26 October 1944
431 Fighter Squadron, 475 Fighter Group, V FC, 5 AF, USFEAF
HADES Yellow One
Bohol Sea, Philippines
1000
The Navy was spent.
At least, that was the word around Morotai. All of those ships the P-38s of the Fifth Airforce had tracked over the previous few days had converged around Leyte and forced a series of massive naval engagements. The details were sparse but what was known was that at the very least the Navy Air Groups had fully committed to the continuing battles and were reportedly running low on serviceable aircraft, fuel, and ammunition.
Early flash reports were that the Southern Force had been effectively destroyed with any remaining enemy ships beating a hasty retreat into the Sulu Sea. The large Center Force was rumored to have been caught by Nimitz’s Battleships and fought a prolonged action through most of the 25th. Even now the areas around the San Bernardino Strait were effectively closed to the USAAF as aircraft from Admiral McCain’s freshly re-armed Carrier Group finished off the remnants.
This left the surviving enemy ships in the south free to escape, which was a real shame. Just when the Navy seemed assured to completely eradicate the remnants of the Japanese surface fleets, they run out of the means to do so. Yet, at that same time, the mixed groups of 5AF P-38s at Morotai were left staring at a stockpile of arms and munitions—some it even slated for Navy re-stocking—without suitable targets.
Kenny was not one to miss this opportunity and it did not take much convincing to get the Go-Ahead from General MacArthur to take full advantage of the situation. B-25s were considered but they were out of position and out of range to carry out the proposed mission.
So it was that 1st Lieutenant John Tilley, a Flight Leader with the 431st Fighter Squadron of the 475th Fighter Group, found himself ferrying two AN-M64 500 pound General Purpose bombs on his P-38H-20’s center wing hard points and four of the new 5” High Velocity Aerial Rockets strapped under each outer wing on zero length launchers.
Tilley was “HADES Yellow One” leading the 431st Yellow flight as part of the 475th’s role in the day’s planned attacks on the remnants of the southern fleet of the Japanese—the same boats they had watched come through the Sulu Seas two days earlier. The 431st Squadron would be joined in the initial attacks by the 432rd Squadron, “CLOVER,” armed similarly to Tilley, and by two squadrons of the 35th Fighter Group to provide top cover. They would be followed by the new P-38J’s of the 8th FG, armed with a mix of extra fuel and heavy bombs—a few even mounting the handful of Navy 1000 pound Armor Piercing bombs scrounged from the depot on Morotai covered by two squadrons of P-38Js from the 49th Group. Because of the attrition of a week’s worth of steady long-range combat patrol, none of the squadrons could put up their full strength, nonetheless, including spares, there were 102 P-38s scheduled to sortie.
The 475th were supposed to come in low, using their GPs and rockets to clear the decks of the enemy ships and cause as much damage as possible to any smaller screening vessels. The heavily armed 8th would follow twenty minutes behind to come down from on high and use their large bombs to punch the decks of any heavy ships in the fleet. Once the attacks were done, the 8th, 35th, and 49th Groups would return to Morotai while Tilley and the 475th Group—without enough fuel to return—would shuttle to Dulag Airfield on Leyte, where some of their ground echelon were already waiting.
Two hours into their flight and the narrow western peninsula of Mindanao passed below them. Beyond it to the north would be the Sulu Sea beyond which should be the remnants of the enemy fleet. The enemy was spotted passing between the Bohol and Sulu Sea the previous day with ten ships. At dawn word had come over the HF that long range patrol had spotted them in Coron Bay at the NW edge of the Sulu Sea in company of an oiler. Tilley suspected the massed Lightning strike force, reduced to 84 from aborts on the way in—the latest mechanical causalities of overuse—would have little difficulty in finishing them off.
Leading the operation was Lieutenant Colonel Charles “Mac” MacDonald, CO of the 475th Group, flying with the 432rd today. Tilley’s 431st was being led by HADES Lead, the Squadron CO, Major Tommy McGuire. McGuire was a god-send to the 431st and the 475th as a whole. While Lynch and Bong were flying their two-man circus over Papua-New Guinea, McGuire was literally re-writing the book on operating the P-38 against the Japanese. The article, “Combat Tactics in the SouthWest Pacific Area[1],” which was intended as an introduction to the combat zone for newly arriving pilots to the 475th, was pushed up-stream to V Fighter Command where the Far East Air Force A-3 approved it for dissemination to all Groups as
the combat manual for V Fighter Command.
The critical eye McGuire used when developing the guide paid spades in the air. While a naturally gifted pilot and an aggressive fighter-jock, McGuire had that even more rare ability to calculate and predict every move in the air which had earned him 26 confirmed kills to-date. Flying with and learning from him as he carried on Lt. Col. Nichol’s work of turning the 431st into the best fighter squadron in the Pacific was as much as any Lightning driver could want or expect. Coupled with Lynch’s travelling Tactical Fighter School which taught units how to compose a battle-space to their best advantage, and Bong’s new travelling Gunnery School the P-38s in the Pacific were better than ever—so good, in fact, it was becoming difficult to find aerial targets.
Anti-shipping missions, such as the one before them today, were becoming more common and with the ever increasing capabilities of their Lockheed Wonder-planes Tilley expected even more low work to come their way in the coming months.
There were fourteen of seventeen planes still flying with the 431st. McGuire had kept Red Flight to a full complement of four planes and Yellow Flight had likewise held on to all four planes. Blue flight lost both Blues Three and Four but had been joined by the spare while Green Two had been forced to abort with electrical issues leaving Blue and Green flights each as single three plane elements.
The last of the black jungle of Mindanao disappeared 15,000 feet under Tilley’s wing. Ahead of him at 10-o’Clock low was McGuire’s four-plane Red Flight and at 9-o’Clock was the three plane element of Blue flight. Behind him, to his seven and 500 feet higher than his own Yellow Flight were the remaining three planes of the Green flight. In front of him was blue sky with a smattering of cumulus clouds down around 5000 feet and beyond that the broad expanse of the Sulu Sea.
