2 September 1943
1505 hours
82nd FG, 47th BW, XII BC, 12th AF
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
On a normal day, with normal missions, the ground crews of the 95th, 96th, and 97th Fighter Squadrons would not have time to worry about their absent airplanes. They would be too busy preparing other squadron airplanes for the next mission, rotating the elements through the sorties one after the other, sometimes as many as three separate missions in a single day.
This day, however, was different. All three squadrons of the 82nd Fighter Group (Twin-Engine), in their entireties, had been sortied for a single escort mission. Seventy-Four P-38’s had left the steel mats of Grombalia Airfield in the late morning leaving very little for the hundreds of mechanics, sheet-metal workers, and machinists to do through the early afternoon. After chow-time, they lazed around free of operational duties. Some read old newspapers and magazines—the newest already several months out of date—while others put together an informal ball game and still others disappeared to some quite spot to rest or just be alone.
Five of the sortied planes had already returned.
Around 1500 hours the first drone of airplanes could be heard to the north and all other activities stopped as the squadrons of P-38’s began to arrive. They came in fours, mostly, full flights in Vee or Finger-Four formation. One flight after the other came, the planes flying over the airfield before peeling off one at a time in two second intervals to circle back and land.
The crew chiefs raced to the hardstands, each waiting for “his” plane to come back from whatever joyride the pilots took. The chiefs greeted their planes and the pilots as they arrived, giving each a once over to check for damage and injury. Slowly, each hardstand started to fill.
Even though the 95th was the first arrive over the airfield and begin landing, it was the hardstands of the 97th which filled first, all twenty-four planes returned with only minor damage to a few of them. When the pilots killed their engines and set the parking brakes the ground crews rushed to chock the tires as the crew chiefs climbed on the wing to help the pilot out. Each one saw the same grim look on the pilots’ faces and they knew something had gone wrong.
Each man had noticed that the Lead Flight of the 95th was a plane short, flying in a Vee before peeling out. They were followed by a few full flights, then another three planes in what had been Black Flight. When the sky eventually grew silent and all the planes were back, the 95th had two empty spaces.
Following the 97th was the 96th, the last planes to return that day. Two came in for emergency landings each with a dead propeller. Others came in, some damaged lightly, some more worse for wear. Their ground crews waited on the distant hardstands, trying to identify the planes as they arrived even though they knew there would be no telling which ones were back for certain until the engines were silent.
By 1600 the sky was silent and the airdrome became hushed after the last P-38 cut its engines. The men at the tower had counted the planes as they arrived but the ground crews were the ones shocked as they looked at their empty hardstands and the others bereft of their P-38’s to their left and right and it dawned on them that all of the planes that would return had returned.
Nearly one third of the 96th was gone.
1324 hours
West of Cancello, Italy
The bombers had done good work. Seventy-one B-25’s from the 321st Bomb Group—one had to turn back early—had arrived to the Italian coast on the deck, climbing as fast as their bomb loads would allow as they crossed near Mount Vesuvius so they could reach their briefed bombing altitude of about 9,000 feet before reaching their target, the Cancello Marshalling Yards and factories east of Naples. The group achieved total surprise on the enemy and were completely un-opposed by enemy aircraft the entire way in and during their time over the target. At bombs-away, they clobbered their targets and nearly every bomb dropped hit right where it was supposed to.
2Lt. Gerald Finch, like the other sixty-eight pilots from the 82nd Fighter Group still flying escort duty for the bombers, was bored. The lack of enemy opposition left the mass of P-38’s without anything to do other than to lazily zig-zag over and around the bombers. Sure, Finch had to dodge a little flak, but the bombers’ lead navigator was so skilled that he led the strike force of 140 airplanes through a narrow corridor between Naples and Salerno where AAA was all-but absent. Now all that was left was to turn southwest over the Med and head back to Tunisia.
Finch, called “Bird” by the squadron, was the “Tail-End-Charlie” of the Squadron, flying off the left wing of 2Lt. Eugene “Dutch” Hoffstead as the last plane of the White Flight of the High Section of the 96th Fighter Squadron. Finch and Dutch were both flying P-38G-15-LO’s, AAF Serial Numbers 42-13187 and 42-13132 respectively. The airplanes were six month old hand-me-downs from other pilots that left the squadron before the two replacements arrived but they were kept in good order by their crews and in his five combat sorties to-date Finch had not had a single mechanical problem.
The 96th squadron had learned to pair-up similar airplanes to make it easier for wingmen to work together. From what Finch had heard from some of Squadron veterans, the problem was a big one earlier in the year when they were mixing old P-38F’s and new P-38G’s. It may have taken six months to implement a solution but it seemed to be working well for them.
The past few weeks, however, had started to take a toll. Some new, highly experienced, German Fighter Groups had moved into Italy to stave off the inevitable Allied invasion and these pilots were proving to be highly effective “Lightning Killers.” Finch heard rumors that a few days ago the 1st Fighter Group had lost eight planes in a single mission and had averaged nearly one lost plane per day through most of August.
The 82nd had not been as hard hit so far and Finch was thankful for that. In the three weeks he had been with the 96th Fighter Squadron they had only lost two planes and only five from the other squadrons in the Group, the 95th and 97th. It had been enough to introduce the young replacement pilot to the realities of combat and loss but not so much as to shock him into resignation of his own foregone demise.
