15 August 1944
61 FS, 56 FG, 65 FW, 8 AF
NW German Coast
“Household, Household Lead, Loosen up and ready for combat. That’s Germany down there.” Captain Hilgert reminded the ten planes of the 61st Squadron “B” Group to spread out for their sweep ahead of the bombers. They had left with fourteen but had two aborts during the initial form-up and another had to turn back over the North Sea, with whom he sent an escort.
His squadron was about 50/50 experienced combat pilots and experienced P-38 pilots with only a handful having experience in both. The Thunderbolt pilots adapted better than he had expected to flying the Lightning. They complained about the control complexity a little and a few expressed their concerns with using a yoke instead of a stick as they were accustomed; but overall the transition was pretty fair.
His largest concern when he first came to the Squadron was multi-engine management and handling the torque in the event of a failed engine but these ended up being largely unfounded. The P-47 pilots were already pretty well versed in the effects of sudden changes in torque just from throttling their big birds up. Hilgert made it better by applying his experience from the previous year with the 78th Fighter Group to ease them into the multi-engine characteristics and Heidinger’s work with Lockheed on formalizing the procedures for handling engine failure on take-off made that most risky of moments less intimidating for the pilots new to the P-38.
This was their first foray into Germany since going active with the P-38s a few days earlier. On the 11th, they had escorted the B-24s of the 2nd Bomb Division to attack various targets in eastern France, around Strasbourg. Again, on the 13th, they escorted the bombers to Brittany in Northwestern France. Yesterday, they joined the 479th on a ground attack run around Paris.
Today, the targets were airfields in the Lower Rhine valley.
13.(Sturm)/JG 3
Dortmund, Germany
The old standby alert went up again. American veirmots were being tracked flying southeast from the North Coast between Emden and Wilhelmshaven. Oberleutnant Limberg, newly promoted to Staffelfürher of 13 Sturmstaffel of IV Gruppe in JG 3 after the loss of the old pro Oblt. Ekkehard Tichy , did not need to send the order to his pilots to get ready—most were experten and all knew their duty.
His staffel currently had seven serviceable planes. Two of the three Bruno-4s, with their pressurized cockpits and longer wings, were ready to fly and could be joined by three Bruno-3s and two Anton-8s. He had already briefed the men on their planned formation if they had to sortie: due to the difference in performance they would form into two rotten and a kette, by type, forgoing any schwärme.
Dreizehnte Staffel would be joined in IV Gruppe by 11 staffel, with their Zwillinge and other Bf 109s, the Sturmbocke of 12 staffel, and the Känguruhs of the Stabschwarm. In all, IV Gruppe could sortie only about two dozen aircraft. If they were ordered to intercept they would be supported by fighters from II/JG 300 with whom they shared Dortmund Airfield and other Groups from JG 3 in the area.
Having learned over the past half-year that the American escorts would no longer stick to the bombers they had decided to follow suit in an effort to protect the Strumgruppen and Zerstrorer units. The lightweight fighters would set to intercept first, sweeping ahead of the heavily laden attack units in an effort to engage the enemy fighters and clear the way to the bombers. The tactic had met with some success but the sheer number of Americans had continued to overpower them and the slow Sturmbocke remained vulnerable.
They waited only 10 minutes before the scramble was called. The Yankees were coming.
Household Yellow 1
61 FS, 56 FG, 65 FW, 8 AF
NW Germany
Hilgert allowed his P-38H-20-LO, #423169, Radio Code HV-K, with his long-used name “Platte-A’ck”—now in its fifth iteration as “Platte-A’ck V”—to drift to the south west. Household group was extended into a wide combat spread, each airplane separated by about 1000 yards abreast roughly on level with each other coming down from their high escort past 26,000 feet. The ten Lightnings arranged so produced a five-and-a-half mile front.
Three miles away and 2,000 feet lower, he saw the near elements of 61st Squadron A Group’s twelve P-38s, “Whippet,” led by the Squadron Commander and former P-47 jock Major Baker, in a similar broad spread and heading a few degrees west.