1053
They were about fifteen minutes out from Coron Bay, the islands that delineate the bay plainly visible ahead of them when MacDonald angled the 29 bomb-laden planes still with the 475th Group toward the west edge of Coron Island. They had already dropped to 8,000 feet during the approach in but now, with the target area in sight they started to let down further at 500 feet per minute.
It was only a few minutes later when the 35th Group patrolling overhead sounded the Bogie call on the radio.
Tilley scanned the sky, not seeing any sign of the escorting 35th group or their adversaries but wary of other unseen Jap fighters coming in closer. They were all on the pre-coordinated VHF Channel C which each Group was sharing to allow inter-Group coordination. Tilley was thankful for that as he could continue listening to the spreading air-battle as they approached the target area in the hope that the chatter would give him fair warning of any enemy aircraft coming too close that might be missed with a visual scan.
“HADES Lead, CLOVER Lead.” MacDonald was leading the 432nd about a mile ahead of the 431st and could get a good view before McGuire. “Targets confirmed, eleven o’Clock low, ten miles out. Set up to the east and south and follow us in.”
Tilley passed beneath the broken ceiling of clouds and looked toward the bay to see the dark shadows of many ships on the water in the distance arranged in the narrow channels amidst the smaller islands between Culion to the west and Busuanga to the north.
“CLOVER Lead, Wilco. HADES Out.”
That was it, Tilley thought, V Fighter Command was about make a deliberate attack on a flotilla of armed enemy warships. Sure, they had skipped a few bombs into transports and strafed a random destroyer here and there, but never before had the 475th set out on a full-scale coordinated attack on a fleet such as this without bomber support.
He increased RPMs to 3000 to prepare for the attack but only advanced his throttles to 47 inches so he would not come in too fast.
Dropping to their approach altitude of 3000 feet they passed abreast the tall cliffs of the west ridge of Coron. At the northwest corner of the island, Mac led them in a left turn to heading 290 toward the enemy. Clover Squadron started calling out the ships as they drew close enough to identify them, their calls interspersed with the occasional bandit call from the 35th.
“Three Destroyers on the south.”
“Looks like a Cruiser alongside the Oiler.”
“I count six Destroyers, two on the south, one east, one north, two west.”
“Panther Green Two, you have an Oscar at your seven high.”
“I see seven Destroyers, three to the west.”
“Another Cruiser north of the Oiler. Smoke in the funnel.”
“These aren’t Oscars!”
The last panicked call had Tilley once more looking out his canopy toward the dancing aircraft over the bay. Still too far out to be anything more than small specks flitting through the cumuli he could still identify the diving and zooming American twins against their nimble Japanese counterparts.
The sky ahead of them erupted in fire and smoke as the enemy ships started to unload their long range anti-aircraft across the northern stretch of the bay at the attack squadrons of the 475th. The first clouds of angry shrapnel appeared just ahead of Clover squadron were quickly joined by more, spread randomly over the square mile area in front of both squadrons. They all had experience with Jap Flak before and while it was as dangerous as any Triple-A could be, experience had borne out that a fast cross-approach was the best defense as the gun-mounts struggled with their traverse.
Tilley visually confirmed the enemy ships as they were being called out.
The three destroyers, all appearing the same to his eyes, covered the south-east entrance of the channel—two near each other on the extreme south showing increasing wakes behind them and heading almost strait out to the main Coron Bay, the third another mile or so to their northeast heading east but appearing to start a turn toward the south. A mile or so behind this one were the oiler which had a center superstructure and a second one to aft with the funnel. Pulled alongside was a long cruiser—Tilley estimated it had to be well over 600 feet long—with both pointed southeast just a quarter mile southwest of a larger island. Another mile north of them was a second cruiser, seemingly identical to the first but with brown smoke starting to build from the funnel. A half mile to the northwest of this was a small vessel sitting dead in the water, maybe another destroyer but it seemed smaller than the others. At the narrow center of the channel three more destroyers were stretched out in an irregular mile line, two heading to the northwest and one coming around from the southwest to west.
“HADES Lead, CLOVER. Concentrate your attacks on the lead ships. CLOVER Flights, set up on the rear forces. Do not, repeat DO NOT, flow over the north island if possible.”
“Roger, CLOVER Lead, HADES to the lead ships. Avoid fly-over of Busuanga.” McGuire paused long enough to ensure the channel was clear before continuing, “HADES Flights, Lead. Switch to Squadron Channel.”
Tilley pushed the button on the radio control to the preset Channel B and listened to the air in his headset for tell-tale static whir of the signal switching to the new crystal. Satisfied the radio was changed over, he called in, “HADES, Yellow One. Radio check.”
This was followed immediately by twelve more radio checks as each member still with them confirmed the channel change. Once all had checked in, McGuire issued his orders, taking a page from Lynch’s tactical school to fully coordinate the attacks.
“Red and Blue flights, move up the middle, focus on that oiler. Yellow and Green flights, follow us in and take the screens to the southeast. All flights, standard attack patterns from the southwest.” McGuire kept the detail sparse, giving the flight and element leaders just enough information to allow basic coordination while allowing enough flexibility that the squadron would be able to adapt to changes in the situation.
“HADES Lead, Blue One. Wilco to attack oiler.”
Tilley keyed his confirmation back to McGuire following Blue flight, “Lead, Yellow One. Copy, Yellow Flight to follow and attack destroyers.”
Tilley led his flight in a left turn to follow the lead flights across the south of the bay as Green flight confirmed the call. The fourteen planes of the 431st Squadron cut over, quickly coming in range of the 25mm anti-aircraft cannons from the defending destroyers. The staggered lines of red tracers came in uneven bursts, shifting fire seemingly at random between different P-38s from different sources as the guns expended their small magazines. Now in the thick of the flak from the 5” guns, and with the new threat of the cannons to deal with, the Lighting formation was starting to loosen up as each pilot adjusted his path around the dangerous puffs of smoke and jagged red lines.
Just over a mile out and still at around 3000 feet, McGuire came on radio one more time, “HADES, Lead. Set up your attacks and once free switch back to Charlie. Let’s get rid of these passengers and go help the thirty-fifth!”