Finch surveyed the Squadron, as the rear-most plane it was his job to watch for any others lagging behind or suffering mechanical issues. To Dutch’s 10-o’clock low was the flight leader, Lt. Robert Thayer who was trailed at his 8-o’clock low by his wingman, White Two, 2Lt. William Cartwright. The four planes together formed a diamond, staggered in altitude to clear the leading plane’s prop-wash and to improve visibility, although Finch would have preferred to be flying lower than his wing man rather than higher as it was easier to maintain formation looking up out of his canopy than down over the broad chord of his leading edge. Still, on the flight out he had discovered that by lining up Dutch’s twin-tails between his nose and right engine nacelle he could keep the right distance and angle fairly well.
The other two flights in the Section were in similar diamonds, at White Flight's 1 o’clock high was Black Flight lead by Lt. Joseph McAllister with 2Lt. Francis Korkowski on his wing with Lt. James Heidinger and 2Lt. Roger Johnson completing the diamond. To White Flight's 11 o’clock low was Green Flight with Capt. Ronald Anderson, 2Lt. Louis Champion, Lt. Ray Shepard, and 2Lt. Edward Custis.
Below and in front of the High Section were the three flights of the Low Section of the 96th, each flying in Finger-Four Formation instead of the Diamonds of the High Section. Leading the Squadron in Red Flight was Maj. Donald Perry who kept the newest pilot, 2Lt. John Campbell off his left wing. Red Flight was completed at Maj. Perry’s 4 o’clock by Lts. E.C. Bennett and Antoni Caramiglia. At Red Flight's 7 o’clock low was Blue Flight with Capt. George Mendoza, Lt. Bradly Prann, and 2Lts. Otto Heinrichs and Daniel McDonald. To Red’s 5 o’clock high was Yellow Flight led by Lt. George Brown and 2Lt. James Nuckols and filled out by Lt. John Howard and 2Lt. Robert Cutting.
Assuming they always kept it tight, which was not always the case when making the turns around the Bomb Group, from Maj. Perry in the front to Finch in old Tail-End-Charlie, the squadron stretched nearly 750 feet long, while from Lt. Prann’s left wingtip in the low Blue 2 position to 2Lt. Cutting’s right wingtip in Yellow 4 was about 500 feet. From the lowest plane in Squadron, again Lt. Prann, to the highest, 2Lt. Johnson in Black 4, the planes stacked up about 500 feet in altitude with two planes at the exact same altitude.
The three squadrons of the 82nd Fighter Group rotated position around the bombers. They would fly a counter-clockwise circuit from high and behind the bombers then cruise down to the right of bombers before passing several miles in front of them before making a 180 degree turn and grease by the bomber’s left. The circuit ended when the squadron climbed back up to their starting position high and behind the bombers. The Squadrons were spaced such that one would pass the bomber’s right as the next slotted into the high spot and the last just started their return trip down the left.
The 96th was loosening up a little as it turned left to take up its rotation at the rear…
1607 hours
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
Lt. Col. George C. McNicol, Commanding Officer of the 82nd Fighter Group, sat in on the debriefing of the 96th Squadron survivors. The losses were too high for him to just read their reports and the intelligence and operations summaries from their respective officers. He needed to hear what happened directly from the men who were there.
Maj. Donald Perry, C.O. of the 96th and their Squadron Leader, was the first one, at Lt.Col. McNichol’s request. The Major’s broad shoulder were squared off, almost at attention, but his eyes were downcast, heavy with the knowledge that he would have a long night writing Missing Air Crew Reports.
“Major,” the debriefing officer started, “Lieutenant Colonel McNicol has asked be part of this debriefing. Otherwise, this will be the same as past debriefings. We will ask you the usual questions regarding the Mission, the weather, and any Enemy activity you witnessed. Following that, you are free to give your full account and we will ask clarifying questions when needed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lt. Col. McNicol remained silent through the initial questions of the interrogation which covered the basic timetable and conditions of the flight. What enemy air assets were seen, where, and when? The same for marine assets, anti-aircraft, and ground forces. How was the weather enroute to the target area? Over the target area? On the return from the target area?
With all of the intelligence items out of the way, Maj. Perry was free to begin his description of the mission.
“I took off at 1050 hours and went to the assembly area so my squadron could form up, as briefed. Our squadron had a two full sections of twelve planes each, plus two spares. We were fully assembled and in formation with the Group by 1115 hours. I was flying Lead of the Red Flight of the Squadron, as assigned.”
“We followed the lead squadrons to rendezvous with the 321st Bomb Group west of Marettimo. The bombers were on time but their formation was a loose at first. They tightened up when we joined them and we followed their turn to the target. As I said, the weather on the way in was clear with unlimited visibility. The approach to the coast was uneventful and I didn’t see any enemy activity below us but most of my attention was on the sky, looking for enemy aircraft.”
Maj. Perry paused to check his mission notes.
“At 1142, Second Lieutenant Mitchell, flying Yellow Three, reported that his left prop was running away and turned back. Lieutenant Howard moved his spare into Yellow Three and filled Mitchell’s space. We didn’t have any other problems so I ordered Second Lieutenant Dowd in the second spare to accompany Mitchell back to the airdrome.
“Otherwise, the formation was good as we rotated through coverage positions. The bombers crossed the Mediterranean at about 500 feet and we stayed down there with them on the trip in. About twenty minutes out from the coast, around 1230, the bombers popped up, fast. I have to hand it to those pilots, I’ve never seen loaded B-25’s climb quite so fast. They must have hit ten-thousand feet with about five minutes to spare before the coast.
