone after about 2 hours (I should have rationed myself). After about 5 hours of flying some flares fired from the water revealed a dinghy with 2 men in it. By the time they had been picked up and we got back to base we had flown seven and one half hours. Having sat that long in the cramped, strapped down position, and after becoming thoroughly dehydrated I couldn't move to get out of the cockpit after landing. Sgt. Bala helped undo my parachute straps and half pulled me out onto the wing. No doubt everything in my seat and back pack was thoroughly imprinted on my backsides and my flight suit was caked with perspiration salt.
Mission #10 was the kind that brought audible groans from the pilots at the group briefing. The string on the map stretched all the way up to Rome with the Littorio airfield, and the San Larenzo and Vittorio railroad marshaling yards the targets for the B‑26 bombers. At this point Sicily was in the bag and it was obvious we were beginning the softening up process preliminary to an allied invasion of the Italian mainland. My record doesn't show my flying position but it must have been at #4 tail end Charlie. We were to escort B‑26 bombers and were briefed in detail about avoiding any damage to the Vatican and on escape and evasion procedures should we go down in that area. Intelligence indicated heavy anti‑aircraft and enemy fighter concentration in the Rome area. They were right on both counts as we first encountered very heavy flak. It suddenly halted over the target and about 75 ME109's and Machi 202's jumped us. A general mele' followed during which I got several deflection shots at 3 or 4 fighters. I couldn't verify any downed so did not make any claims. We worked the bombers back out of the Rome area and finally got them safely out to sea. There were no fighter losses but a loss of two B‑26's. The mission lasted 5 and l/2 hours and left us pretty exhausted. My mission record showed it on a Friday the 13th (Aug '43).
Mission #ll on Aug l. was to escort B‑26's to Safri, Italy. My record says "bombed railroad yards. No engagement." It lasted 4 and l/2 hours.
Mission 12 on Aug. l6, l943 was also to Naples. My mission record notes "heavy flak, no fighter opposition. It took 4-l/2 hours.
Mission 13 on Aug 18 was an apparent “milk run to the sole of the Italy boot. It was a B-26 bomber escort. My record book recorded little flak no fighter opposition.
We experienced a German air raid on Biserte on both the night of the 17th and 18th. They were aware of an impending invasion of the Italian mainland by the allied forces and hoped to forestall it by hitting at any gathering of ships in the harbor.
Mission #14 on Aug. 22 was to Naples, escorting B‑26's. We were jumped by approximately 40 Me109's and a few Machi 202's. I was in Blue 2 position. Both sides got lots of shots. I got several bursts off from a deflected angle, but didn’t make any claims. Was sure of some hits but there wasn't time enough to review the results. As soon as one broke down and away there would be another to contend with. We kept the bombers protected with no losses so accomplished the mission successfully. An enemy aircraft destroyed would have of course been icing on the cake. The mission took about 4 hours, and 45 minutes.
We noted a particular rash of aggressiveness by the enemy at this time, which was later believed to be the work of an elite Luftwaffe fighter Gruppe or Jagdgeschwader which had recently arrived from the Russian front on its way to Western Europe to confront the growing threat of the Eighth Air Force. A large number of the enemy had yellow noses, and flew with marked expertise. They came into our formation with an altitude advantage and dove steeply to attack. They seldom stayed to maneuver, but shot on downward, with the usual tactic of pulling up underneath and back to an altitude advantage. It was by far the most sustained resistance yet encountered.
At this time for about a week the Group had us practicing formation at low altitude around the Mateur Air Base area and the Mediterranean coast. We'd fly to a predetermined point, make a practice staffing run over it and return to base. The reason for this training was secret and since we didn't need to know at that point, we weren't told. We knew something different was coming, however. One incident occurred during a practice mission, which could have been a bit disastrous, when we popped over a hill near the coast and found ourselves heading right under the barrage balloons at Biserte. Someone called out "barrage balloons" and the whole formation broke up. Everyone went on his own, pulling up, down, or making an immediate 180 degree turn. The prospect of hitting a barrage balloon cable was imminent, but we all got out of the area without mishap. There were several close encounters between P‑38's however.
Mission l5 on Aug 25 cleared up the mystery of all the low altitude practice. Intelligence had determined that the Foggia area near the spur on the boot of Italy was the location of a large concentration of the German and Italian fighter opposition. It was decided to put all 3 fighter groups of P‑38's into one big strafing mission with the hope that we could deal a very serious blow to the enemy air capability by knocking them out on the ground. The previous night British bombers had dropped time delayed bombs on the airfield complex. It was theorized that that would keep them pretty busy on the ground at the time we would conduct the mass strafing. The time delays on the bombs were varied up to several hours duration.
We were briefed on another important target. The Germans had somehow obtained a P‑38‑‑probably one that bellied in behind enemy lines. They had repaired it and were flying it in combat. It had approached a B‑l7 bomber formation and had shot a B‑l7 down so it posed a threat to any allied aircraft over Italy. It had also caused the B‑l7 gunners to get highly nervous when any P‑38 pointed its nose toward them.
We were briefed to stay under 200' altitude for the entire 530 miles to avoid radar and to come in around the "spur" of the boot of Italy, line up, and make a straight ahead strafing run through the Foggia airfield complex. With the 3 groups involved there would be over l00 P‑38's crossing the area at once. We were cautioned not to vary our course, once approaching or over the target area. The congestion of so many P‑38's raised a high risk of colliding with one another.
One group of P‑38's appeared like a sizeable force in the air. Three times that many seemed to fill the sky as we rendezvoused off the coast of Tunisia and headed out over the Mediterranean. The squadron and group leaders had to do some very precise navigation to assure getting everyone over the target. on one pass. Having to fly so low didn't help that because it limited the number of checkpoints one could spot on land. The reason for the prior strict secrecy was obvious because with us flying in at low altitude, had the enemy known, they could have been airborne, awaiting a duck‑shoot.
We stayed low over the water from N. Africa to Italy‑‑flew around the southern tip of Italy and finally saw the spur. After a long wide sweeping turn we were lined up (line abreast) heading in with all our guns charged and ready. None of us knew for sure what our target might be. Hopefully it would be aircraft on the ground, but could be hangers, administration buildings, barracks, or ground equipment. As we entered the Foggia Airfield complex I spotted the tail and fuselage of an aircraft on the ground dead ahead. I gave it a long raking burst of gunfire before realizing my route had taken me directly over an airfield "boneyard", (where all the junked aircraft are kept). About the same time, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another P‑38 converging with my line of flight. He was apparently fixed on a target and would have collided with me had I not dropped down another l0 feet. I watched his props narrowly miss my canopy not being able to go any lower. Lt. Williams in the 71st Squadron was hit by ground fire and his plane burst into flames. He pulled up, bailed out, and lit in the middle of a runway on one of the airfields where he was immediately taken prisoner.
My personal effort hadn't been very productive, but we stayed low over Italy on the way back shooting at targets of opportunity, such as trains, trucks, and rail facilities. On the way out my flight met head on with two MEl09's. It occurred so fast that both sides pulled up like surprised game cocks. I got a pretty good burst in on one of them but we didn't have enough fuel or ammo left to turn back and pursue them into Italy where they were headed.
Overall we had done some damage to the airfields plus a claimed l50 aircraft destroyed on the ground. The captured P‑38 was not located. The lst Fighter Gp. was awarded a Presidential Unit Citation because of its success.
Capt Jim Hagenback, our squadron operations officer wrote a published article about the Foggia strafing mission several years later and although it repeats some of the above I am copying his article to provide more insight on the mission: "The Aug 25, 1943 strafing mission of the Foggia airfields in Italy was originally the brainchild of B/Gen. Charles Born who was deputy chief of staff for the 12th A.F operations, North Africa. The headquarters was near the 1 FG's location and an officer from each of the squadrons was summoned to attend a briefing. Gen. Born had key officers from the other two P‑38 groups (82FG and 14FG) attend also.
A senior officer from the 82nd FG, Col. George MacNicol, was chosen to lead the mission. For several days prior to the actual mission, combined practice with the three groups was undertaken. The key problems: the rendezvous point, timing, formation at extremely low level, and management of such a large number of aircraft during the long‑range flight over both land and sea. I was the 94th FS operations officer and attended the briefing. The secrecy of the mission, the essential requirement for radio silence during the flight, as well as the need for a loose formation at the time of attack, were all emphasized. I selected our most experienced pilots and their positions so they could more readily see targets. They would not have to be concerned about wingmen and less experienced pilots accidentally colliding with them.
The pilots were briefed to fly a much loser formation than normal and to be alert to the low‑level, look‑ahead requirement to identify targets and fire short bursts while at almost full speed. All pilots were to fly in an almost straight‑ahead lane so there would be no violent moves to either side resulting in a mid‑air crash. There would no second chances at lucrative targets. This was to be a one pass strike. All aircraft were to continue across Italy after the strike, returning on the deck to Africa.
The mission began at 0700. We formed up off the coast of Tunis with the three groups holding flights in loose formation abreast the lead group. Once formed up, the leader descended to just above water level and we spread out for the long, silent flight across the Mediterranean to Italy. It was an incredible slight to see so many P‑38's flying line abreast, almost touching the water.
The mission leader, Col. MacNicol, did a fabulous job of navigating as the early morning visibility was reduced by sea mist. None of the many flights could do their own navigating‑‑we all positioned our selves from that lead flight and his skill was key to the entire strike.
When the leader made landfall, we remained loose, climbed to clear the coastal mountains and remained at low‑level flight across Italy to the Adriatic Sea, again descending to about 50 feet over the water.
A slow turn to the left was now necessary and the leader carefully banked up to proceed north. My flight passed over two cruising Italian destroyers and we could see men on the decks sunning themselves, completely surprised by the cloud of aircraft that passed over them.
We, of course, were most unhappy with having been seen. We thought they could radio ashore and announce the mission to Italian and German defenders, much as the Doolittle B‑25s were seen by fishing boats who alerted shore defenses.
Very shortly, the leader again banked slowly to the left and all aircraft maneuvered to line‑abreast while we approached the shoreline near the city of Bari. Our guns were ready. Belly tanks had been dropped over the mountains. The excitement was mounting. We expected the anti‑aircraft guns to start a barrage of fire as we flew inland toward the airfields.
My flight was on the left edge of the mass of aircraft. We were able to see potential targets easily. The lead flight started firing on one airfield and we could see explosions arising from their hits. Since all pilots were to shoot straight ahead, our scanning the horizon enabled up to pick out potential targets well ahead of the aircrafts path.
I could see an airfield dead ahead and then suddenly I flew over roads and orchards with aircraft hidden under trees. With that knowledge, I started firing at every haystack, clump of trees, and any possible hiding place for aircraft. My path took me up a paved road and on each side were parked aircraft, which used the road for a taxiway to the field.
Each burst of my guns seemed to send up a flash of smoke and flame for this was indeed the hidden concentration of enemy aircraft. I would see the glint of sun reflected off a canopy under the trees or a suspicious mound of camouflage, which turned out to be a gasoline tank farm.
In looking off to my right, I could see that the other aircraft were also hitting targets as pillars of smoke curled up into the morning sky like geysers. Glancing back, I could see many spires of black smoke in all directions.
