5 April 1943
27th FS, 1st FG, 5th BW, NASAF
Chateaudun-du-Rhumel Airfield, Algeria
“Up and at’em, Lieutenants.” The Sergeant’s hooded light flashed over the sleeping face of Second Lieutenant John MacKay. “Mission today, breakfast oh-four-thirty, briefing at oh-five-fifteen.”
MacKay stirred, raising a hand to block the glaring light from his eyes and acknowledging the Sergeant so he would move on to the next cot. Sitting up, he rubbed the crust from the corners of eyes—ever present from the dust of the northern Algerian coast—and blinked to adjust to the dark tent. The other pilots were slowly doing the same, each going through whatever little routine had become habit in their time at Chateaudun-du-Rhumel since they transferred there in February.
2Lt. Sweet, groaned, “Did he say oh-four-thirty? What time is it?”
Samuel Sweet had come over to the 27th Fighter Squadron with MacKay as replacements a few weeks ago and neither of them of were quite used to the random wake ups at any hour on mission days. The night before Sweet, MacKay, and a few others had stayed up quietly throwing dice until midnight and now both would be paying for it.
“I don’t know. We need some light. Are the curtains down?” 2Lt. Donald Hilgert sounded more excited to be up than Sweet did. He had been with the unit since February, having been transferred down with his P-38 from the 78th Fighter Group and was a pretty good pilot with one Air Medal already to his name.
MacKay heard someone fiddling around with a box of matches and knowing what was coming, shaded his eyes just as the match erupted. He glanced over to watch Hilgert light the kerosene lamp next to his bed and hang it on a loop from the peak of the four man tent. Now fully lit, the tent seemed even smaller than it did in the dark with its four officers, four cots, four footlockers, and all the miscellaneous clutter than goes with them. He felt for his watch which he kept safely under his pillow when we slept and glanced at it to answer Sweet, “It’s four-oh-eight.”
The fourth man, 2Lt. Eldred Loder, was already pulling his flying suit on over his underwear and t-shirt. Like Hilgert, Loder had been with the 27th since February but he came through the normal replacement depot rather than being a transfer from the 78th Group. He hurried out of the tent without any of his other gear, apparently in a rush to attend to some need of the body.
MacKay was not in as much of a rush and before dressing for the day he took the time to carefully shave over the bowl of water he kept next to his bed with the aid of a small hand mirror. He had a problem during one of his early high-altitude training flights when his oxygen mask was not fully sealed around his face and he passed out. He came to at 8000 feet to discover his plane nose-down aiming for the Mojave Desert and his flight leader screaming through the radio. He was able to recover about 2000 feet above the valley and ever since then he had been obsessive about keeping his mask as tight as it could be. It was pretty normal for him to come back from a mission with his face red and swollen from the mask pulling on it and he had developed a pretty distinct callus on his lower jaw because of it.
With his face as smooth as he could make it, he slipped into his own flight suit and pulled on his heavy flying boots, the need to relieve himself becoming apparent. He emptied his pockets of any personal effects and left them in top bin of his locker before closing it. He grabbed his A-2 leather jacket from where it hung next to his cot, checked its pockets, then tucked his flying helmet into his suit before hurrying out with his normal pilot’s cap on his head.
The latrine was little more than a trench over which a row of partially enclosed canvas out-houses had been built. It was not pretty, did not smell very good—especially in the heat of the day—and was not very private but it served its purpose. One need of his body taken care, he made it way to the mess to join the few dozen others in seeing to the other needs of their bodies.
Breakfast was the normal affair of scrambled eggs, some sort of dried meat cooked in fat and water that was supposed to sausage, dense flour biscuits, and generous amounts of gritty—but watered down—coffee. It was not exactly tasty and he had doubts about its value but it was filling and would keep him good and blocked up for the flight.