“The Groups passed north of Sorrento and hit the coast in the Bay of Naples. We flew right over Vesuvius on the return leg of our escort circuit. There was haze, as briefed, at the coast, but no clouds. We ran into light Flak there but it was scattered and inaccurate. As far as I know, no one was hit. The bombers turned East, and we followed them over the mountains. One of the bombers turned out wide from their formation but caught up and fell back into place. Our squadron stayed tight.”
Perry stopped for a sip of coffee.
“The bombers turned North, passed just east of Vesuvius.”
The intelligence officer interrupted him, “And this is where you saw the enemy airdrome?”
“Yes. I didn’t get a good look at what was there but I saw the field and a number of large transports, maybe 323’s.”
“This was just north east of Mount Vesuvius?”
“Correct.”
“Thank you. You can continue, Major.”
“We didn’t have any fighter opposition at all by the time the bombers lined up for their run. The Flak south of the target started getting heavy and appeared moderately accurate but they were mostly targeting the bombers. I think any of the bursts directed our way were either when we were close to the bombers or when the bombers were out of range of the guns firing them.
“We were on a return leg of the circuit when the bombers made their turn after dropping. They turned west, almost right into us, but it let me fly over the target as they left and see that they did one hell of a job. The entire marshalling yard was clobbered, the storage buildings covered in black smoke, and the factory to the north was burning as well.
“At 1325, I lead the squadron back into Top Coverage. Around 5 minutes later, we were nearing the coast at 16,000 feet and had just completed our turn…”
1326 hours
West of Cancello, Italy
2Lt. Gerald Finch, White 4
The entire Squadron was tightening up from their turn and were getting ready for the long cruise above the bombers. Finch spent a minute or so adjusting his position, lining Dutch’s P-38 up right where it was supposed to be at 2 o’clock low. His left hand on the throttles and his right on the wheel, his attention was fixed on his wingman.
A white puff appeared just over Dutch’s right boom. Finch’s first thought was that it was nothing more than an engine misfire ejecting out of the exhaust. But it was immediately followed by another and another. Before Finch could even register what was happening, Dutch’s plane erupted into flame. The wing between the cockpit and the right boom disappeared into a great black cloud.
Finch spun his head right and saw a gaggle of enemy aircraft bearing down on him, their wings and noses flickering.
“Bandits! Four o’clo…”
He never finished the sentence. In that moment his whole world flashed white then turned black and 2Lt. Gerald “Bird” Finch knew nothing more.
2Lt. Eugene Hoffstead, White 3
Dutch Hoffstead heard the cannon burst and knew exactly what it was even if he did not know from where it came. He cranked at his yoke and his airplane was just beginning a right roll to clear his Flight when a German 20mm shell exploded into his right Main fuel tank.
The blast shattered both wing spars and ignited the fuel. The flames licked forward into the Reserve tank and that too quickly ignited. The entire airplane rolled over, folding at the severed spars. Its right nacelle and outer wing rolled left and shot up while the rest of airplane flicked to the right. Dutch could only see the flames of his burning fuel tanks so when the right nacelle slammed into his canopy he never knew it was coming. The mass of the airplane throwing him one way collided with the mass of the nacelle and Dutch was left in the middle.
He never had a chance to escape before he was pressed like a lemon in his Mother’s juicer.
2Lt. William Cartwright, White 2
Bill’s radio screamed to life, “Bandits! Four o’clo…” then fell back to silence.
Swiveling his head right he saw Dutch’s plane collapse into itself in a fiery mess of steel and aluminum before falling off behind him. Then he saw the enemy aircraft, thirty or more, screaming in from 4 o’clock high with their guns blazing.
Panicked, the young replacement jammed his throttles fully forward.
His airplane accelerated for a moment and he started to pass under his lead; but, only for a moment. In a matter of seconds, his left engine knocked a few dozen times then came apart. It exploded in a furious roar shooting connecting rods through the sump and shattering pistons. The crank spun itself apart from the force of the failure and sent shockwaves through the gearbox which failed in turn.
The airplane jerked and violently rolled left as the propeller spun itself off the shaft. It was sent spinning through the left outer wing where it rent the fuel cells and severed the last ten feet of wing. Bill thought he had been hit as his plane flicked left and started a tight spiral to the Italian countryside below. Then the right engine blew and the three mission pilot realized his mistake.
He had pushed the throttles forward without adjusting mixture and engine speed first.
Losing the right engine was a god-send in some small way as it momentarily slowed his spin and reduced the centrifugal force enough for him to reach his left hand up to the canopy lever. The airplane continued its descent as 2Lt. Cartwight struggled with the lever, unlocking it and trying to pull back hard enough to break the emergency stop. After an agonizing time he was finally rewarded with a high pitched rush of air at the front seam of the canopy. Giving the lever one last good yank, it broke free, the little hook pushing against the lower frame and lifting the canopy free of its sliding track. Air pressure and centrifugal force did the rest and the entire center canopy section was sucked away from the cockpit.
Bill glanced at his Altimeter, trying to get a read of where he was it. It was shaking violently and bouncing between numbers but it seemed to indicated somewhere between seven and eight thousand feet.
The plane started to increase its spiral again and Bill wasted no time on ceremony getting out of plane. He slammed his fist against the emergency seat harness release at his chest.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, fighting against the weight of his own arms as gravity wanted to pull them away from his chest even as he needed desperately to hit the harness release. Twice, thrice, he hit the release. Finally, on the forth try it came apart and released the buckles. He followed the canopy, the force of his spiral throwing him right out of the opening above him. He cleared the airplane in milleseconds but it sent him one last goodbye kiss as he passed; the right vertical stabilized spun into his side.
The pain was so intense he barely registered it before blacking out.