With that, the whole formation broke.
The lead elements of each flight angled to the west to run parallel to the target ships about a mile to their right. The trailing elements stayed on a more easterly course so they could come directly into the front of the enemy and split their fire. The reduced Blue and Green flights had a somewhat tougher job, they would either have to attack together or in turns with a single plane making a bomb run with two providing cover fire.
The B-25s and A-20s had established this tactic as the best way to make low-level attacks against enemy ships and it had become the standard attack pattern for these situations. The planes coming head-on would get there first, strafing the decks to get the AA to shut down for a few moment as the men ducked behind whatever cover they could find. This gave the main attack the opportunity to turn in abeam the ships and drop down to mast height for the attack runs. After the first pass, the elements would reverse their roles, coming around for a second attack to finish off any missed targets or moving on to the next.
Tilley held the yoke steady with his right hand and reached back with his left to switch the master auxiliary store arming switch from SAFE to ARM.
In front of him McGuire started his element and that following into a turning dive to the right as 2nd Lt. Bob Koeck flying a spare in Blue Three position narrowly missed a puff of flak passing just to his left. For a second Tilley thought Koeck was in the clear then the left prop wobbled before coming to abrupt stop. The entire left nacelle just burst below the engine. The force of rupture was enough to break the engine free and twist it down and inward, violently shattering the prop-shaft as the engine tore free. Koeck’s Lightning snapped to the left as the propeller careened into the center wing fore before the bomb and the left wing folded up into itself. Less than a second later, Koeck’s entire airplane was an inverted ball of fire tumbling to the sea below.
There was no parachute.
Tilley shook it off—there was work to do. Back to his right, he watched the two nearest destroyers continuing to build speed as their decks sparked with the muzzle flashes of their Anti-Aircraft guns. They were almost directly abreast now, just past his two-o’Clock with the closest trailing slightly behind the second Destroyer.
“Green Lead, Yellow Lead. Yellow Flight will take the trailing destroyer.” He did not have time to wait for confirmation and kept his thumb on the mic, “Yellow Three, set up on the destroyer to the left of your twelve.”
“Yellow Lead, Green Lead. Copy that. Green Three, make a cover pass on the right target while Green Two and I make our run.”
Now it was Tilley’s turn to lead his wingman, 2nd Lt. Floyd Fulkerson, into a hard right roll aiming for the deck. He pushed the throttles up to 54 inches as he dove below the anti-aircraft fire, counter-rolling and skidding his airplane as he dropped from 3000 feet to less than 100. He was less than a mile away from his target, which had continually built up speed, and he eased down to 50 feet as he approached, noting the “7” on the bow and aiming his plane just in front of the Japanese lettering on the boat’s side.
Yellows three and four were already on their strafing run, their rockets ripple-firing out in succession to straddle the boat as their nose guns walked the entire length of the deck. Giant geysers of foam shot up into the air as the rockets exploded next to the Destroyer. Two rockets from Yellow Four’s right wing passed directly under Yellow Three as the latter pulled up and away after his attack. One exploded directly into the base of the forward gun turret, small pieces of planking and debris launching through the small cloud of black smoke. The second veered above this, skipping off the turret top and impacting into the gun director just over the bridge.
Their pass did the work they were meant to and Tilley was met with blessed silence as he leveled his plane a quarter mile from Destroyer. The ship started a right turn and Tilley pushed a little left rudder reduce his lead on the target. He controlled the plane entirely with his right hand, speeding in while indicating 260 miles per hour. His left hand partially rested on the top of the auxiliary stores switch box, the left bomb selector already on and his thumb hovering over the slightly recessed release button.
The ship grew ever larger in his windscreen as he kept is eyes on the water line with his gunsight just fore amidships. The waterline dropped in his sight, as soon as it passed below the bottom of the reflector glass Tilley pressed the release. A quick flick of his thumb forward and he armed the right-side release and immediately shifted back to press the button one more time just as he pulled up less than 50 yards from the side of the Destroyer.
A quick 30-degree left bank and he cleared the mast, his wash sending vortices through the smoke from Yellow Four’s rockets and the ships funnels.
Behind him, his first bomb hit the calm ocean at 250mph and an almost perfectly flat angle. The curved nose of the bomb forced the water down and instead of swallowing the bomb it pushed back—Newton’s Third Law at work—and caused the bomb to skip like a stone. The force was enough to activate the detonator but these were set with 5 second time delays. The bomb skipped as high as 25 feet over the water before it dropped back down to close the last few dozen yards and slam against the steel side of the Japanese Destroyer, directly into the little tick-marks of some Japanese letter just abaft the aft funnel. The weight of the vessel was too much for the small American bomb and it stopped cold, leaving little more than dent in the ship’s armor and ringing the ears of men on the other side of the hull from the impact site before slipping below the surface.
The second bomb followed a similar path, but was just less than a second beyond the first. Its skip sent it up, over the gunwales, to tumble into the second gun turret between the funnels. This impact caused it to cartwheel up between the two stacks where it tangled into some radio guys before spinning over the ship entirely.
Then the first bomb went off.
The blast under water sent a spray of water a hundred feet or more into the air and rocked the narrow Destroyer to port as its center bowed and lifted partially out of the water.
The second bomb burst in the air during its tumble one hundred feet past the port side. The air burst sent shards of red-hot bomb casing out in all directions, showering the men exposed on deck even as the shockwave burned their skin and drove them down on their asses.
Fulkerson’s two bombs straddled the stern of the ship, one falling short by fifty feet and the other passing long by seventy-five and exploding deep. Both were close enough to wash the rear turrets with sea spray and the first sent a pressure wave through the shallow water powerful enough to disturb the driving and steering gear.
As Tilley came up and around to look back and assess the damage his Lightning was suddenly rocked forward. His tail lifted up and he momentarily pitched down fifteen degrees. His first thought was that he was hit and he pushed all of his attention to his cockpit. Scanning his instrument panel he leveled his level and confirmed all the engine instruments read normal. Another look to the breaker panel to his right and Tilley saw that all were set.
“Did you see that?”