Farther away, barely visible to his right, were the planes of the 62nd Squadron. He knew that somewhere behind him was the 63rd and tracking far out of sight to the east was his old friend Captain Heidinger with the 479th Group. They were all spreading out in advance of the bomber stream to clear the way of any Jerrys that decided to come dance, their escort duties having already been relieved by the P-51s of the 4th and 361st Groups, who would in turn be later relieved by the 355th for the Withdrawal leg of the raid.
Having already set for combat with his spent paper-tanks long since ejected, he was cruising in AUTO RICH with his gun warmers and sight already switched on. The automatic Carburetor Air Temperature management, in the form of the intercooler intake and exit shutters, were doing a swell job of keeping his carburetors clear of ice in the humid European air and with his radiator flaps closed his engines were warm enough to be ready for any sudden increases in power. His ammeters were showing good and steady power from both generators and his voltmeter indicated plenty of juice in the battery, now kept warm by excess blast heat behind the cockpit.
“Whippet Group, Platform Lead, Bogies should be to your eleven-o’clock high, can you confirm?” The call came over the Group channel. The 62nd must be eyeing some Aircraft coming up and cannot identify them.
Hilgert looked to up his left, trying to spot the small flecks that would indicate oncoming aircraft in the distance. The glare and distortion of his curved canopy screen where it met the forward frame made it difficult to get a clear picture but he thought he picked up some un-usual movement out there. It was his Green Flight leader, though, who responded, “Platform Lead, Household Green One, affirmative—Bogies to our eleven-high.”
On the squadron channel, Major Baker gave the order, “Household Yellow One, Whippet Lead, take your group up for I.D.”
Now it was Hilgert’s turn to set things up. On the squadron channel he radioed, “Roger, Lead. Household Group, Yellow One, come heading one-eight-oh, climb to Angels two-eight.”
Back on Group, Major Baker called, “Platform, Whippet Lead, we’re moving to I.D. and intercept.”
“Roger, Whippet.”
Hilgert led his ten plane section to the south, climbing for a positive identification of the distant aircraft. He increased RPMs to 3000 and pushed his throttles ever-so-slightly forward, gaining speed and steeling himself for battle. The Bogies, still too far away to positively identify, were certainly German, coming from the south to intercept the bombers.
They closed quickly, now on level each other but with Hilgert and his Lightnings continuing a slight climb for advantage. It was moments only before he recognized the aircraft for what they were.
“Household, Lead, Bandits twelve-level.”
Hilgert ran a quick count on the fast approaching Jerrys. It was a small group, perhaps ten or so, with the yellow noses of the German 3rd Fighter Wing. They were in a tight square—so tight the lead elements even seemed to blur together.
“Whippet Lead, Yellow One, ten em-ee one-oh-nines.” He did not bother with phonetics, an old habit from his early days in North Africa. Nor did he wait for Baker’s reply, instead continuing to hold open his mic to tell his flights to engage, “Household, Lead, intercept by elements.” The command was succinct but served its purpose: close up and attack the enemy but stay in concert with your wingman. They had neither the altitude nor the time to maneuver for a better jump.
With Household still spread out, only two of them could meet the initial head-on pass with the enemy but this allowed the other eight P-38s to maneuver freely on Jerry’s flanks. Two miles away Green Two and Three passed the flickering noses of the enemy, using the boosted ailerons of their late H-Model Lightnings to roll over top of the German formation. Hilgert rolled Platte-A’ck V left to close and give chase to the scattering Messerschmitts.
That is when he saw it.
The lead Jerrys, which he originally took to be flying in tight formation, banked toward him to their left. As they did he saw that they were not simply close to each other—they were connected! Four of the 109s were actually two, double-109s. Two full fuselages joined by a single central wing and stabilizer but otherwise unchanged from the Messerschmitts he was used to.
Hilgert pulled up a little more and increased his turn into a full roll, watching through the top of his canopy as the two strange new planes passed below him a few thousand feet away. He noted that only the left fuselage had a cockpit, the right one was fully enclosed and painted over in the same mottled shades of pale blue and gray as the rest of the plane.