His parachute never opened as he fell, unconscious, the remaining mile to his final resting place in a Neapolitan ditch.
Lt. Robert Thayer, White 1 (Lead)
“Bandits! Four o’clo…”
Bob Thayer new Bird Finch’s voice and immediately started to take action. He was more experienced than the other three pilots of his Flight and knew what it was to be jumped so he had the process down, pat.
They had been cruising and he was still drawing the last few dozen gallons from his right drop tank, so first he reached down to turn both fuel selectors to OUTER WING. Next, he needed to get rid of the tanks. He was just reaching back to arm the drop tank release when he saw one of the Black flight P-38’s cross directly in front of him, its left engine burning.
He pulled up to avoid the P-38, hoping Finch would see and could avoid flying into him. He looked up into his rear view mirror and did not see Finch’s airplane behind him anymore. Glancing to his right he saw a score of enemy Bf.109’s coming in on him, fast, with large gun pods under their wings flickering angry fire.
Someone finally completed Finch’s call, “Bandits, four o’clock high!”
Thayer had to get rid of those drop tanks.
He armed the release and almost simultaneously hit the drop button. The airplane waggled a little and climbed a few feet as the extra weight and drag fell away.
The radio sparked to life again, “Cowtail, break!”
Thayer’s left hand moved forward to the mixture controls. His gloved fingers just tickling the handles when the nose of his airplane erupted into white flashes as 20mm shells exploded into the armament compartment. The explosions set off some of his own ammunition and the nose of his P-38 disintegrated in front of him. Shrapnel shot through the nose compartment, peppering his feet and legs with dozens of lacerations as the blast waves knocked him out for a moment. Only the armored firewall and glass saved him from worse.
The next thing Bob Thayer remembered, he was tumbling through the sky, his airplane nowhere in sight. His training and experience saved him and instead of wasting precious seconds puzzling out his situation, he automatically pulled his parachute ripcord.
The parachute came out and unwound itself as he steadied his tumble. By the time the silk had started to spread he was in a perfect belly-down attitude and was soon rewarded with the reassuring jerk against his shoulders and crotch of the canopy opening and slowing his fall.
It came not a moment too soon. He only swung four times before, on the fifth down swing, his injured legs hit dirt and folded painfully beneath him. He laid there on his back staring up at the sky and saw the streams of black smoke from fallen airplanes and the widening gaps in the 96th squadron.
2Lt. Roger Johnson, Black 4
Being the highest plane in the entire American formation and farther right of White Flight's position, 2Lt. Roger “Ram” Johnson was hit at the same time as 2Lt. Dutch Hoffstead in White 3. He first noticed small streamers of smoke passing to his 2 o’clock just behind 2Lt. Heidinger’s plane in Black 3. He turned his head to the follow the streamers to their origin to discover the swarm of aircraft coming down on him.
Ram heard a sound like someone kicking a tin can down a flight stairs to his left. Looking over he saw a scattered line of new holes along his left wing, walking from the trailing edge and over the nacelle just in front of the turbo charger.
“Bandits! Four o’clo…”
He did not know who spoke and neither did he care, he had his own problems. Heidinger, Black 3, turned right without bothering to drop his tanks. Being his wingman, Ram tried to follow, pushing right rudder and rolling his airplane into it.
As he did so, one of the 109’s opened up a second burst on him.
The wing cannons of the German plane straddled the center gondola of Johnson’s banking P-38 but the nose guns fired true. A line of 7.92mm machine gun bullets pierced the canopy, one of them striking Ram where his right shoulder met his neck. This single bullet passed into his chest, through the top of his right lung and directly through his heart. It continued on, starting a slight yaw as it nicked a rib before exiting just above the upper limit of left pelvic bone.
He was dead within a single heart beat.
Lt. James Heidinger, Black 3
Jim Heidinger, a six month veteran, heard the abbreviated radio call and instinctively turned right, into the enemy.
When he saw the number of Bf.109s coming at him and how perfectly positioned they were he changed his mind and nosed down to pass beneath them. He did not bother with his drop tanks, at least not at first. His first thought was simply to clear their line of fire as quickly as possible.
He pushed the mixtures to AUTO-RICH, jammed his RPMs up to 3000, and slammed the throttles of his P-38G-20-LO straight through the wire into War Emergency Power. Jim looked over his shoulder to see if Ram Johnson was following him and was relieved at first to see Ram’s P-38G-17-LO banking right to follow him. His relief turned to worry when the bank became a full, lazy, roll instead of a turn to follow Jim’s lead.
Jim turned his neck up and watched the Jerrys flicker overhead as they passed at a combined speed of over 600 mph. Once they were clear, he pulled his throttles back to about 50 inches and pulled the yoke back to climb up to a fighting position and to bleed off enough speed to safely drop his tanks.
“Bandits, four o’clock high!” His radio completed the initial call that warned him to break and followed it up with a belated, “Cowtail,” the 96th Squadron call sign, “break!”
He armed his tank release and made a slow right turn during his climb, keeping his eyes on what was happening in the fight.
Green Flight was just coming under attack. Jim watched them continue on in formation, working on dropping their tanks. Their tanks were just coming loose as the Jerrys passed over them, the four P-38s taking some hits but not suffering as White and Black Flights had.
Where White Flight had been there were now only three trails of smoke. The forth White Flight plane was going down in a tight spiral and Jim watched the left propeller fly loose into the wing of the airplane.