Since it was before 0900 as we hit these targets, the enemy had not gotten ready for the day's activity. In some locations, I flew directly over barracks areas and could see men standing in line for breakfast. They looked up and were scrambling for cover as I went over. The strike was an enormous surprise. I saw anti‑aircraft batteries with men rushing to man them, too late to catch any of this massed flight.
The many aircraft hidden in orchards and groves were still mostly covered and there were relatively few on the airfields in parked position.
A few transport‑type aircraft were on one airfield I hit. I could see all of them bursting into smoke as we went over. Other pilots, of course, had seen them and put burst into them so that we all just fired as fast and as often as the short period of time over target permitted.
It was miraculous that no adjacent pilot locked wings with his neighbor for we all had our attention centered in our straight‑ahead flight, except for some minor maneuvering.
Of course, we had to bob up and down so that the nose of the aircraft could hit a target. However, at no time did the Lightnings climb above two to three hundred feet.
Radio silence had been broken at the start of the attack. We could hear other pilots excitedly calling out targets or mentioning hazards or warnings. The group to the right of me flew into a couple of training planes up for an early morning flight. These were hit in the one fast pass upon being overtaken.
As there was no going back to hit missed targets, we continued flying homeward over the mountainous area, back to the Italian Mediterranean shore after just the one pass.
We had become strung out and somewhat mixed up. There was no way to again form up into the disciplined formation of squadrons and groups as we had at the start of the mission. But we all know our return course to Tunisia and joined up on whomever we ran across.
The flight was one of relief and satisfaction. We didn't think we had lost many of our aircraft. We knew that we had surprised the enemy and had inflicted a great deal of damage.
We were also very happy that anti‑aircraft fire had been almost nonexistent. Judging from all the gun emplacements we'd seen around the Foggia airfields, anti‑aircraft fire could have been quite formidable. All our intelligence information had indicated a well‑defended target area.
Following our return to our base we gave estimates of the aircraft we thought we'd hit, damaged, or destroyed. I knew I'd destroyed about five Me109's and thought I'd probably severely damaged about four others. But, since I'd flown over them so fast, I hadn't seen them break into flames or blow up as the five I did see explode.
When the groups scores was tabulated , it was 88 destroyed or damaged. That seemed accurate from our brief encounter. A later inventory, taken by intelligence officers in 1944 once the Allies occupied the airfields, indicated that the mission actually destroyed or damaged beyond usefulness 212 enemy aircraft." End of quote A little more on the enemy held P‑38. We were of course concerned that it might join our formation on any mission. It also made the gunners of the bombers very trigger happy. A standard procedure to use if we lost an engine over the target area and did not have escort from our own fighters was to feather up and join up with the bombers by flying close formation with them. It was better than nothing since the turret gunners on the bombers could provide some protection. Because of the enemy P‑38 the procedure was modified to the effect that instead of flying directly into the bomber formation we would fly alongside well out of their gun range then slowly slide over to join up without ever pointing our nose at them. Failing to do that left a pretty good chance that they would open up with all that they had. I had just such an experience on one mission when I had to feather an engine on the way out of the target area. As I carefully slipped my aircraft toward the bombers and after settling into formation with one of them I looked over to see all the guns on about 6 or 7 B‑l7's trained directly on me. It was a bit like facing a firing squad.
Missions #l6 on Aug. 26, ‑‑ #l7 on Aug. 27, and #l8 on Aug 28 were almost identical. We were flying missions every day escorting B‑26's to the Naples area at targets such as rail yards, transportation complexes, bridges etc. The allied invasion of Italy was imminent but the enemy was not sure where along the coast it would occur. On each of these missions we would be met by 25 to 50 enemy fighters and there would be a continuous air battle as we escorted the bombers into and out of the target area. It is difficult to recall and relate specific happenings to each of these missions, but certain events still are vivid in my memory. During an engagement on one of the missions I looked down to see a P‑38 on single engine dive on the tail of a Me109 and blow it to bits‑‑not an easy feat.. It turned out to be Dick Lee and if anyone could do it it would be him. On another mission a Me109 pulled directly in on my tail but was shaken off when our flight broke around in a tight turn and another flight turned into him. On another mission I found myself in a head‑on attack with an Me109‑‑a condition I'd been hoping to get and much to my advantage. I took a good sighting on him, pressed the gun firing button and found my guns jammed. The advantage was then his but he took a short burst at me then thought better of a head‑on confrontation and did a split S for the deck. I managed to recharge a couple of the 50 caliber guns before we left the target area but had lost a great opportunity.
Each time there was very heavy flak over the target. The German fighters avoided fighting in the midst of their own flak so when the barrage would suddenly cease we'd know the fighters were on the way down, usually directly out of the sun. There were a sprinkling of Italian fighters generally accompanying the Germans. The Italians were not always aggressive and in the midst of an air battle it was not uncommon to see one doing slow rolls or some kind of acrobatics off to the side and out of range. By that time they didn't have much hope of being on the winning side and much of their enthusiasm for a fight, if they ever had any, was gone. At a safe distance they did like to demonstrate their ability to fly however.
The Germans had learned a lot about us and occasionally called the flight leaders to give them false orders or headings in an attempt to mislead us. They even knew the names of many of the squadron members to include the squadron commander.
We lost very few B‑26's to enemy fighters. Most losses were to flak, although on one of the missions one squadron of B‑26's apparently dropped their bombs into some flights below them. There appeared to be 15 or 20 parachutes in the air at once as several B‑26's went down. Some of our biggest air battles occurred on these missions, and those of us who were raw replacements just over a month prior were now getting to be fairly well seasoned in battle. The Germans were fighting desperately on the ground and in the air to prevent an invasion of Italy as another front on the mainland of Europe was for them to avoid at all cost.
At the air base it was getting awfully hot and aside from an occasional outdoor movie there wasn't much recreation. We played volleyball for exercise. One day one of the pilots said he had learned of a place not too far away where we could get a steak dinner. That really sounded great because we were getting awfully tired of Spam, dehydrated potatoes, and diced carrots. The Spam was salty and tasteless despite varied attempts by the cooks to make it more appetizing. They would mix it with other ingredients, dip it in powdered egg batter, fry it, roast it, boil it and whatever, but it always came out as salty tasting Spam. There was a common joke that given our first choice of "enemy" targets it would be the Spam factory in the U.S.
With the prospect of a steak dinner in view several of us managed to wrangle a weapons carrier truck and set off one evening to find the place. It was necessary to be a bit selective about driving over back roads because many of them had been mined by the Germans when they retreated through that area and had not been completely cleared. That seemed a small deterrent at the time to a possible steak dinner so we sallied forth, found the place way out in nowhere and sure enough they did have steaks. Whether or not they were beef, camel, or someone’s pet was questionable, but we didn't try to find out. We had a great time and not only were the steaks very tasty to us, there was a lot of wine available. We shared the only table (long and rectangular) in the place with several Frenchmen who somehow got it across that they were part of the Free French underground. They sang the Marseille‑‑we sang the Star Spangled Banner, and then we all joined in singing both songs. All was serene and compatible until one of our boys took exception to something one of the Frenchmen said and demonstrated his displeasure by hitting him on the head with one of the metal plates we were being served on. The French took a dim view of that kind of "friendliness" and the mood turned suddenly ugly. Some of the more sober heads got us rounded up and back in the truck in time to avert a free for all and we jolted home feeling contentedly well fed for the first time since our arrival. Somehow we didn't worry too much about whatever we had done to allied relations with the Tunisian Free French. Lt. Nolan who had wielded the plate later told me he had taken offense when the Frenchman started talking to him in German.
We found another source for snacks, which helped break the monotony of 'C ' rations. One of the pilots, Lt. Thiesen, had a relative who was an infantry M.P. stationed nearby. He endeared himself to several of us by furnishing canned cheese and crackers every once in awhile. He got them while escorting convoys of quartermaster supplies by climbing on the back of one of the trucks and tossing off a case or two to an awaiting buddy. Mission 19 on Aug. 30 was burned very indelibly into my mind. It was also my first mission as an element leader. We all looked forward to moving out of the #4 "tail end Charlie" position because as an element leader or flight leader we could expect to be more in on any action. As #4 we were more or less following the flight around and didn't get to fire much unless the flight got broken up in a big battle. Even then our job was primarily to protect the flight or element leader. On this mission I had what may be the dubious record of getting shot up the most and still making it to a friendly base in a P‑38. As mentioned previously we had been escorting bombers repeatedly into the Naples area each day for over a week, attacking targets in preparation for the forthcoming invasion of the mainland of Italy. The missions were almost identical in that time over target, altitudes, and strengths were very the near the same each day. On that day I led blue flight element of the 94th along with the rest of the group to the Naples area. It was one of several missions to soften up the Naples area for the forthcoming allied invasion of Italy at Salerno. The mission turned out to be one of two of the lst Fighter Group's biggest air battles. Later described by one of the 27th Squadron pilots in a Group history, I will detail what he said about the pre‑mission events and trip to the target area: "At Mateur forty‑odd pilots gathered in the briefing tent at 0700. Most had just consumed a breakfast of powdered eggs and raw, hot coffee, toast, preserved butter, and the like. They sat on rough benches, dressed mostly in the brown summer flying suit of the AAF, and all wore a .45 automatic in a shoulder holster. A few wore summer khaki uniforms, and most sat quietly, smoking cigarettes, and there were the inevitable jokes. Each possessed a small notebook and ready pencil. Here the aircraft battle letters, bomber call signs, and homing stations would be entered. And in each would go the start engine time, taxi time for each squadron, and takeoff time. The notes were made with cryptic entries designed to confuse the enemy should the notebook fall into enemy hands.
On every belt was a knife or bayonet‑‑the dinghy sticker. It was for the purpose of stabbing the rubber dinghy with which the survival kit of each pilot was equipped should it accidently inflate in flight and jam the pilot up against the controls in such a way to make handling the airplane difficult to impossible. Then there were other survival uses for which the knife might be used.
The survival kits were handed out, and each pilot signed the receipt. They were small. They contained candy for energy, money for bribery or trading, fishing materials, a compass, cloth maps, water purification tablets, a collapsible water bag, and a language booklet.
The briefing was routine and did not last long. The target was the Aversa marshaling yards once again; the escort would be for the B‑26's of the 3l9th and 320th Bombardment Groups.
The pilots dispersed to their squadrons for final instructions from their intelligence officers and squadron commanders, and to collect their parachutes and other personal equipment. Soon the trucks, jeeps, and command cars were driving out along the taxiways to the parking hardstands.
There followed the long deathly wait that was the hardest part of any mission, when watches were checked every few minutes to start engine time, when the stomach felt leaden, and the palms of the hands sweated. Mentally, each pilot computed his missions. Was this the l0th, 30th, 42, or 50th? It would be one more under his belt in any case, one more for the total, one more less to go.
The first Fighter Group climbed out gradually. At 7,000 feet the coast of Africa fell away behind them. Up ahead a line of specks on the hazy horizon stood out, seemingly motionless. Their tales seemed inordinately large. They were the B‑26 Marauders.