They did not talk much during the meal. A few pairs or small groups would gossip but for most of the pilots going out today this would be business as usual. Even the newer pilots like MacKay and Sweet had been out on a few combat sorties and in many other groups would be considered veterans. MacKay already had four bombs on the nose of his plane from bombing and ship hunting missions and he even added a little backwards swastika for the Me.109 he knocked down a week earlier. In the 1st Fighter Group, though, a handful of missions was a drop in the bucket compared to some of the flight leaders who had been bringing the fight to the enemy since Operation Torch began the previous fall.
Once their trays were empty, the fighter pilots made their way to the pre-fabricated steel building that served as the operations center and briefing hall. Most of the pilots shared a cigarette or two on the way over, covering the glowing embers of the cigarette tips with their hands to maintain light discipline in the pre-dawn darkness.
At the briefing, MacKay and the others received their orders and the plan for the day. It was not, as they thought, going to be the same old business they had become used to. After the basic introductions the 1st Fighter Group S2 laid out the background of the situation.
“British Intelligence and the Signal Corps have discovered a build-up of German forces and materiel in Italy and Sicily accompanied by movements of large numbers transport aircraft. We believe that due to the toll our aircraft have taken on German and Italian shipping in the area they are increasing efforts to resupply and reinforce the German Army in northern Tunisia by air. At this time Intelligence estimates as many as four-hundred transport aircraft may be available, mostly Ju.52’s and Me.323’s. These are supported by a similar number of fighter aircraft coming Sicily and Tunisia. Their standard flight route has relied on a quick sprint over the Sicilian Straight to Cape Bon at 150 feet altitude. The Northwest African Strategic Air Force has been ordered to undertake interdiction assaults against these forces as ‘Operation Flax’ while the Strategic Airforce will continue their anti-shipping operations.”
After the quick summary of the situation, the Group S3 Operations Officer took over the briefing to detail the 1st Fighter Group’s role in Operation Flax.
“Gentlemen, the 1st Fighter Group will be the spearhead of the entire operation.” He paused to let the implications of that short statement fully register with the pilots in the briefing room. After a brief moment, he continued to explain the operational details and expectations of the mission. The Group will be putting up thirty-two aircraft today: eight, four-plane elements of the 27th Squadron. Standard radio call-signs will apply with the elements of the 27th being PETDOG High and Low Elements with each flight being called Red, White, Blue, and Yellow. He indicated the chalk board with its images of P-38’s in echelon formations and pointed to each member of the squadrons and their position in the flight.
MacKay took note that he would be PETDOG Low White 3 with the young replacement 2Lt. Warren Holden on his wing. They would be led by Lt. Frank McIntosh in the Low White 1 position with Sweet on his wing. The entire mission would be led by Major Owens himself as PETDOG Low Red 1.
They were to be at stations by 0615 and departures were scheduled to begin by twos at 0630. They would form up, then fly roughly north-northeast over the Mediterranean before turning east toward the Sicilian Straits, north of Cape Bon. Once in position they were to begin a standard patrol pattern for enemy aircraft.
From there, he detailed the expected opposition consisting of Ju.52’s, possible Me.323’s, and the usual assortment of fighter escorts they would expect—Me.109’s, Me.110’s, Fw.190’s, and Italian M.C.200’s and Re.2001’s. Photo Reconnaissance aircraft had also identified several groups of Ju.87 dive-bombers in the area so the Group was warned to watch out for them as well. The German transport aircraft were to be the primary targets for the 1st Fighter Group.
As cover for their flight, B-25’s from the 321st Bomb Group would also be directed to the Straits where they will perform a standard Sea Search operation against enemy shipping. The idea was that any enemy advance spotters, scouts, or radar installations would think that their P-38’s were on their way to rendezvous with the bombers to provide additional escort; but, it was all a ruse.
“The bombers will be escorted by the 82nd Fighter Group so be aware that there will be friendly aircraft in the area. Most importantly, however, do not worry about protecting the bombers; that is the eighty-second’s job. Your job today to seek out and destroy any and all enemy transport aircraft and close the Sicilian Strait to the enemy.”