Johnson’s plane never recovered from its roll. Jim saw it turning into an uncontrolled spin below him and could only assume that Ram was dead. Another P-38, Heidinger thought it must be McAllister in Black 1, was dropping off quickly to the south—left of the formation—a thick cloud of black smoke following from its left engine. That plane was being chased down by at least three enemy aircraft that Jim could see. He did not where Korkowski was.
The rest of the squadron was in the process of scattering from the enemy onslaught and it was already too difficult for Jim to tell who was whom.
Glancing at his instruments as he came around, he saw he had dropped to 180 indicated air speed and was showing just over 19,000 feet. Jim leveled his wings and switched his tanks off of his now nearly empty right drop tank to his outer wing tanks, having to take a little time to get the left valve to turn all the way. Confirming good fuel pressure, he hit the tank releases and gave his wings a little waggle to be sure they felt clear.
Checking his six quickly and assured he was clear, he turned on his gunsight, and flicked his combat switch. Now he was ready to join the expanding fight. Andorimini!
2Lt. Francis Korkowski, Black 2
When Frank Korkowski heard the warning of “Bandits!” he followed the call and saw Heidinger and Johnson roll away just as streams of enemy fire were tracing their way toward their planes, and his plane beyond.
He heard impacts to his airplane behind him as he armed his tank release and dropped them. Lt. McAllister at his 2 o’clock high did the same. As soon as McAllister’s tanks fell free Frank saw his lead banked left, streams of steaming glycol spraying from his left engine. Korkoswki nosed under McAllister’s plane and started his own left roll to follow as he pushed his mixture controls and engine speeds up. McAllister’s plane passed just over Frank’s canopy and he watched the grey glycol turn black as the nacelle ignited in flame.
Green Flight still had not taken action, so Korkowski tried to motivate them with a proper warning, “Bandits, four o’clock high!” Frank watched them fly straight and true as he continued his roll. Maybe, he considered, they did not realize the call was for them. “Cowtail,” the Squadron call should get their attention, “break!”
No sooner had he said that then he heard more strikes on his airplane. Whipping his head toward the sound he saw new holes in his right wing where it stood vertical above him. He fought and argued with his airplane, urging it to roll over faster, praying to complete a full break away from the onrushing enemy.
His right engine sputtered and quit.
The airplane slowed its roll as he fought the torque of the left engine. He glanced forward to instruments and noticed the fuel pressure on his right side was nearly at zero and his left was dangerously low as well. As his plane rolled inverted and started to nose over he looked at the holes in his wing again: the holes were between the outer main spar and the aileron, nothing critical in that area and nothing that would kill and engine. His left fuel pressure dropped to zero and that engine, too, quit.
Frank looked down to the fuel tank selector vales at his left—the left was on CROSS SUCTION and the right still set on DROPABLE TANK.
Completing his roll with a dead stick he let the airplane glide forward and low. The flickering shadows of the enemy passing overhead would have been a welcome observation under other circumstances but at that moment all Frank wanted was running engines.
He turned the stiff valves ninety degrees counter-clockwise to the OUTER WING position and was relieved to see fuel pressure on both sides climb back up. His propellers were still wind milling so Korkowski knew he should be able them to self-start. He pulled his RPM levers back to DEC RPM and his throttles back so they were barely open. Trying to remember his engine re-start training, he pushed his propeller control switches both to INC RPM. He watched his RPMs increase back up to 600 as he held the switches. As they reached above this, he turned the switches back to AUTO CONSTANT SPEED, and the RPMs rapidly increased with the first the right, then the left engine sputtering and catching.
He pushed his RPMs up to 2300 and moved his throttles forward to 44 inches.
2Lt. Korkowski was back in business.
Lt. Joseph McAllister, Black 1
McAllister was hit the same moment he heard the call of “Bandits!”
The machine gun fire drew a line through his left inner-wing leading edge and directly into the left engine. There was no immediate effect but McAllister knew it was bad. He switched his tanks to OUTER WING then armed and dropped his external tanks before trying to turn away from the enemy aircraft.
By then the white steam of glycol was already turning gray, then black, as it mixed with burning oil.
A hard kick of left rudder and an equally hard turn of the yoke convinced his airplane to do as it was commanded and he peeled over the top of his wingman, 2Lt. Korkowski. Joe saw flames erupt from the left engine and knowing his life was at stake immediately turned the left tank selector back to the DROPABLE TANK position, which doubled as OFF, turned off the left booster pumps, and pulled the Mixture to IDLE CUTOFF, even while still maneuvering the airplane with his right hand.
The fire continued burning so he dove the airplane down. Hoping to get enough speed to smoother the flames, he feathered the left propeller, then moved his right mixture to AUTO RICH, increased the RPM on his good engine, and slowly moved the right throttle up.
Small white puffs of German timed cannon shells exploded in front of his P-38. Joe looked into his rear-view mirror and saw two Me.109’s pursuing him several hundred yards back. Trying to throw off their aim he started skidding his airplane left and right at random intervals, occasionally giving his wings a wiggle to keep them guessing. All the while he prayed for speed enough to kill the fire.
He had been diving for the better part of a minute, taking a few glancing hits form his pursuers and was down to 9,000 feet directly over the city of Naples when the flames died down. As soon as they flickered out of sight, he pulled a hard right peel, hoping to fight the dead engine and confuse the Germans gaining on his tail. The roll against the torque of the good engine was too slow, though, and the Messerschmitts had plenty of time to adjust and anticipate his course.
The cannon fire bust into McAllister’s left wing, just outboard of the nacelle. The last fifteen feet of entire wing came off and what had been a slow, struggling, right roll became a quick left flick. The drastic change in momentum and direction surprised Joe and he head whipped right straining and pulling the left side of his neck.