The rest of the section were all likewise turning and rolling, each man picking his target as they maneuvered into the enemy swarm. A glance around the sky to check his surroundings and he noted the disciplined wingmen closing in to spot their leads from a few hundred yards out. His own wingman, Yellow Two, 2Lt. Edmund E. “Kid” Ellis, was right in position covering his six from eight-hundred yards back and a thousand feet up.
He shifted his attention back to the twin-tailed Messers. They were continuing their broad left turn to his 9 o’Clock, not quite in Lufbery but instead coming around for an attack on Hilgert’s Lightnings in line astern. In his own turn he was heading almost exactly opposite them and with a slight altitude advantage. Two of the single 109s were rolling out behind them, trailing by a few hundred yards and just beginning gain their heading. Hilgert could achieve an angle of these in a manner of seconds if he could commit to the attack.
Another look over his shoulder and the two twin-109s were still in their wide turn but tightening in. If Ellis falls back a little more, Hilgert should be able to keep the new German planes between them.
“Yellow Two, Lag right. Force them between us.”
“Roger that.”
Knowing that his wingman will now have the space to keep his six protected from the Doubles, Hilgert committed to his attack on the Singles. He pulled the yoke back, tightening his turn and increasing his roll to the left to bring Platte-A’ck V’s nose down. The flurry of maneuvering combatants passed in front of him and first one then the other of the two he sought came into view. Another P-38 from his flight was driving them west, baring down from on high and chasing them into his guns.
The radio came alive with more calls of Bandits from other Squadrons and Flights throughout the entire patrol area. More 109s, 190s, 110s. A concerted interception attempting to break through the fighter screen to the bombers.
Hilgert finished his turn and came up on the trailing Jerry’s 8 o’clock at 200 yards. He was coming in at a high 45 degree deflection but a little back pressure on the yoke and his nose pulled a slight lead and narrowed the angle as Platte-A’ck V drifted to the enemy’s seven.
He squeezed a burst of fire.
A stream of API flew from the nose of his Lightning. Unlike many of the “Gabby” trained pilots in the 56th Group, Hilgert still loaded tracers at 10:1 and he watched the flickering lights fill the sky around the little yellow-nosed Messerschmitt, the flashes passing under its wings.
The 109 pulled up into a tighter turn, forcing Hilgert to drift pass his six and loose his angle. This allowed Hilgert to accelerate in his turn, broadening his radius but increasing speed, now gaining on the lead 109 on the outside of the turn.
Hilgert looked left to check the position of the Double-109s. They were still there at his eight and nine o’clock, about 1200 yards out on the opposite leg of the descending left-handed spiral fight. Ellis was now outside of the spiral and diving down on the rear-most Double. The other P-38, Hilgert figured it must be Walker in Green-3, had abandoned his chase on the Singles and was now maneuvering to gain a firing position on the lead Double. Behind him, Stish in Green-4 was providing cover. The rest of Household and the remaining four German fighters were three miles away and locked into their own battles—leaving this western side of the battlefield an even four-on-four.
Platte-A’ck V was now trailing between the two Single 109s. The second one, the one Hilgert had already shot at, was only a hundred-fifty yards to his 10 o’Clock. The lead aircraft was 450 yards straight ahead of him at less than 20 degrees deflection.
Hilgert pulled the throttles back to 44 inches to avoid over-shooting. Platte-A’ck V slowed and a little left rudder allowed it to skid into the turn. The pip of his N-3 gunsight led his prey and he squeezed the trigger. The rattle of the guns was soon joined by the thrumming pulse of the 20mm cannon and his shots flew true. The tracers impacted and bounced along the inside of Jerry’s wing, the sparks of the .50 caliber incendiaries walking a scattered burst back and forth along its span. A large yellow flash told him his cannon hit fuel and he kept up the barrage for a full two-seconds before finally a burst of smoke and sparks erupted from the exhaust of the enemy.
He stayed behind the stricken plane, preparing a second burst. The hits to the fuel cells and engine had done their work and left side of the Messerschmitt was soon engulfed in streams of fire. He broadened his turn to pass to the right side of the enemy to stay clear of the trails of burning debris falling from the plane.