After he finished detailing the operational specifics of the mission he concluded, “Also, be aware that at 0830 the B-17’s of the 97th will depart here on their own mission; so, if you are returning early watch for their formation and keep an eye out for any of their early returns as well. The B-17’s will have Spitfire escorts so watch out for single-engine friendlies.”
The briefing ended with a weather report, watch synchronization, and a prayer before the pilots were dismissed.
Outside the hall, Sweet found MacKay, “Johnny, you ever do any hunting back in Vermont?”
“A little. Squirrel mostly. Some raccoon. What about you? Any good hunting in Minnesota?”
“Every fall. Ducks, geese, turkey, grouse, and deer, deer, deer. My dad and I would head over to grandpa’s farm in New Brighton to help keep the corn fields clear before harvest.” He paused, “I guess they built an ammunition plant next to it now.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ll get plenty of good hunting today.”
* * *
MacKay walked the flight line to his airplane. He had already grabbed a Mae West, a parachute, and his survival bag and now had to go to the other side of the airbase to get to his airplane. They kept the living and operations building away from the airplanes to keep the personnel safe from enemy attacks and accidents but that necessitated the flight crews cover some distance to get to their stations. Along the line were the big B-17’s of the 97th Bombardment Group (Heavy) which shared the base with the 1st Fighter Group (Twin-Engine) and the 37th Service Group. Chateaudun-du-Rhumel Airfield also served as the headquarters for the entire 5th Bomb Wing.
The B-17 ground crews were scurrying around their planes in the early morning twilight, getting them fueled, loaded, and armed for the day’s up-coming mission. MacKay walked past trailers filled with 250 and 500 pound general purpose bombs and others stacked high with boxes of .50 Caliber ammunition for the ‘Forts.
His plane squatted on its packed earth hardstand and was silhouetted by the gray of the eastern horizon. As he got closer he recognized the skull-and-crossbones his crew chief had painted on the tip of the nose below the muzzle of the 20mm. To the left of that, on the side of the nose cone, were the two dice he painted displaying two pips and one, respectively, with the words “Shoot..YOU’RE FADED” scrawled below. Next to this little bit of Craps humor from the avid dicer were the four bombs of his ground attack missions and beneath those was the lone backwards swastika from his confirmed victory the week prior. The propeller spinners and wingtips were painted Insignia Red, as was entirety of the rear booms from their mid-point to the start of the empennage, marking the airplane as being in the 27th Squadron along with the radio code letters “HV S.”
The plane had arrived to the group after he had. A shortage of P-38’s had caused him to spend his first few sorties flying spares and old war-weary P-38F-1’s which had made the flight to England as part of Bolero nearly a year earlier. When a delivery of a few factory fresh P-38G-17-LO’s had arrived in mid-March, MacKay was happy to be assigned one as his own, #43-2308. His Lightning was part of the batch that had originally been ordered by the French, then transferred to the British, then cancelled, and finally claimed by the USAAF as standard production P-38’s. Two blocks had been completed the previous summer as P-38F’s and now the rest were being completed in two blocks of P-38G’s. The Block-17 G’s were 174 planes modified specifically for operations in the North African deserts and over the Mediterranean.
His crew chief handed him the load information: 2000 rounds .50 cal (500 per gun) loaded as MacKay liked with nine rounds of API followed with a single tracer; 150 rounds of 20mm without tracers. Since his plane had the expanded fuel tanks it was filled to capacity with 424 gallons of Grade 130/100 fuel and he would not be carrying external tanks like the P-38F’s would be. Even though this arrangement meant the older aircraft would have more loiter time, MacKay and the other G pilots would still have about forty-five minutes extra reserve (or enough to double their combat time) for the mission which called for 1.5 hours out, 1 hour patrol, 15 minutes of combat, and 1 hour back with a 20 minute cruising reserve.