Between the loss of power to the left side and now the loss of lift on the same, Lt. McAllister knew his flight was over.
He struggled in the cockpit in an effort to kill the right engine and steady the airplane enough for him to escape but his Lightning was too badly damaged. The plane spiraled and spun, tumbling down through the air with its pilot trapped inside trying to find to a way out.
He never did. The body of Lt. Joseph McAllister was found in the burned and mangled wreckage of his airplane by the Neapolitan citizens who fought the fires it had started in the city below.
Green Flight
When the call to “break!” came over the radio, Green Flight came under attack. Their external tanks were just falling away and each of the four pilots were busy in their cockpits getting all of the adjustments necessary to get their planes into fighting trim.
Even with their distractions, the presence of White and Black Flights softened the blow for Green Flight , taking many of the hits which otherwise may have found their way to the P-38’s of the low-left flight of the High Section. As it was only 2Lt. Custis in Green 4 and Lt. Shepard in Green 3 were damaged in the initial attack.
Shepard was pushing his mixtures up to AUTO RICH when his instrument panel started exploding in front of him. Enemy machine gun fire had cut right across the front of the cockpit and put two holes through his left leg in the process. It also cut into the rear of the nose compartment, damaging his cannon, before passing to the left and dinging up his propeller.
Custis had just advanced his RPMs when his Lightning was hit, holing his tail plane but causing little real damage. He was able to continue on and stay with Shepard as the latter pushed forward to escape to the deck.
1632 hours
Maj. Donald Perry
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
“After the initial attack it became a pretty conventional fight. I saw fifteen, maybe twenty Me.109’s at first but then I started seeing M.A. 202’s and after a few minutes a flight of F.W. 190’s joined in from the East. The Enemies attacked by twos, threes, and fours. The first pass came from our three to four o’clock high but afterwards they started trying head-on passes.”
The interrogator interrupted him again, “You said the initial attack came from your three-to-four-o’clock high; why didn’t you see them during your turn into the high position?”
Maj. Perry’s jaw flexed, “Like I said, there was a haze at the coast and we were nearly there. They came in fast—three-hundred, maybe three-hundred-fifty miles per hour. In the minute or two from when we finished our turn until they hit us they could have covered ten or twelve miles. They were just too far away and too high for us to catch them, I think.”
“Alright. What happened after the first pass?”
“I turned the low section around and we all broke into fights of twos or fours against whatever flights of E/A’s we could. When the M.A. 202’s came on scene I called for help from the Group and a few flights from both the 95th and 97th came up to join us.
“By this time we were crossing the coast and the bombers had dived out well ahead of us.
“I saw maybe a half-dozen P-38’s had formed into a luffbery; some of the Jerrys were trying to dive through it to pick away at our planes and make an opening but they never quite got in. More of our planes were engaging directly with the enemy and I called over the radio to keep them occupied to give the bombers more time to gain some distance.
“Several of our planes had separated a group of the enemy form the main fight and the Germans formed their own luffbery. Around this time we got a call from Blue Four that he was in trouble. I asked for his altitude and heading so we could try to find him and by the time I spotted him two other P-38's, I think Blacks two and three from what I head on the radio, had caught up to him. One of the P-38's, it was too far away from me to see who it was, tried cutting past I saw him collide with a Me.109…”
1711
Lt. James Heidinger
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
“It was Korkowski.”
Lt. Col. McNicol asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Heidinger nodded, “when I turned back to get in the fight I didn’t see him at first. All hell was breaking loose below me and planes were scattering every which way. I pushed RPMs to three-thousand and my throttles up to Military Power then stood my plane on her left wing and slid down into a dive.
“I gained speed back quick and had to slide right to slow it down and get into a pursuit position behind a one-oh-nine. That’s when I noticed this particular Jerry and his wingman were chasing down one of our P-38’s which was gliding under the action with dead propellers.”
“Dead propellers? Both of them?”
“Yes. It wasn’t for long though, as I worked my way closer both engines started back up. I don’t know what happened but if I had to guess I’d say he forget to switch his fuel when he dropped his tanks. Anyway, I closed dead-astern to about 350 yards on the 109’s and sent a two second burst at the one on the left. I didn’t see any strikes but he caught wind of me because he rolled hard left into a Split-S. At this point I still hadn’t identified the P-38 they were following so I decided to run the other 109 off myself. I pushed up to sixty inches and quickly gained on him. I sent a short bust in his direction from about 300 yards and saw a few hits on his wing. He peeled up and instead of pursuing him I thought it best to check on the P-38. I pulled up alongside him and saw it Second Lieutenant Korkowski. I got his attention and signaled him he was all clear and that he join up on me.”
The interrogator sought some clarification, “So, you were with Second Lieutenant Korkowski when he crashed?”
“Yes sir. We had already made one pass through the fight and neither of us were able to catch a piece of anything so we climbed back up to 18,000…”
1333
Over the Bay of Naples, Italy
Heidinger led Korkowski up and around the bulk of the action again. Even with the multitude of targets, the two of them had been unable to get a good engagement on any of the enemy during their first pass. From where they were now they could see the fight had spread over a couple square miles and there were planes fighting all the way from the deck up to well above their own altitude, perhaps as high as 25,000 feet.
A few miles out to the east he noticed a formation of small single-engine fighters racing in and called it out for the Group, “More bandits coming in from the East, two minutes.” He was about to head out to intercept when a call for help came over the radio.