The fire did its work. The duralumin gave way, folding the left wing up as the sudden loss of stability rolled the airplane into the fireball and the plane came apart to meet its destiny five in the ground five miles below.
Seventeen.
A quick assessment revealed that the second Single was closing on Ellis, who was still trying to line up the second Double 109. Loosening his turn had cost him any opportunity to regain an angle on the second Single. Hilgert pulled up, attempting to clear the spiral and regain some of the altitude he had lost during the first circuit with the intent of turning it into a chandelle to come down on the 109 before it gained Ellis.
The Doubles were reversing their turns, leaving the spiral to the north. Walker turned to follow them, letting out an ineffective burst at long range as they passed in front of him, and slid between them and Ellis.
As he started his chandelle, watching the action unfold off his wing, Stish zoomed through the middle of it. His Lighting’s nose was afire as he blazed away, head on, at the Single 109 turning into Ellis. The Jerry was so fixated on the turning P-38 he must not have even noticed the other coming right at him until the entire length of his fuselage from cowl to tail erupted in sparking strikes.
Hilgert watched the lone Messerschmitt belly-over and Split-S hard to the deck streaming smoke and glycol.
Now it was four-on-two.
The Double Messerschmitts had gained some distance from the maneuvering Lightnings but Hilgert had confidence the Lockheed Wonders could catch them in the thin air. He brought Platte-A’ck V around, now parallel to Ellis at his 9 o’Clock. Looking past his wingman he saw the rest of his section chasing down the remainders from the other four enemies in the distance—they knew what to do from there and Hilgert could offer no more help to them.
“Household Green Three, Yellow One. Is that you behind the Double-One-Oh-Nines?”
“Affirmative, Lead.”
“Stay with them, Yellow Two and I have your six.”
“Roger.”
The radio call prompted Ellis to look his way and with a “thumbs up” through the side window they both throttled up to 54 inches to stay with the quickly accelerating Walker in front of them.
His altimeter read 25,400 feet, perfect altitude to make maximum speed. Those new Jerrys had no chance to escape. As his Airspeed Indicator climbed past 260 he knew he was going faster than any 109 could at that altitude. At 270 Indicated—pushing past 415 miles per hour—he knew they would be gaining and in minutes the four Lightnings would have the Double-109s.
Instead, the two enemy aircraft continued to accelerate away.
Hilgert could see the bombers now, coming dead ahead as a speckled cloud on the horizon.
“Household, Lead, don’t let them get to the bombers.”
Not waiting for responses, he pushed Platte-A’ck V’s throttles through the wires. The turbos spun up and the manifolds climbed to 60 inches. The extra power pitched the propellers into the air, biting deeper to hold the engine at 3000 revs and accelerating the plane to 285 indicated.
Still, the twin-tailed Messerschmitts continued to pull away.
At their current closing rate, the enemy were less than a minute away from the bombers.
Hilgert recognized it was hopeless. The bombers and any P-51s still flying escort would have to deal with the Twin-Tailed Jerrys.
Twin-Tailed.
Shit!
Switching his transponder to the Command set he sent the call out to whatever friendlies may be listening.
“Two Able-Dog Heavy, SHAKER Two. Twin-Boom Bandits, coming hot, twelve-o’Clock High. I REPEAT, TWIN-BOOM Bandits, twelve-high.”
It was all he could do.
Back on the squadron channel, he called his Lightnings off the pursuit. He did not want the bombers confusing his planes for the enemy. He slowed down his flight of four, pulling back into a high cruise but ready for more action in AUTO RICH at 2400 RPM and 38 inches. Before turning he watched the Double-109s make their first past at the lead formation of Liberators. They were too far away to see the details, but the fiery collapse of one of the bombers was enough to tell him that the enemy were successful. He ordered his planes to turn away but followed a little behind them, watching for any parachutes from the plummeting mass of burning B-24. After only falling a few thousand feet, the fuel tanks—or the bombs—exploded and the airplane was no more. His heart sank in the knowledge that at least nine men were dead. Only the tail-gunner stood any chance as the broad tail section floated and tumbled earthward. Hilgert could only pray the man found his way out and he turned away.