MacKay gave the plane the normal walk around making sure all the access panels were secure and the control surfaces were free. He looked in the radiator inlets in the leading edges to check for birds, nests, or debris and did the same with the inter-cooler scoops beneath the engine, also checking the exit flaps and shutters. He double checked that the air intakes under the wings were clear and that all the blast tubes were unobstructed.
He ducked under the boom and made his way up the ladder hanging from the trailing extension of the central nacelle. After raising and securing the ladder he walked up the left inboard wing to where a member of the ground was waiting and stepped down into the cozy confines of the cockpit. The crewman helped him get strapped in and gave a few tugs on the parachute straps to ensure it was secured to the safety straps of the seat. With a simple “good luck,” the man slid off the wing and confirmed the ladder was secure with a few taps from the ground.
The sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon. MacKay checked his watch: 0624.
* * *
At 0800 the Group of 28 P-38’s—four had to abort early with mechanical trouble—had closed up and were about 40 miles north of Cape Bon. They had come in near the deck and then climbed up to 6,000 feet to begin their sweep for enemy aircraft. MacKay had spent some time on the flight in fiddling with #2308’s radiator shutters to maintain good engine temperature in the warm Mediterranean air but his airplane was otherwise flying smoothly.
PETDOG White was arranged in a descending echelon left directly off PETDOG Red in descending echelon right. Six thousand feet higher and a few miles behind were the other two PETDOG elements in a matching formation so that the entire squadron formed two broken vanguards.
At 0812 MacKay heard one of higher planes report B-25’s in the distance heading northeast and shortly thereafter a call came in of P-38’s circling behind the bombers: those would be the 321st Bomb Group and the 82nd Fighter Group.
Only a few minutes later the radios exploded with activity.
“Bandits, four-o’clock low.”
“Bandits, three-o’clock high.”
“I got a flight of em-ee one-oh-nines, three-o’clock high, four miles out.”
“Enemy em-vees, twelve miles north-east. Looks like they have a Destroyer escort.”
“PETDOG High group, PETDOG High Red One, come right to five-zero, climb to engage enemy fighters.”
“PETDOG low elements, PETDOG Lead, jay-you five-twos on the deck, four-low. Drop tanks and engage.”
The chatter continued as all of the various elements maneuvered to their places and prepared for the fight. More aircraft were spotted and the groups were calling out different types and location. In the distance, MacKay saw the B-25’s turn directly toward the flotilla of enemy transport vessels while the P-38’s from the 82nd dove toward the escort fighters.
The fifteen planes of the 27thSquadron low elements—many raining external fuel tanks as they were released—turned right and circled toward the Ju.52’s flying just over the waters below. MacKay pushed RPMs and Mixtures forward and kept his left hand on the red Bakelite knobs of the throttle control, waiting for the moment to attack. They closed to within about two miles before the order came to break and attack. The hunt was on.
MacKay could not count the number of enemies. He could see at least 40 three engine Ju.52’s accompanied by some twin engine heavies and a few dozen fighters. McIntosh and Sweet broke right to line up on an element of transports so MacKay followed them in, checking over his shoulder to make sure Holden had turned with him. They dropped down to 1000 feet quickly, his speed shooting up to 325 mph even with his throttles still back at 42 inches. The German tri-motors had popped up to 500 feet and were starting to make lazy defensive turns as the Lightnings dove into them. MacKay watched McIntosh and Sweet open on one and its left engine erupt in flame as he lined up his sights on another, now down to 600 feet.
Rolling his plane slightly left to lead the target at about 60 degrees deflection he opened up all five guns in a series of four, one to two second bursts, peppering the enemy with little flashes of incendiary bursts. He trailed his fire back from the center engine and cockpit across to the right engine and wing as he passed over its top. As soon as it passed under the range of his guns he let up and throttled forward to pull his plane up and away from the quickly closing sea while continuing his left roll and came directly up to another transport.