“Jesus! Good hit, Jimmy!”
The radio calls were enough to prompt him to bank over and circle up to see what happened. Part way through his turn, the lead Destroyer came into view just beyond his wing tip—or what had been the lead Destroyer. In its place now was quickly expanding column of smoke already stretching a thousand feet into the air and curling over at the top. The prow and stern of the ship were both poking out of the water, pointed to the sky, seemingly joined only by the inferno raising from the water between them.
The entire ship had blown in half, just behind the aft funnel.
All of the fighting in their immediate area paused for a moment as the shock of the blast—both physical and emotional—set it. The second element of Yellow flight had regained their altitude and were already starting to circle around to make their bomb pass on the second destroyer. Tilley had turned over top of Fulkerson, who was now coming around in his four-o’Clock low while the lead element of Green flight, 2nd Lt. James Hood—who had the good hit on the destroyer—and his wingman 2nd Lt. William Smith, were climbing out of their attack pattern and working to rejoin Green Three, who had made an independent strafing run.
Off his right now, to the northwest, Tilley saw the oiler burning and cruiser smoking as both elements of Red Flight recollected after their passes. In their same vicinity, the two remaining planes of Blue Flight circled around to set up their final attack. Farther out, the 432nd were just making their passes on the western destroyers in the narrows, the sea erupting in the furious splashes of machine gun and cannon fire, rocket and bomb blasts.
Coming around more he was finally able to look at his target. It was riding oddly in the water, its bow too far out of the water and slow secondary wake coming from amidships where the freeboard was down to only a few feet over the surface. A strange frothing splash spewed from its tail, as though the propellers were churning at or just below the surface. Its second funnel was spewing thick white-gray smoke and steam as though the fires had just been doused.
He puzzled over it for a moment, trying to piece together what he was seeing. Then, it occurred to him: its back was broken.
His first bomb had detonated just below the keel nearly perfectly amidships where it was weakest, cracking or outright rending the main structure of the vessel. With it accelerating to twenty knots, the force of the water passing beneath rushed into whatever gaps had been created, opening an even larger gash in the bottom of the hull. This water must have flooded the boilers and the weight of it pulled down the center of the ship forcing the ends to come up in the water.
The ship was done.
Tilley looked to the northeast, where the third Destroyer was reversing its turn from the south to a fast and sharp turn to the north. A half mile to its left was a long and narrow channel between two islands. If it could get into the channel the only means of attack would be directly fore-and-aft.
“Green Flight, Yellow One. Are you close enough to catch that third destroyer?”
“Affirmative, Yellow One. Green Three, set up from the southwest. Green Two, we’ll come astern the bastard.”
“Green Flight, HADES Lead.” McGuire chimed in, “Negative on that last attack. Yellow and Green flights come make any remaining attacks on the Cruiser.”
“Lead, Yellow One. Wilco.” He cleared the channel for a moment before continuing, “Yellow Three, Yellow One. Set up for a run on the near Cruiser from the west; Yellow Two and I will clear the decks.”
“Roger that, Til.”
Tilley continued his left turn to a full 360 degrees as he climbed back up to 1000 feet. When he leveled off, the Cruiser and Oiler were dead ahead to his twelve-low and about a mile out. The flames from the burning oil were dancing over the decks of both ships and completely covering the bridges and fire-control masts in thick black smoke. The Oiler was already beginning to list to starboard, into the Cruiser, and even as he watched the small specks of men on the decks were desperately trying to release the two ships from each other.
“Yellow Three, Red Three. Your bombs won’t do much to the Cruiser. Drop late and skip them into the superstructure or over top into the Oiler.”
“Copy, Red Three, drop late. Yellow Three Out.”
Tilley nosed over to angle his plane to dive directly at the center of the Japanese warship. The forward turrets were of an unusual three-turret arrangement, with the front and rear of the three on the deck and middle turret raised above in what the Navy Intelligence folks had said was called “Super-Firing” position. Using these forward turrets for reference, he lifted up 1000 yards out at 300 feet and toggled his rockets at where he estimated the island of antiaircraft batteries would be on either side of the Pagoda. The rockets rippled off, one every tenth of a second, and streaked down into the smoke. He saw splashes and a few bursts in the cloud as he opened up a two second strafe to finish his pass with a bank to the right passing by the ships’ port sides but there was no way for him to really see the full effect of the hits.
As he pulled away he watched out of his rear glass to see how his second element did on their bomb run. Yellow Three released both bombs late and simultaneously, they skipped once before passing over the deck. One hit the aft superstructure of the Cruiser, just behind the mast, where it exploded and brought the radio mast down. The second passed over the deck and exploded right as it impacted the rear quarter of the oiler.
Yellow Four followed, toggling his bombs individually. One dropped early, exploding harmlessly against the main belt of the armored ship. The second bomb tumbled through the smoke and came to skidding halt on the burning deck of the oiler before exploding. The last blast pushed a hole in the smoke just long enough for Tilley to see the gaping crater of twisted iron that was the central hold of the refueling ship before the fires conflagrated into a single massive storm along the entire length of the ship.
The Oiler listed further to starboard, the firestorm spreading and now beginning tickle the cruiser’s port batteries. The tall mast of the oiler passed 45-degrees list and was soon tangled in the forward radio mast of the neighboring warship. Now past the point of no return, the Oiler started a full rotation as it capsized into the Cruiser. The superstructures of the two ships crashed together in a mass of rent steel and broken bodies.
The fires swept over onto the cruiser. As the American fighters climbed away, Tilley saw the small flashes through the smoke of anti-aircraft ammunition cooking off. Even so, the ship was beginning to finally steam ahead; its port side ablaze but with nothing more than superficial damage from the light bombs and oil fire. As it moved forward, the Oiler continued it roll over its superstructure dragging through the fires and pulling the cruiser’s port side down in the water.
For a few moments it looked like the two would be forever locked together, one dragging the other to the depths. With the port gunwale only a few feet over the water and the Cruiser displaying a severe port list, it turned hard to swing its stern clear of the wreck. This finally freed the warship from the oiler just as the latter vanished beneath the waves leaving the ocean burning with oil where it was once parked.