“Hil, looks like some one-nineties and Pee-fifty-ones fighting at our three low.”
The informal call from one of his men, he thought he recognized it as Walker’s voice, forced his attention away from the tragedy. “Household Green Three, Yellow One. Roger, Bandits, three o’Clock low. Maintain radio discipline.”
Hilgert checked his fuel. His wing tanks, he assumed, had to be nearly dry but the low level warning lights had not yet turned on. His MAIN tanks were still full and his RESERVE tanks were each showing about 40 gallons. He should have a good ten minutes of fighting left before he would have to bug out for England.
“Household with Lead, Yellow One, switch fuel to MAIN, let’s give the Mustangs a hand.”
The four Lightnings throttled back up and turned right, holding their altitude to move into the battle area so they may strike from above. They quickly closed on the combatants and Hilgert noticed these were the same black-nosed Focke-Wulfs he had faced the previous winter. He remembered them being a bit ponderous, a problem explained by Army Intel by their being heavily armed and armored for the express purpose of attacking Bombers.
At 24,000 feet, they should be easy pickings.
Then he saw the P-51 explode.
Staffelfürher
13.(Sturm)/JG 3
NW Germany
The Messerschmitts of 11 Staffel and other Groups had done their job. They cleared the way to the American bombers by keeping the screen of Lightnings busy. Following the Stab and with 12 Staffel, Limberg led 13 Staffel in a successful pass against an isolated group of Liberators on the west flank of the bombers—they had downed three and damaged several more—before the single-engine Mustangs had been able to intervene.
The old Antons of 12 Staffel dove away from the high-altitude American fighters, seeking the security of thicker air below six kilometers. Many of the Americans followed them down, quickly catching them in their dive and forcing a fight for their lives. Limberg and his planes could not provide any help beyond keeping the rest of the Americans busy above seven kilometers.
At this altitude and above, Limberg was happy to discover his new Bruno was better than the Mustangs in every way. The blue-grey stream of coolant trailing behind the plane in front of him was proof of that.
He raised the nose of White-8 a fraction of a degree and lobbed more 20mm gun fire at the American. The white puffs of exploding shells erupted all along the tail and the aft-fuselage of the silver airplane, rending great holes through its entire structure. The pilot, in one last desperate gamble to escape Limberg’s onslaught, pulled up hard and was rewarded not with escape but with his entire tail coming off from the strain. The maneuver sent the last of Limberg’s shells directly into the fume-filled tank behind the pilot, and the mighty Mustang vanished from the sky in a shower of aluminum and steel.
Limberg had no time to celebrate his victory.
“Gabelschwanze, from the east!”
One of his pilots called out the warning. Limberg craned his head over his right shoulder and looked up to see four of the American Lightnings screaming down into the melee. They were spread out, a few hundred meters between each in breadth and depth. Two were tracking almost straight east in their shallow dive, aiming for heaviest part of the fight where the Stabstaffel Caesars were tearing the slower Mustangs to shreds.
The other two had turned to their right, curving down in their dive to come directly at Limberg.
He pulled up and left, countering the momentum of the Americans’ turns. Limberg followed with a snap to the right to roll over the top, bleeding speed and gaining a little altitude in the process. Now almost fully inverted, he looked up through his canopy to watch the lead Lightning over-shoot him as it scissored left to counter Limberg’s barrel roll. The Lightning’s left wing dropped, its engine nacelle clearing the nose and he saw the name blazoned across it, “Platte-A’ck.” Limberg had no idea what it meant, but he had seen it before.
The moment froze, two war machines more than seven kilometers up in the frozen sky paused in their waltz and through that deadly space between them, the warriors’ eyes met. Faces covered by masks and goggles, flight caps over their scalps, two pair of Aryan blue eyes met in recognition—there but by circumstance of birth were two men of the same cloth.
Limberg’s roll carried him directly over top of his opponent, leaving the fleeting moment of recognition.