By the time Sicily passed to starboard, the Group was parallel with the B‑26's. The fighter pilots found it hard to hold level flight, for the horizon, even at 10,000 feet now, seemed to have disappeared. The flight leaders glanced often at the bombers for reference, and back again at the squadron leader for the same. Then the haze seemed to dissipate a little, and there off to the right was Stromboli showing the black smudge of its volcano.
The bombing altitude was 12,000 feet, therefore the fighters would be flying at around 13,000. The slow climb continued. Suddenly, a heavy line showed on the horizon ahead. It became clearer as the minutes passed. It was expected. It was the coast of Italy.
A humming sound now appeared in all headphones. It rose and fell of its own accord, and it increased and diminished as the fighters wove slightly back and forth. It was the enemy radar searching the sky and fixing the formation." End of quote.
Going in with the bombers we encountered the usual heavy flak then a pretty stiff battle with 25 or 30 fighters. The bombers completed their run and we were on the way out with minimum losses when someone called in a new batch of "bogies" (estimated 75 to 100) high. I looked up to see a whole gaggle of them drop belly tanks and dive into the middle of us. They had been loitering at altitude awaiting the most favorable time to attack which was after we had expended a good bit of our fuel and ammo. and were attempting to regroup from the first air battle that day. Following their initial dive into us a real dogfight erupted during which our flights were completely broken up and much of our squadron integrity disappeared. There were P‑38's, ME109's and Machi 202's mixing it everywhere with many losses on both sides. Everywhere you looked there was an enemy fighter or P‑38 in a spin or dive‑‑smoking or on fire, some crashing into the Bay of Naples. A P‑38 from the 7lst Squadron and a Mel09 collided headon exploding in a gigantic ball of smoke and fire. As one of the pilots described it years later it looked like one of those old WWI movies such as Hell's Angels or Lilac time. I saw several P‑38's on fire and one (Lt. Rigney) on fire and bellying into the water off shore.
Since our fuel was getting low from the two encounters the squadron leader that day (Lt. Dibble) gave the order to work toward the Bay of Naples and reform as best we could. About the same time a P‑38 from the 27th Squadron went by me toward the bay with an Mel09 closing in on his tail. I was alone and broke headon into the 109 firing a good burst at him from close range. He broke off the 27th P‑38 in what appeared to be a fast, uncontrollable, spinning dive. My maneuver, however had taken me directly back toward Naples and into a beehive of enemy fighters. The squadron, by then, was loosely formed up and heading out to sea.
It was obvious the 109 pilots were literally choosing lots to see which got the honor and that there was no way I could best their numbers, fuel, or altitude advantage. I took the only real choice available which was to firewall it and dive for the deck out over the Bay of Naples. Almost immediately tracers went by. They were actually converging in front of me and I looked back into a spiral painted propellor spinner not more than a hundred yards behind me. As I leveled off at what appeared to be a few inches off the water he started hitting me. It sounded like hail on a tin roof with occasional explosions as his cannon shell hit and exploded. To make a more difficult target I kicked left rudder causing his tracers to go over the end of my left wing. As he worked back and started hitting the aircraft again I would try a skid the other way. This ploy was used several times and it reduced his effectiveness, but he still got quite a few hits each time as he worked back through. I was so low on the deck that he no doubt had problems avoiding the water, plus my prop wash. At times his bullets raised plumes of water ahead of me indicating he was trying to shoot from an elevated position and was over‑leading me.
It seemed certain my aircraft was either going to lose an engine or explode and I was considering how to handle that when I noticed I was rapidly overtaking another Me109 directly ahead and about a hundred feet above me. He was apparently trying to catch up with the other P‑38's ahead. That meant that if I went under him there would be two of them on my tail. If I pulled up and eliminated the skid to fire at him the guy behind me would have a sitting duck to work on. I pulled up, got a good bead on the Me109 ahead and fired all four 50 calibers and the cannon. He started to smoke and went into a gentle turn to the right. Almost simultaneously there was a crash as my pursuer gave me a long burst, enveloping me again with a hail of tracers. One of his bullets creased the canopy bar beside my head, which knocked out the whole rear of the canopy. Plexiglass flew all over the cockpit‑‑even into my mouth. I dove for the deck again and for some reason experienced no more shots from the 109 behind me. Within seconds during which I expected to catch more fire my right engine oil temperature began to rise rapidly and the pressure began dropping. I feathered the right engine and watched the left with no little anxiety, but despite apparent gaping cannon holes in both wings and numerous 30 cal. holes in the engine nacelles and wings the left engine continued to function fine. Happily the gauges showed no rapid fuel loss and radio contact was made with the squadron. Lt. Dibble brought what was left of the squadron around in a 360 degree turn allowing me to catch up. Three of the 94th pilots, Lts. Dibble, Pettus and Anderson stayed with me while the rest of the squadron proceeded back to home base in Africa. We headed for Sicily, the nearest friendly landfall and after what seemed an endless time arrived over northern Sicily and proceeded to the nearest airfield.
The airfield was under construction, but there was enough P.S.P. (pierced steel planking) installed to land on so I set up an approach. Just as the end of the runway was reached an Italian truck being used for construction drove directly across in front of me. I managed to add enough power to get over him but decided against a go around, not knowing what the condition of the hydraulic system was and whether or not the gear could be raised. (the landing gear had to be raised to effect a successful pull‑up and go around on single engine.) The landing went o.k. with sufficient speed left to taxi over to some tents being used by the Army Combat Engineers. Upon shutting down the good engine it caught fire but was quickly extinguished by an awaiting fireman.
The plane looked like a sieve. I estimated there were 60 to 80, 30 cal holes plus 4 or 5 exploded cannon round hits that in each case flared a large piece of the wing skin up. Even the props had bullet holes through them. Lts. Dibble, Pettus, and Anderson, after seeing me down safely, buzzed the field and continued on to home base in Africa. I stayed at the field that night then made my way back to the base at Mature the next day on a C‑47 transport. I've always regretted not getting some pictures of the P‑38, but doubt if a camera was available.
I was credited with one aerial victory that day and one damaged. The Me109 firing at me either ran out of ammunition and/or broke off to go to the aid of his comrade. The credited kill and damaged was inadvertently listed as Machi 202's but it didn't make that much difference to me at the time.
We lost Lt. Parlett, Lt. Peck, Lt. Cram, Lt. Woodward and Lt. Rigney that day from the 94th Squadron. The other squadrons had similar losses. Lts. Parlett and Rigney survived being shot down and were taken prisoner by the Germans. Both of them along with Lt. Catledge from the 7lst squadron escaped and after months of working their way down through Italy, finally reached friendly forces in Southern Italy and safety. The group was again awarded the Presidential Unit Citation.
Upon my arrival back at the base I was greeted like a long lost relative, debriefed by intelligence, and then went to my tent for a much needed rest. My air mattress for my army cot was missing! The squadron didn't have enough air mattresses to go around so they were inherited from pilots rotating home or "requisitioned" directly by one of the newer pilots when someone failed to return from a mission. I was building up a head of steam when one of the more recently assigned pilots came in looking very embarrassed and dragging my air mattress. He sheepishly apologized and it was good for a tension relieving laugh.
Mission #20 on Sept 4 was a get‑even mission. Having been shot up and having lost some good friends left me angry and feeling vengeful. So when the briefing indicated we were to strafe an airfield above Naples it was evident it had to be one of those involved in the Aug. 30 battle. This time my run took me right down the revetment line on a German airfield. The Germans kept their aircraft pretty well dispersed, but we had surprised them completely. Two very combat ready looking ME109's made a perfect ground target for all four 50 calibers and the cannon and I watched them both explode in balls of flame. We had no losses and back home it felt better to know the score had been evened up for the badly damaged P‑38 left in Sicily.
Mission #2l and #22 on Sept 5 and 6 respectively were pretty much carbon copies of several of the previous bomber escorts to the Naples area. Each time we were met by 25 to 35 enemy fighters. They always had the advantage of altitude and usually yo yo'd at the bombers or us. They were beginning to be less aggressive however‑‑no doubt saving their resources for the impending invasion. At times they would take a quick downward pass and continue on to the deck without returning.
On Sept 7th we were alerted to prepare for a move. It was to be temporary so we didn't fold up our tents. We took enough personal items to be away a week or two. The ground support people had the tough job of gathering up enough of everything to logistically support operations from another airfield.
The move was to Catania, Sicily and on arrival we immediately began some practice night flying. It was a bit hairy because we were located at the foot of Mt. Etna which had been spewing smoke and ashes for several days. Besides bad visibility we weren't familiar with the surrounding terrain. Two accidents happened as a result, both somewhat bizarre. In one case one of the pilots in another squadron attempted to join up on what he thought were the lights of his flight leader. The lights were ground lights and he hit the surface at around 250 to 300 m.p.h. leaving pieces of P‑38 scattered over a wide area. Miraculously he survived with just the cockpit remaining but no serious damage to himself.
The other incident was a loss of one our pilots (Lt. Phillips) and was never resolved at to what happened. He simply disappeared on a night training flight. At first it was thought most likely that he had crashed into Mt. Etna, but after finding no evidence of that it was believed he may have experienced vertigo and crashed somewhere in the water offshore.
The town of Catania had been all but demolished during the battle for Sicily and we got a much closer perspective of the effect of the war on the civilian population. They were very destitute, hungry and dirty‑‑many without shelter, and by that time very disillusioned with their leader Mussolini and his German allies. The children were the ones that got our sympathy. The war was not of their making and they were hungry, dirty, ragged, and homeless. They were begging for food and clothing and often gathered near the mess tent in hopes of getting a chance to go through the garbage cans. Most of them had their heads shaved‑‑the result of a de‑lousing program by our allied military government. Generally the Sicilians seemed relieved that we were occupying Sicily as they were better treated by the allies and the future began to look a bit brighter for them.
On Sept. 9 mission #23 began before daylight and explained the reason for the night flight training. We were briefed that we would be covering the invasion of Italy and were not at all surprised to learn it was to be in the Naples area. We were to fly at a certain altitude over the beach and be prepared to take on any enemy air activity that appeared and/or to strafe any targets designated by the ground controller on a ship in the invasion area.
It was a whole new ball game to us. We had had very little practice forming up in the dark and of course there would be a lot of aircraft in the air. Sicily put us much closer to the target so navigation was not a problem. Trucks were parked along the runway with lights on to give us a reference as there were no runway lights on the airfield. We started up and taxied very carefully to the end of the runway‑‑more or less feeling our way. Just prior to line up an explosion and fire occurred at the opposite end of the runway. It was obviously a crashed P‑38. We took off directly over it, and learned on our return from the mission that one of the flight leaders had hit a truck with his wing tip. The truck had crossed the runway at the end of the field. Prop wash had caused the wing to dip and hit the truck just behind the cab. The P‑38 bellied in and burned, but the pilot got away from it before it caught five. Neither he nor the truck driver was injured.