A short, ineffective, burst of fire was all he had time for as he climbed past its tail, so he instead he held his fire thinking to save ammunition for another pass.
Clear of the enemy formation, he saw the Ju.52 he first lined up on losing altitude with the front engine wrapping the cockpit in black smoke. He led Holden away in a zoom climb then at 3000 feet tightened his left roll to bleed some speed and kick the airplane over into a fresh dive at the transports. This time he came it from their four-o’clock, leveling off at 400 feet to attack the right-rear quarter of the burning plane. Opening with his machine guns at 300 yards, he dropped a one-second burst toward the ‘52’s right engine and was rewarded with a large yellow and orange flash just before he pulled up to pass over it. He heard light metallic rattling as bits of shrapnel from the shredded wing ricocheted off his airplane.
Now his heart was pounding in his ears, almost as loud as the engines to either side of him.
Everywhere he looked P-38’s were diving, zooming, and twisting to knock the Jerries out of the sky. One blasted at a Ju.87, blowing its left wheel off, then its left stabilizer, and finally tearing apart the rudder with hits flashing along the entire length of the fuselage. The rear gunner disappeared into a cloud of pink mist as he was wracked by fifty-caliber fire or a 20mm shell exploded into him.
MacKay checked for Holden on his seven and pulled around in a slow right roll, circling once more back to the Ju.52’s. Several of the transports were smoking and several more missing altogether. Even as he worked to line back up two red-tailed P-38’s were feasting on a hurt Junkers, following it down until just before it disappeared into the Med and disintegrated in a great white splash.
Throttling back again, he coasted in on what remained of the broken enemy formation and was surprised to see a twin-boom airplane flying in the middle of them. His first worry was that a lone P-38 had become trapped in the formation as all the planes maneuvered around but as he came to about 600 yards he recognized the stubby glazed nose of a Focke-Wulf 189.
This was an opportunity that may not come again: the chance to show the Krauts what a properly built twin-boom can do.
He did not have much time to plan the attack but pushed his throttles to 54” and kicked right to skid #2308 across the tail of the observation plane. MacKay let loose a one-and-a-half-second burst with his guns. The lightly built scout plane came apart under the weight of the heavy American guns. MacKay watched it all-but disassemble itself and pieces tear off from every portion of the aircraft. The Fw.189 shook like a wet dog shedding water then tucked its twin-tails under its wing and somersaulted down in an uncontrolled twisting dive.
The Ju.52 directly in front of the Focke-Wulf spouted a black cloud as Holden shot the left engine off of its nacelle. The loose engine tumbled down, actually colliding with the falling wreckage of MacKay’s kill and pushed through it like tornado. The Junkers yawed left with little bits of the wing still coming off. As it did, Holden’s continued fire worked directly over the top of the wings leaving a line of ragged holes along its length.
Now, too close to the enemy, MacKay yanked back on the wheel to nose his plane up and over Holden’s target and cut directly in front of another transport 150 feet above him, passing no more than 20 yards away. He cranked his head up as he passed it, nearly vertical, and for a split second time held still as his eyes met those of the Junkers’s pilot, brown and wide with fear.
“…DOG High Bl…or, can...see…!?” A panicked cry over the radio. MacKay continued his climb and started to scan in every direction for any troubled Lightnings as the radio quieted down to give the caller a chance to speak. “I have..tail…” He was breathing hard in his mask and it was distorting his transmission, “can’t…help!”
MacKay was up to 6,000 feet when he spotted a lone red-tail P-38 three miles away at about 9,000 feet trailing smoke and being chased down by two Fw.190’s at his 11 o’clock. Knowing he had only moments at most to rescue his squadron mate he pushed his RPM’s all the way forward to 3000 and jammed both throttles as hard as he could, forcing them through the block of Rated Military Power and for the first time going into the new War Emergency Power band.