His partner, Oberfeldwebel Hippert in the other Bruno-3, opened fire on the second Lightning behind him, forcing the combatants into individual duels. With the assurance that his tail was safe for the moment, Limberg focused on continuing the dance of rolling scissors with the Lightning off his left wing.
Three, four times they rolled and deked over each other. The heavy American twin-engine fighter rolled as fast Limberg had ever seen, but the nimble Focke-Wulf stayed abreast his every move. The Lightning climbed up, expecting the high altitude handling of his broad-winged bird to out-class Limberg’s Würger as it would have done in the past. But this time, Limberg’s Bruno-3, with its broader span and Turbolader, climbed with it, matching it meter for meter. For the first time in over two years Limberg felt his aircraft was the equal of the Der Gabelschwanz Teufel.
His position was improving. With each turn now the Indianer was slowly coming in front of Limberg’s White-8. Just a few more and he would be in a firing position.
Yet, his memory held him back from committing to the American’s line. He had had Lightnings in desperate position before and twice, possibly in the hands of the very same pilot tangling with him now, a sudden reversal had robbed him of the opportunity.
This time, he was expecting it.
Household Yellow 1
61 FS, 56 FG, 65 FW, 8 AF
NW Germany
It was almost time.
Hilgert was shocked that the Focke-Wulf had stayed with his every maneuver. The first counter-roll had brought the Jerry over top of him and for a moment Hilgert was unnerved to see what he thought was recognition reflected in the blue eyes he met through the Perspex. After that, every shift Hilgert commanded of Platte-A’ck V was met by an equal shift from the black nosed 190, White-8.
He did note that this Focke-Wulf seemed different than the ones he had met before and not only in performance or the skill of the pilot. Its nose seemed a little distended and had a scoop beneath it. Its wings seemed just slightly larger.
Now, in a climbing scissors, the Butcher Bird was falling behind in the worst way possible. Soon, Hilgert would be in the enemy’s gun sight and he was running out of options. Being un-able to out roll or out climb the enemy he was left with out-diving it. In over 150 hours of combat he had performed a MacKay turn exactly three times, and the first was only because of a dead engine. He knew he was about to try his fourth.
He could not see the enemy in his wildly vibrating rear-view mirror and he had no time to turn his head to find it. Wishing he had some way to tracking the enemy position behind him, he could only hope that he timed the turn right, when the enemy was to his outside.
As Platte-A’ck V came around from another rolling deke on the left he reversed right, activating the Dive Recovery Flaps with the button on his yoke. He twisted his wrist on the throttles to propel the left into WEP and pull the right back as far as the breadth of his hand would allow. With an angry groan of stressed metal, Platte-A’ck V pirouetted on its right wing. Hilgert’s stomach launched into his chest from the sudden sink but it was not the thunder of his heart beat or the blood in his veins which made his vision go red—it was the burst of German 30mm explosive shells.
Staffelfürher
13.(Sturm)/JG 3
NW Germany
Limberg unleashed the full fury of his Sturmbock when the Lightning performed the seemingly impossible, but expected, reversal. His 30mm Minengeschoße, aimed for a high arc, exploded above and around the American’s right wing but his 13mm and 20mm machineguns found their mark.
The 13mm peppered the length of the right engine nacelle, sending sparks of aluminum back into the right tail. His 20mm explosive shells burst in great white clouds through the right wing leaving two large holes mid-span, the second hole removing part of the trailing edge like a shark bite.
Even having anticipated the turn well enough to get a positive hit on the American, Limberg could not follow it directly in its resulting dive. He passed over it and rolled to Abschwung after it, seeing its turn becoming an uncontrolled spin with its nose pointed straight now.
The badly damaged American was well ahead of him now but he was gaining in the dive, thick black smoke pluming from its right engine. The Lightning’s spin flattened out a little, allowing White-8 to gain even more, but quickly again nosed down with less spin as the pilot started to recover. Limberg realized that though his prey was wounded, it was not mortally so.
He advanced his throttle a little farther, aiming to gain on the enemy and finishing him off.
“Kapitan!” His radio shouted at him, ”Indanern behind you!”