We formed up and climbed out north toward Naples and within a few minutes began to see the first light of sunrise to the east. As we approached Naples it was light enough to make out a vast armada of ships heading toward the invasion point. I kept thinking about the troops aboard the landing craft and the anxieties they must be feeling. The landing was underway when we arrived over the beach. It was still fairly dark on the beach but you could see numerous fires inland and among the invading ships in the fleet. We remained over the area for about an hour without encountering any fighter opposition then were replaced by other allied fighters. The mission took 3 hours.
Mission #24‑‑9/l0, #25‑‑9/l2, #26‑‑9/l3, #27‑‑9/l4, #28‑‑9/l5 and #29‑‑9/l7 were strafing and dive bombing attacks in support of the invasion. Mission #27 was my first mission as a flight leader and it felt good to be in a position where one could exercise more of his own judgment and decisions. Our targets were generally enemy truck convoys, heavy troop concentrations, or roads and bridges. The targets were assigned by a controller on one of the navy ships offshore. On one mission ground control ordered us to jettison our bombs because enemy fighters were in the vicinity. They never appeared however. I was assigned to a mission on Sept l6 but had mechanical problems with my aircraft. After obtaining another and while attempting to catch up with the squadron a single engine aircraft appeared quite a way off my left wing. Not knowing its identity I started climbing in order to get some altitude advantage. He did the same and we had both reached about 15000' before his identity became clear as a British Spitfire. A few wing waggles caused him to level off and since I couldn't catch the squadron it was necessary to return to base. Can't imagine whose side he thought a P‑38 with its twin booms and twin engines would be on. He may have heard of the P‑38 in German hands and was just being a bit cautious.
By coincidence the active volcano on Stromboli Island started erupting at the same time the invasion began. We always got a good view of the volcanic activity as we flew over it en route to the Naples area. After completing the 29th mission out of Sicily on Sept l7th, the squadron was directed to return to the base in Africa. We flew the aircraft out and the ground contingent caught up with us a few days later.
Mission #30 on 9/30 was to Naples again‑‑this time to dive bomb a road. It must have been getting monotonous because my mission tersely says "hit it. No enemy aircraft . Moderate flak".
We had a few days stand down while getting the group back together and needed it for some rest. The schedule had been pretty heavy. One day while playing volley ball the squadron c.o. came over, stopped the game and whispered something in Dick Lee's ear. Dick broke into a wide grin and watched as the c.o. then came over to me and whispered "you are now a first lieutenant." Needless to say we were pretty happy not to be the lowest on the totem pole any longer. Someone produced some silver bars which we donned immediately.
Shortly after that the squadron was alerted to move a contingent to Lybia. We again moved with a limited support team. The flight to Lybia was interesting because we flew directly over the route on which German General Rommel had retreated. The signs of the tank battle were very evident ‑‑you could see where the tank tracks had churned up the desert. There was a destroyed tank every so often and the entire route was littered with thousands of "jerry cans" (5 gallon cans used to refuel the tanks en route).
We landed at a base on the Sahara Dessert South of Tripoli called Gambut. The field consisted of a runway scraped out of the dry desert and a few tents for living quarters. It was about as rustic as an air field could be and still be operable. Everything had to be brought in including our water. Food was very limited (K rations) and we were allowed only a half helmet full of water a day to clean up with. The wind blew sand in all directions and before long we were a very scruffy looking bunch. We learned that there was a German attempt to land troops on the Greek Dodecanese islands and that we were part of the defense. It took a few days to get organized, but on Oct. 8, I was scheduled for mission #3l as blue flight leader on a fighter sweep l50 miles N.E. of Crete. As we flew over Leros Islands we spotted several German troop transport ships on the water. The decks were covered with troops. Unfortunately we weren't armed with bombs, but on further investigation found some German J.U 88's (twin engine bomber) flying near the ships. My flight flew cover for the squadron leader as his flight attacked a J.U 88, then when he pulled his flight up we took after another one. The ships were putting up every thing they had which was mostly small arms fire. The J.U.88 kept flying directly over the convoy at low altitude hoping we would be picked off by the ship's fire. We got in several good bursts during which the J.U. 88 tail gunner fired back with his single machine gun.
Our range was too far to be very effective at first and as we were just getting in range the squadron commander ordered us to break off and rejoin with his flight. He was concerned about fuel limitations and/or that we were pressing our luck too much flying so low across the convoy. At any rate I broke off the attack and have always regretted doing so. We got a damaged out of it but it could have been a sure destroyed had we stayed with it. In retrospect I should have feigned radio trouble and continued to press the attack.
After join up and about 20 or 30 minutes out of the area we heard somewhat excited radio transmissions from the 14th Fighter Group P‑38 pilots that had been scheduled into the same area behind us. En route they had jumped several flights of German troop air transports (J.U. 52's) and were having a field day. Some of the 14th pilots became aces on that one mission. We were envious because although we had some action we had missed out on the bigger piece of the cake. There were only two flights of us on our mission and my record says we destroyed l J.U.88 and damaged 2.
Back at Gambut we stayed on a few more days and after a somewhat fierce sandstorm which blew our sleeping tent down and turned everything into grit, we were ordered back to home base again. Our takeoff to return occurred in the midst of swirling dust and sand and on taxi out I suddenly spotted a barrel of oil lying flat on the ground. It was seen too late to stop or avoid it completely, and the right prop sliced through the barrel 3 or 4 times leaving it spurting oil. A runup of the engine produced no noticeable vibration so, faced with having to spend several days in the sandstorm, the decision to continue on was easy. The airplane flew with no problem.
On arrival back at Mateur we were trucked into Biserte where someone had set up a large trailer van equipped with showers and hot water. It had to be one of man’s greatest inventions and was just what we needed. After about two weeks accumulation of sand, dust, sweat, and grime we qualified as just plain filthy. The shower with lots of hot water and soap has topped any bath since then even in some of the more luxurious hotels.
The next mission #32 was from Mateur on October 23 to escort bombers to 100 miles north of Rome. My mission record states "jumped by 12 enemy fighters. Lost Lion". My position was white flight leader but I did not elaborate on the mission. Presumably Lt. Lion was lost due to enemy fighter action.
About this time we were transferred from 12th Air Force to 15th Air Force with no change of location but a change in our mission in that most of our escort of bombers would now be high altitude B‑24's or B‑17's. This meant we would be going longer distances to more strategic targets and at considerably higher altitudes, generally around 24,000 to 27,000 ft. It meant being on oxygen for much longer, experiencing extremely cold temperatures and operating in rarefied atmosphere where we experienced much more supercharger problems with the engines. It also meant carrying heavier fuel loads with larger drop tanks. We were issued electrically heated suits worn under our flight suits to combat the cold temperatures. (often ‑25 to ‑50 degrees Fahrenheit outside the cockpit) The aircraft heater could not begin to comfortably warm the cockpit and well below freezing temperatures prevailed most of the time above 18,000'. The electric suits, plugged into a circuit in the cockpit, were not too effective. No doubt they were the forerunner of the electric blanket as it is known today but the invention hadn’t been perfected that well then. Often there would be spots where the suit burned the skin while other places were totally unheated. At times shorts would provide a very mild electric shock. We found that since our legs usually got the coldest we could help some by wrapping copies of the Stars and Stripes newspaper around them.
We also had to become very oxygen conscious. Our system was what was called a demand system, that is, it was supposed to feed in the required amount of oxygen at any given altitude until at some point 100% oxygen was supplied. A blinker on the supply diaphragm winked with every breath you took to indicate you were getting oxygen, but it didn't say whether you were getting enough. After losing a couple of pilots in the group to suspected oxygen deficiency, we became very conscious of being properly hooked up to the system and as to whether or not enough oxygen was being supplied. Different symptoms were felt by individual pilots. My best check was to remove a glove and check my fingernails for color. If they were starting to turn blue I had an immediate oxygen problem requiring a switch to 100% until the cause was determined. Usually the cause was a loose mask or disconnected hose resulting from swiveling ones head around in the cockpit looking for enemy fighters. The supply was not unlimited so we had to make sure we managed its intake in a way that would assure getting to the target and back down to 10,000 feet or less where it was no longer needed. (Always a relief because that would provide a chance to light up a smoke after not having had one for several hours).
Mission #33 on 10/30/43 was near Turin, Italy as B‑24 escort as white flight leader. The target was a ball bearing plant at Villa Perosa. In order to provide continual escort of the bombers we flew from our base at Foggia, Italy to where the bombers were based at Decimamanu, Sardinia. There we topped off our fuel tanks to assure enough to get to the target and back to home base. My mission record says "flew at 25000" altitude. Temperature outside the cockpit was 50 degrees below 0. No enemy aircraft sighted ‑‑ light flak". At that altitude we and the bombers created heavy condensation trails which left no doubt to the enemy on the ground as to what our position was so if there was light flak it probably was because there weren't that many enemy anti‑aircraft batteries in the Turin area. We got our first good look at the snow covered Alps. The mission took 6 hrs. 25 minutes.
Early in November the Group commander decided that the enlisted men and officers needed a club of their own where they could have a place to socialize a bit other that their tents. A project officer was named and erection of the clubs began using the only available material and labor, which was packing crates and a few Arabs. Whenever we had time and couldn't escape the project officer we would lend a hand in building the edifice. It was finished toward the end of the month and looked pretty good inside with a bar, dance floor, tables with chairs, and a parachute spread out over the ceiling. Various signs were hung about the bar one of which I show in a picture saying "candy is dandy but liquor is quicker". We didn't have a source of either candy or liquor except for an allotment of l ounce of rye whiskey each per mission. This ration was usually saved up for a couple of months and then each squadron was issued a few bottles of "Old Overholt" rye. It wasn't particularly good (it soon earned the name of "old overhauls") but we made the best of it. We had that for the grand opening plus someone had procured a small supply from somewhere to supplement what was available. One of our better looking and most persuasive pilots went in to Biserte and successfully invited the nurses at the hospital to attend, so on the night of the opening several ambulances pulled up full of nurses of all shapes and sizes. They all looked ravishingly beautiful to us and we had a great time dancing up a storm to a local orchestra and downing such luxurious drinks as straight bourbon, straight rye or bourbon and water and rye and water. The party ended late at night after we reluctantly but the nurses back in their ambulances and they headed back to Biserte. We looked forward with great anticipation to another such event very soon but a glitch developed in the whole scheme‑‑Our squadron was ordered to move North about 75 miles to an airfield near Tunis and the club along with whatever could not be packed up was left to the Arabs.
It was now getting into winter and our tents at the airfield in Tunis were not equipped with any kind of heat. All sorts of heating devices were invented and installed but the one most used was to burn cans of ethylene glycol. Its intended purpose was as anti‑freeze for the aircraft but it was also a good tent warmer and was not volatile enough to explode. Fortunately there was a limited amount of it to use in that manner. The flight surgeons were openly worried about the health of the whole outfit. The ethylene glycol burned a nice blue flame on top of the liquid. It may not have been the healthiest form of heating but it provided at least a minimum of what we needed.
Fortunately we were there only a few weeks before getting orders again, this time to southern Sardinia‑‑a temporary move with a minimum support force. We moved within a few days and set up on an airfield at Cagliari, Sardinia. All the buildings had been pretty well bombed out but we found some that, although all the windows were gone, at least provided a roof over our heads. Our sleeping quarters were in a sturdy cement building and we just put our sleeping bags on the floor and made ourselves at home.