The P-38 launched forward into its shallow climb, rapidly accelerating as MacKay watched the manifold pressure spin up to 60 inches almost instantaneously. The airspeed indicator climbed past 300 as the Altimeter circled around 6,500 feet and both kept going up. At 7,000 feet, now about two miles away from the struggling PETDOG High Blue 4, he was indicating 380 mph and was gaining. The smoking P-38 and its two pursuers were angling away from him by about 50 degrees and he adjusted his angle to stay ahead of them as he closed in. Even at this speed that meant it would still take him almost a minute to be within firing range.
Blue 4 continued the occasional plea on the radio, grunting and gasping as he desperately slid and rolled his airplane in its dive in an effort to evade. The damaged P-38 could not quite pull away from the 190’s. Every time he seemed to surprise the Focke-Wulfs with a juke or a change in pitch, the round-nosed Germans would flick their wings and be right with him. MacKay wracked his brain, trying to remember who was assigned Blue 3 in the mornings briefing. High Blue flight was Pate, Szaflarski, and Stemen—who had aborted an hour ago, leaving Blue 4 without a lead...he struggled…who is it?
Hilgert!
“Hil! MacKay. I’m on my way! One minute!” He called over the radio.
Looking behind him, he noticed that Holden was trailing far behind, his old F had not been able to keep up with the blast of acceleration from #2308. MacKay estimated it would take his wingman a good twenty or thirty seconds to catch up unless something drastic happened.
Hilgert was in even more serious trouble than MacKay had thought. His tent-mate’s P-38F was trailing smoke form the left engine and the innocuous grey was becoming black as MacKay drew nearer, a clear sign that the engine was beginning to burn. If Hilgert did not do something quickly the entire thing may explode.
MacKay remembered a time in P-38 Familiarization when they had been shown how to handle engine-out emergencies. The standard practice was for the flight instructor to fly alongside of the students and talk them through the cut-off and feather procedure. Once that was done, the students were talked through managing their airplane’s stability while fighting the torque of the good engine and the drag of the dead engine. The one thing they were drilled, over and over again, never to do was to turn into the dead engine as it could cause the plane to flip and yaw.
He had an idea.
“Hil, you need to cut your left engine.”
MacKay was almost there, just 1500 yards away and merging with their flight path at about 40 degrees. He saw Hilgert’s plane wobble and yaw as the engine cut out. The left wing dropped a little but Hilgert was good enough to bring it back up, just in time jerk away from the cannon fire of the 190’s.
“Now, Hilgert, when I say, you break left with hard left rudder and full right throttle.”
Almost there…900 yards…800…700…
“Ready…?” MacKay dropped his combat flaps.
…600…500...
“Break!”
Hilgert’s P-38 suddenly rolled over into a hard nose down left hand spin, immediately dropping by about 100 feet as it spun sideways. The Jerries tried to roll with him to follow him down but the Lightning was already gone below them and heading the other direction. MacKay lost sight of Hilgert’s plane when it disappeared beneath the broad shoulder of his wing but the Focke-Wulf’s had turned directly past his nose.
Machine gun and cannon fire erupted from the nose of #2308 shooting flame and steel. In the two seconds he held the triggers more than one-hundred .50 Caliber Armor Piercing Incendiary rounds were joined by ten or eleven tracers and followed by more than twenty 20mm shells. Only a few of them found their mark on the wing of one of the German fighters, blasting pieces of the wingtip and blowing the aileron loose. The disconnected control surface flapped once, twice, three times in the turbulence then separated from the stubby wing.
MacKay passed behind the Germans, swiveling his next to follow their path with his eyes. The damaged one shook then recovered, straightening his roll and diving out while wobbling like a new-born foal. What the damaged Fw.190 did not see was Holden’s P-38 pull up into a high chandelle to bleed off speed and change his angle, then nose down to chase the Kraut to the sea.