Going off of instinct, Limberg rolled over in his dive, and fully inverted he Split-S’ed again to reverse his direction. Looking up, he saw two P-51s streaking down toward him, pointed to follow the path he had been on behind the smoking Lightning. He pulled up out of his dive to climb under their pursuit, and resolved to abandon the Lightning to its fate.
Household Yellow 1
61 FS, 56 FG, 65 FW, 8 AF
NW Germany
Captain Donald B. Hilgert was in trouble.
The hits to his right engine seized the turbo, shredding the turbine, and sent explosive back pressure directly into the exhaust manifold of the engine. The engine immediately failed with the heart-rending sound of thrown rods.
As he rode Platte-A’ck V down through the sky he was pressed to the left bulkhead of the cockpit from the high force of the right-hand spin. He struggled against gravity and centrifugal force to get his left hand back on the throttles and pull the left engine out of WEP, all the way almost to Idle. The action slowed the spin a little, but also flattened it, threating to become an unrecoverable flat-spin. He pushed the P-38’s nose down and tried left rudder and aileron to fight it.
He could feel the airplane starting to stabilize from the spin, the pressure of the strap on his left shoulder reducing slightly, but he knew that as long his right prop was windmilling the drag would prevent a full recovery. With his left arm now fully free, he thrust it forward, past the yoke and violently hit the right feathering switch and immediately switched off the right master ignition.
Still diving but coming out of the spin, Hilgert looked to his right to make a final decision as to whether he was going to abandon the airplane. The engine was pouring black smoke but it was beginning to thin. The propeller was nearly stopped and fully feathered. Perhaps most importantly, he did not see any flames.
Keeping enough left rudder to counter his plane’s pull to the right, he slowly brought it out of the spin. Once he felt secure in roll, he used both hands to pull the yoke back, leveling off at 6000 feet.
Hilgert quickly scanned the sky around him to ensure he was alone and relatively safe. He was startled to see two P-51s coming down behind him, quickly catching up. The only other sign of aircraft he saw were the distant contrails of streamers of the fight far behind him.
One of the Mustangs, with the red nose of the 4th Fighter Group and wearing the radio code “WD-C,” pulled alongside of him, the pilot flashing an “OK” hand signal.
Hilgert took a moment to assess the full extent of the damage. He pulled the RPMs back on his left engine to reduce the yaw and confirmed his right was fully off and feathered. For good measure he pulled the right-side controls into IDLE-CUTOFF to keep any fuel from flowing to dead engine. His right MAIN and RES tanks were holding steady fuel levels, so he was confident they were holding good. His right ammeter was at zero, as expected with the engine dead and generator off but his left was showing good generation and his battery, safe behind the cockpit, was showing good voltage. Hydraulics were low, and continuing to lose pressure.
A look at his right wing showed him a hole through the outer-wing at about mid span—he assumed it took out the hydraulic line for the aileron boosters—and another bite out of his trailing edge behind it, likely destroying his outboard flap. To stem to loss of hydraulic fluid, he reached his right hand down to the aileron booster valve and closed it, content to fly however long he could without their assistance.
Finally, he pressed the button to raise his Dive Recovery Flaps, still down from the start of his attempted escape.
He heard an electrical whine, followed by a distinct “POP!” to his right. Platte-A’ck V started to roll left and yaw right, slipping oddly. He corrected with yoke and rudder but the airplane shuddered and fought him the entire time. Hilgert looked toward the source of the sound he heard and he saw the DRF circuit was open, overloaded from when he raised them. The hit to his right wing must have damaged the electrics and prevented the right flap from raising.
He reset the circuit, and held it closed with his right hand, while he used his left to hold the yoke and re-lower the flaps. Better to have the additional drag on both wings instead of just the one.
Once he had Platte-A’ck V stabilized again, he looked back at the Mustang pilot, who had waited patiently this entire time. With a deep breath of near relief he flashed the “OK” signal back at him. With a nod and a waggle of his wings, the 4FG pilot peeled off to continue his own hunting.
Setting a course of 250 degrees toward what he hoped was England, all that was left was for him to hope he could nurse the airplane the distance.