The Italians in Sardinia were pretty bitter over the war and the bombing of targets near Cagliari even though there had been no invasion or ground war there. When we went into town we were accosted by old ladies lecturing us over the bombings. They apparently thought we had done it. We didn't understand much of what they were saying except when they would demonstrate bombs falling with their hands and say "boom boom". Apparently the move to Cagliari was to put us a bit closer to Northern Italy which was now getting a pretty good pasting from all of our air forces in the theatre.
Mission #34 on 11/2 was to 100 miles above Rome as B‑l7 escort with again no sighting o fighters and light flak. This was my first time at leading the squadron as my record shows my position as Red flight leader. In addition I was overall mission commander for the group. The position, although carrying considerably more responsibility, was easier to fly since you didn't have to maintain a position relative to another flight. Rather the two other flights in my squadron and the Group's other two squadrons were required to maintain position on me. The mission took 4 hrs. 30 min. We had not lost our role as tactical fighters doing dive bombing and strafing when we were transferred to 15th A.F. Mission #35 on Nov. 6 to Marcianno, Italy was a dive bombing mission in which our squadron flew top cover. My record shows "no fighters but heavy flak". The mission was flown as white flight leader for a total of 5 hrs, 15 minutes. The target was the Monte Molino bridge which the bombers had repeatedly tried to hit in order to cut off German supply lines. We didn't destroy it completely but did considerable damage to it. Mission #36 on Nov. l5 was a very long mission involving staging through Sicily for refueling, the target being Eleusis Airport at Athens, Greece. My position was white flight leader. We escorted B‑24's. (The B‑24 was a much more difficult bomber to escort than B‑l7's. They were slow, cumbersome, and apparently very difficult to maintain good formation position in as there were always stragglers inviting enemy fighter attack. The more spread out they got the more difficult it became for us to keep them covered. It had to be a very difficult airplane to fly because even the training losses in B‑24's were staggering.) We flew to Sicily where we landed and refueled. While we were waiting to be refueled several Italian kids approached us and sold us oranges, the first we'd had since arriving in Africa. After refueling we took off again, rendezvoused with the bombers over southern Italy and proceeded on to Athens. I had relatives in Athens that I'd never met and it seemed strange to be part of a force to do damage there. Had never seen our bombers bomb indiscriminately so knew the damage would be limited to a specific target there. The civilian population should be relatively safe. We encountered very heavy flak going in to the target then were jumped by about 8 Me 109's. They were directing their effort at the bombers with the usual yoyo tactics however we kept them from getting any decent shots. I wanted to see more of Athens but there is very little time for sightseeing when an air battle is in progress. We had gotten the bombers in to the target area and headed out in pretty good shape when I spotted an a Me 109 barreling in directly behind blue flight. I called "Springcap Sqdn. break right now", which was the usual procedure to take counter action. There was no response and the whole squadron just kept boring straight ahead. I called again realizing that there wasn't but a couple of seconds remaining before the 109 would be within duck shoot range of blue flight led by Dick Lee. Simultaneously I took my flight around in a tight turn to intercept the 109 which, as soon as we got our noses pointed at him, broke off and started for the deck. I got a pretty good burst at him and then my element leader gave him a long burst. (My element leader later claimed it as a destroyed). All this took us quite a distance out of the squadron formation and I could hear the squadron leader irritably calling, "white flight get back in formation". Obviously my transmitter wasn't working because he couldn't hear me and maybe it was just as well he didn't because he wouldn't have liked my tone of voice or what I was saying. We crossed over the coast outbound soon after and had no further opposition as we returned to Lecce, Italy for refueling again. A truck picked us up and as I jumped aboard the squadron leader began to give me a lecture on staying in formation. The lecture got cut short when I explained that he had almost lost one or more members of blue flight because "someone" had his head up where it didn't belong and wasn't watching for bogies. He got the message. We flew home the same day. My log indicates, "we lost Butler", but I believe Butler was from the 27th Squadron. It had been our longest mission. We had logged a total of 9 hrs. 20 minutes and were given 2 mission credit for the flight.
Mission #37 on 11/20 was to Rome as B‑17 escort to bomb airfields. We spent a lot of time north of Rome but encountered no enemy aircraft and only light flak which was very inaccurate. My position was white flight leader. The mission took 5:30 hrs. and was what we would call a milk run. You seldom recognized a milk run until it was over, so while such a mission was in progress it was necessary to remain alert for whatever might develop. Why there were no enemy aircraft that day was an unanswered question. Maybe they were all standing down for maintenance or maybe the Germans were just conserving what they had.
Mission #38 was to Marseille, France on 11/28. It was a bomber escort and provided some different scenery from the usual, although most of the flight was over the Mediterranean. The bombers were bounced by 6 enemy aircraft who were not too aggressive and preferred not to mix it with us. There's were the usual quick passes at the bombers then either pulling back up to an altitude a couple of thousand feet above or continuing down and away to climb back up later. My notes of the mission describe heavy, radar controlled flak‑‑very accurate so, although I don't recall specifically, some of the bombers were either destroyed or hit over the target by flak and there were several of them with feathered engines and obviously damaged coming out.
Mission #39 & #40 were flown out of Sardinia on 12/2 and 12/3 to escort B‑17's to the North Rome area. A contingent of fighters and ground personal had been transferred to Cagliari Sardinia for a temporary period, but we were unaware that we would not see Africa as a home base again. We encountered no fighters and no flak on mission #39 but did run into considerable flak on mission 40. We considered them both as bona fide milk runs. My position was white flight and blue flight leader respectively. The flying time was about 4:30 for each of the missions. We were at Cagliari only a short time when we were ordered to move again. (Nov. 9) No doubt for us to stay at Cagliari was thought better of, probably for logistic support reasons. We packed up and moved to Gioia, Italy. The war was getting too far away from Africa for us to be entirely effective there. We needed to be further north where we could reach targets in northern Italy and even southern GermanyMission #39 & #40 were flown out of Sardinia on 12/2 and 12/3 to escort B‑17's to the North Rome area. A contingent of fighters and ground personal had been transferred to Cagliari Sardinia for a temporary period, but we were unaware that we would not see Africa as a home base again. We encountered no fighters and no flak on mission #39 but did run into considerable flak on mission 40. We considered them both as bona fide milk runs. My position was white flight and blue flight leader respectively. The flying time was about 4:30 for each of the missions. We were at Cagliari only a short time when we were ordered to move again. (Nov. 9) No doubt for us to stay at Cagliari was thought better of, probably for logistic support reasons. We packed up and moved to Gioia, Italy. The war was getting too far away from Africa for us to be entirely effective there. We needed to be further north where we could reach targets in northern Italy and even southern Germany. The rest of the group followed us to Gioia, which meant that we had to make do with pretty limited support until they got there. We were billeted in a long wooden frame building at Gioia which someone tried to convince us were at one time Italian chicken coops. Whatever they were they looked good to us as we had 4 people to a room which was equipped with a wood stove and electric lights. The days and nights there were much cooler and we were beginning to experience winter weather. There wasn't much firewood available so we'd use aviation fuel as a supplement in the stove‑‑a somewhat dangerous practice, as we were to learn later.
After Africa, Italy, although badly ravaged by the war, was a much better place to be. The Italians on the allied side of the lines by this time had capitulated, Mussolini had been jailed but rescued by the Germans and set up as a puppet head in Northern Italy. The Italians were all pretty destitute for food and clothing. Some stores were being opened in the towns and it was possible to go into town and get a shave, haircut, and even a meal of sorts. It was a welcome interlude from the daily powdered egg and spam routine we had been on for so long. One evening 3 or 4 of us were enjoying a bowl of hot soup in a restaurant. Mine was delicious until the head of a bird, beak and all, bobbed to the surface.
An aunt of mine (Aunt Harriet Topping) had sent me a booklet designed for a person to keep a record of service activity. Primarily it consisted of several blank pages so I decided to start a diary beginning Dec. l4, l943. Am only sorry the diary was not started much sooner and not terminated when it was. It will take me a bit ahead of my mission sequence but may be best related here to be followed by the balance of missions flown. It follows verbatim except for a couple of notations: l2/l4/43
"Starting this date I am going to try and write the happenings of each day during the last l0 of my 50 missions in order to show some idea of just what happens from day to day.
l2/l4/43
Slept in this A.M. for the first time in quite awhile. Slept till 11:00. Schulze (Lt. Ray Schulze) got up at 05:30 to go on a mission over Athens. Ate lunch and spent most of the afternoon fixing up the room. It's pretty sad. Mission returned at l:30. They hadn't had much trouble except for bad weather.
Went into Gioia at 3:30 P.M. and took some clothes to tailor. Lee and I got a shampoo and a have. Shave 3 cents, shampoo 25 cents. They do a good job but I always wonder how they feel about us when they’re shaving my neck!!! We also ate in town and got a shower. Shower felt plenty good‑‑first in two weeks. The last had been a bath over in Sardinia. Came home and found several letters.
l2/l5/43
Got up at 0730, ate breakfast and went to briefing for mission at 9:45. Took off at 9:45 for bomber escort to Bolzano, Italy‑‑50 miles from Germany. We were short of ships and only got 5 over target. Mine kept missing on both engines at altitude. Nothing over the target but flak. Flew 5:30. Got home in time for supper. Lee built fire at 5:00 p.m. and was pouring gas on it when it blew up in his hand. Blew gasoline across the room and before we could move the whole room was ablaze. Shulze finally broke out of a window near the stove with Lee after him. McEwen and I were trapped in a far corner for awhile, but one of the fellows out in the hall saw flames shooting out under the door and threw it open for us just before Lee and Schulze got there. McEwen and I got out by throwing the bed blankets over the flames and running out over the top of them. We all thought it was "finito" for awhile as there was a 5 gallon can of gas sitting in the room less than 10 feet from the stove. Fortunately it did not catch fire.
Saw some more of the Alps on the mission. We were over the foot of them. They looked very rough and were covered with snow. It was over 30 degrees C. below zero.
l2/l6/43
Up at 07:30 and had a pretty good breakfast (pancakes). Went over to the hangar at 9:00 to talk over a new type of formation. Ran into Gioia at 11:00 and got our new "Hat in Ring" insignia sewed on the leather flight jacket. (Note added: The hat in ring insignias were hand made for us by an Italian lady in the town of Gioia)
Went up after lunch with Capt Hagenback, Jacobsen, and Lee to try the new formation. Worked on it for an hour and a half. It has possibilities, but will take a lot of practice. Had a new experience on landing. The rudder bar came loose and locked the rudders just as I flared out for landing. Glad it didn't happen in the air.
Ran into Gioia for supper at a little cafe there. They don't have much except potatoes, but that tastes plenty good. Went to a little ice cream parlor after that and had some Italian ice cream while listening to an old fellow play the accordian. Also witnessed another funeral in town. They always have a long procession through the streets with the casket. This one was followed by quite a large band. It seemed very peculiar, but is a regular custom I guess.
Returned to barracks at 8:00 p.m. and sweat out an air raid at 8:30. Turned out to be nothing, however. There has been a lot of raids on Bari lately so there are a lot of alerts.