The Blue flight was now free to make their passes, joined by Green Three to make a full four-plane attack flight. Tilley watched as eight bombs took turns skipping and careening into the Jap ship. Some splashed short, a few long. One—like Tilley’s second bomb—exploded in the air just beyond the ship. Three of the eight bombs hit the target: one exploding into a starboard side secondary turret, one rending a massive hole into the aft funnel, and one blowing the tip of the bow clean off to leave an open hole where once there was a gracefully upturned prow, slowing the ship but in no way risking its loss.
With all of their ordnance expended and only their guns remaining, the thirteen planes still flying with the 431st were free to climb out and relieve the 35th in their fight with the Jap fighters.
Tilley pulled back his throttles to best climb and checked his fuel levels. They had switched off the wing tanks to the Mains while over the Sulu Sea about an hour earlier. Even after these last ten minutes of attacks the Main tanks were reading at about 35 gallons each and he had a similar amount showing in his reserve tanks. He could make the 300 miles to Leyte on his Reserve tanks alone, giving him 70 gallons of fuel for a fight—enough for a good 15 minutes of heavy combat. With the 8th and 49th less than 10 minutes out, 15 minutes is all he would need.
Per the previous instruction, he switched his radio back to C-Channel. Immediately the chatter from the struggling 35th came on.
“…-teen thousand.”
“COBRA Lead, Blue One. Blue Two is gone, I have three on me.”
“COBRA Blue One, Lead. Where are you?”
The transmissions continued streaming in as McGuire led the 431st in a hurried climb to the northeast. Once they climbed past 6000 feet and were clear of the clouds the full extent of the battle became apparent. Spreading over the entire eastern part of Busuanga Island and the northeast entrance channel to Coron Bay the two understrength squadrons of P-38Hs were trying to contend with swarms of little enemy fighters. Tilley could see them maneuvering over the entire area, spread out by many miles after fifteen minutes of combat and stacked from the deck to over 20,000 feet. They were little specs, each dancing in their own duel as they variably raced to evade, escape, or hunt the enemy.
“COBRA Squadron, HOBO Lead. We are inbound, give us your position and we will assist, over.”
There was no mistaking the calm cadence of Lynch’s voice—the 49th had arrived.
“HOBO, COBRA Lead. We are over east Busuanga and North Coron. Fuel critical.”
“Roger, COBRA Lead; east Busuanga. E-T-A seven minutes. HOBO Out.”
“COBRA, HADES Lead. We are coming in below you, bring ‘em down and you can head home immediately.”
McGuire was running third place to Bong and Lynch and Tilley knew he was itching to catch up. If the 35th brought the enemy down to be ambushed by the 475st Group instead of the highflying 49th, not only would it give McGuire the chance to add a kill or two but it may deny Lynch a few kills.
“HADES, CLOVER Lead. We are at your seven high to assist.” MacDonald had already set up the 432nd Squadron, having anticipated McGuire’s move.
“HOBO Lead, Yellow One,” Bong’s clipped Wisconsin accent came on, “I see friendlies ten-O’Clock low—seven miles at Angels Eight.”
Assuming they were all heading to the same plane, Tilley simply reversed Bong’s angle and looked back to his four-o’clock high. Sure enough, out there at twenty-thousand feet was the massed formation of the two squadrons of P-38Js.
“HOBO Yellow One, HADES Yellow One. I see you at my four high, Angels Two-Zero.”
“HADES Yellow, Roger. We are at Angels Two-Two. HOBO Out.”
“COBRA Squadron, Lead. Disengage, head two-zero-zero, Full forward.”
“DEVIL Squadron, Lead. Hit the deck, bring any pursuers to HADES.”
Six squadrons of Lightnings were converging northeast of Coron Island. The pursuing Japanese planes—Tilley could not see them well enough in all the commotion to get a good estimate on their number—were soon to go from a large numerical advantage to a significant disadvantage and among the American numbers were the four best pilots in the entire Army Air Force.
9 FS, 49 FG, V FC, 5 AF, USFEAF
HOBO YELLOW 1
East of Coron Island
1135
“HOBO, WOODSTOCK Lead. We are switching off CHARLIE to make our attacks.”
“Roger, WOODSTOCK. Good Luck. HOBO Out.”
The 8th Group were coming over the west end of Coron Bay and setting up their runs on the remains of the Japanese fleet. Bong had seen the several pillars of smoke in the distance on his way in so he knew the 475th had already done good work during their mast-height attacks. He could only hope that the 8th with their heavy AP bombs would be able to capitalize on the situation. For now, he had more important matters which required his attention.
One such matter was even now coming directly across his path. A lone P-38 was diving down, its Dive Recovery Flaps at full extension as it barreled down under full throttle at a forty-degree angle. Behind it were two single engine Jap planes not quite keeping up with the powerful American Twin.
“HOBO Yellow Flight, Yellow One.” Bong had taken Lt. Soderman’s spot as Yellow Flight Lead, after Soderman’s display a few days early. This demoted Soderman from B-Section Lead, to Yellow Two—Bong’s wingman—reducing any chances that he’d be in a shooting position. “Oscars diving past eleven-o’clock, attack by elements.”
Having already dropped his external tanks a while back, all Bong needed to do to join the fight was push the Unit Engine Control levers forward—no more messing with mixtures and prop speeds—and Marge burst into action. Bong gave gentle left pressure on the fighter’s control stick and nosed her over to set an intercept course on the Bandits. In no time, his mighty “J” was indicating almost 340 mile per hour—about 470 true at 20,000 feet—and he was quickly gaining on the little Japanese planes.
The enemy aircraft continued their pursuit of the hapless lone 35th Group plane, seemingly unaware they, themselves, had become the hunted. Bong continued his pursuit arc and by 17,000 feet was 1200 yards directly behind the two planes and closing. By 15,000 feet he had closed the gap to 500 yards and was indicating 395, or 505 true.
Two seconds later he placed the pip of his gunsight just below under the lead Jap and squeeze off a two-second machine gun burst.