“Cowtail, Cowtail Blue Four, I got two on me! Can’t get rid of ‘em.” Heidinger remembered it as 2Lt. McDonald but could not pick the troubled pilot out from the melee.
“Cowtail Blue Four, Cowtail Red Lead, give your heading and altitude.”
There was a pause before McDonald answered Perry, “Blue Four, I’m at…nine-thousand heading two-fifty. Hurry!”
Heidinger searched below him, trying to find a P-38 being chased out to sea but still could not find him. He called over to Korkowski, “Cowtail Black Two, Black Three, can you see Blue Four?”
A moment later he heard his replacement wingman answer, “Got him! Going after.”
Heidinger did not get the chance to respond before Korkowski broke away and rolled down alone to rescue their squadron mate. With a curse, he broke to follow but found himself falling behind Korkowski as the young pilot pushed “full forward” and rushed down on the F.W. 190’s behind McDonald. He looked out at McDonald and saw a lone 109 coming at him head on, a bloodsucker trying to make him break so that the Focke-Wulfs behind him could get a good shot.
“Blue Four, Black Three, you have a one-oh-nine coming right at you. Don’t break; pull over him. We are coming down to you.” Korkowski was almost there but was going far too fast to do any good, “Black Two, Black Three, slow it down! You’re going to over-shoot.”
It was too late. Korkowski was already pushing well past 450 mph in his shallow dive. Heidinger watched as he got only a short half-second burst on the pursuing 190’s before he passed above them, still nosed down. At the same time, McDonald followed Heidinger’s command and pulled his P-38 up into a zoom climb forcing the Messerschmitt at his front to nose over and pass below him. The 109 and Korkowski’s Lighting saw each other at the lost moment and both tried to bank out but Korkowski’s speed made his plane sluggish in the roll and the 109 misjudged the distance.
At about 8,000 feet over the Bay of Naples, Korkowski’s right wing collided with the 109. The German fighter’s propeller chewed up the American wing as passed, sending pieces of both into the air, and sparking the fuel in the outer wing tank. The wing was too solid to be stopped by a mere propeller, though, and it tore directly into the left wing root of the Jerry. Main spar contacted main spar and both airplanes were jerked into somersaults. The Bf.109’s wing came clear off while the P-38’s wing collapsed backward, broken and useless.
Heidinger did not have time to watch the tragedy continue. He pulled back his throttles and dropped his combat flaps, now only 400 yards behind the 190’s which were following McDonald’s climb. He sprayed a one second burst in front of their noses as he pulled to follow. One of the F.W.’s rolled out of the climb, Heidinger knew it would come around on him if given the chance but he also knew that McDonald was done for if he could not drive the other predator from his tail.
He yanked back on his yoke and pushed his throttles back up to 54 inches. The sudden sharp climb pulled him deep into his seat and his vision closed down into narrow tunnels surrounded by black as the blood drained from his head. Heidinger tensed his legs, stomach, and neck hoping to ward off the pending blackout long enough to steady his climb.
A few deep breaths later and he could relax his body as his full range of vision returned and he once more felt his heartbeat pounding in his skull.
The second 190 was letting a burst of cannon fire loose at McDonald’s P-38. Heidinger saw puffs and strikes around the empennage. Knowing there was no time to waste, he lined up as best as he could on the Geraman and let loose a flurry of machine gun and cannon fire toward it. Nothing happened, the angle was all wrong.
Heidinger looked over his shoulder for the first 190, it was well below him and still coming around. For the moment, he was safe from it. Turning his attention back to McDonald and the second Focke-Wulf he saw an opportunity.
“Blue Four, break right!”
With no more hesitation than required by the heavy airplane, McDonald’s Lightning rolled right and Heidinger saw the rudders kick over to follow. The damaged right rudder started flapping in the propeller stream as McDonald muscled the airplane in to the break but the left rudder was undamaged and provided just enough yaw to slide the airplane in to the roll.
The Focke-Wulf flicked right to follow but Heidinger had already lined up in anticipation of the maneuver. The 190 was nearly 150 degrees inverted and had pulled into a 15 degree deflection from Heidinger when he opened up a two-second burst into it. Finally, his marksmanship was true and he walked the strikes down the entire length of the enemy airplane from the engine cowl down the left side past the cockpit and to the left horizontal stabilizer.
At first the German airplane did not do anything but continue its roll. Heidinger pulled over it as he passed and with a roll to the right watched as black smoke started to pour from the rear of the cowl. The 190 broke off its pursuit of McDonald and nosed down toward the sea where it disappeared under Heidinger’s wing.
1716
Lt. James Heidinger
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
“Do you claim this one destroyed?” The interrogator interrupted Lt. Heidinger.
“Well, I didn’t actually see him go in, so the best I can say is that it is ‘Probable.’”
1649
2Lt. Daniel McDonald
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
“No, I was separated from Lieutenant Heinrichs two minutes into the fight. I didn’t see him go down.”
“And, when Lieutenant Heidinger joined up with you later, what happened?”
“He called on the radio that he was on his way down, told me not to break but to climb out. I pulled up and climbed clean. I had my radiators closed and was pulling maximum throttle so my engines were getting hot but I was too scared to slow down.”
“Did you see Second Lieutenant Korkowski at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Ok,” the interrogator made a note, “so, after you pulled into a climb, that’s when Lieutenant Heidinger told you to ‘Break Right’?”
“Yes, sir. I tried a rudder assisted roll but the rudder didn’t give much response. Maybe ten seconds later I saw Lieutenant Heidinger in my rear-view and couldn’t see the 190. I leveled off and looked around but we were alone. I saw a stream of black smoke behind us, I think Heidinger got one the 190’s but I couldn’t see it anywhere.”