Wrote 2 letters which winds up the day. No combat mission this date.
l2/l7/43
Up at 0745 for breakfast and laid around most of the a.m. Transport came in with baggage at noon from Tunis, so helped unload it and get it to barracks. Went over to visit Jack Held in afternoon. He lives over across the field. Came back and heated water for a shower. After supper Lee and I popped some popcorn he had got in a package from home. It popped pretty good and was quite a delicacy to us. Some of the fellows had been into Bari and returned about 8:00 p.m. so we spent the rest of the evening hearing about the town. Highlight of the day was steaks for dinner. A real treat over here, and they were plenty good.
l2/l8/43
Got up at 07:45 for breakfast and had a pilots meeting at 09:00. Talked over our new type of formation and then 8 of us went up to try it. Landed at 11:30. Played poker after lunch until 3:30 then went into Gioia with Lee. Ate supper in there and shopped around at the stores 'til 6:30. Got some Xmas cards. Came home and sweat out another air raid. There was some anti‑aircraft fire but didn't see any planes. The guns flashed like lightning and lit everything up. Wrote letters all evening until bedtime.
l2/l9/43
Nothing doing today.
l2/20/43
Up early and went over to briefing. Mission was to Athens. Sweat the boys off and by then it was lunch time. Wrote letters in afternoon. Kienholtz and Hagenback returned from mission after coming through bad weather which broke up the squadron. Sweat the rest out until we heard they were all accounted for but 3. The others had landed at other bases in the area. One of the 3 missing was on single engine when they hit a storm. Kienholtz said they ran into it all of a sudden and had to break up. He noticed two fires through the fog as he was climbing up. Looks pretty bad as they went into it right near a l000 ft rise about 25 mile from base. The three missing are Brown, Lipowitz and Harmon. All new men. Everybody is pretty worried about it.
l2/2l/43
Up early and started out on a search mission for 3 of our planes and one of 27th sqdn. Found the one from the 27th where it had crashed on a hill. It was smashed all over the hill and had burned. Didn't find any others but Hagenback found Lipowitz' plane nearby where it had crashed. Came back for lunch. Ambulance went out and returned at 5:00 p.m with the news that they had located all 4 planes near where we saw the 27th plane. They had all crashed into the hill. Brown and Harmon were both killed instantly. Also a pilot from the 27th. Good news to hear Lipowitz is alive but according to rumor, very badly injured and in hospital at Taranto.
The rest returned from other bases with tales of pretty narrow escapes from weather yesterday. Devenny went through an orchard and had twigs from trees sticking in the tail of his ship.
Hagenback is pretty broken up about it as he was leading the squadron. Not his fault though, and we'd all fly with him anywhere at any time.
Things like the above are hard to take. Darn swell fellows, all of them. Two of them married. One of those things you have to put out of your mind for now though or it will get you down. Will never forget fellows like those boys we lost yesterday. Mission tomorrow and I'm on it so will have to hit the sack and get some rest. Weather doesn't look too good but may be ok in a.m. We should be about due to hit Belgrade.
l2/22/43
Ate breakfast and went to briefing at 07:45. We were supposed to hit Belgrade today about 450 miles away. Mission was called off just before takeoff because of weather. Our field had about a 50 ft ceiling. Didn't do much during the day. Jack Held came over about 1:00 and we talked for awhile. Also had a talk on altitude flying and use of oxygen by a Capt. from Wing Hq.
Some of the fellows went into Taranto to see Lip., but weren't allowed to visit him as he is still unconscious. Has a broken arm and leg plus some unknown injuries.
Lee and I drew lots last night for rest camp. We won so are supposed to go sometime in the near future. We get a week and will spend l day in Naples and 5 on the Isle of Capri.
12/23/43
Got up early and got ready to go to Bari. Went in about 11:00 and ate lunch in town. Walked around the town looking it over. There is nothing in the way of Xmas decorations in the town. Went to a show and saw "The More the Merrier". It was very good. A regular American picture with Italian written underneath. Came home after dark and played pinochle 'till bed time.
l2/24/43
Spent most of the a.m. cleaning up and took some cleaning into Gioia. Took a shower in afternoon, which is quite an operation as you have to heat the water with a wood fire.
Tonight is Xmas eve and everybody is pretty homesick. Except for some of the boys who are trying to drown their sorrows. From the looks of some of them I'd rather be homesick.
Some of the fellows were in Taranto today and learned that Lipowitz died yesterday. He never regained consciousness. Scheduled for an early mission tomorrow so am hitting the hay at 10:00 p.m. Guess I'll spend my Xmas on a tour of the Balkans or Germany.
l2/25/43
Was awakened early for breakfast and briefing at 07:45. Mission to North Italy. Took off at 9:30 and started on mission. Weather was overcast all the way to target. We picked up wrong group of bombers so went to Bolzano, Italy which is over the Alps. Kipper, who was leading ran out of oxygen and had to return to base, so I took over squadron lead. We were jumped shortly after and had to drop our belly tanks quite a way from target. Flak was very heavy over the target and I saw one B‑17 get hit and go straight down. Didn't see any chutes, but heard later several did bail out. We picked up straggling bombers and were just going out over coast when we got jumped by 2 enemy aircraft. The bombers and other squadrons went on while we had to break 5 or 6 times into their attack. They broke off finally just as we were getting low on gas. Schulze and Griffis got shots but couldn't get lined up. I stalled out before I could get up to the little b‑‑‑‑‑‑‑s. Came back through bad weather between overcasts. Hines got very low on gas, in fact we all did. Got a homing to closest airport which was 30 miles behind our lines at Tremili. Was lucky in finding a hole in overcast near the airfield so landed there. Couldn't get gassed in time to go on and weather was bad so they put us up for the night. The 79th Fighter Group (P‑40) was stationed on the airfield so they took us in and fed us a Xmas dinner which really hit the spot as we had not had lunch and had landed there at 3:00 p.m. General Cannon flew a P‑5l into the field and talked to us for awhile about the mission. Great bunch of fellows there. They did everything to make us comfortable.
l2/26/43
Got up at daybreak hoping to get the squadron back to our own base but it was raining and the Colonel there grounded us. We preflighted the planes in the a.m. and got them ready to go. Spent the afternoon talking to the fellows in the 79th. They had a small club in each squadron. We heard some new songs on their phonograph (Pistol Packin Mamma and Paper Dolly). They have a kind of rough life living so close to the lines but get along pretty good considering the circumstances. It was the muddiest place I've ever seen. They live in tents and it was cold as hell. Went to a show in the evening and spent the rest of the evening swapping tales about flying with the 79th pilots. Three R.A.F. pilots wandered in about 9:00 p.m. to visit them. They were from an adjoining field and had been celebrating Xmas considerably. One of them had mud all over his face and clothing and immediately went to sleep in a chair. His buddies explained that "he had become a bit troublesome" so they had to "discipline the bloke". Went to bed at 1130. Still raining.
l2/27/43
Awake early and found the weather considerably better. About a 1500 ft. ceiling. Got the squadron rounded up and by the time we got all the planes preflighted and ready to go it was 10:30. Took off, gave the 79th a buzz job and headed for home. Weather was not too sharp. Landed at field at 11:30 and it started to hail. Have spent the afternoon getting cleaned up. It has been sleeting and snowing all afternoon‑‑very cold. Got a Xmas card from my sister, Harriet today.
l2/28 and 29 No entry.
l2/30/43
Got up and was briefed to go on rescue mission over to the other side of Adriatic. Got in the air, but lost all the oil out of right engine so had to feather up and return to base. Was very "browned off", it was an interesting mission. (secret) (Sic: The mission was to pick up a C‑47 crew and its passengers of American nurses who somehow had strayed into Albania. Arrangements were that the underground was to bring them to a remote airfield where 2 British Wellington bombers were to land and pick them up. We were to escort the 2 British Wellingtons and try to prevent any enemy action in the area of the airfield while the pickup was in progress. Something happened while our aircraft were en route and the mission was abruptly canceled. We never found out exactly what the problem was but thought the underground had found it to be too risky at the time. We did hear that the C-47 crew and nurses escaped later, however.)
12/31/43
Got up early and packed up to go to Naples and Capri for rest camp. Lee and I boarded a B-26 and got to Naples about noon. We stayed in Naples till Jan. 2, then went to Capri for the next 7 days. Will not write all about that here. Returned to Naples and left there the 12th for home base which had moved to Foggia while we were gone.
Arrived at our new base to find the group including our squadron had been to Wiener Neustadt and got into a pretty big fight. Lost 8 out of the group and 4 out of our squadron. We lost Muffit, Devenny, Griffis and Meredith. I went on a mission a few days later up above Rome with no occurrences. Went to Marseille, France the 20th and ran into quite a few fighters. Got the most shooting I've ever done. Shot 1200 rounds and ran out of ammunition. Made several turns into the enemy aircraft after that to scare them off and it worked, but was wondering when they might get wise. Pettus and Baird got shot up and landed at Corsica. During the air battle over the target area a bomber (B‑17) crashed at sea about 75 miles from the coast of France so I gave Mayday and went to Ajaccio where we ran a rescue mission as soon as I got gassed up. Took 6 Spits with French pilots out with me, but didn't locate anybody. Came back to base the next day.
This is being written Jan 25, and I think I'll close the diary on this date. Can't seem to get around to writing each day. Mission 45 completed."
‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑‑
Now some 45 years later, being older, a bit wiser and much more conscious of its historical value I wish that the diary had been kept the whole time during the tour and that it had been kept in more detail. One reason for limited detail is that we were continually cautioned not to write anything of a classified nature that might get into the wrong hands and compromise our location or aircraft range and performance. As it was, on my return home I had to surrender the diary to a security unit before leaving Italy. Miraculously it was returned to me after V.E. day. The mission on Dec. 22 where Belgrade is named is an example. I scratched over it, realizing it was classified, but was able to decipher it through the scratchings later. My mission record book was a very small notebook that I carried in an inside pocket so it was not subjected to seizure when I rotated home.
Mission #4l on Dec 15/43 was to Bolzano, Italy and was my first trip across the Alps. We were escorting B‑17's and getting pretty close to Austria and Germany so didn't really know what to expect in the way of enemy opposition. The Alps were covered with snow and an absolute wonderful sight from the air. They were so rugged and high it seemed as if we couldn't clear them all at our altitude. That was not a problem, however. Surprisingly the mission produced no fighter opposition but there was heavy flak over Bolzano.
Mission #42 on Xmas day was covered pretty well in the diary above. It took 6:30 and indicates the problem we had with weather. We just weren't equipped to do weather flying, nor were there ground facilities to use, had we been. We relied strictly on homing stations, which would do a triangulation on our voice radio signal and vector us back to base when we got in calling range. They would get awfully busy at times but always did a great job. On this mission had they not brought us over the base at Tremili, just south of the German/American lines and had we not found a hole in the clouds to let down through we could have been in serious trouble. The two pesky German fighters that had us breaking into them and doing 360 degree turns all the way down the Adriatic almost succeeded in running us out of fuel. The flight back to Gioia on the 27th had its problems too because the weather was very marginal. We were fortunate enough to slip into the base just before a major storm hit.