Gunnery school had paid off and his fire streamed directly through the fuselage of the airplane. Shards of aluminum flew from the wing roots and tail as the concentrated power of four fifty-caliber machineguns shredded through the airframe. He expected his API ammunition to quickly flame the target, as was usual, but was surprised to see it instead perform a fully controlled left-roll and convert its pursuit dive into a Split-S.
As it came over he noticed two oddities about the plane: its tail wheel was either missing or retracted—the latter an impossibility for an Oscar; and the cockpit was farther back, nearer the wing trailing edge than was normal for an Oscar. Those two observations and the apparent durability of the enemy told him they were dealing with something new.
At risk now of overshooting the second plane, Bong pulled back on the stick and Marge lifted effortlessly into a zoom-climb, well clear of the enemy. The G-Forces crushed his chest in the seat and he tightened his legs, buttocks, and abdomen as much as he could to keep the blood up high where it was needed. All of the energy gained in his hurried dive was transferred back into Altitude as he decelerated back up to 19,000 feet.
Bong heard Yellow Four confirm Yellow Three’s kill on the second Jap Plane but the one he had damaged was nowhere to be seen.
“HOBO Yellow One, HOBO Green One. You have a bandit to your five-o’clock low.”
Without hesitation, Bong broke Marge to the right with a partially inverted roll. Lookup up through the smooth blister canopy he saw the enemy not-Oscar right where Green One had said, coming up toward him. Instead of coming at it head on where is fire would at best take out a couple engine cylinders, he instead pulled back up and slammed the throttles forward to their full 76 inches. The acceleration of his brief dive coupled with the sudden burst of power had the four-bladed props buzzing in the air as he forced the Jap to undershoot.
A moment later, feeling that the enemy was clear, he flicked the airplane to the left and kicked the rudder to come around in a tight modified left-hand Immelmann. The speed of this new airplane’s maneuvering still shocked him and although he knew it was still no match in a turning battle with the enemy, it at least made these changes of directly easier which allowed him to set up more passes on the enemy in faster succession.
Bong found his opponent in a climbing right turn but seemingly loosing little speed. The enemy was still lower than him and had not yet re-aligned on Marge’s nose but the situation was enough that Bong knew that any attempts to press the matter would lead right back into a head-on pass. Instead of risking the same problem, he instead continued his left turn until the Jap was at his three, forcing the enemy to a ninety-degree deflection and too far away to capitalize on it.
“Dick, he’s turning in.” It was Soderman, still displaying poor radio discipline.
“Roger, Yellow Two.” Bong was terse in his response and he was sure if Lynch was listening the young Lieutenant would get another nick against him back at Morotai.
Craning his head around to follow the Jap fighter, Bong saw it coming in tight turn from four to five-o’clock but with the distance increasing between the two. Just then Soderman came screaming at the Jap, his Lightning’s nose alight with muzzle flash. The tracers drew in front of the enemy just as the Jap broke to the left and turned into a defensive spiral.
Bong pulled back again on both stick and throttle to pull a tight reversal. Moments later, he could see the Jap fighter still circling in a steep bank with Soderman starting to zoom-climb back up from his pass. He throttled back up to 60 inches and closed the gap, angling down toward the outside leg of the Jap circle. Remembering the amount the damage the previous airplane had taken on his first attack, he thumbed the selector switch on the stick to BOTH. Just before the enemy had come fully around to head-on, with Bong diving in from its eleven-o’clock, he squeezed of a short burst to get his angle right before making a final adjustment and unloading a solid two-seconds of combined machined gun and cannon fire down the left side of the enemy plane.
He saw tracers bouncing and the solid sparks of half-inch API lighting up the aluminum just behind the engine cowl. Then his cannon shells exploded into the fuselage just above the wing root. All of his fire walked up around the curve of the body to pass over just before the cockpit glass. The last few hits exploded into the right wing trailing edge and he saw the flap break loose and fly away.
Bong pulled Marge up and over the enemy, pulling up into a loop under full Military Power. He gave her a little more as he pressed the engines into WEP and activating the water injection. Straining his neck to keep is eyes on the Jap fighter as he came over the top, he pulled the throttles back not really caring how far as he trusted the UEC to keep everything balanced. Nosed down, he started Marge into a roll to follow the enemy and convert his loop into a full pitch back.
The Jap plane was trailing brown smoke as an oil fire started to reach back toward the cockpit. Now nearly level again and still with an altitude advantage, he eased the throttles forward once more to gain on his foe in full pursuit. Marge closed quickly—however fast these new Jap planes were, the J was still the fastest bird in the sky—and at 300 yards he let off two more bursts of one and two seconds. He saw strikes from both bursts and was finally rewarded with the last burst as the left horizontal stabilizer broke away.
He watched the airplane tumble and slow completely out of control. The slower speed allowed the engine to grow and fully engulf the entire front half of the airplane, all the way to rear of the canopy.
Thirty-Five.
36 FS, 8 FG, V FC, 5 AF, USFEAF
RIVER BLUE 3
Northwestern Coron Bay
1142
Second Lieutenant Walter Evans looked on as the lead flights of the 35th Squadron made their dive bombing attacks against the armored Japanese cruiser. When they arrived, the long trail of gray smoke pointed the way to an already damaged warship with its bow low in the water and its entire port-side blackened and smoldering as it steamed slowly out to the open waters of Coron Bay. Anti-Aircraft on their approach was minimal and completely non-effective, consisting of little more than the occasional burst near their approach altitude of 12,000 feet.
Of the thirty airplanes with the 8th Fighter Group that made it to target—there were six aborts on the way in from Morotai—fourteen with the 35th “WOODSTOCK” Squadron were leading the attacks while the sixteen planes of the 36th “RIVER” Squadron would make the follow-on attacks. Evans was one of the lucky dozen who had been given a Navy AN-Mk. 33 1,000 pound Armor Piercing bomb. In the 35th FS each Element lead was loaded with the Mk.33, although they were reduced by one when Blue 1 had to about, leaving just four for the 36th given to the Element leads of the first two flights; RED 1 and 3 with BLUE 1 and 3 filling it out. The other planes were loaded either with 1000 pound General Purpose bombs or a double rack of 500 pounders on the right side to allow them to also carry the required drop tank on the left.