The other Focke-Wulf continued to follow Hilgert’s P-38 as it worked to recover from the spin, drawing its nose ever closer to a line on the smoking plane.
There was only one thing to do—it had worked for Hilgert so MacKay could only hope that with two good engines he could make it work better and with more control.
He kept his right engine all the way forward, took a deep breath, then kicked hard left rudder while pulling the left throttle all the way back to IDLE. A turn of his wrist on the yoke and his fast flying Lightning slid sideways into hard left break with its tail slipping out of the thrust line and its nose coming inside in a violent reversal of direction. The airplane creaked and groaned under the unanticipated stresses of the high lateral G-Forces which threw MacKay to the side with only his well secured harness keeping him in place. He watched Hilgert and the German come past his line of sight and slammed the left throttle back into W.E.P. and reversed his rudder and roll. The plane shuddered and complained, but complied, the left engine spewing a great blast of dark smoke from the sudden pressure.
MacKay and #2308 were now inside of the spiraling decent of High Blue 4. The hard reversal had cost him some speed but that would only help him avoid over-shooting now. He pressed the yoke down to nose over and line up for where he figured the Jerry would be in a few seconds.
Hilgert was still spiraling down his spin flattening out. MacKay read 5,500 feet and they were a good 1000 lower. Hilgert needed to recover and soon.
He was at 300 yards with the 190 crossing a more than 90 degrees in front of him when he fired at it. His few tracers flew past the Kraut’s canopy which could only mean that the rest of his machine guns shot high. He pulled the trigger for the cannon. With its lower trajectory the shells whizzed under the machine gun tracers and MacKay saw the yellow bursts of the shells impact directly in front of the windshield.
Then he was past.
He looked to his right and watched Holden finish off the damaged 190, a steady stream of tracers seemed to connect the nose of the P-38 to all parts of the German fighter. The 190 gave a sudden upwards jerk then dropped straight down without the slightest roll, plummeting straight into the water.
Looking back over his left shoulder he saw the other 190 waggle its wings then peel away, rolling to the right away from Hilgert’s Lightning. Content that the E/A was breaking away, MacKay focused on Hilgert where he continued to struggle to recover from the spin. The spiral had widened since it started 3000 feet higher and it appeared to MacKay that it was still getting wider. Then Hilgert started to roll right against the spin with his rudders hard right at the same time he nosed the plane even farther down. MacKay thought Hilgert was done for.
But Hilgert’s quick thinking was paying off. Against all odds, by nosing down and rolling right Hilgert was able to counter the flat-spin and slowly turn it into a non-spinning dive. At 1500 feet the spin finally stopped and MacKay saw Hilgert’s elevator deflect as high up as it could go.
With painful hesitance the P-38 started to level off out of its dive.
MacKay called down to Hilgert where he had finally leveled off at around 200 feet. “Hil, you Oh-Kay?”
“Yeah,” he gasped, “I’m bugging out.”
“Drinks are on me tonight.”
“Cut the chatter you two!” MacKay recognized Major Owens’s voice. “Low White Three and Four, rejoin the group. High Yellow One, join up with High Blue Four and return to base.”
“White Three, Roger.” MacKay raised his flaps and turned back toward where he could the swarm of fighting aircraft in the distance.
“Yellow One, Wilco.”
“White Four, Roger.”
MacKay continued his circle until he spotted Holden again, “Low White Four, White Three, on your four-o’clock.” He vectored his plane so he could meet up with his wingman, letting the baby-faced kid from Iowa know where he was at. He was closing on Holden rather quickly but he felt a slight but obvious deceleration. Worried that his engines were going, or worse, he checked his instruments and discovered his Manifold Pressures were dropping and all his engine temperatures were running high. He reached over for his throttles and realized he had never pulled them out of W.E.P. He guessed that the drop in pressure was because the new Turbo-Overheat governor he heard was installed on these new planes had taken over. In any event, he thought it would be best to do what he could to help the automated system and pulled back on the throttles until they were in their normal Max. Continuous positions which should let him maintain 44”. To match the throttles, he dropped RPMs to 2600, the new cruise setting on this airplane; then, he opened his coolant and oil flaps to let more air through the radiators and cool the engines down as he and Holden made their way back to the continuing melee. He merged back into a proper pair with Holden about halfway back.