1635
Maj. Donald Perry
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
“The bombers were clear and out of sight so I ordered the Group to disengage and head for home. We were stuck, though, there were just too many E/A’s. Every time we’d try to bug out we’d just turn right into another a group of E/A’s and have to get back into a tangle. We carried the fight farther out from the coast; at this time I was hoping we could just keep holding them off long enough for them to run out of fuel. Finally, after maybe another ten minutes, they started to Split-S to the deck and race back to Italy. I ordered our planes not to follow and to regroup. Once we were clear, we turned for home.”
2035
Grombalia Airfield, Tunisia
Lt. Col. George C. McNicol reviewed the summary of the debriefings from the 96th Squadron.
The Low Section suffered one loss, 2Lt. Otto Heinrichs of North Dakota, who had been assigned to Blue 3 position. Three other planes form the section had been damaged, Lt. E.C. Bennett in Red 3, 2Lt. Daniel McDonald flying Blue 4, and Lt. George Brown in Yellow 1.
The High Section was all-but eradicated.
From Green Flight Capt. Ronald Anderson and 2Lt. Ed Custiss—Green 1 and Green 4, respectively—came back damaged. He had received a message from El Haouaria Airfield, home of the 324th Fighter Group’s P-40’s, that Lt. Raymond Shepard, Green 3, had crash landed there. He was injured but not seriously, although it sounded like the plane was likely a write-off.
Black Flight lost Lt. Joe McAllister, Black 1; 2Lt. Francis Korkowski, Black 2; and 2Lt. Roger Johnson, Black 4. The interrogations revealed that McAllister and Johnson were both lost during the initial enemy attack and that Korkowski had later collided with a German Messerschmitt Bf.109.
White Flight was completely gone, all lost during the first bounce. Lt. Robert Thayer, 2Lt. William Cartwright, 2Lt. Eugene Hoffstead, and 2Lt. Gerald Finch. The problems that struck Green Flight in getting their planes combat ready before being hit were ten-fold for White and Black Flight who did not have the time to even begin readying their aircraft before the enemy was upon them. McNicol would need to talk to his senior pilots about what changes can be made to avoid such disasters in the future.
The only two planes to escape the high section unscathed were 2Lt. Louis Champion flying in Green 2 and Lt. James Heidinger from Black 3. The best anyone had been able to put together was that Heidinger only survived because he did not mess around with dropping his tanks before trying to evade; only taking the time to get into full fighting trim after he was clear of the first sweep. This was something McNicol would need to review with the Squadron Commanders and see if it would make sense to issue a Group S.O.P. to the effect that if the squadron is jumped the pilots should throttle up first and use the P-38’s superior speed to gain distance before dropping tanks and turning to fight.
That brought to mind the other fresh orders that had arrived to his desk earlier in the day, this one straight from the top.
2100
Lt. Col. McNicol had already appraised Maj. Perry of the fresh orders and although neither were happy about it, the order was signed by Doolittle himself and there was nothing they could to stop it. Lt. James Heidinger gave an attentive salute to his Squadron and Group C.O.’s as he came in the room which both promptly returned.
Maj. Perry told Heidinger, “At ease, Lieutenant.”
McNichol took over, “Lieutenant Heidinger, I first want to say, ‘well done today.’ Your quick thinking and coordinated actions likely saved Second Lieutenant McDonald’s life. You have been with us since before Flax and you have proven to be a skilled pilot and a valuable asset to your Squadron and the entire 82nd Fighter Group.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Which makes this all the more difficult. We received an order today straight from General Doolittle: you are being transferred back to the 78th Fighter Group in England.”
The young man’s eyes shifted uneasily toward Major Perry before focusing once more on the Lieutenant Colonel.
“It seems they are being re-equipped with P-38’s and General Eaker has sent a request for former 78th Pilots to come and provide operation training and guidance to the group during the transition. General Doolittle has ‘graciously’ offered up you and three others, two from the 1st Fighter Group and another from the 14th. You leave in two days. A truck will pick you up and take you to Goubrine Airfield where you will join the others on a transport back to Casablanca.”
Heidinger held his reserve well but his eyes betrayed a hint of disappointment. McNicol hoped the next part would help to soften the blow of having to leave the men he had fought beside for six months.
“Major.”
Major Perry stepped forward, “Attention!”
Heidinger snapped to attention before Perry continued, “Lieutenant James A. Heidinger, as part of this transfer, in recognition of your exemplary service and the leadership skills you have displayed under fire, the United States Army Air Forces has promoted you to the rank of Captain, effective the First of September, Nineteen-hundred, Forty-Three.” He stepped forward, removed the single bar from either side of Heidinger’s collar and replaced it with the double-bar of a Captain. He stepped back and gave the newly promoted Captain a salute. “Captain Heidinger.”
Captain Heidinger retuned the salute then met the congratulatory handshakes from both Major Perry and Lieutenant Colonel McNicol. Before he was dismissed, McNicol had one last request of the Captain, “Captain, the 78th is going to get you a new plane and that probably means Lockheed will send someone to help the pilots. If so, tell him…” He paused to think of the right way to phrase it, “just tell him what happened here today. Tell him we need something to make it easier for pilots to go from Cruise to Combat.”
“Yes sir.”
“Thank you, Jim. Now go, take the night to unwind and get yourself packed up tomorrow. You are dismissed.”
Captain Heidinger gave one last salute to the C/O of the 82nd Fighter Group before leaving the office.
)