“WOODSTOCK, WOODSTOCK Lead. Red and Blue Flights, attack line astern. Yellow and Green Flights, stand off and await further instruction.”
From twelve thousand feed, Evans saw the formation of WOODSTOCK squadron break, each Lightning—all new P-38Js which had already been given the affectionate moniker of “Jay-Birds” among the men of the 8th Group—peeling off in succession. Their Dive Recover Flaps were at full extension and their Fowler Flaps in their eight-degree Maneuver position as they rolled into a sixty-degree dive toward the two-stack Jap Cruiser.
The Navy Ordnance masters at Morotai had given the pilots a quick rundown on the best use of the AP bombs, which led to the P-38’s adopting the attack pattern of Navy dive bombers. The Mk.33 bomb was reported to be able to punch through up to five inches of armor deck if dropped from 10,000 feet, or from 6,500 feet if dropped in a 300 knot sixty-degree dive. Evans had no idea what five inches of armor would look like, or whether the large cruiser below them would withstand the hits but he knew the Navy claimed seven direct hits with these bombs could sink a battleship so they should be able to finish off a damaged cruiser.
The first six planes of WOODSTOCK dove down, each spaced by a thousand feet or so. The dives did not take long with the massive acceleration of the Jay-Birds rapidly bringing them beyond the 350 miles per hour they would need to ensure maximum penetration.
The cruiser was trying to maneuver, its wake already showing signs of a left turn as the Lightnings started to deliver their packages one-by-one. The first bomb, WOODSTOCK Red 1’s AP bomb, hit the water to the ship’s right sending a frothy white geyser into the sky. The next also missed right but only just the high explosive GP bomb rocking the ship and washing the starboard deck with spray. Red 3’s AP bomb found the target, punching a clean hole into the foredeck just ahead and to the right of the first turret behind the already missing prow. When it exploded, the entire starboard quarter bulged out to the side, down to the waterline and blew a large hole in the deck above it. Red 4, dropping two 500 pounders, threw one bomb into the water and the other on the starboard superstructure, starting a fire near at one of the 25mm Anti-Aircraft emplacements.
The cruiser continued its left turn as the two planes of Blue flight also dropped their ordnance. Because of the abort of Blue 1 on the way in Blue 4 had also left to escort his lead back. This left Blue 2 and 3 with WOODSTOCK with 2 joining on 3’s wing. Blue 3 released his Mk.33 first but had over-anticipated the ship’s turn and splashed it off the port quarter. Blue 2’s AN-M65 1000 pound GP bomb dropped a little earlier and exploded in the water just a few feet off the right side next to the first turret. The blast had a positive effect though as the pressure wave visibly cracked open the damaged side plating of the hull where Red 3’s AP bomb had gone off.
As those lead flights confirmed the hits and coordinated the following attacks by the Yellow and Green flights the volume of flak suddenly seemed to increase. Evans was confused, looking down at the smoking cruiser as it slowed and started to wash the sea over what remained of its foredeck he only saw two of the twin 5 inch turrets on the right side and the two main turrets in the rear still firing on occasion.
“RIVER Squadron, RIVER Blue One. Another Jap Cruisier coming from the North, four miles out.”
In the middle of following his squadron in a right-hand rotation a mile north of the damaged cruiser, Evans looked to his left and spotted the black shape of the other Cruiser. A head of it was another small ship, both leaving long white wakes in the blue-green waters as they made all speed to rescue their fleet-mate.
“RIVER Blue One, RIVER Blue Three. Roger, second Cruiser to the north. I see a Destroyer a half-mile ahead of it both on course one-five-zero.”
“Affirmative, Blue Three. Blue One Out.”
“WOODSTOCK Lead, RIVER Lead. We will divert our attacks to the new targets.”
431 FS, 475 FG, V FC, 5 AF, USFEAF
HADES Yellow One
1146
Tilley had to disengage.
Although still something less than the P-38, the new Japanese fighters were tougher, and faster, than expected. They were proving to take a bit longer to dispatch and scatter than the men of the 431st had grown used to over the past six months or so. Not since the early days of the group fighting over New Guinea and New Britain had they encountered such a fiercely stubborn enemy.
He had not been able to score any good hits on the enemy but had witnessed McGuire taking two down to send him up past Rickenbacker to 28 kills. On the radio he heard other’s calling kill confirmations including one for Bong and one for MacDonald with a shared kill for Lynch—bringing their tallies to 35.5, 17, and 30.5 respectively. He had also heard at least two calls for Lightning pilots to bail out and heard another report he had to get out with a lost engine.
Tilley was still untouched but his low-level warnings had just started to flicker for him Main tanks. If he was going to make it to Leyte, it was now or never.
The problem was the Jap fighter diving down at him from his seven-o’clock high.
He pitched his plane down and jammed his throttles through the wires. Soon his old P-38H was pushing a dangerously high 65 inches, well past the War Emergency Power limit of 60 inches. The three-bladed Curtiss-Electric props buzzed in the air as his engines over-sped to 3150 rpm in his dive. He hoped he would pull away fast enough to escape, but the Jap had started with more speed and Tilley feared it would take too long to make the difference.
“HADES, Yellow One. Fuel critical, have one behind me, need help. Now. Heading Ninety-Five, Angels Eighty-Five.”
His airplane was shaking in its speeding dive, making the rear-view mirror useless, so he looked out the rear glass behind him to track the enemy fighter as it continued to draw nearer.
“Yellow One, Lead. We have you. Fifteen Seconds.”
Fifteen Seconds.
His airspeed was increasing but still the Jap fighter was closing having had too much of an initial advantage.
Ten Seconds.
The distance was beginning to steady as his speed approached that of his pursuer’s.
Five Seconds.
The enemy had stopped closing on him but at only 400 yards. He looked back to see flashes on the nose and wings of the enemy plane. Tilley gave no concern to his speed or altitude and with both hands on the yoke cranked his Lightning to a hard right roll in guns defense with some back pressure in hope of avoiding a spin. With his eyes still behind him, he saw the Jap tracers tracking wide just outside his turn.