The radio was still buzzing with bogie and bandit calls as the rest of the group continued their fight. The whole mess was pretty spread out by this time: groups of six or eight Ju.52’s trying to speed away from the Lightnings coming at them in one’s and two’s; zooming and spiraling fighters locked in deadly dances at all altitudes; all of them spread out over a five mile range or more. MacKay looked around to see get an idea for the situation and settled on a flight of five Ju.52’s retreating toward Cape Bon which was just becoming visible on the distant horizon.
A glance at his engine instruments told him that the six minute cruise back with wide open radiators had done the job and all temperatures were back to the high end of the normal. He had no way of knowing how hot his turbos still were but I figured that against the slow moving transports he could risk having limited boost.
Not wanting to interrupt the radio chatter, he slid his plane parallel to Holden’s. Once he had his attention, he raised a gloved and indicated the direction and number of enemies so his wingman would know where they were going.
MacKay kept his radiator flaps open as he and Holden quickly gained on the Junkers. He watched the enemy coast line with trepidation, trying to estimate how much time they would have before the aircraft were within range of A/A. He figured they would only get one good pass but he planned on making it count.
He closed his radiator flaps, dropped his combat flaps, and nosed down while keeping his throttles back. The nice thing about Ju.52’s was that they were unarmed and MacKay knew that with their fighter escorts far away dealing with the rest of the 27th Fighter Squadron, he could drop into them and just drift back and forth while taking his time.
Which is exactly what he did.
His prey was the Tail-End-Charlie of the German formation and as he drew near he pulled his throttles back even more willing his airspeed to drop below 200 mph. Once his airspeed indicated 250 mph, he pulled the flap lever back and dropped his flaps to 50%. The airplane lurched up with the sudden change in pressure under the wings but they did their job and #2308 was soon cruising along at 180 mph.
The coast was about ten miles away when he let loose on the helpless transport. Three bursts was all it took. On the second burst his cannon stopped firing and he figured it must have run dry, so compensated by holding it and the third burst for 3-4 seconds, sending all the steel he could into the corrugated airframe and dangling engines of the cargo-hauler. At the end of the third burst he was rewarded when his incendiaries lit the fuel vapors in the right main tank of the Junkers and the wing disappeared in a yellow explosion. The plane bellied over and impacted the coastal Tunisian waters.
The poor German was not lonely for long, as Holden soon sent one to follow it to a watery grave.
With the coast now far too close for MacKay’s comfort, he raised his flaps, pushed his throttles back up to 44” and turned away to the northwest, back beyond the Gulf of Tunis. Ten minutes later they had started to join back up with other Lightnings as the entire squadron slowly re-grouped.
The battle was over.
* * *
Of the 32 P-38’s that left Chateaudun-du-Rhumel that morning, 28 had engaged the enemy, and 26 returned. Second Lieutenant Field, flying the High Red Four position, had been lost to a Me.109 and was seen to bail out over the strait; while Hilgert had to land at Le Kouif on the Tunisian border and word had come from that forward airbase that he was injured but not seriously. Ten of the other planes had been damaged, two seriously. In return the 27th was credited with 14 Ju.52/3, 3 Ju.87, 2 Bf.109, 1 Fw.190, and 1 Fw.189.
MacKay and Holden shared the kill on the ‘190, while individually Holden was credited with two Ju.52/3 and MacKay with two Ju.52/3 and the Fw.189. That left him just half-a-kill short of ace.
But there were more days to come in Operation Flax, and more opportunities for good hunting.
(Murphy didn't get a law named for him for nothin'...)