At this time as shown in the diary Dick Lee and I were sent off to rest camp for a much needed vacation. We saw a lot of Naples in the two days we were there and enjoyed some excellent food and drink at the rest camp hotel on the Isle of Capri. Capri had not been damaged by the war although because of shortages of everything it was undoubtedly no where near its normal resort level during our stay. We rode the funicular several times up to our hotel and one day took a trip out to the Blue Grotto, one of Capri's main tourist attractions. We were rowed out in a small boat by an Italian man who kept saying "finito Benito"‑‑probably to assure us he had fully surrendered and was on our side. On the way to the grotto and back he held a fish line in his teeth while rowing hoping to catch an evening meal for himself and his family. When we reached the narrow opening to the Blue Grotto the waves were moving up and down the bank about twelve feet‑‑first covering the opening then leaving it open for a few seconds. He calmly held the boat at the top of the swell until just the right second then rowed like mad to get through the hole. I slight miscue would have spelled disaster but obviously he was an old hand at it. Inside the Grotto is large and just light enough to live up to its name by its blue color. It was very impressive although in the back of our minds we had to be wondering if we'd be lucky enough to make it through that little entrance again without being dashed to pieces. No problem to the Italian boatman.
On our return to Gioia we found that the group had moved to one of the bases at Foggia, Italy. Foggia was the area where the Germans and Italians had built numerous airfields. The last time we had seen it it had belonged to the enemy and we were on the three group fighter sweep to that area from Africa in an effort to wipe out as much of the complex as possible. The bases had now been repaired by the Army Engineers to the extent that they were usable and were now home to a very large part of the 15th Air Force. Our runway was packed dirt with pierced steel planking for taxiways. It was now the middle of winter and was cold and very muddy at our base near Foggia. We lived in 4 man tents and had a stove manufactured by our own civil engineers from an oil drum for heat. It was fueled by 100 octane aviation gas which we would go down to the line and get in 5 gallon cans. The gas can was located outside the tent with a copper fuel line going to the stove. The trick was to regulate the gasoline so that just enough dropped on some bricks at the bottom of the stove to keep a good fire burning. Too much of a gas flow would cause, to say the least, an explosive situation. The condition would have caused a modern day safety expert to turn gray overnight, but it was sanctioned by the hierarchy simply because there just wasn't any other way to provide heat. We used the stove to cook on as well when we could find something to cook. Usually that would be eggs which we would buy from Italian kids that came by about every day or so to sell them to us at a price much higher than they could get on the Italian market.
The whole place soon turned into a quagmire and it became necessary to lay boards down where ever there was much foot traffic. Runway drainage was not too effective and their would often be large puddles of water to negotiate on takeoff. The water, besides slowing the aircraft takeoff roll down, splashed up into bomb shackles and belly tank releases then froze at altitude, sometimes making it impossible to drop a bomb or jettison tanks except manually. The good part of being in the complex however was that we were near the bombers and could rendezvous easily with them for escort. On a large mission the sky would be filled with bombers taking off and forming up in the area. We could wait till they were just about formed up then take off and join them immediately. There were occasional problems of very heavy traffic congestion when we all arrived back at the same time, particularly if visibility was low.
Mission #43 was to Balzano Lake escorting B‑l7's again encountering flak but no fighters. My position was red flight leader leading the group of 3 squadrons. Logged 4:l5.
The high altitude missions combined with some pretty war weary aircraft were beginning to take its toll on the number of operational aircraft we could get over the target. Maintenance was scrounging parts whereever they could be found and cannibalizing any aircraft available to keep what we had flying. We would often start out with a full squadron of 12 aircraft and have as many as four be forced to turn back before we could get to the required altitude. The main problem was in the engine superchargers which were getting an extra workout at altitude. When someone had to drop out and return to base we would keep reforming to maintain flights of four and at times found it advantageous to split up into elements so that we could keep the maximum number of aircraft criss-crossing over the bombers. I liked the flight composition of aircraft in elements of 2 because it gave us a lot more maneuverability. Generally in any battle we would end up that way anyway because flights of 4 were in my opinion too unwieldly.
Mission #44 on January 2l, 1944 was to Marseille, France. I was designated group leader for the mission which was to escort B‑17's. We encountered about 20 Me 109's and FW 190's in the target area. On the way in as we neared the target area I spotted an FW190 climbing out to the right of my flight. I turned into him and got a long burst at his nose. He was taking some pretty good hits and pieces of his engine cowling were flying off as he snapped over and dove straight down. We had to stay with the bombers so I couldn't give chase and in fact couldn't keep an eye on him to see where he ended up. He was claimed as a damaged but a wing man spotted him on fire so it became victory number 2. Over the target the Germans fighters did an unusual thing. Generally they would move out while the flak was heavy not wanting to risk any losses due to their own anti‑aircraft fire. This time they stayed in the area and continued passes on the bombers all the way in and out. I expended a lot of ammo. before long and during the melee pulled directly in on an ME109, close enough to be able to see the German pilot as I banked in behind him. His aircraft filled my gunsight circle and he had to be a sure thing. With that in mind I pressed the gun button and nothing happened. I tried to reactivate the 50 calibers by selecting one at a time and pulling the manual recharging lever but that didn't do any good. My element leader was dutifully holding his fire and by the time I called him to go ahead and fire the German pilot had become aware of his predicament and split essed to the deck. It was a golden opportunity lost, and most disappointing. As we were leaving the target area and things had quieted down there was a call for help from a B‑l7. He was just off the coast about 70 miles south of Marseille and was belly landing on the water. We watched the B‑17 make a good ditching in somewhat choppy seas. The aircraft stayed afloat for about five minutes but we did not see any dinghies appear on the water. I was group leader that day so directed white flight to take the squadrons back to base. I then circled the downed B‑l7 with my flight, called mayday on emergency channel and tried to raise some assistance. There was no answer even when I climbed up several thousand feet higher. Hoping that a ground station had got a fix on me, I noted the position of the B‑l7 on my map and headed for Ajaccio, Corsica.
Upon landing at Ajaccio and reporting what had happened to operations there, arrangements were made for me to lead 6 Spitfires with French pilots to the scene where it was hoped we could get a good fix on the location of survivors, if any, and mark it for an air‑sea rescue. We flew to the position I had recorded on the map, but found no trace of the missing bomber. I couldn't talk to the French pilots because we did not have the same radio frequencies, plus I doubt if any of them spoke English. We flew back and forth over the area for awhile without finding a trace so since the Spitfires range was limited and it was getting dusk I finally had to bring them back to Ajaccio. We never did learn the fate of the downed B‑17 crew. I had some doubts about them having made it to safety. Possibly the Germans picked them up before we got back to them or they were unable to abandon their aircraft after the crash landing at sea.
Mission #45. My flight stayed at Ajaccio over night and although dressed only in our flying clothes we went into the town of Ajaccio and had a meal. The town looked clean and fresh as the war had not touched it as it had France, Sardinia and Italy. Upon return to home base at Foggia the next day, group operations gave me a mission credit for the rescue effort since it was conducted over enemy controlled waters. The mission lasted about 2 hours.
The next day, the 22nd of January, l944, was D Day for Anzio beachhead‑‑a particularly bitter struggle for our ground forces.
One day at Foggia as I was slogging through the mud going from my tent to the flight line I noticed a group of our troops standing in a circle in a pouring rain. It seemed somewhat strange and then I noticed a figure standing on a bench talking to them and cracking jokes. He was hardly recognizable in a muddy pair of G.I. fatigues but it was Joe E. Brown the movie star entertaining as best he could under the circumstances. I had time enough to watch him for awhile and to form a great admiration for what he was doing. Most celebrities that came over came in good weather with a great deal of fanfare and a lot of supporting cast, but Joe E. Brown had just modestly appeared at the base and was going around entertaining any little group that wanted to listen. I don't think anyone knew he was going to visit us and he left with as little fanfare. He certainly couldn't have been expected to perform on the miserable type of day he had visited us. I heard later that he had quietly done this all over the Mediterranean theatre. It left me with a great respect for him and his efforts to contribute to the war effort.
Mission #46 on January 27 was again to Salon de Provence, Marseille, France to escort B‑17's at high altitude. My mission record says "heavy flak. 20 enemy aircraft. Destroyed one Me‑109. Picked up flak in wing and 30 cal. slug in nose. Staged at Decimamanu. Had one of our best fights in the target area. Everyone got back o.k." I was the group leader. My recall of the mission is not clear, and I don't think I formally claimed the downed enemy aircraft. I believe it was one of several I took a firing pass at and that another member of the squadron saw it catch fire and reported it as downed after we got back to Foggia. I reported it as a probable. One incident does come to mind though‑‑At some point during the battle I recall diving down on an Me 109 below me but he headed for the deck before I could get to him. It was at high altitude and at high speed so when a pull out to return to the bombers was started I experienced what the P‑38 had been noted for, an elevator stall that wouldn't permit me to come out of the dive. Gradual use of the elevator trim as we were taught to respond, did the trick however, and the nose finally started back up followed by full elevator control. It seemed like an eternity but probably took less than a minute to bring the aircraft back out of the dive. The mission took 7:00 hrs. flying time, as we had landed at Decimamanu, Sardinia to top off our fuel tanks before beginning the bomber escort.
Danny Darnell, a pilot who was from Texas, joined our squadron in Africa. He was well liked and used to spend quite a bit of his idle time visiting Ralph Theisen, Ray Schulze, Lee and myself at our tent. One of his prize possessions was a pair of cowboy boots that had been sent to him from Texas. He brought them to our tent one day to show them off and for no particular reason left them there. They had been there about a week when Theisen who was the more fastidious member of our foursome (to the extent that we sometimes called him "Mother") decided to do one of his weekly cleanup jobs. These were very thorough and usually took him most of the day after which his sleeping area was meticulous‑‑tidy and neat as a pin. It had another affect too in that it often shamed the rest of us into at least picking up a few things. During this particular cleanup Ralph found the boots, decided they did not add to the decor of our tent, and took them back to the owners tent where in Dan's absence he put them under Dan's bed. The next day Dan was visiting us when we heard the unusual sound of a pump running somewhere out it the tent area. Someone went out to investigate and reported a fire with fire truck on hand. We all stepped out of the tent to see a fireman pouring water on the smoldering ashes of what a short time before had been Danny's living quarters. We gave Dan our sincere condolences knowing he had lost all his personal possessions, but he drawled, "wawl I don't really mind because my boots didn't burn, they are in your tent"!!!!!!! We left it up to Ralph to give him the sad and devastating news.
The B‑17's and B‑24's by this time were hitting targets in Southern Germany and Austria. British General Montgomery who had been stalemated on a line across Italy below Rome finally started an offensive. Anzio beachhead on the west side of Northern Italy had been established bloodily and it was clear that the Germans were very much on the defensive, although they gave up territory very grudgingly. Although the bombers could make it to Munich and back we could not go that far and still have enough fuel to conduct much of an air battle. Instead we would pick them up on their way out at the farthest point we could get to and escort them back to friendly territory. These were no doubt tough missions for the bombers, but their missions were coordinated with those of 8th A.F. in England so that the German air defense would be diluted as much as possible.