A fresh stream of tracers arced between him and the enemy, cutting across the Jap’s path. McGuire had arrived.
Tilley pulled back his throttles and lifted the rest of way out of his dive as the enemy plane maneuvered to evade the new American coming on him from above. Pulling a tight, high-speed, circle to the right, he came around to watch McGuire work and provide any assistance he could. McGuire dove right over the Jap, quickly pulling into a zoom climb with the Jap turning below him.
A flick of a shadow warning Tilley of another aircraft overhead.
Just coming out of the sun was another Japanese fighter, hot on McGuire’s tail.
“HADES Lead, one on your tail!”
It was too late.
The enemy opened up a devastating fusillade of machine gun and cannon fire into McGuire’s Pudgy. Exploding cannon shells rent great holes all through the left wing back into the forward boom. One burst directly forward of the turbo-well in a scene eerily similar to what happened to Koeck in Blue 3. The series of hits completely disintegrated the spars holding the left outer wing together and McGuire’s P-38 flicked left as the wing separated at the nacelle, the debris floating back to impact the empennage and rock the aircraft sideways as it dropped.
In seconds, McGuire’s airplane was a tumbling mass of fire, rotating uncontrolled in a three-axis spin to the sea below.
Tilley had no choice but to dive away to the east as fast as he could.
36 FS, 8 FG, V FC, 5 AF, USFEAF
RIVER BLUE 3
Northwestern Coron Bay
1154
Evans was the seventh plane in line as they dived onto the second cruiser. This one was nearly identical to the first, with three forward turrets in their odd arrangement and two after-turrets. Unlike the first cruiser which WOODSTOCK squadron had attacked, RIVER Squadron had to dive through the full gauntlet of Anti-Aircraft fire from an undamaged heavy cruiser and its small Destroyer escort.
The near constant barrage of anti-aircraft of all calibers was as heavy as Evans had ever experienced. All of the American Jay-Birds were bobbing and weaving, juking around the loosening formation to mislead the enemy gun-directors. That only worked so long, though, and soon the call came to dive into the attack and each fighter had to commit to its line.
Red One dropped at 6,000 feet, his Mk.33 blessedly finding the target and exploding into the port-side next to the main funnel. Red Two, following his lead’s line, just missed off the port side with his GP. Red Three’s AP bomb splashed aft of the ship, having misled the fast target, and Red Four’s two five-hundred pounders straddled the ship’s stern.
Blue flight now came on.
Blue One released high, at over 7,000 feet, so he could pull over a five inch flak burst ahead of him. The bomb trailed down, building speed. Although it was released early the greater distance of fall helped make up some of the difference and the 1000 pound AP bomb slammed directly between the first two turrets, exploding with little apparent affect against the heavily armored barbette of the super-firing second turret. Blue Two had a little more luck—his two five-hundred pounders both hit, one at the base of the tower on the left just before the forward 5” turret and the other bomb exploded right on top of the tower.
Now it was Evans’s turn.
He forced himself to ignore the anti-aircraft and held his line on the way down. The Naval Intelligence Officer had instructed them that the Japanese magazines were within what they called the “Armored Citadel” between the turrets and the bulk of the superstructure. The best areas to target were any open deck space in this stretch and Evans saw two possibilities: between the stacks and into the boilers, or between the aft fire-control tower and the rear turrets. He chose the latter, hoping to hit the rear magazines.
Continuing his dive, he took all the time he could in an effort to make a perfect drop. The gunsight was not well suited to dive-bombing, but they had done it on a few occasions and had worked out some simple variations of aim point to make it work adequately well. Evans watched the cruiser grow in front of him, drifting down in his sight as he closed the distance and it steamed forward. Anticipating the forward movement, he lined the sight up on the first funnel and released.
As soon as he pressed the release button on his control stick, he pulled back, to reduce his dive and allow the bomb to glide free of the airplane. Feeling the lightness of his plane, he finished his dive with a quick zoom to the right. He was disheartened to see his altimeter read only 5,200 feet—he had released too late for maximum penetration.
Still, his aim was true and although he could not have known it at the time but his late release worked to his advantage.
The 1000 pound Mk.33 Armor Piercing bomb arced its way down thrown by the P-38’s momentum but without as much time to achieve critical velocity. Instead of punching through the thin 1.5” deck plating and continuing down into the depths of the ship before exploding in the machinery spaces, it instead punched through the upper boat deck just behind the rear funnel, the plating offering just enough resistance to set the fuse. The few millisecond delay, set to allow penetration, exploded the bomb against the main armor deck instead of under it. While this meant the aft magazines were safe from the bomb blast, it also meant the 140 pounds of “Explosive D” filling the warhead sent a super-heated blast into the entire space between the boat-deck and main deck, for forward of the number four turret.
In that space, were two quad-launchers fully loaded with the infamous Japanese “Long-Lance” torpedoes. These torpedoes achieved their legendary speed and range by using pure oxygen instead of compressed air, given them five times the engine power and duration for the same mass of fuel.
When Evans’s Mk.33 exploded on the torpedo deck, shards of red-hot steel casing blasted into several of the torpedoes and ruptured their fuel and oxygen tanks. The strike was more than enough to instantly erupt and started a chain reaction as the torpedoes exploded. Each torpedo had a 1000 pound warhead with four times the explosive power of the Mk.33 bomb by itself, made all the more destructive with the aid of the pure compressed oxygen in the tanks.
Evans only knew that as he climbed out and looked over his shoulder to watch his bomb hit there were two quick blasts: first his bomb and second the entire upper half of the cruiser’s mid-section completely disintegrated.
Seconds later, what remained of that portion of the ship visibly bulged out. Massive jets of white and blue flame shot up hundreds of feet into the sky around the after funnel. A half-second after that a silent gout of fire blinded Evans as the entire aft-midsection of the Japanese cruiser simply vanished; the rear turret spewing one last salute.
[1]
https://475th.org/475th-history/oth...-combat-tactics-in-the-southwest-pacific-area