Mission #47 on Jan. 3l/44 was to Flagenfort, Austria as escort for B‑17's. At briefing it brought audible groans from the pilots because the string on the map went all the way to the top. Our route took us over new scenery however as we went over Albania and Yugoslavia. It turned out to be a sightseeing tour as we encountered no flak or enemy fighters. My position was group leader and we logged 5:00 hrs. flying time.
Things seemed to drag a bit about this time mostly due to bad weather.
I did not fly a combat mission for the next week or so so during that time Dick Lee and I were requested to take the piggyback P‑38 and go over to Bastia, Corsica were we would find a repaired P‑38 belonging to the group. We were to bring it back to Foggia. On the way over we stopped somewhere in Sardinia at a British air base. The stop was to get some lunch and to switch seats as the one riding in the piggy‑back position would get pretty cramped after an hour or so.
We found something to eat and returned to base operations to continue our flight when the British operations officer approached us and asked if we would do him a favor. It seemed they had had a P‑38 at the base for some time and although they had repaired it they didn't have anyone who could test hop it. He wondered if one of us would mind giving it a test hop. We said of course we wouldn't mind and Dick said he would do it. Not having anything to do during that time and feeling that we owed them some kind of favor for working on one of our aircraft I told the ops. officer that if they had anyone who would like a ride I'd take him up in our piggy‑back P‑38. The ops officer thought that was a jolly good idea and immediately produced a young fellow eager to experience a flight in an American aircraft. Dick and I took off and as soon as Dick knew his aircraft was o.k. mechanically he started giving the airfield a pretty good buzz job. I participated also but at a lesser degree because having a piggy‑back passenger with his head directly over the back of you neck does not promote the type of flying that might make the passenger air sick. After about a half hour of this I came in, buzzed the runway, peeled up and around for a landing, and was on final approach with gear and flaps down when I see Dick in the other P-38 coming down the runway from the other direction at about 300 m.p.h. or more. That was o.k. with me except we weren't on the same radio frequency and there was no way of knowing whether he intended to go under me or over me. He solved that by dropping even further down on the runway and passing under me. I landed in one direction and got quickly off the runway while he peeled up and around to land in the opposite direction. The British airman loved his ride, but as Dick and I got out of our airplanes the operations officer met us and said, "that was great, but for God's sake get a clearance out of here quick the old man is hopping mad and looking for you with fire in his eye". We had our clearance made out in a seconds, with lots of help from the ops officer, and within a few minutes were on our way to Corsica. We stayed overnight at Corsica, picked up the other P‑38 and came back to Foggia the next day. Within a couple of days we had a summons from the Squadron Commander, Major Hagenback. On reporting he asked us what we had done at a British air base on the way to Corsica. It seemed that a message had arrived from the British base commander stating that two P‑38 pilots had been to his base and "made a bloody nuisance of themselves". Hagenback couldn't think of a suitable punishment for us, or if he did he didn't apply it. What could he do with a couple of his senior, experienced fighter pilots with almost all their missions completed??? Probably the best thing was to let them finish their missions and go home.
Mission #48 (not dated in my record book) was to dive bomb a target at Anzio beach which had just been established. The fighting was particularly bitter there for the ground forces because the Germans held high ground and appeared to have anticipated the landing at that location. Our squadron was assigned the mission and we were only able to muster 8 aircraft for it. I was leading red flight and Lt. Kienholtz was leading white flight. It was a beautiful clear day and we were to fly to the "bomb line" (where the allied forces met the German forces across Italy), then proceed out off the west coast and up to Anzio beachhead. I stayed at about 2000" on the way to the bomb line enjoying the scenery below and noting the destruction caused by the fighting as it had progressed north. We were coming up to the bomb line and about to turn west when all of a sudden the whole sky erupted with very accurate flak. Apparently the bomb line was not where we had been briefed and we were right over the top of the German ground forces at a pretty low altitude. The shell bursts were so close we could hear them and it just kind of blew our flights apart. We wheeled around and up like a flock of shot at geese. Kienholtz called to say he had been hit, his controls were locked, and that he was going into a spin. He was very close to bailing out but by the time we got around to where we could spot him he had regained control. It may have been the concussion from an exploding shell that caused his problem. I checked out the rest of both flights and found that no one could determine any damage to their respective aircraft so we continued on with the mission, checking each others aircraft for visual damage en route. The flak was from German 88mm cannon, a gun so versatile that they could use it very effectively as either an artillery piece or as an anti-aircraft gun. The gun crews that day must have thought they had some sitting ducks because we were flying right down their gun barrels and they had had plenty of time to get our range, altitude and any other sighting requirements. We were lucky and I was very thankful that I had not led 8 P‑38's into what could have been a massacre. On return from the mission I found a jagged piece of shrapnel lodged in the landing flap directly behind the cockpit. It made a great souvenir. As best I recall no one else was hit. The mission took 3:00 hrs.
Mission #49 on 2/22/44 was to a target 75 miles north of Flagenfort.
The bombers had gone on to Munich and we were to pick them up on the way out. It took some pretty good timing but after about one circle over the rendezvous point we could see a bunch of dots off in the distance. We were relieved to see them and no doubt they were relieved to see us. We encountered heavy flak but no fighters. The mission took 4:30 flying time reflecting the difference of not having to criss‑cross over the bombers en route to the target. My position was red flight and squadron leader.
Mission #50 on Feb. 25/44 was to Lake Chiam, Austria where we were to pick up B‑l7's returning from southern Germany and escort them back. All of us sweat out the last mission because to get that far and lose it seemed somewhat tragic when it had happened. When possible operations would try to give the 50th mission pilot a milk run. The missions to Austria to pick up the bombers had not been all that bad, but even so it was an awful long distance over enemy held territory. The weather was bad all the way to the rendevous point making it difficult to pick up the bombers but we were successful. We found a lot of enemy fighters approaching the bombers when we picked them up, but on spotting us the fighters maintained a discreet distance. Three of them made harassing passes but did no apparent damage. On the way out one of the pilot's aircraft caught fire and he was forced to abandon it. It was Lt Gresham from 7lst squadron who had been hit during a mixup with one of the ME109's in the target area. He bailed out over Yugoslavia. Later it was learned that he was captured by twoYugoslavian civilians loyal to the Germans. On their way to the German forces he was left alone with one of his captors who went to sleep while guarding him. Lt. Gresham was able to knock him unconscious with a rock, steal his pistol and make good an escape to friendly Yugoslavian partisans. My position for the final mission was squadron leader. Flight time was 5:l5. As usual Jack Held and Sgt. Bala met me on landing, this time accompanied by the squadron commander and several other pilots. Sgt. Bala saw a much more confident and seasoned pilot than the one he had strapped in almost nine months prior to fly a dive bomb mission to Sicily. My missions actually numbered 5l since because of the length of #36 (to Athens) and our staging requirements we were given double mission credit.
Dick Lee finished up almost simultaneously with me. We were required to hang around the squadron for a couple of weeks during which we anxiously awaited orders to return us stateside. During that time we made a lot of trips into the town of Foggia and killed time any way possible. Finally our orders arrived and as we picked them up at group headquarters the group executive officer said "now listen, Wing hqs. at Bari is getting fed up with pilots coming up there asking if their promotion orders have arrived. Just go to Bari, arrange for your transport out and don't bother those people. If you have promotion orders they will be forwarded to you back stateside". We both answered with convincing sounding "yes sirs". Back at the squadron it was hard to say goodbye to the ground crew and to our fellow pilots. We'd been through a lot with most of them and with all of them we had formed a bond almost like that of a brother. That bond remains as strong today as it was then.
Dick and I discussed the promotion situation on the way to Bari and decided there was something fishy about it and whether we bothered some headquarters personnel officer or not we were going to at least ask where we stood. So on our arrival in Bari we somewhat timidly went to 15th AF Hq. and found the promotions section in Personnel. A Lt. Colonel, ground officer, met us and although we expected to lose our heads, he said let me check that out. He came back in a few minutes and said "you are both on the promotion list but your travel orders shipping you out of the theatre negate the promotion. He paused just long enough to observe a couple of crestfallen lieutenants and then said, "tell you what, if you are willing to wait around until tomorrow I'll have your travel orders rescinded, we'll then cut promotion orders on you and give you a new set of travel orders dated after the promotion orders”. We didn't find it a bit difficult to agree to that and promised to be back the next day at 3:00 p.m. as he had suggested. He was as good as his word and the next day he handed us a new set of orders and seemed pleased to watch us pin captain bars on each other. We thought he was about the finest personnel officer in the whole Air Corp.
Our orders directed us home by way of Casablanca where we were to proceed by ship. We caught a C‑47 transport to Casablanca and while awaiting a ship Dick talked himself on to a Navy transport and flew home. I for some reason decided to conform to the travel orders and after about a week or l0 days left Casablanca on an old cement hulled victory ship along with several other pilots rotating home from the other two P‑38 fighter groups in the theatre. We joined a convoy out near the Azores and slowly splashed our way across the Atlantic in what seemed like forever.
Our arrival in New York about l5 days later was like entering a new world. It was foggy at sea when we arrived and the first sight of good, secure, unbombed U.S.A. was the Statue of Liberty with the fog swirling around her feet. We were let out on the city where we enjoyed such things as fresh veggies, steak, hamburgers, showers and the sight of pretty American girls, not to mention taxi cabs, ice cream and candy bars. So much had happened since leaving for overseas it seemed like I'd been gone an eternity. Of the group of pilots who had boarded the train in Los Angeles the previous May and gone to Africa less than half had returned. Some however were in prison camps and returned after the war.
The Distinguished Flying Cross, Air medal with 8 oak leaf clusters, three campaign ribbons, and two Presidential Unit Citations felt pretty good on my uniform along with the newly acquired Captain's bars. No time was lost sending a wire home saying, "Put the pot on the stove, am on the way home".
After a week or two at home and another week at a rest hotel in Santa Monica, Ca. orders assigned me to Ontario Air Base (Now Ontario International) as a P‑38 flight instructor. We checked out new pilots and gave them combat training prior to their shipment overseas. My tour continued there until the end of the war.
It has been possible to detail here only some of what happened during the war and what it was like. I feel very fortunate to have been a fighter pilot in such a great airplane. The air war tends to appear glamorous as compared to other forms of combat, but as someone once wrote "War is a series of tragedies". We witnessed and felt those tragedies, but at the time had to harden ourselves to the loss of some very close comrades. When one was lost we tried not to dwell on it, generally referring to it tersely as "he augered in", or "bought the farm". That didn't mean that he was forgotten, it meant that we had to put the grief of the loss of a comrade on the back burner until the war was over.
The 1st Fighter Group Assn. meets now for a reunion every two years and it is like a reunion of brothers. There is a special bond between us, be it crew chief, company clerk, pilot, supply clerk, or the guy who tried desperately to make Spam palatable. That bond seems every bit as strong today or maybe even stronger than it was back then when we depended so heavily on each other for our very survival. We pause briefly at the reunions to remember, and all feel a deep sadness and sense of loss for those who are missing, having made the supreme sacrifice in the very prime of their lives.